KING ALFRED.

“River, river, stay and tell me,Whither going with such speed?”

“River, river, stay and tell me,Whither going with such speed?”

RIVER.

“No, I cannot stop, for onwardI must go, the sea to feed.I am one of many others,—To the same great deep we go,Pouring into it for ever,Yet it doth not overflow.”

“No, I cannot stop, for onwardI must go, the sea to feed.I am one of many others,—To the same great deep we go,Pouring into it for ever,Yet it doth not overflow.”

CHILD.

“Little brook, stay still a moment,Dancing neath the summer sun,With such sweet and pleasant music,Tell me, whither do you run?”

“Little brook, stay still a moment,Dancing neath the summer sun,With such sweet and pleasant music,Tell me, whither do you run?”

BROOK.

“I am hastening to the river,And I cannot longer stay,I am one of many others,Who must feed it day by day.”

“I am hastening to the river,And I cannot longer stay,I am one of many others,Who must feed it day by day.”

CHILD.

“Little rill, which down the mountain,Like a silver thread dost flow,Tell me now before you leave me,Why you are in haste to go?”

“Little rill, which down the mountain,Like a silver thread dost flow,Tell me now before you leave me,Why you are in haste to go?”

RILL.

“Downward, downward, little maiden,Is a voice that bids me speed,Where a little brook is waiting,Which my limpid drops must feed.I am one of many others,And when Spring’s first hours awake,Into life and motion springing,To the plains our course we take.”

“Downward, downward, little maiden,Is a voice that bids me speed,Where a little brook is waiting,Which my limpid drops must feed.I am one of many others,And when Spring’s first hours awake,Into life and motion springing,To the plains our course we take.”

CHILD.

“Rain-drops, which so fast are falling,Patter, patter, on the ground,Much I love to stand and watch you,Much I love your merry sound;But I pray you stop and tell me,On what mission you are bound?”

“Rain-drops, which so fast are falling,Patter, patter, on the ground,Much I love to stand and watch you,Much I love your merry sound;But I pray you stop and tell me,On what mission you are bound?”

RAIN.

“Humble as our mission seemeth,Maiden, to your thoughtful eye,Yet for good, by God’s appointment,Drop by drop, I fall from high;And, without me, mightiest riversSoon would leave their channels dry.”Musing, then, the little maiden,Inward for a moral turned,Where, to light the spirit temple,Truth upon her altar burned.“Rain,” she said, “from heaven descending,Feeds the little fountain rill:Onward, onward, all are hastening,Never for a moment still.Rill, and brook, and mighty river,All to the deep ocean go;All the thirsty river swallows,—Yet it doth not overflow.”Child, thou seekest from this a moral,Ask of Truth, and thou shalt know.

“Humble as our mission seemeth,Maiden, to your thoughtful eye,Yet for good, by God’s appointment,Drop by drop, I fall from high;And, without me, mightiest riversSoon would leave their channels dry.”Musing, then, the little maiden,Inward for a moral turned,Where, to light the spirit temple,Truth upon her altar burned.“Rain,” she said, “from heaven descending,Feeds the little fountain rill:Onward, onward, all are hastening,Never for a moment still.Rill, and brook, and mighty river,All to the deep ocean go;All the thirsty river swallows,—Yet it doth not overflow.”Child, thou seekest from this a moral,Ask of Truth, and thou shalt know.

Woman holding an anchor.

Table of Contents

Alfred was one of the early kings of England, distinguished for his wisdom and virtue. In his childhood he was very much indulged by his parents, and his education was neglected, but he engaged in study of his own accord, and became an eminent scholar in his youth; although in those days there were no printed books, and few means of instruction of any kind.

When he became king, after the death of his father, his country was suffering from the invasion of the Danes; and Alfred spent a considerable part of his life in wars with them. These Danes came over in swarms from the continent of Europe, under different leaders; and they succeeded in defeating the armies sent out against them, one after another, and in extending their ravages over so many parts of the kingdom, that the people of the island were reduced to despair. The army was dispersed, and Alfred had to fly and conceal himself, to save his life. He finally went to service in the family of a herdsman,—a sort of farmer, who had care of the cattle,—where he was once well scolded by the herdsman’s wife for letting some cakes burn. Hume, the historian, relates the story in the following language:—

“The wife of the neat-herd was ignorant of the condition of our royal guest, and observing him one day busy by the fireside, in trimming his bow and arrows, she desired him to take care of some cakes which were toasting, while she was employed elsewhere, in other domestic affairs. But Alfred, whose thoughts were otherwise engaged, neglected his injunction; and the good woman, on her return, finding her cakes all burnt, rated the king very severely, and upbraided him, that he always seemed very well pleased to eat her warm cakes, though he was thus negligent in toasting them.”

