i
 
 flCSB LIBRARY
 
 "JW 
 
 11 
 
 ILL, 
 
 OTHER STORIES. 
 
 NEW-YOEK : 
 P. S. WYNKOOP & SON, 108 FULTON STREET. 
 
 1868.
 
 >, according to Act of Congre**, In the year 1888, by 
 P. WYNKOOP & BON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of New-York. 
 
 JOICV A. GRAY ft ORKKX, 
 PBIICTIBI <D 8ri.iotrr.rn 
 II u4 II JMX* Slmt, Nw-Yrk.
 
 LONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 By and By, 9 
 
 Wishing and Doing, 18 
 
 Two Days, 24 
 
 What Makes a Gentleman ? 31 
 
 An Evening Talk, 37 
 
 The Girl who could not be Trusted, 47 
 
 A Word Left Out, . s 55 
 
 A Discovery, 61 
 
 Uncle Dennis and the Boys, 68 
 
 The Wrong Way, 75 
 
 Whom to Believe, 82 
 
 The Darkness and the Light, 88 
 
 Oito and his Tree, . .95 
 
 Erne's Lesson, 101 
 
 Who shall be Greatest, 109 
 
 Carrie's Idol, 116 
 
 Freddie's Triumph, 125 
 
 School on a Holiday, 133 
 
 Changing his Mind, ......... 138 
 
 Nellie Septon's Obedience, . i 146 
 
 " I Will," . . 155 
 
 Nellie Raymond's Work, 163 
 
 What Made the Difference ? 170 
 
 A Story with a Meaning, 178 
 
 A Conflict and a Victory, . . . . . . .186
 
 S 
 
 HE winter was over and gone, the time of 
 the singing of birds had come, and the 
 earth was clad in the fresh beauty of 
 spring-time. The people who had been shut up in 
 the city while the grass had been springing up, and 
 the trees budding, and the blossoms blowing, began 
 to long for a breath of pure country air, and for a 
 sight of the green fields once more. So it came to 
 pass that the teachers of a certain Sunday-school in 
 the town of M resolved upon giving their schol- 
 ars and themselves a treat in the shape of a ride 
 out of sight of brick walls and dusty streets to the 
 shore of a lake not many miles away. The hours 
 that must pass before the coming of the appointed
 
 B7 AND BY. 
 
 day seemed very long to the many eager, waiting 
 children, who were by turns watching the clouds 
 and winds without, and the preparation of cakes and 
 white dresses within. But the eventful morning 
 dawned at last No one was behind time on the 
 occasion, no one looked ill-natured, no one found 
 fault ; happiness was the order of the day. 
 
 It was a merry company that set out for the lake, 
 and in all the crowd none were merrier than Maggie 
 Meade and her brother Freddie. To them, as to all 
 the rest, the ride seemed only too short, the lake 
 with its rippling waves enchanting, the grove 
 by a paradise of beauty, the hours too swift in their 
 rapid flight. But, as the proverb goes, " Time and 
 tide wait for no man ;" and while mirth and glad- 
 ness were still at their height, the shadows began to 
 lengthen on the grass, and the older people do- 
 that it would be best to return home. So the signal 
 was given, and from all parts of the grove the chil- 
 dren hurried to obey it. 
 
 "Come, Maggie," called her teacher, as she started 
 with the rest of the clas.<, and left Maggie still gath- 
 ering wild flowers and answering : 
 Tea, ma'am in a miqutc."
 
 BY AND BY. 11 
 
 " Come, sister," pleaded Freddie ; " they will all 
 go and leave us." 
 
 " Oh ! no, they won't," was the reply, " there's no 
 particular hurry. I'll go by and by." 
 
 So Freddie stood and patiently waited for one 
 minute, two, three, four, ten, twenty, thirty minutes, 
 not knowing that while he waited the heavily-laden 
 stages were already "homeward bound," and not 
 one of all his friends had missed either himself or 
 his sister. But at length he appeared to have 
 reached the conclusion that forbearance had ceased 
 to be a virtue, although he only said quietly : 
 
 " Maggie, don't you know what was in the hymn 
 we learned last Sabbath ? 
 
 ' The clock is ticking, ticking, 
 Ticking the moments away. 
 The minutes make up the hours, 
 And the hours make up the day.' " 
 
 This address aroused Maggie at last. 
 
 " Why, Freddie, where are they all gone ? Come 
 quick, let's hurry." 
 
 But there was no need of hurrying then ; the time 
 for that had passed. Scholars and teachers had
 
 12 /;y A XI) BY. 
 
 alike : the hum of merry voices 
 
 had ceased ; all around was quiet, save the t\\ 
 of the birds as they sought their leafy homes, and 
 the unbroken murmur of the waves that washed the 
 shore. 
 
 " Maggie," said Freddie solemnly, " we shall just 
 have to lie down and die, and let the robins cover 
 us with leaves." 
 
 " Oh ! no, we shall not do any such thing," Mag- 
 gie replied ; " you know we could live on acorns 
 rather than do that ; there are plenty of them here. 
 Besides, I found a wild strawberry to-day ; may be 
 there are more." 
 
 So Freddie was comforted ; and soon, after a little 
 coaxing from his sister, lay down to sleep. As for 
 Maggie, she strained her eyes for hours watching for 
 some late traveler who might be going in the direc- 
 tion of her own home. But all her watching was 
 in vain, and at last she, too, yielded to the power 
 of slumber. When she awoke, the moon was shin- 
 ing brightly in the west, and her father was calling, 
 from no great distance, "Children, children, where 
 are you?" 
 
 It is easy to imagine the glad meeting that fol-
 
 BY AND BY. 13 
 
 lowed, and the happiness of the mother when, a 
 couple of hours afterward, she welcomed her lost 
 ones at home. Yet she could not help looking 
 grave when Maggie confessed that her own disobe- 
 dience had been the cause of the sorrow which had 
 been brought upon her parents and herself. "Al- 
 though," thought Mrs. Meade, "I do hope this will 
 prove a lesson to Maggie, and that she will learn 
 from it to overcome her habit of putting off every 
 thing that she has to do until ' by and by.' " 
 
 But do you know what the word "habit" means? 
 It signifies, in the French language, something that 
 we wear, as a dress or a coat ; and so it conies to 
 mean, in our tongue, something which we are accus- 
 tomed to do, something which we do so often that 
 we make a continual practice of it, and keep it al- 
 ways with us, as we do the clothing on our bodies. 
 Well, this habit of Maggie's the habit of procrasti- 
 nation, of putting off of saying, whenever she had 
 any thing to do, "I will wait a little while," or, "I 
 will do it pretty soon " fitted very tightly indeed, 
 so tightly that it seemed almost impossible for her 
 to take it off. Her mother had talked to her about 
 it until she had grown weary of doing so ; her
 
 14 BY AXD BY. 
 
 teachers had coaxed, and threatened, and \varned ; 
 her father had promised her beautiful gifts if she 
 would only learn to be prompt, to do every thing at 
 the right time and in the right place ; but all in 
 . Now, when at last she had been brought to 
 see for herself the error of her way, she really re- 
 solved upon doing better ; but alas ! her resolution, 
 because made in her own strength, was broken 
 again and again, until, finally, t\vo years after the 
 time of which we have been speaking, her punish- 
 ment came in a way which she little expt 
 but never afterward forgot The last day of the 
 term had come. The pupils of Miss Lin 
 school, the one which Maggie attended, had t. 
 a final review of the studies of the year, had \>\ 
 their farewell game of "hide-and-seek," and 
 gathered in holiday attire to exhibit to their parents 
 and friends the progress which had been made dur- 
 ing the last twelve months, as well as to receive in 
 their presence the various premiums for scholarship 
 and good behavior. One after another stepped up 
 to the principal's desk and had conferred upon 
 the prize for this or that merit or virtue, until Mary 
 Greenwell triumphantly bore to her seat a reward
 
 BY AND BY. 15 
 
 for promptness, and her companions began to whis- 
 per among themselves, "That is all," and the fa- 
 vored ones looked, if possible, more delighted, and 
 the disappointed ones more sad, at the thought that 
 now the hopes and fears of the year were realized, 
 and the crisis was passed at length. But they were 
 all mistaken. Suddenly Miss Linden arose, and 
 said: "There still remains one reward to be given. 
 The prize for tardiness will now be conferred upon 
 Miss Maggie Meade, she having succeeded in being 
 late at school nearly every day this year." What a 
 tittering there was among the other scholars! and 
 how all the mammas but poor Mrs. Meade opened 
 their eyes and smiled, and nodded, and whispered, 
 "Did you ever!" "Poor child!" etc., etc., as Mag- 
 gie, blushing and hesitating, stepped up to the desk 
 and received what do you think ? a sheet of note- 
 paper containing just four lines of writing. Would 
 you like to know what were the words written 
 upon it ? They were these : 
 
 " Whene'er a duty waits for thee, 
 
 With a cheerful courage view it ; 
 Nor idly stand and wish it done, 
 But go at once and do it."
 
 16 BY AND /?}'. 
 
 Of course, Maggie was greatly mortified. The 
 disgrace of being thus publicly reproved seemed 
 almost cruel But when, weeping and ashamed, she 
 had, in the solitude of her own home, poured out all 
 her grief into the sympathizing ear of her mother, 
 the only reply she received was this : 
 
 " My dear child, I am very sorry ; but you have 
 brought it all upon yourself Only remember how 
 many times you have been reasoned with, and en- 
 treated, and have promised to do better, but still re- 
 mained careless and forgetful, and I think you will 
 confess how much you needed this rebuke. I hope, 
 indeed, it will be the last of the kind that you will 
 ever require. Will you not now not to-night or 
 to-morrow, nor the next day but now, begin to 
 perform all your duties at the proper time for them, 
 and cease entirely this habit of waiting until by and 
 by ? Think how dangerous it is ; for, if you keep 
 on putting off every day the little things which you 
 have to do, I very much fear that you will neglect 
 the great duty of life that of preparing to meet 
 your God. The day of death may be near; we 
 know not how soon it will come ; and if it should 
 find you unprepared, it may then be too late to gain
 
 BY AND BY. 
 
 IT 
 
 an entrance into heaven. Like the foolish virgins 
 in the parable, you may find that the door is shut. 
 ' Seek the Lord while he may be found ; call upon 
 him while he is near. Now is the accepted time ; 
 is the day of salvation.' "
 
 &*\ 
 
 
 IL 
 
 and going. 
 
 ARRIE GREY and Jennie Melville had 
 been friends as long as they could remem- 
 ber. Their fathers' homes were near each 
 other, and there were no other neighbors within half 
 a mile ; so it was not strange that the little girls had 
 been thrown very much into one another's society. 
 
 As soon as they were old enough, they had begun 
 to attend the district school. It was such an one as 
 nearly every country hamlet in our land possesses, 
 and the long walks to and fro were always taken in 
 company. Sometimes they were attended for a part 
 of the distance by one or another of their school- 
 mates, and sometimes they chatted and laughed all 
 the way, hearing no one's voice but their own.
 
 WISHING AND DOING. 19 
 
 However, on a certain day, about the middle of 
 the winter in which, they were both ten years old, 
 they were joined on their return home by Anna 
 Morris, who happened to be going in the same di- 
 rection in order to visit a friend. At first, the talk 
 of the three girls was about their studies, which they 
 liked or disliked, and how far they would be able to 
 advance before the close of the term. But before 
 long, leaving the subject of study, they began to 
 make various remarks concerning their companions, 
 discussing this one's dress, and the other's character, 
 and another's standing in her class. 
 
 At length Jennie said : "I wonder what has be- 
 come of Hattie Murphy ? She hasn't been to school 
 for a month. I do not believe I have even seen her 
 since the cold weather commenced." 
 
 " Well, I can put an end to your wondering," re- 
 plied Anna Morris; "for ma was down to Mrs. 
 Murphy's last evening, to see about having some 
 sewing done, and Mrs. Murphy told her that she had 
 not been able to send Hattie to school this winter on 
 account of having no cloak thick enough for her to 
 wear. Pa says poor people are so apt to be deceit- 
 ful. Of course, we don't know, and it isn't right to
 
 20 WISHING AND D01 
 
 judge; but I'll have to say 'good-by' this is my 
 road." 
 
 So saying, Anna turned off in another direction, 
 leaving the two friends to pursue their way alone. 
 Carrie was the first to speak. 
 
 "Jennie," said she, "I don't believe Mrs. Murphy 
 would tell a story ; do you ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no, indeed. My mother says she has known 
 her for twenty years, and she would trust her with 
 any thing why, she is as honest as the day is long ! 
 So, it must be that ITattie has no cloak. Dear me, 
 how sorry I am for her! I wish she had twenty. 
 But, then, I can not buy her any, and my mother 
 says she has enough to do to see that we have every 
 thing that we want, without troubling herself about 
 other folks' children. Poor Hattie ! I wish she could 
 come to school." 
 
 Of course, Jennie imagined that she was sincere 
 in every word she uttered. She was sorry for Hat- 
 tie, and she did wish her to have a cloak ; but she 
 was not sorry enough to put herself to any more 
 trouble on Ilattie's account than to utter a few ex- 
 clamations of pity, and it never occurred to her that 
 her wish might be fulfilled if she was only willing
 
 WISHING AND DOING. 21 
 
 to part with one of the many cloaks and shawls with 
 which her wardrobe was stored. With Carrie the case 
 was different. She had expressed so' little sympathy 
 for her friend that Jennie even wondered at her in- 
 difference. But if she said little, it was because she 
 was thinking a great deal. Her father, although in 
 comfortable circumstances, was not so wealthy as 
 Mr. Melville ; and, though he took care that his 
 family should have all their wants supplied, yet he 
 had never thought it right to expend money upon 
 articles which were wholly unnecessary. So it hap- 
 pened that Carrie had just two cloaks one new and 
 the other old. When she heard of Hattie's need, she 
 immediately began to consider whether it would be 
 possible for her to do without one of these, in order 
 to contribute to her friend's comfort. At first she 
 was disposed to answer to the question thus pre- 
 sented to her mind, " JSTo, I need all that I have my- 
 self." But when she had said " good afternoon " to 
 Jennie, and was walking alone up the garden-path, 
 there came to her memory a verse she had once 
 learned in Sunday-school : " Let him that hath two 
 coats impart to him that hath none," and that settled 
 her decision.
 
 HV>7//.V0 AND DOING. 
 
 C:>: t straight to her mother's room, and 
 
 sion to give away the cloak she then 
 wore. Mrs. Grey at first wondered at such a re- 
 quest ; but after inquiring the reason why it 
 made, she readily gave consent to her daug; 
 plan. She was willing that her child should learn 
 to deny herself in order to promote the happiness of 
 others. Of course, Carrie had a walk to Mrs. Mur- 
 phy's, and Ilattie a glad surprise. 
 
 And though it was rather hard to bear, the next 
 morning, the inquisitive gaze of her schoolmates, 
 and to hear them whisper, " Carrie Grey has on her 
 best cloak," (school-girls will sometimes do such rude 
 things, you know,) yet Carrie felt happy in the con- 
 sciousness that she had performed a deed of kind- 
 ness, one which her heavenly Father might approve. 
 And when the girls, crowding to the window, saw 
 Hut tie coming up the road, and recognized the warm 
 garment which protected her from the cold, do you 
 think that they loved or respected Carrie less than 
 they had before ? Jennie was loud in her expres- 
 sion of praise, for she had really wanted Ilattie to 
 have a cloak. The wishes of the two friends had
 
 WISHING AND DOING. 23 
 
 been the same; but one had acted in accordance 
 with her desire, and the other had not. 
 
 Do you know what is meant in the Bible by the 
 word goodness ? It is only wishing well, and doing 
 well wanting to do good to others, and then trying 
 to do them good. It was this fruit of the Spirit 
 which Carrie bore. It was this that brought Jesus 
 down to earth that he might seek and save the lost. 
 Let us try to imitate his example ; for " He went 
 about doing good."
 
 III. 
 
 ELL, the vacation has come at last, and I 
 am very glad of it. I mean to have a 
 real good time all the week ; it will be 
 BO very nice not to have any thing to do but play." 
 
 These were the first thoughts that came into the 
 mind of Minnie Hurlburt, as she awoke on a certain 
 Monday morning in the month of May. 
 
 " I will make three or four new dresses for my 
 doll, and read the story-book that father gave me 
 the other day, and I mean to ask mother if I may 
 invite Cousin Jennie to come and play tea with me 
 this afternoon. Then, perhaps, to-morrow, Uncle 
 James will give me that ride he promised so long 
 ago. I guess he will if he only hears that we have 
 vacation this week."
 
 TWO DAYS. 25 
 
 Just here, Minnie's soliloquy was interrupted by 
 the ringing of a bell the signal for rising. But 
 she did not obey the summons immediately ; there 
 was no need of hurrying that morning, she thought, 
 and consequently postponed answering the call 
 until so late that morning prayers and breakfast 
 were both over before she was ready to go down- 
 stairs. The mortification of finding herself so tardy, 
 together with a mild rebuke from her mother, de- 
 stroyed Minnie's good-humor, so that the day was 
 not commenced as pleasantly as she had anticipated. 
 However, this bad beginning was soon forgotten in. 
 the pleasure of arranging, for the twentieth time, a 
 magnificent doll-house a birthday gift from her 
 father. She had succeeded in getting it into a won- 
 derful state of confusion, when her mother called 
 from the next room, " Minnie, what are you do- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Cleaning house," was the reply. 
 
 " Well, I want you to stop playing, and come and 
 watch. Willie while I write this letter." 
 
 "I don't want to; I want to play," Minnie an- 
 swered crossly. 
 
 " Come here, my child, right away. I am aston-
 
 26 > DATS. 
 
 ished that you should speak to me in such a man- 
 ner." 
 
 vhaps Mrs. Ilurlburt would not have been so 
 surprised at her daughter's conduct if she had k; 
 th:it the little girl, in planning how she should spend 
 the day, had considered only her own amusement, 
 and not at all how she could please any one else. 
 People who think? only of their own convenience, 
 you know, are very apt to be disobliging and un- 
 kind if they are requested to do any thing for 
 others. 
 
 Minnie was obliged to watch the baby; but she 
 did it with so dark a frown on her face, and took so 
 little pains to interest him, that he became trouble- 
 some, and compelled his mother to leave her letter 
 unfinished in order to attend to him. Minnie re- 
 turned to her play, but was unable to enjoy it. 
 House-cleaning failing to attract any longer, she at- 
 tempted dress-making. But this, for some reason, 
 proved unusually difficult The seams would be 
 crooked, and the thread would knot, and the needle 
 would prick her fingers, and finally, Minnie gave 
 up in despair. Just as she did so, Mrs. Ilurlburt 
 entered the room, saying, "Come, my dear, you
 
 TWO DATS. 27 
 
 have played long enough. I want you to hem this 
 handkerchief for me." 
 
 " mother ! I don't want to work in vacation. 
 Need I ? I want to read my new book." 
 
 " Very well ; you may gratify yourself or your 
 mother, just as you think best. Of course, you will 
 not expect me to grant you any favors while you 
 are unwilling to do any thing to please me." 
 
 Minnie did not answer, but sullenly went for her 
 book, in which she expected to find a great deal of 
 amusement ; but, strangely enough, she found both 
 the stories and pictures uninteresting and dull. So 
 far, she had not succeeded so well as she had ex- 
 pected in trying to enjoy herself; but still bent upon 
 her own gratification, she ran to her mother with the 
 request, "Ma, may I go for Cousin Jennie to come 
 and spend the afternoon with me ?" 
 
 " No, my child. You know that you have been 
 a naughty girl this morning, and I shall punish you 
 by denying you this pleasure." 
 
 Here Minnie gave up all thoughts of endeavoring 
 to be happy, and made herself so unamiable through 
 the rest of the day, that her mother was compelled 
 to send her to her own room before dark, and to
 
 TWO DAYS. 
 
 forbid her to leave it until the next morning. She 
 had a long evening all to herself; but then, as 
 Ilurlburt said, "When people are ill-natured, the 
 best thing for them is to be alone it gives them an 
 opportunity to repent of their wickedness." Besides 
 that, Minnie had time enough to become thoroughly 
 rested; and when morning came, she was up and 
 dressed before any one else, looking and feeling as 
 happy as a bird. 
 
 "Mother, shall I take Willie into the garden 
 awhile was her first question after breakfast ; and 
 she played, with her little brother so kindly, and 
 amused him so well, that he appeared rather sorry 
 than glad when his nurse came to take him into the 
 house again. After that, the little girl, having 
 learned how much better it is to be useful than to bo 
 idle, offered to do for her mother the sewing about 
 which she had been so disobliging the day before. 
 When her work was done, there was still time to 
 spend an hour with her book before dinner; and 
 now (what do you think could have made the dif- 
 ference ?) the stories were, as she expressed it, *' per- 
 fectly splendid." Yet they were unaltered Minnie 
 only was changed. In the afternoon, just as she was
 
 TWO DAYS. 29 
 
 hesitating whether or not to resume the making of 
 her doll's unfinished dress, her oldest brother, Eddy, 
 rushed into the room, exclaiming, "Mother, Uncle 
 James is at the gate, and he wants either Minnie or 
 me to take a ride with him. He says it can be the 
 one that you choose." 
 
 At first Minnie looked up eagerly, hoping that 
 she would be the favored one ; but then she remem- 
 bered that her brother was quite as anxious to go as 
 herself, and she said quietly : " Well, mother, let 
 Eddy go ; I have more to amuse me at home than 
 he has." 
 
 Mrs. Hurlburt looked pleased to see her daughter 
 so generous, and Eddy, without waiting for further 
 discussion, ran off to the carriage. Minnie lost her 
 long-anticipated ride, but she took a delightful walk 
 with her mother, which was a pleasure second only 
 to the one she had sacrificed. 
 
 On their return, Mrs. Hurlburt asked, " Minnie, 
 are you not happier now than you were yesterday 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," was the reply. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I think I can tell you the reason 
 why. Yesterday you tried to please yourself only,
 
 80 TWO DATS. 
 
 even though you grieved some one else ; to-day you 
 have been -willing to deny yourself in order to gniti- 
 fy others. We are quite sure to be happy as long 
 as we obey the Golden Rule 'Whatsoever ye 
 would that men should do to you, do ye even so to 
 them.' "
 
 IV. 
 
 ILLIE LEE is a boy who knows how to 
 behave himself He has understood, 
 ever since he has been able to under- 
 stand any thing, the difference between politeness 
 and rudeness ; and, what is more, he can, when he 
 chooses, act in every respect like a gentleman. 
 Consequently it is not strange that when Mrs. 
 Brown, or Mrs. Smith, or any other of Mrs. Lee's 
 acquaintances "drop in" to make her an afternoon 
 call, and happen to find Willie in the parlor, they 
 usually form a very good opinion of his manners, 
 and frequently go away saying, "What a polite 
 boy Willie is ! Why, he is a perfect little gentle- 
 man!"
 
