, i i |+/ c. 1^ ^ /|/ S t f*g -_ f r '< t 0 '~~*' i^'t ^ lW-*^_ .: ............................... }. ^-: '%E >s-N.<~~~.^, ,r__ 0 ; :)wt i 7bf.g-><'^ s m- ,ti :' "/ ;: :r...........................~ w 5....,,R;Sv t.fw-h0/ ?...g.*
4" *r--* inA j. FEU VFi'i .' ORvThe Baldwin ibrayFoRiLd
This page contains no text.
L ,. ,^ .- ..,.C. -. Ir In i Ad
THEDAISYCHAIN.A PICTURE STORY BOOK FOR CHILDREN,BY(A.L.O.E.,) A NDI,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-.s, '.,OTHERFAVOURITEWRITERS.iLONDON:T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTEREDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.ROW.1880.i
This page contains no text.
F ONTENTS.I. THE BRAVE DOG,... ... ... ... ........ 7IL WILLIE'S THRUSH, ............... ............... 11III. ACHRISTIAN'S REVENGE, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 21IV. ESCAPE FROM A JAGUAR, ... .. ..... .. .. ... ........ 30V. BABY BROTHER IN HIS COT,... ...... ... ... ... ... ... ... 34VI. THE LITTLE RABBITS, ... .. ... ... ...... ... ...... 36VIILUCY GRAY, ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... 38VIII. THE DEAD CHICKENS, ... ... ... ... ... .. ........ 42IX. THE STORK, ... ... ... ... ............ ........... 45X REJOICE WITH THEM THAT REJOICE,... .... ........... ... 49XI. PALM TREES, ... ............... ... ...... 52XIL THE CUCKOO, ... ... ..... ............ ... ... ... ... ... ... 55XIII. THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT,... ... ..... .. ... ... 60XIV. THE STRAWBERRY PLANT AND ITS LESSON,......... ... ... ... 62XV. ONLYALITTLE, ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ...63XVI. TWO KINDS OF EYES,............ ... .. ... ... ... ... 69A. I
This page contains no text.
THE BRAVE DOG." ^E l ET along, you great ugly beast! what are you doinghere?" exclaimed Widow Mackintosh to a large dog ather cottage door. She accompanied the words with athreatening gesture." O mother, don't, don't! " said a little boy, running forward." What have you to do with him, Jamie ?""It's Bob Wilson's Oscar, mother, and he's mine now. Bob gavehim to me for a keepsake this morning."Bob was a school-fellow of Jamie's, who, along with his family, hadleft that very morning as emigrants to America. How Oscar, who wasreally a fine animal of the Newfoundland breed, came when a pup intoBob's possession, would be too long a story to tell."A pretty keepsake, indeed!" continued Jamie's mother. "Anddo you mean that I am to give porridge and milk to this great hungrybrute, when I can hardly get enough for yourselves by working nightand day?"A long dispute followed,-the boy wept, and the mother scolded;but she was kind-hearted in the main, and at last a sort of agreementwas made, that as it was summer, and food plenty, Oscar might besheltered for a month, until Jamie should find among the farmers, or
8THE BRAVE DOG.in the nearest village, some one who should promise to treat him well.The boy had felt much sorrow in parting from his young companion,and loved the animal for his sake.Mrs. Mackintosh was a poor shepherd's widow, and lived with herchildren in a solitary cottage in a wild moorland district of Scotland.A small but deep loch, near the cottage, was not seen from the windowin consequence of a rising ground. Many a charge the children gotnot to venture too near its steep banks in their play, or on the road toschool.Time passed. Oscar attached himself mostly to the children, andwas kept by them as much as possible out of their mother's way.Jamie hoped the sentence of banishment was forgotten. But not so.One morning, while at breakfast, his mother reminded him that nextday was the first of the month, and asked him where the dog was thento go?Jamie held down his head in silence.His mother, with angry vehemence, declared that if "the greathungry beast" was not taken away next day, she would ask the game-keeper to shoot him.Evening came, and Mrs. Mackintosh was busy preparing supper, andwondering a little why the children were so long of coming home forit. Suddenly her little girl was seen running down the hill, evidentlyin much agitation. She arrived breathless, unable to speak distinctly.Her looks, even more than her broken words,-" 0 mother!-Johnny!-the water!" told what had happened. At the same moment a wildcry, between a scream and a whistle, was heard, and Oscar, which hadbeen lying in the sun not far from the cottage, started up, and rushed
THE BRAVE DOG.9in the direction of the loch. The mother followed, but her heartseemed to die within her, and her limbs felt as if made of stone. Shereached the brow of the hill, and saw her youngest boy sinking in thewater, while Jamie was making efforts to reach him, Which in anotherminute would bring himself into the same danger! Just then some-thing black was seen bounding through the heather, and a large animaldashed into the loch, and made straight for the sinking child. Hopegave the mother new strength, and she gained the shore just as thebrave Oscar swam back to it with her rescued boy.You will not wonder that Oscar, instead of being banished or shot,was from that day as much loved and cared for by Widow Mackintoshas by Jamie himself.This story is by no means an uncommon one. Many are theinstances on record of lives saved from drowning by that noble animal,the Newfoundland dog. As the fine Swiss dogs of St. Bernard's, bytheir wonderful instinct, seek and rescue the travellers perishing in thesnow; so those of Newfoundland, by a natural impulse, will at onceendeavour to save any one in danger of being drowned. Their greatstrength, their love of the water, even the formation of their feet, seemsuited by Providence for such a purpose. I have read of one at anEnglish sea-port, which had saved so many lives that the HumaneSociety voted him a medal, as they would to a man; and he wentabout with it round his neck! I have read of another, which his cruelmaster was endeavouring to drown by pushing him out of a boat, andwhen the boat was upset in the struggle, and the man in danger, thegenerous animal exerted his strength to support him above the wateruntil assistance arrived.
i10 THE BRAVE DOG.How wonderful are the powers and instincts which God has givento many of his creatures And is it not a reproach to ourselves, toobserve how faithfully the animals fulfil the purposes for which theywere created, while we are so constantly sinning against the commandsof our God and Saviour? My young reader, God has bestowed uponyou gifts and talents higher far than those of the inferior creatures,and he will call you to account for them at last. Have you everseriously thought of this ? You may not have strength to save a com-panion from a watery grave, but you may do much to save him from a.far worse danger-from walking on in the broad road of sin and folly,which will lead to the burning lake, "which is the second death"(Rev. xxi. 8). By walking yourself in the narrow way, as a decidedand consistent follower of Jesus, you may, even in early years, havemuch influence for good over those around you, and thus be preparingfor more active service in future life, if God spare you on earth, as agood soldier and servant of Jesus Christ. Will you not strive and prayfor grace thus to live, in time to come, more earnestly than you haveever done before?
WILLIE'S THRUSH;OR, THE TWO PRISONERS.W LILLIE BROWN was a kind-hearted little boy; such a kind-hearted little boy that I am afraid few of the children whoread this story are quite like him. I remember readingi /' of Sir Charles Metcalfe, that, even in the land of mos-quitoes, the Indians spoke of him "as the great chief who could notkill a fly;" and little Willie, like the Indian Governor, had his heartfilled with love for every living thing.Many wondered how the child had learned to be so gentle: forBrown, the miller, was a stern, hard-hearted man: his wife had longbeen dead; Willie's brothers and sister were rough, rude children; andAunt Susan, who took care of them all, though a pious woman, couldnot understand Willie, and had even beaten him, one day, because shecould not get him to drown some little kittens in the burn.The Browns lived in an old-fashioned house close to the brook thatturned the mill-wheel, and almost hidden from all passers-by on thehigh road by a copse of hazel and young oaks.The morning on which my storyhegins succeeded a night of greatstorm.- Willie, with his brothers Tom and Charles and his sister
12WILLIE'S THRUSH.Marjory, were sent into the wood to gather the broken branches beforethe villagers could come to take them away; but they found the taskfar beyond their strength, for the fury of the storm had brought downmore than one strong tree, which in its fall had carried smaller oneswith it. As they scrambled among the broken trees, Marjory ex-claimed, "See what I have found! "It was a young thrush, only half fledged, and quite unable to fly." What will you do with it ?" asked Tom."Throw it away, to be sure," she replied; "who would keep acommon bird like this? If it had been a parrot, or even a magpie,that one could teach some tricks to, it would be worth having.""Give it to me," said Tom; "it will be fine eating for the cat.""Oh, no, no," cried Willie; "give it to me. I see the nest. Do,Marjory, like a dear, give it to me."And seizing the fluttering little bird, he began to climb lightly upan oak tree. Pretty high up, in a hollow where several branches met,he had caught sight of the nest; but when he reached it, it was quiteempty, and a laugh from Tom explained the reason: "I was up therebefore you this morning, Master Willie, and I let this youngster fall onthe way down."Willie could have cried with vexation; but, putting the littlethrush carefully in his pocket, he began to descend. Unfortunately,the wind had cracked one of the branches which he had laid hold of,and, as it gave way beneath his weight, he vainly tried to grasp-*- another; for having lost his balance, he fell with great severity to theground.When carried home, it was foitnd that his spine was so seriously'1.*;
This page contains no text.
This page contains no text.
