The Baldwin Library
FOR LITTLE READERS.
FOR LITTLE READERS.
A NEW SERIES OF TALES AND STORIES FOR THE YOUNG.
NEATLY EMBELLISHED, PRICE SIXPENCE EACH.
Jessie Graham; or, Friends Dear, but Truth Dearer.
Blind Alice; or Do Right, If you wish to be Happy.
Grace and Clara; or, Be Just as well as Generous.
Florence Arnott; or, Is she Generous P
Ellen Leslie; or, The Reward of Self-Control.
Stories for Little Readers : Adorned with pictures. First
Stories for Little Readers: Adorned with Pictures. Second
Love Token for Children.
A Kiss for a Blow ; or, Stories of Love and Kindness In the
B unsilne and Shade; or, The Denham Family.
TO BE FOLLOWED BY OTHER VOLUMES UNIFORM
WITH THE ABOVE.
T. NELSON AND SONS, LONDON AND EDINBURGH.
13.L ret.-ref tbinw.;
YT-W. -,t ... lhqod delI~ht
AUl W-..ec -ud pwny."
HOME LIBRARY FOR LITTLE READERS.
MRS. ANNA B3ACHE.
Iffe nde hceejin fu hll ejoymenkt
Active eiud, nd soce fre;
All whieh gime ,,v pweer eetidoyccec
Hevn uree ...e teem thue.
~L (aolrt :
T. NELS~ON AND BOYS, rA~lERNOSTER ROW;
Ii l)CCCI.i I.
LITTLE Clara Howell was asleep on the sofa
in her mother's parlour, and her mother sat
at the window, sewing.
Presently Clara opened her eyes. At first
she did not remember where she was, nor
what was the time of day. She rubbed
her eyes and stretched herself; she looked
at the clock, and the fire, and the cat that
lay on the hearth-rug, and then she looked
at her mother.
Clara looked at her mother for a good
while before she spoke. At last she said,
" Mother, is it morning?"
"No, my daughter," said Mrs Howell,
"it is four o'clock in the afternoon."
Then Mrs Howell got up and came to the
sofa. She put back the hair that had fal-
len over her little girl's forehead, and she
kissed her, and asked her if she wanted any
Little Clara had been sick, and her pa-
rents thought she was going to die, but she
got better, and was able to sit up part of the
day. She was still very weak, and the doc-
tor said she must lie down often. She had
been sitting in her little chair beside her
mother, looking at a picture-book, until she
felt tired; and then her mother laid her on
the sofa, and covered her with a shawl, and
Clara went to sleep.
When Mrs Howell asked Clara if she
wanted any thing, Clara sat up, and said,
"May Jane come and play with me ?"
Jane was Clara's eldest sister. She was
about eleven years old. Clara was between
six and seven, they had a brother George,
who was nine years old, and a brother
Philip, who was fourteen.
Mrs Howell opened the door and called
Jane. Jane came into the room very soft-
ly, for she was a kind, thoughtful little girl,
and her parents had told her that it was
selfish and cruel to make any useless noises
when any body was sick. She loved her
little sister; she was sorry to see her in pain,
and sorry to see her mother grieved and an-
xious; she tried to think what she could do
to help them, and made herself very useful.
When Clara was first taken ill, Jane wait-
ed on her, sat beside her, and tried to di-
vert her, as long as Clara was able to talk
or listen. When she got worse, Jane was
always at hand to run up and down stairs
for any thing that was wanted; she took
care to speak low, to open and shut the
doors without noise, and to walk softly.
When she sat down to her lessons or needle-
work, she tried to do her best without troub-
ling her mother for directions; and when
Mrs Howell was quite worn out, and lay
down on the foot of Clara's bed to rest a
little, Jane stayed quietly in the darkened
room, ready to call her mother exactly at
the minute when it was time for Clara to
take her medicine, so that Mrs Howell often
kissed Jane, and said she was a help and
comfort to her. Jane was glad that she
could do any thing for the dear mother who
did so much for her. And now that Clara
was better, and wanted to play, Jane often
put by the book she liked to read, or the
frock she wished to make for her doll, and
came willingly to amuse her little sister;
and she tried to invent little quiet plays,
that might divert without tiring her.
When Jane came into the parlour, she
had a little covered basket in her hand; she
went up to the sofa, and asked Clara if she
would like to play at having dinner. Clara
said she would, and Jane asked her mother
if she might take the mahogany candle-
stand to set the dinner on. Mrs Howell
said she might. Then Jane lifted the stand
out of the corner, and placed it before Clara,
as she sat on the sofa. She spread a nap-
kin on the stand for a table-cloth,- then she
opened her basket and took out several lit-
tle dishes, made of blue paper, and nicely
crimped round the edges. She arranged
them on the napkin, and then she asked her
mother if she would let them have an apple
and a biscuit to pretend meat and potatoes.
"No," said Mrs Howell. I am afraid
Clara might cat part of them, and the doc-
tor says she must not cat fruit of any kind,
and must not cat at .all, except at regular
hours." Glara looked disappointed, but she
was accustomed to obey, so she did not say
any thing. Oh !" said Jane, good-hum-
ouredly, "I have thought of something nice;
stay a little while, Clara;" and she ran out
of the room.
A fine large buttonwood tree grew before
the house. Jane saw her brother Philip
standing under it ; she ran and asked him
to get some of the button-balls for her. Hie
plucked a dozen, and gave them to her, and
Jane took them into the parlour, to Clara:
12 LITTLE CLARA.
See, Clara," she said, "we can make
believe with these. This one shall be roast
beef, and this shall be turkey, and here is a
boiled ham, and these shall be potatoes and
turnips. And I will set our dessert ready
on the hand-waiter, if you will lend me one,
Mrs Howell lent the waiter, and Jane
proceeded to set out her dessert. This is
a floating island, and these shall be mince
pies and cranberry tarts.'
You have provided a very large dinner
for two persons," said Mrs Howell, smiling.
"Mother, you will come and dine with
as ? Do, Mrs Howell, favour us with your
company," said Jane, making a low curtsey
to her mother.
Clara laughed, and repeated, Do, Mrs
"I am much obliged to you, young
ladies, for your polite invitation, but you
must excuse me at present. I shall be
pleased to come some other time. I hear
Mr George Howell coming down stairs. I
dare say he will be glad to join your party."
George liked to play with his sisters;
they sat down to their grand dinner, and
tried to be very polite, and help each other
like grown gentlemen and ladies. All went
on pleasantly for a while, until Mrs Howell
was called out of the room. Clara was too
weak to play long; she began to fooeel faint
and uncomfortable. She was too young to
understand why she felt so badly, and she
grew cross. She put out her hand to throw
over their dishes. George took hold of her
hand to prevent her; Clara tried to strug-
gle, but she was too weak. She screwed up
her face very dolefully, and began tV cry.
George laughed at the queer face she made.
Clara grew angry, and slapped her brother
on the cheek. George lifted up his hand
to return the blow, but recollecting himself,
he said, No, I won't be a coward, to slap
a girl, and a sick girl, too; but you are a
naughty sister to me."
At this Clara cried again, and when Mrs
Howell came back, she found George look-
ing red with anger, Clara with large tears
running down her pale face, and Jane try-
ing to quiet her.
"What is all this?" said their mother.
"George is cross to me, mother "
Clara slapped me on the cheek,
mother, -" said both the children at once,
and Clara cried louder than before.
Clara, be quiet instantly," said Mrs
Howell. Clara knew she must obey, so she
stopped crying and wiped her eyes, but her
little bosom heaved, and every now and
then she gave a deep sob.
Mrs Howell shook up the pillow, bade
Clara lie down, and covered her up. Then
she took Jane and George into another
room, and asked what had been the matter.
Jane told her mother exactly what had
George," said Mrs Howell, when peo-
ple have been sick, they become weak; you
know Clara is not able to jump and run as
she used to do. When our bodies are weak
and in pain, we get angry and feel sorry,
more quickly than we do when we are well
Can't we help that, mother, if we try?"
"Partly we can, and partly we cannot.
We cannot always hinder the feeling, but if
our minds are under control, we can help
giving up to it."
"What is under control, mother?" said
"A horse is under control, when he is
made to go this way or that, as his rider
pleases. When I make you do any thing
you do not wish to do, you are under my
control. When you do not do what you
would like, or do what you do not like, be-
cause you feel in your thoughts that it is
right to contradict your own wishes, you
are under self-control. I control you now,
but I want you to learn to control yourselves.
16 LITTLE CLARA.
If you have no self-control, you cannot be
useful to yourself or others. You can never
be good or great, without self-control."