 32 uv/.ir .v.iAVi.s .1 01 
 
 But could these same persons observe "\Yilliu's 
 behavior at some time when no company is pr- 
 probably their remarks would be of a different 
 character. 
 
 Hurrah!'' exclaimed "Willie one day not very 
 long ago, "father's going to take me out sleigh- 
 riding I" So saying, he rushed into the sitting-room 
 and began to inquire loudly for his cap and over- 
 coat, at the same time making sundry evolutions 
 around the room, and managing to upset during 
 the operation two or three chairs, beside his sister's 
 work-basket 
 
 " Gently, Willie," said his mother. " There ! you 
 have waked the baby already." 
 
 " I can't help it," rejoined "Willie, very indiffe- 
 rently, as though he did not care at all whether he 
 could help it or not. 
 
 Indeed, he showed very plainly that he was far 
 from being sorry for the mischief he had done ; for 
 the general bustle which he had contrived to create 
 was not only continued, but increased. 
 
 " Willie, do be careful 1" " Willie, you must not 
 be so rude!" "Willie, please be quiet!" were the 
 exclamations that came from all parts of the room.
 
 WHAT MAKES A GENTLEMAN? 33 
 
 One would have thought that "Willie" would have 
 grown tired of hearing his name repeated so often. 
 -Perhaps he did ; for it was not long before he ran 
 out into the hall, calling at the top of his voice : 
 
 " Sarah ! come here quick I I want my coat !" 
 
 " Well, if you expect me to get it for you, you 
 can just ask more politely, so you can," was the re- 
 joinder that came from the foot of the stairs. 
 
 It would be hardly safe to repeat the reply which 
 followed some little boy might be foolish enough 
 to imitate it ; but it was so poorly calculated to re- 
 store Sarah's good-humor that Willie was left to find 
 his coat as best he could alone. 
 
 He had just discovered it lying under a sofa, with 
 his cap in one of the pockets he had thrown it 
 there upon his return from school when the sound 
 of sleigh-bells was heard approaching the door. 
 
 "0 dear!" he exclaimed, "there comes father, 
 and I'm not ready. Mother, help me put this on, 
 won't you?" 
 
 "Mother "lent her assistance, and the slamming 
 of doors which followed proved that it was Willie 
 and no one else who was leaving the house. Mrs. 
 Lee uttered a sigh of relief, and sat down ; " Grand-
 
 \\-JIAT J/.17v/> .1 (, 
 
 pa Harris'' resumed his spectacles and his reading, 
 and all was quiet for two hours. At the end of that 
 time Willie returned, and with him, what was not so 
 welcome, the noise. 
 
 ""Willie," said his grandfather after supper, when 
 he and the little boy had been left alone together, 
 "you have not been a very good soldier to-da}'. 
 You have been wounding a number of your friends 
 without cause." 
 
 " How is that, sir ?" asked Willie, (he never spoke 
 disrespectfully to his grandfather.) 
 
 " Don't you remember my saying the other day 
 that all who live in the world are soldiers, fighting 
 together the battle of life ? Every family is a com- 
 pany in a great army. Now, what would you think 
 of a soldier in camp who should suddenly rise, with- 
 out any reason for so doing, and begin to attack the 
 members of his own company ; drawing his sword 
 over one, sticking his bayonet into another, and fir- 
 ing at a third ? You would say that the man was 
 beside himself. Yet this is exactly what you have 
 been doing all day. Why, just think how many 
 persons' feelings you have injured only this after- 
 noon. First, you displeased your mother \vh- n you
 
 WHAT MAKES A GENTLEMAN? 35 
 
 awoke the baby so rudely ; then you hindered your 
 sister with her work, and stopped your grandfather's 
 reading ; after that, you offended Sarah by speaking 
 to her so unkindly; and at the tea-table you made 
 your little sister very uncomfortable by laughing at 
 a slight mistake she made. Ah ! my boy, if you 
 mean to be a gentleman when you grow up, you 
 must begin by being gentle now. I remember, 
 when I was a boy" Willie's eyes brightened 
 "there were two boys attending the same school 
 that I did, who were unlike in every respect. One 
 of them was from the country a farmer's son. His 
 clothes were of plain homespun, his boots coarse and 
 heavy, and his short, bushy hair always stood out 
 straight from his head. He knew nothing about the 
 customs of what is termed polite society ; yet, if the 
 most important thing in the character of a gentle- 
 man is, as I lately read, ' a respect for the feelings 
 of others,' he was truly a gentleman. He never 
 lost an opportunity of doing any one a kindness, 
 and he was careful not to displease even the small- 
 est child in the school. Of course, Mike, as we 
 called him, was a general favorite and had plenty of 
 friends. The other boy, Alfred, had been brought
 
 86 uv/.ir .v.iA'/.N A t;n.\TLi-:u.\\? 
 
 up among the refinements of city life. He knew 
 how to bow politely, and to dance gracefully, and to 
 .: pleasant, smooth-sounding words. His cloth- 
 ing was always in the newest style, and his toilet 
 made with the greatest care. Those who had 
 him only a few times thought him a model of polite- 
 ness. Yet a more selfish, disobliging boy it would 
 be hard to find. He cared nothing for the wishes of 
 others so long as he could please himself, and did 
 whatever his fancy led him to do, even though it 
 were at the expense of offending those whom he 
 called bis friends. I learned from observing those 
 two boys that true politeness consists not in outward 
 manners, but in real kindness of heart in the de- 
 sire and effort to make others happy. Willie, my 
 boy, you must be more gentle." 
 
 "Willie promised to try. It is to be hoped he will 
 succeed " The fruit of the Spirit is gentleness."
 
 HE short winter day was over. The sun 
 had gone down below the western hills, 
 and "left the world to darkness." The 
 wind moaned through the branches of the leafless 
 trees, and by turns roared and whistled in the 
 chimney. It was dreary without, but within the 
 fire was brightly glowing in the grate, and a group 
 of happy faces surrounded it, where a mother had 
 gathered her little ones around her to spend the 
 twilight hour in quiet talk. The various pleasures 
 of the day were recounted. Charles told what " a 
 splendid time " he had had skating, and how he had 
 " beaten " all the boys in a race on the ice ; Jennie 
 repeated the praises Aunt Fanny had bestowed on 
 her favorite doll ; Ella related an amusing story she
 
 y.i/./r 
 
 1 iad read, and Jeinmie, the youngest, gave a:: 
 count of a battle which had occurred between his 
 dog Carlo and his sister's kitten. 
 
 The mother listened kindly and attentively to all 
 these narratives, and then herself began to speak 
 upon more serious subjects. 
 
 It was Saturday evening ; and, as it was her cus- 
 tom to do at the close of every week, she requested 
 of her children to repeat the lesson he was to 
 recite on the morrow. This they enjoyed doing ; for 
 they had thoroughly committed to memory their 
 hymns and verses, and had only to open their 
 mouths and let the words fall from their lips. But 
 they were especially glad when " mother " lifted the 
 catechism from the table near her, and began to find 
 the place by the light of the fire. They were sure 
 that she would have something to tell them which 
 would make the lesson plainer and more interest- 
 ing ; and they were not disappointed. 
 
 The subject that evening was Thankfulness, and 
 
 the first question, which was addressed to Charles, 
 
 was this : " Since we are delivered from our misery, 
 
 merely of grace through Christ, why must we still 
 
 AH! works?"
 
 AN EVENING TALK. 39 
 
 The answer came promptly : " Because that 
 Christ, having redeemed and delivered us, also re- 
 news us." The others were then questioned in turn, 
 and again Charles was asked, " Why does Christ 
 renew us by the Holy Spirit after his own image ?" 
 and the answer came as quickly as before, "That 
 so we may express our gratitude to God for his 
 blessings." 
 
 Here the mother closed the book. " "We will stop 
 here," she said ; " for I want to talk with you a little 
 while about what you have recited. 
 
 "You know that there are many people in the 
 world who imagine that their own good works will 
 take them to heaven. You have heard of the hea- 
 then in far-off India, who run iron hooks into their 
 bodies, perform painful journeys by rolling them- 
 selves over the ground, throw themselves beneath 
 the wheels of the car of their god Juggernaut, and 
 torment themselves in various ways, hoping that the 
 sufferings which they undergo will secure their hap- 
 piness hereafter. You have heard of the old Eoman 
 Catholic monks who shut themselves up in convent- 
 cells, denied themselves food when they were hun- 
 gry, and sleep when they were weary, repeated
 
 40 TALK. 
 
 prayers without number, and punished thorns- 
 for their sins by all the methods which they could 
 nt, expecting thus to win the favor of God. 
 you, perhaps, have heard people, who ought to 
 know better than these heathen devotees and Catho- 
 lic monks, say, with apparent sincerity, 'Well, I try 
 to do as well as I can, and I think that I will come 
 out right at last.' But all these are very greatly mis- 
 taken. Nothing that they can do, either to torture 
 themselves or to benefit others, will be of any ac- 
 count when they come to die; for the Bible, you 
 know, says : * By grace are ye saved, through faith ; 
 and that not of yourselves : it is the gift of God.' 
 Yet, although heaven has been purchased for us, al- 
 though salvation is freely offered to us, we can not, 
 for this reason, live lives of wickedness, saying to 
 ourselves that God is so merciful that we shall be 
 safe in the end. Indeed, no true Christian would 
 desire to do this. Having received so many bless- 
 ings from the Father above, he would ever desire to 
 please him by doing the things which he loves, and 
 avoiding sin, which he hates. But he will not try to 
 do good in order by so doing to win for himself a 
 home in heaven ; for that is already his, purchased
 
 AN EVENING TALE. 41 
 
 by the price paid on Calvary. I remember once 
 reading a story which "will show you what I mean 
 by this. 
 
 " Many years ago, there lived in a distant Eastern 
 city a little boy named Ozair. His home was a pa- 
 lace, whose richly sculptured walls, long and elegant 
 galleries, costly furniture, and beautiful gardens were 
 the pride of its owner, the king of the country. 
 Golden fountains glittered in the marble courts, 
 splendid ornaments were everywhere scattered in 
 profusion, the fragrance of many perfumes filled the 
 air, and singing-birds and sweet-toned instruments 
 poured forth continual streams of enchanting melody. 
 But amid all this magnificence Ozair was unhappy. 
 To him the palace was a prison, the armed men who 
 guarded it were jailers, his silken robes were galling 
 fetters ; for the boy was a slave. He was young ; 
 but it seemed to him that ages had gone by since he 
 had last received a mother's kiss or seen a father's 
 smile since the bright spring morning when his pa- 
 rents, in their lonely mountain hut, had been seized, 
 and carried he knew not whither by the soldiers of 
 the king, and he, their only child, had been taken, a 
 captive, to the dwelling of the monarch, that he
 
 AN /:}'/:. \f.\i; TALK. 
 
 might amuse him by his presence and delight him by 
 his beauty. Since then years had passed; but the 
 boy still longed for his mountain-home, for a sight 
 of the trees beneath which he had once played, of 
 the rocks on which he had once climbed, of the rip- 
 pling stream which had run by his father's door. If 
 he could only again be free, he thought, he would 
 ask for nothing beside. But it was in vain, he knew, 
 to wish for liberty ; he must remain an unwilling in- 
 habitant of a palace, a slave in the home of a prince. 
 But after some time had elapsed, another and more 
 powerful ruler, from a far-off land, came on a 
 to the king. lie came in great state, attended by 
 many followers, and bringing costly presents, the 
 products of the country which he governed, lie 
 remained a number of weeks, winning, by his gen- 
 tleness and courteousness, the respect and love of all 
 who approached him. One morning, as the two 
 kings were conversing together, the guest said to his 
 friend : ' You have a child among your servants 
 whom I should like to have for my own. If you 
 will sell him, I will give you whatever price you 
 may ask. I mean the boy Ozair.' The monareh, 
 replying that he valued the young captive highly,
 
 AN EVENING TALK. 43 
 
 named a very large sum as the price he would de- 
 mand. This the other did not scruple to pay ; so 
 Ozair was sold. ' Now,' said his new owner, ' let the 
 child be brought.' The boy came at the summons, 
 expecting to be required to perform some office of 
 duty for his late master ; but what was his surprise 
 to be addressed in such words as these : ' Ozair, I 
 have bought you from your lord the king. You are 
 no longer to be a slave, but are to be my son. I will 
 take you to my home, bring you up with my own 
 children, and educate you as a prince.' The child 
 could do nothing but weep tears of joy and grati- 
 tude. He believed every word that he had heard ; 
 he knew that the king was too good and too kind to 
 deceive him, but he could hardly realize that he, the 
 orphan captive, had become the son of a mighty 
 king. Yet so it was. ' My father,' he exclaimed, ' I 
 can do nothing but love thee ; that will I do all the 
 days of my life.' Before a great while, the monarch, 
 taking with him his newly-adopted son, set out upon 
 his return. The journey was long and difficult. The 
 road lay sometimes across a pathless desert, some- 
 times through gloomy forests, the abodes of savage 
 beasts. But Ozair never complained either of the
 
 tediousness or of the perils of the 
 going to his father's house, and the thought filled 
 him with happiness continually. Besides, the kind 
 ut to whose home he was traveling was with 
 him as he journeyed thither, and, trusting to his care 
 and protection, he felt that he was safe. At length 
 they reached the city where the king abode, the ca- 
 pital of the country. Ozair was immediately con- 
 ducted to the palace, which was far more magnificent 
 than the one in which his boyhood had been passed. 
 Its splendor might be imagined, but never described. 
 As the child beheld it, he was filled with amazement, 
 and cried out, * How can I ever be thankful enough 
 to him who has brought me to such a home as this ?' 
 And the boy's after-life proved that his words were 
 sincere. No task was too difficult for him to under- 
 take, no danger too great for him to encounter, no 
 burden too heavy for him to bear, if only he could, 
 in some way, express his gratitude to the one who 
 had redeemed him from bondage, and made him his 
 son and heir. If the king was sick, Ozair watched 
 over him ; if weary, he entertained him with read- 
 ing or music; if troubled with the affairs of the 
 realm, he assisted him as much as possible in trans-
 
 AN EVENING TALK. 45 
 
 acting his business. Once, -when his brothers had 
 conspired to take their father's life and to seize upon 
 the throne, Ozair, discovering their plan, revealed it 
 to the king, and thus prevented its execution. 
 
 "But it would take too long a time to tell you of 
 all the ways in which this boy proved his thankful- 
 ness. I can only say that he constantly showed it 
 throughout his whole life. He endeavored always 
 to please the king by every means in his power; 
 and he did so, not that he might secure the palace as 
 his own it was already his ; not that he might be 
 declared heir to the throne he knew that if he lived 
 he should some day ascend it. He tried only to 
 manifest his love. 
 
 " And in this," the mother continued, " the heir 
 to an earthly crown was not unlike those who have 
 been adopted into the family of the great Father in 
 heaven. They endeavor, not to win his love, but 
 only to thank him for it ; not to assure themselves 
 of a home above, but to become worthy of it ; not 
 to secure their own freedom from the bondage of sin, 
 for they have been redeemed with a price more pre- 
 cious than silver and gold, but only to live as chil- 
 dren of God ; and living thus, they shall one day
 
 46 AN EVENING 7-1 
 
 become 'kings and priests' unto the Lord in the 
 'house not made with hands, eternal in the hea- 
 vens.' " 
 
 Just then the shutting of the gate was heard, in 
 the dusky light & tall form was seen coming up the 
 gravel walk, and the children, shouting, "Papa 
 come !" ran to meet him at the door.
 
 VI. 
 
 T is the easiest thing in the world for some 
 people to make a promise. They - will 
 say Yes or No to any thing that may be 
 asked of them, sometimes knowing what they say, 
 but often without knowing ; sometimes intending to 
 keep their word, and sometimes without thinking or 
 caring any thing about it. Such persons are usually 
 very polite and pleasant, full of smiles and soft 
 words, and, if one could only rely upon them, they 
 would be very obliging for, you know, they will 
 promise any thing. But there is just the difficulty ; 
 for these easy-tempered, good-natured people who 
 never can bear to say No are oftentimes so very easy- 
 tempered that they are able to utter a falsehood as
 
 UK <,IllL WE D NOT BE TRU* i 
 
 easily as a truth, and feel no disturbance of con- 
 science whatever. 
 
 -sic Hill's character, it must be confessed, was 
 such a one as has just been described. She was a 
 child whom every one loved ; for she seemed to love 
 every one, and she appeared so anxious to please, so 
 unwilling to be disobliging, that one who had known 
 her only a short time might have considered her dis- 
 position very nearly perfect. Yet, if Mr. A., her 
 music teacher, had been questioned as to what he 
 knew of Bessie, he might have told how every week 
 for a whole quarter she had repeatedly promised to 
 practise for an hour each day, and how, every week 
 in the quarter, she had failed to keep her word, until 
 at length his patience would have been completely 
 exhausted had not his little pupil renewed more 
 earnestly than ever the assurance that she would 
 really try to do better. Yet he knew that while he 
 hoped for the best, his hope was doomed to be disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 And Miss Ellers, who every Sabbath went to Sun- 
 day-school thinking, " How glad I will be if Bessie 
 has learned her lesson, as she said she would do," 
 and every Sabbath went away sorry because of Bes-
 
 THE GIRL WHO COULD NOT BE TRUSTED. 49 
 
 sie's broken promise ; and Mrs. Banks, who day 
 after day worried through one imperfect recitation 
 after another in the constant expectation of an im- 
 provement which it seemed must come, it had been 
 so often promised both of these might have agreed 
 with Mr. A. in saying that Bessie was certainly the 
 most amiable of all their pupils, but, at the same 
 time, the most unreliable. Bessie's mother, too, 
 mourned over this fault of her child, and tried, but 
 tried in vain, to help the little girl to overcome it. 
 She would persist in promising to meet her school- 
 mates at certain hours and places, and in then going 
 home and forgetting all about her engagements, leav- 
 ing her friends to wonder where Bessie Hill could 
 be. And she would not give up her habit of run- 
 ning over to Aunt Hester's in the morning and say- 
 ing, "Auntie, I will come and play with the baby 
 this afternoon," when she knew very well that, when 
 afternoon came, the baby would probably be left to 
 amuse himself, while his little cousin across the 
 street was occupied with some new toy or book, just 
 as though she had made no promise at all. At last 
 Bessie found out by experience what her friends had
 
 60 TIH: aiiiL try. D NOT 11 TI:D. 
 
 so long been trying to teach her, that it was very 
 important that she should learn to keep her word. 
 
 uong Bessie's companions was one whom she 
 often visited, and whose home was at some distance 
 from Mr. II ill's. The road over which it was neces- 
 sary to pass in going from one house to the other 
 was a lonely one, and Bessie had been often told 
 that it was not safe for her to attempt to go back 
 and forth alone. There was usually some one will- 
 ing to accompany her, and she was too young to be 
 without protection. So it happened that one plea- 
 sant Saturday morning her father said: "Come, 
 Bessie, I am going to take a long ride to-day. If 
 you would like to go and see Mary Brown, (for that 
 was the little girl's name,) I will leave you there on 
 my way, and stop for you on my return." 
 
 " Thank you, father," answered Bessie. " I would 
 like it very much." So the arrangement was made. 
 " Now, you will be sure to wait for me this after- 
 noon, will you not? 1 ' said the gentleman to his 
 daughter as he left her at Mr. Brown's door. "Oh ! 
 yes, father, I will wait, of course," Bessie replied, 
 and for once she really intended to keep her word. 
 But when afternoon came, and with it no appearance
 
 THE GIRL WHO COULD NOT BE TRUSTED. 51 
 
 of her father, Bessie began to grow impatient. She 
 suddenly remembered an arithmetic lesson which 
 she had promised to learn for the next Monday, and 
 which she had not before thought of, and she felt 
 slightly uneasy in regard to the verse which she had 
 assured Miss Ellers she would be able to recite on 
 the next day, and which now for the first time came 
 to her recollection. You see her conscience was not 
 quite dead after all, only it troubled her at the 
 wrong time. However that may be, Bessie im- 
 agined that she had a sufficient excuse for not keep- 
 ing the promise to her father, as by observing that 
 she would be in danger of breaking two others 
 made before it ; so she said to Mary : " Mary, I 
 don't believe father will be here till evening, and 
 mother will be anxious about me, so I am going 
 home. See, it is growing dark already." Neither 
 Mary nor herself knew that the darkness was caused 
 by the gathering storm, and not by the approach of 
 night. So Bessie set out on her return, feeling, 
 meanwhile, very guilty and unhappy. She had not 
 gone more than half-way before the rain-drops began 
 to fall. They came faster and faster until the single 
 drops became torrents of water. Bessie took shelter
 
 52 THE GIRL WHO COULD NOT BK TIU'^TED. 
 
 umler a large tree, and looked about her in dismay. 
 Above her all was blackness, around her the pour- 
 ing rain. The branches over her head swayed to 
 and fro in thfc wind until Bessie was afraid that they 
 might fall and crush her, and the rain penetrated be- 
 neath them, and came and made a little pool at her 
 Bessie remembered the story of the flood 
 which had once been sent to punish people for their 
 wickedness, and she began to fear that the water 
 around her would continue to rise gradually until 
 she should be swallowed up in the waves, just like 
 the transgressors who were drowned in the time of 
 Noah. She was in the act of looking about her to 
 see whether there might not be a board that she 
 could get to float upon, as some were represented as 
 doing in the picture in the larga Bible at home, 
 when suddenly the sky grew brighter, the clouds 
 overhead began to break and move away, and be- 
 fore her, reaching from the glowing hills in the east 
 higher and higher up along the brightening heavens 
 shone, all the more beautiful for the darkness that 
 had gone before, a rainbow. Bessie was comforted. 
 "How foolish I was," she said to herself; "I might 
 have known that there could not be another flood ; for
 
 THE GIRL WHO COULD NOT BE TRUSTED. 53 
 
 God promised Noah, that there never should be one 
 again. I remember now that the rainbow was the 
 sign of the promise." And as Bessie thought of the 
 faithfulness of the great Father in keeping his word 
 to his children, and of how far she had been from 
 imitating his example, she began to cry. As she 
 stood there under the tree, the very image of distress, 
 troubled with mingled sorrow for her naughtiness and 
 anxiety to reacli her home, Dr. Burroughs came rid- 
 ing slowly along, his old gray horse looking almost 
 as rueful as Bessie herself, and his gig bespattered 
 with mud from top to bottom. 
 
