Chapter 3

A very little boy by the name of "Bertie," kept a box in which he deposited his little treasures. After he died his mother took the key and opened it. It was full of all sorts of things. There were specimens of stones, and shells, and moss, and grass, and dried flowers. There were, also, curious flies, found dead; but they were not destroyed by him, as he would never sacrifice a short sunny existence for self gratification. There were a number of books and small ornamental toys which had been given him--a drawing slate with pencils, colored chalks, a small box of colors, some little plates which he had colored in his own untaught style--a commenced copy of the hymn, "I know that my Redeemer liveth"--an unfinished letter to his grandpapa, and some torn leaves which he had found with passages of scripture upon them--a copy of the "lines on the death of an only son." Also a number of sketches of missionary stations, chapels and schools, which he had cut out and colored. His mother once asked him why he cut them out, saying, that there might be some reading on the back of the pieces worth saving. "Oh no, mamma," he replied, "I looked carefully at the backs first." In the box was a purse containing three shillings.

Such were the treasures which this little lamb had left when he died. And as you will be pleased to know what was done with the box of treasures, I will tell you. "The thought struck me," says his mother, "that after he was gone, I should not know what to do with Bertie's Box of treasures; I therefore asked him what I should do with them." He replied, "Oh, give half to God and half to the children, and be sure to divide them fairly." The money in the box was devoted to the purchase of the Bible--and a collecting box made in the form of a Bible; for, said he, "when my friends come and give money to the children, then hold Bertie's box for Bertie's share." This is a good example for all children. Your little treasures may serve a good purpose when you die.

THE CHILD AND FLOWER.

The Atheist in his garden stood, At twilight's pensive hour, His little daughter by his side, Was gazing on a flower.

"Oh, pick that little blossom, Pa," The little prattler said, "It is the fairest one that blooms Within that lowly bed."

The father plucked the chosen flower, And gave it to his child; With parted lips and sparkling eye, She seized the gift and smiled.

"O Pa--who made this pretty flower, This little violet blue; Who gave it such a fragrant smell, And such a lovely hue?"

A change came o'er the father's brow, His eye grew strangely wild, New thoughts within him had been stirred By that sweet artless child.

The truth flashed on the father's mind, The truth in all its power, "There is a God, my child," said he, "Who made that little flower."

ANNE CLEAVELAND.

Anne was the daughter of a wealthy farmer. She had a good New England school education, and was well bred and well taught at home in the virtues and manners that constitute domestic social life. Her father died a year before her marriage. He left a will dividing his property equally between his son and daughter, giving to the son the homestead with all its accumulated riches, and to the daughter the largest share of the personal property, amounting to 6 or 7000 dollars. This little fortune became at Anne's marriage the property of her husband. It would seem that the property of a woman received from her father should be her's. But the laws of a barbarous age fix it otherwise.

Anne married John Warren, who was the youngest child, daintily bred by his parents. He opened a dry goods store in a small town in the vicinity of B----, where he invested Anne's property. He was a farmer, and did not think of the qualifications necessary to a successful merchant. For five or six years he went on tolerably, living _genteelly_ and _recklessly_, expecting that every year's gain would make up the excess of the past. When sixteen years of their married life had passed, they were living in a single room in the crowded street of R----. Every penny of the inheritance was gone--three children had died--three survived; a girl of fifteen years, whom the mother was educating to be a teacher--boy of twelve who was living at home, and Jessy, a pale, delicate, little struggler for life, three years old.

Mrs. W---- was much changed in these sixteen years. Her round blooming cheek was pale and sunken, her dark chestnut hair had become thin and gray, her bright eyes, over-tasked by use and watching, were faded, and her whole person shrunken. Yet she had gained a great victory. Yes, it was a precious pearl. And you will wish to know what it was. It was a gentle submission and resignation--a patience under all her afflictions. But learn a lesson. Take care to whom you give your hand in marriage.

THE ORPHAN'S VOYAGE.

Two little orphan boys, whose parents died in a foreign land, were put on board a vessel to be taken home to their relatives and friends. On a bitter cold night, when the north-east winds sang through the shrouds of the vessel, the little boys were crouched on deck behind a bale of goods, to sleep for the night. The eldest boy wrapt around his younger brother his little cloak, to shield him from the surf and sleet, and then drew him close to his side and said to him, "the night will not be long, and as the wind blows we shall the sooner reach our home and see the peet fire glow." So he tried to cheer his little brother, and told him to go to sleep and forget the cold night and think about the morning that would come. They both soon sank to sleep on the cold deck, huddled close to each other, and locked close in each other's arms. The steerage passengers were all down below, snugly stowed away in their warm berths, and forgot all about the cold wind and the frost. When the morning came the land appeared, and the passengers began to pace the deck, and as the vessel moved along they tried some well known spot to trace.