George Washington had self-control,
Yes. He was both good and great. But
it is George Howell we are talking of now."
"Has Clara any self-control, mother?"
For such a little girl, she has. Children
learn self-control by being made to obey,
therefore I always require you to obey
orders exactly. Clara always takes medi-
cine readily, lets her blisters be dressed with-
out firetting, and lies still hour after hour
very patiently, because I have told her that
it is proper for her to do so, and she is used
to obey. While she was very ill, she could
not pay attention to any thing, and that
kept her quiet. Now she is well enough to
be amused, and wants to play, bnt her body
is so weak that she soon gets tired and feels
worried, and she i not old enough to under-
stand why. I do not allow her to indulge
ill-humour, but I must not allow her to be
fretted. You are in health; you are older
than she is, and ought to be wiser, and
therefore kinder. You do not like to be
laughed at, even when you are well."
No, that I don't. I did not mean to be
unkind, mother," said George, sorrowfully.
" I am sorry I laughed at Clara. May 1 go
and tell her so?"
"Yes, dear; and I must say I do not
think you entirely to blame. You showed
self-control when Clara struck you, and you
would not strike back again. Go to your
sister, and remember, the strong should be
tender to the weak, and brave boys are al-
ways kind to the girls.
George and Jane went with their mother
to Clara. She was still lying on the sofa.
Her eyes were open, so George knew that
she was awake. He went up to her very
softly, took hold of her little thin hand, and
said,-" Dear little sissy, I am sorry 1 vexed
you. Please to forgive brother George, and
kiss him to make up."
Tears came into Clara's eyes again, but
they were not such tears as she had shed
before. She felt sorry and yet pleased, and
loved her brother George very much. She
hugged him round the neck, and put up her
lips to kiss him, and then she said, I was
naughty, too, George. I was naughty to
slap you, and to knock over the dishes. I
won't do so any more." So the children
kissed each other, and were happy.
Then Mrs Howell sat down beside the
sofa on a rocking chair, and Clara asked if
she would take her on her lap. Mrs Howell
took Clara on her lap, and Clara leaned her
head against her mother's bosom, and sat
still. George and Jane sat down on the sofa.
After Mrs Howell had rocked Clara for a
little while, Clara looked up, and said,
" Mother, will you please to tell me a story."
Mrs Howell said she would tell her about
EDWARD AND HIS DOG.
One day, after Edward had been playing
in the garden till he was tired, he came to
his mother, and said, "Mamma, will you
give me something to eat?" His mother
gave him a bowl of milk, and a slice of
broad. Edward set his bowl of milk on a
little waiter, he put his bread beside the
bowl, and then he asked his mother for a
spoon. She gave him a spoon, and then
Edward said, Mamma, may I go and sit
at the front door?" His mother said he
So Edward took his bread and milk and
sat down on the upper step. He placed the
waiter on his knees, he broke the bread in-
to the milk, and was just beginning to eat,
when he saw a poor little dog running up
to the steps.
The dog was small, and very thin; he
looked as if he had been pelted with stones;
he was wet and muddy, and shivered as if
he was cold. He seemed very much fright-
ened, and ran up into the corner close to
the steps. Poor little dog," said Edward,
"poor little dog, you look very thin. I dare
say you are hungry." So Edward took a
bit of the sopped bread between his finger
and thumb, and held it to the dog, saying,
"Poor fellow! poor fellow!"
When the little dog heard a kind voice,
he looked up, for even beasts know the dif-
ference between kind tones and cross ones.
Edward threw the bread to him; he snap-
ped it up in a moment, and then he looked
at Edward, and wagged his tail, as if he
would have said, Please, master, give md
some more." Edward threw him another
bit; the little dog swallowed it as eagerly as
he had done the first, and when Edward
said "poor fellow" again, he came out of
the corner and crawled up on the step. He
looked very wishfully at the bowl of bread
and milk, but did not dare to touch it.
"Poor dog," said Edward, "I think you
want this bread and milk more than I do,
for I had a good breakfast and dinner to-
day, and I do not think you have had either.
But stop, mamma will not like you to eat out
of her clean bowl." So Edward ran and
got an old earthen dish, which was used to
feed the cat. Ho poured the bread and
milk into it, and set it on the steps before
the dog, saying, Come, poor doggie, eat."
The dog did not need twice telling. He
ate up the bread and milk, oh! so fast, wag-
ging his tail all the time; and when he had
lapped up the last drop of milk, and licked
up the last crumb of bread, he seemed quite
refreshed. He let Edward pat him, and he
licked Edward's hand.
Edward got up and went into the house,
and the dog followed him. Edward looked
into the parlour for his mother, but she was
not there. He found her sitting on the
piazza behind the house, reading.
"Mamma," said Edward, do look at
this poor little dog. I think he has no
owner, and cruel boys have been pelting
him. May I keep him, and feed him?
You do not know how hungry he is." His
mother said he might keep the dog if no
one claimed it, and if he would be careful
of his dog, and not let it be troublesome.
Then Edward said, May I take the old
packing box in the garret to make a house
for him? and may I have a bit of old carpet
for him to lie on?" His mother said "Yes,"
and she gave him a piece of carpet.
Edward thanked her, and ran to show his
dog to his brother Ben, and he asked Ben
if it was not a very pretty dog, and he said
that he meant to call it Watch. Ben said
that Watch was a very good name, but he
could not say that he thought the dog very
pretty. However," he said, Watch may
be prettier when he is clean. Suppose we
wash him." But their mother advised them
not to trouble the poor, frightened, tired
little dog, with washing, just then. So
Edward and Ben busied themselves in
turning the old box into a house for Watch.
They cut a square hole in one side of the
box for a door, then they turned the box up-
side down in one corner of the piazza, the
carpet was folded up, and put in for a bed,
and Watch was settled in his house.
Poor little Watch was kindly treated,
and had plenty to eat. He soon grow fat
and pretty. He was a happy, merry little
dog, and Edward and he had many nice
plays together. He loved his little master
dearly, and always trotted after him to
school. The teacher did not allow dogs to
come into the school-room, so Watch lay
down outside of the school-room door, and
in the recess, when the boys came out to
play, Watch jumped and capered as merrily
as they did. All the boys liked Edward's
One morning the teacher told the boys,
that if they would come an hour earlier
than usual in the afternoon, he would show
them some beautiful drawings of castles,
mountains, and wild beasts. These draw-
ings were made by a celebrated traveller, of
things he had seen in his travels. lie said
they must be punctual to the appointed
time, for the drawings were to be sent for at
three o'clock, and he could not get them
The boys were much obliged to their kind
teacher, and they all hurried home and got
their dinners as early as possible. Edward
could scarcely eat, for he was very fond of
pictures, but he knew he ought to learn his
lesson; so when he had finished his dinner
he sat down to study. He tried hard not
to think of any thing but his lesson; he gave
his attention to it, and he learned it perfect-
ly. "Now I know my lesson well," said
he, and I shall enjoy seeing the pictures."
lie called Watch, took his book under his
arm, and set offi It was a long walk from
Edward's home to the school-house, and as
he reached the door, the clock struck two
School began at three. I am in good
time," thought Edward, "and'I know my
lesson." Just then he found that he had
dropped his book. Poor Edward! He
dared not appear in school without his book,
and if he went back for it, he would be too
late to see the pictures. With a heavy
heart he ran down stairs, and into the street,
to seek for his book, when who should he
see running up to him, but Watch, with the
book in his mouth? The careful little dog
had picked it up when his master drop-
ped it. Oh! Watch!" said Edward,
" you are a good dog." He took the book,
ran back again, and got into the school-
room, just as the teacher was spreading
out the first picture.
Edward had a great deal of pleasure in
looking at the pictures, and hearing his
teacher explain them. When he went home,
he told his mother what had happened.
His mother said, If you had not been
kind to the little dog when he was in trou-
26 LITTLE OLARA.
ble, you might have lost your book, and
missed seeing the pictures. Kindness is
twice blessed; once to the giver, and once
to the receiver."
The children agreed that the story of
Edward and his dog was a very pretty
story, and they liked little Watch very
much. George said he wished that he had a
little dog, but he did not think that he would
call it Watch. They talked about pretty
names, and ugly names; names for dogs
and cats, and names for people, until Mrs
Howell looked at the clock, and told Jane
that it was time to set the table for tea.
CON VERSATION.-CLAIRA'S HYMN.