After this, Alfred contrived to collect some of his followers, and to conceal himself with them in the centre of a vast tract of swampy land. The piece of firm ground on which he established his company, contained only about two acres. Here he remained a year, though he often went on excursions against the enemy. Finally, his strength increased, so that he was prepared to adopt still more decisive measures. He accordingly formed a plan for a general mustering of the forces of the kingdom, in order to make a combined and effectual attack upon the Danes. At this time, another incident occurred, which has helped to make Alfredfamous. He concluded, before summoning the army together, that he would go into the camp of the Danes, in disguise, in order to see what their strength and condition were. So he procured a harp, and dressed himself in the disguise of a harper. In those days, harpers were accustomed to wander about towns and armies, playing for the amusement of those who would pay them. Alfred seems to have acted his part very successfully. He not only entertained the soldiers and officers with his harp, but he amused them with tales and jokes, and finally he made his way into the tent of Guthrum, the general. There, Alfred learned all he wished to know, and then returned to his own camp. This was a very dangerous experiment, for if anything had occurred even to arouse the suspicions of the Danes, he would have been hung at once.

Immediately after this, Alfred sent messengers through the kingdom and called his army together, and, after several battles, expelled the Danes from the country. He then evinced great wisdom in the arrangements which he made for reducing the kingdom to regular order. He founded the most useful institutions, and restored the dominion of law and public tranquillity. He has been always regarded as a great benefactor of the English nation.

Table of Contents

Woman on horseback with man and dog walking.

Grace was returning from a distant part of the country to her own loved home; she had been living with a relation, and a long time had passed since she had heard from, or listened to the gentlevoice of her parents; (there was no mail in that part of the country;) and as she drew near to each loved haunt of her early childhood, her heart beat quick with sweet anticipations of delight. She fancied her brother and sister very much grown, but still as loving and happy as when she last sported with them on the grass-plat by the cottage door. It was evening when Grace descended the long, sloping hill, at the foot of which was an extensive avenue of tall oak trees, leading directly to the cottage, and the declining sun cast a melancholy shadow over the face of this well-remembered spot, once resounding with the shouts of happy infancy.

The heart of Grace grew sad as she drew near the cottage, and she wondered very much that no one was in sight. At length she hears the well-known bark of old Carlo;—“but where are my parents, my brother and sister! I thought to find themallhere; where are they?”

Alas! alas! she soon ascertained they were all gone; all, save her aged grandfather, who comes with feeble step to embrace and welcome her. “The Lord bless you, my child, and blessed be his name for restoring you to me in my old age; come with me, and let us give thanks to our heavenly Father, for all his blessings. It is true he has seen best to remove those we love most from us; but it is all right, my child, all right;” and he led her into the cottage, where the eveningmeal was spread for them by the kind old housekeeper; but it was a sad meal for Grace, and she soon hastened to her chamber to weep and meditate on the change which had taken place in her absence, and to think of what she ought to do.

It was the spring of the year—and when Grace arose from her bed the next morning, and looked forth from the window of her little room, and saw all Nature smiling with beauty, she felt refreshed; and as she gazed on the beautiful flowers that grew beneath her window, and listened to the songs of the birds, and the gentle murmurs of the little stream which watered the garden, she felt that she had much to be thankful for, and that good spirits were near to make her happy; and when she met her old grandfather in the library, where it was the custom to assemble the family for morning prayers, her eyes expressed the peace and devotion which she felt; and while they partook of the repast prepared for them, in the well-remembered breakfast-room, they talked over the trying events of the past with humble resignation. Grace was very thankful to find that she could, in various ways, make herself useful to her only relation; and in arranging the occupation of her time, the garden was to be under her care—to employ and amuse her as one of her principal things; and in a short time, she had made so many improvements, that hergrandfather said it was quite a little paradise.

The rivulet, which flowed through the garden, had many flowers growing on its borders; and here Grace delighted to ramble, for it reminded her of other and happy days, when she had been used to gather the flowers, with her little sisters, to make nosegays for her parents.

One day, when she was walking beneath the trees of the garden, she saw a beautiful bird building its nest on one of the branches. This was a new source of delight to her; and when the nest was finished, and a little brood of beautiful birds were heard chirping in the trees, Grace thought there was but one thing more she desired, and that was a pleasant seat for her grandfather, where he might sit in the heat of the day, and enjoy his nap, or read his favourite book undisturbed; so she built him a bower, and planted the choicest flowers about it, and watered them morning and evening, that they might grow and flourish; and while she did so, she prayed thatgood affectionsmight grow in her own heart, and expand like these flowers; and they did so, for, as she grew in years, she grew in wisdom and love.

Several years passed in this peaceful retirement and the care of her good grandfather,—who was now quite old, and whose white locks and feeble step reminded her thathewould be called to join those who had gone before him. But for this she was prepared; for he had often spoken to her of death—he had made this subject familiar to her, and he had tried as much as possible to elevate her mind above the grave, that she might think of her departed friends as near to her, and still living in a more perfect state; and she knew it would be far better for him to go and live with his heavenly Father, than to remain in this world, even though they might continue to be very happy together; and when his last hour on earthdidcome, it was so full of peace and holy confidence in the Saviour of man, that she was assisted to feel and say, “Father, thy will be done;” and as she knelt by his bed-side to receive his blessing, she felt conscious that ministering angels were present, and gently removing his spirit from earth to heaven.

