Chapter 6

I wish to relate to you a very affecting story about a good girl who died when she was thirteen years old. She was an interesting young girl, and possessed great intellectual powers. She was also very fond of the works of nature, especially of flowers, and would often say, "How good God is to make these beautiful flowers for us to enjoy." Soon it was very evident to her friends that disease was preying on her delicate constitution. She bore all her sickness with calm submission, and when she died she appeared to all who knew her to be prepared for heaven. While she was sick, her parents did every thing to make her comfortable and happy. They had a dog which Lizzy set a great deal by, and with him she used to play in the house and in the garden. When Lizzy was so sick that she could not play with him, he would come and lay himself down at her bed side, and appeared to be very sad on her account. When she died and was buried, the dog followed with the parents in the funeral, to the grave yard where Lizzy was laid away. One day, about five months afterwards, I went with her father to see the grave of Lizzy. As we went into the grave yard, we walked slowly along, reading the names of persons buried there, while the dog followed us. We soon missed the dog, supposing he had wandered into some other part of the cemetery. But when we came within a few yards of Lizzy's grave we saw him sitting at its head, leaning against the stone which was erected in memory of the lovely daughter. It was a very affecting scene--the attachment of the dog, as well as the power of his memory. Dogs are faithful creatures, and we can never bear to see them abused. Be kind to them and they will be kind to you.

JULIA'S SUNSET WALK.

It was a beautiful June day, just at the sun's setting, when Julia Easworth went to visit the resting place of a dear grandmother. While she was in the grave-yard, meditating on the loss of one of her best earthly friends, she saw a lady dressed in mourning busily engaged in doing something near a rose bush that grew at the foot of a little mound, at a short distance from where she stood. Julia walked along and came near where she was, and laid her hand gently upon the woman and said, "Madam, is this your little mound?"

"Oh, no, my child; it is my dear Elise's grave."

"And is it long since you laid her here, ma'am," said Julia.

"Only a few weeks," was the reply; "there were buds on this rose bush when I brought it here."

"And was it her's," asked Julia, as she stooped down to inhale the rich fragrance of the beautiful flower.

"Yes, my child, it was a dear treasure to her. My Elise was a good child, she was my Idol, but my Heavenly Father has seen best to remove her from me. I only cared to live that I might be useful to her in giving her such instructions as might be a blessing to her. I almost adored her, but she is gone from me, and I am alone. I know she is happy, because she was good."

"And have you always lived here in our town," asked Julia.

"Oh, no! I am from Italy. When my child was but two years old, I left my native shores, and with my only relative, my father, followed my young husband, who is an American, to his own land. We settled in the State of Virginia, and a short time ago he died and left me with a charge to take care of our dear Elise. She had her father's hair and complexion, and inherited his delicate constitution. We were poor and I labored hard, but I cared not, if I could only make my child comfortable and happy. She was not like me--her mind was full of thoughts of beauty--she would often talk of things with which I could not sympathize--the world seemed to her to be full of voices, and she would often say 'How beautiful _heaven_ must be.' Her nature was purer and gentler than mine, and I felt that she was a fit companion of the angels. But she is now gone to be with them, and I hope soon to meet her."

Julia bid the lady good bye and went towards her home. As she walked slowly along, she thought to herself, "Elise with the angels!" and she dwelt on the theme till her mother, seeing her rather different in her conduct, asked her the cause, when she replied, "Oh, mother! I want to dwell with the angels."

FLORA AND HER PORTRAIT.

"And was there never a portrait of your beautiful child," said Anne Jones to a lady whom she met at the grave where her child had been lain a few weeks.

"Oh, yes! but I may never have it," replied the woman, as she stood weeping at the grave.

Anna did not understand the mother's tears, but in a few moments she became calm, and continued to explain.

"Not many weeks before my child's illness, as we were walking together in the city, an artist observed my daughter and followed us to our humble home. He praised her countenance to me, and said her beauty was rare. In all his life he had never seen face to compare with it, nor an eye so full of soul--and begged to have me consent to his drawing her portrait. After many urgent entreaties, my dear child consented. For several mornings I went with Flora to the artist's room, though I could ill afford the time, for our daily bread was to be earned. When he was finishing the picture, Flora went alone. One day she returned, and flinging into my lap her little green purse, she said:--'The picture does not need me any more, and I am very glad, for my head aches badly. They say the portrait is very like me, mother.'

"I resolved to go and see it the day following, but when the time came that I first looked upon it, my dear child began to fade in my arms, until she died. And here she is buried. Since then I go to the artist's room to see her portrait, and there, full of life and beauty, she stands before me, and I have permission to see it every day.

