Children and toy wagon
S
See what a pretty Fairy Queen!Such a one is seldom seen:A little crown of golden hair,And little robes so clean and fair.All behind her trumpets blowing;All before her banners flowing;A valiant guard upon her right,With a sword so keen and bright;And on her left a dame discreetTo answer her with converse sweet;And a prancing steed beforeHer triumphal car to draw.Surely such a Fairy QueenHas been very seldom seen:For guards and dames and steeds appearHer brothers and her sisters dear.And there the kind old nurse the whileLooks on with merry jest and smile.
See what a pretty Fairy Queen!
Such a one is seldom seen:
A little crown of golden hair,
And little robes so clean and fair.
All behind her trumpets blowing;
All before her banners flowing;
A valiant guard upon her right,
With a sword so keen and bright;
And on her left a dame discreet
To answer her with converse sweet;
And a prancing steed before
Her triumphal car to draw.
Surely such a Fairy Queen
Has been very seldom seen:
For guards and dames and steeds appear
Her brothers and her sisters dear.
And there the kind old nurse the while
Looks on with merry jest and smile.
Sparrow-hawk
T
This is a picture of a bird called the Sparrow-hawk. It is rather a small kind of hawk, and contents itself with swooping down upon poor little unoffending sparrows, and such small game. Like other birds of prey, it is becoming more scarce every year in England, and being a very wild shy bird, it does not come near people or houses if it can help it. Still, when it is very hungry, or has little hungry bird-children at home in its nest, it becomes very brave and fierce, as you will see by the story I am going to tell you of what happened to me when I was a little girl.
It was, I remember, a very cold morning, and the trees were standing bleak and bare against the sky; the world looked dreary enough, and there were heavy clouds hanging over all. I had come out into the garden to bowl my hoop, when old Tidyman, the gardener, who was sweeping the snow from the paths, and who dearly loved a little chat, said to me,—
“We’ll be having a fine fall, missie, presently: it’s rare and cold surely. The birds is a’most starving: there be a sparrer-hawk a’hoverin over here as seems precious hungry. It have a nesty, I know, in that there holler tree in the park, and as soon as ever them pore little birds you see there trying to peck a bit, comes together, that there sparrer-hawk he comes after them. Looky there!” exclaimed the old man, pointing to a hawk high in the air above our heads, “if he ain’t a’hoverin over us now!”
The poor little dickies, who were pecking away at a few crumbs, which had been thrown out to them in the garden by some kind-hearted maid belonging to the house, seemed suddenly to become conscious of their danger, and flew off with a frightened twittering cry. One only—a very young and very foolhardy little sparrow—remainedto take a last peck. The hawk singled out this poor birdie for his prey, and allowing the others to fly away in peace, suddenly swooped down upon the little laggard, fastening his cruel beak in its poor quivering body.
This took place within half-a-dozen yards of the spot where old Tidyman and I stood talking. I was but a child of seven years old, but I hated cruelty, and always longed to help the weak against the strong; so I rushed at the hawk, hoopstick in hand. The little sparrow was already dead; but what do you think the savage hawk did? It turned upon me, and flew at my face. I put my hand up just in time, and had a piece pecked out of one of my fingers instead.
When Tidyman came up, the horrid bird flew off, not forgetting, though, to pick up and carry off the little dead sparrow in triumph. I have no doubt the baby-hawks, in their nest in the hollow tree, greeted him with open mouths, as you see them in the picture, and they were fed not only with the little dead sparrow, but also with a nice piece out of my poor little finger.
Sparrow-hawk
A
A Sister of Mr. de Roisel was married to a gentleman named Hector de Malassise, and they had an only child, a son, of about the same age as Maurice. They lived in the neighbourhood of Fontainebleau, where Mr. de Malassise had an estate. The two families, living so far apart, were accustomed to pay long visits, which generally lasted some weeks, at each others’ houses.
Soon after Fritz had made a present of the wooden horse to Maurice, it was arranged that the family of de Roisel should pay a visit to their relations at Malassise. Now Maurice, to tell the truth, did not look forward with pleasure to this visit; for Eusèbe—that was the name of his cousin—had a very bad temper, and my little friend found it very difficult to get on with him. This boy was thoroughly spoiled, and made everyone about him miserable by his caprices and his tyranny. His papa and mamma did not dare to punish, or even to scold him, for they had got an idea into their heads that, if he was thwarted or contradicted, it might bring on a nervous illness.
