Chapter 1

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THE PEARL BOX

Containing One Hundred Beautiful Stories for Young People.

BY A PASTOR.

1851.

PREFACE.

In preparing this volume of stories for young readers, the writer has had in view their instruction, by presenting to them the duties of their station in a familiar and instructive story. Each story contains a moral, and teaches principles by which the youth should be governed in their private, social and public relations in life. In the perusal of these stories, we hope to accomplish our great object, of aiding young persons to pursue the peaceful and pleasant path of duty--to render them more useful in the world, and to grow wiser and happier in the path of life.

THE DYING BOY.

A little boy, by the name of Bertie, was taken very ill, and for sometime continued to grow weaker until he died. A few hours before his death he revived up, and his first request was, to be bathed in the river; but his mother persuaded him to be sponged only, as the river water would be too cold for his weak frame. After his mother had sponged him with water, he desired to be dressed; when his mother dressed him in his green coat and white collar, and seated him at the table with all his books and worldly treasures around him. As he sat there, one would have thought that he was about to commence a course of study; and yet in the marble paleness of his features, and in the listless and languid eye, there was evidence that life in the boy was like an expiring taper, flickering in the socket. He soon asked to go out in his little carriage. His grandfather, whom he very much loved, placed him in it, and carefully avoiding every stone, drew him to a spot commanding the entire landscape. The tide was up, and the sun was shining on the deep blue waters, and bathing the distant mountains and the green meadows in liquid gold. The gardens and orchards around were gay in the rich crimson blossoms of the apple tree; the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of flowers, and the birds were singing beautifully, when little Bertie looked for the last time on the scenes of earth. He could not remain long, and was soon taken back to the little parlor, where he sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on the table. It was not long before the little boy died. But he was very happy. Among his last words were these, addressed to his little sister three years old: "Well, Emmie, very ill--me going to Jesus." "Oh, mamma, Emmie loves her Saviour."

THE BOY AND THE GOLD ROBIN.

A bright eyed boy was sleeping upon a bank of blossoming clover. The cool breeze lifted the curls from his brow, and fanned with downy wings his quiet slumbers, while he lay under the refreshing shade of a large maple tree. The birds sang to him during his happy hours of sleep. By and by he awoke, and a beautiful gold robin sat on the spray, and sung a song of joy. The boy reached out his hands to secure the prize, but the robin spread his golden wings and soared away. He looked after it with a longing gaze, and when it disappeared from his sight, he wept aloud. At this moment, a form of light approached, and took the hands of the child and pointed upwards; and he saw the bird soaring in freedom and the sun shining upon its burnished plumes. Then the shining one said; "Do you love that beautiful bird?" In the midst of his tears the child replied, "Oh, yes." "Then," said the angel, "shall it not wing its flight from flower to flower and be happy, rather than to dwell in a prison with thee?" Then the streams and flowering vales of Elysium, that breathe the pure air of freedom, spake: "Wouldst thou bring her back to thee, and make her a prisoner? Dry up thy tears, and let thy song be, 'Stay not here, but speed thy flight, O bright one, and snuff the mellow air of freedom.' God made the birds to be happy in their short existence, and ought we to deprive them of their own elements of happiness, and take from them the freedom which they enjoy?"

THE WAY TO OVERCOME EVIL.

A little girl, by the name of Sarah Dean, was taught the precepts of the Bible by her mother. One day she came to her mother very much delighted, to show her some plums that a friend had given her. The mother said to her: "Your friend was very kind, and has given you a great many." "Yes," replied Sarah, "she was, and she gave me more than these, but I have given some away." The mother asked to whom she had given them; when the child replied: "I gave them to a girl that pushes me off the path, and makes faces at me." Upon being asked why she gave them to her, she answered: "Because I thought that would make her know that I wished to be kind to her, and perhaps she will not be unkind and rude to me again." This was true. The rude girl was afterwards very good to Sarah, and felt very sorry that she had treated her unkindly. How truly did the little girl obey the command, "_overcome evil with good_."

HARRIET AND HER SQUIRREL.

It was on a Sabbath eve, when at a friend's house, we were all sitting in the piazza, conversing about the efforts which were being made for the poor heathen, and the number of Testaments which were being sent to them.

"Father," said little Harriet, "do the little heathen children wish to learn to read the New Testament?"

"O yes, my child, many of them do," said the father. "But have they all got Testaments if they did know how to read?" "No, my love; few of them have ever heard about the Testament, about God, or about Jesus Christ." "Will half a dollar buy one?" said Harriet. "O yes, my child."

"Then," said Harriet, "may I sell anything I have, if I can get the money?" Her father told her she might.