THE next day was Sunday. Sunday was a
day of rest at Mrs Howell's; not tiresome,
lazy rest for the body; but rest from the
work of the week; needful rest for the body,
and peaceful, thoughtful, holy rest for the
mind. On Saturday the house was set in
order, and something was cooked to be eat-
en cold on Sunday. No unnecessary work
was allowed on the Sabbath, and no one
staid away from church, unless detained by
works "of necessity and mercy."
The family arose at their usual early
hour, and the children dressed themselves
neatly in the clean clothes which had been
laid out for them on Saturday night. After
prayers they had breakfast; and then, while
Mrs Howell was attending on Clara, Mr
Howell took his Bible, and sat down to read
until church-time. George and Jane look-
ed over their Sunday school lessons. Phi-
lip had attended the Sunday school ever
since he had been old enough to sit still
there; he now belonged to a Bible Class,
which Mr Williams, the clergyman, had
formed for the elder Sunday scholars. It
met at nine o'clock.
When the bell rang for church, Jane and
George went with their father, (for there
was no morning Sunday school in Cedar-
vile,) and Mrs Howell staid at home to
take care of Clara.
When church was out, Philip, Jane, and
George walked home with their father.
The family dindd early on Sunday, that the
children might be in time for the Sunday
school; so, as soon as they got home, Jano
took off her bonnet and shawl, tied on a
clean apron, and helped Martha to set the
In the afternoon, Mir' Howell staid with
Clara, that her mother might go to church.
The little girl slept an hour, and when she
awoke, her father took her on his lap, and
talked to her.
Does my little girl feel better since she
Yes, father, I do; that was a nice sleep?"
"Who sent that sleep to refresh and
strengthen my little Clara?"
God sent it, father. God is making me
well. I thank God for making me well."
Yes, dear; and you ought to thank him
for many other mercies."
So I do, father. I thank him because
I have a nice bed, and good things to eat,
and because you and ,mother takb care of
me. But, father, Jane says, God made me
sick, and that every thing God does is good.
I do not like to be sick. Must [ thank God
for hurting me?"
God does not hurt you willingly, my
dear. Pain is sent to us sometimes for a
warning, and sometimes for a punish-
I do not know what you say, father."
"I suppose you do not know what I mean.
Well, you are such a little girl, I am afraid
you will not understand all I say to you
about these things; but if you attend, you
may understand a little. One evening
when you were a baby, Philip put you on
the table close to a lighted lamp. You
liked the blaze, and you could not tell that it
would hurt you. You put your finger into
the flame; it burned you, and you cried.
Afterwards, you never would touch a lamp
or candle. You felt the pain of burning
when you saw a lighted lamp again; you
remembered that pain, and it was a warn-
ing to you not to put your fingers into a
blaze. If burning your finger had not hurt
you, you might have held it in the flame un-
til it burnt ofl, and your hand would have
been spoiled and useless. Now, do you
know the use of the pain you felt?"
It was to keep me from burning myself
"Yes, but suppose you would put your
fingers into the fire, after you had felt that
burning would hurt you; then the pain
would not be a warning to you, since it
would not keep you from burning yourself
again, but it would be a punishment for act-
ing so foolishly. What made you sick,
"Mother said it was laying down on the
damp grass, after I had been jumping.
Father, I did not know that it would make
Then your illness has been a warning
not to do so again. But had not your mo-
ther, before that day, told you never to lie
down on the grass I"
Clara looked uneasy, and answered in a
low voice, Yes, father."
Then you disobeyed her."
Clara fidgetted this way and that, and
did not answer.
Clara answered in a still lower voice than
before, Yes, father."
Then your illness was a punishment for
Clara was ashamed when she remember-
ed how naughty she had been. She thought
of all the pain she had felt, and the trouble
she had given her kind parents. She hung
down her head, and tears came into her
eyes. Her father took out his handkerchief
and wiped them away. We will not talk
about this any more, now, my child;" he
said, I will repeat a text for you to learn."
Then her father kissed her, and repeated
"For Ile doth not afflict willingly, nor
grieve the children of men."-Lamentations,
chap. iii.; v. 33.
Clara repeated the text after her father,
until she could say it perfectly. Then she
asked him to teach her something else. He
taught her a pretty little hymn, and when
she had learned it, she said she was tired,
and wanted to lie on the bed. She took her
little picture Bible, and looked at the pic-
tures, and tried to remember what Jane had
told her about them, until her eyes began
to ache. Then she closed the book and lay
still, looking at her father, who sat by the
bed, reading in a volume of sermons.
When Jane and George came home from
church, they went to sit with Clara, and
told her about the Sunday school and the
lessons; and when she was tired of talking,
they read the books they had taken from
the Sunday School Library, until tea-time.
Clara's father brought her down stairs in
his arms, and after tea, she begged to stay
on the sofa, and listen while their mother
explained to her brother and sister their
Scripture-lessons for the next Sunday.
Philip was in the study with his father
preparing his Bible recitation. When all
the lessons were properly prepared, Mr
Howell and Philip came into the parlour,
and Mr Howell questioned the children on
the sermons they had heard, and made
some remarks on what they told him.
Philip and Jane had excellent memories,
and they could repeat a great deal. George
could not remember so well, but he was very
attentive at church. There had been an
address to the children of the congregation
that afternoon; George liked it very much,
but was rather mortified when his father
questioned him, to find that he could recol-
lect nothing but the text. Father," said
he earnestly, indeed, I minded what Mr
Williams said; I thought it was all good
and I would try to do as he told us."
What was the text, George?"
Let brotherly love continue."
And how did you apply it, my son?"
"I mean, how did you think you would
behave to your brother and sisters in time
I thought I would mind what Philip
says to me when I go any where with him.
I thought I would never teaze Clara any
more, and would always hold Jane's silk
when she wants to wind it."
Then you have. remembered to very
good purpose, my son." You remember
well, when what you hear makes you try
to do well." Be ye doers of the word, and
not hearers only, deceiving your own selves."
James, chap. i.; ver. 22.
Now, mother, your verses;" said Philip.
It was the custom of the family, that when
they were all assembled on Sunday even-
ings, each person should read or repeat a
piece of poetry or prose suited to the occa-
sion. Mrs Howell repeated Edmeston's
36 LITTLE CLARA.
Sweet is the light of Sabbath eve,
And soft the sunbeam lingering there;
1 hose sacred hours this low earth leave,
Wafted on wings of praise and prayer.
The time. how lovely and how still
Peace shines and smiles on all below;
The plain, the stream, the wood, the hill,
All fair with evening's setting glow.
Season of rest! the tranquil soul
Foeels thy sweet calm, and molts In love;
And while these saorcred moments roll,
Faith sees a smiling heaven above.
How short the time--how soon the sun
Sets, and dark night resumes her reign;
And soon the hours of rest are done,
Then morrow brings the world again.
Yet will ourjourney not be long,
Our pilgrimage will soon be trod;
And we shall join the ceaseless song,
The endless Sabbath of our God.
Mr Howell said he had not had time,
during the previous week, to commit any-
thing to memory, but he had marked some
interesting passages in the Missionary Her-
ald, which he would read to them. He
then read a portion of the journal of Mr
Ennis, while he was making an exploring
tour, among the islands extending from
Java to Timor." One of the anecdotes
While Mr Ennis was on an island call-
ed Bali, a Brahman, who was a chief of
the highest rank, asked Mr Ennis to give
him a charm, or to do something for him,
so that no one could pierce his body with a
spear, or kris. This chief had shown great
good sense about other matters, and Mr
Ennis was surprised to hear him make such
a silly request. He told him such a thing
could not be done, but that he would do all
he could to persuade the people of Bali to
be good, and if they became good, they
would not want to stab with their krises.
This seemed to strike the people who heard
it, very strongly. They had never before
thought of such a way to obtain security,
Then Mr Ennis tried to make them un-
derstand, that people who love and serve
the true God, will not desire to hurt their
fellow-creatures; but if all loved God, all
might live in peace and safety."
Then it was Philip's turn. He repeated
Bishop Heber's lines;-
I praised the Earth in beauty soon,
With garlands gay of various grooeen.
I praised the Sea, whose ample field
Shone glorious on a silver shield.
And Earth and Ocean seemed to say,
"Our beauties are but for a d.iy."
I praised the Sun, whoso chariot roe!'d
On wheels of amber and of gold;
I praised the Moon, whose softer oyo,
Gleams sweetly through the summer sky;
And Moon and Sun in answer said,
Our days of light are numbered."
Oh, God I oh, good beyond compare!
If thus thy moaner works are fair,
If thus thy bounties gild the span,
Of ruined earth, and sinful man ;
How glorious must the mansion be,
Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee!