Man reading to two children.

Table of Contents

“Well, Henry, where have you been? I have not seen you this morning.”

“I have been with papa, and he has given me this little box full of shells. Look, mamma, how very pretty they are. Papa says they are found in the sea, and that little fish live in them! Can fish live in these very small ones, mamma?”

“Yes, my dear, a fish has lived in each of these little shells. I have sometimes picked them up on the beach with the fish in them; but they are generally washed on shore when the sea is rough, and the fish dies and falls out of the shell before it is picked up; as fish, you know, cannot live out of the water. Some day I will show you a very beautiful shell, which I have in my cabinet; it is the shell of the paper nautilus, which is a very curious little fish. I have heard that it was this fish which first gave men the idea of building ships to sail on the sea. These fish have two arms, or horns, which they put out of their shells, and stretch a kind of skin across them, which makes a little sail, just like the sail of a ship. They then stretch two more arms out of the shell, which they use as oars or paddles; and when the sea is calm they amuse themselves by sailing about on the water, and look very pretty; but if a storm comes on, they draw in their horns and their little sails, and sink to the bottom.”

“Have you ever seen them sailing about, mamma?”

“No, Henry, I have not, because I have not been much on the sea; but they are often seen by sailors, who, you know, are almost always at sea. There are a great many curious fish in the sea, some very large indeed, and others very small; about many of which I shall be happy to tell you more at some future time.”

Paper nautilus.

Table of Contents

“What is the matter, Henry?” asked Mr. Carey of his son, who looked more sober than usual, one day, after his return from school.

“I don’t feel happy,” Henry replied, looking up into his father’s face with an effort to smile. “But I suppose it is my own fault, although I can’t help it.”

“Has anything very particular happened?”

“No, sir. Nothing very particular. Only I’ve been next to head in my class for a week.”

“Next to head! Why, I thought you had been at the head of your class for the last three or four months.”

“So I have been until within a week. But, since then, do all I can, Herbert Wellmore keeps his place above me.”

“And this is the reason of your unhappiness?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But do you think it is a just cause of unhappiness?”

“I always feel bad if I am not first in everything, father.”

“Do you think it right to feel so, Henry?”

“Is it not right, father, for me to excel others in every way?”

“Yes, if it is in your power to do so; for then you can be more useful than any one else. But, it seems that Herbert Wellmore can excel you—and I suppose he does so fairly.”

“Oh, yes. It is fair enough—and that is just what I don’t like. It shows that he can do better than I can.”

“Then he will have it in his power to be more useful to his fellow-men than you. And should not this make you glad instead of discontented?”

“I didn’t think anything about that, father.”

“So I supposed—if you had so thought, you would, probably, never have been willing to have seen your school-fellow. But why does this circumstance make you unhappy?”

“I don’t like any one to get ahead of me.”

“Why?”

Henry tried to determine in his own mind the reason, but was unable to do so. Mr. Carey saw this, and added:

“Don’t you think that selfishness has something to do with it? Wounded self-love, I have before told you, is a frequent cause of our unhappiness. Now, think again, and try if you cannot determine the reason why you wished to excel all others in your class.”

“That I might be thought to be the smartest boy in it, I suppose.”

“Would you not call that a mere selfish feeling?”

“I suppose so. And yet ought I not to try and keep ahead?”

“Certainly, as I have said before. But you should not feel the slightest pain if another boy excels you fairly. Suppose every boy were to be disturbed in mind, as you have been, because other boys were in advance;—don’t you see that every boy in a class, but one, would be unhappy? And would that be right? None of us, my son, have minds alike. This, you know, I have before explained to you, and also the reason why it is so. Now, do you remember that reason?”

“It is because in society there are various uses, all requiring a different order of talent. Is not that the reason?”

“Yes, my son; that is the reason, and I am glad you have remembered so correctly what I told you a few days ago. From this you may see that there is always something that one person will be able to do better than another; and, of course, one kind of knowledge that he will be able to acquire more easily than another. Have you not, yourself, noticed, that while one boy excels in penmanship, another, who cannot learn to write even a fair hand, will far outstrip this one in arithmetic?—and a third go ahead of the other two in acquiring a correct geographical knowledge?—A fourth delights most in the study of navigation and surveying, while a dull boy, in almost everything else, can acquire a knowledge of chemical laws more rapidly than any in his class. You have, of course, observed all this?”

“Oh, yes, frequently. There is Thomas Wiley, for instance, who, in spelling, reading, and writing, is always behind every one else; and yet no one can answer more questions in geography, or project so beautiful a map, as he can. Charles Lee has no trouble at all with the hardest question in algebra; but is deficient in grammar, and hates his Latin and Greek more than any punishment or reprimand the teacher can give. And, now I think of it, I don’t know any two boys in school who are alike in regard to learning their lessons.”

