A kiss for a blow and other tales

Material Information

A kiss for a blow and other tales
Wright, Henry Clarke, 1797-1870
George Routledge and Sons ( Publisher )
Billing and Sons ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
London ;
New York
George Routledge and Sons
Billing and Sons
Publication Date:
Physical Description:
128 p., [1] leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 16 cm.


Subjects / Keywords:
Love -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Friendship -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Quarreling -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1885
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
England -- Surrey -- Guildford
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )


General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by H.C. Wright.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections ( with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
027028427 ( ALEPH )
ALJ0630 ( NOTIS )
64696239 ( OCLC )

Full Text

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The Baldwin Library
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I USED to visit some of the public schools of the
city almost every day, and spend a few minutes
in each school talking to the children. The
children understood that, when I came into
the schools, they were at liberty to ask me
questions. They generally had some questions
to ask,
One day I visited a school. There were
about fifty children in it, between four and eight
years old.
Children," said I, have any of you a ques-
tion to ask to-day ?"
"Please tell us," said a little boy, "what is
meant by overcoming evil with good."
"I am glad," said I, "you have asked that
question; for I love to talk to you about peace,

6 A Kiss for a Blow.

and show you how to settle all difficulties with-
out fighting."
I went on, and tried to show them what the
precept meant, and how to apply it and carry
it out. I was trying to think of something to
make it plain to the children, when the follow-
ing incident occurred:-
A boy about seven, and his sister about five
years old, sat near me. As I was talking George
doubled up his fist and struck his sister on her
head, as unkind and cruel brothers often do.
She was angry in a moment, and raised her hand
to strike him back. The teacher saw her, and
said, Mary, you had better kiss your brother."
Mary dropped her hand, and looked up at the
teacher, as if she did not fully understand her.
She had never been taught to return good for
evil. She thought if her brother struck her, she,
of course, must strike him back. She had
always been taught to act on this savage maxim,
as most children are. Her teacher looked very
kindly at her, and at George, and said again,
"My dear Mary, you had better kiss your brother.,

A kiss jor a Blaew, 7

See how angry and unhappy he looks "f Mar)y
looked at her brother. He looked very sullen
and wretched. Soon her resentment was gone,
and love for her brother returned to her heart.
She threw both her arms about his neck, and
kissed him I The poor boy was wholly unpre-
pared for such kind return for his blow. He
could not endure the generous affection of his
sister. It broke his heart, and he burst out cry-
ing. The gentle sister took the corer of her
apron and wiped away his tears, and sought to
comfort him by saying, with most endearing
sweetness and generous affection, "Don't cry,
George, you did not hurt me much.' But he only
cried the harder. No wonder. It was enough
to make anybody cry.
But what made George feel so bad and cry ?
Poor little boy! Little did he dream that his
sister would give him such a sweet return for his
wicked blow. Would he have cried if his sister
had struck him back with her fist, as he had
struck her ? Not he. He would rather she had
beaten him black and blue than kiss him as she

8" A Kiss for a Blow.
did, for striking him back again would not have
made him feel sorry at all. It was that sweet,
sisterly kiss-that gentle wiping away his tears
with her apron-that generous and anger-killing
affection, that led her to excuse him, and seek to
comfort him by saying, Don't cry, George; you
did not hurt me much." These were the things
that made him cry. So it would break anybody's
heart and make him weep, to receive such kind
and generous treatment from those whom he
had injured. No man could withstand it.

A KISS FOR A BLOW All the school saw at
once what was meant by overcoming evil with
good; and they needed no further instruction
on the subject. They never will forget it. Had
Mary struck her brother, there had been a fight.
It was prevented by her kiss.
When others strike you, or do anything to
you which you think an injury, always do as
sweet little Mary did, and give a kiss for a blow,
and there 'will be no trouble. They will take
care how they wrong you in any way, when they

A Kiss for a Blow. 9

are once sure that the injuries they do you will
not be returned. Though George was the oldest
and the largest, and could strike the hardest, yet
Mary conquered him. The large, strong body
of George, his muscular arm and hard blows,
were not a match for the strong love and sweet
kiss of Mary. If George had had the body of
a giant, or the strength of a million of men in his
arm, Mary's sweet love and kiss, that clean, soft
apron wiping away his tears, and those gentle
but heart-piercing words, "Don't cry, George;
you did not hurt me much," would have con-
quered them all. What could poor George do ?
If he had had all the arms and soldiers in the
world to help him in his attack upon Mary,
armed with her sweet love and kiss, and clean,
soft apron, and gentle words, she would have
conquered them all.
Dear children, arm yourselves with Mary's
weapons; throw away your anger, your sullen
looks, your provoking nicknames, your clenched
fists and furious blows, and take the sweet love
and kiss, and soft words of little Mary; then go

io A Kiss for a Blow.

forth to meet your enemies, and you may be sure
of an easy and bloodless victory.
There ought to be a school in every family to
teach children how to use these weapons.
Parents ought to be the teachers. I have often
thought, if the nation would furnish us the
money to establish schools to teach all our chil-
dren how to conquer their enemies with these
powerful but gentle weapons, which it now fur-
nishes to establish schools to teach them how to
fight and kill them with swords and guns, our
property, liberty, and lives would be safer; and
it would not cost half so much to keep safe.
But now, instead of being ,taught to meet their
enemies and subdue them with love and kind-
ness, they are taught to meet them with deadly
weapons, and to kill, slay, and destroy them.
Children never will be safe-parents never will
-towns, cities, states, and nations never will,
till all these murdering instruments are thrown
away, and children are taught always to give-

Sueing to the Law. xI


GASPARD and Frantz were neighbours. They
were in a dispute about a meadow. Frantz said,
"The meadow is mine." "No, it is mine," said
Thus they contended. Frantz went to the
Judge to get him to settle it. The Judge ap-
pointed a day to meet them, and decide who
should have the meadow. It was summer, and
the meadow was ready for mowing. Gaspard
took his scythe, and went into the meadow, and
began to mow. Frantz saw him, went out to
him, and said-
"My friend, you know we are at variance
about this piece of ground."
"Yes," said Gaspard; "but I know the
meadow belongs to me, so I have been mowing
"But I have applied to the Judge," said
Frantz, that he may decide which of us is in
the right; and he has appointed to-morrow for

S2 Sueing to the Law.

us to appear before him, and tell our stories,
that he may tell to whom it belongs."
"Frantz," answered Gaspard, "you see I
have mowed the whole meadow. I must gather
the hay to-morrow. I cannot go."
"What is to be done?" answered Frantz.
"How can I disappoint the Judge, who has
fixed on to-morrow to decide the question?
Besides, I think it necessary to know to whom
the ground really belongs before gathering the
Thus they disputed for some time. At
length Gaspard seized Frantz's hand, and
"I have something to suggest."
"What is it ?" asked Frantz.
"Why," said Gaspard, "you go to the Judge
alone. First tell him your reasons to show that
the meadow is yours. Then tell him my reasons
to show that it is mine. Argue on both sides.
Why need I go at all? I will leave it all to
"Agreed!" said Frantz; "and since you

Sueing to the Law. 13

trust me with the management of your side, de-
,pend upon it I shall for the best."
Frantz set off the next day to meet the Judge,
and Gaspard went to gathering the hay. Frantz
first argued his own side. Then he began to
argue for his friend with all his might. The
"Verdict was rendered in favour of Gaspard.
Frantz hastened back to his neighbour.
"I congratulate you, friend Gaspard," cried
he, as soon as he saw him; "the meadow is
yours, and I am glad the dispute is at an end."
A kind and loving way to settle disputes and
manage lawsuits When anybody sues you, to
seek redress by appealing to judges and courts,
do as Gaspard did, and get the person that sues
to argue both sides, and manage your cause, and
state your reasons, as well as his own, and there
would be an end of lawsuits.
So, in all cases when you and others get into
disputes and difficulties about anything, say to
them, "My friends, go and state your reasons
and mine-ARGUE ON BOTH SIDES-Settle it all
your own way."

I4 Lydia and.her Little Brother.


