Man with rifles
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Sound is propagated through a confined channel of air, as for instance, a long tube, very perfectly. It is not uncommon in large establishments, where it is necessary to pass many orders to and fro, to have such tubes laid in the walls, so that words can pass through them from room to room. The experiment may be tried in a leaden pipe, laid down for an aqueduct, before the water is admitted, and it will be found that the slightest whisper can be heard for a distance of half a mile or more. This tendency of a confined channel of air to increase the distinctness of the sound passing through it, may be shewn by a tube formed by rolling up a large sheet of paper and whispering through it. If the tube is gradually enlarged towards the outer end, it greatly increases the loudness of the soundtransmited through it, as in the case of the horn, the speaking trumpet, &c.
When the sound of a voice passes in this manner through a tube, the voice always appears to come from the end of the tube where the sound issues, and not from the end where the words are really spoken. This has given rise to an ingenious contrivance called the whispering figure, which is sometimes fitted up in museums for the entertainment of visitors. It is as follows:—
Diagram of a statue with a tube to make it sound like it is talking.
A large dog or other image is placed upon a stand at a little distance from the side of the room. There is a tin tube within the figure, one end of which is opposite the mouth, and the other passes down through the floor, and thence along under the floor, as represented by the dotted line in the cut. After passing the partition, it is turned up, and opens in a funnel-shaped extremity in the next room. If now a person speaks or whispers at the outer end of the tube, the persons who are in the room with the figure will hear the sound coming through its lips, as if the figure itself were speaking. The tube being entirely concealed within the dress of the figure, and under the floor, the spectators, not suspecting such a communication with the next room,wonder by what contrivance an image can be made to speak.
This experiment is sometimes performed by children in private, by placing a board across the tops of two chairs, and covering it with cloth, so as to represent a table. The tube comes up through this board into the body of some image placed upon the table, as a doll, a figure of a dog or cat, or a grotesque effigy made by means of a mask. In this case a person is concealed under the table to whisper into the tube, in answer to such questions as the spectators address to the figure. Of course, all these arrangements are made before the spectators are admitted to the room.
Road passing over a train. Men above and below.
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Captain Albert had recently returned from a long and perilous whaling voyage, and was seated beside a bright blazing fire at his own hearth. His wife sat opposite, with her youngest child in her lap, while the two sons, Edward and William, stood on each side looking earnestly in his face, that they might be quite sure their father had indeed returned, and that they were not still deceived by one of those pleasant dreams with which they had been so often visited during his absence.
“Oh, father,” said Edward, “the next time you go, take me with you, do!”
“Tell us a story of the sea, will you not, father?” said William, at the same time.
“Very well, my son, I will try,” replied their father; “and that will, perhaps, change Edward’s mind about going with me the next time.
“One day, in the great Southern ocean, we had followed a fine whale farther south than we had ever before been. The whale was enormously large, and I saw in a moment that if we could
Ship on the sea.
take it there would be oil enough to fill our casks, and enable us to return home. Its motions were very rapid, and we followed it as swiftly as we could, but, after all, it escaped. I believe the creature swam under water till it was out of the reach of my glass. While I was looking out to try to get a sight of it again, I espied something which appeared to be an island, to the south, but while I was looking at it I was sure it moved. It did move, and we soon came near enough to see what it was distinctly. It proved to be an iceberg, shooting up to a great height, like one of the sharp-pointed Alps, and spreading out to a wide extent, on all sides. At the same time, the whole ocean, as far south as the eye could reach, was covered with floating ice.
“The situation was full of danger, but the wind was in our favour, and I prepared to press all sail, in hopes of escaping, when suddenly a shower of hail and sleet rushed upon us with such fury that some of the men were beaten down to the deck, and all found it difficult to stand under it. The sails, shrouds, and sheets, were all cased in ice, stiffened, and almost as immoveable as if they had been made of iron.
