Part 2

So from the box abstracting one, He took good care his prep. to shun, And perched upon a shady stile, He puffed away with sickly smile; But soon slid down with aching head, Stole home “quite cured,” and crept to bed.

“Hurrah, boys, the early morning Is the time for play! Faithful Donald stands in waiting; Let us haste away.”

TWO PAIRS OF FETTERS.

Eighty years ago a fierce war was waged in India between the English and Tippoo Sahib. On one occasion several English officers were taken prisoners. Among them was one named Baird. One day a native officer brought in fetters to be put on each of the prisoners, the wounded not excepted. Baird had been severely wounded, and was suffering from pain and weakness.

A gray-haired officer said to the native official, “You will not think of putting chains upon that wounded man?”

“There are just as many pairs of fetters as there are captives,” was the answer, “and every pair must be worn.”

“Then,” said the noble officer, “_put two pairs on me_; I will wear his as well as my own.”

This was done. Strange to say, Baird lived to gain his freedom—lived to take the city—but his noble friend died in prison.

A noble act—to bear a heavy burden for another which that other could not bear for himself. Thus our Saviour showed his love for the world. “When we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly” (Rom. v, 6).

STORY OF THE CENTURY PLANT.

The century plant, as we call it, though it does not live much longer than fifty years, is a kind of cactus. The cactus family—or the “cacti,” for we never say cactuses—numbers fully forty members, and you are pretty sure to find them growing in those parts of the far south where the sun and sand dry up every other green thing.

The true century plant, or agave, is found chiefly in Mexico. It is composed of a clump of thick and fleshy leaves, each having a hard, sharp, thorny point at its extremity, as well as an edging of prickly spines growing the whole length of the leaf.

At the flowering time a tough, tall stem grows from the center of the plant, rising to the height of ten or fifteen feet, and producing a blossom of a yellowish-green color.

It is said that the century plant has been put to no less than one hundred uses. For example, the fiber of the plant is spun into thread and made into garments; the thick, fleshy leaves produce an extract which is used as a substitute for soap; while the tough flowering stem, when withered, serves the purpose of a razor strop. The pointed thorns at the tip of each great leaf are used by the natives as needles, and the leaves themselves are made into shingles. It seems possible to make paper out of almost any substance, and this plant is not an exception.

Just at the time when this juicy, pulpy plant begins to flower the flower-bearing stem is cut off, together with the thick leaves immediately around it. A basinlike hollow is made in the center, into which all the rich sap or juice flows. A single plant will, for two or three months, produce at the rate of two gallons of this fluid each day. It is collected in vessels of raw-hide, and kept until it ferments. Many Mexicans get drunk on this “pulque.” The city of Mexico contains eight hundred and twenty shops in which this beverage is sold. Eighty thousand gallons are consumed daily throughout Mexico.

NESTING TIME.

“’Tis June, ’tis June, my sweet, sweet mate.” “I know it, I know it,” said she. “The sun is bright and the sky is fair, The sheltering leaves are everywhere; It is time to build,” said he.

“O joy, joy, joy! Let us build our home On a rock-a-bye bough,” said she, “Where our baby birds may safely rest Till they get too big for the little nest.” “We will, my sweet,” said he.

“My little nest is full to the brim, And my heart with song,” said she. “Our baby birds are ready, I know, To try their wings, so let us go And see the world,” said he.

THE DEAD TURKEY.

“Mrs. Wells, here is your little turkey, and it is dead,” said a pitiful voice. Little Eddie, the ministers son, who was Mrs. Wells’s next-door neighbor, held the limp turkey in his hand as he stood in the door.

“O, I’m so sorry,” said kind Mrs. Wells, and Edward went home with a troubled face. Something hurt him so.

“What is the matter with my little boy?” said Eddie’s mother. “All the sunshine has gone out of his face.”

Eddie gave a deep sigh; then he looked up. “I’m going to tell you all about it, mamma,” he said; “you know Mrs. Wells’s dear little chickies and turk-a-lurks? They looked so cunning that I just picked up one little turkey and hugged it a little bit, and it was dead. The old mother turkey was ’most crazy. I carried the poor little turkey chick to Mrs. Wells and told her it was dead, and—and something hurts me so right in here,” and he clasped his little hands over his heart.