 " What ! little girl, out here in this storm ? Cry- 
 ing, too I "Well, I don't wonder. Jump in here by 
 me, and I'll take you where you can get some dry 
 clothes. Strange that your mother should let you 
 be out when she saw the shower coming on." " She 
 didn't let me," sobbed Bessie, " I promised father to 
 wait for him at Mr. Brown's, and, instead of that, 
 I started alone. I'm so sorry." "Yes, I should 
 think you would be," said the doctor. He was a 
 kind-hearted man, but not sparing of his words. " I 
 guess you will remember to keep your promise the 
 next time you make one. When people neglect to
 
 M ////; '///J/. \YlIu ffU'I.D NOT BE TRUS1 
 
 their word, they generally get iuto trouble." 
 And with this remark the doctor left Bessie to h<-r 
 own reflections, not speaking again till he came be- 
 fore her own home. There he put her down, say- 
 ing: "Let me give you one piece of advice, little 
 girl. Never make a promise unless you mean to 
 keep it, and never break a promise after it is made.' 1 
 Bessie entered the house feeling very miserable and 
 forlorn, but, it is to be hoped, a wiser and a better 
 girl than when she had left it in the morning. 
 
 Reader, whoever you may be, whether boy or 
 girl, if you would be happy and prosperous in this 
 world ; if you would enjoy the confidence of your 
 friends would win the favor of the God above, 
 speak always the "truth in the love of it" Be so 
 honest, so upright in your engagements that all who 
 know you may be able to trust in your good faith, 
 your fidelity to your word. Remember that " it is 
 better not to vow than to vow and not perform," 
 and that "the seat of faithfulness is in the heart 
 where God's Holy Spirit dwells;" for "the fruit of 
 the Spirit is faith."
 
 vn. 
 
 VERY boy and girl knows how short a day 
 Saturday always is ; how quickly the 
 hours fly away, and how little time there 
 is for any thing beside play. Lucy Brown under- 
 stood this as thoroughly as any little girl could. She 
 knew very well that, if she began in the morning by 
 dressing dolls, or reading story-books, or playing 
 games, somehow or another the sun was very likely 
 to set, and bedtime to come before she had even 
 thought of learning her Sunday-school lesson. Yet, 
 no one would have supposed that Lucy had ever 
 made this discovery ; for she always acted as if she 
 believed that the last day of the week would be, by 
 some means, lengthened out twice as long as any 
 other as if, indeed, it could have no end. The par-
 
 56 A wvi. 
 
 .r Saturday of which we arc speaking she had 
 passed very much as many others before it She 
 had trimmed a walking-suit for tho waxen Emma, 
 and made a new bonnet for china Susie, and a white 
 apron for the crying doll. She had played hide-and- 
 seek with Charlie, and was just in the midst of an 
 enchanting fairy tale, when, noticing that it 
 growing dark surprisingly early, she suddenly recol- 
 lected her Sunday-school lesson. The fairy-book 
 was laid aside, and her little pocket Bible easily 
 found ; for among Lucy's faults was not the one of 
 being disorderly. 
 
 She had just taken her seat close by the window, 
 and begun to study very earnestly, when Charlie en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 Now, Charlie was not a bad boy, nor an ugly one, 
 but he did love to tease his sister. Not that he de- 
 lighted to give any one pain he would have scorned 
 to hurt even a fly; not that, in other respects, he 
 was ungentlemanly, but then, it was such fun to see 
 Lucy frown and to hear her say, " Now, don't I'' 
 Charlie had yet to learn to obey the Saviour's words, 
 "All things whatsoever ye would that men should 
 do to you, do ye even so to them."
 
 A WORD LEFT OUT. 57 
 
 On this afternoon the spirit of mischief appeared 
 to have taken possession of him. Walking to the 
 window, as if for the purpose of raising the shade, 
 he contrived to draw Lucy's net off her head. 
 
 "0 Charlie!" said the little girl pettishly, "just 
 see what you've done." 
 
 " I can't help it. You oughtn't to be in my way, 
 then ; let me move you a little." And suiting the 
 action to the word, this polite young gentleman at- 
 tempted to alter the position of his sister's chair. 
 
 " Charlie Brown, do keep still, won't you?" 
 
 " Oh! yes, I'll keep still," was the irritating reply, 
 and, placing himself between the window and Lucy's 
 book, Charlie remained quiet for the space of about 
 one minute and a half. Lucy could bear the inter- 
 ruption no longer. " I do wish you would get out 
 of my light ; you know I want to study my lesson." 
 
 The only reply brought forth by this remark was, 
 that Lucy's book was suddenly snatched away from 
 her and carried across the room. Tne loud expres- 
 sions of indignation which followed drew Mrs. Brown 
 to the scene. 
 
 "Charlie I Lucy ! what is the matter ?" 
 
 "I was only trying to study, and Charlie annoys
 
 58 A iro:. 
 
 me every way he can. I don't believe be likes me 
 at all." 
 
 Charlie was sent to bis own room in disgrace. As 
 for Lucy, considering her brother entirely at fault, 
 and herself very much injured and abused, she was 
 quite surprised to find that her mother regarded her 
 with e'vident displeasure. 
 
 "Come here, Lucy," said Mrs. Brown, after a 
 pause, during which her little girl had been wonder- 
 ing what she had done that was so very wrong; " if 
 you know your Sunday-school lesson, I will hear you 
 recite it now. Where is it ?" 
 
 " It is the twenty-second and twenty-third verses 
 of the fifth chapter of Galatians." 
 
 " Very well ; I have found it You may com- 
 mence." 
 
 Lucy began : " The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, 
 peace, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, tem- 
 perance : against such there is no law." 
 
 " That is not quite correct. You have omitted a 
 very important word long-suffering. If you had 
 noticed that one word, and thought about its mean- 
 ing, you would have had no trouble with Charlie." 
 
 " Why, mother, I don't know bow I could have
 
 A WORD LEFT OUT. 59 
 
 helped having trouble with Mm. He was so pro- 
 voking." 
 
 " Yes, my dear. But suppose that, instead of be- 
 ing provoked, you had shown a little patience, a little 
 forbearance ; suppose that you had spoken pleasantly 
 to him, instead of becoming fretted and angry, do 
 you think he would have continued to annoy you ? 
 I know he would not But even if he had done so, 
 would it not still have been better to bear his teasing 
 with long-suffering than to act as you did? You 
 would, at least, have shown that your lesson had 
 been of some use to you. I was reading this morn- 
 ing in the New Testament an account of something 
 that happened while Jesus was on earth. He was 
 on his way to Jerusalem to be crucified, and, coming 
 to a village in Samaria, he sent messengers into it to 
 announce that he would stop there, and to prepare 
 for his arrival. But the people of the village, who 
 hated all Jews, would not allow him to enter. The 
 disciples, James and John, were so indignant at this 
 treatment of their Master, that they wanted to call 
 down fire from heaven to consume those who had 
 acted so unkindly. But Jesus rebuked them, say- 
 ing, that he had ' conic not to destroy men's lives,
 
 60 A WORD LEFT Ol 
 
 but to save them.' lie had done these Samaritans 
 no wrong, yet he bore their ill-treatment patiently. 
 Ought not we, who are by no means perfect our- 
 selves, to show forbearance toward one another? 
 
 " Our lives and all our blessings are continued to 
 us only through the long-suffering of God ; yet wo 
 are very ready to find fault with others who are not 
 greater sinners than ourselves. If we really love one 
 another, we shall try not to be so quickly angry at 
 every little deed of unkindness or thoughtlessness. 
 ' Hatred stirreth up strifes : but love covereth all sins.' 
 1 Charity suffereth long.' "
 
 VIII. 
 
 OGEE MOEELY was, by far, the best 
 scholar in Mr. Whitner's school. No 
 one of his classmates could perform so 
 rapidly or accurately the examples in the " Higher 
 Arithmetic," or give so good a translation of the 
 more difficult passages in " Caesar's Commentaries," 
 or so correct an account of the principal events in 
 ancient history as he. None of them had earned 
 so many compliments. from the writing-master, nor 
 gained so many prizes for declamation, nor been so 
 often commended for good deportment. In short, he 
 he had become quite an object of admiration, as well 
 to himself as to his companions ; for Koger was by 
 no means unconscious of his superior scholarship,
 
 .1 . /.'}'. 
 
 aii'l was fill' "f the importance to which it 
 
 entitled him. It had not been without effect that 
 Mr. "Whitner had rq>catedly pronounced him "a 
 model worthy of imitation ;" and that, at the quar- 
 terly examination, Squire Tupman had several times 
 patted him on the head, saying, "I am pleased to 
 hear so good an account of you, Roger;" and that 
 he had more than once overheard his mother telling 
 some of the neighbors " how steady and quiet her 
 son was quite unlike other boys; for he always 
 spent his evenings at home, engaged in his stu 
 and never annoyed her with teasing or mischief- 
 making, as his brother William had done ever since 
 he was two years old." 
 
 Of course, it was not strange that Roger had come 
 to consider all this praise as quite proper and natural, 
 and had learned to expect it as the due reward for 
 his exemplary conduct. But, one day, the feeling 
 of satisfaction with which he usually regarded him- 
 self was suddenly destroyed. 
 
 It was a day in the month of December. The 
 weather was just that sort of weather which makes 
 the face of every one who ventures out of doors 
 grow unnaturally i".-v. and fills the minds of <L
 
 A DISCOVERY. 63 
 
 with anticipations of "glorious fan," and draws the 
 garments of the poor very closely around their shi- 
 vering forms, and sends suffering and want into 
 many homes, where the last crust has been taken 
 from the closet to satisfy the cravings of hunger, and 
 the last ember smoking in the fireplace has died for 
 want of company. But Roger set out for school, 
 regardless of the cold, thinking how he would sur- 
 prise Mr. Whitner and the boys when he told them 
 that he had worked out an example which his class- 
 mates had been vainly trying to perform, and carry- 
 ing his head with an air which seemed to say, "How 
 far superior I am to every one around me 1" 
 
 He went on in this way until he came in sight of 
 the school-house. A group of boys were gathered 
 around the door, watching the approach of every 
 new-comer. 
 
 As Eoger drew near, he overheard the remark, ac- 
 companied by a sneering laugh, "Oh! here comes 
 the model scholar; see how straight he walks!" 
 "No matter," said Roger to himself; but just as he 
 had begun to think how he should have revenge for 
 the idle word, his foot slipped on the icy pavement, 
 and down he fell to the ground. Such a laugh as
 
 C4 A DISCO VKliY. 
 
 from the group at the door I It was much 
 harder to bear than the fall. Roger thought he was 
 justified in being cross all day. 
 
 "Roger," said Willie Smith, at recess, "will you 
 please help me a little with this Latin sentence ? I 
 puzzled over it last night for half an hour or more." 
 
 " Get your own Latin sentence," was the amiable 
 reply; "I have as much as I can do to learn my 
 own lessons, without troubling myself about other 
 people's." 
 
 Willie turned away with a disappointed air, and 
 Roger went to his seat whistling and feeling happy 
 and contented, do you suppose ? Far from it ; feel- 
 ing just as miserable as it is possible for a boy to be. 
 
 For once, he was actually dissatisfied with himself. 
 Yet, when the bell rang, he caught up his arithmetic 
 with eagerness, and went to the recitation, thinking 
 that the time to avenge himself had come. But 
 when he began to explain the difficult problem, great 
 was his mortification to find that the secret trouble 
 in his mind had banished all other thoughts, and he 
 was obliged to confess himself unable to perform the 
 example. Roger would much rather have fallen 
 upon the sidewalk a dozen times than thus to fall in
 
 A DISCOVERT. 65 
 
 the estimation of his schoolmates, and in his own as 
 well. But what was done could not be helped, he 
 reasoned ; and being determined to conceal his dis- 
 appointment as much as possible, after school was 
 dismissed he started for the skating-pond, according 
 to an agreement made with his comrades the day be- 
 fore. But in some places the ice was rough, and in 
 others there were wide cracks, and to Eoger the 
 rough parts seemed rougher, and the cracks wider 
 than to any of his companions. Perhaps it was be- 
 cause he was cold, probably it was because that, not 
 being on good terms with the other boys, they bad 
 left him to enjoy his own society, which, on this par- 
 ticular day, was not the pleasantest imaginable. 
 But, whatever may have been the cause of so un- 
 usual an occurrence, Roger soon pulled off his skates 
 and went home, having come to the conclusion that 
 it was useless for him to endeavor to be happy when 
 no one treated him with kindness or politeness. Yet, 
 he could not have complained of the want of either 
 when his sister Ella met him at the door, and offered 
 to put away his hat and gloves. 
 
 "Get out of my way, will you? Don't keep me 
 standing here in the cold."
 
 66 A i ;:Y. 
 
 Ella opened her blu* :y \vi<le indeed at the 
 
 unexpected salutation, but said nothing. Her for- 
 bearance only irritated her brother the more, and he 
 was just upon the point of saying something still more 
 ungentlemanly than the previous remark, when, sud- 
 denly recollecting himself, he turned, with a genuine 
 blush of shame, and rushed up-stairs to his own 
 room. 
 
 Ho was thoroughly and utterly unhappy, at peace 
 neither with himself nor with any one else. Roger 
 threw himself upon a sofa, and actually cried him- 
 self to sleep. As he slept, he dreamed that he was 
 at the foot of a high mountain, the sides of which 
 were covered with groves of flowering trees. All 
 around him were a multitude of men, women, and 
 children ; some of them disputing with their neigh- 
 bors, some finding fault with their condition, others 
 apparently enraged at their own misdoings, but all, 
 undoubtedly, the victims of angry passion. A 
 them, on the slope of the mountain, might be seen 
 another assembly, fewer in number and more orderly 
 in appearance. All of this group were so evidently 
 in a state of enjoyment, some of them conver 
 with their companions, others sitting quietly in the
 
 A DISCOVERT. 67 
 
 shade of the overhanging branches of the trees, or 
 seeking shelter from the heat beneath some over- 
 hanging rock, that Eoger determined to join them. 
 But upon reaching a gateway through which it was 
 necessary to pass, he found it closed and locked, and 
 upon it this inscription : 
 
 " This road to the Mountain of Peace doth lead : 
 Whoe'er would tread it must now give heed 
 
 To the words that are written hereon : 
 Seek peace with your God, with yourself, and witli men, 
 Lest haply your striving be all in vain 
 To reach the mountain beyond." 
 
 Koger was just beginning to consider how he 
 should follow these directions, when suddenly he 
 awoke. His dream had passed, as dreams do ; but 
 the lesson it taught him remained. 
 
 Only those who have been reconciled to God 
 through the Lord Jesus Christ can possess that 
 "peace which passeth all understanding." "The 
 works of the flesh are anger, wrath, strife ; but the 
 fruit of the Spirit is peace."
 
 IX. 
 
 OME, boys, let's go and rest awhile. I 
 think it's too warm to play ; don't 
 you?" 
 
 So said Henry Rivers to the friends who had come 
 to spend Saturday afternoon with him. 
 
 " I do." " Yes." " A great deal." 
 
 The three answers being given immediately and 
 all together, Henry was assured that the party were 
 of but one opinion, and accordingly led the way to 
 the library, where, as he said, it was always cool. 
 The others Charles Harker, James Contrell, and 
 Hubert Gray followed. They entered rather un- 
 ceremoniously, and were somewhat surprised at find- 
 ing the room already occupied. 
 
 " Come in, boys, come in I Glad to see you. Sit
 
 UNCLE DENNIS AND THE BOYS. 69 
 
 down and amuse yourselves just as if I were not 
 here." 
 
 Uncle Dennis spoke so pleasantly that the boys 
 easily regained their composure, and, seating them- 
 selves, began a lively conversation. They talked 
 about this thing and that; about what they had 
 seen and what they had heard ; about what they 
 had done, what they meant to do, and what they in- 
 tended to be. The last topic engaged them longest. 
 Perhaps you would like to hear what they wanted 
 to make of themselves. 
 
 " I," said Hubert, " intend to be a sailor a sea- 
 captain, as my father is. I should like to travel 
 around the world; to see the British Isles, and 
 France, and Spain, and Italy; to double the Cape 
 of Good Hope, and sail over the Indian Ocean ; to 
 see for myself how people drink tea in China, and 
 whether our antipodes that Professor Dunton talks 
 so much about are not really in danger of falling off 
 the earth. When I had been long enough in the 
 East, I would just cross the Pacific and come back 
 again to the Western Continent. Then, perhaps, I 
 would sail up toward the North Pole and find out 
 what became of Sir John Franklin. After that, I
 
 70 CTA Y.Y/X .i.v// 77//; BOYS. 
 
 would come home to tell travelers' stories, and rest 
 '.fd with my laurels. Wouldn't that Vxj fine 
 inn, boys? and would not you like to take passage 
 in my vessel?" 
 
 yes," answered Charles, ".I should be delighted 
 to go with you; but the trouble is, that it would re- 
 quire too much time. For my part, I am determined 
 to be rieh. I intend to be a merchant-prince, and to 
 make myself the owner of millions of money, and a 
 great many houses and land. Then I will live in 
 a palace, and have horses and carriages, and many 
 servants. Of course, every body will respect my 
 opinion, and bow to me most politely ; and alto- 
 gether I shall have a very pleasant time." 
 
 " Well," said James, " when you have made your 
 fortune, I hope you will expend a part of it in pur- 
 chasing me a fine, large library, for I hope to be- 
 come a scholar. I should like to be able to under- 
 1 a great many languages, in order to read the 
 best books that have been written in them all ; and 
 ups some day I shall be James Coutrell, LL.l >., 
 author of a number of learned treatises. But, 
 Henry, in what direction do you mean to travel 
 in this voyage of life?"
 
 UNCLE DENNIS AND THE BOYS. 71 
 
 " Ob ! I don't know exactly ; but I think it would 
 be nice to be somebody great. I expect to do some- 
 thing or another that will make every one talk about 
 me, and fill the newspapers with my praises, and 
 draw crowds of people after me wherever I go. 
 Then, when I had made myself famous, I would be 
 nominated for President, and, if I were elected, I 
 should give each of you a place in my Cabinet. 
 Now, tell me if I am not more generous than any 
 of you?" 
 
 The boys smiled rather provokingly ; but just then 
 they observed that Uncle Dennis, whom they had 
 supposed to be engaged in reading, was watching 
 them with an appearance of interest, so they kept 
 silence. The old gentleman laid aside his book, 
 raised his spectacles to his forehead, folded his arms 
 slowly, and said in a tone that invited confidence : 
 
 " Well, my young friends, I can think of some- 
 thing better for each of you than to become such 
 men as you have been describing." 
 
 "What is that, sir?" asked Charles. 
 
 " It is that you should be Christians. Suppose, 
 Hubert, that, when you are grown up, you should 
 become even a greater traveler than you ever dream
 
 ! \\rjj; v;> THE B 
 
 of now. Suppose that you should visit every city 
 on the face of the earth, and voyage from the South 
 Pole to the North, in what place could you expect 
 to find happiness if you did not carry in your own 
 heart 'the peace that passeth all understanding'? 
 And you, Charles, if you should be permitted to be- 
 come the possessor of untold weights of gold and 
 silver, could your money purchase the favor of God, 
 or secure the salvation of your soul ? I need not re- 
 mind James that all worldly knowledge is unsat 
 ing, and not to be compared with the ' wisdom that 
 cometh from above ;' and I hope that Henry, in his 
 visions of future greatness, will not forget the lines 
 of the poem he read to me last evening : 
 
 ' The boast of pageantry, the pomp of power, 
 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 Await alike the inevitable hour : 
 The paths of glory lead bat to the grave.' 
 
 ' Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,' said one who had 
 experienced more than most others of earthly joy ; 
 but, believe me, boys, ' happy is he whose transgres- 
 sion is covered, whose sin is forgiven.' But I sup- 
 pose you all mean to seek religion at some time, do 
 you not ?''
 
 UNCLE DENNIS AND THE BOYS. 73 
 
 The boys nodded assent. 
 
 " Then all I have to say to you is, do not delay, 
 for it is dangerous. I remember reading that once, 
 a great many years ago, one of the dikes of Holland 
 was in need of repair. You know what the dikes 
 are ; they are very large banks, composed of earth, 
 clay, and stone, that have been built in order to pre- 
 vent the sea from overflowing the country, which is 
 low and flat. Well, there was a small hole in one 
 of these dikes ; the water came oozing through 
 slowly, and the people, knowing that this was a 
 sign of danger, held a meeting to consider what was 
 best to be done. But they concluded that they 
 would not be in a hurry about repairing the in- 
 jury ; it was a small one, perhaps only the work of 
 a water-rat ; some future time would do as well as 
 the present. This procrastination was their ruin. 
 While they delayed, the dike grew gradually weak- 
 er and weaker ; and one bright Sabbath evening the 
 sea burst suddenly upon them, overwhelming many 
 towns and ninety villages, and destroying a hundred 
 thousand of the inhabitants. These Hollanders were 
 very foolish, you say; and so they were. But they 
 were not more foolish than you will be if you put
 
 1 U2f> - A.\n Tin: 00] 
 
 off obtaining the forgiveness of your sins. You arc 
 young now, ami death and judgment may seem a 
 i way off. But they may be nearer than you 
 think. Listen now to the invitations of mercy, lest 
 you should some time experience the truth of this 
 terrible threatening : ' Because I have called, and ye 
 refused, I also will laugh at your calamity; I will 
 mock when your fear cometh ; when your fear com- 
 eth as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a 
 whirlwind ; when distress and anguish cometh upon 
 you.' If you want to be saved at last, be Christians 
 now"
 
 X. 
 
 ING- ding ding ! It was time for school 
 to be dismissed. Books were neatly piled 
 together, slates hurried into the desks, 
 sponges and pen-wipers put in their places. 
 
 " Those who have not whispered to-day and who 
 have recited their lessons perfectly may arisa I" Fif 
 teen boys and as many little girls arose from their 
 seats. Miss Crayton began to call their names. As 
 they passed out of the school-room, each one received 
 a card with the word " Perfect " printed upon it 
 
 In the class of honor for the day were a brother 
 and sister George and Lillie Eaymond. Their 
 home was more than a mile distant; so, without 
 stopping to talk or play with the others, they started
 
 76 Till ?0 WAT. 
 
 iinni 'ii their return. As they walked along, 
 
 Lillie held her card in her hun<l, and appeared to 
 take pleasure in looking at it; but George had thrust 
 his into his pocket, as though he were ashamed of 
 being its possessor. Lillie hummed a cheerful tune, 
 but her brother was silent. Pretty soon he ex- 
 claimed, " Lillie, what do you see in that card that 
 is so very attractive ? Any one would suppose that 
 you had never had one before." 
 
 " Oh ! I was just thinking how pleased mother 
 would be to know that we had both been perfect to- 
 day." 
 
 " "Well, the cards won't make her know that All 
 that they do is to help us get out of school early. 
 After we're once dismissed, they're good for nothing, 
 that I know of." 
 
 "They show, at least, that we have tried to do 
 what is right ; that is, if we have been honest about 
 our report But, George, I thought I saw you whis- 
 pering to-day." 
 
 " Well, what if you did ? Miss Crayton didn't." 
 
 "Why, George, I didn't think you would de- 
 ceive 1" 
 
 "That isn't deceiving; it's only whispering. I
 
 THE WRONG WAT. 77 
 
 don't mind talking, or writing notes either, if I'm 
 sure that I won't be caught." 
 