WILLIE'S THRUSH.13injured that he would never again be able to run about, nor even towalk without crutches.Poor Willie thought this very hard to bear. I have seen stoneswhich glistened in the sunshine just like true diamonds, but when itfaded away, all their glory vanished too, and I found them only worth-less quartz; and thus Willie's good humour, which had seemed so realwhen he was healthy and happy, was all disappearing now, and he wasfast becoming a peevish and discontented child."If I had been doing anything bad, Aunt Susan," he said one day,"it would not seem so strange; but when I was trying to save thelittle bird, God should not have punished me this way.""Hush, hush, child! " said stern Aunt Susan; "there is plenty ofbadness in you to be punished for; and I've often told you not to beso ready climbing trees, but to mind the work you had to do.""I will never climb another," cried poor little Willie, bursting intoa passion of weeping. Aunt Susan could not hide a few tears too; butshe tried to amuse him by bringing the thrush, which Marjory hadtaken from his pocket unhurt, and kept for him in a cage.It was well for Willie that soon after this Aunt Susan's sister Ruthcame. to the mill; for she was of a much gentler nature, and nevertired of trying to amuse and soothe the suffering little boy. He soontold her all his troubles. " If Tom had fallen when he harried the nest,it would have been all right; but I was doing good, and it seems sostrange to be punished for it, Aunt Ruth! ""My dear child," she answered, "we know that sin is the causeof all trouble and sorrow; but we are never punished for doinggood, and you may be quite sure that God was pleased that you
14WILLIE'S THRUSH.helped the thrush; and you see the little creature's life was sparedwhen you fell, I dare say just that it might be a reward and pleasureto you.""But, Aunt Ruth," he asked, "why did I fall and get lamed forlife ?"Children can ask many questions that older people cannot answer;and this question of Willie's puzzled Aunt Ruth. At last she said,-"Why do you not open the door of this cage and let the littlethrush away ?""Oh, aunt," said Willie, "how can you be so foolish? It wouldbe very cruel; for the poor little thrush has no home now, and if I lethim out he would soon die, he is so young, and the other birds wouldvery likely peck at him.""Well, dear," said Aunt Ruth, "I see it is not cruel of you to keepthe bird in its cage; and it seems to me that you yourself are very likea little bird, whom God, for some kind reason, has put into a cage;and you must not allow yourself to think that it is cruel of him, justbecause you do not know why he does it. Your thrush knew nothingabout you, and did not love you, till you found him and nursed him inthis cage; and I think, now that you are a little prisoner too, Jesuswill teach you to know and to love himself in a way you never didbefore."" But," said Willie, " when my thrush is big enough, I will openthe door and let him away.""And you, dear child," said Aunt Ruth, "will not be always cagedeither. Do you know, Willie, I do think you will not be lame all yourlife; but even if you should, if this trial teaches you to love and trust
WILLIE'S THRUSH.15in Jesus, we know that when you die he will give you angel-wings,-you will run and not be weary, and walk and not faint."Many such conversations Willie and his aunt had; and before shewent home she had the comfort of seeing him no longer murmuringand discontented, but a little child who had patiently taken up theheavy cross that was laid upon him.When he was first able to move upon crutches to the door, heasked Marjory to bring the bird's cage beside him; and, openingthe door, he said, "Go away, sweet little thrush, and be happy inthe woods."The thrush hopped to the open door, and down upon the gravel-walk, but seemed in no hurry to leave his kind preserver. At last hespread his wings, and flew to the branch of a tree where Willie couldstill see him, and poured forth a song of thanks; such a sweet, sweetsong, that Willie thought he had never-heard anything so beautifulbefore.At night, when he looked at the empty cage, he felt very sad; buthe read, in the Bible that Aunt Ruth had given him, these beautifulverses: "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of themshall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairsof your head are all numbered. Fear ye not, therefore, ye are of morevalue than many sparrows."He read them to Marjory, and said, "I like to think that God willtake care of my little bird as well as of me."Next morning very early the thrush came hopping in at the openwindow; and day after day he was to be seen there, or perched uponthe tree, singing until Willie thought his little throat must be tired.
16WILLIE'S THRUSH.When winter came, as it soon did, Willie fed him every morning;and one day, when the snow lay thick on the ground, he put the cageagain on the window-sill, and the thrush seemed glad to come back tohis old quarters. Every bright day he would fly away for some hours,and then come back, pecking on the window as if he would say,"Please, let me in."Then, when spring returned, he bade good-bye to the cage again;and as Willie sat at the door, he could watch him and anotherthrush gathering grass, and moss, and wool, and little bits of stick,with which they began to build themselves a nest. It was quitefinished by the end of March; and poor Willie often wished he couldhave a look at it. The nest was not very high up in an apple-tree;and one day he asked his sister Marjory to go up the tree gently andsee if there were any eggs. She told him there were four pinkish ones,all covered with spots.Willie had a reason for wishing to know about the eggs. Hisfather had then almost fixed to go with some friends to Victoria;and Willie, who now read a great deal, knew that there were veryfew singing-birds there, and he thought it would be nice to take hisdear thrush and the little ones with him.Brown, the miller, I have said, was a hard-hearted man, and hewas often very cross to poor Willie; and one night, when the childwas supposed to be asleep, his father began talking with AuntSusan over their intended emigration; and he heard him say,"Willie must be left behind: a lame child like him would be a deadloss in a colony, and the Government won't give a penny to help hispassage-money."
WILLIE'S THRUSH.17" Brother, brother! " said Aunt Susan, " what do you mean ? Leavethe best of your children behind! ""I tell you, sister," said the miller, " it's no use taking him.""Then go without me," cried Aunt Susan; "for no blessing will gowith you."Brown knew that Aunt Susan never said what she did not mean,and to go without her clear head and active hands would never do; sohe yielded the point, and agreed that the boy should go with them.But his cruel words had sunk deep into Willie's heart."I cannot bear to part with my little bird," he thought, " and' yetmy father is quite willing to part with me!" and many bitter tears heshed that night.A day or two before they were to leave England, he asked Marjoryagain to climb up the apple-tree, and this time to bring down the nestwith her. The eggs were hatched, and four very helpless little thrushessat in the nest. Willie had seen the parent-birds wheeling about abovethe tree in great agitation while Marjory was removing it. He placedthe nest inside the cage, leaving it outside the window, with its dooropen; and soon his own thrush lighted on the top, and after a whilethe mother-bird came also, and she flew right into the cage beside theyoung ones. All next day they flew backwards and forwards with foodto their family; so that when it was time to leave, Willie had nodifficulty in shutting them into the cage along with the nest.When they reached their new home in Australia, he was afraid toopen the door of their little prison, for the trees were so large that hefeared they would soon be lost among the dark branches. But it wasnot so; the thrushes lived and prospered, and became quite a flourish-2
18WILLIE'S THRUSH.ing little colony. It was very different with the poor Browns them-selves. The miller had made a sad mistake in leaving his old businessto turn settler and farmer. The run which he had bought was a largeone, far up the country, where there was no market for his cattle andwool, and his herds were constantly straying or being stolen. Tom andCharles were little comfort to him; for though neither was above six-teen years of age, they were fast taking to the bad habits of many ofthe older settlers, and at last set off together to the gold-diggings with-out the consent of their father. It was then that the poor lame boy,whom he would so willingly have left behind, was found, as AuntSusan had predicted, to be the best of his children. Instead of resent-ing his father's harshness and neglect, Willie tried now to help andcomfort him."Father," he said gently to him the night after his brothers hadgone away, "Aunt Ruth told me I was God's little prisoner, and like abird whom he had shut up in a cage; and I think one reason musthave been, to prevent me turning wild, like Tom and Charles, that Imight be a help to you,-only a little help I mean, father, just as mythrush was a little help to me when I was so ill."His father sighed; but, turning to his despised little helper, wassurprised to find that he had been thinking over everything, and plan-ning quite.a different mode of life for them all. It was this: That hisfather should give up the greater part of the farm, and turn the restinto a dairy-farm. The newly-discovered diggings brought a great dealof traic that way; and Willie thought if really good milk and creamcould be bought, it would be as welcome to many as the bad spiritsthat were sold by one of their neighbours.2
WILLIE'S THRUSH.19Aunt Susan approved of the plan. She and Marjory could managethe cows, and Willie could sell their produce, while his father super-intended the whole. So in a short time the ill-managed farm waschanged into a well-kept, productive dairy. But all their efforts couldnot make up for the losses of the past two years, and the moneysquandered by Tom and Charles; and there seemed no way of meet-ing a claim of fifty pounds that would soon become due.One morning Willie found a newspaper left on the counter by oneof his customers; and as his eye ran over the columns, it rested ona reward of fifty pounds promised by the magistracy of Melbourne toany one who could succeed in successfully naturalizing the thrush,blackbird, or any such little songster."Aunt Susan! Aunt Susan !" he cried, "I've done it! ""Done what, boy?" said Aunt Susan; and he stuffed the paperinto her hands, almost too happy to speak.Next day Aunt Susan left for Mellourne, taking with her two nestsof young thrushes just ready for flight; and in the course of a weekshe returned with the promised reward! From that time peace andprosperity reigned in their little household. The heart of the miller,which had been so long steeled against his suffering boy, nowfound him to be its greatest earthly comfort; and Willie's joy wascomplete.After writing a long account of all that had befallen them to hisbeloved Aunt Ruth, he added, "You see, Aunt Ruth, I was rewardedfor saving the poor thrush; and, now that my father loves me, I donot wish for anything more. You were wrong in thinking that Iwould get well again, for I am as lame as ever, and will always be
20WILLIE'S THRUSH.so; but it is better to be lame and happy than like my poor, poorbrothers. And I often think of the angel-wings you told me mightyet be mine. And, oh Aunt Ruth, when I remember how my dearold thrush sung his thanks to me that day when I opened the doorof his cage, I think that, when I get to heaven, I will never tire ofsinging praise to Him who redeems us from all evil, and sets theprisoners free.""Oh, stay not thou at gentle words,Let deeds with language dwell;The one who pities starving birds,Should scatter crumbs as well."The Mercy that is warm and trueMust lend a helping hand;For those who talk, yet fail to do,But 'build upon the sand."'
