4 " 
 
 This book 
 is presented to 
 Illinois Wesleyan 
 University by 
 PRESIDENT 
 MINOR MYERS /JR 
 
 
ILLINOIS WlSLlYAN UMIV. LIBRARY 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/beautifulgateothOOches 
 

THE 
 
 BEAUTIFUL GATE, 
 
 dtjjfr ®ahs. 
 
 BY 
 
 CAROLINE CHESEBRO’, 
 
 A.rTHOE OF “DEEAMLAND,” “ ISA, A PILGEIMAQE,” ETO. 
 
 NEW YORK AND AUBURN: 
 
 MILLEK, OETON & MULLIGAN. 
 
 New York: 25ParkEow. — Auburn: lOT Genesee-st. 
 
 1855. 
 
 PS 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hun- 
 dred and fifty -five, 
 
 BY MILLER, ORTON & MULLIGAN, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of 
 New- York. 
 
 auburn: 
 
 MILLER, ORTON & MULLIGAN, 
 
 STEKEOTYPEES AND PRINTERS. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Beautiful Gate, . 
 
 I. 
 
 7 
 
 A Story of the Cross, 
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 82 
 
 III. 
 
 The Little Street Singers, 
 
 . 110 
 
 The Pink Shell and the 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sea Weed, 
 
 118 
 
 Little Alice’s Prayer, 
 
 V. 
 
 . 141 
 
 The Town Pump, . 
 
 VI. 
 
 • ♦ 
 
 . . 162 
 
 The Fragrant Artificials, 
 
 VII, 
 
 * f 
 
 . . 169 
 
 VIII, 
 
 The Bell Ringers, 
 
 , . 181 
 
 The Robin in the Swamp, 
 
 IX. 
 
 . 201 
 
 The Garden, 
 
 X. 
 
 • • 
 
 , . 209 
 
 The Trumpet Floweb, 
 
 XI. 
 
 . . 221 
 
TO THE CHILDREN 
 
 OF 
 
 Brotj^er antr Sister: 
 
 Not long ago, in the pleasant summer time, I inscribed this little book to 
 yon, — and when I made the offering, it was to me as if I had gathered & 
 bunch of flowers from my heart for you ; from the furrowed field of my heart 
 — I will not yet awhile presume to call it a garden. Since then, dreary 
 winter days have fallen upon us, and a great shadow, that will never pass 
 away from your Grandfather’s house. 
 
 You will not send me from your distant homes any wondering look — you 
 will not be surprised, I know, when I take back thebouquet I gave you, and 
 lay it. — no I I will not say upon A Grave. She who has gone from me — 
 from our household — to “the country far away’” is alive forever more, we 
 all know, and we will never, never think of her as dead. 
 
 To her dear memory who gave me courage and the heart to labor, I must 
 inscribe this little volume. Do any of you ask me why? She was the joy 
 of my childhood, and the best friend of my later years — the melody and 
 sunlight of my life. And therefore do I dedicate the book written with a 
 thought of you, 
 
 TO THE DEAR MEMORY 
 
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 INY the Poet was born in the coun- 
 try. Thrice blessed are they who 
 have the beautiful country for their 
 birth-place. Now I know there is not one among 
 
8 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 you but will say the same thing. If there is, 
 from my heart I pity you ! Josiah, the wood- 
 cutter, was his father; and just on the border 
 of a forest stood their cottage home. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable about this cot- 
 tage. It was built of wood, like any other little 
 house : it had never been painted, but for all 
 that, it had a good, substantial color of its own 
 — for the sun, and the rain, and the wind had 
 very kindly clubbed together and given it a 
 good, durable color of their own making, with- 
 out a cent of cost. Under the edges of the old 
 roof, like a ragged sort of fringe, hung long rows 
 of swallows’ nests — a queer sort of ornament 
 for a cottage! — and what a chattering those 
 birds did keep up. And the little windows — 
 they were, indeed, a sight to see, such odd little 
 breaks in the wall they looked like — with panes 
 of glass bright as diamonds, made, one might 
 think, for bird’s eye views, rather than old Josi- 
 ah’s and Kitty’s eyes. 
 
 Just under the moss-covered roof was a garret 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 9 
 
 chamber, in which Tiny slept, with the birds so 
 near him, and the shadow of the great forest over- 
 shadowing him. There was nothing remarkable 
 about the cottage, I repeat, but Tiny thought 
 there wasn’t a home like it in the whole world, 
 and in fact much the same thought Josiah, who 
 was himself only a Tiny of larger and rougher 
 growth. I wonder if you understand how that 
 could be? Yes! a great house was it in the 
 wood-cutter’s eyes. Perhaps you will think be- 
 cause he was an ignorant, stupid old creature, 
 who had always lived in the woods, who had 
 never seen anything of the world, or the grand 
 houses people build. But that is your mistake. 
 Tiny the first, I mean old Josiah, was born in a 
 city, and there he had lived a great many years ; 
 and he had seen enough of crowds and palaces to 
 satisfy him. You are thinking now how he 
 could possibly imagine his humble cabin in 
 the country such a wonder ! Do n’t you know 
 it was his home — and that his own hands 
 had built it when he was a young man, and 
 
10 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 thinking of Kitty for his wife ! Now you nn- 
 derstand. 
 
 On the border of the great forest stood this 
 cottage home. Neither about this forest was 
 there anything remarkable, excepting to the three 
 persons who lived in its great shadow. Nobody 
 in the world knew so well as Josiah how much 
 those mighty oak and maple trees were worth — 
 and when he swung his axe there, he seemed as 
 proud of them as if they were his children, and 
 he seemed to love them, too, nearly as well as 
 he loved his Tiny. They had a way of talking 
 to him that he liked, for he was not a deaf man, 
 nor yet a stupid man, and he understood the 
 talk of the trees as well as any great poet that 
 you ever heard of. 
 
 Also to Josiah’s wife and Tiny’s mother, Kitty, 
 it was a remarkable forest. Would she ever 
 forget the morning when she lost her way there, 
 and the wood-cutter helped her to find it again ? 
 She was a young girl then. J osiah was much 
 older than she. I dare sav there was more than 
 
 t/ 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 11 
 
 one gray hair in his head at that very time — 
 they had loved each other ever since that 
 morning. 
 
 But more wonderful, far more wonderful, than 
 either to his father or his mother, was that great 
 dark forest without paths, to the poet Tiny. 
 Not only because innumerable singing birds 
 built their nests, and laid their eggs, and hatched 
 their young, and taught them how to fly there. 
 Not only because multitudes of flowers, gay and 
 beautiful, and like the stars in number, blos- 
 somed there — nor yet because a river, with 
 waves blue like the sky, down which floated 
 snow-white swans, ran past the cottage, dancing 
 through the forest. 
 
 But because — now be patient — I intend to 
 tell you why it seemed so wonderful to him, but 
 I must begin again at the beginning. 
 
 Tiny was born in the cottage that stood in the 
 shadow of the forest, I said. 
 
 There he lived, flrst in the shape of a little in- 
 fant that lay helpless in its mother’s arms, dream- 
 
12 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 ing pretty dreams wliich were like riddles to him 
 and he could not guess their meaning — (indeed 
 I may as well say it, he was all his life finding 
 out their meaning, and perhaps he did not quite 
 satisfy himself on that score till the day of his 
 death.) Then he lived there as a creeper about 
 the cottage fioor, when he sat on the door step 
 listening to the birds and understanding all 
 they said, the chatty, merry little singers in 
 their songs, as readily as his father understood 
 the conversations of the oaks and maples. 
 
 That time passed away, and he was a baby no 
 longer, but a gentle boy with golden hair that 
 curled like an angel’s, so his mother thought ! — 
 a happy little boy, whose blue eyes had so much 
 of heaven in them that you never would have 
 thought that they could possibly grow blind. A 
 loving and obedient child, who could not have 
 believed that there was any creature more beauti- 
 ful on earth than his dear mother when she held 
 him m her arms, and bent her dear face towards 
 him till his soft round cheek pressed close against 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 13 
 
 her own — when she held him so, kissing him, 
 and telling him old rhymes and tales which she 
 had learned when she herself was but a little 
 child. "Well he loved to listen to all these, but 
 there was one story better than all the rest, 
 which she did not tell so often, but which Tiny 
 remembered longer than any other ; it was the 
 story of the Harp that hung up on the kitchen 
 wall. 
 
 It had hung there ever since the day that Tiny 
 was born — a poor old pilgrim gave it on ‘ that 
 very day to Josiah in exchange for a loaf of 
 bread. By that I do not mean that Josiah sold 
 the loaf to the poor old hungry pilgrim. Josiah 
 was too charitable to make a trade with a beg- 
 gar. But the stranger said this strange thing to 
 Josiah — I am near to death — I shall sing no 
 more — I am going home. Keep my harp for 
 me until a singer asks you for it, and promises 
 you that he will sing unto the Lord a New Song. 
 Give it to him ; but be sure before you do so 
 
14 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 that he is worthy to sing the song unto the 
 Lord.’’ 
 
 So Josiah had taken the harp home with him, 
 and hung it on the wall, as I said, on the day 
 that Tiny was born. And he waited for the 
 coming of the poet who should have that won- 
 drous song to sing. No fairy tale, no tale of 
 kings and palaces, and beautiful princesses, was 
 even half so beautiful as this, to little Tiny, sit- 
 ting on his mother’s knee, while she narrated it. 
 
 And after those days, he had lived there as a 
 rosy, laughing fellow, who ran hunting for the 
 flowers, and chasing the squirrels in the forest — 
 who made necklaces of the red wintergreen ber- 
 ries for his mother, while he hovered like a sing- 
 ing butterfly about his father, as Josiah measur- 
 ed the great oak logs into lengths, and chopped 
 away at them from morning until night. 
 
 Then, as a thoughtful boy, who sailed his 
 paper boats upon the river, and saw them go, 
 like beautiful thoughts, sailing on and on to- 
 wards the great ocean where mighty ships of 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 15 
 
 thought sail to and fro from one world to another. 
 A quiet lad who asked Josiah such strange 
 questions as puzzled the old man to answer — 
 who listened silently while his father told of the 
 merchants’ vessels, and the buildings which would 
 be made from those great pieces of timber — of 
 the churches, and the bridges, and the prisons, 
 of ware-houses and docks, pleasure boats and 
 pirate’s cutters, and ships engaged in the slave 
 trade, and mighty men-of-war. How silently 
 Tiny listened while his father told of these 
 things! And while he listened, silently he 
 thought, and thought, and thought. 
 
 Then he grew into another sort of fellow. 
 
 Still more quiet, still more earnest, brave and 
 
 thoughtful, who had his own secret thoughts 
 
 about the old Pilgrim and the Harp that hung 
 
 upon the kitchen wall. He did his work in 
 
 those days in silence. His work I said — for 
 
 there was no room in that little cottage for a 
 
 pair of idle hands. But he did not only work 
 
 with his hands. Back and forward like a weav 
 H 
 
16 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 er’s shuttle, as somebody said, his thoughts went 
 flying through his brain. And precious stuff 
 was woven there. How his blue eyes used to 
 flash when he read or heard of any iniquity done 
 in the earth ! How strong he felt his hand to 
 be to flght for the weak and poor ! how eager 
 his tongue was to help them ! what gentle words 
 his voice had for any one in trouble ! how full 
 his heart was of generous, warm feeling for all 
 in anguish or distress ! how often and how earn- 
 estly he prayed to God that he would give him 
 something to do in behalf of the poor? 
 
 In those days Tiny used to send forth, from 
 time to time, upon the river — that very river 
 which ran past the cottage through the forest, 
 and on towards the sea — a richer treasure than 
 the fragile paper boats with which he used to 
 sport ; and what do you think that could be ? — 
 Even his songs ! Thoughts which came to him 
 sometimes in the dead of night, when he was 
 lying wide awake upon his bed, looking through 
 his little window at the stars, with the swallows 
 
thp: beautiful gate. 17 
 
 so near him in their nests under the eaves, that 
 Tiny called them his bed-fellows, who slept in 
 feathers as well as himself! 
 
 And sometimes they came to him when he sat 
 in the evenings reading aloud to his mother, 
 pausing now and then to look at her through 
 his fingers, and to wonder, when he did so, if 
 ever any other boy had such a mother, so good, 
 and kind, and patient, and so exceeding lovely ! 
 I wonder what you will say to that ? And then 
 again they came to him at times when he silently 
 walked in the silent forest, lost in meditation, 
 gathering no more wintergreen or thorn-berries 
 for his mother’s necklaces, to be sure, but think- 
 ing of another sort of wreath, of evergreen, 
 which he would some day lay upon her forehead 
 for a crown, because she was ms mother ! 
 
 As a helpless infant, happy boy, and thought- 
 ful youth, he had lived in that humble cottage, 
 singing his songs, beholding the glory of the 
 lieaven and the earth, and seeing in a vision all 
 
 nis future days. 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 It is an easy thing for me to tell how dear the 
 old people were to the heart of Tiny, but what 
 a treasure Tiny was to them, oh, that is quite 
 beyond my power. I can only make a guess in 
 the dark at that. They called him their life 
 sometimes, when they were talking of him to 
 each other, and by that they meant, I suppose, 
 that he was what gave the chief value to their 
 life — that he was better than all other things 
 to them. 
 
 Every day old Josiah gave thanks to God for 
 Tiny, and while he felt his own strength failing, 
 year by year, while he knew that his right arm 
 was getting weaker, as well as his eyes and his 
 love of life, he looked to the lad, and the blood 
 warmed in his old veins, and in his arm, and in 
 his eyes also ; and he greAV stronger at the sight 
 of so much beauty, and strength, and promise. 
 And day by day Tiny’s mother repeated his say- 
 ings, and treasured them in her heart, as words 
 of wisdom ; and when she slept she dreamed of 
 him. He was never for one moment absent 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 19 
 
 from her thoughts. If ever she dropped her work 
 and took to building castles in the air, it was for 
 him that she built them. He was to be the lord 
 and master of them all. And now when she 
 went working busy as a bee about her little 
 house, instead of singing the old songs with 
 which she had hushed him to sleep, so many 
 times, she sang others, new and strange ones — 
 songs which Tiny also sung ; he had learned them 
 in the forest he said — ^in that wonderful forest in 
 whose shadow the little cottage stood. 
 
 II. 
 
 But, while things went on with them in this 
 smooth way, there was a change at hand. Away 
 down the river, in the world, people had caught 
 an echo of the young voice that was singing 
 with the birds in the forest, and with sweet 
 persuasive words they called to him ; they said, 
 Oh, beautiful singer, come nearer ; we need 
 
20 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE, 
 
 thee; come and dwell with us — dwell with us 
 
 — work with us.” 
 
 Tiny heard that call. His heart w^as in his 
 mouth when he heard it. Wider than ever 
 before opened his handsome eyes — in his heart 
 he was eager to go ; — but he said not a word. 
 Yet often he bent his head and lost himself in 
 thought, and his father and mother understood 
 that as well as if he had said outright, “I must 
 leave you.” ISTeither of them had the strength to 
 say to the other, It is he that will take the Harp 
 down from our wall and go away ” — but both be- 
 lieved it. His mother, when she saw it, threw her 
 arms around his neck and wept, but neither she 
 nor Tiny said a word. He did not tell her his 
 hope ; she did not tell him her fear. And pres- 
 ently she dressed her pale face in a smile again 
 
 — but it was not a natural smile, and Tiny knew 
 it was put on to comfort him. And yet he tried 
 not to know it. He tried to believe that it was 
 the old smile she used to wear before these strange 
 new things had come to pass. He tried to think 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 21 
 
 she was as happy now as before she knew that 
 the world was calling to her to give her son 
 away ! 
 
 But though he did his best in trying to believe 
 all this, it was a different affair when Tiny came 
 to old Josiah. For instead of smiling over his 
 suspicion, the father only looked more serious 
 than ever, and tears and grave looks went about 
 with him wherever he went; they were the 
 shadow which his sad heart cast. Once, Tiny 
 overheard him in the forest saying to himself, 
 The world ! ’’ With great scorn he said it, as 
 if, from the depths of his honest old heart, he 
 despised it. The world ! it is as hollow as a 
 hollow tree,” and with that he struck his axe 
 against just such a tree, a tree that had no heart 
 in it. You might have thought he owed it a 
 grudge, from the way he did it. 
 
 As Josiah spoke Tiny appeared before^ him. 
 Father,” said he, do you remember what fine 
 things you used to tell me of the cities built of 
 forests such as this ? ” Tiny thought that this 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 *•>9, 
 
 was a good opening to the subject : and he look- 
 ed at J osiah, his father, as if he intended to take 
 him at once into his confidence. 
 
 The cities are well enough,’’ muttered the 
 old man, looking rather displeased, for he knew 
 that Tiny had overheard him talking alone by 
 himself — - “ I never said anything against them.” 
 
 But you said just now that the world is like 
 a hollow tree,” continued Tiny. 
 
 ^^The world means the people in it,” said Jo- 
 siah, and that was all he said. Tie did not in- 
 tend to hear anything more either, for taking up 
 his axe he began to work in such a way as pre- 
 vented his hearing or speaking further at that 
 time. And so Tiny walked away, as he knew 
 that his father desired to have him. 
 
 Not a word had Tiny spoken of all the new 
 thoughts that went rushing through his mind, 
 keeping him wakeful in the night, and making 
 him so unlike himself by day. 
 
 In the garden he worked harder than ever be- 
 fore — but when in the autumn he planted the 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 23 
 
 seed wliich should appear in the spring time, he 
 said nothing to his mother about it. To have 
 seen how they avoided the subject, they who 
 had always talked together so much and so 
 freely of all their plans from spring to fall and 
 from fall to spring, to have seen how they avoid- 
 ed speaking now of another summer time, one 
 woald have thought that their winter was going 
 to last forever. 
 
 He arose with the sun — and it was not often 
 that le stopped labor while the day lasted ; but 
 his heart was no longer in that sort of work — 
 he labored like one who is setting his affairs in 
 order before making a long journey. And the 
 father and mother understood it, and when they 
 were alone together, they looked at each other 
 as much as to say, “We know all about it; no- 
 body can enlighten us — we shall lose our Tiny.” 
 
24 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE* 
 
 III. 
 
 It was in the middle of December that the first 
 snow fen that winter. On that day Tiny gat in 
 the kitchen with his mother, in a very strange 
 mood, poor Kitty thought ; but it was not so v0ry 
 strange. Tiny was only silent because he had so 
 much to say, and did not know exactly how to 
 begin his speech. But when she saw his eyes 
 fixed upon the kitchen wall, and on the Harp 
 that hung there, then she began to tremble and 
 to be afraid that very soon she should understand 
 it all too clearly. Still she said nothings — and 
 even when he pushed back his chair from the 
 fire-place and with one arm round her neck said 
 softly in her ear — Mother,’’ even then she said 
 nothing, for her terror increased, and tears blind- 
 ed her eyes, and choked her voice. She did not 
 even take him into her arms and fold him to her 
 breast, and try to tell him how his conduct trou- 
 bled her. 
 
 And perhaps Tiny took her silence for some- 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 25 
 
 thing more than it really meant — perhaps he 
 took his own hope for the assurance that it was 
 all as he desired ; that she understood him and 
 was glad. At all events he walked straight 
 across the kitchen without another word, and 
 took down the old harp from the smoke-browned 
 wall, and seating himself in the place by the 
 fireside where he always sat in the evenings, he 
 began to tune the harp, and then to sing ! 
 
 Nothing said the mother all this while — only 
 she wept in silence ; and not a word said Tiny, 
 but his hope shone from his eyes as he touched 
 the harp and sang. 
 
 Presently the poor mother’s hands dropped 
 from the face they had hidden, but Tiny dared 
 not look at her ; he feared to see what might be 
 looking at him from that face. Like one gone 
 out of her mind she gazed at him ; then at length 
 she stood up and continued gazing at her boy, as 
 if in a splendid dream. She had done with such 
 tears as she had just now shed — the old smile, 
 only brighter than ever, crossed her face like 
 
26 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 sunshine. And then her heart ov'erflowed. It 
 ran over her face like a flood of tears, but they 
 were tears in vdiich was no bitterness ; she made 
 no attempt to hide them. So freely did they 
 fall that she knew nothing of them — they were 
 as bright as her smile. For she thought upon 
 the Pilgrim’s words, and the FTew Song that 
 should be sung unto the Lord. Oh, if indeed 
 her Tiny was to sing it ! And she went up to 
 Tiny, her son, and tenderly she laid her hard, 
 rough hands upon his golden locks, so tenderly 
 as never other than a mother’s hand could rest 
 upon the head of her child, and she blessed him, 
 calling him a Poet, a true singer, and said, verily 
 the Harp was his, and that for him the Pilgrim 
 left it! 
 
 Hever had these words, or words like these, 
 fallen from her lips before. He had waited a 
 long time to hear her say them. The world, yes, 
 the world had called him a singer and a poet, but 
 in his heart he had said when his father and 
 his mother called him so, then he should know 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 27 
 
 that it was true — then he would believe it — then 
 he would go forth and do his work. 
 
 Therefore when Tiny now heard her dear voice 
 saying these things to him, the sound was more 
 than he could bear : he threw aside his harp, 
 and hiding his face in the folds of her woolen 
 dress, wept aloud. ^^Now I have yoiir bless- 
 ing,’’ said he, I may go ! But when I come 
 back again I will sing a splendid song, not like 
 any that you ever heard before, and then you 
 will call me ten times a poet and a singer. I 
 shall come back, mother — this only is my home. 
 And I can never find one where you are not.” 
 
 And there was such a grand light in the two 
 eyes that looked upon her, such a wondrous 
 music in the voice of Tiny as he spoke, he seem- 
 ed so changed, so glorified, that the poor old 
 mother of the boy stood back in her astonish- 
 ment, and looked at him, and could not say a 
 word. ISTothing could she say — but well he 
 knew that if she could speak she would bid him 
 ^ Go ! ” — he read it in her eyes. 
 
28 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 But even as he read this word there — the 
 word of all others he had most longed to hear — 
 sad and tender thoughts, instead of glad and 
 proud ones, overwhelmed him. And taking up 
 the harp again he sang the story of his child- 
 hood. And running through it all, as the bright 
 silver chain which kept all these pearls of mem- 
 ory securely in their places, and gave to them 
 their worth, was his dear mother’s name. How 
 she wept to hear him ! All her kindness, all her 
 gentleness and patience, and the great love that 
 never was found wanting; her care over his 
 helplessness, her long watching over him, all her 
 deeds, every one of them, had their menory in 
 his inmost heart. 
 
 The afternoon passed away, but neither Tiny 
 nor his mother noticed that the night was coming 
 on, until it became quite dark in the kitchen, and 
 then Josiah came home. 
 
 When he opened the door his son seemed not to 
 know it. Kitty hurried up to him with her fin- 
 ger on her lip, as much as to say that he was 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 29 
 
 not to speak a word, but only listen to their poet. 
 There was no need of giving him this caution 
 however, for poor J osiah could not have spoken 
 a syllable though the need had been ever so 
 great. And when he looked at his wife and saw 
 how she was smiling, and from her to their Tiny 
 with the Harp in his hand, his wonder increased 
 more and more. lie thought that Kitty must 
 have lost her senses. How could she smile at 
 this? 
 
 And though Tiny played, and played his best, 
 and sang his wonderfulest, nothing said the old 
 man — but his grave face became still graver, 
 and he looked as if in sore distress, or else in 
 sore displeasure. 
 
 So at length Tiny laid aside the Harp, and 
 crossed the hearth to the corner in the shadow 
 where his father sat, and he said softly, as if 
 afraid of the sound of his own voice, or else as 
 if awed by what the gray hairs and wrinkled 
 visage of his father said to him, 
 
 “ I have not forgotten what the old pilgrim 
 
80 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 told you. When I tuned the harp I remember 
 ed what must follow. But, father, may I not sing 
 unto the Lord the ISTew Song? May I not? ’’ 
 
 The old man returned never a word. 
 
 If I go away from you I shall come back 
 again. I only want to go a little while, that I 
 may comfort the sad, and help the weary, and 
 assist the poor. As truly as I live, father, that is 
 all my desire.” 
 
 Not a word said Josiah. If he could have 
 wept a little then, it would have done him good 
 ^ — but not a tear fell from his eyes ; and from 
 his face the look of pain and sorrow did not pass 
 away. It was a look that pierced poor Tiny to 
 the heart — but still he thought, ^^I should be 
 but a poor soldier if I were willing to give up 
 the fight so soon. My father would not expect 
 it of me — he would not wish it.” So Tiny took 
 up the harp again without another word, and all 
 that evening while the storm raved against the 
 cottage walls, and tossed the falling snow into 
 great drifts and hills, he played the most beauti- 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 31 
 
 ful music, and patiently waited for liis father to 
 say some encouraging, or at least some cheerful 
 word. 
 
 But nothing of the kind, and not a word of 
 any kind said the old man ; and yet, while he 
 sat in the dark corner with his hand shading his 
 eyes, as if the tallow candle light were too much 
 for him, Josiah felt in his heart pretty certain 
 of the end that was to he. 
 
 lY. 
 
 In the morning, by break of day, Josiah waked. 
 His wife was awake long before him — indeed she 
 had scarcely closed her eyes that night ; and she 
 was ready to speak the moment his eyes opened. 
 For she had promised Tiny that she would have 
 a private talk with his father. So she said in a 
 low, but distinct voice, as though she wxre talk- 
 ing to herself : 
 
 have nursed him, and watched over him 
 
32 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 year after year. He has been like the sun shin- 
 ing in my path, and precious as a flower. There 
 is not another like him. I love him better than 
 I do my eyes. If he were away I might as well 
 be blind.’’ 
 
 That puts me in mind of what I ’ve been 
 dreaming,” said the old man. If I was only 
 sure that he would come at last to the Beautiful 
 Gate, I would n’t say another word. But who 
 can tell ? And if it actually happened that he 
 lost his sight — poor Tiny ! ” 
 
 Josiah did not flnish what he had begun to 
 say, but hid his face in the bed clothes, and then 
 the good wife knew that he was weeping, and 
 her own tears began to fall, and she could not 
 say a word. 
 
 After breakfast, when Josiah had gone off 
 into the woods, the mother told Tiny of this bit 
 of a conversation — but of course she could not 
 explain about the dream; she knew no more 
 what the boy’s father had dreamed than you or 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 33 
 
 I. do; only slie knew it was something curious 
 and fanciful, about the Beautiful Gate. 
 
 Tiny listened with great interest to his mother’s 
 words, and he smiled as he kissed her when she 
 had done speaking, and he said, ^^Wait till this 
 evening, mother dear, and you shall see.” 
 
 And so she waited till the evening. 
 