“I now began to blame myself severely for suffering the whale to tempt me so far into those regions of ice and storms. I looked with bitter regret toward those faithful sailors who had trusted their lives to my care, and who were now exposedto unnecessary hardships and dangers by my boyish rashness. The noble fellows never uttered a word of complaint, buttheirgenerous fortitude did not help to reconcile me to myself. Full of anxiety, I took my glass to look out again for the iceberg. While I was looking towards it, I spied something among the cakes of ice, which appeared like some small craft; but I could not believe a vessel of that size could have reached a latitude so far south. A vessel, it certainly was—a small schooner, sailing among the cakes of ice, as if it knew how to pick its way alone, for I could not see a person moving on her deck. We steered, as well as we could, directly towards her. My ship was new and strong, and well prepared, so that I did not much fear the loose cakes of ice. When we were near enough, I hailed the little craft, and thought I heard a distant shout in reply. As we came nearer, I saw a young man alone, and sitting upon the helm, apparently managing it with the motions of his body, so as to steer his little vessel safely through.
“We all stood looking for a moment at the brave young man, with wonder and admiration; but as soon as I ordered out a boat, the sailors rushed to the side and began to work with a will, although everything they touched was cased in ice, and terrible to handle. Down went the boat, and was manned in an instant. It was not long before the young man was on board ourship, but he would not leave the schooner until he had seen a rope rigged to tow her after us. The poor fellow was almost dead with cold and hunger; he had not tasted any food for more than twenty-four hours, as he told us afterwards. He could hardly speak a word, and as soon as he felt the warmth of the stove, he fainted entirely away. We put him into a hammock, and did all we could for him, and soon had the pleasure of seeing him revive. After he had taken some warm tea, he fell asleep, and slept till I began to fear he would never awake again; but Providence had provided him the refreshment he needed, and when he awoke, the next day, he was well and lively. I inquired how he came into so strange a situation, when he told me that four young men, without much consideration, had purchased the vessel, and fitted her up for a voyage of discovery into those far-off seas. They had encountered a furious storm, which drove them among the ice, near the place where they were found. They had suffered very much with cold and want of sleep, while the vessel was every moment in danger of being crushed to pieces.
“In this distress his companions began to drink spirits to warm them. They offered him some, and urged him to drink, but he replied it would make him worse, and reminded them of a ship which was cast away one very severe winter, among the rocks near his own native town, when all the sailors who drank rum were frozen, while those who did not drink, escaped. His companions, however, would not listen to his advice, but continued to drink, and were soon unable to move, and were all frozen to death, and were still on the deck, covered with ice and sleet. Robert (this was the young man’s name,) was saved by not drinking any of the rum, but by using it outwardly, pouring it into his boots, and a part into his bosom.”
“But how did you escape that terrible iceberg, and get out of that dreadful sea?” said Edward: “were any of your men frozen?”
“No,” replied Captain Albert; “we suffered very severely, but we did not use any ‘fire-water,’ and every sailor who went out in the ship, returned in good health; still, all that we were able to do would have been no more than the fluttering of a leaf in a whirlwind, without the help of Him, who, you will remember, was once in ‘a little ship when a great storm arose,’ and who said, ‘Peace be still, and there was a great calm.’”
Rocks at sea.
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“I have a great mind to break this stupid old slate,” said little Charlie Fidget, one morning, as he sat over his first sum in subtraction.
“Why, what has the poor slate done?” asked the pleasant voice of his sister Helen, behind him.
“Nothing; just what I complain of; it won’t do this plaguy sum for me; and here it is almost school-time!”
“What a wicked slate, Charles!”
“So it is. I mean to fling it out of the window and break it to pieces on the stones.”
“Will that do your sum, Charlie?”
“No; but if there were no slates in the world, I should have no good-for-nothing sums to do.”
“Oh, ho! that does not follow, by any means. Did slates make the science of arithmetic? Would people never have to count or calculate, if there were no slates? You forget pens, lead pencils and paper: you forget all about oral arithmetic, Charlie.”
