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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6757-h.zip b/6757-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ff2084 --- /dev/null +++ b/6757-h.zip diff --git a/6757-h/6757-h.htm b/6757-h/6757-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b1ce2a --- /dev/null +++ b/6757-h/6757-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5059 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Fanny, the Flower Girl, by Selina Bunbury +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 4% } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.contents {text-indent: -3%; + margin-left: 5% } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 4em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny, the Flower-Girl, by Selina Bunbury + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fanny, the Flower-Girl + +Author: Selina Bunbury + +Posting Date: March 13, 2014 [EBook #6757] +Release Date: October, 2004 +First Posted: January 23, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL *** + + + + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tiffany Vergon, Charles Franks, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version +by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1> +<br /><br /><br /> +FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL; +</h1> + +<p class="t3b"> +OR, HONESTY REWARDED. +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +TO WHICH ARE ADDED OTHER TALES. +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="t2"> +BY SELINA BUNBURY. +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t2"> +FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p> +"Come, buy my flowers; flowers fresh and fair. Come, buy my flowers. +Please ma'am, buy a nice bunch of flowers, very pretty ones, ma'am. +Please, sir, to have some flowers; nice, fresh ones, miss; only just +gathered; please look." +</p> + +<p> +Thus spoke, or sometimes sung, a little girl of perhaps eight years +old, holding in her hand a neat small basket, on the top of which lay a +clean white cloth, to shade from the sun the flowers which she praised +so highly, and a little bunch of which she presented to almost every +passer-by, in the hope of finding purchasers; while, after one had +passed rudely on, another had looked at her young face and smiled, +another had said, "What a nice child!" but not one had taken the +flowers, and left the penny or the half-penny that was to pay for them +the little girl, as if accustomed to all this, only arranged again the +pretty nosegays that had been disarranged in the vain hope of selling +them, and commenced anew in her pretty singing tone, "Come, buy my +flowers; flowers fresh and fair." +</p> + +<p> +"Your flowers are sadly withered, my little maid," said a kind, +country-looking gentleman, who was buying some vegetables at a stall +near her. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, sir! I have fresh ones, here, sir; please look;" and the child +lifted up the cover of her basket, and drew from the very bottom a +bunch of blossoms on which the dew of morning still rested. +</p> + +<p> +"Please to see, sir; a pretty rose, sir, and these pinks and +mignonette, and a bunch of jessamine, sir, and all for one penny." +</p> + +<p> +"Bless thee! pretty dear!" said the old lame vegetable-seller, "thou'lt +make a good market-woman one of these days. Your honor would do well to +buy her flowers, sir, she has got no mother or father, God help her, +and works for a sick grandmother." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor child!" said the old gentleman. "Here, then, little one, give me +three nice nosegays, and there is sixpence for you." +</p> + +<p> +With delight sparkling in every feature of her face, and her color +changed to crimson with joy, the little flower-girl received in one +hand the unusual piece of money; and setting her basket on the ground, +began hastily and tremblingly to pick out nearly half its contents as +the price of the sixpence; but the gentleman stooped down, and taking +up at random three bunches of the flowers, which were not the freshest, +said, +</p> + +<p> +"Here, these will do; keep the rest for a more difficult customer. Be a +good child; pray to God, and serve Him, and you will find He is the +Father of the fatherless." +</p> + +<p> +And so he went away; and the flower-girl, without waiting to put her +basket in order, turned to the old vegetable-seller, and cried, +"Sixpence! a whole sixpence, and all at once. What will grandmother say +now? See!" and opening her hand, she displayed its shining before her +neighbor's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Eh!" exclaimed the old man, as he approached his eyes nearer to it. +"Eh! what is this? why thou hast twenty sixpences there; this is a +half-sovereign!" +</p> + +<p> +"Twenty sixpences! why the gentleman said, there is sixpence for thee," +said the child. +</p> + +<p> +"Because he didn't know his mistake," replied the other; "I saw him +take the piece out of his waistcoat-pocket without looking." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh dear! what shall I do?" cried the little girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, thou must keep it, to be sure," replied the old man; "give it to +thy grandmother, she will know what to do with it, I warrant thee." +</p> + +<p> +"But I must first try to find the good gentleman, and tell him of his +mistake," said the child. "I know what grandmother would say else; and +he cannot be far off, I think, because he was so fat; he will go slow, +I am sure, this hot morning. Here, Mr. Williams, take care of my +basket, please, till I come back." +</p> + +<p> +And without a word more, the flower-girl put down her little basket at +the foot of the vegetable-stall, and ran away as fast as she could go. +</p> + +<p> +When she turned out of the market-place, she found, early as it was, +that the street before her was pretty full; but as from the passage the +gentleman had taken to leave the market-place, she knew he could only +have gone in one direction, she had still hopes of finding him; and she +ran on and on, until she actually thought she saw the very person +before her; he had just taken off his hat, and was wiping his forehead +with his handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +"That is him," said the little flower-girl, "I am certain;" but just as +she spoke, some persons came between her and the gentleman, and she +could not see him. Still she kept running on; now passing off the +foot-path into the street, and then seeing the fat gentleman still +before her; and then again getting on the foot-path, and losing sight +of him, until at last she came up quite close to him, as he was walking +slowly, and wiping the drops of heat from his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +The poor child was then quite out of breath; and when she got up to him +she could not call out to him to stop, nor say one word; so she caught +hold of the skirt of his coat, and gave it a strong pull. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman started, and clapped one hand on his coat-pocket, and +raised up his cane in the other, for he was quite sure it was a +pickpocket at his coat. But when he turned, he saw the breathless +little flower-girl, and he looked rather sternly at her, and said, +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what do you want; what are you about? eh!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, sir!" said the girl; and then she began to cough, for her breath +was quite spent. "See, sir; you said you gave me sixpence, and Mr. +Williams says there are twenty sixpences in this little bit of money." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me!" said the gentleman; "is it possible? could I have done such +a thing?" and he began to fumble in his waistcoat pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, really it is true enough," he added, as he drew out a sixpence. +"See what it is to put gold and silver together." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish he would give it to me," thought the little flower-girl; "how +happy it would make poor granny; and perhaps he has got a good many +more of these pretty gold pieces." +</p> + +<p> +But the old gentleman put out his hand, and took it, and turned it over +and over, and seemed to think a little; and then he put his hand into +his pocket again, and took out his purse; and he put the half-sovereign +into the purse, and took out of it another sixpence. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," he said, "there is the sixpence I owe you for the flowers; you +have done right to bring me back this piece of gold; and there is +another sixpence for your race; it is not a reward, mind, for honesty +is only our duty, and you only did what is right; but you are tired, +and have left your employment, and perhaps lost a customer, so I give +you the other sixpence to make you amends." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, sir," said the flower-girl, curtseying; and taking the two +sixpences into her hand with a delighted smile, was going to run back +again, when the old gentleman, pulling out a pocket-book, said, "Stay a +moment; you are an orphan, they tell me; what is your name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Fanny, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Fanny what?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please, I don't know, sir; grandmother is Mrs. Newton, sir; but she +says she is not my grandmother either, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, tell me where Mrs. Newton lives," said the gentleman, after +looking at her a minute or so, as if trying to make out what she meant. +</p> + +<p> +So Fanny told him, and he wrote it down in his pocket-book, and then +read over what he had written to her, and she said it was right. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, then, run away back," said he, "and sell all your flowers, if you +can, before they wither, for they will not last long this warm day; +flowers are like youth and beauty—do you ever think of that? even the +rose withereth afore it groweth up." And this fat gentleman looked very +sad, for he had lost all his children in their youth. +</p> + +<p> +"O yes! sir; I know a verse which says that," replied Fanny. "All flesh +is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of grass—but +good morning, and thank you, sir," and away Fanny ran. +</p> + +<p> +And now, before going on with my story, I must go back to tell who and +what Fanny, the flower-girl, was. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton, whom she called her grandmother, was now a poor old woman, +confined to her bed by a long and trying illness, that had nearly +deprived her of the use of her limbs. But she had not been always thus +afflicted. Some years before, Mrs. Newton lived in a neat cottage near +the road-side, two or three miles from one of the great sea-port towns +of England. Her husband had good employment, and they were both +comfortable and happy. +</p> + +<p> +Just eight years from this time, it happened that one warm summer's +day, Mrs. Newton went to look out from her cottage door down the road, +and she saw a young woman standing there, leaning against a tree, and +looking very faint and weak. +</p> + +<p> +She was touched with pity and asked the poor traveller to walk into her +house and rest. The young woman thankfully consented, for she said she +was very ill; but she added, that her husband was coming after her, +having been obliged to turn back for a parcel that was left behind at +the house where they had halted some time before, and therefore she +would sit near the door and watch for him. +</p> + +<p> +Before, however, the husband came, the poor woman was taken dreadfully +ill; and when he did arrive, good Mrs. Newton could not bear to put the +poor creature out of the house in such a state; she became worse and +worse. In short, that poor young woman was Fanny's mother, and when +little Fanny was born, that poor sick mother died, and Fanny never saw +a mother's smile. +</p> + +<p> +The day after the young woman's death, kind Mrs. Newton came into the +room where her cold body was laid out on the bed; and there was her +husband, a young, strong-looking man, sitting beside it; his elbows +were on his knees, and his face was hid in his open hands. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton had the baby in her arms, and she spoke to its father as +she came in; he looked up to her; his own face was as pale as death; +and he looked at her without saying a word. She saw he was in too much +grief either to speak or weep. So she went over silently to him, and +put the little baby into his arms, and then said, "May the Lord look +down with pity on you both." +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the unhappy young man heard these compassionate words, and +saw the face of his pretty, peaceful babe, he burst into tears; they +rolled in large drops down on the infant's head. +</p> + +<p> +Then in a short time he was able to speak, and he told Mrs. Newton his +sad little history; how he had no one in the whole world to look with +pity on him, or his motherless child; and how God alone was his hope in +this day of calamity. His father had been displeased with him because +he had married that young woman, whom he dearly loved; and he had given +him some money that was his portion, and would do nothing else for him. +The young man had taken some land and a house, but as the rent was too +high, he could not make enough of the land to pay it; so he had been +obliged to sell all his goods, and he had only as much money left as +would, with great saving, carry him to America, where he had a brother +who advised him to go out there. +</p> + +<p> +"And now," said he, looking over at the pale face of his dear wife, +"What shall I do with the little creature she has left me? how shall I +carry it over the wide ocean without a mother to care for it, and nurse +it?" +</p> + +<p> +"You cannot do so," said Mrs. Newton, wiping her eyes; "leave it with +me; I have no children of my own, my husband would like to have one; +this babe shall lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter. I will +nurse it for you until you are settled in America, and send or come for +it." +</p> + +<p> +The young man wept with gratitude; he wanted to know how he was to +repay Mrs. Newton, but she said for the present she did not want +payment, that it would be a pleasure to her to have the baby; and it +would be time enough to talk about payment when the father was able to +claim it, and take it to a home. +</p> + +<p> +So the next day they buried the poor young woman, and soon after the +young man went away and sailed off to America, and from that day to +this Mrs. Newton had never heard anything of him. +</p> + +<p> +As she had said, that poor little motherless babe lay in her bosom, and +was unto her as a daughter; she loved it; she loved it when it was a +helpless little thing, weak and sickly; she loved it when it grew a +pretty lively baby, and would set its little feet on her knees, and +crow and caper before her face; she loved it when it began to play +around her as she sat at work, to lisp out the word "Ganny," for she +taught it to call her grandmother; she loved it when it would follow +her into her nice garden, and pick a flower and carry it to her, as she +sat in the little arbor; and she, holding the flower, would talk to it +of God who made the flower, and made the bee that drew honey from the +flower, and made the sun that caused the flower to grow, and the light +that gave the flower its colors, and the rain that watered it, and the +earth that nourished it. And she loved that child when it came back +from the infant school, and climbed up on her lap, or stood with its +hands behind its back, to repeat some pretty verses about flowers, or +about the God who made them. That child was Fanny, the flower-girl; and +ah! how little did good Mrs. Newton think she would be selling flowers +in the streets to help to support her. +</p> + +<p> +But it came to pass, that when Fanny was nearly six years old, Mrs. +Newton's husband fell very ill; it was a very bad, and very expensive +illness, for poor Mrs. Newton was so uneasy, she would sometimes have +two doctors to see him; but all would not do; he died: and Mrs. Newton +was left very poorly off. +</p> + +<p> +In a short time she found she could not keep on her pretty cottage; she +was obliged to leave it; and the church where she had gone every Sunday +for so many years; and the church-yard where her husband was buried, +and little Fanny's mother; and the infant school where Fanny learned so +much; and the dear little garden, and the flowers that were Fanny's +teachers and favorites. Oh! how sorry was poor Mrs. Newton. But even a +little child can give comfort; and so little Fanny, perhaps without +thinking to do so, did; for when Mrs. Newton for the last time sat out +in her garden, and saw the setting sun go down, and told Fanny she was +going to leave that pretty garden, where she had from infancy been +taught to know God's works, the child looked very sad and thoughtful +indeed, for some time; but afterwards coming up to her, said, +</p> + +<p> +"But, grandmother, we shall not leave God, shall we? for you say God is +everywhere, and He will be in London too." +</p> + +<p> +And oh! how that thought consoled poor Mrs. Newton; she did not leave +God,—God did not leave her. +</p> + +<p> +So she left the abode of her younger years—the scene of her widowhood; +and she went away to hire a poor lodging in the outlets of London; but +her God was with her, and the child she had nursed in her prosperity +was her comfort in adversity. +</p> + +<p> +Matters, however, went no better when she lived with little Fanny in a +poor lodging. She had only one friend in London, and she lived at a +distance from her. Mrs. Newton fell ill; there was no one to nurse her +but Fanny; she could no longer pay for her schooling, and sometimes she +was not able to teach her herself. +</p> + +<p> +All this seemed very hard, and very trying; and one would have been +tempted to think that God was no longer with poor Mrs. Newton; that +when she had left her cottage she had left the God who had been so good +to her. +</p> + +<p> +But this would have been a great mistake. God was with Mrs. Newton; He +saw fit to try and afflict her; but He gave her strength and patience +to bear her trials and afflictions. +</p> + +<p> +One afternoon her friend came to pay her a visit: she was going out a +little way into the country to see a relation who had a very fine +nursery-garden, and she begged Mrs. Newton to let little Fanny go with +her own daughter. Mrs. Newton was very glad to do so for she thought it +would be a nice amusement for Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +The nurseryman was very kind to her; and when she was going away gave +her a fine bunch of flowers. Fanny was in great delight, for she loved +flowers and knew her dear grandmother loved them too. But as she was +coming back, and just as she was entering the streets, she met a lady +and a little boy of about three years old, who directly held out his +hands and began to beg for the flowers. His mamma stopped, and as Fanny +was very poorly dressed, she thought it probable that she would sell +her nosegay, and so she said, +</p> + +<p> +"Will you give that bunch of flowers to my little boy, and I will pay +you for it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please, ma'am, they are for grandmother," said Fanny blushing, and +thinking she ought to give the flowers directly, and without money to +any one who wished for them. +</p> + +<p> +"But perhaps your grand-mother would rather have this sixpence?" said +the lady. And Mrs. Newton's friend, who had just come up, said, +</p> + +<p> +"Well, my dear, take the lady's sixpence, and let her have the flowers +if she wishes for them." +</p> + +<p> +So Fanny held the flowers to the lady, who took them and put the +sixpence in her hand. Fanny wished much to ask for one rose, but she +thought it would not be right to do so, when the lady had bought them +all: and she looked at them so very longingly that the lady asked if +she were sorry to part with them. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! no, ma'am," cried her friend, "she is not at all sorry—come now, +don't be a fool, child," she whispered, and led Fanny on. +</p> + +<p> +"That is a good bargain for you," she added as she went on; "that +spoiled little master has his own way, I think; it would be well for +you, and your grandmother too, if you could sell sixpenny worth of +flowers every day." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think I could, ma'am?" said Fanny, opening her hand and looking +at her sixpence, "this will buy something to do poor granny good; do +you think Mr. Simpson would give me a nosegay every day?" +</p> + +<p> +"If you were to pay him for it, he would," said her friend; "suppose +you were to go every morning about five o'clock, as many others do, and +buy some flowers, and then sell them at the market; you might earn +something, and that would be better than being idle, when poor Mrs. +Newton is not able to do for herself and you." +</p> + +<p> +So when Fanny got back, she gave her dear grandmother the sixpence. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord be praised!" said Mrs. Newton, "for I scarcely knew how I was +to get a loaf of bread for thee or myself to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +And then Fanny told her the plan she had formed about the flowers. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton was very sorry to think her dear child should be obliged to +stand in a market place, or in the public streets, to offer anything +for sale; but she said, "Surely it is Providence has opened this means +of gaining a little bread, while I am laid here unable to do anything; +and shall I not trust that Providence with the care of my darling +child?" +</p> + +<p> +So from this time forth little Fanny set off every morning before five +o'clock, to the nursery garden; and the nursery-man was very kind to +her, and always gave her the nicest flowers; and instead of sitting +down with the great girls, who went there also for flowers or +vegetables, and tying them up in bunches, Fanny put them altogether in +her little basket, and went away to her grandmother's room, and spread +them out on the little table that poor Mrs. Newton might see them, +while the sweet dew was yet sparkling on their bright leaves. +</p> + +<p> +Then she would tell how beautiful the garden looked at that sweet early +hour; and Mrs. Newton would listen with pleasure, for she loved a +garden. She used to say, that God placed man in a garden when he was +happy and holy; and when he was sinful and sorrowful, it was in a +garden that the blessed Saviour wept and prayed for the sin of the +world; and when his death had made atonement for that sin, it was in a +garden his blessed body was laid. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton taught Fanny many things from flowers; she was not a bad +teacher, in her own simple way, but Jesus Christ, who was the best +teacher the world ever had, instructed his disciples from vines and +lilies, corn and fruit, and birds, and all natural things around them. +</p> + +<p> +And while Fanny tied up her bunches of flowers, she would repeat some +verses from the Holy Scriptures, such as this, "O Lord, how manifold +are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of +thy riches." And afterwards she would repeat such pretty lines as +these:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Not worlds on worlds, in varied form,<br /> + Need we, to tell a God is here;<br /> + The daisy, saved from winter's storm,<br /> + Speaks of his hand in lines as clear.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "For who but He who formed the skies,<br /> + And poured the day-spring's living flood,<br /> + Wondrous alike in all He tries,<br /> + Could rear the daisy's simple bud!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,<br /> + Its fringed border nicely spin;<br /> + And cut the gold-embossed gem,<br /> + That, shrined in silver, shines within;<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "And fling it, unrestrained and free,<br /> + O'er hill, and dale, and desert sod,<br /> + That man, where'er he walks, may see,<br /> + In every step the trace of God."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p> +"And I, too, have had my daisy given to me," poor Mrs. Newton would +say, with tearful eyes, as she gazed on her little flower-girl; "I too +have my daisy, and though it may be little cared for in the world, or +trodden under foot of men, yet will it ever bear, I trust, the trace of +God." +</p> + +<p> +But it happened the very morning that the gentleman had given Fanny the +half-sovereign in mistake, Mrs. Newton's money was quite spent; and she +was much troubled, thinking the child must go the next morning to the +garden without money to pay for her flowers, for she did not think it +likely she would sell enough to buy what they required, and pay for +them also; so she told Fanny she must ask Mr. Simpson to let her owe +him for a day or two until she got a little money she expected. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny went therefore, and said this to the kind man at the garden; and +he put his hand on her head, and said, "My pretty little girl, you may +owe me as long as you please, for you are a good child, and God will +prosper you." +</p> + +<p> +So Fanny went back in great delight, and told this to Mrs. Newton; and +to cheer her still more, she chose for her morning verse, the advice +that our Lord gave to all those who were careful and troubled about the +things of this life "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; +they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you that +Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, +if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow +is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, oh ye of +little faith?" +</p> + +<p> +And then she repeated some verses which both she and Mrs. Newton liked +very much. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Lo! the lilies of the field,<br /> + How their leaves instruction yield!<br /> + Hark to nature's lesson, given<br /> + By the blessed birds of heaven.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Say with richer crimson glows,<br /> + The kingly mantle than the rose;<br /> + Say are kings more richly dressed,<br /> + Than the lily's glowing vest!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"Grandmother I forget the next verse," said Fanny, interrupting +herself; "I know it is something about lilies not spinning; but then +comes this verse— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we"—<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"It is not the lilies, grandmother, but the blessed birds that are +speaking now— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we,<br /> + Yet we carol joyously;<br /> + Mortals, fly from doubt and sorrow,<br /> + God provideth for the morrow."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Poor Mrs. Newton clasped her thin hands, and looked up, and prayed like +the disciples, "Lord, increase our faith!" +</p> + +<p> +"Eh!" said she, afterwards, "is it not strange that we can trust our +Lord and Saviour with the care of our souls for eternity, and we cannot +trust Him with that of our bodies for a day." +</p> + +<p> +Well! this was poor Mrs. Newton's state on that day, when the gentleman +gave Fanny the half-sovereign instead of sixpence, for her flowers. +</p> + +<p> +When the little flower-girl came back from her race with her two +sixpences, she found the old vegetable-seller had got her three or four +pennies more, by merely showing her basket, and telling why it was left +at his stall; and so every one left a penny for the honest child, and +hoped the gentleman would reward her well. The old man at the stall +said it was very shabby of him only to give her sixpence; but when she +went home with three sixpences and told Mrs. Newton this story, she +kissed her little girl very fondly, but said the gentleman was good to +give her sixpence, for he had no right to give her anything, she had +only done her duty. +</p> + +<p> +"But, grandmother," said Fanny, "when I saw that pretty half-sovereign +dropping down to his purse, I could not help wishing he would give it +to me." +</p> + +<p> +"And what commandment did you break then, my child?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not the eighth—if I had kept the half-sovereign I should have broken +it," said Fanny, "for that says, thou shalt not steal—what commandment +did I break, grandmother; for I did not steal?" +</p> + +<p> +"When we desire to have what is not ours Fanny, what do we do? we +covet; do we not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! yes—thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods," cried Fanny, +"that is the tenth commandment; and that half-sovereign was my +neighbor's goods, and that fat gentleman was my neighbor. But, +grandmother, it is very easy to break the tenth commandment." +</p> + +<p> +"Very easy indeed, my dear," said Mrs. Newton, with first a faint +smile, and then a deep sigh, "therefore," she added, "we ought always +to pray like David, 'Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity.'" +</p> + +<p> +There is a very common saying, that when things are at the worst they +mend. It is hard to say when matters are at the worst; poor Mrs. Newton +knew they might yet be worse with her; but certainly, they were very +bad; and a few days after this, as Fanny was tying up her flowers as +usual, she lay on her bed thinking what she was to do, and praying that +God would direct her to some way of providing for the poor child. +</p> + +<p> +While she was thinking and praying, tears stole down her face; Fanny +saw them, and stopped her work, and looked sorrowfully at her— +</p> + +<p> +"Now you are crying again, grandmother, she said," and that's what +makes me break the tenth commandment, for I can't help wishing the +gentleman had given me that half-sovereign. But I will say the verses +again to-day about the lilies and birds; for you know I said that +morning— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow,<br /> + God provideth for the morrow,'<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and when I came back with my three sixpences, you said God <i>had</i> +provided for the morrow, for you had only two or three pennies in the +house when I went out." +</p> + +<p> +"And how many pennies, pray, have you in the house to-day?" said a +rather gruff voice at the door. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton and Fanny started; but there, standing at the door, Fanny +saw the fat gentleman who had given her the half-sovereign. +</p> + +<p> +"So you have been wishing for my gold, you little rogue," he said, +looking as if he meant to frighten her. "Never mind," he added, +smiling, "you are a good child, and did what was right; and I always +meant to bring it back to you, but I have been kept rather busy these +few days past. There it is for you, and try not to break the tenth +commandment again." Then turning to Mrs. Newton, he said, "We should +not expect rewards, ma'am, for doing our duty, but if children do not +meet with approbation when they do right, they may be discouraged, and +perhaps think there is no use in being good: for they are silly little +creatures, you know, and do not always recollect that God will reward +the just one day if men do not." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! sir!" said poor Mrs. Newton, but the tears streamed down, and she +could not say a word more. And there Fanny sat gazing on the +half-sovereign, as if she was half stupefied. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, take up that bit of gold, and do what you like with it," said +the fat gentleman; "and then run off to sell your flowers, for we must +not be idle because we have got enough for to-day. But do what you like +with that money." +</p> + +<p> +Fanny rose up from her seat, and looking very much as if she was moving +in her sleep, with her wondering eyes fixed on the shining piece that +lay in her hand, she walked slowly over to Mrs. Newton, and putting it +into hers, said,— +</p> + +<p> +"May I go to the grocer's now, grandmother, and get you the tea for +your breakfast?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, my love," said Mrs. Newton, kissing her, "and take care of this, +and bring back the change carefully." Then turning to the gentleman, +she said, "I am not young, sir, and I am very, very poorly; I find it +hard to go without my tea, but it is a luxury I have been obliged +latterly to forego." +</p> + +<p> +"But could you not get tea on credit, from the grocer?" said the +gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! yes, I believe so; but there would be no use in getting credit;" +said Mrs. Newton, "for I am not certain of being better able to pay +next week than I am this week; and when I have not the money to pay for +what I wish to get, it is better to do without it, than to add to one's +anxieties by running in debt. Do you not think so, sir?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ma'am," said the old gentleman, sitting down, and resting his large +silver-topped stick between his knees, "it is of very little +consequence what I think; but if you wish to know this, I will tell you +that I think very well both of you and your little girl, who, as I have +heard, for I have made inquiries about you both, is a dependant on your +bounty. You have trained her up well, though I wouldn't praise the +child to her face; and so take as much tea as you like till you hear +from me again, and your grocer need be in no trouble about his bill." +</p> + +<p> +So after the fat gentleman had made this rather bluff, but +honest-hearted speech, and poor Mrs. Newton had wept, and thanked him +in language that sounded more polite, the good old gentleman told her +his whole history. +</p> + +<p> +He began the world very poor, and without relations able to assist him; +he was at last taken into the employment of a young merchant in the +city; he had a turn for business, and having been able to render some +important services to this young man, he was finally, to his own +surprise, and that of every one else, taken into partnership. +</p> + +<p> +"During all this time," said he, "I was attached from my boyhood to the +daughter of the poor schoolmaster who first taught me to read; I would +not marry her while I was poor, for I thought that would be to make her +wretched instead of happy; but when I was taken into partnership I +thought my way was clear; I went off to Bethnal Green, and told Mary, +and our wedding-day was settled at once. Well, we were glad enough, to +be sure; but a very few days after, my partner called me into the +private room, and said he wanted to consult me. He seemed in high +spirits, and he told me he had just heard of a famous speculation, by +which we could both make our fortunes at once. He explained what it +was, and I saw with shame and regret, that no really honest man could +join in it: I told him so; I told him plainly I would have nothing to +do with it. You may think what followed; the deeds of partnership were +not yet signed, and in short, in two or three days more I found myself +poor Jack Walton again—indeed, poorer than I was before I was made one +of the firm of Charters and Walton, for I had lost my employment. +</p> + +<p> +"Often and often I used to think that David said, he had never seen the +righteous forsaken; yet I was suffering while the unrighteous were +prospering. It was a sinful, and a self-righteous thought, and I was +obliged to renounce it; when, after some time of trial, a gentleman +sent for me—a man of wealth, and told me his son was going into +business on his own account; that he had heard of my character, and of +the cause of my leaving Mr. Charters; that he thought I would be just +such a steady person as he wished his son to be with. In short, I began +with him on a handsome salary; was soon made his partner; married Mary, +and had my snug house in the country. Mr. Charters succeeded in that +speculation; entered into several others, some of which were of a more +fraudulent nature, failed, and was ruined. He ran off to America, and +no one knows what became of him. I have left business some years. I +purchased a nice property in the country, built a Church upon it, and +have ever thanked God, who never forsakes those who wish to act +righteously. +</p> + +<p> +"It pleased God to take all my sweet children from me—every state has +its trials—the youngest was just like your little flower-girl." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton was much pleased with this story; she then told her own, +and little Fanny's. The fat gentleman's eyes were full of tears when +she ended; when he was going away he put another half-sovereign into +her hand, and saying, "The first was for the child," walked out of the +house. +</p> + +<p> +A short time afterwards, a clergyman came to see Mrs. Newton—she was +surprised; he sat and talked with her some time, and seemed greatly +pleased with her sentiments, and all she told him of herself and Fanny. +He then told her that he was the clergyman whom Mr. Walton, on the +recommendation of the bishop of the diocese, had appointed to the +church he had built; that Mr. Walton had sent him to see her, and had +told him, if he was satisfied with all he saw and heard, to invite Mrs. +Newton and the little flower-girl to leave London, and go and live in +one of the nice widows' houses, which good Mr. Walton had built, near +the pretty village where he lived. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was great joy in poor Mrs. Newton's humble abode; Mrs. +Newton was glad for Fanny's sake, and Fanny was glad for Mrs. Newton's +sake, so both were glad, and both said— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow,<br /> + God provideth for the morrow."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +But the only difference was, that Mrs. Newton said it with watery eyes +and clasped hands, lying on her bed and looking up to heaven; and +Fanny—merry little thing!—said it frisking and jumping about the +room, clapping her hands together, and laughing her joy aloud. +</p> + +<p> +Well, there was an inside place taken in the B—— coach, for Mrs. +Newton and Fanny; and not only that, but kind Mrs. Walton sent up her +own maid to London, to see that everything was carefully done, as the +poor woman was ill, and help to pack up all her little goods; and, with +her, she sent an entire new suit of clothes for the flower-girl. +</p> + +<p> +They set off, and when they got near to the village the coachman +stopped, and called out to know if it were the first, or the last of +the red cottages he was to stop at; and Mrs. Walton's maid said, "The +last,—the cottage in the garden." So they stopped at such a pretty +cottage, with a little garden before and behind it. Mr. Walton had +known what it was to be poor, and so, when he grew rich, he had built +these neat houses, for those who had been rich and become poor. They +were intended chiefly for the widows of men of business, whose +character had been good, but who had died without being able to provide +for their families. He had made an exception in Mrs. Newton's case, and +gave her one of the best houses, because it had a pretty garden, which +he thought others might not care for so much. +</p> + +<p> +They went inside, and there was such a neat kitchen, with tiles as red +as tiles could be; a little dresser, with all sorts of useful things; a +nice clock ticking opposite the fire-place, and a grate as bright as +blacklead could make it. And then there was such a pretty little room +at one side, with a rose tree against the window; and a little shelf +for books against the wall; and a round table, and some chairs, and an +easy couch. And there were two nice bedrooms overhead; and, better than +all these, was a pretty garden. Oh! how happy was the little +flower-girl; and how thankful was poor Mrs. Newton! The first thing she +did was to go down on her knees and thank God. +</p> + +<p> +Then Fanny was to go to the school, for Mrs. Walton had her own school, +as well as the national school; but Fanny did not know enough to go to +it, so she was sent to the national school first, and afterwards she +went to the other, where about a dozen girls were instructed in all +things that would be useful to them through life—whether they were to +earn their bread at service, or to live in their own homes as +daughters, wives, or mothers. +</p> + +<p> +But every morning, before she went out, she did everything for her +dear, good grandmother. She made her breakfast; she arranged her room; +and she gathered some fresh flowers in the garden, and put them on the +table in the little parlor. Oh! how happy was Fanny when she looked +back, and saw how nice everything looked, and then went out singing to +her school— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we,<br /> + Yet we carol joyously;<br /> + Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow,<br /> + God provideth for the morrow."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +But God will not provide for the morrow, where people will do nothing +to provide for themselves; and so Fanny, the flower-girl, knew, for +surely God had blessed the labor of her childish hands. +</p> + +<p> +Thus passed time away; and Fanny, under the instruction that she had at +church, at school, and at home, "grew in grace, and in the knowledge +and love of God, and of Jesus Christ our Lord." +</p> + +<p> +Good Mrs. Newton was much better in health, and used to walk about +sometimes without any support but Fanny's arm, and so time went on till +Fanny came to be about fifteen; and then Mrs. Newton, who was not +always free from "doubt and sorrow," began to think what was to become +of her if she were to die. +</p> + +<p> +So one day, when kind Mr. Walton, whom Fanny used once to call the fat +gentleman, came in to see her, Mrs. Newton told him that she was +beginning to feel anxious that Fanny should be put in a way of earning +her own bread, in case she should be taken from her. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Walton listened to her, and then he said,— +</p> + +<p> +"You are very right and prudent, Mrs. Newton, but never mind that; I +have not forgotten my little flower-girl, and her race after me that +hot morning; if you were dead, I would take care of her; and if we both +were dead, Mrs. Walton would take care of her; and if Mrs. Walton were +dead, God would take care of her. I see you cannot yet learn the little +lines she is so fond of— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow,<br /> + God provideth for the morrow.'"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Well, not very long after this conversation came a very warm day, and +in all the heat of the sun came Mr. Walton, scarcely able to breathe, +into Mrs. Newton's cottage; he was carrying his hat in one hand, and a +newspaper in the other, and his face was very red and hot. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Mrs. Newton," said he, "what is all this about?—I can't make it +out; here is your name in the paper!" +</p> + +<p> +"My name, sir!" said Mrs. Newton, staring at the paper. +</p> + +<p> +"Aye, indeed is it," said Mr. Walton, putting on his spectacles, and +opening the paper at the advertisement side,—"see here!" +</p> + +<p> +And he began to read,— +</p> + +<p> +"If Mrs. Newton, who lived about fifteen years ago near the turnpike on +the P—— road, will apply to Messrs. Long and Black, she will hear of +something to her advantage. Or should she be dead, any person who can +give information respecting her and her family, will be rewarded." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton sat without the power of speech—so much was she surprised; +at last she said, "It is Fanny's father!—I know, I am sure it can be +no one else!" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Walton looked surprised, for he had never thought of this; he was +almost sorry to think his little flower-girl should have another +protector. At length he said it must be as Mrs. Newton thought, and he +would go up to London himself next day, and see Mr. Long and Mr. Black. +So he went; and two days afterwards, when Fanny had returned from Mrs. +Walton's school, and was sitting with Mrs. Newton in the little shady +arbor they had made in the garden, and talking over early days, when +they used to sit in another arbor, and Fanny used to learn her first +lessons from flowers, then came Mr. Walton walking up the path towards +them, and with him was a fine-looking man, of about forty-five years of +age. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Newton trembled, for when she looked in his face she remembered +the features; and she said to herself, "Now, if he takes my Fanny from +me?—and if he should be a bad man?" But when this man came nearer, he +stepped hastily beyond Mr. Walton, and catching Mrs. Newton's hands, he +was just going to drop on his knees before her, when he saw Fanny +staring at him; and a father's feelings overcame every other, and with +a cry of joy he extended his arms, and exclaiming "my child!'—my +child!" caught her to his breast. +</p> + +<p> +Then there followed so much talk, while no one knew scarcely what was +saying; and it was Mr. Walton, chiefly, that told how Fanny's father +had had so much to struggle against, and so much hardship to go +through, but how he had succeeded at last, and got on very well; now he +had tried then to find out Mrs. Newton and his dear little Fanny, but +could not, because Mrs. Newton had changed her abode; how, at last, he +had met with a good opportunity to sell his land, and had now come over +with the money he had earned, to find his child, and repay her kind +benefactor. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, what a happy evening was that in the widow's cottage! the widow's +heart sang for joy. The widow, and she that had always thought herself +an orphan, were ready to sing together— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow,<br /> + God provideth for the morrow."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Mrs. Newton found that Mr. Marsden, that was the name of Fanny's +father, was all that she could desire Fanny's father to be:—a +Christian in deed and in truth; one thankful to God and to her, for the +preservation and care of his child; and who would not willingly +separate Fanny from her, or let her leave Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +As he found Mrs. Newton did not wish to leave kind Mr. Walton's +neighborhood, and that his daughter was attached to it also, Mr. +Marsden took some land and a nice farm-house, not far from the Manor +House, where Mr. Walton lived. He had heard all about the +half-sovereign, and loved his little flower-girl before he saw her. +</p> + +<p> +So Mrs. Newton had to leave her widow's house; and she shed tears of +joy, and regret, and thankfulness, as she did so; she had been happy +there, and had had God's blessing upon her and her dear girl. +</p> + +<p> +But Fanny was glad to receive her dear, dear grandmother into her own +father's house; her own house too; and she threw her arms round the old +lady's neck, when they got there, and kissed her over and over again, +and said, "Ah! grandmother, do you recollect when I was a little girl +tying up my flowers while you lay sick in bed, I used to say so often— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow,<br /> + God provideth for the morrow.'"<br /> +</p> + +<p> +They had a large garden at the farm-house, and Fanny and Mrs. Newton +improved it; and Mrs. Newton would walk out, leaning on Fanny's arm, +and look at the lilies and roses, and jessamine, and mignonette, and +talk of past times, and of their first garden, and their first flowers, +and of their first knowledge of the God who made them; who watches the +opening bud, and the infant head; who sends his rain upon the plant, +and the dew of his blessing upon the child who is taught to know and +love Him. And Fanny's father, when he joined them, talked over his +trials and dangers from the day that his poor wife lay dead, and his +helpless baby lay in his arms, and then he blessed the God who had led +him all his life long, and crowned him with loving-kindness. +</p> + +<p> +Three years passed, and Fanny, the little flower-girl, was a fine young +woman. A farmer's son in the neighborhood wished to get her for his +wife; but her father was very sorry to think of her leaving him so soon +for another home. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke to Fanny about it, and said,—"My dear girl, I have no right +to expect you should wish to stay with me, for I never was able to +watch over your childhood or to act a father's part by you." +</p> + +<p> +And Fanny answered, with a blush and smile, "And I, father, was never +able to act a daughter's part by you until now, and therefore I think +you have every right to expect I should do so for some time longer. I +have no objections to be Charles Brierley's wife, and I have told him +so; but we are both young, and at all events I will not leave you." +</p> + +<p> +"Now," said Mrs. Newton, who was sitting by, "instead of that young man +taking more land, which is very dear about here, would it not be a good +plan if he were to come and live with you, Mr. Marsden, and help you +with the farm." +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. Marsden said, "That is the very thing; I will go and speak to +him about it; and Fanny and her husband can have the house, and farm, +and all, as much as they please now, and entirely at my death." +</p> + +<p> +So it was all settled; and Fanny was married at the village church, and +Mr. and Mrs. Walton were at the wedding. Good Mrs. Newton lived on at +the farm-house, and when Fanny's first child was born, it was put into +her arms. Then she thought of the time when Fanny herself was laid in +the same arms; and she blessed God in her heart, who had enabled her to +be of use to one human creature, and to one immortal soul and mind, +while she passed through this life to the life everlasting. +</p> + +<p> +Joy and sorrow are always mingled on this earth; so it came to pass +that before Fanny's first child could walk alone, good, kind Mrs. +Newton died, and was buried. As a shock of corn cometh in, in its +season, so she sank to rest, and was gathered into the garner of her +Lord. But— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "The memory of the just<br /> + Is blessed, though they sleep in dust;"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and Fanny's children, and children's children, will learn to love that +memory. +</p> + +<p> +Many a day, sitting at work in her garden, with her little ones around +her, Fanny let them gather some flowers, and talk to her about them; +and then they would beg, as a reward for good conduct, that she would +tell them about her dear grandmother and her own childish days; and +much as children love to hear stories, never did any more delight in a +story, than did these children, in the story of Fanny, the Flower-Girl. +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +Convenient Food. +</h3> + +<p> +Little Frances was crying; her sister Mary hearing her sobs, ran in +haste to inquire what had happened; and saw her sitting in a corner of +the nursery, looking rather sulky, as if she had recently received some +disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +"What is the matter, dear little Frances? why do you cry so?" +</p> + +<p> +Frances pouted, and would make no reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me, dear Frances; perhaps I can do something for you." +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, Mary," she sobbed, "only"— +</p> + +<p> +"Only what, little Frances? It cannot be <i>nothing</i> that makes you cry +so bitterly." +</p> + +<p> +"Only mamma would not give—" she looked a little ashamed, and did not +finish her sentence. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>What</i> would she not give?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing." +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing!" Frances shook her elbows, as if troubled by Mary's +inquiries, but the tears continued flowing down her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Just at that moment their sister Anne came into the room, singing in +the joy of her heart, with a piece of plum-cake in her hand, holding it +up, and turning it about before her sisters to exhibit her +newly-acquired possession, on which Frances fixed her eyes with eager +gaze, and the tears flowed still faster, accompanied with a kind of +angry sob. +</p> + +<p> +"Frances! what is the matter that you are crying so? see what I have +got! you will spoil all the happiness of our feast." +</p> + +<p> +</p> + +<p> +At the word <i>feast</i>, Frances' tears seemed arrested, and her mouth +looked as if she were going to smile. She left the corner, and +immediately prepared to do her part for the feast, setting a little +square table, and then, drawing her own little stool, seated herself in +readiness as a guest. +</p> + +<p> +"Stay," said Anne, "we will make some little paper dishes and plates, +and divide the cake;" so saying, she began the operation, and laying +down the paper dishes, "there at the top, see! there shall be two +chickens, at the bottom a piece of beef, at one side some potatoes, and +at the other some cauliflower;" breaking her cake into small pieces to +correspond to her imagined provision. +</p> + +<p> +Frances looked very impatient at the long preparation, and as Anne +seated herself, inviting Mary to partake, Frances stretched out her +hand to take the beef for her own portion. +</p> + +<p> +"No, no, Frances, you must not help yourself, you know; wait until we +all begin in order." +</p> + +<p> +Frances very reluctantly withdrew her hand, and, whilst she waited, +betrayed her impatience by a little jerking motion of the body, that +threw her breast against the table, as if she would beat time into +quicker motion. +</p> + +<p> +"O we must not forget William!" Anne exclaimed; "where is he? he must +taste our feast; stay here, Mary, with Frances, and I will go and find +him." +</p> + +<p> +Away she ran, and left poor Frances in a fret at this additional delay, +but she began to amuse herself by picking up the small crumbs that had +been scattered on the stool, and at last proceeded to touch the beef +and chickens. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not do so, Frances," Mary said, in a reproving voice. +</p> + +<p> +Frances colored. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not sit <i>looking</i> on, if you are so impatient; employ yourself, and +get a seat ready for William." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i> may get it, Mary." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well; only do not meddle with Anne's feast." +</p> + +<p> +Mary had to go into another room for the seat, and whilst she was away, +Frances quickly helped herself to half of the pieces which were on the +dishes, and, when Mary returned, resumed her position as if nothing had +happened. Mary was so busy in arranging the seats, that she did not +observe what had been done. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Anne came back, accompanied by her brother William; hastening +to her place, and looking on her table, she started with surprise, and +seemed to say to herself, as she gazed, How came I to make a mistake, +an think my pieces of cake were larger? but the expression of her face +called Mary's attention, who at once said, +</p> + +<p> +"Anne, I am sure you placed larger pieces on your dishes." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, I thought so, Mary; who has taken any?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know." +</p> + +<p> +"O you are only <i>pretending</i>, and you have been hiding some." +</p> + +<p> +"No, Anne; I would not have said I do not know, if I had <i>hid</i> it." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no more you would, dear Mary. Never mind," she said, glancing a +look at Frances, not altogether without suspicion, "it is only to +<i>play</i> with, it does not signify whether it is much or little. +</p> + +<p> +"William, shall I help you to a little chicken?" +</p> + +<p> +"O no, Anne, you have forgot, help the <i>ladies</i> first; and beside, you +ought to have placed me at the bottom of the table to carve this dish. +What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Beef, William." +</p> + +<p> +"O beef, very well. Come, Miss Frances, let me sit there, and you come +to the side of the table." +</p> + +<p> +In haste to begin the eating part of the play, she rose immediately to +change places, when, to her disgrace, a quantity of crumbs, which had +lodged unobserved in a fold of her frock, fell out, and disordered the +neatness of the table. +</p> + +<p> +"There!" said William, "we have no question to ask who took the liberty +to lessen the dishes." +</p> + +<p> +"For shame, William, I—" +</p> + +<p> +"O Frances, take care what you say, tell no falsehoods; I will tell one +truth, and say you are a greedy girl." +</p> + +<p> +Frances began to cry again, "For shame, William, to call me names." +</p> + +<p> +"I call no names, I only say what I think, and how can I help it, when +it is only just now you cried so, because you said mamma had given me a +larger piece of cake than yourself; for you must know," he continued, +turning to Mary, "we have both had one piece before, and she half of +mine to make her quiet; and then she cried again because a piece was +put by for you and Anne, and she cannot be contented now, though Anne +shares hers amongst us. If this is not being greedy, I do not know what +greedy means. It is no names, it is only saying what a thing is." +</p> + +<p> +"Now I know another thing," said Anne; "when mamma called me to receive +my piece of cake, she said, 'And you shall take a piece also to Mary,' +but when she unfolded the paper, there was only <i>one</i> piece; mamma did +not say anything, but I think she <i>thought</i> something." +</p> + +<p> +At this remark, Frances redoubled her crying, but, for the sake of a +share of the present feast, did not attempt to leave the party. No more +was said, and the feast was concluded in good humor by all except the +conscious greedy girl, and they then all went into the garden together +to finish their hour's recreation before they were called again to +their lessons. +</p> + +<p> +There was a little plantation of young fir-trees at one corner of the +garden, intended to grow there for shelter from the north-west wind: +the grass was so high amongst them, that the gardener had orders to go +and carefully mow it down. He was engaged in the business when the +children ran out to see him work. +</p> + +<p> +"Hush! hush!" he exclaimed, as they approached, "I have just cleared a +bough from the grass, and see what's there!" +</p> + +<p> +All curiosity, they went forward on tip-toe, and were directed to +something lodged on the spreading branch of a young larch. +</p> + +<p> +"A bird's nest!" said William. +</p> + +<p> +"A bird's nest!" they all repeated. "But what is in it, I cannot tell." +</p> + +<p> +"Look steadily," said the gardener, "and you will find out." +</p> + +<p> +It was difficult to trace what it was; something all in a heap, brown +naked skin; alive, as might be known by the heaving breathing. William +putting his finger to touch them, immediately four wide mouths +stretched open, with little tongues raised, and the opening of their +throats extended to the utmost. +</p> + +<p> +"Look at the little things," said William; "they thought their mother +was come when I touched the branch, and they have opened their mouths +to be ready to receive what she would put in. +</p> + +<p> +"They are <i>blind</i>!" said William. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, they cannot have been hatched more than two days." +</p> + +<p> +"Will they take what the mother gives them?" asked William. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said the man, "they trust her, and swallow down what she puts +into their mouths." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish the mother would come," said Anne. +</p> + +<p> +"But she will not whilst we are here," William replied. +</p> + +<p> +"Touch it again, William," said Frances. +</p> + +<p> +William touched the edge of the nest "See!" said he, "they think the +mother is come, they stretch, their months still wider." +</p> + +<p> +"Hark!" said Mary, "what an impatient noise they make: they look ready +to stretch themselves out of their nest, and as if their little mouths +would tear." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor little things! do not disappoint them, give them something," said +Anne. +</p> + +<p> +"We have not proper food for them," said William. +</p> + +<p> +"I will run and fetch some crumbs," said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Mary soon returned with a piece of bread, and giving it to her brother +as the most experienced, he broke it into extremely small crumbs, and, +again touching the nest, awakened the expectation of the young birds: +they opened their mouths wide, and as he dropped a small crumb into +each, they moved their tongues, trying to make it pass down into their +throat. "Poor little things, they cannot swallow well, they want the +mother to put it gently down their throat with her beak." +</p> + +<p> +"See! see!" said all the girls, "they want more, give them more." +</p> + +<p> +William dropped his crumbs again. +</p> + +<p> +"More, more, William; see! they are not satisfied." +</p> + +<p> +"I dare not give them more for fear of killing them, we cannot feed +them like the mother. We will stand still at a little distance, and you +will see them go to sleep." When all was quiet, the little nestlings +shut their mouths, and dropped their heads. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to see the mother feed them." +</p> + +<p> +"You would see how much better she would do it than we can; perhaps, if +we could conceal ourselves behind that laurel, she would come, but she +will be very frightened, because all is so altered now the grass is cut +down, and her nest is exposed; but I dare say she is not for off, she +will be watching somewhere." +</p> + +<p> +They took William's hint, and retreated behind the laurel; they had not +waited ten minutes, before the hen bird flitted past, and, darting over +the larch, as if to inspect whether her little brood was safe, she +disappeared again. In a few minutes more, she returned, skimming round +to reconnoitre that all was safe, she perched upon the nest. Instantly +the little nestlings were awake to the summons of her touch and chirp, +and, opening their mouths wide, were ready for what she would give. She +dropt a small fly into the mouth of one of them, and, having no more, +flew away to provide for the other hungry mouths as fast as she could. +As soon as she was gone, they again shut their mouths, and dropt their +heads in silence. +</p> + +<p> +"What a little bit she gave them," said Frances. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," answered William, "but she knows it is <i>plenty</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"How contented the others seem to wait till she comes again!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Mary," William again answered, unable to resist the comparison +which had come to his mind, "they did not take the little bit away from +the other. Shall we wait till she comes again?" +</p> + +<p> +"O do." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well, I want to see whether the one that was fed first will take +away the bit the others got." +</p> + +<p> +The allusion made a little laugh, but, seeing that Frances understood +and felt that it applied to her, Anne said, "Do not let us tease +Frances; it is better to tell her at once what her fault is, than to +seem to like to hurt her." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, dear Anne, I have not spared to tell her, her fault, as she +knows very well, for she has often given me reason, but I cannot make +her ashamed of such things; and I know mamma is very uneasy to see it +in her." +</p> + +<p> +Frances looked grave, but did not cry; turning pale, however, she said, +"O Mary take me out of this laurel—I am so sick!" +</p> + +<p> +Mary hastened to take her into the freer air, but all in vain. The +sisters were alarmed, and took her in to their mamma; who received her +gravely, without expressing any concern for her indisposition. +</p> + +<p> +"What can we do for Frances, mamma? Will you let her have your smelling +bottle, or shall I run and get some sal volatile?" +</p> + +<p> +"Neither, my dear Mary; it is an indisposition caused by her own +selfish appetite, and probably the relief may be obtained by her +stomach rejecting what she so improperly forced upon it. We will wait a +short time, and if not, I will give her something less palatable, +perhaps, than plum-cake, but necessary to remove it." +</p> + +<p> +Frances was too ill to make any remark; she became paler still, and +then quickly flushed almost a crimson color, her eyes were oppressed, +and her eyebrows contracted, and she impatiently complained, +</p> + +<p> +"O my head! how it beats! What shall I do, mamma?" +</p> + +<p> +"Bear the consequences of your own inordinate appetite, Frances, and +learn to subject it to the wholesome rules of temperance." +</p> + +<p> +"O the nasty plum-cake! I wish you had not given me any, mamma." +</p> + +<p> +"You <i>once</i> thought the plum-cake <i>nice</i>, and you would not be +contented with the small portion I knew to be sufficient and safe for +you." +</p> + +<p> +"O my head! I think it is very cruel, mamma, that you do not pity me." +</p> + +<p> +"I do pity you, Frances, and will take care of you now that I see you +require help, as I perceive that you will not have any relief without +medicine." +</p> + +<p> +Frances began again to cry, "O, I am so sick! I cannot take medicine. I +am sure I cannot." +</p> + +<p> +"Come to your room, Frances; I shall give you something proper, and you +had better lie down after you have taken it; you will, perhaps, drop +into a sleep, and be well when you awake again." Her mamma took her +hand and led her up stairs, and Frances knew very well it was in vain +to make any objection, as her mamma always made a point of obedience. +The medicine was administered, although for some time Frances refused +to look at it. When she laid down, her mamma placed the pillow high +under her head, and, drawing the curtain to shade the light, left the +room that she might be perfectly quiet. And when she returned to the +drawing-room, she inquired of the other children what they had been +doing, and received a full account of the feast, and the bird's nest, +and all the little circumstances of each. +</p> + +<p> +It was time to resume their studies, and, except that Frances was not +in her usual place, all things proceeded as before. When the lessons +were finished, they entreated their mamma to go with them, and see the +bird's nest." +</p> + +<p> +"It is <i>so</i> pretty, mamma!" said Anne; "and they know when the mother +comes, and they take what she puts into their mouths." +</p> + +<p> +"We will first inquire after Frances," she answered; "if she is well +enough, she can accompany us." +</p> + +<p> +"I will run up, if you will be putting on your bonnet and shawl, mamma." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well, I hope you will find her recovered, we will wait your +return." +</p> + +<p> +Anne soon returned,—"She is gone! I do not see her anywhere!" +</p> + +<p> +"Gone! In perhaps we shall find her at play in the garden." +</p> + +<p> +In this expectation they all went out, and as they drew near the spot +where the nest was, they saw Frances looking very eagerly into the +nest, and seeming to be in some agitation, then she threw something out +of her hand, and ran away as if wanting not to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +"She is about some mischief," William said, and ran forward to the +nest. But what was his grief to see one of the little birds dead on the +ground, two others in the nest with pieces of bread sticking in their +mouths, gasping, unable to swallow or reject it, and the fourth with +its crop gorged, and slowly moving its little unfledged head from side +to side, struggling in death. +</p> + +<p> +Full of sympathy with the little sufferer, and indignant with Frances, +he exclaimed, "Provoking girl! she has stuffed the little creatures as +she would like to stuff herself; and I believe she has killed them all." +</p> + +<p> +The lively interest the other children had in the nest, impelled them +to hasten to the spot, and their lamentations, and even tears, soon +flowed. +</p> + +<p> +"William, William, cannot you do anything for them? do try." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, stand still and do not shake my arm—so saying, he began the +attempt, and drew the bread carefully out of the distended mouths of +the two. +</p> + +<p> +"Now the other! the other, William!" +</p> + +<p> +"That I cannot help," he answered: "see! she has forced it down, and we +cannot get it back again; it is dying now." +</p> + +<p> +Anne picked up the dead one from off the ground, and stroking it with +her forefinger, "Poor little thing!" she said, "was she so cruel to +you!" +</p> + +<p> +It was not long before they heard a rustling in the tree near the +place, and then a chirp of fright and distress. "Ah!" said their mamma, +"there is the mother! poor things, we will go a little distance to let +her come to the nest; perhaps she will be able to save the two." +</p> + +<p> +They all withdrew, and the little parent bird was soon on her nest, +fluttering and chirping to awaken the dead and dying little ones, till +at length she sorrowfully brooded down on her nest, and spread her +wings over them, occasionally chirping as if to solicit an answer from +her little brood. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" said Mary, bursting into tears, "I cannot bear it! cruel Frances, +to be so unkind to the little birds!" +</p> + +<p> +"Go and find Frances," said their mamma, "and bring her to me." +</p> + +<p> +"I will go," William answered, "I think I know where she will hide +herself." +</p> + +<p> +It was not long before William returned, leading Frances, who very +reluctantly yielded to accompany him. +</p> + +<p> +"Come here," said her mamma, stopping the accusations she saw were +ready to overwhelm the offending little girl; "come here, and let me +talk to you about this sad thing you have done to the little birds. Do +you see what you have done by your ill-judged kindness?" +</p> + +<p> +"Kindness! mamma," they all exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, dear children, she has been very faulty, but I believe she meant +to be kind, and through ignorance did this thing which proves the death +of the birds. <i>You</i> would not have done it, William, because you have +already learnt there is such a thing as a necessary prudence to deal +out your morsels with wisdom, and in a measure suited to the age and +the capacity of the birds, and also that their food should be of a +wholesome kind suitable to their nature. Nothing of this did Frances +know, and it seems she had not learnt wisdom from the circumstances she +had herself so lately fallen into. +</p> + +<p> +"It reminds me of the scripture, which teaches us to profit: 'Open thy +mouth wide, and I will fill it.' These little birds first attracted +your attention by their <i>open mouths</i>, which they had stretched to +receive what their poor mother was preparing to put into them. As one +lighted on the edge of their nest, they instinctively opened their +little yellow-edged beaks; she delighted to see them do so; and they, +taking with content what she had provided for them, with the utmost +confidence swallowed it down. She had a bit for every one of them in +turn and they waited patiently until it was given them. All was well +whilst they were nourished with parental tenderness and prudence, and +none other meddled with them, or ventured to give them other things, +which they, being blind, received and knew not the hand that gave, nor +the consequences of eating food not such as their parent would have +provided. +</p> + +<p> +"Here you see Frances, neither prudent nor aware of consequences, has +stuffed these little birds with improper food, both in quality and +quantity. The consequences are fatal; one is dead, another is dying, +and it is very uncertain whether the others also will not die. She fed +them without measure, and their crops and throats were gorged so as to +stop their breathing. They took it greedily, because they knew not the +fatal consequences. +</p> + +<p> +"Frances, you are a greedy girl. You had been suffering for this +offence, and had not the wisdom to leave it to me to apportion your +food. You opened your mouth wide, but you must remember it is not +written that <i>you</i> are to fill it according to your own desires. 'I +will fill it,' saith the Lord. He knows what is good for us, and he +will measure his bounty according to his own wisdom." +</p> + +<p> +Frances began to look ashamed and sorrowful. +</p> + +<p> +"I was to you," her mamma continued, "in the affair of the cake, +endeavoring to fulfil this my duty, but you rebelled against my +discretion, and would covet more than was right. You <i>helped yourself</i>, +you gorged your stomach. You were cross and peevish, and ill, and when +the medicine had relieved you, as it was designed, you, without +reflection, sallied forth and suffocated the little birds. You could +not feed them as the <i>mother</i> would. You could not find in the air and +on the ground the little insects, and small worms and little grains +which were their proper food, and you should have left it to their own +mother to fill their opened mouths. <i>She</i> would have made no mistake +either in the quality or quantity <i>convenient</i> for them." +</p> + +<p> +"O," Mary said, "how that reminds me of the scripture in Proverbs xxx. +8: 'Feed me with food <i>convenient</i> for me.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, my dear girl, it's a scripture of great importance and often does +it impress my mind in combination with the other I mentioned, Ps. +lxxxi. 10: 'Open thy mouth wide, and <i>I</i> will fill it,' in their +spiritual application, when I am providing for you, and dividing out +your portions, and considering what diet is most suited to your +constitution, and limiting the quantity of dainty or rich luxuries not +<i>convenient</i> for you. I am also frequently led to apply it to myself, +and to offer my petition to the Lord that he will graciously judge for +me, both temporally and spiritually to <i>fill</i> my mouth, and feed me +with food <i>convenient</i> for me." +</p> + +<p> +"I think too, mamma, that there is some meaning belonging to this in +our Lord's teaching us to pray, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' +Matt. vi. 11." +</p> + +<p> +"Assuredly, my dear child, and I am rejoiced to find you are led by +this subject to compare spiritual things with spiritual. +</p> + +<p> +"You see how the word of God interprets itself, and we are taught to go +direct to the bounteous hand who giveth liberally, but never wastefully +Our daily bread is sufficient for the day, and we must wait on him +still for the daily bread of the succeeding day; so we are instructed +to open our mouths wide to ask the Lord to fulfil his promise and to +fill them, and to be contented with convenient food." +</p> + +<p> +"O Mamma, you cannot think how many scriptures seem to come to my mind, +and to give me a clearer understanding. You know the manna which was +given in the wilderness, was <i>convenient</i> food when it was gathered +daily as the Lord commanded, but when they laid it up, you know it was +no longer <i>convenient,</i> for it stunk and bred worms. Does not this +teach us to trust God as well as not to <i>disobey</i> him?" +</p> + +<p> +"May this ready application of the word of God proceedeth from that +grace, my child, which teaches you, like Job, to esteem the word of God +more than your necessary food, for you will also remember what our Lord +said to the tempter, 'It is written, Man does not live by <i>bread +alone,</i> but <i>by every word</i> that proceeded out of the mouth of God.' +But we are too apt to forget this, and to imagine that we can provide +well for ourselves by fulfilling the desires and lusts of the flesh, +and by so doing, we are likely to be brought to <i>forget</i> God, the +bountiful and wise Supplier of all our wants." +</p> + +<p> +"I remember the text, mamma, which has in it, 'Feed me with food +<i>convenient</i> for me; and in another part, 'lest I be full and deny +thee,' Prov. xxx. 9; and this little bird's nest has helped me to +understand it better." +</p> + +<p> +"May the Holy Spirit engrave it on your heart, for it will often remind +you of the thankful contentedness with which you ought to wait on the +Lord." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mamma," William said, "but there is no harm, you know, in opening +the mouth <i>wide</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"No, William, certainly no <i>harm</i>, for it is a <i>duty</i>. 'Open thy mouth +wide,' is an injunction of God, but it is immediately subjoined and +strictly said, 'and I will fill it.' Therefore bear in mind the double +instruction. Neither take the filling on yourself, nor be ready to +swallow every crude and unwholesome morsel which the ignorant or the +wicked would present to you. Do you remember a certain day last week +when something happened?" +</p> + +<p> +William looked anxious to recollect what his mamma alluded to, and in +less than a minute he shook his head, and said, "Ah, mamma, that is too +bad, you mean when Mrs. Arnot called, and you were out." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes I do, William; you all opened your mouths wide, and <i>she</i> filled +them. Her sweet things did not prove <i>convenient</i> food. You see, +therefore, we should learn to discriminate between a heavenly Father's +provision, and that of a stranger, whose busy interference may cost you +your life. I was not many minutes away from my little nest, when a +stranger came, and, by mistaken kindness made you all ill. +</p> + +<p> +"Frances, have you never read that scripture: 'Put a knife to thy +throat, if thou be a man given to appetite.'" +</p> + +<p> +Frances cried, and, sobbing, said, "I do not know what it means?" +</p> + +<p> +"What can it mean, my dear Frances, but parallel with those, 'If thy +right eye offend thee, pluck it out if thy right hand offend thee, cut +it off. It is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, than, +having two hands or two feet, to be cast into everlasting fire,' Matt. +xvvi. 29, 30. ii. 8, 9. It means that spirit which will sacrifice the +lust of the heart, and deny itself, though it should be a present +mortification. The <i>throat</i> of an inordinate or diseased appetite is to +be cut, and its carnal desires crucified." +</p> + +<p> +"Was it not something of this kind that Isaac fell into when he sent +Esau to hunt venison, and make him savory meat, such as his soul loved? +Gen. xxvii. 4." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, William, and this very thing he desired presented the temptation +by which he was deceived. And you might have mentioned, too, how Esau +himself yielded to his appetite, and sold his birthright for a mess of +pottage, Gen. xxv. 29. When we yield to these propensities of the +flesh, we lay a snare for our own souls, and expose our weakness to an +adversary, ever ready to take advantage of our infirmity. It is a +common fault in children to desire with greedy appetite such food as is +pernicious, and to wish for more than even a mouth opened wide +requires—till at length they learn to lust after <i>forbidden</i> things. +And what does it lead to? Frances, you began to pick and steal, and +your own iniquity chastised you:—you were sick and ill." +</p> + +<p> +Frances hid her face in her frock. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah mamma," said Anne, "I shall be afraid of wanting anything, as I +used to do; and I hope I shall remember how much better you can feed +me, than I can feed myself." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish I may too," said William. "If Eve had but waited for the Lord +only to fill her mouth, she would not have eaten that which brought sin +and death." +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me, Frances, if you feel the force of all we have learnt from the +little birds, and your own mistaken idea of what would be good for +them?" +</p> + +<p> +Frances did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +"But you know, my child, you were guilty of another fault; when the +medicine was offered, which was likely to do you good,—you <i>refused</i> +to open your mouth, and was long before you would let me fill it, so +you see we must leave it all to the Lord to give us much or little, +bitter or sweet, just as he knows to be <i>convenient</i> for us." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," Mary said, "these poor little birds will long teach us a lesson. +We may imitate them to open our mouth wide, but we must be warned by +what happened to them, to let the <i>Lord</i> only fill them." +</p> + +<p> +"Let us look again at the nest." They approached, and frightened the +mother so, that she flew off. +</p> + +<p> +"See, see! William," said Anne, "the two little things are opening +their mouths again. O how beautiful! let us never meddle with them any +more. Only remember, 'Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.' Now, +Frances, do not cry any more: come, we will bury these little dead +birds." +</p> + +<p> +Frances wiped her eyes, and Anne giving her a kiss, they went away to +do as she proposed. After they had made a little coffin, they put the +two little dead birds into it Then William got a spade, and dug a grave +just large enough to hold the little coffin: and, as he lowered it into +the grave, Mary wiped away the tears which gathered in her eyes. When +William had filled up the grave, they all returned to their mamma, who +said— +</p> + +<p> +"My dear children, do not let us dismiss this interesting subject +without a closer application. My dear Frances, come near to me, and +hear what I have to say." +</p> + +<p> +Frances drew near with some timidity. Conscious of her faults, and +expecting the word of truth to be directed to her heart, she had at +that moment rather have escaped from it. But her mamma, taking her +hands into hers, and sitting down on a garden stool that was nigh, she +felt that the words would be words of love, aid her heart beginning to +soften, the tears were ready to flow, for she knew that her mamma would +speak to her of Jesus and of his blood, which was shed for sinners. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know quite well, my child, that among the fruits of the Spirit +enumerated, Gal. v., there is one called TEMPERANCE?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mamma," she replied. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you not also conscious, my dear child, that your desire of +indulging your appetite is quite contrary to this holy fruit?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mamma." +</p> + +<p> +"Then what are you to do in order to overcome the one, and to obtain +the other?" +</p> + +<p> +"I must ask the Lord Jesus to give me the Holy Spirit." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, my child, to him must you come for all help, and he will not send +you empty away. Here is a subject on which you must indeed open your +mouth wide, in earnest prayer, and wait on the Lord for his gracious +answer. 'Ask, and ye shall receive,' he says, and after showing how an +<i>earthly</i> father will act towards his child that asks for bread, how +does he conclude?" +</p> + +<p> +"He says, 'How much <i>more</i> will your <i>heavenly</i> Father give the <i>Holy +Spirit</i> to them that ask Him!'" +</p> + +<p> +"Will you then, my dear Frances, profit by this gracious instruction, +and will <i>you</i> ask for the Holy Spirit?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mamma, I will try." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you believe the Lord will give you the Holy Spirit when you ask?" +</p> + +<p> +"He <i>says</i> He <i>will</i>, mamma." +</p> + +<p> +"That is enough, my child; what the Lord says is yea and amen. It is +written, 'Hath he said, and will he not do it?'" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, mamma, I know God is <i>Truth</i>, He cannot lie." +</p> + +<p> +"But you know also, my dear Frances, when the Holy Spirit is given, he +takes up his abode in the heart, and he <i>acts</i> in the soul, and will +not dwell there without producing his holy fruit; and tell me now what +is the fruit you particularly want to overcome this sinful desire of +appetite which prevails in your heart." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it not <i>temperance</i>, mamma?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and if He comes into your heart, he will give it you, and +moreover teach you to <i>repent</i> of your sins; for consider, my Frances, +sin is an offence against him, and needs to be repented of. Do you +repent?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am very sorry, mamma." +</p> + +<p> +"But repentance is more than sorrow; it will make you ashamed before +God, and make you feel yourself vile; and it will also make you +carefully watchful against the temptation; it will make you anxious to +quit the sin, and clear your soul from its power; it will make you +indignant against it, and urge you to seek that strength from the +Spirit, which will resist the sin, and overcome it. When, therefore, +you ask for the Holy Spirit, be <i>willing</i> that the Lord should <i>fill</i> +you. Be ready to <i>exercise</i> the mighty gift for <i>all</i> his offices, to +convict you of sin, to lead you to true expectations, and to strengthen +you to overcome your sin, giving you that grace which is specially +opposed to the leading sin of your heart." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish I had this gift; for my sin makes me very unhappy: I know it is +wrong." +</p> + +<p> +"Do not stop in <i>wishes</i>, dear child, go and <i>pray</i>; '<i>Ask</i>, and ye +shall receive.' 'Open your mouth wide' in the full utterance of all +your distress, and of all you desire; pray for what you <i>want, name</i> +it; pray for <i>repentance</i>, and for <i>temperance</i>. Pray that the <i>lust of +your appetite</i> may be <i>crucified</i>, and pray that the blood of Jesus, +the Lamb of God who taketh away sin, may be sprinkled upon your guilty +soul, and cleanse it from all sin. He giveth liberally, and upbraideth +not. He is angry only when we neglect his promises and his gifts. +</p> + +<p> +"It is not long since, dear Mary, that you and I conversed on this +text, 'My people would not hearken to my voice, Israel would none of +me: <i>so I gave them up to their own heart's lusts</i>,' Psa. lxxxi. A +dreadful judgment! what would become of <i>you</i>, dear Frances, if you +were given up to the dominion of your appetite?" +</p> + +<p> +"But, my dear mamma," Mary said, "do you not remember the end of that +psalm, what a sweet verse there is?" +</p> + +<p> +"Repeat it, dear girl, and let little Frances hear it!" +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Had</i> they hearkened and obeyed, then should he have fed them with +the finest of the wheat, and with honey out of the rock should I have +satisfied them.'" +</p> + +<p> +"O my children," said their mamma, "here is spiritual food for the +spiritual appetite! You know who is the Bread of Life, and who is the +Rock of our salvation. Turn unto him your whole heart, and though you +feel the burden of the body of this death, you shall soon be able to +thank God, who, through Jesus Christ our Lord, will deliver you." +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Poor Esau repented too late,<br /> + That once he his birth-right despis'd,<br /> + And sold for a morsel of meat,<br /> + What could not too highly be priz'd.<br /> + How great was his anguish when told,<br /> + The blessing he sought to obtain<br /> + Was gone with the birth-right he sold,<br /> + And none could recall it again!<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He stands as a warning to all,<br /> + Wherever the gospel shall come!<br /> + O hasten and yield to the call,<br /> + While yet for repentance there's room!<br /> + Your season will quickly be past;<br /> + Then hear and obey it to-day,<br /> + Lest when you seek mercy at last,<br /> + The Saviour should frown you away.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What is it the world can propose?<br /> + A morsel of meat at the best!<br /> + For this are you willing to lose<br /> + A share in the joys of the blest?<br /> + Its pleasures will speedily end,<br /> + Its favor and praise are but breath;<br /> + And what can its profits befriend<br /> + Your soul in the moments of death?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If Jesus, for these, you despise,<br /> + And sin to the Saviour prefer,<br /> + In vain your entreaties and cries,<br /> + When summon'd to stand at his bar:<br /> + How will you his presence abide?<br /> + What anguish will torture your heart,<br /> + The saints all enthron'd by his side,<br /> + And you be compelled to depart.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Too often, dear Saviour, have I<br /> + Preferr'd some poor trifle to thee;<br /> + How is it thou dost not deny<br /> + The blessing and birth-right to me?<br /> + No better than Esau I am,<br /> + Though pardon and heaven be mine<br /> + To me belongs nothing but shame,<br /> + The praise and the glory be thine."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +I. +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h3> +The Little Pavior. +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p> +"Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and +whether it be right,"—PROVERBS, xx. 11. +</p> + +<p> +Happy the child who is active, intelligent and obliging, and who takes +pleasure in serving those that are about him! Happy above all is the +child, who, fearing and loving the Lord, shows himself thus zealous and +obliging, from a feeling of piety, and a desire to please God. +</p> + +<p> +Such was Francis, and this we shall soon see, from the following +narrative: +</p> + +<p> +Francis, who was about eight years old, was spending the month of June +with his Grandpapa in the country. +</p> + +<p> +His Grandpapa lived in a pretty house, roofed with slates, and +surrounded with a verandah, in which were seats, and between each seat, +some flower-pots. Jessamine and roses entwined themselves around the +verandah, and adorned it with elegant festoons of flowers. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the house was a yard, where chickens, turkeys, and guinea-fowls, +were kept; and in the front, looking towards the west, was laid out a +fine garden, well provided with evergreens, such as holly, yew, and +pine-trees, and amongst these, also, many birch and ash-trees +flourished. +</p> + +<p> +At the bottom of the garden, which sloped a little, flowed a pure, but +shallow stream, which was crossed by means of a wooden bridge, +surrounded with elders and large hazels. +</p> + +<p> +This was a delightful dwelling-place, but those who inhabited it, were +still more delightful than the beautiful garden or the smiling groves. +For it was the beauty of piety which was found in them, united with +that gentleness and amiability of character, that humble spirit of +cordiality, which our Saviour enjoins upon all his true disciples. +</p> + +<p> +These inhabitants, so good and so amiable, were the Grandpapa and +Grandmamma of Francis, and their domestics, who, with them served the +Lord, and lived in that peace, which His Spirit gives to such as +delight in His Word. +</p> + +<p> +This dear Grandpapa then, since he was pious, was charitable, and took +particular pleasure in visiting his aged neighbors, especially the poor +peasants, to whom he always carried comfort and encouragement from that +gracious God, with whom he himself daily endeavored more and more to +live. He used generally to pay these charitable visits in the middle of +the day; after having read the Holy Bible for the second time, in a +retired summer-house in the garden, near which a little gate opened +upon a footpath, which, passing through the orchard, led to the village. +</p> + +<p> +Francis, who was already acquainted with his Grandpapa's habits, never +came to disturb him while he was in the summer-house, and whenever he +saw his Grandpapa going out of the little gate he took good care not to +follow him. +</p> + +<p> +But in about an hour or two, he would go to meet him, sometimes towards +the road, at others, as far as the bridge over the stream;—his +Grandmamma was never uneasy, because she knew that Francis was a +prudent boy, and that God watched over him, as one of the lambs of the +good shepherd. +</p> + +<p> +Grandpapa then, had just finished reading; he had put on his hat and +taken his cane, and had gone out through the gate. +</p> + +<p> +Francis, who was sitting before the house, under the pretty green +verandah, saw him pass behind the garden hedge, and was already +thinking of going to meet him at the end of an hour, when to his great +surprise he saw his Grandpapa pass again behind the hedge, and then +enter the garden through the little gate, walking apparently with much +difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +"What is the matter, dear Grandpapa?" cried Francis, springing towards +the garden.—"Oh! how you are covered with mud! It must be that rude +Driver who wanted to fawn upon you. He has always such dirty paws." +</p> + +<p> +"You must not scold Driver, but <i>me</i>," mildly replied his Grandpapa, +"for I incautiously, and most imprudently, walked upon that part of the +path which has been inundated by the water from the fountain." +</p> + +<p> +"Grandpapa, did you fall?" asked Francis, quite alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes my boy, your Grandfather fell like a heedless man.... But thanks +to our gracious God, who ever takes care of us! it was nothing; I was +only a little frightened. You see, Francis, you must not forget that we +only stand, because God supports us." +</p> + +<p> +So saying, his Grandfather entered the house, and with the same +serenity related his accident to his wife, who bestowed every attention +upon him. +</p> + +<p> +Whilst his Grandfather was resting himself, and Francis had ascertained +that he had not suffered much, he hastened to look at the spot where +his kind Grandpapa had slipped and fallen. It was a little bit of the +path, perhaps about three paces long, covered with the water which was +issuing from the fountain, and which being of clay, had become very +slippery. +</p> + +<p> +The trench round the fountain had been already deepened more than once, +in order to turn its course from that part of the orchard, but as the +ground was rather low, the water always returned. +</p> + +<p> +Francis examined all this, and tried to find out what could be done to +remedy the evil, in a more durable manner. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I know!</i>" he cried at last. "I must make a pavement here, a little +higher than the path is at present!" +</p> + +<p> +"Come! cheer up! 'Where there's a will,' says Grandpapa, 'with God's +help there's a way.' To work, to work! 'For he who does nothing makes +little progress,' says also, my dear Grandpapa." +</p> + +<p> +It may be here well asked, how a little child, eight years of age, +could even conceive such a project, and much more how he could have had +sufficient strength to accomplish it. +</p> + +<p> +But Francis was not a thoughtless or inattentive child; on the contrary +he observed on his way <i>to</i>, and <i>from</i> School, and when he walked out +with his Papa, everything that workmen did. +</p> + +<p> +It was thus that he had often noticed how the Paviors first laid down +the stones, and then pressed them together, and as we shall soon see, +he found no difficulty in what he was going to attempt. +</p> + +<p> +"First and foremost," said he, "the tools!" and immediately he ran off +to look for a little wheel-barrow which his Grandpapa had made for him; +with the spade, the trowel, and the iron rake, which were at his +disposal. +</p> + +<p> +When the tools were collected, Francis, having taken off his jacket, +traced out the portion to be paved. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," said he, "I must take away two or three inches of earth, that +the stones may fit in." +</p> + +<p> +He then took away the earth, and piled it up on the upper side of the +path, in order to compel the water to pass by the drain. +</p> + +<p> +"Now," he said, "I must find some sand; where is there any? Oh! behind +the hen-house; the masons, who plastered the walls of the yard over +again, have left a large heap of it there"—and then he quickly ran +with his wheelbarrow, once, twice, and even three times, and soon had +as much as was necessary. He spread it out, and arranged it, and then +pronounced the great word of all his work, "<i>Stones!</i> No stones, no +pavement! I must have at least fifty of them!" He ran about, searched +and gathered, near the fountain, round the house, and along the wall of +the yard, and soon brought back four wheelbarrows full of nice stones, +well shaped, and not too large. +</p> + +<p> +But there were not enough, for he was obliged to put five or six +abreast. Where are there any more to be found? +</p> + +<p> +"In the brook," cried he! "It is rather far off, but I shall soon be +there!" And indeed in about a quarter of an hour, he had collected all +the proper materials. +</p> + +<p> +Then should he have been seen at work! The trowel in his right hand, a +stone in his left; the sand which he placed between each stone, and the +blows which forced it down, these things succeeded each other rapidly, +and were often repeated; till at length, at the end of the third hour, +the slippery bit of foot-path was no longer in existence, but in its +stead was to be seen a pavement slightly raised, which could never be +wetted by the overflowing of the fountain. +</p> + +<p> +"That will not do well," said Francis, when he had finished, and was +walking over the pavement; "it is uneven, Grandpapa will hurt his feet +upon it." And so saying, he ran to the woodhouse in the yard, and +returned, bending under the weight of the mallet, with which Thomas +used to strike the axe and wedges, when he split the large pieces of +oak. +</p> + +<p> +"Here is <i>my</i> rammer," said Francis, laughing, as he thought of those +used by the paviors; and holding the mallet perpendicularly, he struck +with the butt-end, first one stone, and then another, until at length +the pavement was completed! It was solid, even and clean, and Francis, +repeating in truth, "Where there's a will, with God's help, there's a +way," gave thanks in his heart to that good heavenly Father, who gave +him both the idea and the will to do this act of filial love, and +enabled him to accomplish it. +</p> + +<p> +Some sand and a few stones remained; Francis took them up and carried +them back near to the house. Then he cleared away the rubbish, and +having put on his coat again, returned joyfully to replace his tools in +the green-house. +</p> + +<p> +All this was done after dinner, between the hours of three and six. The +evening passed quietly away. Grandpapa had not received any bruises, +and he could not sufficiently thank the Good shepherd, the Lord Jesus, +who had, as it were, "carried him in his arms," and "kept all his +bones." +</p> + +<p> +Grandmamma joined in his praises and thanksgivings, and these two +faithful servants blessed the Lord together, whose mercies are over all +his works. +</p> + +<p> +"To-morrow, please God," said Grandpapa to Francis, "I shall go and see +old George. He must have expected me to-day! But be assured, my dear +Francis, that your Grandpapa will walk no more like a giddy child; and +if the path is still slippery, I shall place my foot prudently upon it." +</p> + +<p> +Francis said he hoped the path would be better; and however that might +be, that the Lord would preserve him thenceforth from slipping, and +above all, from falling. +</p> + +<p> +Grandpapa made Francis read the Bible as usual to the whole household. +He spoke piously of God's paternal care for our bodies as well as for +our souls, and in his prayer he gave abundant thanks to the Saviour who +had so graciously preserved him. +</p> + +<p> +The morrow came. Grandpapa had quite recovered his accident of the +preceding day, and after reading in the summer-house, he got up to go +and see old George. +</p> + +<p> +Francis, who was observing him from beneath the verandah, no sooner saw +him come near the little gate, than he ran round the house to hide +himself behind a hazel bush, a short distance from the pavement, in +order to see what his Grandpapa would do. +</p> + +<p> +Grandpapa walked on towards the orchard, and as soon as he set his foot +on the path, he prepared to proceed very carefully. He took three or +four steps, and then suddenly stopped, and raising his hands, +exclaimed, a "pavement! a pavement here already! How does this happen? +Who could have done this? It must be my faithful Thomas!"—he +continued—"I must thank him for it;" and he called out loudly, +"Thomas! Thomas!" Thomas, who was in the cow-house, heard his voice, +and ran to him in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you tumbled again, sir," he asked anxiously? +</p> + +<p> +"On the contrary," said Grandpapa, "thanks to <i>you</i>, Thomas, for having +made this good substantial pavement so quickly and so well; it is +really excellent," said he, stamping upon it with his foot, and walking +over it in every direction. "It is solid, and even, and slopes on +either side! I am very much obliged to you, Thomas." +</p> + +<p> +"Alas! sir," said the man, "it is not I who did it—how vexed I am that +I did not think of it what stupidity!"... +</p> + +<p> +"Who is it then?" asked Grandpapa, "for this has been done since +yesterday, and surely these stones are not mushrooms! Who could have +thought of this?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think I know who it is, sir," answered Thomas, "for yesterday in the +afternoon I saw master Francis going down to the brook with his +wheelbarrow. I could not think what it was for, but now I understand." +</p> + +<p> +"Francis! did you say," exclaimed Grandpapa; "how could that child have +done it even if he had wished? Are these stones only nuts, that <i>that</i> +dear boy's little hands could have been able to knock them into the +ground?" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you wish, sir, that I should look for him and bring him here?" +asked Thomas. +</p> + +<p> +Francis could no longer remain concealed. He ran from behind the bush, +and threw himself into his Grandpapa's arms; saying, "Dear Grandpapa, +how happy I am to have been able to succeed." +</p> + +<p> +"It is <i>you</i> then, indeed, my son!" cried Grandpapa, as he shed tears +of joy. "God bless your filial piety towards me! May He return you +two-fold all the good you have done my heart. But how did you manage?" +</p> + +<p> +"You have often told me, dear Grandpapa, that 'Where there's a will, +with the help of God, there's a way,' and I prayed to God, and was able +to do it." +</p> + +<p> +"Well then, dear Francis," said Grandpapa, solemnly, "I promise you, +that every day of my life, as long as I shall walk here below, when I +pass over this pavement, which your affection has made for me, I will +say to God 'O Lord, prevent Francis from falling in his way! May thy +goodness <i>pave</i> for him the path of life, whenever it becomes +slippery.'" +</p> + +<p> +Francis understood, and respectfully received this blessing; and whilst +his Grand father paid his visit, the little pavior went and told his +Grandmamma, what he had been able to do, and how God had already +blessed him for it. +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +II. +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h3> +The Silver Knife. +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p> +"Then said Jesus unto him: Go and do thou likewise."—LUKE, x. 37. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mary</i>.—(After having searched about the dining-room,) "Who has seen +my silver knife? William, John, Lucy, you who are amusing yourselves in +the garden, have you seen my silver knife?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>William</i>.—(Going up to the window, and in a sententious tone of +voice,) "'Disorder,' says an ancient writer, 'occasions sorrow, and +negligence, blame.'" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mary</i>.—"Admirable! But that does not apply to <i>me</i>, for it is +scarcely an hour since I laid my knife on this very table, which +certainly belongs to us." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucy</i>.—"Are you quite sure of it, Mary!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mary</i>—"Yes, indeed, there is no doubt of it, for Sophy asked me to +give her a pretty little red apple, as usual, before going to school. I +went immediately to the fruit-room for it, and as it was a little +spoiled, I cleaned it with my silver knife, which I laid on this table, +whilst I was kissing her. I am therefore quite sure of it." +</p> + +<p> +<i>John</i>.—(Frowning,)—"For my part, I confess, I don't like all these +strangers who come about the house. For instance, that little <i>Jane</i>, +who sells lilies of the valley, and strawberries, and so on—I very +much distrust her sullen look; and who knows, if perhaps...?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucy</i>—"Fie, fie, brother, to suspect that poor little modest gentle +child, who supports her sick mother by her own industry! Oh! it is very +wrong, John!" +</p> + +<p> +"What is the matter?" said their Father, who had heard this dispute +from the garden, where he was reading under the shade of a tree. +</p> + +<p> +Mary related her story, and finished by saying,—"Well, if it be God's +will, So-be-it! My beautiful knife is lost!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, my dear girl," answered her father, "What God wills, is always +best. But it is His will that I should watch over, my household. I must +therefore know what has become of your knife. Did you ask Elizabeth if +she had taken care of it, when she cleaned the room?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary ran to the kitchen, and enquired of Elizabeth. +</p> + +<p> +"Your silver knife! Miss," said the servant, coloring. "Have you lost +that beautiful knife, which was given you on your birthday?" +</p> + +<p> +"I ask you, if you have taken care of it," answered Mary. "I laid it +this morning upon the table in the dining-room, near the window." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Elizabeth</i>.—(with astonishment,)—"Near the window! Oh!—I know where +it is, now. About half an hour ago, when I went into the dining-room, +to ... put ... down ... some plates, I saw the great magpie, which +builds its nest up in the large elm-tree, at the end of the garden, +sitting on the window-ledge. It flew away as soon as it saw me; but it +had something white and shining in its beak. Oh! yes, I remember now! +it was the silver knife!" +</p> + +<p> +"The magpie," exclaimed Mary, "with my knife in its beak!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Miss," replied Elizabeth, "there is no thief like a magpie. When I +was at home, one of their nests was once pulled down, and nine pieces +of silver were found in it, and a whole necklace of pearls! Oh! magpies +are terrible birds, and you may be sure that your knife is in their +nest." +</p> + +<p> +Mary returned to her father in the garden, and related to him all that +Elizabeth had said, but added, "For my part, I don't believe a word of +it!" +</p> + +<p> +"And why not?" exclaimed John, sharply, "Elizabeth is quite right! +Nothing steals like a magpie. Everybody says so. Come! let us to work! +A ladder, a cord, and a long stick! Down with the nest!—Papa, will you +allow me to climb the tree!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucy.</i>—(Holding John by the arm.)—"Brother, how <i>can</i> you think of +it? The elm is more than eighty feet high! Papa, I beg of you, not to +allow it." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Father</i>.—(Calmly.)—"No one shall get up the tree and risk his life, +for a thing which certainly is not there." +</p> + +<p> +"There is no thief like a magpie," repeated John, looking at the nest, +which might be seen through the higher branches of the tree; "but I +confess it would not be easy to reach it. These branches are very long +and very slender!" +</p> + +<p> +William, who had said nothing as yet, but had been walking backwards +and forwards, with his head down, and his hands in his pockets, turned +suddenly round to Mary, and said, "I have been thinking we can soon +know if your knife is in the nest. We only want a polemoscope for that. +Hurrah! long live optics!" +</p> + +<p> +"A lemoscope!" said Lucy, "What is that? Is it a long hook?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>William</i>.—(Smiling rather contemptuously.) "Poor sister! What +ignorance!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Father</i>—"William, speak kindly—tell your sister what this instrument +is, and what you want to do with it." +</p> + +<p> +<i>William.</i>—(Scientifically.)—"In war, when a besieged garrison wishes +to know all the movements of the enemy, without being seen, they erect +behind the walls, or the ramparts, a mirror, placed at the end of a +long pole, and inclining towards the country. You understand, then, +that everything that takes place outside, is reflected in the mirror, +and can be seen from within, or in another mirror placed at the bottom +of the pole, and sloping inwards. This, Lucy, is what is called a +polemoscope—that is to say, an instrument for observations in war." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, William," said Lucy, "but what are you going to do with it?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>William.</i>—"The thing is quite plain. I am going to fasten a small +mirror on a light pitchfork, inclining it downwards. This pitchfork I +shall fasten firmly to pole; then some one will climb, dear papa, +without any danger, as far as the strong branches reach; from thence he +can draw up the pole and its mirror, with a long string, and by raising +the mirror above the nest, he will enable us to see, with the aid of +your telescope, all that the nest contains. This is my plan, and I +think it is not so bad!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Father</i>.—(Smiling.)—"Dear William. It is a great pity, however, that +you are so blind. There are two things you have not considered. One is, +that the branches which cover the nest, are very thick and tufted. +Therefore, your mirror, even if it reached their summit, would only +reflect the leaves, and consequently neither the nest nor the knife; +and the other thing which you do not observe, is this, that the +magpies, by an admirable instinct, which God has given them, build +their nests, not like a basin, as you supposed, but in the form of a +ball; so that the nest is covered with a vaulted roof, formed of sticks +closely interwoven, which shelters the bird and its brood from bad +weather, and above all, from the cruel claw of the kite or hawk." +</p> + +<p> +"I am much obliged to you, dear papa," said William. "What a pity," he +added, with a sigh; "for my plan would otherwise have been infallible." +</p> + +<p> +"Let us seek a better one," said their father. "Mary, go and see if you +have not left your knife in the fruit-room. Perhaps it was yesterday, +that you peeled the apple for Sophy." +</p> + +<p> +"I will do so," said Mary, and she went into the house for the key of +the fruit-room. +</p> + +<p> +She soon returned, exclaiming, "The key is not in its place, and I put +it there this morning." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Mary is mistaken," said Elizabeth, coming out of the kitchen; "I +see the key in the door." +</p> + +<p> +"Papa," said Mary, "I recollect, when I put the key in the cupboard, +this very morning, Sophy looked at it, and said, 'It is certainly the +prettiest key on the bunch.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Let us go to the fruit-room," said the father, directing his steps +thither. "I fear this will prove a sad affair." +</p> + +<p> +"What is this, too," cried Mary, examining the shelves, "the big key of +the cellar here Where did it come from? And this key covered with +cheese, from one end to the other!" +</p> + +<p> +"Let us go to the cellar!" said the father. "I believe we shall find +out more there than we can here." +</p> + +<p> +They opened the door, and found the brilliant silver knife, not in the +magpie's nest, but sticking in a cheese, from which a large portion +appeared to have been detached. +</p> + +<p> +The children were amazed, and their Father much grieved. +</p> + +<p> +"Here is your knife, Mary," said John, who first saw it. "Certainly, +there is no need of a looking-glass to find it." +</p> + +<p> +"You must not joke, my children," said the Father; "this is a very sad +business. I am thankful it has taken place in the absence of your dear +Mother, and I forbid you writing her anything about it. This must +concern me, and me alone." +</p> + +<p> +<i>William</i>.—(Indignantly.)—"It amounts to a theft, a falsehood!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucy</i>.—"But who has done it, William? Did not Mary leave her knife +here?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>William</i>.—"Who saw the Magpie carrying it off in his beak?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mary</i>.—(To Lucy.)—"Do you not understand that it was poor Elizabeth, +who came here with my knife, which she took off the table where I left +it, and who, after having cut a piece of cheese with it, went to the +fruit-room, no doubt to steal some apples also." +</p> + +<p> +<i>John</i>.—(Angrily.)—"Papa, Elizabeth has acted deceitfully—will you +allow her to remain with you? One of the Psalms, the 101st, I think, +says, 'He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house.'" +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Father</i>.—(Gravely.) "It is said also in Holy Scriptures, my son, +that 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment,' and perhaps, John, if any of +us, had been brought up like poor Elizabeth, we might have done even +worse than this." +</p> + +<p> +"I am quite vexed," said Mary, "Oh! why did I not take more care of +that wretched knife!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>William.</i>—"But, Mary, it was not your knife left upon the table, +which tempted her to take two keys secretly out of the cupboard, and +which made them the instruments of this theft. For Papa," continued he, +"it <i>is</i> a theft, and a shameful one too! These stolen keys are no +small matter!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Father</i>.—(Calmly.)—"I know it my children, and it grieves my +heart, that one of my servants, who daily hears the word of God read +and explained, should so far have forgotten the fear of the Lord! This +is what saddens me, and wounds me deeply." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucy</i>.—"Elizabeth has not long been our cook, and probably she never +heard the word of God before she came here. Poor girl I she is perhaps +very unhappy now,—and I am sure, she will repent and turn to God." +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Father</i>.-"That is right, my dear child, I rejoice to hear you +plead the cause of the unhappy, and even of the guilty, for as I said +before, 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment.'" +</p> + +<p> +"I was therefore wrong," said John, "and I confess it ... for certainly +I scarcely pitied her.... I did wrong I and now I think as Lucy does." +</p> + +<p> +"And I also," said William, "'Clemency governs courage,' says a Grecian +historian, and ..." +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Father.</i>—(Very seriously.)—"But, my dear William, what have the +pagans of old and their morals to do here? My son, you know it is the +word of God which rules our conduct, and which commands us to suffer +and to forgive." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucy.</i>—"Papa, will you allow me to repeat a passage, which I learnt +by heart last Sunday?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Father.</i>—"Repeat it, Lucy, and may God bless it to us all!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucy.</i>—"'Execute true judgment, and show mercy and compassion every +man to his brother.' It is in the seventh chapter of Zechariah." +</p> + +<p> +"I too, was wrong then," said William, "very wrong! for it is the +wisdom of God alone, that enlightens us." +</p> + +<p> +"True, my son," said his Father, "may God always remind you of this. I +am going to speak to Elizabeth," he added, "as for you, my children, do +not say a word about it, and above all, bless the Lord, for having made +known to you his grace and holy law. Pray to him together, that my +words may have their due effect upon the mind of this poor guilty +creature." +</p> + +<p> +The Father went out to look for Elizabeth, and the children repaired to +William's room, who, having knelt down with them, prayed to the Lord to +take pity upon her, and to touch her heart, and he ended the prayer in +the following words:—"In thy great wisdom, O Most Gracious God, and in +thine infinite compassion, through Jesus Christ, grant unto each of us +true repentance, and a sincere change of heart, and may this affliction +be turned to the glory of our Saviour Jesus." +</p> + +<p> +The children then returned to their several occupations, and not one of +them ever thought of judging Elizabeth, or even speaking harshly of her. +</p> + +<p> +We may add, that the exhortation of her charitable master, produced +sincere penitence in Elizabeth, and that the poor girl was not sent out +of the house; for "mercy pleaded against judgment." +</p> + +<p> +It is thus that God deals with us! Oh! which of us can tell how often +he has received pardon from the Lord! +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +III. +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h3> +The Modern Dorcas +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p> +"The night cometh when no man can work."—JOHN, ix. +</p> + +<p> +Oh! my sister! my sister! What a lesson may we learn from the death of +our dear Amelia! She was but sixteen years old like myself, and only +two years older than you are, but how much had she done for the Lord. I +saw and heard her, when Jesus came to call her to himself; I was in the +churchyard when they placed her body in the grave! Oh! what a solemn +warning! and now I feel humbled before God, and I pray Him to pour into +my heart the same Spirit which He bestowed so abundantly upon our +friend, as well as that lively faith, which although Amelia 'is dead, +yet speaketh,' as it is said of Abel, and which shall speak through her +for many years to come! +</p> + +<p> +I wrote to you less than a fortnight ago, that Amelia was unwell; but +how little I then thought it was her last illness! Oh! how uncertain +our life is, dear Esther, and how much wiser we should be if we would +only believe so! +</p> + +<p> +On the seventh day of her illness, her mother said to me, "Anna, your +friend is going to leave us; the danger of her disorder increases every +hour, and we must give her up to God!" +</p> + +<p> +I wept much and bitterly, and could not at first believe it; but when I +was alone with Amelia, the next day, she said to me, with that calm +peacefulness which never left her, "I am going away from this world, +Anna; yes, dear Anna, I am going to depart; I feel it, and ... I am +preparing myself for it!" +</p> + +<p> +I tried to turn away her thoughts from this subject; I told her that +she was mistaken, and that God would certainly restore her; but she +stopped me with firmness of manner, and said, "Do you envy my +happiness, Anna? Do you wish to prevent me from going to my Heavenly +home, to my Saviour, unto his light and glory?" The entrance of her +father and the Doctor prevented my reply, and I left the room in tears. +</p> + +<p> +"You must not cry," said her mother to me. "We must pray, and above +all, seek profit from the occasion. The time is short! Her end is at +hand! But," added this servant of Christ, "<i>that</i> end is the beginning +of a life which shall have no end!" +</p> + +<p> +Three more days passed away. On the fourth, we had some faint hope, but +the following day, all had vanished, and towards evening, Amelia +declared, that the Lord was about to take her. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, my dear parents, my excellent father and mother," she said, with +a beam of heavenly joy on her countenance, "I am about to leave you; +but I do not leave my God, for I am going to see Him, 'face to face.'" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear parents," she continued, affectionately, "rejoice at my +departure; I am going to Heaven a little before you, it is true, but it +is <i>only before you</i>, and you know it; and the Apostle says, that, 'to +be with Christ is far better.'" +</p> + +<p> +I was present, Esther, and was crying. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you cry, Anna?" she said, "Are you sorry to see me go to my +Father's house?" +</p> + +<p> +"But, Amelia, <i>I</i> lose you; we all lose you; and ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not like to hear you say that, Anna; do not repeat it, and do not +think of it. Our Saviour says that, 'He who believes on Him shall not +see death;' and I am certain, that my soul is about to join those of +His saints who have already departed this life, for His grace has also +justified <i>me.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" said her aunt, who had not left her bedside for two days, "you +have always done the will of God, dear Amelia; you are therefore sure +of going to Him." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear aunt," she replied, with sorrow on her countenance, "I assure you +that you grieve me. I have been during the whole of my life, but a poor +sinner, and have by no means done what you say; but.... God Himself has +pardoned me, and it is only, my dear aunt, because the blood of Jesus +has washed away my sins, that I shall see God." +</p> + +<p> +It was thus, my sister, that Amelia spoke at intervals almost the whole +night. Her voice at length became weaker; and towards morning, after a +slight drowsiness, she said to her father, "Papa, embrace your child +once more." She then turned to her mother, and said, "My dear mamma, +embrace me also, and ... may Jesus comfort you all!" +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes after, our darling friend fell gradually asleep, and her +last breath died away like the expiring flame of a candle. She +experienced nothing of the agony of death. Truly, dear Esther, Amelia +knew not what death was! +</p> + +<p> +But oh! how I have myself suffered! and how difficult it is to tear +one's self thus forever here below, from such a friend as she was! +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, my sister, God knows we have not dared to murmur. I wish +you had heard the prayer that Amelia's father offered up, when his +daughter had ceased to breathe! Oh! it was the spirit of consolation +itself which spoke! And since that solemn hour, what piety, what +strength and peace of mind, Amelia's mother his displayed! I am sure +you would have said, that the Lord was present, and that He was telling +us with His own voice: "Amelia triumphs—she is in <i>My</i> glory!" +</p> + +<p> +I wished to be in the churchyard when our friend, or rather, when her +body of dust, was committed to the grave. There were many persons +present, but especially poor people; some old men, and several +children, came to take their last leave of her. +</p> + +<p> +A grey-headed and feeble old man was standing near the grave, leaning +with his two hands on a staff, and with his head depressed. He wept +aloud, when the clergyman mentioned Amelia's name, as he prayed, and +gave thanks to God. He then stooped down, and taking a little earth in +his hand, said, as he scattered it over the coffin: "Sleep, sweet +messenger of consolation! Sleep, until He whom thy lips first +proclaimed to me, calls thee to arise!" And with this, he burst into +tears, as they filled the grave. +</p> + +<p> +When all was finished, and the funeral procession had departed, the +poor people who were present approached the grave, sobbing, and +repeating, "Sweet messenger of goodness! Our kind friend, our <i>true</i> +mother!" And two or three of the children placed upon her grave +nosegays of box and white flowers. +</p> + +<p> +"Alas," said a young girl, "she will never hear me read the Bible +again, nor instruct me how to live!" +</p> + +<p> +Another cried loudly, "Who will now come to visit my sick mother, and +read the Bible to her, and bring her comfort and assistance." +</p> + +<p> +And there was a father, a poor workman, with two little boys, who, +holding his children by the hand, came and placed himself near the spot +where the head of Amelia was laid, saying to them, "Here, my poor +children, under this sod, rests that sweet countenance which used to +smile upon you, as if she had been your mother! Her lips have often +told you, that you were not orphans, and that God was better to you +than a parent.... Well, my dear children, let us remember what she used +to say: 'God has not forgotten us, and He will sustain us!'" +</p> + +<p> +I was with my brother, who himself wept with all his heart, to see the +sincere grief of these poor people. He whispered to me, "I have a great +mind to speak to them, and ask them what Amelia used to do for them." I +had the same wish; so we approached a group which surrounded the grave, +and asked them when they had become acquainted with Amelia. +</p> + +<p> +"For my part," answered the old man, already spoken of, "this messenger +of peace visited me two years ago, for the first time. I lived near a +family to whom she had brought some worsted stockings, for winter was +just setting in, and so my neighbor mentioned me to her, as a poor +infirm old man. She desired to see me, and had she been my own +daughter, she could never have shown me more respect and kindness! She +procured me a warm quilt that same evening, and on the morrow, towards +the middle of the day, she came with her excellent mother to pay me a +long visit. +</p> + +<p> +"You must know, sir," continued the old man, to my brother, "I was then +very ignorant, or rather my heart was hard and proud towards God. I had +no Bible, and did not care about one. Well, this dear young lady not +only brought me one, with her own hands, but came to read and explain +it to me, with great patience, at least three times a week, during the +first twelve months. +</p> + +<p> +"God took pity on me," added the old man, in a low voice, "and last +year I began better to understand the full pardon which is in Christ +Jesus, and was even able to pray with Miss Amelia. +</p> + +<p> +"She used sometimes to call me, 'My old father,' but it was I who ought +to have called <i>her</i> the <i>mother</i>, the true mother of my soul. +</p> + +<p> +"Just one month ago, she came to me for the last time; she gave me with +a sweet smile, these worsted gloves, which she had knitted herself, and +then recommended me with much respect and kindness to thank our Lord, +who sent them me! This was the last of that sweet lady's charities to +me!"... +</p> + +<p> +Upon this, the old man turned away weeping, and as he walked slowly on, +he frequently looked back upon the newly-covered grave. +</p> + +<p> +"The same thing happened to me," said the workman. "The mother of these +two little children died ten months ago; we were in want of everything, +then, and I knew not even how to dress these children. Believe me, +Miss," he added, addressing me with feeling, "when the mother is gone, +all is gone!... but our gracious God did not forsake us, for He sent us +his angel; I say His angel, although she is at present much more than +an angel!... Is she not indeed a child of God in heaven? ... but, in +short, she clothed these two little ones, and I am sure she did not +spare herself in working for them; the clothes they now wear were made +chiefly by that dear young lady's hands. Then she used to come and +visit us; she often made my two children go to her house, and always +gave them good advice. She also sent them to school, and although it +was certainly her mother who paid for them, yet it was Miss Amelia who +taught them to read at home, and who, almost every Sunday, made them +repeat their Bible lessons. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, Miss," he continued, "all that that dear young lady did for us, +for our souls as well as for our bodies, will only be known in heaven, +and at the last day. For my part, and I say it here over her grave, and +in the presence of God, I am certain, that when the Lord Jesus shall +raise us all up again, the works of Miss Amelia will follow her, and we +shall then see that while upon earth she served God with all her heart. +</p> + +<p> +"No," he added, as he wiped away the tears from his children's eyes, "I +would not wish her to return from the glory which she now enjoys, at +the same time I cannot conceal from you, that my heart mourns for her, +and that I know we have lost our consolation, our benefactress, our +faithful friend!" +</p> + +<p> +"Who has not lost one?" exclaimed a poor woman, at whose side stood the +little girls who had planted the flowers; "I know very well that Miss +Amelia's mother will take her place, she is so good and kind! but it +was no little joy to receive a visit from that sweet and amiable young +lady, so good, so pious, and so full of joy. Oh! what should I have +done with my husband, so long confined to his bed, if this messenger of +goodness had not procured work for me, and recommended me to the ladies +who now employ me. And then again, what were we, until Miss Amelia +spoke to us? How much she had to put up with when I refused to read the +Holy Scriptures! and yet she was never weary of me. Oh! no; she came +day after day, to exhort and to teach me, and blessed be God, we begin +now to know something of what the Saviour has done for us. +</p> + +<p> +"And," added she, drawing the little girl towards her, "I shall go on +with my dear children, reading and learning that word of God, which was +Miss Amelia's greatest joy. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, come, my friends," she said, in a persuasive tone, "<i>we</i> must +also die, and be put each in his turn, under this ground; but as our +benefactress is not dead ... (no, she is not dead, for the Lord has +said it!)—so also shall not we die, if we follow in her steps." +</p> + +<p> +The poor woman then wished us good day, and moved away with her +children. We all walked on together, still speaking of Amelia. My +brother took the names and addresses of many of the poor people, with +whom he had just been conversing, and spoke a few words to them of +comfort and encouragement. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as we were alone, he showed me the list of names, at the head +of which was that of the old man, and he said, "Here is a blessed +inheritance which Amelia has left us. She has done as Dorcas did: her +hands have clothed the poor, and her lips have spoken comfort to them. +Dear Anna, Amelia was not older than we are; let us remember this, for +we know not when the Lord shall call us." +</p> + +<p> +How wise and pious this dear brother is! We have already been able to +pay together, two of Amelia's visits. Her mother, to whom we related +all we had heard, gave us further particulars of what the pious and +indefatigable Amelia used to do. Ah Esther, her religion was not mere +"lip-service." The Spirit of the Lord Jesus Christ assisted her, and +she might have said with truth, I show "my faith by my works." +</p> + +<p> +Let us take courage, then, my dear and kind sister! we lament our loss +in Amelia's death, but on her own account I lament her not. I can only +contemplate her in the presence of God, and of her Saviour, and I +rejoice to think of her delight when she entered the region of heaven. +How beautiful it must be, Esther, to behold the glory of that heaven! +to hear the voices of saints and angels, and to know that God loves us, +and will make us happy forever. +</p> + +<p> +Think, sister, of the meaning of—<i>forever!</i> +</p> + +<p> +Amelia's father, whom I saw a few hours ago with her excellent and +pious mother, said to me, in speaking of their darling child, "For my +own joy and comfort I should have wished to have kept her with us; but, +my dear Anna, even if I could have done so, what would have been all +our happiness, compared with that which she now possesses in the +presence of her God." +</p> + +<p> +But do not suppose, my sister, that Amelia, with all her piety, was +less prudent with regard to the things of this world, than faithful +regarding those of heaven. Her mother has shown me her books, and her +different arrangements, all of which indicate that discretion spoken of +in Scripture, carried out in the most minute particulars. +</p> + +<p> +First, as respects order and cleanliness in everything belonging to +her: it would be impossible to imagine a more proper arrangement than +the one she made of each article, both in her wardrobe, her +writing-table, her work-box, and her account-book. +</p> + +<p> +She had not much money to devote to her works of charity, but her +industry made up for her limited means; for instance, in opening the +Bible which she generally made use of, I found in it, four or five +pages written with a great deal of care; and her journal informed her +mother, who read it, of the reason of this circumstance. It runs thus: +</p> + +<p> +"As old Margaret has but one Bible, some of the leaves of which have +been lost, I have given her mine, which is quite complete, and have +taken hers, adding to it some sheets of paper, upon which I have +written the passages which were deficient. Thus I have saved the +expense of a new Bible; and it is the same thing to me." +</p> + +<p> +Amelia's diary is very remarkable; her mother has allowed me to read +many portions of it, and to copy out what relates to her usual manner +of employing each day. I send it to you, dear Esther, and you will +find, as I have done, that the Spirit of God always teaches those who +trust in Him, how precious <i>time</i> is here below. The following is what +our dear friend wrote upon this subject. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>January 1st</i>, 1844—Nearly eighteen centuries, and a half have passed +away, since our Saviour took upon himself the form of human flesh for +our salvation. Those years seemed long as they succeeded each other, +but now that they are gone, they appear as nothing. +</p> + +<p> +"Families, and nations, and the mighty generations of mankind, which, +in times gone by, peopled the earth, have all passed away. Nothing +remains of them here below! +</p> + +<p> +"But such is not the case in heaven,—I should rather say,—in +eternity. There, all these nations still exist, no man can be absent, +but must appear before the Sovereign Judge, to answer for the use which +he has made of his time. +</p> + +<p> +"How short that time is! Where are the years that David lived, and +where are those which Methuselah passed in this world? their whole +duration seems, at this distance, in the words of St. James, 'Even as a +vapor that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.' +</p> + +<p> +"It will therefore be the same with me. I know not how long I shall +live here below, perhaps I shall see but a portion of this year, and +shall enter into glory before it is concluded; or perhaps I shall yet +see many more years. This the Lord knows, and I ought not to consider +that such knowledge would be of any importance to me, since that which +constitutes my <i>life</i>, is not its length or duration, but the use which +is made of it. +</p> + +<p> +"It is to Jesus, then, that all my life must be devoted, without him I +can do nothing. 