Jane said she had been reading Heber
too, and she began-
By cool Siloam's shady rill,
How fair the lily grows
How sweet the breath, beneath tho hill,
Of Sharon's deowy rose.
Lo! such the child, whoso early foe/
The paths of peace have trod
Whose secret heart, by Influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God.
Bly cool Siloam's shady rill,
The lily must decay;
Tho rose that blooms beneath the hill,
Must shortly fado away.
And soon, too soon, the wintry hour
Of man's mature ago,
Will shako the soul with sorrow's power,
And stormy ptialon's rago.
Oh I Thou, whoso Infant foot woro found
Within thy Father's shrine,
Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned,
Wore all alike divine;
Dependent on thy bounteous breath,
We seek thy grace alone,
In childhood, manhood, age and death,
To keep us still thine own.
George said he had learned one of Miss
Taylor's Infant Hymns.
I thank the goodness and the grace,
Which on my birth have smiled;
And made me in these Christian days,
A free and happy child.
I was not born, as thousands are,
Where God was never known ;
Nor taught to pray a useless prayer,
To blocks of wood or stone.
I was not born, a little slave,
To labour in the sun ;
To wish I wore but in my grave,
And all my laboii done.
I was not born wilbout a home,
Or in some brol:on shed,
A gipsy baby, tao ght to roam,
And steal for dolly bread.
?iy God, I thank thee I Thou hast planned
A better lot foi me :-
And placed me in this happy land,
Where I may hear of Thee I
When George had finished, Clara said,
"Mother, may I say some verses father
taught me to-day ?" 31Her mother said she
should like to hear her, so Clara sat up on
the sofa, and repeated-
The Lord is very good to me,
And very thankful I should be.
He gives me bread, and milk, and meant,
And all I have that's good to eot.
When I am sick, He, if He please,
Can make me well, and give me ease.
My strength and pleasure from Him flow,
To I lm my life and breath I owe.
Then let mostrivo to grow in grace,
That I may live and die in peace.
When Clara had repeated these lines,
her mother said it was time for her to be
put to bed. Her father carried her up
stairs, and her mother undressed her, and
laid her comfortably in bed. Then she
kissed her, and bade God bless her, and
then she wished her good-night, and went
When Mrs Howell got to the foot of the
stairs, she remembered that she had left
her handkerchief on a chair beside Clara's
bed. She went back to get it. The door
was a little ajar, it made no noise when
pushed open, and the curtains were closed
at the foot of the bed, so, though there
was no light in the room, Clara did not see
or hear her mother's entrance. Mrs Howell
heard her speak, and stopped to listen,
thinking that Clara spoke to her, but the
girl was speaking to God. She was praying
as she lay alone in her bed, and she said,
" Oh! Father in heaven, for Christ's sake
please to forgive Clara for making herself
sick, please let it be a warning to her-
please make her well, and make her a good
girl; please make her good, like her dear
THE WILLET FAM1LY.-SABBATH BREAKING.
How differently the Sabbath was spent in
Mr Willet's house !
The father and mother lay in bed later
than usual, and if the children got up, they
ran shouting through the house at their own
pleasure, until their parents arose.
I wish to goodness," said Susan, the
hired girl, as she raked fresh coals under
the coffee-pot for the fifth time, I wish to
goodness our folks would get up in some sort
of time, and let a body get breakfast over.
There's Howell's Martha all drest and
ready for church, and here I an't able even
to get the breakfast out of the way.'
Susan Susan!" screamed John Willet,
dashing open the kitchen door, "mother's
come down; bring in the breakfast,-do you
"Yes, I do hear," said Susan, angrily;
" I am not deaf. You need not bawl so."
Susan took up the coffeeo-pot, wiped off the
ashes, and carried it into the parlour.
Three of the children, unwashed, uncomb-
ed, and in the dirty clothes of Saturday,
were already seated at the breakfast table.
Mrs Willet stood beside it, looking very
"Why, Susan," she said, is this the
way to set a table ? The plates turned up
-knives and forks scattered about-broken
slices of bread-and butter smeared over
the rims of the butter plates."
It is not my fault, ma'am;" said Susan.
I set the table as it ought to be set, but
the children get hungry waiting so long for
their breakfast, and they tear every thing
You should not let them do so, Susan.
Julia, let the sugar alone. Surely you
might keep them away from the table.
James, take that knife from Ellen."
They won't mind me, ma'am-nor you
either, for that matter," muttered Susan.
Here Ellen gave a loud scream. James
had drawn the knife through her fingers,
and three of them were cut. The blood
streamed on the table-cloth, as the fright-
ened and angry child held up her hand to
her mother, and then, flying at her brother,
slapped, scratched, and bit him, with all her
little might. James, though he was much
bigger and older than Ellen, returned her
blows, and it was with some difficulty that
Mrs Willet and Susan contrived to part
the combatants, whose hands, faces, and
clothes, were now besmeared with the blood
which came from Ellen's wound. At last
they were quieted. Ellen's hand was bound
up, and Mrs Willet sat down to the break-
fast table. When breakfast was half over,
Mr Willet came down, unshaved and half
dressed. He drank his cold, tasteless cof-
fee, grumbling all the while, because it
tasted badly; and then sat down by the fire,
with a newspaper and a cigar.
Mrs Willet told John and Julia, the two
elder children, to go up stairs and dress
themselves. They were playing at tit-tat-
to on Julia's slate, and did not stir.
Don't you hear me?" said their mother.
John looked up, and nodded insolently.
"Then why don't you go? Dear me, I
never saw such children. I'll make your
father take you in hand, if you don't go
The children went on playing.
Mrs Willet grew angry. Mr Willet,"
she said, do speak to the children."
Always the children !" said Mr Willet;
"can't you let them alone till they have
finished their game ?"
Thus encouraged in disobedience, John
and Julia continued to play, until John
accused Julia of cheating. Julia told hinm
lie told a story; a loud dispute began, and
their father, disturbed by the noise, started
up, seized them both, and put them out of
the parlour. James, meantime, was split-
ting up a bit of wood, and Ellen was scrib-
bling in a book with a lead pencil.
Presently a shrill voice was heard at the
top of the stairs, calling,-"mother! mo-
Well, what now?" said Mrs Willet,
opening the parlour door. What do you
My new bonnet is not trimmed. I can-
not go to church."
Go in your old one, can't you?"
No, I won't. Maria Bennet had her
new bonnet on last Sunday."
"Mother !" shouted John from the kit-
There's no blacking, and I cannot clean
"Wife," said Mr Willet, "I have just
thought of it-Mason and his wife are com-
ing up to-day, and they will be here to din-
Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs Willet,
" Why did not you tell me before ? How
can I get a decent dinner for company, at
this time of day, and it Sunday too?"
Mrs Willet hurried into the kitchen,
Nothing was ever prepared beforehand in
her house. A piece of beef was to be boiled
for dinner, but Mrs Willet did not think
that handsome enough to set before com-
pany. She made John catch and kill a
couple of chickens, and the vexed Susan
was obliged to spend her whole Sunday
morning in preparing and cooking more
dinner than was needful; while Mrs Willet
made a pudding.
Now Mr and Mrs Mason were quiet, ser-
ious people, who came to Cedarville on Sun-
day, only because they had no church near-
er the place where they lived. They would
greatly have preferred a plain cold dinner,
or even a repast of bread and butter, and
would not have accepted Mr Willet's invi-
tation to dinner at all, if they had suspected
how it was to cause Mrs Willet to spend
When John had killed the chickens, lie
rambled into the woods, and staid there,
playing with some bad boys, who were
idling away their Sabbath hours in mis-
chief and sin. Julia dressed her dolls, or
looked out of the window, until she heard
that strangers were coming to dine. Then
she ran to dress herself, and it was not un-
til she had tried all the different coloured
ribbons she possessed, on her head and
neck, that her heated, tired mother could
prevail on her to come and help to set the
table. James and Ellen idled, played, and
fought together, as they did every day.
When Mr Willet had read his newspaper
and smoked his cigar, lie strolled out. He
walked to the river, and stood on the bridge
Ibr some time, watching the bubbles and
bits of chip that floated down the stream.
Then he walked into the village, and stood
to look at the people who were going into
church. Then he stepped into the tavern,
and talked politics with the loungers in the
bar-room. Then he sauntered home, open-
ed all the cupboards, ate fruit and cake
without being hungry, and then took up a
magazine. He lay down on a settee and
looked over the magazine, until he felt
sleepy; then he placed the open book on his
face to shade his eyes from the light, and
dozed on the settee, until Mr Mason knock-
ed at the door.