A country doctor being one day at the house of Mr. de Malassise, when Eusèbe was teasing his father to give him something he ought not to have, had carelessly said,—“Oh, pray let him have it, or he’ll worry himself into a nervous fever.” The doctor afterwards in vain assured the parents that he had not made the remark at all seriously;he could not remove the impression his words had produced. The parental hearts had taken alarm, and from that day the father and mother were always in fear lest their dear boy should be put out, or anything should make him angry. His wishes became laws for the whole household: at his slightest frown every one about him trembled, as it is said the gods on Mount Olympus trembled at the frown of Jupiter;—and he was a pagan deity who, I assure you, was not wanting in caprices.
A GOAT-CHAISE IN THE CHAMPS-ELYSEES.
A GOAT-CHAISE IN THE CHAMPS-ELYSEES.
While his papa and mamma were waiting in trembling anxiety for this attack of nerves, which never came, Eusèbe, in spite of his bad temper, enjoyed excellent health; and ate, drank, and slept, as well as possible. They were in fact the only things he did do well.
Eusèbe always had beautiful toys, and he delighted in showing them to Maurice with an air of superiority thatwas humiliating to his little cousin, whose toys were common and cheap. It was only natural that the latter should have some wish to retaliate, and hearing that they were going to Malassise, he thought what a pleasure it would be to take Cressida with him. Eusèbe could not have a toy-horse like that. Mr. de Roisel, however, put a stop to this project; because, as he said, if Eusèbe should take a fancy to the horse, Maurice would be expected to give it up to him; and that would not do at all. Maurice saw that his papa was right.
I need hardly say that Eusèbe always got tired of his toys very soon, and every time Maurice went to stay with him there was a new collection to be seen. On the occasion of this visit, Maurice found that Eusèbe’s favourite plaything for the moment was a goat. Not a goat of wood or pasteboard, such as you children have all possessed perhaps, but a real live one; as much alive as those you may see any day harnessed in goat-chaises in the Champs-Elysées at Paris; only she was prettier than any I have seen there.
The goat was called Jeanne, as I daresay some of my little readers are called, but they need not be ashamed of their namesake. She was a well-behaved, graceful creature, and her long silky coat, which was perfectly white, shone in the sunshine like silver. She had no horns, it is true, but this was scarcely to be regretted, for the most gentle animals are apt sometimes to use their horns against their friends. So Eusèbe had nothing to fear on this account. She wore round her neck a red collar, on which her name was embroidered in letters of gold. Eusèbe would tie a string through this collar, and lead her three or four times a day into a meadow near the house, where she nibbled the grass and flowers.
I cannot describe to you the delight with which Maurice watched Jeanne jumping about, or playing with her two little kids; and all with an ease such as nature alone can give. He could not help making a comparison betweenher and Cressida. Then he looked into her soft dark eyes, which appeared to express thoughts: Cressida had fine dark eyes too, but somehow they were not the same thing. Jeanne liked to climb on to high banks, and would stand sometimes on the edge of a precipice, stretching out her neck to eat the leaves of some tree: Cressida was strong upon the legs too, and its knees had never been marked by a fall; still it could not have done so much. Out in the fields Jeanne seemed to listen to distant noises, which you scarcely heard; her little ears kept moving about in all directions as if to let no sound escape her: Cressida had also pretty little ears, but somehow the wooden horse never seemed to listen as Jeanne did.
SOON SHE BECAME FAMILIAR WITH MAURICE, AND LET HIM CARESS HER.
SOON SHE BECAME FAMILIAR WITH MAURICE, AND LET HIM CARESS HER.
Very soon Jeanne became familiar with Maurice, and let him caress her; while, by way of thanking him, she wouldlick his hands: Cressida had never made such advances as this to its young master. Yet another advantage had Jeanne over the horse: when she had been running, her sides moved up and down; you could see that a heart was beating in her breast: but Cressida’s sides, beautiful and glossy as they were, never heaved after a gallop. Maurice was making these comparisons during a whole day, and in the evening was so occupied with his reflections, that instead of playing at dominoes with Eusèbe, he sat silent by the side of his mamma.