 When they were gathered around the kitchen 
 fire at night. Tiny took down his harp again. 
 The father, when he saw what it was the boy 
 would do, made a little move as if he would 
 prevent him ; but the mother playfully caught 
 the old man’s hand and held it in hers while she 
 said aloud, Only one song, Tiny. Your father 
 was broke of his rest last night — so get through 
 with it as quick as you can.” 
 
 At which remark the old man looked well 
 pleased, for now he fancied that his wife agreed 
 with him in this business, and that together they 
 should soon put all nonsensical dreaming about 
 the world out of the boy’s head. For Josiah 
 would not yet allow himself to believe that it 
 
34 : 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 was for his boy Tiny that the old pilgrim left the 
 harp. 
 
 And yet never was a sweeter voice than that 
 of the yonng singer — old Josiah acknowledged 
 that to himself — and old Josiah knew — he was 
 a judge of such things, for all his life he had 
 been singing songs in his heart. 
 
 Yes ! though you would never have imagined 
 such a thing, that is, if you are in the habit of 
 judging folks from their outward appearance — 
 he had such a rough, wrinkled face, brown with 
 freckles and tan ; such coarse, shaggy gray hair 
 — and such a short, crooked, awkward figure ; 
 you never would have guessed what songs he 
 was forever singing in his heart with his inward 
 voice — they were songs which worldly people 
 would never hear — only God and the angels 
 heard them. Only God and the holy angels ! — 
 for as to Kitty, though she was Josiah’s best 
 earthly friend, though she knew he was such an 
 excellent man, though she believed that there 
 was not a better man than he in all the world. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 35 
 
 though, year by year he had been growing love 
 Her and lovelier in her eyes — yes ! though his 
 hair of course got rougher and grayer, and his 
 figure more bent, and his hands harder, and his 
 teeth were nearly all gone ! — growing lovelier be- 
 cause of his excellence, which increased with age 
 as good wine does — still even she, who knew him 
 better than any person on earth, even she knew 
 him so little that she never so much as dreamed 
 that this wonderful voice of Tiny’s was but the 
 echo of what had been going on in Josiah’s heart 
 and mind ever since he was himself a child ! 
 
 It was because he understood all this so very 
 well that Josiah was troubled when he thought 
 about his son. 
 
 But to go back to the singer in the chimney cor- 
 ner. Tiny sat alone on his side of the fire-place, 
 in the little chair fashioned out of knotted twigs 
 of oak which his father had made for him long 
 ago. Opposite him were the old folks — the 
 father with his arms folded on his broad chest 
 — the mother knitting beside him, now and 
 
36 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 then casting a side-long glance at the old man 
 to see how it went with him. 
 
 Wonderful was that song which Tiny sung! * 
 
 Even the winter wind seemed hushing its voice 
 to hear it, and through the little windows looked 
 the astonished moon. 
 
 And J osiah lifted up his eyes in great amaze- 
 ment, as he heard it — as if he had altogether 
 lost himself. It was nothing like his dream that 
 Tiny sang, though to he sure it was all about a 
 Beautiful Gate. 
 
 Altogether about the Beautiful Gate ! and of 
 the young poet, who, passing through it, went 
 his way into the great Temple of the World, sing- 
 ing his great songs, borne like a conqueror with 
 a golden canopy carried over him, and a golden 
 crown upon his head ! Biding upon a white 
 horse splendidly caparisoned, and crowds of 
 people strewing multitudes of flowers before 
 him ! And of the lady who had placed the vic- 
 tor’s crown upon his head 1 She was by his side, 
 more beautiful than any dream, rejoicing in his 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 3T 
 
 triumph, and leading him on towards her father’s 
 palace, the Beautiful Pearl Gates of which were 
 thrown wide open, and the king himself with a 
 bare head stood there, on foot, to welcome the 
 Poet in to the great feast. 
 
 With this the song ended, and with a grand 
 sweep of the silver strings Tiny gently arose, and 
 hung the harp against the wall, and sat down 
 again with folded hands, and blushing cheek? 
 half frightened, now when all was over, to think 
 what he had done. The tire had vanished from 
 his eyes, and the red glow of his cheek went fol- 
 lowing after, and if you had gone into Josiah’s 
 kitchen just then, you never would have guessed 
 that he was the enchanter who had been raising 
 such a storm of splendid music. 
 
 At first the old man could not speak — tears 
 choked his words. Ahem,” said he once or 
 twice, and he cleared his voice with the inten- 
 tion of speaking ; but for a long time no words 
 followed. At length he said, shaking his head, 
 — It is n’t like what I dreamed — it is n’t like 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 what I dreamed and one would have supposed 
 that the old man felt himself guilty of a sin by 
 the way he looked at Tiny, it was with so very 
 sad a look. 
 
 But beautifuler,” said the mother, beauti- 
 fuler, is n’t it, Josiah ! ” 
 
 Yes,” answered Josiah ; ‘‘ but still he spoke 
 as if he had some secret misgiving — as if he 
 were not quite sure that the beauty of the song 
 had a right to do away with the sadness of his 
 dream. 
 
 ‘‘ But,” said Tiny, timidly, yet as if determined 
 that he would have the matter quite settled now 
 and forever — am I a singer, father ? am I a 
 poet ? ” 
 
 Slowly came the answer — but it actually 
 came, Yes,” with a broken voice and troubled 
 look, and then the old man buried his face in his 
 hands, as if he had pronounced some dreadful 
 doom upon his only son. 
 
 Then said Tiny boldly, rising from his seat, 
 
 I must go into the world. It says it needs me 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 39 
 
 — and father, shall your son hide himself when 
 any one in need calls to him for help ? I never 
 would have gone, father, if you and mother had 
 not said that I was a singer and a poet. For 
 you I know would never deceive me ; and I made 
 a vow that if ever a time came when you should 
 say it to me, that I would go. But this is my 
 HOME, father and mother; I shall never get an- 
 other. The wide world could not give me one. 
 It is not rich enough to build me a home like 
 this.’’ 
 
 Do n’t speak in that way,” said the old man, 
 and he turned away that Tiny should not see his 
 face, and he bent his head upon the back of his 
 chair. 
 
 Presently Tiny went softly up to him and laid 
 his hand upon Josiah’s arm, and his voice trem- 
 bled while he said, Dear father, are you angry 
 with me ? ” 
 
 No, Tiny,” said Josiah — but what are you 
 going to do with the world ? You ! . . . my 
 poor boy.” 
 
 13 
 
40 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 Good ! ” said Tiny with a loud, courageous 
 voice — as if he were prepared, single handed, 
 to fight all the evil there was in the w^orld — 
 Good, father, or I would not have dared to take 
 the pilgrim’s harp down from the wall. I will 
 sing,” continued he still more hopefully, and 
 looking up smiling into the old man’s face — 
 will sing for the sick and the weary, and cheer 
 them ; I will tell the people that God smiles on 
 patient labor, and has a reward in store for the 
 faithful better than gold and rubies. I will get 
 money for my songs, and feed the hungry; I 
 
 will comfort the afflicted ; I will ” 
 
 ^^But,” said Josiah solemnly, lifting his head 
 from the back of the chair, and looking at Tiny 
 as if he would read every thought there was in 
 the boy’s heart. What did all that mean about 
 the Beautiful Gate? Ah, my son, you were 
 thinking more of your own pride and glory, than 
 of the miserable and the poor ! ” 
 
 ‘‘It was only to prove to you that I had a voice, 
 and that I could sing, father,” answered Tiny. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 41 
 
 Long gazed Josiah upon the face of his son as 
 he heard this. Then he closed his eyes, and 
 bent his head, and Tiny knew that he was pray- 
 ing: that was a solemn silence — you could 
 have heard a pin drop on the kitchen floor. 
 
 Presently the old man arose, and without 
 speaking, went softly and took the Harp down 
 from the wall. ^‘Take it,” said he, handing it 
 to Tiny, “Take it — it is your’s. Do what you 
 will. The Lord direct your goings.” 
 
 “ Without your blessing, father ? ” said Tiny 
 stepping back and folding his arms upon his 
 breast. He would not take the harp. Then 
 with both hands pressed on Tiny’s head the old 
 man said, “ May God bless you, my son.” 
 
 The old man’s face was very calm then, and 
 there was not a tear in his eyes as he spoke ; he 
 had begun to hope again. And he turned away 
 from Tiny to comfort his poor wife. 
 
 “ Many, many years we lived alone before our 
 Tiny came,” said he — “ and we were very happy 
 — and we will be very happy yet, though he is 
 
42 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 going away. He is our all • — but if the world 
 needs him he shall go and serve it.’’ And noth- 
 ing more said J osiah — for his heart was full — 
 too full for further speech. 
 
 V. 
 
 Well, — Tiny the singer went sailing down the 
 river one bright morning, on a boat loaded with 
 lumber ; his Harp was on his arm, and the rest 
 of his worldly goods upon his back. 
 
 It was a sad parting — but they all comforted 
 themselves thinking of the time when he would 
 come back again. It was a long journey to be 
 sure — but then, at the end of it was the world 
 — which had need of him ! 
 
 So Tiny sat upon the top of the lumber, the 
 most valuable part of the ship’s load by far, 
 though the seamen and the owner of the lumber 
 thought him only a silly country lad, who was 
 going down to the city, probably on a fool’s er- 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 4:3 
 
 rand. And Tiny looked at the banks of the 
 riyer, right and left, as they floated down it, and 
 thought of all the songs he would sing. 
 
 And all the first day it was of the poor he 
 would help — of the desolate hearts he would 
 cheer — of the weary lives he would encourage, 
 that he thought ; the world that had need of him 
 should never find him hard of hearing when it 
 called to him for help. And much he wondered 
 — the poet Tiny sailing down the river towards 
 the world, how it happened that The World with 
 all its mighty riches, and its hosts on hosts of 
 helpers, should ever stand in need of him ! But 
 though he wondered, his joy was none the less 
 that it had happened so. And on the first night 
 he dreamed of pale faces growing rosy, and 
 sad hearts becoming lighter — and weary hands 
 strengthened, all by his own efforts. The world 
 that had need of him felt itself better off on ac- 
 count of his labors ! 
 
 But on the second day of Tiny’s journey other 
 thoughts began to mingle in with these. About 
 
44 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 his father and mother he thought, not in such a 
 way as they would have been glad to know — 
 but proudly and loftily ! What could he do for 
 them ? Bring home a name that the world never 
 mentioned except with praises and a blessing ! 
 And that thought made his cheek glow and his 
 eyes flash, and at night he dreamed of a trum- 
 peter shouting his name abroad, and going up 
 the river to tell old Josiah how famous his boy 
 had become in the earth ! 
 
 And the tliird day he dreamed, with his eyes 
 wide open, tlie livelong day, of the Beautiful 
 Gate, and the palace of Fame and Wealth to 
 which it led ! and he saw himself entering there- 
 in, and the multitude following him. He sat 
 upon a throne, and wise men came with gifts, 
 and offered them to him. Alas, poor Tiny ! the 
 world had already too many helpers thinking 
 just such thoughts — it had need of no more 
 coming with such ofierings as these — would no 
 one tell him so? Would no one tell him that 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 45 
 
 the New Song to be sung unto our Lord, was 
 very different from this ? 
 
 And at the end of the third day. Tiny’s jour- 
 ney was ended. . . . And he was landed 
 
 on the world. . . . Slowly the ship came 
 
 sailing into harbor, and took its place among a 
 thousand other ships, and Tiny went ashore. 
 
 VI. 
 
 It was about sunset that Tiny found himself in 
 the street of the great city. The workmen were 
 going home from their labor he thought, at first, 
 — but could it be a city full of workmen, he 
 asked himself as the crowd passed by him and 
 he stood gazing on the poor? For he saw only 
 the poor : now and then something dazzling and 
 splendid went past, but if he turned again to 
 discover what it was, that made his eyes ache 
 so with the brightness, the strange sight was lost 
 in the crowd, and all he could see were pale faces. 
 
46 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 and hungry voices, and the half-clad forms of 
 men, and women, and children. And then he 
 said to himself with a groan, ^^The city is full of 
 beggars.” 
 
 As he said that, another thought occurred to 
 Tiny, and he unfastened his harp, and touched 
 the strings. But in the din and roar of the city 
 wagons, and in the confusion of voices, for every 
 one seemed to be talking at the top of his voice, 
 what chance had that harp-player of being 
 heard ? Still, though the crowd brushed past 
 him as if there was no sound whatever in the 
 harp strings, and no power at all in the hand 
 that struck them. Tiny kept on playing, and 
 presently he began to sing. 
 
 It was that they wanted — the living, human, 
 voice, that trembled and grew strong again, that 
 was sorrowful and joyous, that prayed and wept, 
 and gave thanks, just as the human heart does ! 
 It was that the people wanted ; and so well did 
 they know their want that the moment Tiny be- 
 gan to sing, the crowd going past him heard his 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 4:7 
 
 voice. And the people gathered round him, and 
 more than one said to himself with joy, “ Our 
 brother has come at last ! ” 
 
 They gathered around him — the poor, and 
 lame, and sick, and blind ; ragged children, 
 weary men, desponding women, whose want and 
 sorrow spoke from every look, and word, and 
 dress. Closely they crowded around him ; 
 and angry voices were hushed, and troubled 
 hearts for the moment forgot their trouble, and 
 the weary forgot that another day of toil was 
 before them. The pale woman nearest Tiny who 
 held the little baby in her arms, felt its limbs 
 growing colder and colder, and once she looked 
 under her shawl and quickly laid her hand upon 
 her darling’s heart, but though she knew then 
 that the child was dead, still she stood there 
 smiling, and looking up towards heaven where 
 Tiny’s eyes so often looked, because at that very 
 moment he was singing of the Father in Heaven, 
 whose house of many mansions is large enough 
 for all the world. 
 
4:8 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 It was strange to see the eftect of Tiny’s song 
 upon those people ! How bright their faces 
 grew ! kind words from a human heart are such 
 an excellent medicine — they make such aston- 
 ishing cures ! You would have thought, had 
 you been passing by the crowd that gathered 
 around Tiny, you would have thought an angel 
 had been promising some good thing to them. 
 Whereas it was only this young Tiny, this country 
 lad, who had journeyed from the shadow of the 
 Great Forest, who was telling them of a good 
 time surely coming ! 
 
 When he had finished his song, Tiny would 
 have put up his harp, and gone his way, but that 
 he could not do — because of the crowd. 
 
 ‘‘ Sing again ! ” the people cried. The beggars 
 and rich men together — (it was a long time 
 since they had spoken with one voice.) Did ] 
 tell you that a number of rich men had gather 
 ed, like a sort of outer wall, around the crowd 
 of poor people which stood next to Tiny. 
 
 ‘‘ Sing again ” they cried — and loud and clear 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 49 
 
 above the other voices said one, There is but 
 a solitary singer in the world that sings in such 
 a strain as that. And he, I thought, was far away 
 — I mean the poet Tiny. Can this be he ? ’’ 
 Then Tiny’s heart leaped within him, hearing 
 it, and he said to himself: ^‘If my father and 
 mother were but here to see it ! ” . And he sung 
 again — and still for the poor, and the weary, 
 and the sick, and the faint-hearted, until the 
 street became as silent as a church where the 
 minister is saying, Glory be unto the Father.” 
 And indeed it was just then a sacred temple, 
 where a sacred voice was preaching in a most 
 sacred cause. 
 
 I hn sure you know by this time what the 
 cause ” was ? And while he sang, the rich 
 men of the outer circle were busy among them- 
 selves, even while they listened, and presently 
 the person who had before spoken, made his way 
 through the crowd, carrying a great purse filled 
 with silver, and he said, “ You are Tiny himself 
 
 — do with this what you think best. We have 
 4 
 
50 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE 
 
 a long tinae been looking for you in the world. 
 Come home with me — and dwell in my house, 
 oh, Poet, I pray you.” 
 
 Tiny took the heavy purse, and looked at it, 
 and from it to the people. 
 
 Then said he — oh, what melody was in his 
 voice, how sweet his words ! None of you but 
 are my friends — you are more — my brothers 
 and sisters. Come and tell me how much you 
 need.” As he spoke he looked at the woman 
 who stood nearest him with the dead baby in 
 her arms. Her eyes met his, and she threw 
 back the old, ragged shawl, and showed him her 
 little child. Give me,” said she, only enough 
 to bury it. I want nothing for myself. I had 
 nothing but my baby to care for.” 
 
 The poet bowed his head over the little one, 
 and fast his tears fell on the poor, pale face — 
 and like pearls the tears shone on the soft, white 
 cheek, while he whispered in the ear of the wo- 
 man, Their angels do always behold the face 
 of Our Father.” And he gave her what she 
 
THE B E A U T I F U L G A T E . 
 
 51 
 
 needed, and gently covered the baby’s face again 
 with the tattered shawl, and the mother went 
 away. 
 
 Then a child came up and said — now this was 
 a poor street beggar, remember, a boy whom 
 people called as hold as a thief — he came and 
 looked at Tiny, and said gently, as if speaking 
 to an elder brother whom he loved and trusted 
 — “My father and mother are dead — I have a 
 little brother and sister at home — and they de- 
 pend on me — I have been trying to get work — 
 but no one believes my story. I would like to 
 take a loaf of bread home to them.” 
 
 And Tiny looking at the boy seemed to read 
 his heart, and he said, laying his hand on the 
 poor fellow’s shoulder, “ Be always as patient, 
 and gentle, and believing as you are now, and 
 you will have bread for them and to spare, with- 
 out fear.” 
 
 Then came an old, old man bending on his 
 staff, and he spoke out sharply, as if he were 
 half starved, and all he said was “ Bread ! ” and 
 
52 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 with that he held out his hand as if all he had 
 to do was to ask, in order to get what he wanted. 
 
 For a moment Tiny made him no answer, and 
 some persons who had heard the demand, and 
 saw that Tiny gave him nothing, began to laugh. 
 But at that sound Tiny rebuked them with his 
 look, and put his hand into the purse. The old 
 man saw all this, and he said, ‘‘ I am tired of 
 begging — I ’m tired of saying, ^for mercy’s sake 
 give to me ’ — for people do n’t have mercy — 
 they know nothing about being merciful, and 
 they do n’t care for mercy’s sake. I do n’t beg 
 of you, Mr. Poet. I only ask you as if you were 
 my son, and that ’s all. Give me bread. I ’m 
 starving.” 
 
 And Tiny said, For my dear father’s sake take 
 this — God forbid that I should ever be deaf 
 when an old man with a wrinkled face and white 
 hair speaks to me.” 
 
 Afar off stood a young girl looking at the poet. 
 Tiny saw her, and that she needed something of 
 him, though she did not come and ask, and so 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 53 
 
 he beckoned to her. She came at that, and as 
 she drew nearer he fancied that she had been 
 weeping, and that her grief had. kept her back. 
 She had wept so violently that when Tiny spoke 
 to her and said, What is it ? ” she could not 
 answer him. But at length while he waited so 
 patiently, she made a great effort, and controlled 
 herself and said — ^^My mother.” 
 
 That was all she said — and Tiny asked no 
 more. He knew that some great grief had fallen 
 on her — that was all he needed to know; he 
 laid his hand in hers, and turned away before 
 she could thank him, but he left with her a 
 word that he had spoken which had power to 
 comfort her long after the money he gave her 
 was all gone — long after the day when her poor 
 mother had no more need for bread. “ When 
 my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord 
 will lift me up.” That was what he whispered to 
 her as he left her. 
 
 And thus he went through that crowd of mis- 
 erable people, comforting them all. But it was 
 
54 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 remarkable how much more value the poor folks 
 seemed to put upon his word than they did upon 
 the money he gave them, much as they stood in 
 need of that! I wonder if you ever thought 
 about the wonderful power there is in words? 
 
 At length, when the purse was empty, he 
 stood alone in the midst of the circle of rich 
 men who had given him the silver to distribute 
 as he would. Then the man who handed him 
 the purse went up and said to Tiny, Poet, come 
 home with me. You are come at last I the city 
 ought to be illuminated — we have stood so long 
 in need of you, expecting you.” 
 
 So Tiny, believing what the rich man said, 
 went home with the stranger — and for a long 
 time he abode in that house. 
 
 YII. 
 
 And rich men feasted Tiny, and taught him to 
 drink wine : and great men praised him, and 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 55 
 
 taiiglit him so that he believed their praise was 
 precious above all things, and that he could not 
 live without it ! Was not that absurd? Nay, 
 children, was not that most terrible, that our 
 dear Tiny should ever have been tempted to be- 
 lieve such wicked trash and falsehood ? He, too, 
 who was to sing that sweet and holy New Song 
 to the Lord ! 
 
 They surrounded him day and night, these 
 rich, gay men, and these great men, and they fed 
 upon the delicious thoughts he gave them, and 
 they kept him in such a whirl of pleasure that 
 he had no time for working for the poor, and 
 hardly any time for thinking of them. Except- 
 ing at the dead of night, when he sometimes 
 fancied or dreamed that the old pilgrim owner 
 of the harp had come, or would come quickly, 
 and take it away from him. At these times 
 poor Tiny would make excellent resolutions, but 
 the next day was sure to see them broken. He 
 seemed no stronger when he attempted to keep 
 them than a poor little bird who is determined 
 
 14 
 
56 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 that he will be free, and so goes driving against 
 the wires of his cage ! 
 
 When Tiny spoke with his friend, as he some- 
 times did, about the plan with which he had 
 come into the world, his friend always made him 
 very polite answers, and good promises — oh yes, 
 certainly, he would do all that Tie could to help 
 him on in such an excellent cause ! But the fact 
 was, he did everything to prevent him. I won- 
 der if any body else has got any such friend in 
 his heart, or in his house, as our Tiny found in 
 his very first walk through that city street ? If 
 I knew of any one that had, I should say, look 
 out for him ! Beware of him. 
 
 And so Tiny lived, and presently it happened 
 just as you would expect ; his conscience trou- 
 bled him no longer ; he only san^ such songs on 
 feast days, and holidays, and even in the church, 
 as his companions liked to have him ; and he 
 became very well pleased with his employment ! 
 That was the very worst of it. 
 
 I shall tell you in a very few words what hap- 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 57 
 
 pened next. Tiny suddenly fell ill of a very cu- 
 rious disease, whicli caused all his rich friends 
 to forsake him, and he almost died of it. 
 
 In those days his only helper was a poor young 
 beggar girl — one of those persons whom he had 
 relieved by his songs, and by the money he dis- 
 tributed from the rich man’s purse that happy 
 day. The little girl who had wept so bitterly, 
 and whose only word was, when he questioned 
 her , — ‘‘ my mother.” 
 
 He recovered from his disease in time, but all 
 his old acquaintances had forsaken him ; and he 
 must have felt their loss exceedingly, for now he 
 had an attack of a desperate complaint, which I 
 pray you may never have ! — called Despair — ■ 
 and Tiny crept away from the sight of all men, 
 into a garret, and thought thaf he would die 
 there. \ 
 
 A garret at Home is a very different place 
 from a garret in the World, — and so’ our poet 
 thought, when he compared this miserable, dis- 
 mal place with the little attic far, far away 
 
58 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 in his own father’s cottage, where he was 
 next door neighbor to the swallows who slept in 
 their little mud cabins under the cottage eaves ! 
 
 Never in his life was Tiny so lonely. He had 
 come to help tlie World, said he, talking to him- 
 self, and the World cared not half so much about 
 it as it would about the doings of a wonderful 
 learned pig,” or the extraordinary spectacle of 
 a man cutting profiles with his toes in black 
 paper ! 
 
 ^^Have you been all the while helping the 
 world, and is this all the pay you get ? ” said 
 the girl, his poor friend, who remembered what 
 he had done for her, when she was in her worst 
 need. 
 
 ^Wes,” said Tiny; but there was no truth in 
 what he said. He did not intend to speak false- 
 ly, however, — which proves the sad pass he had 
 arrived at ; he did not even know when he was 
 deceiving himself! And when Tiny said that 
 ‘‘ yes,” what do you suppose he thought of? Not 
 of all the precious time that he had wasted — 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 59 
 
 not of the Pilgrim’s Harp — not of the prom- 
 ises he had made his father — nor of the great 
 hope of the poor which he had so cruelly 
 disappointed — but only of the evil fortune 
 which had fallen on himself! This beggar girl to 
 wait on him, instead of the most beautiful lady 
 in the world for a crown bearer ! This garret 
 for a home, instead of a place at the king’s ta- 
 ble ! And more fiercely than ever raged that 
 sickness called Despair. 
 
 But at length his strength began to return to 
 him a little, and then for the first time poor Tiny 
 discovered that he was Blind. And all the days 
 and weeks that came and went were like one 
 long, dark night. In those dreadful days our 
 Singer had nothing to do but to think, and the 
 little beggar girl had nothing to do but to beg — 
 for Tiny’s charity and goodness of heart seemed 
 to have all forsaken him, and one day in his an- 
 ger he drove her out of his garret, and bade her 
 return no more, for that the very thought of her 
 was hateful to him. In doing this. Tiny brought 
 
60 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 a terrible calamity upon himself ; he fell against 
 his Harp and broke it. 
 
 After that, while he sat pondering on the sad 
 plight he was in, hungry, and cold, and blind, 
 he suddenly started up. A new thought had 
 come to him. I will go home to my father’s 
 house,” he said. There is no other way for 
 me. Oh, my mother ! ” — and bitterly he wept 
 as he pronounced that name, and thought how 
 little like her tender and serene love was the 
 love of the best of all the friends he had found 
 in that great City of the World. 
 
 As he started up so quickly, in a sort of fren- 
 zy, his foot struck against the broken harp, and 
 instantly the instrument gave forth a wailing 
 sound, that pierced the poet’s heart. He lifted 
 up the harp : alas ! it was so broken he could do 
 nothing with it ; from his hands it fell back upon 
 the floor where it had lain neglected, forgotten, 
 so long. But Tiny’s heart was now fairly awa- 
 kened, and stooping to the floor, he raised the 
 precious treasure again. I will carry back the 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 61 
 
 broken fragments,” said he ; they shall go back 
 to my father with me. The harp is his — I can 
 do nothing more with it forever. I have ruined 
 it — I have done nothing for the world, as I 
 promised him. A fine thing it is for me to go 
 back to him in this dreadful plight. But if he 
 says to me, ‘ Thou art no son’ of mine,’ I will 
 say, ‘ Father, I am no more worthy to be called 
 thy son ; make me thy hired servant — only pay 
 me in love.’ ” 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And so saying. Tiny began to descend from 
 his attic. Carefully he went down the stairs, 
 ready to ask help of the first person whose voice 
 he should hear. But he had groped his way as 
 far as the street door, before he met a sonl. As 
 he stepped upon the threshold, and was about to 
 move on into the street, a voice — a child’s voice 
 — said to him, 
 
 « I ’m very hungry, sir.” 
 
62 
 
 T HE B K A TJ T I F U L G ATE. 
 