'My life is hid with Christ in God.' He has 'bought me +with a price,' I ought, therefore, 'to glorify God in my body, and in +my spirit, which are God's.' +</p> + +<p> +"Truly to live is to know, that my thoughts and actions are all +directed to the glory of Jesus, whether upon earth by faith and hope, +or in heaven by the sight and by the glory of God. +</p> + +<p> +"But here below, I have only time at my disposal; that is to say, days +composed of hours or rather, I have in reality but a single day to make +use of. Yesterday is no longer mine, and to-morrow, where is it? I have +it not yet, and perhaps shall never see it. +</p> + +<p> +"Lo my earthly life is 'to-day.' What must I do then with 'to-day,' +that God may be honored and glorified in it? for after all, if I have +the happiness of counting the year 1844, as dating from a Christian +era, and not from that of a false prophet with the Mahomedans, nor yet +of a false God, with the poor Indians, it must be to Jesus Christ, from +whose birth I count my years, that those years should be dedicated. +</p> + +<p> +"Here I am, therefore, in the presence of my Saviour, of whom I implore +the Spirit of wisdom and prudence to guide me in the employment of this +my day, since in reality I have but one, and that is, 'To-day.' +</p> + +<p> +"But I cannot do better than walk in the footsteps of my Redeemer, and +in his conduct and conversation whilst on earth, I observe these three +things: Temperance, piety, and charity, to all of which he wholly +devoted himself, and has thus left me an example to follow. +</p> + +<p> +"I will therefore imitate him first in his temperance. He rose early in +the morning—he eat frugally—he worked diligently—he wearied himself +in well-doing: in a word, he exerted the whole strength of his mind and +body in the cause of truth, but never in the cause of evil. +</p> + +<p> +"These, therefore, must be settled rules, moderate sleep, moderate +repasts, moderate care and attention to the body; active employment, +always to a useful purpose, profitable to my neighbor, and never +interfering with my duties at home. +</p> + +<p> +"In the next place, I must imitate Jesus in His <i>piety</i>. His Father's +will was as His daily food. What a thought! To live wholly to God, and +as He himself teaches us in His Holy Word. To do this, I must know His +Word; I must study it, meditate upon it, and learn it by heart. Besides +reading, I must pray, for prayer is the life both of my heart and soul +with God. What glory is thus permitted to me, a poor sinner, that I +<i>ought</i>, and that I <i>can</i>, live to Him, love Him, and devote myself to +Him! It is heaven already begun on earth; for in heaven my soul will +enjoy no other happiness than that of knowing God, and living to His +glory. This thought fills me with joy, and I am encouraged by it to +consecrate myself wholly to Him, as did my Lord and Saviour. +</p> + +<p> +"Lastly, I will, by the grace of God, imitate Jesus in his <i>charity</i>. +How many souls there are about me to love, to comfort, to enlighten and +to assist. But I can only do it in the measure which God himself has +assigned to me. At my age, and but a girl, subject to the wishes of my +parents, I ought only to desire to do good in proportion to the means +with which the Lord has furnished me. But I must, in so doing, endeavor +to overcome selfishness, idleness, the love of ease, avarice, hardness +of heart, pride, and indifference, and I must love my neighbor as +myself. Oh! what an important undertaking, and how many excuses and +deceits this kind of charity will encounter and overcome. +</p> + +<p> +"But I will look to Jesus, and pray to him; I will implore the secret +guidance of his Spirit; and since he is faithful, he will not leave me +alone, but will lead me, and enable me to walk day by day, I mean +'to-day,' in his sight, and in communion with him, who is so full of +love and gentleness." +</p> + +<p> +This, my dear Esther, is what I have copied from Amelia's journal. You +see the light in which our friend regarded her life on earth, and how +much importance she attached to one <i>day</i>—a single day. +</p> + +<p> +As I read what she had written, I felt my soul humbled before God, and +I trembled to think of the useless way in which I had hitherto spent my +time. +</p> + +<p> +You see in particular what Amelia felt on the subject of piety; what +love her soul had for God! and this is what produced in her that +active, sincere, and constant charity. +</p> + +<p> +You cannot form the least idea of the work, of kindness and benevolence +which she was enabled to accomplish. That passage, "The memory of the +just is blessed," is truly applicable to her. +</p> + +<p> +Amelia was justified in her Saviour, for she trusted in him, and thus +was she also justified before God, by her faith in Jesus. The spirit of +Jesus led her in "all her way," and in whatever family she appeared, +her actions and words manifested a heavenly mind. +</p> + +<p> +Her name is remembered with blessing in the hearts of all who knew her; +her counsels, her instructions, her example, and her acts of +benevolence, are continually spoken of by those who witnessed them, and +it is thus that she left behind a sweet savor of holiness, like a ray +of heavenly light. +</p> + +<p> +Dear Esther, here is an example placed before us; it has been the will +of God that we should know her, that we might be charmed with her +excellence, and that the happiness both of her life and death, might +tempt us to imitate her. +</p> + +<p> +No, no, my sister, she is not dead; she is rather, as the poor workman +said, at her grave, "a child of God in heaven." As <i>she</i> followed +Jesus, let us also follow her, and let her memory be thus a blessing to +us both. +</p> + +<p> +God be with you, my dear sister. I long to see you, that we may pray +the Lord together, to make us like his faithful, holy servant, the dear +and pious Amelia. +</p> + +<p> +Yours, &c., +</p> + +<p> +ANNA. +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +IV. +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h3> +The Tract found by the Way-Side. +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p> +"Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a +vessel for the finer." —Prov. XXV. 4. +</p> + +<p> +Every one knows in these days what is meant by a <i>religious tract</i>. It +is a little printed pamphlet, which is sold at a very low price, or is +still oftener given away, or dropped in the streets and lanes, that +those who either purchase, or accept, or find them, may read the truths +of the Gospel, and the good advice which they contain. +</p> + +<p> +This is an old-fashioned way of imparting instruction, both to high and +low. It was in use, for instance, as early as the first days of the +Reformation, when some faithful Christians of Picardy, in France, +assembled together to read the Holy Scriptures, on which account they +were exposed to persecution, death, and above all, to be burnt alive. +</p> + +<p> +These true disciples of the Lord Jesus composed and distributed, with +considerable difficulty, some little pamphlets, in which were taught +the doctrines of salvation by Christ alone, and in a form which enabled +the poor and ignorant to read and understand; for it was impossible for +them at that time to procure a Bible, which was not only a scarce book, +but cost a large sum of money: indeed, almost as much as a thousand +Bibles would cost in the present day, and which, besides, they could +not carry home and read quietly to themselves, as they were able to do +with a simple tract. +</p> + +<p> +At a later period, and chiefly for the last fifty years, this method +has been adopted in almost all countries where true Christian churches +and societies have been established; and even now, millions of these +tracts, adapted to all ages and conditions of men, are published and +distributed every year. +</p> + +<p> +It is, however, but too true, that many tracts thus distributed are not +<i>religious tracts</i>; that is to say, the substance of them is not in +conformity with the truth of scripture. Many are published for the +purpose of upholding false religion and wicked principles, and which, +consequently, do great mischief to those who read them. +</p> + +<p> +And if it be asked, "How can a good tract be distinguished from a bad +one?" we thus reply to this very natural question. +</p> + +<p> +A <i>good tract</i> is that which leads us to the Bible; which speaks of the +love of God in Christ; and which encourages the reader to be holy from +a motive of love to God. +</p> + +<p> +A <i>bad tract</i> is therefore that which does not speak of the Bible; +which tells us that salvation may be obtained by human merit, and which +consequently would persuade us to be religious from interested motives: +that is to say, to obtain pardon by means of our own good works. +</p> + +<p> +Those tracts, too, which speak of man's happiness as if it came from +man alone, and not from God, and which consequently deny the truth of +God's word: these must also be called <i>bad tracts</i>, and must therefore +be carefully avoided. +</p> + +<p> +The good that is done by the distribution of good tracts, can scarcely +be believed. There are many families, even in prosperity, who never +tasted real happiness until some of these evangelical writings found +their way amongst them. The following anecdote is an interesting proof +of this: +</p> + +<p> +The family of a vinedresser, in the Canton of Vaud, in Switzerland, +was, unhappily, as well known in the village in which he lived, for his +bad conduct, as for his impiety. The father, whose name we will not +mention, was a proud and hard-hearted man, both intemperate and +dissolute; and his wife, who thought as little of the fear of God as +her husband did, was what might be called a <i>noisy babbler</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The pastor of the village had often, but vainly, endeavored to lead +these unhappy people to a sense of religion, but he was always received +by them with scoffing and ridicule. +</p> + +<p> +The family was composed of the vinedresser's three children. The +eldest, Mark, was as haughty as his father, and although he was only +fourteen years of age, he was already able to join in the disorders of +his drunken and gaming companions. He was entirely devoid of any sense +of religion. His sister, Josephine, who was rather more than twelve +years old, possessed a more amiable disposition. The pastor's wife took +much interest in this child, who could not help seeing that her parents +were not guided by the Spirit of God. Peter, the youngest, was but ten +years of age, but his brother's wicked example counteracted all the +good which he might have received from that of his more amiable sister. +</p> + +<p> +About the end of May, there was to be, in a village not far distant, a +match at rifle-shooting. It was a public fete, at which all the people +in the neighborhood assembled. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of this day, Mark had answered his father with great +insolence, at which he was so much enraged, that he punished him +severely, and forbad him, besides, to go to the fete. The father went +thither himself, and Mark, after a moment's indecision, determined not +to heed the command he had received, but to follow him to the +shooting-match. +</p> + +<p> +He therefore took advantage of his mother's absence, who, according to +her usual custom, was gone to gossip with some of her neighbors, and +notwithstanding the remonstrances of Josephine, he hastened over fields +and hedges, to the scene of the match. +</p> + +<p> +"What is this?" cried he, picking up a little pamphlet, with a cover of +colored paper, which was lying on the path near the opening in the +hedge. "Oh! it is one of those tracts they leave about everywhere; it +will do very well to load my gun;" and so saying, he put the tract into +his pocket, and ran on as before. +</p> + +<p> +But when he approached the village where they were shooting, dancing, +playing, and making a great noise, he suddenly stopped, for he +recollected that if he should meet with his father, who was there, he +would certainly beat him, and send him home again, in presence of all +the people who might be assembled; besides, his brother Peter was there +also, and he might see him, and tell his father. He therefore kept at a +distance, behind a hedge, not daring to advance any farther. +</p> + +<p> +"Supposing I read this book!" said he, at last, after having vainly +racked his brain to find out how he could be at the fete without being +discovered. "There is nothing in it but nonsense, I know beforehand; +however, it will occupy me for a while." +</p> + +<p> +This tract was called "The Happy Family," and Mark became so much +interested in it, that he not only read the whole, but many parts of it +twice over. +</p> + +<p> +"How odd it is," said he, when he had finished reading; "I should never +have thought it could be thus; this Andrew and Julia, after all, were +much happier than we are, and than I am, in particular. Ah!" added he, +as he walked on by the hedge-side, looking on the ground, "possibly +Josephine may have spoken the truth, and that, after all, the right way +is the one which this lady points out." +</p> + +<p> +As he thought over the little story he had been reading, he retraced +his steps towards his own village, at first rather slowly, but soon at +a quicker pace, and he entered his father's house very quietly, and +without either whistling or making a noise, as he generally did. +</p> + +<p> +"You have not then been to the fete," said Josephine. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(A little ashamed.)—"I dared not go, I was afraid my father +would beat me." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"It would have been better, Mark, if you had been equally +afraid of offending God." +</p> + +<p> +Mark was on the point of ridiculing her, as he always did, but he +recollected Andrew and Julia, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—(Kindly.)—"But is it not true, Mark? would it not be +better to fear God, than to be always offending him?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Knitting his brow.)—"Yes, as Andrew and Julia did! would it +not?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—(surprised.)—"Of whom do you speak, Mark? Is it of "The +Happy Family," in which an Andrew and a Julia are mentioned. Have you +ever read that beautiful story?" +</p> + +<p> +"Here it is," said Mark, drawing the tract from his pocket, and giving +it to his sister. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"Yes, this is it, exactly! But brother, where did you get +it, for it is quite new; did you buy it of a <i>Scripture Reader</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Did I <i>buy</i> it?" said Mark, sullenly. "Do you suppose I should spend +my money in such nonsense as <i>that?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"Then how did you get it? Did any one give it you?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Slyly.)—"Ah! they have often tried to give me some, but I +tore them to pieces, and threw them away, before their faces!" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"So much the worse, Mark! for the truth of God is written +in them, and it is very sinful to tear the truth of God in pieces." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Rudely.)—"But you see I have not torn this, for it is quite +whole! And as you are so anxious to know how I came by it, I found it +on the ground, near the road, and just beyond the brushwood." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"Ah! then I know where it came from. The Pastor's son, +and the two sons of the schoolmaster, have got up a Religious Tract +Society, who distribute them in all directions." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Reproachfully.)—"And pray why do they scatter them about in +this way? Can't they leave people alone, without cramming every body's +head with their own fancies. Let them keep their religion to +themselves, and leave other people to do the same." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"Do you think, Mark, that Andrew and Julia did wrong to +listen to their father and grandmamma, and to follow the precepts of +the Bible in preference to the ridicule of scoffers." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Softened.)—"I did not say <i>that</i>.... I think Andrew and +Julia were right; but ... come give me back the Tract; I want to look +at something in it again." +</p> + +<p> +Mark then went away, carrying the Tract with him; and shortly after, +Josephine saw him sitting in the garden, behind a hedge of sweet-briar, +reading it attentively. +</p> + +<p> +"Where's that good-for-nothing Mark?" demanded the vinedresser, when he +returned home at night half tipsy. "Did he dare to venture to the +shooting-match? I was told that he was seen sneaking about the +outskirts of the village! where is he now?" +</p> + +<p> +"He went to bed more than an hour ago," answered his mother, "and was +no more at the shooting-match than I was, for I saw him reading in the +garden." +</p> + +<p> +"Mark, <i>reading</i>!" replied his father. "What could he be reading? It +would be a miracle to see him with a book in his hand. An idle fellow +like him, who never did learn any thing, and never will!" +</p> + +<p> +The vinedresser's wife was silent, and after putting poor little Peter +to bed, who was quite tired and weary, she managed to get the father to +bed also, and peace reigned for a season in this miserable abode. +</p> + +<p> +Mark, however, who was not asleep when his father returned, had heard +himself called a good-for-nothing idle fellow, and he trembled from +head to foot, when he found he had been seen in the neighborhood of the +village. +</p> + +<p> +"What a good thing it was," said he to himself, "that I did not go on! +It was certainly God who prevented me!" added he, half ashamed of the +thought because it was so new to him; but he determined no longer to +resist it. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow, to the great surprise of his father and mother, Mark got +up in good humor; he answered his father without grumbling, and when he +was desired to go and work in the field, Mark hastened to take his hoe +and spade, and set off, singing merrily. +</p> + +<p> +"What has happened to him?" asked the father. "One would scarcely +believe it was he! Wife, what did you say to him yesterday, to make him +so good-humored this morning?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never even spoke to him," said his wife, dryly. "You know how +whimsical he is." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish he may remain in his present mind!" said the vinedresser; and +thereupon he went off to the ale-house, to talk with his neighbors of +the best shots of the preceding day. +</p> + +<p> +Josephine related the history of the little tract to the good pastor's +wife, who advised her to meet Mark on his return from the field, and to +speak to him again of what he had read. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it <i>you</i>, sister?" said Mark, in a happy tone of voice, as soon as +he saw her. "It is very good of you to meet me." +</p> + +<p> +Josephine, who never received such a welcome from him before, was quite +delighted, and going up to him, she said, affectionately, "I want very +much to talk with you again about Andrew and Julia." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Seriously.)—"And so do I. I should like very much to +resemble them." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—(Quickly.)—"Do you mean what you say, Mark? Have you +thought of it again since yesterday?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Still serious.)—"I have thought so much about it, that I am +determined to change my habits. Yes, Josephine, I think you are right, +and that, after all, religion is better than ridicule." +</p> + +<p> +The conversation continued as it had commenced, and when Mark returned +home, he went up and kissed his mother, who was just laying the table +for dinner. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" said she, with some surprise; "you seem in very +good spirits, today." +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing is the matter, good mother, but that I wish to alter my +conduct," replied Mark, seriously. +</p> + +<p> +"To alter your conduct," cried little Peter, as he looked up in his +brother's face, and began to titter. +</p> + +<p> +"And you, too, little Peter," said Mark, "you must become good, also." +</p> + +<p> +"What a funny idea," cried the child, laughing. "<i>What</i> has made you +turn schoolmaster, all at once? and, pray, when am I to begin?" +</p> + +<p> +"We shall see by-and-bye," said Mark, kindly. "In the meantime, come +and help me to tend the cow." +</p> + +<p> +"There is something behind all this!" said the mother and she blushed +to think that this change had not been occasioned by anything she had +said or done to him, herself. +</p> + +<p> +When the father returned from the ale-house, they all sat down to +dinner, and as usual, without saying "<i>grace</i>." Josephine said hers to +herself, and Mark, who recollected Andrew and Julia, blushed when he +took his spoon to eat his soup. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner, when they were out of the house, Josephine said to Mark, +"What a pity it is, brother, that papa does not pray before each meal." +</p> + +<p> +"All <i>that</i> will come in time, Josephine," said Mark; "I never prayed +myself, and yet ... I must now begin directly. But what shall I do? +Papa will be very angry if he sees me religious." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not think he will," said Josephine, "for I heard him say to +mumma, this morning, that he should be very glad if your conduct +improved." +</p> + +<p> +Mark blushed, but did not reply. He returned to his work without being +desired to do so, and his father, who was quite astonished, said to his +wife, "There is something very extraordinary about Mark. I wish it may +last." +</p> + +<p> +"You wish it may last!" said his wife; "how can you wish that, when you +do not care to improve yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"And you, my poor wife," said the vinedresser, "do you care to change +any more than I do? I think as to that matter, we cannot say much +against each other." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, at all events," said his wife, "I am not a drunkard." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor am I a tattler," replied the husband. "And for this reason let us +each think of our own fault, and if Mark is disposed to reform, do not +let us prevent him; for, my poor wife, <i>our</i> example is not a very good +one for him." +</p> + +<p> +Josephine, who was working at her needle, in the adjoining room, could +not help overhearing this confession of her father, and she felt the +more encouraged to uphold Mark in his good intention. +</p> + +<p> +She therefore went again to meet him, and repeated to him all she had +heard. "I think," added she, "you will do well to relate what has +happened to our father and mother, and read them the little tract." +</p> + +<p> +"Not yet," said Mark, "for my principles are not sufficiently strong. +It is but an hour since the ale-house keeper's son laughed at me, +because I told him I would not play at nine-pins with him, during +working hours. He asked me if I was becoming a Methodist, and I did not +know what answer to make. However, I trust I am already improving, and +I have read the little tract again for the third time." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" said Josephine, "we ought to read the Bible, and we do not +possess one." +</p> + +<p> +"True," said Mark, somewhat surprised. "I never thought of <i>that</i>. We +have really no Bible in the house! Indeed, this must not be," he added, +looking on the ground, and striking it with his spade. +</p> + +<p> +"What shall we do, then?" said Josephine, "for it would be very nice to +have one." +</p> + +<p> +Mark became thoughtful, but said nothing. From that day his conduct was +always regular, and his habits industrious, so much so, that his +father, who was never in the habit of showing him much kindness, said +to him, at the dinner table, and before all the rest of the family, +"Well, my good Mark, tell us what has happened to you; for it is very +pleasant to us to see how well you now behave. Tell us, my boy, what +has been the cause of this improvement." +</p> + +<p> +"It was from this book," said Mark, drawing it out of his pocket, where +he always kept it. +</p> + +<p> +"What book is it?" said his mother, scornfully. "Is it not some of that +horrid trash, that"... +</p> + +<p> +"Be silent," cried the father. "If this book has done good, how can it +be horrid trash? Do sour grapes produce good wine?" +</p> + +<p> +"But," replied the mother, bitterly, "I will not have any of those +books and tracts in this house." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, for my part," said the vinedresser, "I will encourage all that +teach my children to do what is right. Mark has worked well for the +last eight days; he has not occasioned me a moment's vexation during +the whole of that time, and as he says that this book has been the +means of his improvement, I shall also immediately read it myself. +Come, Mark, let us hear it. You can read fluently; come, we will all +listen. Wife, do you be quiet, and you too, Peter; as for Josephine she +is quite ready." +</p> + +<p> +Mark began to read, but he could not proceed far; his father got up and +went out, without saying a word, and his mother began to remove the +dinner-things. +</p> + +<p> +But as soon as the family re-assembled in the evening, the father said +to Mark, "Go on with your reading, Mark, I want to hear the end, for I +like the story." +</p> + +<p> +Mark read, and when he came to that part of the tract, in which the +Bible is mentioned, the vinedresser looked up to a high shelf on the +wall, where were some old books, and said, "wife, had we not once a +Bible?" +</p> + +<p> +"Fifteen years ago," she answered, "you exchanged it for a pistol." +</p> + +<p> +The vinedresser blushed, and listened with out farther interruption +until Mark had done reading. When the tract was finished, he remained +silent, his head leaning on his hands, and his elbows on his knees. +Josephine thought this was the time to speak about the Bible, which she +had so long wished to possess, and she went up to her father, and stood +for some time by his side without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +Her father perceived her, and raising his head, he said to her, "What +do you want, Josephine, tell me, my child, what do you want to ask me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear papa," said the child, "I have long desired to read the Bible, +would you be so kind as to buy me one?" +</p> + +<p> +"A Bible," cried her mother, "what can <i>you</i> want with a Bible, at +<i>your</i> age?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! wife, wife," said the vinedresser, much vexed, "when will you help +me to do what is right?" "Yes, my child," he added, kissing Josephine's +cheek, "I will buy you one to-morrow. Do you think there are any to be +had at the pastor's house?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! yes, plenty," cried Josephine, "and very large ones too!" +</p> + +<p> +"Very well then," said the father, as he got up, and went out of the +house, "you shall have a very large one." +</p> + +<p> +"But," said his wife, calling after him, "you don't know how much it +will cost." +</p> + +<p> +"It will not cost so much as the wine I mean no longer to drink!" +replied the father, firmly. +</p> + +<p> +He kept his word. The Bible was purchased on the morrow, and the same +evening the father desired Mark to read him a whole chapter. The +ale-house saw him no more the whole of that week, and still less the +following Sunday. His friends laughed at him, and wanted to get him +back. He was at first tempted and almost overcome, but the thought of +the Bible restrained him, and he determined to refuse. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you gone mad, then?" said they. +</p> + +<p> +"No," replied he, "but I read the Bible now, and as it says, that +drunkards shall not 'inherit the kingdom of God,' I listen to what it +says, and I desire to cease to be a drunkard." +</p> + +<p> +"You see," said Josephine to Mark, as they accompanied each other to +church, "how good God has been to us. We have now a Bible, and it is +read by all at home." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—"Have you been able to tell the pastor's son how much good his +tract has done us?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"I told his mother." +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—"And what did she say?" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Josephine</i>.—"She said, 'God is wonderful in all his ways,' and that, +'He which hath begun the good work in us, will perform it until the day +of Jesus Christ.'" +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mark</i>.—(Feelingly.)—"Who could have thought that when I went as a +rebel to that Fete, that God was there waiting to draw me to himself. +But, dear Josephine, there is yet much to be done." +</p> + +<p> +"But," said Josephine, "where God has promised he is also able to +perform. He has told us to pray in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. +Let us do so, and you will see that God will renew our hearts, and make +us wise and good." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny, the Flower-Girl, by Selina Bunbury + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL *** + +***** This file should be named 6757-h.htm or 6757-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/5/6757/ + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tiffany Vergon, Charles Franks, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fanny, the Flower-Girl + +Author: Selina Bunbury + +Posting Date: March 13, 2014 [EBook #6757] +Release Date: October, 2004 +First Posted: January 23, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL *** + + + + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tiffany Vergon, Charles Franks, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version +by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + +FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL; + +OR, HONESTY REWARDED. + +TO WHICH ARE ADDED OTHER TALES. + + +BY SELINA BUNBURY. + + + + + +FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL + + +"Come, buy my flowers; flowers fresh and fair. Come, buy my flowers. +Please ma'am, buy a nice bunch of flowers, very pretty ones, ma'am. +Please, sir, to have some flowers; nice, fresh ones, miss; only just +gathered; please look." + +Thus spoke, or sometimes sung, a little girl of perhaps eight years +old, holding in her hand a neat small basket, on the top of which lay a +clean white cloth, to shade from the sun the flowers which she praised +so highly, and a little bunch of which she presented to almost every +passer-by, in the hope of finding purchasers; while, after one had +passed rudely on, another had looked at her young face and smiled, +another had said, "What a nice child!" but not one had taken the +flowers, and left the penny or the half-penny that was to pay for them +the little girl, as if accustomed to all this, only arranged again the +pretty nosegays that had been disarranged in the vain hope of selling +them, and commenced anew in her pretty singing tone, "Come, buy my +flowers; flowers fresh and fair." + +"Your flowers are sadly withered, my little maid," said a kind, +country-looking gentleman, who was buying some vegetables at a stall +near her. + +"Oh, sir! I have fresh ones, here, sir; please look;" and the child +lifted up the cover of her basket, and drew from the very bottom a +bunch of blossoms on which the dew of morning still rested. + +"Please to see, sir; a pretty rose, sir, and these pinks and +mignonette, and a bunch of jessamine, sir, and all for one penny." + +"Bless thee! pretty dear!" said the old lame vegetable-seller, "thou'lt +make a good market-woman one of these days. Your honor would do well to +buy her flowers, sir, she has got no mother or father, God help her, +and works for a sick grandmother." + +"Poor child!" said the old gentleman. "Here, then, little one, give me +three nice nosegays, and there is sixpence for you." + +With delight sparkling in every feature of her face, and her color +changed to crimson with joy, the little flower-girl received in one +hand the unusual piece of money; and setting her basket on the ground, +began hastily and tremblingly to pick out nearly half its contents as +the price of the sixpence; but the gentleman stooped down, and taking +up at random three bunches of the flowers, which were not the freshest, +said, + +"Here, these will do; keep the rest for a more difficult customer. Be a +good child; pray to God, and serve Him, and you will find He is the +Father of the fatherless." + +And so he went away; and the flower-girl, without waiting to put her +basket in order, turned to the old vegetable-seller, and cried, +"Sixpence! a whole sixpence, and all at once. What will grandmother say +now? See!" and opening her hand, she displayed its shining before her +neighbor's eyes. + +"Eh!" exclaimed the old man, as he approached his eyes nearer to it. +"Eh! what is this? why thou hast twenty sixpences there; this is a +half-sovereign!" + +"Twenty sixpences! why the gentleman said, there is sixpence for thee," +said the child. + +"Because he didn't know his mistake," replied the other; "I saw him +take the piece out of his waistcoat-pocket without looking." + +"Oh dear! what shall I do?" cried the little girl. + +"Why, thou must keep it, to be sure," replied the old man; "give it to +thy grandmother, she will know what to do with it, I warrant thee." + +"But I must first try to find the good gentleman, and tell him of his +mistake," said the child. "I know what grandmother would say else; and +he cannot be far off, I think, because he was so fat; he will go slow, +I am sure, this hot morning. Here, Mr. Williams, take care of my +basket, please, till I come back." + +And without a word more, the flower-girl put down her little basket at +the foot of the vegetable-stall, and ran away as fast as she could go. + +When she turned out of the market-place, she found, early as it was, +that the street before her was pretty full; but as from the passage the +gentleman had taken to leave the market-place, she knew he could only +have gone in one direction, she had still hopes of finding him; and she +ran on and on, until she actually thought she saw the very person +before her; he had just taken off his hat, and was wiping his forehead +with his handkerchief. + +"That is him," said the little flower-girl, "I am certain;" but just as +she spoke, some persons came between her and the gentleman, and she +could not see him. Still she kept running on; now passing off the +foot-path into the street, and then seeing the fat gentleman still +before her; and then again getting on the foot-path, and losing sight +of him, until at last she came up quite close to him, as he was walking +slowly, and wiping the drops of heat from his forehead. + +The poor child was then quite out of breath; and when she got up to him +she could not call out to him to stop, nor say one word; so she caught +hold of the skirt of his coat, and gave it a strong pull. + +The gentleman started, and clapped one hand on his coat-pocket, and +raised up his cane in the other, for he was quite sure it was a +pickpocket at his coat. But when he turned, he saw the breathless +little flower-girl, and he looked rather sternly at her, and said, + +"Well, what do you want; what are you about? eh!" + +"Oh, sir!" said the girl; and then she began to cough, for her breath +was quite spent. "See, sir; you said you gave me sixpence, and Mr. +Williams says there are twenty sixpences in this little bit of money." + +"Dear me!" said the gentleman; "is it possible? could I have done such +a thing?" and he began to fumble in his waistcoat pocket. + +"Well, really it is true enough," he added, as he drew out a sixpence. +"See what it is to put gold and silver together." + +"I wish he would give it to me," thought the little flower-girl; "how +happy it would make poor granny; and perhaps he has got a good many +more of these pretty gold pieces." + +But the old gentleman put out his hand, and took it, and turned it over +and over, and seemed to think a little; and then he put his hand into +his pocket again, and took out his purse; and he put the half-sovereign +into the purse, and took out of it another sixpence. + +"Well," he said, "there is the sixpence I owe you for the flowers; you +have done right to bring me back this piece of gold; and there is +another sixpence for your race; it is not a reward, mind, for honesty +is only our duty, and you only did what is right; but you are tired, +and have left your employment, and perhaps lost a customer, so I give +you the other sixpence to make you amends." + +"Thank you, sir," said the flower-girl, curtseying; and taking the two +sixpences into her hand with a delighted smile, was going to run back +again, when the old gentleman, pulling out a pocket-book, said, "Stay a +moment; you are an orphan, they tell me; what is your name?" + +"Fanny, sir." + +"Fanny what?" + +"Please, I don't know, sir; grandmother is Mrs. Newton, sir; but she +says she is not my grandmother either, sir." + +"Well, tell me where Mrs. Newton lives," said the gentleman, after +looking at her a minute or so, as if trying to make out what she meant. + +So Fanny told him, and he wrote it down in his pocket-book, and then +read over what he had written to her, and she said it was right. + +"Now, then, run away back," said he, "and sell all your flowers, if you +can, before they wither, for they will not last long this warm day; +flowers are like youth and beauty--do you ever think of that? even the +rose withereth afore it groweth up." And this fat gentleman looked very +sad, for he had lost all his children in their youth. + +"O yes! sir; I know a verse which says that," replied Fanny. "All flesh +is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of grass--but +good morning, and thank you, sir," and away Fanny ran. + +And now, before going on with my story, I must go back to tell who and +what Fanny, the flower-girl, was. + +Mrs. Newton, whom she called her grandmother, was now a poor old woman, +confined to her bed by a long and trying illness, that had nearly +deprived her of the use of her limbs. But she had not been always thus +afflicted. Some years before, Mrs. Newton lived in a neat cottage near +the road-side, two or three miles from one of the great sea-port towns +of England. Her husband had good employment, and they were both +comfortable and happy. + +Just eight years from this time, it happened that one warm summer's +day, Mrs. Newton went to look out from her cottage door down the road, +and she saw a young woman standing there, leaning against a tree, and +looking very faint and weak. + +She was touched with pity and asked the poor traveller to walk into her +house and rest. The young woman thankfully consented, for she said she +was very ill; but she added, that her husband was coming after her, +having been obliged to turn back for a parcel that was left behind at +the house where they had halted some time before, and therefore she +would sit near the door and watch for him. + +Before, however, the husband came, the poor woman was taken dreadfully +ill; and when he did arrive, good Mrs. Newton could not bear to put the +poor creature out of the house in such a state; she became worse and +worse. In short, that poor young woman was Fanny's mother, and when +little Fanny was born, that poor sick mother died, and Fanny never saw +a mother's smile. + +The day after the young woman's death, kind Mrs. Newton came into the +room where her cold body was laid out on the bed; and there was her +husband, a young, strong-looking man, sitting beside it; his elbows +were on his knees, and his face was hid in his open hands. + +Mrs. Newton had the baby in her arms, and she spoke to its father as +she came in; he looked up to her; his own face was as pale as death; +and he looked at her without saying a word. She saw he was in too much +grief either to speak or weep. So she went over silently to him, and +put the little baby into his arms, and then said, "May the Lord look +down with pity on you both." + +As soon as the unhappy young man heard these compassionate words, and +saw the face of his pretty, peaceful babe, he burst into tears; they +rolled in large drops down on the infant's head. + +Then in a short time he was able to speak, and he told Mrs. Newton his +sad little history; how he had no one in the whole world to look with +pity on him, or his motherless child; and how God alone was his hope in +this day of calamity. His father had been displeased with him because +he had married that young woman, whom he dearly loved; and he had given +him some money that was his portion, and would do nothing else for him. +The young man had taken some land and a house, but as the rent was too +high, he could not make enough of the land to pay it; so he had been +obliged to sell all his goods, and he had only as much money left as +would, with great saving, carry him to America, where he had a brother +who advised him to go out there. + +"And now," said he, looking over at the pale face of his dear wife, +"What shall I do with the little creature she has left me? how shall I +carry it over the wide ocean without a mother to care for it, and nurse +it?" + +"You cannot do so," said Mrs. Newton, wiping her eyes; "leave it with +me; I have no children of my own, my husband would like to have one; +this babe shall lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter. I will +nurse it for you until you are settled in America, and send or come for +it." + +The young man wept with gratitude; he wanted to know how he was to +repay Mrs. Newton, but she said for the present she did not want +payment, that it would be a pleasure to her to have the baby; and it +would be time enough to talk about payment when the father was able to +claim it, and take it to a home. + +So the next day they buried the poor young woman, and soon after the +young man went away and sailed off to America, and from that day to +this Mrs. Newton had never heard anything of him. + +As she had said, that poor little motherless babe lay in her bosom, and +was unto her as a daughter; she loved it; she loved it when it was a +helpless little thing, weak and sickly; she loved it when it grew a +pretty lively baby, and would set its little feet on her knees, and +crow and caper before her face; she loved it when it began to play +around her as she sat at work, to lisp out the word "Ganny," for she +taught it to call her grandmother; she loved it when it would follow +her into her nice garden, and pick a flower and carry it to her, as she +sat in the little arbor; and she, holding the flower, would talk to it +of God who made the flower, and made the bee that drew honey from the +flower, and made the sun that caused the flower to grow, and the light +that gave the flower its colors, and the rain that watered it, and the +earth that nourished it. And she loved that child when it came back +from the infant school, and climbed up on her lap, or stood with its +hands behind its back, to repeat some pretty verses about flowers, or +about the God who made them. That child was Fanny, the flower-girl; and +ah! how little did good Mrs. Newton think she would be selling flowers +in the streets to help to support her. + +But it came to pass, that when Fanny was nearly six years old, Mrs. +Newton's husband fell very ill; it was a very bad, and very expensive +illness, for poor Mrs. Newton was so uneasy, she would sometimes have +two doctors to see him; but all would not do; he died: and Mrs. Newton +was left very poorly off. + +In a short time she found she could not keep on her pretty cottage; she +was obliged to leave it; and the church where she had gone every Sunday +for so many years; and the church-yard where her husband was buried, +and little Fanny's mother; and the infant school where Fanny learned so +much; and the dear little garden, and the flowers that were Fanny's +teachers and favorites. Oh! how sorry was poor Mrs. Newton. But even a +little child can give comfort; and so little Fanny, perhaps without +thinking to do so, did; for when Mrs. Newton for the last time sat out +in her garden, and saw the setting sun go down, and told Fanny she was +going to leave that pretty garden, where she had from infancy been +taught to know God's works, the child looked very sad and thoughtful +indeed, for some time; but afterwards coming up to her, said, + +"But, grandmother, we shall not leave God, shall we? for you say God is +everywhere, and He will be in London too." + +And oh! how that thought consoled poor Mrs. Newton; she did not leave +God,--God did not leave her. + +So she left the abode of her younger years--the scene of her widowhood; +and she went away to hire a poor lodging in the outlets of London; but +her God was with her, and the child she had nursed in her prosperity +was her comfort in adversity. + +Matters, however, went no better when she lived with little Fanny in a +poor lodging. She had only one friend in London, and she lived at a +distance from her. Mrs. Newton fell ill; there was no one to nurse her +but Fanny; she could no longer pay for her schooling, and sometimes she +was not able to teach her herself. + +All this seemed very hard, and very trying; and one would have been +tempted to think that God was no longer with poor Mrs. Newton; that +when she had left her cottage she had left the God who had been so good +to her. + +But this would have been a great mistake. God was with Mrs. Newton; He +saw fit to try and afflict her; but He gave her strength and patience +to bear her trials and afflictions. + +One afternoon her friend came to pay her a visit: she was going out a +little way into the country to see a relation who had a very fine +nursery-garden, and she begged Mrs. Newton to let little Fanny go with +her own daughter. Mrs. Newton was very glad to do so for she thought it +would be a nice amusement for Fanny. + +The nurseryman was very kind to her; and when she was going away gave +her a fine bunch of flowers. Fanny was in great delight, for she loved +flowers and knew her dear grandmother loved them too. But as she was +coming back, and just as she was entering the streets, she met a lady +and a little boy of about three years old, who directly held out his +hands and began to beg for the flowers. His mamma stopped, and as Fanny +was very poorly dressed, she thought it probable that she would sell +her nosegay, and so she said, + +"Will you give that bunch of flowers to my little boy, and I will pay +you for it?" + +"Please, ma'am, they are for grandmother," said Fanny blushing, and +thinking she ought to give the flowers directly, and without money to +any one who wished for them. + +"But perhaps your grand-mother would rather have this sixpence?" said +the lady. And Mrs. Newton's friend, who