Only the orphans do not stir, Of all this bustling train; They reached _their home_, this very night, They will not stir again! The winter's breath proved kind to them, And ended all their pain.

But in their deep and freezing sleep, Clasped rigid to each other, In dreams they cried, "the bright morn breaks, Home! home! is here, my brother. The angel death, has been our friend, We come! dear father, mother!"

LOOK UP.

A little boy went to sea with his father to learn to be a sailor. One day, his father said to him, "Come, my boy, you will never be a sailor if you don't learn to climb."

The boy was very ambitious, and soon scrambled up to the top of the rigging; but when he saw at what a height he was he began to be frightened, and called out, "Oh, father, I shall fall, what shall I do?"

"Look up--look up, my son," said his father; "if you look down you will be giddy; but if you keep looking up to the flag at the top of the mast you will descend safely." The boy followed his father's advice, and soon came down to the deck of the vessel in safety. You may learn from this story, to look up to Jesus, as the highest example, and as the Saviour of mankind.

THE FLOWER THAT LOOKS UP.

"What beautiful things flowers are," said one of the party of little girls who were arranging the flowers they had gathered in the pleasant fields. "Which flower would you rather be like, Helen?"

"Just as if there would be any choice," said Laura. "I like the Rose. I should like to be queen of flowers, or none." Laura was naturally very proud.

For my part, observed Helen, I should like to resemble the _Rhododendron_; when any one touches it, or shakes it roughly, it scatters a shower of honey dew from its roseate cups, teaching us to shower blessings upon our enemies. Oh, who does not wish to be as meek as this flower? It is very difficult, I know, said Helen; but we are taught to possess a meek and lowly spirit.

"It is difficult, I know," said Lucy, "if we trust to our own strength. It is only when my father looks at me in his kind manner, that I have any control of myself. What a pity it is that we cannot always remember that the eye of our Heavenly Father is upon us." "I wish I could," said Helen.

"Now, Clara, we are waiting for you," said Laura. Clara smiled; and immediately chose the pale woodbine, or convolvulus, which so carelessly winds in and out among the bushes--this is an emblem of loving tenderness.

"Now what says Lucy?" exclaimed Helen.

"I think I can guess," said Clara; "either a violet, or a heart's ease. Am I right?"

"Not quite," said Lucy, "although both the flowers you have mentioned, are great favorites of mine. But I think I should like to resemble the daisy, most, because it is always looking upward."

Certainly Lucy made a wise choice. What more do we require for happiness, than to be able, let the cloud be ever so dark, to look upward with trusting faith in God.

THE WAYSIDE FLOWER.

There's a moral, my child, In the wayside flower; There's an emblem of life In its short-lived hour. It smiles in the sunshine And weeps in the shower, And the footstep falls On the wayside flower.

Now see, my dear child, In the wayside flower, The joys and the sorrows Of life's passing hour. The footsteps of Time Hasten on in its power; And soon we must fall Like the wayside flower.

Yet know, my dear child, That the wayside flower Will revive in its season And bloom its brief hour; That again we shall blossom In beauty and power, Where the foot never falls On the wayside flower.

THE FARMER.

The Farmer ploughs and sows his seed, 'Tis all that he can do; He cannot make the dry seed grow, Nor give it rain and dew.

God sends the sunshine, dew and rain, And covers it with snow; Then let us thank Him for the gift,-- To Him our bread we owe.

Whene'er we view the waving grain, Or eat our daily food, Let grateful thoughts to God arise, Praise Him, for He is good.

The youthful mind is like a field; Our teachers sow the seed; But when instruction's work is done, There's something more we need.

Then let us pray that God may add His blessing to their toil; Then our young minds and hearts will prove A rich, productive soil.

MAY-DAY.

All hail the bright, the rosy morn, The first of blushing May, While fragrant flowers the fields adorn. And Nature smiles so gay.

Oh, what a joyous festival To all the young and fair, Who love to rove through verdant fields And breathe the balmy air.

With rosy checks, and laughing eyes, They hie to Nature's bowers, While birds trill forth their sweetest lay, To pluck the fairest flowers.

Now some have strayed to sit beneath A grove of maples grey, To twine their flowers into a wreath, Or cull a sweet bouquet.

While one small group is seated round A florid, mossy knoll, And laughing lisp that they have found The sweetest flowers of all.

With bouquets sweet, and garlands gay, They homeward then repair, In haste to join without delay The pic-nic or the fair.

For times are not as they were wont To be in years gone by, When on the rural village green They reared the May-pole high;

While gathered round a merry group Of youths and maidens gay, To crown some rosy rustic maid The smiling Queen of May.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD.