 The patient tone of the speaker arrested Tiny’s 
 steps, and he pondered it a moment. It was the 
 hearts that belonged to voices like this, which 
 he had vowed to help ! His own heart sunk 
 within him at that thought. Wretched soul 
 that I am,” said he to himself, thinking of the 
 opportunities which he had lost. But to the 
 child he said, 
 
 “Vm blinder than a bat, and hungry, too. 
 So I’m worse off than you are. Do you live 
 about here?” 
 
 ‘‘ Just around the corner,” said the little girl. 
 
 Is there a physician near here ? ” he asked 
 next ; for a new thought — a new hope, rather — 
 had come into his heart. 
 
 Yes, sir — just very near. I know where it 
 is,” said the child. ‘‘ I got him once for my 
 mother.” 
 
 If you will lead me to him,” said Tiny, his 
 voice broken as his heart was, I will do a good 
 turn for you. You wont be the loser by it. Who 
 takes care of you ? ” 
 
r H E BEAUTIFUL a A T h) „ 
 
 63 
 
 “ Of me, sir ? ” asked the girl, as if surprised 
 that he should think that any one took care of 
 her. Nobody. I’m all alone.” 
 
 ‘^Alone ! alone i ” repeated Tiny : your hand 
 is very little — you are a mite of a girl to be 
 alone.” 
 
 They ’re all dead but me, every one of ’em. 
 Yes, sir, they are.” 
 
 ‘^No mother?” said Tiny, with a choking 
 voice — thinking of the kind heart and tender, 
 loving eyes away off in the lonely little cottage 
 on the border of the forest — ‘^no mother, little 
 girl ? Was that what you said ? ” 
 
 “ Dead,” replied the child. 
 
 ^^Did you lovelier?” asked Tiny, the poet, 
 while his heart wept burning tears. 
 
 The girl said not a word, but Tiny heard her 
 sob, and held her hand close in his own, as 
 though he would protect her, even if he were 
 blind, while he said aloud — 
 
 Lead me to the physician, little friend.” 
 
 Quietly and swiftly she led him, and as they 
 J 
 
64 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 went. Tiny never once thought what if any of 
 the great folks who once courted and praised 
 him should see him led on foot through the 
 streets by a little beggar girl, himself lookiug 
 hardly more respectable than the poorest of all 
 beggars ! 
 
 Shall I ring the door bell?” asked she, at 
 length coming to a sudden halt. 
 
 “ King it,” said he. 
 
 But before she could do that the house door 
 opened, and the physician himself appeared, 
 prepared for a drive ; his carriage was already 
 in waiting at the door. 
 
 Here he is,” exclaimed the girl : and at the 
 same moment a gruff voice demanded, 
 
 ‘^What do you want, you two, eh? Speak 
 quick, for I ’m off.” 
 
 In one word Tiny told what it was he wanted. 
 
 Blind, eh ? ” said the doctor, stooping and 
 looking into the pale face of the unhappy sing- 
 er ; “ iorn blind ! I can do nothing for you, sir. 
 John! drive the horses away from that curb- 
 stone.” 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 65 
 
 He stepped forward, as he spoke, as if about 
 to leave the children, but he stood still again, 
 the next minute, arrested by the sound of Tiny’s 
 indignant voice. 
 
 ^^Born blind!” the singer cried — ^^no more 
 than you were, sir. If you knew how to use 
 your eyes to any good purpose, you never would 
 say such a thing. Since I was ill I ’ve been 
 blind, but never a moment before.” 
 
 Come into the house a minute,” said the 
 doctor, who had been carefully studying Tiny’s 
 face during the last few seconds — come in, and 
 I ’ll soon settle that point for you.” 
 
 For yourself, you mean,” said Tiny in an un- 
 der tone, as he and the beggar girl went in. 
 
 What’s that you carry ? ” said the physician 
 — ‘^lay down your pack for a moment.” 
 
 But Tiny would not do that. He had taken 
 
 up his Harp in much the same spirit as if it had 
 
 been a cross, and he was determined never to 
 
 lay it down again, until he came to his father’s 
 
 house. So he merely said, Don’t call it a 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 pack — it was a Harp, once, but now it only 
 some bits of wood and cord.’’ 
 
 “ Broken ! ” said the doctor : and you would 
 have been in doubt, if you had heard him, as to 
 whether he meant Tiny’s Harp or Heart. “ Bro- 
 ken ! ah, . . . . ” and he seemed to get a 
 
 little new light on the subject when he looked 
 again into Tiny’s face. “Ah,” he said again, 
 and still more thoughtfully ; “ now ! about those 
 eyes. You got into a great rage just now, when 
 I told you that you were born blind. On a 
 closer examination of them I am still tempted 
 to think that if you were not born blind, you 
 never had the full use of your eyes. How are 
 you going to prove to me that I ’m mistaken ? 
 If you can prove that it came after your sick- 
 ness,” — he hesitated a little — “I’m not so sure 
 but that something might be done for you.” 
 
 At that Tiny’s anger was not much lessened ; 
 and he was in doubt as to what he should do, 
 until the child said to him, “ Sing to him about 
 your mother.” The words had the efiect of a 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 67 
 
 broad ray of light streaming into a dark and 
 dismal place, and without another word Tiny 
 began to sing. His voice was faint and broken ; 
 it never once rose into a high strain of pride, as 
 if he had his merits as a singer to support ; he 
 sung with tears, and such pathos as singer never 
 did before, of his Mother and her Love. By the 
 words of his song he brought her there into that 
 very room, with her good and pleasant looks, her 
 loving eyes, and tender smile, so that they who 
 heard could also behold her. He sung of all that 
 she had been to him in his childhood, of the 
 brightness she made in their home, of all that 
 she had done for him, and concluded with the 
 prayerful longing that his eyes might once more 
 receive their sight, that so he might behold her. 
 
 “ The doctor is weeping,” whispered the little 
 girl in Tiny’s ear. 
 
 It was a long time before the doctor spoke • — 
 but at length he arose, and laid some silver bits 
 in Tiny’s hand — and he said, cannot help 
 you. But what you have to do is to go to the 
 
68 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 Beautiful Gate — and there you will find a 
 physician famous for the cure of such cases as 
 yours. True enough you were n’t horn blind — 
 far from it. I ask your pardon for the mistake. 
 I wish there were more blind in the way you 
 were. Go your way to the Beautiful Gate.” 
 
 As the doctor spoke he arose and walked quick- 
 ly towards the door, and the children followed 
 him out. All at once Tiny recollected that they 
 had yet one very important thing to learn, and 
 he cried out : 
 
 But, sir, which way shall we go in order to 
 arrive at the Beautiful Gate.” 
 
 IX. 
 
 Too late ! while he spoke the doctor stepped 
 into his carriage, the coachman closed the door 
 with a loud bang and drove away — and Tiny 
 and the little girl were left quite in the dark as 
 to what they should do next. For a long time 
 they stood still in perfect silence — at last Tiny 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 69 
 
 said, Lead the way, little girl — for I am blind 
 and cannot see. Come ! we will go on — if you 
 have an idea that we shall ever come to the 
 Beautiful Gate.’’ 
 
 In all my life I never heard of it before,” 
 said she sadly. 
 
 But I have,” cried Tiny trying to keep his 
 courage up by speaking brave words. ‘‘ Come 
 on with me ! ” yet in spite of his words he held 
 fast to the girl’s hand, and she led him down the 
 street. 
 
 Presently, towards nightfall, they came up to 
 a crowd of people, a mob of men and boys who 
 were quarreling. 
 
 Well did Tiny understand the angry sound — 
 and as for the girl walking with him, she trem- 
 bled with fear and said, ‘‘ Shall we turn down 
 this street ? they are having a terrible fight. I am 
 afraid you will be hurt.” 
 
 ISTot I,” said Tiny, — is the sun near setting i ” 
 
 It has set,” said the girl. 
 
70 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 ‘‘ And does the red light shine on the men’s 
 faces ? ” asked the poet. 
 
 Yes,” answered the girl wondering. 
 
 ‘‘ On the night when I first came into this city’s 
 streets it was so. My harp was perfect then ; 
 but, it was the Voice, and not the other music, 
 that the people cared for when I sang. Wait 
 now.” 
 
 The little girl obediently stood still, and all at 
 once Tiny began to sing. None of his gay songs 
 sung at feasts, and revels, or on holidays — but 
 a song of peace, as grand and solemn as a psalm ; 
 and the quarreling men and boys stood still and 
 listened, and before the song was ended, the ring- 
 leaders of the fight had crept away in shame. 
 Other voices then began to shout in praise of 
 the young stranger, who with a few simple words 
 had stilled their angry passions. ‘^The brave 
 fellow is blind,” said they, ‘^we will do some- 
 thing good for him ! ” and one, and another, and 
 another, cried out, Come with us, and we will 
 do you good.” 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 71 
 
 But instead of answering a word. Tiny went 
 his way as if he were deaf as a post, as well 
 as blind as a bat, and by his side, holding his 
 hand close, went the little beggar girl. 
 
 Until they came in the increasing darkness to 
 a narrow, crooked lane — and met a woman who 
 was running, crying, with a young child in her 
 arms. 
 
 What is this ? asked Tiny. 
 
 A woman, pale as death, blood on her fore- 
 head, with a child in her arms,’’ said the girl. 
 
 Wait !” shouted Tiny, stopping just before 
 the woman; his cry so astonished her that she 
 stood, in an instant, as still as a statue. What 
 is it that you want ? ” 
 
 Food! medicine I clothes ! a home ! ” answer- 
 ed she with a loud cry. 
 
 ‘^Give me the child — take this — get what 
 you need and I will wait here with the little one,” 
 said Tiny. 
 
 Without a word the woman gave her child — 
 it was a poor little cripple — into his arms ; and 
 
72 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 then she went on to obey him ; and softly on the 
 evening air, in that damp, dismal lane, arose the 
 songs which Tiny sang to soothe and comfort the 
 poor little creature. And in his arms, it slept, 
 hushed by the melody, a slumber such as had 
 not in a long time visited its eyes. 
 
 Wonderful singer ! blessed songs ! sung for a 
 wretched sickly stranger who could not even 
 thank him ! But you think they died away upon 
 the air, those songs ? that they did no other good 
 than merely hush a hungry child to sleep ? 
 
 A student in an attic heard the song, and 
 smiled, and murmured to himself, That is like 
 having a long walk in the woods, and hearing 
 all the birds sing.” 
 
 A sick girl who had writhed upon her bed in 
 pain all the day heard the gentle -singing voice, 
 and it was like a charm upon her — she lay 
 resting in a sweet calm, and said, ^^Hark? it is 
 an angel ! ” A blind old man started up from a 
 troubled slumber, and smiled a happy smile that 
 said as plain as any voice, It gives me back 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 73 
 
 my youth, my children, and my country home ; ’’ 
 and he smiled again and again, and listened at 
 his window, scarcely daring to breathe lest he 
 should lose a single word. A baby clad in rags, 
 and sheltered from the cold with them, a baby 
 in its cradle — what do you think that cradle 
 was? as truly as you live nothing but a box 
 such as a merchant packs his goods in ! that baby, 
 sleeping, heard it, and a light like sunshine 
 spread over its pretty face. A thief skulking 
 along in the shadow of the great high building 
 heard that voice and was struck to the heart, and 
 crept back to his den, and did no wicked thing 
 that night. A prisoner who was condemned to 
 die heard it in his cell near by, and he forgot his 
 chains, and dreamed that he was once more in- 
 nocent and free ; a boy playing with his mates, 
 and loved and trusted by them. 
 
 At length the mother of the crippled infant 
 came back, and brought food for her child, and 
 a warm blanket for it, and she and Tiny and the 
 beggar girl. Tiny’s companion, ate their supper 
 
74 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 there upon the sidewalk of that dark, narrow 
 lane, and then they went their separate ways — 
 Tiny and his friend taking the poor woman’s 
 blessing with them, going in one direction, and 
 the mother and her baby in another, but they 
 all slept in the street that night. 
 
 The next morning by daybreak Tiny was again 
 on his way, down that same long, narrow, dingy 
 street, the little girl still walking by his side. 
 Swiftly they walked, and in silence, like persons 
 who are sure of their destination, and know that 
 they are in the right way, though they had not 
 said a word to each other on that subject since 
 they set out in the path. 
 
 What is that ? ” at length asked Tiny, stopping 
 short in the street. 
 
 A tolling bell,” said the girh 
 Do you see a funeral ? ” 
 
 Yes — do n’t you ? ” 
 
 Tiny made no answer at first — at length he 
 said — Let us go into the church-yard,” and he 
 waited for the beggar girl to lead the way — 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 75 
 
 which she did, and together they went in at the 
 open chnrch-yard gate. 
 
 As they did so a clergyman was thanking the 
 friends who had kindly come to help bury the 
 mother of the orphan children. Tiny heard that 
 word, and he said to the girl, whose name, I ought 
 long ago to have told you, was Grace, he said, 
 “ Are there many friends with the children ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ No,’’ she answered sadly. 
 
 Are the people poor ? ” he asked. 
 
 “ Yes, very poor,” said she. 
 
 Then Tiny stepped forward when the clergy- 
 man had done speaking, and without the least 
 permission raised a Hymn for the Dead, and a 
 prayer to the Father of the fatherless. 
 
 When he had made an end, he stepped 
 back again, and took the hand of Grace, and 
 walked away with her in the deep silence, for 
 everybody in the church-yard was weeping. 
 But as they went through the gate the silence 
 was broken, and Tiny heard the clergyman say- 
 ing, Weep no longer, children — my house shall 
 
76 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE.- 
 
 be your home — my wife shall be your mother. 
 Come, let us go back to our home.” 
 
 And Grace and Tiny went their way. On, 
 and on, and on, through the narrow filthy street, 
 out into the open country. Through a desert, 
 and a forest, and it seemed as if poor Tiny would 
 sing his very life away. For wherever those 
 appeared who seemed to need the voice of human 
 pity, or brotherly love, or any act of charity, the 
 voice and hand of Tiny were upraised. And 
 every hour, which ever way he went, he found 
 The World had Need of him ! 
 
 They had no better guide than that with which 
 they set out on their search for the Beautiful 
 Gate. But Tiny’s heart was opened, and it led 
 him wherever there was misery, and want, and 
 sin, and grief, and fiowers grew up in the path 
 he trod, and sparkling springs burst forth in 
 desert places. 
 
 And then as to his blindness. 
 
 Fast he held by the hand of the beggar-girl as 
 they went on their way together, but the film 
 
THE BEAUTIFITL GATE. 
 
 was withdrawing from his eye balls. When he 
 turned them up towards the Heaven if they 
 could not yet discern that, they could get a 
 glimpse of the earth ! So he said within him- 
 self, Surely we are in the right way — we shall 
 yet come to the Beautiful Gate, and I shall have 
 my sight again. Then will I hasten to my fath- 
 er’s house, and when all is forgiven me, I will 
 say to my mother, Beceive this child I bring thee 
 for a daughter, for she has been my guide through 
 a weary way ; and I know that my mother will 
 love my little sister Grace.” 
 
 And what then,” asked a voice in Tiny’s soul, 
 ^^What then wilt thou do? ” 
 
 “Labor, till I die!” exclaimed Tiny aloud, 
 with flashing eyes. 
 
 “ But for what. Poet, wilt thou labor ? ” 
 
 “ For the poor world that needs me,” bravely 
 cried he with a mighty voice. 
 
 “ Ah,” whispered something faintly in his ear 
 with a taunting voice, that pierced his heart like 
 a sharp sword — “ah, you said that once before 
 — and fine work you made of it! ” 
 
78 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 Tiny made no answer to this taunt, with words, 
 but with all the strength of his great poet mind 
 he cried again, ^^Por the poor world that needs 
 me,” and the vow was registered in Heaven, and 
 angels were sent to strengthen him in that deter- 
 mination — him who was to sing the Hew Song 
 to the Lord. 
 
 A long way further Grace and Tiny walked 
 together on their journey — they walked in si- 
 lence, thinking so fast that, without knowing it, 
 they were almost on a run in the attempt their 
 feet were making to keep pace with their thoughts. 
 At length Grace broke the silence with a sudden 
 cry. 
 
 Oh Tiny, what is this ! ” 
 
 Tiny looked up at the sound of her voice, and 
 then he stood stock still as if he were turned to 
 stone. 
 
 Oh Tiny, can you see ? ” again exclaimed 
 Grace, who was watching her companion’s face 
 in a great wonder, it became so changed all at 
 once. Oh Tiny, Tiny can you see ? ” she cried 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 
 
 19 
 
 again, in terror, for he did not answer her, hut 
 grew paler and paler, swaying to and fro like a 
 reed in the wind, until he fell like one dead upon 
 the ground, saying — ‘‘My home! my home — 
 and the Beautiful Gate is here ! 
 
 Just then an old man came slowly from the 
 forest, near to which they had come in their 
 journey. His head was bent, he moved slowly 
 like one in troubled thought, and as he walked 
 he said to himself, “ Long have I toiled, bring- 
 ing these forest trees into this shape — and people 
 know what I have done — of their own free will 
 they call it a Beautiful Gate. But oh, if I could 
 only find the blind one lying before it ready to 
 be carried through it to his mother ! then indeed 
 it would be beautiful to me. Oh Tiny ! oh my 
 child, when wilt thou return from thy long wan- 
 derings.” 
 
 “ Please sir,” said a child’s voice — it was the 
 voice of our little Grace, you know — “ please 
 sir, will you come and help me ? ” and she ran 
 back to the place where Tiny lay. 
 
80 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL G-ATE. 
 
 Swiftly as a bird on wing went Josiab with 
 the child. Without a word he lifted up the 
 senseless Poet and the Broken Harp, and with the 
 precious burden passed on through the Beauti- 
 ful Gate of the Forest, into the cottage Home — 
 Grace following him ! 
 
 Once more the Broken Harp hung on the 
 kitchen wall — no longer broken. Once more 
 the swallows and the poet slept side by side, in 
 their comfortable nests. Once more old Kitty’s 
 eyes grew bright. Once more Josiah smiled. 
 Again a singing voice went echoing through the 
 world, working miracles of good. Rich men 
 heard it and opened their purses. Proud men 
 heard it and grew humble. Angry voices heard 
 it and grew soft. Wicked spirits heard it and 
 grew beautiful in charities. The sick, and sad, 
 and desolate heard it and were at peace. Mourn- 
 ers heard it and rejoiced. The songs that voice 
 sang, echoed through the churches, through the 
 streets ; and by ten thousand thousand firesides 
 they were sung again and yet again. But all 
 
THE BEAUTFUL GATE. 
 
 81 
 
 the while the great Heart, the mighty, loving, 
 Human Heart from which they came, was nes- 
 tled in that little nest of home on the border of 
 the forest, far away from all the world’s tempta- 
 tions, in the safe shelter of a household’s love. 
 
 How if Tiny had ever had a cross to bear, and 
 if he bore it well, I shall leave you to decide, 
 dear children. 
 
 0 
 
^ had run down — the clock had — and 
 stopped. 
 
 Janet took the light with her when 
 I she went from the room — how still 
 and dark it was there! — dead still- 
 ness, and perfect . darkness like that of the 
 grave. 
 
 While the clock ticked, and the light burned, 
 the wakeful Canary in the cage above the win- 
 dow hopped to and fro, and chirped occasion- 
 ally, and pecked at the bit of fish bone with 
 which the wires w’ere ornamented ; but now, in 
 the silence and gloom, the little creature was 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 83 
 
 sleeping, with head bent nnder its wing, and if 
 it dreamed — I wonder if birds do really dream ; 
 what do yon think about it ? — the dream was 
 very pleasant I am sure, for what on earth was 
 there to trouble the heart of that bird ? 
 
 It led a happy life there in the beautiful cage. 
 But I would not have you imagine that the life 
 was happy because the cage was so fine. No 
 doubt the Canary was more comfortable than it 
 would have been, if the person who had charge 
 of it had not taken such care to make its little 
 home very neat and clean every day ; but birds, 
 you know, are not like those foolish people who 
 will not be glad, and happy, and songful, unless 
 all their idle, selfish wishes are gratified. 
 
 I remember a bird, dead now these five years ; 
 it was not a very prettj^ one, its wings were 
 brown instead of golden, and it lived in a poor 
 old pine cage — but it had the sweetest notes 
 in the world, which it learned from our pastor’s 
 linnet. 
 
 The pastor’s bird had a fine large cage of rose- 
 
84 : A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 wood, and there was a bathing tub and a swing 
 in it; — the corner posts were mounted with 
 bright brass balls, and beautiful flowers were 
 painted on the cage ; but do you suppose that 
 the Canary in its old pine house, some of the 
 wires of which were broken and only mended 
 with bits of string — do you suppose that our Ca- 
 nary was not just as happy as the high-bred 
 linnet was ? 
 
 All day long the bird that I began to tell 
 about sang in the pari or, but at night the cage 
 was taken into the nursery, and hung over the 
 window, as I said. It was the children’s fancy, 
 that their pet should have a bed-chamber, as 
 well as themselves. 
 
 Fanny and ’Bel were both wide awake. Usu- 
 ally they were fast asleep before this time ; but 
 Fanny took a thought to bed with her, and it 
 troubled her, and therefore she could not sleep. 
 And this thought she was sharing with little 
 ’Bel. 
 
 Janet, the new nurse-girl, had told Fanny a 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 85 
 
 sad story about a child whose lot in life was ex- 
 ceedingly hard and disagreeable, — whose father 
 and mother died while she was very young — 
 and after that she had no home of her own. So 
 she was obliged to go and live among strangers 
 — now with one family, and then with another. 
 And some had abused her ; they had compelled 
 her to work far beyond her strength ; and they 
 cared no more for her, the nurse girl said, for it 
 was herself that she was telling about, than if 
 she had been a spinning jenny, instead of a 
 human Janet. 
 
 The girl cried when she told the story, and 
 Fanny cried, too, but when she saw that, the 
 girl said — “Hush, child! there’s no use? Ev- 
 erybody has a CROSS to bear. I have mine — 
 you’ll have yours, you may be sure. Don’t 
 cry.” 
 
 This was the story that Fanny told to ’Bel, 
 instead of one of the fairy tales she had told on 
 other nights for her sister ; and ’Bel did not fall 
 asleep as she sometimes did when she was trying 
 
86 
 
 A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 to listen. No — nor for a long time after Fanny 
 had stopped speaking. She felt so grieved for 
 Janet ! 
 
 And the little sisters said to each other, “We 
 will have mamma keep Janet always, and we 
 will be sure not to tease her; we won’t be cross, 
 or rude, and oim home shall be her home. She 
 shall live with ns always.” 
 
 “ And if she wants,” said ’Bel, “ she may have 
 our Canary to sleep in her room, sometimes.” 
 
 ^^Yes, to be sure,” said Fanny, but we 
 would n’t do that for everybody.” Yet, though 
 they became quite joyous, thinking of all that 
 they would do on the morrow, and all the days 
 after to-morrow, in order to make Janet happy, 
 and that she might feel sure that she really had 
 a home on earth, there was still another idea 
 that would come back and trouble Fanny. For 
 a long time she lay and thought upon it quietly, 
 but at last she whispered, “ ’Bel ? ” 
 
 ’Bel was asleep, and made no reply. 
 
 Fanny was so bent on expressing what was in 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 87 
 
 her mind that she said again, and in quite a loud 
 whisper, 
 
 ’Bel ! did Johnny say that he would take us 
 in his sleigh, to-morrow ? ” 
 
 “ Yes,” answered ’Bel ; but she was not yet 
 quite awake. 
 
 Fanny was going on to say. 
 
 Are n’t you glad we are going to school at 
 last?” — 
 
 But just at that instant the moon came out 
 from behind a cloud, and its light streamed 
 through the window and fell upon the bed. And 
 Fanny was so startled and surprised by the sud- 
 den flowing in of light, that she forgot what she 
 had intended to say. 
 
 There was a rose tree, whose branches had 
 been trained upon the brick wall of the house. 
 Some of these branches were so trained that they 
 formed a very pretty shade for the window in 
 summer time. But now, it being winter, the 
 stems were all bare, and the moonlight falling 
 upon these, cast their shadows within the room, 
 
88 
 
 A STOEY OF THE CKOS8. 
 
 and Fanny, watching them, fancied that these 
 shadows fell upon the wall in the form of a 
 cross — which they really did. 
 
 This seemed all the more strange to Fanny, 
 because she had been thinking so much about 
 the cross, and when all at once the shadow dis- 
 appeared, and the room became very dark, she 
 began to believe there was some odd witch-work 
 going on, and she was afraid, and hid her face 
 under the bed-clothes. But in a minute more, 
 ashamed of her fear, Fanny sat up in the bed 
 and looked out of the window. The m5on 
 seemed to be just sailing out from beyond a 
 great cloud — so that was all the magic there 
 was about it ! — a cloud had passed between the 
 earth and the moon ! — and Fanny laughed when 
 she thought what a trifle it was that had fright- 
 ened her so much. 
 
 It was now bright as day in the room. You 
 could have seen to read there without the least 
 difficulty. Fanny looked for the cross. There 
 it was on the wall — its outline was perfect. 
 
A STOKY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 89 
 
 Then her eyes glanced about the room. Luof 
 looked fiercer and handsomer than ever — this 
 was a portrait of Uncle Henry’s splendid New- 
 foundland dog, and Johnny had hung it up in 
 his sister’s room, because the walls of his own 
 room were covered with pictures already. They 
 were all very fond of this portrait — ’Bel thought 
 it a great deal better than it would be to have 
 the real living animal among them, for pictures 
 never bark aud growl, though oftentimes they 
 look as if nothing would please them better, if 
 they only could contrive to find the voice ! 
 
 There, full in sight, was the little table with 
 the book-case, in which the girls kept their books 
 — a nice lot they had ; — there were fairy tales, 
 and books of poetry, and history, and travel, — ■ 
 very precious were all these ; and Fanny could 
 have told you all their nanies if you had asked 
 her to do so ; still it was only for a moment that 
 she thought of them now. It was of the cross 
 that she was thinking. On another table, just 
 under the window sill, was the toy house ; this, 
 
90 
 
 A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 too, the little wakeful girl could see distinctly 
 when her eyes were directed that way, but it 
 was only for a moment that she thought of ’Bel’s 
 doll, and its beautiful new dress. It was of the 
 cross that she was thinking. The cross ! The 
 cross ! 
 
 It was all about what Janet had told her that 
 she thought; — ^how Janet had said that every- 
 body had a cross of their own to bear. Now 
 was this true that the nurse girl said ? Why 
 must everybody bear a cross ? Must she, and 
 ’Bel, and Johnny? Really and truly? Fanny 
 could not believe it. More especially when she 
 thought of ’Bel, who was so bright and pretty. 
 To bear a cross — that must be dreadful. What 
 did it mean ? What did it really mean ? That 
 was what she asked herself again and again. 
 Then she thought of Janet. Why, it meant to 
 lose father and mother, and to be very poor, and 
 
 I 
 
 then be compelled to go out into the world and 
 have no home — to work for people ; and to sit, 
 and eat, and sleep, where the people chose to 
 
 2 
 
A STORY OF THE GROSS. 
 