had just come up, said, + +"Well, my dear, take the lady's sixpence, and let her have the flowers +if she wishes for them." + +So Fanny held the flowers to the lady, who took them and put the +sixpence in her hand. Fanny wished much to ask for one rose, but she +thought it would not be right to do so, when the lady had bought them +all: and she looked at them so very longingly that the lady asked if +she were sorry to part with them. + +"Oh! no, ma'am," cried her friend, "she is not at all sorry--come now, +don't be a fool, child," she whispered, and led Fanny on. + +"That is a good bargain for you," she added as she went on; "that +spoiled little master has his own way, I think; it would be well for +you, and your grandmother too, if you could sell sixpenny worth of +flowers every day." + +"Do you think I could, ma'am?" said Fanny, opening her hand and looking +at her sixpence, "this will buy something to do poor granny good; do +you think Mr. Simpson would give me a nosegay every day?" + +"If you were to pay him for it, he would," said her friend; "suppose +you were to go every morning about five o'clock, as many others do, and +buy some flowers, and then sell them at the market; you might earn +something, and that would be better than being idle, when poor Mrs. +Newton is not able to do for herself and you." + +So when Fanny got back, she gave her dear grandmother the sixpence. + +"The Lord be praised!" said Mrs. Newton, "for I scarcely knew how I was +to get a loaf of bread for thee or myself to-morrow." + +And then Fanny told her the plan she had formed about the flowers. + +Mrs. Newton was very sorry to think her dear child should be obliged to +stand in a market place, or in the public streets, to offer anything +for sale; but she said, "Surely it is Providence has opened this means +of gaining a little bread, while I am laid here unable to do anything; +and shall I not trust that Providence with the care of my darling +child?" + +So from this time forth little Fanny set off every morning before five +o'clock, to the nursery garden; and the nursery-man was very kind to +her, and always gave her the nicest flowers; and instead of sitting +down with the great girls, who went there also for flowers or +vegetables, and tying them up in bunches, Fanny put them altogether in +her little basket, and went away to her grandmother's room, and spread +them out on the little table that poor Mrs. Newton might see them, +while the sweet dew was yet sparkling on their bright leaves. + +Then she would tell how beautiful the garden looked at that sweet early +hour; and Mrs. Newton would listen with pleasure, for she loved a +garden. She used to say, that God placed man in a garden when he was +happy and holy; and when he was sinful and sorrowful, it was in a +garden that the blessed Saviour wept and prayed for the sin of the +world; and when his death had made atonement for that sin, it was in a +garden his blessed body was laid. + +Mrs. Newton taught Fanny many things from flowers; she was not a bad +teacher, in her own simple way, but Jesus Christ, who was the best +teacher the world ever had, instructed his disciples from vines and +lilies, corn and fruit, and birds, and all natural things around them. + +And while Fanny tied up her bunches of flowers, she would repeat some +verses from the Holy Scriptures, such as this, "O Lord, how manifold +are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of +thy riches." And afterwards she would repeat such pretty lines as +these:-- + + "Not worlds on worlds, in varied form, + Need we, to tell a God is here; + The daisy, saved from winter's storm, + Speaks of his hand in lines as clear. + + "For who but He who formed the skies, + And poured the day-spring's living flood, + Wondrous alike in all He tries, + Could rear the daisy's simple bud! + + "Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, + Its fringed border nicely spin; + And cut the gold-embossed gem, + That, shrined in silver, shines within; + + "And fling it, unrestrained and free, + O'er hill, and dale, and desert sod, + That man, where'er he walks, may see, + In every step the trace of God." + + +"And I, too, have had my daisy given to me," poor Mrs. Newton would +say, with tearful eyes, as she gazed on her little flower-girl; "I too +have my daisy, and though it may be little cared for in the world, or +trodden under foot of men, yet will it ever bear, I trust, the trace of +God." + +But it happened the very morning that the gentleman had given Fanny the +half-sovereign in mistake, Mrs. Newton's money was quite spent; and she +was much troubled, thinking the child must go the next morning to the +garden without money to pay for her flowers, for she did not think it +likely she would sell enough to buy what they required, and pay for +them also; so she told Fanny she must ask Mr. Simpson to let her owe +him for a day or two until she got a little money she expected. + +Fanny went therefore, and said this to the kind man at the garden; and +he put his hand on her head, and said, "My pretty little girl, you may +owe me as long as you please, for you are a good child, and God will +prosper you." + +So Fanny went back in great delight, and told this to Mrs. Newton; and +to cheer her still more, she chose for her morning verse, the advice +that our Lord gave to all those who were careful and troubled about the +things of this life "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; +they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you that +Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, +if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow +is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, oh ye of +little faith?" + +And then she repeated some verses which both she and Mrs. Newton liked +very much. + + "Lo! the lilies of the field, + How their leaves instruction yield! + Hark to nature's lesson, given + By the blessed birds of heaven. + + "Say with richer crimson glows, + The kingly mantle than the rose; + Say are kings more richly dressed, + Than the lily's glowing vest! + +"Grandmother I forget the next verse," said Fanny, interrupting +herself; "I know it is something about lilies not spinning; but then +comes this verse-- + + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we"-- + +"It is not the lilies, grandmother, but the blessed birds that are +speaking now-- + + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we, + Yet we carol joyously; + Mortals, fly from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +Poor Mrs. Newton clasped her thin hands, and looked up, and prayed like +the disciples, "Lord, increase our faith!" + +"Eh!" said she, afterwards, "is it not strange that we can trust our +Lord and Saviour with the care of our souls for eternity, and we cannot +trust Him with that of our bodies for a day." + +Well! this was poor Mrs. Newton's state on that day, when the gentleman +gave Fanny the half-sovereign instead of sixpence, for her flowers. + +When the little flower-girl came back from her race with her two +sixpences, she found the old vegetable-seller had got her three or four +pennies more, by merely showing her basket, and telling why it was left +at his stall; and so every one left a penny for the honest child, and +hoped the gentleman would reward her well. The old man at the stall +said it was very shabby of him only to give her sixpence; but when she +went home with three sixpences and told Mrs. Newton this story, she +kissed her little girl very fondly, but said the gentleman was good to +give her sixpence, for he had no right to give her anything, she had +only done her duty. + +"But, grandmother," said Fanny, "when I saw that pretty half-sovereign +dropping down to his purse, I could not help wishing he would give it +to me." + +"And what commandment did you break then, my child?" + +"Not the eighth--if I had kept the half-sovereign I should have broken +it," said Fanny, "for that says, thou shalt not steal--what commandment +did I break, grandmother; for I did not steal?" + +"When we desire to have what is not ours Fanny, what do we do? we +covet; do we not?" + +"Oh! yes--thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods," cried Fanny, +"that is the tenth commandment; and that half-sovereign was my +neighbor's goods, and that fat gentleman was my neighbor. But, +grandmother, it is very easy to break the tenth commandment." + +"Very easy indeed, my dear," said Mrs. Newton, with first a faint +smile, and then a deep sigh, "therefore," she added, "we ought always +to pray like David, 'Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity.'" + +There is a very common saying, that when things are at the worst they +mend. It is hard to say when matters are at the worst; poor Mrs. Newton +knew they might yet be worse with her; but certainly, they were very +bad; and a few days after this, as Fanny was tying up her flowers as +usual, she lay on her bed thinking what she was to do, and praying that +God would direct her to some way of providing for the poor child. + +While she was thinking and praying, tears stole down her face; Fanny +saw them, and stopped her work, and looked sorrowfully at her-- + +"Now you are crying again, grandmother, she said," and that's what +makes me break the tenth commandment, for I can't help wishing the +gentleman had given me that half-sovereign. But I will say the verses +again to-day about the lilies and birds; for you know I said that +morning-- + + 'Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow,' + +and when I came back with my three sixpences, you said God _had_ +provided for the morrow, for you had only two or three pennies in the +house when I went out." + +"And how many pennies, pray, have you in the house to-day?" said a +rather gruff voice at the door. + +Mrs. Newton and Fanny started; but there, standing at the door, Fanny +saw the fat gentleman who had given her the half-sovereign. + +"So you have been wishing for my gold, you little rogue," he said, +looking as if he meant to frighten her. "Never mind," he added, +smiling, "you are a good child, and did what was right; and I always +meant to bring it back to you, but I have been kept rather busy these +few days past. There it is for you, and try not to break the tenth +commandment again." Then turning to Mrs. Newton, he said, "We should +not expect rewards, ma'am, for doing our duty, but if children do not +meet with approbation when they do right, they may be discouraged, and +perhaps think there is no use in being good: for they are silly little +creatures, you know, and do not always recollect that God will reward +the just one day if men do not." + +"Oh! sir!" said poor Mrs. Newton, but the tears streamed down, and she +could not say a word more. And there Fanny sat gazing on the +half-sovereign, as if she was half stupefied. + +"Well, take up that bit of gold, and do what you like with it," said +the fat gentleman; "and then run off to sell your flowers, for we must +not be idle because we have got enough for to-day. But do what you like +with that money." + +Fanny rose up from her seat, and looking very much as if she was moving +in her sleep, with her wondering eyes fixed on the shining piece that +lay in her hand, she walked slowly over to Mrs. Newton, and putting it +into hers, said,-- + +"May I go to the grocer's now, grandmother, and get you the tea for +your breakfast?" + +"Yes, my love," said Mrs. Newton, kissing her, "and take care of this, +and bring back the change carefully." Then turning to the gentleman, +she said, "I am not young, sir, and I am very, very poorly; I find it +hard to go without my tea, but it is a luxury I have been obliged +latterly to forego." + +"But could you not get tea on credit, from the grocer?" said the +gentleman. + +"Oh! yes, I believe so; but there would be no use in getting credit;" +said Mrs. Newton, "for I am not certain of being better able to pay +next week than I am this week; and when I have not the money to pay for +what I wish to get, it is better to do without it, than to add to one's +anxieties by running in debt. Do you not think so, sir?" + +"Ma'am," said the old gentleman, sitting down, and resting his large +silver-topped stick between his knees, "it is of very little +consequence what I think; but if you wish to know this, I will tell you +that I think very well both of you and your little girl, who, as I have +heard, for I have made inquiries about you both, is a dependant on your +bounty. You have trained her up well, though I wouldn't praise the +child to her face; and so take as much tea as you like till you hear +from me again, and your grocer need be in no trouble about his bill." + +So after the fat gentleman had made this rather bluff, but +honest-hearted speech, and poor Mrs. Newton had wept, and thanked him +in language that sounded more polite, the good old gentleman told her +his whole history. + +He began the world very poor, and without relations able to assist him; +he was at last taken into the employment of a young merchant in the +city; he had a turn for business, and having been able to render some +important services to this young man, he was finally, to his own +surprise, and that of every one else, taken into partnership. + +"During all this time," said he, "I was attached from my boyhood to the +daughter of the poor schoolmaster who first taught me to read; I would +not marry her while I was poor, for I thought that would be to make her +wretched instead of happy; but when I was taken into partnership I +thought my way was clear; I went off to Bethnal Green, and told Mary, +and our wedding-day was settled at once. Well, we were glad enough, to +be sure; but a very few days after, my partner called me into the +private room, and said he wanted to consult me. He seemed in high +spirits, and he told me he had just heard of a famous speculation, by +which we could both make our fortunes at once. He explained what it +was, and I saw with shame and regret, that no really honest man could +join in it: I told him so; I told him plainly I would have nothing to +do with it. You may think what followed; the deeds of partnership were +not yet signed, and in short, in two or three days more I found myself +poor Jack Walton again--indeed, poorer than I was before I was made one +of the firm of Charters and Walton, for I had lost my employment. + +"Often and often I used to think that David said, he had never seen the +righteous forsaken; yet I was suffering while the unrighteous were +prospering. It was a sinful, and a self-righteous thought, and I was +obliged to renounce it; when, after some time of trial, a gentleman +sent for me--a man of wealth, and told me his son was going into +business on his own account; that he had heard of my character, and of +the cause of my leaving Mr. Charters; that he thought I would be just +such a steady person as he wished his son to be with. In short, I began +with him on a handsome salary; was soon made his partner; married Mary, +and had my snug house in the country. Mr. Charters succeeded in that +speculation; entered into several others, some of which were of a more +fraudulent nature, failed, and was ruined. He ran off to America, and +no one knows what became of him. I have left business some years. I +purchased a nice property in the country, built a Church upon it, and +have ever thanked God, who never forsakes those who wish to act +righteously. + +"It pleased God to take all my sweet children from me--every state has +its trials--the youngest was just like your little flower-girl." + +Mrs. Newton was much pleased with this story; she then told her own, +and little Fanny's. The fat gentleman's eyes were full of tears when +she ended; when he was going away he put another half-sovereign into +her hand, and saying, "The first was for the child," walked out of the +house. + +A short time afterwards, a clergyman came to see Mrs. Newton--she was +surprised; he sat and talked with her some time, and seemed greatly +pleased with her sentiments, and all she told him of herself and Fanny. +He then told her that he was the clergyman whom Mr. Walton, on the +recommendation of the bishop of the diocese, had appointed to the +church he had built; that Mr. Walton had sent him to see her, and had +told him, if he was satisfied with all he saw and heard, to invite Mrs. +Newton and the little flower-girl to leave London, and go and live in +one of the nice widows' houses, which good Mr. Walton had built, near +the pretty village where he lived. + +Then there was great joy in poor Mrs. Newton's humble abode; Mrs. +Newton was glad for Fanny's sake, and Fanny was glad for Mrs. Newton's +sake, so both were glad, and both said-- + + "Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +But the only difference was, that Mrs. Newton said it with watery eyes +and clasped hands, lying on her bed and looking up to heaven; and +Fanny--merry little thing!--said it frisking and jumping about the +room, clapping her hands together, and laughing her joy aloud. + +Well, there was an inside place taken in the B---- coach, for Mrs. +Newton and Fanny; and not only that, but kind Mrs. Walton sent up her +own maid to London, to see that everything was carefully done, as the +poor woman was ill, and help to pack up all her little goods; and, with +her, she sent an entire new suit of clothes for the flower-girl. + +They set off, and when they got near to the village the coachman +stopped, and called out to know if it were the first, or the last of +the red cottages he was to stop at; and Mrs. Walton's maid said, "The +last,--the cottage in the garden." So they stopped at such a pretty +cottage, with a little garden before and behind it. Mr. Walton had +known what it was to be poor, and so, when he grew rich, he had built +these neat houses, for those who had been rich and become poor. They +were intended chiefly for the widows of men of business, whose +character had been good, but who had died without being able to provide +for their families. He had made an exception in Mrs. Newton's case, and +gave her one of the best houses, because it had a pretty garden, which +he thought others might not care for so much. + +They went inside, and there was such a neat kitchen, with tiles as red +as tiles could be; a little dresser, with all sorts of useful things; a +nice clock ticking opposite the fire-place, and a grate as bright as +blacklead could make it. And then there was such a pretty little room +at one side, with a rose tree against the window; and a little shelf +for books against the wall; and a round table, and some chairs, and an +easy couch. And there were two nice bedrooms overhead; and, better than +all these, was a pretty garden. Oh! how happy was the little +flower-girl; and how thankful was poor Mrs. Newton! The first thing she +did was to go down on her knees and thank God. + +Then Fanny was to go to the school, for Mrs. Walton had her own school, +as well as the national school; but Fanny did not know enough to go to +it, so she was sent to the national school first, and afterwards she +went to the other, where about a dozen girls were instructed in all +things that would be useful to them through life--whether they were to +earn their bread at service, or to live in their own homes as +daughters, wives, or mothers. + +But every morning, before she went out, she did everything for her +dear, good grandmother. She made her breakfast; she arranged her room; +and she gathered some fresh flowers in the garden, and put them on the +table in the little parlor. Oh! how happy was Fanny when she looked +back, and saw how nice everything looked, and then went out singing to +her school-- + + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we, + Yet we carol joyously; + Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +But God will not provide for the morrow, where people will do nothing +to provide for themselves; and so Fanny, the flower-girl, knew, for +surely God had blessed the labor of her childish hands. + +Thus passed time away; and Fanny, under the instruction that she had at +church, at school, and at home, "grew in grace, and in the knowledge +and love of God, and of Jesus Christ our Lord." + +Good Mrs. Newton was much better in health, and used to walk about +sometimes without any support but Fanny's arm, and so time went on till +Fanny came to be about fifteen; and then Mrs. Newton, who was not +always free from "doubt and sorrow," began to think what was to become +of her if she were to die. + +So one day, when kind Mr. Walton, whom Fanny used once to call the fat +gentleman, came in to see her, Mrs. Newton told him that she was +beginning to feel anxious that Fanny should be put in a way of earning +her own bread, in case she should be taken from her. + +Mr. Walton listened to her, and then he said,-- + +"You are very right and prudent, Mrs. Newton, but never mind that; I +have not forgotten my little flower-girl, and her race after me that +hot morning; if you were dead, I would take care of her; and if we both +were dead, Mrs. Walton would take care of her; and if Mrs. Walton were +dead, God would take care of her. I see you cannot yet learn the little +lines she is so fond of-- + + "'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow.'" + +Well, not very long after this conversation came a very warm day, and +in all the heat of the sun came Mr. Walton, scarcely able to breathe, +into Mrs. Newton's cottage; he was carrying his hat in one hand, and a +newspaper in the other, and his face was very red and hot. + +"Well, Mrs. Newton," said he, "what is all this about?--I can't make it +out; here is your name in the paper!" + +"My name, sir!" said Mrs. Newton, staring at the paper. + +"Aye, indeed is it," said Mr. Walton, putting on his spectacles, and +opening the paper at the advertisement side,--"see here!" + +And he began to read,-- + +"If Mrs. Newton, who lived about fifteen years ago near the turnpike on +the P---- road, will apply to Messrs. Long and Black, she will hear of +something to her advantage. Or should she be dead, any person who can +give information respecting her and her family, will be rewarded." + +Mrs. Newton sat without the power of speech--so much was she surprised; +at last she said, "It is Fanny's father!--I know, I am sure it can be +no one else!" + +Mr. Walton looked surprised, for he had never thought of this; he was +almost sorry to think his little flower-girl should have another +protector. At length he said it must be as Mrs. Newton thought, and he +would go up to London himself next day, and see Mr. Long and Mr. Black. +So he went; and two days afterwards, when Fanny had returned from Mrs. +Walton's school, and was sitting with Mrs. Newton in the little shady +arbor they had made in the garden, and talking over early days, when +they used to sit in another arbor, and Fanny used to learn her first +lessons from flowers, then came Mr. Walton walking up the path towards +them, and with him was a fine-looking man, of about forty-five years of +age. + +Mrs. Newton trembled, for when she looked in his face she remembered +the features; and she said to herself, "Now, if he takes my Fanny from +me?--and if he should be a bad man?" But when this man came nearer, he +stepped hastily beyond Mr. Walton, and catching Mrs. Newton's hands, he +was just going to drop on his knees before her, when he saw Fanny +staring at him; and a father's feelings overcame every other, and with +a cry of joy he extended his arms, and exclaiming "my child!'--my +child!" caught her to his breast. + +Then there followed so much talk, while no one knew scarcely what was +saying; and it was Mr. Walton, chiefly, that told how Fanny's father +had had so much to struggle against, and so much hardship to go +through, but how he had succeeded at last, and got on very well; now he +had tried then to find out Mrs. Newton and his dear little Fanny, but +could not, because Mrs. Newton had changed her abode; how, at last, he +had met with a good opportunity to sell his land, and had now come over +with the money he had earned, to find his child, and repay her kind +benefactor. + +Oh, what a happy evening was that in the widow's cottage! the widow's +heart sang for joy. The widow, and she that had always thought herself +an orphan, were ready to sing together-- + + "Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +Mrs. Newton found that Mr. Marsden, that was the name of Fanny's +father, was all that she could desire Fanny's father to be:--a +Christian in deed and in truth; one thankful to God and to her, for the +preservation and care of his child; and who would not willingly +separate Fanny from her, or let her leave Fanny. + +As he found Mrs. Newton did not wish to leave kind Mr. Walton's +neighborhood, and that his daughter was attached to it also, Mr. +Marsden took some land and a nice farm-house, not far from the Manor +House, where Mr. Walton lived. He had heard all about the +half-sovereign, and loved his little flower-girl before he saw her. + +So Mrs. Newton had to leave her widow's house; and she shed tears of +joy, and regret, and thankfulness, as she did so; she had been happy +there, and had had God's blessing upon her and her dear girl. + +But Fanny was glad to receive her dear, dear grandmother into her own +father's house; her own house too; and she threw her arms round the old +lady's neck, when they got there, and kissed her over and over again, +and said, "Ah! grandmother, do you recollect when I was a little girl +tying up my flowers while you lay sick in bed, I used to say so often-- + + "'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow.'" + +They had a large garden at the farm-house, and Fanny and Mrs. Newton +improved it; and Mrs. Newton would walk out, leaning on Fanny's arm, +and look at the lilies and roses, and jessamine, and mignonette, and +talk of past times, and of their first garden, and their first flowers, +and of their first knowledge of the God who made them; who watches the +opening bud, and the infant head; who sends his rain upon the plant, +and the dew of his blessing upon the child who is taught to know and +love Him. And Fanny's father, when he joined them, talked over his +trials and dangers from the day that his poor wife lay dead, and his +helpless baby lay in his arms, and then he blessed the God who had led +him all his life long, and crowned him with loving-kindness. + +Three years passed, and Fanny, the little flower-girl, was a fine young +woman. A farmer's son in the neighborhood wished to get her for his +wife; but her father was very sorry to think of her leaving him so soon +for another home. + +He spoke to Fanny about it, and said,--"My dear girl, I have no right +to expect you should wish to stay with me, for I never was able to +watch over your childhood or to act a father's part by you." + +And Fanny answered, with a blush and smile, "And I, father, was never +able to act a daughter's part by you until now, and therefore I think +you have every right to expect I should do so for some time longer. I +have no objections to be Charles Brierley's wife, and I have told him +so; but we are both young, and at all events I will not leave you." + +"Now," said Mrs. Newton, who was sitting by, "instead of that young man +taking more land, which is very dear about here, would it not be a good +plan if he were to come and live with you, Mr. Marsden, and help you +with the farm." + +And Mr. Marsden said, "That is the very thing; I will go and speak to +him about it; and Fanny and her husband can have the house, and farm, +and all, as much as they please now, and entirely at my death." + +So it was all settled; and Fanny was married at the village church, and +Mr. and Mrs. Walton were at the wedding. Good Mrs. Newton lived on at +the farm-house, and when Fanny's first child was born, it was put into +her arms. Then she thought of the time when Fanny herself was laid in +the same arms; and she blessed God in her heart, who had enabled her to +be of use to one human creature, and to one immortal soul and mind, +while she passed through this life to the life everlasting. + +Joy and sorrow are always mingled on this earth; so it came to pass +that before Fanny's first child could walk alone, good, kind Mrs. +Newton died, and was buried. As a shock of corn cometh in, in its +season, so she sank to rest, and was gathered into the garner of her +Lord. But-- + + "The memory of the just + Is blessed, though they sleep in dust;" + +and Fanny's children, and children's children, will learn to love that +memory. + +Many a day, sitting at work in her garden, with her little ones around +her, Fanny let them gather some flowers, and talk to her about them; +and then they would beg, as a reward for good conduct, that she would +tell them about her dear grandmother and her own childish days; and +much as children love to hear stories, never did any more delight in a +story, than did these children, in the story of Fanny, the Flower-Girl. + + + + +Convenient Food. + + +Little Frances was crying; her sister Mary hearing her sobs, ran in +haste to inquire what had happened; and saw her sitting in a corner of +the nursery, looking rather sulky, as if she had recently received some +disappointment. + +"What is the matter, dear little Frances? why do you cry so?" + +Frances pouted, and would make no reply. + +"Tell me, dear Frances; perhaps I can do something for you." + +"Nothing, Mary," she sobbed, "only"-- + +"Only what, little Frances? It cannot be _nothing_ that makes you cry +so bitterly." + +"Only mamma would not give--" she looked a little ashamed, and did not +finish her sentence. + +"_What_ would she not give?" + +"Nothing." + +"Nothing!" Frances shook her elbows, as if troubled by Mary's +inquiries, but the tears continued flowing down her cheeks. + +Just at that moment their sister Anne came into the room, singing in +the joy of her heart, with a piece of plum-cake in her hand, holding it +up, and turning it about before her sisters to exhibit her +newly-acquired possession, on which Frances fixed her eyes with eager +gaze, and the tears flowed still faster, accompanied with a kind of +angry sob. + +"Frances! what is the matter that you are crying so? see what I have +got! you will spoil all the happiness of our feast." + + +At the word _feast_, Frances' tears seemed arrested, and her mouth +looked as if she were going to smile. She left the corner, and +immediately prepared to do her part for the feast, setting a little +square table, and then, drawing her own little stool, seated herself in +readiness as a guest. + +"Stay," said Anne, "we will make some little paper dishes and plates, +and divide the cake;" so saying, she began the operation, and laying +down the paper dishes, "there at the top, see! there shall be two +chickens, at the bottom a piece of beef, at one side some potatoes, and +at the other some cauliflower;" breaking her cake into small pieces to +correspond to her imagined provision. + +Frances looked very impatient at the long preparation, and as Anne +seated herself, inviting Mary to partake, Frances stretched out her +hand to take the beef for her own portion. + +"No, no, Frances, you must not help yourself, you know; wait until we +all begin in order." + +Frances very reluctantly withdrew her hand, and, whilst she waited, +betrayed her impatience by a little jerking motion of the body, that +threw her breast against the table, as if she would beat time into +quicker motion. + +"O we must not forget William!" Anne exclaimed; "where is he? he must +taste our feast; stay here, Mary, with Frances, and I will go and find +him." + +Away she ran, and left poor Frances in a fret at this additional delay, +but she began to amuse herself by picking up the small crumbs that had +been scattered on the stool, and at last proceeded to touch the beef +and chickens. + +"Do not do so, Frances," Mary said, in a reproving voice. + +Frances colored. + +"Do not sit _looking_ on, if you are so impatient; employ yourself, and +get a seat ready for William." + +"_You_ may get it, Mary." + +"Very well; only do not meddle with Anne's feast." + +Mary had to go into another room for the seat, and whilst she was away, +Frances quickly helped herself to half of the pieces which were on the +dishes, and, when Mary returned, resumed her position as if nothing had +happened. Mary was so busy in arranging the seats, that she did not +observe what had been done. + +Presently Anne came back, accompanied by her brother William; hastening +to her place, and looking on her table, she started with surprise, and +seemed to say to herself, as she gazed, How came I to make a mistake, +an think my pieces of cake were larger? but the expression of her face +called Mary's attention, who at once said, + +"Anne, I am sure you placed larger pieces on your dishes." + +"Indeed, I thought so, Mary; who has taken any?" + +"I do not know." + +"O you are only _pretending_, and you have been hiding some." + +"No, Anne; I would not have said I do not know, if I had _hid_ it." + +"No, no more you would, dear Mary. Never mind," she said, glancing a +look at Frances, not altogether without suspicion, "it is only to +_play_ with, it does not signify whether it is much or little. + +"William, shall I help you to a little chicken?" + +"O no, Anne, you have forgot, help the _ladies_ first; and beside, you +ought to have placed me at the bottom of the table to carve this dish. +What is it?" + +"Beef, William." + +"O beef, very well. Come, Miss Frances, let me sit there, and you come +to the side of the table." + +In haste to begin the eating part of the play, she rose immediately to +change places, when, to her disgrace, a quantity of crumbs, which had +lodged unobserved in a fold of her frock, fell out, and disordered the +neatness of the table. + +"There!" said William, "we have no question to ask who took the liberty +to lessen the dishes." + +"For shame, William, I--" + +"O Frances, take care what you say, tell no falsehoods; I will tell one +truth, and say you are a greedy girl." + +Frances began to cry again, "For shame, William, to call me names." + +"I call no names, I only say what I think, and how can I help it, when +it is only just now you cried so, because you said mamma had given me a +larger piece of cake than yourself; for you must know," he continued, +turning to Mary, "we have both had one piece before, and she half of +mine to make her quiet; and then she cried again because a piece was +put by for you and Anne, and she cannot be contented now, though Anne +shares hers amongst us. If this is not being greedy, I do not know what +greedy means. It is no names, it is only saying what a thing is." + +"Now I know another thing," said Anne; "when mamma called me to receive +my piece of cake, she said, 'And you shall take a piece also to Mary,' +but when she unfolded the paper, there was only _one_ piece; mamma did +not say anything, but I think she _thought_ something." + +At this remark, Frances redoubled her crying, but, for the sake of a +share of the present feast, did not attempt to leave the party. No more +was said, and the feast was concluded in good humor by all except the +conscious greedy girl, and they then all went into the garden together +to finish their hour's recreation before they were called again to +their lessons. + +There was a little plantation of young fir-trees at one corner of the +garden, intended to grow there for shelter from the north-west wind: +the grass was so high amongst them, that the gardener had orders to go +and carefully mow it down. He was engaged in the business when the +children ran out to see him work. + +"Hush! hush!" he exclaimed, as they approached, "I have just cleared a +bough from the grass, and see what's there!" + +All curiosity, they went forward on tip-toe, and were directed to +something lodged on the spreading branch of a young larch. + +"A bird's nest!" said William. + +"A bird's nest!" they all repeated. "But what is in it, I cannot tell." + +"Look steadily," said the gardener, "and you will find out." + +It was difficult to trace what it was; something all in a heap, brown +naked skin; alive, as might be known by the heaving breathing. William +putting his finger to touch them, immediately four wide mouths +stretched open, with little tongues raised, and the opening of their +throats extended to the utmost. + +"Look at the little things," said William; "they thought their mother +was come when I touched the branch, and they have opened their mouths +to be ready to receive what she would put in. + +"They are _blind_!" said William. + +"Yes, they cannot have been hatched more than two days." + +"Will they take what the mother gives them?" asked William. + +"Yes," said the man, "they trust her, and swallow down what she puts +into their mouths." + +"I wish the mother would come," said Anne. + +"But she will not whilst we are here," William replied. + +"Touch it again, William," said Frances. + +William touched the edge of the nest "See!" said he, "they think the +mother is come, they stretch, their months still wider." + +"Hark!" said Mary, "what an impatient noise they make: they look ready +to stretch themselves out of their nest, and as if their little mouths +would tear." + +"Poor little things! do not disappoint them, give them something," said +Anne. + +"We have not proper food for them," said William. + +"I will run and fetch some crumbs," said Mary. + +Mary soon returned with a piece of bread, and giving it to her brother +as the most experienced, he broke it into extremely small crumbs, and, +again touching the nest, awakened the expectation of the young birds: +they opened their mouths wide, and as he dropped a small crumb into +each, they moved their tongues, trying to make it pass down into their +throat. "Poor little things, they cannot swallow well, they want the +mother to put it gently down their throat with her beak." + +"See! see!" said all the girls, "they want more, give them more." + +William dropped his crumbs again. + +"More, more, William; see! they are not satisfied." + +"I dare not give them more for fear of killing them, we cannot feed +them like the mother. We will stand still at a little distance, and you +will see them go to sleep." When all was quiet, the little nestlings +shut their mouths, and dropped their heads. + +"I should like to see the mother feed them." + +"You would see how much better she would do it than we can; perhaps, if +we could conceal ourselves behind that laurel, she would come, but she +will be very frightened, because all is so altered now the grass is cut +down, and her nest is exposed; but I dare say she is not for off, she +will be watching somewhere." + +They took William's hint, and retreated behind the laurel; they had not +waited ten minutes, before the hen bird flitted past, and, darting over +the larch, as if to inspect whether her little brood was safe, she +disappeared again. In a few minutes more, she returned, skimming round +to reconnoitre that all was safe, she perched upon the nest. Instantly +the little nestlings were awake to the summons of her touch and chirp, +and, opening their mouths wide, were ready for what she would give. She +dropt a small fly into the mouth of one of them, and, having no more, +flew away to provide for the other hungry mouths as fast as she could. +As soon as she was gone, they again shut their mouths, and dropt their +heads in silence. + +"What a little bit she gave them," said Frances. + +"Yes," answered William, "but she knows it is _plenty_." + +"How contented the others seem to wait till she comes again!" + +"Yes, Mary," William again answered, unable to resist the comparison +which had come to his mind, "they did not take the little bit away from +the other. Shall we wait till she comes again?" + +"O do." + +"Very well, I want to see whether the one that was fed first will take +away the bit the others got." + +The allusion made a little laugh, but, seeing that Frances understood +and felt that it applied to her, Anne said, "Do not let us tease +Frances; it is better to tell her at once what her fault is, than to +seem to like to hurt her." + +"Indeed, dear Anne, I have not spared to tell her, her fault, as she +knows very well, for she has often given me reason, but I cannot make +her ashamed of such things; and I know mamma is very uneasy to see it +in her." + +Frances looked grave, but did not cry; turning pale, however, she said, +"O Mary take me out of this laurel--I am so sick!" + +Mary hastened to take her into the freer air, but all in vain. The +sisters were alarmed, and took her in to their mamma; who received her +gravely, without expressing any concern for her indisposition. + +"What can we do for Frances, mamma? Will you let her have your smelling +bottle, or shall I run and get some sal volatile?" + +"Neither, my dear Mary; it is an indisposition caused by her own +selfish appetite, and probably the relief may be obtained by her +stomach rejecting what she so improperly forced upon it. We will wait a +short time, and if not, I will give her something less palatable, +perhaps, than plum-cake, but necessary to remove it." + +Frances was too ill to make any remark; she became paler still, and +then quickly flushed almost a crimson color, her eyes were oppressed, +and her eyebrows contracted, and she impatiently complained, + +"O my head! how it beats! What shall I do, mamma?" + +"Bear the consequences of your own inordinate appetite, Frances, and +learn to subject it to the wholesome rules of temperance." + +"O the nasty plum-cake! I wish you had not given me any, mamma." + +"You _once_ thought the plum-cake _nice_, and you would not be +contented with the small portion I knew to be sufficient and safe for +you." + +"O my head! I think it is very cruel, mamma, that you do not pity me." + +"I do pity you, Frances, and will take care of you now that I see you +require help, as I perceive that you will not have any relief without +medicine." + +Frances began again to cry, "O, I am so sick! I cannot take medicine. I +am sure I cannot." + +"Come to your room, Frances; I shall give you something proper, and you +had better lie down after you have taken it; you will, perhaps, drop +into a sleep, and be well when you awake again." Her mamma took her +hand and led her up stairs, and Frances knew very well it was in vain +to make any objection, as her mamma always made a point of obedience. +The medicine was administered, although for some time Frances refused +to look at it. When she laid down, her mamma placed the pillow high +under her head, and, drawing the curtain to shade the light, left the +room that she might be perfectly quiet. And when she returned to the +drawing-room, she inquired of the other children what they had been +doing, and received a full account of the feast, and the bird's nest, +and all the little circumstances of each. + +It was time to resume their studies, and, except that Frances was not +in her usual place, all things proceeded as before. When the lessons +were finished, they entreated their mamma to go with them, and see the +bird's nest." + +"It is _so_ pretty, mamma!" said Anne; "and they know when the mother +comes, and they take what she puts into their mouths." + +"We will first inquire after Frances," she answered; "if she is well +enough, she can accompany us." + +"I will run up, if you will be putting on your bonnet and shawl, mamma." + +"Very well, I hope you will find her recovered, we will wait your +return." + +Anne soon returned,--"She is gone! I do not see her anywhere!" + +"Gone! In perhaps we shall find her at play in the garden." + +In this expectation they all went out, and as they drew near the spot +where the nest was, they saw Frances looking very eagerly into the +nest, and seeming to be in some agitation, then she threw something out +of her hand, and ran away as if wanting not to be seen. + +"She is about some mischief," William said, and ran forward to the +nest. But what was his grief to see one of the little birds dead on the +ground, two others in the nest with pieces of bread sticking in their +mouths, gasping, unable to swallow or reject it, and the fourth with +its crop gorged, and slowly moving its little unfledged head from side +to side, struggling in death. + +Full of sympathy with the little sufferer, and indignant with Frances, +he exclaimed, "Provoking girl! she has stuffed the little creatures as +she would like to stuff herself; and I believe she has killed them all." + +The lively interest the other children had in the nest, impelled them +to hasten to the spot, and their lamentations, and even tears, soon +flowed. + +"William, William, cannot you do anything for them? do try." + +"Well, stand still and do not shake my arm--so saying, he began the +attempt, and drew the bread carefully out of the distended mouths of +the two. + +"Now the other! the other, William!" + +"That I cannot help," he answered: "see! she has forced it down, and we +cannot get it back again; it is dying now." + +Anne picked up the dead one from off the ground, and stroking it with +her forefinger, "Poor little thing!" she said, "was she so cruel to +you!" + +It was not long before they heard a rustling in the tree near the +place, and then a chirp of fright and distress. "Ah!" said their mamma, +"there is the mother! poor things, we will go a little distance to let +her come to the nest; perhaps she will be able to save the two." + +They all withdrew, and the little parent bird was soon on her nest, +fluttering and chirping to awaken the dead and dying little ones, till +at length she sorrowfully brooded down on her nest, and spread her +wings over them, occasionally chirping as if to solicit an answer from +her little brood. + +"Oh!" said Mary, bursting into tears, "I cannot bear it! cruel Frances, +to be so unkind to the little birds!" + +"Go and find Frances," said their mamma, "and bring her to me." + +"I will go," William answered, "I think I know where she will hide +herself." + +It was not long before William returned, leading Frances, who very +reluctantly yielded to accompany him. + +"Come here," said her mamma, stopping the accusations she saw were +ready to overwhelm the offending little girl; "come here, and let me +talk to you about this sad thing you have done to the little birds. Do +you see what you have done by your ill-judged kindness?" + +"Kindness! mamma," they all exclaimed. + +"Yes, dear children, she has been very faulty, but I believe she meant +to be kind, and through ignorance did this thing which proves the death +of the birds. _You_ would not have done it, William, because you have +already learnt there is such a thing as a necessary prudence to deal +out your morsels with wisdom, and in a measure suited to the age and +the capacity of the birds, and also that their food should be of a +wholesome kind suitable to their nature. Nothing of this did Frances +know, and it seems she had not learnt wisdom from the circumstances she +had herself so lately fallen into. + +"It reminds me of the scripture, which teaches us to profit: 'Open thy +mouth wide, and I will fill it.' These little birds first attracted +your attention by their _open mouths_, which they had stretched to +receive what their poor mother was preparing to put into them. As one +lighted on the edge of their nest, they instinctively opened their +little yellow-edged beaks; she delighted to see them do so; and they, +taking with content what she had provided for them, with the utmost +confidence swallowed it down. She had a bit for every one of them in +turn and they waited patiently until it was given them. All was well +whilst they were nourished with parental tenderness and prudence, and +none other meddled with them, or ventured to give them other things, +which they, being blind, received and knew not the hand that gave, nor +the consequences of eating food not such as their parent would have +provided. + +"Here you see Frances, neither prudent nor aware of consequences, has +stuffed these little birds with improper food, both in quality and +quantity. The consequences are fatal; one is dead, another is dying, +and it is very uncertain whether the others also will not die. She fed +them without measure, and their crops and throats were gorged so as to +stop their breathing. They took it greedily, because they knew not the +fatal consequences. + +"Frances, you are a greedy girl. You had been suffering for this +offence, and had not the wisdom to leave it to me to apportion your +food. You opened your mouth wide, but you must remember it is not +written that _you_ are to fill it according to your own desires. 