Part 7

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The evil that sometimes darkens the path before us should not prevent our seeing the good that is spread above, beneath, and around us on every side.

THE ROBIN.

A POOR widow who was all alone in the world earned her living by going out to wash and scrub, day after day. She left her room early in the morning, and did not return to it until night. Then she had but one living thing to keep her company, a pet robin. That it might catch a glimpse of the blue sky, from the narrow alley in which she lived, she used to hang it on a nail quite outside of her window, before she left. On her return she took it down and suspended it again near the head of her bed.

One evening on coming home she found the cage with its door open, and empty. After searching again and again, through every corner and cranny of her room, thinking her bird could not have left her, she was forced to admit it was gone.

Now, those who are surrounded with objects on which to bestow their affections, know not what a loss such an insignificant creature may be to one who has no other familiar thing to love. The poor woman missed her bird when she awoke in the morning, when she went out to her day’s work, and when she came back, tired and sad at heart, after her work was over. The cage still hung near her bed; she looked at it and grieved—yes, more than she ought to have done.

While it was thus with her she had, one night, a dream. She thought she was walking through a forest. The air was pure, the shade was cool and delightful, and every leaf around her looked fresh and green. She stood comparing the scene, in her thoughts, with the crowded alley in which she lived, when suddenly the silence was broken by a loud note far above her head. She looked up, and recognized her robin. It was leaping from bough to bough, and its song was not as it used to be, with a note of sadness in it, but glad and full of joy—the song of the prisoner set free.

She awoke, rose up, took down the cage and put it in a closet out of sight, not forgetting its former inmate, but thinking of it as she had seen it, since its escape, in her dream.

“I am satisfied,” she said, “and would not call it back. Its prison door has been opened; I will wait patiently until mine is opened for me.”

RIDDLES.

THE ground was barren and wet, and covered with stagnant pools. Only rank weeds grew on it, and venomous reptiles crawled through it. But at length the husbandman came and labored over it. He dug trenches and ditches that drained it, and turned a stream of pure water to flow through it. Then he hedged it, and set up a fence around it; and now flocks pasture there, and flowers bloom on every side.

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A GARDENER planted some seed in his garden in the early spring, but no sooner had it grown up than the frost nipped it. It sprang up a second time, and a bird flew down and plucked off the tender shoot. Once more it grew, but now, summer having come, the sun scorched it. Nevertheless, because the root remained, it sprang up again and again, until the gardener, rejoicing, gathered in his fruit.

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A MOUNTAIN-STREAM ran over the edge of a precipice. In its descent to the valley below it fell upon a point of projecting rock. On this rock clods of earth were continually dropping from the ground it was imbedded in. Sometimes they fell of their own weight, sometimes were loosened by the foot of a wild beast in passing. There was never a day that the rock was not soiled by them. But the stream, in flowing over it, washed away each stain as soon as it appeared; so that to the eye looking from above, it seemed always pure and clean.

THE EMIGRANT’S WAGON.

AN emigrant who started in a new wagon for his far-off Western home seemed to forget, because the wagon was new and strong then, that it would ever wear out. As a consequence, he was very careless in his way of using it, driving as fast down hill as up, and over rough places as smooth. Sometimes he raced with other wagons, and occasionally loaded his own so heavily and drove so recklessly, it was upset.

In spite of all this ill-usage, however, the wagon seemed to remain almost as good as new until it had travelled over about half of its journey, when it began to show the effects of abuse. First some rivets broke, leaving the floor-boards loose; next a spoke in one of the wheels began to rattle; then a tire rolled off. After this, one breakage followed another so rapidly that its owner was often forced to stop for repairs. Neither could he always make these by himself, but was obliged to call on the blacksmith and the wheelwright to help him. As he waited at their shops day after day he could not help thinking of his past folly, and saying to himself:

“Oh that I had the first part of the road to go over again!”

But, as this was impossible, it only remained for him to use the utmost care while passing over the portion that was left.

And so he did, creeping along slowly, avoiding every little jolt and rut by the way, and often turning out to let others, who had started after him, pass by. For the farther he went, the weaker his wagon grew, until it fell into such a decrepit state that it was threatening all the time to break down under him, and travelling in it, instead of being a pleasure, as it was at first, became only labor and pain.

But at last, though in miserable plight, he came to his journey’s end. It is true that his wagon could not have remained new until then, no matter what care he had taken of it; on the contrary, it must have been well worn, and old, beside, for it had come a great distance and been a long time in doing it. But if he had used it properly, and as a wagon ought to be used, from the start, without doubt it would have carried him all the way safely and comfortably.