ONE evening I took supper with Lydia's father
and mother. Before supper, Lydia, her parents,
and myself, were sitting in the room together,
and her little brother Oliver was out in the
yard, drawing his cart about. The mother went
out and brought in some peaches, a few of
which were large, red-cheeked rare-ripes-the
rest small, ordinary peaches. The father handed
me one of the rare-ripes, gave one to the mother,
and then one of the best to his little daughter,
who was eight years old. He then took one of
the smaller ones, and gave it to Lydia and told
her to go and give it to her brother. He was
four years old. Lydia went out and was gone
about ten minutes, and then came in.
"Did you give your brother the peach I sent
him ?" asked her father.
Lydia blushed, turned away, and did not

Lydia and her Little Brother. I1

"Did you give your brother the peach I
sent him?" asked her father again, a little
"No, father," said she, "I did not give him
"What did you do with it ?" he asked.
"I ate it," said Lydia.
"What! Did you not give your brother
any ?" asked her father.
"Yes, I did, father," said she, "I gave him
"Why did you not give him the one I told
you to give ?" asked her father, rather sternly.
Because, father," said Lydia, I thought he
would like mine better."
But you ought not to disobey your father,"
said he.
"I did not mean to be disobedient, father,"
said she; and her bosom began to heave and
her chin to quiver.
"But you were, my daughter," said he.
I thought-you would not be displeased with
me, father," said Lydia, if I did give brother

16 Lydia and her Little Brother.

the biggest peach;" and the tears began to roll
down her cheeks.
"But I wanted you to have the biggest," said
the father; "you are older and larger than he
'I want you to give the best things to brother,"
said the noble girl.
"Why ?" asked the father, scarcely able to
contain himself.
"Because," answered the dear, generous
sister, I love him so-I always feel best when
he gets the best things !"
"You are right, my precious daughter," said
the father, as he fondly and proudly folded her
in his arms; "you are right, and you may be
certain your happy father can never be displeased
with you for wishing to give up the best of
everything to your affectionate little brother.
He is a dear and noble little boy, and I am
glad you love him so. Do you think he loves
you as well as you love him ?"
Yes, father," said the girl, I think he does;
for when I offered him the largest peach he would

Lydia and her Little Brother. i

not take it, and wanted me to keep it; and it
was a good while before I could get him to.
take it."

After I had told this story to Charles, James,
and Jane three children who were often quar-
relling with each other, I asked them if they
knew Lydia and Oliver. They said they
"Did you ever see them quarrel ?" I asked.
"No," said Charles.
"Why do they not quarrel, Charles?" I asked.
Charles hung his head and did not answer,
He felt ashamed. So did James. But Jane
spoke up and said-
They don't quarrel, because they give up the
best things to each other."
That is it, Jane," said I; and when they
come to the table Lydia wants Oliver to have
the bigger piece of pie, and Oliver wants Lydia
to have it; and if they contend at all, it is not
to keep, but to give up the best things. Now if
you and your brothers would do so, you never

I8 Lydia and her Little Brother.

would have any angry quarrels, such as you have
just had."
Is there a child or a man on earth who can
help but approve the spirit and conduct of
Lydia and Oliver, and abominate the spirit and
actions of Charles, James, and Jane? Not
one-and there never was. Human nature, in
its most savage forms, instantly and invariably
goes in favour of the spirit and principle of self-
sacrifice, which are the spirit and principle of
peace. Christianity all goes the same way.
Nothing in it can be made to foster the spirit of
revenge and war. As children of a common
Father, we are taught to dwell in a love that
thinketh and doeth no evil-a love that does
nothing through strife, but that hopeth all
things, endureth all things, and never faileth.
How effectually this love unfits us to fight I

Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries. 19


I ONCE visited a school in B--, in which were
about seventy children, between four and nine
years of age.
Do your children often fight?" I asked the
"They can answer for themselves," was the
How is it, children ?" said I; what do you
say ? Do you have fighting among you?"
They were silent.
Are you willing the teacher should tell me ?"
I asked.
"Yes," said they all.
"What do you say?" I asked the teacher.
"Have you had any quarrels among the scholars
lately ?"
"Yes," said she; "four of the boys quar-
relled about some marbles no longer ago than

2o Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries.

"How happened it ?" I asked.
"At recess," said the teacher: "they were
playing, and each was trying to get away the
other's marbles. Two of the boys were suc-
cessful in the play, and took away almost all the
marbles from the other two. The two who had
lost their marbles grew angry, and accused the
others of cheating, and called them cheats.
This made the two who had won feel angry, and
they called the other two names. Soon they
came to blows, and had a fight."
I talked to the children about it, and showed
how the boys might have got along without
"I believe," said the teacher, "the children
have a question to ask you."
"What is it, children?" I asked.
"Please tell us," said one of the boys who
had fought about the marbles, "what the Gospel
means when it tells us, Look not every one upon
his own, but every one upon the things of others ?' "
"I will read you," I replied, "a beautiful
story to illustrate this precept."

Julia, Sohia, and the Whortleberries. 21

"One warm day in summer I was riding
through some woods in -. A school-
house stood near. The woods were full of ripe
whortleberries, and many of the children were
in the woods, having a merry time in picking
them. I felt, as I always do when I see chil-
dren in such a glee, as if I must join them and
have a merry time with them. I alighted from
my gig, tied my horse to a tree, and went towards
them. They were all strangers to me, and I to
them. I did not join them at once, for fear
they would run away, and leave me nothing but
the trees and whortleberries, whose company I
did not desire half so much as theirs. I picked
my way along, and kept edging towards them,
till I came into their midst. Then I began to
talk with them. At first they were a little shy
of me. They did not know how much I loved
them and longed to have a frolic with them.
But soon they became acquainted with me, and
we were very familiar. I stained their hands
and faces with berries. Then they stained
mine; for when I play with children, I always

22 Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries.

wish them to do and say to me just what I say
and do to them. We ran, played, and made
the woods ring with our merry voices and joyous
laugh. We should have been puzzled to have
told what had got into us, to make us run, and
laugh, and shout so; but we were so happy, we
could not help it. We were so full of joy we
could not contain it.
"After a while we all stopped playing, and
began picking and eating berries.
"There were two girls, about eight years old,
named Julia and Sophia, picking berries a little
way from me. I could see and hear all that
passed between them. Julia had found a cluster
of bushes that were fairly black with the largest
and sweetest berries. She said nothing to
Sophia, who was looking about for berries a few
steps from her. She did not cry out to Sophia,
as an unselfish, loving-hearted girl would have
done, 'Oh Sophia! see what a sight of nice
berries I have found Do come and pick
some !' But she just sat silently and secretly
down, as a miser does. to, count his gold, and

Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries. 23
fell to picking and eating with great greediness.
She acted as though she was fearful Sophia
would see them, and come before she had eaten
them all. After a few minutes Sophia happened
to come where Julia was, and saw how fine and
plentiful the berries were; so she began to pick
them too. She did not once think that Julia
would be unwilling to let her have part, for
there were more than both of them could eat.
But as soon as Julia saw Sophia picking the
berries, her selfishness kindled into anger, and
she cried out, 'Get away you have no business
here !'
"Are you not willing, Julia, that I should
have some of these ?'
"'No,' said Julia, 'you shall not have
"' I should think,' said Sophia, 'you would
let me have some of them; they hang so thick,
and are so nice.'
"'You shall not have one of them,' said
Julia, in a passion; for I found them first.'
"' But that is no reason,' said Sophia, why

04 Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries.
you should have them all, because you found
them first.'
"' Yes 'tis,' said Julia, 'and you shall not
pick any more.'
"With that she gave Sophia an angry push.
Sophia stooped to break off a little bush that
hung very full, and, as she did so, said-
"' There are enough for us both, Julia. You
cannot eat them all. Do let me have this
"As she was about to break it off, Julia broke
"' I don't care if I don't want them; you
shall not have them, for they are mine. I found
themfirst; so get along.'
"With that she flew at Sophia, and pushed
her away with great violence, and, in doing so,
entangled Sophia's clothes and tore them, and
threw her down. As she fell she cut a gash in
her face, and the blood ran freely. Now all our
merriment was gone. The selfishness and fury
of Julia had driven it all away. I went to Sophia,
took her up, and wiped the blood from her face;

iflia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries. 25
and all the children left off picking berries and
gathered around to sympathize with Sophia, ex-
cept Julia.
How did Sophia feel and act ? Julia had
hurt her much. But she did not cry; she did
not get angry, and call names, and strike back:
nor did she say, I will tell the schoolmistress.'
"'Do you feel angry towards Julia?' said I
to Sophia, after we had soothed and comforted
her with our sympathy.
No,' said she, I am sure I do not.'
"' Do you think,' said I, that you can love
her, and play with her, just the same as if she
had let you have those berries, and had not
pushed you down ?'
Yes,' said Sophia, I am sure I can, if she
will love me and play with me.'
"' But,' said I, 'Julia does not love you; if
she did, she would have been glad to have had
you eat of those berries. It is evident she hates
you, or she would not have torn your clothes
and cut your face so.'
"'No matter,' said she, I love her, and will

26 Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries.

play with her any time, if she will play with
"' How could Julia be so selfish and angry,
and tear your gown, and cut your face ?' said I.
'See how she looks !'
"All looked at Julia.
"'She looks as if she was sorry she did it,'
said the generous Sophia. 'Don't you think
she is?'
"'She don't look sorry at all, answered
Johnny, a boy about Sophia's age; she looks
cross and ugly.'
"So said all the children. By this I found
that Julia was not much beloved by the rest,
and that Sophia was.
"' Do you think she tore your gown and cut
your face on purpose ?' said I to Sophia.
No,' said she, I do not think she did.'
"' Yes, she did,' said some of the children;
'she meant to do it; she is a nasty cross
thing !'
"' Do not say so, children,' I said. 'I am
afraid you do not love Julia, any of you.'