Now, every child has some favorite toy. Harriet's was a beautiful tame _gray_ squirrel. It would eat from her hands, attend her in her rambles, and sleep on her pillow. She called its name Jenny. It was taken sick, and the little girl nursed it with care, but it at last died in her lap.

Little Harriet wept sadly about it, and her father tried to console her, and told her not to feel so.

"Ah," said she, "you know, father, you told me that I might sell anything I had to buy a Testament for the heathen children, and I was going to sell my pretty squirrel to Mr. Smith, who said he would give me half a dollar for it; but now my Jenny is dead." The Father then put a silver dollar into Harriet's hand, and she dried her tears, rejoicing that Jenny's death would be the means of his little daughter having two or three Testaments instead of one.

THE REWARD.

A teacher in a Sabbath School promised to supply all the children in his class with a catechism, who had none.

One of the little girls went home from the school after the books were given out and said:--

"Mamma, if I had told a lie to-day, I would have got a catechism."

"I think that very strange, Eliza; for the Sabbath School is no place for lies, and if you could be so wicked, I know your teacher would not have rewarded you for it."

"Mother," said Eliza, "I tell nothing but the truth; and now I will explain it.

"You know I went to school this morning with the other girls. They told me on the way how their mother had bought each of them a new catechism on last market day, and they said, if I once saw how pretty their books were I would not look at my old one any more. Our teacher asked us all, when we went in, if we had any catechisms, and those who said they had not, received one from the teacher as a present. Jane, after all she told me, by the way, denied that she had any, and Lizzy did the same. But when he asked me, I told him I had one at home; but if I had said no, I would have got a new one."

Her mother then told her that she should be rewarded for not telling a lie by giving her a new book and a new Bible.

ANECDOTES.

A poor Arabian of the desert was one day asked, how he came to be assured that there was a God.

"In the same way," he replied, "that I am enabled to tell by a print impressed on the sand, whether it was a man or beast that passed that way."

* * * * *

THANKFULNESS.--Walking along Bishopgate street one morning, I saw two men standing as if amazed at something that had happened.

"Pray, gentlemen," said I, "what is the matter?"

One of them informed me that a genteelly dressed man had hastily come up to him, and tapping him on the shoulder, had said:

"Sir, did you ever thank God for your reason?"

"No," said I, "not particularly."

"Well," said he, "do it now, for I have lost mine;" when he marched off with great speed.

* * * * *

HONESTY.--An honest boy, whose sister was sick and the family in want, found a wallet containing fifty dollars. The temptation was great to use the money; but he resolved to find the owner. He did so; when the owner, learning the circumstances of the family, gave the fifty dollars for their comfort. He took the boy to live with him. That boy is a prosperous merchant in Ohio.

* * * * *

THE BOY AND HIS MARBLES.--One Sunday a lady called to her little boy, who was shooting marbles on the pavement, to come into the house.

"Don't you know you shouldn't be out there, my son? Go into the back yard, if you want to play marbles; it is Sunday."

"Yes, mother; but aint it Sunday in the back yard?"

THE BOY AND THE DEW DROPS.

A little boy who had been out early in the morning playing on the lawn before his father's house, while the dew drops lay on the grass, was soon after seen returning to the spot, and finding them all gone, he sat down to weep. His father asked him why he wept.

"Because," said he, "the beautiful dew drops are gone."

His father tried to soothe him, but he continued weeping. Just then a cloud passed ever, and on the cloud the beautiful rainbow had cast its arch.

"There, see, my son," said the father, "there are all your dew drops; the sun has taken them up only to set them forth in greater brightness in the sky."

"O father, dear father, why pass they away, The dew drops that sparkled at dawning of day, That glittered like stars in the light of the moon; Oh, why are the dew drops dissolving so soon? Does the sun in his wrath chase their brightness away, As if nothing that's lovely might live for a day? The moonlight is faded, the flowers still remain, But the dew drops have shrunk to their petals again."

"My child," said the father, "look up to the skies, Behold that bright rainbow, those beautiful dyes, There, there are the dew drops in glory reset, Mid the jewels of heaven, they are glittering yet. Oh, are we not taught by each beautiful ray To mourn not earth's fair things, though passing away; For though youth of its beauty and brightness be riven, All that withers on earth blooms more sweetly in heaven. Look up," said the father, "look up to the skies, Hope sits on the wings of those beautiful dyes."

LETTICE AND MYRA.

A SCENE IN LONDON.

My young readers may have heard about the poor people in London. The following story is a specimen of the hardships of many young girls in that famous city.