 "Well, I think it's very dishonest. It seems to 
 me like telling a story to break the rules whenever 
 you have a chance, and then to report that you have 
 been perfect." 
 
 " Why, I don't say any thing I only stand up. 
 Standing up isn't telling a story." 
 
 " But, you know, mother says we can act an un- 
 truth as well as speak it, and it seems to me that 
 what you did was acting an untruth. Don't you 
 think so ?" 
 
 George knew very well that he was wrong and his 
 sister right, but he was unwilling to acknowledge 
 this; so he answered with an expression of con- 
 tempt, intended to silence both his sister and his con- 
 science : " Oh ! how particular you girls are. What 
 would have been the use of my staying in that hot 
 room another half-hour just for the sake of being as 
 precise as a Puritan ? It wouldn't have done Miss 
 Crayton any good, nor myself either." 
 
 "But are you sure that it did you no harm to 
 come away ?" 
 
 " Harm ! I should think not. Fresh air .is
 
 78 TIL i r. 
 
 healthier than impure air for a fellow to breathe I" 
 
 And George laughed at what he considered his wit. 
 "Oh! you know what I mean," said Lillie, with a 
 
 look of perplexity on her face, " only you pr 
 
 not to understand me. Are you sure that it did no 
 
 harm to your character?" 
 
 " Well, I guess my character won't suffer. I'm 
 
 as honest as the rest of the boys. They cheat, too, 
 
 when they can." 
 
 " But that doesn't make it right for you to ch> 
 " Well, I'll you what I think I think you ought 
 
 to be a Methodist preacher ; the way you do corner 
 
 a fellow is terrible. I suppose I may as well plead 
 
 guilty." 
 
 "Then, you won't do so again, will you, George?" 
 u No ; not unless it happens to be convenient." 
 " But I'm afraid that it will be convenient, and I 
 
 know it always will be wrong ; so promise mo now, 
 
 won't you?" 
 
 " Well, yes ; I'll promise, if you won't lecture me 
 
 any more." 
 
 The remainder of the walk was spent in pleasant 
 
 conversation upon various subjects, and, on reaching 
 
 home, the children found their mother watching for
 
 THE WRONG WAY. 79 
 
 them at the gate. Lillie held up her card trium- 
 phantly, but George only gave a contemptuous grunt, 
 and turned away with an air that seemed to say,* 
 " Such trifles may do very well to amuse girls and 
 babies ; but we boys are entirely too large to care for 
 any thing of the sort." 
 
 Lillie took no notice of his sneering manner ; but 
 the next morning, as the two approached the school- 
 house, she said warningly, " George, don't forget 
 your promise." 
 
 The only reply was a prolonged whistle, which, to 
 say the least, sounded rather dubious ; but the pair 
 of bright eyes that, from the girls' side of the room, 
 kept watch all day upon a particular desk on the 
 boys' side failed to detect any thing but what was 
 most exemplary in Master Raymond's deportment. 
 Of course, he never said so ; but as this good con- 
 duct continued for days, weeks, months, and even 
 years, Lillie inferred that her brother had come to 
 the conclusion that the honorable course was the 
 manly one, and that, upon the whole, it would be 
 the better plan for him to pursue. 
 
 But it may be that there are other boys and, per- 
 haps, some girls, who think as George did, that it is
 
 t>0 777.' - H. ! ) 
 
 no harm to do a little wrong if they can do it with- 
 out being seen. 
 
 If they break the rules in school, or disobey their 
 parents at home, and succeed in concealing the act, 
 they imagine that they have been very cunning in- 
 deed have done something to boast of rather than 
 to be sorry for. To judge from their behavior, one 
 would imagine that they had been brought up in an- 
 cient Sparta, where children were taught by their 
 parents to commit theft, and were punished if dis- 
 covered. 
 
 But they would not steal, these American boys 
 and girls they are entirely too respectable for that. 
 Oh ! no. They would not steal now, certainly not ; 
 but they will tell what they call a fib, or a white lie, 
 when they are accused of doing a wrong. They will 
 accustom themselves to twisting the truth and mak- 
 ing it appear very different from what it is, and, after 
 a while, they will begin not to steal but to take 
 little things that no one will miss. And then, once 
 having begun, where will they end? How long 
 will it be before they will take things of greater 
 value before they will find themselves on the high 
 road to disgrace and misery? Beware of trifling
 
 THE WRONG WAT. 
 
 81 
 
 with the truth. " It is the first wrong step that 
 costs ;" that once taken, the others are all too easy. 
 Love honesty ; not because it is the best policy, but 
 because it is right and good and safe
 
 XI. 
 
 to 
 
 LL is not gold that glitters," says the 
 proverb, and every one knows that the 
 proverb is true. Especially nowadays, 
 when brass jewelry is made to resemble that of 
 purer metal ; when diamonds are made of paste, and 
 flower-gardens of muslin and paper; when it is hard 
 to tell whether a lady's ringlets are curled by the 
 hand of nature or of the hair-dresser, and whether 
 our morning's beverage is composed of coffee or 
 chiccory it is very difficult, indeed, to distinguish 
 the false from the true, the natural from the artificial. 
 But even before the era of Yankee invention decep- 
 tion was by no means an unknown thing. More 
 than two thousand years ago, David "said in his
 
 WHOM TO BELIEVE. 83 
 
 haste that all men were liars;" and, long before his 
 time, Paradise was lost in consequence of a false- 
 hood. Ever since the fall, the leaves of the rose have 
 concealed the thorn ; ever since the days of the first 
 murderer, men have attempted to deceive not only 
 one another, but even themselves and their Maker. 
 They have been too ready to believe as well as to 
 teach that which is untrue; too willing to receive 
 the doctrines of the ignorant or cunning, rather than 
 the words of those who speak the truth in the love 
 of it. In every age there have been many who have 
 preferred to reverence false gods of man's device 
 rather than the Lord who made the heavens. Not 
 only during the old dispensation was it possible that 
 the chosen people could leave the worship of Jeho- 
 vah to bow before a golden calf; but, strangely 
 enough, ever since the time when He who was " the 
 brightness of the Father's glory, and the express 
 image of his person declared" to us " the only name 
 whereby we can be saved," there have been multi- 
 tudes always eager to follow the " false Christs" and 
 "false prophets" whom he foretold should come and 
 should "deceive many." One of the most notable 
 of these prophets was Mohammed, or, as his name is
 
 84 W/IOM TO /;/:/. //. i 
 
 sometimes written, Mahomet, a word signifying tfte 
 Praised. He lived about thirteen hundred years ago, 
 in Arabia. Ilia birthplace v,. ty of Mecca. 
 
 While he was yet very young, his parents died, and 
 he was left to the care first of his grandfather, 
 of an uncle. Much of Arabia, as is well known, is 
 a vast desert; and the merchants who wish to < 
 it with their goods are accustomed to travel in ; 
 companies, called caravans. In one of these 
 vans Mohammed and his uncle went with some mer- 
 chandise to Syria. There the boy learned something 
 of the Jewish and, perhaps, of the Christian reli- 
 gion. Before, he had known only the worship of his 
 own people, who were idolaters, adoring the in. 
 of men, eagles, lions, antelopes, and other animals, 
 as well as the sun, moon, and stars. Some time after 
 his return to his own country, he married a wealthy 
 widow, whose property relieved him from the neces- 
 sity of being compelled to exert himself for a sup- 
 port. He lived in ease, part of the time in solitude, 
 until he reached the age of forty, when he first an- 
 nounced himself as the founder of a new religion. 
 He taught the people the to them before unknown 
 truth that there is but one God, the Maker of h
 
 WHOM TO BELIEVE. 85 
 
 . and earth ; but he also taught (whether he believed 
 it himself is uncertain) that he was a prophet of the 
 Most High. His creed, which he said had been re- 
 vealed to him by the angel Gabriel, is contained in 
 these few words : " There is no God but God, and 
 Mohammed is his prophet." 
 
 He at first made few converts and many enemies ; 
 but by dint of deceiving his disciples with wonderful 
 accounts of visions and revelations with which he 
 pretended to have been favored, and of promising 
 everlasting happiness to those who believed on him 
 and eternal misery to those who did not, he soon 
 persuaded many to embrace his cause. Those who 
 were not convinced by persuasion were conquered by 
 the sword, and, in the course of a few years, Moham- 
 med became master of the whole of Arabia. Though 
 calling himself a priest of God, he was polluted with 
 the guilt of many murders, having killed, at one 
 time, between six and seven hundred Jews, who 
 were unfortunate enough to have fallen into his 
 hands. Beside this, he committed other crimes, 
 which he taught the people would be wrong for 
 them, but for him were right and proper. He com- 
 posed a book called the Koran, in which he said that
 
 86 WHOM TO Hi:i.lK\ 
 
 prayer, fasting, charity, and making pilgrimages to 
 his birthplace, Mecca, were the four principal duties 
 of man. This book is the Bible of the Mohammed- 
 ans, and is about equal in size to the New Testa- 
 ment Those who believe in its teachings consider 
 its author as the greatest of prophets greater even 
 than Him whom we adore as our prophet, priest, and 
 king. The reverence with which they regard him is 
 almost incredible ; and during his lifetime, even the 
 hairs which fell from his head were considered holy. 
 II'- licd at the age of sixty -three in the city of Me- 
 dina, leaving multitudes of the faithful to mourn his 
 loss and cherish his memory. There are now sup- 
 posed to be, in different parts of the Eastern conti- 
 nent, at least one hundred and sixty millions who 
 are followers of the false prophet. Is it not strange 
 that men will turn away from Him who is " the way, 
 the truth, and the life " to worship one, sinful like 
 themselves, whose words were filled with deceit, and 
 whose promises of either present or future happiness 
 were unworthy to be trusted ? 
 
 But so it is. They are ever too ready to forsake 
 the truth and believe a lie ; to obey the words of an 
 artful and ambitious mortal rather than the voice of
 
 WHOM TO BELIEVE. 87 
 
 " him that spealceth from heaven." They are will- 
 ing to make pilgrimages to Mecca, or Jerusalem, or 
 Eome, but not to walk in the narrow path that leads 
 to life. They will give their bodies to be burned, 
 and bestow all their goods to feed the poor, in order 
 to purchase heaven by their own good works ; but 
 they will not confide in Him who died for the sins of 
 the whole world. Why is it that they persist in 
 trusting any one or any thing rather than Christ? 
 Why is it that they will follow all the false guides 
 of earth, and resolutely shut their eyes upon the Sun 
 of Bighteousness ? Eeader, beware ! " He that be- 
 lieveth in him shall be saved ; but he that believeth 
 not is condemned already."
 
 \u. 
 
 LONG time ago, there stood on the 
 northern coast of Africa a strong and 
 powerful city. It was built more than 
 eight hundred years before the birth of Christ by 
 Queen Dido, who, having been obliged to fly from 
 her native country, Phoenicia, in Asia, sailed with a 
 few followers and vast treasures in search of a new 
 home and kingdom. Arriving in Africa, she pur- 
 chased from the natives a spot of ground, and then 
 commencing to build houses and walls around and 
 upon it, called the place Carthage, or the New City. 
 By degrees the colony increased until it became a 
 great nation, ruling not only in its own country but 
 also in various parts of Europe; disputing for em-
 
 THE DARKNESS AND THE LIGHT. 89 
 
 pire with, the Komans, the most powerful people of 
 the age, and sending its merchant-vessels in every 
 direction throughout the then known world. 
 
 Yet the Carthaginians were ignorant and wicked. 
 They knew little of books, or music, or painting, 
 and their only aim was to make money to become 
 rich whether by good means or bad. Their deceit- 
 fulness at length became a proverb, so common 
 among them were falsehood and treachery. But 
 this is not at all wonderful ; for these people had no 
 knowledge of the true God, nor of the Bible, the 
 word of life. They worshiped the woods, the mea- 
 dows, and the streams, the sun and the stars, beside 
 many gods of the other heathen nations around 
 them. But the two divinities whom they most hon- 
 ored were Urania, or the moon, to whom they were 
 accustomed to pray for rain ; and Saturn, or, as he is 
 called in the Bible, Moloch, whose worship Queen 
 Dido and her followers had brought with them from 
 Phoenicia. This last god was a most terrible one. 
 The people did not think of him at all as we think 
 of our kind Father in heaven, who will not let a 
 sparrow fall to the ground without his notice, who 
 cares for all his creatures, and who loved us so ex-
 
 90 THE yM/.'A'.VAX* A.\JJ Till: Lit HIT. 
 
 cccdingly that he sent his Son to die for our salva- 
 tion. 
 
 No ; their Moloch was a terrible monster, -who, if 
 they failed to please him, would punish them most 
 rely, and to whom they must yield, without a 
 murmur, their dearest earthly possessions. For what, 
 do you suppose, were the sacrifices which were offer- 
 ed to this cruel god? What but little children, whom 
 their own fathers and mothers suffered to be burned 
 before their eyes 1 In times of danger even kings 
 thus sacrificed their sons ; and the people, imitating 
 their example, if they had no children of their own, 
 purchased them of others, that, by the murder of 
 these innocent victims, they might procure the fuvor 
 of their god. Before the appointed day for one of 
 their great festivals, a huge brazen statue was made, 
 having the body of a man, the head of an ox, and 
 containing in the lower part the fire which was to 
 consume the offerings. Besides, the image had large, 
 spreading arms, in which, when the time of the sa- 
 crifice had come, mothers laid their babes without a 
 und then endeavored to soothe their fear as they 
 fell into the flames beneath ; while the priests of this 
 terrible religion endeavored, with songs and instru-
 
 THE DARKNESS AND THE LIGHT. 91 
 
 ments of music, to drown the cries of the sufferers. 
 In later times parents, scarcely less inhuman, con- 
 tented themselves with causing their children merely 
 to pass through the fire, but even then few escaped 
 death. 
 
 Surely this was a strange sort of worship; and 
 yet Moloch was not the only god of ancient times to 
 whom offerings so cruel were presented ; for, at the 
 time when Carthage flourished, there lived in the 
 country from which many of our forefathers came 
 in England, the land now filled with those who know 
 and love the story of Christ and his cross a savage 
 race of men, even more rude and ignorant than the 
 Carthaginians themselvea Though they adored but 
 one God, the Maker of all things, they regarded him 
 only with awe ; for his pity toward his creatures was 
 to them an unknown thing. They worshiped in 
 large temples, built of massive stone in the midst of 
 the forest. Their priests were called Druids. They 
 governed the people not only in religion but in all 
 other affairs, and by threats of punishment after 
 death in case of disobedience, succeeded in securing 
 obedience to their commands. Of course, it was not 
 difficult for them to cause such offerings as they
 
 92 TllK DARKNESS AXD THE 1.1' HIT. 
 
 pleased to be presented to their god, and, like the 
 inhabitants of Carthage, they selected human sacri- 
 fices, believing these most acceptable to the deity. 
 
 Imagine yourself in one of the English forests on 
 a holy day of long ago. The uncovered temple, sur- 
 rounded by numberless majestic oaks, is entered by 
 a company of venerable men, clad in long, white 
 garments, wearing beards which reach even to their 
 girdles, their whole aspect one of conscious dignity. 
 They are attended by a motley crowd of their disci- 
 ples, every face lighted with a glow of savage anti- 
 cipation. The eyes of all are directed toward the 
 altar on which the fires of sacrifice are to be kindled. 
 But it is a very strange altar, indeed ; built neither 
 of timber nor stone, but of ozier twigs, and its form 
 is in the image of a man. Soon the victims are led 
 forth and placed, one by one, in the huge basket. 
 They are mostly men and women who are thus to be 
 punished for their crimes ; but here and there among 
 them may be seen little children who are to be 
 packed into the spaces too small to be filled by those 
 of larger growth. When all is ready, the signal is 
 given, and the high-priest, advancing with a lighted 
 torch, sets fire to this costly funeral pile ; and then,
 
 THE DAEKNESS AND THE LIGHT. 93 
 
 while the flames ascend heavenward, sings songs of 
 barbaric praise to the unknown god, who is thus ig- 
 norantly worshiped. Ought we not, indeed, to be 
 thankful that the day of this darkness is past, that 
 He who is "the true light which lighteth every man 
 that cometh into the world " has given us his gospel 
 to show unto us "a more excellent way"? We 
 adore, not as did our heathen forefathers, a cruel and 
 pitiless judge, but a God whose compassion is in- 
 finite. No need have we to offer sacrifices on ac- 
 count of our guilt; for Christ has become "the pro- 
 pitiation for our sins ; and not for ours only, but also 
 for the sins of the whole world." Parents no longer 
 give their children to be burned in order thus to win 
 the favor of Heaven; but, dedicating them from 
 their infancy to the service of the all- merciful Father, 
 cause them to be baptized in his name, in that of the 
 Saviour, who said, "Suffer little children to come 
 unto me," and in that of the Holy Spirit, who will, 
 if they ask him, sanctify them through the truth. 
 Ought not our very mercies to lead us to repent that 
 we have so often sinned against Him who, by bestow- 
 ing them upon us, has favored us far above others ? 
 And while we ask of him that we may be forgiven
 
 94 Till- />.lA'A'.Y/>.s AMi Till' LI' 
 
 .rressions, let us not forget to pray for 
 the millions of heathen who are still living in " the 
 region and shadow of death ;" to pray that very soon 
 they may "behold a great light," even the clear 
 shining of the Sun of Righteousness.
 
 XIII. 
 
 HOUSANDS of miles away, where the 
 waves of the great Pacific forever rise 
 and roll, distant alike from the Eastern 
 and the Western continents, is Polynesia, the region 
 of many islands. Sometimes lying so low that they 
 could be scarcely seen by the travelers in approach- 
 ing ships, were it not for the thick woods which 
 cover their surface sometimes rising like mountains 
 from the midst of the water, these islands are, all 
 of them, either entirely or in part, the work of the 
 coral insect. They occur singly and in groups, and 
 have, of late years, become celebrated in consequence 
 of the great changes which have taken place within 
 them, since missionaries were first sent from other
 
 00 01TO AM) JUS 77. 
 
 lands to toll t' that far-off clinic the 
 
 new and wondrous story of Jesus and his cross ; f- >r, 
 less than one hundred years ago, those who lived in 
 the region of which we are speaking were all hea- 
 then, ignorant of the true God, worshipers of sense- 
 less idols, delighting in war, murder, and every sort 
 of evil deeds. Now, however, the case is different. 
 The people have learned from the Bible "a more ex- 
 cellent way," and are glad to give up their idolatry 
 and cruel practices in order to serve the living God. 
 But imagine yourself on a certain one of these is- 
 lands before this change has occurred. It is one 
 which is neither level nor wholly mountainous, but 
 is crowned with lofty hills, whose sides are covered 
 with verdure, and indented with valleys, where 
 and flowers and fruits alike grow in rich profusion. 
 Yet the thick foliage conceals no raging beasts that 
 "go about seeking whom they may devour," and 
 cooling breezes from the south-east temper the heat 
 of the sun. It is, indeed, an earthly paradise ; but 
 those who live within it know nothing of "that 
 better country, even a heavenly." Not far from 
 the shore, just at the foot of a high hill, a scene of 
 liusy labor presents itself to view. Oito, the island
 
 OITO AND HIS TREE. 97 
 
 chief, together with his copper-colored companions, 
 is rearing his royal palace, which is to be neither 
 more nor less than a wooden hut, rudely made and 
 as rudely furnished, and surrounded by other huts 
 perhaps even inferior to itself. With rough, half- 
 formed implements, the stalwart red men fell, one by 
 one, the cluster of bread-fruit trees near by, and then 
 carry the timber to the place appointed for the build- 
 ing. 
 
 "We will spare this tree," says Oito, the chief, 
 " that its fruit may refresh us when we return wea- 
 ried to our homes at night, and strengthen us when 
 we awake at morning desiring food. Others like it 
 flourish in yonder wood, but this will be more con- 
 venient for us. Yes, we will spare this tree." 
 
 Five sunny years of unending spring have passed 
 over Oito's head ; but wintry blasts more withering 
 far than those of northern winds have chilled his 
 spirits. War the cruel, unrelenting war of savage 
 hearts and hands approached his island-home, and 
 Oito feared it not. 
 
 Unmoved, except by a sort of joyful anticipation, 
 he looked out over the waters and beheld his ene- 
 mies, the inhabitants of the nearest isle, carefully
 
 98 OITO AM) ///>' Tl; 
 
 threading their way through the coral reef which he 
 h:ul once deemed his protection, and skillfully guid- 
 ing their canoes amid the greater dangers near the 
 shore. Bravely he went forth to meet them, at- 
 tended by his band of followers. But alas ! his 
 strength was weakness, and the might of his arm 
 was unavailing to repel the power of the invaders. 
 Overcome by numbers, his warriors falling fast on 
 every side, Oito, with a few companions, is com- 
 pelled to seek safety in flight Through the night 
 they wander, sheltered by the thick foliage of the 
 groves; and at morning, creeping cautiously forth 
 from their hiding-place, they find their homes a i 
 of smoking ruins ; wives and children have been 
 carried they know not whither, and the fruit-trees 
 upon which their lives depend, having been stripped 
 of their precious burden, lie prostrate on the ground. 
 Thirsty, and ready to faint from hunger and fa- 
 tigue, the humbled chieftain seeks eagerly among the 
 branches, if perchance he may discover some scanty 
 remains of the fruit which yesterday hung gracefully 
 above his head. But the' work of destruction 
 been faithfully performed, and Oito turns hungering 
 away.
 
 OITO AND HIS TREE. 99 
 
 Yet, what is that he discerns towering amid the 
 curling mists of smoke ? Can it be a delusion ? or 
 is the vision real ? The tree which was spared be- 
 fore has again escaped destruction. And now most 
 nobly it fulfills the end for which it was created. 
 The dark-brown nuts scattered here and there among 
 the green leaves furnish both food and drink to the 
 famished warriors, and the bark supplies new rai- 
 ment for their bodies. Gladly they receive the 
 blessings, so grateful in their hour of need. The 
 tree whose life they saved has saved their own. 
 
 Eeader, you have read in the book better than all 
 books beside, the story of another tree, whose owner, 
 seeking food thereon, found none. You remember 
 the command unto his servant, "Cut it down; why 
 cumbereth it the ground ?" and that, though another 
 trial was granted, it was only one more; either it 
 must bear fruit, or must perish. You, too, have 
 been placed by the Great Husbandman in this field 
 of the world. Through another year the dews of 
 his grace have been shed around you, the sunshine 
 of his love has beamed upon you ; and though death, 
 the great destroyer, has smitten many, very many, 
 of those who, twelve months ago, were by your side,
 
 100 OITO J TUSK 
 
 your d:iy.s have been prolonged. And now the 
 Master looks for fruit. Shall he find it, or shall he 
 not? He seeks deeds of kindness, concerning 
 which he may say, in the last great day of account, 
 " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least 
 of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." 
 He seeks for the "fruit of the Spirit" which all 
 who will may bear for "love, joy, peace, long- 
 suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, tem- 
 perance." Seek for his aid to do his will, that thus 
 you may " glorify God, and enjoy him forever."
 