And then what a different account of his coming would have been written! For, in the first place, he could have given the time to pleasanter things that, as it was, he had to spend in patching up his wagon. Then he could have occasionally helped some poorer and more heavily-loaded emigrant that he came up with along the road. And lastly (beside escaping numerous bruises and pains) he would have been saved many poignant regrets and recollections, which added greatly to the burdens he had to bear during the latter part of his journey.

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We are all emigrants, and our bodies are the wagons given us to travel in. If we abuse them in youth, we shall ride uncomfortably for it in our later years.

BIG AND LITTLE LANTERNS.

TWO countrymen who were neighbors started out on a dark night for the nearest market-town, each carrying a basket of butter and eggs and garden-produce on his arm. They took different roads, which were, however, of about equal lengths. One of the men—the taller and stronger of the two—carried a large and heavy lantern on a pole high above his head, by means of which he was enabled to see far over the road in front of him; and he set out with long and rapid strides.

The other man carried a light and small lantern, which he held down close to the ground, by his side, so that he could see no farther than the spot on which to plant his foot, as he moved on more slowly and cautiously, step by step.

Some time during the night the latter reached his destination and quickly sold out his basketful of produce to the early risers of the town; but afterward, on looking around for his neighbor, was surprised to learn that he had not yet appeared. He waited a while, and then, fearing the man had met with some disaster—for the two were friends—started back to find him; and about midway of the road he found him, sure enough, fallen down into a pit that he had not seen, because, instead of looking well to the ground that was close around him, he was, by means of his great lantern, gazing far ahead.

But, though he could not get out, happily none of his bones were broken; and when his friend had torn a rail from a fence near by and thrown it to him, he managed to clamber up the side and escape from his trap. Yet his butter and eggs were spoiled and his lantern damaged, and, as he was badly bruised by the fall, he begged his neighbor to remain with him, saying:

“There is nothing left for me but, by your help, to hobble back to where I started from as best I can.”

And so it came to pass that he who was the better furnished and more confident at the start, came out a good deal worse off at the end.

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Not always does he who can see the farthest travel most safely; and a lowly talent well improved may gain more than a lofty one wasted or misapplied.

THE CAT AND THE TIGER.

A CAT that was a pet in a farmer’s family, understanding from the talk of the children that a show of wild animals had come to the neighboring village, stole off one morning to see it, and, creeping in under the edge of the great canvas tent, proceeded to walk around the ring and look in at the cages.

She had not gone far when she came opposite to the tiger’s cage, and, looking up, saw there a creature of her own species so powerful, so immense, and withal so beautifully marked, that she was lost in admiration and felt almost ready to bow down and worship it.

“Great king of our race,” she cried, “I admire, and am willing to obey you!”

But the tiger, insensible to her praise, replied with contempt:

“You poor little mouse-eating creature, do you come here to claim relationship with one so great and strong as I am?”

At this the cat, quickly regaining her composure, answered:

“If your strength is so great that it must be restrained, and causes you to be shut up where it is only a torment to you as you walk up and down before the bars of your cage, then I would rather be as I am, weak and little, but suited to my place in the farmer’s kitchen.”

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The qualities which make men great often make them miserable while they see around them those of lowlier station, and humbler abilities, more happy and useful than themselves.

CHARITY.

A CERTAIN rich man appointed an hour when the poor people of his city had permission to call at his house and ask for charity. When the hour arrived, the man sat in his parlor, while his servant stood at the door to question those who called and report what they said to his master.

The first one who came was a day-laborer. He was willing to dig or to carry, or to work at anything he could find, but he could find nothing. To him the rich man sent a piece of silver.

The second one was a sailor. Only a few weeks before, he had sailed, full of hope, out of the harbor; but his ship was wrecked in a storm, and he saved only the clothes that covered him. To him also was sent a piece of silver.

The one who came next had seen better days; he had owned the little house he lived in, with enough out at interest beside to keep the wolf from its door. But misfortune had robbed him of all, and now he was in want. To him were sent two silver pieces.

After him came a mechanic who long ago had worked for the rich man’s father, and helped to build the beautiful house that his father once lived in. To him the rich man sent a piece of gold.

Then came an old man who was still erect and vigorous, but with silvery locks and flowing beard. In his younger days he had been a merchant. He well remembered the rich man’s father when he was a merchant too, and told of his honor and influence, and spoke feelingly of the favors he had often done him. To him the rich man sent two golden pieces.