'I +will fill it,' saith the Lord. He knows what is good for us, and he +will measure his bounty according to his own wisdom." + +Frances began to look ashamed and sorrowful. + +"I was to you," her mamma continued, "in the affair of the cake, +endeavoring to fulfil this my duty, but you rebelled against my +discretion, and would covet more than was right. You _helped yourself_, +you gorged your stomach. You were cross and peevish, and ill, and when +the medicine had relieved you, as it was designed, you, without +reflection, sallied forth and suffocated the little birds. You could +not feed them as the _mother_ would. You could not find in the air and +on the ground the little insects, and small worms and little grains +which were their proper food, and you should have left it to their own +mother to fill their opened mouths. _She_ would have made no mistake +either in the quality or quantity _convenient_ for them." + +"O," Mary said, "how that reminds me of the scripture in Proverbs xxx. +8: 'Feed me with food _convenient_ for me.'" + +"Yes, my dear girl, it's a scripture of great importance and often does +it impress my mind in combination with the other I mentioned, Ps. +lxxxi. 10: 'Open thy mouth wide, and _I_ will fill it,' in their +spiritual application, when I am providing for you, and dividing out +your portions, and considering what diet is most suited to your +constitution, and limiting the quantity of dainty or rich luxuries not +_convenient_ for you. I am also frequently led to apply it to myself, +and to offer my petition to the Lord that he will graciously judge for +me, both temporally and spiritually to _fill_ my mouth, and feed me +with food _convenient_ for me." + +"I think too, mamma, that there is some meaning belonging to this in +our Lord's teaching us to pray, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' +Matt. vi. 11." + +"Assuredly, my dear child, and I am rejoiced to find you are led by +this subject to compare spiritual things with spiritual. + +"You see how the word of God interprets itself, and we are taught to go +direct to the bounteous hand who giveth liberally, but never wastefully +Our daily bread is sufficient for the day, and we must wait on him +still for the daily bread of the succeeding day; so we are instructed +to open our mouths wide to ask the Lord to fulfil his promise and to +fill them, and to be contented with convenient food." + +"O Mamma, you cannot think how many scriptures seem to come to my mind, +and to give me a clearer understanding. You know the manna which was +given in the wilderness, was _convenient_ food when it was gathered +daily as the Lord commanded, but when they laid it up, you know it was +no longer _convenient,_ for it stunk and bred worms. Does not this +teach us to trust God as well as not to _disobey_ him?" + +"May this ready application of the word of God proceedeth from that +grace, my child, which teaches you, like Job, to esteem the word of God +more than your necessary food, for you will also remember what our Lord +said to the tempter, 'It is written, Man does not live by _bread +alone,_ but _by every word_ that proceeded out of the mouth of God.' +But we are too apt to forget this, and to imagine that we can provide +well for ourselves by fulfilling the desires and lusts of the flesh, +and by so doing, we are likely to be brought to _forget_ God, the +bountiful and wise Supplier of all our wants." + +"I remember the text, mamma, which has in it, 'Feed me with food +_convenient_ for me; and in another part, 'lest I be full and deny +thee,' Prov. xxx. 9; and this little bird's nest has helped me to +understand it better." + +"May the Holy Spirit engrave it on your heart, for it will often remind +you of the thankful contentedness with which you ought to wait on the +Lord." + +"Yes, mamma," William said, "but there is no harm, you know, in opening +the mouth _wide_." + +"No, William, certainly no _harm_, for it is a _duty_. 'Open thy mouth +wide,' is an injunction of God, but it is immediately subjoined and +strictly said, 'and I will fill it.' Therefore bear in mind the double +instruction. Neither take the filling on yourself, nor be ready to +swallow every crude and unwholesome morsel which the ignorant or the +wicked would present to you. Do you remember a certain day last week +when something happened?" + +William looked anxious to recollect what his mamma alluded to, and in +less than a minute he shook his head, and said, "Ah, mamma, that is too +bad, you mean when Mrs. Arnot called, and you were out." + +"Yes I do, William; you all opened your mouths wide, and _she_ filled +them. Her sweet things did not prove _convenient_ food. You see, +therefore, we should learn to discriminate between a heavenly Father's +provision, and that of a stranger, whose busy interference may cost you +your life. I was not many minutes away from my little nest, when a +stranger came, and, by mistaken kindness made you all ill. + +"Frances, have you never read that scripture: 'Put a knife to thy +throat, if thou be a man given to appetite.'" + +Frances cried, and, sobbing, said, "I do not know what it means?" + +"What can it mean, my dear Frances, but parallel with those, 'If thy +right eye offend thee, pluck it out if thy right hand offend thee, cut +it off. It is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, than, +having two hands or two feet, to be cast into everlasting fire,' Matt. +xvvi. 29, 30. ii. 8, 9. It means that spirit which will sacrifice the +lust of the heart, and deny itself, though it should be a present +mortification. The _throat_ of an inordinate or diseased appetite is to +be cut, and its carnal desires crucified." + +"Was it not something of this kind that Isaac fell into when he sent +Esau to hunt venison, and make him savory meat, such as his soul loved? +Gen. xxvii. 4." + +"Yes, William, and this very thing he desired presented the temptation +by which he was deceived. And you might have mentioned, too, how Esau +himself yielded to his appetite, and sold his birthright for a mess of +pottage, Gen. xxv. 29. When we yield to these propensities of the +flesh, we lay a snare for our own souls, and expose our weakness to an +adversary, ever ready to take advantage of our infirmity. It is a +common fault in children to desire with greedy appetite such food as is +pernicious, and to wish for more than even a mouth opened wide +requires--till at length they learn to lust after _forbidden_ things. +And what does it lead to? Frances, you began to pick and steal, and +your own iniquity chastised you:--you were sick and ill." + +Frances hid her face in her frock. + +"Ah mamma," said Anne, "I shall be afraid of wanting anything, as I +used to do; and I hope I shall remember how much better you can feed +me, than I can feed myself." + +"I wish I may too," said William. "If Eve had but waited for the Lord +only to fill her mouth, she would not have eaten that which brought sin +and death." + +"Tell me, Frances, if you feel the force of all we have learnt from the +little birds, and your own mistaken idea of what would be good for +them?" + +Frances did not answer. + +"But you know, my child, you were guilty of another fault; when the +medicine was offered, which was likely to do you good,--you _refused_ +to open your mouth, and was long before you would let me fill it, so +you see we must leave it all to the Lord to give us much or little, +bitter or sweet, just as he knows to be _convenient_ for us." + +"Yes," Mary said, "these poor little birds will long teach us a lesson. +We may imitate them to open our mouth wide, but we must be warned by +what happened to them, to let the _Lord_ only fill them." + +"Let us look again at the nest." They approached, and frightened the +mother so, that she flew off. + +"See, see! William," said Anne, "the two little things are opening +their mouths again. O how beautiful! let us never meddle with them any +more. Only remember, 'Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.' Now, +Frances, do not cry any more: come, we will bury these little dead +birds." + +Frances wiped her eyes, and Anne giving her a kiss, they went away to +do as she proposed. After they had made a little coffin, they put the +two little dead birds into it Then William got a spade, and dug a grave +just large enough to hold the little coffin: and, as he lowered it into +the grave, Mary wiped away the tears which gathered in her eyes. When +William had filled up the grave, they all returned to their mamma, who +said-- + +"My dear children, do not let us dismiss this interesting subject +without a closer application. My dear Frances, come near to me, and +hear what I have to say." + +Frances drew near with some timidity. Conscious of her faults, and +expecting the word of truth to be directed to her heart, she had at +that moment rather have escaped from it. But her mamma, taking her +hands into hers, and sitting down on a garden stool that was nigh, she +felt that the words would be words of love, aid her heart beginning to +soften, the tears were ready to flow, for she knew that her mamma would +speak to her of Jesus and of his blood, which was shed for sinners. + +"Do you know quite well, my child, that among the fruits of the Spirit +enumerated, Gal. v., there is one called TEMPERANCE?" + +"Yes, mamma," she replied. + +"Are you not also conscious, my dear child, that your desire of +indulging your appetite is quite contrary to this holy fruit?" + +"Yes, mamma." + +"Then what are you to do in order to overcome the one, and to obtain +the other?" + +"I must ask the Lord Jesus to give me the Holy Spirit." + +"Yes, my child, to him must you come for all help, and he will not send +you empty away. Here is a subject on which you must indeed open your +mouth wide, in earnest prayer, and wait on the Lord for his gracious +answer. 'Ask, and ye shall receive,' he says, and after showing how an +_earthly_ father will act towards his child that asks for bread, how +does he conclude?" + +"He says, 'How much _more_ will your _heavenly_ Father give the _Holy +Spirit_ to them that ask Him!'" + +"Will you then, my dear Frances, profit by this gracious instruction, +and will _you_ ask for the Holy Spirit?" + +"Yes, mamma, I will try." + +"Do you believe the Lord will give you the Holy Spirit when you ask?" + +"He _says_ He _will_, mamma." + +"That is enough, my child; what the Lord says is yea and amen. It is +written, 'Hath he said, and will he not do it?'" + +"Yes, mamma, I know God is _Truth_, He cannot lie." + +"But you know also, my dear Frances, when the Holy Spirit is given, he +takes up his abode in the heart, and he _acts_ in the soul, and will +not dwell there without producing his holy fruit; and tell me now what +is the fruit you particularly want to overcome this sinful desire of +appetite which prevails in your heart." + +"Is it not _temperance_, mamma?" + +"Yes, and if He comes into your heart, he will give it you, and +moreover teach you to _repent_ of your sins; for consider, my Frances, +sin is an offence against him, and needs to be repented of. Do you +repent?" + +"I am very sorry, mamma." + +"But repentance is more than sorrow; it will make you ashamed before +God, and make you feel yourself vile; and it will also make you +carefully watchful against the temptation; it will make you anxious to +quit the sin, and clear your soul from its power; it will make you +indignant against it, and urge you to seek that strength from the +Spirit, which will resist the sin, and overcome it. When, therefore, +you ask for the Holy Spirit, be _willing_ that the Lord should _fill_ +you. Be ready to _exercise_ the mighty gift for _all_ his offices, to +convict you of sin, to lead you to true expectations, and to strengthen +you to overcome your sin, giving you that grace which is specially +opposed to the leading sin of your heart." + +"I wish I had this gift; for my sin makes me very unhappy: I know it is +wrong." + +"Do not stop in _wishes_, dear child, go and _pray_; '_Ask_, and ye +shall receive.' 'Open your mouth wide' in the full utterance of all +your distress, and of all you desire; pray for what you _want, name_ +it; pray for _repentance_, and for _temperance_. Pray that the _lust of +your appetite_ may be _crucified_, and pray that the blood of Jesus, +the Lamb of God who taketh away sin, may be sprinkled upon your guilty +soul, and cleanse it from all sin. He giveth liberally, and upbraideth +not. He is angry only when we neglect his promises and his gifts. + +"It is not long since, dear Mary, that you and I conversed on this +text, 'My people would not hearken to my voice, Israel would none of +me: _so I gave them up to their own heart's lusts_,' Psa. lxxxi. A +dreadful judgment! what would become of _you_, dear Frances, if you +were given up to the dominion of your appetite?" + +"But, my dear mamma," Mary said, "do you not remember the end of that +psalm, what a sweet verse there is?" + +"Repeat it, dear girl, and let little Frances hear it!" + +"'_Had_ they hearkened and obeyed, then should he have fed them with +the finest of the wheat, and with honey out of the rock should I have +satisfied them.'" + +"O my children," said their mamma, "here is spiritual food for the +spiritual appetite! You know who is the Bread of Life, and who is the +Rock of our salvation. Turn unto him your whole heart, and though you +feel the burden of the body of this death, you shall soon be able to +thank God, who, through Jesus Christ our Lord, will deliver you." + + "Poor Esau repented too late, + That once he his birth-right despis'd, + And sold for a morsel of meat, + What could not too highly be priz'd. + How great was his anguish when told, + The blessing he sought to obtain + Was gone with the birth-right he sold, + And none could recall it again! + + He stands as a warning to all, + Wherever the gospel shall come! + O hasten and yield to the call, + While yet for repentance there's room! + Your season will quickly be past; + Then hear and obey it to-day, + Lest when you seek mercy at last, + The Saviour should frown you away. + + What is it the world can propose? + A morsel of meat at the best! + For this are you willing to lose + A share in the joys of the blest? + Its pleasures will speedily end, + Its favor and praise are but breath; + And what can its profits befriend + Your soul in the moments of death? + + If Jesus, for these, you despise, + And sin to the Saviour prefer, + In vain your entreaties and cries, + When summon'd to stand at his bar: + How will you his presence abide? + What anguish will torture your heart, + The saints all enthron'd by his side, + And you be compelled to depart. + + Too often, dear Saviour, have I + Preferr'd some poor trifle to thee; + How is it thou dost not deny + The blessing and birth-right to me? + No better than Esau I am, + Though pardon and heaven be mine + To me belongs nothing but shame, + The praise and the glory be thine." + + + + +I. + + +The Little Pavior. + + +"Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and +whether it be right,"--PROVERBS, xx. 11. + +Happy the child who is active, intelligent and obliging, and who takes +pleasure in serving those that are about him! Happy above all is the +child, who, fearing and loving the Lord, shows himself thus zealous and +obliging, from a feeling of piety, and a desire to please God. + +Such was Francis, and this we shall soon see, from the following +narrative: + +Francis, who was about eight years old, was spending the month of June +with his Grandpapa in the country. + +His Grandpapa lived in a pretty house, roofed with slates, and +surrounded with a verandah, in which were seats, and between each seat, +some flower-pots. Jessamine and roses entwined themselves around the +verandah, and adorned it with elegant festoons of flowers. + +Behind the house was a yard, where chickens, turkeys, and guinea-fowls, +were kept; and in the front, looking towards the west, was laid out a +fine garden, well provided with evergreens, such as holly, yew, and +pine-trees, and amongst these, also, many birch and ash-trees +flourished. + +At the bottom of the garden, which sloped a little, flowed a pure, but +shallow stream, which was crossed by means of a wooden bridge, +surrounded with elders and large hazels. + +This was a delightful dwelling-place, but those who inhabited it, were +still more delightful than the beautiful garden or the smiling groves. +For it was the beauty of piety which was found in them, united with +that gentleness and amiability of character, that humble spirit of +cordiality, which our Saviour enjoins upon all his true disciples. + +These inhabitants, so good and so amiable, were the Grandpapa and +Grandmamma of Francis, and their domestics, who, with them served the +Lord, and lived in that peace, which His Spirit gives to such as +delight in His Word. + +This dear Grandpapa then, since he was pious, was charitable, and took +particular pleasure in visiting his aged neighbors, especially the poor +peasants, to whom he always carried comfort and encouragement from that +gracious God, with whom he himself daily endeavored more and more to +live. He used generally to pay these charitable visits in the middle of +the day; after having read the Holy Bible for the second time, in a +retired summer-house in the garden, near which a little gate opened +upon a footpath, which, passing through the orchard, led to the village. + +Francis, who was already acquainted with his Grandpapa's habits, never +came to disturb him while he was in the summer-house, and whenever he +saw his Grandpapa going out of the little gate he took good care not to +follow him. + +But in about an hour or two, he would go to meet him, sometimes towards +the road, at others, as far as the bridge over the stream;--his +Grandmamma was never uneasy, because she knew that Francis was a +prudent boy, and that God watched over him, as one of the lambs of the +good shepherd. + +Grandpapa then, had just finished reading; he had put on his hat and +taken his cane, and had gone out through the gate. + +Francis, who was sitting before the house, under the pretty green +verandah, saw him pass behind the garden hedge, and was already +thinking of going to meet him at the end of an hour, when to his great +surprise he saw his Grandpapa pass again behind the hedge, and then +enter the garden through the little gate, walking apparently with much +difficulty. + +"What is the matter, dear Grandpapa?" cried Francis, springing towards +the garden.--"Oh! how you are covered with mud! It must be that rude +Driver who wanted to fawn upon you. He has always such dirty paws." + +"You must not scold Driver, but _me_," mildly replied his Grandpapa, +"for I incautiously, and most imprudently, walked upon that part of the +path which has been inundated by the water from the fountain." + +"Grandpapa, did you fall?" asked Francis, quite alarmed. + +"Yes my boy, your Grandfather fell like a heedless man.... But thanks +to our gracious God, who ever takes care of us! it was nothing; I was +only a little frightened. You see, Francis, you must not forget that we +only stand, because God supports us." + +So saying, his Grandfather entered the house, and with the same +serenity related his accident to his wife, who bestowed every attention +upon him. + +Whilst his Grandfather was resting himself, and Francis had ascertained +that he had not suffered much, he hastened to look at the spot where +his kind Grandpapa had slipped and fallen. It was a little bit of the +path, perhaps about three paces long, covered with the water which was +issuing from the fountain, and which being of clay, had become very +slippery. + +The trench round the fountain had been already deepened more than once, +in order to turn its course from that part of the orchard, but as the +ground was rather low, the water always returned. + +Francis examined all this, and tried to find out what could be done to +remedy the evil, in a more durable manner. + +"_I know!_" he cried at last. "I must make a pavement here, a little +higher than the path is at present!" + +"Come! cheer up! 'Where there's a will,' says Grandpapa, 'with God's +help there's a way.' To work, to work! 'For he who does nothing makes +little progress,' says also, my dear Grandpapa." + +It may be here well asked, how a little child, eight years of age, +could even conceive such a project, and much more how he could have had +sufficient strength to accomplish it. + +But Francis was not a thoughtless or inattentive child; on the contrary +he observed on his way _to_, and _from_ School, and when he walked out +with his Papa, everything that workmen did. + +It was thus that he had often noticed how the Paviors first laid down +the stones, and then pressed them together, and as we shall soon see, +he found no difficulty in what he was going to attempt. + +"First and foremost," said he, "the tools!" and immediately he ran off +to look for a little wheel-barrow which his Grandpapa had made for him; +with the spade, the trowel, and the iron rake, which were at his +disposal. + +When the tools were collected, Francis, having taken off his jacket, +traced out the portion to be paved. + +"Now," said he, "I must take away two or three inches of earth, that +the stones may fit in." + +He then took away the earth, and piled it up on the upper side of the +path, in order to compel the water to pass by the drain. + +"Now," he said, "I must find some sand; where is there any? Oh! behind +the hen-house; the masons, who plastered the walls of the yard over +again, have left a large heap of it there"--and then he quickly ran +with his wheelbarrow, once, twice, and even three times, and soon had +as much as was necessary. He spread it out, and arranged it, and then +pronounced the great word of all his work, "_Stones!_ No stones, no +pavement! I must have at least fifty of them!" He ran about, searched +and gathered, near the fountain, round the house, and along the wall of +the yard, and soon brought back four wheelbarrows full of nice stones, +well shaped, and not too large. + +But there were not enough, for he was obliged to put five or six +abreast. Where are there any more to be found? + +"In the brook," cried he! "It is rather far off, but I shall soon be +there!" And indeed in about a quarter of an hour, he had collected all +the proper materials. + +Then should he have been seen at work! The trowel in his right hand, a +stone in his left; the sand which he placed between each stone, and the +blows which forced it down, these things succeeded each other rapidly, +and were often repeated; till at length, at the end of the third hour, +the slippery bit of foot-path was no longer in existence, but in its +stead was to be seen a pavement slightly raised, which could never be +wetted by the overflowing of the fountain. + +"That will not do well," said Francis, when he had finished, and was +walking over the pavement; "it is uneven, Grandpapa will hurt his feet +upon it." And so saying, he ran to the woodhouse in the yard, and +returned, bending under the weight of the mallet, with which Thomas +used to strike the axe and wedges, when he split the large pieces of +oak. + +"Here is _my_ rammer," said Francis, laughing, as he thought of those +used by the paviors; and holding the mallet perpendicularly, he struck +with the butt-end, first one stone, and then another, until at length +the pavement was completed! It was solid, even and clean, and Francis, +repeating in truth, "Where there's a will, with God's help, there's a +way," gave thanks in his heart to that good heavenly Father, who gave +him both the idea and the will to do this act of filial love, and +enabled him to accomplish it. + +Some sand and a few stones remained; Francis took them up and carried +them back near to the house. Then he cleared away the rubbish, and +having put on his coat again, returned joyfully to replace his tools in +the green-house. + +All this was done after dinner, between the hours of three and six. The +evening passed quietly away. Grandpapa had not received any bruises, +and he could not sufficiently thank the Good shepherd, the Lord Jesus, +who had, as it were, "carried him in his arms," and "kept all his +bones." + +Grandmamma joined in his praises and thanksgivings, and these two +faithful servants blessed the Lord together, whose mercies are over all +his works. + +"To-morrow, please God," said Grandpapa to Francis, "I shall go and see +old George. He must have expected me to-day! But be assured, my dear +Francis, that your Grandpapa will walk no more like a giddy child; and +if the path is still slippery, I shall place my foot prudently upon it." + +Francis said he hoped the path would be better; and however that might +be, that the Lord would preserve him thenceforth from slipping, and +above all, from falling. + +Grandpapa made Francis read the Bible as usual to the whole household. +He spoke piously of God's paternal care for our bodies as well as for +our souls, and in his prayer he gave abundant thanks to the Saviour who +had so graciously preserved him. + +The morrow came. Grandpapa had quite recovered his accident of the +preceding day, and after reading in the summer-house, he got up to go +and see old George. + +Francis, who was observing him from beneath the verandah, no sooner saw +him come near the little gate, than he ran round the house to hide +himself behind a hazel bush, a short distance from the pavement, in +order to see what his Grandpapa would do. + +Grandpapa walked on towards the orchard, and as soon as he set his foot +on the path, he prepared to proceed very carefully. He took three or +four steps, and then suddenly stopped, and raising his hands, +exclaimed, a "pavement! a pavement here already! How does this happen? +Who could have done this? It must be my faithful Thomas!"--he +continued--"I must thank him for it;" and he called out loudly, +"Thomas! Thomas!" Thomas, who was in the cow-house, heard his voice, +and ran to him in alarm. + +"Have you tumbled again, sir," he asked anxiously? + +"On the contrary," said Grandpapa, "thanks to _you_, Thomas, for having +made this good substantial pavement so quickly and so well; it is +really excellent," said he, stamping upon it with his foot, and walking +over it in every direction. "It is solid, and even, and slopes on +either side! I am very much obliged to you, Thomas." + +"Alas! sir," said the man, "it is not I who did it--how vexed I am that +I did not think of it what stupidity!"... + +"Who is it then?" asked Grandpapa, "for this has been done since +yesterday, and surely these stones are not mushrooms! Who could have +thought of this?" + +"I think I know who it is, sir," answered Thomas, "for yesterday in the +afternoon I saw master Francis going down to the brook with his +wheelbarrow. I could not think what it was for, but now I understand." + +"Francis! did you say," exclaimed Grandpapa; "how could that child have +done it even if he had wished? Are these stones only nuts, that _that_ +dear boy's little hands could have been able to knock them into the +ground?" + +"Do you wish, sir, that I should look for him and bring him here?" +asked Thomas. + +Francis could no longer remain concealed. He ran from behind the bush, +and threw himself into his Grandpapa's arms; saying, "Dear Grandpapa, +how happy I am to have been able to succeed." + +"It is _you_ then, indeed, my son!" cried Grandpapa, as he shed tears +of joy. "God bless your filial piety towards me! May He return you +two-fold all the good you have done my heart. But how did you manage?" + +"You have often told me, dear Grandpapa, that 'Where there's a will, +with the help of God, there's a way,' and I prayed to God, and was able +to do it." + +"Well then, dear Francis," said Grandpapa, solemnly, "I promise you, +that every day of my life, as long as I shall walk here below, when I +pass over this pavement, which your affection has made for me, I will +say to God 'O Lord, prevent Francis from falling in his way! May thy +goodness _pave_ for him the path of life, whenever it becomes +slippery.'" + +Francis understood, and respectfully received this blessing; and whilst +his Grand father paid his visit, the little pavior went and told his +Grandmamma, what he had been able to do, and how God had already +blessed him for it. + + + + +II. + + +The Silver Knife. + + +"Then said Jesus unto him: Go and do thou likewise."--LUKE, x. 37. + +_Mary_.--(After having searched about the dining-room,) "Who has seen +my silver knife? William, John, Lucy, you who are amusing yourselves in +the garden, have you seen my silver knife?" + +_William_.--(Going up to the window, and in a sententious tone of +voice,) "'Disorder,' says an ancient writer, 'occasions sorrow, and +negligence, blame.'" + +_Mary_.--"Admirable! But that does not apply to _me_, for it is +scarcely an hour since I laid my knife on this very table, which +certainly belongs to us." + +_Lucy_.--"Are you quite sure of it, Mary!" + +_Mary_--"Yes, indeed, there is no doubt of it, for Sophy asked me to +give her a pretty little red apple, as usual, before going to school. I +went immediately to the fruit-room for it, and as it was a little +spoiled, I cleaned it with my silver knife, which I laid on this table, +whilst I was kissing her. I am therefore quite sure of it." + +_John_.--(Frowning,)--"For my part, I confess, I don't like all these +strangers who come about the house. For instance, that little _Jane_, +who sells lilies of the valley, and strawberries, and so on--I very +much distrust her sullen look; and who knows, if perhaps...?" + +_Lucy_--"Fie, fie, brother, to suspect that poor little modest gentle +child, who supports her sick mother by her own industry! Oh! it is very +wrong, John!" + +"What is the matter?" said their Father, who had heard this dispute +from the garden, where he was reading under the shade of a tree. + +Mary related her story, and finished by saying,--"Well, if it be God's +will, So-be-it! My beautiful knife is lost!" + +"Yes, my dear girl," answered her father, "What God wills, is always +best. But it is His will that I should watch over, my household. I must +therefore know what has become of your knife. Did you ask Elizabeth if +she had taken care of it, when she cleaned the room?" + +Mary ran to the kitchen, and enquired of Elizabeth. + +"Your silver knife! Miss," said the servant, coloring. "Have you lost +that beautiful knife, which was given you on your birthday?" + +"I ask you, if you have taken care of it," answered Mary. "I laid it +this morning upon the table in the dining-room, near the window." + +_Elizabeth_.--(with astonishment,)--"Near the window! Oh!--I know where +it is, now. About half an hour ago, when I went into the dining-room, +to ... put ... down ... some plates, I saw the great magpie, which +builds its nest up in the large elm-tree, at the end of the garden, +sitting on the window-ledge. It flew away as soon as it saw me; but it +had something white and shining in its beak. Oh! yes, I remember now! +it was the silver knife!" + +"The magpie," exclaimed Mary, "with my knife in its beak!" + +"Oh! Miss," replied Elizabeth, "there is no thief like a magpie. When I +was at home, one of their nests was once pulled down, and nine pieces +of silver were found in it, and a whole necklace of pearls! Oh! magpies +are terrible birds, and you may be sure that your knife is in their +nest." + +Mary returned to her father in the garden, and related to him all that +Elizabeth had said, but added, "For my part, I don't believe a word of +it!" + +"And why not?" exclaimed John, sharply, "Elizabeth is quite right! +Nothing steals like a magpie. Everybody says so. Come! let us to work! +A ladder, a cord, and a long stick! Down with the nest!--Papa, will you +allow me to climb the tree!" + +_Lucy._--(Holding John by the arm.)--"Brother, how _can_ you think of +it? The elm is more than eighty feet high! Papa, I beg of you, not to +allow it." + +_Father_.--(Calmly.)--"No one shall get up the tree and risk his life, +for a thing which certainly is not there." + +"There is no thief like a magpie," repeated John, looking at the nest, +which might be seen through the higher branches of the tree; "but I +confess it would not be easy to reach it. These branches are very long +and very slender!" + +William, who had said nothing as yet, but had been walking backwards +and forwards, with his head down, and his hands in his pockets, turned +suddenly round to Mary, and said, "I have been thinking we can soon +know if your knife is in the nest. We only want a polemoscope for that. +Hurrah! long live optics!" + +"A lemoscope!" said Lucy, "What is that? Is it a long hook?" + +_William_.--(Smiling rather contemptuously.) "Poor sister! What +ignorance!" + +_Father_--"William, speak kindly--tell your sister what this instrument +is, and what you want to do with it." + +_William._--(Scientifically.)--"In war, when a besieged garrison wishes +to know all the movements of the enemy, without being seen, they erect +behind the walls, or the ramparts, a mirror, placed at the end of a +long pole, and inclining towards the country. You understand, then, +that everything that takes place outside, is reflected in the mirror, +and can be seen from within, or in another mirror placed at the bottom +of the pole, and sloping inwards. This, Lucy, is what is called a +polemoscope--that is to say, an instrument for observations in war." + +"Thank you, William," said Lucy, "but what are you going to do with it?" + +_William._--"The thing is quite plain. I am going to fasten a small +mirror on a light pitchfork, inclining it downwards. This pitchfork I +shall fasten firmly to pole; then some one will climb, dear papa, +without any danger, as far as the strong branches reach; from thence he +can draw up the pole and its mirror, with a long string, and by raising +the mirror above the nest, he will enable us to see, with the aid of +your telescope, all that the nest contains. This is my plan, and I +think it is not so bad!" + +_Father_.--(Smiling.)--"Dear William. It is a great pity, however, that +you are so blind. There are two things you have not considered. One is, +that the branches which cover the nest, are very thick and tufted. +Therefore, your mirror, even if it reached their summit, would only +reflect the leaves, and consequently neither the nest nor the knife; +and the other thing which you do not observe, is this, that the +magpies, by an admirable instinct, which God has given them, build +their nests, not like a basin, as you supposed, but in the form of a +ball; so that the nest is covered with a vaulted roof, formed of sticks +closely interwoven, which shelters the bird and its brood from bad +weather, and above all, from the cruel claw of the kite or hawk." + +"I am much obliged to you, dear papa," said William. "What a pity," he +added, with a sigh; "for my plan would otherwise have been infallible." + +"Let us seek a better one," said their father. "Mary, go and see if you +have not left your knife in the fruit-room. Perhaps it was yesterday, +that you peeled the apple for Sophy." + +"I will do so," said Mary, and she went into the house for the key of +the fruit-room. + +She soon returned, exclaiming, "The key is not in its place, and I put +it there this morning." + +"Miss Mary is mistaken," said Elizabeth, coming out of the kitchen; "I +see the key in the door." + +"Papa," said Mary, "I recollect, when I put the key in the cupboard, +this very morning, Sophy looked at it, and said, 'It is certainly the +prettiest key on the bunch.'" + +"Let us go to the fruit-room," said the father, directing his steps +thither. "I fear this will prove a sad affair." + +"What is this, too," cried Mary, examining the shelves, "the big key of +the cellar here Where did it come from? And this key covered with +cheese, from one end to the other!" + +"Let us go to the cellar!" said the father. "I believe we shall find +out more there than we can here." + +They opened the door, and found the brilliant silver knife, not in the +magpie's nest, but sticking in a cheese, from which a large portion +appeared to have been detached. + +The children were amazed, and their Father much grieved. + +"Here is your knife, Mary," said John, who first saw it. "Certainly, +there is no need of a looking-glass to find it." + +"You must not joke, my children," said the Father; "this is a very sad +business. I am thankful it has taken place in the absence of your dear +Mother, and I forbid you writing her anything about it. This must +concern me, and me alone." + +_William_.--(Indignantly.)--"It amounts to a theft, a falsehood!" + +_Lucy_.--"But who has done it, William? Did not Mary leave her knife +here?" + +_William_.--"Who saw the Magpie carrying it off in his beak?" + +_Mary_.--(To Lucy.)--"Do you not understand that it was poor Elizabeth, +who came here with my knife, which she took off the table where I left +it, and who, after having cut a piece of cheese with it, went to the +fruit-room, no doubt to steal some apples also." + +_John_.--(Angrily.)--"Papa, Elizabeth has acted deceitfully--will you +allow her to remain with you? One of the Psalms, the 101st, I think, +says, 'He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house.'" + +_The Father_.--(Gravely.) "It is said also in Holy Scriptures, my son, +that 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment,' and perhaps, John, if any of +us, had been brought up like poor Elizabeth, we might have done even +worse than this." + +"I am quite vexed," said Mary, "Oh! why did I not take more care of +that wretched knife!" + +_William._--"But, Mary, it was not your knife left upon the table, +which tempted her to take two keys secretly out of the cupboard, and +which made them the instruments of this theft. For Papa," continued he, +"it _is_ a theft, and a shameful one too! These stolen keys are no +small matter!" + +_The Father_.--(Calmly.)--"I know it my children, and it grieves my +heart, that one of my servants, who daily hears the word of God read +and explained, should so far have forgotten the fear of the Lord! This +is what saddens me, and wounds me deeply." + +_Lucy_.--"Elizabeth has not long been our cook, and probably she never +heard the word of God before she came here. Poor girl I she is perhaps +very unhappy now,--and I am sure, she will repent and turn to God." + +_The Father_.-"That is right, my dear child, I rejoice to hear you +plead the cause of the unhappy, and even of the guilty, for as I said +before, 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment.'" + +"I was therefore wrong," said John, "and I confess it ... for certainly +I scarcely pitied her.... I did wrong I and now I think as Lucy does." + +"And I also," said William, "'Clemency governs courage,' says a Grecian +historian, and ..." + +_The Father._--(Very seriously.)--"But, my dear William, what have the +pagans of old and their morals to do here? My son, you know it is the +word of God which rules our conduct, and which commands us to suffer +and to forgive." + +_Lucy._--"Papa, will you allow me to repeat a passage, which I learnt +by heart last Sunday?" + +_The Father._--"Repeat it, Lucy, and may God bless it to us all!" + +_Lucy._--"'Execute true judgment, and show mercy and compassion every +man to his brother.' It is in the seventh chapter of Zechariah." + +"I too, was wrong then," said William, "very wrong! for it is the +wisdom of God alone, that enlightens us." + +"True, my son," said his Father, "may God always remind you of this. I +am going to speak to Elizabeth," he added, "as for you, my children, do +not say a word about it, and above all, bless the Lord, for having made +known to you his grace and holy law. Pray to him together, that my +words may have their due effect upon the mind of this poor guilty +creature." + +The Father went out to look for Elizabeth, and the children repaired to +William's room, who, having knelt down with them, prayed to the Lord to +take pity upon her, and to touch her heart, and he ended the prayer in +the following words:--"In thy great wisdom, O Most Gracious God, and in +thine infinite compassion, through Jesus Christ, grant unto each of us +true repentance, and a sincere change of heart, and may this affliction +be turned to the glory of our Saviour Jesus." + +The children then returned to their several occupations, and not one of +them ever thought of judging Elizabeth, or even speaking harshly of her. + +We may add, that the exhortation of her charitable master, produced +sincere penitence in Elizabeth, and that the poor girl was not sent out +of the house; for "mercy pleaded against judgment." + +It is thus that God deals with us! Oh! which of us can tell how often +he has received pardon from the Lord! + + + + +III. + + +The Modern Dorcas + + +"The night cometh when no man can work."