 XIV. 
 
 T was not a lesson in spelling, or geo- 
 graphy, or arithmetic, that Effie had to 
 learn ; not a chapter in the Bible, 
 nor a page in the catechism. It is trne that she 
 was frequently required to study all of these ; but 
 not only often, always, every hour and moment 
 and day from the time she first began to speak 
 until ten years of her life had passed, she had need 
 of learning the lesson which was till then post- 
 poned. If Effie had been alone in this necessity, it 
 would be useless to expose the fault which caused 
 it ; but she has plenty of company. Far too many, 
 both boys and girls, stand in the same class with her 
 in the great school of the world, all alike requiring
 
 Fiers LESSON. 
 
 to have taught them the value and the beauty of the 
 virtue of contentment. When Willie comes home 
 grumbling because his studies are too difficult, or his 
 teacher too strict ; because his clothes are not made 
 to suit him, or his dinner not cooked to his taste, 1)U 
 fault finding is very good proof that he needs to pos- 
 sess this jewel. 
 
 When Jenny complains that her dress is too plain, 
 the weather too warm, the trimming on her bonnet 
 half a shade too dark ; when a frown clouds her face 
 because her seat in Sunday-school does not please 
 her, because a poor man's child sits near by ; because 
 the library-book is one in which she has possibly 
 read a page or more you may be quite sure that she 
 is one of Effie's companions. 
 
 But now for the story. Mr. Eldridge's home was 
 a delightful one ; its appearance showed it to be the 
 abode of wealth and luxury ; every thing within and 
 without was contrived for the comfort and pleasure 
 of the inmates. Looking at it, the passer-by would 
 have said, " Here, if anywhere, one might be hap- 
 py," and his observation would have been just. But 
 living in a place so beautiful was not the only nor 
 even the greatest blessing that Effie enjoyed. God
 
 EFFIE'S LESSON. 103 
 
 had given her loving parents, who cared not only for 
 her bod} 7 ", but also for the soul which dwelt within ; 
 and her playmates were three little brothers, all of* 
 them bright and healthy, and very fond of their 
 sister. But a discontented mind will make itself 
 trouble if it can not find any ready-made ; and Effie 
 certainly displayed a great deal of ingenuity in dis- 
 covering excuses for complaining. She found fault 
 with one thing or another every day and all day 
 long. If the sky was cloudy, she would exclaim, 
 " O dear ! how dark it is ; I wish it would grow 
 lighter !" And if the sun shone out clear and full, 
 she worried because its beams were too bright or its 
 rays too warm. The roses in the garden were love- 
 ly ; but she didn't see why they had to have thorns. 
 The flowers looked prettiest in the morning; she 
 wished they would not always be so covered with 
 dew then that she could not gather them. Her kitten 
 was a dear little thing ; but what a pity it was that it 
 had claws : and Rover was a splendid dog ; but he 
 had such a horrible bark ! 
 
 Of course, if Bffie found so many imperfections in 
 the works of the great Creator, it could not be ex- 
 pected that any thing of human workmanship would
 
 104 El 
 
 appear to her free from defect. Did her m 
 her a new dress, it was cither too coarse or too 
 too dark or too light Did her father bring 1 
 curious toy, it was good enough, but so much like 
 what she ha-1 h:ul before. In fact, it was almost im- 
 possible to please this fastidious young lady. She 
 had so many things to enjoy that she prized none of 
 them rightly. She needed to be deprived of some 
 of her mercies in order to learn how to appreciate 
 those that remained. 
 
 One day, in the course of what at first seemed to 
 be a vain search after trouble, she suddenly dis- 
 covered that her eyes were not of the right color. 
 Now, this may appear to you to have been a very 
 trifling discovery ; nevertheless, it was attended with 
 important consequences to Effie. Why, she had now 
 found a cause for complaint which would last all 
 through her life ; and though there was a scowl on 
 her brow whenever she mentioned the fact, it 
 dently was to her a source of real pleasure. She 
 could murmur now by night or by day, whether 
 alone or in company ; her eyes would certainly al- 
 ways be with her, and furnish an excuse for discon- 
 tent. They were very good eyes, it is true, very
 
 EFFIE'S LESSON. 105 
 
 useful, indeed, quite essential to her enjoyment of 
 the good things of earth ; but, notwithstanding all 
 this, they were gray not at all pretty ; and if they 
 had only been blue or black, she might have been 
 handsome. So the child continually tormented her- 
 self and grieved her friends by her sinful fault-find- 
 ing with one of the best gifts of her Maker. A 
 great part of her time she spent before the glass 
 now darkening the room, now lighting it endeavor- 
 ing in some way to make those perverse eyes at least 
 look blue, if only for a moment ; and by night she 
 dreamed again and again of a certain good fairy who 
 was to come down the chimney some cold winter 
 evening and grant her whatever wish she might 
 have, which wish can, of course, be easily imagined. 
 How much better would it have been for Erne if, in- 
 stead of thus foolishly fretting about a matter of no 
 consequence, she had been troubled about the black- 
 ness of her wicked heart, and, because of that, with 
 a sorrow that needed not to be repented of, had 
 prayed that it might be "made white in the blood 
 of the Lamb." It is well to be thus dissatisfied with 
 the sinfulness of our souls, but is it not strange that
 
 106 /;////. 
 
 any should be discontented -with their bodies, so 
 "fearfully and wonderfully made"? 
 
 At length, Effie learned the lesson she had nc 
 so long. "O Effie, Effie I" Charlie exclaimed, as ho 
 came running to her room one morning in the 
 spring-time, " Papa has bought a house in the coun- 
 try, and we are all going to move there next -\Y< 
 
 "Oh! are we really? Isn't that splendid?" and 
 for once, Effie was more than contented, she was in 
 ecstasies. But no, she was not quite contented, even 
 then; she didn't know why they had to wait so 
 long; she thought they might go the next day. 
 But her parents said it was impossible to do so, and 
 the young lady was obliged to control her impa- 
 tience as best she could through five long days and 
 nights. They passed at length, and so did the jour- 
 ney to the new home, and at last, Effie and her 
 brothers were really in the country for the first time 
 in their lives. What a shouting and hurrahing 
 there was, as they jumped from the carriage and ran 
 about to explore the new domain 1 
 
 First the house, then the lawn, the garden, and 
 the orchard were in turn visited and examined 
 Presently, their mother's voice was heard calling,
 
 EFFIE'S LESSON.' 107 
 
 " Come, children ; you have seen enough for one day ; 
 it is time for you to rest." 
 
 "O dear! I think we might stay out a little 
 longer ; we have not had near all the fun we want," 
 Effie replied. Of course, it could not be expected 
 that she would be satisfied with the pleasure she had 
 already experienced ; she always wanted something 
 more. 
 
 " Effie, did you hear what I said ? I want you to 
 come to the house immediately." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, in a minute. I just want to seo 
 what's in this tree." And the disobedient girl ran 
 forward toward a large apple-tree which she just 
 then happened to notice. The trunk, which was 
 hollow, was very thick, with a wide opening on one 
 side of it. " Oh ! see here. This is house enough 
 for me." And, stooping down, Effie disappeared 
 through the opening. 
 
 Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz ! what could be flying 
 around her head ? Sting, sting, sting ! the child 
 screamed with pain, but was too terrified to escape 
 from the bees' nest into which she had thus rudely 
 intruded. 
 
 Her cries brought her parents to the spot, who in
 
 'El KSSON. 
 
 some way contrived to draw their daughter out of 
 the tree. But in what a condition I J In- 
 completely covered with stings, and her eyes were 
 already swollen shut. Gray or black, Eflie would 
 have given any thing then to have had them become 
 as they had been a few moments before. But the 
 punishment she had brought upon herself was too 
 severe to admit of her thinking then of any thing 
 save her suffering. It was not till hours afterward 
 that, as she lay, still sightless and disfigured, in ;i 
 darkened room, she said to herself: " I ! >\v .-: range it 
 is that an accident should have happened to my eyes 
 just when I had been worrying so much about them. 
 I really believe it is because I was not satisfied with 
 their color. I shouldn't care about that now, if I 
 could only open them. I don't think I will ever be 
 discontented with any thing good again it is so 
 very sad to have it taken away." 
 
 AVas not Effie's conclusion a very sensible one? 
 Probably her lesson was thoroughly committed to 
 memory.
 
 XY. 
 
 NE beautiful morning in the spring, when 
 the birds were singing their sweetest 
 songs in the midst of the blossoms on the 
 fruit-trees ; when the dandelions were glowing in the 
 grass, and rarer flowers were blooming in the beds, 
 Frank and Eddy went out into the garden to play. 
 "Be kind to one another," said their mother, as they 
 left the house, and then she took her seat by the 
 window, where she could watch them without being 
 seen. You know that mothers are so very fond of 
 having their children always in sight, especially 
 when they are these wide-awake, mischievous, fun- 
 loving little boys and girls, always getting into trou- 
 ble, and always coming to " mother" for help. But
 
 110 WJHJ >7/.i/./, y, -r; 
 
 Frank and Kddy managed to keep out of mischief 
 that morning indeed, they played so quieth 
 some time that Mrs. Woolsey wondered at the still- 
 ness ; but it was only the calm before a storm, as she 
 afterward found to her sorrow. 
 
 " Eddy, go to the house and get your drum, and 
 something to fight with, and we will play soldier.'' 
 
 " Well, but I'm going to be captain." 
 
 " No, you're not I'll be captain myself; I'm the 
 oldest" 
 
 " But I was drummer yesterday, and I think 3*ou 
 ought to be to-day." 
 
 "I guess I wouldn't be ordered by any body 
 younger than I am. I'm going to be captain, or I 
 won't play at all." 
 
 "Well," said Eddy, his lip quivering and the tears 
 fast coming into his eyes. He had wanted to have 
 the command very much, but he was unwilling to 
 be left to amuse himself alone, so he went for the 
 necessary weapons. 
 
 Do you think that either brother was as happy 
 then as though both had been kind and obliging, 
 not seeking cac h his own advantage, but in " honor 
 preferring one another"?
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? Ill 
 
 Eddy was sorry that lie could not obtain the 
 coveted position, and Frank, who was older, and 
 ought to have set an example of good behavior, 
 already began to feel that he had acted selfishly and 
 unbecomingly. However, he was too proud to con- 
 fess this ; so when Eddy came running back with 
 his father's cane in lieu of a sword, a broom-handle 
 intended for a gun, and the drum swung over his 
 shoulder by a strap, he meekly took his place in the 
 ranks, and followed the commands, " Shoulder 
 arms!" "Mark time!" "Right about face I" etc., 
 etc., with implicit obedience. He and the captain 
 were just in the midst of a forced march in pursuit 
 of the enemy, when a cry of terror was heard from 
 over the fence. 
 
 " What's that ?" the whole army that is to say, 
 the two boys exclaimed at once, and both ran to 
 the spot from which the sound had proceeded. 
 
 " Oh ! it's only a little beggar girl. Come back, 
 Eddy I" And Frank turned away disdainfully. 
 
 His brother remained to investigate affairs. 
 "What's the matter, little girl?" he asked of the 
 child, by whose side was an overturned basket. 
 
 " That cow over there upset my basket, and I was
 
 1 1-' H7/o SHALL BE (, . -Tf 
 
 taking tin- bread home for dinner." She look 
 though her g: casurcs had suffered injury, as 
 
 indeed they had. 
 
 " Never mind, I'll help you," said Eddy kindly ; 
 and stooping down, he began collecting the scat: 
 pieces of bread. The little girl, who was scarcely 
 large enough to be trusted out of doors alone, assist- 
 ed him in the task, and soon all the damage had been 
 repaired. But Eddy did not stop here ; he thought 
 he had not done quite enough ; so he said as politely 
 as possible : " I will go with you a way, so that you 
 need not be afraid of the cow." 
 
 The child thankfully accepted the offer, and 
 conducted beyond the reach of danger. As Eddy 
 returned to the garden, he was met by his brother, 
 who saluted him in no very respectful tones with 
 these words : 
 
 " Well, I don't think I'd take the trouble to help 
 a little beggar girl. I'd like to know what mother 
 would say to see you in such company as that?" 
 
 " Would you ? Then come to the house, and you 
 shall hear what I would say." 
 
 Mrs. Woolsey's watchful eyes and ears had fol- 
 lowed her children all the morning. She had heard
 
 117/0 SHALL BE GREATEST? 113 
 
 the dispute about their play, had witnessed the sud- 
 den close of their sport, and the ready kindness 
 shown by her younger son to the little stranger ; and 
 now she had come to take her boys aside for a short 
 talk, in order to teach them, if she could, some use- 
 ful lesson from the incidents of the day. 
 
 When they had reached the sitting-room, and 
 Frank and Eddy had taken their places, one on each 
 side of her, their mother asked : 
 
 " Can either of you tell me what is generally the 
 reason why people fight against each other ?" 
 
 The boys hung their heads in silence ; they began 
 to suspect that they had not been so entirely alone 
 in the garden as they had supposed. But Mrs. 
 "Woolsey waited for a reply, so Frank answered : 
 
 "It's because they want to kill their enemies; 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but why do they have enemies ? and why 
 do they wish to destroy them ? Is it not often be- 
 cause they desire to make themselves powerful? 
 You have read in your history of Caesar, the Roman 
 general ; of Alexander, the Macedonian king ; of 
 Napoleon, the emperor of the French. All of these, 
 you know, the world calls great ; but each of them
 
 WHO SHALL I ^77 
 
 was willing to bring sorrow upon countless multi- 
 
 S if only he could secure authority to him 
 And their mother went on to tell them how much 
 trouble had been made in the world because men 
 wanted to control each other very much, she said, 
 as two little boys whom she knew of and how 
 there had been many wars, and a great deal of fight- 
 ing, and millions upon millions had been slain for 
 the reason that some one or another had been all the 
 time trying to make himself powerful; and how 
 few had been willing to follow in humility the foot- 
 steps of the Son of Man, who " came not to be minis- 
 tered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a 
 ransom for many." 
 
 After that, Mrs. "Woolsey read from the Bible how 
 Jesus, the great Teacher, taught his disciples, n He 
 that is greatest among you, let him be as the young- 
 er ; and he that is chief, as he that doth serve." 
 
 " And now," she continued, " which do you think 
 is the more manly thing for a son of mine to do to 
 insist upon ruling his brother, even while engaged in 
 play, or to leave his sport in order to help a little 
 outcast, and thus follow the example of Christ when 
 he washed his disciples' feet ? One of you succeeded
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 115 
 
 in making himself captain, the other in imitating this 
 example. Which do you think is really the greater, 
 according to the rule I have just taught you? I do 
 not wish to judge either of you harshly; but here- 
 after, whenever a dispute like that of this morning 
 arises, I hope you will remember the words of the 
 Apostle who wrote, ' In lowliness of mind let each 
 esteem others better than himself' "
 
 XVL 
 
 tiwrib't f 
 
 EFORE we begin to talk about Carrie, or 
 any of her sayings or doings, it will be 
 necessary to ask the question, "What is an 
 idol? 
 
 An idol, some little girl will say, is an image that 
 is worshiped instead of the true God. 
 
 This is, no doubt, a correct answer to. the question, 
 but, at the same time, it is not the only answer 
 which might be given. The heathen, it is true, 
 worship senseless blocks of gold or silver, wood or 
 stone the work which their own hands have made ; 
 but there are people in this Christian land who 
 would spurn such folly as this, and yet who, never- 
 theless, have their idols also, which are only even
 
 CAREIE'S IDOL. 117 
 
 more real than the meaningless figures before which 
 the nations that forget God too often bow in adora- 
 tion. Sometimes we love our friends too fondly, 
 and think more of them than of the kind Father who 
 gave them to us, together with every other blessing 
 which we possess. When we do this, we idolize 
 our friends. 
 
 Sometimes, too, we make gods of our pleasures, 
 and so long as we can enjoy them, care little whether 
 or not we are walking in the straight and narrow 
 path which leads to life eternal. To which of these 
 different sorts of idols Carrie's belonged, the reader is 
 left to determine. 
 
 " Carrie," said her mother, one Saturday evening, 
 " it is time to put away your playthings now. You 
 have had a good time with them all day, and to- 
 morrow, you know, will be the Sabbath. I want 
 you to rise early in order to prepare for Sunday- 
 school ; so get ready now to say good-night." 
 
 "Yes, mother, just as soon as I finish this castle, 
 and put dolly's night-dress on her. It will only take 
 a few minutes." 
 
 Mrs. Almar made no reply. She had accustomed 
 her daughter to obey, and obey at once, whatever
 
 118 
 
 command she might give ; and she supposed that the 
 child's knowledge of what was right would pr 
 her from disobeying now, for the first time in her 
 life. But Carrie's conscience appeared to have gone 
 asleep for a little while, and Carrie herself was so en- 
 gaged with her play that she forgot her mother's 
 words almost as soon as they were uttered. The 
 castle was finished, and then overthrown. A new 
 one was just beginning to rise from the ruins, when 
 Mrs. Almar reluctantly spoke the second time: 
 " Carrie, did you not hear what I said ?" 
 
 "Oh I yes, mother. I forgot I'm coming, just 
 as soon as I put dolly in bed." 
 
 " No, Carrie, come right away. I am grieved to 
 see that you disobey me." What sudden change had 
 come over her usually obedient child Mrs. Almar 
 knew not, but great was her amazement to see 
 Carrie still quietly continue her amusement. It was 
 time that some decided measure should be taken. 
 " Carrie, I have spoken to you twice already. Now 
 mind me instantly." Carrie was convinced by the 
 firm yet kindly tone, and by her mother's evident 
 displeasure ; that further disobedience would not be 
 the part of wisdom ; so she put away her toys as
 
 CARRIE'S IDOL. 119 
 
 slowly and with as much delay as possible, and bade 
 her mother good-night. 
 
 " I do love to see the children happy," remarked 
 the lady that evening to her husband, " but Carrie is 
 really too fond of play. She is unwilling to attend 
 to any thing else properly, and to-night she even dared 
 to disobey me when I desired her to lay aside her 
 toys. I do not know how I shall ever teach her that 
 there is any thing more important than having a little 
 fun." 
 
 But, surprised and grieved as Mrs. Almar had 
 already been, she was destined to be still more greatly 
 astonished at her daughter's conduct. Early the 
 next morning Carrie awoke ; but do you suppose 
 that it was with a heart thankful to God for his mer- 
 cies, and prepared to engage in his worship and ser- 
 vice ? By no means. Carrie's love of play had led 
 her to disregard the commands of her mother, and 
 now it caused her to forget the law of One who is 
 far greater and better than any on earth. " Lillie," 
 she whispered to her sister a couple of years younger 
 than herself, " Lillie, let's get up and play school. 
 You may be teacher, and dolly' and I will be the 
 scholars."
 
 120 r.i/ t 'A7/;-.s IDOL. 
 
 Lillic was quick enough to accept the proposition, 
 and before many minutes, the little girls were seated 
 in front of their baby-house " playing school." They 
 just begun an exercise in vocal music, when 
 Mrs. Almar, attracted by the sound, suddenly enter- 
 ed the room. " Carrie, Lillie ! what are you doing ? 
 Have you forgotten the verse I taught you last v, 
 
 ' I most not work, I must not play 
 Upon God's holy Sabbatli day' ?" 
 
 It was Carrie's turn now to be surprised. " Why, 
 mother, is it Sabbath ? I forgot all about it, indeed 
 I did. We didn't think we were doing any harm, 
 did we, Lillie?" 
 
 Lillie answered " no" in a rather hesitating way; 
 but Mrs. Almar looked as grave as before. "I am 
 afraid you have no very good excuse, Carrie. You 
 know the Bible says that we must ( remember the 
 Sabbath day, to keep it holy ;' and that is precisely 
 what you have failed to do. You have been so 
 eager for a little sport that you have forgotten both 
 God and his word. There is no harm in liking to 
 play, at proper times and places ; but it is wrong to 
 be so interested in what you like to do as to neglect
 
 CARRIE'S IDOL. 121 
 
 what you ought to do. We must go now, father is, 
 waiting for us ; but we will have a longer talk this 
 afternoon." Carrie felt rather guilty and mortified 
 all day ; and when, toward evening, her mother en- 
 tered the nursery, according to agreement, and called 
 the little girls to her side, Carrie obeyed the sum- 
 mons, half dreading, half desiring the promised 
 talk. 
 
 " I was reading the other day," began Mrs. Almar, 
 " the story of a young lady named Imogene. She 
 lived in a country where most of the people are 
 Eoman Catholics, and Imogene had been taught 
 from childhood to count her beads, and pray to the 
 Virgin Mary, and to believe that the priest had 
 power to forgive sins, together with many other 
 foolish notions of which you have never heard. 
 Her parents, who were very wealthy, were exceed- 
 ingly fond of their daughter, and delighted to give 
 her pleasure. They encouraged her to attend balls, 
 and parties, and theatres, and to engage in all simi- 
 lar amusements, thinking that these would aiford 
 her happiness. And Imogene enjoyed them as 
 greatly as could be desired. But after she had 
 passed several years in this manner, the priest finally
 
 122 $ IDOL. 
 
 persuaded her that her manner of life was altog. 
 wrong, and that, if she wished ever to : 
 
 03 necessary for her to enter the iirighU 
 
 ent. This was a place inhabited by a nu 
 
 of women, who imagined that, in separating from 
 
 their friends and going to live together in a large 
 
 house with stone walls :md narrow windows, and in 
 
 spending their time according to certain i 
 they would become holy and fit for heaven. Con- 
 trary to the entreaties of her father and mother, Imo- 
 gene resolved upon shutting herself up in the con- 
 vent. Accordingly, she 'took the veil,' as it is called, 
 and by so doing became a nun. After this, a great 
 portion of her life was passed in fastings and pr;. 
 She even denied herself things essential to her com- 
 fort, and compelled herself to undergo much bodily 
 suffering, but without becoming any happier or really 
 better. It would take too long for me to tell you 
 how she was at length brought to see that no good 
 works of hers could purchase salvation, and that 
 there is but one name given under heaven among 
 men whereby we can be saved, and how she after- 
 ward escaped from the convent, and spent the re- 
 mainder of her days in trying to point out to others
 
 CARRIE'S IDOL. 123 
 
 the way of life. But what I want to say is this : 
 Imogene was taught by the priest that all earthly 
 enjoyment is sinful, and that the more miserable she 
 made herself the better she would become. The 
 Bible tells us nothing of the kind, but rather that we 
 are ' to rejoice in the Lord always.' (rod, who loved 
 us so exceedingly that he gave his Son to die for us, 
 wishes us to be happy in this world as well as in the 
 next, and it is only because we are sinful that we are 
 ever unhappy. But at the same time, we must re- 
 member that we enjoy ourselves most when we are 
 trying to do what is right, and not when we are only 
 trying to please ourselves. It is not necessary, nor 
 even proper, for us to deny ourselves the innocent 
 pleasures and comforts of life ; but we must be care- 
 ful not to think so much of them that they will make 
 us forget the duty which we owe to God. For in- 
 stance, it is not wrong for you, Carrie, to like to 
 play it is natural and right that you should do so ; 
 but then your love of play should never lead you to 
 disobey your mother nor to break the Sabbath. We 
 ought to learn to control ourselves, so that we shall 
 not neglect duty for the sake of pleasure. This is 
 what is meant in the Bible by the word 'temperance ;'
 
 i-'i CAH: 
 
 it is uot only not indulging in strong drink, or other 
 tilings which may be injurious, but not indulging 
 immoderately in any thing, IIOWOVT ri/ht or pro- 
 per it may be in itself. You know the old proverb, 
 that 'Enough is as good as a feast;' and St. i 
 tells us that 'the fruit of the Spirit is temperance.' " 
 Carrie said nothing, but she resolved in her heart 
 that, though she should never be willing to leave her 
 dolls and baby-house and go to live in a convent, 
 she would try to be more temperate in her love of 
 play.
 