Mrs Willet went to church in the after-
noon with Mrs Mason, but poor Susan,
who had been kept at home all the morn-
ing to cook the dinner, was kept at home
all the afternoon, to wash the dishes, and
make hot cakes for tea,
John did not come home to dinner.
About tea-time he made his appearance,
with a large hole torn in his jacket, one of
his eyes blackened, and a deep cut in his
cheek. HIe had torn his jacket in climbing
a tree; he had quarrelled with his compan-
ions, and been severely beaten. His mother
scolded him for tearing his jacket, and his
father threatened to horsewhip him for
playing with blackguards. Poor boy! he had
never been taught how to choose his com-
panions. He answered the rebukes of his
parents saucily, and his father sent him to
bed without his supper. He had not eaten
anything since breakfast; hungry, weary,
and bruised, he stood at his bed-room win-
dow, undressing himself, and saw Philip
Howell walking in his father's garden.
Philip had a book in his hand, which he
read as he walked; sometimes he stopped
reading, and looked about him at the sky,
the ground, and the budding trees, as if he
had pleasure in looking at them. He seemed
very happy. I think, maybe, I had better
have gone to the Bible class with Phil
Howell, than been where I was," thought
poor John, as he tumbled into bed.
Julia ran across the street to a neigh-
bour's after tea, and stayed playing until her
mother sent for her. James and Ellen
slept about on the parlour carpet. When
it grew late, Susan shook them awake, and
they were dragged up stairs, crying and
Mr Willet smoked his cigar on the porch,
until Mrs Willet, after yawning a great
many times, said she thought they might
as well go to bed.
So passed the Sabbath in this unholy
family. No proper employment, no pious
thoughts, no grateful feelings, no words of
prayer or praise. The God who made, and
preserved, and blessed them was forgotten;
his temple was unvisited, and his day was
My little friends, with which of these
families would you choose to spend your
THE RIDE TO PINE FARM.
BREAKFAST.-SPRING IN THE COUNTRY.-
ON Monday morning there was a thick
mist, so thick, that Clara, as she lay in
bed, and looked at the window, could not
see the buttonwood branches that almost
touched the panes. "Mother," said she,
"look at the white smoke out of doors."
Her mother said she must not call it
smoke, but mist or fog.
"Will it rain?" asked Clara.
I think not," said Mrs Howell.
Presently the fog began to disperse.
Here and there trunks of trees and tops of
chimneys could be seen, looking black and
THE RIDE TO PINE FARM.
strange through the white dimness; then
the fences and houses became visible; at
last the sun shone out, the fog floated away,
and seemed to hang in light clouds over the
distant woods, leaving the young grass
spangled with shining drops of water.
At breakfast, Mr Howell said that he
had business at a place called Pine Farm,
about four miles ofl, and the day was so
warm and fine for the season, he thought
the ride would do Clara good. He said
Jane and George might go too, if they could
get through their morning lessons by ten
o'clock. The children were delighted,- and
thanked their father very often.
"Let us eat as fast as we can, and go
right to our lessons," said George.
"By no means," said their father. Take
your usual time, I desire. If you eat too
fast, you cannot chew your food properly,
and if you do not chew it enough, it will
not digest easily."
And if it does not, will it make us sick?"
I cannot say certainly, that eating too
fast will make you sick in once, or twice, or
six times doing; because you are young and
healthy, and your little stomachs will bear
a good deal of ill usage before they are
spoiled. But the mischief is not less cer-
tain because it does not come immediately.
If you make a practice of eating too fast, or
too much, you will become sickly."
Oh I do not want to be sickly; Julia
Willet is sickly; she looks so pale, father,
almost green, and she walks so slow, and
seems so stupid, and is always having a
pain in her stomach."
Just so will you walk, and feel, and look,
my dears, if you eat too much, or too fast,
or take improper food. So eat your break-
fasts quietly, and try to be ready at ten
Jane and George did as their father ad-
TIWE RIDE TO PINE FrAM.
vised, but they smiled at one another over
the table, and looked, and nodded, as if
they meant to say, What a nice ride we
shall have!" When breakfast was over,
they hastened to get their books; the les-
sons were well learned, and they were ready
and waiting, when the dearborn drove to
Mrs Howell sat on the back seat, with
Clara, well wrapped up, in her lap. Jane
sat beside her mother; George climbed liko
a squirrel to the place beside his father ;
Mr Howell took the reins, and away they
It was a very pleasant ride indeed. It
was early spring time; the sky was clear,
and a soft wind blew from the west, bearing
the sweet smell of the pine woods. The
trees were beginning to unfold their leaves,
and the children tried to remember how
many kinds of trees they saw, and how
many shades of green they could count on
the leaves. They saw tall poplars, with
their dark green leaves ; sycamores, of a
paler green, stretching out their boughs
like arms; feathery pines, which look cheer-
ful in their evergreen dress while snow is
on the ground, but dark and dull when
spring buds are opening. They saw stout
oaks, and delicate locusts, and weeping
willows, that droop so gracefully; and Mrs
Howell bade them observe, that in most
trees the under side of the leaves differs in
colour and smoothness from the upper side.
In the willow, for instance, the under side
of the leaf (the wrong side, as Clara called
it,) is downy, and of a bluish grey colour.
She told them that before rain, the under
sides of the leaves turn uppermost.
She told them of the cedars on Mount
Lebanon, whose branches spread horizon-
tally during the warm weather, but erect
themselves, and lie close to the trunk in
Why do they do that, mother?"
God has so ordered it, my dear; that the
THE RIDE TO PINE FARM.
branches may not be broken by the weight
of the snow, which would accumulate on
them if they lay out flat."
What is accumulate, mother?" asked
His mother said it meant to gather in
heaps. She told them of the holly, whose
leaves are set with sharp prickles, and that
it has been observed that the leaves on the
upper branches of the holly have no prick-
les, because these branches, being out of the
reach of cattle, need no defence.
"Mother," said Jane, I remember a
pretty text. If God so clothe the grass of
the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is
cast into the oven, shall he not much more
clothe you, oh! ye of little faith?' Matt.
chap. vi. ver. 30.
Mrs Howell also promised to show them
a beautiful poem written by Dr Southey,
about the thornless holly; and she repeated
for them Cowper's description of forest
"No tree In all tno grove but has Its charms.
Though each Its hue peculiar; paler some,
And of a wannisl grey; the willow such,
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf,
And ash, far stretching his umbrageous arm;
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak.
Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun,
The maple and the beech, of oily nuts
Prolific; and the lime, at dewy ove,
The hilly sides of the road were covered
with the delicate blue flowers, which are
commonly called Innocence. The meadows
were green with the young dewy grass; they
saw some yellow butterflies ; and many lit-
tle lambs were baaing and running after
their mothers. Clara wished very much to
have one of the pretty creatures to take
home; but her mother told her that one pet
lamb in a house is enough. "I know, I
Know!" said Clara, and she laughed. I
am your pet lamb, mother,-shall I baa
when I want you?" The children were di-
verted at this, and they began to baa, until
Mr Howell told them that they would
TIHE RIDE TO PINE FARM.
frighten the horses if they made so much
noise. They then sat still for a while, and
listened to the rustling of the wind in the
tree tops; to the birds, whose chirpings
sounded at intervals from the woods; and
they heard every now and then a shrill,
sweet piping which their father told them
was the note of the meadow-lark.
When they reached Pine Farm, Mrs
Fells was very glad to see them. She
would take off their bonnets and shawls,
and invited them to stay to dinner. Mr
Howell said she must excuse them, for he
was obliged to return home as soon as pos-
sible. Mr Fells came in from the field where
he was at work, and while he was talking
to Mr Howell, Mrs Fells brought in a pit-
cher of new milk, and a plate of nice seed-
cake, to refresh them after their ride. She
beat up a new-laid egg with a little milk
and sugar, grated nutmeg into it, and gave
it to Clara to drink, telling her it would do
her good. Clara thought it was very nice
60 LITTLE CLARA.
medicine. Her mother was afraid to let
her eat seed-cake, so Mrs Fells gave her a
When they had rested a little while, and
Mr Howell and Mr Fells had settled their
business, they got into the dearborn again,
and set off towards home.
CROSSING THE CREEK.-GRANDMA'S STORY.
THEY had a little creek to cross on the road,
and when they came near to it, they saw a
little girl standing on the end of a log which
was thrown over the water, at one side of
the road, and served the purpose of a bridge.
