Part 1

STORIES

FROM

SWITZERLAND.

FROM THE FRENCH OF THE AUTHOR “OF THE TWO OLD MEN,” &c.

LONDON: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY; _Instituted 1799_. SOLD AT THE DEPOSITORY, 56, PATERNOSTER ROW; AND BY THE BOOKSELLERS.

1837.

CONTENTS.

Page.

The pleasure of being able to read 3

Are you happy when you are cross? 9

Maurice; or, the way of the slothful is a hedge of thorns 14

The real friend 20

Idle Dick 29

The lady-bird 56

The lost child 61

Real charity 67

Providence; or, the mother and child 75

Lucy; or, “I will not be naughty again, Papa.” 90

A lesson of mercy 102

Mountain John and the bear 111

Hymns for children 125

One blow of the chisel does not make a statue 134

STORIES FROM SWITZERLAND

FOR

JUVENILE READERS.

THE PLEASURE OF BEING ABLE TO READ.

Boys and girls who have learned to read, are able to examine the Holy Bible, which is the book that tells us about God, and from which we learn about our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

They can also read this blessed book to aged persons who were not taught when they were young, and to blind people, or those who are sick.

I am about to relate a little story upon this subject.

Mr. Williams was one day walking in the fields; as he passed through a meadow in which some sheep were feeding, he saw a little boy about eight years old sitting under a tree. He was quite idle, and gaped and stretched his arms about as if he felt very uncomfortable.

Mr. Williams stopped and said, “My boy, are you well?”

“O, Yes,” answered the boy, “I am very well; but I am quite tired, and I do not know what to do.”

_Mr. W._ Have not you to look after these sheep?

_Boy._ Yes, and I have been here ever since six o’clock this morning.

_Mr. W._ How have you employed yourself during that time?

_Boy._ Why, what could I do? I had nothing to do, and I feel quite tired.

_Mr. W._ Why did not you bring your Testament with you, and read a few chapters, or learn some verses by heart while looking after your sheep? you would not have felt so tired, and would have gained some useful knowledge.

The boy did not reply, but held down his head and looked quite ashamed.

_Mr. W._ I suppose you forgot to bring your Testament; I am going further, and will lend you mine till I return; here it is.

The boy looked still more ashamed, but did not say a word.

_Mr. W._ Why do not you take it? I am afraid you do not know how to read; is that the case?

_Boy._ Nobody ever taught me, Sir; and I cannot teach myself.

_Mr. W._ Poor boy; then you never read the holy word of God. I am very sorry for you: it is the best of books, and by attending to what it tells us, even a child may learn how to become wise and happy.

_Boy._ Indeed, Sir, I wish I could read, for I am quite tired of having nothing to do while I mind the sheep.

_Mr. W._ I do not wonder at this; you would not only pass your time more pleasantly if you read the Bible, but you would also learn about our Lord Jesus Christ, and how he died for sinners; the Bible teaches us to love him, and to seek to do his will.

Mr. Williams then advised the boy to ask his master’s leave that he might go to the Sunday School; and said, that when the long winter evenings came, he might get one of his companions to help him, and he would very soon learn to read.

This kind gentleman then walked on till he came to a cottage where a weaver lived, to whom he wished to speak respecting some work.

Mr. Williams found the weaver very busy at his loom, and while they were conversing he heard the voice of some young person who was reading in the next room. It was the Parable of the Sower, which I dare say you recollect is in the 4th chapter of St. Mark’s gospel. It was read in a very distinct and proper manner, as if the reader understood it.

When Mr. Williams had given his orders, he asked who was reading in the next room.

_The Weaver._ It is my neighbour’s daughter; she is a very good girl, and comes every day to read the Bible to my aged mother, who has been blind for the last three months, so that she cannot read for herself; and I like to hear her as I sit in my loom.

_Mr. W._ How old is she?

_The Weaver._ She is not much above eight years old; but she is more steady than many of ten or eleven.