“Well, I don’t love to cipher, that’s all I know.”
Woman in chair reading book to child who is standing beside her.
“And so, you hasty boy, you get angry with the poor harmless slate, that is so convenient when you make mistakes and want to rub them out again. Now that is the way with a great many thoughtless, quick-tempered people. They try to find fault with somebody or something else, and get into a passion, and perhaps do mischief, when if they would but reflect a little, it is their own dear selves who ought to bear the blame. Now, Charlie, let me see what I can do for you.”
So Helen sat down in her mother’s great easy-chair; she tried to look grave and dignified, like an old lady, though she was but eighteen. Charlie came rather unwillingly, laid the slate in her lap, and began to play with the trimming on her apron. “Why, what is all this?” said she; “soldiers, and cats, and dogs, and houses with windows of all shapes and sizes!”
Charlie looked foolish. “Oh, the sum is on the other side,” said he, turning it over.
“Ah, silly boy,” said Helen; “here you have been sitting half an hour drawing pictures, instead of trying to do your sum. And now, which do you think ought to be broken, you or the slate?” and she held it up high, as if she meant to strike at him with it.
Charlie looked up, with his hands at his ears, making believe he was frightened, but laughing all the while, for he knew she was only playing with him. Presently, however, she put on a serious face, and said, “Now, my little man, you must go to work in good earnest to make up for lost time.”
“Oh, Helen, it wants only twenty minutes to nine; I can’t possibly do this sum and get to school by nine. I shall be late. What shall I do? Miss Fletcher will certainly punish me if it is not done. Can’t you, just this once, Helen?”
“No,” said Helen.
“Oh, do, there’s a dear, good sister; just this once.”
“No, Charlie; there would be no kindness in that. You would never learn arithmetic in that way.”
“Just once,” still pleaded Charlie.
“No,” answered Helen, in a kind, but resolute tone: “if I do it once, you will find it harder to be refused to-morrow; you will depend upon me, and sit playing and drawing pictures, instead of ciphering. I will keep you close at it till you perform your task.”
So she passed her hand gently round him, and though Charlie pouted at first, and could hardly see through his tears, she questioned him about his rule, and then began to show him the proper way to do his sum, yet letting him work it out himself, in such a pleasant manner, that he was soon ashamed of being sullen. First she held the pencil herself, and put down the figures as he told her to do; and then she made him copy the whole, nicely, on another part of the slate, and rub out her figures.
After all this was finished patiently and diligently, Charlie was surprised to find he should still be in good time for school.
“Now, to-morrow, Charlie,” said Helen, “don’t waste a moment, but go to your lesson at once, whatever it is, and you will find it a great saving, not only of time, but of temper. You won’t get into a passion with this clever old slate of mine. It went to school with me when I was a little girl, and I should have been sorry if you had broken it for not doing your work. Generally, Charlie, when you see a person fidgety and angry, and complaining of things and people, you may be sure he has either done something he ought not to do, or left undone something he ought to do.”
Away ran Charlie to school, thinking to himself, “Well, I suppose I was wrong both ways. I ought not to have been drawing soldiers, and I ought to have been ciphering.”
Boys playing.
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Boy with his teacher.
The early lark, that spreads its wingsAnd mounts the summer air,Obeys its Maker while it singsIn morning carols there.The skilful bee from flower to flowerPursues its nectar’d store,Nor has it instinct, skill or powerTo please its Maker more.But children, born with nobler powers,In paths of vice may stray,Or rise to virtue’s fragrant bowerIn realms of endless day.Then let me shun those wicked waysWhich lead to sin and shame,So shall my heart be taught to praiseMy Lord and Saviour’s name.
The early lark, that spreads its wingsAnd mounts the summer air,Obeys its Maker while it singsIn morning carols there.