MATT. VI. 28.

Behold the lilies of the field, In thousand colors drest; They toil not, neither do they spin, Yet God the flowers hath blest.

Then toil not for the things of earth, But seek your God to please; For Solomon, in all his pride, Was not arrayed like these.

Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass And flowers, that fade and die, Will he not much more care for you, And all your wants supply?

Why will ye, O ye faithless ones, Distrust your Father's care? Are ye not better than the flowers? Will he not hear your prayer?

Your Father knoweth what ye need; Fear not, but watch and pray; And let your light shine more and more Unto the perfect day.

MY EARLY DAYS.

(SEE FRONTISPIECE.)

My father's house was indeed a pleasant home; and father was the supreme guide of his own household. He was gentle, but he could be firm and resolute when the case demanded. Mother was the sunshine of our little garden of love; her talents and energy gave her influence; and united to a man like father, she was all that is lovable in the character of woman.

But the dear old home, where I grew from infancy to boyhood, and from boyhood to youth, I shall never forget. It was a large house on the slope of a hill, just high enough to overlook several miles of our level country, and smooth enough with its soft grassy carpet for us to roll down from the summit to the foot of the hill. At the back of the house was another hill, where we used to roll under the shade of the old elm, and where Miles and I would sit whole afternoons and fly the kite, each taking turns in holding the string. This was a happy place for us, and especially in the spring time, when the happy looking cows grazed along the pathway which winds around the elm to the stream where Kate and I used to sail my little boat. All summer long this place was vocal with the songs of birds, which built their nests in safety among the tall trees of the grove in the rear of the farm. We had also the music of the running brook, and the pleasant hum of my father's cotton mill, which brought us in our daily bread. Haying time was always a happy season for us boys. Father's two horses, "_Dick_" and "_Bony_" would take off the farm as large a load of hay as any in the village.

Years past on, and we were a happy band of brothers and sisters. After Kate, came the twins, Margaret and Herbert, and last of all came the youngest darling, blue eyed Dora. We had a happy childhood. Our station in the world was high enough to enable us to have all the harmless pleasures and studies that were useful and actually necessary to boys and girls of our station. Father always thought that it was better in early youth not to force the boys to too hard study, and mother loved best to see Kate and Margaret using the fingers in fabricating garments, than in playing the harp. We were free, happy, roving children on father's farm, unchained by the forms of fashionable life. We had no costly dresses to spoil, and were permitted to play in the green fields without a servant's eye, and to bathe in the clear shallow stream without fear of drowning. As I have said before, these were happy days; and when I think of them gone, I often express my regret that we did not improve them more for the cultivation of the mind and the affections. In the next story you will see that there were some passing clouds in our early summer days.

MARGARET AND HERBERT.

In a large family there are often diversity of character and varieties of mood and temper, which bring some clouds of sorrow. In our little Eden of innocence there were storms now and then. Miles was a little wild and headstrong from his babyhood, and Margaret, though very beautiful, was often wilful and vain. For five years the twins had grown up together the same in beauty and health. One day an accident befell Herbert, and the dear child rose from his bed of sickness a pale and crippled boy. His twin sister grew up tall and blooming. The twins loved each other very much, and it was a pleasant sight to see how the deformed boy was cherished and protected by his sister Margaret. She would often leave us in the midst of our plays to go and sit by Herbert, who could not share with us in them.

We had our yearly festivals, our cowslip gatherings, our blackberry huntings, our hay makings, and all the delights so pleasant to country children. Our five birthdays were each signalized by simple presents and evening parties, in the garden or the house, as the season permitted. Herbert and Margaret's birthdays came in the sunny time of May, when there were double rejoicings to be made. They were always set up in their chairs in the bower, decorated with flowers and crowned with wreaths. I now think of Margaret smiling under her brilliant garland, while poor Herbert looked up to her with his pale sweet face. I heard him once say to her when we had all gone away to pluck flowers:

"How beautiful you are to-day, Margaret, with your rosy cheeks and brown hair."

"But that does not make me any better or prettier than you, because I am strong and you are not, or that my cheeks are red and yours are pale."

Miles was just carrying little Dora over the steeping stones at the brook, when Herbert cried:

"O, if I could only run and leap like Miles; but I am very helpless."

To which Margaret replied: "Never mind, brother; I will love you and take care of you all your life," and she said these words with a sister's love, as she put her arms around the neck of her helpless brother. She loved him the more, and aimed to please him by reading books to him which were his delight. This was a pleasant sight, and the brothers always admired Margaret for her attention to their helpless brother.

THE BIT OF GARDEN.

Young children like to have a small piece of land for a garden which they can call their own. And it is very pleasant to dig the ground, sow the seed, and watch the little green plants which peep out of the earth, and to see the beautiful buds and fresh blossoms.