"But I am about to leave this country for our native land. My aged father has long wished to return to his own country, and we shall soon sail with our friends for Italy. I must leave the dear child here. But if I can purchase the picture of the artist, I shall be happy. We are poor; but by the sale of some little articles, we have raised money enough to buy the picture, at the price which the artist demands for a similar picture.

"When I went to buy it, you know not how I felt, when the artist, notwithstanding all my pleadings, denied my request. His apology was, that he had taken it for some purpose of his own--some great exhibition of paintings--what, I could not fully comprehend. He would not sell it. Day after day I have been to him, but in vain. And now the time of our departure will soon come, and duty demands that I must go with my father, and I must leave my dear Flora, and portrait too."

She then laid her face upon the grave and wept. Anna's eyes were filled with tears, and for some moments she did not speak. At last she thought--"I know the artist." And then touching the mother, who was almost insensible, she said, "Madam, it may be that I can do something for you--describe to me the picture. I think I must have seen it at this same artist's room."

The mother then gave the description, and after Anna had gathered from the mother all needful information, her name, and residence, and time of sailing, then giving her own address, and speaking to her words of consolation and hope, she arose and left the stranger at the grave of her child. The next story will tell you how the picture was obtained.

THE PORTRAIT OF FLORA PURCHASED.

Anna started for her home, and when she had arrived, she slowly ascended to her room, flung herself upon her couch, and buried her face in its cushions.

"Edgar," (for that was the artist's name, and Anna knew him,) "Edgar is cold hearted." She did not meet the family at tea that evening, but when her mother came to inquire if she was ill, she related all the sad story of the childless mother, and asked what could be done. The next morning, Anna and her father went to see the artist. He was not in attendance, but one to whom they were well known brought forward the picture, at Anna's request, and which she had before seen. While they were looking at it, the artist came in.

"Pardon me, sir," said Anna's father, "for examining your beautiful picture during your absence, but my daughter has a very earnest desire to possess it. Is it for sale?"

Edgar replied, "I have painted this picture for the coming artist's exhibition, and, therefore, I have made no design as to its disposal, but it would be an honor to me to have you and Miss Anna its purchasers. I would wish, however, previously to its being given up, that it might be exhibited, according to my intention, at the rooms, which open on Monday next."

Mr. H. hesitated--the vessel, which was to carry away the sorrowing mother, was to sail in a little more than two weeks--they must have the picture at that time, if ever; and he said to the artist, "I am aware that this is a beautiful painting, and I will pay you your price, but I must be allowed to take it at the expiration of ten days, if at all."

Edgar reflected a few moments, and being well aware that, in the mansion of Mr. Hastings, his elegant picture would be seen by persons of the most accomplished manners, and of excellent taste, concluded to sell the picture. The bargain was made and Anna and her father departed, leaving the artist somewhat elated at the thought of having Mr. H. the owner of his picture.

That night Edgar dreamed that Flora, who had been buried a few weeks, and of whose image his picture was the exact resemblance, stood before him, pleading him to have pity on her lonely mother--he dreamed her hand clasped his, and he awoke trembling.

He raised himself upon his elbow, and pressed to his lips some flowers which were left on his table, and then rejoiced that the ocean would soon lie between him and the wearisome old woman who had so long annoyed him about the picture.

The Monday morning came, and with it the portrait of Flora, which had been admired at the exhibition rooms the previous week. A simple frame had been prepared for it, and for a few moments Anna gazed on the picture, and with a love for the buried stranger, looked for the last time into the deep dark eyes which beamed on the canvas.

The ship Viola, bound for the port of Naples, lay at the wharf, the passengers were all hurrying on board, the flags were flying, and all wore the joyous aspect of a vessel outward bound. A carriage drawn by a pair of horses came down to the vessel. Mr. Hastings and Anna alighted, and were followed by a servant, who took the safely cased portrait in his arms, and accompanied them on board the ship. They soon met the mother of Flora, and Anna took the picture and presented it to her, and promised to care for the rose buds which bloomed at Flora's grave. Mr. H received from the gallant captain a promise to take special charge of the Italian widow, and her aged father, and to care for the valued picture of Flora. Thanks and farewells closed the scene, when Anna, with her father, returned home. There she found a note from Edgar, the artist, requesting permission to call on Anna that evening. She wrote a reply, saying that a previous engagement would forbid her complying with his request, at the same time enclosing a check for $200, saying, "My father requests me to forward this check to you, in payment for the portrait of _Flora Revere_"

THE SAINT'S REST.

We've no abiding city here: This may distress the worldling's mind, But should not cost the saint a tear, Who hopes a better rest to find.