The skilful bee from flower to flowerPursues its nectar’d store,Nor has it instinct, skill or powerTo please its Maker more.
But children, born with nobler powers,In paths of vice may stray,Or rise to virtue’s fragrant bowerIn realms of endless day.
Then let me shun those wicked waysWhich lead to sin and shame,So shall my heart be taught to praiseMy Lord and Saviour’s name.
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A house.
Lizzy was walking in a wood one day, and as she stooped under a tree to gather some flowers that grew at its foot, she heard a loud tapping high up in the tree; she looked up, and there she saw, clinging to a dead bough that industrious and happy bird, the woodpecker. “Are you going to dig out a chamber for yourself there?” asked Lizzy. “That bough is too small, I should think.”
A woodpecker.
“Oh! I am not doing carpentry work now,” said the bird; “there are some nice little insects under this bark,—sweet things!—which I love as well as you love the lambs.”
“And yet you intend to make a meal upon them—barbarous bird!”
“Yes, as good a meal as you make upon the lamb,—barbarous child! But let us forgive each other; we must eat to live. You would love to eat me if I were nicely cooked, and I should relish you exceedingly if I could only change you into a beetle-bug, or a grub of some sort.”
“Do not talk so, Mr. Carpenter: I would rather go without my dinner than to have you killed and cooked for me.”
“Ah! do you love me so well? Then I will confide in you, and tell you a secret. My chamber is in the trunk of this tree, and my six eggs lie on the floor of it. Jump up here, and I will show it to you.”
“I could not jump twenty feet into the air,” said Lizzy.
“Why! are you not twenty times longer than I am?”
“Oh, more; and more than forty times heavier?”
“Well, well, I will go down and help you up.”
“I should like to know how you expect to help me,” said Lizzy.
“We shall see;” and the woodpecker flew down;—but where is he? Lizzy looked about, and she could not see him anywhere.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed a voice close by her ear; and Lizzy turned, and saw a pretty little fairy figure standing close beside her. “I was only acting the woodpecker for my amusement. We fairies are very fond of masquerading.”
“Then I cannot see the woodpecker’s nest,” said Lizzy. “It is too bad to disappoint me so, when I did so want to see his pretty eggs.”
“Oh, if you wish to see some pretty eggs. I can show you some as pretty as the woodpecker’s. I have hundreds of them stowed away in a woodpecker’s hole, up in this very tree. I had come here this morning to deposit some, and this is what made me think of acting the woodpecker just now.”
“Where did you get so many eggs? Do you rob birds’ nests?”
“Oh, no, indeed! they are not birds’ eggs; they come down in the rain, and we use the large flower-cups to catch them in.”
“And what will hatch from them?”
“Ah, that is more than I can tell as yet. I will give you some of them, and they will hatch just such kind of creatures as you tell them to.”
“That is a very likely story,—but give me some, do; and I will tell them to hatch most beautiful birds and butterflies.”
“Stay; let me explain a little, before you count your unhatched birds and butterflies. I will tell you how to hatch them. Put them in your bosom, and they will be hatched by its warmth; but what is hatched from them must depend entirely upon what kind of feeling shall warm your bosom, and upon what deeds you do. If you have a wicked feeling, an ugly creature will begin to form within one of the eggs; and if you let that feeling cause you to do anything wrong, then the egg will hatch. Are you willing to take the risk of having spiders and scorpions in your bosom, for the sake of the hope that they may be pretty birds and butterflies?”
A moth.
“Oh, yes!” said Lizzy; “I do not think I ever have such bad feelings as spiders and scorpions are made of.”
“Come, then,” cried the fairy; and she led Lizzy round to the other side of the tree, where she saw, high up in the trunk, a woodpecker’s hole.
“Run up,” cried the fairy.
“How can I? There is nothing but an ivy-vine to cling to.”