A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.A / AINFULLY toiled the camels over the burning sands ofArabia. Weary and thirsty were they, for they had not fordays had herbage to crop, or water to drink, as they trod,mile after mile, the barren waste, where the sands glowed redlike a fiery sea. And weary were the riders, exhausted with toil andheat, for they dared not stop to rest. The water which they carried withthem was almost spent; some of the skins which had held it flappedempty against the sides of the camels, and too well the travellers knewthat if they loitered on their way all must perish of thirst.Amongst the travellers in that caravan was a Persian, Sadi by name;a tall, strong man, with black beard and fierce dark eye. He urgedhis tired camel to the side of that of the foremost Arab, the leaderand guide of the rest, and after pointing fiercely towards one of thetravellers a little behind him, thus he spake:-"Dost thou know that yon Syrian Yusef is a dog of a Christian,a kaffir?" (Kaffir is a name of contempt given by Moslems, thefollowers of the False Prophet, to those who worship our Lord.)"I know that the hakeem [doctor] never calls on the name of theProphet," was the stern reply."Dost thou know," continued Sadi, "that Yusef rides the best
22A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.camel in the caravan, and has the fullest water-skin, and has shawls andmerchandise with him ? "The leader cast a covetous glance towards the poor Syrian traveller,who was generally called the hakeem because of the medicines which hegave, and the many cures which he wrought."He has no friends here," said the wicked Sadi; "if he were castfrom his camel and left here to die, there would be none to inquireafter his fate, for who cares what becomes of a dog of a kaffir! "I will not further repeat the cruel counsels of this bad man, butI will give the reason for the deadly hatred which he bore towards thepoor hakeem. Yusef had defended the cause of a widow whom Sadihad tried to defraud; and Sadi's dishonesty being found out, he hadbeen punished with stripes, which he had but too well deserved. There-fore did he seek to ruin the man who had brought just punishmenton him,-therefore he resolved to destroy Yusef, by inducing his Arabcomrades to leave him to die in the desert.Sadi had, alas! little difficulty in persuading the Arabs that it wasno great sin to rob and desert a Christian. Just as the fiery sun wassinking over the sands, Yusef, who was suspecting treachery, but knewnothow to escape from it, was rudely dragged off his camel, strippedof the best part of his clothes, and, in spite of his earnest entreaties, leftto die on the terrible waste. It would have been less cruel to haveslain him at once."Oh! leave me at least water-water! " exclaimed the poor victimof malice and hatred."We'll leave you nothing but your own worthless drugs, hakeem!-take that!" cried Sadi, as he flung at Yusef's head a tin case
A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.23containing a few of his medicines. Then bending down from Yusef'scamel, which he himself had mounted, Sadi hissed out- between hisclinched teeth: " Thou hast wronged me-I have repaid thee, Christian !this is a Moslem's revenge! "They had gone,-the last camel had disappeared from the view ofYusef; darkness was falling around, and he remained to suffer alone,to die alone, amidst those scorching sands! The Syrian's first feelingwas that of despair, as he stood gazing in the direction of the caravanwhich he could no longer see. Then Yusef lifted up his eyes to thesky above him: in its now darkened expanse shone the calm eveningstar, like a drop of pure light.Even as that star shone on the soul of Yusef the promise of theLord, I will never leave thee, nor forsake. Man might desert him, hissun might go down, his water might fail, but God would never forsake;His mercies would never be exhausted; He.could save from death evenhere,-or should such not be His will, He would bring His servantthrough death to life and joy everlasting.Yusef, in thinking over his situation, felt thankful that he had notbeen deprived of his camel in an earlier part of his journey, when hewas in the midst of the desert. He hoped that he was not very farfrom its border, and resolved, guided by the stars, to walk as far as hisstrength would permit, in the faint hope of reaching a well, and thehabitations of men. It was a great relief to him that the burning glareof day was over: had the sun been still blazing over his head, he mustsoon have sunk and fainted by the way. Yusef picked up the smallcase of medicines which Sadi in mockery had flung at him; he doubtedwhether to burden himself with it, yet was unwilling to leave it behind.
24A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE."I am not likely to live to make use of this, and yet-who knows? "said Yusef to himself, as, with his case in his hand, he painfullystruggled on over the wide expanse of dreary desert. "I will makewhat efforts I can to preserve the life which God has given. But if,"mused the Syrian, " it be His will that I should lay my bones on thesebarren sands, am I prepared and ready to die? I doubt that I cansurvive heat and deadly thirst through another day; if my hoursindeed are numbered, am I fit to appear before God ?"A solemn question this, which we all should put to ourselves.What is the needful preparation for death, whether it come to youngor old, in the peaceful home in England or on Arabia's glowing sands ?It is simply, FAITH towards the Saviour, CHARITY towards all mankind.Yusef, as he searched his heart on that solemn night, felt that he hadthe first."I have faith," he said to himself, as he gazed on the starry skyoverhead; "I do believe from my heart that the Saviour died for mysins, and that He has forgiven and blotted them out for ever. I dobelieve in His boundless grace, in His everlasting mercy! But is minefaith that worketh by love; am I in charity with all men; do I-can Iforgive even Sadi freely as I have been forgiven ?"Then came a terrible struggle within the heart of Yusef. Sadi'scruel face rose up in his memory, the flashing eyes, the sneering lip;Yusef thought of his cruelty and treachery, and felt fierce anger towardshis enemy blazing up within. The Syrian could hardly refrain fromcalling on God to avenge his deadly wrongs. Long lasted Yusef'sinward conflict with the spirit of hatred and revenge. Yusef had oftenrepeated the Lord's Prayer, Forgive us our trespasses, AS we forgive
A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.25them that trespass against us: he knew that God will not pardon thosewho tfuse to pardon; but could the Syrian forgive the man whosecruelty had doomed him to perish of thirst ?Yusef knelt down on the sand and prayed: he earnestly asked fora spirit of forgiveness; and before he rose from his knees that spiritseemed to be granted, for he was able to pray for Sadi. Yusef's angercalmed down, and with it all thirst for revenge; he could ask God thathe might at last meet his cruel enemy in heaven.Struggling against extreme exhaustion, his limbs almost sinkingunder his weight, Yusef again pressed on his way, till a glowing redline in the east showed where the blazing sun would soon rise. Whatwere his eager hope and joy on seeing that red line broken by somedark pointed objects that appeared to rise out of the sand! Newstrength seemed given to the weary man, for now his ear caught thewelcome sound of the bark of a dog, and then the bleating of sheep."God be praised!" exclaimed Yusef, "I am near the abodes ofmen!"Exerting all his power, the Syrian made one great effort to reachthe black tents which he now saw distinctly in broad daylight, andwhich he knew must belong to some tribe of wandering Bedouin Arabs:he tottered on for a hundred yards, and then sank exhausted on thesand.But the Bedouins had seen the poor solitary stranger, and ashospitality is one of their leading virtues, some of these wild sons ofthe desert now hastened towards Yusef. They raised him; they held tohis parched lips a most delicious draught of rich camel's milk. TheSyrian felt as if he were drinking in new life, and was so much revived2 s
26.& CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.by what he had taken, that he was able to accompany his preservers tothe black goat's-hair tent of their Sheik or chief, an elderly man ofnoble aspect, who welcomed the stranger kindly.Yusef had not been long in that tent before he found that he hadnot only been guided to a place of safety, but to the very place wherehis presence was needed. The sound of low moans made him turn hiseyes towards a dark corner of the tent. There lay the only son of theSheik, dangerously ill, and, as the Bedouins believed, dying. Alreadyall their rough simple remedies had been tried on the youth, but triedin vain. With stern grief the Sheik listened to the moans of pain thatburst from the suffering lad, and wrung the heart of the father.The Syrian asked for leave to examine the youth, and was soon athis side. Yusef very soon perceived that the Bedouin's case was nothopeless-that God's blessing on the hakeem's skill might in a few dayseffect a wonderful change. He offered to try what his art and medicinescould do. The Sheik caught at the last hope held out to him ofpreserving the life of his son. The Bedouins gathered round, andwatched with keen interest the measures which were at once taken bythe stranger hakeem to effect the cure of the lad.Yusef's success was beyond his hopes. The medicine which he gaveafforded speedy relief from pain, and within an hour the young Bedouinhad sunk into a deep refreshing sleep. His slumber lasted long, andhe awoke quite free from fever, though of course some days elapsedbefore his strength was fully restored.Great was the gratitude of Azim, the Sheik, for the cure of his onlyson; and great was the admiration of the simple Bedouins for the skillof the wondrous hakeem. Yusef soon had plenty of patients. The
A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.27sons of the desert now looked upon the poor deserted stranger as onesent to them by Heaven; and Yusef himself felt that his own planshad been defeated, his own course changed, by wisdom and love. Hehad intended, as a medical missionary, to fix his abode in some Arabiantown: he had been directed instead to the tents of the Bedouin Arabs.The wild tribe soon learned to reverence and love him, and listen to hiswords. Azim supplied him with a tent, a horse, a rich striped mantle,and all that the Syrian's wants required. Yusef found that he could behappy as well as useful in his wild desert-home.One day, after months had elapsed, Yusef rode forth with Azim andtwo of his Bedouins to visit a distant encampment of part of the tribe.They carried with them spear and gun, water, and a small supply ofprovisions. The party had not proceeded far when Azim pointed to atrain of camels that were disappearing in the distance."Yonder go the pilgrims to Mecca," -he said: " long and weary isthe journey before them; the path which they take will be marked bythe bones of camels that fall and perish by the way."" Methinks by yon sand-mound," observed Yusef, " I see an objectthat looks at this distance like a pilgrim stretched on the waste.""Some traveller may have fallen sick," said the Sheik, "and beleft on the sand to die."The words made Yusef at once set spurs to his horse: havinghimself so narrowly escaped a dreadful death in the desert, he naturallyfelt strong pity for any one in danger of meeting so terrible a fate.Azim galloped after Yusef, and, having the fleeter horse, outstrippedhim, as they approached the spot on which lay stretched the form of aman, apparently dead.