 XVII. 
 
 VERY BODY knows how easy a thing it 
 sometimes is to lose the control of one's 
 temper, and how hard a thing it generally 
 is not to be angry or irritated when others treat us 
 unkindly. The Bible tells us that "he that ruleth 
 his spirit is better than he that taketh a city," arid 
 the wise man who wrote these words knew full well 
 how much more difficult a matter is this same ruling 
 of the spirit than is the braving of toil and suffering 
 and danger to the soldier who goes forth fearlessly 
 to meet the foe. But we all have some hard lessons 
 to learn in this world; and one which every man, 
 woman, and child needs to learn is this lesson of 
 guarding temper and tongue although in the face of
 
 I- 1 '' 
 
 ^cation, aud of bearing calmly ami patiently 
 whatever of sorrow it may please our Father who is 
 in heaven to send upon us, even when the trouble 
 comes by the hands of those who are sinners like our 
 selves. And to learn this, we need look to no earthly 
 teacher. If we do, we shall fail to obtain that which 
 we seek. It is written of Moses that he was very 
 meek, above all the men which were upon the face 
 of the earth ; yet when, at Meribah, the people mur- 
 mured for water, after having received many proofs 
 of God's care for them, even Moses for once grew 
 angry, for once forgot his meekness ; and because of 
 that one sin he could not enter the promised land. 
 And if we fail to find in him a perfect example of 
 this "fruit of the Spirit," to whom else can we look 
 for it but unto Him who says to every one that is 
 weary of struggling with sin, "Learn of me; for I 
 am meek and lowly in heart " ? He has help for the 
 humblest and feeblest All who trust in him shall 
 be made conquerors. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Fred ! Be sure you're at school 
 early to-morrow morning. We'll have rare fun." 
 
 " Oh ! yes. I wouldn't miss it for any thing. 
 Good afternoon !"
 
 FREDDIE'S TRIUMPH. 127 
 
 The first speaker, Nat Taylor, was a tall, manly 
 boy of about fifteen years of age. Perfect health 
 betrayed itself in every movement of his frame, and* 
 good humor and intelligence shone out from liis 
 sparkling eyes. Only, as we shall see hereafter, his 
 love of mirth sometimes led him to be rude, even at 
 the expense of his friends. The other boy, Freddie, 
 though of the same age, was much smaller in size ; 
 so much smaller, that a stranger would have sup- 
 posed him to be several years younger than his com- 
 panion. He was not thinking of it then no emo- 
 tion but that of gladness lighted up his countenance 
 as he anticipated the sport of helping to complete 
 the snow-palace which his comrades and himself had 
 begun in the school-house yard; but the one great 
 trouble of his life had been and was that, while he 
 had seen his playmates, one by one, grow to be first 
 a little taller than himself, and then continue rising 
 higher and higher until he had to look up to them, 
 almost as much, it seemed to him, as he did to his 
 father, his own height still remained the same ; he 
 was always "little Freddie." Not for the world 
 would he have revealed to his companions the an- 
 noyance which this fact occasioned him; yet they
 
 TUMPS. 
 
 could not have failed to notice bow his face lx 
 grave at any allusion, even the faintest, to his .small, 
 childish form, and how it brightened if one hap- 
 pened to express the opinion that " Fred was grow- 
 ing taller." And his mother knew full well how 
 great was the effort which it cost her child when he 
 said to her, in a confidential twilight talk, " I am 
 willing to be small if it is better for me to be so ; but 
 I do wish that no one would speak of it before 
 me." 
 
 " I know it is unpleasant, Freddie," she replied ; 
 " but if any one is thoughtless enough, to ridicule 
 your misfortune, remember these words, which you 
 will find in the thirteenth chapter of the first epistle 
 to the Corinthians, ' Charity ' (you know that means 
 love) ' is not easily provoked ;' and try to think of 
 the example of Him who, ' when he was reviled, re- 
 viled not again ; when he suffered, threatened not.' 
 If you ask him, he will help you to overcome your 
 angry passion, which, if uncontrolled, will injure you 
 far more than a few thoughtless words ever can or 
 will." Freddie had need of all the assistance which 
 this advice could render him, on the morning of 
 which we are speaking. Ho was just in the act of
 
 FREDDIE'S TRIUMPH. 129 
 
 strapping up his books preparatory to leaving home, 
 about an hour before school-time, when his grand- 
 mother said to him, " Freddie, your mother purchas- 
 ed the yarn for your socks yesterday. If you will 
 hold it for me before you go to school, I shall be able 
 to knit considerable to-day." Freddie knew that it 
 would be undutiful, as well as ungrateful, to refuse 
 so small an act of kindness to his grandmother ; so 
 he drew off his cap, laid down his books reluctantly, 
 and said, " "Well, grandma," as cheerfully as could 
 have been expected under the circumstances. It 
 seemed to him as though that particular pair of socks 
 was destined to contain more wool than any other 
 pair which fingers and knitting-needles had ever 
 fashioned, and as though each skein of the yarn had 
 lengthened out its slow length, until the completion 
 of the work, instead of being nearer, appeared farther 
 and farther off as the winding proceeded. He perse- 
 vered, however, in his martyrdom, without discover- 
 ing his impatience, and finally there came an end to 
 the task, as there does, sooner or later, to all earthly 
 things. It did not require many minutes for Freddie 
 to snatch up his cap and books, and be off to the 
 school-house. But what was his disappointment to
 
 130 
 
 find, upon reaching the spot, that, instead of being 
 able, as he had hoped, to participate in the sport of 
 building, he was just in time to witness the 
 pletion of the last and highest turret. Nat Taylor, 
 who was the tallest boy in the school, was standing 
 on tiptoe, vainly trying to " finish off" the tower in 
 an artistic fashion. The top was just a little too 
 high for his reach, and the small " brick " of snow 
 which he was endeavoring to place in a particular 
 position, would persist in slipping down, again and 
 again, to the great merriment of the surrounding 
 crowd of boys. He was just turning about in des- 
 pair, when he saw Fred approaching, all out of 
 breath in his eagerness to reach the scene of interest 
 " Halloa," shouted Nat, " here comes a regular Go- 
 liath. He can reach the top, if I can't Come on, 
 Fred ; you're the tallest boy here ; come and finish 
 this turret." The other boys were foolish enough to 
 laugh at this very amusing bit of pleasantry, and the 
 laugh only added to the sting which Nat's careless 
 words brought to Freddie's heart. Was it not too 
 unkind in Nat thus to expose him to the ridicule of 
 the assembled school? Ilad he not already that 
 morning wrestled sufficiently with his temper, with-
 
 FREDDIE'S TRIUMPH. 131 
 
 out having it so sorely tried just at the time when he 
 expected nothing but delight? It was really too 
 bad ! he would make Nat repent of that speech ; and 
 Freddie hastily began to form a small, compact ball 
 of snow. If he had not the stature of Goliath, he 
 had something of the skill of David ; not a boy in 
 Montville could aim straighter than he ; and had not 
 David killed Goliath ? At first, these thoughts, as 
 they came rushing into his mind in rapid succession, 
 stimulated him to madness. But the last one brought 
 him to himself again. Yes, David had killed Go- 
 liath with only a few pebbles, and he might but he 
 could not bear to think of it he would not injure 
 Nat for any thing in the world. What had become 
 now of that meekness of which his mother had 
 spoken ? What of that charity which is not easily 
 provoked ? Freddie's anger was all gone. Instead 
 of it had come the desire to prove to Nat that he was 
 really not offended by the thoughtless ridicule. 
 Dropping the ball which he had till then held firmly 
 clutched in his hand, he replied in tones which be- 
 trayed nothing but the utmost good humor, " No, 
 Nat, I'm not so tall as you are ; but perhaps it will 
 be just as well for the turret that I am not. If you
 
 132 
 
 will let me stand on your shoulders, I can do the 
 work in a moment." Nat, surprised and ashn: 
 accepted Freddie's offer, and when this novel i 
 had been crowned with success, the boys shouted 
 without a single dissenting voice, " Hurrah for Fred ! 
 lie shall be king in our palace." 
 
 Freddie's royalty lasted only until the melting of 
 the snow; but wo know that they shall reign as 
 kings for ever and ever, who, like him, overcome in 
 the struggle with self and sin. " The fruit of the 
 Spirit is meekness."
 
 XYIII. 
 
 * mm 
 
 HEISTMAS had come and gone. The 
 large tree which had adorned Mr. Eld- 
 rich's parlor had been robbed of its bur- 
 den of beautiful gifts, and the crowd of happy chil- 
 dren who had assembled to admire its many wonders 
 had returned to the homes which were to be bright- 
 ened for days by the remembrance of " Mary and 
 Fanny's Christmas-tree." 
 
 All had gone but George and Annie Merton, two 
 favorite cousins, who were to remain all through the 
 vacation. " All the vacation 1" Who can tell what 
 bright anticipations filled the minds of the four chil- 
 dren at the sound of these words ? 
 
 Mary and Fanny had so much to show, and George 
 and Annie so much to see, and there were so many
 
 V ,1 11'- > 1.1 DAT. 
 
 games to be played, and so many new presents to 
 receive attention, " that it seemed," as Fanny said, 
 '* that a week would not be near long enough for all 
 they had to do." 
 
 And the first two days did pass very quickly ; but 
 by the afternoon of the third, when all the games 
 they could remember had been played several times, 
 and when most of the presents had lost the first 
 charm of novelty, the children began to grow weary 
 of having nobody to tell them what to do. 
 
 " dear ! I am almost tired of holidays," ex- 
 claimed Annie. 
 
 "So am I," chimed in a chorus of three, and then 
 there was silence. 
 
 At length a happy thought struck Fanny. ' Let's 
 go and ask Aunt Ella to play school with us." " Oh ! 
 yes, that would be real nice," said Annie. 
 
 So a committee of the whole was immediately ap- 
 pointed to wait on Aunt Ella, and ask her to become 
 school-mistress. Aunt Ella readily consented to as- 
 sume the office. " Only," said she, " there is one 
 condition : you must promise to obey whatever I 
 say." The promise was, of course, quickly given ; 
 so the school commenced then and there.
 
 SCHOOL ON A HOLIDAY. 
 
 "In the first place," said Aunt Ella, " I want you 
 each to tell me which, of your studies you like the 
 least." 
 
 Mary and Annie announced a special aversion to 
 arithmetic, Fanny to composition, while George 
 " couldn't bear either," but lie thought " composition 
 was a little the hardest." 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Ella, " George, you and Fanny 
 may each write a composition, and ! will give 
 Annie and Mary some examples in arithmetic to 
 perform." 
 
 At this the children looked surprised and rather 
 disappointed; but the promise was remembered, 
 so slates and pencils were procured, and the work 
 began. 
 
 Aunt Ella was a patient teacher, and with her ex- 
 planations, the arithmetic lesson, although it was in 
 Long Division, seemed less difficult than any similar 
 one had ever been before. 
 
 As for the compositions, after the subjects were 
 once selected, they were written with apparent ease, 
 and in a short time were pronounced finished. 
 "Would you like to know what they were? You 
 may read them, if you will not criticise them too se-
 
 13>; HOLIDAY. 
 
 verely. Remember that the authors were young, 
 is George's : 
 
 "WINTER. 
 
 Winter is the coldest and the pleasantest season 
 of the year. It is the pleasantest, because then we 
 have skating. Sometimes the girls fall on the ice, 
 but we boys never do that is, unless we can't pos- 
 sibly help it" 
 
 Fanny's subject was : 
 
 " CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " Christmas is the day on which we celebrate the 
 birth of Christ. Last Monday, father said, was the 
 eighteen hundred and sixty-fifth Christmas. It was 
 a very pleasant day for me, and I received a great 
 many presents ; but mother says there are a good 
 many children who never had a Christmas present in 
 their life. I feel very sorry for them." 
 
 Aunt Ella having corrected these compositions, 
 read them aloud to the school, and then said, " I 
 want to ask a question. Who can tell me what was 
 the first Christmas gift ?" 
 
 The children looked very thoughtful for a moment,
 
 SCHOOL ON A HOLIDAY. 137 
 
 and appeared much perplexed ; but at length Mary 
 exclaimed, " Oh ! I know. It was the presents the 
 wise men from the East brought to Jesus." 
 
 Aunt Ella smiled, and said, " Those were certainly 
 the first Christmas gifts he received ; but there was 
 one given to us even before the visit of the wise 
 men. Can you not think of the name of this Christ- 
 mas gift ?" 
 
 "I think you must mean Christ himself," said 
 Annie thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes," said Aunt Ella. "That first Christmas 
 night, Grod gave his Son to us to be our Saviour. 
 He was the best and greatest Christmas gift that we 
 could receive a gift so good and so great that he is 
 called in the Bible ' the unspeakable gift.' And 
 since this gift is offered freely to us all, do you not 
 think that each of us should be very glad to receive 
 him as our own ?" 
 
 The consciences of the children answered, "Yes," 
 and their faces interpreted the answer. Then, as it 
 was growing dark, Aunt Ella dismissed the school ; 
 but her scholars will never forget that happy after- 
 noon, nor the earnest question with which it ended, 
 "What do you think of the great Christmas Gift ?
 
 \I\. 
 
 tog 
 
 DEAR ! I can never learn this old les- 
 son ; and I won't, either 1" And James 
 Harris stamped his foot on the floor, 
 jerked his chair from the table at which he had been 
 sitting, and flung his Latin grammar, the innocent 
 cause of his wrath, to the opposite side of the room. 
 Having thus given way to these rather ungentle- 
 manly expressions of indignation, he sat, for a time, 
 in moody silence, his thoughts meanwhile running 
 somewhat after this manner : 
 
 " I don't see why my father has to send me to that 
 horrid old school ; I wish it was in Jericho, 
 ma's so particular about my going every day. I 
 don't see what good it does a fellow to study all
 
 CHANGING HIS MIND. 139 
 
 these lessons. Be useful -when I'm a man, will 
 they ? I don't believe it. I forget 'em as soon as 
 I've learned them, any way." 
 
 How much longer he might have pursued this 
 slightly crooked line of thought is uncertain ; pro- 
 bably, if he had carried it on all the evening, he 
 would not, by so doing, have become either wiser or 
 better. But the soliloquy came to a sudden end in 
 consequence of the fact that the eye of this ambi- 
 tious young student happened to fall upon a certain 
 new book which he had not before noticed. Now, 
 James, though he was by no means fond of studying 
 Latin grammar, was exceedingly fond of reading an 
 entertaining story; so the instant that he observed 
 the book he snatched it up eagerly, and began turn- 
 ing over its pages in order to see whether they 
 promised to furnish him any amusement. Some- 
 thing evidently arrested his attention, for there was 
 quiet in the library for nearly an hour afterward, 
 and during that time the boy scarcely raised his 
 head or changed his position. If any one had been 
 looking over his shoulder just then, he might have 
 seen that the story which proved so fascinating was, 
 in its principal parts, something like this :
 
 l-lo ///,, 
 
 "During any summer season, between thirty and 
 
 ire ago, a traveler in Scotland n. 
 perhaps, have observed, in some one of the stone 
 ; ies of the country, a poor stone-mason, of rough 
 and unpolished aspect, clad in the coarse garments 
 suited to his calling, his hands soiled from contact 
 with the wet rocks, and his bushy hair giving no 
 token whatever that it covered a brain of more than 
 usual size and power. But even if the traveler had 
 encountered the particular gang of workmen of 
 which this mason was, for the time, a member, it is 
 not at all probable that any thing in his appearance 
 would have attracted the attention of the stranger. 
 Perhaps, however, if his fellow-workmen had. been 
 questioned concerning him, they might have said 
 that, when among them, he was habitually silent; 
 that he seemed to take a strange interest in the form 
 and position of the rocks among which he toiled ; 
 that while their leisure hours were passed in foolish 
 talk and laughter, he loved to steal off by himself, 
 with a book and his thoughts for company ; and that, 
 in a word, he appeared to know a great deal more 
 than one at first sight would be likely to suspect. 
 And if the stars in the sky above could have borne
 
 CHANGING HIS MIND. 141 
 
 their witness to the eccentric character of this young 
 man, they would have told how, evening after even- 
 ing, they had looked down upon him as he sat alone 
 in the hay-loft of some half-covered barrack, and did 
 nothing but think for hours together. He was cer- 
 tainly something more than an ordinary person, this 
 Scotch stone-mason, and yet he had been only the 
 son of a poor sailor, who had died while his child 
 was very young, and had left him to the care of two 
 uncles, one a harness-maker and the other a cart- 
 wright. The boy had been sent to school from the 
 time he was five years "old until he was seventeen ; 
 but his masters drilled him principally in reading 
 and writing, and succeeded in teaching him very 
 little beside. Out of the school-room he learned 
 more than within it. One of his uncles instructed 
 him in natural history ; the other taught him some- 
 thing of the habits and traditions of men ; and the 
 reading of all the books which he could obtain, and 
 a habit of observing carefully every thing worth the 
 noticing, added not a little to his stock of knowledge. 
 When he became a stone-cutter, earning his bread 
 by his own labor, he read and studied no less ear- 
 nestly than before ; amid hardships and privations
 
 142 ///> MI\D. 
 
 of various kinds, still persevering in his efforts to 
 know and to be all that he could, and meeting and 
 overcoming the greatest obstacles with a firm and 
 dauntless will. It was no high road to learning that 
 he trod, but a difficult and solitary path, strewn with 
 hinderances and often shaded in darkness ; but he 
 saw that at the end were pleasure and honor, and lie 
 pressed forward until the end was reached. Now, 
 his name Hugh Miller is a household word; 
 wherever the English tongue is spoken, his writings 
 are read and admired ; and men of science every- 
 where revere the memory of the great geologist" 
 
 There was something about the story of this Scot- 
 tish scholar's life which deeply interested James 
 Harris, and he did not lay down the book until the 
 last leaf had been turned and the last page read 
 through ; then he leaned his head on his hand 
 thought. He saw that to one, at least, of his fellow- 
 beings, the acquisition of knowledge had been a very 
 much more difficult thing than he had ever imagined 
 it could be to any one; and he began to wonder 
 whether, after all, he ought not to be glad that it was 
 so easy for him to obtain it; that he had parents 
 who were anxious to have him well educated and in-
 
 CHANGING HIS MIND. 143 
 
 telligent, and teachers who took great pains to in- 
 struct him, and books, as many as he could read, for 
 the asking. But in the course of a few minutes 
 moralizing became rather dull work; James began 
 to feel a little drowsy ; and very shortly he was car- 
 ried, in a dream, from the comfortable arm-chair in 
 the library to the side of a high and dreary moun- 
 tain. Above him, pile upon pile of gigantic rocks 
 rose towering to the sky. Thick clouds hid from 
 his sight the valley below, and around him he heard 
 the sound of the clicking of the hammers of a num- 
 ber of stone-masons, with whom he, strange to say, 
 was at work. He seemed to be pounding indus- 
 triously, but to no purpose, upon a huge stone which 
 lay before him ; and though he again and again re- 
 peated to himself that he was spending his strength 
 foolishly, yet some invisible power still kept him at 
 his task. Often he attempted to break away: he 
 would be happy anywhere, he thought, if once he 
 could leave that cold, dismal place. But that name- 
 less something kept him tapping, tapping, until days, 
 weeks, months had passed, and he was in despair. 
 
 There were men all around him, but he was un- 
 able to understand their language, or to hold any
 
 in 
 
 communication with them, and he lor usely 
 
 for a sight of the familiar faces of his pn; 
 companions. He would have given any thing to be 
 back again in his pleasant home, or at his own 
 in school. And how glad he would have be 
 sec a book once more ; even a grammar lesson would 
 Ijccii delightful compared with that wi-arisome 
 tapping, lie could bear it no longer; he must es- 
 cape, lie made a last great effort to do so, and 
 awoke. How relieved he was to find that his misery- 
 had been all a dream ; and how quickly he jumped 
 from his chair to pick up the book which he had so 
 angrily cast from him a couple of hours before. It 
 seemed to him now like an old friend ; he was sure 
 that he would never more consider it as a task to be 
 compelled to study it ; much less would he ever com- 
 plain that his parents obliged him to attend school ; 
 it was really a very pleasant place, and knowledge 
 was worth obtaining, since it could make of a poor 
 sailor's son such a man as Hugh Miller. He himself 
 meant to see what it could make of him. He would 
 rise early the very next morning and learn his lessons 
 perfectly; for he knew now that, if the advantages 
 he then enjoyed should at any time be taken from
 
 CHANGING HIS MIND. 145 
 
 him, he would be very sorry that he had not im- 
 proved them while they were his. 
 
 So you see that James changed his mind concern- 
 ing the importance of study. Perhaps some other 
 boys would do well to follow his example.
 
 XX. 
 
 Ui 
 
 ANE, call me early to-morrow morning, 
 if you please. Our teacher said he 
 wanted us all to be at Sunday-school 
 before it begins ; so I will have to get up about five 
 o'clock, I guess. Don't you think so ?" 
 
 " Not quite so early, my dear," Jane replied ; " but 
 I will try to call you in time." 
 
 "Well," said Nellie; and closing her eyes, she 
 entered the land of dreams. 
 