"Two young women occupied one small room of about ten feet by eight. They were left orphans, and were obliged to take care of themselves. Many of the articles of furniture left them had been disposed of to supply the calls of urgent want. In the room was an old four post bedstead, with curtains almost worn out, one mattress with two small pillows, a bolster that was almost flat, three old blankets and cotton sheets, of coarse description, three rush-bottom chairs, an old claw table, a chest of draws with a few battered band-boxes on the top of it, a miserable bit of carpet before the fire-place, a wooden box for coals, a little tin fender and an old poker. What there was, however, was kept clean, the floor and yellow paint was clean, and the washing tub which sat in one corner of the room.

"It was a bitter cold night, the wind blew and shook the window, when a young girl of about eighteen sat by the tallow candle, which burned in a tin candlestick, at 12 o'clock at night, finishing a piece of work with the needle which she was to return next morning. Her name was Lettice Arnold. She was naturally of a cheerful, hopeful temper, and though work and disappointment had faded the bright colors of hope, still hope buoyed up her spirits.

"Her sister Myra was delicate, and lay on the mattress on that night, tossing about with suffering, unable to rest. At last Lettice says to her:--

"'Poor Myra, can't you get to sleep?'

"'It is so cold,' was the reply; 'and when will you have done and come to bed?'

"'One quarter of an hour more, Myra, and I shall have finished my work, and then I will throw my clothes over your feet, and I hope you will be a little warmer.'

"Myra sighed, and lifted up her head, and leaning upon her arm watched the progress of her sister as she plied the needle to her work.

"'How slowly,' said Myra, 'you do get along. It is one o'clock, and you have not finished yet.'

"'I cannot work fast, Myra, and neatly too; my hands are not so delicate and nimble as yours.' and smiling a little, she added: 'Such swelled clumsy things, I cannot get over the ground nimbly and well at the same time. You are a fine race horse, and I a drudging pony. But I shall soon be through.'

"Myra once more uttered a sigh and cried:

"'Oh, my feet are dreadful cold.'

"'Take this bit of flannel,' said Lettice, 'and let me wrap them up.'

"'Nay, you will want it,' she replied.

"'Oh, I have only five minutes to sit up, and I can wrap this piece of carpet round mine,' said Lettice.

"And she laid down her work and went to the bed, and wrapped her sister's icy feet in the flannel, and then sat down and finished her task. How glad was Lettice to creep to the mattress and to lay her aching limbs upon it. A hard bed and scanty covering in a cold night are keenly felt. She soon fell asleep, while her sister tossed and murmured on account of the cold.

"Lettice awoke and drew her own little pillow from under her head, and put it under her sister's, and tried every way to make her sister comfortable, and she partly succeeded; and at last Myra, the delicate suffering creature, fell asleep, and Lettice slumbered like a child."

How thankful ought we to be for kind parents, a comfortable home, and a good fire in a cold night. I will tell you in the next story what Lettice did with her work.

LETTICE TAKING HOME THE WORK.

Early in the morning, before it was light, and while the twilight gleamed through the curtainless windows, Lettice was up, dressing herself by the aid of the light which gleamed from the street lamp into the window. She combed her hair with modest neatness, then opened the draw with much precaution, lest she should disturb poor Myra, who still slumbered on the hard mattress--drew out a shawl and began to fold it as if to put it on.

"Alas!" said Lettice, "this will not do--it is threadbare, timeworn, and has given way in two places." She turned it, and unfolded it, but it would not do. It was so shabby that she was actually ashamed to be seen with it in the street. She put it aside, and took the liberty of borrowing Myra's, who was now asleep. She knew Myra would be awful cold when she got up, and would need it. But she must go with the work that morning. She thought first of preparing the fire, so that Myra, when she arose, would only have to light the match; but as she went to the box for coal she saw, with terror, how low the little store of fuel was, and she said to herself, "we must have a bushel of coal to-day--better do without meat than fire such weather as this." But she was cheered with the reflection that she should receive a little more for her work that day than what she had from other places. It had been ordered by a benevolent lady who had been to some trouble in getting the poor women supplied with needle work so that they should receive the full price. She had worked for private customers before, and always received more pay from them than from the shops in London, where they would beat down the poor to the last penny.

Poor Lettice went to the old band-box and took out a shabby old bonnet--she looked at it, and sighed, when she thought of the appearance she must make; for she was going to Mrs. Danvers, and her work was some very nice linen for a young lady about to be married.

Just at this moment she thought of the contrast, between all the fine things which that young lady was to have, and her own destitution. But her disposition was such as not to cause her to think hard of others who had plenty while she was poor. She was contented to receive her pay from the wealthy, for her daily needle work. She felt that what they had, was not taken from her, and if she could gain in her little way by receiving her just earnings from the general prosperity of others, she would not complain. And as the thought of the increased pay came into her mind, which she was to receive that day, she brightened up, shook the bonnet, pulled out the ribbons and made it look as tidy as possible, thinking to herself that after buying some fuel she might possibly buy a bit of ribbon and make it look a little more spruce, when she got her money.