28A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.As soon as Azim reached the pilgrim he sprang from his horse, laidhis gun down on the sand, and taking a skin bottle of water whichhung at his saddle-bow, proceeded to pour some down the throat of theman, who gave signs of returning life. Yusef almost instantly joinedhim; but what were the feelings of the Syrian, when in the pale wastedfeatures of the sufferer before him he recognized those of Sadi, hisdeadly, merciless foe!"Let me hold the skin bottle, Sheik!" exclaimed Yusef; "let thedraught of cold water be from my hand." The Syrian remembered thecommand, If thine enemy thirst, give him drink.Sadi was too ill to be conscious of anything passing around him;but he drank with feverish eagerness, as if his thirst could never beslaked."How shall we bear him hence?" said the Sheik; "my journeycannot be delayed.""Go on thy journey, O Sheik," replied Yusef; "I will return tothe tents with this man, if thou but help me to place him on my horse.He shall share my tent and my cup-he shall be to me as a brother.""Dost thou know him?" inquired the Sheik.' Ay, well I know him," the Syrian replied.Sadi was gently placed on the horse, for it would have been deathto him to have long remained unsheltered on the sand. Yusef walkedbeside the horse, with difficulty supporting the drooping form of Sadi,which would otherwise soon have fallen to the ground. The journeyon foot was very exhausting to Yusef, who could scarcely sustain theweight of the helpless Sadi. Thankful was the Syrian J-akeem whenthey reached the Bedouin tents.
A CHRISTIAN'S REVENGE.29Then Sadi was placed on the mat which had served Yusef for a bed.Yusef himself passed the night without rest, watching at the sufferer'sside. Most carefully did the hakeem nurse his enemy through a ragingfever. Yusef spared no effort of skill, shrank from no painful exertion,to save the life of the man who had nearly destroyed his own!On the third day the fever abated: on the evening of that day Sadisuddenly opened his eyes, and, for the first time since his illness,recognized Yusef, who had, as he believed, perished months before inthe desert."Has the dead come to life! " exclaimed the trembling Sadi, fixingupon Yusef a wild and terrified gaze; "has the injured returned forvengeance!""Nay, my brother," replied Yusef soothingly; "let us not recallthe past, or recall it but to bless Him who has preserved us both fromdeath."Tears dimmed the dark eyes of Sadi; he grasped the kind handwhich Yusef held out. "I have deeply wronged thee," he falteredforth; " how can I receive all this kindness at thy hand ?"A gentle smile passed over the lips of Yusef; he remembered thecruel words once uttered by Sadi, and made reply: "If thou hastwronged me, thus I repay thee Moslem, this is a Christian'srevenge !"_F^^t~
ESCAPE FROM A JAGUAR.EW things seem pleasanter (in description at least) than avoyage at a good season on a Brazilian river. The wildfreedom of life in the canoe would of itself be an attraction, to many. The river-boats are made so light, that they floatgently along the stream. A thatched hut is erected on board, whichserves for a house; and sometimes, for a change, the boat is moored tothe shore, and the hammocks of the voyagers are suspended for thenight from the branches of a shady tree. For hundreds of miles theriver flows on through dark thick forests, shady even at noonday, richin beauty and ever-changing variety-eye and ear are alike charmedby the luxuriant foliage of the trees, the graceful creepers hangingfrom bough to bough, and the full song of the many-coloured birds,flitting like bright flowers among the dark green leaves.On the banks of the Brazilian rivers may be seen groves of palm-trees, and forests of dark laurels. Among these are -many treespeculiar to the place. There is no limit to its vegetable wealth. Inthese forests is found the caoutchouc or gum-elastic tree. It grows tothe height of eighty or even a hundred feet, with a tall erect stem, aspreading top, and thick glossy foliage. From the stem, when cut, asubstance flows having the appearance of rich yellow cream. This
ESCAPE FROM A JAGUAR31when collected, dried, and blackened in smoke, is our india-rubber.The natives of Brazil make it into shoes, bottles, toys, &c. Anothertree yields a white fluid resembling milk, much prized by the nativesas a beverage. In these forests are also found the trees which producevanilla, cacao, cinnamon, &c.Not less numerous are the animals that inhabit the woods. Flamin-goes, spoonbills, herons, and waterhens, live on the banks of the rivers.Monkeys of all kinds chatter and whistle in the trees, and flocks ofparrots scream as their enemies the hawks pursue them. Fish andgame abound. The natives eat many things that seem strange food tous.- Their favourite delicacy is the flesh of the lizard. They eat alsothe flesh of the manatee or sea-cow, which is like coarse beef. Insteadof butter they use an oil made from turtles' eggs, and called turtle-eggbutter; and they think a roasted monkey an excellent dish.Beautiful as is the scenery on the banks of the Brazilian rivers,torrents and dangers beset the traveller, and spoil his pleasure in somedegree. The mosquitoes and others of their tribe are a continualplague.Still worse than the mosquitoes, the traveller has also to guardagainst the attacks of wild and venomous animals. One of the mostcommon of the wild beasts of South America is the jaguar or panther.The jaguar is an animal of the feline kind; that is to say, it is oneof the family of cats. It partakes of the qualities and habits of thetiger. It is a native of the hotter parts of South America; and, fromits being the most formidable quadruped there, it is sometimes calledthe tiger, or panther, of the New World. Its colour is a pale brownishyellow, spotted with black. It preys not only on the larger domestic
32ESCAPE FROM A JAGUAR.quadrupeds, but also on birds, fish, tortoises, turtles' eggs, &c. Thejaguar is an excellent climber, and is equally expert at swimming, sothat it is not easy to escape from him. He has been known to climb atree forty or fifty feet in height in pursuit of monkeys, leaving themark of his sharp claws on its smooth bark; and he has been alsoknown to swim across a broad and deep river. He catches fish cleverlyin the shallows; and when he surprises the turtles asleep on the sand,he turns them neatly on their backs, so that they.cannot rise, and thendevours them at his leisure.The picture gives a good sketch of Brazilian life. It is a scenefrom the travels of the celebrated Catlin, whose whole life has beenspent in exploring woods and wilds, and becoming acquainted withsavage life in all its features.'Once while he was voyaging on a river in Brazil, with a few com-panions, they were resting on the shore for their mid-day meal. Afeast it was to be; for they had killed a wild hog, and determined tohave a good banquet. They were roasting it whole, savage fashion, ata fire kindled on the shore. But near them there were natives of.thewoods, who liked wild hog quite as well as they did, and perhapsthought that these strangers had no right to the game in the wildhunting-grounds so long all their own.However that may be, the panther, the only native lord of the soil,and proprietor of the game, came to see who had been poaching on hismanor, attracted by the pleasant odour of the roasting hog. Before hereached the place where the cooking was going on, he found one of thepoachers, weary with hunting, asleep on the grass. Not being veryhungry, and perhaps surprised at the unusual form of man, mid
ESCAPE FROM A JAGUAR.33panther began to examine the intruder on his territories; and he gentlylifted the legs of the sleeping man with his paws, playing with them ashis cousin the cat; in her sly and gentle mood, might play with a captivemouse before putting it to death. So this play of the panther woulddoubtless have ended in the death of the sleeping man, if his dangerhad not been perceived by his companions. Immediately on seeing it,Catlin hurried from the fire, where their dinner was cooking, to theboat, where he had left his rifle. The head of the panther was behindthe body of the sleeping man. Catlin whistled gently; the pantherlooked up, and received a ball between the eyes, which stretched himlifeless by the side of his intended prey. Imagine the surprise of thesleeper, when, awakened by the shot, he saw how narrowly he hadescaped from the jaws of the panther!0
BABY BROTHER IN HIS COT.ABY brother, baby brother,0~ You must shut these little eyes;[j You must sleep, my baby brother,Ax You must hush these baby cries.Baby brother, baby brother,Once the Lord of life and loveCame on earth a little baby,From his throne in heaven above.Baby brother, baby brother,Jesus came, and lived, and died;Lived to teach us to be holy,And for us was crucified.Baby brother, baby brother,Oh, how thankful we should feel,That the blest and holy SaviourLoves us little children still.
BABY BROTHER IN HIS COT.35See now, baby is awake!A happy boy is he;His face how bright, his heart how light,His throne his mother's knee.Now in her face, with laughing eye,I see him gaily peep;And now at rest upon her breast,He gently sinks to sleep.His lips are red, his teeth like pearls;The rogue! he has but two:His golden hair how soft and fair;His eyes how bright and blue.His tiny hands are white and plump;And, waking or asleep,Beneath his clothes his little toesHow cunningly they peep.How very beautiful he is!Gay, tender, sweet, and mild;A baby boy, with heart of joy,A loved and loving child!
TlH ETHE LITTLE RABBITS.' =j^ H, mamma, there is George looking at the rabbits! Letus go and see them too.""Lily has not yet seen the little rabbits which cameout of their nest yesterday for the first time.""Mary, put on Lily's hat, and let her come with mamma to see thepretty little rabbits. Do not run so fast, Lily; be quiet, and go verygently, not to frighten them.""Oh, how pretty they are Can they eat anything ?""Here, my child; give them these green leaves. Oh, the littlecowards, they have run away!-they are frightened, and they havegone into their box. But let us wait a little; here is one peeping out-now there is another coming-and now another: let us be very stilland quiet. Oh, here they all come, the mother and the seven littleones! Now they see the leaves. Oh, how they are feasting! they eatquite greedily-; their little mouths go round and round the edges of thefresh green leaves, and soon they eat them all up."See! the rabbits have pretty long whiskers, like cats; and longears, which are always moving. When they are frightened they crouchdown, and keep their long ears close on their backs, as if they were try-ing to make themselves very small, or to get out of sight if they could.