 She staid there, too, until long after five o'clock 
 the next morning, until the sun had been up a full 
 hour, and its beams were already crowding through 
 the cracks of the blinds, and gilding the snow-white 
 walls of her room. She was aroused by the voice of
 
 NELLIE SEPTON'S OBEDIENCE. 147 
 
 her nurse, " Come, Nellie, it is time to get up, if you 
 are going to Sunday-school." Immediately Nellie 
 was wide awake, and, quickly dressing and taking 
 breakfast, was soon on her way, repeating to herself, 
 as she walked, the words of the lesson she was to re- 
 cite. The sky was clear and beautiful, and over- 
 flowing with sunshine ; but it was a winter morning 
 nevertheless, and when she reached the school, the 
 hands and feet of the little girl were numb with the 
 cold. But she didn't mind that not at all why 
 should she ? She was at the place where, more than 
 at any other, she delighted to be. Besides, the 
 minute-hand of the clock over the door had still to 
 pass half around its face before it would point to the 
 hour of nine ; and when the sound of the bell on the 
 desk called the children to order, Nellie had had 
 time to become as warm and comfortable as need be. 
 How pleasant it was there! she thought, with so 
 many bright-eyed little girls all around her, and so 
 many bright-eyed little boys on the other side of the 
 room, and a superintendent who looked and was so 
 very kind, at the desk, and all appearing so content- 
 ed and happy. And then every thing that was said 
 and done was exactly what she liked to hear and
 
 148 XKLLIK SEPTON'S OBEDIi:~ 
 
 see. But the singing that was the best of all. 
 They sang for some time hymns old and new 
 hymns which had been sung by thousands of chil- 
 dren all over the world, and hymns just written and 
 published fresh from the mint 
 
 At length they commenced one which, to judge 
 from the way in which it was shouted out, seemed a 
 favorite with all. The first verse ran thus : 
 
 " Do you know any little barefoot boy, 
 
 In a garret or a cellar, 
 Who shivers with cold and whose garments old 
 
 Will scarcely hold together? 
 Qo bring him in ; there is room to spare ; 
 
 Here are food and shelter and pity : 
 And we'll not shut the door 'gainst one of Christ's poor, 
 
 Though you bring every child in the city." 
 
 When they had sung this, there was a pause, and 
 the superintendent said, " Children, I hope none of 
 you will imagine that you are through with this 
 verse now. You have sung it, indeed ; but you 
 ought to do more you should obey it." And he 
 went on to tell them that, if they did not already 
 know any such children as this " little barefoot boy," 
 they should each of them try to find one, at least,
 
 NELLIE SEPTON'S OBEDIENCE. 149 
 
 and bring him to the Sabbath-school ; and that, if 
 they did this, they might prevent some little ones 
 from growing up in ignorance and wickedness, and 
 so have this promise fulfilled to themselves, " He 
 that turneth a sinner from the error of his ways, 
 shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multi- 
 tude of sins." 
 
 Nellie listened as attentively as though she had 
 supposed that the words were spoken to herself 
 alone ; and, after the school had been dismissed, and 
 she had returned to her pleasant home, she called to 
 mind the remarks of her teacher, and tried to think 
 whether among all her friends there were any so 
 poor and miserable as the child described in the 
 hymn. But she was unable to remember one; for 
 her playmates all lived in comfortable homes, and had 
 kind parents, who gave them food and clothing, and 
 every thing else that they had need of. 
 
 But the next day Nellie made an acquaintance. 
 
 "Matches! matches! shoe-laces!" called a voice 
 through the streets. It was a queer little voice, that 
 sounded as though it had lost its way in trying to 
 get out of somebody's mouth, and so had come, very 
 much weakened and frightened, through his nose.
 
 Its owner was a boy, apparently about twelve years 
 old. 
 
 His pantaloons, which were very ragged and of a 
 scant pattern, scarcely reached to his anklrs, leaving 
 entirely uncovered the large, misshapen feet that 
 moved but slowly over the icy pavements. Ilia 
 brown jacket, with one very short sleeve of the same 
 color, and one very long one, taken from somebody's 
 blue over-alls, was too thin to afford much, if any, 
 protection from the cold. His freckled face, naturally 
 round, flat, and smooth, was drawn up into innumer- 
 able wrinkles when he uttered his oft-repeated cry of 
 "ma-atches! matches!" and his bushy red hair 
 surmounted by a cap that would have been small for 
 a child of half his years. Altogether, his appearance 
 was by no means attractive, and as he stopped before 
 Mrs. Septon's window, his evident wretchedness 
 moved her to purchase some of the articles so care- 
 fully carried in the long basket on his arm. The 
 lady, rightly guessing that he was hungry, went to 
 procure him some breakfast ; so Nellie was left alono 
 with him in the hall. She stood silently eyeing him 
 for some time; but at length a new idea flashed into 
 her mind, and she summoned courage to speak :
 
 NELLIE SEPTON'S OBEDIENCE. 151 
 
 " Little boy, do you live in a garret ?" 
 
 The boy stared, but made no reply ; probably he 
 did not know what a garret was. 
 
 Nellie persevered. " Little boy, do you live in a 
 cellar?" 
 
 " No, I stay nights on the top floor, and days in 
 the streets." 
 
 " Are you ever cold ?" 
 
 "Yes, most always." 
 
 " What's your name, little boy ?" Nellie would 
 call him little, though she scarcely reached his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Sometimes they call me Nat, and sometimes 
 Bub. I don't know which is right. May be both." 
 
 "Well" Nellie spoke slowly "I don't know, 
 but I guess you're the little boy we sung about yes- 
 terday. Will you go to Sunday-school with me?" 
 
 " To where ?" 
 
 " To Sunday-school." 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 " Oh ! it's a real nice place, where we sing, and 
 read the Bible, and hear pretty stories, and learn 
 how to be good." 
 
 " Is it warm there ?"
 
 152 'I'TOyS OBEDIEl 
 
 "Yes, real." 
 
 "Well, I'll go." 
 
 So the agreement was made ; and, after recei , 
 a good, warm meal from her mother, and repeated 
 injunctions from the girl to "be sure to be there in 
 time,' 1 the match-boy went out again into the cold. 
 He was gone, but Nellie did not forget him; and 
 often through the day she paused in the midst of her 
 play as the remembrance of the forlorn-looking child 
 came to her mind. 
 
 She was troubled, and with a trouble that was not 
 her own. At last she went to her mother for help. 
 " Mother, I wish I had a new coat for that little boy." 
 
 "Do you, my dear? Perhaps he could wear 
 some of your brother's clothes. I will try to alter a 
 suit for him." So Nellie's trouble was taken away, 
 and through the rest of the week she was so happy 
 that the house rang all day long with the sound of 
 her voice, as she sang, over, and over, and over 
 again 
 
 "Do you know any little barefoot boy 
 In a garret or a cellar?" 
 
 At last Sabbath morning came, and with it the
 
 NELLIE SEPTON'S OBEDIENCE. 153 
 
 little match-boy, looking colder, and dirtier, and 
 more ragged than ever. 
 
 Jane locked herself into her own room with hirn 
 for a while, and brought him back so changed that 
 Nellie would not have known him. He was really 
 quite good-looking, she thought, as she almost ran 
 with him through the street until they reached the 
 Sunday-school. They met the Superintendent at the 
 door. 
 
 " Mr. , here's a new scholar I brought thq, 
 
 one you told us about, you know." 
 
 The "new scholar" looked as though he would 
 like to run away, but the kind words he heard soon 
 reassured him ; and at length Nellie was delighted 
 to see an expression of real interest on his face as 
 he heard the lessons and hymns recited and sung. 
 Without doubt every thing seemed very strange to 
 Nat, the poor match-boy ; and when his teacher be- 
 gan to tell him about heaven, the "happy land" 
 where he would some time go if he loved to do what 
 was right, he began to wonder whether he were not 
 there already. 
 
 Of course it was not hard for Nellie to obtain, after 
 school, the promise that he would " come again."
 
 : BMPJC ' 
 
 And he kept his word. Sabbath after Sabbath 
 he was found always in his place, always in 
 always with a lesson perfectly learned. And from 
 week to week he altered for the better. PA'cn hia 
 voice lost its unnatural tone, and his eyes, which 
 were before wild and staring, began to wear a more 
 intelligent expression, lie "changed his busi: 
 too, and, with the help of his teacher, found a situa- 
 tion as errand-boy in a respectable store. Now 
 lie can scarcely believe that he is the same boy 
 excited her pity on that cold winter morning, which 
 seems to her to have been long ago. It is true that 
 no one can tell what his future will be ; but faithful, 
 honest, and industrious as he now is, learning every 
 week lessons of wisdom from the Book of books, 
 placed under the care of those who love to obey the 
 command, " Feed my lambs," it would be strange if 
 he should grow to be any thing other than a good 
 and useful man. Of Nellie, it can only be said that 
 " she did what she could."
 
 XXI. 
 
 HEN Fanny Ellerly was a very little girl, 
 only a few months old, she began to 
 show that she had what her nurse called 
 " a mind of her own." The first evidence of this 
 was found in the fact that it was her habit to utter 
 sundry very unmusical cries whenever any unfortu- 
 nate mortal endeavored to coax her into dreamland 
 before she considered it the proper time for going 
 thither. Her " signs of resistance " upon these occa- 
 sions, if they did not always secure her the victory 
 in the conflict that was sure to ensue, were, at least, 
 sufficient to prove that the will of the young lady 
 who made them was a thing not to be lightly spoken 
 of nor easily subdued. This state of affairs came at
 
 156 / WILL." 
 
 length to be so well understood that, when visitors 
 asked, as they often did, "Is not your babe 
 good, Mrs. Ellerly ?" the reply most frequently given 
 was, " Oh I yes, very only she likes to have her 
 own way sometimes." 
 
 When Fanny grew older and left the nursery for 
 the school-room, it was not long before her teacher 
 discovered that what the little girl had once resolved 
 upon, it was a difficult matter to prevent her from 
 doing. This determination of hers was indeed some- 
 times a great assistance in her studies ; for it enabled 
 her to learn easily and well lessons that the other 
 scholars were satisfied with saying were "so hard 
 that they couldn't understand them." But then, on 
 the other hand, it was often quite as much of a hin- 
 derance to her when it happened that, for some unac- 
 countable reason, her perseverance would suddenly 
 change into obstinacy, and she would declare that 
 she could not, should not, and would not do perhaps 
 some very little thing that her teacher had required 
 of her. 
 
 So, too, in regard to her schoolmates. Fanny's 
 " will " was very convenient when there was a spe- 
 cial favor to be obtained or a hazardous undertaking
 
 "I WILL." 157 
 
 to be performed ; for it invariably made her their 
 leader, and usually a triumphant one. But then it 
 was not quite so pleasant when Fanny insisted upon 
 directing all their sports ; telling them just how and 
 what to play, and compelling them always to do just 
 as she wished, without once being willing to yield 
 any thing to them. She would have been highly 
 indignant if they had called her selfish ; she would 
 have freely bestowed upon them her favorite books 
 and the toys she most prized if they had desired 
 them ; but not an iota of her darling will would she 
 have given up, to please even her dearest friend. 
 
 At home it was very much the same. Fanny 
 loved her parents, she believed, with all her heart ; 
 she would, indeed, have done any thing for them 
 provided always that they allowed her to do it at the 
 time she liked best, at the place she chose, and in 
 her own way. Certainly she loved them both most 
 fondly, but not enough to look up with a smile and 
 say, " Well, papa, you know best," when her father 
 denied her any thing she had asked him for, or to 
 leave her book or play with a cheerful face when her 
 mother requested her to watch her little brother 
 awhile, or to do an errand for her.
 
 / WILL." 
 
 The truth : : anny 1<>\ '.. -r any body 
 
 nor any thing so much o.s licr own will the will 
 that, though it was sometimes of service in helping 
 her to overcome difficulties, was more of an injury 
 to her than a benefit, because it made her exceeding- 
 ly selfish, tyrannical toward her companions, 
 even occasionally disobedient to her parents. Once 
 it brought her into a trouble which she never after- 
 ward forgot, and from the effects of which it took 
 her a long time to recover. " Fanny 1" called her 
 father one morning, "come here; I have somct 
 to show you," Fanny ran out to the front of the 
 house, and found there, standing by her father's 
 a beautiful little Shetland pony. It had a dark 
 chestnut-brown color, a long, shaggy mane and tail, 
 large black eyes, that seemed brimful of gentleness 
 and kindness, and was of just the right height for a 
 little girl to ride it without danger. 
 
 " Oh ! what a splendid pony !" exclaimed Fanny, 
 running to him and beginning to stroke his side. 
 " You dear, good papa, to get me such a beautiful 
 present Let me get on him right away, will you ?'' 
 Her father smiled at her eagerness, but replied that 
 the side-saddle which he had ordered had not yet ar-
 
 "I WILL." 159 
 
 rived, and his little girl must wait for lier ride until 
 it should come. 
 
 " Oh. ! I don't want any saddle. I can ride with- 
 out any," said Fanny. But her father thought diffe- 
 rently ; so after the pony had been admired and ca- 
 ressed, and a dozen different names none of which 
 were considered half good enough for him had 
 been discussed, he was led away to the stable. But 
 Fanny was not satisfied. " I don't see why I couldn't 
 have had just one ride. I think pa's real unkind 
 not to let me." These were her first thoughts after 
 her father had given her a " good-by" kiss and hur- 
 ried off to his business. 
 
 Her next thought was, that she might be able to 
 induce her mother to allow her to do as she desired. 
 So to her mother she went. 
 
 " Ma, mayn't I just get on the pony's back a min- 
 ute ?" " No, my dear, it would not be safe." " Oh ! 
 yes it would, ma. I think you might let me." 
 " Fanny, you heard what I said." st I don't care. 
 I will do it any way." "Fanny, I forbid you to go 
 near the pony until your father comes home : then 
 you may do as he says." Fanny went away pout- 
 ing, and looking very unamiable. " I don't see what
 
 !'" "/ H7/./..-' 
 
 harm it would be," she said to herself, "and I mean 
 to do it if I can." If she could only have known 
 how she grieved her kind mother, and how much 
 more she grieved her heavenly Friend, of whom it 
 is written that when he was a child upon earth he 
 s subject unto" his parents, giving us in this as 
 in all other things "an example that we should 
 follow in his steps" she would even then have 
 said, "I will not be so naughty any longer. I 
 will give up my own inclinations. I will not dis- 
 obey my mother." But no, she did not think of 
 the sorrow in her mother's heart ; she did not heed 
 the voice that says, "Children, obey your parents 
 in the Lord ;" she was determined to do wickedly. 
 She was very quiet for a while, considering how she 
 might best accomplish her purpose, and Mrs. Ellerly, 
 believing that her child was sorry for the disrespect- 
 ful words she had spoken, and had resolved to be a 
 better girl, went down-stairs to receive some morn- 
 ing calls. But Fanny's determination was un- 
 changed. " Now is my time," she thought, as the 
 door closed behind her mother ; and then, without 
 waiting for her hat or coat, she ran out to the stable.
 
 "I WILL." 161 
 
 She found the pony standing quietly in his stall, 
 looking like meekness itself. 
 
 " How silly it is to be afraid to have me get on 
 him. Just as if I were a baby ! I'll show them how 
 I can ride." So saying, she unfastened the pony and 
 led him out into the yard. " Now, pony, you kneel 
 down and let me get on your back." But the ani- 
 mal did not seem to understand this command ; at 
 all events, he declined to obey it. Finding that she 
 could not persuade him to kneel, she led him to a 
 wheelbarrow that was standing near by, and by the 
 help of this she at length contrived, but with great 
 difficulty, to mount upon his back. Now she felt 
 triumphant ; she would not have exchanged places 
 with General Grant himself. She was actually on 
 horseback, and all that remained to be done was to 
 ride. " Come, pony, turn around this way I" and 
 she jerked his mane vigorously ; but pony did not 
 stir. " Come, pony, turn !" and she jerked still hard- 
 er. Pony threw up one foot into the air he evi- 
 dently had a will as well as his owner. " Pony, go 
 along !" and Fanny slapped his neck with both hands. 
 This was too much of an indignity, and the pony, 
 with a sudden shake, threw his young rider from his
 
 back, ami walked leisurely into the stable. A 
 Fanny, she bad touched the wheelbarrow in her fall, 
 and it upset upon her just as she reached the ground. 
 There the coachman found her, half an hour after- 
 ward, scarcely able to breathe beneath the heavy 
 weight, and faint from the pain of a broken ankle. 
 lie carried her to the house, and laid her upon the 
 bt/tl in her own room, where she had to lie perfectly 
 still for many a long week, and have doctors come 
 around her and hurt her, and suffer a great deal. 
 But one day as she lay there she said : " Mother, I 
 am glad I broke my ankle. I think it was God's 
 way of teaching me that it is wrong for me to say, I 
 will. I see now that I ought to try to do as he 
 wants me to, and I know it is his will that I should 
 mind you and father." Before Fanny was able to 
 walk once more, she learned that it was not only 
 right to obey her parents in all things, but that it 
 really made her happier to sometimes give up her 
 own desires in order to gratify her friends and asso- 
 ciates. This discovery made her a better daughter, 
 a better pupil, a better companion, and never again 
 was she heard to say in angry obstinacy, " I will."
 
 XXII. 
 
 ELLIB RAYMOND had taken possession 
 for the time being of her father's easy- 
 chair. It was drawn close to the library- 
 table, upon which was placed a book still open, evi- 
 dently just laid aside. Seated, or rather reclining, 
 within the hospitable arms of the chair, her head 
 thrown back among the cushions, and her feet ex- 
 tended upon an ottoman, she looked the very per- 
 sonification of laziness. But, to tell the truth, Nel- 
 lie had never been so hard at work in her life. She 
 had been reading until the lengthening shadows of 
 the short winter day made such a proceeding at least 
 imprudent; reading in her favorite story-book, a 
 very old one, although the cover was still unsullied,
 
 164 /.//; A>.\ . - 
 
 and the brightness of its gilt-edged leaves had not 
 jrown dim. And she had chosen the story she 
 most loved of the many it contained how One, 
 " who thought it not robbery to be equal with God," 
 had condescended to bo laid, a helpless babe, in 
 Bethlehem's manger; how Joseph had been com- 
 pelled to " take the young child, and Mary, his mo- 
 ther, and flee into Egypt," in order to avoid the cru- 
 elty of a wicked king ; and how Jesus " increased 
 in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and 
 man." And then, passing on a little farther, she had 
 read the wondrous tale of Golgotha and Calvary, the 
 things which were written that, " believing, we might 
 have life," concerning him who " died, and revived, 
 and rose again," and ascended to the right hand of 
 God the Father. And now Nellie was trying very 
 hard to think how she could show her love to One 
 whose love was so much greater than hers could 
 ever be. 
 
 It was usually easy for her to speak kindly to her 
 brothers and sisters, to obey her father and mother, 
 and to do whatever her teacher might require. 
 
 But she wanted to do something that would cost 
 her an effort ; something that would seem like real
 
 NELLIE RAYMOND'S WORK. 165 
 
 work for her Master, and she could think of nothing 
 at all. All the boys and girls whom she knew went 
 to Sabbath-school regularly, and lived in comfortable 
 homes, where all their wants were well supplied ; and 
 she was not certain that she had ever heard of any 
 blind old woman to whom she might read the Bible, 
 and carry delicacies, and prove herself a ministering 
 angel. So the longer she thought, the more her 
 trouble increased, the more positive she was that 
 there was nothing for her to do. 
 
 "What! Nellie, my child, sitting here in the 
 dark?" exclaimed Mr. Kaymond, just then coming 
 in, and almost alarmed to find his usually active lit- 
 tle daughter sitting perfectly quiet and all alone, in- 
 stead of being foremost to welcome him when he 
 entered the door of his home. " What is the mat- 
 ter ? Are you sick, or tired, or sleepy, or lazy ? 
 Come, get a light, and look at the picture I have 
 brought you." 
 
 Nellie sprang up to do as she was desired, but was 
 rather surprised to find that the picture contained no 
 cherubs' wings nor baby faces, and neither lake nor 
 mountain, flower nor tree. 
 
 In the foreground was a perfectly plain table,
 
 166 i;.iYMn.\ifs 
 
 covered over with writing materials, and around it 
 were seated, pen in hand, a number of strangely 
 dressed men, with small eyes, low foreheads, high 
 :ind long cues hanging from the backs 
 of their heads. Only one of them looked as though 
 he might have come from some part of the civili/ed 
 world, and he was dressed in the same outlandish 
 costume as the rest 
 
 Nellie could not imagine why her father had 
 bought such a very uninteresting picture, with noth- 
 ing pretty about it at all. 
 
 " What a queer-looking set of men ! Where do 
 they live? What are they doing? Who is that 
 one in the middle ? What are those " 
 
 (: Wait a minute, my daughter. One question at 
 a time. These men are Chinese. That one in the 
 centre is Robert Morrison, an English missionary. 
 It is only sixty years since he left his home and set 
 sail for China ; but he was the first Protestant mis- 
 sionary who went to teach the people of that coun- 
 try the way of salvation. Upon reaching the city 
 of Canton, he found himself in a land where were 
 more than three hundred millions of men, women, 
 and children, living in heathenism and wickedness;
 
 NELLIE RAYMOND'S WORK 167 
 
 and he, with the exception of one friendly native, 
 was all alone, with no helper but his God. What 
 could he do among so many ? He certainly could 
 not preach personally to all those three hundred 
 millions. But one thing it was possible for him to 
 do for them : he would translate the Bible into their 
 language, in order that they might all read for them- 
 selves the truths which he had been sent to teach 
 them. So he hired a retired room, dressed himself 
 in the costume of the natives for it was necessary 
 to be cautious in order to escape persecution and 
 then went to work. In the picture you see him en- 
 gaged in translating, with his assistants around him. 
 His undertaking was by no means an easy one ; for 
 in Chinese writing eight or ten thousand characters 
 are employed instead of the twenty-six of our alpha- 
 bet, and all these must be used in their proper place. 
 Dr. Morrison labored at first amid many difficulties, 
 but after a time more help was procured, and in the 
 course of a few years of patient toil his task was ac- 
 complished. From that time the Chinese have been 
 able to read in their own tongue the wonderful 
 works of God. They have been slow to leave their 
 idols in order to embrace the Christian religion ; but
 
 168 M-I.LII-: /:,: r:-/" .Y//.V WORK. 
 
 we hope it will not be long before they learn to 
 the Saviour whom we worship, and to adore the God 
 whom they, as well as we, are bound to serve. Af- 
 ter living in China as a missionary for more than 
 twenty-five years, Dr. Morrison died, leaving a name 
 more honorable than those who have conquered 
 whole empires that they might increase their own 
 glory ; for he lived in obedience to the command, 
 ' Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' " 
 
 " I wish I could go and teach the heathen, too," 
 said Nellie. 
 
 "Perhaps you can some day, if your life is spared ; 
 but in the mean time, I know of at least one hea- 
 then whom you might instruct, and she lives much 
 nearer than India, or China, or Japan." 
 
 "Where is it? I will go and see her right away." 
 
 " Well, you will have to go no farther than to the 
 kitchen ; for Katy certainly needs to be taught as 
 much as though her skin were dark, and her dress 
 strange, and she lived thousands of miles away. 
 Don't you remember her saying the other day how 
 much she wished that she knew how to read ?" 
 
 " Yes, father, but it would take a good while to 
 teach her, she is so slow to learn."
 