Julia, Spahia, and the Whortleberries. 27
"' No, we don't,' muttered several; 'she is so
cross and disobliging.'
'Do you think she is glad she tore your
gown and cut your face ?' said I to Sophia.
"' No,' said she. 'Yes, she is,' said the
other children. She meant to do it, and she
will do it again, if she can.'
I am sorry, dear children,' said I, 'to see
you feel so towards Julia. She looks as if she
might be a good and generous girl, if she would
govern her temper and get rid of her selfishness.'
She does her lesson well,' said the for-
giving and self-forgetting Sophia; 'and the
teacher says she is the best scholar in school to
Thus we talked. Sophia always took Julia's
part; and though Julia had been so unkind and
cruel to her, she showed that she loved her, and
felt even more for her than for herself. She
really seemed to wish that Julia would love her,
and that all the school might love Julia.
"Sophia, and all the rest but one, became
merry and joyous again. That one was Julia.

28 Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries.

Where was she ? Poor child There she sat,
by her cluster of whortleberries, so near to us as
to hear all that was said about her. She kept
picking and eating, silently and alone, pretend-
ing to enjoy it. But, the dear unhappily tem-
pered girl I my heart ached for her, to see how
miserable and forsaken she seemed. She looked
so down-hearted and sad, when she heard
Sophia, the girl whom she had so unkindly
treated, pleading for her Julia's handsome, in-
telligent face (for she had the brightest eyes, and
had been the most joyous and active in our sports,
of any of them) now looked so distorted and
miserable I thought to myself, I will not leave
her so. I will see if we cannot bring her to a
better mind, and make her happy again. So I
whispered to Sophia, and asked-
"' Do you really love Julia, and wish to make
her love you, and get her to join us again, and
have another play F
"' Yes,' said she, I do so want to have Julia
love me and play with me! I will do anything.'
"' Well, dear Sophia,' I said, 'do you feel as

Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries. 29
if you could go to her, and kiss her, and ask her
to love you, and come and play with us ?'
"A hard lesson! Sophia hung her head at
first. She doubted how Julia would receive it
if she went to kiss her. I was afraid she would
falter. She looked at Julia. There she sat by
her berries, pretending to be picking and eating,
but really looking as if her poor little heart was
ready to break. It was but a moment that she
hesitated. Her generous affection for Julia
triumphed. She went straight towards her, with
her arms stretched out to embrace her. Julia
saw her coming, and instantly turned her back
towards her, and covered her face with her
hands, and began to cry out as if it was all over
with her. And, indeed, it was all over with her;
for the next instant Sophia had her arms around
her, crying too! Julia returned the embrace.
Her heart had been full of grief, and ready to
burst, from the moment she saw the blood
running down Sophia's cheek. But it had been
pent up. Now it burst out on Sophia in a flood
of sympathizing tears and sisterly embraces.

30 Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries.
Julia was received back to the love, the fun,,and.
frolic of us all. The children seemedalto foi t ."
all their dislike to her, and she tried to nm'ke
amends for the wrong she had done us all b_.
selfishness and cruelty to Sophia. She tried as.
hard to make us happy as she had before to
make us miserable. We all ran, laughed, and
shouted, till the woods resounded .4ith .ur
joyous peals, and the very birds and ,sq ilrrMiS
ran away astonished at us !
"After I had spent about two hours with them
they all gathered about me. We bade one another
farewell, and parted. As I rode off, the chil-
dren all stood in .the same -spot, looking after
me, with wet eyes and cheeks, and I at them,
sorrowing that I should never meet the dear,
joyous group again. It was a sweet and precious
time, never to be forgotten."
After reading this story from my journal, I
asked the school-
"Children, do you find anything in this to
show what is meant by looking not upon tUiar
own, but rather upon the things of others ?"

Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries. 31

"Yes, sir, in Julia's conduct;" answered one.
SHow does Julia's conduct show it?" I asked.
"ifftilia,'" said they, "looked upon her own
tf' igs, and 'did not look upon Sophia's at
"How did Sophia do ?" I asked.
"She looked upon Julia's things as well as on
her own,-tias the reply.
",A" Is- there anything in this to show how to
.lreveht quarrels among children ?" I asked.
" "Yes," said one, "in the conduct of Sophia,
when Julia tore her gown and cut her face. She
was not angry, and did not strike back again."
"What did she do ?" I asked.
"She went to her," answered one, "and put
her arms around her, and kissed her, and asked
her to love her and play with her."
-"What effect," I asked, "did Sophia's affec-
tion and tenderness have on Julia ?"
"They overcame her," said one, "and they
loved each other better than ever; and you all
played wh her, and had a'good run and laugh

32 Julia, Sophia, and the Whortleberries.
I wish I had been there too," said a joyous-
hearted little boy near me.
"I wish you had been there, my little lad,"
said I; "you would have helped us to laugh,
and shout, and run too, I doubt not. But see
how easily Sophia prevented a fight there, and
how completely she conquered Julia."
"It was first-rate," said a little boy.
"Indeed it was, my dear boy," said I; "and
if anybody ever tears your clothes, pushes you
down, cuts your face, or in any way hurts you, I
hope you will overcome them by love and kind-
ness, just as Sophia did Julia."


ADALINE was eight, Frank six years old. Their
father bought two books for New Year's pre-
sents. One of them was full of pictures and in-
teresting fables. New Year's day morning, the
children arose early, washed and dressed, and

Adaline and Frank. 33

came to their father for their books, which he
gave them. They examined them both, and
concluded the one with the pictures and fables
was much the better of the two.
Well," said the father, "who shall have the
better one ?"
Adaline stood by her father, with her arm
around Frank; and she instantly said :-
"Father, I wish Frank to have that."
"Why, my daughter ?"
"Because, father, I always feel better when
he gets the best things, and Frank always lets
me have his things when I want them."
"Well, Frank, what do you say? Do you
want the better book ?"
"No, father, I wish you would give it to
sister; for she is always kind, and shows me
her things, and lets me do as I please with
What could their father do? Adaline in-
sisted that Frank should have the better book,
and Frank that Adaline should have it. Here
was a singular dispute-I fear there are not

34 Adaline and Frank.
many like it-each contending for the right and
privilege of giving up the best things to the
other! Such contests among children always
endear them to their parents and to one another.
The father of Adaline and Frank was quite
overcome to see the sweet and affectionate con-
test, and he pressed them both closer to his
heart than ever. But finally he gave the better
one to Adaline, and wrote her name in it. Frank
evidently felt more pleased than Adaline. He
was delighted to give the best of everything to
his kind-hearted sister. This is a certain way to
prevent all strife among children. If either
contends for the right to give up, there can be
no fight. But had Adaline said, "I will have
that book," and Frank said, "No, you shall not
-I will," and had felt angry, and contended,
each of them, to keep it, rather than give it up,
how miserable they had been! how wretched
that father had felt! He would have been sorry
that he had bought the books. How, then,
must our heavenly Father feel to see His chil-
dren fight, each contending for the right to take

Two Neighbours and the Hens. 35

and keep If earthly parents are pleased to see
their children each contending for the right
to give up the best of everything to the others,
how much more pleasing to our heavenly Father
to see each of all His children thus contending !


A MAN once told me the following circum-
stances respecting himself and one of his neigh-
"I once owned a large flock of hens. I
generally kept them shut up. But, one spring,
I concluded to let them run in my yard, after I
had clipped their wings, so that they could not
fly. One day, when I came home to dinner, I
learned that one of my neighbours had been
there, full of wrath, to let me know my hens had
been in his garden, and that he had killed several
of them, and thrown them over into my yard.
I was greatly enraged because he had killed my
beautiful hens, that I valued so much. I deter-

36 Two Neighbours and the Hens.
mined at once to be revenged, to sue him, or in
some way to get redress. I sat down and ate
my dinner as calmly as I could. By the time I
had finished my meal, I became more cool, and
thought that perhaps it was not best to fight with
my neighbour about hens, and thereby make
him my bitter and lasting enemy. I concluded
to try another way, being sure that it would be
"After dinner I went to my neighbour's. He
was in his garden. I went out, and found him
in pursuit of one of my hens with a club, trying
to kill it. I accosted him. He turned upon
me, his face inflamed with wrath, and broke out
in a great fury-
"' You have abused me. I will kill all your
hens, if I can get at them. I never was so
abused. My garden is ruined.'
"' I am very sorry for it,' said I. 'I did not
wish to injure you, and now see that I have
made a great mistake in letting out my hens; I
ask your forgiveness, and am willing to pay you
six times the damage.'

Two Neighbours and the Hens. 37

The man seemed confounded. He did not
know what to make of it. He looked up at the
sky-then down at the earth-then at his neigh-
bour-then at his club-and then at the poor
hen he had been pursuing, and said nothing.
"'Tell me now,' said I, what is the damage,
and I will pay you six-fold; and my hens shall
trouble you no more. I will leave it entirely to
you to say what I shall do. I cannot afford to
lose the love and good-will of my neighbours,
and quarrel with them, for hens, or anything
"'I am a great fool,' said the neighbour.
'The damage is not worth talking about; and I
have more need to compensate you than you
me, and to ask your forgiveness than you mine.'"