THE LITTLE RABBITS.37" When the rabbits wish to sleep, they go into their boxes. Thewild rabbits go into holes, which they make in the ground. Therethey do not fear either dogs or cats, or even men, who would like tocatch them and eat them; for none of these enemies can get intotheir holes."When they are in their holes under the ground we cannot seethem; but God sees them."He sees the little bird in its nest among the green leaves. Hesees the fishes in the water, far down in the deep sea. He sees thewild wolf in the woods, and the lion in his den, as well as the quietrabbit in his little hole." God sees also little children, wherever they are; and when littlechildren think they are alone, and do anything wrong, which their papaand mamma cannot see, yet God is there, and he sees whatever they do."God always sees Lily and little Francis. These children shouldremember that the great God is always near them; and they should tryto be good, because the good God sees them."He has given them all the good things they- have; and theyshould love him and try to please him."1
LUCY GRAY.FT I had heard of Lucy Gray;And, when I crossed the wild,I chanced to see, at break of day,The solitary child.No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;She dwelt on a wide moor,-The sweetest thing that ever grewBeside a human door!You yet may spy the fawn at play,The hare upon the green;But the sweet face of Lucy GrayWill never more be seen."To-night will be a stormy night-You to the town must go;And take a lantern, child, to lightYour mother through the snow."-
LUCY GRAY.39"That, father, will I gladly do!'Tis scarcely afternoon-The minster clock has just struck two,And yonder is the moon!"At this the father raised his hook,And snapped a fagot-band;He plied his work; ;-and Lucy tookThe lantern in her hand.Not blither is the mountain roe:With many a wanton strokeHer feet disperse the powdery snow,That rises up like smoke.The storm came on before its time:She wandered up and down;And many a hill did Lucy climb,But never reached the town!The wretched parents all that nightWent shouting far and wide;But there was neither sound nor sightTo serve them for a guide.At day-break on a hill they stood,That overlooked the moor!I
W40 LUCY GRAY.And thence they saw the bridge of woodA furlong from their door.They wept, and, turning homeward, cried," In Heaven we all shall meet! "When in the snow the mother spiedThe print of Lucy's feet!Then, downward from the steep hill's edge,They tracked the foot-marks small;And through the broken hawthorn hedge,And by the long stone wall;And then an open field they crossed-The marks were still the same;They tracked them on, nor ever lost,And to the bridge they came.They followed from the snowy bankThose foot-marks, one by one,Into the middle of the plank-And further there were none!-Yet some maintain that to this dayShe is a living child;That you may see sweet Lucy GrayUpon the lonesome wild.
LUCY GRAY.41O'er rough and smooth she trips along,And never looks behind; iAnd sings a solitary song,That whistles in the wind.t
THE DEAD CHICKENS.X ~ ANNY BURTON was a little girl who had the bad habit of4 }Jl always putting off to another time the things that shel t ought to have done at once. She says of herself: "I/ ^ had always from earliest childhood disliked to do things inthe right time. If my clothes needed mending, the last moment wasselected for the work. Had I a lesson to learn, the few moments justbefore I had to say it were spent in hurriedly looking over what shouldhave occupied an hour's time. In vain had my parents expostulatedwith me and punished me; in vain had I promised better things.Entreaties and promises were alike useless. My mother often told meI must look to God for strength to do right; but I rested content inmaking the petition to my heavenly Father for assistance, while myheart was far from the words I uttered."At last I was known to many of my friends as 'Careless Fanny;'and my brother took especial delight in ironically calling me PunctualFanny.'"One evening in spring, as my father returned home from his dailylabour, he called my brother and myself to him, and inquired how weliked the idea of hatching and bringing up chickens. I was delighted,as usual, when any new project was on foot, and begged of him to
THE DEAD CHICKENS.43allow me the entire charge of the imaginary brood.. My brother said:'You! I'd like to see you have the care of chickens, or any other livingthing. They'd never get anything to eat, that's certain.'"'Perhaps we'd better try Fanny once more, before giving her upentirely, William,' said my father."I looked triumphantly at my brother, and strongly urged thepropriety of giving me at least one more fair trial, and closed by saying:'If I don't take care of these chickens, father, I'll never ask you to letme try again.'"Fanny's request was granted. The hen was set, and in three weeksafter eight pretty chickens were hatched. Fanny's delight knew nobounds, and for a time she took the greatest care of them. Shetriumphed in her success, and grew confident that she had quiteconquered her bad habit."The chickens soon grew large enough to be let out of the coop,and every morning they might be seen walking through the long grass,or sunning themselves in a sand-heap. During the day they nearlysupported themselves by picking up crumbs and worms; but at nightit was necessary they should be housed, lest a weasel or some otheranimal should catch them."'Fanny,' said my mother one evening to me, as I was busilyengaged with an interesting story,-' Fanny, isn't it almost time to putup your chickens ?'"'Oh, do wait a little longer, mother; I'm reading such a beautifulbook,' was my reply, instead of immediately hastening to do my dutyas I should have done. Several times my mother reminded me of mylittle charge, and each time I replied, 'Wait just a minute.' But my
44THE DEAD CHICKENS.minute, and many other minutes, slipped away, until the deepeningtwilight forced me to close my book. Still thinking of the story, Iwent to bed without bestowing a single thought upon my little brood;of which, to tell the truth, I was beginning to grow weary."Judge of my surprise and mortification, when, upon rising thenext morning and looking from my window, I discovered directlybeneath it, perched upon large sticks, two dead chickens. Underneatheach was a placard, upon which was printed in large, showy letters:'The two favourites died early this morning. For the cause of theirdeath, refer to Punctual Fanny.'"The thought of the chickens I had neglected to house producedon my mind no very pleasing sensation. Already I beheld two of themdead before me. The rest might have shared the same untimely fate.Where now was my imaginary triumph ? Alas! it had vanished, and Iwas indeed miserable. Throwing myself upon my bed, I wept bitterly.How could I meet my parents' reproofs, and the jeers of my brotherWillie? I felt sure they would never trust my word again. Rising,however, I summoned courage to venture downstairs, where the familywere assembled at breakfast. My father did not smile as he bade megood morning; but Willie wickedly inquired of mother if she did nothear a noise in the night, like the chirping of chickens in distress."I finished my meal in silence; after its conclusion father calledme to him, and talked upon the wickedness and danger of delaying toperform duties at the proper time. 'Go to your room, my child,' atlength he said, 'and on your knees before God confess your fault, andimplore his assistance, for he alone can aid you in curing yourself of ahabit which seems to be so fully confirmed !'a
61I N 1, IllI4 \,NN
THE STORK.WISH the stork had not grown tired of England! Ishould like you to have had the pleasure of seeing the' ~huge pile of sticks on the top of some chimney, whichbetokens a stork's nest; and I think you would have beenamused to watch him standing on one of his long legs beside it, as ishis habit, so grave and meditative,-as if he were making his ownobservations on all things going on beneath him.The stork used to be found in Britain, but it has long since desertedus. In almost every other country it is plentiful; and in every place,from the earliest times till now, it has been regarded with peculiar favourand respect. No wonder, for it has a great deal in its history whichis very interesting. It has borne a charmed life. In ancient Greeceanybody who killed it was punished with death; and it is still, allthrough Europe and Asia, looked upon with the utmost reverence. Itabounds in Holland and Germany. The chimney-top where it choosesto build is thenceforth left for its special use, and the house to whichit has thus attached itself is reckoned especially favoured and in theway of all sorts of good luck. It is, no doubt, a majestic and strikingbird; its high, red legs, make it look like a bird on stilts; its longneck twists itself about like a serpent; and its black wings, seven
46THE STORK.feet in length when they are outspread, contrast well with the snowywhite of the rest of its plumage. But what has the stork done, thateverybody should speak well of it ?Well, it does a great deal of good work for man, in eating frogs,and reptiles, and vermin, and many things which he would rather bewithout. This is what its long legs are for, that it may be able tostand in water and on marshy ground in search of this part of its food.But it also eats refuse of every description; and as in Eastern townsthere is no dust-cart to clear away the rubbish, it is most useful inkeeping the streets clean. But besides its help to society in this way;its natural character is so very pleasing. Every species of bird, weknow, has its own temper, and its own ways of doing things, differentfrom all the rest; and affection seems to be the special mark of thestork,-affection for places, affection for its young ones, and, yet more,affection for its old ones.It is a bird of passage, and every autumn it spreads its long blackwings to seek a warmer clime in Africa and the South. But everyspring it returns with unerring certainty to its old home and its oldnest. I believe other birds of passage return to the places wherethey have been reared much more generally than is supposed; butthe stork comes back to its very own nest, on the very same chimney-top, and seems as pleased to take renewed possession as you might bein coming home from school or from a long visit.It puts in a few extra sticks, and the old house is all right againand ready for use. Here it rears its young with the greatest careand solicitude. Even when they can fly, it brings them back to thesheltering nest every night; and, contrary to the habits of all other
THE STORK.47animals, it recognizes them, and seems to remain attached to them,through life.Perhaps you have heard before, how, once when the Dutch city ofDelft was on fire, a stork's nest on one of the house-tops was sur-rounded by the flames. The mother-bird tried to remove her young,but they could not fly, and all her efforts were in vain. She couldnot save them, but she could die with them,-and that was what shedid! Could your own mother have done more ?But it is in the care of the old that the stork seems to come nearerto a human affection than the other creatures. They care for theirchildren, but the stork alone cares for its parents. It has been seenfeeding and tending the aged ones when they had grown too feebleto help themselves. Still more wonderful,-it has been seen returningfrom its travels with an old one (most likely its father or its mother) onits back, and after depositing it in the last year's nest, it has fed it andattended to its wants like a loving child!How beautiful! No wonder that the stork should be a favouriteand an example from age to age. The Hebrew word for it signifieskindness; the Romans called it "the pious bird;" and among theGreeks the law which enjoined children to support their aged parentswas named after the stork.Its general character, as you would expect it to be, is placid,sociable, and affectionate. It is fond of the company of man, andmore especially of children, having been even taught to play hide-and-seek in a garden with them, though how to find a hiding-place for sucha tall play-fellow must have been rather difficult.When the storks leave their winter haunts, they fly in vast flocks,V.