Mr. Williams then went to the room door, and saw the little girl standing by the old woman’s chair, reading a large Bible which lay on the window seat.

She read very distinctly, as I mentioned just now; she minded her stops, and took pains to pronounce every word properly, so that it was very easy to understand what she read. She did not gabble it over like some little folks I am acquainted with, as if she were trying to get the words out of her mouth as fast as possible.

The weaver’s aged mother listened very attentively, and appeared very thankful to hear the blessed word of God; when the little girl had finished the parable, she stopped, and the old woman explained what was meant by the good seed. She said that it was the word of God which taught us about the Saviour, and that when this good seed was sown in our hearts by him, and we were enabled to understand it by the teaching of the Holy Spirit, then we loved him for all he had done and suffered for us; and, being cleansed from our sins by his precious blood, we desired to do his will.

The little girl listened very attentively, and after asking some questions, began to read again.

Mr. Williams then went into the room, and after asking the old woman how she was; he then turned to the little girl, and said, “My dear, I dare say you are very happy to be able to read; as you can read not only for yourself, but also you are able to make this good old woman very happy too.”

The little girl replied, “Yes, Sir, I am very glad to read to our kind neighbour; do you know, Sir, that she taught me to read three years ago.”

_Mr. W._ Did you find it very difficult?

_Little Girl._ It was rather hard, Sir; but she taught me a little every day. She was very particular that I never missed coming to her, and I soon found that it became easier.

The old woman then said, “I trust that God has blessed this little girl; she was very attentive and soon learned to read the Testament, and I hope He will be pleased, by his Holy Spirit, to enable her to understand the truths it contains, for she becomes more and more attentive every day.”

_Mr. W._ Then I am sure that she is happier every day: because nothing can make us happy, but loving the Saviour and doing his will.

Mr. Williams then gave his Testament to the little girl, who had long wished to have one of her own. He advised her to read a chapter every day, and to pray to God for a blessing, and then bade them all good bye.

As he returned home he could not help thinking what a great difference there was between the shepherd boy who was tired of doing nothing, because he did not know how to read; and the little girl who was so happy at being able to read the Testament to her kind neighbour.

ARE YOU HAPPY WHEN YOU ARE CROSS?

Lucy was just six years old. One day she was sitting on a little stool, by the side of her mother’s chair, and reading the last chapter of St. John’s gospel. “Mamma,” said Lucy, “what did Christ mean when he told St. Peter to feed his lambs?”

_Mamma._ My dear, do you not recollect reading some time ago, that Christ said he was the good shepherd, and that his people were the sheep?

_Lucy._ Oh yes, mamma, I recollect reading that; but I forget where it is.

_M._ It is in the 10th chapter of St. John.

_L._ Stop, mamma, please let me find it; O, here it is, the 14th verse, “I am the good shepherd.” I suppose Jesus said so?

_M._ Yes; have not you sometimes seen a shepherd taking care of his flock?

_L._ O yes, mamma; we saw a shepherd that day you and papa took me a walk by the side of the wood.

_M._ Do you recollect how pleased you were to see the little lambs skipping about?

_L._ Yes; you told me to repeat the verse,

“Abroad in the meadows to see the young lambs, “Run sporting about by the side of their dams, “With fleeces so clean and so white.”

But, mamma, some of the little lambs have black faces; and, mamma, don’t you recollect, as we returned home, we met the shepherd, and he had got a little lamb in his arms, which had fallen into a pit and hurt itself. How kind the shepherd was in taking care of this little lamb!

_M._ The prophet Isaiah spoke of the Saviour many hundred years before he came from heaven, and compared him to a shepherd. In the 40th chapter, the prophet says, “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom.”

_L._ But, mamma, I do not quite understand this; Christ is not now upon earth, and when he was here he did not keep sheep.