38 The Child in West Africa.


IN West Africa, a society in England has a
school for poor native children. One day, in
that school, a little girl struck her schoolmate.
The teacher found it out, and asked the child
who was struck-
"Did not you strike her back again ?"
No, ma'am," said the child.
"What did you do ?" asked the teacher.
"I LEFT HER TO GOD," said she.
A beautiful and most efficient way to settle all
difficulties, and prevent all fights, among chil-
dren and among men. We shall never be struck
by others, when they know that we shall not
return the blow, but "leavethem to God." Then,
whatever our enemies do, or threaten to do, to
us, let us leave them to Him, praying that He
would forgive them, and make them our friends.

Susan and Sarah. 39

IN one of the schools I used to visit a few years
ago there were two girls named Sarah and Susan.
Susan was generally affectionate and even-tem-
pered, and one of the best scholars in the school.
She seldom was angry when others wronged her,
or went to the teacher to complain, to get her
wrongs redressed. She was a general favourite
in the school with teacher and scholars. Sarah
had a strong mind, learned rapidly, and appeared
in recitation about the best of any one in school,
and, at times, showed much nobleness and gene-
rosity in her actions. But she generally showed
a hard, unfeeling, and malicious temper in her
intercourse with the scholars, and was unforgiv-
ing and revengeful. She had no one to teach
her at home.
The teacher, feeling much pity and interest
for Sarah, and wishing to do all he could to im-
prove her, placed her and Susan on the same
seat, hoping that intimacy with Susan might be

40 Susan and Sarah.
a help to her. But there was often a coldness
of feeling between the two girls, and it would be
shown by their sitting as far apart as they could
on the bench, and by their angry, scowling looks,
and unkind words and actions. It was evident
to the teacher, and to the whole school, that
there was no union of heart between them.
Susan had often importuned the teacher to
change her seat, as she felt so unhappy sitting by
Sarah, she could not study. But he had refused,
hoping that she might be a benefit to Sarah.
One day, Susan left her seat for a few mo-
ments. When she came back, she found her
books and paper so torn and inked that they
were unfit for use. Sarah had done it. Susan
was greatly enraged about it, and concluded
that it was an outrage too great to be borne or
forgiven. She walked up to the teacher, her
eyes flaming, her face red, and every nerve and
muscle stiffened and braced up with passion.
She entered her complaint against Sarah, and so
coloured everything as to make her temper and
conduct appear as bad as possible. All pity

Susan and Sarah. 41

and affection for Sarah were consumed by her
hot anger and burning desire for revenge. The
teacher listened quietly and unmoved while she
detailed her wrongs, and depicted the temper and
conduct of Sarah, and let her anger, in a measure,
expend itself in complaints. Then he replied:
"Well, Susan, I cannot deny that Sarah is the
worst tempered girl in school; she gives me
more trouble than all the rest, and I feel more
anxiety for her than for any other. I hardly
know what do with her. What do you think
ought to be done ?"
"Turn her out of school," said Susan.
"I cannot endure to think of that," said the
teacher; "for you know she has no mother to
watch over her, and her father is a poor miser-
able drunkard, and seldom takes any notice of
her but to beat and abuse her. She would be-
come a poor lost girl, I am sure, if I were to
turn her out."
"Let me go to another seat, then," said
"I see not how I can do that," said the

42 Susan and Sarah.
teacher, "for the seats are all taken up ; and if
I take you away, I must seat some other girl
there, whom she would vex and trouble, perhaps,
more than she does you; and you would not
wish to get yourself out of trouble by getting
others in."
Then I must ask my father to take me out
of school," said Susan; "for I cannot bear her
any longer."
But," added the teacher, "I cannot have
you leave my school, Susan, for you have been
one of my best scholars. Do you think she
would do better if I were to give her a severe
whipping before the whole school ?"
"Yes, sir," said Susan.
"How would you and the whole school like
to see her whipped ?" asked the teacher.
We should all like it," said Susan; "for she
is a plague to us all, and all the scholars hate
her, and cannot bear her."
"Well," said the teacher, "Sarah is an obsti-
nate and revengeful girl, I have thought much
about her, and pity her. She has no kind

Susan and Sarah. 43

mother or father to care for and teach her
better. She was left to run about the streets.
She learns fast, and would be a noble girl if she
would govern her temper. I know not what to
do with her. I have tried to subdue her temper,
but she seems to grow worse and worse. I can
hardly refrain from tears to think what will be-
come of her. Nobody seems to love her, or
care for her. I thought you might do her good
when I seated her beside you, but it seems she
does you more hurt than you do her good. You
say the school all hate her, and cannot bear her.
Poor lost girl! I must turn her out, and let
her go !"
A new spirit was kindled in Susan's bosom
by these remarks of the teacher. She hung her
head, and her eyes were full of tears that began
to roll down her cheeks.
Dear Susan," said the teacher, what is the
matter? Why do you weep ?"
"I was thinking about Sarah," said Susan.
"You need not cry about it, Susan," said the
teacher; "for Sarah shall not trouble you any

44 Susan and Sarah.
more. As the scholars do not any of them love
her, as they cannot bear her, and as I do not
feel as if I could whip the poor motherless girl,
I will turn her out of school, and let her go."
"Perhaps," said Susan, sobbing, "if she had
had a kind mother and father to take care of
her, she would have been better."
"Probably she would," said the teacher;
"but her mother died when she was an infant,
and her drunken father hardly ever speaks a
kind word to her, but swears at her, and beats
her. But you may go to your seat now, Susan,
and Sarah shall trouble you no more after to-
day. She shall leave the school."
But Susan stirred not; she stood sobbing and
"Why do you not go to your seat, Susan ?"
asked the teacher, sharply. "Why do you stand
crying? I told you Sarah should not stay in
school to trouble you any more."
I do not want Sarah to be turned out," said
"How is this?" asked the teacher. "You

Susan and Sarah. 45

wished me to turn her out just now. What has
altered your mind ?"
She will have none to love her and care for
her, if you turn her out," said Susan, sobbing.
"But if she stays," said the teacher, there
is nobody to love her and care for her; for
you said you all hated her, and could not bear
I did hate her then," said Susan.
"Why?" asked the teacher.
"Because I was thinking," said Susan, "how
she tore and inked my books, and did all she
could to trouble me."
"Why do you not hate her now ?" asked the
"Because," replied Susan, "I am thinking
what will become ofher."
"Susan," said the teacher, "Sarah wronged
you much. But in treating you as she does,
whom do you think she really injures most, her-
self or you ?"
"Herself," was the reply.
"Indeed she does," said the teacher. "When

46 Susan and Sarah.
she gets angry, pinches you, strikes you, tears or
inks your books, or injures you in any way, she
always does a deeper and more lasting injury to
herselfthan to you. She strengthens her own evil
temper, makes every one hate and shun her, and
is preparing herself for sorrow and wretchedness.
It is dreadful to think what will be the end of
the poor girl, if she goes on in this way. But
you say you do not wish to have me turn her
out of school. You wanted me to whip her be-
fore the whole school, and said you would all
like to see it. Shall I do it ?"
No, sir," said she.
"Why?" asked the teacher.
Perhaps," said Susan, "she will not do so
any more; and she is a poor, motherless, friend-
less girl."
Well, I must do something with her," said
the teacher. "She deserves punishment. So
you may go to your seat, and tell Sarah to come
Don't unish her," said Susan, wholly unable
to contain herself.

Susan and Sarah. 47

"Dear Susan," said the teacher, "this is
strange. I hardly know what to make of it. I
have always loved and pitied Sarah myself, and
done all I could to help her. She has always
seemed very dear to me, for I knew she had no
mother, and that her drunken father was most
unkind to her; and I knew that you all hated
her, and I could hardly keep from weeping
when you told me what she had done, and that
all the school would be glad to see her punished
and turned out. But now that I am ready to
turn her out, or punish her, you ask me not to
do it. Now tell me what to do, and I will do
as you say."
I do not want anything done to her."
"Then you may take your things and go to
another seat," said the teacher. You cannot
wish to sit with her any longer."
The scene had become painful to Susan. She
was entirely overcome. She begged that she
might sit with her longer.
Do let her sit with me," said she.
"Well, my dear Susan," said the teacher, "if

48 Susan and Sarah.
you would only love Sarah, and not get angry
when she injures you, and would try to help her
overcome her evil temper and coarse and evil
ways, I should like above all things to have you
sit there; for she will be a lost girl if something
is not done for her. Do you think you can love
her and forget all that is past, and do her good,
whatever she does to you ?"
"I will try, if you will let me sit with her,"
said Susan.
"Then you may try it for a few days longer,"
said the teacher.
Susan went to her seat entirely overcome.
Her anger and revenge were all gone. Pity for
Sarah had triumphed. She had forgotten and
forgiven the injury Sarah had done to her, and
thought only of the injury she was doing to her-
self, and the misery she was bringing on herself,
and of her friendless and outcast condition.
She had lost sight of herself, and all her wrongs,
and thought only of Sarah. She took her seat,
nestled close up to Sarah, put her arms around
her, leaned her head on her shoulder, and wept i