When the next person called, the servant came in and told his master that this one seemed to be the most needy of all. He was bowed down with age and leaning upon a staff, and had travelled a long and weary journey from the place where the rich man’s father was born, and used to live before he came to the city and made his fortune.

“Your master’s father and I were boys together,” he said, “and, in truth, I was a near relation to him, and so I am to your master. But sickness and misfortune have left me without bread to eat, or a place to lay my head.”

But when the rich man heard this sad story, he looked at his watch, saying:

“The hour is past that I appointed to listen to the poor. Go tell the man he is too late; and when he is gone, shut the door, and bolt it after him.”

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If we will analyze our motive in giving, and take from it all that issues of pride, we shall, many a time, be astonished to find how little is left.

THE DAY-LABORERS.

A CERTAIN land-owner called two of his hired servants early in the morning and sent them out to work in his field. On the way there one of them said to himself:

“Though I do not care for my master, I care for the wages he will pay me; therefore I will do a good day’s work, not for him, but for myself.”

But the other man said:

“Though I take wages, my master’s profit is dearer to me than my own; therefore the work that I do is not so much for myself as for him.”

So the men went out into the field to do their master’s bidding. And while they labored there the sun rose up high above them, and his fierce rays beat down on their heads. Yet they did not rest from their labors, but toiled on until he passed through the heavens and began slowly to descend again. And in the evening, after he had sunk below the horizon, they came and stood before their master to give account of the day.

The first one said:

“I have ploughed deep in your field and cast out the heavy stones that were buried there.”

The second one said:

“I have gathered up the stones, and carried them to the edge of the field, and set up a strong fence around it.”

And as the master looked at their soiled and toil-worn garments and their sunburned arms and hands, he knew that what they told him was true. But when he looked in their faces, on one was the expression of coldness and on the other was the expression of love. Then he gave to each of them his wages, but the one who loved him he called into his house, to be with him and wait on him continually.

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The work brings the wages, but the motive the reward.

THE ARTIST’S ANSWER.

A MAN who had accompanied an artist around his studio, admiring his pictures, exclaimed,

“What an easy and privileged life is yours, calling forth and putting into visible shape such beautiful forms from day to day! You give delight to others, it is true, but surely the largest share must remain for yourself.”

Said the artist,

“Name to me some object in nature that you admire.”

“This rose,” replied the other, “which you have placed as a model on your table.”

“We will take that,” said the artist. “Now, what is its history? First, the parent slip was laid in the ground, and at once began its struggle for life. It put forth tender roots, doubtful of the result, but the soil received them kindly, and it lived. Then the tiny stalk appeared above, and at length an embryo bud. But suppose the sun had scorched this bud or the storm destroyed it? They destroyed many another, yet it was spared, and at last opened in full bloom as you see it here.

“Now, if the plant that bore it could speak, what would it say? Something like this: ‘The rose you admire did not spring up uncalled, like a beautiful thought, but is the result of slow development. I could not but labor to bring it forth, for such was the work appointed me. But the throes of effort were needed, and, now that it is perfected, my delight is not in looking at it as a brilliant flower, but as the fruit of my labor, hoping it may fill its place among beautiful things and accomplish that for which it was called into being.’

“So, my friend,” continued the artist, turning to his companion, “if you think that these pictured forms which you delight in were of easy creation, springing up spontaneous like a passing emotion, you have in what the flowers says my answer.”

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Each beautiful work costs labor, but how much only he knows whose hands have formed it.

THE HEMLOCK AND THE SUGAR-MAPLE.

A SUGAR-MAPLE tree and a hemlock grew close together, high up on the side of a mountain. All summer they were, alike, covered with green, so that they could hardly be distinguished one from the other. But as autumn approached, the maple put on gayer colors. Branch after branch changed to orange, and crimson, and gold, until the whole tree seemed to be robed in these gorgeous tints. Seeing this, the hemlock said discontentedly to its neighbor:

“Why am I not beautiful like you? While your branches are growing brighter every day, mine do not change at all, unless it be to a duller hue. I am tired of this stale, old-fashioned green.”

But the maple made no answer.

A little while after this there was a change in the weather. Heavy gray clouds covered the sky. A cold rain came on, and the sun was not seen for several days. And now the leaves of the maple began to wither and lose their bright hues, and as the gusts of wind shook them they fell in showers from the branches. Then the maple, looking down upon them, said to the hemlock:

“You envied my beauty, but where is it now? See the remains of it lying scattered over the ground! My branches are being left bare for the long winter’s cold, while yours are still clothed with their thick, warm foliage.”