The next morning he talked a great deal in praise of Cressida, but did not cease to caress and play with Jeanne. While he was stroking her, Eusèbe suddenly said to him:—“I am beginning to get tired of Jeanne; if you like, we’ll make an exchange.”
“What do you mean?” asked Maurice.
“You shall give me Cressida; I should like to make his acquaintance very much; and then in exchange I’ll give you this goat, that you think so pretty.”
“No, I cannot give you Cressida.”
“Can’t give me Cressida! why not?”
“I can never part with Cressida.”
“You mean,” rejoined Eusèbe, “that you don’t think Jeanne is worth so much as the horse. Then the fact is that you don’t think her so pretty after all; and you’ve been telling lies in calling her pretty all this time.”
“Telling lies?”
“Yes, you have. She’s ugly in reality; she is; I think she’s frightful now. Oh, you ugly beast, I’ll kill you! There, there, there’s something for you to punish you for being so ugly.”
And he gave the poor goat several cuts on the head with a whip.
“Eusèbe,” cried my little friend, “how can you be so cruel?”
Maurice saw the tears trickling from the eyes of Jeanne, and pointed them out to Eusèbe, who only shrugged hisshoulders. He was not in the least ashamed of himself, and added,—
“If you don’t like me to hit her, give me your famous horse in exchange; that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“I cannot, because I’ve promised not to part with it.”
“Oh, you’ve made a promise, have you? What does that matter? Why, I make promises every evening, and break them every morning.”
“What do you say?” exclaimed Maurice.
“Why, of course, every evening mamma says to me, ‘My pretty Eusèbe, my little treasure, promise me now that you won’t put yourself into passions, nor disobey me any more; promise me that, dear, and here are some bonbons for you, and some chocolateà la crème.’ I promise of course, naturally. Afterwards, in the morning, when I want some more, she refuses, because, she says, I ought not to eat them before breakfast; but I put myself into such a terrible passion that she gives me them directly. That’s how it is, you see.”
“You are very wrong to behave in that way,” said Maurice: “but after all, your promises are not made quite seriously.”
“And what are yours, pray?”
“Mine are serious promises, and I keep them.”
“Now, that’s just because you’ve heard that men keep their promises,” replied Eusèbe, “and you want to be like a man. But the truth is, men are like me, I can tell you: they make promises to get what they want, and then they break them again to get what they want. It’s all very fine for them to say to us children—‘Don’t tell lies, be always just, keep your promises!’ Oh, I’m not to be taken in; I know all about it.”
Now, my little readers, I do not say to you that the world is peopled with only honest men: that would be deceiving you. But be assured that those who tell falsehoods are everywhere despised; and when anyone speaksof them, or writes about them, it is in order to show how much they ought to be hated.
“Yes,” added Eusèbe, “you make a fine mistake when you think you are obliged to keep the horse because you made a promise.”
“That’s your opinion, but I know the contrary,” said Maurice. “Don’t let us talk any more about it.”
“Well, you won’t have Jeanne, you know.”
The next day the vintage began in the vineyards of Mr. de Malassise. Eusèbe was so much amused with all the bustle, and the coming and going of so many grape-pickers, that he had no time to think of Jeanne. This lasted three or four days, and the poor beast began to think she was free from her tormentor altogether: but no such luck for her! After that time, Eusèbe, already tired of the vintage, and particularly of the grape-pickers, who would not let him beat them, came back to make a victim of her. Maurice reasoned with him, and tried in vain to soften him.
“Very well then,“ said Eusèbe, “if you pity her so much, take her and give me your horse. Unless you do, she belongs to me, and I can do what I like with her—sell her, beat her, or kill her.”
“But your papa wouldn’t let you.”
“Oh, wouldn’t he indeed! He’d be nicely punished if he interfered.”
“I should like to know how?”
“Why, I’d have a nervous attack directly.”
Maurice was very unhappy. Do what he would to persuade himself to the contrary, he recognised the superiority of Jeanne over Cressida. He would willingly have made the exchange, but that he remembered the solemn way in which Fritz asked him to promise that he would never part with the little horse; and child though he was, he knew he was bound to keep his promise. Still, a struggle was going on in his own mind. He felt drawn towards Jeanne, as it is said little birds are sometimes fascinated and attracted bythe gaze of certain snakes. At last he adopted a bold resolution: he went to his father, and said:
“My dear papa, I want to go away from here.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” said his father. “What has happened? Have you quarrelled with Eusèbe?”