S ;a?'. and Sarah. 49

Poor Sarah was wholly unprepared for this.
Susan's affection and sympathy touched the
right chord in her heart. She could brace her-
self against anger, blows, and all unkindness, but
she had nothing in her to resist such sisterly
affection. She returned the sympathy, and
before the whole school, the two girls, recently
so angry toward each other, were weeping in
each other's arms. Sarah did what she could
to compensate Susan.. The two girls sat no
more apart on the ends of the bench. Their
hearts came together, and that drew their bodies
close together. It could not be said any more
that Sarah had none to love her or care for her;
Susan loved her and cared for her. The whole
school began to love her and care for her. As
others loved her, she loved them. The gene-
rosity of her heart, the ardour of her affections,
and the energy of her character began to be
developed, and she became one of the best
scholars in school.
Thus Susan came to love her enemy, by think-
ing more of her than of herself. While her mind

50 Susan and Sarah.

dwelt on the injuries Sarah had done to her she
was full of anger and revenge, and was eager to
have her punished; but the moment she forgot
herself and her own wrongs, and began to think
of Sarah, of her ungovernable, revengeful tem-
per, and of the injury she was doing to herself
by indulging in it, and of her unloved and
neglected condition, her resentment was all gone,
love and forgiveness sprang up in her heart, and
then she would rather have been punished her-
self than had her punished.
Anger always drives children asunder, and
keeps them there, and makes them eye each
other hatefully and reveng-fully, and never
draws them close together, except to fight with
and injure one another. But love always draws
children close together, even in one another's
arms, and will not let them keep asunder. When
children hate one another, it is easy enough to
keep them separate; but if they love one
another, they will come together. Neither cold
nor heat, storm nor sunshine, nor anything else,
can keep children apart who love one another.

The Boy and the Boatman. St


A YOUNG lad was once rowing me across a river
in a boat Some boatmen, going down the
river with lumber, had drawn up their boat and
anchored it in the spot where the boy wished to
land me.
"There Fr he exclaimed, "those boatmen
have left their boat right in my way."
"What did they do that for ?" I asked.
On purpose to plague me," said he; "but I
will cut it loose, and let it go down the river. I
would have them know I can be as cross as they
But, my lad," said I, you should not plague
them because they plague you. Because they
act in this way to you, it is no reason why you
should do so to them. Besides, how do you
know they did it to vex and trouble you ?"
But they had no business to leave it there-
it is against the rules," said he.

52 The Boy and the Boatman.
"True," I replied, "and you have no business
to send their boat down the river. Would it
not be better to ask them to remove it out of
the way ?"
"They will not comply if I do," said the
angry boy; "and they will do so again."
"Well, try it for once," said I. "Just run
your boat a little above, or a little below theirs.
and see if they will not favour you, when they
see you are disposed to give way to accommo-
date them."
The boy complied; and when the men in the
boat saw the little fellow quietly and pleasantly
pulling at his oars to run-his boat ashore above
them, they took hold and helped him, and
wheeled their boat around, and gave him all the
chance he wished.
Thus, by submitting pleasantly to what he
believed was done to vex him, the boy prevented
a quarrel. Had he cut the rope at that time
and place, and let their boat loose, it would have
done the boatmen much damage. There would
have been a fight, and many would have been

The Boy and the Boatman. 53
drawn into it. But the boy, who considered
himself the injured party, prevented it all by a
kind and pleasant submission to the injury.

I WAS once playing with some fifty little boys in
a small yard. The snow was fully two feet deep
all over the yard, and damp, so that it might be
rolled up into any shape we pleased. We
plunged into the snow-drifts, some of which were
five feet high; we rolled up great balls, and
made houses, and steeples, and all sorts of
things, out of the snow. Finally, one proposed
that we should play war. I am opposed to
children's playing war. I had rather see them
play something that is right and useful, and that
will help to foster in them kind and loving feel-
ings towards one another. Playing war tends to
excite angry and revengeful feelings. However,
they went on. They divided the yard into

54 Putting the Nation in a
countries, by running a line through the middle,
and called one side England, the other America.
They then divided into two parties-one called
the English, the other the American nation.
After they were thus separated, each party chose
a leader. They put me into the English nation,
and that nation made me their king, to be the
commander-in-chief of their army, and to lead
them, and fight their battles. After they had
arranged all these things, I called them all to-
gether to deliberate on the course to be pursued.
The first thing to be done was, to put the nation
in a posture of defence. I made a speech to
them, to stir them up to this work.
"There," said I, "is the American nation
lying close by us. They are a covetous, am-
bitious, bloodthirsty nation. They will trespass
on our rights, invade our territory, and insult
our flag (we had tied a red silk handkerchief to
a pole and hoisted it up for our banner); "they
will take away our liberty, destroy our insti-
tutions, invade our firesides, and stain our
hearth-stones with the blood of our wives and

Posture of Defence. 55

children, unless they see us prepared for them.
I would propose that the nation be put in a
posture of defence, and that all our revenue,
that can be spared, be appropriated to this ob-
I sat on a high throne, made of pure snow,
clean and white; and my devoted, happy sub-
jects were around me, sitting or standing in the
snow. They all voted to put the nation in a
posture of defence, so that we might be pre-
pared to meet our neighbours, the Americans,
when they should attack us.
"How," said I, "shall we go to work to put
our nation in a posture of defence, so that our
enemies over the way will not dare to attack
Arthur, who was an intelligent, active, daring
little boy, and whom I had made my prime
minister, arose and said:-
"I propose that we build forts all along our
frontier, where our country borders on America."
Henry, full of decision and activity, said:-
"Let us setworkmen, some to making swords,

56 Puiling the Nation in a
guns, and cannon, and some to making powder
and ball; and let us establish arsenals in differ-
ent places, all over the kingdom."
William arose and said :-" I propose that we
should form artillery, rifle, cavalry, and infantry
companies, and have a military academy."
They all agreed that these things must be
done, except one boy. He was a blue-eyed,
mild-looking, gentle-hearted, but intelligent and
active boy, and was a favourite, dearly beloved
by all his companions. His name was Frank,
and he had been with me and heard me talk a
great deal. Frank said:-
"I think the best way to put ourselves in a
posture of defence is, to take all our money and
buy food and clothes; so that, if our enemies
are hungry, we can feed them; and if they are
naked and cold, we can clothe them."
My merry subjects set up a shout, and laughed
at Frank's proposition.
How will that defend us against our enemies,
if they attack us ?" asked Arthur, my prime min-

Posture of Defence. 57

"They never will attack us," said Frank,
"when they see us armed with nothing but food
and clothes, to be given them in time of need."
How will that keep off such a set of cruel
enemies ?" asked Henry.
"When they see us coming out to meet them
with such good things, they will see we love
them, and do not mean to hurt them, if they do
hurt us," replied Frank.
After they had discussed the subject a great
while, and had become much interested in it,
they asked me what I thought about it. "I
think," said I, that Frank is right."
The boys looked surprised, for but few of
them had ever heard me talk on peace.
"I thought you would agree with me," said
"I do not," I answered; "I agree entirely
with Frank, that we should be in a better posture
of defence against our enemies, by being pro-
vided with food, with which to feed them if they
are hungry, than we should to get swords and
guns to kill them."

58 Putting the Nation in a
I do not see that," said Arthur.
So the king and his prime minister were op-
posed to each other as to the best way of putting
the nation in a posture of defence.
"I can prove it to you," said I to the boys,
"so that every one of you will agree with me."
"I doubt whether we shall agree with you,"
said Arthur, "for Washington said, 'In time of
peace, prepare for war.'"
"That," said I, "is what I wish to do; but
how ? that is the question."
There is but one way to prepare for war,"
said Arthur, "and that is to get swords and
guns to kill our enemies when they attack us."
"Do you suppose our enemies would ever
attack us," I asked, "if they knew we loved
them, and meant never to injure them ?"
"They never could be our enemies, if they
knew that," said Arthur.
"That is the very thing," said I; "we should
have no enemies. Could you attack those you
knew loved you, and try to kill them ?"