This little girl did not seem older than
Clara; she was barefooted, and her clothes
were coarse, but she looked neat and clean.
She had a covered tin kettle in one hand,
and a basket in the other; she was standing
still, and looking at the water, which, by
reason of heavy rains, had risen so high as
partly to cover the log. When the dear-
born drove up, she pushed back her sun-
bonnet, and looked round.
What is the matter?" said Mr Howell,
stopping his horses. Cannot you get over
I am afraid," said the little girl. The
water comes so high, I am afraid of tumb.
Where are you going?"
Mother sent me to Jacob Kline's-that
house over there on the hill-to get some
eggs and some milk. Mother did not know
how high the creek was. I am afraid to go
on the log."
"If you were safe over how would you
Oh! Hannah Kline is to come back
with me. She would help me over."
Would you like to ride over?"
The little girl pushed back her sunbonnet
again, looked up at Mr Howell, and said,
Yes, sir; that I should."
"' Well-we will take you to Jacob
Kline's, then. Hand up your basket and
kettle. So-now give me hold of your hand
-now you are up."
Mr Howell lifted the little girl over to
Mrs Howell; then he put the horses in mo-
tion again, and they crossed the creek. Mrs
Fell had put some sweet biscuits into
Clara's little basket, and Clara whispered
to her mother, Mother, may I give the
little girl some of my cakes?" Her mother
said Yes;" so Clara took out two biscuits
and offered them to the little girl. She
looked pleased, and said Thank you," to
Clara, and ate the biscuits as if she thought
them very good.
When they came to the house on the hill,
Mr Howell got out, and- lifted out the little
passenger, with her basket and kettle. She
bobbed him a curtsey, and said, Thank
you, sir;" and ran into the house. Mr
Howell stopped for a moment to tighten a
strap in the harness, and they heard the
little girl call out, as soon as she opened
the door, Oh! Hannah, what do you
think?-I have had a ride in a gentleman's
dearborn, and a little girl gave me nice
Mrs Howell said that crossing a creek
often reminded her of a story she had heard
an old German woman tell her mother.
To grandma? our grandma?" said
Clara. Oh! mother, will you tell us that
A long, long time ago," said Mrs Howell,
" when the greater part of the State of
Pennsylvania was wild land, that is to say,
land which has never been cultivated by
man, a few families had settled in the
northern part of the state, and built a little
village. The parents of the German wo-
man had been rich in their own country,
but having lost a great part of their money,
they thought it best to leave Germany, and
settle in America. Do you know, George,
what it is called, when people leave their
own country, and settle in another?"
Yes, ma'am, father told me. It is called
Yes," said Jane, the people arc emi-
grants out of their own country, and immi
grants into the country they go to."
"Very correct. Well, these Germans
emigrated from Germany to the United
States. The old lady was very fond of tea,
and when she set out for the back woods of
Pennsylvania, she carried with her a kettle,
tea-pot, cups and saucers, and a canister of
fine tea. The cups used in those days were
little, little things, hardly bigger than a doll's
teacups now. The villagers received the Ger-
mans very kindly, and they were soon snug-
ly settled in their log cabin. After a while,
old Mrs Muller invited the neighbours to
tea. They all came; the tea-table was very
nicely set, and the tea was poured out, and
passed round. The visitors looked at Mrs
Muller, and stirred and sipped the tea as
they saw her do. When the cups were emp-
ty, Mrs Muller put out her hand to take
the cup of the lady who sat next her, that
she might fill it again; but the visitor said,
very gravely, No more, ma'am, I thank
you. I have the creek to cross going home."
The creek to cross?" repeated Jane.
"What had that to do with the tea? What
did she mean, mother ?"
"She had never seen tea before. She
thought it was an intoxicating liquor, and
that if she drank much of it, her head would
grow giddy, and she might fall into the
creek when she was going across."
The children laughed long and loud at
this little story, and could scarcely under-
stand how people could be so ignorant about
tea. Mrs Howell told them they could have
very little idea of the difficulties and dan-
gers, the hunger, the cold, the toils, and the
griefs, endured by the early settlers in North
GOING HOME, i7
The return home was as pleasant as the
ride out, and Clara's father told her that
her pale cheeks had caught a little red. By-
and-by, Cedarville was in sight. They could
see the clump of brush willows before old
Hannah Green's cake-shop, at the fork of
the road; thon the long, shady, pleasant,
village street stretched before them. They
passed the blacksmith's shop and the wheel
wright's, and the Eagle Hotel, and the
church, and the academy. At last they
drove up to their own door, and Philip ran
down the steps, to help his mother and sis
ters out of the dearborn.
THE BIRD'S NEST.
RIGHTS OF ANIMAL&.--ORNITHOLOGY.-THE
JANE came into the back parlour, and found
Clara and George kneeling upon a chair,
and leaning very far out of the window.
You will fall out of the window, Clara,
if you do not take care."
Clara drew in her head, and turning
round with a face of eager delight, she said
in a whisper, Oh! Jane, Jane, you do not
know what we have found in the jessamine
bush. Come softly, and look."
Jane knelt on the chair, and looked into
the bush of purple jessamine, which grew
under the window. At first she could see
nothing but stems and leaves, for she did
THE BIRD'S NEST.
not know exactly where to look; but at last
her eyes fixed on a nest, a dear little bird's
nest, not much bigger round than a dollar.
In it lay three beautiful, little, pale blue
"Is n't it nice, Jane? Are they not dar
ling little eggs? I wish you would reach me
one up to touch."
Oh! no," said Jane, "we mustnot touch
them. I believe the old birds do not like-to
have their eggs touched. It would be a
pity to drive them away fi-om their snug
little home, and pretty eggs."
Oh! I would not drive them away for
anything, sister. I love them very much.
Cannot I do something for them?"
The best thing we can do, is to let them
alone. We may peep into the bush now
and then, and we may throw crumbs on the
ground close to it."
Do you think the eggs will turn into
little birds? Oh! I wish they would make
haste. There will be three birds, Jane; one
for you, and one for George, and one for
The little birds will not belong to us,
Why, who will they belong to ?"
"They will belong to their father and
Don't the father and mother belong to
us? They have built their nest -in our
"Do Luke Johnson and his wife belong
to us ? They have built a house on father's
"No, to be sure," said George, "they
are free-born American citizens. I heard
Luke say that, myself."
Are birds free-born American citizens,
too?" asked Clara.
They are free-born, to be sure," said
Jane, but I do not know about their being
Once, I heard father call birds, denizens
of air," said George.
TIHE BIRD'S NEST.
Denizen means citizen, I believe," said
If they are citizens of the air, they are
not citizens of the United States, are they?"
To what conclusion the children would
have brought the question, can never be
known; for Mr Howell just then came into
the room, and they all began to tell him of
the newly discovered treasure.
Gently, gently, my dears," said their
father, one at a. time, if you please."
When Mr Howell had seen the nest, and
duly admired the eggs, Clara inquired if
they might not have the little birds, when
they wore hatched.
"You may call them yours, if you
please," said her father; you may give
them names, and watch their growth, and
see how the old birds nurse them, and you
may scatter crumbs on the ground, near the
bush, but you must not touch them, nor
trouble them in any way."
Why may not we have them to do as we
please with, father?"
"God made the birds, as much as he
made you. They are God's creatures.
Every creature to which God has given life,
has a right 'to live and to enjoy that life,'
after its own nature, provided always that
its life be not inconvenient or ijurious to
man. God made man to have dominion
over the beasts of he field, and the fowls of
the air; to use, but not to abuse them. If
you like to look at the little birds, to feed
them, to love them, and to see them enjoy
their little lives in peace and freedom, you
make a right use of them; they give you
pleasure, and you do not give them pain.
But if you take away the eggs from the old
birds, or take the young ones after they are
hatched, and shut them up in a cage, or
hurt them in any way, or kill them, you
abuse them, and you abuse the power God
has given you."
Does God care so much about such
THE BIRD'S NEST. 73
little things as birds?" said Clara.
Jane, you know where to find an an-
swer to Clara's question, do not you?"
"Yes, sir ; in the New Testament. Are
not two sparrows sold for a farthing, and
one of them shall not fall on the ground with-
out your Father.' Matthew x. 29."
Somebody tapped at the opposite window.
Jane pushed up the sash, and Philip ap-
peared on the outside, holding something
very carefully in his hand.
Look here, girls; look here, George."
The children looked, and saw the head of
a very little bird peeping out of Philip's
hand; and they saw a larger bird, flying
backwards and forwards at a little distance,
making a screaming noise, and seeming
This little thing fell out of its nest in
yonder apple tree," said Philip; "and see
how frightened the poor mother is, because
I have taken it up."