“Not exactly,” rejoined Maurice, “I generally give way to him; but now he wants me to give him Cressida in exchange for Jeanne.”
“Who is Jeanne?”
“It is a beautiful white goat, who has two pretty little kids; and Eusèbe beats her because he wants me to take her and give him Cressida; but Fritz told me never to part with the wooden horse. You see, papa, Jeanne is not made of wood; she lives and feels like me, and it’s terrible to see lately how he beats her. You can’t imagine how nice she is; and so grateful to any one who is kind to her. Then to see how she loves her little children!”
“Well, well, if that’s the case we must not leave her with Eusèbe any longer. Tell him I’ll make him—a present of something much more valuable in exchange for her.”
“Oh, but I know he won’t give her for anything but Cressida.”
“Why, he must be a little monster. Don’t be unhappy, my child: tomorrow morning we will leave Malassise, so you shall see no more of his cruelty, at all events.”
Once more at home, Maurice did not long remain unhappy about Jeanne. Do not accuse him of caprice, my little readers; but think how quickly your own impressions pass away or change. It is natural to childhood that it should be so.
(To be continued.)
Puzzle images
Here are six objects in this puzzle for you to find out. One object begins with A, one with B, one with C, one with D, one with F, and one with P.
Birds on nest
CHIPPEREE, CHIP.[play]
Allegretto. mf.
1.I once knew a couple that lived in a wood,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!And up in a tree-top their dwelling it stood,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!The summer it came and summer it went,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!And there they lived though they never paid rent,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip.
1.
I once knew a couple that lived in a wood,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
And up in a tree-top their dwelling it stood,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
The summer it came and summer it went,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
And there they lived though they never paid rent,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip.
2.Their parlour was lined with the softest of wool,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!Their kitchen was warm and their pantry was full,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!And four little babies peeped out at the sky,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!You never saw darlings so pretty and shy,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
2.
Their parlour was lined with the softest of wool,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
Their kitchen was warm and their pantry was full,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
And four little babies peeped out at the sky,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
You never saw darlings so pretty and shy,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
3.When winter came on with its frost and its snow,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!They cared not a bit when they heard the wind blow,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!For wrapped in their furs they all lay down to sleep,Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!But oh! in the spring how their bright eyes will peep!Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
3.
When winter came on with its frost and its snow,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
They cared not a bit when they heard the wind blow,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
For wrapped in their furs they all lay down to sleep,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
But oh! in the spring how their bright eyes will peep!
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
Chicks in nest
I
I was staying down in Kent with some friends of mine, when I made the acquaintance of the little boy whom you see lying on the ground in the picture.
One early spring morning, towards the end of February, I went out for a constitutional—that is, as I daresay you know, a walk for the sake of one’s health. I wandered off down the park into a little wood, or shrubbery, which had a green path winding through it, with arbours or summer-houses placed here and there under the overhanging trees. The wind was very keen, and patches of snow were still upon the ground, though the days were beginning to lengthen, and there were many signs of warmer weather at hand. As I walked along, I noticed now and then a young leaf showing itself above the ground, which told me of the coming primroses; and I could see green shoots, from which bluebells would soon be springing to nod their graceful heads to the passers by.
Walking along briskly, I had nearly reached one of the little arbours, when I observed several children standing in front of it. I knew them well by sight and name: they were the children of the lodge-keeper of the park, and lived close by. There were four of them, and they were all standing staring away, as hard as their eight young eyes could stare, at something inside the arbour. Reaching the spot, I discovered that the object of their curiosity was a poor little lad of about ten years of age, who was lying on the ground with his eyes closed, and his head resting against the seat. He was a fair, curly-headed, pretty boy, but his clothes were very poor and ragged, and his little face was pinched and wan. I soon discoveredthat he was not asleep, but either benumbed by the cold, or insensible from exhaustion.
Child and dog
A little black and tan terrier, of no great value or beauty, was sitting by his side, seeming to watch him withgreat anxiety; and I was surprised to see also some toys lying on the ground, but these I found belonged to the lodge-keeper’s children, who had left them in the arbour the day before, and had in fact come that morning to fetch them.