48THE STORK.high up in the air, arranged with great care and precision-the strongestforemost, the weak ones in the middle; and they come with suchpunctuality that the people of the different countries over which theypass know when to look out for them, especially as they travel by day,and not, like most other birds, by night. They travel steadily towardsthe North, leaving large portions of their company behind them as theygo, till at last each one reaches its own special home.Who guides them ? How do they know the road? Where are theway-marks in that pathless sky ?"The stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times," the Biblesays (Jer. viii. 7). But how does she knowit ? God teaches her, Hishand guides her. Does that not make you feel how very near God mustbe to us all? Earth has many paths, and we often don't know whichis the right one, but He knows, and He will show us the .one whichwill lead us home. We have only to ask Him. (Matt. vii. 7, 8.)-~~~-~~-~~-~~- ~ ~I
REJOICE WITH THEM THAT REJOICE.W" HAT is your verse to-day, Clara?"J" t " 0 mother, a very short and easy one; 'Rejoice withthem that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep."'"Short and easy to learn, Clara,-difficult to do.""Why, mother, I am sure it is easy every way. I am alwayssorry for people who are sad; I could cry when I see them cry, I amso vexed for them. When that poor little girl came here yesterday inrags, and told us she had no father, and no mother, and no one to helpher, I could have cried with her. Then the first part -of the verse iseasier still. How pleasant it is to be glad,-how easy it is to be joyful!I am so glad to-day, I feel as if I could fly; and I am going to be joyfulwith my young companions. Oh! the verse to-day is an easy verse.""Perhaps you may not always find it easy, Clara," said her mother.Months passed on, and summer passed away. Bright, merry Clarawas taken ill and. laid on a sick-bed. She had sleepless nights andwearisome days. She recovered a little, but the doctors feared that shewould never again be able to walk. Spring came back, and she heardthe birds singing at her window. Her mother brought her the first gaybunches of snowdrops, primroses, and violets. They seemed to makepoor Clara more sad, for she could jiot go out as she once could, to4 -'
50REJOICE WITH THEM THAT REJOICE.gather them in the garden and in the fields. Summer came, and herplayfellows kindly came to see her. Each of them brought some ofher favourite flowers. They told her of their gipsy parties to gatherthem, of their games in the meadow, their wanderings in the woods.Clara was sadder than ever."One day her mother found her in tears. "My darling," said she,"what has vexed you ?""O mother," replied Clara, "the girls come here to see me, andthey talk of nothing but their games, and their nice walks, and all theyfind in the woods, and I can never go there any more. It makes me sosad. Why do they speak to me of the pleasures I cannot share? Itmakes me so sorrowful, when I must lie here alone, and in pain. Dothey not feel for me ?""My darling," said her mother, "do you not remember the timewhen you learned the verse, 'Rejoice with them that do rejoice,' andthen you thought it an easy thing to do ? I think that now you do notfind it quite so easy.""Ah, mother, it is not easy to rejoice when one is so sad as I amnow,-a prisoner on a sick-bed !""But the meaning of the verse is, my darling, that we should loveothers so much, that we may rejoice in what makes them joyful, and beglad in their joy, even when we have no cause for joy ourselves.""But, mother, dear mother, that is too difficult,-I cannot do it.""You cannot do it, darling, by yourself, or in your own strength.We have not by nature such love to others. God alone can help us tolove others as ourselves so much as to rejoice in their joy. Pray toGod to give you this pure love to your neighbour."
*REJOICE WITH THEM THAT REJOICE. 51Clara prayed to God for strength, and for love; and her prayerwas heard.After this, when her little companions came to visit Clara on hersick-bed, they found her glad to listen to their stories of their amuse-ments in the woods. Clara was ever ready to share in all theirpleasures and all their joys; they found her ever ready to listen witha smile on her pale face, for she had learned to be unselfish, and to<rejoice with them that do rejoice.". .: '--*A
-qPALM TREES.H HEN the trees and herbs were made, they were all pro-WMil~iY/ nounced by God, the Creator, to be good. And so theycontinue to this day. " The tree yielding fruit," was madeperfect in the beginning; and so it is now,-good initself, each one after its kind,-and good for man, the chief beingin this world, for whose use all things were intended. We mayexamine any, one of God's works, in any part of the Earth, andwe shall find reaso to admire and to praise its excellence. Thecommonest tuft of grass, the simplest herb, is full of beauty, and tellsof the power of its Almighty Creator. We may well say, in the wordsof David, " 0 Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thoumade them all." Or, we may sing with joyful hearts the ancient hymn,"0 all ye green things of the earth, bless ye the Lord; praise him andmagnify him together." But there are some things in the vegetablekingdom which appear to be more particularly marked out as objectsworthy of our attention and admiration, and as setting forth in astriking manner the wisdom and skill of Him who made them.Among the various trees which adorn the surface of this Earth, onekind has been usually esteemed the most noble in :appearance, and-0 'i " i'..'*> 0A
This page contains no text.
PALM TREES.53very valuable for its uses to the natives of the countries where it grows.The Palm-trees were said by the famous Swedish naturalist, Linnaeus,to be " the princes of the vegetable kingdom."Although the stem of palms is not useful as wood, it affords a verylarge portion of useful material for the service of man, both in hisuncivilized, rude state, and in the civilized life he leads in cities.In his simple manner of living in the woods of South America, orelsewhere in the regions of palms, there is no necessity for a sub-stantial house for a dwelling-place. The Indian who wishes for a homefor his wife and children, need not wait long, or go far to seek alodging. He chooses a favourable spot,-near the woods for hunting,and near a stream for fishing. He soon clears a piece of ground; andthen he cuts down a few small palms-they suit his purpose better thanthe hard-wooded trees with their branching stems. Of these slenderyet tough palms he forms a wall, setting them upright in the ground,and interlacing fibres of the older palms between them. He makesthe frame-work of the roof of the same materials; then, havingselected a large-leaved kind, he takes two or three leaves, which sufficeto thatch it neatly, and protect him and his family from the scorchingheat of the sun. The dwelling is soon finished and ready.His wife begins to furnish it. She gathers fibres from the palms,and weaves a mat to spread on the floor. She makes a strong basketto hold anything she may have to keep in their humble abode, or tobring home the produce of the fishing and hunting. Out of the largetough sheaths which enclose the leaf-stalks, she readily forms a neatlight cradle, which can be hung up in a safe place, so as to keep thelittle child secure from danger by wild animals, or any other hurtful
54 PALM TREES.thing. She selects a bit of the firmest black fibre, and uses it as aneedle with which to sew together garments made of the softer fibres.We thus see that two of the chief products of all trees are suppliedby palms-materials for dwellings, and for clothing.The third and most important use of all, is for food. This, also, isafforded by palms abundantly. In the different kinds, we find variousarticles of nourishment. Some can only be partaken of in their nativecountry, others can be preserved and brought here for our use. Youmay be surprised to hear how many things are obtained from palmsand their fruits,-wine, oil, sugar, salt, sago, and also the juicy pulpof the fruit in its fresh state.Palm-wine is pressed from the thick large leaf that wraps the massof countless flower-buds. The best trees yield as much as a hundredpints in twenty-four hours. It seems to be produced in an inaccessibleplace, at the top of the column-like- stem; but Indian boys are veryactive, and climb up with much ease, cut the bud, and leaving a vesselto catch the precious juice, return again to fetch it.
THE CUCKOO.SAY you could not! ""I say I did ""You talk nonsense! ""You don't know what you are saying! "" I should like to punch your head! "" I should like to box your ears! "Such were the angry words, each sentence uttered in a louder, morepassionate tone, which brought Mrs. Layton in haste from her sitting-room to the play-room in which she had left her son Dick and hiscousin Dan. The latter had arrived the day before from Manchester,where his parents lived, on a visit to his aunt's country home. If thevoices of the boys sounded angry, so likewise looked their faces, asMrs. Layton saw them on opening the door. The children were bothabout eight years of age, but Dick was much taller and thinner thanhis cousin. Dan was short and stoutly built, with a shock of blackhair over a sallow face, the expression of which was dogged andobstinate. Dick's face was flushed with passion up to the roots of hisred curly hair. The boys had their right fists clenched, they werefiercely confronting each other, and had not Mrs. Layton come in, thedispute would certainly have ended in blows.