“Do you not think that it would be very foolish in Thomas Wiley to make himself unhappy because he could not write so pretty a hand as you do? Or for Charles Lee to forget all his skill at solving algebraic problems, in making himself miserable because he was behind another boy in Latin and Greek, whose mind was peculiarly fitted for the acquirement of language, while his was not?”

“I certainly think it would, father.”

“Then bring this home to yourself. Is there no one thing in which you can excel Herbert Wellmore?”

“Yes, sir. I can solve a problem in half the time it takes him to do it in. But, then, he is always correct—and so gets as much as I do from the teacher, who does not seem to take into account my superior quickness.”

“In this, I need hardly point out to you, my son, the selfish principle that influences you. Instead of feeling grateful to your heavenly Father for having given you the ability to work out a difficult problem with half the labour it costs another, you are unhappy because this superior ability is not praised, and you, in consequence, held up to view as deserving of more commendation than Herbert; when, in fact, he is the one who should be praised for his steady perseverance in overcoming difficulties that are as nothing to you.”

“I believe I have permitted myself to indulge in wrong feelings,” Henry said, after remaining silent for a few moments. “But I think you have told me that emulation is not to be condemned.”

“It certainly is not, my son. I would have you, as now, emulous of superior acquirements; but, at the same time, aware, that in this emulation there would be no jealousy or unkind feelings. Be first in everything, if possible,—and yet willing to see others excel you,—remembering, that in so excelling they will have the power to be more useful to mankind; for the true power that resides in knowledge is the power of doing good.”

Table of Contents

Boys in the street.

The voice of children is heard on the green,And laughing is heard on the hill;When my heart is at rest within my breast,And everything else is still.“Now, come home, my children, the sun is down,And the dews of night fall fast;Come, leave off play, and let us away,Till the morning appears in the east.”No, no, let us play, for it is yet day—And we cannot go to sleep;Besides, in the sky, the little birds fly,And the hills are all covered with sheep.“Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,Andthengo home to rest.”The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed,And all the hills echoed for joy.

The voice of children is heard on the green,And laughing is heard on the hill;When my heart is at rest within my breast,And everything else is still.“Now, come home, my children, the sun is down,And the dews of night fall fast;Come, leave off play, and let us away,Till the morning appears in the east.”No, no, let us play, for it is yet day—And we cannot go to sleep;Besides, in the sky, the little birds fly,And the hills are all covered with sheep.“Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,Andthengo home to rest.”The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed,And all the hills echoed for joy.

Table of Contents

A shepherd, who was of an unfortunately discontented turn of mind,—one who was much fonder of reclining lazily on a sunny bank, than of viewing his own lot on its sunny side—was one day moodily watching his flock, wishing himself all the while its owner instead of guardian; in other words, a happier man. His faithful dog lay beside him, and every now and then licked the hand of his master, as it hung listlessly by his side, and then looked up into his face, as if to read his thoughts. But the shepherd was in no humour to stroke the shaggy hide of his friend, Keeper—his envious musings having been diverted to the sleek coat of his master’s hunter, which had just bounded, with its wealthy rider, over an adjacent hedge. The sullen tender of flocks was all at once roused from his reverie by the small, silvery voice of a sprightly little fairy.

“What ails thee, my good man?” said she, tapping his shoulder with her wand; “you seem mighty melancholy. Have you met with any disaster?—lost anything?—perhaps your wife!”

“No such luck.”

“Or some of your sheep?”

“What should I care—they’re my master’s.”

“Your purse, then?”

“Purse!” growled the shepherd, “no great loss, if I had, for it’s always empty.”

The shepherd and the fairy.

“Ah! I think I can guess what’s the matter,” said the fairy: “you are wishing to be rich, and discontented because you are poor. But, prithee, now listen to me. Once upon a time, when we fairies used to mix much more with mankind than we do at present, we learnt many of their pernicious customs; and seeing the high store they set by money, and the uses to which they applied it, we (in an evil hour) resolved to have money of our own. Nature had ready coined it to our hands, in the gold and silver seeds of flowers, and these we stored up, and made our circulating medium. Then came amongst us, envy, avarice, dishonesty. Instead of being, as heretofore, the protectors of the beautiful flowers, we became their ravagers; instead of the most benevolent and happy little creatures in the world, we became a discontented, malevolent, and restless race. We began to dislike our native dells and dingles, and to haunt, more than ever, the habitations of man. We knew well enough, however, that the cause of all our misery had been our foolish imitation of their practices; and with a view to revenge, many a sorry trick and mischievous prank did we delight to play them—as, doubtless, you may have often heard. This, however, availed us nothing; and, at last, growing tired of such profitless vengeance, we made up our minds to return entirely to our shady recesses, and, what was better, to our ancient habits. Truly, it cost some of us not a little to part with our stores of golden treasure; but at last we all agreed to throw away our money; and having then no further use for our purses, we hung them up, as memorials of our folly, upon themost ugly and worthless weeds we could discover, where you may even now behold them.”