 91 
 
 have them — and to do whatever the people 
 told them to do. That was what it meant — yes, 
 it must certainly mean that. Now wonld all 
 this happen to Johnny, and ’Bel, and herself? 
 No, it could not be possible. Fanny did not 
 believe a word of it, — what a wicked story it 
 was that Janet had told! And yet, when Fan- 
 ny went to sleep, she was still wondering what 
 her cross would be. 
 
 She did not know, she could not guess even, 
 though before she closed her eyes, she was so 
 careful to place herself in that particular posi- 
 tion in which she always slept, because her spine 
 was diseased, and she was growing up in defor- 
 mity — a crooked, sickly little girl. 
 
 II. 
 
 The next day, as it had been arranged, Fanny 
 and ’Bel went, for the first time, to the new 
 school ; and as he had promised to do, Johnny 
 carried them in his sleigh. 
 
92 
 
 A STOEY OF THE CEOSS. 
 
 With great impatience had they looked for- 
 ward to the time when this school should he 
 opened. For it was to he taught hy a lady 
 whom they knew very well, and loved very 
 much, and ’Bel said that she was the hest story- 
 teller in the world ; — hut ’Bel was a very little 
 girl, and said a great many absurd things that 
 everybody laughed at. It is not probable that 
 she knew all about the thousand and one good 
 story-tellers there are in the world ! 
 
 It was a short and very happy day to ’Bel, 
 just such an one as she had anticipated. But 
 it was a long, dark day to Fanny — the longest 
 and the darkest she had ever known. However, 
 it came to an end at last, and no one knew how 
 much she had been troubled by something she 
 had heard. 
 
 In the morning she was standing for a few 
 moments alone by the stove in the school room, 
 and at a little distance were two older and lar- 
 ger girls; neither of them had she ever seen 
 before. One of these girls, looking at Fanny, 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 0?^ 
 
 said in a whisper, but Eanny distinctly heard 
 her, 
 
 “ Is she not pretty, Helen ? ” 
 
 And the other made some reply that Fanny 
 could not hear. Then the first speaker said very 
 gently, 
 
 What a pity ! but I should love her all the 
 more, I ’m sure. She looks so very patient.” 
 
 Then in an instant it fiashed across the little 
 girPs mind — she knew why they pitied her; 
 also she knew why her mother had said, when 
 they all talked about the new school at 
 home — 
 
 My darling, I had rather you would not go 
 to school yet, for a year or two : but if you wish 
 so much to go, and papa thinks it best, why,” 
 — -and Fanny remembered how seriously her 
 mother ‘smiled when ’Bel climbed up on her 
 father’s knee, and kissed him until he said, 
 “Yes, yes! you shall both go to school — yes, 
 certainly 1 ” 
 
 And yet, though so much was now explained 
 
94 
 
 A STORY OF THE GROSS. 
 
 to Fanny, she could not have told even then 
 what was the cross that she must hear. 
 
 Night came again ; and again the young sis- 
 ters were lying side by side in the silence and 
 darkness of their pleasant chamber. In the si- 
 lence, I said, yet the clock was ticking loudly ; 
 and the Canary hopped from one perch to an- 
 other, and from time to time pecked at the fish 
 bone — ^ but it did not chirp or sing — and we do 
 not say that a ticking clock and a restless bird 
 break the silence, — when we are very busy with 
 our thoughts, we have no hearing for such 
 things. And Fanny and ’Bel were very busy 
 thinking. Presently ’Bel said, — 
 
 It ’s the very pleasantest day I ever spent 
 in all my life. I hope we shall go to school 
 to Miss Lansing always! do’nt you, Fan- 
 ny ? And if you ’ll only just tell me that story 
 about The Witch in the Well, I’ll go to sleep 
 in a minute.” 
 
 And so Fanny told the story — it was the 
 prettiest of all she knew. And, to be sure, ’Bel 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 95 
 
 was asleep before it was half through; she 
 knew nothing abont the ache that was in Fan- 
 ny’s heart. 
 
 The moon shone bright and clear again that 
 night — brighter and clearer than it did the last 
 night, — and if there was any difference, it was 
 that the shadow of the cross ” on the wall was 
 more distinct to Fanny’s eyes than it had been 
 the night before. 
 
 When she raised herself in the bed, and look- 
 ed at little ’Bel as she slept so quietly, Fanny 
 thought to herself — “ I shall never sleep in that 
 way again,” — and indeed she began to wonder 
 within herself, if it was likely that she should 
 ever sleep at all again. But even while she 
 wondered thus, it was as much as she could do 
 to keep her eyes open ; — and the tears which 
 for a few moments flowed so hot and fast down 
 her cheeks, ceased to gather in her eyes ; and 
 presently she slumbered as peacefully and hap- 
 pily, even as little ’Bel, and the last thing she 
 thought about while awake was the verse of the 
 
96 
 
 A 8T0EY OF THE CEOSS. 
 
 Psalm lier father read that night ■ — • He giveth 
 his beloved in their sleep.” But though she 
 remembered the verse, she did not know half 
 its beautiful, deep meaning. I wonder if you 
 know it, who are reading at this very minute 
 about Fanny Bay ? 
 
 But what happened to her in her sleep that 
 night, was the strangest of all. I must tell you 
 about Fanny’s Deeam. 
 
 She was with ’Bel at school. And first she 
 heard a trumpet sound. It was ten thousand 
 times louder than the tiny, tinkling, brass bell 
 Miss Lansing rung in the school-room. Louder 
 than the clock in the court house, that told all 
 the villagers of every new hour as it came. 
 Louder even than the great bell in the church 
 belfrey, which people could hear off in the 
 country, three miles away, on a Sunday. And 
 a more powerful sound than that, either from 
 trumpet or bell, Fanny had never thought 
 there could be. It was a mighty, yet a sweet 
 sound ; and the dreamer thought. Surely nobody 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 97 
 
 in all the world can help hearing the sound of 
 that trumpet, — and she said to herself beside, 
 It is a great wonder if the dead do not hear it, 
 for the echo seems to till all the air, and to shake 
 the earth. 
 
 She was in the school-room when the great 
 trumpet sounded. And immediately when they 
 heard it, as with one impulse, the teacher and 
 all the children arose, and went out in silence, 
 looking at each other, and wondering what that 
 blast of the trumpet should mean. And Fanny 
 and ’Bel went hand in hand at first. And the 
 teacher said, by a look, for Fanny heard no 
 sound of a voice, Be cautious — there’s no 
 need of such haste.” 
 
 Some of the scholars there were that seemed 
 neither to hear the trumpet, nor to notice what 
 the teacher said with her eyes, after they were 
 once outside the school-room door. But they 
 began noisily to chase about, and play with each 
 other in the yard in the midst of which the 
 school- ouse stood. For it was summer, and 
 7 
 
98 
 
 A S T O K Y OF THE C K O S S - 
 
 not winter^ in Fanny^s dream ; and she saw, as 
 plain as any one ever saw with eyes wide open, 
 how the grass in the fields was beautiful and 
 green — and that the brook was dancing along as 
 merrily as could be — and that the dandelions 
 shone “like stars in the grass’’ — and the or- 
 chard trees were all covered over with blos- 
 soms ; so of course it was summer in her dream. 
 But there w^ere many of the scholars who fol- 
 lowed on after the teacher. Not, however, be- 
 cause she led them, — for she did not. She also 
 seemed guided, just as they were, by something 
 they could neither see nor hear — for it certainly 
 was not the trumpet sound that made them all 
 move in the direction they did. As I said before, 
 the trumpet seemed to fill the whole world with 
 sound, and none could tell if it came from east, 
 west, north, or south — and it was no more to 
 be seen than is the wind. And as to the wind, 
 you know that no man can see that, or tell 
 whence it cometh and whither it goeth, as our 
 Saviour said when he was on the earth. 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 99 
 
 And the teacher and the children went on to- 
 gether rapidly, but without noise or confusion, 
 until they came to the foot of a great hill ; — up- 
 on tliat hill no grass grew, no trees were there ; 
 and in many places the rock was quite bare, 
 and stood out from the yellow earth in sharp 
 points. It was a wild, rugged height. Would 
 they climb it ? Could they if they tried ? Also 
 no sunlight fell upon this hill — but a dark, sol- 
 emn shade spread over it ; only when the teach- 
 er and the children looked up to the very top of 
 it, could they see that the sun was shining there- 
 on — and oh ! how Fanny Ray’s heart beat when 
 she saw upon that summit the great cross — it 
 was like a crown to the hill — and the sunshine 
 fell so brightly over it as to make her eyes fill 
 with tears when she looked thereon. She sha- 
 ded her eyes with her hand, and began to think. 
 Must not all this mystery have some deep, 
 beautiful meaning ? And she said to herself, 
 “ Surely, ’Bel and I will learn here what our 
 cross is.” And as she said it, Fanny perceived 
 
100 
 
 A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 for tlie first time, that ’Bel was not v/itli her — 
 they had been separated in the crowd. 
 
 At any other time Fanny wonld have felt 
 greatly alarmed, both for ’Bel and for herself, 
 separated and alone thus in a crowd. For a great 
 number of people were now gathering together, 
 not one of whom had she ever seen before. But 
 now she was not in the least afraid, for all the 
 people were looking up at the cross, just as she 
 herself was doing. 
 
 While she stood and gazed with all the rest, 
 Fanny heard suddenly a voice, that was not 
 like any voice she had ever heard before, calling 
 to her. It seemed to come from the cross on 
 the hill-top ; and then she distinctly saw a Hand. 
 It beckoned to her from that cross ! For an in- 
 stant Fanny was in doubt and bewilderment. 
 Had she heard that Voice ? — had she tru- 
 
 ly seen that Hand ? — or was it all only a fancy ? 
 While she asked herself these questions the lit- 
 tle girl looked around her, afraid to speak or 
 move, — she felt very faint, and dizzy beside ; 
 
A STOliY OF THE CEOSS. 
 
 101 
 
 and would have fallen, but for a Hand that up- 
 held her. And yet, when she turned herself, 
 quickly, that she might see who it was that sup- 
 ported her, she perceived that she was standing 
 apart from all the crowd, alone by herself — 
 and then, what was still more strange, she saw 
 that, without knowing what she did, she had be- 
 gun to climb the hill. 
 
 She was ascending towards the cross. But 
 now the hill seemed to have grown into a moun- 
 tain — and further off than ever stood that 
 cross, and the way was even more difficult and 
 rugged than it had appeared to be. And, poor 
 Fanny ! she was very faint and weak, and half 
 the time when she looked up she could see no 
 cross at all, it was even gloomier and darker 
 around the place where it had stood, (and where, 
 though she could not see it, she believed it was 
 still standing,) than along the path through 
 which she went. 
 
 If only little ’Bel were with her ! — or if any 
 one were with her ; — if a bird would only sing, 
 
102 
 
 A STOIiY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 and break the silence ! — or if she could see any 
 flowers growing by the way — or if the sun 
 would only shine ! and in her dream, and with 
 her own voice, Fanny called aloud, “ Oh ’Bel, 
 come with me ! ” But ’Bel slept on, and Fanny 
 slept on; and in the dream went up the hill 
 alone, — still alone. 
 
 At last, after long toiling, she was fairly ar- 
 rived at what seemed to her the summit of the 
 mountain. And all was dark there. The weary 
 child sat down upon the rock against which her 
 foot had stumbled ; she was afraid to go farther ; 
 no voice was calling her now, — no hand was 
 leading, — there was no sunlight up there where 
 she had thought to find it. 
 
 She looked back upon the long way by which 
 she had come. Oh, how beautiful ! There, at 
 the foot of the mountain, lay the village, and 
 the meadows, and the gardens ; and over them 
 all was the sunlight bright and warm! She 
 could see the dandelions in the grass — the brook 
 dancing on its way through the fields and the 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 103 
 
 wood — the old school-house — the church, and — 
 yes, there it was ! how distinctly she could see 
 it from the high mountain in the dream ! — her 
 own father’s house. The rose-tree that was 
 trained over the nurserj^ window was in full 
 bloom, and the Canary’s cage was hung in the 
 window, and the bird, Fanny knew, was talking 
 to the roses. But what he said to them, that 
 Fanny could not hear, because she was listening 
 again to the sound of the trumpet, which seemed 
 to fill heaven and earth with its grand, solemn 
 melody. And while she listened she bent her 
 head upon her hand, and forgot the lovely scene 
 upon which she had been looking, — forgot even 
 the wish she had just felt, that she might go 
 back to the dear village, and remain there. 
 
 For the trumpet seemed to be saying some- 
 thing to her. What was it ? That was more 
 than Fanny for a long time could tell. Though, 
 while she listened she could but say to herself. 
 If I wait, and am patient, and try to under- 
 stand it, I shall surely be able very soon.” And 
 
104 : 
 
 A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 true enough, it was presently with her the same 
 as if she had been deaf, and a physician had 
 made her to hear — or, as if she had taken up a 
 book, written in some foreign language, and 
 without study found that she could read it — for 
 the voice of the trumpet was really a Yoice, and 
 it said to her. 
 
 Arise, and go thy way — thy cross is wait- 
 ing for thee.’’ 
 
 So she should have it at last ! What Janet 
 had said was true after all ! It was true that 
 she had been led up that mountain ; and some 
 one she could not see was still v/atching over her 
 and caring for her! She was not after all a 
 foolish, lost girl, that had wandered away from 
 home to die up there alone, in the wild, dark 
 place ! And in her dream poor Fanny re- 
 joiced. 
 
 When she again arose she cast another look 
 down the mountain, before she began to ascend 
 further. And lo ! the hill was now nearly cov- 
 ered with persons who had set out for the sum- 
 
A S T O K Y O ¥ THE C II O 8 S . 
 
 105 
 
 mit, even as she had done ; and there, toiling 
 among the rest, was the darling little ’Eel ! 
 
 Then Fanny said to herself — for now she felt 
 very happy and courageous — I will wait here 
 for ’Bel ” — and then the next minute she thought 
 
 — “No, I will go and meet her, and help her 
 along — poor ’Bel, she will be so weary, ” — but 
 before she could take a single step down the 
 hill, the Yoice said, 
 
 “ Go up ! Go up ! ” very sternly and with a 
 mighty emphasis it was said — and Fanny dared 
 not linger any longer. 
 
 Fear drove her on at first, but soon the fear 
 passed away, and in her desire to reach the end 
 of her journey the little girl’s curiosity, about 
 those who were coming after her, disappeared. 
 
 And at last the mountain top was really 
 reached. Then Fanny thought, in her dream, 
 that she should die ; her strength went from her, 
 
 — she fell upon the ground, — yet she felt no 
 fear now — she was at peace. 
 
 But she did not fall asleep in her dream — the 
 
106 
 
 A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 dream did not end here — for now upon the mild 
 air rose the sound of a Voice that was not like 
 the voice of the trumpet, nor like her mother’s 
 voice, nor like any that she had ever heard in 
 all her life before, for it was sweeter and ten- 
 derer, and also more powerful — it said to her. 
 
 My Child ! ” 
 
 And Fanny was lifted from the ground in her 
 dream, and when she raised her eyes she per- 
 ceived that see was leaning against the great 
 cross, and the Hand that had beckoned to her to 
 come from the crowd, was reaching down from 
 it, and the Hand rested on her head, as if it 
 would bless her — even her, poor Fanny Ray. 
 
 Surely a blessing had now been pronounced 
 upon her — yes, of that Fanny was quite certain, 
 when she felt the tender pressure of the Hand 
 upon her head ; — and in her dream, Fanny was 
 so happy that her heart sang for joy. Then she 
 remembered little ’Bel, and turned her eyes 
 again to the mountain path, that she might see 
 what had become of her. And there was the 
 
 8 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 107 
 
 child, still coming on, yet staying sometimes by 
 the way, and turning to look back, as slie her- 
 self had done ! Fanny trembled when she saw 
 this wavering and weariness, lest the little one 
 should be tempted to return to the paths and 
 the meadows which looked so very pleasant from 
 every place, except from that place last gained, 
 where Fanny now stood — beneath the cross of 
 the Saviour. 
 
 But even while she feared, Fanny leaned with 
 yet more and more reliance upon that sure sup- 
 port, and when her heart was most like to cry out 
 in its fear for ’Bel, she still looked upon the cross, 
 and the cry was changed to a prayer — and this 
 was the prayer ; that the Voice that had called, 
 and the Hand that had saved her, would do the 
 same for the little lonely pilgrim. Yet, even 
 when she made this prayer, Fanny ended it with, 
 
 T hy will be done^'^ because she felt that the 
 Deliverer would be sure to do all things right 
 and well. 
 
 And now, again the Voice was speaking from 
 
108 
 
 A STOKY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 on high and it said — ^^The cross that I gave 
 thee to bear, my child, wilt thou not crucify on 
 it all thy pride and selfishness, and be glad to 
 bear it because I gave it to thee ? ’’ 
 
 And all Fanny Hay’s heart seemed to leap up 
 in the answer she made : “ Yea, Lord, I thank 
 thee — I thank thee for the cross ! ” 
 
 The sound of her own voice, so earnest and so 
 loud, wakened the little girl. 
 
 The sun was shining — the Canary singing — 
 tick, tick, went the clock — there stood Janet by 
 the bed-side, come to waken them — ■ the dream 
 was all over^ — a strange, beautiful dream, — but 
 it had ended so provokingly, thought Fanny, 
 she had neither seen in it whether ’Bel really 
 reached the top of the mountain, nor learned 
 what cross either of them was to bear ! That 
 was the worst of all — for she was sure that if 
 the dream had been dreamed through, no mat- 
 ter what the end of it had been, she would have 
 felt strong enough to endure anything that was 
 
A STORY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 109 
 
 offered to her as her cross. But the dream was 
 over, and there was no help for it. 
 
 Not that day was any explanation given to 
 the dream ; and many a day, and many a year, 
 passed by before it was all made plain to Fanny 
 Ray ; but there came a time at last when she 
 understood it all. She ha(l strength then to bear 
 the knowledge — and she had grace also — grace 
 to thank God for that strength, and to say to 
 Him, Thy will be done, O Lord, my strength 
 and my Redeemer ! ” Her face was pale with 
 sickness, and her poor body bent with pain in 
 those years, but she was happy and at peace, as 
 all must be, no matter what their suffering and 
 sorrow, if they trust in the good Lord always. 
 Pale she was, and crippled, but everybody 
 loved her — and that our Father in heaven also 
 loved her, we all knew. How did we know it ? 
 Are you asking that, my little friend ? Ponder 
 it in your heart — and then you will understand it 
 all, better, oh, far better than I know how to tell. 
 
strength. One thought his back 
 ^ would surely be broken every 
 ^ time he attempted to lift it. 
 
 HE boy carried a hand-organ; it 
 fcwas much too heavy for his 
 
 T^e girl had a tambourine and the two played 
 togeVlpi* and sang “ Home ! sweet Home.” But 
 they had n’t a home anywhere on the face of the 
 wide earth. 
 
 A crowd collected around them — and after 
 the children had sung their best pieces, the girl 
 went around with the tambourne in her hand, 
 passing from one person to another, and who- 
 ever chose to do so dropped in some money. 
 There was one boy who put in five-pence, and 
 took ten-pence out in change ! — I saw him do 
 it from my window. Much good may the cheat 
 do him — the fell^^'^^ ^ 
 
THE LITTLE STREET SINGERS 111 
 
 But the girl did n’t notice him. She seemed 
 hardly to notice at all whether those to whom 
 she offered the contribution box gave her any- 
 thing or not — for she was very tired, and her 
 head ached, and she would have given all she 
 had in the world to have crept into some shed, 
 and lain down there for a little sleep ; her feet 
 were so sore, and her head ached so dreadfully. 
 
 She said in the morning to Thomas, “I am 
 very tired and sick ; oh, do let me stay in with 
 you to-day.” 
 
 Thomas was the man who traveled with Jack 
 and Nanny, though he was not their father, nor 
 brother ; and often the children wondered how 
 they ever happened to fall into the hands of so 
 wicked a person. 
 
 But though when he looked at Nanny he must 
 have known that she was speaking the truth — 
 that she was really very tired and sick — the 
 man only laughed at her, and called her a little 
 fool, and said she was saying what she knew was 
 a wicked lie. So he sent them out in the rain, 
 
112 THE LITTLE STREET SINGERS. 
 
 and the monkey was dressed in its old clothes, 
 for the rain would have spoiled his new suit ; 
 but there was no danger that the rain would 
 spoil the old rags which the children wore. 
 
 He sent them out, and they wandered about 
 the streets all day — but late in the afternoon 
 Nanny said, 
 
 Jack, if Thomas kills me for it, I must lie 
 down — I believe I shall die.” 
 
 The boy looked at his sister, — ■ her pale face 
 frightened him, — where could they go ? What 
 should they do ? They were full a mile from 
 the house where Thomas stopped, and how could 
 they ever walk back ? Even while they were 
 considering what they should do, Nanny was 
 obliged to sit upon some shop steps to rest — so 
 it was out the question that they should attempt 
 to return to the inn, until she had taken some 
 rest. 
 
 Further down the street, at a short distance 
 from them, Jack saw a stable, and the door was 
 open. Without saying a word, he left Nanny, 
 
THE LITTLE STKEET S IK GEES. 113 
 
 and ran down to see if it was occupied. To his 
 great joy he found the doors wide open, nobody 
 there, and the manger filled with nice fresh 
 straw. 
 
 Jack was not a strong boy, and he was very 
 weary with carrying the organ all day, and walk- 
 ing about so far, but his strength seemed to come 
 back to him when he returned and looked at 
 iTanny, where she sat on the door step, so faint 
 and pale. Taking his organ, which he had left 
 beside her, upon his back, he more than half 
 carried her down the street to the stable — then 
 he climbed up into the manger, and drew her 
 after him. And all the poor, sick child could 
 say was, Oh, Jack ! how good you are — don’t 
 let’s ever go back to Thomas.” 
 
 And the boy said kindly, I ’ll make it all 
 right — don’t worry — take a good sleep, and 
 I ’ll keep watch here.” 
 
 And Jack sat up there in the manger beside 
 his sister, and the monkey sat on the hand or- 
 gan, and Nanny’s tambourine lay on the floor be- 
 8 
 
114 THE LITTLE STEEET SINGERS. 
 
 side it, and it was as still in the stable as if 
 there had n’t been a creature in it. 
 
 Jack sat there with his eyes half closed, but 
 he was wide awake — he had so many things on 
 his mind, how could he think of sleeping ? 
 
 A fine scolding they would get when they 
 went back to Thomas — that was very certain ; 
 but who cared ? What if he gave them a beat- 
 ing? — even that would’ nt kill them — it was 
 what they often had to bear. Yet, no ! If 
 Thomas attempted to beat Nanny now, he 
 would meet with some opposition. As for him- 
 self, Jack had no fear; he rather liked the 
 thought of living with the man until he might 
 some day find an opportunity for punishing their 
 tyrant in a suitable way. It would, besides, be 
 very stupid in them to attempt to fiy from him ; 
 for Thomas knew everything, and would be 
 sure to find them again, and then — Jack trem- 
 bled to think of such a fiight, and such a 
 capture ! 
 
 As to Nanny — the moment she lay down there 
 
THE LITTLE STKEET SINGERB. 115 
 
 in the manger her eyes closed — she fell into a 
 heavy sleep. And so anxious was Jack that she 
 should have a good rest, that though it began to 
 get dark in the stable, he was very careful to 
 make no noise, lest he should waken her. 
 
 But at last Nanny stirred — she was awaking 
 — she whisj)ered, Jack?” 
 
 Here I am,” he answered. 
 
 Is that Thomas I hear ? ” 
 
 No — it is nothing.” 
 
 Is n’t it? Oh Jack! I’ve seen the most 
 beautiful sight ! ” 
 
 What was it ? ” said Jack. 
 
 “Come closer — are you there? I can’t see 
 you.” 
 
 “ No wonder, for it ’s as dark as pitch here. 
 But I’ll tell you what we’ll do — ^ wait till we 
 get started, for we had better be oS ; and then 
 I ’ll have you tell all about it. Come ! you have 
 had such a nice rest. How is your head ? ” 
 
 Nanny never disputed with Jack. He always 
 had things in his own way, so far as she was 
 
116 THE LITTLE STliEET S I N E li S . 
 
 concerned, for lie was always contriving things 
 to say and do for lier that would make her hap- 
 pier, and more comfortable. So she lifted her 
 head, and tried to rise, as he bade her, but she 
 could not do it. Jack did not observe the effort 
 she was making ; he was busy getting his organ 
 strapped upon his back. 
 
 I ’ll tell you what it was that I dreamed 
 here; I’d rather tell it now, before I forget it, 
 my head feels so badly. It was all about a 
 
 beautiful home that I went to ” 
 
 “But,” said Jack, interrupting her, “ I hear 
 them coming. They are leading a horse, and 
 there ’s a man with a lantern. Slip down, and 
 don’t make a noise. ' I guess we can creep out 
 without their seeing ; come ! ” 
 
 lllanny made no noise, but neither did she oth- 
 erwise obey him ; and when in a moment more 
 the man came in with the horse, he found a little 
 dead child lying in the manger. Nanny had 
 gone away to the beautiful home sooner than 
 Jack could think ! 
 
THE LITTLE STREET SINGERS. 117 
 
 And there stood the poor fellow, with the organ 
 on his back, and the monkey perched upon the 
 top of it, and under Jack’s arm was Nanny’s tam- 
 bourine. He was ready to go on his journey, but 
 her journey was at an end — she would never sing 
 “ Home ! sweet Home ! ” with him again, either 
 in rain-storm or sunshine. Happy Nanny; the 
 golden doors of the Father’s house had opened for 
 the weary little child, and never more would she 
 live in fear of Thomas ; never more would she go 
 hungry and cold and sad, for now she was with the 
 angels, and safe from all sorrow in the smile of 
 God. 
 
IIEEE they lay on- the beach 
 together — the same sandy bed 
 beneath them — the same sun 
 shining down npon them ; and 
 they both had come up from the same great 
 ocean cave. 
 
 Yet they were not at all alike, as one with 
 only half an eye conld not help seeing. And, 
 as to their ideas of things, and their own partic- 
 ular feelings, it was a fact that they were not in 
 the least bit alike in these. Excepting in this 
 one thing — they were both exceedingly desirous 
 of changing their place of residence ; and it was 
 this wish that was granted them — for they had 
 lived in the sea, and now were to live on the 
 land, which certainly was a great change for 
 both of them. 
 