 NELLIE RAYMOND'S WORK. 169 
 
 " Certainly, Nellie, but you must have patience 
 and perseverance ; and, if you really want to do 
 good, you will not be afraid of a little trouble and 
 self-denial." 
 
 "Well, I will try," said the little girl; "I will 
 begin to-night." 
 
 And Nellie did try and did succeed, though some- 
 times her patience was almost exhausted, and some- 
 times it seemed as though Katy could not or would 
 not learn ; and often it would have been far plea- 
 santer to have been playing games with her brothers 
 and sisters than to be bending over that tedious 
 spelling-book. 
 
 But at length, when Katy was able to stammer 
 through the first chapter of John, and to say, with 
 gladness beaming on her countenance, "I am so 
 much happier, Miss Nellie, since you taught me to 
 read," Nellie felt that her labor had not been in vain. 
 The first and best fruit of the Spirit is love.
 
 xxnr. 
 
 What jrte the 
 
 IZZIE LORRAINE'S father was what is 
 called a prosperous merchant. His firm 
 was considered one of the safest in the 
 city; his name and credit stood high in the estima- 
 tion of all who knew him, and his home was one of 
 the most elegant which wealth and good taste com- 
 bined were able to procure. Altogether, his situation 
 was regarded as most enviable by the less fortunate 
 men around him, excepting, perhaps, by the few 
 wiser than himself who had paused to think upon 
 the question, " What shall it profit a man if he shall 
 gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" 
 
 Lizzie, his only daughter, was, by both her pa- 
 rents, petted and caressed, humored in all her whims 
 and fancies, continually laden with gifts, and treated
 
 WHAT MADE THE DIFFERENCE? 171 
 
 very much as a pretty plaything made to amuse and 
 to be amused, rather than as an immortal being to 
 be trained for the service and glory of God. Of 
 course, it was not strange that all this indulgence 
 had injured the child's temper, and made her, as her 
 mother secretly believed, a very little selfish ; yet it 
 was not on this account discontinued. 
 
 " Why should we not try to please Lizzie when- 
 ever it is possible ?" Mr. Lorraine would say to his 
 wife. " I do love to see the little thing happy." So 
 when Lizzie's birthday approached, the important 
 day upon which she was to be really seven years 
 old, many were the plans laid for her entertainment. 
 
 First, and most important in the arrangements for 
 the celebration of the event, was a party, to which 
 all her schoolmates and companions were to be in- 
 vited, and at which were to be flowers and music, 
 dancing and feasting. Lizzie was delighted with the 
 prospect before her, with the vision of costly dresses, 
 and brilliantly lighted rooms and a crowd of polite 
 little gentlemen and ladies, bowing and smiling, and 
 trying to behave in all things as they imagined their 
 fathers and mothers would do if placed in similar 
 circumstances.
 
 172 WIT AT MADE THE DIFFER KXCK? 
 
 The long-desired evening came at last, and Lizzie 
 was pleased, as she had expected to be. Yet per- 
 haps her happiness was not quite so perfect as one 
 might have supposed ; for, terrible to relate, the dis- 
 covery had been made, too late to be remedied, that 
 a very insignificant trifle about her own attire was 
 not in the very latest style ; and, in the next place, 
 she was almost too fatigued from the excitement of 
 preparation to enjoy the dancing as she was accus- 
 tomed to do : and then her guests were not all of 
 them thoroughly polite after all ; for Minnie Smith 
 said, in a whisper quite loud enough for Lizzie to 
 hear, that she thought Lizzie Lorraine's taste was 
 very poor indeed ; and Ilarry Smith, after inviting 
 her to dance, actually left her when he saw Lucy 
 . liis particular friend, standing by the wall with- 
 out a partner. 
 
 But worse than all this was the experience of the 
 next day, when Jane was cross because the little girl 
 did not rise so early as usual ; and her father went 
 off to his business without giving her his morning 
 kiss ; and her mother declared that "she hoped they 
 would never have a party again, the excitement was 
 so trying to one's nerves;" and Lizzie herself felt
 
 WHAT MADE THE DIFFERENCE f 173 
 
 out of humor with every body and every thing a 
 certain seven-year-old young lady included. 
 
 She did not feel like studying, so going to school 
 was not to be thought of. Her mother was too tired 
 to ride out, and it was not likely that any of her 
 friends would call to see her. 
 
 Of course, her games and toys were useless if she 
 had no one to share them with her, and she never 
 could bear to practice on the piano. 
 
 The list of possible amusements for the day was 
 growing exceedingly small, until at last a bright 
 thought struck Lizzie's mind. 
 
 " Come, Jane," said she, " I want to take a walk. 
 Get ready and go with me, will you ?" 
 
 Jane was pleased with any plan which could re- 
 lieve her of the duty of finding entertainment for her 
 somewhat troublesome charge, so the walk was agreed 
 upon. 
 
 " Where shall we go, Miss Lizzie ? To the park, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " Oh ! no, I'm tired of the sight of that old park. 
 Come down this way, and let us look at the store- 
 windows. I want to see something new." 
 
 Jane turned obligingly in the direction indicated
 
 WHAT MAD/-: THE Ull'l'I-ll. 
 
 by the little girl, and the two walked on briskly, 
 only pausing now and then to a'lmire the attractions 
 of some gayly decorated window. 
 
 Stopping before one more magniGcent in its dis- 
 play than the rest, Lizzie noticed near it a small, low 
 stand, covered with shoe-laces, penny songs, and 
 other articles of small value. Behind it was a small 
 object which occasioned in Lizzie's mind some doubt 
 whether it might be a little girl or a very old wo- 
 man so pinched were the features with the piercing 
 cold, and so marked was the brow with the traces of 
 care and suffering. Her clothing could not help to 
 resolve the difficulty ; for her head was enveloped in 
 a quilted hood, so large that the cape covered her 
 shoulders; around her was a thin, faded shawl, 
 which looked as though it might have come over 
 in the Ilalf-Moon or the Mayflower ; and her ragged 
 dress hung about her in scanty folds, and was then 
 gathered tightly around her feet. Lizzie was, indeed, 
 sorely perplexed in what light to regard this pitiful 
 object, until, drawing nearer, she saw the pale lips 
 begin to move, and then heard sung, in a clear, child- 
 ish voice, the words :
 
 WHAT MADE THE DIFFERENCE? 175 
 
 " Jesus loves me. This I know ; 
 For the Bible tells me so." 
 
 "Little girl," interrupted Lizzie, "is that one of 
 the songs on those papers ?" 
 
 The child was evidently too engaged with her 
 own thoughts to notice any thing around her; so 
 she went on singing : 
 
 " He will love me when I die, 
 Take me home to him on high." 
 
 Lizzie repeated her question. " All the new songs 
 that's goin', mum, only one cent apiece. I have 
 laces, two pair for three cents. Eattles, apples, 
 whistles, very cheap," was the startled but rather in- 
 appropriate reply. 
 
 " Miss Lizzie wants to know," said Jane, coming 
 to the help of her charge, " was it one of these songs 
 you were singing?" 
 
 " Oh ! no," answered the child, her face growing 
 suddenly bright; "it's one I learned in the school 
 yonder, and I sing it most days when I sit here by 
 myself; it makes me feel glad like." 
 
 Lizzie wondered how any one so poor as her new 
 acquaintance could ever feel glad about any thing.
 
 17t; WHAT MADE THE DIFFERENCE t 
 
 " What is your name, little girl ?" 
 
 'Marguerite; and little sis's name is Emma. I 
 take care of her and me, and a gentleman lets us 
 sleep down cellar ; and she goes to the school every 
 day, and Sundays we both go together. And wo 
 have such nice times ; it's so warm there ; and that's 
 where I learned to sing, and I got this book there, I 
 did." 
 
 She drew from her pocket a small, worn Testa- 
 ment, and looked upon it with an expression which 
 told, better than words could have done, how she 
 had learned to love it. 
 
 " This tells what the song means, you know, and 
 about the place where He lives. It must be beauti- 
 ful up there." 
 
 " Come, Miss Lizzie," said Jane ; " what would 
 your ma say to see you talking here to a little beg- 
 gar ? I'll give her some pennies to get her dinner 
 witlu and we must go home." 
 
 Lizzie turned away with a feeling of regret ; she 
 had intended to ask Marguerite the name of the book 
 which could make a poor child appear so much hap- 
 pier than she herself was, with all her friends and 
 many pleasures. Why was it that she should feel
 
 WHAT MADE THE DIFFERENCE? 177 
 
 restless and discontented, while a little friendless girl 
 could sit and sing with very gladness in the cold, 
 comfortless street ? 
 
 Lizzie did not know that it was the knowledge 
 which Marguerite had obtained of "a Friend who 
 sticketh closer than a brother" that caused her to 
 forget the troubles of this world in thinking of the 
 heaven to which he would guide her at last. " The 
 fruit of the Spirit is joy."
 
 XXIV. 
 
 with ft 
 
 MISERY ! thou art to be my only por- 
 tion ! Father of mercy, forgive me if 
 I wish I had never been born I Oh ! 
 that I were dead, if death were an annihilation of 
 being ; but as it is not, teach me to endure life to 
 enjoy it I never can." 
 
 Had these words been written by a man who had 
 passed through many years of suffering ; who had 
 seen all his hopes destroyed and all his loved ones 
 perish ; who was worn by multiplied cares and enfee- 
 bled by manifold trials ; whose only hope of rest or 
 peace was in the grave though we could hardly 
 even then think them right we might still con 
 them as the natural expressions of a heart sunk in
 
 A STORY WITH A MEANING. 179 
 
 hopeless despair. But when we are told that they 
 were written by a mere boy by one who had not 
 yet passed " youth's sunny season ;" who still heard 
 the whispers of hope in his soul ; who had laid bright 
 plans for a life of usefulness, if not of happiness, it is 
 difficult to believe that what we read is true. And 
 yet these were words penned during his boyhood by 
 Dr. John Kitto, who became in after-years one of 
 the most noted Bible students whom England has 
 numbered among her men of learning. One can 
 readily imagine that, at the time of writing such lines 
 as these, he must have felt himself in unusual trou- 
 ble. And well he might ; for to be poor, friendless, 
 ill-treated, and withal totally deaf and almost dumb, 
 as he was, is to be in a condition which God in his 
 mercy has called few others to experience. The 
 boy's whole history was a sad one, but it may teach 
 us a lesson which we need to learn. Until he 
 reached his twelfth year he had been able, like other 
 children, to hear the voices of his friends, the sweet 
 songs of the birds, and all the pleasant sounds with 
 which the air is filled. But at that age his ears were 
 closed, never more on earth to be opened. He lost 
 his hearing by an accident which happened in this 
 way.
 
 180 A STORY WlllI A 
 
 It was toward the close of the day. From the 
 morning until then the child had been working with 
 his father, whose trade was that of a mason, and who 
 was engaged at the time upon the roof of a building 
 of more than average height It was the duty of the 
 boy to ascend again and again the ladder which 
 reached from the ground to the roof, as he carried to 
 his father the materials required for use. Already 
 he had mounted many times ; soon his task would 
 be ended, and he would go home to enjoy the even- 
 ing meal and the rest made sweet by labor. But 
 truly we know not what an hour or a moment may 
 bring forth. Just as his work was almost finished, 
 just as he had gained the highest round of the ladder 
 for nearly the last time, his foot slipped, and lie fell 
 a distance of many feet to the pavement below. He 
 found there lying senseless, was carried home, 
 and for two weeks knew nothing. When he awoke 
 from his long sleep, a strange stillnes >>und 
 
 him ; he could sec the moving lips of those about 
 him, but not a word that they spoke was he able to 
 distinguish his sense of hearing was destroyed. It 
 was not long before, forgetting, perhaps, the sound 
 of language, and unable to perceive whether he spoke
 
 A STOUT WITH A MEANING. 181 
 
 correctly or not, he lost, in a measure, the power of 
 speech, and could make himself understood only by 
 signs or writing. This sudden affliction was indeed 
 great ; but the old saying that " troubles never come 
 singly" was in his case to be verified, and he was 
 was called to further sorrow. His grandmother, with 
 whom he had previously lived, dying, left him with- 
 out a home. His father, a man of dissipated habits, 
 failed to provide for his son, and the deaf-mute was 
 sent to the workhouse. There he was taught the art 
 of making shoes, and was, after a time, apprenticed 
 by the workhouse authorities to a shoemaker. This 
 man proved to be a most cruel master, who struck 
 the boy when he made a wrong stitch, pounded his 
 head with a hammer upon slight provocation, and 
 ill-treated him, in many ways. It was during this 
 trying apprenticeship that the boy penned the lines 
 found above, which express a degree of misery al- 
 most impossible to be realized by those who, in com- 
 fortable homes, enjoy the kindness of the friends 
 who are dear to them, and who possess, in all their 
 perfection, the faculties of which the young shoe- 
 maker was deprived. Yet, even in the midst of his 
 griefs, he found companionship and consolation in
 
 A \\-rni .1 
 
 reading and study ; for of these be was very fond, 
 and all of his leisure moments were devoted to self- 
 improvement. For this boy, whom no one could 
 expect to become any thing more than a tolerable 
 mechanic, just able, perhaps, to earn his daily bread, 
 living and dying in the obscurity in which his lot 
 appeared to be cast, had already determined to make 
 of himself all that he could, and had dreamed of one 
 day writing books which should cause his name to 
 be known and honored. 
 
 His extraordinary intelligence was not destined to 
 remain long unnoticed. It attracted the attention of 
 some gentlemen, who procured his release from his 
 apprenticeship and raised a fund to enable him to 
 continue his studies. As his friends supposed that 
 there were few occupations which he could pursue, 
 it was proposed that he should learn the art of print- 
 ing, which he soon thoroughly mastered. Having 
 acquired it, he was engaged as a printer for a mis- 
 sionary station on the island of Malta, for which 
 place he accordingly sailed. 
 
 His work there, though faithfully performed, was 
 unsatisfactory to his employers, who quarreled with 
 him because his spare hours were passed in study,
 
 A STOUT WITH A MEANING. 183 
 
 and very soon dismissed him. Upon his return to 
 England, he was engaged as tutor to the sons of a 
 missionary about leaving for Persia. With them 
 the young man traveled for the space of three years, 
 eagerly seizing the opportunities which were fre- 
 quently offered of becoming familiar with the places 
 mentioned in the Scriptures. 
 
 Keturning once more to his native land, Mr. Kitto 
 devoted himself entirely to literature, and in twentj^ 
 years (from 1833 to 1853) composed twenty-one 
 books, some of which were of great size, and treated 
 of subjects requiring profound study. At length, at 
 the age of fifty, his overtasked brain gave way, and 
 then, when his work was done, God called him to 
 himself The trials of his youth had their compen- 
 sation in the universal esteem in which he came to 
 be held in after-life ; and though to him they were 
 grievous, for us their recital is full of instruction, 
 since they show us what obstacles may be overcome 
 when one has once determined to improve all the 
 talents which have been committed to him. If a 
 poor deaf-mute could do so much and so well, what 
 should be expected of those whose faculties are un- 
 impaired, and whose advantages are better by far
 
 184 A STOHY WITH A .VAM.V/ 
 
 than his? All may not have the abilities which he 
 possessed all may not become authors, or make 
 their names famous among men ; but all may do 
 something to honor the God who made them, and 
 whom it is their duty to serve. Our talents may be 
 many or few, our gifts of one sort or another ; but we 
 all have at least one talent, one gift which may be 
 made of use to our fellow-men. It may be no more 
 than the power to speak kindly, to " weep with 
 those that weep, and rejoice with those that do re- 
 joice," or to give a cup of cold water in the Master's 
 name ; but whatever can be done, let us do, and our 
 reward shall be sure. But we need to remember 
 that we are responsible not only for what we can do, 
 but also for what we may become able to do, and for 
 this reason we should carefully cultivate all the 
 powers by means of which it is possible for us to 
 benefit others. 
 
 If learning to play upon an instrument, or to sing 
 songs of gladness, will make the home circle plea- 
 santer and happier, and we can learn, then we should 
 practice music we have a talent to be improved. 
 If by diligent study we can become better fitted to 
 impart instruction to those more ignorant than our-
 
 A STORT WITH A MEANING. 185 
 
 selves, we should make study our business it is a 
 part of our duty. It may be one gift or it may be 
 another that we are called to employ all have not 
 the same ; but of one thing we may be certain our 
 work upon earth will not be rightly done unless we 
 make of ourselves, our time, our opportunities, all 
 that we can.
 
 XXV. 
 
 c\ Conflict mul a ; rictov\i. 
 
 JND when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye 
 have aught against any." What was 
 it that so suddenly brought these words 
 to the memory of Marion Graves? The "still si- 
 lence " of the evening hour had come, the duties, the 
 pleasures, the little trials of the day were all over ; 
 and now, as the young girl knelt to ask of the great 
 Father forgiveness for her offenses, and to commit 
 herself to his watchful keeping, there came a 
 consciousness that she was in a state unfit for prayer, 
 a knowledge, together with the remembrance of the 
 command, that she was not ready to obey it, and 
 rising, she left the prayer unsaid. 
 
 For how could she approach the mercy-seat while
 
 A CONFLICT AND A VICTORY. 1ST 
 
 she knew that sin ruled her spirit, that she was un- 
 willing to forgive the trespasses of one who had tres- 
 passed against her ? Would the Lord hear her while 
 she regarded iniquity in her heart ? Yet it was very 
 difficult to obey the precept ; for Marion, although 
 she hoped that her name was among those which are 
 written in the Book of Life, was not "already per- 
 fect;" it had always been a hard matter for her to 
 forget an injury ; and to-day she had been attacked 
 on a point upon which she was naturally sensitive. 
 
 "Oh! so here comes the new saint. I suppose 
 she's going to be a pattern of excellence. There's 
 no need of our having high tempers after this, girls ; 
 for we won't have any one to teach us how to show 
 them." 
 
 This was the salutation which had greeted her ear 
 as she entered the school-room that morning, and it 
 was not one which it was easy to bear in silence. 
 To be ridiculed upon any subject was, to Marion, 
 particularly annoying ; but to be laughed at for her 
 newly made resolutions ; to listen to this allusion to 
 a temper which, as her schoolmates well knew, was 
 always easily excited ; and to receive this treatment 
 from one who had hitherto been her friend, was too
 
 .1 f \FLICT AXI> A I 
 
 much for her fortitude. " Alice Carlisle !" she began, 
 and then, suddenly recollecting herself, she turned, 
 with a flushed cheek and glistening eye, and moved 
 quickly to her desk. Anger was her besetting sin, 
 and it overcame now, overcame her when most she 
 had need to resist it. Why could she not be com- 
 posed and try to feel kindly toward Alice? But 
 it seemed impossible, and all day long there was a 
 struggle in her heart between the good and the evil ; 
 she knew that it was right to " forgive and forget," 
 but for her it was unnatural, and so for a time the 
 evil gained the mastery. Her lessons were, as usual, 
 well recited, her home duties faithfully performed ; 
 but overshadowing them all with a dark cloud of 
 gloom, making pleasures troubles and light tasks 
 irksome, was the knowledge that somewhere in the 
 heart which she had lately hoped had been renewed 
 and purified was a feeling not only of dislike, but 
 almost of resentment toward her thoughtless school- 
 mate. Night came at length, bringing to others re- 
 pose of body and of mind, but not to Marion. Could 
 she rest with that weight of unrepented guilt upon 
 her? Could she sleep without sending heavenward 
 the penitential prayer ? But to repent and to pray
 
 A CONFLICT AND A VICTORY. 189 
 
 were both impossible while she still heard and dis- 
 obeyed this one command, " Forgive." This Marion 
 knew, but yet it was hard to forget the scornful look, 
 the taunting tone, the unkind words to love with 
 the old affection the friend who had so suddenly be- 
 come a foe. It was, indeed, a dark hour for Marion 
 Graves ; for there can be none more sad than one in 
 which the soul, at war with its better inclinations, 
 rebels against the commandments of its God. But 
 presently there came to her the remembrance of a 
 darker hour than that of a conflict far more terrible, 
 when the sun was vailed in blackness, the graves 
 were opened, and the rocks were rent when earth 
 and sky united to proclaim the sorrowful but won- 
 drous tale of Olivet and Calvary. And as Marion 
 called to mind the anguish that had once been borne 
 for her remembered, too, the prayer of compassion 
 that had arisen even from the cross, "Father, for- 
 give them ; for they know not what they do " she 
 could resist no longer. "Her sins, which were 
 many," had been pardoned, and surely she could 
 overlook one provocation, one trifling injury. She 
 was ready now to forgive not only "until seven 
 times, but until seventy times seven."
 
 190 A Cf \rf.f r .i.v/> .1 r/'To/;r. 
 
 following morning Marion was among the 
 who gathered around the school-room lire, chat- 
 pleasantly as they awaited the ringing of the 
 bell which should summon them to quiet and study. 
 Alice did not arrive till later, and when she came it 
 was with a clouded brow and troubled countenance. 
 " Girls," said she, approaching the knot by the stove, 
 ' have any of you solved this problem ? I worked 
 at it all last evening ; but my ideas about it now are 
 like 'confusion worse confounded.'" "I can ex- 
 plain it to you, Alice," replied Marion kindly. 
 " Oh ! thank you, Miss Perfection, I most respect- 
 fully decline your aid ; I was addressing myself to 
 the others." 
 
 Marion turned away grieved, but this time not 
 angry. She had determined to "overcome evil with 
 good," and would not despair at the first disappoint- 
 ment ; she would watch for some other opportunity 
 to prove the sincerity of her forgiveness. She had 
 not to watch in vain. Not once, or twice, but often 
 there came times when she could and did show that 
 her love for her friend was undiminished. And at 
 It-njrth she reaped the reward of her efforts. Gradu- 
 ally the iron bars of prejudice were broken down, 
 and instead of them were renewed the old cords of
 
 A CONFLICT AND A VICTORY. 191 
 
 affection which had once bound the two hearts to* 
 gether. 
 
 Several years passed rapidly away, and at the sea- 
 son when the earth in its new raiment of green was 
 telling to all that the winter was over and gone, and 
 the time of the singing of birds had come, two girls 
 might be seen walking together in a retired street in 
 
 the town of . Unlike as they were in personal 
 
 appearance, each face was radiant with the same joy, 
 each beamed with the light of the same hope. Of 
 that hope, of that joy, Marion and Alice were con- 
 versing. "Were not these words, spoken by the 
 former scoffer who had learned to love the things 
 which she once despised, a sufficient recompense 
 to her friend for the struggle and the victory of a 
 few short years before? "Marion, do you know 
 what first made me believe that there was reality in 
 religion ? It was the fact that it enabled you, whose 
 disposition was naturally resentful, to forgive so en- 
 tirely all my unkindness toward you. You first 
 showed me the beauty of a life conformed to the 
 precepts of the Gospel, and you taught me to see 
 and to endeavor myself to prove the truth of the 
 saying of the wise man, ' Better is he that ruleth his 
 spirit than he that taketh a city.' "
 
 LIRRAPY