_M._ No, my dear; but it is to make us understand that our Lord takes care of his people, as the shepherd takes care of his sheep; and he does not forget children, as you saw the shepherd did not forget his lambs.

_L._ But who are _his_ lambs?

_M._ You, my dear Lucy, are one; if you love him, and believe in him as your Saviour, and seek to do his will in all things, and are willing to follow his word.

_L._ O, mamma, I should like to be one; how quiet and happy the lamb seemed to be when the shepherd was carrying it.

_M._ Well, then, my dear love, pray to the Saviour; he said, “Suffer little children to come to me and forbid them not;” pray to him, that he may give you a new heart, which will be happy in loving him and obeying his word, through the power of the Holy Spirit, which he has promised to give to all that ask it; and earnestly try to be a good girl, and to subdue all naughty and unkind tempers.

Lucy again thanked her mamma; and as she had finished her lesson, she went and put her book away in its place. I hope my readers will remember this, for it is very untidy to leave books littering about upon chairs or the floor. She then took her work, and went and sat down by the window, and began to sew very busily.

Just as she had begun, her little brother Samuel came into the room; he went up to her, and said, “Lucy, dear, if you please, will you cut out this paper stag for me? I have drawn its legs very nicely, as you see, but I am afraid I shall not be able to cut them out properly, they are so very slender, and I want to put it on papa’s table before he comes home, to surprise him.”

I am sorry to say, that instead of doing this directly, and in a kind manner, Lucy frowned, and said, in a short sharp tone, “How troublesome you are, you are always teazing me; I have just sat down to work and I am too busy, go and do it yourself.”

Little Samuel was a good boy, and instead of returning a sharp answer to her cross speech, he said, “Lucy, please to cut it out, you will do it so much better than I can, and it will not take you a minute.” Lucy put down her work, and took up her scissors; but when people set about a thing in an ill humour they never do it properly, and this was the case with Lucy. Her brother had taken a great deal of pains to draw the stag very nicely, but she cut it out very carelessly, and presently poor Samuel saw that one of its legs was cut quite off.

“There,” said he: “there, my poor stag; it is quite spoiled, you have cut its leg off.”

“Finish it yourself,” said Lucy, throwing the stag one way and the scissors another. “It’s all your fault, you ought to have let me go on quietly with my work, and not come to interrupt me, as you always do.”

Poor Samuel looked quite surprised; he was sorry to see his nice stag spoiled, but he was still more sorry to see Lucy so out of humour, and he could not think that it was his fault. Indeed, I have generally found that when people are very ready to blame others, the fault has commonly been their own, after all.

“Lucy,” said her mother, “is this like one of the little lambs we were talking about? Remember, my child, God sees you, and do you think he is pleased that you should speak in such a manner to your brother? Is that following the example of Christ?”

Lucy felt that she was wrong, and burst into tears. Her mother took her upon her knee, and said, “Lucy, now you feel that it is necessary to pray to the Saviour, to give you a new heart, and to enable you to subdue all naughty and unkind tempers, and that you should try to do so. Do you feel happy because you were so cross and out of humour?”

Lucy was now convinced that she had done wrong; and that if she had behaved to Samuel as a sister should act to a brother, she would neither have spoiled his stag nor have done what was a great deal worse. I mean, she would not have given way to a naughty temper, quite contrary to what the Bible tells us: “Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love.” “O mama,” said she, “I do feel very sorry, and I will pray to the Saviour--”

“That you may be one of his lambs,” said her mother. “Do this really from your heart, then you will feel more happy. For God is very kind to us, and we ought to try to be the same to others. Remember, Christ said, ‘All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do you even so to them, for this is the law and the prophets.’”

Lucy kissed her mother, and went to her little desk. She took out a very pretty drawing of a basket of fruit, and gave it to Samuel, saying, “Here, Sammy, pray take this instead of your stag which I spoiled, and this besides;” she then gave him a kiss, he gave her another, and then ran away quite consoled for his loss.