 The Pink Shell was marvellously pretty, and 
 she knew it. And there was nothing strange 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 119 
 
 about that; but then, do you think the Shell 
 showed her wisdom in being so very vain and 
 proud about it? Wliy, only think of it, — she 
 did not make herself, — she lay upon the beach 
 just as she was thrown up out of the deep, deep 
 sea ; and for all that she had to. do with it, she 
 might just as well have been a clam-shell, as that 
 beautiful pink thing which the Sea Weed look- 
 ed at with so much admiration. And therefore 
 I say that if it was not a sin, it was at least a 
 great shame, for the Shell to be so vain of her 
 beauty. 
 
 They had been thrown by the same wave up- 
 on the sea beach — the Shell and the Weed — 
 and the Shell, much to her horror, lodged in the 
 very midst of the Weed ! Oh how she sighed 
 for some lucky gale of fortune that would set 
 her clear of the loathsome heap. Loathsome ! 
 yes, that was the yerj word she used in her 
 complaint. 
 
 The Sea Weed was not naturally jealous or 
 suspicious. She could admire the beauty of the 
 
120 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 Shell, and not feel in the least annoyed that she 
 herself had but little loveliness to boast of — 
 that she was, in fact, what some plain spoken 
 people wonld call ngly. But nobody, however 
 homely and hnmble, likes to be called loath- 
 some. And the remark did not sound well, 
 coming from the Shell, even if it could- be ima- 
 gined that the Weed was not in the least sensi- 
 tive, and had no feeling whatever. 
 
 The Weed could not well help it, she asked 
 rather timidly, yet with perfect distinctness — 
 Did you say loathsome ? ’’ 
 
 “ Disgustful ! ’’ exclaimed the Shell, looking 
 in every direction except at the Weed that hap- 
 pened to be beneath her. 
 
 “You said disgustful,’’ repeated the Weed, 
 not so timidly as before, but still quite meek in 
 her manner and voice — are you speaking of 
 me? ” 
 
 Insolence ! ” was all the reply. 
 
 The Sea Weed sighed, and for a long time 
 thought the matter over quietly to herself ; final- 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 121 
 
 Ij the Shell’s mutterings excited a little anger in 
 her, and she said, 
 
 It seems to me that if you are so mightily 
 uncomfortable. Miss Shell, the best thing you 
 can do is to move into another neighborhood. 
 It is n’t very pleasant to bear your burden, and 
 be compelled to listen to your insulting remarks. 
 You think yourself very fine and beautiful — 
 I think so too — but for all that, your behavior 
 is neither pretty nor agreeable.” 
 
 “You are such a fright!” exclaimed Miss 
 Shell, in a rage. 
 
 “ Well, and what of that,” returned the Weed, 
 very coolly, — “ I am as I was made, and it’ s 
 nothing to you whether I ’m handsome or ugly. 
 Y ou are at perfect liberty to remove yourself to 
 a place where I shall be out of your sight. 
 And to speak the plain truth, I heartily wish 
 you would do so.” 
 
 “ Whoever heard the like ? ” exclaimed the 
 Shell. 
 
 “ I never did, for one,” answered the Weed, 
 
FINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 but the fault is all your own. If you take to 
 calling names, you may as well expect to have 
 an answer.’’ 
 
 Just then a man went by oa the lonely sea 
 beacb — he was speaking aloud, and the heaven, 
 and the earth, and the ocean, the Sea Weed and 
 the Shell, heard what he said: Speech is great, 
 but silence is greater.” 
 
 And the Sea Weed thought to herself. That 
 is a wiser and a better saying than the one 1 
 thought so good — it is n’t worth while to an- 
 swer a fool according to his folly, after all — 
 and I won’t say another word to the Shell, 
 no matter how she provokes me. 
 
 • And the Sea Weed held to her resolution ; — 
 wishing, in the meantime, as heartily as the Pink 
 Shell could, for the lucky gale of fortune that 
 should separate them; for though she could 
 keep silent herself, it was not so very agreeable 
 to be compelled to hear Miss Shell’s continual 
 complaining. For of her complaining there 
 really was no end — it seemed to be the only 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 123 
 
 thing of which the proud Sea Shell was capable. 
 She had no idea that it was possible for her to 
 make any use of this trial of her patience — it 
 was only groan, groan, groan ; grumble, grum- 
 ble, grumble; wish, wish, wish, — from morn- 
 ing till night. 
 
 Well, that lucky gale of fortune did come at 
 last, though in a way that rather mortified 
 Miss Shell ; for it was not at all on her account 
 that the people walking along the beach ex- 
 claimed so joyfully, as if they had found a great 
 prize, when they saw the Sea Weed. It was 
 not on her account that they placed the Sea 
 Weed in a basket, and carried it far away to a 
 place where the roar of the ocean waves was 
 never heard. No — for they did not see the 
 Shell at all. 
 
 You think, then, that she was left upon the 
 beach alone — that she slipped through the mass 
 of Weed, and was left there all by herself. 
 That was not the way it happened. 
 
 For, in the first place, instead of rejoicing in 
 
124 : PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 the change of place so long desired, the poor 
 thing thought that she was certainly doomed to a 
 violent death, thrust down as she was into dark- 
 ness, and surrounded on all sides, and nearly 
 suffocated by the loathsome Sea Weed that was 
 above and beneath her. No more fair prospect 
 of sea, and shore, and sky ; not a breath of fresh 
 air to sweep away the stifling odor. ^^Dsgust- 
 ing,” loathsome,” insolent.” She might say 
 that as often as she chose, but there was not 
 much comfort in expressing herself thus when 
 she was really so very miserable — so nearly de- 
 stroyed. That was certainly no place for show- 
 ing off her pride, or for parading her beauty. 
 
 At last the Shell began to arouse herself, and 
 to make desperate efforts. Must there not be 
 some way of escape ? — and if there were, could 
 she not And it? Yes, to her delight she found 
 that she could move through her prison house — 
 and though it was always down that she went, 
 at every step, and never up towards the light, 
 the Shell did not think of that, but continued to^ 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 125 
 
 descend, and was glad to do so — and at last she 
 reached a wooden barrier. It was the frame 
 work of the basket. How lucky ’’ that was, 
 she thought — as if there were really any such 
 thing as luck ’’ in the world ! — and then, what 
 was best of all, she thought, a short time after 
 the basket was lifted and carried away, and the 
 Shell fell upon the ground, and nobody noticed 
 it in the least. Here for a long time she rested, 
 and owing to the exertions she had made. Miss 
 Shell was quite content to rest here. But af- 
 ter a while the old restless spirit began to make 
 itself heard again ; and, oh ! if she were only 
 back on the beach ! — or, oh ! if she could only 
 go once more down into the ocean cave ! — or, 
 indeed, anywhere, anywhere in the wide world 
 than just where she happened to be. But, the 
 Shell might turn herself about, and she might 
 move in this direction, and in that direction, and 
 groan and sigh ; she had gone just as far as she 
 could go, unless in some way she was aided by 
 somebody more powerful than herself. And as 
 
126 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 miglit be supposed, the Shell became very lone- 
 ly in her new situation — all was so strange there 
 in the wood — all was so dim and solemn there. 
 
 One day she was roused from a slumber at 
 noonday, by the sound of a person' walking in 
 the wood. It was a youth who wandered about 
 with his head bent on his breast, lost in thought. 
 But they were not gloomy thoughts he had — 
 they were all about a friend whom he loved 
 very dearly; and he had just been telling her 
 how much he loved her, and had made the dis- 
 covery that she loved him also. So that this 
 was the very happiest day of the young fellow’s 
 life. 
 
 Nothing of this knew the Pink Shell, and she 
 said to herself — If he sees me my fortune is 
 made, for he has a pair of bright eyes in his 
 head, and that ’s more than I can say for any- 
 thing else I Ve seen in this dismal place.” 
 
 While the youth walked along with his head 
 bent thus, he was looking for some place where 
 he might sit down and reflect; at last he come 
 
PINK SHELL ANH SEA WEED. 127 
 
 close to the mossy bank where the Shell was, 
 and there he sat down and indulged in the most 
 delightful meditations. 
 
 Selfish ! ’’ murmured the Shell; “ he thinks 
 of nobody in the world but himself — why can’t 
 he see that I am here, and half dead to get 
 away. I am sure I would not in the least 
 trouble him ! ” 
 
 It seemed as if the young man must have 
 heard her complaint, for no sooner was it ended, 
 than he arose quickly, and his eyes fixed upon 
 the very place where she was lying. 
 
 Good luck ! ” exclaimed the Shell ; and a 
 brighter blush seemed to overspread her hand- 
 some face. 
 
 And when the youth stooped and lifted her, 
 looking so pleasant and so glad, she thought it 
 was a great wonder that she did not swoon with 
 delight. But she kept her senses through it all. 
 
 As to the youth himself, he thought it was a 
 most fortunate thing that he had come into the 
 wood that day. He had found such a nice gift 
 
128 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 for his friend — and he made a little plan in his 
 mind about the Shell, which he kept do himself. 
 
 The next day Miss Shell found herself in a ve- 
 ry odd sort of place ; — the handsome youth with 
 whom she had hoped to remain, had some queer 
 project in his head that concerned her; what 
 could it be ? Why had he left her in that disa- 
 greeable garret, in the hands of that dirty work- 
 man, who coughed so much, and looked so pale 
 and so distressed? — what would he do with 
 her ? The young man had given this person a 
 great many directions, but of these she could 
 not understand a word. They were both kind- 
 hearted looking men — she did not believe that 
 they meant to destroy her. But then why was 
 she there ? — and of what use were all those 
 bright, sharp tools which lay on the workman’s 
 table ? Miss Shell trembled as she asked her- 
 self that question. 
 
 Oh for the sea side ! — if she could only find 
 herself back on the beach ! — surely, that was 
 the best of all places for a residence ; and bet- 
 
PINK S H E L L A N J ) SEA WEED. 
 
 ter and pleasanter it seemed, as day after day 
 went on, and still she remained in the dingy city 
 workshop, watching that distressed, pale, weary 
 looking man at his labor, and listening to the 
 noises of the crowded streets. 
 
 The Shell had nothing to do but to think — 
 but no one seemed to think of her — not even 
 the workman to whom the handsome youth gave 
 so many directions. 
 
 But soon she had occasion to think another 
 thought, and wish another wish — the poor, 
 proud Shell ! She had fancied herself so hand- 
 some, so perfect ! — and the artist did not 
 agree with her; that is, if one might judge of 
 his thoughts by his deeds. Certainly — yes ; it 
 was his intention to destroy her ! And the Shell 
 gave herself up for lost, and fainted away with 
 fright, and the last thing she thought was, — 
 After all, I must have abused the poor Sea 
 Weed — I hope she has forgotten all about it.” 
 
 Often the young man went to the artist’s work- 
 room. He watched the progress of the work 
 9 
 
130 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED, 
 
 he had ordered to be done, with the greatest in- 
 terest — but Miss Shell, during this time, until 
 the work was finished, remained unconscious of 
 all that was going on. 
 
 When she awakened at last, all was darkness 
 around her. She heard voices, but nothing could 
 she see, and the Shell groaned inwardly, and 
 said, Alas ! I am become stone blind ! that 
 must account for it — the vile workman put out 
 my eyes, and then I fainted.’’ It was a poor 
 consolation, that thought ! 
 
 She listened earnestly, and then she spoke 
 again to herself, and said, Aha ! if my eyes 
 are gone my ears are opened,” — and certainly 
 her ears were opened, or some other strange 
 thing had happened, for the shell could now un- 
 derstand what was said between the youth and 
 the artist. She knew it was these two that 
 talked together, because, though she could not 
 see them she recognized the Amices. 
 
 “ How much do I owe you ? ” asked the young 
 man. 
 
 0 ^ 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 131 
 
 ^^Well — ^let me see : it is very fine work the 
 gentleman will observe.’’ 
 
 “ Yes,” was the reply. 
 
 ^‘It tried my eyes sorely to cut so fine a 
 flower, and the dove hovering over the flower, I 
 never did so nice a piece of work as that before.” 
 
 ^^Yes — it’s exqnisite,” said the young man 
 with great admiration, evidently. 
 
 “It was diflicult to cut the cameo,” — (how 
 Miss Shell shuddered as she heard that — ^ That 
 means me — it must mean me, and I ’ve been cut 
 up with those sharp steel instruments ! ’ she said 
 to herself with a groan,) “ for you see,” resumed 
 the man, stopping to cough after every word, 
 “ one false mark might easily have ruined the 
 whole thing.” 
 
 “Yes, yes — I see,” said the youth, with a 
 little impatience, “ but let me know your charge, 
 my good fellow, I ’m in a hurry.” 
 
 “ Ten dollars.” 
 
 The young man said no more, but the shell heard 
 him counting, “Three — ^five — eight — ten” — and 
 
132 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 then he said, Is that right ? ’’ and the artist 
 answered, ^^Yes — all right — thank you, sir; — • 
 but — would you please, sir, to let me look again 
 at the cameo, for a moment?— thank you.” 
 
 Ho — the Shell was certainly not blind, — 
 there was now light all around her in a mo- 
 ment, and she saw it, and when to her amaze^ 
 ment she looked up into the face of tlie artist, 
 she saw that his eyes were full of tears — and he 
 said — Well, if it is my work I Ve never seen 
 any handsomer.” 
 
 ‘‘ And to think,” said the young man, “ a month 
 ago it was only a pretty shell lying in the wood, 
 of no use to anybody. You and I have proved 
 that it was good for something, Mr. Artist.” 
 
 And they laughed ; — the shell did not laugh 
 however — she was greatly indignant that they 
 should have dared to speak of her in such a 
 manner. But what strange thing was it that 
 had I ppened to her? What had the artist 
 done? Oh, if she could but see herself; she 
 was not blind — that she knew — yet it was very 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEA V;" E E D . 133 
 
 odd she cohM not see as she used to do. She 
 could see everything but that she most longed 
 to see — which was, of course, herself! 
 
 A moment after the strange darkness ao;ain 
 was over and around her, • — that is to say, the 
 Shell-cameo was shut iip again in a box, and 
 the youth carried it away vfith him. Down the 
 stairs he went, out into the crowded street, and 
 then there was a long, long way, walked very 
 rapidly ; — then up a flight of steps ; a careful 
 opening of a door; through a long passage way ; 
 iip another pair of stairs — then another door 
 was opened — and the Shell found herself no 
 longer in darkness — but when she looked around 
 she saw that she was alone ; the young man had 
 left her there alone. 
 
 She was lying on a white marble slab that was 
 underneath a large and splendid mirror, and 
 around her were a multitude of shining, beauti- 
 ful things, whose use she could not guess, vhose 
 like she had never seen before. 
 
 The Shell-cameo felt the most strange sen- 
 
134 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 sation wlien she thought of herself there alone 
 in that chamber ; she had never thought the 
 same thoughts, or felt the same feelings as now. 
 Though it had never entered her head to dream 
 of an apartment so beautiful, though everything 
 around her was so strange, so different from all 
 she had ever seen before, still she could not help 
 thinking, I am not alone here — some friend or 
 some acquaintance I have known in days past is 
 certainly near me.’’ But as she looked at the 
 lace window curtains, and bed curtains, and the 
 handsome carpet ; on the pictures, and the orna- 
 ments in the room, and fatigued herself with 
 wondering, she could not arrive at any conclu- 
 sion as to what it could mean that she should 
 have such thoughts and feelings, for as I said, 
 never had she had the like before. 
 
 That same day, in the afternoon, a little lady 
 came singing into the chamber: — a young girl 
 who certainly had just heard of, or done, some 
 pleasant thing, for her face was lovely with the 
 happy smile it wore 
 
FINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 135 
 
 She walked about the room, and looked from 
 the windows, and sang like a bird — but it was 
 n long while, at least so it seemed to the Shell, 
 before she went up to the mirror and saw the 
 cameo lying there. 
 
 Now,’’ said the Shell, my time has come 
 at last.” 
 
 And certainly it had, for the little lady took 
 the cameo, and ran with it to the window, and 
 then back again to the mirror, and all she said 
 was, Albert ! ” 
 
 ^^Ah!” said the Shell, with a jealous sigh, 
 she thinks more of the giver than she does of 
 the gift, after all ; but I ’m sure of one thing, I 
 shall now see what strange thing it is that has 
 happened to me.” 
 
 And as the little lady fastened the cameo upon 
 her bosom, the Shell gazed upon herself, and 
 said with rapture, Ah, if the Sea Weed could 
 only see me now, what would she say? ” 
 
 But when she said it, a pang shot through her 
 heart, and the vain Shell fairly blushed — why ? 
 
136 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 because at that very instant it seemed to her 
 that something whispered, 
 
 ^^Be careful, Miss Shell, what you say or 
 think about the Sea Weed — be careful, be 
 careful ! ’’ 
 
 But when the Shell thought this all over, she 
 was again very indignant because of the Sea 
 Weed, and she said to herself more proudly 
 than ever, I would exceedingly like to have 
 that Weed here to see me now ; she would per 
 ceive that I had found my proper place at last.” 
 
 That may be,” something whispered — and 
 the voice seemed to come from the mirror — 
 that may be, but be careful. Miss Shell, what 
 you say about the Sea Weed, just be careful, if 
 you please.” 
 
 This was all very strange — what could it 
 mean ? Miss Shell was as much in the dark as 
 when she fancied herself blind because shut up 
 in the box. 
 
 I will tell you what it meant. As to the Shell, 
 she found it all out soon enough. 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 137 
 
 That same afternoon, a little girl, much 
 younger than the little lady who wore the cam- 
 eo that her friend Albert had given her, came 
 into the beautiful chamber. 
 
 Sister,” she said, hurrying up to the little 
 lady — 
 
 Well,” was the answer she got. 
 
 ‘AVhat is kelp ? ” 
 
 “ Kelp ? why, it is sea weed burned.” 
 
 The cameo gave a start of surprise, and lis- 
 tened eagerly to hear what should come next. 
 
 And so the sea weed, such as we gathered 
 last summer, goes to make glass like that mir- 
 ror,” pointing to the one before her. 
 
 Yes, that is very true,” said the little lady, 
 "^and this cameo, Lily, look at it — Albert 
 gave it to me ; it is made of a shell. So you 
 see the ocean gives us a great many curious and 
 beautiful things ! ” 
 
 The poor Pink Shell ! she gave a sort of groan, 
 but no words could express her mortification 
 and surprise at that moment. Very well she 
 
138 PINK SHELL ANl) SEA WEED. 
 
 knew why it was that she felt that she was near 
 an old acquaintance, when Albert left her on 
 the marble slab underneath the splendid mirror. 
 
 ‘No sleep for her that night, when she lay on 
 the slab once more, after the little lady had gone 
 into her bed. But there she was, awake through 
 all the long, dark hours ; so wretched, so miser- 
 able — no one can tell how miserable, who has 
 not been kept awake thinking of some duty he 
 is too proud to perform. 
 
 But at last there came at midnight a voice 
 ■^fom out the mirror, and it said, 
 
 Pink Shell ! ’’ 
 
 What ? she answered. 
 
 Do you know me now ? ” 
 
 ^‘Yes.’’ 
 
 What am I ? 
 
 Sea Weed.’’ 
 
 Yes, that ’s very true — well, what do you 
 think of me now^ Pink Shell ? ” 
 
 I ’m not thinking of you at all.” 
 
 That’s honest — I see you ’re not so very 
 
 5 
 
PINK SHELL AND SEAWEED. 139 
 
 much changed after all ; though I hardly rec- 
 ognized you when you came in.” 
 
 Sea Weed, if I’m not changed, you aveP - 
 
 “ Yes, I know it ; I ’m of some use and im- 
 portance now — besides, I have passed through 
 so many transformations, I hardly know myself.” 
 
 They have made you proud.” 
 
 Don’t say that ! don’t say that if you 
 please. I ’m of some use, and for that I ’m 
 thankful — thankful, do you hear ? — not proud. 
 I hope I ’m not so foolish. As I believe I told 
 you long ago, when I was nothing but an ugly 
 weed, according to your way of thinking, I ’ve 
 had nothing to do with making myself, so why 
 should I be proud ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, Sea Weed,” began Miss Shell, but there 
 she stopped. 
 
 Well,” said the voice from the mirror, speak- 
 ing very gently, for the Shell seemed to be in 
 great distress. 
 
 ^^Sea Weed,” she began again after a long si- 
 lence, I hope you ’ll forget all those silly things 
 
140 PINK SHELL AND SEA WEED. 
 
 I used to say. I’ve been so impatient, and so 
 proud — dear me — I’ve been a great fool — 
 but ” 
 
 “ Say no more, my beautiful ” 
 
 “ Don’t call me beautiful.” 
 
 “ What shall I call you? ” 
 
 “ Say — Sister, I forgive you,” said Cameo, af- 
 ter a long, long pause. 
 
 “ Sister, I have forgotten all about it,” said 
 the mirror, and they never had a quarrel after 
 that day, you may be certain. 
 
fittk 
 
 TIETHEE there was anything 
 at all in it — or if it meant any- 
 thing — that I cannot say; you 
 must be the judge. 
 
 But this was what happened, all in the same 
 moment, with some people who lived together 
 in a house on Grand street. Yes — Grand street 
 they called it — but Fm sure I don’t know why. 
 They lived in the same house, but they had 
 very little to do with each other ; for they were 
 lodgers, and rented the rooms, all except Mar- 
 garet, who slept in a narrow passage-way in the 
 basement, for she was the servant, and the house 
 was so crowded that there was no other place 
 where she could put herself away, out of sight, 
 
 when night came. 
 
 ^ * 
 
 In the upper story of the house, that is to say 
 in the attic, lived a widow lady and her child, 
 
142 LITTLE Alice’s peayek. 
 
 a little girl not yet six years old. Directly un- 
 der the skylight was a large rose bnsh, full of 
 buds and blossoms — and it was as old, and 
 older than Alice, the widow’s child ; for on the 
 day that she was born her father brought it 
 home, and at that time there was one rose — but 
 one — upon the fragile stem. 
 
 How it had grown since that day ! It was now 
 a splendid rose bush — almost as tall as Alice her- 
 self. And next to her child, the poor widow loved 
 the rose better than all things in the world. 
 
 In the day-time it was very pleasant up there 
 in the attic, but at night! — oh, it was gloomy 
 then ; for, after Alice was asleep, the widow was 
 alone, and there was nothing to amuse her — and 
 even if there had been she could not have stop- 
 ped to enjoy it; for she was working day and 
 night, trying to lay by money enough to educate 
 her child, as many another loving mother has 
 done* 
 
 Just as the clock struck seven, that night 
 when the strange thing happened, Alice knelt 
 
LITTLE ALICEAS PEAYEE. 143 
 
 down beside tbe little table on wbicli stood the 
 rose bush, and said aloud the Lord’s prayer, and 
 after that she continued to kneel and to pray for 
 a moment in silence, as she always did, asking 
 God for whatever thing she most desired. 
 
 And what it was she asked for I do not know, 
 but it was very strange — in the same moment 
 that she asked it, a blessing seemed to have fal- 
 len on all the hearts that did most need it in the 
 house. 
 
 There was Margaret in the basement, with 
 work to do that would keep her busy, tired as 
 she already was, until late at night ; — she had 
 just been giving relief to her heavy heart, and 
 the tears she shed were bitter. Why should she 
 labor so like a slave, doing her best to please all, 
 and never receive in return gentle words, and 
 pleasant smiles ? Her heart cried out for the 
 old friends in fatherland — but they did not an- 
 swer her. She was alone ; and oh, so lonely ! 
 Weveyoic ever alone, and lonely? Then you 
 will know how to pity her. 
 
144 LITTLE Alice’s pkayer. 
 
 The clock struck seven. Margaret looked up ; 
 the old dim lamp seemed to burn more faintly 
 than ever — and there was the great heap of 
 work yet to do — what right had she to be sit- 
 ting there in the basement, weeping, making 
 such a waste of the time ? 
 
 She sprung from her chair, and suddenly, as if 
 some spring had been touched in her sad heart, 
 Margaret began to sing. With a faltering voice 
 at first, for she had wept so violently that she 
 could not control the voice. Her own singing 
 made her smile. Beautiful music that, to be 
 sure,” said she, and stopping short, she began 
 the verse again. And this time how bravely 
 she sang it ; with a low, but firm, sweet voice, 
 and there was not a break in it from the begin- 
 ning to the end of the song ; — four verses, — 
 she sang them all. 
 
 All this time she was not standing still with 
 folded arms ; a wonderful change had taken 
 place in the appearance of the basement since 
 the clock struck for seven. The old lamp no 
 
L I T T I. K A L I Cl'^ ’ S V K A Y E K . 
 
 145 
 
 longer burned dimly ; it blazed like a torch, and, 
 though it smoked a little, Margaret had drawn 
 the wick up so high, she did not mind that, it 
 looked so cheerful there, and she all at once felt 
 so cheerful, and this was the way she talked to 
 herself — 
 
 Courage, Margaret ! Courage, old heart ! 
 there’s a good time coming — you are strong, if 
 you’re not made of iron, and God rules over 
 all.” And while she talked thus to herself she 
 thought of little Alice up in the attic, and said, 
 for dearly she loved the child, That is the an- 
 gel of the house, and it ’s right she should sleep 
 away up there, for that room, of all in the house, 
 is nearest to heaven, where she belongs. And 
 if Alice prayed for Margaret I cannot tell — 
 but this I know, the poor Irish girl blessed 
 Alice. 
 
 Over the basement was the drawing-room, and 
 it was very brilliant with gas-lights there. 
 
 There was too much light — not for the room, 
 
 for that looked quite splendid, but for the man 
 10 
 
14-6 LITTLE ALICEAS PKAYER. 
 
 in it, who walked to and fro with his head bent 
 on his breast, thinking — thinking — thinking. 
 
 They were not such thoughts as he would like 
 to have seen written out upon the wall, so that 
 all who happened to go into the room could read 
 them if they chose. He was wretched with 
 those thoughts ; they made his heart as restless 
 as the waves of the sea — they haunted him in his 
 dreams — and when he was awake, as now, they 
 tempted him. They were his tormentors. 
 
 They were having a fierce battle with them- 
 selves this night. They had battled thus all day, 
 and now the strife was nearly at an end. You 
 see him — he is going towards the door — it is 
 too light for him there, he shades his eyes with 
 his hands — he will go out where there is dark- 
 ness. 
 
 But — why does he stop just as he reaches the 
 door? Why does he fold his arms upon his 
 breast, and lean against the wall, and think 
 again ? Do but see how calm his face is grow- 
 ing ! — he does not need to shade his eyes now — 
 D 
 
LITTLE Alice’s peayee. 147 
 
 there is not too much light there — he looks up. 
 Again he ^alks up and down the room — the 
 silver clock upon the mantle is striking seyeiTo 
 W hat can it mean ? What can it mean ? Why, 
 he is delivered from his temptation, and he steps 
 as if that temptation were lying like a worm in 
 his path, and he crushing it under his feet. He 
 does not now find the gas-light too clear and 
 searching. 
 