56THE CUCKOO." Boys! boys! are you not ashamed of yourselves? what is thematter ? " exclaimed the lady.Dick, towards whom his mother had turned as she asked the latterquestion, answered it by another."Mother, does the cuckoo sing in August ?"" o," replied Mrs. Layton.Dick glanced at his cousin in triumph."I heard him to-day, on the 3rd of August," muttered Dan in anobstinate tone." Mother, does the cuckoo ever fly near enough to a village to beheard from a street ?" asked Dick again."I think never," answered the lady."He does though; I heard him when I was passing the baker'sshop," said Dan in the same dogged way."I don't believe it! " cried Dick."I believe my )wn ears," muttered' Dan."It is not likely that you, who have lived all your life amongstthe smoky chimneys of Manchester, should know anything about birds,"persisted Dick. "I dare say that you could not tell a cuckoo's notefrom the crowing of a cock, or the cawing of a crow.""I have read all about birds, and specially about cuckoos," saidDan, indignant at his cousin's remark. "I have read how cuckoos layeggs in other birds' nests, and how-"Dick was rude enough to interrupt his cousin in the middle of asentence. "You have read about cuckoos,"' he said,'with a laugh;"and so you have read that 'A was an apple-pie;' but that's not thesame thing as eating it. I've not read much about birds or anything
THE CUCKOO.57else, but I've heard the cuckoo hundreds and thousands of times, and Inever once heard him in August.""Then I've heard what you have not, for I heard him to-day,"persisted Dan, sticking his thumbs in his pockets." This is all very absurd, very foolish," observed Mrs. Layton. "Isthe song of a bird worth quarrelling about ? What does it matter toyou, Dick, whether Dan heard the cuckoo or not ?""I can't stand hearing nonsense," said Dick, "most of all when afellow sticks to it through thick and thin. No one ever heard of acuckoo singing in August. Don't we all know the rhyme about him-'In JulyHe away doth fly.'""But he may fly back again in August," said Dan; "he must, forI heard him to-day in the street.""You didn't," cried Dick. ^"I did," muttered Dan.Each boy looked ready to strike at the other."Silly, quarrelsome children," said Mrs. Layton; "I hope that, asyou grow older, you will grow wiser, and understand that roughnessand rudeness can never possibly have the effect of convincing. Butthis question about the cuckoo may, I dare say, be easily settled. Ifthe bird really sang close to a street he must have been heard by othersbesides little Dan. I am just going out-I have my bonnet on, thebaker's shop is not five minutes' walk from my gate-let us go together,my boys, and ask Mrs. Boyd, the baker's wife, whether she heard thecuckoo to-day."
58THE CUCKOO." If she says that she did, I'll say that she was dreaming," cried Dick." If she says that she didn't, I'll say she was deaf," growled Dan.Mrs. Layton felt a little grieved as she walked between the twoboys towards the village. It is indeed sad to think how easily quarrelsspring up, like a crop of thistles from the little downy seeds which thebreath of a child can scatter. Alas, misery and bloodshed have arisenfrom quarrels about trifles in themselves as small as Dan and Dick'sdispute about the song of a bird! Pride, obstinacy, and self-conceitwill always find some excuse for disturbing peace and destroying order,whether it be in families, or amongst the nations of Europe.Very few words were spoken during the walk: this was perhaps notto be regretted, as Dick was cross and Dan was sullen, and too manyidle words had passed between them already. The party soon reachedthe shop of the village baker, where Mrs. Boyd was busily engagedarranging piles of fresh buns upon the counter."Good-afternoon, Mrs. Boyd," said Mrs. Layton in her courteousmanner, as she entered the shop, followed by Dick and his cousin."We have come-;" here the lady paused, with a smile on her lips,for the question which she was about to ask seemed to herself a littleabsurd. There was, however, no need for her to ask it at all, for atthat moment a clear, distinct sound of "Cuckoo cuckoo! cuckoo!"came from the little back-parlour behind the shop." What's that ? "-" That's it! " exclaimed Dick and Dan in a breath."'Certainly that sound came from no living bird," observed Mrs.Layton, smiling; "doubtless, as I suspected, Mrs. Boyd has a cuckoo-clock.""Yes, ma'am; it came from London this morning, a birthday
THE CUCKOO.59present from my brother, ma'am," said Mrs. Boyd, pleased that herclock should attract attention; and she pointed towards the back-parlour, where the pretty gift might plainly be seen, a gaily-colouredfigure of a tiny cuckoo under the face of a clock, whose hour-hand waspointing to three.Both the cousins burst out laughing."So we were both right," cried Dick."So we were both wrong! " exclaimed Dan." Wrong indeed, as is usually the case with those who quarrel abouttrifles," observed Mrs. Layton."It's well that I did not punch your head," said Dick to his cousin."And that I did not box your ears," added Dan."And it will be well," remarked Mrs. Layton, "if in future, whenyou are inclined to lose your tempers and forget your good manners,because another cannot see things just in the same light as you mayhappen to do-it will be well if you then remember the little incidentof to-day, and blush to think how nearly you were coming to blowsabout the note of a cuckoo! "/\
THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT.C OUD he sang the Psalms of David;iE He, a negro and enslaved,. ~Sang of Israel's victory,Sang of Zion, bright and free.In that hour when night is calmest,Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist,In a voice so sweet and clearThat I could not choose but hear,-Songs of triumph and ascriptions,Such as reached the swart Egyptians,When, upon the Red Sea coast,Perished Pharaoh and his host.And the. voice of his devotionFilled my soul with strange emotion;,For its tones by turns were glad,Sweetly solemn, wildly sad...l, ~~.,. .^ Jt
A_-_w | I i I I | i i I l | I I | i i .- iS_ S i | | E | l I l | l | l | X| l | | | | | l l | l | l | |- l |am || | ;|- S :_r_ I| |- -- _1.'- | l! Ad- YA=CEDER___X S_ S_An|___3_An_; _; _i I_I ,X,,,,,,,4S,,,.,.,| >>|Z1ginks 1i ,I'!! ,, a. f. ^ aid ._>;eY.,5 And3 -___ S....:___- -_0'ii
THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT.61Paul and Silas, in their prison,Sang of Christ the Lord arisen;And an earthquake's arm of mightBroke their dungeon-gates at night.But, alas! what holy angelBrings the slave the glad evangel?And what earthquake's arm of mightBreaks his dungeon-gates at night ?!&. -, Jt'\y7~'_:~; -W 1 ;~1"~~, k7
laTHE STRAWBERRY PLANT AND ITSLESSON.N a lone room at the top of one of the houses where everyroom was the dwelling of a family, there dwelt an agedwoman, whose scanty pittance of half-a-crovn a week wasscarcely enough for her bare livelihood. The visitor observed,with some surprise, a strawberry plant growing and flourishing in abroken tea-pot that stood on the window-sill. He remarked from timeto time how it grew, and with what care it was tended and watched.At length, one day, he said to this poor woman, "Your plant doeswell; you'll soon have some strawberries on it."" It is not for the sake of the fruit I grow it," replied the woman." Then why do you take .so much care of it ?" he asked."Well, sir," she replied, "I am very poor, too poor to keep anyliving creature, but it is a great comfort to me to have that livingplant; for I know that it can live only by the power of God; and as Isee it live and grow from day to day, it tells me that God is near."
ONLY A LITTLE.BY A. L. O. E.T was a bright, clear day in September, and the sea sparkledin the sunshine as if strewed with glittering stars. Whatcould be more delightful to children lately come fromdusty London, than to wander on such a day on the shore,drinking in the fresh, pure air, basking in the sunshine, and watchingthe little waves as they stole gently up over the brown sand, and therocks green with beautiful sea-weed ?At least so thought Owen and his two little sisters on the day aftertheir arrival at a pleasant place on the sea-coast.This was their first visit to the sea-side, and much they enjoyed it.Their mother permitted them to stroll down by themselves to thebeach, as she had many arrangements to make for their comfort in thelodging which she had taken. Mabel was provided with a basket, andlittle Alice was as eager as herself to fill it with shells, and all the"beauty t'ings" which they could find on the rocks or the sands."I say, Mabel," observed Owen, "if I go a little further across thatshallow strip of water, I can fish up with my net that rare bit of redsea-weed."