Posture of Defence. 59

"No," said Arthur and William, "nobody
"Then," said I, others will not injure us,
when they know we love them."
We had all become quite excited in the
"I will put the question to vote," said I,
"and see how you decide. All who think that
you could not kill those who loved you, and
tried to do you good, may raise your
Every boy raised a hand, and some of them
both hands.
"All who think that others will not be your
enemies, and try to kill you, if they know you
love them, may raise your hands."
Every one raised a hand.
"Now," said I, "which is the best way to
convince our enemies that we love them, and
never mean to harm them-to get swords and
guns to kill them, or food and raiment to feed
and clothe them ?"
They were all silent, and Arthur and William

60 Putting the Nation in a

looked around at the other boys to see what
they thought. They all felt that I was
"See, boys," I said; "suppose you were all
my enemies, and you were coming on to attack
me. I love you, and wish to make you feel that
I love you. So I surround myself with swords
and guns to kill you. How would that make
you feel ?"
I think we should not feel that you loved us
much," said Daniel, "if you had swords and
guns to kill us."
But," said I, suppose, as I see you coming,
I spread out an abundance of all good things,
to feed and refresh you ?"
"That would look more as if you loved us,"
said Daniel; and so they all said.
"Could you possibly feel that I loved you,
and never meant to hurt you," I asked, when
you saw me with deadly weapons to kill
you ?"
No," said Miles, for if you loved us and

Posture of Defence. 61

did not mean to hurt us, you would not have
guns and swords to kill us."
"I propose," said I, "that we call in our
enemies, the Americans, to decide the ques-
"Agreed! agreed !" said all my merry little
subjects, who had by this time got pretty close
to their king, and lost all fear of him. So I
called to the Americans to come over to our
country, and help us to decide whether we
should get guns and swords to fight them, or
good food to feed them. Over they came in a
hurry, disbanding their nation without any
"Boys," I said, after they had all gathered
around me, "we were deliberating how we
should be best prepared to conquer you, if you
should attack us. The question is, whether we
shall get swords and guns to kill you, or cake
and pie to feed you. What do you say ?"
Oh !" they all said, get cake and pie to
feed us !"
Do you think others would ever hurt you,"

62 Putting the Nation in a

I asked, if they felt that you loved them, and
tried to do them good ?"
"No," they all shouted.
"Could others," I asked, "be made to feel
that you love them, and never meant to injure
them, while they saw you have guns and swords
in your hands to kill them ?"
"No," was the general shout.
"Would they," I asked, feel that you loved
them, if they saw you providing things to feed
them if they were hungry, and to clothe them if
they were naked ?"
"Yes !" shouted every one.
"How then," I inquired, "shall we put our-
selves in the best posture of defence ?"
"Throw away all our swords and guns, and
get lots of cake and pie, and all good things, to
feed them," said Frank; and all joined him
We were two hours talking this matter over.
Finally, I abdicated my snow-white throne, and
both nations broke up without playing war, and
I sorrowfully parted from my dear happy

Posture of Deence. 63

subjects, after they had passed a vote of thanks
to me for my peaceful reign. And this reminds
me of an incident in a stage-coach.


I WAS riding in a stage-coach. It was full of
passengers. There was one they called Colonel.
He talked a great deal about expending plenty
of money to put the country into a state of
It would be a happw thing," I said. It is
just what the nation needs, for it is in great
danger. It ought to be put in a state of
I hope," said he, "Government will appro-
priate all the surplus revenue for that pur-
"So do I," I replied.
He began to think I was on his side, and to
make quite free with me.

64 The Colonel.-Scene in a Stage Coach.

But," said I, we may differ as to the best
way to put the nation in a state of defence.
How would you do ?"
"Why," said he, there is but one way."
"What is that ?" I asked.
"Build forts and fortifications," said the
Colonel, "all along our sea-coast; build more
ships of war; increase the army and navy; fill
the nation with implements of war, and improve
the military system."
"I thought we should differ," said I. "Now
I believe every gun and sword, every fort and
ship of war, and every soldier, only adds to our
danger. These are the very things that portend
our ruin. We have too many of them. If we
had not one, we should be safer."
"How, then," he asked, "would you put the
nation in a posture of defence ?"
I would take the money and use it to make
all the people love their enemies, and be willing
to die rather than kill them; to make all the
worldfeel that we loved them, and that we had
no means or disposition to hurt them in any


The Colonel.-Scene in a Stage Coach. 65

way. Then we should be in a posture of
defence. The people would all be armed with
a power before which no nation could stand.
No nation would desire to invade us. No
nation could do it. Would not this place the
nation in a better posture of defence than forts,
armies, and navies ?"
He confessed it would, if the whole nation
would adopt this method.


THESE two little girls were sisters. In early
spring, just as violets began to bloom, they were
playing and running in a meadow near their
father's house. They both happened, at the
same time, to see a violet a little ahead of them.
Both sprang to get it. Ruth, the eldest sister,
came to it first, and picked it. Amy was angry,
and cried out, I saw it first, and it belongs to
me." "No, it is not yours, it is mine," said

66 Ruth, Amy, and the Violet.

Ruth, for I saw it as soon as you did, and I
got to it first, and picked it. So I have got it,
and you shall not have it." Amy was quite
furious, snatching at the flower, and striking her
sister. Then Ruth became angry, and struck
back again. So they had a regular fight about
it, screaming and beating each other. The
mother heard it, and came to see what was the
matter. There she found her little daughters
tearing and beating each other in a great
"What does this mean ?" asked the mother.
"Ruth got my flowers," said Amy.
"No, I didn't, mother," said Ruth. It was
mine. I saw it first, and picked it."
But where is the flower ?" asked the mother.
Lo it had been torn to pieces in the fight !
Thus each claimed the flower by right of first
discovery, and in fighting to decide who saw it
first, and who should have it, both lost it !
How could this fight have been prevented,
and the sweet violet, and the sweeter spirit of
sisterly love and affection, have been preserved ?

Ruth, Amy, and the Violet. 67

Ruth said she saw it first, and claimed it. Amy
said she saw it first, and claimed it. Now, though
Ruth had the violet in her hand, if, when Amy
said, It is mine, I saw it first, I will have it,"
Ruth had said to her, Sister, if you think the
pretty flower is yours, you may have it; I should
rather let you have it than keep it myself; only
I want you to love me as a dear sister; I had
rather have that than all the flowers that grow,"
would there have been any fight? any anger?
any coldness or unkindness between the sisters ?
None. They would have saved their sisterly
affection from so rude a shock, and the sweet
violet too; and Amy would not have cared
whether the flower had been in her sister's hand
or in her own. She would have enjoyed it just
as well-nay, better, had it been in her sister's.
The sweet and pretty flower belonged to Him
who made it. He made it to delight the two
sisters. How wicked in them to get angry and
fight about it Our heavenly Father made the
earth, and all the beautiful and precious things
that adorn it. They are all His. He invites

68 Ruth, Amy, and the Violet.

all His children to come and enjoy them. We
admire them; we see there are more than
enough for all; and it would seem that, as
brothers and sisters, as dear and loving children
of a common Father, we might look at them,
use and enjoy them, in love and peace. Yet, as
soon as we see the beautiful things our Father
has laid before us, to please us, and make us
happy in His love and in each other's love, we
begin to fight for them, as Ruth and Amy did
for that pretty violet.
One says, This land is mine-I found it
first." Another says, "No, it is mine-I found
it first."
"The gold and silver are mine," says one.
"Let none dare touch them without my leave."
"They are mine," wrathfully responds another.
I will 'kill, slay, and destroy' all who touch
them without consulting me."
One gets possession of the treasure first. The
other comes up and tries to snatch it away. The
first struggles to keep it-the other to get it.
One strikes the other. The other strikes back.

Ruth, Amy, and the Violet. 69

Both get enraged. Fast and furious go the
blows. Love goes out, wrath comes in. Blood
flows, limbs are broken, and bodies torn to
pieces. And these are brothers and sisters I
dear children of the same family thus fighting
about the sweet and pleasant things their kind
and loving Father has given them!


IN a visit to another school, one of the children
asked me-
What does this mean, It is more blessed to
give than to receive "
"Children," I asked, "can any of you tell
what it means ?"
A little girl, whose name was Mary, answered,
"I had a piece of cake the other day. I
broke it into six pieces, and gave five of them
to five other children who were playing with me,
and kept the smallest myself."

7o Mary, Ellen, and the TinZ Box.
Is not that what it means ?" asked another
girl, named Ellen.
"Yes, Ellen," I replied, "I think it is pretty
near the meaning. I know a boy by the name
of Clark. He has several brothers and sisters.
If Clark gets an apple, an orange, grapes, plums,
or anything, his brothers and sisters are always
sure to get the largest share, and often the
whole. When they have anything, Clark never
teazes them to give to him; but they often
plead earnestly with him to take. When he
sees he cannot refuse to take without hurting
their feelings, he always takes what they offer.
I once asked Clark why he was not as willing to
receive from his brothers and sisters as he was to
give to them.
"'Because,' said the noble brother, 'I feel
better when I give to them than I do when they
give to me.'
'Why?' I asked.
""'Because I am afraid they will not have
enough,' said he.
'What of that?' I asked.

Mary, Ellen, and the Tin BOD. 71

"'Why,' said he, 'how could I enjoy any-
thing when I am thinking all the time they want
it, and that they go without for the sake of giving
to me?'
"' True, Clark, I see not how you could,' I
After I had related this story, Mary spoke
and said, "I think I should be more happy to
give than to receive." Poor girl she did not
know her own heart, for it was soon brought to
the test.
Ellen took up a painted tin box belonging to
Mary, and was looking at it.
"That is mine," said Mary, and snatched it
away with some violence.
Ellen gave it up very quietly, and then said,
"Do let me look at it, Mary. It is so pretty."
I shall not," said Mary, for it is mine, and
you had no business to touch it."
"Dear Mary," said I, do you really think it
is more blessed to give than receive? You
said just now you thought you should be more
happy to give than to receive. You do not look
very happy now, at any rate."