“You mistake,” said the fairy; and she touched the ivy-vine with her wand, and there was a nice rope-ladder leading up to the woodpecker’s hole. It was almost full of small, pearly white eggs.—“Take out three or four,” said the fairy, “and put them in your bosom, and before you reach home, they will very likely all be hatched.”
“Oh, what pretty little things!” cried Lizzy, as she took them out; “they shall certainly hatch something pretty.”
She was going to put them all in her bosom at once; but the fairy told her she had better put only one in at a time, and the others in one of the pockets of her apron; for it would be rather worse if there should be several spiders running about in her bosom, than only one.
“Oh, there will not be any,” said Lizzy; “there will be a pretty bird hopping about there—but I will do as you advise.” She ran down the ladder, and the fairy tripped along after her, and when Lizzy turned to bid her good morning, she saw the ivy-vine clasping the tree, and the woodpecker tapping away at the bark.
Lizzy ran along through the wood, hoping that something would happen to arouse in her breast a good affection of some sort,—for there was nothing there now but a mingled feeling of pleasure and dread,—for a sweet-brier bush, for what purpose is not known, caught hold of her dress, and thus occasioned a frightful rent; and sweet-brier bushes, if they do bear sweet roses, do also love to play off their jokes upon people, in quite as unbenevolent a way as the blackberry and thorn. But Lizzy thought it no joke at all. What barbarous cruelty to tear her dress so, and then to hold upon it so relentlessly! and whilst she was trying to force the thorns to let go their hold, she became so angry that she cried out, “Oh! I wish there was not a sweet-brier bush in the world, I do! and I wish this was dead and burnt up.” But before she had released herself from the bush, she felt something moving in her bosom. Putting her hand in, she pulled out an empty egg-shell, while the wasp, which had just been hatched, flew around her face. She brushed it away with her handkerchief. She looked at the sweet-brier roses,—those little rosy cups all arranged so garland-like on the bending boughs,—and said, “I wonder it was not a scorpion. Poor little roses! I do not wish you to wither; I want you to flourish, and breathe out your sweet breath;” and she bent her head over them, and while they breathed forth their sweet breath, they looked so much like little infants, that the tears came into Lizzy’s eyes, while she said, “May the Lord that made you, forgive me!”—When she lifted up her head, she saw a wasp fall to the ground, and then a pretty bird came, and picked it up and swallowed it. Lizzy then took another egg from her pocket, placed it in her bosom, and walked on, taking care to keep at a safe distance from sweet-briers and brambles.
A nest in a tree.
She had not gone far when she saw a little sparrow fly from a low shrub, making a sound as if he had a nest there. When he had gone so far away that she thought he would not see her, she peeped in amongst the leaves, and there she espied the little home, with its three inmates; not three little birds as yet—but, what she knew were quite as dear to the parents, two speckled eggs. “Ah!” thought Lizzy, “how I should like to see if I could not hatch a sparrow’s egg. I should be sure that a wasp would not come out of a sparrow’s egg.” And she put her hand very slily into the nest, and stole away one of the sparrow’s speckled treasures, and laid it in her bosom by the side of the fairy egg. As she left the bush, she turned to see if the sparrow went to look at it; and while she stood watching him, she felt a strange nestling and fumbling in her bosom, that she thought both eggs must have hatched. Looking in, she saw a small snake writhing about most energetically. “I will put the sparrow’s egg back,” thought she, for she was struck with horror.
A snake.