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He whose good fortune we covet has also, linked with it, some compensating evil which we would not be willing to take off his hands.

BREAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL.

A MAN who was strolling through the country for his own enjoyment came to the top of a hill, where he stopped to admire the view. While he was standing there a laborer with pick and shovel on his shoulder and dinner-basket on his arm passed by. The man spoke to him and the laborer answered civilly, but, hurrying on, was soon out of sight.

After viewing the prospect from the hilltop, the man proceeded on his way until he came to a waterfall on the edge of a wood. Here he rested for a good while watching the stream break into foam and spray as it flowed over the rocks into the deep basin below.

From here he proceeded along the lonely road, wondering what beautiful object would next appear, when presently he saw, spread out before him, a lake of blue water with bushes and wild flowers growing around its edge. It was almost noon by the time he was satisfied with gazing on this charming scene.

Then he started on his ramble again, but had not gone far when he spied the laborer who passed him earlier in the day, digging away with his pick and shovel in a rocky field beside the road. Leaning against the fence, the pleasure-seeker stopped, and said:

“Rather hard work grubbing at these stones?”

“You are right,” replied the laborer, “but nothing else will bring them out of the ground.”

“This is a pleasant country to look at,” continued the other, “but not to make your living out of, I should think.”

“You’d say so if you tried it. I suppose you’re a stranger about here?”

“Yes; this is my first visit, and I’m just sauntering along feasting on the beautiful view. You people who live in the country don’t half appreciate its charms.”

Here the laborer, looking up at the sky and seeing the sun just over his shoulder, dropped his shovel, and, going to a shady spot beside a spring, where he had deposited his dinner-basket, opened it and began to eat. His new acquaintance looked on until he had seen slice after slice of bread and meat emerge from the clean white napkin and disappear, when he said:

“My friend, would you mind sparing me a bit? This walk has made me hungry.”

“Well, now,” replied the laborer, “you’ve been feasting on the view all the morning, while I’ve been grubbing at the stones. If I give you my dinner, then you’ll have two feasts, and I’ll have none.”

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If we cultivate our taste for the beautiful, to the neglect of earning our bread, we cannot expect those who deny themselves this luxury, to supply our needs when we come to want.

THE HARPER.

A HARPER stood before the door of a house and played a number of tunes without seeming to attract the attention of any one within until he played a sad and plaintive air, when an upper window opened and a hand reached out and dropped a coin into the hat that he held beneath.

From this house he went to another, and played the same air; but no notice was taken of him until he changed from it to a more cheerful tune, when a piece of money was again thrown to him.

After this he was careful to note down in a little book that he carried what sort of music pleased the inmates of the different houses in his round; and whenever he selected a new tune, it was always with some special hearers in view, to whom he went and played it as soon as it was learned. In this way he was kept busy from day to day, and by means of his harp earned a good living.

Now, although he played a variety of tunes to please many different hearers, he had strong preferences of his own. There were a few of his pieces that he loved better than all the rest, and at the houses where these were played his music was at its best, because he played it out of his heart.

So, one day, as he was trudging along with his harp on his back, he said to himself:

“A portion of my work is a joy and delight to me, but the rest is labor and toil. Why should I not play that music only that I love, and to those alone who can appreciate it? In it lies not only my chief pleasure, but my real power as well. I am resolved henceforth to adopt this plan.”

So he gave up all but the few tunes in which he himself delighted, and played only at the houses where these had been enjoyed. But in a little while he noticed that he was not welcomed at these houses as he used to be, and the cause (though he was loath to acknowledge it) was not hidden from him. His favorite airs, by their sameness and constant repetition, had ceased to stir his own heart as they once did; hence his music had lost its fervor, and with this its power over the hearts of others. Then he said to himself:

“The plan which necessity imposed on me was better than my own. Its discords tended to heighten its harmonies. Experience having taught me this, I will now return to that plan.”

So he took up all his old pieces, practising them over again, and playing them, as he used to do, from door to door. And in thus doing (mingling the bitter with the sweet) he soon prospered again.

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In a higher state of being we shall be able to sustain the purest joys uninterruptedly. But here, that we may only taste of them, our joy must alternate with sorrow—our pleasure, with pain.

THE UNAPPRECIATED GIFT.

A HUSBANDMAN was at work in his field, earning his living by the sweat of his brow, when there came a man carrying a young tree in his hand, which he planted at one side of the field, saying:

“Give this the space that it needs, let it spread and grow, and wait patiently: in due time its fruit and shade will repay you;” having said which, he departed.