Every boy and girl has a bit of garden, and we are told in the good book to take good care of it, and see that the weeds of vice do not spread over it, and to be sure and have it covered over with plants of goodness. This garden is the HEART. Such things as anger, sloth, lying and cheating, are noxious weeds. But if you are active and industrious, and keep cultivating this little garden, and keep out all the bad weeds, God will help you to make a good garden, full of pleasant plants, and flowers of virtue. I have seen some gardens which look very bad, covered with briars and weeds, the grass growing in the paths, and the knotty weeds choking the few puny flowers that are drooping and dying out. Every thing seems to say--"How idle the owner of this garden is." But I have seen other gardens where there were scarcely any weeds. The walks look tidy, the flowers in blossom, the trees are laden with fruit, and every thing says, "How busy the owner is." Happy are you, dear children, if you are working earnestly in the garden of your hearts. Your garden will be clean, pleasant, and fruitful--a credit and comfort to you all your days.

REMEMBER THE CAKE.

I will tell you an anecdote about Mrs. Hannah More, when she was eighty years old. A widow and her little son paid a visit to Mrs. More, at Barley Wood. When they were about to leave, Mrs. M. stooped to kiss the little boy, not as a mere compliment, as old maidens usually kiss children, but she took his smiling face between her two hands, and looked upon it a moment as a mother would, then kissed it fondly more than once. "Now when you are a man, my child, will you remember me?" The little boy had just been eating some cake which she gave him, and he, instead of giving her any answer, glanced his eyes on the remnants of the cake which lay on the table. "Well," said Mrs. M., "you will remember the cake at Barley Wood, wont you?" "Yes," said the boy, "It was nice cake, and you are _so kind_ that I will remember both." "That is right," she replied, "I like to have the young remember me for _being kind_--then you will remember old Mrs. Hannah More?"

"Always, ma'am, I'll try to remember you always." "What a good child," said she, after his mother was gone, "and of good stock; that child will be true as steel. It was so much more natural that the child should remember the cake than an old woman, that I love his sincerity." She died on the 7th of Sept., 1833, aged eighty-eight. She was buried in Wrighton churchyard, beneath an old tree which is still flourishing.

BENNY'S FIRST DRAWING.

You have perhaps heard of Benjamin West, the celebrated artist. I will tell you about his first effort in drawing.

One of his sisters, who had been married some time, came with her babe to spend a few days at her father's. When the child was asleep in the cradle, Mrs. West invited her daughter to gather flowers in the garden, and told Benjamin to take care of the little child while they were gone; and gave him a fan to flap away the flies from his little charge. After some time the child appeared to smile in its sleep, and it attracted young Benny's attention. He was so pleased with the smiling, sleeping, babe that he thought he would see what he could do at drawing a portrait of it. He was only in his seventh year; he got some paper, pens, and some red and black ink, and commenced his work, and soon drew the picture of the babe.

Hearing his mother and sister coming in from the garden, he hid his picture; but his mother seeing he was confused, asked him what he was about, and requested him to show her the paper. He obeyed, and entreated her not to be angry. Mrs. West, after looking some time, with much pleasure, said to her daughter, "I declare, he has made a likeness of _little Sally_," and kissed him with evident satisfaction. This gave him much encouragement, and he would often draw pictures of flowers which she held in her hand. Here the instinct of his great genius was first awakened. This circumstance occurred in the midst of a Pennsylvania forest, a hundred and four years ago. At the age of eighteen he was fairly established in the city of Philadelphia as an artist.

THE GREY OLD COTTAGE.

In the valley between "Longbrigg" and "Highclose," in the fertile little dale on the left, stands an old cottage, which is truly "a nest in a green place." The sun shines on the diamond paned windows all through the long afternoons of a summer's day. It is very large and roomy. Around it is a trim little garden with pleasant flower borders under the low windows. From the cottage is a bright lookout into a distant scene of much variety.

Some years ago it was more desolate, as it was so isolated from the world. Now the children's voices blend with the song of the wood birds, and they have a garden there of dandelions, daisies, and flowers. The roof and walls are now covered with stone crop and moss, and traveller's joy, which gives it a variety of color. The currant bushes are pruned, and the long rose branches are trimmed, and present a blooming appearance. This house, with forty acres of land, some rocky and sterile, and some rich meadow and peat, formed the possessions of the Prestons in Westmoreland. For two hundred years this land had been theirs. Mr. Preston and his wife were industrious and respectable people. They had two children, Martha and John. The sister was eight years older than her brother and acted a motherly part towards him. As her mother had to go to market, to see to the cows and dairy, and to look after the sheep on the fell, Martha took most of the care of little Johnny.