Throwing the snake upon the ground, in an agony of disgust, she felt for the sparrow’s egg; but, alas! the empty shell was alone there,—the snake had sucked the egg. “How I wish I had not stolen away the sparrow’s egg! The snake has eaten what would have been a pretty bird. I would give the sparrow one of my fairy eggs, if I thought he would like it, but perhaps he would not. Vile snake!” she cried, stepping back as she saw the snake writhing on the ground close by her feet. Her words seemed to give him a death-stroke; he lay still, as though lifeless; she touched him with her foot, but he did not move. There was a little frog-pond near by, and to make sure that he should not come to life again, Lizzy took the snake on a stick, and threw it into the pond and then put another egg into her bosom. As she stood by the pond, lashing the water with the stick, she began to fear she was not quite so delightful a childas she had imagined herself to be, and to wonder what she should do to make the egg hatch a pretty creature. “Let me think,” said she, “what have I to do before dinner? I have some sewing to do, and two lessons to study. Now, if I go directly home, and do these things well, instead of staying here to play, perhaps I shall find, after I have finished my tasks, some bright bird, or shining insect, in my bosom. To be sure, that ought not to be my only reason for doing well, and it is not my only reason.” This was quite true; for Lizzy began to feel so penitent for the unpleasant things she had done, that she felt a desire to make amends of some sort. “I believe I will,” said she, “go directly home, and see how much I can do before dinner. Oh! see the tadpoles! how they run and wag their tails, queer creatures! but I must not stay.” A frog then leaped into the water, from amongst the grass at the other side of the pond. “Ah! father long-legs! what a water-nymph you are! I must just go round and see if there are not some more frogs there; I do love so to see them leap into the water with such a plash.” And she walked round the water, frightening the frogs from the grass; and when they had all leaped into the water, she thought she must sit down quite still for a few moments, just to see if one would not jump out again. She waited a few moments,—and then a few more,—and then a few more. “Oh, dear!” she cried, “I will wait tillone—just one—comes, if I wait till night, I am determined.” But it seemed as if the frogs were determined to be revenged upon Lizzy for frightening them in, for not one lifted his head above the water, for more than a quarter of an hour; and Lizzy began to feel a little frightened, and to wish she had made no promise. At length one, more courageous or less obstinate than the rest, leaped upon the bank. “Oh; and there is another!” Now Lizzy must just go and drive them in again, because it is still better to see them leap in: for you then have the pleasure of seeing them swim. As she stood watching them swim, she thought the egg in her bosom felt cold; this reminded her of her good resolution, and she walked straight homewards.
It was dinner time when she reached home.—Ah! where were the lessons and the sewing? and why had not the egg hatched? It was a great while since she put it into her bosom. She did not believe it was going to hatch at all, for it still felt cold, and she thought she would break the shell, and see if there was anything in it. Yes, there was something, and something very pretty, too. A small, shining, green bee; but it was dead. Oh! those amusing frogs!
“Well, this one,” said Lizzy, as she put the last egg into her bosom, “shall hatch a beautiful bee; for, as soon as dinner is over, I will sit down and be as industrious as a bee on a summer’s morning.”
“Lizzy,” said her mother, while they were sitting at table, “what was that you put into your bosom, just now?”
“What, mother? when?” asked Lizzy; for she did not feel as if the story she had to tell about the eggs would be one much to her credit, and she was too proud to be willing to tell it.
“As you were sitting down, I observed you put something into your bosom; what was it?”
“Oh, I—just happened to put my hand into my bosom.”
“Lizzy, you had something in your hand; I saw it.”
“Why, mother, you are mistaken. I—I—”
“Tell me what it was, my child.”
“Why, mother, it was only my—my thimble.”
As the falsehood came out of Lizzy’s mouth, a black bat crept out of her bosom, and, spreading out his filmy wings, fluttered about her head.—Every one started up from the table; Lizzy screamed, and tried to brush the impish-looking creature away, but he persisted in fluttering around her head. She ran from the room; but before she could shut the door behind her, the bat was out also, and sailed round and round her head. Her mother followed her out, and tried to drive the bat away, while she reproved Lizzy for putting such ugly things in her bosom, and expressed very great grief that her daughter should have told a falsehood; and she told her that the falsehood wouldhaunt and trouble her mind till she confessed the truth, and begged forgiveness, just as the black bat now troubled her by flying around her head.
“I will confess all,” said Lizzy; and she burst into tears, and throwing herself into her mother’s arms, told her morning’s adventures, without sparing herself at all.