 And that happened while the clock was strh 
 king seven, and while little Alice prayed ! I 
 wonder if she asked a blessing for Mm in that 
 prayer ? 
 
 In the room above there was a faint but clear 
 and steady light burning. The place looked 
 full of shadows, except just about the table 
 where the candle stood. 
 
 Here, also, was a youth, alone. He did not 
 look like the man who walked up and down the 
 brilliant drawing room below. His papers and 
 books were before him, but he neither wrote nor 
 read ; and very often he sighed, and said a brief 
 
14:8 LITTLE ALICEAS PRAYEE. 
 
 word that sounded like Alas ! ” — and if 
 he really did not say the word, his* face look- 
 ed it. 
 
 He was contrasting his ' own situation with 
 that of the man in the drawing-room, — for that 
 man was very rich, and the student was very 
 poor. The rich man had nothing to trouble him, 
 and the poor man had — why, he thought he 
 had as much as a thousand of the very heaviest 
 burdens to bear. In the first place he was 
 alone, — nobody cared for him ; he might suc- 
 ceed, or he might fail in his attempts, — who 
 cared whether the one thing happened or the 
 other? He might write, and write — but if -his 
 book was never finished, who would think it 
 was a great pity, and a great misfortune to the 
 world ? And if he did complete it, who would 
 print it ? Who Avould buy it if it happened to 
 be printed ? Where could he look for his 
 readers ? 
 
 If it was too light for the thoughts of the man 
 who was thinking in the drawing room below, 
 
LITTLE Alice’s prayer. - 149 
 
 it certainly was not too dark for the thoughts of 
 the man who was thinking in that little closet 
 of a room above ! 
 
 He could not tell the hour, for he had no 
 watch, and there was no clock in the room ; but 
 the student knew that it was very early in 
 the evening. There were a great many hours 
 yet before he could think of sleep — > and so he 
 sat and indulged still longer in his gloomy 
 meditations. 
 
 But presently a church clock in the next 
 street told the hour of seven. The bell had a 
 soft, mellow sound. The student loved the 
 sound, — he always laid aside his pen and lis- 
 tened, when it was striking. But what great 
 change was that coming so suddenly over the 
 student ? I wish you could have seen it — it 
 was so curious. How his eyes flashed! — how 
 the desponding face became bright with intelli- 
 gence and cheerfulness ! and the bent figure 
 straightened itself before the table. The folded 
 hands are unclasped, — one sweeps over the 
 
150 ^ LITTLE ALICEAS PRAYEE. 
 
 white forehead and pushes away the mass of 
 disordered hair, the other seizes the pen upon 
 the table. The student has a great thought in 
 his head ! 
 
 He goes to work at it, — it opens before him 
 like a box of jewels, — it brings such a mul- 
 titude of other thoughts with it ! He begins 
 to lay them rapidly upon the paper. What 
 a rich treasure ! — ■ and they are all his own 
 thoughts ! 
 
 The candle burns down to the socket before 
 he is aware ; the clock strikes twelve before he 
 is done ; and yet he is not weary — and a hap- 
 pier man, why, I think you could not find a 
 happier man than he in all Grand street on this 
 night ! 
 
 Now, if that fortunate thought, which so 
 cheered the poor student that he went to bed 
 thanking God who sent it to him, was the an- 
 swer to the prayer of little Alice up in the attic 
 when the clock struck seven, that I cannot tell ; 
 but it was certainly very strange that all these 
 
LITTLE Alice’s prayee. 161 
 
 good people sliould have been made so happy at 
 that very moment, was it not ? — and for my 
 own part, I believe that the prayer of a child in 
 the house is a great blessing. 
 
course it did not stand in any 
 man’s kitchen, or' cellar, or 
 yard, for it was the Town Pump, 
 and its place was in the public 
 street, near the sidewalk. What 
 a grand situation ! 
 
 l^othing could happen to the right or left, up or 
 down the thoroughfare, without the knowledge 
 of the Pump ! It could not see the sun rise — 
 and that, to be sure, was a great privation; but 
 from ten o’clock till sunset, provided there were 
 no clouds in the way, the Pump might gaze on 
 the heavens, and behold the great light that 
 lighteth the day. Taking all things into consid- 
 eration, a more desirable situation, for one who 
 was to serve the public, could not be imagined. 
 
 One moonlight night last summer, I was sit- 
 ting at my window — the blinds were wide 
 open, and a very refreshing breeze swept through 
 
THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 153 
 
 the house. It had rained in the afternoon : and 
 you know how delightful it is in the evening 
 after a summer shower — especially if the moon 
 is shining. 
 
 I was in a very idle mood, and ready to think 
 of anything, or nothing, just as the case might 
 be. Not sleepy at all, though I had worked 
 hard all day — so you must not say that what I 
 am going to tell you about was only a dream. 
 You may be perfectly sure that my eyes were 
 wide open all the while, and that while I con- 
 versed with the Pump I knew what I was 
 about. 
 
 Conversed with the Pump? Yes, though it is 
 quite likely you never heard of such a thing 
 before. I never did either. 
 
 And I suppose I should not have thought of 
 doing such a thing, but for the little girl that 
 came from a house over the way, with a tin pail 
 in her hand ; and I could hear what she said 
 very distinctly, it was so still in the street. She 
 said. 
 
154 
 
 THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 Old Pump ! I, for one, shall be very glad 
 when I see the last you.’’ 
 
 Her words reminded me of what I had heard 
 before, but I had forgotten it again, that to-mor- 
 row was the Pump’s birth day, and I said to 
 myself. 
 
 He must be wide awake if he ’s like other 
 folks. Nobody sleeps very soundly the night 
 before his birth-day. And probably he is think- 
 ing of all that has happened to him, and to other 
 people, in the course of his life. I ’ll just ask 
 him about it.” So I said, 
 
 “ Town Pump ! ” 
 
 But there was no answer. 
 
 This annoyed me a little. It is n’t pleasant to 
 address a person and get no answer ; and though 
 the Town Pump was not a peeson, still it was a 
 THING — and in grammar a thing is called a noun 
 as well as a person — and is quite as respectable. 
 
 I reflected a moment. Perhaps if I came out 
 with a question, I might be answered at once. 
 May be, after all, the Pump was not ceremoni- 
 
T II E T O W N V U M . 
 
 155 
 
 0US5 and was vexed that I should he, and there- 
 fore would not take the trouble when I said 
 “ Town Pump/’ to say, ‘‘ What do you want? ” 
 So I exclaimed — 
 
 “ You do nothing but think. Ton can see all 
 that goes on, and understand why people do thus 
 and so, because you have nothing to do but to 
 look. You don’t get mixed up with other folks — 
 and confused, and distracted, and tired.” 
 
 “Don’t I?” a voice, harsh, but not disagree- 
 able, exclaimed. That was all it said — but the 
 words meant a great deal. I understood, just 
 as well as if the voice had said it outright, that 
 the Pump did get confused, distracted, and 
 tired ; and that I had only shown how little I 
 knew about it, by saying that it did n’t. 
 
 I was so glad to get an answer of any sort, 
 that I cared not at all what shape it came in. 
 
 Perhaps now, thought I, if I tell the Pump 
 the real state of my feelings, I shall get a little 
 pity. So I groaned aloud, 
 
 “ Oh. if I could only get away from this 
 
156 
 
 T HE TO Yl N PUMP. 
 
 place ! I ’m so weary doing the same work day 
 after day. I want to see new faces, and see new 
 sights, and hear new voices, and do some other 
 kind of work.’’ 
 
 What do you think I heard in answer to my 
 complaint ? I was very indignant at first, you 
 may he sure. To think — said I to myself, in 
 my wrath — to think of an old Pumj) talking to 
 me as if I were a beast ! — for he said. 
 
 Where wilt thou go. Ox, that thou wilt 
 
 NOT HAVE TO PLOUGH ? ” 
 
 But after I had repeated these words to my- 
 self several times, I thought they had a familiar 
 sound ; and at length I remembered that it was 
 an old Spanish Proverb, and I began to have a 
 great degree of respect for the Pump, — what a 
 learned Pump it was, to be sure ! Then I said 
 quite meekly, for my anger had altogether passed 
 away, because I understood that the Pump 
 meant to say that there is not a place on earth, 
 and that God never made such a place, where a 
 person might find rest who was not willing and 
 
T lltE T O W N P U ISI r . 
 
 157 
 
 glad to labor in that state of life to which it had 
 pleased God to call him, I said quite meekly, 
 I repeat. 
 
 You are exceedingly wise, Mr. Pump — can 
 you tell fortunes ? ” 
 
 Every day in thy life is a leaf in thy ms- 
 TORY,” he replied. 
 
 This was a proverb of the Arabs, I knew. I 
 had heard it often enough ; and when the Pump 
 repeated it, I felt that it only was a polite way 
 of saying to me — You will know your fortune 
 fast enough : be wise, and ask no questions — 
 the best thing you can do is to live each day 
 well.” 
 
 I merely thought,” said I, that as you had 
 seen the fortune of so many people from begin- 
 ning to end, and, that as I must be like unto 
 some of them, for I don’t flatter myself that I ’m 
 unlike every other person, you might very like- 
 ly be able to tell me my fortune. You must 
 have a store of precious recollections, Mr. Pump.” 
 
 The Pump made no answer. 
 
158 THE TOWN PUjUP. 
 
 Could I not hit upon some way of compelling 
 him to talk about what he had seen and heard? 
 At least nothing was to be gained by silence on 
 my part. If the Pump was a gossip he must 
 be drawn out. Talk of his own accord he would 
 not. So at last I said, boldly, — 
 
 Pump ! what do you think of the people of 
 this village ? You are about as old an inhabi- 
 tant as we have.’’ 
 
 I waited for the answer ; and I waited very 
 patiently. I could understand that it was a 
 question that required some thought before a 
 proper reply could be made ; but the Pump de- 
 layed so long, that I was about to inform him of 
 my opinion in regard to his incivility, when the 
 silence was broken, — 
 
 In puospeeity no altae smokes,” he said. 
 The bivee past and God foegotten,” he 
 said. 
 
 It IS not avith saying ^ Honey, honey ! ’ that 
 sweetness will come into the mouth,” he also 
 said. 
 
THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 159 
 
 The mill of God grinds late, but it grinds 
 TO POWDER,’’ lie also said. 
 
 They are wise old sayings — older than you 
 and I together. See if you can tell what they 
 mean,” said the Pump. 
 
 I knew what the Pump meant, and I 
 said in my heart, ^^He is an old savage;” and 
 aloud I said — You think we are the wickedest 
 people in the world. What should the people 
 do with their riches? — dig a hole and bury 
 them in the ground? Would that please you, 
 Mr. Pump? Would you like it any better if 
 they dressed in rags and went barefoot, and 
 laughed at the proud ? ” 
 
 There are those who despise pride with a 
 GREATER PRIDE,” Said the Pump. 
 
 That’s very true,” answered 1. Pride 
 doesn’t always show itself in beautiful carria- 
 ges, and fine clothes, and grand dinners.” 
 
 I stopped here in the middle of my speech, 
 for I heard the sound of many persons walking 
 in the street. The noise was so unusual at that 
 
160 
 
 THE TOWN P U M P . 
 
 t 
 
 time of niglit that I looked out, wondering what 
 could be going on. To my great surprise I be- 
 held a number of my friends, and some others 
 whom I had never seen before, marching up the 
 street. At first I thought I would call out to 
 them, and ask what they meant by parading in 
 that way by moonlight ; but on second thought, 
 I felt it would be wiser to ask Mr. Pump for an 
 explanation. 
 
 So I asked him, and the answer he made me 
 was, 
 
 ‘‘ Keep silence.” 
 
 He said it in a way that convinced me more 
 would follow, and I was right. 
 
 The procession suddenly disappeared, even 
 while I was looking at it. Then I heard a rip- 
 pling, gurgling sound, like the fiowing of a brook 
 in April, — the heart of Mr. Pump was full to 
 running over, — it was a beautiful sound. And 
 then I saw a little beggar girl. She was stand- 
 ing beside Mr. Pump. She was clothed in rags, 
 and they did not half cover her. Her feet were 
 
THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 161 
 
 bare, and one of them was bleeding, and she 
 looked very tired. On her arm she carried an 
 old basket, — it was half filled -with crusts of 
 bread some servant had given her from the Mas 
 tee’s table. Well, this little one sat down at 
 Pump’s feet, and drank from the cup he gave 
 her. You know what that cup was, — the great 
 wooden trough from which every weary one — 
 dog, horse, cow, or man — was as free to drink 
 as could be. 
 
 As soon as she had eaten the crust, the little 
 one was up and away again — singing as she 
 went — -and her voice was not sad, but merry 
 and gay. She was a happy child ; and before 
 she was out of sight I heard Mr. Pump saying 
 softly to himself, yet he meant me to hear hinn 
 I thought, 
 
 “ God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.” 
 
 Well — I knew of course that this was only 
 the beginning of the wonder — and therefore I 
 leaned back in my chair, and thought upon the 
 
 little beggar girl, and remembered the beauti- 
 11 
 
162 
 
 THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 ful words of Scripture, that ^‘ISTot a sparrow 
 falls to the ground without your Father: even 
 the very hairs of your head are all numbered.^’ 
 And I could but think how weak we are to 
 groan, and fret, and be troubled about many 
 things, when He has promised never to leave or 
 forsake us. 
 
 Presently up came two young lads, and these I 
 will also describe for you. They were both 
 poor, — that I knew by their dress, — but not so 
 poor as the little girl who was a beggar ; for 
 their clothes were whole, though patched, and 
 the boys were stout and strong, and they were 
 able to earn their bread by their own labor. 
 
 — Which in fact they did; and they worked 
 for the same master. But though they were 
 both young — both poor — both industrious — 
 there was a vast difference between them. And 
 this was the difference : but no, I will not tell it 
 to you — I will only make mention of the prov- 
 erb which Mr. Pump said to them while he 
 looked them in the face : 
 
THE TOWN H U ]M P . 
 
 168 
 
 The master of one trade will sujpport a wife 
 and seven children : the master of seven will not 
 supj)ort himself 
 
 And this was what I noticed, as I watched the 
 two hoys while Mr. Pump said that : one of 
 them looked very indignant, and grew red, and 
 angrily walked away, while the other took off 
 his cap, bowed very respectfully to the venera- 
 ble speaker, and said, ^^That is a wise saying — 
 thank you for it, Mr. P P 
 
 After he had gone away, I saw anotlier youth. 
 He was one I knew very well — a kind, good 
 soul — and I loved him very much; but I was 
 4ilways afraid for him, because I knew that this 
 is a hard world for all who are not willing to 
 take their proper part, and do their proper work 
 in it. 
 
 He came strolling up the street at the old 
 gait, putting one foot before another in a way 
 that made you think of a crab — for you could 
 hardly tell if he meant to go forward or back- 
 ward. It was the way he did everything, — as 
 
164 
 
 T HE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 if he were not more than half alive ; as if he 
 did not wish to do the thing he was attempting 
 to do ; as if he did not believe the words he was 
 saying to yon ; and as if the world did not need 
 him at all, nor he the world in the least. Yon 
 shonld have seen him sannter np the street! 
 When I saw him I wanted to cry ont, “ David, 
 David ! what are yon living for ? ” bnt then I 
 thonght snrely Mr. Pnmp will be good enongh 
 and wise enongh to teach him a lesson he will 
 never forget, and I waited to hear. 
 
 When he had nearly reached Mr. P , he 
 
 seemed to have no intention of stopping, bnt 
 kept on his way, at that same old snail pace." 
 He was not to get by withont a rebnke, how- 
 ever. Very likely David sighed as he ap- 
 proached the old inhabitant. He had a way of 
 sighing, as if his fate were the hardest man ever 
 bore. I conld see him start when the Pnmp 
 gave that groan which always preceded his re- 
 marks, and I conld also see his look of wonder 
 when the voice said. 
 
THE TOWN PUMP. 165 
 
 Who has a mouthy let him not say to another^ 
 ^Blow!^^^ 
 
 David stoj^ped short, — he looked up at the 
 moon ; he looked around him on every side. I 
 could see him blush even at that distance ; and 
 then, this was what made me glad — he walked 
 rapidly up the street, and Mr. Pump said. 
 That ’s a good night’s work, he is waked up at 
 last ; yes, and he won’t go to sleep again in a 
 hurry. Mr. David will do a good day’s work 
 yet — that ’s certain.” I blessed the old Pump 
 when I heard him say that. 
 
 After David came a woman. She also was 
 walking very slow — her arms were folded on 
 her breast, and her head bent. I could not see 
 her face, but I could hear her crying, and could 
 see that she wore heavy mourning garments. 
 
 I trembled when I saw her. I said — Her sor- 
 row is more than she can bear. I leaned from 
 the window, and looked upon her : if I only 
 knew her sorrow, surely I, even I, could comfort 
 her : this was my thought. I wondered if the 
 
166 
 
 THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 Pump would know what to say to her, — he 
 seemed to know everything. I hoped in my 
 heart it was no harsh thing that he would say. 
 
 His heart was more tender than mine. It not 
 only was moved with pity for her, but he could 
 find the proper word to say, 
 
 ‘‘ If 0 leaf moves but God wills itP 
 That was what he said. And I wept when I 
 heard it. But the woman who had been so dis- 
 tracted with her grief stood still when the voice 
 sounded, as if the words came from heaven ; and 
 after a moment of dead silence, I heard her cry. 
 Oh, my Father in Heaven, forgive me — -.the 
 child was thine. It was thy mercy that took 
 him from me ! Forgive me, that I murmured.’’ 
 
 And when I looked again I saw her standing 
 with her face uncovered, looking up into heaven, 
 smiling, and what struck me as very surprising, in- 
 stead of her mourning garments she wore a dress 
 of white, and there were no tears in her eyes. 
 
 After this came by another woman, and she 
 had an angry looking face. It would have been 
 
THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 167 
 
 beautiful but for the angry look. For sbe was 
 very fair, and her eyes were bright, and her hair 
 brown and curling. But what made me shud- 
 der was that she carried a serpent in her arms, 
 and it rested upon her bosom like an infant. 
 Behind her followed a younger woman, very 
 pale, and she was lovely. She wept — and it 
 was because of the words her companion said 
 that she wept. This I understood at once, and 
 I hoped in my heart that Mr. Pump would give 
 the angry woman a good lesson ; and he did. 
 He was not the person to neglect so excellent an 
 opportunity. 
 
 And I listened to hear what he should say — 
 The evil which issues feom thy mouth falls 
 INTO THY BOSOM,’’ Said he. 
 
 How the angry woman started as she heard 
 that ! She looked down upon her folded arms, — 
 she saw the serpent that was nestling in her bo- 
 som ! Oh ! what a shriek she gave ; and her 
 arms were outspread in the twinkling of an eye. 
 Upon her knees she fell, and in her fall the ser- 
 
168 
 
 THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 pent was crushed to death. And also I heard her 
 praying for forgiveness — of the woman by her 
 side, as well as of heaven — and when she arose 
 again I could see that now she was indeed very 
 beautiful ; and I observed, moreover, that the ser- 
 pent that had lodged in her breast went floating 
 down the stream of the fountain that overflowed 
 from the heart of Mr. Pilmp. And when these 
 had gone away I looked out again into the street, 
 but all was still ; not a soul was to be seen there. 
 
 Now, said I, Mr. P is well waked up — 
 
 I will have a little conversation with him. 
 
 But while I sat thinking what I should say next, 
 it suddenly began to rain violently in at the win- 
 dow ; the thunder and lightning were terrible ; 
 and instead of holding any conversation with my 
 friend, I closed the blinds and the window, and 
 
 left him to talk with the 
 storm. And I have no 
 doubt that they had a ve- 
 ry animated conversation, 
 but I did not hear it. I 
 wish I had. 
 
MRAGEANT artificials!” exclaimed 
 Julia, laughing, and looking 
 Rose in the face, as if she did 
 
 not believe one word of it. 
 
 ‘‘ Just wait, if you please, till 
 
 you hear more about it,’’ said Rose. W ere you 
 ever in the shop on the corner of the street ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ The one that looks so like a garden with all 
 those paper flowers in bouquets ? — mercy, yes ! 
 a hundred times.” 
 
 I suppose you stop before the windows when- 
 ever you are going that way ? ” 
 
 ‘‘Yes; every single time. I was never in 
 such a hurry that I could n’t take time for that.” 
 
 “ I wonder if you ever think of the difference 
 between these flowers, and those that grow in 
 the gardens, and fields, and green-houses.” 
 
 “ Of course I do,” said Julia. 
 
170 THE FK AG 11 ANT AKTIFICIALS. 
 
 Then you can tell me the difference,- — what 
 is it?” 
 
 That’s a curious question. What makes you 
 ask me ? Do you really think I don’t know the 
 difference ? ” 
 
 Tell me what it is : it is only a civil question.” 
 
 But it ’s so odd,” said Julia ; ‘‘ but I ’ll an- 
 swer it. Flowers that grow have roots, and you 
 can see .them opening — the flowers I meam 
 Paper flowers don’t have roots. Besides, they 
 are not sweet, they have no fragrance.” 
 
 “Just prove that,” said Kose. 
 
 Julia said nothing, but went to the table and 
 brought to her friend a large bunch of paper 
 flowers, and held them up to her nose. 
 
 “ There ! what do you think now ? Is there 
 any fragrance ? ” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Bose ; “ they are sweeter than 
 heliotrope and mignonnette.” 
 
 “I should like to borrow your nose,” said 
 Julia, laughing; “but. Aunty, what do you 
 mean ? ” 
 
THE fraoeant artificials. 171 
 
 Sit down, and don’t interrupt me. This is 
 what I mean. Yesterday I went down to the 
 little shop on the corner. I had some business 
 with the woman who owns the shop. On the 
 counter were several large bouquets, which a 
 young girl had just left there. As I went into 
 the place she was coming out, and I could not 
 help noticing her, she was so good looking. 
 And by good looking I don’t mean her face was 
 very pretty, but it was modest, and quiet ; and 
 I could easily imagine what sort of voice she 
 had — that it was a mild, pleasant, cheerful 
 voice. 
 
 I imagined that she was the girl who had 
 left the flowers there, and I asked the woman 
 if it was not so. 
 
 “ ^ Yes,’ she replied ; ^ and she not only left 
 them — she also made them.’ 
 
 This surprised me, the girl looked so young; 
 and I said to the woman, ‘ I had supposed that 
 such work was done by older persons.’ 
 
 “ The woman was silent for a moment, then 
 
172 THE FRAGRANT ARTIFICIALS. 
 
 she turned away and arranged the new bunches 
 of flowers in places made vacant by recent sales ; 
 after this she went into the back part of the shop 
 and called ^ Tim ; ’ at the same time she put on 
 her bonnet and came up to me. 
 
 “ ‘ Will you go with me ? ’ she asked. 
 
 « i Where, and why ? ’ I said. 
 
 ^ I want you should see Kate at her work, — 
 I want you should know how some things are 
 done.’ 
 
 ^ Is Kate the girl that makes the flowers ? ’ 
 I asked. 
 
 ^Tes, ’ she answered. 
 
 ‘‘ ‘ Oh, well — thank you ; I am very glad to 
 go with you,’ — and I was indeed very glad. 
 
 We went out into the street together, and 
 walked a long way until we came to a narrow 
 lane. Passing through it we at length came 
 to a little court yard. This the woman entered, 
 and I followed after her. Oh, Judy, you were 
 never in such a dirty, old, tumble-down place as 
 that ! Such a wretched, wretched home ! — why, 
 
THE FRAGRANT ARTIFICIALS. 1T3 
 
 your own little home is a palace compared to it. 
 Some poor children were playing in the court 
 yard. What do you think they had for toys ? — 
 an old boot, and a rag of a slipper, a piece of a 
 broken dish, some clam shells, and bits of bot- 
 tles, and an old tin pail that was so battered and 
 jammed that it was difficult to believe it had 
 ever had a shape. 
 
 ‘‘ One little fellow in the corner had hurt his 
 hand with the broken glass, and it bled — so of 
 course he cried at the top of his voice, — while 
 a girl not as old or as large as he, was trying to 
 comfort him, holding up the toys they had gath- 
 ered together one after another before his eyes. 
 But the smarting cut was not to be healed in 
 that way. I stopped for a moment, wondering 
 what I should do to help him ; for as he held 
 up his hand, the blood ran from it in a stream. 
 While I was thinking about it, another of the 
 children came up, and without an instant’s hes- 
 itation tore a strip of cloth from the rag of a 
 dress she wore, and tied it around the finger. 
 
174 THE YKAGliANT AKTIEIOIALS. 
 
 ^^The woman cried to me from the stairs, 
 which she had begun to ascend, Will yon not 
 come ? ’ 
 
 I followed quickly after her. Up, up, we 
 went, until at last, after I had thought a dozen 
 times as we walked one flight after another, 
 ^ IsTow, surely, the woman will stop here ! ’ I 
 cried out, 
 
 ^Pray, tell me, is this Jacob’s ladder — and 
 if it is, where can it lead one ? — not into heaven, 
 I ’m sure ! Besides, you said you would take 
 me into a garden. Pray, what sort of a garden 
 is this ? — it must be a hanging garden, I think, 
 like those they had in old times.’ 
 
 “ ‘ You ’ll know all about it when you get 
 there, and that will be immediately, if you will 
 only come on,’ said the woman, who was far be- 
 yond me ; and I could hear her still going on, 
 step after step. 
 
 ‘ Come ! come on ! — we are nearly there 
 and so we went on and on. 
 
 Presently I heard her stop and rap, and I 
 
THE FKAGKANT AKTIFIOIALS. 175 
 
 hurried on the faster. We had actually reach- 
 ed the last half story. The house was five and 
 a half stories high, and we were in the garret ; 
 and for a person who dislikes stair-climbing as 
 I do, this was something of a task I had per- 
 formed. But now we were at last at the gate of 
 the garden, where that young Kate gathered all 
 her beautiful fiowers. 
 
 ^ It is only I, Kate,’ said my guide — and she 
 tapped lightly again. 
 
 At the same instant the door opened, and 
 Kate stood there before us ; so we went into the 
 garden. 
 
 I wonder — but •no, I don’t wonder, for I 
 Ttnow you never, never saw, or imagined, 
 a place like that. What sort of a sunshine 
 do you suppose those fiowers had for growing 
 in ? 
 
 Judy was sure she did n’t know. 
 
 ‘^They grew in the sunshine of that girl’s 
 smile,” said Eose. Must she not have been ex- 
 ceedingly happy ? ” 
 
176 FKAGRANT ARTIFICIALS. 
 
 Yes — Judy thought she must he exceed- 
 ingly happy — of course. 
 