I sent off one of the children to their father to come and carry the boy to the house. The family were just collecting at the breakfast table when I returned from my early walk, bringing this poor little waif in with me. My friends took an interest in him at once, and after he had been well warmed and fed, he recovered sufficiently to tell us his story.
He was a London boy, and had lived there with his mother, who earned a scanty subsistence for them both by needlework. At her death, two or three weeks before, he was left alone in the world. Then he heard the neighbours talk of the workhouse; and having a vague dread of being sent there, he had resolved to go right away into the country. His only companion was this little terrier, which had attached itself to him in the odd way in which stray dogs will sometimes adopt a master. Begging now and then for food at farmhouses and cottage doors, and sleeping at night in sheds or outhouses, he had managed in three days to come about thirty miles from London; but he would have died from exhaustion or cold if I had not found him that morning.
This happened about two years ago, and I call him one of “my little friends,” because I still take the greatest interest in him. The family with whom I was then staying have looked after him ever since. He was sent to lodge at the cottage of a labourer, and goes to the village school, where he is such a good boy and so quick at his lessons, that I have no doubt he will get on well in the world.
Crying boy
T
This was a disagreeable boy,Who always fell a-crying;No one could ever please the child,And so ’twas no use trying.
This was a disagreeable boy,
Who always fell a-crying;
No one could ever please the child,
And so ’twas no use trying.
His great mouth opened very wide,The tears were ever flowing;At last he cried himself away,—And this is well worth knowing.
His great mouth opened very wide,
The tears were ever flowing;
At last he cried himself away,—
And this is well worth knowing.
In case you ever feel inclinedTo cry like him, my dears,Think on this naughty foolish boyWho melted into tears.
In case you ever feel inclined
To cry like him, my dears,
Think on this naughty foolish boy
Who melted into tears.
Monkey
A
Aunt Totty is an old maid—I need not say how old,—and very fond of birds and animals, which she professes to think are sometimes very superior to men. At her own home, which is at Paris, she has quite a collection of pets. She often comes to England, however, to visit her relations, and then her little nephews and nieces—for shelikes children too—always get round her, and make her tell them stories about her animals or birds. One evening, when the children were gathered round her, she began in this way:—
“You want to hear about my pets, my dears? Very well: I shall have pleasure in telling you all about them; for although I have had some bites and scratches and pecks from them now and then, on the whole they are very estimable. In fact, they possess some qualities which I should be very glad to see oftener than I do in men and women: yes, and in little children too.
“The first pet animal I can remember was a monkey. I was then quite little, not more than five or six years old; and Moko—that was the monkey’s name—was almost as big as I was. I really think he considered that he and I were of the same species: at all events he used to treat me as a companion and an equal. But before Moko joined our family circle, we were very near having another monkey, who was not so amiable; and I think I will begin by telling you about him.
“In those days—that is, when your mamma and I and your two uncles were all children—you know that we used generally to live in France, and one summer your grandpapa took a country house a few miles out of Paris. Well, on a beautiful warm morning, when we children were all playing in the large garden, we heard the sound of an organ; and soon we saw, coming through the white gates and playing as he came, an organ-man, with a monkey sitting on the organ. A shout of delight resounded through the garden. When the new-comers approached we were even more delighted, for the monkey was dressed up in the funniest way possible. He looked like a tiny old man, with a cocked hat, long red coat, blue breeches, and a little pair of boots upon his feet, laced up with red laces.
Monkey on banister
“The monkey performed all manner of tricks: he danced, he fired off a little musket, went through the sword exercise, put on spectacles and pretended to read the newspaper, and did a great deal more besides. After witnessing these wonderful performances, we conducted both monkey and man into the drawing-room, where our mamma was sitting at the open window, and we all began in chorus:—‘Oh,mamma dear, pray,praybuy this monkey for us; he is such a darling!’
“Now, we were all, as children, very fond of animals,—though I am the only one, I think, who has the same liking still—and our mamma used rather to encourage us in it. In fact, we had almost a menagerie already, and this was not the first time we had teazed mamma to let us have a monkey. She seemed inclined to give way, and asked the organ-man if he would sell it. He hesitated: apparently a little struggle was going on in his own conscience, but his honesty prevailed, and he confessed that, except in his presence, and under his control, the monkey was both mischievous and savage.