We've no abiding city here; We seek a city out of sight, Zion its name: the Lord is there: It shines with everlasting light.

Hush, my soul, nor dare repine; The time my God appoints is best; While here to do his will be mine, And his to fix my time of rest.

A GOOD MOTHER.

Mrs. Savage was the eldest sister of Matthew Henry. When she was a child she had a great many advantages for the improvement of her mind. When only seven years of age, she could translate the Hebrew language, and when ten years old, she would write out her father's sermons. She possessed a very amiable disposition, and was very kind and benevolent to all who needed the comforts of life. She was a Christian, and when she became a mother she began the work of educating her children herself. She had a large family of nine children, and as she had treasured up in her memory many hymns and verses which she had learned when a child, she was able to teach the same to her children. She was so kind and affectionate that every body loved her. Her children took much pleasure in hearing their mother repeat to them the hymns and texts of Scripture which she had learned.

Some children are very careless, and indifferent to their parents' advice; such ones will regret it in their riper years. But Mrs. Savage's little boys and girls loved their mother, and were very obedient to her commands. When evening came, before they retired to bed she would call her little children around her (as you see in the picture,) and they would kneel down and say their evening prayer. A pleasant sight, indeed, to see our dear children remembering their Creator in the days of their youth. Mrs. S. was "useful, beloved, meek, humble, and charitable." She lived a happy, cheerful life; she was an ornament to her Christian profession, a "good mother." She died suddenly at the good old age of eighty-eight.

MOTHER'S LAST LESSON.

"Will you please teach me my verse, mamma, and then kiss me and bid me good night," said little Roger, as he opened the door and peeped into the chamber of his sick mother. "I am very sleepy, but no one has heard me say my prayers." Mrs. L. was very ill, and her friends believed her to be dying. She sat propped up with pillows and struggling for breath, her eyes were growing dim, and her strength was failing very fast. She was a widow, and little Roger was her only darling child. He had been in the habit of coming into her room every night, and sitting in her lap, or kneeling by her side, while she repeated some Scripture passages to him or related a story of wise and good people. She always loved to hear Roger's verse and prayer.

"Hush! hush!" said the lady who was watching beside the couch. "Your dear mamma is too ill to hear you to night." And as she said this, she came forward and laid her hand gently upon his arm as if she would lead him from the room. "I cannot go to bed to night," said the little boy, "without saying my prayers--I cannot."

Roger's dying mother heard his voice, and his sobs, and although she had been nearly insensible to everything around her, yet she requested the attendant lady to bring the boy and lay him near her side. Her request was granted, and the child's rosy cheek nestled in the bosom of his dying mother.

"Now you may repeat this verse after me," said his mother, "and never forget it: 'When my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up.'" The child repeated it three times--then he kissed the pale cheek of his mother, and went quietly to his little couch.

The next morning he sought as usual for his mother, but she was now cold and motionless. She died soon after little Roger retired to his bed. That was her last lesson to her darling boy--he did not forget it. He has grown to be a man and occupies a high post of honor in Massachusetts. I never can look upon him without thinking about the faith so beautifully exhibited by his dying mother. It was a good lesson.

THE GOLDEN CROWN.

A teacher once asked a child, "If you had a golden crown, what would you do with it?" The child replied, "I would give it to my father to keep till I was a man." He asked another. "I would buy a coach and horses with it," was the reply. He asked a third. "Oh," said the little girl to whom he spoke, "I would do with it the same as the people in heaven do with their crowns. I would cast it at the Saviour's feet."

EARLY AT SCHOOL.

One Sabbath evening a teacher was walking up and down in the porch before his house, in one of the South Sea Islands. The sun was setting behind the waves of the ocean, and the labors of the day were over. In that cool, quiet hour, the teacher was in prayer, asking a blessing on his people, his scholars, and himself. As he heard the leaves of the Mimosa tree rustling, he thought the breeze was springing up--and continued his walk. Again he heard the leaves rattle, and he felt sure that it could not be the wind. So he pushed aside the long leafy branches of the trees, and passed beneath. And what did he find there? Three little boys. Two were fast asleep in each other's arms, but the third was awake.

"What are you doing there, my children?" asked the teacher. "We have come to sleep here," said the boy. "And why do you sleep here; have you no home?" "Oh, yes," said the lad, "but if we sleep here, we are sure to be ready when the school bell rings in the morning." "And do your parents know about it?" "Mine do," said the lad, "but these little boys have no parents; they are orphans."