The bat dropped down dead upon the floor.
“Ah!” said Lizzy’s mother, “now, how good it is to confess and beg forgiveness, and how pleasant it is to forgive. See! he is dead, and I trust you will never more put any such ‘thimbles’ into your bosom.”
“Oh, mother,” said Lizzy, smiling, as she dried her tears, “I have no doubt it was beginning to be a pretty little bee when I put it in; but I will be one myself now;” and she took her sewing work, and sat down; and happening to look up from her work to the spot where the bat had fallen, she was delighted to see, instead of the bat, a bee creeping along on the floor. Presently he flew up, and crawled on her arm, while she worked.
“Well,” said Lizzy, the next morning, “I really did not know I was so bad a girl. Only think of my causing the existence of such disagreeable creatures, when I thought I should bring out such delightful ones. But I will do better, certainly.—I wish I had some more of these eggs.” And she resolved to go again into the wood, and seek out the fairy. She had been strolling about for sometime, looking for the tree on which she had seen the woodpecker, when she saw, on the ground before her, a brown beetle, or May-bug, lying upon his back. She took him up, and turned him over.
“That is a kind girl, Lizzy,” said a small voice.
“Ah! the fairy!”
“How are you, this morning? I have not seen you since last evening, when I was bobbing about in your room, striking my head against the ceiling, and then falling bounce upon the floor. I was lying here on my back, just to see if you would have the kindness to pick me up. And now, tell me, what was the fate of the eggs? Have you got some pretty bird, bright butterflies, and shining beetles, to show me?”
“Ah! I am ashamed of myself,” said Lizzy; “all your pretty eggs were wasted, but one.”
“No wasted,” said the fairy; “you know yourself better than you did yesterday—do you not?”
“Indeed, I do; and therefore I think I shall succeed better to-day, if you will give me some more eggs.”
“Oh, yes,” said the fairy; and taking the form of a squirrel, she ran up the tree in which the eggs were concealed, and which was not far distant, and presently returned with five of them in her cheeks, which she gave to Lizzy, and then ran up the tree again, and sat chattering on a high bough. AsLizzy walked on her way homewards, she passed by a low meadow, where she saw a little girl gathering cowslips, or May-blobs for greens. She had a peck-basket beside her, and Lizzy asked her if she meant to fill that great basket with greens. The girl told her she should have to fill it twice, and carry them into town to sell. A glad thought leaped into Lizzy’s heart. “I mean to try and help her to gather them,” said she to herself. When she offered to do it, the little girl seemed quite pleased, and so Lizzy went to work very industriously, and broke off the leaves and buds of the May-blobs, and the little girl’s basket began to fill very fast; and they talked together while they picked, and the little girls soon became very well acquainted with each other. The little girl told Lizzy how many brothers and sisters she had, and how many hens and chickens, and what all their names were; and Lizzy told the little girl how many brothers and sisters she had, and how many rabbits and Canary birds, and what all their names were; and the little girl told Lizzy how many funny things her hens and chickens did; and Lizzy told the little girl many knowing things that her canaries did; and Lizzy felt as happy while she picked the May-blobs, as the bright yellow blossoms themselves looked. And now the basket is full, and the little girl is glad her morning’s task is done, before the sun is up so high as to be too warm; she is not going to pick another basket tilltowards night;—and now Lizzy feels the egg-shell crack in her bosom, and she and the little girl laugh to see a full-grown yellow-bird fly out, and, alighting upon Lizzy’s shoulder, pour out his pleasant song.
“How he sings!” said the little girl.
“He is thanking me for his existence,” said Lizzy; for she had told the little girl all about the fairy eggs. “Come now, let me take your basket, if you are going the same way that I am; for I know you are tired, and I am not.”
“That is where I live,” said the little girl, pointing to a house about an eighth of a mile distant.