The fairy, as she spoke, pointed out to the shepherd some mean, ragged-looking plants which grew beside him; and, sure enough, there he saw suspended, the little triangular pods or purses, of which she had been speaking.

They proved more useful to him than they had done to their former possessors; for the common weed to which they were attached, could never in future, cross his path, without reminding him of the lesson of his fairy monitress; taught by which, he soon found that, in the enjoyment of a contented mind, a light purse need not always make a heavy heart.

Note.—Shepherd’s purse, or wedge-shaped treacle-mustard, one of our commonest road-side weeds, varying greatly in the size and form of its leaves. “It flowers from spring to the end of autumn, and ripens copiously its triangular pole or pouches, whence its name,—distinguished from all other British plants. The root is tapering, and exhales a peculiar scent when pulled out of the ground. Small birds are fond of the seeds and young flowers.”—[Sowerby’s English Botany.

Note.—Shepherd’s purse, or wedge-shaped treacle-mustard, one of our commonest road-side weeds, varying greatly in the size and form of its leaves. “It flowers from spring to the end of autumn, and ripens copiously its triangular pole or pouches, whence its name,—distinguished from all other British plants. The root is tapering, and exhales a peculiar scent when pulled out of the ground. Small birds are fond of the seeds and young flowers.”—[Sowerby’s English Botany.

Flower pot.

Table of Contents

Far, far down in the pass of the Clara mountains I dwelt with my sister Joanna. We lived with an old aunt, who took us home after our father’s death. She was not in good health, and so could not do much for us. We were generally left to an old woman, who had the charge of us; but she was a little severe, and a little sharp, and very deaf; so that we did not have many pleasant days with her. Nevertheless, we tried to amuse ourselves as well as we could. We had tamed a little rat, so that when we laid a bit of sugar on the stone by the stove, he would come out and eat it, while we stood in the other corner of the room. It is true that we dared scarcely breathe, but yet we were a little flattered by his confidence in us.

Bits of sugar were, however, in these times, rare treasures for us; and not more than two pieces a week, could we have for the rat and for our own eating. Sundays were great holidays for us, for then we had Cologne water on the corners of ourhandkerchiefs, butter to our potatoes at breakfast, and roast meat at dinner.

It was also among our pleasures that we could, twice in the week, walk an hour in the court-yard. But, as people are seldom content with what they have, we were not satisfied with our amusements; and when summer arrived, and all the great people came out to their estates in the country, we took great pleasure in the idea of making a country residence for ourselves. We had sometimes followed the old woman to the cellar, and we had observed a place in the corner, on which the light struck from a certain air-hole, open towards the garden. There we planted a pea, one fine morning towards the end of May. For three weeks we went every day, and sought out the place, removing the earth a little about it, to see whether the pea had not begun to sprout.

Our delight was great, when, on the twenty-fourth day, after the planting, we saw a little swelling up of the pea, beautifully green and very shy, just peeping up with an expanded leaf.

We danced round it and sang for joy. Near this plantation we then placed a little pasteboard house, and before it a small bench, on which we put some paper gentlemen and ladies. And no one can have a livelier enjoyment in his country residence than we had in ours.

We lodged in a dark and very small room. But from my bed I could see a little bit of sky in the morning, and the chimney of our neighbour’s house. But when the smoke rose from the chimney, and was coloured red and yellow by the rising sun, under the dome of the blue sky, then I thought the world up there in the air must be very beautiful, and I longed to go thither.

I conceived a great desire to fly, and confided this wish to Joanna. We made ourselves paper wings, and as these could not lift us up, we tried whether they would not at least sustain us, if we let ourselves go, without holding on to anything, from the stove, chest of drawers, or whatever we had climbed up upon.

But besides that, we got many bruises in these attempts, we made such a noise by falling to the floor, that it brought in the old woman, who gave a hearty scolding to the clumsy angels. Meanwhile, we thought of still another means of sustaining ourselves as we hovered over the earth. We selected suitable sticks, which we used as stilts, and on these we went round about the court yard, imagining all the time that we were flying.

Would that we had been content with this! But the desire to know more of the world without, threw us into misfortune. The house which we lived in was situated within a court-yard, and was separated from the street by a high wooden fence. A part of the enclosure was a garden, well fencedin and belonged to a notary. He was a severe man, and we were much afraid of him.

The temptation to evil came this time in the shape of a little pig. We saw, one day, when we were passing our play hour in the court-yard, a fortunate pig, who was enjoying himself in the most riotous manner in this garden. Spinach, tulips, strawberries, and parsley, all were thrown around him, as he dug with his snout in the earth.

Our anger at this was very great, and not less our wonder how the pig could have got into the garden, as the gate was shut and the fence was so firm. We looked about carefully, and at last discovered a hole, which had been nearly covered by a few old boards placed against it, but which the little pig had instinctively found out, and through which he had forced his way.