MAURICE;

_Or, the Way of the Slothful is a Hedge of Thorns._

People say that idle folks are good-for-nothing folks: but they might say much more upon the subject. Idleness is a sin against God, and _therefore_ idlers never can be happy; for how can any persons be happy when they are committing sin?

Maurice knew this very well, at least his parents had often told him so; but Maurice still continued his sinful habits of idleness, carelessness, and self-indulgence; he very often neglected his duties, and I need not add, that he was very often unhappy. My dear children, you might as easily count the sparks which fly up the chimney, as reckon up the sins and troubles which come from idleness.

Maurice had passed several unhappy idle weeks. He did not like to write a copy; he said his lessons were all so hard that he could not learn them; he laid in bed of a morning till obliged to get up; and when his brothers and sisters asked him to do any thing for them, he spoke cross and pushed them away. He was dull, peevish, and discontented; just as idle boys and girls always are. There he is in the picture; he sat for two hours together playing with his keys, rather than learn his lesson, though he wished for a game of play, and knew that he could not be allowed to play till he had repeated it.

People generally go on from bad to worse, and the last week was the worst of all. It began badly. On Sunday morning Maurice gave way to a naughty temper, and spoke to his mother in a very improper manner.

Instead of praying to God to send away this evil temper, he thought about something else while he repeated his prayer, and ate his breakfast without asking a blessing, just as a little dog would have done.

After breakfast he teazed his sisters, and did all he could to hinder them from learning the chapter they were to repeat to their father in the afternoon. He went to church it is true, but he did not attend to any thing that he heard; part of the time he looked about him, and the remainder he sat yawning, and he asked three times when the sermon would be over.

I have told my little readers enough about his naughty behaviour; the rest of the day passed much in the same manner, and the rest of the week like the Sunday. I have always found that unless there is “Happy Sunday,” there will not be “a Happy Week.” Thus there was nothing but idleness, quarrelling, disobedience, ill-tempers, and ill-manners; and poor Maurice during this week fully shewed the sinfulness of his heart. His behaviour clearly proved the truth of the text, “His servants ye are whom ye obey;” (Romans vi. 16.) and my readers will recollect that when this text was written the servants were _slaves_. He had obeyed Satan by his wicked conduct on the Sabbath, and he continued to serve that _hard master_ all the week, with a constant attention to _his_ will that was very dreadful. How much better it would have been to have served the Saviour, “whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light.” His father was very kind, and warned him several times of the consequences of such conduct. On the following Sunday he spoke again to Maurice for a considerable time, telling him how displeasing such conduct was to the Lord.

“For God looks down from heav’n on high, “Our actions to behold; “And he is pleas’d when children try “To do as they are told.”

and,

“His own most holy book declares, “He loves good children still; “And that he answers all their pray’rs, “Just as a tender father will.”

His kind father also reminded Maurice of the example of our Saviour, who employed himself in doing his Father’s will: and he asked Maurice whether he was happy when he did not try to please God, but did the very things from which Christ is ready to deliver his children, when they really pray to him for the forgiveness of their sins.

I am sorry to say Maurice did not attend to this kind advice, and his father determined to let him experience more of the unhappiness which follows from such conduct, so he let him go on his own way till Saturday.

He then took Maurice for a walk, and they came to a pleasant meadow, which was separated from the road by a very high and strong thorn hedge. Perceiving that Maurice was walking with his eyes fixed on the ground, and making faces, his father suddenly turned into the meadow, by the gate which they were just passing, and walked along a path on the other side of the hedge.

Maurice had gone some distance before he found that he was alone, he then looked about for his father, and at length saw him in the field.

“Father, father,” cried he, “why have you left me? Wait for me, pray wait for me.”

_Father._ Come to me; this path is very pleasant, and the meadow is full of beautiful flowers.

_Maurice._ But the hedge is so thick, I cannot get to you. Oh! it has pricked my hands so badly. Papa, how did you get there?