Oh! Philip," exclaimed George, look,
ing very indignant, "you are not going to
keep that bird from its mother, are you?"
Why, George," said Philip, good-hu-
mouredly, what makes you think I would
do such a cruel thing? I only brought it,
that you and the girls might see the pretty
creature, before I put it back into its nest."
Philip went to the apple tree, and re-
placed the nestling, and the poor frightened
mother flew to it immediately. The chil-
dren looked on with great sympathy.
"I declare," said Clara, "that bird
seemed as sorry as mother would be, if any
body took us away. Father, I will not trou-
ble the little nest, but I may watch the birds
and love them, mayn't I?"
"Surely, my dear," said her father. The
nest became a thing of great importance to
the children. They took great care not to
shake the bush, or trouble the birds; but
they looked at the nest so often, that the
old birds became quite accustomed to the
rosy, smiling faces, which appeared above
THE BIRD'S NEST.
their habitation many times every day; and
the mother bird would sit still on her eggs,
and look fearlessly up at them, with her
bright round eyes.
While the minds of the children were in-
terested about birds, Mr Howell took the
opportunity to teach them something about
this class of living things. He told them
that the science which tells them of'the dif-
ferent kinds of birds, their natures and ha-
bits, is that branch of natural history which
is called ornithology. He gave them a
little book of ornithology, with coloured
plates. They read this little book with
great pleasure, and their father told them,
at different times, many interesting anec-
dotes about birds. He told them of the
great condor of South America, which, when
its wings are spread out, measures twelve
feet from the tip of one wing to the tip of
the other. He told of eagles, which build
their nests in high cliff's, and carry away
lambs, kids, and even little children some-
times, to feed their young.
Clara said she was glad that no eagles
lived near Cedarville.
He told them of birds which can be taught
to speak; parrots, starlings, magpies, ravens,
&c., and he said he had seen a parrot that
had learned to dance. When a waltz tune
was whistled, the parrot spread out its
wings, leaned its head on one side, and
turned round and round, in excellent time
to the music.
Some birds, he said, such as ravens, mag-
pies, and jackdaws, will steal things, and
hide what they steal. And he also told
them a story about a bird, (a linnet, I be-
lieve it was) which had built its nest near a
place where men were blasting rocks;-that
is, they bore holes in the stone, fill the holes
with gunpowder, and set fire to the gun-
powder. The explosion of the gunpowder
tears the rock to pieces. This linnet had
THE BIRD'S NEST. 77
had her nest blown up once; she chose,
however, to build another nest, in a bush
close by the rocks; but it was observed that
whenever the bell rang, to warn the work-
men to retire to a certain distance from the
bored rock, until the powder should be fired,
the linnet flew off, and kept at a safe dis-
tance until the explosion was over, when
she returned to her nest. The workmen,
noticing this, sometimes rang the bell when
they were not going to fire the gunpow-
der, that they might see the linnet fly away
from danger. Mrs Linnet, however, soon
grew too cunning for them ; after they had
cheated her several times, she would not
leave her nest at the sound of the bell, un-
less she saw the workmen going also.
LEARNING TO SEW.
CLARA got well very fast, and her mother
thought she was able to resume her lessons,
which had been interrupted during her ill-
ness. Clara could spell and read very well,
for a little girl, not seven years old. She
knew two lines of the multiplication table
by rote; and she could make figures very
neatly on her slate, and she could do little
sums in addition. She knew a little geo-
graphy; she could tell where the cardinal
points are on the map, and what other
points lie between them. She knew what
was meant by coast, interior of a country,
boundary line, source of a river, mouth of a
LEARNING TO SEW.
river, course of a river, course or direction
of one place from another. She had an
atlas, or book of maps; and she had a
dissected map of the United States, which
she could put together very quickly, for she
knew all the boundaries, and in what direc-
tion the different states and territories lay
from each other. She could also hem, and
backstitch, and do over-seam very neatly,
when the work was fitted and basted for
Now Clara liked all her tasks except her
sewing. She always felt ready to cry when
it was time for her to get her work-basket.
She was continually mislaying her work,
and her working materials; losing her
thimble, breaking her needle, and tangling
One afternoon she was sitting with her
mother and Jane. They were all sewing.
Clara was very restless; at last her mother
Clara, what are you getting up for?"
My scissors, mother."
What did you get up the last time for?"
My cotton, ma'am."
What for, the time before that?"
My emery bag, ma'am."
Three times within fifteen minutes. Al-
lowing two minutes for each interruption,
you waste six minutes out of every quar-
ter of an hour. Twenty-four minutes of
each hour. Almost half of ejpch hour.
That is a great deal of time to waste,
Mother, I must get my things when I
You have no need to want them. You
ought to have your thimble, cotton, scissors,
pincushion, needlebook, in short, every thing
you may want for the piece of work you are
busy with, arranged neatly in your work-
basket, and your work-basket should be
placed within your reach, so that you can
get what you want, without leaving your
seat. You do not like to sew, Clara?"
LEARNING TO SEW.
No, ma'am, I do not."
It is strange, then, that you keep yourss, I
at your sewing longer than is necessary."
Why, mother, I don't."
Yes, daughter, you do. You know I
measure your work, and tell you, that when
you have done so much, you may stop.
How many minutes are there in half an
Thirty minutes, ma'am."
If I give you a handkerchief to hem,
that might be finished in half an hour, and
you spend twelve minutes of that time in
collecting your materials; you have to sit at
your sowing twelve minutes longer than
half an hour."
Clara looked grave. She had never
thought of that before.
You lose the pleasure of play, and the
pleasure of work, too."
"You want to go and play-but you can-
not go until your work is done: so you lose
the pleasure of playing, for as much time
as you waste over your sewing. You sit at
your work, feeling impatient and cross-and
so you lose the pleasure of work. And be-
sides punishing yourself in this manner at
the present time," continued her mother,
" you acquire a bad habit, which will be a
plague to you all your life, if you do not cor-
rect it; and you throw away precious time,
which was given us to use, not to waste."
But why must I use time in sewing,
mother? I do hate it so."
You hate it, because you are awkward
at it, and you are awkward, because you
do not take pains to learn to sew well. When
you sew skilfully, you will like it as well as
Jane and I do."
But why must I learn to sew at all?
Philip and George never sew. Father
If everybody ploughed the ground, Clara,
who would build houses for us to live in?"
S" There would be nobody to build them."
LEARNING TO SEW.
If everybody built houses, who would
make our shoes?"
"If everybody sewed, and did nothing but
sew, who would make shoes, build houses,
or plough ground, to raise corn for broad?"
Then, don't you see, Clara, since we
want many different things to keep us com-
fortable, if everybody did the same kind of
work, we should have to go without a great
many useful things."
Ye-es," said Clara slowly.
While I make and mend your father b
clothes, your father does work, that gets
money to buy clothes for us all. While you
hemmed Philip's pocket handkerchief, lie
dug your garden. If Philip had been forced
to hem his own handkerchief, he would not
have had time to dig your garden. You are
not strong enough to dig it for yourself. If
you want Philip to help you, is it not just
that you should help him?"
84 LITTLE CLARA.
"Yes," said Clara again
"Everybody has some duty to perform,
or, in other words, some work to do. The
more things we know how to do, the hap-
pier and more useful we are; but everybody
need not do the same thing. It is custom-
ary that men, who are stronger than women,
should build houses, plough fields, drive
waggons, and so on, to earn money for their
mothers, sisters, wives, and children; and
in return, the women must learn to cook,
bake bread, and sew clothes, for their fa-
thers, husbands, brothers, and sons."
"But, mother," said Jane, "it is rather tire-
some sometimes-just to stand stickthislittle
bit of steel in and out of a piece of muslin."
You are doing something more than
just that, when you are learning to sew.
You are learning to help your father and
mother, to help yourself, to be useful to your
fellow-creatures, and to please God by doing
your appointed duty."
Clara's father had been writing at the
LEARNING TO SEW.
other side of the parlour, while Jane and
Clara had been talking to their mother.
Now lie laid down his pen and said,
Come here, Clara."
Clara went and stood beside her father.
lie took her on his knee, and said,
Listen to me, and I will tell you a true
story. I once knew a young lady named
Laura Thompson. When she was a little
girl, she disliked to sew as much as you do.
She thought, because her father was rich,
that she need not learn to sew; she thought
she could always pay somebody to sew for
her. But her wise mother told her, that no
lady was well educated, who could not sew
quickly and neatly; and that perhaps she
might not always have money to pay people
for doing her sewing. So, in spite of Laura's
pouting and crying, she made her learn how
to do all kinds of needlework.