72 Mary, Ellen, and the Tin Box.
Poor girl she was cut to the heart. She in-
stantly gave the box to Ellen, hung her head,
and began to weep.
"Children," said I to the school, "which do
you think would have made Mary most blessed
-to have given up the box to Ellen, and let her
look at it as much as she pleased, or to snatch
it away as she did ?"
All answered, "She would have been most
blessed to have given it up."
"So I think," I replied. "You do not feel
so happy, Mary, as you would have done if you
had told Ellen kindly, when she took up your
box, that she might look at it as much as she
How blessed must be our heavenly Father;
for He is always giving, and never receiving!
Giving makes blessed, not receiving.

Leonard, Rebecca, and the Recess. 73


I ONCE went into a school in B-. There were
belonging to it about sixty children. When I
went in, it being the play hour, they were all out
except two. As I entered I saw two children,
Leonard and his sister Rebecca, standing by the
teacher. Rebecca was about four, and Leonard
about seven years old. Never did a brother
love a sister better than Leonard did Rebecca.
She was a little, laughing, joyous, affectionate
child, and Leonard was all in all to her. She
did not think that either food or play was good
unless Leonard was present to share it with her.
They never quarrelled, for the good reason that
Leonard's joy was to see his sister happy, and
she was sure to get the largest share of every-
thing he had. When Rebecca had done any-
thing wrong, her brother was always by her, to

74 Leonard, Rebecca, and the Recess.
avert or share the punishment. There these
two children stood by the teacher. I feared
that Rebecca had been doing wrong as soon as
I saw them; for Leonard had been crying.
Said the teacher to me as I entered and sat
"What shall I do ? I have .a case here which
I know not how to dispose of."
"What is the matter?" I asked. "Have
Leonard and Rebecca been making difficulty in
the school ?"
No," said she; "Leonard has done nothing
out of the way, and hardly ever does; he is
one of the best scholars in school."
What is he crying for, then," I asked, if
he has been such a good boy? Why does he
not go out to play with the rest?"
"Why," said the teacher, "Rebecca, his little
sister here, has made a great deal of trouble to-
day in the school; and, as a punishment, I told
her she must stay in the house when the other
children went out to play."

Leonard, Rebecca, and the Recess. T75

"What of that ?" I asked. "Why need
Leonard trouble himself and cry about that ?
You do not keep him in, to punish him, because
his sister has been a bad girl ?"
"No," said the teacher: "but Leonard wishes
me to let his sister go out and play and let him
stay in and take the punishment; and he is
crying because I will not do so."
"How is that?" said I to Leonard. "Why
do you not go out to play ?"
Because," said he, Rebecca cannot
"What is it to you if she cannot ?" I asked.
" You can go and enjoy yourself with the
"I could not play if I did go," said he.
"Why?" I asked.
Because Rebecca would not be there," said
"But," said I, if your sister should go out,
she would with you. She would be in
the girl's yard."

76 Leonard, Rebecca, and the Recess.
"But I should know she was out there," said
he, "playing with the rest."
But why," I asked, do you wish to stay,
and let your naughty sister go out ?"
"Do not call her naughty, sir," said the
generous boy; "I love her, and would rather
have her go out than go myself."
Then you think," said I, you would rather
see her happy than to be happy yourself, and
you had rather be punished than to have her
punished ? Is that because you love her ?"
Yes, sir," said he; I am older and stronger
than she is, and I can bear it better than she
can. I could not be happy if she stayed in:
Do, ma'am, let her go out," said the noble-
hearted boy to the teacher.
He stood with his arm around his sister,
pleading that he might be punished in her stead!
What a lovely disposition he had! It was
affecting to witness his generous devotion to
his sister, and his readiness to suffer for her

Leonard, Rebecca, and the Recess. 77

"This," said I to the teacher, "is 'love
that seeketh not her own. What can you
do ?"
"I will let them play together here in the
room," said she.
She did so, and they both were happy.
If we loved our enemies, as Leonard did his
sister, with a love that seeketh not her own,"
there could be no wars or fighting in the
world, for then we should always rather suffer
and die ourselves, than inflict suffering and
death on them.

78 Clarissa and Sarah. -Love and Ager.


IN one of my calls at a school, I asked the
How do you feel when you think others are
angry with you ?"
"We feel unhappy, and want them to be
pleasant to us," they replied.
"Then it is not pleasant," said I, "to be
hated by anybody, is it ?"
"No, sir," said one ; "it feels better to be
"What makes you unhappy when you are
angry at others ?" I asked.
"Because we feel all out of sorts," said
"We cannot keep still," said another.
"We want to catch hold of something and
tear away," said another.
"We want to strike," said a fourth.

Clarissa and Sarah.-Love and Anger. 79

"We do not care for anybody," said a
We want to fight," said a sixth.
"Do you feel so when you are angry with
your enemies ?" I asked.
Yes," said one, we are always uneasy when
we are angry.
Then it must be wrong to be angry," said
I. "It is on this account our heavenly Father
tells us to put away all anger, and be tender-
hearted and forgiving. Can we be tender-
hearted and angry at the same time ?"
"Anger never makes people tender-hearted
and kind," said one.
How does it make them feel?" I asked.
"Hard-hearted and cruel," said the same
one, "and ready to tear everything to
"* "That it does," said I; "love is always
tender-hearted and kind: anger is savage and
cruel, and tears everything to pieces, as you say.

80 Clarissa and Sarah.-Love and Anger.

It is a tearing, fighting passion. Without it you
cannot fight."
This reminds me of a little incident that
pleased me.
"Ma !" said Clarissa, as she came in from
school one day, looking vexed, "what makes
me feel so when I am with Sarah ?"
"Why, how do you feel?" asked the
"I feel, I don't how," said Clarissa.
"Well, my daughter, if you do not know how
you feel, how should I know ?" replied the
"Why, mother, you know how I feel," said
Clarissa; I feel all out of sorts. I feel as if I
could not laugh or play. I feel vexed and un-
easy. When I get away from Sarah, I feel as if
I could talk and laugh."
"Do you love Sarah ?" asked the mother.
"No, I cannot love her," said Clarissa, "she
is so cross to me, I hate her."
"That is it," said the mother; "you hate her.

Clarissa and Sarah.--Love and Anger. 8
That is what makes you feel so. How do you
feel when you are with Maria ?"
Oh I am so happy! She is kind to me.
I love her, and we have real good times to-
Then it seems," said the mother, "you are
unhappy with Sarah because you hate her. Now
you had better get rid of your anger, that makes
you feel so out of sorts, and try to love Sarah,
and then she will love you, and you will be
happy with her."


82 Ann Victorious over Edward.


THESE children were about seven years old.
They attended the same school. Edward was a
boy of mischievous disposition, and seemed to
delight in teazing and tormenting little Ann.
He would prick her with pins, pinch her, push
her down, knock her books out of her hands, and
try to frighten her by threatening to knock her
down and kill her, and in every way try to vex
her and make her unhappy. He generally took
opportunity, while on the way home from school,
to torment her.
One day Ann came home crying bitterly, with
her dress disordered, and her bonnet knocked
out of shape. Edward had thrown her down,
and told her he would kill her The parents
said nothing to her about Edward at first, but

Ann Victorious over Edward. 83

soothed and comforted her feelings. At the
dinner-table, after Ann had got over her excite-
ment, and had become pleasant and calm, her
father said to her,-
"Ann, how can we go to work to overcome
Edward's temper and ways ? I do not like to
tell the teacher of the poor.wicked little boy.
He will whip him if I do, and perhaps that will
make him hate you, and treat you worse. Do
you wish to have him whipped ?"
"No, father," said she.
"Do you feel angry with him, Ann," asked
the father, "and wish to have anything done to
him to make him suffer ?"
"No, father, I am sure I do not," replied
"But he seems to hate you, and to delight in
tormenting you," said the father.
I do not hate him, nor wish to have him tor-
mented," answered the generous little girl,
What shall be done," continued the father,
" to make him a better boy ? I do not like to

84 Ann Victorious over Edward.
have him going on treating you so. Something
must be done. Can you tell, Ann, what
to do?"
After a few moments' reflection, Ann said -
"I should like to give him something, if I
had anything to give."
Could you not give him one of your little
books ?' asked one sitting by.
"May I, father?" asked Ann.
"Yes, my dear daughter," said the father,
"you may give him anything you please, which
you have to give."
She selected one of her little books, well
stocked with pretty stories and pictures, and
carried it to school. As she went along, she
walked with a firm and joyous step, and looked
very happy, as if she felt sure she was about to
get the victory over Edward's wicked temper
and actions that afternoon. She seemed to feel
sure Edward would never hate her and treat her
wickedly any more after that day.
As soon as school commenced, she went to

Ann Victorious over Edward, 85

the teacher and asked, "May I speak with
Edward ?"
What do you wish to speak about?" inquired
the teacher.
Ann looked red, and answered, "I want to
speak to him. Please, sir, let me."
"Yes," said the teacher, "you may speak to
She went to him, reached out the book, and
said, Would you not like to have this book ?"
He hung his head and looked ashamed, but
took the book, turned over the leaves, and
looked at the pictures.
Is it for me to keep for ever ?" he asked.
"Yes," said Ann kindly, I want to give it to
you to keep."
He said no more, but kept the book, and Ann
went to her seat.
When school was done, he put his book under
his arm, and ran home, to show his present to
his parents. He has never troubled Ann since,
and never will.