“All this time the creature stood in front of a large looking-glass, bowing and scraping to his own reflection; and mamma appearing to doubt this bad character of the seemingly amiable monkey, the man at last said:—‘Let me leave him, madam, for a moment, and you shall judge.’
“The man immediately hid himself behind a sofa. When the monkey looked round, and no longer saw his master, the very expression of his withered, wrinkled little face began to change,—from an expression of good-temper it changed to one of fury. He at once jumped upon the mantelpiece, and before anyone had time to prevent it, he dashed the clock against the looking-glass, smashing both. My mother seizing him to prevent more mischief, he scratched and bit her cruelly, till he heard his master’s voice, and saw his stern face and uplifted arm. Then in a second he became the amiable tractable creature he had been before; but you may be sure we were glad to get rid of the horrid little animal.
“However, we still wanted a monkey; and great was our joy when papa brought us Moko. He bought him of a sailor, who declared he was as gentle and obedient as any dog, and had been the pet of the whole crew of the ship he had come over in. And I must say Moko was as nearly perfect as anyone I know, for he had but one fault:he was very greedy. I remember one day a box full of fine pears had been left in the hall near the foot of the staircase, and we found Moko hanging by his tail to the balusters, and helping himself to the pears. He was eating them in that uncomfortable position: his cheek stuck out from the quantity he had stuffed into his mouth; and we found afterwards that he had besides stowed away a good many under the staircase as a future provision.
“I have a painful recollection of Moko stealing bread and jam away from me. He used to come behind me quite quietly when I was sitting at the table at breakfast or tea, and climbing on to the back of my little chair, he would stretch his long hairy arm over my shoulder, and snatch the bread and jam away before I knew he was there. He always selected me to attack, I suppose because I was the smallest.
“In spite of this fault, we all loved Moko very much. He was petted by the whole household. He used to join us children in our games, and always appeared to take pains not to hurt us. He was allowed to play about the garden just as he pleased, for he would always come back when he was called; and it was pretty to see him climbing from tree to tree, or hanging on to a branch by his tail, and swinging backwards and forwards.”
Monkey in tree
Insects
L
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home—The field-mouse is gone to her nest;The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,And the bees and the birds are at rest.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home—
The field-mouse is gone to her nest;
The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,
And the bees and the birds are at rest.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home—The glow-worm is lighting her lamp;The dew’s falling fast, and your fine speckled wingsWill flag with the close-clinging damp.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home—
The glow-worm is lighting her lamp;
The dew’s falling fast, and your fine speckled wings
Will flag with the close-clinging damp.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home,The fairy-bells tinkle afar;Make haste, or they’ll catch you, and harness you fast,With a cobweb, to Oberon’s car.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home,
The fairy-bells tinkle afar;
Make haste, or they’ll catch you, and harness you fast,
With a cobweb, to Oberon’s car.
Funeral procession
I
I have already told you, my little ones, how our Lord Jesus Christ turned the water into wine at the marriage feast. That was His first miracle, and one of the few He performed which were not works of healing; for He went about curing the sick, and in some instances restoring to life those who were already dead.
We are told in the Bible that after this first miracle, our Saviour left Cana and went to Jerusalem to keep thePassover, and it is stated that while there He performed several miracles in the way of healing, which were so wonderful that His fame spread throughout the land. After the Passover, Christ left Jerusalem, and turned His steps towards Galilee.
Now in a city of Galilee, called Capernaum, there lived a nobleman, who had an only child, a son, that he loved with his whole heart. The child was very ill—so ill that there was no hope of recovery. The little face that the poor father loved so much grew pale and wan, and the pretty bright eyes lost their brightness. Everything that human skill could do had been tried in vain; but the father had heard of the miracles done by Jesus in Jerusalem, and knowing that He was then passing through that part of the country, he left the bedside of his dying child, and came himself to Christ.
St. John tells us—“He besought Christ that He would come down and heal his son; for he was at the point of death. Then said Jesus unto him, Except ye see signs and wonders ye will not believe. The nobleman saith unto Him, Sir, come down ere my child die. Jesus saith unto him, Go thy way: thy son liveth. And the man believed the word that Jesus had spoken unto him, and he went his way.”