_F._ Try again; see if you cannot push the branches aside, and put your foot firm upon the bank.

Maurice tried again, but he only pricked his hands, and scratched his legs; at last he began to cry.

_F._ Go a little further and try again.

Maurice went backwards and forwards, and tried here and there, but all in vain; the gate was round a corner and he could not see it.

_M._ Dear papa, I cannot get to you; pray come and fetch me.

_F._ Why cannot you come of yourself?

_M._ Oh, papa, look at these thorns, the hedge is full of them, and it is so thick I cannot put my hand through. How can I pass it, I shall be torn to pieces; do look at my hands, see they are all bloody.

His father then ran back, and came out of the field through the gate, and called Maurice. He sat down, and taking out his little Bible told him to turn to Prov. xv. 19.

Maurice read “The way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns.”

_F._ Tell me, my boy, do you understand what this text means? You have pricked your fingers and scratched your hands; but tell me the truth, are not these troubles as nothing when compared with the discontent, and self-reproaches, and shame, in which you have passed all this week? Is not the word of God true? And we cannot be happy while doing those things which are contrary to his word. My dear Maurice, listen to me, and remember what I say. The Lord tells us in his word, as you see, that the way of the slothful, that is to say his conduct or his life, is like a thorn hedge. The word of God is always true. You have been unhappy lately because you have done what God declares is contrary to his will. You will be just as uncomfortable to-morrow, the next day, and as long as you continue this conduct. There always will be a _thorn hedge_ before you, whenever you give way to carelessness, idleness, or other naughty ways; and though you see others good and happy, and wish to be like them, you will think that you cannot do as they do. Your idleness will bring its own punishment, for the slothful man punishes himself by his idleness, and God is angry with him.

Maurice felt this, for the Lord was pleased to touch his heart, and cause him to feel the truth of what his father said. He put his hands round his father’s neck, and exclaimed, “I am very sorry I have been so naughty and so foolish; I am very sorry indeed that I have sinned against God, and I hope not to do so again.”

_F._ My dear Maurice, you have promised this more than once already, but the _thorn hedge_ has always been in your way, and you could not pass it. You know what I mean. Now can you tell me why you could not leave off being naughty?

_M._ Yes, papa; I know why it was. I did not ask the Saviour to give me a new heart; but I will do so now, indeed I will; I will not leave off praying to him to cure me of my evil ways till he has taught me to do His will.

Maurice’s father then kissed him, and said, “Whatever you ask from our heavenly Father, in the name of his son our Lord Jesus Christ, He has promised that he will bestow; then, my dear child, seek for his grace at once, pray for it to day, pray for it _now_.”

* * * * *

Perhaps some other time, I may tell you if Maurice did pray to God to deliver him from his idleness, and whether this hedge of thorns was taken out of his way. Meanwhile my readers may hope that it was removed; and let them see whether there is not a hedge of thorns in _their own_ way. If there is, I hope they will not rest till they have found out how to pass it.

THE REAL FRIEND.

“Mamma,” said Henry, “may I go and play with William, this afternoon?”

_Mamma._ Why do you wish to go to play with William rather than with Thomas, who lives so much nearer?

_Henry._ I like very well to play with Thomas; but if you please I had rather go to see William.

_M._ I wonder at that, for Thomas has a great many more playthings than William; I know he has a very nice paint box, and you are very fond of painting pictures.

_H._ Yes; poor William has hardly any playthings, except a few old ones that I have given him.

_M._ Then how do you amuse yourselves?

_H._ Oh! he is so very clever, he is always making me laugh and trying to please me; and then he can keep a secret; he never tells any body what I say.

_M._ Pray what good is there in that? Do you say things that are wrong, and such as you would be ashamed of, if other persons knew them?

_H._ No, I don’t mean that; but it is so nice to have a secret.

_M._ Then, I suppose, if you say any thing that is silly or foolish, William never tells you it is wrong?