 But what was there to make her so happy ? ” 
 
 Oh, of course, Judy couldn’t tell that. How 
 should she know ? 
 
 ^^7* know,” said Hose, “and I mean to tell 
 you; but first do you tell me, when Mary 
 anointed our dear Saviour’s feet with the pre- 
 cious ointment, why was he pleased with the 
 gift, and how came she, who was poor, to make 
 so costly a gift ? ” Judy was silent. 
 
 “ Don’t you know ? Can it be that you don’t 
 know ? ” asked Rose. 
 
 “ She loved much,” said Judy. 
 
 “ Yes, and there was never a gift worth much 
 if the giver could not, and did not, love much. 
 This may seem strange, but it won’t seem so to 
 you when you come to think about it. How, 
 as to Kate, what made her so happy was this, — 
 she loved so much, her heart was so generous 
 and kind. If it were really true, Judy, as some 
 people seem to think — that to be happy one 
 
THE FRAGRANT ARTIFICIALS. 177 
 
 must needs have a very fine liouse to live in, and 
 very fine furniture about that house, grand 
 clothes to wear, and rich food to eat, and noth- 
 ing in all the world to do but walk about and 
 enjoy life^ as they call it — why, then this Kate 
 had a very poor chance at happiness. She must 
 certainly be very miserable. It was such a poor 
 place that she lived in. Nothing but a garret, — 
 no carpet on the fioor ; no paper on the wall ; 
 no pleasant books to read ; no comfortable fur- 
 niture to use ; no delicious food to eat ; no pleas- 
 ant prospect from the windows, — indeed, the 
 little window was so high that even when Kate 
 stood upon a chair, she could hardly look 
 through it ! 
 
 '^^And then, as to agreeable companions — 
 there they were in the room with her — the poor 
 old father, who was wounded by an accident, so 
 that he has not been able to do any work at all 
 this winter, and little George, her half-brother, 
 whose mother as well as Kate’s mother, is dead. 
 
 Poor child ! but he has fallen into good hands, 
 12 
 
178 THE FRAGHANT ARTIFICIALS 
 
 Judy. Kate loves him dearly, and she calls him 
 her ^ baby boy.’ So what do you think of this 
 garden where the flowers grow ? Are not the 
 artiflcials fragrant ? ” 
 
 Judy looked down, and she smiled, but there 
 were tears in her eyes. Presently she said, 
 hiding her face in her hands. 
 
 Oh, Aunt Pose ! I was in such a pet because 
 I could n’t have that splendid doll.” 
 
 But are not the artiflcials fragrant?” said 
 Aunt Pose again. 
 
 ^a"es.” 
 
 And what makes them fragrant, Judy?” 
 
 ^^The love of the maker. Aunty.” 
 
 ^^Tes,” said Pose, quite solemnly, while she 
 laid her hand gently on Judy’s head. And I 
 shall leave these flowers in a place where we can 
 often look at them, — because, when we do look at 
 them, I think we shall remember little Kate, and* 
 how industrious, and contented, and happy, and 
 loving, she is. I think that as long as they are 
 here in sight, and we can understand how fra- 
 
THE FliAGEANT ARTIFICIALS. 179 
 
 grant they are, that we shall be apt to exert our- 
 selves more that we may make those about ns 
 comfortable and happy. I think when we look 
 upon them we shall thank God for all his bles- 
 sings, and try in every way to make ourselves 
 more worthy of them. And I think, besides, 
 that when we see them here before us day after 
 day, we shall never be led into temptation, into 
 which snare we have sometimes fallen, I fear — 
 I mean the temptation to look with silly pride 
 on the poor. For sometimes we think ourselves 
 above them, when in reality they may be far 
 better than we, though their garments be poor, 
 and their homes very humble. Judy, you will not 
 forget ? ” 
 
 “ But was there really no other nurse for the 
 sick man — and no other mamma for the little 
 ^ baby boy ’ but this poor Kate ? Are you sure. 
 Aunt Bose ? ” 
 
 As sure as can be. She has her hands full — 
 that’s true; but don’t call Kate ^poor.’ Her 
 heart is a great treasure, I tell you. As long as 
 
180 THE FEA-GRAISTT ARTIFICIALS. 
 
 she has that, she is rich. Don’t look so sur- 
 prised ; it is not gold, it is not silver that makes 
 a person rich, — it is the good, brave, loving 
 heart. ” 
 
 I believe it, because you say so. Aunty ; but 
 it ’s very strange.” 
 
 Some day,” said Eose, you ’ll believe it, 
 because you will see with your own eyes that it 
 is true.*^ You won’t say then ^ It ’s very strange.’ 
 You will thank God that he has ordered it to be 
 so with his children.” 
 
— little Deb; — but bow red 
 and heated she was ! looking 
 
 at something before her. It 
 
 HE was standing, quiet as a statue 
 
 was lying on tlie table, and not for an instant 
 did she take her eyes off it. 
 
 Not long ago you might have seen her racing 
 through the garden, on into the orchard, back 
 by the lane, and then on again through the gar- 
 den. She was in pursuit of a large butterfly. 
 Did she get it ? Look ! you see, she has the poor 
 captive pinned through the body to the table, 
 and little Deb has placed a glass bowl over it, so 
 that it may not escape. And now she is watch- 
 ing all its movements, and counting the rings on 
 its wings. Every time those wings are opened 
 wide, the poor fly has a sort of spasm ; but Deb 
 
182 
 
 THE BELL KIN GEES. 
 
 don’t think of that — she only says, Oh ! that’s 
 fine — now I can see nicely ! ” Little she cares 
 for the pain of the butterfly ; all she wants is a 
 good sight at the slender body and the beauti- 
 ful wings. 
 
 Such a splendid butterfly ! — ■ the wings are 
 like velvet, and of the most lovely brown ; and 
 the rings upon them are red and black ; and the 
 eyes of the fly are like great beads. It is just 
 what Deborah has been longing for this long 
 time, — so she brings her paint box, and brushes, 
 and card paper, and now she will have a butter- 
 fly, all of her own making. 
 
 So she works away with the paints and the 
 brush, and it never enters her head all this time 
 to think that the poor insect is in great misery. 
 
 Deb never thinks of anything except herself. 
 She may forget to do her duty, but she never 
 forgets to do whatever she desires to do, ho mat- 
 ter whether it is right or wrong. The question 
 she asks herself when there is any work before 
 her is this — Will it be pleasant? — will it 
 
THE BELL EINGERS. *l83 
 
 amuse me ? ” and if she can answer her own 
 questions with a Yes^ then she is always ready 
 enough to do it. Do you know any such girl ? 
 Is her name Deb ? No ! What is the name, 
 then ? 
 
 The picture is only half finished — ^then her 
 brother comes. 
 
 Deborah ! I hn going to the pond to fish — 
 come with me — hurry ! ” 
 
 Away go the pencil, and brush, and paints ! 
 It is the greatest fun to fish ! — so much pleas- 
 anter than painting butterflies. That ’s what 
 Deb thinks to herself; and she forgets all about 
 the butterfiy under the glass bowl, with the pin 
 through it. 
 
 At night they come in, tired and hungry. 
 They have had a grand time at the fishing pond ; 
 but all Deborah wants now is her tea, and then 
 for bed. Yes, she has forgotten all about the poor 
 captive butterfiy. Nothing is truer than that ! 
 
 In the morning, however, it is the first thought 
 that enters her head ; and so impatient is Deb- 
 
18f 
 
 THE BELL EIKGEK8. 
 
 orah, that before she is half dressed she goes 
 flying down the back stairs into the play-house. 
 But behold ! the poor creature is dead ! And 
 what do you think the child does next ? Tears 
 up the picture she was making, and throws it 
 away. Then she pins the fly to the wall, and 
 there it hangs, and she cares no more about it, 
 though she has killed the beautiful creature that 
 took such delight flying about in the sunshine, 
 and sipping the honey from the cups of flowers ! 
 
 This is the child who, now that she is an old 
 woman, sits by her window and pulls the wire. 
 I don’t know how many yards long it is. To 
 this wire a bell is attached, and when it is rung 
 the birds are frightened away from the fruit trees 
 in the orchard. Yes, she can And time to do this, 
 but if a poor beggar comes along, and begins to 
 tell her of his sad fortune, she says, “ Go on ! I Ve 
 no time to hear” — and then she rings the bell 
 violently. It seems almost a wonder that the sun 
 will ripen the fruit in that old woman’s orchard. 
 
THE BELL EINGERS. 
 
 185 
 
 II. 
 
 It is old Peter ; he is nearly a hundred years 
 old, but he rings the bill through the streets 
 when there is to be an auction — just as he used 
 to do fifty years ago. 
 
 He is beginning to show his age, — he stoops 
 a great deal, and when he takes a step he seems 
 to make a sort of pause after it, as if he were 
 not quite certain that he could take another. 
 His hair is getting very gray, and his face, how 
 many wrinkles there are in it ! — how deep they 
 are ! He does not speak as plainly as once ; his 
 voice falters, and his teeth are nearly all gone. 
 He was very stout and strong once ; he could 
 carry a barrel of flour from a wagon in the 
 street to a cellar near by. I have seen him do 
 
 *j 
 
 it ; but he could no more do that now than he 
 could carry off a city full of buildings on his 
 shoulders. He is so thin that he looks almost 
 like a skeleton. I know he feels the weight of 
 
186 
 
 THE BELL KINGEBS. 
 
 the bell which he carries in his hand, as he goes 
 crying Auction, auction!” through the street, 
 to be very heavy. 
 
 Peter was a slave once ; but when he was of 
 age his master gave him his liberty. For this 
 reason, Peter, at the risk of his own life, saved 
 the life of little Edwin Collins — and Edwin was 
 his master’s only son. But though he w^as set 
 at liberty, and was a free man, and might go 
 anywhere he chose, and do as other free men do, 
 Peter remained with his old master as long as 
 the man lived. It was not till after his death 
 that the black man came up to us, and became 
 our auction bell-ringer. 
 
 He has no wife and no children — they are all 
 dead long ago ; but the old man is not alone. 
 One night last winter Peter was awakened by a 
 loud cry, — there was some one at his door. He 
 arose and looked out ; it was a child, half fro- 
 zen, and half starved — a poor little lost crea- 
 ture, that could not tell where he came from ; 
 and no one has ever been able to discover. 
 
THE BELL RIHG-EES. 
 
 187 
 
 The old man took the little stranger in. He 
 fed him from his table, and warmed him by his 
 fire, and laid him in his own warm bed. And 
 the child lives with him now. He is like a 
 white lily in Peter’s home ; — ^very soon he will 
 be able to go ringing the bell for the old man, 
 and Peter is teaching him, that he may do so. 
 But he has taught us our lesson already, — a no- 
 ble one it is ; and whenever I hear any one say, 
 ‘‘ If I were rich, it would be such a pleasure for 
 me to help the poor,” I think of poor old Peter,” 
 and say to myself, After all, one need not wait 
 till he is so very rich before he can help others, 
 if he did but know it ! ” 
 
 III. 
 
 Tinkle ! tinkle ! tinkle ! 
 
 It is the pet lamb whose fleece is white as 
 snow. It has a silver chain around its neck, and 
 that is the silver bell that tinkles so softly. 
 
 Last summer they had a great fright — the chil 
 
188 
 
 THE BELL RINGEES. 
 
 dren wlio live up there in the mountain house ! 
 The pet lamb was lost. 
 
 Ella had wandered off with it into the woods. 
 She had gathered many flowers by the way, and 
 of these she intended to make a wreath for the 
 lamb’s neck. But it happened that before she 
 half got through her work the child fell asleep, 
 and the lamb, instead of lying down beside her, 
 strayed away, and when Ella awakened it was 
 nowhere to be seen ! All that afternoon she 
 wandered up and down the woods, crying. 
 
 Loo ! Loo ! ” all along the brookside, down 
 into the valley, and up the hill-side ; now creep- 
 ing on her hands and knees among the bushes, 
 tearing her clothes, and tangling her hair with 
 them, calling Loo ! Loo ! ” until it became so 
 dark in the woods that she began to fear that 
 she herself would get lost. So she went back 
 by another path than that through which she 
 had come, tired and heated by her long search, 
 and grieving over the lost lamb as if her heart 
 would break. 
 
THE BELL KIHGERS. 
 
 189 
 
 What would become of poor Loo ? — alas ! if 
 she should fall down those steep, rocky places, 
 and break her leg, or her neck ! — if any wild 
 beast should devour her ! or if she should wound 
 herself among the thorn bushes, or put her eyes 
 out ! — or, more than all, if they should never 
 find poor Loo, either dead or alive again ! 
 
 Already the father and mother were greatly 
 alarmed, when it became so dark and Ella came 
 not home. They started out in search of their 
 child, but she met them just as they were about 
 to enter the forest. She looked like a wild girl, 
 and her father said — Ella must have seen a 
 goblin. Did you dance with the goblins, Ella ? ’’ 
 
 All she could answer was, Loo, Loo ! ’’ and 
 she ran into her mother’s arms, and wept there. 
 
 It did not take them long to understand what 
 had happened ; and then the father said — 
 
 You shall have Loo to-morrow, children. 
 I ’ll turn the woods inside out, but you shall have 
 her.” 
 
 They believed what he told them — for what- 
 
190 
 
 THE BELL K I N G E R S . 
 
 ever lie said should happen did always come to 
 pass ; so that the children had learned to look 
 upon their father as a sort of good genius. They 
 therefore slept quietly and peacefully all night. 
 But before she slept, when Ella said her prayers, 
 she prayed to God that he would deliver the 
 pet lamb from all evil. 
 
 The next day the wdiole family went off into 
 the forest on the search for Loo. Up and down 
 they went, through all the paths, and where 
 there were no paths, until they all looked as if 
 they might have danced with goblins, but no 
 Loo was to be found. To himself the father 
 said, ^^Poor little thing — it must indeed be 
 lost ; but whenever he met one of his children 
 he cried, Courage ! ^we shall certainly have her 
 soon ! — and then we will let her know that it 
 is n’t well behaved in a lamb, though she is a 
 pet lamb, and Loo in the bargain, to be turning 
 a family topsy-turvy in this way. I should n’t 
 wonder if she got a good lesson.” 
 
 But then the children, full of sorrow and pity, 
 
THE BELL B I N O E K S . 
 
 191 
 
 would say, “ Oh father, don’t ; for she has had 
 as great a fright as we have. Only think of her 
 being out here all alone through the night ! ” 
 
 And to herself the mother would say, The 
 dear children, — this is their first sorrow. I wish 
 it might be spared them ; but it ’s my be- 
 lief that we shall none of us ever see Loo 
 again.” 
 
 But all at once there was a cry heard in the 
 forest, and they all ran off in the direction from 
 which the cry seemed to come. There sat Ella 
 on the ground, and a little dead lamb was lying 
 in her arms, and she was crying aloud, and say- 
 ing, Oh, my darling is dead ? — Loo is dead — 
 dead!” 
 
 And they gathered around her, and the moth- 
 er wept silently ; for deep in her heart she felt 
 for the sorrow of her child. But the father 
 knelt down and turned the face of the lamb 
 towards him, and he said — ^^Tes, it is even so — 
 the lamb is dead ; ” — but he smiled when he said 
 it. Ella saw his smile, and an angry thought 
 
192 
 
 THE BELL RINGERS 
 
 came into lier heart ; she drew the lamb back 
 into her arms, and bowed her head over it. 
 
 Thus they all stood for a moment, when. 
 
 Tinkle ! tinkle ! tinkle ! 
 
 They all heard it. 
 
 And behold, through the forest they saw a 
 little white object running along — and it came 
 towards them. It was not afraid — it came 
 close up to Ella, and rubbed its nose upon her 
 arm. Instantly she leaped up, and the dead 
 lamb rolled over upon the ground, and it was 
 forgotten. 
 
 Why, this is Loo ! she cried. 
 
 Nonsense ! ’’ said Fritz. Where should 
 Loo get a silver chain for her neck, and a silver 
 bell? — just look at that.” 
 
 And besides,” said Frank, see the flowers, — 
 who would dress Loo out in that style ? ” 
 
 I,” said Ella. 
 
 “ Yes — you would if you could, very likely — 
 but could you ? ” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Ella. 
 
THE BELL RINGERS. 
 
 193 
 
 But, child/’ said Fritz, “ don’t you see the 
 chain and bell ? ” 
 
 Yes, to be sure.” 
 
 Where did they come from ? ” 
 
 That I don’t know, Fritz, any more than 
 you ; but it ’s Loo as sure as you live — only 
 look her in the face I ” 
 
 Father, what is it ? ” said Fritz. 
 
 Loo,” replied the old man, solemnly. 
 
 ‘‘ It’s her ghost,” said Frank, laughing. 
 
 But what the mother did was this, — she knelt 
 down and put her arms around the lamb’s neck, 
 and kissed it. 
 
 And after that they all did the same. 
 
 Then they made a grave there in the wood, 
 and in it they laid the dead lamb ; and they 
 carried back the snow white lamb, that had the 
 silver bell fastened to it, neck, to their own 
 house, and softly the mother said in her heart. 
 It was dead, and is alive again — -it was lost 
 
 and is found.” 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 THE BELL EINGEES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 What a sharp, angry sound ! — there ’s not the 
 least music in it ! I looked out from my win- 
 dow — : it was the milk-man that was driving his 
 fine Arabian horse slowly along, and at every 
 step the bell that was attached to him gave that 
 ugly clang ! clang ! 
 
 The milk-man is proud of the steed ; and no 
 wonder, it is such a glorious beast. Look what 
 a gloss there is on his neck, and back, and sides — 
 and then his mane and tail, how fine ! The horse 
 is proud of himself. How do I know that ? — 
 why, he says as much every step he takes. How 
 high he carries his head ! — and his feet touch 
 the ground as if he thought it were not quite 
 good enough for them. 
 
 He has served his master one or two not very 
 pleasant tricks. I saw him myself one day run- 
 ning away with the cart, and the milk was all 
 spilt when the cart was overturned at last. But 
 
THE BELL LINGERS. 
 
 195 
 
 for all that the man loves the horse, — yes, I 
 mean loves him — ^ likes is not the word. He 
 loves the beast, and would not sell him for a 
 fortune. 
 
 But as to Lightning — that is his name, — I 
 cannot say as much for him. I think that if he 
 loves anything, it is the great sandy desert of 
 Arabia, and the wild man who every night led 
 the steed into his own tent, and made a bed for 
 him just as if Lightning were a human creature, 
 like himself. I am sure he has no great affec- 
 tion for the cart he drags around after him ; and 
 as for the bell that goes clang ! clang ! when- 
 ever he steps, I am quite sure he hates it. 
 
 Because the bell keeps saying to him, Trot 
 along ! ding, dong ! trot along ! ” and the horse 
 feels that as keenly as he would the milk-man’s 
 whip — to think of the bell’s presuming to say 
 such things to him ! 
 
 They have made a beast of burden of him. 
 Yes, he feels all that ; and I can read it in his 
 eyes. He is too proud to make any answer to 
 
196 
 
 THE BELL RINGERS. 
 
 the bell, — he says to himself, I have fallen 
 very low. Once I went where I would, and 
 was as free as the wind. I flew over the sands 
 as fleet as a bird moves through the air. Now, in 
 this cold, dreary region, I drag my burden after 
 me, walking up and down the street, and the 
 bell never stops its talk. But let it get an an- 
 swer if it can. I should like to have the bell 
 get an answer from me ! And these beasts that 
 fill the street — they are thinking too, I dare say, 
 that we are all brothers ; but my brothers are 
 all in the desert ! Alas, I am a slave, and they 
 do not know it.” 
 
 And when I have read all this, and more, in 
 the eyes of the beautiful steed, I have seen him 
 lift high his head, and a loud, shill cry would 
 break from him, a hundred times louder than 
 the voice of the bell. And I alwavs knew that 
 this was the voice of his grief, and rage and 
 pride. I believe his pride will be the death of 
 the poor Arabian, some day. 
 
THE BELL KINGEKS. 
 
 197 
 
 V. 
 
 It is a careless hand drawing the rope that 
 swings the bell np in the belfry of the old stone 
 Court House. Sam is paid for the trouble : he 
 has a hundred other things to do to-day : it is 
 now only nine o’clock, and already he has been 
 at work five hours, and he will work more |han 
 a dozen more before he is through and can sleep 
 again. 
 
 As he pulls the rope he thinks of the hundred 
 things to do, and looks at his watch, — there ! 
 his Avork up here is over, — it is five minutes 
 since he began to ring, and he clambers down 
 the belfry stairs, and hurries away. The Judge 
 solemnly goes in and takes his place, while the 
 people crowd into the court room, and the pris- 
 oner, guarded by the constables, comes to be 
 tried for murder ! When the Judge heard the 
 bell he looked troubled — -when the people heard 
 it they ran hurriedly to the court room — when 
 the prisoner heard it he turned pale and trem- 
 bled, and said, God help me ! ” 
 
198 
 
 THE BELL EINGERS. 
 
 But the bell-ringer went his way whistling, to 
 gather vegetables for the great court dinner at 
 the hotel that day. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The old man Simeon, stands up in the belfry 
 of the church — they call the church St. John’s — 
 he leans against the green blinds of the tower, 
 and as he rings the great bell, (it has the sweet- 
 est tone you ever heard !) he looks down into the 
 street, and watches the people come in. 
 
 He is dressed in his best. You would not 
 mistake him for a very fine gentleman, but he 
 looks well in the pastor’s half-worn black coat, 
 and the new black vest and neck-cloth his 
 daughter Susan bought for him on his last birth- 
 day. His heart is in his eyes as he looks down 
 through the blind into the street below. He 
 does not show much interest while the fine car- 
 riages are driven up, and the rich people alight, 
 and, arrayed in all their splendor, walk into the 
 
THE BELL EIHGEES. 
 
 199 
 
 holy place. He does not think it strange that 
 they come so proudly in their state to worship 
 the Son of Mary — the meek and lowly man who 
 was born in a manger — who lived among fish- 
 ermen, and feasted with publicans and sinners. 
 He does not think it odd, though I dare say he 
 would if he thought about it at all. No — he 
 is not looking at these ; nor even at the children 
 of the Sunday school, as they come up the walk 
 together, until he sees his own dear child among 
 them, and then a soft smile spreads over his old 
 face. For dearly he loves little Prue. But look 
 now — how the smile deepens ! 
 
 A little group is passing through the gate ; — 
 does not the bell give out a sweeter sound than 
 bell ever did before ? 
 
 It is an aged woman, leaning on a younger 
 woman’s arm, and a young man carrying in his 
 arms a little white figure — ah, well the old man 
 understands all that! It is his grand-child’s 
 christening day ; and Joseph and Susan have giv- 
 en at home, and will give before all the people 
 
200 
 
 THE BELL BINGEKS. 
 
 this morning, old Simeon’s name to the little one. 
 If the bell was tolled less solemnly than usual this 
 day — if the old sexton left the belfry before half 
 the grand people had started for the church — you 
 understand what it all meant. His old wife knew 
 very well when he came down and took his place 
 beside her in their pew, next the great door of the 
 church ; and peering at him through her specta- 
 cles, she says, He looks as handsome as he did 
 the day I married him.” A stupid person might 
 say that love had made her blind. But I think 
 she had a pair of first-rate eyes in her head. 
 
%Qhm iit tlj^ 
 
 ^ the iirst place let me tell you — 
 ^ for of yourself you would never 
 
 find it out — at one end of the 
 village is a swamp. I say you 
 “ would not find it out of your- 
 self, because the bushes of the swamp have 
 grown so tall that they look almost like trees ; 
 and there are also some trees — not many, but 
 these are of large size, scattered ovei the place. 
 
 The bushes are “ huckle-berry,’’ and in sum- 
 mer time, when they are covered with ripe fruit, 
 the swamp is visited by a great many people, 
 who gather the berries and sell them. 
 
 A narrow road runs along on the border of 
 
 the swamp ; — it was never much traveled. As 
 to Clara, she had never been that way either on 
 foot, or in sleigh, or in carriage. 
 
 Clara was now ten years old, and it was late 
 
202 THE ROBIN IN THE SWAMP. 
 
 in tlie winter. She sat by the window, wishing. 
 This was a great shame, yet she would not have 
 
 believed it if von had told her so. For she did 
 
 «/ 
 
 not know herself. What hard work it is for a 
 person to become really acquainted with him- 
 self! 
 
 Yesterday there was but one thing in the wide 
 world wanting to make her happy. If the birds 
 would only come back 1 True, it was too early 
 for them to begin to build their nests — but if 
 they would only come, though they made but a 
 day’s visit in the village, what a comfort it would 
 be ! There were the pigeons, — but one could 
 see them at any time. There were her pets in 
 the cage, — but these were not what she wanted. 
 It was to see the free, out-door birds — to harken 
 while they filled the air with the melody of 
 their songs — to watch them as they fiew from 
 branch to branch of the great elm tree, and the 
 maple tree beside it. The day before yesterday 
 she had wished this wdsh aloud many times. 
 It was a warm, bright day, and her mother had 
 
THE ROBIN IN THE SWAMP. 203 
 
 said it was her belief that they should have no 
 more snow that season. And lo, that very night 
 snow fell nearly a foot deep ! 
 
 Oh, what a world — what a world! Clara 
 said ; nothing ever happened as it should 1 As 
 to the birds, there was no use of looking for 
 them any longer — of course they never would 
 come — not even the robins, — no, not even the 
 robins ! And why should they come ? she 
 asked. What was there to tempt them up into 
 that dreary, frozen region ? If birds really had 
 any wisdom they would stay where they were, 
 in the warm, sunny, delightful south, and not 
 risk their lives and voices by coming up into 
 that desolate country, where there certainly 
 was as little comfort and enjoyment to be had, 
 as one could expect to find at the north pole 1 
 
 All this complaint Clara made aloud — but 
 she little thought that one was near who heard 
 it all. She said it aloud ; but that she would 
 never have done, had she not believed she was 
 alone. 
 
204r THE ROBIN IN THE SWAMP. 
 
 In the afternoon Clara had quite forgotten 
 about yesterday’s wish, and this morning’s wish. 
 She was standing at the parlor window, looking 
 out. While she stood there a lady went by. Oh, 
 she was splendid ! with her gay pink bonnet, 
 and furs, and the beautiful, beautiful velvet dress ! 
 Ah, why could not she be a woman at once, 
 without all the tedious delay ? Why must peo- 
 ple ever be so helpless, and little, as Oliver in 
 the nursery, who could not speak a single word ? 
 Why must they go through all that tiresome 
 work of study at school, and at home, and grow 
 up so slowly ? 
 
 Oh, what a world ! what a world ! 
 