From this account it appears as if the nobleman went to our Saviour only as a last resource, and scarcely believing in His power. This was why Christ said as a sort of reproof, “Except ye see signs and wonders ye will not believe.” Then the poor father prayed again to Him tocometo his son, thinking that to save the boy our Saviour must see and touch him. But Christ showed him that He could heal the boy as well at a distance as near, and said, “Go thy way: thy son liveth.”
This man’s faith, you see, had grown suddenly, and became perfect; for he believed without hesitation our Saviour’s word, and returned home at once. He did not stay to question, but he went home, taking it for grantedthat he would find the miracle performed, and that his son was living as Jesus had declared, although this was the first instance in which Christ had healed at a distance.
He believed so firmly that all would be well when he got home, that he does not appear even to have hurried on his journey; and he met some of his servants the next day before he reached his house. The servants had come out to meet him, and they were the bearers of the happy tidings of his son’s recovery. Then he anxiously inquired when the child began to get better, and they told him: “Yesterday at the seventh hour the fever left him.” And the father knew it was at that hour Christ had said to him, “Thy son liveth.” From that time, St. John tells us the nobleman and all his household were believers.
We learn, my dear children, from this miracle that sorrow and trouble often lead to good. They brought the anxious and sorrowing father to Christ, and caused not only the father but all the household to become believers. Let us trust and pray that through such suffering and such trials as may be in store for us we too may be brought nearer to God.
Flowers
Boy and donkey
F
From the heading of this page you would scarcely know which I call my little friend—Jack the boy, or Jerry the donkey. Friends of mine indeed they both are; but I think I am fond of Jerry chiefly on account of the love he bears his little master.
Jack is the oldest of a large family of boys and girls; he is only ten years of age, but there are six other children, all younger than he is. On his fifth birthday he had a rocking-horse given him: it came down from London, for Jack’s home is far away in the country. How delighted the little boy was when the horse stood in the hall, covered up with thick brown paper! He knew it was addressed to him, for he could already read writing when it was large. Then, as the brown paper was taken off, what a jumping and shouting there was: for the other little ones had come down from the nursery to see the gee-gee.
You all know what a large handsome rocking-horse is like, so I need not describe it; and you can imagine what a deal of amusement and pleasure it afforded Jack for a while. However, as time went on, fresh little brothers and sisters arrived quickly; and each in turn, as he or she grew old enough, began to take delight in the gee-gee; until at last my friend Jack scarcely ever had the chance of a ride. And I must say the poor horse looked old and battered, and very different from what it had looked when only used by my little friend.
One day he said to me sadly:—“You see I am getting big for it now, and there are so many of the little ones to ride, so I give it up: the poor gee-gee is worked hard enough as it is.”
Jack was always willing to let the children ride his horse, but, worn and damaged though it was, he could not bear to see them ill-use it. I have noticed the child wince as if with pain, when his sturdy brother Maurice made a great piece of paint drop off with a heavy crack from his whip. “If the boy is so sensitive about a rocking-horse,” thought I, “how careful and kind he would be, if he had a real pony or donkey.”
When I proposed to give Jack a pony, his mamma said she thought he was not old enough to ride one yet, and seemed nervous about it, so I made up my mind that a donkey it should be. I made inquiries, and soon found a dear little creature, which I thought so pretty that I bought it at once. It was very young, and had never before left its mother. Jack named it Jerry: he took such care of it, and made such a pet of the little animal, that it would come at his call, and follow him about, and obey him, just like a large dog.
I remember one day, when we were all sitting at lunch, we heard, patter, patter, patter on the floorcloth of the hall. Presently the door, which was not closed, opened a little way. A soft mouse-coloured nose presented itself, followed by a rough hairy face, with a pair of soft full bright eyes, and after these came two long ears; then the whole of Master Jerry’s head looked round the corner at us. We all burst out laughing, as you may easily suppose; when the donkey, thinking to join in the merriment, put up his head, and raised such a “Heehaw! heehaw!” that we were obliged to clap our hands over our ears, and the whole house, I may almost say the neighbourhood, rang with the sound.
As soon as Jerry was big and strong enough to be ridden, I made Jack a present of a bridle and saddle. He used to ride about in the park and lanes; but when they came home, Jack never forgot to give Jerry a few fresh carrots, or something nice, as you see him doing in the picture.