You know the nights in the South Sea Islands are not cold and damp like ours, but as the teacher thought a heavy rain would fall in the night, he roused the orphans, and led the three little boys into the large porch of the house, where they might rest in safety. He was happy to find that they were some of his scholars, and that they loved their school. What would these little Islanders think if they could look from their distant homes into some of our schools and see how many late comers there are!

THE PLUM BOYS.

Two boys were one day on their way from school, and as they were passing a cornfield, in which there were some plum trees, full of nice ripe fruit, Henry said to Thomas, "Let us jump over and get some plums. Nobody will see us, and we can scud along through the corn and come out on the other side."

Thomas said, "I cannot. It is wrong to do so. I would rather not have the plums, than to steal them, and I think I will run along home."

"You are a coward," said Henry, "I always knew you were a coward, and if you don't want any plums you may go without them, but I shall have some very quick."

Just as Henry was climbing the fence, the owner of the field rose up from the other side of the wall, and Henry jumped back, and ran away. Thomas had no reason to be afraid, so he stood still, and the owner of the field, who had heard the conversation between the boys, told him that he was very glad to see that he was not willing to be a thief. He then told Thomas that he might step over the fence and help himself to as many plums as he wished. The boy was pleased with the invitation, and soon filled his pockets with plums which he could call his own. Honesty will always get its reward.

GEORGE AND HIS DOG.

George had a large and noble dog. With hair as soft as silk; A few black spots upon his back, The rest as white as milk.

And many a happy hour they had, In dull or shining weather; For, in the house, or in the fields, They always were together.

The faithful creature knew full well When Master wished to ride; And he would kneel down on the grass, While Georgy climbed his side

They both were playing in the field. When all at once they saw A little squirrel on a stump, With an acorn in his paw

The dog still looked with eager eye, And George could plainly see, It was as much as he could do To let the squirrel be.

The timid creature would have feared The dog so bold and strong, But he seemed to know the little boy Would let him do no wrong.

He felt a spirit of pure love Around the gentle boy, As if good angels, hovering there, Watched over him in joy.

And true it is that angels oft Good little George have led; They're with him in his happy play. They guard his little bed;

They keep his heart so kind and true, They make his eye so mild, For dearly do the angels love, A gentle little child.

THE FIRST DOLLAR.

I will tell you an affecting story about a young lad by the name of Emerson Terry, who lived in Hartford, Ct. He was very kind to the poor, and could never see the suffering of his fellow beings without making an effort for their relief. Here is one instance of his kindness and liberality.

While he resided in Bristol, his father, Dr. Terry, took little Emerson with him to ride into Hartford that he might see the city. Emerson had one dollar, and it was the first dollar he ever earned. He took the dollar with him, thinking to buy something with it in the city. While they were riding along on the way, they overtook a poor fugitive slave seeking his freedom in the North. Mr. Terry kindly took the wayfaring man into his carriage when the poor man related to him his sufferings and poverty, and also his trust in God. Young Emerson's heart was touched, when, of his own accord, he drew out his _first_ and _only_ dollar and gave it to the poor fugitive. When he returned home he told his mother what he had done, with a satisfaction that indicated his pleasure in being able to relieve a suffering stranger. How noble was this act. He felt willing to forego the pleasure of spending his dollar for himself, for any pleasing toys, that he might help a poor wanderer on the earth. When he was fifteen years of age, he was drowned in the Connecticut River. He was beloved and respected by a large circle of acquaintance. He was noted for his kind disposition, tender feelings, and lovely spirit. He sleeps in peace, and we all hope to meet him in heaven.

THE SHEPHERD AND HIS BIBLE.

A poor shepherd, living among the Alps, the father of a large family, for whose wants he provided with great difficulty, purchased an old Bible from a dealer in old cloths and furniture. On Sunday evening, as he was turning over the leaves, he noticed several of them were pasted together. He immediately began to separate the pasted leaves with great care. Inside of these leaves he found carefully enclosed a bank bill of five hundred dollars. On the margin of one of the pages was written these words: "I gathered together money with very great difficulty, but having no natural heirs but those who have absolutely need of nothing, I make thee, whosoever shall read this Bible, my natural heir."

We cannot promise our young friends that they will find money in the leaves of their Bibles, but you may be assured that if you study its pages, and follow its precepts, you will find wisdom, which is better than silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold.

REVELATION OF GOD'S HOLY WORD.

Ye favored lands, rejoice, Where God reveals his word: We are not left to nature's voice To bid us know the Lord.

His statutes and commands Are set before our eyes; He puts the gospel in our hands, Where our salvation lies.

His laws are just and pure, His truth without deceit; His promise is for ever sure, And his rewards are great.

PLEASANT PLAY.