When Laura grew up, her parents, who
had bccn very rich, became poor; her fa-
their died, and she and her sister had to work
for their daily bread. They taught school,
but at first their school was not very large,
and they had themselves and their mother
to maintain; for their mother was lame,
and could not do much to help them.
Laura's sister fell sick. She was very ill
indeed. She wanted some tamarinds, and
the doctor said they would do her good; but
tamarinds were scarce, and very dear. They
had no money, and they were afraid to run
in debt. Laura did not know what to do.
She went to her bureau to look over her
clothes, and see if there was anything she
could sell, for money enough to buy some
tamarinds for her sister. She took every-
thing out of the drawer, but there was no-
thing fit for her purpose. She was putting
back the things, when she saw a little paper
parcel in one corner. She took it up and
opened it. The paper contained a beautiful
muslin flounce for a frock. She had work-
LEARNING TO SEW.
ed it before her father died, and in the trou-
bles they had afterwards, she had forgotten
all about it. Laura put on her bonnet, and
took the flounce to a store where they bought
fine needlework. She sold it for money
enough to buy, not only tamarinds for her
sister, but several other little comforts. The
poor sick girl ate freely of the tamarinds,
she got well, and the doctor said those tam-
arinds had probably saved her life. When
Laura heard the doctor say this, she burst
into tears, and said, Oh! mother, how
glad I am that you made me learn to sew.'"
Oh! father," said Clara, clasping her
father round the neck, I will learn to sew;
and if ever you are sick and have no money,
I will buy something for you."
From this time, however Clara disliked
her sewing lesson, she never said any thing
against it. She tried to learn, and though
she was often discouraged, and sometimes
ready to give up, yet she resolved to perse
vere. It is not one good resolution that
will carry children, or grown people either,
tl rough a disagreeable duty that comes
often. Clara had to make a now resolu-
tion almost every day; and sometimes she
could not help wishing in her little heart,
that sewing would not be so tiresome, or that
it was not her duty to sew. But her mother
was pleased with Clara's efforts to improve,
and encouraged her to go on; and after a
while, Clara began to take pleasure in con-
quering her own unwillingness. She began
to understand that it was pleasant to be
able to manage her own feelings; and she
began to think, that since there are many
things people must learn to do, whether they
like them or not, it is wisest to learn to do
them so as to take pleasure in them.
Clara went on trying, and in time became
so skilful at her needle, that she began to
think sewing quite a pleasant employment.
One day M1\3 Howell had occasion to go
out shopping. When she came home, she
called Clara to her. and gave her a roll of
LEA1TNINGN TO SEW.
something, tied up in brown paper, telling
her to open it. Clara went for her scissors
to cut the string; but Jane reminded her of
" Waste not, want not," and told her it
might be useful to them. So Clara took a
large pin, and picked the knot loose, and
after some little trouble, untied the string,
and opened the parcel.
It contained a great many pieces of bright
coloured chintz and gingham, of different
Oh! what pretty calicoes," said Jane,
"what nice patchwork they would make !"
Are they for me, mother?" asked Clara,
"Yes, dear. You have taken pains to
learn to sew well, and I am glad to give you
some needlework you will like to do. I heard
you telling Jane yesterday, that you should
like to make a patchwork quilt for your bed.
I bought these at Mr Chubb's store for you.
Jane may show you how to measure and
cut out your patches. I will give you a box
90 LITTLE CLARA.
to keep them in, and if you persevere in
working at your quilt until it is finished,
and do it neatly, I will give you lining and
wadding, and you shall have it quilted."
Oh! mother," said Jane, "may I help
Clara to sew patches?"
You may; provided you do not neglect
your own business."
Clara and Jane spent all the rest of their
play-time in cutting and sorting their pat-
ches. After tea, they went to it again, and
had several blocks nicely sewed and pressed,
before they went to bed.
THE MORALS OF PLAY,
A VISIT.-RUDENESS.-THE TORN FROCK.
ONE day, a little girl came to ask Jane and
Clara to spend the afternoon with her, at
her mother's house. This little girl's name
was Mary Grange. Jane and Clara were
not very well acquainted with Mary Grange.
Jane had only been to Mrs Grange's
once or twice with her mother, and Clara
had never been there at all. But Mary was
a lively little girl, and had two little sisters
and a brother; and they knew that she had
a large play-room, and plenty of books and
toys. So the children were very glad when
they got leave to go, and set off in high spir-
Its, expecting to have a very pleasant visit.
Their mother told them to come homo
before sunset, and they were very careful
never to stay out longer than they had per-
mission to stay. So when they came, they
found their mother sitting by the parlour
window, reading. They went to kiss her,
as they liked to do when they had been
away from her for a little while. Mrs How-
ell thought they looked more serious than
children generally do, when they come home
from a pleasant visit.
Well, my dears," said she, "you are
very punctual; that is right. I hope you
had a pleasant time."
"Not very, mother," said Jane. Please
to look here, ma'am." Jane turned round,
and her mother saw that the skirt of her
frock had been torn from the body behind,
and then sewed on again, very unskilfully,
with a coarse homespun thread.
It was not all her fault, mother," said
How did it happen, Jane?" asked her
THE MORALS OF PLAY.
Why, ma'am, I suppose I had better
tell you all about the afternoon; for it was
all pretty much like that."
Like what? like tearing out the gathers
of your skirt."
Yes, ma'am. Well, we had a nice
walk, only Mary Grange would go on the
sunny side of the way, because she had a
parasol, and she wanted to have it up, she
said, and we did not take our parasols.
However, the sun was not very hot, and we
thought it would be most polite to do as she
wanted, so we got there very well. And
Mrs Grange was glad to see us, and asked
after you, mother; and then we went into
the play-room. They have got beautiful
playthings, mother, and plenty of books,
but everything was in a litter. 1 wanted to
look at the books, but Mary said they were
all stupid, and we had better play with the
flymg circles. Emma and Sophy were
playing with Clara; they had the dolls.
Well, pretty soon Mary got tired of the
flying circles. Then she proposed swing-
ing, for they have a swing in their play-
room, so she called to her brother Samuel
to come and swing us. So he came, and
Mary got into the swing"-
First, mother-only think of that, and
we were company, you know," interrupted
Then Emma and Sophy came run-
ning, and said they wanted to get into the
swing, and Mary said they shouldn't, and
they called her names, and they all took
hold of the swing and began to pull it about,
and the wooden seat jerked up, and hit
Emma on the forehead, and she screamed,
and said she was killed. Then Samuel
said he would not stay there to hear the
girls scream; so he went away, and after a
while, Emma got quiet, and we began to
play ring-a-round-a-rosy; and we went
round very fast, too fast, I suppose, and
Sophy fell down, and we fell over her. And
then she got angry, and said she would tell
THE MORALS OF PLAY.
her mother that we pushed her down on
purpose. But we coaxed her, and she grew
pleasant again. And then I tried to look
at the books again, but every one I took,
Mary would say, That an't worth looking
at; don't keep reading in that so long;'
and it worried me, mother, and I felt cross
too, I am afraid, and I said I liked to be
let alone when I was reading. Then Mary
and Emma laughed at me, and said they
guessed I wanted to be a learned lady; and
- and then Jane hesitated.
Well, what then?" said her mother.
Why, mother-I said it was better to
be a learned lady. than an ignorant one.
Mother, I know it was rude, but I was vexed
to be teased so. Then Mary said, 'It seems,
learned ladies don't think it worth while to
be civil ladies, too;' and Emma and Sophy
laughed. I had a good mind to come home,
and I said so. Then they coaxed us, and
we all got good-humoured again, and we
began romping and pulling one another,
and I began to feel as wild as the rest, an I
I suppose we pulled too hard, for I tore out
Emma's sleeve, and Mary tore out my skirt.
And then we were frightened, and began to
sew up the tears. And while we were sew-
ing, Samuel opened the door a little way,
and threw water on us. Then Sophy was
going to tell her mother, and Sam shut the
door, and would not let us out, till he heard
his father coming up stairs; and then he ran
away, and it was almost sunset, so we came
"It appears to me," said Mrs Howell,
when Jane stopped speaking, that none of
you understood the morals of play."
"Morals of play! what are they, mother?"
"The rules for playing pleasantly. There
are rules for doing everything. Rules for
play, and rules for work; rules for health,
and rules for sickness; rules for enjoying,
and rules for suffering."
Tell us the rules for play, mother, if