We thought it of the greatest importance to get the pig immediately out of the pleasure garden, and we could see no other means of doing so than to creep through, in at the same hole by which he had made his way; and now we hunted with great zeal our poor guide, and then put in order, as well as we could, what he had scattered about.

We closed the hole in the fence with a board, but could not resist the desire to let it serve us, now and then, as an entrance to this paradise. As we did not mean to hurt, or even meddle with anything in the garden, we thought it would not be wrong to take a breath of fresh air now and then. Every Sunday, in particular, we crept in by the pig’s hole, which we always closed carefully after us. All around, within the garden fence, there was a hedge of syringa bushes, which hindered us from being seen from without.

However, it was very wrong in us to go into another person’s garden without leave; and we soon found that every wrong thing brings its punishment with it sooner or later.

There was a little summer house in the garden, near that part of the fence which separated it from the street. There were some bushes so near that Joanna and I took the bold resolution to climb up by them, so as to get on the roof of the summer house, and there to look over the fence into the street. Thought, said, done.

Proud, triumphant, and glad, we found ourselves, after a quarter of an hour’s labour, on the much-promised roof, and richly were we repaid for our trouble. We had a full view of the street. We saw, now and then, an old woman with a milk-cart, sometimes a gentleman in a chaise, and when we were in great luck, a lady with a parasol; and, still better, we had even a distinct perspective of King street, and had the indescribable delight of seeing a crowd of walkers and idlers, on horseback and in carriages, passing by. The whole world seemed to be moving there. After we had once seen this, we could not live without seeing it again.

One day,—I remember it as if it were yesterday,—one day we had taken our high post, and were looking curiously upon the world in King street. All at once we saw a stately rider on horseback, and directly after him a pair of white horses, drawing a splendid carriage. That must be the queen!—perhaps the king himself! Out of our senses with delight, we began to clap our hands and hurra loudly. At the same moment we heard the notary coughing in the garden. We were dreadfully frightened. We wanted to get down quickly from the roof, and hide ourselves among the trees; but, in our alarm, we could not find the right places for our hands and feet. Joanna rolled like a ball over the notary’s strawberry bed, and I remained hanging by the chin to a great nail in the plank, and screaming as if out of my senses. See! here is the scar by the nail, it can be seen even now.——

These youthful adventures were related to amuse two little girls, who were suffering under a disappointment, having been prevented from going out to see an exhibition of fire-works. When their governess had reached this point in her story, a more than delicate supper was announced, and the children ran off to enjoy it, without stopping to inquire farther about the scar on the good lady’s chin.

(From the President’s Daughters by F. Bremer.)

Table of Contents

The robin.

ROBIN.

Good bye, good bye! I’m going away!I’ll come again next spring, clear!I scarce can find one leafy spray,On which to plume my wing, dear.

Good bye, good bye! I’m going away!I’ll come again next spring, clear!I scarce can find one leafy spray,On which to plume my wing, dear.

ARAMINTA.

Dear Robin, are you going south,To pass the coming season?This chill air don’t agree with you—You’re ill?—Is that the reason?Your doctor thinks you cannot stayWith safety in this climate?Advises you to travel? hey?(That word—how shall I rhyme it?)

Dear Robin, are you going south,To pass the coming season?This chill air don’t agree with you—You’re ill?—Is that the reason?

Your doctor thinks you cannot stayWith safety in this climate?Advises you to travel? hey?(That word—how shall I rhyme it?)

ROBIN.

I have no doctor. I’m as wellAs you are, Araminta;But I’ve relations at the south,With whom I pass the winter.We birds, that have no clothes or fire,Must fly this stormy weather;Good bye!—my friends are setting out;We always go together.

I have no doctor. I’m as wellAs you are, Araminta;But I’ve relations at the south,With whom I pass the winter.

We birds, that have no clothes or fire,Must fly this stormy weather;Good bye!—my friends are setting out;We always go together.

ARAMINTA.

Stay just a moment! Tell me howYou’re going?Wingswill weary;And there’s no steamboat in the sky;The way is long and dreary.

Stay just a moment! Tell me howYou’re going?Wingswill weary;And there’s no steamboat in the sky;The way is long and dreary.

ROBIN.

There’s One above, who will not seeA sparrow fall unheeded;He, ’Minta, will watch over me,And give me strength when needed.I’m going where the orange glows,Like gold, thro’ the emerald leaves, love;I’m going where its richest roseThe laughing summer weaves, love.

There’s One above, who will not seeA sparrow fall unheeded;He, ’Minta, will watch over me,And give me strength when needed.

I’m going where the orange glows,Like gold, thro’ the emerald leaves, love;I’m going where its richest roseThe laughing summer weaves, love.

ARAMINTA.

But tell me, Robin, how you’ll findThe route you want to glide on;There are no sign-posts in the air,Not even a road to ride on!

But tell me, Robin, how you’ll findThe route you want to glide on;There are no sign-posts in the air,Not even a road to ride on!