64ONLY A LITTLE."But you will get your feet so wet, oh, so wet," said the prudentMabel. "Only look at your new shoes already! Mamma will bevexed if she sees -them quite spoiled.""I don't know the use of shoes, or of socks either," cried Owen,"when one has such soft sand to tread on, and water to paddle aboutin. I'll have mine off in a minute!" And Owen had soon pulled offhis shoes and his socks, and tucked up the ends of his trousers, so that,more at his ease, he could search about for sea-weed or shells.Mabel was not sure whether mamma would approve of her boygoing bare-legged, but Owen had no doubts on the subject. Whenfrom his little net he landed the lovely sea-weed in Mabel's basket, allthe children were so much delighted that. they thought of nothing butthe pleasure of finding such a beautiful prize."It is red as coral," cried Mabel, "and has as many branches asa tree!""Won't we dry it and put it into mamma's pretty album?" saidAlice. "Look at de 'ittle, 'ittle shells that are sticking to it;" andthe child clapped her hands with delight.No wonder that the children, thus happily engaged, forgot how fasttime was flying. Mabel, a quiet, steady little girl, stepped very care-fully from rock to rock, keeping her feet out of the water which lay inlittle pools in the sand. She also tried to prevent Alice from wettingher little shoes. But Owen's delight was to get as far out into the seaas the jutting-out line of low rocks would let him; and in her eager-ness to follow her brother, Alice slipped down more than once, andsplashed the water over her ankles."I think that we must have been out a long time," Mabel at last
ONLY A LITTLE.65observed; "and Alice ought to change her wet shoes. Mamma will bewondering what has become of us. We had better not stop anylonger.""Only a little," cried Owen, who had fixed his heart on reachingone particular rock, which was half covered with mussels."Only a 'ittle," echoed Alice, who was full of her play, and who,but for Mabel, would have liked to kick off her own little shoes, andwade into the water, like Owen.After about five minutes had passed Mabel spoke again to herbrother. " Mamma may be anxious," said she."Only a little," laughed Owen. "She'll forget her anxiety soonwhen she sees what a store of mussels I've found.""We really ought to go back," said Mabel, after another pause."If you will not come, Owen, I must take Alice home by myself.""Wait, only wait a little," cried her brother. But Mabel knewthat it would be wrong to wait longer, so, taking the unwilling Aliceby the hand, the girl turned round to go back to the beach." Oh, look at de shoes and socks all a-swimmin'! " exclaimed Alice,as soon as her face was turned in the direction of the spot from whichthe children had been wandering, as they made their way along thecauseway of rocks and sand."Owen, Owen! look-look!" cried Mabel, and the sound of herfrightened voice made her brother turn hastily round.Then, indeed, the boy saw the cause of, and shared his sister'salarm. The rock on which he had thrown his shoes and socks hadbeen perfectly dry when he had cast them upon it, and surrounded bysand which had then been also quite dry. But while Owen had been5
66ONLY A LITTLE.amusing himself in picking up sea-weed and shells, the tide had beengradually creeping up, little by little. The rising water had stolenround now this stone, now that stone, nearer to the shore, till a wavehad lapped the rock on which lay the shoes and the socks. It hadsucked them off, and set them floating like weeds, quite beyond reachof their late owner, who stood helplessly gazing after them, half-wayup to the knees in salt water."Oh dear, dear! how shall we ever get back ?" exclaimed Mabel;for all between the children and the beach was quite covered nowby the waves, except the low line of rocks; and even theseseemed to be gradually growing smaller, and more detached one fromanother.Alice burst out into a loud cry of terror; "We'll be drownded-drownded !" shrieked she." We must rush back as fast as we can," exclaimed Owen, who sawthat his foolish delay had been bringing himself and his sisters intoserious danger.But Alice was so much terrified, that she seemed unable to movefrom the bit of rock on which she was perched, and which stood higherthan the rest above the surface of the sea. The child dreaded to leaveher place of refuge, and plunge into the shallow water which dividedher from the shore."Let's be off at once!" cried Mabel."Oh, no, no !" screamed Alice, clinging fast to her sister; and sheadded in a tone of entreaty, "wait a 'ittle, only a 'ittle! " while thetears flowed fast down her cheeks."No more foolish delay!" cried Owen; and snatching up the child
ONLY A LITTLE.67in his arms, and calling to Mabel to follow, the boy went wading andsplashing towards shore as fast as he could make his way throughthe water.This water was not, indeed, very deep, but deep enough to covermany a sharp, slippery bit of rock on which Owen trod in his haste.Once he stumbled, and in his fall plunged the shrieking Alice into thewaves, while he himself was -drenched to the skin. This, however, wasas nothing compared to the pain of treading barefooted amongst rocks.Owen could no longer choose soft sandy bits on which to set his feet;they were soon both bruised and bleeding. Had the poor boy beenless anxious to gain the shore, he must have stopped in his course, sogreat was the pain which he suffered.As for poor Mabel, who carried the basket and net, she followed herbrother as closely as she could; but she was terribly frightened, andfelt as if the waves were giving her chase as she fled before them, forthe little girl could not tell how high the tide was likely to rise. Seeher struggling on, panting and gasping! There-she is down! Whata splash how her eyes and mouth must be full of salt water! She isup again, but dripping and drenched, her hat hanging back by thestrings, and the drops streaming from her hair. As for her basket fullof treasures, a wave has carried it away! Another false step-anotherfall! The net has dropped from the poor girl's hand, and is floatingoff on a billow! Owen will never use that net again to fish up curiousthings from the sea.The three children, however, have reached the dry land, and standpanting upon the smooth beach. They are thankful to have gained itin safety; but dripping and drowned do they look, their wet dressesHi~
68ONLY A LITTLE.clinging to. their forms, their hair hanging in wet strands round theirpale faces.Their mother had become uneasy at the long absence of herchildren, and just as they reached the sands she came hurrying downtowards then. There was no need for Owen and his sisters to telltheir story; their mother saw at a glance what had happened. As herchildren looked in so piteous a state, the lady thought it better not toadd to their distress by a word of reproach. She hurried them off toher lodging, where she instantly made them take off their wet clothesand go to their beds, in which they spent the rest of that brightSeptember day. The girls escaped with slight colds; but poor Owen'sbleeding feet needed to be carefully washed in warm water to clear outthe sand .from his hurts. It was some days before he could bear to puton boots, and he thus lost many a pleasant ramble with his sistersbeside the sea.Never did Owen forget his painful adventure. Often, whentempted to delay for "only a little" what ought to be done at once,the boy would smile and shake his head as he said, " Only a little oncenearly drowned my sisters and me."And let us all remember that to wander from the straight path ofduty only a little must always be fraught with danger. Unless weretrace our steps, only a little wandering will surely bring us into thedeepening waters of temptation, amongst the rocks and shoals of sin.If through mercy we are at last enabled to turn and escape, it will yetbe with a bruised spirit and an-aching heart, and the remembrance ofprecious hours lost for ever, that all our regret for the past can neverbring back to us again
eTWO KINDS OF EYES." ; .MI~ AMMA, Charles is very naughty," said little Emily Her-~Al bert to her mother. "He ordered me to find his whipfor him; and when I could not, he called me a stupidlittle thing, and said that I have no eyes. I told him thathe had no right to make me look for everything he loses, and that Iwished he were away to school; and he said I was saucy, and pushedme roughly away, and I fell against the corner of the chair, and it hashurt me very much. I wish you would punish him, mamma; I shall beso glad if he is punished! ""Emily, this is not right," said Mrs. Herbert; "Charles is wrong tobe unkind to you, but you are wrong too, my little girl, in speaking sounkindly of him. If he is naughty, you should be sorry for it; youshould not rejoice in the hope that he will be punished.""I am not wrong, mamma, to dislike him. It is right to dislikenaughty boys, and he is wicked, and I hate him!"And the little girl's cheek glowed with anger as she spoke."Silence, Emily," said Mrs. Herbert gravely; "I cannot allow suchwords as these. Come here and sit on this little stool by my side, anddo not think any more about Charles at present. I am going to talkto you about your eyes."
70TWO KINDS OF EYES."About my eyes, mamma!" said the little girl in surprise, hertemper changing suddenly as a new turn was given tV her thoughts."Yes," said her mother. "Do you know that, instead of thinkinglike Charles that you have no eyes, I think that you have two kinds ofeyes, though you do not always use them as you ought to do."" 0 mamma, now you are joking," said Emily; "I have two eyes,but not two kinds of eyes.""I am quite in earnest," said Mrs. Herbert; "you can tell me thetwo parts of which you are made ?""Oh yes, mamma: my body which I see, and my soul which Icannot see, but which is me, the me that thinks and feels.""Well then, Emily, you have the eyes of your body, which arelooking so earnestly at me just now; and the eyes of your mind, whatare they doing ?""Oh, I know, they are trying to understand you, mamma, trying tosee what you mean."" Here then, Emily, are two kinds of eyes: the eyes of your bodythat you see with, and the eyes of your mind that you understand with.Now you have got very sharp bodily eyes, and you see me very well,just now, by the light of this lamp; but if I were to put out the lamp,would you see anything ?"" Oh no, mamma, it would be all dark; I would not see anything."" And do you know, my little girl, that there is a darkness whichhinders the eyes of the mind from seeing. This darkness is sin. Whensin is ruling in our hearts, we cannot understand anything rightly. Bynature, our hearts are full of sin, and we often think wrong things areright, and we do not understand anything as we ought. But God has
TWO KINDS OF EYES.71given us a lamp to give us light in this darkness, to show us what iswrong and what isright. Can you tell me what this lamp is?""Oh yes, mamma," said Emily, "I learned the verse about it yester-day,-' Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path."'"Quite right," said her mother; "but Satan and our own evilhearts often prevent us from using this lamp as we ought to do. Thelamp is shining, but our eyes are closed, and we must pray to God toopen them." Then Mrs. Herbert made Emily read these verses: 2 Cor.iv. 3, 4; Eph. iv. 18; Ps. xix. 8. After Emily had read the verses,and her mother had explained them, Mrs. Herbert continued: "I knowa little girl who ought to know quite well that it is wrong to say shehates her brother, and that she wishes evil to him; yet her eyes wereso blinded by passion, a few minutes ago, that she could not see thatshe was wrong.""0 mamma," said Emily, blushing deeply; "but I am not in apassion now."" Then let us take this lamp of the Word, Emily, and see what lightit will give on your conduct. Read. Matt. v. 22; then read in 1 Johnii. 9-11; iii. 14, 15; then Rom. xii. 19-21."After Emily had read these verses, she said: "I have been verywrong, mamma; I am very sorry; will you forgive me ?"" My dear Emily," said Mrs. Herbert, "you have sinned against God;you must ask Him to forgive you, and then go and make friends withyour brother. I think I see a little corner of the whip peeping fromunder the sofa, go and look if it is.""Oh yes, mamma, here is the very whip we quarrelled about.""Well, then, dear Emily, remember the last verse you read: 'Be
72 TWO KINDS OF EYES.not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.' Go and findCharles, give him his whip, and tell him kindly that you are sorry thatyou were peevish and disobliging, and I am sure he will feel sorry thathe spoke rudely to you and hurt you."Emily did as her mother desired her.Perhaps, at some future time, our young readers shall know whatMrs. Herbert said to Charles about his unkindness to his sister; and alsothe use that Emily often afterwards made of the lamp of the Word.
kf1h/A11-i i t t i..
:M i i:t,. !: i -** ^ yi:: '. -.; **.r"ii, '*3 '. .!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i' t 1:. ,'^ : : '_ *I1 .. .* ,: '|:t ,,., ,*i,* r\' .:. ji ia.3.
This page contains no text.