Lettice now put on her bonnet, and Myra's shawl, and looking into the little three-penny glass which hung on the wall she thought she might look quite tidy after all. The young lady for whom she made the linen lived about twenty miles from town, but she had come in about this time, and was to set off home at nine o'clock that very morning. The linen was to have been sent in the night before, but Lettice had found it impossible to finish it. This was why she was obliged to start so early in the morning. She now goes to the bed to tell Myra about the fire, and that she had borrowed her shawl, but Myra was sound asleep, so she did not disturb her, but stepped lightly over the floor and down stairs, for it was getting late and she must be gone. Read the next story and you will be deeply interested in the result.

LETTICE AND CATHERINE,

OR THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.

I must tell you who were Lettice and Myra. They were the daughters of a clergyman, who held the little vicarage of Castle Rising. But misfortune, which sometimes meets the wise and good, reduced the family to poor circumstances. After the parents' decease, Lettice and Myra located in London, for the purpose of doing needlework for a living.

We said in the last story, that Lettice had entered the street and was on her way with the work she had finished for the young lady. It was a cold morning, the snow blew, and the street was slippery. She could scarcely stand--her face was cold, and her hands so numbed that she could scarcely hold the parcel she carried. The snow beat upon her poor bonnet, but she comforted herself with the idea that she might be supposed to have a better bonnet at home. She cheerfully trudged along, and at last entered Grosvenor Square, where the lamps were just dying away before the splendid houses, while the wind rushed down the Park colder than ever. A few boys were about the only people yet to be seen about, and they laughed at her as she held her bonnet down with one hand, to prevent its giving way before the wind, while she carried her bundle and kept her shawl from flying up with the other.

At last she entered Green street, and came to the house of the kind lady who had furnished her and many others with work; raised the knocker, and gave one humble knock at the door. She had never been at the house before, but she had sometimes had to go to other genteel houses where she had been met with incivility by the domestics.

But "like master, like man," is a stale old proverb and full of truth. The servant came to the door. He was a grave old man about fifty. His countenance was full of kind meaning, and his manners so gentle, that before hearing her errand, observing how cold she looked, bade her come in and warm herself at the hall stove.

"I have come," said Lettice, "with the young lady's work--I had not time to come last night, but I hope I have not put her to any inconvenience--I started before light this morning."

"Well, my dear, I hope not," said the servant, "but it was a pity you could not get it done last night. Mrs. Danvers likes to have people exact to the moment. However, I dare say it will be all right."

As Reynolds, the servant-man, entered the drawing room, Lettice heard a voice, "Is it come at last!" And the young lady, who thus inquired, was Catherine Melvin, who was then making an early breakfast before a noble blazing fire.

"Has the woman brought her bill," asked Mrs. Danvers.

"I will go and ask," said the servant. "Stay, ask her to come up. I should like to inquire how she is getting along this cold weather."

Reynolds obeyed, and soon Lettice found herself in a warm, comfortable breakfast room.

"Good morning," said Mrs. Danvers. "I am sorry you have had such a cold walk this morning. I am sorry you could not come last night. This young lady is just leaving, and there is barely time to put up the things." Catherine (for this was the young lady's name,) had her back turned to the door quietly continuing her breakfast, but when the gentle voice of Lettice replied:

"Indeed, madam, I beg your pardon, I did my very best"--Catherine started, looked up, and rose hastily from her chair--Lettice, advancing a few steps, exclaimed "Catherine."

And Catherine exclaimed--"It is--it is you!" and coming forward and taking her by the hand, she gazed with astonishment at the wan face and the miserable attire of the work-woman. "You," she kept repeating. "Lettice! Lettice Arnold! Good Heavens! Where is your father? your mother? your sister?"

"Gone," said the poor girl, "all gone but poor Myra!"

"And where is she? And you, dear Lettice, how have you come to this?"

Such was the unexpected meeting of these two persons, who were once children of the same village of Castle Rising. Lettice had been working for her school-mate, Catherine Melvin. The result was a happy one, and it was not long before, by the kindness of Catherine, that the two orphan girls were situated pleasantly in life. But as you will wish to know how all this came about, I will give you the circumstances in another story.

THE EXPLANATION.

Lettice's father was a man of education, a scholar, a gentleman, and had much power in preaching. He received one hundred and ten pounds per year for his services. Her father's illness was long and painful, and the family were dependant on others for assistance.

"We at last closed his eyes," said Lettice, "in deep sorrow." He used to say to himself, "It is a rough road, but it leads to a good place."