ROBIN.

Ah, little one! I cannot err,With His true hand to guide me;His care is ever o’er my way,His helpful love beside me.

Ah, little one! I cannot err,With His true hand to guide me;His care is ever o’er my way,His helpful love beside me.

The robin.

Table of Contents

Are there any of you, my young friends, so young or so ignorant as to believe that, if you might go to the beautiful toy shops, and had but money enough to buy just what toys you fancy, you should be quite happy?

You have heard of Napoleon, the great Emperor of France, and perhaps you have heard of his wife, the lovely Empress Josephine. She had a daughter, Hortense, who was married to the King of Holland, Napoleon’s brother. The Queen of Holland had children, dearly beloved by their grandmother Josephine. One year, as the Christmas holidays approached, she sent for those artisans in Paris who manufacture toys, and ordered toys to be made expressly for her grandchildren, more beautiful and more costly than any that were to be bought. Her commands were obeyed—the toys arrived in Holland at the right time, and on Christmas morning were given to the children. For a little while they were enchanted; they thought they should never see enough of adoll that could speak, wild beasts that could roar and growl, and birds that could sing.

But, alas! after a few hours, they were tired of a doll that could say nothing but ma—ma, pa—pa, of beasts that growled in but one tone, and the birds that sang the same note. Before evening the toys were strewn over the floor, some broken, all neglected and deserted; and the mother, on coming into the apartment, found one of the little princes crying at a window that overlooked a court, where some poor children were merrily playing.

“Cryingto-day, my son?” she exclaimed. “Oh! what would dear grandmamma say?—what are you crying for?”

“I want to go and play with those children in that pretty dirt, mamma.”

This story was brought to my mind last Christmas eve. I went to see a very good neighbour of ours, Mrs. Selby, a carpenter’s wife. The whole family are industrious and economical, and obliged to be so, for Mr. Selby cannot always get work in these times. He will not call themhardtimes. “It would be a shame to us,” he says, “to call times hard when we never go hungry, and have decent clothes to cover us, and have health on our cheeks, and love in our hearts.”

And, sure enough, there was no look of hard times there. The room was clean and warm. Mrs. Selby was busy over her mending basket, putting a darn here, a button in this place, and a hook and a eye there, to have all in order for Christmas morning. Her only son, Charles, was very busy with some of his father’s tools in one corner; not too busy, though, to make his bow to me, and draw forward the rocking-chair. I wish I could find as good manners among our drawing-room children, as I see at Mrs. Selby’s. Sarah and Lucy, the two girls, one eleven, the other ten years old, were working away by the light of a single lamp, so deeply engaged that they did not at first notice my entrance. “Where is little Nannie?” I asked. “She is gone to bed—put out of the way,” replied Mrs. Selby. “Oh, mother!” exclaimed the girls. “Well, then—have not you banished her?” “Banished? No, mother—Oh! mother is only teasing us;” and they blushed and smiled.

“Here is some mystery,” said I; “what is it, Sarah?” “Mother may tell if she pleases, ma’am,” said Sarah. Mother was very happy to tell, for all mothers like to tell good of their children.

“You know, ma’am, the children all doat on little Nannie, she is so much younger than they—only five years old—and they had a desire to have some very pretty Christmas gift for her; but how could they, they said, with so little money as they had to spend? They have, to be sure, a little store. I make it a rule to give each a penny at the end of the week, if I see them improving in their weak point.” “Weak point! what is that, Mrs. Selby?” “Why, ma’am, Charles is not always punctual at school; so I promised him that if he will not be one half minute behindhand for a week, he shall have a penny. Sarah, who is a little head over heels, gets one for making the beds and dusting neatly. And Lucy—Lucy is a careless child—for not getting a spot on her apron. On counting up Charles had fifty-one pennies Sarah forty-eight, and Lucy forty-nine.”

“No, mother,” said Lucy; “Sarah had forty-eight, and I forty-seven.” “Ah, so it was; thank you, dear, for correcting me.” “But Lucy would have had just the same as I, only she lost one penny by breaking a tea-cup, and it was such cold weather it almost broke itself.”

I looked with delight at these little girls, so just and generous to one another. The mother proceeded: “Father makes it a rule, if they have been good children, to give them two shillings each, for holidays; so they had seventy-five pennies a-piece.”

“Enough,” said I, “to make little Miss Nannie a pretty respectable present.”