“Ah!” said Lizzy, “that is not much out of my way; I think I shall be home in good time.” And she put another egg into her bosom, and taking the basket, accompanied the little girl home, telling her she would perhaps come and help her again at night; and just as the children were saying good-bye, a hen yellow-bird flew out of Lizzy’s bosom, and the other one which had followed on, went gladly to meet her. “Ah! there is a little yellow mate for him,” cried Lizzy; and she held out her arm, and the hen yellow-bird alighted upon it, and sat there while her mate stood by her side and gave her his prettiest song. The little girl went into the house, and Lizzy, first putting another egg into her bosom, walked on, the two birds flying around her as she went, and the male now and then stopping to trill his notes upon a shrub or tree. When Lizzy reached home, she was met by Hero, her brother’s dog, and not in the most pleasant manner imaginable. He had just come out of a muddy ditch, and with his wet, black paws, up he leaped upon her nice, clean apron. “Be still, Hero; down, down, sir,” said Lizzy; but Hero’s expressions of joy were not so easily quieted. Lizzy took up a stick and was going to beat him, for she felt very angry; but she controlled herself, and throwing down the stick, took hold of Hero’s collar and held him down till he became more quiet. When she went into the house the two yellow-birds flew up and alighted upon a cherry tree, which was close by her chamber window, and when she went into her chamber, how pleasant was the song that met her ear! But why did not the other egg hatch! Lizzy waited and waited, and towards night her patience became exhausted, and she broke the shell. Oh, how glad she was it did not hatch! how glad she was that she did not beat poor Hero, because he welcomed her rather too rudely. A dead hornet was in the egg shell.
Lizzy’s heart was full of gratitude and love when she laid herself down to rest at night. She loved the little girl she had helped, and she felt penitent and humble when she thought how angry she had been with Hero, and grateful when she thought of the escape she had made; and she felt very grateful and happy when she thought of the two yellow-birds she should have to sing at her window. She took the two remaining eggs in her hands and held them up against her bosom, and while she was going to sleep, sweet thoughts of love and beauty floated about in her mind; and when the song of her yellow-birds awoke her in the morning—Oh, what was she pressing to her bosom? A pair of white doves! and they nestled and cooed in her bosom, and when she arose she let them play around the chamber. Unlike the dark, filmy wings of the bat, their white pinions whistled as they flew, and Lizzy thought, “Oh, how sweet it will be to have these to nestle in my bosom every night, and the yellow-birds to awaken me in the morning!”
Men under tree. Church in background.
Table of Contents
Woman and child.
She looked into my eyes,Her own were filled with tears;—A loving and a thoughtful child,Disturbed by dreamy fears.She said—“Oh! mother dear!I dread that I shall dieToo soon, and go to heaven alone,And leaveyouhere to cry!”“My darling! if you do,You will be always blest;The angels there will play with you,And lull you, love, to rest!”“Oh, no! it may be bright,A pleasant place and fair;But how can I be glad, and play?I’ll have no mother there!”“My Ellen! if you stayIn this sad world of ours,You’ll often weep woe’s bitter tearsAbove its fairest flowers!”“Dear mother!yetI’d stay;For oh! so much I love you,I’d rather grieve withyou, on earth,Than joy, in heaven, above you!”
She looked into my eyes,Her own were filled with tears;—A loving and a thoughtful child,Disturbed by dreamy fears.
She said—“Oh! mother dear!I dread that I shall dieToo soon, and go to heaven alone,And leaveyouhere to cry!”
“My darling! if you do,You will be always blest;The angels there will play with you,And lull you, love, to rest!”
“Oh, no! it may be bright,A pleasant place and fair;But how can I be glad, and play?I’ll have no mother there!”
“My Ellen! if you stayIn this sad world of ours,You’ll often weep woe’s bitter tearsAbove its fairest flowers!”
“Dear mother!yetI’d stay;For oh! so much I love you,I’d rather grieve withyou, on earth,Than joy, in heaven, above you!”