Seated by the fireside
COME, ROSY, MY POSY.[play]
Allegretto. mf.
1.Come, Rosy, my posy,You’re weary, you’re dozy,Sit upon grandmother’s knee;Songs I will sing,Sweet sleep to bring,So nestle up cosy with me,So nestle up cosy with me.
1.
Come, Rosy, my posy,
You’re weary, you’re dozy,
Sit upon grandmother’s knee;
Songs I will sing,
Sweet sleep to bring,
So nestle up cosy with me,
So nestle up cosy with me.
2.And I will sing dittiesOf birds and of kitties,That of the Well to begin:How Johnny StoutPulled the cat out,While Johnny Green let her fall in,While Johnny Green let her fall in.
2.
And I will sing ditties
Of birds and of kitties,
That of the Well to begin:
How Johnny Stout
Pulled the cat out,
While Johnny Green let her fall in,
While Johnny Green let her fall in.
3.Of little Miss Muffit,Who fled from a tuffit:Bobby that sailed on the sea;Jack and his Jill;Mouse at the mill;And Baby that rocked on the tree,And Baby that rocked on the tree.
3.
Of little Miss Muffit,
Who fled from a tuffit:
Bobby that sailed on the sea;
Jack and his Jill;
Mouse at the mill;
And Baby that rocked on the tree,
And Baby that rocked on the tree.
Squirrels
H
How pretty little squirrels look perched in the branches of a tree! I like to watch them as they nimbly run up the trunk, or spring from bough to bough. One or two are generally to be seen in a clump of great old beeches near a house in the country, where I usually spend some happy weeks in summer; and I will tell you a story of a little squirrel whose acquaintance I made there last summer.
I happened to be up very early one morning, long before breakfast was ready, or any of the family were down, and I went out into the garden to enjoy the fresh sweet smell of the early day. The cows were grazing in the field beyond, and now and then lowing a friendly “good-morning” to each other. Some ducks were waddling in procession down to the pond, quacking out their wise remarks as they went. The little birds were singing lustily their welcome to the new-born day. Even the old watch-dog came yawning, stretching, blinking, and wagging his tail in kindly dog-fashion, to bid me “good-day” in the summer sunshine.
As I stood under the great beech trees, taking in with greedy eye and ear the sights and sounds of country life so refreshing to a Londoner, I heard something fall from one of the trees, then a scuffle, and immediately afterwards a white Persian cat, belonging to the house, bounded towards me in hot pursuit of a dear little squirrel. I was just in time to save the poor little animal by stepping between it and the cat. The squirrel passed under the edge of my dress, and made off again up another tree; so pussy lost her prey.
Soon afterwards, when we were at breakfast, the butler told us that one of the little boys of the village, who hadlost a pet squirrel, had asked if he might look for it in the garden of the house. It had first escaped into some trees in the park, and he had traced it from them into the garden. It at once occurred to me that this must be the little creature I had saved from the cat. I remembered how it made straight towards me, as if asking me for protection from its enemy, which only a tame squirrel would do; and I proposed, when breakfast was over, that we should go out and help in the search.
Little Jack Tompkins stood under the beech trees, looking with tear-stained face up into the branches. Suddenly I saw his face brighten, and he called out: “I see un, ma’am; I see un! If so be no one warn’t by, I be sure he’d come to I.”
I need not say we retreated to a distance; then Jack called up the tree in a loud whisper: “Billee, Billee!” and in a minute down came the little creature on to his shoulder. I can tell you Jack was a happier child than he had been when he came into the garden. And when I told him what a narrow escape “Billee” had had from the cat, he said: “It would be hard if a cat eat he, for our old puss brought he up with her own kits.” Then he told us how the squirrel, when a tiny thing, had dropped out of its nest, and been found by him lying almost dead at the foot of a tree, and how he had carried it home, and tried whether pussy would adopt it as one of her own kittens. The cat was kind; the squirrel throve under her motherly care, and became Jack’s pet and companion.
Now, children, in this instance it was all very well to keep a tame squirrel. “Billee” seemed happy, leading the life he was accustomed to: he had been fed and cared for by human beings from his infancy, and might be as incapable of finding food, and managing for himself, in a wild state, as a poor canary would be if let loose from its cage. But generally it is cruel to imprison little wild birds and animals who have known the enjoyment of liberty.