“Ah, indeed, if it were all for Nannie? but they gave a Christmas present to their father and to me, and to each other, and to the poor little lame child, next door; so that Nannie only comes in for a sixth part. They set their wits to work to contrive something more than their money would buy, andthey determined on making a baby-house, which they were sure would please her and give her many a pleasant hour when they were gone to school. So there it stands in the corner of the room. Take away the shawl, girls, and show it to Miss ——. The shawl has been carefully kept over it, to hide it from Nanny, that she may have the pleasure of surprise to-morrow morning.” The shawl was removed, and if my little readers have ever been to the theatre, and remember their pleasure when the curtain was first drawn up, they can imagine mine. The baby-house was three stories high—that is, there were three rooms, one above the other, made by placing three old wooden boxes one on the other. Old, I call them, but so they did not appear: their outsides had been well scoured, then pasted over with paper, and the gum arabic was put on the paper, and over that was nicely scattered a coating of granite-coloured smalt. The inside wall of the lower room, or kitchen, was covered with white paper, to look like fresh white wash; the parlour and chamber walls were covered with very pretty hanging-paper, given to the children by their friend, Miss Laverty, the upholsterer. The kitchen floor was spread with straw matting. Charles had made a very nice dresser for one side, and a table and a seat resembling a settee, for the other. The girls had created something in the likeness of a woman, whom they called a cook; thebroom she held in one hand,—they had made it admirably,—and the pail in the other was Charles’ handy-work. A stove, shovel and tongs, tea-kettle and skillet, and dishes for the dresser they had spent money for. They were determined, first, to get theirnecessaries, Sarah said, (a wise little house-wife,) if they went without everything else. The kitchen furniture, smalt and gum arabic, had cost them eighteen-pence—just half their joint stock. “Then how could you possibly furnish your parlour and chamber so beautifully?”

“Oh, that is almost all our own work, ma’am. Charlie made the frames of the chairs and sofas, and we stuffed and covered them.” “But where did you get this very pretty crimson cloth to cover them, and the materials for your carpet and curtains?” The parlour carpet was made of dark cloth, with a centre piece of flowers and birds, very neatly fashioned, and sewed on. The chamber carpet was made of squares of divers coloured cloth.

The cloth for the centre-table was neatly worked; the window-curtains were strips of rich coloured cotton sewed together; the colours matched the colours of the carpet. To my question to Sarah, where she had got all these pretty materials, she replied, “Oh, ma’am, we did not buy them withmoney, but we bought them and paid for them with labour, father says.”

These little girls were early beginning to learn that truth in political economy, that all property is produced and obtained by labour. “Miss Laverty, the upholsteress, works up stairs; we picked hair for her, and she paid us in these pieces.”

“The centre-table, bedstead, and chairs,” said the mother, “and the wardrobe for the bed-chamber, Charlie made. The bed-sheets, pillows, spreads, &c., the girls made from piecesfished, as they say, out of my piece-basket. The work was all done in their play hours; their working time is not theirs, and therefore they could not give it away.”

“I see,” said I, looking at some very pretty pictures hanging around the parlour and chamber walls, “how these are arranged; they seem cut out of old books, pasted against pasteboard, and bound around with gilt paper; but pray tell me how this little mamma doll was bought, and the little baby in the cradle, and this pretty tea-set, and the candle-sticks, and the book-case and flower-vase on the centre-table, and the parlour stove. Charlie could make none of these things; you could not contrive them out of Miss Laverty’s pieces; and surely the three sixpences left after your expenditure for the kitchen, would go very little way towards paying for them.”

“To tell the truth, ma’am,” said Mrs. Selby, “the girls were at their wits’ ends. Miss Laverty could not afford to pay them money for their work. I had got almost as much interested in fitting up the baby-house as they, and would gladly have given them a little more money, but I had not ashilling to spare. Sarah and Lucy laid their heads together one night after they went to bed, and in the morning they came to me and told me their plan.

“We have always a pudding-pie on Sunday instead of meat. ‘Can’t you, mother,’ said they, ‘reckon up what our portion of the pie costs?—Make one just large enough for you, and my father, and Nannie, and we will eat dry bread, and then, with the money saved, added to our three sixpences, we will get what we can.’ At first I thought it rather hard upon the children, but my husband and I talked it over together, and we concluded, as it was their own proposal, to let them do it. We thought it might be teaching them, ma’am, to have love, as one may say, stronger than appetite, and work their little self-denial up with their love, and industry, and ingenuity. Poor people, such as we, cannot do what rich people can, for the education of their children. But there are some things we can do, which rich people can’t—our poor circumstances help us. When our children want to do a kindness, as in this matter of the baby-house, they can’t run to father and mother, and get money to do it with; they are obliged to think it out, and work it out, as one may say: and I believe it is the great end of education, ma’am, to make mind, heart, and hand work.”

Again I looked at the baby-house, and with realrespect for the people who had furnished it. The figures on the carpet, the gay curtains, tables, chairs, &c., were all very pretty, and very suitably and neatly arranged, but they were something more,—outward forms, into which Charles, Sarah, and Lucy had breathed, a soul instinct with love, kindheartedness, diligence, and self-denial.

Now, I ask my young friends to compare the gifts of the poor carpenter’s children to those of the empress. Hers cost a single order, and a great deal of money,—theirs, much labour and forethought. If the happiness produced in the two cases, to both giver and receiver, were calculated, which would be the greatest amount? And which, in reality, were the richest—the rich empress’s grandchildren, or the poor carpenter’s little family?

Back to IndexNext