“Was that all you told Mrs. Wells, Eddie?” asked his mother, gravely.

“Yes’m,” said Eddie; but a little later she saw him trudging toward Mrs. Wells’s door. “I killed your turkey, I squeezed it so hard. Will you please to forgive me?” said little Eddie.

Mrs. Wells said, “Yes, dear; you didn’t mean to kill it, I know.”

When Eddie came home the sunshine was in his face again. “I told her the whole truth, mamma, and the hurt is gone,” he said, gleefully.

A GENTLEMAN IS FIRST A GENTLE BOY.

There is nothing which will make a man angry so quickly as to be told that he is not a gentleman. But one becomes a true gentleman by beginning early to practice gentle deeds.

On a crowded trolley car going out of Boston, one evening, an old woman was packed in the crowd in the narrow aisle where the standing room was all taken. She was bent with age and was very feeble. Her shabby dress and worn shawl told of her poverty. She carried a large basket, and it seemed to grow heavier and heavier as she changed it from one arm to the other. Seated where this woman was standing sat two persons—one whose tailor-made clothes of expensive fabric showed he was a well-to-do man. The other was a ragged newsboy. Tired from his work, the little fellow’s head now and then dropped on his shoulder and his weary eyelids closed.

Awaking from one of these naps, he saw standing near him the shabby old woman with her heavy basket, and he put his little hand out on hers and said, very gently, but manfully: “You must be tired. Take my seat. I’ll hold your basket.”

There was the making of a splendid gentleman in that boy.

THE BROTHERS.

There was a time when the world was very young, and the first people were like children who cannot understand how to worship God, so they were allowed to offer sacrifices upon an altar. You have heard about Cain and Abel, the two sons of Adam and Eve. One was gentle and good, and he kept the flocks. The other, the elder, took care of the ground and the fruit trees. When they came to offer their sacrifices Abel brought a lamb and Cain brought grain and fruit. The Lord looked upon the hearts of Cain and Abel, and he saw true worship in Abel’s heart, but in the heart of Cain he saw selfishness and sin. So he did not accept his offering. Then the sin in Cain’s heart rose into his tongue as he talked angrily with his brother, and by and by it crept out into his hand, and he struck his brother and killed him. The seed of murder, which is hate, had sprung up quickly in Cain’s heart.

HIS WORK.

One time a man came to one of the men who worked for him, gave him a big stone, and said, “Now cut in this stone leaves just like the ones in this picture.” The stone did not look very pretty, and the man said, “I will do just the very best I can, but I wish I could cut in this beautiful marble here.” So he toiled away with his sharp tools, and, after much work, he finished the leaves according to the pattern.

When he finished this the master brought him another just like it, and told him to cut a branch in it. So for weeks he worked on these big, rough stones, and he did not know what they were for.

One day, when he was walking down town in the large city, he saw a beautiful building. He went over to look at it, and there, in front of that large building, were all those big, rough stones upon which he had been working for so long; but they were all put together now to form a most beautiful picture. The man looked at it a long time and then said: “O how glad I am I did it well! Now I see what the master meant.”

FORGIVE THE WRONG.

Dear child, has some one done you ill? Don’t hasten to resent it; Oft those who seek a swift revenge Find leisure to repent it.

Though anger loud for vengeance cries, Again, again deny it; Two wrongs will never make one right, Howe’er you multiply it.

THE STORYBOOK.

“I have a little storybook; I love to read it too; It tells about the fairy folk, And what they say and do,

“And how they sleep in lily bells And scare away the bees, And visit birdies in their nest, And do just what they please.”

“WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?”

Said a little girl: “It is easy enough to remember that the old woman who lives down in the Row is my neighbor, for she is very poor and lives in a poor house, and when I carry her things mamma sends she says, ‘Bless you, my little lady;’ but it isn’t so easy to remember that my own grandma is my neighbor when she wants me to run up stairs after her spectacles, or hold some yarn for her just when I’m playing.”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.