86 Ann Victorious over Edward.

I know every child who reads this story will
detest the conduct of Edward in tormenting his
kind and generous-hearted little schoolmate, and
will admire the forgiving, noble conduct of dear
little Ann.
This is a sweet and pleasant way to settle all
our difficulties and conquer all our enemies. I
should think everybody would treat their enemies
in this way, if it were for nothing but the plea-
sure of it. Ann would not have felt so cheer-
ful and happy if she had been the means of
getting Edward whipped.

Fighting in Love. 87


ONE bright morning early, I walked out with a
troop of little children. After a while, we all
collected under the old elm-tree on the common.
Children," said I, abruptly, as we stood to-
gether in a group under the elm, "did you ever
hear of people fighting in love ?"
They all laughed heartily at the idea.
Fighting in love! No," said Catharine;
"nobody ever heard of such a thing."
"I have heard of persons fighting in love;
and a hard fight they had too," said I.
I guess they did not shed any blood, if they
fought in love," said Rebecca.
"Yes, they did," said I, "their faces, hands,
and jackets were covered with blood."
"Then I know they did not fight in love,"
said Robert.

88 Fighting in Love.
"How do you know it ?" I asked.
"Because," said the same boy, "love never
makes people fight."
"How do you know it ?" I asked. "Did
you ever try to fight in love ?"
"No, I never fought at all," said he; but I
know I could not fight in love."
"Why ?" I asked.
"Because I do not feel any fight in me to-
wards those I love," said he. "Besides, I never
want to hurt those I love."
What! not to keep them from hurting you ?"
I asked.
No," said he. But they will not wish to
hurt me, if I love them; and if they did, I had
rather have them hurt me than hurt them."
But," said I, they said they fought in
love ?"
I do not believe a word of it, if they did
say so," said Catharine. "Fighting in love I
only think of it I could not believe it, if all
the world should say so."

Fighting in Love. 89

"Well," said I, "you shall hear the story;
then see what you will say.
"Nathan and Frank lived in M- Na-
than's father, one afternoon, was sitting in the
front room, with the windows up, looking up
the street, watching for his son coming home
from school. Soon Nathan came down the
street, walking slowly, with his hand to his face,
as if something was the matter. He drew near,
and the father saw that his face, hands, and
jacket were covered with blood. He ran to the
door, and met him.
"' What in the world is the matter, Nathan?'
said the alarmed father.
I have been fighting,' said he.
"The father took him into the house, wiped
off the blood, and stanched it. Then he began
to talk to Nathan.
"'With whom did you fight?' he asked.
"'With Frank,' said he.
"' What made you fight him?' asked the

90 Fighting in Love.
He struck mefirst,' said Nathan, in excuse.
'Do you hate Frank ?' asked the father.
'No, father,' said he.
Does Frank hate you ?' asked the father.
No, father,' said he; 'I don't suppose he
'Your sad appearance,' said the father,
'looks very much as if hatred had had to do
with you. Would you like to have Frank
punished for striking you?'
'No, sir,' said Nathan.
"' Would Frank like to have you punished?'
asked the father.
"' No, sir,' he answered.
"'Well, my son,' said the father, 'this has
been a strange quarrel. You say neither hates
the other nor wants him punished. Do you
love Frank?'
'Yes,' said he, after a little hesitation.
"'Does Frank love you ?' asked the
"' Yes, sir,' faintly murmured Nathan.

Fighting in Love. 91

"'What on earth, then, did you fight for?'
asked the father in real astonishment, not know-
ing what to make of it.
Nathan hesitatingly answered, We fought
because-because-we-we--loved each other /'
"There, children!" said I, when I had
finished the story; what do you think of that ?
Cannot children fight in love ?"
They all laughed well at the picture.
"What did Nathan's father say?" asked a
sweet-tempered little boy, named Lucius.
"It was too much for his gravity," said I.
":The picture of two boys with eyes flashing
fury, with faces inflamed with wrath, driving
at each other with their fists, battering each
other's faces, giving each other black eyes and
bloody noses--all in love and gentle affection-
was more than he could behold and look sober.
He laughed heartily."
"No wonder," said Rebecca; "it is enough
to make anybody laugh."
"So it seems to me, children," said I. "It

92 Fighting in Love.

is an insult to common sense to say children or
men can fight in love. But if love cannot make
you fight, what does!"
"Hatred and revenge," said Catharine.
"I believe it," said I. "Since, then, we are
bound to love our enemies, and since we cannot
fight them if we love them, what shall we do ?"
"Not fight them at all," said the children.
"What!" said I: "not when they attack
us ?"
"No, sir," said all.
"What shall we then do to them when they
attack us ?" I asked.
"Leave them to God, as Jesus did His
enemies, and pray that He would forgive them,"
sweetly answered Rebecca.
"True, dear children," said I, "that is the
way Jesus did; and it is the way we ought to
do, for it is very certain that no children, nor
men, can fight in love."

Richard angry, and fighting with the Door. 93


I ONCE visited a school, and talked with the
children about anger and revenge, and how
they led children to act. I told them of a man
who was angry with his trowel and bricks, and
beat them because they did not work to suit
him; and that I had often seen children get
angry at tables, and chairs, and cats, and
dogs, and beat them because they hurt
"The door hurt me the other day," said
Richard, a boy of about seven years old.
How did you feel towards it ?" I
"I got right angry with it," said he.
"What did your anger make you do to it ?"
I asked.
"It made me beat it," said he.

94 Richard angry, and
"What did you beat it for ?" I asked.
"To hurt it, and make it do better next
time," he answered.
"But the door cannotfeel," I remarked.
"I wish it could," said he.
"Why?" I asked.
Because I could then take more pleasure in
beating it," said he.
"Children," said I, "which shows the worst
temper in Richard-to get angry with the door
and beat it, or to get angry with his brother
William and beat him? And which would be
the most foolish ?"
I put the question to the children and the
teacher. Charles, William, Anna, and the
teacher said it would show the worst temper,
and be the most foolish, to get angry with the
door and beat it. Richard, Lydia, Francis,
Edward, and myself said it would show the
worst temper to get angry with William and beat
"Why," I asked those who took the side of

Fighting with the Door. 95

the door, "do you think it most savage and
foolish to beat the door ?"
The following are the answers of each.
Charles.-The door cannot feel. There
would be some sense in beating William, for he
could feel it when you beat him. It would
make him angry. The door did not do it on
William.-Because the door cannot hurt him
back again. It cannot resist when he strikes it.
It cannot do anything to keep him from beating
it. It does not know anything. It can do no-
thing but stand and take it. The door has no
feeling nor sense, so you can beat it, and teach
it better manners.
"Beating !" said I, "to teach better manners !
That is rather queer."
Anna.-It does more good to beat the door.
It does not make so much trouble. If he beats
William, William will beat back again. He can
get angry, and strike back. It does not give
so much pain to beat the door. There will not

96 Richard angry, and
be any fighting if he strikes the door; there will
if he strikes William. There would be most
sense in striking William.
"But, Anna," said I, "if, as you say, it does
not do so much good to beat William as to beat
the door, and if it makes more trouble, and gives
more pain to beat him, then I think it would
show a worse temper, and would be more foolish
to beat William. I think your reasons are
against you. You say it makes less trouble,
causes less suffering, does more good, and is
less cruel and wicked, to beat the door, than to
beat William."
Charles.-That's a puzzler! Anna will change
her mind and leave our side.
"What do you say, Anna ?" I asked.
Anna hesitated. She, too, found it a puzzler!
Finally, she said-
"I do not know but it does show a worse
temper to beat William, for it would make him
suffer most. The door would not feel any

Fighting with the Door. 97

"So, then, you change your mind, and come
over to our side, do you ?" I asked.
"Yes," said she, "I do think it would show
the worst temper to beat William."
The Teacher.--I think it would be more
wicked in Richard to strike the door, because
the door cannot defend itself. I admit it would
cause most pain to strike William, but it would
be the most foolish to strike the door. It causes
most suffering to beat that which can feel and
be hurt, but it shows a less savage temper than
it does to beat the door that has no feeling.
The consequences to Richard would be the same
in both cases, but the consequences to William
and the door would be different. The door
would not suffer-William would.
"This is the very thing," said I, "which
makes beating William more savage and foolish-
the fact that it causes most pain. When Richard
gets angry with William, he strikes him on pur-
pose to give him pain; and it is the fact that he
gives him pain which gratifies Richard in striking