 And when the lady half stopped in the street 
 just before the house, Clara saw her look at her 
 watch ; and then she looked up at the window 
 where the little girl stood ; and would you ever 
 believe it ? — tears actually started into Clara’s 
 eyes ! Oh, if papa would only give her such a 
 watch ! And then, when she looked down and 
 saw how plainly she herself was dressed, Clara 
 
THE ROBIN IN THE BWATitP. 205 
 
 was horror struck. Quickly she j)ulled the cur 
 tain before her. Could it be that the lady had 
 seen the old red frock and the plain linen apron ? 
 Oh, misery ! 
 
 After that Clara went and sat down by the 
 fire-place, and what do you suppose she wished 
 for then ? Why, that she were only old enough 
 to have a house of her own, to be rich, to be 
 married, and to have beautiful gay clothes ! 
 Ah ! she would never wear a plain linen apron 
 and an old red frock in those days — that was 
 very certain. She would have a velvet dress, 
 and a gay hat, and splendid furs ! Yes, cer- 
 tainly — and a thousand other things. 
 
 And so she thought, and thought, until sud- 
 denly there came a sound of sleigh bells, so near 
 that Clara was quite startled. Again she ran to 
 the window. There sat her father, and the 
 instant he saw her he beckoned her to come out 
 and ride with him. In two minutes more she 
 was sitting beside him in the sleigh. Crack ! 
 and away they went. 
 
206 THE ROBIN IN THE SWAMP. 
 
 It had stopped snowing. How pure and white 
 the great drifts lay by the side of the road where 
 the wind piled them last night, — how bine the 
 sky was, and how clear the air! It whiffed 
 away all the idle things Clara had been dream- 
 ing by the fireside. 
 
 It was np by the swamp that they went. That 
 was a lonely road, — why should they go off in 
 that direction where there was nothing to be 
 seen? Why could they not go where the 
 people were, down through the street ? If the 
 road were well broken she would not care, but 
 only one sleigh had been that way since the last 
 snow fell. What could it mean that her father 
 chose this ugly road ? 
 
 As they came to the dark bushy wood, Clara 
 began to complain aloud, and to say, What 
 did make you choose this road, father ? ” 
 
 He did not answer her at first — nor did he 
 seem to hear her, — for his eyes were turned 
 away from her, and wandering in the direction 
 of the gloomy swamp. At length he said. 
 
THE EOBIJST IN THE SWAMP. 
 
 207 
 
 Open your eyes wide, Clara ; now what do 
 yon see ? ” 
 
 Very wide she opened her eyes. 
 
 ^^Why, father, is that a robin, here in the 
 midst of all this snow ? ” 
 
 What do you think about it ? ” asked he. 
 
 It looks like one, ” she answered, and her face 
 began to look as if she were recalling slowly all 
 she had said yesterday — such foolish, wicked 
 stuff. 
 
 And what does that look like, Clara?’’ he 
 asked, raising his whip and cracking it toward 
 the swamp ; and as he did so a great multitude 
 of birds started off on the wing for the wood. 
 ‘‘ That is what you wished for yesterday ; — see, 
 what a host of birds, all robins, too ! And all 
 living through the whole winter, not half a mile 
 from your own home ! I wonder if you have 
 been wishing for anything to-day, my child ? ” 
 
 Clara did not answer — she hid her face in- 
 stead. If there were any tears in her eyes 
 now, you may rely upon it, they were not such 
 
208 THE ROBIK IN THE SWAMP. 
 
 tears as slie shed in the morning, when she wish- 
 ed she were only a woman — nor such as she 
 shed yesterday, when she was wishing that the 
 birds would only come. I think that sleigh-ride 
 did her good. If it did not, more ’s the pity ! 
 
^arirm* 
 
 iHE place was like a garden, though 
 no one thought to call it so, ex- 
 : cept a poet. The month was June, 
 
 and all the white rose trees 
 
 were in blossom. The grass had been newly 
 cut ; and never were the alanthus and willow 
 trees more beautiful than now — for the sum- 
 mer dust had not yet lodged upon and soiled 
 their fresh green leaves. In a corner of a grave- 
 yard — it was a grave-yard, though the poet 
 called it a garden — was a flower-bed. That 
 was what it looked like, though in reality the 
 mound was a grave, and the pinks, and violets, 
 and moss, and verbena, and heliotrope, which 
 grew upon the mound, were planted there by 
 sorrowful hearts, and tears were shed there like 
 the dew. 
 
 This place was separated from the rest of the 
 
 14 
 
210 
 
 THE GAKDEK. 
 
 burial-ground by a hedge of cedar and hemlock 
 bushes. Except this hedge, all the plants had 
 been placed here recently. A month ago no 
 mound was to be seen in this portion of the bu- 
 rial-ground; and the plants flowering upon 
 the grave were in another sort of garden ; 
 and she who was buried there had walked about 
 in that garden, and watched the flowers unfold- 
 ing. Much she loved them. 
 
 Now she is dead — and this young girl that 
 comes over the style, and walks along so quietly, 
 as if she were half afraid, has come to the place 
 where the lady, who v/as her mother, is buried. 
 Her hands are full of flowers, and these she 
 places on the grave. See ! it looks like a great 
 bouquet lying there upon the ground. And she 
 sits down — the little, motherless girl ! — and 
 leans her head upon her hand. She has come 
 to think of the dead. 
 
 It is so lonely now at home — she has wished 
 many, many times, that she' might also creep 
 into that grave, and lie down beside her mother, 
 
THE GARDEN. 
 
 211 
 
 as she used to do. If she might only hear that 
 dear friend saying once more, My darling 
 child!’’ 
 
 At home, np in the village, her brothers play 
 as noisily and gaily as ever, — no one would 
 suppose that they had met with a great loss, — 
 and Sally works away after the same old fash- 
 ion, and papa attends to his books and business. 
 No one seems to think that the home is less 
 comfortable, less pleasant, less cheerful than it 
 was a month^ago. They all bear the loss very 
 ygell. There is something to comfort and occu- 
 py them all except poor Jane; — she can do 
 nothing but think of her mother, and then she 
 gathers the flowers and carries them off to the 
 burial-ground. The gardener says nothing, but 
 he has looked rather cross of late, as if, did he 
 not feel so sorry for her, he would say that she 
 was spoiling the garden with gathering so many 
 bouquets. 
 
 Last Sunday the father came here with his 
 children — and much he talked with theimabout 
 
212 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 their mother; and he charged them to neve 
 forget her, but always to think of her as alive, 
 because she really was alive, though she had 
 gone to another country, and they would never 
 -ee her anywhere on earth again. V ery tenderly 
 the father spoke, and all the while he held little 
 Jane by the hand, and the boys stood by the 
 grave and wept. 
 
 But when they left the grave-yard they seemed 
 to forget where they had been, and what they 
 had seen, for they laughed and' talked — the 
 boys did — all the way home about what they 
 would do with themselves and Nep (Nep was 
 their dog,) to-morrow. And the father, too, had 
 forgotten, Jane said to herself, for he began to 
 talk about her studies, and to say that he thought 
 she must begin to go to school again. 
 
 Jane went directly into her room when she 
 reached home. There she sat down to think 
 upon her mother — to recall her loving words, 
 and tender acts of kindness — “ But,” she said, 
 while she wept bitterly at the thought, none 
 
THE GARDEN. 
 
 213 
 
 of them care ; before the year is out they will 
 forget all about her. I loved her best of all ; 
 and I am the only one that really cares about 
 it.” And there was pride as well as grief in 
 Jane’s tears, — you may know that by her 
 reflections. 
 
 And this pride, alas ! only grew stronger and 
 stronger — not less and less — the more Jane 
 thought upon her own grief, and compared it 
 with that her father and the boys felt, on ac- 
 count of the death of her mother. 
 
 ' You will say this was a strange sort of pride. 
 I think so too ; yet it w^as what Jane really felt. 
 But you will recollect that pride is like a cha- 
 meleon — it presents itself in every imaginable 
 hue. As long as the heart is not freed from it — 
 as long as it remains like a prisoner there — it 
 will be forever showing itself, and making itself 
 heard. If it speaks, it speaks evil ; if it is silent, 
 the silence is not good. Unhappy heart, so long 
 as pride remains in it ! Unhappy heart ! for it 
 is said that God holds the proud afar off ; and 
 
214 
 
 THE G-ARDEN. 
 
 we all know that they alone are happy to whom 
 God is near. 
 
 J ane resolved that she wonld never go into 
 the bnrial-gronnd again, either with her broth- 
 ers or her father, — she would go there alone — 
 and think in silence, and deck the grave by 
 herself. 
 
 There came a day, however, when she was not 
 allowed to remain alone. ISTot that any of her 
 own house came down to weep, and to think 
 with her; but another child — a little girl — 
 was passing by that way, and seeing the beauti- 
 ful flowers on the grave, she climbed over the 
 style, and went along the garden paths, until she 
 came to the place where Jane was. 
 
 How nnlike they were^ — two children, and 
 both girls, yet so unlike ! The little stranger was 
 poor. How do I know ? — her dress showed it, — 
 and she was a foreigner besides — an Irish girl. 
 Her eyes told a good story of her. They said 
 that she had a kind and gentle heart, as they 
 looked from the grave to Jane, and from Jane 
 
THE GARDEN. 
 
 216 
 
 to the grave, so quietly, so sadly — as much as to 
 say, I am very sorry for you.” 
 
 Her eyes were blue, and her voice was gentle. 
 These things made me think of the angels ; yet 
 I dare say not many people thought the Irish 
 girl angelic ! — but she made me think of them — 
 for the skies are blue, and we know that the 
 angels are beyond there. We cannot see them — 
 those angels — but we know they are there. 
 Who is buried here ? ” asked the stranger. 
 
 Jane looked up quickly when she heard the 
 voice. Until then she had supposed that she 
 was alone. 
 
 The first thing she thought was — 
 
 What a fright ! What business has this emi- 
 grant girl to be speaking, to me? She may wait 
 for an answer till she gets it.” 
 
 So Jane turned away and said nothing. She 
 kept a proud silence. She thought the girl 
 would go away ; but after a while, seeing that 
 she did not go, Jane looked at her again, as 
 much as to say, What are you staying for?” 
 
216 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 But the girl’s eyes were fixed upon the grave, and 
 so strange was the expression of her face, that 
 i)ane could not help saying. 
 
 What are you thinking of? ” 
 
 My mother,” answered the stranger. 
 
 What of her ? ” said Jane — and this question 
 was asked in a very different way from the 
 other. 
 
 I wish I might lay flowers on her grave.” 
 
 Is she dead ? ” 
 
 Yes — she is dead.” 
 
 “ And where is her grave, then ? ” 
 
 ^^In the ocean.” 
 
 The ocean ! ” exclaimed Jane. What ! in 
 the Atlantic Ocean?” 
 
 “Yes — and she was buried in a storm.” 
 
 “Oh, how could you ! ” 
 
 “The mate and the sailors did it, — she had 
 the fever.” 
 
 “What did you do then? — your father was 
 with you ? ” 
 
 “ He died first.” 
 
THE GARDEN. 
 
 217 
 
 Then your brother — he was with you ? ” 
 
 I was alone. I have no brother and sister. 
 There were only us three.’’ 
 
 Oh ! I should have thought you would have 
 died too,” cried Jane. 
 
 I could n’t. I would if I could. Who did 
 you say is buried here ? ” 
 
 ^^My mother,” answered Jane, quickly — 
 ashamed to think of what had kept her from 
 replying when the girl asked it before. 
 
 There is only one grave. Then you have 
 all the rest alive.” 
 
 “Yes — there is papa, and Willie, and Gideon, 
 at home. And papa says that our mother is not 
 dead — that she has gone to another country, 
 and we shall see her again.” 
 
 “ Yes — I know, if we act right,” said the girl. 
 “It ’sin heaven they are — your mamma and 
 mine. It ’s good to be there.” 
 
 “Wouldn’t you be afraid — ” Jane began to 
 say, but she stopped before she had fairly asked 
 the question. 
 
218 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 “ To die ? — afraid to die, do yon mean? No, 
 I ’m more afraid to live : for — who knows ? — 
 I may be tempted, and do some evil thing, on 
 account of which I shall never get into heaven. 
 That is what I pray for — to be kept from temp- 
 tation. Do yon ? ’’ 
 
 ^^Yes,’’ answered Jane. But she had nevei 
 in her life prayed so heartily and earnestly as 
 she was doing at that moment. 
 
 And I think that as she walked out from that 
 garden, hand in hand with the emigrant girl, 
 and told her to come there whenever she would 
 like to, and to think about her mother who was 
 buried in the ocean, there — I think that it may 
 be the two mothers, who loved our dear Lord 
 on earth, looked down and smiled a blessing on 
 their children, who were praying in their hearts 
 at that moment to the Saviour. 
 
 I think, besides, that the proud thought which 
 Jane had thought, as if she were the only 
 mourner in her father’s house, was rooted from 
 her heart when she went home that day. 
 
THE GAEDEN. 
 
 210 
 
 It was noon, and very warm, and Gideon was 
 lying in the hall upon the lounge, asleep, as 
 Jane went in at the front door. She stood a 
 moment looking at him. He was talking in his 
 sleep — tears were streaming from his eyelids, 
 and what he said in his sleep was this — Oh 
 mother! mother! do not go — do not leave me 
 alone ; ” and he sobbed heavily. 
 
 He said this — and all the while Jane had 
 been accusing him in her heart, and saying to 
 herself that they had all forgotten that dear 
 mother except herself ! 
 
 Then later in the day, when she stood on the 
 piazza, the silence all at once was broken. She 
 heard a low voice, and at first she could not tell 
 where it was ; but as she listened it grew louder 
 and more distinct — it was her father praying ; 
 and these were the words that fell upon her 
 ear — “Help me, oh God! Thou hast taken 
 away the friend of my heart, the companion of 
 my life, the mother of my children ! — help me 
 that all my duty towards those children may be 
 
220 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 done ; that at last in heaven we may be united to 
 her who has gone before us.’’ And many other 
 words of the prayer she heard. He asked that his 
 sorrow might not make him selfish, proud, hard- 
 hearted — and he was weeping while he prayed. 
 This was her father ! and Jane had said to herself 
 that none remembered or wept for the loss of her 
 mother — none but herself ! Oh, poor child ! little 
 she knew what had been in the hearts of the rest 
 of the household. But she knew it all now. And 
 in her grief for her lost mother, she never shed 
 bitterer tears than she shed now, when she refiect- 
 ed on the pride and selfishness of her own sorrow. 
 
®ljc ®riiraprf ^lolijtr; 
 
 ANOTHER STORY OE THE CROSS. 
 
 MAN built a summer-house in 
 the middle of his garden — and 
 he planted vine roots at the four 
 corners, and they all died but 
 
 one. 
 
 That same summer the man himself died ; and 
 in the autumn his widow and her son went away 
 on a long j ourney — and they were gone four years. 
 
 The garden was left in charge of a man and a 
 fairy. Yes, it was a fairy, as well as a man, that 
 had the charge, though nobody knew anything 
 about that, for the fairy took her part in the 
 business without any invitation. Fairies are 
 not governed by the laws of fashionable society. 
 When they wish to do a good deed, they do it 
 without waiting for an invitation. And they 
 don’t run about to tell all the world of the good 
 they mean to perform, either. They go to work 
 at once to do it. 
 
222 
 
 THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 But the gardener had the idea that he was the 
 sole manager of the place. He was a very good 
 man, but he was ignorant, and knew nothing 
 about fairies. He had a deal of taste, however. 
 He could tell how the flower beds might be laid 
 out with the best effect, and what style of blos- 
 soms looked best together ; also, he was very 
 neat in his habits, and it was a daring weed that 
 ventured to show its face in any of those gar- 
 den walks that were under his charge. 
 
 There was only one vine root that lived, of the 
 four that the owner of the garden planted at the 
 corners of the summer-house. Great care the man 
 took of this plant — great skill he showed in train- 
 ing it — for he spread the branches about over the 
 frame-work in such a manner, that as it grew it 
 could not help covering the whole of the lattice 
 work. 
 
 One night he had gone into the garden — for 
 it was there that he spent his leisure, as well as 
 his working hours. He was standing by the 
 tool house at the end of the longest walk, and 
 
THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 223 
 
 his eyes were fixed upon that famous vine, its 
 dark, rich green leaves, and beautiful red fiowers. 
 ‘^Wonderful ! ” he exclaimed in his delight — 
 never did a vine grow like that ! But it ’s all 
 owing to the care it has had. If I ’m a living 
 man, I We done my duty by that vine.” 
 
 Yes,” said a voice, — it was the voice of the 
 fairy that was standing beside him, — that ’s 
 the truth; but don’t you think it could be 
 improved? ” 
 
 The vine?” exclaimed the gardener, as if 
 he were amazed that any one should imagine it 
 could be improved. 
 
 ‘^Tes, the vine — it’s appearance, I mean.” 
 don’t understand,” said the gardener, 
 coldly, in a tone of great displeasure. 
 
 Let me explain, if you don’t understand,” 
 said the fairy, half laughing ; for she thought it 
 very stupid in the gardener to get into a huff 
 the moment any one ventured to suggest an im- 
 provement. ‘‘That round shape is too old- 
 fashioned.” 
 
224 : 
 
 THE T K U M H E T F L O W E E . 
 
 Old-fashioned ! old-fashioned ! ’’ he said sharp- 
 ly. Well, I hope it ’s none the worse for that ! ” 
 
 ‘^IsTone the worse — but none the better — 
 and not so pretty as it might be, Mr. Gardener. 
 Now, I leave it to your own good sense, and 
 excellent taste, — don’t you think the summer 
 house would be greatly improved, if its shape 
 were slightly altered?” 
 
 She spoke very respectfully, and the man could 
 not help asking, How could it be altered?” 
 
 You can make some little ornament of wood, 
 you know, and then train the vine around it. 
 Just try it and see, and if you don’t like it, why 
 nobody would be so foolish as to dispute your 
 taste, Mr. Gardener.” 
 
 ^^But what sort of an ornament? ” asked the 
 gardener, somewhat softened, and in a fair way 
 of being convinced by the fairy’s delicate com- 
 pliments. 
 
 “ What is the name of the vine? ” asked she, 
 as if she really did not remember. But this 
 only proved that the fairy had all her wits about 
 
T H E T R V :M P E 1' I-' 1. O W E R . 
 
 225 
 
 lier, because slie knew that when Mr. Gardener 
 spoke the name, he would of himself, without 
 any further assistance, think of the ornament 
 that would be most fit and proper. 
 
 Trumpet fiower,” he answered. 
 
 And the fairy said, ^^Well,” as if she fully 
 expected him to go on. But the gardener, instead 
 of making any further remark, walked off toward 
 the summer house, and there he sat down to 
 think of what the fairy had said. For he was 
 not so quick-witted as some other people. And 
 he did not get through with his thinking on the 
 subject that day — no, nor the next day, nor the 
 next. 
 
 But the week after — you see it all happened 
 
 at last just as the fairy believed it would — the 
 
 week after, if you had walked past that garden, 
 
 you would have seen a cross perched on the mid^ 
 
 die of the roof of the sumnier house. It was, 
 
 indeed, a great improvernent. So the gardener 
 
 thought after it was all done, and he had looked 
 
 at his work from every point of the garden. 
 15 
 
226 
 
 THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 That fairy’s acquaintance must be worth cul- 
 tivating,” he said ; and he thought that when he 
 was again at leisure, he would have a long con- ' 
 versation with her on the art of gardening. It 
 was such a capital idea she had suggested — that 
 of training the trumpet flower vine around a 
 cross ! Can you guess why ? 
 
 The very night after the cross was flxed in its 
 place on the summer house, the widow and her 
 son returned from their travels. ISTo one ex- 
 pected them — no one, therefore, of all the 
 workmen employed about the place, was so well 
 prepared to render in an account of their stew- 
 ardship, as the old gardener. Him, and his 
 enjoyment of the surprise, it was really delight- 
 ful to see. But the rest of the people were in a 
 sad predicament. 
 
 If you had looked in upon the returned trav- 
 elers an hour after their arrival, you would have 
 found the widow in her chamber, on her knees, 
 weeping — weeping for joy and thankfulness 
 that they were returned in safety at last. But 
 
THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 227 
 
 nowhere in all the house could you have found 
 the son. 
 
 Where was he ? — in the beautiful garden. 
 
 Why was he there? What tempted him? 
 The moonlight. 
 
 And nothing but the moonlight ? Yes ; the 
 fairy had a hand in it — a voice in it, I mean. 
 
 Well, and what else? He saw the cross. 
 
 Well? He heard the fairy. 
 
 And what beside ? She taught him a more 
 important lesson than he had learned in all his 
 wanderings. 
 
 What lesson ? That the cross is more to be de- 
 sired than the crown — that it is a blessing, not a 
 burden. For, this was just what she said to him. 
 
 He had thrown himself full length upon the 
 bench within the arbor — twice he had done 
 that already, and twice had he risen, that he 
 might see if in reality it was a cross that the 
 gardener had placed upon the top of the sum- 
 mer house-. Now the third time that he lay 
 down, the fairy came to him. 
 
228 
 
 THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 So you are back again,” slie said, speaking 
 to him as if be were an old, familiar friend. He 
 was not surprised to bear ber — you would bave 
 tbougbt it was exactly wbat be expected — that 
 sbe sbould come and speak to him in that way. 
 
 “Yes,” be replied — “home again at last.” 
 
 “ Are you glad ? ” asked sbe. 
 
 “ Glad, and not glad.”. 
 
 “ Why glad ? ” 
 
 “ I ’m tired of travel.” 
 
 “ And why not ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know what to do with myself next.” 
 
 “Are you tired of sight-seeing?” 
 
 “ Yes — but why do you ask ? ” 
 
 “ I might show you a sight.” 
 
 “Pray show it ;” “ if you please,” he added — 
 and that was an unusual addition for him to 
 make, he was not in the habit of entreating but 
 of commanding ; though so young a lad, lie was 
 willful, and bent on having his own way in all 
 things. 
 
 “ Behold, then.” 
 
THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 229 
 
 And the boy beheld. 
 
 It is a battle-field,” he said, and his eye 
 fiashed — there will be a splendid fight.” 
 
 What then ? ” 
 
 This is very strange,” said this boy ; ev- 
 idently he could not understand it. “ They carry 
 no swords — the drums do not beat — they have 
 no trumpets — is it a battle-field ? ” 
 
 “ Yes — -but what is it that you see ? ” 
 
 ^ Children, and old men, and young men, and 
 women — all is confusion.” 
 
 It is the world,” said the fairy. 
 
 And what is that altar? ” 
 
 It is an altar.” 
 
 Yes — but what may it mean? ” 
 
 The soldiers make their offerings there be- 
 fore they enlist in the great army.” 
 
 What army ? ” asked the boy 
 ^‘Do you not perceive? — the army of the 
 cross.” 
 
 Ah ! yes ; they sacrifice at the altar, and 
 then receive their badge.” 
 
230 
 
 THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 That is true. Observe now, there is an offer- 
 ing to be made.” 
 
 Yes,” said the boj, almost breathless with 
 wonder. 
 
 ‘^And yon can understand it ? ” asked the fairy. 
 
 Yes,” he answered, in a softened tone. 
 ^^And the children also sacrifice?” he said 
 presently, wondering more and more. 
 
 They also sacrifice,” repeated she — “ and ob- 
 serve, it is a light cross that is given them to bear. 
 See how courageous, yet how meek they are.” 
 
 But,” said the boy, speaking very rapidly, 
 the gifts are not always left upon the altar ! 
 Some of the soldiers, as you call them, carry 
 them away again.” 
 
 Ah,” said the fairy, but they take the cross 
 also with them, do they not ? ” 
 
 Yes, it is even so,” he answered, astonished. 
 There is an artist ! and he carries his paints, 
 and canvas, and brushes, away with him ; and 
 another who takes his harp, and — and a multitude, 
 who all carry with them what they brought.” 
 
THE TRUMPET FLOWER. 
 
 231 
 
 Yet all these bear a cross, also, from the 
 altar ? ” asked the fairy again 
 
 ‘‘Yes, all.” 
 
 “Which shows that their gift is sanctified. 
 Now look at those who will not come np with 
 an offering — to the multitude that bear no 
 cross.” 
 
 The boy looked. “ There are none such,” he 
 said presently. 
 
 “ Indeed,” the fairy exclaimed, as if she could 
 hardly believe that. 
 
 “ They have a heavier burden to bear,” he 
 sighed, at length, after he had looked, and 
 thought about it for a long time. 
 
 “ Tell me the name of that burden.” 
 
 “ It is their Sm ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ! It is their darling sin. Harken ! ” 
 
 He listened, and he heard a voice sweeter 
 than an angel’s, crying, “ Take my yoke upon 
 you and my burden, for it is light ! Come unto 
 me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and 
 I will give you rest ! ” And the voice seemed 
 
232 
 
 T H E T li U M P E T F L O W E R . 
 
 to come from the high cross before which stood 
 the altar, where the sacrifices were made. 
 
 And the boy looked to see if there were any 
 that refused to obey that wondrous call, and 
 afar, in the midst of a restless, struggling crowd, 
 he saw a face and a figure that he had often 
 seen before. He knew it better, more thoroughly 
 than any face and figure in the world. And in 
 his heart he trembled and wept, fof the face was 
 turned away from the altar, and the figure did 
 not bear that emblem which the soldiers of the 
 cross bore. He saw all this, and he groaned 
 aloud — but the fairy now was silent. So he 
 watched and waited ; oh, in what fear and trem- 
 bling, until at last, oh joy ! the figure turned, — 
 it moved away from the noisy crowd, — it ran — 
 it ran as if death were pursuing it, — and be- 
 hold ! it bowed before the altar and the cross, 
 and the sacrifice that he laid upon the altar was 
 consumed, — the fire from heaven fell and de- 
 voured it. 
 
 And if the fairy were by his side when the 
 
T HE T K U M P E T F L O W E K . 233 
 
 boy arose and went in to bis mother, I know 
 not. But if she were, then she also must have 
 heard him when he told her that henceforth he 
 also was a Soldier of the Cross. That he had 
 sacrificed upon the altar of repentance, and 
 faith, his cherished, his darling Sin. 
 
 So you see how it was that the gardener was 
 the means of accomplishing a great and a good 
 thing, when he placed the ornament in the 
 shape of the cross on the summit of the sum- 
 mer-hoiise. A loud Amice speaking through a 
 trumpet could not haAm been heard more dis- 
 tinctly than that blessed Amice the young lad 
 heard resounding through his soul. 
 
 Keader, is there anywliere in the garden of 
 your heart, room for an arbor, and a vine, and a 
 symbol, like this I have told about ? Oh ! if 
 there be, and you sometimes hear a Voice speak- 
 ing to you, be sure you pay good heed to it ; 
 and so may God love you ! 
 
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THElLLiNO TEMPEKAifCE TALE 
 
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