--JOHN, ix. + +Oh! my sister! my sister! What a lesson may we learn from the death of +our dear Amelia! She was but sixteen years old like myself, and only +two years older than you are, but how much had she done for the Lord. I +saw and heard her, when Jesus came to call her to himself; I was in the +churchyard when they placed her body in the grave! Oh! what a solemn +warning! and now I feel humbled before God, and I pray Him to pour into +my heart the same Spirit which He bestowed so abundantly upon our +friend, as well as that lively faith, which although Amelia 'is dead, +yet speaketh,' as it is said of Abel, and which shall speak through her +for many years to come! + +I wrote to you less than a fortnight ago, that Amelia was unwell; but +how little I then thought it was her last illness! Oh! how uncertain +our life is, dear Esther, and how much wiser we should be if we would +only believe so! + +On the seventh day of her illness, her mother said to me, "Anna, your +friend is going to leave us; the danger of her disorder increases every +hour, and we must give her up to God!" + +I wept much and bitterly, and could not at first believe it; but when I +was alone with Amelia, the next day, she said to me, with that calm +peacefulness which never left her, "I am going away from this world, +Anna; yes, dear Anna, I am going to depart; I feel it, and ... I am +preparing myself for it!" + +I tried to turn away her thoughts from this subject; I told her that +she was mistaken, and that God would certainly restore her; but she +stopped me with firmness of manner, and said, "Do you envy my +happiness, Anna? Do you wish to prevent me from going to my Heavenly +home, to my Saviour, unto his light and glory?" The entrance of her +father and the Doctor prevented my reply, and I left the room in tears. + +"You must not cry," said her mother to me. "We must pray, and above +all, seek profit from the occasion. The time is short! Her end is at +hand! But," added this servant of Christ, "_that_ end is the beginning +of a life which shall have no end!" + +Three more days passed away. On the fourth, we had some faint hope, but +the following day, all had vanished, and towards evening, Amelia +declared, that the Lord was about to take her. + +"Yes, my dear parents, my excellent father and mother," she said, with +a beam of heavenly joy on her countenance, "I am about to leave you; +but I do not leave my God, for I am going to see Him, 'face to face.'" + +"My dear parents," she continued, affectionately, "rejoice at my +departure; I am going to Heaven a little before you, it is true, but it +is _only before you_, and you know it; and the Apostle says, that, 'to +be with Christ is far better.'" + +I was present, Esther, and was crying. + +"Why do you cry, Anna?" she said, "Are you sorry to see me go to my +Father's house?" + +"But, Amelia, _I_ lose you; we all lose you; and ..." + +"I do not like to hear you say that, Anna; do not repeat it, and do not +think of it. Our Saviour says that, 'He who believes on Him shall not +see death;' and I am certain, that my soul is about to join those of +His saints who have already departed this life, for His grace has also +justified _me._" + +"Ah!" said her aunt, who had not left her bedside for two days, "you +have always done the will of God, dear Amelia; you are therefore sure +of going to Him." + +"Dear aunt," she replied, with sorrow on her countenance, "I assure you +that you grieve me. I have been during the whole of my life, but a poor +sinner, and have by no means done what you say; but.... God Himself has +pardoned me, and it is only, my dear aunt, because the blood of Jesus +has washed away my sins, that I shall see God." + +It was thus, my sister, that Amelia spoke at intervals almost the whole +night. Her voice at length became weaker; and towards morning, after a +slight drowsiness, she said to her father, "Papa, embrace your child +once more." She then turned to her mother, and said, "My dear mamma, +embrace me also, and ... may Jesus comfort you all!" + +A few minutes after, our darling friend fell gradually asleep, and her +last breath died away like the expiring flame of a candle. She +experienced nothing of the agony of death. Truly, dear Esther, Amelia +knew not what death was! + +But oh! how I have myself suffered! and how difficult it is to tear +one's self thus forever here below, from such a friend as she was! + +Nevertheless, my sister, God knows we have not dared to murmur. I wish +you had heard the prayer that Amelia's father offered up, when his +daughter had ceased to breathe! Oh! it was the spirit of consolation +itself which spoke! And since that solemn hour, what piety, what +strength and peace of mind, Amelia's mother his displayed! I am sure +you would have said, that the Lord was present, and that He was telling +us with His own voice: "Amelia triumphs--she is in _My_ glory!" + +I wished to be in the churchyard when our friend, or rather, when her +body of dust, was committed to the grave. There were many persons +present, but especially poor people; some old men, and several +children, came to take their last leave of her. + +A grey-headed and feeble old man was standing near the grave, leaning +with his two hands on a staff, and with his head depressed. He wept +aloud, when the clergyman mentioned Amelia's name, as he prayed, and +gave thanks to God. He then stooped down, and taking a little earth in +his hand, said, as he scattered it over the coffin: "Sleep, sweet +messenger of consolation! Sleep, until He whom thy lips first +proclaimed to me, calls thee to arise!" And with this, he burst into +tears, as they filled the grave. + +When all was finished, and the funeral procession had departed, the +poor people who were present approached the grave, sobbing, and +repeating, "Sweet messenger of goodness! Our kind friend, our _true_ +mother!" And two or three of the children placed upon her grave +nosegays of box and white flowers. + +"Alas," said a young girl, "she will never hear me read the Bible +again, nor instruct me how to live!" + +Another cried loudly, "Who will now come to visit my sick mother, and +read the Bible to her, and bring her comfort and assistance." + +And there was a father, a poor workman, with two little boys, who, +holding his children by the hand, came and placed himself near the spot +where the head of Amelia was laid, saying to them, "Here, my poor +children, under this sod, rests that sweet countenance which used to +smile upon you, as if she had been your mother! Her lips have often +told you, that you were not orphans, and that God was better to you +than a parent.... Well, my dear children, let us remember what she used +to say: 'God has not forgotten us, and He will sustain us!'" + +I was with my brother, who himself wept with all his heart, to see the +sincere grief of these poor people. He whispered to me, "I have a great +mind to speak to them, and ask them what Amelia used to do for them." I +had the same wish; so we approached a group which surrounded the grave, +and asked them when they had become acquainted with Amelia. + +"For my part," answered the old man, already spoken of, "this messenger +of peace visited me two years ago, for the first time. I lived near a +family to whom she had brought some worsted stockings, for winter was +just setting in, and so my neighbor mentioned me to her, as a poor +infirm old man. She desired to see me, and had she been my own +daughter, she could never have shown me more respect and kindness! She +procured me a warm quilt that same evening, and on the morrow, towards +the middle of the day, she came with her excellent mother to pay me a +long visit. + +"You must know, sir," continued the old man, to my brother, "I was then +very ignorant, or rather my heart was hard and proud towards God. I had +no Bible, and did not care about one. Well, this dear young lady not +only brought me one, with her own hands, but came to read and explain +it to me, with great patience, at least three times a week, during the +first twelve months. + +"God took pity on me," added the old man, in a low voice, "and last +year I began better to understand the full pardon which is in Christ +Jesus, and was even able to pray with Miss Amelia. + +"She used sometimes to call me, 'My old father,' but it was I who ought +to have called _her_ the _mother_, the true mother of my soul. + +"Just one month ago, she came to me for the last time; she gave me with +a sweet smile, these worsted gloves, which she had knitted herself, and +then recommended me with much respect and kindness to thank our Lord, +who sent them me! This was the last of that sweet lady's charities to +me!"... + +Upon this, the old man turned away weeping, and as he walked slowly on, +he frequently looked back upon the newly-covered grave. + +"The same thing happened to me," said the workman. "The mother of these +two little children died ten months ago; we were in want of everything, +then, and I knew not even how to dress these children. Believe me, +Miss," he added, addressing me with feeling, "when the mother is gone, +all is gone!... but our gracious God did not forsake us, for He sent us +his angel; I say His angel, although she is at present much more than +an angel!... Is she not indeed a child of God in heaven? ... but, in +short, she clothed these two little ones, and I am sure she did not +spare herself in working for them; the clothes they now wear were made +chiefly by that dear young lady's hands. Then she used to come and +visit us; she often made my two children go to her house, and always +gave them good advice. She also sent them to school, and although it +was certainly her mother who paid for them, yet it was Miss Amelia who +taught them to read at home, and who, almost every Sunday, made them +repeat their Bible lessons. + +"Ah, Miss," he continued, "all that that dear young lady did for us, +for our souls as well as for our bodies, will only be known in heaven, +and at the last day. For my part, and I say it here over her grave, and +in the presence of God, I am certain, that when the Lord Jesus shall +raise us all up again, the works of Miss Amelia will follow her, and we +shall then see that while upon earth she served God with all her heart. + +"No," he added, as he wiped away the tears from his children's eyes, "I +would not wish her to return from the glory which she now enjoys, at +the same time I cannot conceal from you, that my heart mourns for her, +and that I know we have lost our consolation, our benefactress, our +faithful friend!" + +"Who has not lost one?" exclaimed a poor woman, at whose side stood the +little girls who had planted the flowers; "I know very well that Miss +Amelia's mother will take her place, she is so good and kind! but it +was no little joy to receive a visit from that sweet and amiable young +lady, so good, so pious, and so full of joy. Oh! what should I have +done with my husband, so long confined to his bed, if this messenger of +goodness had not procured work for me, and recommended me to the ladies +who now employ me. And then again, what were we, until Miss Amelia +spoke to us? How much she had to put up with when I refused to read the +Holy Scriptures! and yet she was never weary of me. Oh! no; she came +day after day, to exhort and to teach me, and blessed be God, we begin +now to know something of what the Saviour has done for us. + +"And," added she, drawing the little girl towards her, "I shall go on +with my dear children, reading and learning that word of God, which was +Miss Amelia's greatest joy. + +"Come, come, my friends," she said, in a persuasive tone, "_we_ must +also die, and be put each in his turn, under this ground; but as our +benefactress is not dead ... (no, she is not dead, for the Lord has +said it!)--so also shall not we die, if we follow in her steps." + +The poor woman then wished us good day, and moved away with her +children. We all walked on together, still speaking of Amelia. My +brother took the names and addresses of many of the poor people, with +whom he had just been conversing, and spoke a few words to them of +comfort and encouragement. + +As soon as we were alone, he showed me the list of names, at the head +of which was that of the old man, and he said, "Here is a blessed +inheritance which Amelia has left us. She has done as Dorcas did: her +hands have clothed the poor, and her lips have spoken comfort to them. +Dear Anna, Amelia was not older than we are; let us remember this, for +we know not when the Lord shall call us." + +How wise and pious this dear brother is! We have already been able to +pay together, two of Amelia's visits. Her mother, to whom we related +all we had heard, gave us further particulars of what the pious and +indefatigable Amelia used to do. Ah Esther, her religion was not mere +"lip-service." The Spirit of the Lord Jesus Christ assisted her, and +she might have said with truth, I show "my faith by my works." + +Let us take courage, then, my dear and kind sister! we lament our loss +in Amelia's death, but on her own account I lament her not. I can only +contemplate her in the presence of God, and of her Saviour, and I +rejoice to think of her delight when she entered the region of heaven. +How beautiful it must be, Esther, to behold the glory of that heaven! +to hear the voices of saints and angels, and to know that God loves us, +and will make us happy forever. + +Think, sister, of the meaning of--_forever!_ + +Amelia's father, whom I saw a few hours ago with her excellent and +pious mother, said to me, in speaking of their darling child, "For my +own joy and comfort I should have wished to have kept her with us; but, +my dear Anna, even if I could have done so, what would have been all +our happiness, compared with that which she now possesses in the +presence of her God." + +But do not suppose, my sister, that Amelia, with all her piety, was +less prudent with regard to the things of this world, than faithful +regarding those of heaven. Her mother has shown me her books, and her +different arrangements, all of which indicate that discretion spoken of +in Scripture, carried out in the most minute particulars. + +First, as respects order and cleanliness in everything belonging to +her: it would be impossible to imagine a more proper arrangement than +the one she made of each article, both in her wardrobe, her +writing-table, her work-box, and her account-book. + +She had not much money to devote to her works of charity, but her +industry made up for her limited means; for instance, in opening the +Bible which she generally made use of, I found in it, four or five +pages written with a great deal of care; and her journal informed her +mother, who read it, of the reason of this circumstance. It runs thus: + +"As old Margaret has but one Bible, some of the leaves of which have +been lost, I have given her mine, which is quite complete, and have +taken hers, adding to it some sheets of paper, upon which I have +written the passages which were deficient. Thus I have saved the +expense of a new Bible; and it is the same thing to me." + +Amelia's diary is very remarkable; her mother has allowed me to read +many portions of it, and to copy out what relates to her usual manner +of employing each day. I send it to you, dear Esther, and you will +find, as I have done, that the Spirit of God always teaches those who +trust in Him, how precious _time_ is here below. The following is what +our dear friend wrote upon this subject. + +"_January 1st_, 1844--Nearly eighteen centuries, and a half have passed +away, since our Saviour took upon himself the form of human flesh for +our salvation. Those years seemed long as they succeeded each other, +but now that they are gone, they appear as nothing. + +"Families, and nations, and the mighty generations of mankind, which, +in times gone by, peopled the earth, have all passed away. Nothing +remains of them here below! + +"But such is not the case in heaven,--I should rather say,--in +eternity. There, all these nations still exist, no man can be absent, +but must appear before the Sovereign Judge, to answer for the use which +he has made of his time. + +"How short that time is! Where are the years that David lived, and +where are those which Methuselah passed in this world? their whole +duration seems, at this distance, in the words of St. James, 'Even as a +vapor that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.' + +"It will therefore be the same with me. I know not how long I shall +live here below, perhaps I shall see but a portion of this year, and +shall enter into glory before it is concluded; or perhaps I shall yet +see many more years. This the Lord knows, and I ought not to consider +that such knowledge would be of any importance to me, since that which +constitutes my _life_, is not its length or duration, but the use which +is made of it. + +"It is to Jesus, then, that all my life must be devoted, without him I +can do nothing. 'My life is hid with Christ in God.' He has 'bought me +with a price,' I ought, therefore, 'to glorify God in my body, and in +my spirit, which are God's.' + +"Truly to live is to know, that my thoughts and actions are all +directed to the glory of Jesus, whether upon earth by faith and hope, +or in heaven by the sight and by the glory of God. + +"But here below, I have only time at my disposal; that is to say, days +composed of hours or rather, I have in reality but a single day to make +use of. Yesterday is no longer mine, and to-morrow, where is it? I have +it not yet, and perhaps shall never see it. + +"Lo my earthly life is 'to-day.' What must I do then with 'to-day,' +that God may be honored and glorified in it? for after all, if I have +the happiness of counting the year 1844, as dating from a Christian +era, and not from that of a false prophet with the Mahomedans, nor yet +of a false God, with the poor Indians, it must be to Jesus Christ, from +whose birth I count my years, that those years should be dedicated. + +"Here I am, therefore, in the presence of my Saviour, of whom I implore +the Spirit of wisdom and prudence to guide me in the employment of this +my day, since in reality I have but one, and that is, 'To-day.' + +"But I cannot do better than walk in the footsteps of my Redeemer, and +in his conduct and conversation whilst on earth, I observe these three +things: Temperance, piety, and charity, to all of which he wholly +devoted himself, and has thus left me an example to follow. + +"I will therefore imitate him first in his temperance. He rose early in +the morning--he eat frugally--he worked diligently--he wearied himself +in well-doing: in a word, he exerted the whole strength of his mind and +body in the cause of truth, but never in the cause of evil. + +"These, therefore, must be settled rules, moderate sleep, moderate +repasts, moderate care and attention to the body; active employment, +always to a useful purpose, profitable to my neighbor, and never +interfering with my duties at home. + +"In the next place, I must imitate Jesus in His _piety_. His Father's +will was as His daily food. What a thought! To live wholly to God, and +as He himself teaches us in His Holy Word. To do this, I must know His +Word; I must study it, meditate upon it, and learn it by heart. Besides +reading, I must pray, for prayer is the life both of my heart and soul +with God. What glory is thus permitted to me, a poor sinner, that I +_ought_, and that I _can_, live to Him, love Him, and devote myself to +Him! It is heaven already begun on earth; for in heaven my soul will +enjoy no other happiness than that of knowing God, and living to His +glory. This thought fills me with joy, and I am encouraged by it to +consecrate myself wholly to Him, as did my Lord and Saviour. + +"Lastly, I will, by the grace of God, imitate Jesus in his _charity_. +How many souls there are about me to love, to comfort, to enlighten and +to assist. But I can only do it in the measure which God himself has +assigned to me. At my age, and but a girl, subject to the wishes of my +parents, I ought only to desire to do good in proportion to the means +with which the Lord has furnished me. But I must, in so doing, endeavor +to overcome selfishness, idleness, the love of ease, avarice, hardness +of heart, pride, and indifference, and I must love my neighbor as +myself. Oh! what an important undertaking, and how many excuses and +deceits this kind of charity will encounter and overcome. + +"But I will look to Jesus, and pray to him; I will implore the secret +guidance of his Spirit; and since he is faithful, he will not leave me +alone, but will lead me, and enable me to walk day by day, I mean +'to-day,' in his sight, and in communion with him, who is so full of +love and gentleness." + +This, my dear Esther, is what I have copied from Amelia's journal. You +see the light in which our friend regarded her life on earth, and how +much importance she attached to one _day_--a single day. + +As I read what she had written, I felt my soul humbled before God, and +I trembled to think of the useless way in which I had hitherto spent my +time. + +You see in particular what Amelia felt on the subject of piety; what +love her soul had for God! and this is what produced in her that +active, sincere, and constant charity. + +You cannot form the least idea of the work, of kindness and benevolence +which she was enabled to accomplish. That passage, "The memory of the +just is blessed," is truly applicable to her. + +Amelia was justified in her Saviour, for she trusted in him, and thus +was she also justified before God, by her faith in Jesus. The spirit of +Jesus led her in "all her way," and in whatever family she appeared, +her actions and words manifested a heavenly mind. + +Her name is remembered with blessing in the hearts of all who knew her; +her counsels, her instructions, her example, and her acts of +benevolence, are continually spoken of by those who witnessed them, and +it is thus that she left behind a sweet savor of holiness, like a ray +of heavenly light. + +Dear Esther, here is an example placed before us; it has been the will +of God that we should know her, that we might be charmed with her +excellence, and that the happiness both of her life and death, might +tempt us to imitate her. + +No, no, my sister, she is not dead; she is rather, as the poor workman +said, at her grave, "a child of God in heaven." As _she_ followed +Jesus, let us also follow her, and let her memory be thus a blessing to +us both. + +God be with you, my dear sister. I long to see you, that we may pray +the Lord together, to make us like his faithful, holy servant, the dear +and pious Amelia. + +Yours, &c., + +ANNA. + + + + +IV. + + +The Tract found by the Way-Side. + + +"Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a +vessel for the finer." --Prov. XXV. 4. + +Every one knows in these days what is meant by a _religious tract_. It +is a little printed pamphlet, which is sold at a very low price, or is +still oftener given away, or dropped in the streets and lanes, that +those who either purchase, or accept, or find them, may read the truths +of the Gospel, and the good advice which they contain. + +This is an old-fashioned way of imparting instruction, both to high and +low. It was in use, for instance, as early as the first days of the +Reformation, when some faithful Christians of Picardy, in France, +assembled together to read the Holy Scriptures, on which account they +were exposed to persecution, death, and above all, to be burnt alive. + +These true disciples of the Lord Jesus composed and distributed, with +considerable difficulty, some little pamphlets, in which were taught +the doctrines of salvation by Christ alone, and in a form which enabled +the poor and ignorant to read and understand; for it was impossible for +them at that time to procure a Bible, which was not only a scarce book, +but cost a large sum of money: indeed, almost as much as a thousand +Bibles would cost in the present day, and which, besides, they could +not carry home and read quietly to themselves, as they were able to do +with a simple tract. + +At a later period, and chiefly for the last fifty years, this method +has been adopted in almost all countries where true Christian churches +and societies have been established; and even now, millions of these +tracts, adapted to all ages and conditions of men, are published and +distributed every year. + +It is, however, but too true, that many tracts thus distributed are not +_religious tracts_; that is to say, the substance of them is not in +conformity with the truth of scripture. Many are published for the +purpose of upholding false religion and wicked principles, and which, +consequently, do great mischief to those who read them. + +And if it be asked, "How can a good tract be distinguished from a bad +one?" we thus reply to this very natural question. + +A _good tract_ is that which leads us to the Bible; which speaks of the +love of God in Christ; and which encourages the reader to be holy from +a motive of love to God. + +A _bad tract_ is therefore that which does not speak of the Bible; +which tells us that salvation may be obtained by human merit, and which +consequently would persuade us to be religious from interested motives: +that is to say, to obtain pardon by means of our own good works. + +Those tracts, too, which speak of man's happiness as if it came from +man alone, and not from God, and which consequently deny the truth of +God's word: these must also be called _bad tracts_, and must therefore +be carefully avoided. + +The good that is done by the distribution of good tracts, can scarcely +be believed. There are many families, even in prosperity, who never +tasted real happiness until some of these evangelical writings found +their way amongst them. The following anecdote is an interesting proof +of this: + +The family of a vinedresser, in the Canton of Vaud, in Switzerland, +was, unhappily, as well known in the village in which he lived, for his +bad conduct, as for his impiety. The father, whose name we will not +mention, was a proud and hard-hearted man, both intemperate and +dissolute; and his wife, who thought as little of the fear of God as +her husband did, was what might be called a _noisy babbler_. + +The pastor of the village had often, but vainly, endeavored to lead +these unhappy people to a sense of religion, but he was always received +by them with scoffing and ridicule. + +The family was composed of the vinedresser's three children. The +eldest, Mark, was as haughty as his father, and although he was only +fourteen years of age, he was already able to join in the disorders of +his drunken and gaming companions. He was entirely devoid of any sense +of religion. His sister, Josephine, who was rather more than twelve +years old, possessed a more amiable disposition. The pastor's wife took +much interest in this child, who could not help seeing that her parents +were not guided by the Spirit of God. Peter, the youngest, was but ten +years of age, but his brother's wicked example counteracted all the +good which he might have received from that of his more amiable sister. + +About the end of May, there was to be, in a village not far distant, a +match at rifle-shooting. It was a public fete, at which all the people +in the neighborhood assembled. + +On the morning of this day, Mark had answered his father with great +insolence, at which he was so much enraged, that he punished him +severely, and forbad him, besides, to go to the fete. The father went +thither himself, and Mark, after a moment's indecision, determined not +to heed the command he had received, but to follow him to the +shooting-match. + +He therefore took advantage of his mother's absence, who, according to +her usual custom, was gone to gossip with some of her neighbors, and +notwithstanding the remonstrances of Josephine, he hastened over fields +and hedges, to the scene of the match. + +"What is this?" cried he, picking up a little pamphlet, with a cover of +colored paper, which was lying on the path near the opening in the +hedge. "Oh! it is one of those tracts they leave about everywhere; it +will do very well to load my gun;" and so saying, he put the tract into +his pocket, and ran on as before. + +But when he approached the village where they were shooting, dancing, +playing, and making a great noise, he suddenly stopped, for he +recollected that if he should meet with his father, who was there, he +would certainly beat him, and send him home again, in presence of all +the people who might be assembled; besides, his brother Peter was there +also, and he might see him, and tell his father. He therefore kept at a +distance, behind a hedge, not daring to advance any farther. + +"Supposing I read this book!" said he, at last, after having vainly +racked his brain to find out how he could be at the fete without being +discovered. "There is nothing in it but nonsense, I know beforehand; +however, it will occupy me for a while." + +This tract was called "The Happy Family," and Mark became so much +interested in it, that he not only read the whole, but many parts of it +twice over. + +"How odd it is," said he, when he had finished reading; "I should never +have thought it could be thus; this Andrew and Julia, after all, were +much happier than we are, and than I am, in particular. Ah!" added he, +as he walked on by the hedge-side, looking on the ground, "possibly +Josephine may have spoken the truth, and that, after all, the right way +is the one which this lady points out." + +As he thought over the little story he had been reading, he retraced +his steps towards his own village, at first rather slowly, but soon at +a quicker pace, and he entered his father's house very quietly, and +without either whistling or making a noise, as he generally did. + +"You have not then been to the fete," said Josephine. + +_Mark_.--(A little ashamed.)--"I dared not go, I was afraid my father +would beat me." + +_Josephine_.--"It would have been better, Mark, if you had been equally +afraid of offending God." + +Mark was on the point of ridiculing her, as he always did, but he +recollected Andrew and Julia, and was silent. + +_Josephine_.--(Kindly.)--"But is it not true, Mark? would it not be +better to fear God, than to be always offending him?" + +_Mark_.--(Knitting his brow.)--"Yes, as Andrew and Julia did! would it +not?" + +_Josephine_.--(surprised.)--"Of whom do you speak, Mark? Is it of "The +Happy Family," in which an Andrew and a Julia are mentioned. Have you +ever read that beautiful story?" + +"Here it is," said Mark, drawing the tract from his pocket, and giving +it to his sister. + +_Josephine_.--"Yes, this is it, exactly! But brother, where did you get +it, for it is quite new; did you buy it of a _Scripture Reader_." + +"Did I _buy_ it?" said Mark, sullenly. "Do you suppose I should spend +my money in such nonsense as _that?_" + +_Josephine_.--"Then how did you get it? Did any one give it you?" + +_Mark_.--(Slyly.)--"Ah! they have often tried to give me some, but I +tore them to pieces, and threw them away, before their faces!" + +_Josephine_.--"So much the worse, Mark! for the truth of God is written +in them, and it is very sinful to tear the truth of God in pieces." + +_Mark_.--(Rudely.)--"But you see I have not torn this, for it is quite +whole! And as you are so anxious to know how I came by it, I found it +on the ground, near the road, and just beyond the brushwood." + +_Josephine_.--"Ah! then I know where it came from. The Pastor's son, +and the two sons of the schoolmaster, have got up a Religious Tract +Society, who distribute them in all directions." + +_Mark_.--(Reproachfully.)--"And pray why do they scatter them about in +this way? Can't they leave people alone, without cramming every body's +head with their own fancies. Let them keep their religion to +themselves, and leave other people to do the same." + +_Josephine_.--"Do you think, Mark, that Andrew and Julia did wrong to +listen to their father and grandmamma, and to follow the precepts of +the Bible in preference to the ridicule of scoffers." + +_Mark_.--(Softened.)--"I did not say _that_.... I think Andrew and +Julia were right; but ... come give me back the Tract; I want to look +at something in it again." + +Mark then went away, carrying the Tract with him; and shortly after, +Josephine saw him sitting in the garden, behind a hedge of sweet-briar, +reading it attentively. + +"Where's that good-for-nothing Mark?" demanded the vinedresser, when he +returned home at night half tipsy. "Did he dare to venture to the +shooting-match? I was told that he was seen sneaking about the +outskirts of the village! where is he now?" + +"He went to bed more than an hour ago," answered his mother, "and was +no more at the shooting-match than I was, for I saw him reading in the +garden." + +"Mark, _reading_!" replied his father. "What could he be reading? It +would be a miracle to see him with a book in his hand. An idle fellow +like him, who never did learn any thing, and never will!" + +The vinedresser's wife was silent, and after putting poor little Peter +to bed, who was quite tired and weary, she managed to get the father to +bed also, and peace reigned for a season in this miserable abode. + +Mark, however, who was not asleep when his father returned, had heard +himself called a good-for-nothing idle fellow, and he trembled from +head to foot, when he found he had been seen in the neighborhood of the +village. + +"What a good thing it was," said he to himself, "that I did not go on! +It was certainly God who prevented me!" added he, half ashamed of the +thought because it was so new to him; but he determined no longer to +resist it. + +On the morrow, to the great surprise of his father and mother, Mark got +up in good humor; he answered his father without grumbling, and when he +was desired to go and work in the field, Mark hastened to take his hoe +and spade, and set off, singing merrily. + +"What has happened to him?" asked the father. "One would scarcely +believe it was he! Wife, what did you say to him yesterday, to make him +so good-humored this morning?" + +"I never even spoke to him," said his wife, dryly. "You know how +whimsical he is." + +"I wish he may remain in his present mind!" said the vinedresser; and +thereupon he went off to the ale-house, to talk with his neighbors of +the best shots of the preceding day. + +Josephine related the history of the little tract to the good pastor's +wife, who advised her to meet Mark on his return from the field, and to +speak to him again of what he had read. + +"Is it _you_, sister?" said Mark, in a happy tone of voice, as soon as +he saw her. "It is very good of you to meet me." + +Josephine, who never received such a welcome from him before, was quite +delighted, and going up to him, she said, affectionately, "I want very +much to talk with you again about Andrew and Julia." + +_Mark_.--(Seriously.)--"And so do I. I should like very much to +resemble them." + +_Josephine_.--(Quickly.)--"Do you mean what you say, Mark? Have you +thought of it again since yesterday?" + +_Mark_.--(Still serious.)--"I have thought so much about it, that I am +determined to change my habits. Yes, Josephine, I think you are right, +and that, after all, religion is better than ridicule." + +The conversation continued as it had commenced, and when Mark returned +home, he went up and kissed his mother, who was just laying the table +for dinner. + +"What's the matter?" said she, with some surprise; "you seem in very +good spirits, today." + +"Nothing is the matter, good mother, but that I wish to alter my +conduct," replied Mark, seriously. + +"To alter your conduct," cried little Peter, as he looked up in his +brother's face, and began to titter. + +"And you, too, little Peter," said Mark, "you must become good, also." + +"What a funny idea," cried the child, laughing. "_What_ has made you +turn schoolmaster, all at once? and, pray, when am I to begin?" + +"We shall see by-and-bye," said Mark, kindly. "In the meantime, come +and help me to tend the cow." + +"There is something behind all this!" said the mother and she blushed +to think that this change had not been occasioned by anything she had +said or done to him, herself. + +When the father returned from the ale-house, they all sat down to +dinner, and as usual, without saying "_grace_." Josephine said hers to +herself, and Mark, who recollected Andrew and Julia, blushed when he +took his spoon to eat his soup. + +After dinner, when they were out of the house, Josephine said to Mark, +"What a pity it is, brother, that papa does not pray before each meal." + +"All _that_ will come in time, Josephine," said Mark; "I never prayed +myself, and yet ... I must now begin directly. But what shall I do? +Papa will be very angry if he sees me religious." + +"I do not think he will," said Josephine, "for I heard him say to +mumma, this morning, that he should be very glad if your conduct +improved." + +Mark blushed, but did not reply. He returned to his work without being +desired to do so, and his father, who was quite astonished, said to his +wife, "There is something very extraordinary about Mark. I wish it may +last." + +"You wish it may last!" said his wife; "how can you wish that, when you +do not care to improve yourself." + +"And you, my poor wife," said the vinedresser, "do you care to change +any more than I do? I think as to that matter, we cannot say much +against each other." + +"Well, at all events," said his wife, "I am not a drunkard." + +"Nor am I a tattler," replied the husband. "And for this reason let us +each think of our own fault, and if Mark is disposed to reform, do not +let us prevent him; for, my poor wife, _our_ example is not a very good +one for him." + +Josephine, who was working at her needle, in the adjoining room, could +not help overhearing this confession of her father, and she felt the +more encouraged to uphold Mark in his good intention. + +She therefore went again to meet him, and repeated to him all she had +heard. "I think," added she, "you will do well to relate what has +happened to our father and mother, and read them the little tract." + +"Not yet," said Mark, "for my principles are not sufficiently strong. +It is but an hour since the ale-house keeper's son laughed at me, +because I told him I would not play at nine-pins with him, during +working hours. He asked me if I was becoming a Methodist, and I did not +know what answer to make. However, I trust I am already improving, and +I have read the little tract again for the third time." + +"Oh!" said Josephine, "we ought to read the Bible, and we do not +possess one." + +"True," said Mark, somewhat surprised. "I never thought of _that_. We +have really no Bible in the house! Indeed, this must not be," he added, +looking on the ground, and striking it with his spade. + +"What shall we do, then?" said Josephine, "for it would be very nice to +have one." + +Mark became thoughtful, but said nothing. From that day his conduct was +always regular, and his habits industrious, so much so, that his +father, who was never in the habit of showing him much kindness, said +to him, at the dinner table, and before all the rest of the family, +"Well, my good Mark, tell us what has happened to you; for it is very +pleasant to us to see how well you now behave. Tell us, my boy, what +has been the cause of this improvement." + +"It was from this book," said Mark, drawing it out of his pocket, where +he always kept it. + +"What book is it?" said his mother, scornfully. "Is it not some of that +horrid trash, that"... + +"Be silent," cried the father. "If this book has done good, how can it +be horrid trash? Do sour grapes produce good wine?" + +"But," replied the mother, bitterly, "I will not have any of those +books and tracts in this house." + +"Well, for my part," said the vinedresser, "I will encourage all that +teach my children to do what is right. Mark has worked well for the +last eight days; he has not occasioned me a moment's vexation during +the whole of that time, and as he says that this book has been the +means of his improvement, I shall also immediately read it myself. +Come, Mark, let us hear it. You can read fluently; come, we will all +listen. Wife, do you be quiet, and you too, Peter; as for Josephine she +is quite ready." + +Mark began to read, but he could not proceed far; his father got up and +went out, without saying a word, and his mother began to remove the +dinner-things. + +But as soon as the family re-assembled in the evening, the father said +to Mark, "Go on with your reading, Mark, I want to hear the end, for I +like the story." + +Mark read, and when he came to that part of the tract, in which the +Bible is mentioned, the vinedresser looked up to a high shelf on the +wall, where were some old books, and said, "wife, had we not once a +Bible?" + +"Fifteen years ago," she answered, "you exchanged it for a pistol." + +The vinedresser blushed, and listened with out farther interruption +until Mark had done reading. When the tract was finished, he remained +silent, his head leaning on his hands, and his elbows on his knees. +Josephine thought this was the time to speak about the Bible, which she +had so long wished to possess, and she went up to her father, and stood +for some time by his side without speaking. + +Her father perceived her, and raising his head, he said to her, "What +do you want, Josephine, tell me, my child, what do you want to ask me?" + +"Dear papa," said the child, "I have long desired to read the Bible, +would you be so kind as to buy me one?" + +"A Bible," cried her mother, "what can _you_ want with a Bible, at +_your_ age?" + +"Oh! wife, wife," said the vinedresser, much vexed, "when will you help +me to do what is right?" "Yes, my child," he added, kissing Josephine's +cheek, "I will buy you one to-morrow. Do you think there are any to be +had at the pastor's house?" + +"Oh! yes, plenty," cried Josephine, "and very large ones too!" + +"Very well then," said the father, as he got up, and went out of the +house, "you shall have a very large one." + +"But," said his wife, calling after him, "you don't know how much it +will cost." + +"It will not cost so much as the wine I mean no longer to drink!" +replied the father, firmly. + +He kept his word. The Bible was purchased on the morrow, and the same +evening the father desired Mark to read him a whole chapter. The +ale-house saw him no more the whole of that week, and still less the +following Sunday. His friends laughed at him, and wanted to get him +back. He was at first tempted and almost overcome, but the thought of +the Bible restrained him, and he determined to refuse. + +"Are you gone mad, then?" said they. + +"No," replied he, "but I read the Bible now, and as it says, that +drunkards shall not 'inherit the kingdom of God,' I listen to what it +says, and I desire to cease to be a drunkard." + +"You see," said Josephine to Mark, as they accompanied each other to +church, "how good God has been to us. We have now a Bible, and it is +read by all at home." + +_Mark_.--"Have you been able to tell the pastor's son how much good his +tract has done us?" + +_Josephine_.--"I told his mother." + +_Mark_.--"And what did she say?" + +_Josephine_.--"She said, 'God is wonderful in all his ways,' and that, +'He which hath begun the good work in us, will perform it until the day +of Jesus Christ.'" + +_Mark_.--(Feelingly.)--"Who could have thought that when I went as a +rebel to that Fete, that God was there waiting to draw me to himself. +But, dear Josephine, there is yet much to be done." + +"But," said Josephine, "where God has promised he is also able to +perform. He has told us to pray in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. +Let us do so, and you will see that God will renew our hearts, and make +us wise and good." + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny, the Flower-Girl, by Selina Bunbury + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL *** + +***** This file should be named 6757.txt or 6757.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/5/6757/ + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tiffany Vergon, Charles Franks, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version +by Al Haines. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Fanny, the Flower-Girl + +Author: Selina Bunbury + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6757] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on January 23, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL *** + + + + +Avinash Kothare, Tiffany Vergon, Charles Franks, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + +FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL; + +OR, HONESTY REWARDED. + +TO WHICH ARE ADDED OTHER TALES. + + +BY SELINA BUNBURY. + + + + + +FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL + + +"Come, buy my flowers; flowers fresh and fair. Come, buy my flowers. +Please ma'am, buy a nice bunch of flowers, very pretty ones, ma'am. +Please, sir, to have some flowers; nice, fresh ones, miss; only just +gathered; please look." + +Thus spoke, or sometimes sung, a little girl of perhaps eight years +old, holding in her hand a neat small basket, on the top of which lay +a clean white cloth, to shade from the sun the flowers which she +praised so highly, and a little bunch of which she presented to +almost every passer-by, in the hope of finding purchasers; while, +after one had passed rudely on, another had looked at her young face +and smiled, another had said, "What a nice child!" but not one had +taken the flowers, and left the penny or the half-penny that was to +pay for them the little girl, as if accustomed to all this, only +arranged again the pretty nosegays that had been disarranged in the +vain hope of selling them, and commenced anew in her pretty singing +tone, "Come, buy my flowers; flowers fresh and fair." + +"Your flowers are sadly withered, my little maid," said a kind, +country-looking gentleman, who was buying some vegetables at a stall +near her. + +"Oh, sir! I have fresh ones, here, sir; please look;" and the child +lifted up the cover of her basket, and drew from the very bottom a +bunch of blossoms on which the dew of morning still rested. + +"Please to see, sir; a pretty rose, sir, and these pinks and +mignonette, and a bunch of jessamine, sir, and all for one penny." + +"Bless thee! pretty dear!" said the old lame vegetable-seller, +"thou'lt make a good market-woman one of these days. Your honor would +do well to buy her flowers, sir, she has got no mother or father, God +help her, and works for a sick grandmother." + +"Poor child!" said the old gentleman. "Here, then, little one, give +me three nice nosegays, and there is sixpence for you." + +With delight sparkling in every feature of her face, and her color +changed to crimson with joy, the little flower-girl received in one +hand the unusual piece of money; and setting her basket on the +ground, began hastily and tremblingly to pick out nearly half its +contents as the price of the sixpence; but the gentleman stooped +down, and taking up at random three bunches of the flowers, which +were not the freshest, said, + +"Here, these will do; keep the rest for a more difficult customer. +Be a good child; pray to God, and serve Him, and you will find He is +the Father of the fatherless." + +And so he went away; and the flower-girl, without waiting to put her +basket in order, turned to the old vegetable-seller, and cried, +"Sixpence! a whole sixpence, and all at once. What will grandmother +say now? See!" and opening her hand, she displayed its shining before +her neighbor's eyes. + +"Eh!" exclaimed the old man, as he approached his eyes nearer to it. +"Eh! what is this? why thou hast twenty sixpences there; this is a +half-sovereign!" + +"Twenty sixpences! why the gentleman said, there is sixpence for +thee," said the child. + +"Because he didn't know his mistake," replied the other; "I saw him +take the piece out of his waistcoat-pocket without looking." + +"Oh dear! what shall I do?" cried the little girl. + +"Why, thou must keep it, to be sure," replied the old man; "give it +to thy grandmother, she will know what to do with it, I warrant thee." + +"But I must first try to find the good gentleman, and tell him of +his mistake," said the child. "I know what grandmother would say +else; and he cannot be far off, I think, because he was so fat; he +will go slow, I am sure, this hot morning. Here, Mr. Williams, take +care of my basket, please, till I come back." + +And without a word more, the flower-girl put down her little basket +at the foot of the vegetable-stall, and ran away as fast as she could +go. + +When she turned out of the market-place, she found, early as it was, +that the street before her was pretty full; but as from the passage +the gentleman had taken to leave the market-place, she knew he could +only have gone in one direction, she had still hopes of finding him; +and she ran on and on, until she actually thought she saw the very +person before her; he had just taken off his hat, and was wiping his +forehead with his handkerchief. + +"That is him," said the little flower-girl, "I am certain;" but just +as she spoke, some persons came between her and the gentleman, and +she could not see him. Still she kept running on; now passing off the +foot-path into the street, and then seeing the fat gentleman still +before her; and then again getting on the foot-path, and losing sight +of him, until at last she came up quite close to him, as he was +walking slowly, and wiping the drops of heat from his forehead. + +The poor child was then quite out of breath; and when she got up to +him she could not call out to him to stop, nor say one word; so she +caught hold of the skirt of his coat, and gave it a strong pull. + +The gentleman started, and clapped one hand on his coat-pocket, and +raised up his cane in the other, for he was quite sure it was a +pickpocket at his coat. But when he turned, he saw the breathless +little flower-girl, and he looked rather sternly at her, and said, + +"Well, what do you want; what are you about? eh!" + +"Oh, sir!" said the girl; and then she began to cough, for her +breath was quite spent. "See, sir; you said you gave me sixpence, and +Mr. Williams says there are twenty sixpences in this little bit of +money." + +"Dear me!" said the gentleman; "is it possible? could I have done +such a thing?" and he began to fumble in his waistcoat pocket. + +"Well, really it is true enough," he added, as he drew out a +sixpence. "See what it is to put gold and silver together." + +"I wish he would give it to me," thought the little flower-girl; +"how happy it would make poor granny; and perhaps he has got a good +many more of these pretty gold pieces." + +But the old gentleman put out his hand, and took it, and turned it +over and over, and seemed to think a little; and then he put his hand +into his pocket again, and took out his purse; and he put the half- +sovereign into the purse, and took out of it another sixpence. + +"Well," he said, "there is the sixpence I owe you for the flowers; +you have done right to bring me back this piece of gold; and there is +another sixpence for your race; it is not a reward, mind, for honesty +is only our duty, and you only did what is right; but you are tired, +and have left your employment, and perhaps lost a customer, so I give +you the other sixpence to make you amends." + +"Thank you, sir," said the flower-girl, curtseying; and taking the +two sixpences into her hand with a delighted smile, was going to run +back again, when the old gentleman, pulling out a pocket-book, said, +"Stay a moment; you are an orphan, they tell me; what is your name?" + +"Fanny, sir." + +"Fanny what?" + +"Please, I don't know, sir; grandmother is Mrs. Newton, sir; but she +says she is not my grandmother either, sir." + +"Well, tell me where Mrs. Newton lives," said the gentleman, after +looking at her a minute or so, as if trying to make out what she meant. + +So Fanny told him, and he wrote it down in his pocket-book, and then +read over what he had written to her, and she said it was right. + +"Now, then, run away back," said he, "and sell all your flowers, if +you can, before they wither, for they will not last long this warm +day; flowers are like youth and beauty--do you ever think of that? +even the rose withereth afore it groweth up." And this fat gentleman +looked very sad, for he had lost all his children in their youth. + +"O yes! sir; I know a verse which says that," replied Fanny. "All +flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of +grass--but good morning, and thank you, sir," and away Fanny ran. + +And now, before going on with my story, I must go back to tell who +and what Fanny, the flower-girl, was. + +Mrs. Newton, whom she called her grandmother, was now a poor old +woman, confined to her bed by a long and trying illness, that had +nearly deprived her of the use of her limbs. But she had not been +always thus afflicted. Some years before, Mrs. Newton lived in a neat +cottage near the road-side, two or three miles from one of the great +sea-port towns of England. Her husband had good employment, and they +were both comfortable and happy. + +Just eight years from this time, it happened that one warm summer's +day, Mrs. Newton went to look out from her cottage door down the +road, and she saw a young woman standing there, leaning against a +tree, and looking very faint and weak. + +She was touched with pity and asked the poor traveller to walk into +her house and rest. The young woman thankfully consented, for she +said she was very ill; but she added, that her husband was coming +after her, having been obliged to turn back for a parcel that was +left behind at the house where they had halted some time before, and +therefore she would sit near the door and watch for him. + +Before, however, the husband came, the poor woman was taken +dreadfully ill; and when he did arrive, good Mrs. Newton could not +bear to put the poor creature out of the house in such a state; she +became worse and worse. In short, that poor young woman was Fanny's +mother, and when little Fanny was born, that poor sick mother died, +and Fanny never saw a mother's smile. + +The day after the young woman's death, kind Mrs. Newton came into +the room where her cold body was laid out on the bed; and there was +her husband, a young, strong-looking man, sitting beside it; his +elbows were on his knees, and his face was hid in his open hands. + +Mrs. Newton had the baby in her arms, and she spoke to its father as +she came in; he looked up to her; his own face was as pale as death; +and he looked at her without saying a word. She saw he was in too +much grief either to speak or weep. So she went over silently to him, +and put the little baby into his arms, and then said, "May the Lord +look down with pity on you both." + +As soon as the unhappy young man heard these compassionate words, +and saw the face of his pretty, peaceful babe, he burst into tears; +they rolled in large drops down on the infant's head. + +Then in a short time he was able to speak, and he told Mrs. Newton +his sad little history; how he had no one in the whole world to look +with pity on him, or his motherless child; and how God alone was his +hope in this day of calamity. His father had been displeased with him +because he had married that young woman, whom he dearly loved; and he +had given him some money that was his portion, and would do nothing +else for him. The young man had taken some land and a house, but as +the rent was too high, he could not make enough of the land to pay +it; so he had been obliged to sell all his goods, and he had only as +much money left as would, with great saving, carry him to America, +where he had a brother who advised him to go out there. + +"And now," said he, looking over at the pale face of his dear wife, +"What shall I do with the little creature she has left me? how shall +I carry it over the wide ocean without a mother to care for it, and +nurse it?" + +"You cannot do so," said Mrs. Newton, wiping her eyes; "leave it +with me; I have no children of my own, my husband would like to have +one; this babe shall lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter. I +will nurse it for you until you are settled in America, and send or +come for it." + +The young man wept with gratitude; he wanted to know how he was to +repay Mrs. Newton, but she said for the present she did not want +payment, that it would be a pleasure to her to have the baby; and it +would be time enough to talk about payment when the father was able +to claim it, and take it to a home. + +So the next day they buried the poor young woman, and soon after the +young man went away and sailed off to America, and from that day to +this Mrs. Newton had never heard anything of him. + +As she had said, that poor little motherless babe lay in her bosom, +and was unto her as a daughter; she loved it; she loved it when it +was a helpless little thing, weak and sickly; she loved it when it +grew a pretty lively baby, and would set its little feet on her +knees, and crow and caper before her face; she loved it when it began +to play around her as she sat at work, to lisp out the word "Ganny," +for she taught it to call her grandmother; she loved it when it would +follow her into her nice garden, and pick a flower and carry it to +her, as she sat in the little arbor; and she, holding the flower, +would talk to it of God who made the flower, and made the bee that +drew honey from the flower, and made the sun that caused the flower +to grow, and the light that gave the flower its colors, and the rain +that watered it, and the earth that nourished it. And she loved that +child when it came back from the infant school, and climbed up on her +lap, or stood with its hands behind its back, to repeat some pretty +verses about flowers, or about the God who made them. That child was +Fanny, the flower-girl; and ah! how little did good Mrs. Newton think +she would be selling flowers in the streets to help to support her. + +But it came to pass, that when Fanny was nearly six years old, Mrs. +Newton's husband fell very ill; it was a very bad, and very expensive +illness, for poor Mrs. Newton was so uneasy, she would sometimes have +two doctors to see him; but all would not do; he died: and Mrs. +Newton was left very poorly off. + +In a short time she found she could not keep on her pretty cottage; +she was obliged to leave it; and the church where she had gone every +Sunday for so many years; and the church-yard where her husband was +buried, and little Fanny's mother; and the infant school where Fanny +learned so much; and the dear little garden, and the flowers that +were Fanny's teachers and favorites. Oh! how sorry was poor Mrs. +Newton. But even a little child can give comfort; and so little +Fanny, perhaps without thinking to do so, did; for when Mrs. Newton +for the last time sat out in her garden, and saw the setting sun go +down, and told Fanny she was going to leave that pretty garden, where +she had from infancy been taught to know God's works, the child +looked very sad and thoughtful indeed, for some time; but afterwards +coming up to her, said, + +"But, grandmother, we shall not leave God, shall we? for you say God +is everywhere, and He will be in London too." + +And oh! how that thought consoled poor Mrs. Newton; she did not +leave God,--God did not leave her. + +So she left the abode of her younger years--the scene of her +widowhood; and she went away to hire a poor lodging in the outlets of +London; but her God was with her, and the child she had nursed in her +prosperity was her comfort in adversity. + +Matters, however, went no better when she lived with little Fanny in +a poor lodging. She had only one friend in London, and she lived at a +distance from her. Mrs. Newton fell ill; there was no one to nurse +her but Fanny; she could no longer pay for her schooling, and +sometimes she was not able to teach her herself. + +All this seemed very hard, and very trying; and one would have been +tempted to think that God was no longer with poor Mrs. Newton; that +when she had left her cottage she had left the God who had been so +good to her. + +But this would have been a great mistake. God was with Mrs. Newton; +He saw fit to try and afflict her; but He gave her strength and +patience to bear her trials and afflictions. + +One afternoon her friend came to pay her a visit: she was going out +a little way into the country to see a relation who had a very fine +nursery-garden, and she begged Mrs. Newton to let little Fanny go +with her own daughter. Mrs. Newton was very glad to do so for she +thought it would be a nice amusement for Fanny. + +The nurseryman was very kind to her; and when she was going away +gave her a fine bunch of flowers. Fanny was in great delight, for she +loved flowers and knew her dear grandmother loved them too. But as +she was coming back, and just as she was entering the streets, she +met a lady and a little boy of about three years old, who directly +held out his hands and began to beg for the flowers. His mamma +stopped, and as Fanny was very poorly dressed, she thought it +probable that she would sell her nosegay, and so she said, + +"Will you give that bunch of flowers to my little boy, and I will +pay you for it?" + +"Please, ma'am, they are for grandmother," said Fanny blushing, and +thinking she ought to give the flowers directly, and without money to +any one who wished for them. + +"But perhaps your grand-mother would rather have this sixpence?" +said the lady. And Mrs. Newton's friend, who had just come up, said, + +"Well, my dear, take the lady's sixpence, and let her have the +flowers if she wishes for them." + +So Fanny held the flowers to the lady, who took them and put the +sixpence in her hand. Fanny wished much to ask for one rose, but she +thought it would not be right to do so, when the lady had bought them +all: and she looked at them so very longingly that the lady asked if +she were sorry to part with them. + +"Oh! no, ma'am," cried her friend, "she is not at all sorry--come +now, don't be a fool, child," she whispered, and led Fanny on. + +"That is a good bargain for you," she added as she went on; "that +spoiled little master has his own way, I think; it would be well for +you, and your grandmother too, if you could sell sixpenny worth of +flowers every day." + +"Do you think I could, ma'am?" said Fanny, opening her hand and +looking at her sixpence, "this will buy something to do poor granny +good; do you think Mr. Simpson would give me a nosegay every day?" + +"If you were to pay him for it, he would," said her friend; "suppose +you were to go every morning about five o'clock, as many others do, +and buy some flowers, and then sell them at the market; you might +earn something, and that would be better than being idle, when poor +Mrs. Newton is not able to do for herself and you." + +So when Fanny got back, she gave her dear grandmother the sixpence. + +"The Lord be praised!" said Mrs. Newton, "for I scarcely knew how I +was to get a loaf of bread for thee or myself to-morrow." + +And then Fanny told her the plan she had formed about the flowers. + +Mrs. Newton was very sorry to think her dear child should be obliged +to stand in a market place, or in the public streets, to offer +anything for sale; but she said, "Surely it is Providence has opened +this means of gaining a little bread, while I am laid here unable to +do anything; and shall I not trust that Providence with the care of +my darling child?" + +So from this time forth little Fanny set off every morning before +five o'clock, to the nursery garden; and the nursery-man was very +kind to her, and always gave her the nicest flowers; and instead of +sitting down with the great girls, who went there also for flowers or +vegetables, and tying them up in bunches, Fanny put them altogether +in her little basket, and went away to her grandmother's room, and +spread them out on the little table that poor Mrs. Newton might see +them, while the sweet dew was yet sparkling on their bright leaves. + +Then she would tell how beautiful the garden looked at that sweet +early hour; and Mrs. Newton would listen with pleasure, for she loved +a garden. She used to say, that God placed man in a garden when he +was happy and holy; and when he was sinful and sorrowful, it was in a +garden that the blessed Saviour wept and prayed for the sin of the +world; and when his death had made atonement for that sin, it was in +a garden his blessed body was laid. + +Mrs. Newton taught Fanny many things from flowers; she was not a bad +teacher, in her own simple way, but Jesus Christ, who was the best +teacher the world ever had, instructed his disciples from vines and +lilies, corn and fruit, and birds, and all natural things around them. + +And while Fanny tied up her bunches of flowers, she would repeat +some verses from the Holy Scriptures, such as this, "O Lord, how +manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth +is full of thy riches." And afterwards she would repeat such pretty +lines as these:-- + + "Not worlds on worlds, in varied form, + Need we, to tell a God is here; + The daisy, saved from winter's storm, + Speaks of his hand in lines as clear. + + "For who but He who formed the skies, + And poured the day-spring's living flood, + Wondrous alike in all He tries, + Could rear the daisy's simple bud! + + "Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, + Its fringed border nicely spin; + And cut the gold-embossed gem, + That, shrined in silver, shines within; + + "And fling it, unrestrained and free, + O'er hill, and dale, and desert sod, + That man, where'er he walks, may see, + In every step the trace of God." + + +"And I, too, have had my daisy given to me," poor Mrs. Newton would +say, with tearful eyes, as she gazed on her little flower-girl; "I +too have my daisy, and though it may be little cared for in the +world, or trodden under foot of men, yet will it ever bear, I trust, +the trace of God." + +But it happened the very morning that the gentleman had given Fanny +the half-sovereign in mistake, Mrs. Newton's money was quite spent; +and she was much troubled, thinking the child must go the next +morning to the garden without money to pay for her flowers, for she +did not think it likely she would sell enough to buy what they +required, and pay for them also; so she told Fanny she must ask Mr. +Simpson to let her owe him for a day or two until she got a little +money she expected. + +Fanny went therefore, and said this to the kind man at the garden; +and he put his hand on her head, and said, "My pretty little girl, +you may owe me as long as you please, for you are a good child, and +God will prosper you." + +So Fanny went back in great delight, and told this to Mrs. Newton; +and to cheer her still more, she chose for her morning verse, the +advice that our Lord gave to all those who were careful and troubled +about the things of this life "Consider the lilies of the field, how +they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto +you that Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these. +Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, +and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe +you, oh ye of little faith?" + +And then she repeated some verses which both she and Mrs. Newton +liked very much. + + "Lo! the lilies of the field, + How their leaves instruction yield! + Hark to nature's lesson, given + By the blessed birds of heaven. + + "Say with richer crimson glows, + The kingly mantle than the rose; + Say are kings more richly dressed, + Than the lily's glowing vest! + +"Grandmother I forget the next verse," said Fanny, interrupting +herself; "I know it is something about lilies not spinning; but then +comes this verse-- + + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we"-- + +"It is not the lilies, grandmother, but the blessed birds that are +speaking now-- + + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we, + Yet we carol joyously; + Mortals, fly from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +Poor Mrs. Newton clasped her thin hands, and looked up, and prayed +like the disciples, "Lord, increase our faith!" + +"Eh!" said she, afterwards, "is it not strange that we can trust our +Lord and Saviour with the care of our souls for eternity, and we +cannot trust Him with that of our bodies for a day." + +Well! this was poor Mrs. Newton's state on that day, when the +gentleman gave Fanny the half-sovereign instead of sixpence, for her +flowers. + +When the little flower-girl came back from her race with her two +sixpences, she found the old vegetable-seller had got her three or +four pennies more, by merely showing her basket, and telling why it +was left at his stall; and so every one left a penny for the honest +child, and hoped the gentleman would reward her well. The old man at +the stall said it was very shabby of him only to give her sixpence; +but when she went home with three sixpences and told Mrs. Newton this +story, she kissed her little girl very fondly, but said the gentleman +was good to give her sixpence, for he had no right to give her +anything, she had only done her duty. + +"But, grandmother," said Fanny, "when I saw that pretty half- +sovereign dropping down to his purse, I could not help wishing he +would give it to me." + +"And what commandment did you break then, my child?" + +"Not the eighth--if I had kept the half-sovereign I should have +broken it," said Fanny, "for that says, thou shalt not steal--what +commandment did I break, grandmother; for I did not steal?" + +"When we desire to have what is not ours Fanny, what do we do? we +covet; do we not?" + +"Oh! yes--thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods," cried Fanny, +"that is the tenth commandment; and that half-sovereign was my +neighbor's goods, and that fat gentleman was my neighbor. But, +grandmother, it is very easy to break the tenth commandment." + +"Very easy indeed, my dear," said Mrs. Newton, with first a faint +smile, and then a deep sigh, "therefore," she added, "we ought always +to pray like David, 'Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity.'" + +There is a very common saying, that when things are at the worst +they mend. It is hard to say when matters are at the worst; poor Mrs. +Newton knew they might yet be worse with her; but certainly, they +were very bad; and a few days after this, as Fanny was tying up her +flowers as usual, she lay on her bed thinking what she was to do, and +praying that God would direct her to some way of providing for the +poor child. + +While she was thinking and praying, tears stole down her face; Fanny +saw them, and stopped her work, and looked sorrowfully at her-- + +"Now you are crying again, grandmother, she said," and that's what +makes me break the tenth commandment, for I can't help wishing the +gentleman had given me that half-sovereign. But I will say the verses +again to-day about the lilies and birds; for you know I said that +morning-- + + 'Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow,' + +and when I came back with my three sixpences, you said God +_had_ provided for the morrow, for you had only two or three +pennies in the house when I went out." + +"And how many pennies, pray, have you in the house to-day?" said a +rather gruff voice at the door. + +Mrs. Newton and Fanny started; but there, standing at the door, +Fanny saw the fat gentleman who had given her the half-sovereign. + +"So you have been wishing for my gold, you little rogue," he said, +looking as if he meant to frighten her. "Never mind," he added, +smiling, "you are a good child, and did what was right; and I always +meant to bring it back to you, but I have been kept rather busy these +few days past. There it is for you, and try not to break the tenth +commandment again." Then turning to Mrs. Newton, he said, "We should +not expect rewards, ma'am, for doing our duty, but if children do not +meet with approbation when they do right, they may be discouraged, +and perhaps think there is no use in being good: for they are silly +little creatures, you know, and do not always recollect that God will +reward the just one day if men do not." + +"Oh! sir!" said poor Mrs. Newton, but the tears streamed down, and +she could not say a word more. And there Fanny sat gazing on the half- +sovereign, as if she was half stupefied. + +"Well, take up that bit of gold, and do what you like with it," said +the fat gentleman; "and then run off to sell your flowers, for we +must not be idle because we have got enough for to-day. But do what +you like with that money." + +Fanny rose up from her seat, and looking very much as if she was +moving in her sleep, with her wondering eyes fixed on the shining +piece that lay in her hand, she walked slowly over to Mrs. Newton, +and putting it into hers, said,-- + +"May I go to the grocer's now, grandmother, and get you the tea for +your breakfast?" + +"Yes, my love," said Mrs. Newton, kissing her, "and take care of +this, and bring back the change carefully." Then turning to the +gentleman, she said, "I am not young, sir, and I am very, very +poorly; I find it hard to go without my tea, but it is a luxury I +have been obliged latterly to forego." + +"But could you not get tea on credit, from the grocer?" said the +gentleman. + +"Oh! yes, I believe so; but there would be no use in getting +credit;" said Mrs. Newton, "for I am not certain of being better able +to pay next week than I am this week; and when I have not the money +to pay for what I wish to get, it is better to do without it, than to +add to one's anxieties by running in debt. Do you not think so, sir?" + +"Ma'am," said the old gentleman, sitting down, and resting his large +silver-topped stick between his knees, "it is of very little +consequence what I think; but if you wish to know this, I will tell +you that I think very well both of you and your little girl, who, as +I have heard, for I have made inquiries about you both, is a +dependant on your bounty. You have trained her up well, though I +wouldn't praise the child to her face; and so take as much tea as you +like till you hear from me again, and your grocer need be in no +trouble about his bill." + +So after the fat gentleman had made this rather bluff, but honest- +hearted speech, and poor Mrs. Newton had wept, and thanked him in +language that sounded more polite, the good old gentleman told her +his whole history. + +He began the world very poor, and without relations able to assist +him; he was at last taken into the employment of a young merchant in +the city; he had a turn for business, and having been able to render +some important services to this young man, he was finally, to his own +surprise, and that of every one else, taken into partnership. + +"During all this time," said he, "I was attached from my boyhood to +the daughter of the poor schoolmaster who first taught me to read; I +would not marry her while I was poor, for I thought that would be to +make her wretched instead of happy; but when I was taken into +partnership I thought my way was clear; I went off to Bethnal Green, +and told Mary, and our wedding-day was settled at once. Well, we were +glad enough, to be sure; but a very few days after, my partner called +me into the private room, and said he wanted to consult me. He seemed +in high spirits, and he told me he had just heard of a famous +speculation, by which we could both make our fortunes at once. He +explained what it was, and I saw with shame and regret, that no +really honest man could join in it: I told him so; I told him plainly +I would have nothing to do with it. You may think what followed; the +deeds of partnership were not yet signed, and in short, in two or +three days more I found myself poor Jack Walton again--indeed, poorer +than I was before I was made one of the firm of Charters and Walton, +for I had lost my employment. + +"Often and often I used to think that David said, he had never seen +the righteous forsaken; yet I was suffering while the unrighteous +were prospering. It was a sinful, and a self-righteous thought, and I +was obliged to renounce it; when, after some time of trial, a +gentleman sent for me--a man of wealth, and told me his son was going +into business on his own account; that he had heard of my character, +and of the cause of my leaving Mr. Charters; that he thought I would +be just such a steady person as he wished his son to be with. In +short, I began with him on a handsome salary; was soon made his +partner; married Mary, and had my snug house in the country. Mr. +Charters succeeded in that speculation; entered into several others, +some of which were of a more fraudulent nature, failed, and was +ruined. He ran off to America, and no one knows what became of him. I +have left business some years. I purchased a nice property in the +country, built a Church upon it, and have ever thanked God, who never +forsakes those who wish to act righteously. + +"It pleased God to take all my sweet children from me--every state +has its trials--the youngest was just like your little flower-girl." + +Mrs. Newton was much pleased with this story; she then told her own, +and little Fanny's. The fat gentleman's eyes were full of tears when +she ended; when he was going away he put another half-sovereign into +her hand, and saying, "The first was for the child," walked out of +the house. + +A short time afterwards, a clergyman came to see Mrs. Newton--she +was surprised; he sat and talked with her some time, and seemed +greatly pleased with her sentiments, and all she told him of herself +and Fanny. He then told her that he was the clergyman whom Mr. +Walton, on the recommendation of the bishop of the diocese, had +appointed to the church he had built; that Mr. Walton had sent him to +see her, and had told him, if he was satisfied with all he saw and +heard, to invite Mrs. Newton and the little flower-girl to leave +London, and go and live in one of the nice widows' houses, which good +Mr. Walton had built, near the pretty village where he lived. + +Then there was great joy in poor Mrs. Newton's humble abode; Mrs. +Newton was glad for Fanny's sake, and Fanny was glad for Mrs. +Newton's sake, so both were glad, and both said-- + + "Mortals fly from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +But the only difference was, that Mrs. Newton said it with watery +eyes and clasped hands, lying on her bed and looking up to heaven; +and Fanny--merry little thing!--said it frisking and jumping about +the room, clapping her hands together, and laughing her joy aloud. + +Well, there was an inside place taken in the B---- coach, for Mrs. +Newton and Fanny; and not only that, but kind Mrs. Walton sent up her +own maid to London, to see that everything was carefully done, as the +poor woman was ill, and help to pack up all her little goods; and, +with her, she sent an entire new suit of clothes for the flower-girl. + +They set off, and when they got near to the village the coachman +stopped, and called out to know if it were the first, or the last of +the red cottages he was to stop at; and Mrs. Walton's maid said, "The +last,--the cottage in the garden." So they stopped at such a pretty +cottage, with a little garden before and behind it. Mr. Walton had +known what it was to be poor, and so, when he grew rich, he had built +these neat houses, for those who had been rich and become poor. They +were intended chiefly for the widows of men of business, whose +character had been good, but who had died without being able to +provide for their families. He had made an exception in Mrs. Newton's +case, and gave her one of the best houses, because it had a pretty +garden, which he thought others might not care for so much. + +They went inside, and there was such a neat kitchen, with tiles as +red as tiles could be; a little dresser, with all sorts of useful +things; a nice clock ticking opposite the fire-place, and a grate as +bright as blacklead could make it. And then there was such a pretty +little room at one side, with a rose tree against the window; and a +little shelf for books against the wall; and a round table, and some +chairs, and an easy couch. And there were two nice bedrooms overhead; +and, better than all these, was a pretty garden. Oh! how happy was +the little flower-girl; and how thankful was poor Mrs. Newton! The +first thing she did was to go down on her knees and thank God. + +Then Fanny was to go to the school, for Mrs. Walton had her own +school, as well as the national school; but Fanny did not know enough +to go to it, so she was sent to the national school first, and +afterwards she went to the other, where about a dozen girls were +instructed in all things that would be useful to them through life-- +whether they were to earn their bread at service, or to live in their +own homes as daughters, wives, or mothers. + +But every morning, before she went out, she did everything for her +dear, good grandmother. She made her breakfast; she arranged her +room; and she gathered some fresh flowers in the garden, and put them +on the table in the little parlor. Oh! how happy was Fanny when she +looked back, and saw how nice everything looked, and then went out +singing to her school-- + + "Barns, nor hoarded store have we, + Yet we carol joyously; + Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +But God will not provide for the morrow, where people will do +nothing to provide for themselves; and so Fanny, the flower-girl, +knew, for surely God had blessed the labor of her childish hands. + +Thus passed time away; and Fanny, under the instruction that she had +at church, at school, and at home, "grew in grace, and in the +knowledge and love of God, and of Jesus Christ our Lord." + +Good Mrs. Newton was much better in health, and used to walk about +sometimes without any support but Fanny's arm, and so time went on +till Fanny came to be about fifteen; and then Mrs. Newton, who was +not always free from "doubt and sorrow," began to think what was to +become of her if she were to die. + +So one day, when kind Mr. Walton, whom Fanny used once to call the +fat gentleman, came in to see her, Mrs. Newton told him that she was +beginning to feel anxious that Fanny should be put in a way of +earning her own bread, in case she should be taken from her. + +Mr. Walton listened to her, and then he said,-- + +"You are very right and prudent, Mrs. Newton, but never mind that; I +have not forgotten my little flower-girl, and her race after me that +hot morning; if you were dead, I would take care of her; and if we +both were dead, Mrs. Walton would take care of her; and if Mrs. +Walton were dead, God would take care of her. I see you cannot yet +learn the little lines she is so fond of-- + + "'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow.'" + +Well, not very long after this conversation came a very warm day, +and in all the heat of the sun came Mr. Walton, scarcely able to +breathe, into Mrs. Newton's cottage; he was carrying his hat in one +hand, and a newspaper in the other, and his face was very red and hot. + +"Well, Mrs. Newton," said he, "what is all this about?--I can't make +it out; here is your name in the paper!" + +"My name, sir!" said Mrs. Newton, staring at the paper. + +"Aye, indeed is it," said Mr. Walton, putting on his spectacles, and +opening the paper at the advertisement side,--"see here!" + +And he began to read,-- + +"If Mrs. Newton, who lived about fifteen years ago near the turnpike +on the P-- road, will apply to Messrs. Long and Black, she will hear +of something to her advantage. Or should she be dead, any person who +can give information respecting her and her family, will be rewarded." + +Mrs. Newton sat without the power of speech--so much was she +surprised; at last she said, "It is Fanny's father!--I know, I am +sure it can be no one else!" + +Mr. Walton looked surprised, for he had never thought of this; he +was almost sorry to think his little flower-girl should have another +protector. At length he said it must be as Mrs. Newton thought, and +he would go up to London himself next day, and see Mr. Long and Mr. +Black. So he went; and two days afterwards, when Fanny had returned +from Mrs. Walton's school, and was sitting with Mrs. Newton in the +little shady arbor they had made in the garden, and talking over +early days, when they used to sit in another arbor, and Fanny used to +learn her first lessons from flowers, then came Mr. Walton walking up +the path towards them, and with him was a fine-looking man, of about +forty-five years of age. + +Mrs. Newton trembled, for when she looked in his face she remembered +the features; and she said to herself, "Now, if he takes my Fanny +from me?--and if he should be a bad man?" But when this man came +nearer, he stepped hastily beyond Mr. Walton, and catching Mrs. +Newton's hands, he was just going to drop on his knees before her, +when he saw Fanny staring at him; and a father's feelings overcame +every other, and with a cry of joy he extended his arms, and +exclaiming "my child!'--my child!" caught her to his breast. + +Then there followed so much talk, while no one knew scarcely what +was saying; and it was Mr. Walton, chiefly, that told how Fanny's +father had had so much to struggle against, and so much hardship to +go through, but how he had succeeded at last, and got on very well; +now he had tried then to find out Mrs. Newton and his dear little +Fanny, but could not, because Mrs. Newton had changed her abode; how, +at last, he had met with a good opportunity to sell his land, and had +now come over with the money he had earned, to find his child, and +repay her kind benefactor. + +Oh, what a happy evening was that in the widow's cottage! the +widow's heart sang for joy. The widow, and she that had always +thought herself an orphan, were ready to sing together-- + + "Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow." + +Mrs. Newton found that Mr. Marsden, that was the name of Fanny's +father, was all that she could desire Fanny's father to be:--a +Christian in deed and in truth; one thankful to God and to her, for +the preservation and care of his child; and who would not willingly +separate Fanny from her, or let her leave Fanny. + +As he found Mrs. Newton did not wish to leave kind Mr. Walton's +neighborhood, and that his daughter was attached to it also, Mr. +Marsden took some land and a nice farm-house, not far from the Manor +House, where Mr. Walton lived. He had heard all about the half- +sovereign, and loved his little flower-girl before he saw her. + +So Mrs. Newton had to leave her widow's house; and she shed tears of +joy, and regret, and thankfulness, as she did so; she had been happy +there, and had had God's blessing upon her and her dear girl. + +But Fanny was glad to receive her dear, dear grandmother into her +own father's house; her own house too; and she threw her arms round +the old lady's neck, when they got there, and kissed her over and +over again, and said, "Ah! grandmother, do you recollect when I was a +little girl tying up my flowers while you lay sick in bed, I used to +say so often-- + + "'Mortals flee from doubt and sorrow, + God provideth for the morrow.'" + +They had a large garden at the farm-house, and Fanny and Mrs. Newton +improved it; and Mrs. Newton would walk out, leaning on Fanny's arm, +and look at the lilies and roses, and jessamine, and mignonette, and +talk of past times, and of their first garden, and their first +flowers, and of their first knowledge of the God who made them; who +watches the opening bud, and the infant head; who sends his rain upon +the plant, and the dew of his blessing upon the child who is taught +to know and love Him. And Fanny's father, when he joined them, talked +over his trials and dangers from the day that his poor wife lay dead, +and his helpless baby lay in his arms, and then he blessed the God +who had led him all his life long, and crowned him with loving- +kindness. + +Three years passed, and Fanny, the little flower-girl, was a fine +young woman. A farmer's son in the neighborhood wished to get her for +his wife; but her father was very sorry to think of her leaving him +so soon for another home. + +He spoke to Fanny about it, and said,--"My dear girl, I have no +right to expect you should wish to stay with me, for I never was able +to watch over your childhood or to act a father's part by you." + +And Fanny answered, with a blush and smile, "And I, father, was +never able to act a daughter's part by you until now, and therefore I +think you have every right to expect I should do so for some time +longer. I have no objections to be Charles Brierley's wife, and I +have told him so; but we are both young, and at all events I will not +leave you." + +"Now," said Mrs. Newton, who was sitting by, "instead of that young +man taking more land, which is very dear about here, would it not be +a good plan if he were to come and live with you, Mr. Marsden, and +help you with the farm." + +And Mr. Marsden said, "That is the very thing; I will go and speak +to him about it; and Fanny and her husband can have the house, and +farm, and all, as much as they please now, and entirely at my death." + +So it was all settled; and Fanny was married at the village church, +and Mr. and Mrs. Walton were at the wedding. Good Mrs. Newton lived +on at the farm-house, and when Fanny's first child was born, it was +put into her arms. Then she thought of the time when Fanny herself +was laid in the same arms; and she blessed God in her heart, who had +enabled her to be of use to one human creature, and to one immortal +soul and mind, while she passed through this life to the life +everlasting. + +Joy and sorrow are always mingled on this earth; so it came to pass +that before Fanny's first child could walk alone, good, kind Mrs. +Newton died, and was buried. As a shock of corn cometh in, in its +season, so she sank to rest, and was gathered into the garner of her +Lord. But-- + + "The memory of the just + Is blessed, though they sleep in dust;" + +and Fanny's children, and children's children, will learn to love +that memory. + +Many a day, sitting at work in her garden, with her little ones +around her, Fanny let them gather some flowers, and talk to her about +them; and then they would beg, as a reward for good conduct, that she +would tell them about her dear grandmother and her own childish days; +and much as children love to hear stories, never did any more delight +in a story, than did these children, in the story of Fanny, the +Flower-Girl. + + + + +Convenient Food. + + +Little Frances was crying; her sister Mary hearing her sobs, ran in +haste to inquire what had happened; and saw her sitting in a corner +of the nursery, looking rather sulky, as if she had recently received +some disappointment. + +"What is the matter, dear little Frances? why do you cry so?" + +Frances pouted, and would make no reply. + +"Tell me, dear Frances; perhaps I can do something for you." + +"Nothing, Mary," she sobbed, "only"-- + +"Only what, little Frances? It cannot be _nothing_ that makes +you cry so bitterly." + +"Only mamma would not give--" she looked a little ashamed, and did +not finish her sentence. + +"_What_ would she not give?" + +"Nothing." + +"Nothing!" Frances shook her elbows, as if troubled by Mary's +inquiries, but the tears continued flowing down her cheeks. + +Just at that moment their sister Anne came into the room, singing in +the joy of her heart, with a piece of plum-cake in her hand, holding +it up, and turning it about before her sisters to exhibit her +newly-acquired possession, on which Frances fixed her eyes with eager +gaze, and the tears flowed still faster, accompanied with a kind of +angry sob. + +"Frances! what is the matter that you are crying so? see what I have +got! you will spoil all the happiness of our feast." + + +At the word _feast_, Frances' tears seemed arrested, and her +mouth looked as if she were going to smile. She left the corner, and +immediately prepared to do her part for the feast, setting a little +square table, and then, drawing her own little stool, seated herself +in readiness as a guest. + +"Stay," said Anne, "we will make some little paper dishes and +plates, and divide the cake;" so saying, she began the operation, and +laying down the paper dishes, "there at the top, see! there shall be +two chickens, at the bottom a piece of beef, at one side some +potatoes, and at the other some cauliflower;" breaking her cake into +small pieces to correspond to her imagined provision. + +Frances looked very impatient at the long preparation, and as Anne +seated herself, inviting Mary to partake, Frances stretched out her +hand to take the beef for her own portion. + +"No, no, Frances, you must not help yourself, you know; wait until +we all begin in order." + +Frances very reluctantly withdrew her hand, and, whilst she waited, +betrayed her impatience by a little jerking motion of the body, that +threw her breast against the table, as if she would beat time into +quicker motion. + +"O we must not forget William!" Anne exclaimed; "where is he? he +must taste our feast; stay here, Mary, with Frances, and I will go +and find him." + +Away she ran, and left poor Frances in a fret at this additional +delay, but she began to amuse herself by picking up the small crumbs +that had been scattered on the stool, and at last proceeded to touch +the beef and chickens. + +"Do not do so, Frances," Mary said, in a reproving voice. + +Frances colored. + +"Do not sit _looking_ on, if you are so impatient; employ +yourself, and get a seat ready for William." + +"_You_ may get it, Mary." + +"Very well; only do not meddle with Anne's feast." + +Mary had to go into another room for the seat, and whilst she was +away, Frances quickly helped herself to half of the pieces which were +on the dishes, and, when Mary returned, resumed her position as if +nothing had happened. Mary was so busy in arranging the seats, that +she did not observe what had been done. + +Presently Anne came back, accompanied by her brother William; +hastening to her place, and looking on her table, she started with +surprise, and seemed to say to herself, as she gazed, How came I to +make a mistake, an think my pieces of cake were larger? but the +expression of her face called Mary's attention, who at once said, + +"Anne, I am sure you placed larger pieces on your dishes." + +"Indeed, I thought so, Mary; who has taken any?" + +"I do not know." + +"O you are only _pretending_, and you have been hiding some." + +"No, Anne; I would not have said I do not know, if I had _hid_ +it." + +"No, no more you would, dear Mary. Never mind," she said, glancing a +look at Frances, not altogether without suspicion, "it is only to +_play_ with, it does not signify whether it is much or little. + +"William, shall I help you to a little chicken?" + +"O no, Anne, you have forgot, help the _ladies_ first; and +beside, you ought to have placed me at the bottom of the table to +carve this dish. What is it?" + +"Beef, William." + +"O beef, very well. Come, Miss Frances, let me sit there, and you +come to the side of the table." + +In haste to begin the eating part of the play, she rose immediately +to change places, when, to her disgrace, a quantity of crumbs, which +had lodged unobserved in a fold of her frock, fell out, and +disordered the neatness of the table. + +"There!" said William, "we have no question to ask who took the +liberty to lessen the dishes." + +"For shame, William, I--" + +"O Frances, take care what you say, tell no falsehoods; I will tell +one truth, and say you are a greedy girl." + +Frances began to cry again, "For shame, William, to call me names." + +"I call no names, I only say what I think, and how can I help it, +when it is only just now you cried so, because you said mamma had +given me a larger piece of cake than yourself; for you must know," he +continued, turning to Mary, "we have both had one piece before, and +she half of mine to make her quiet; and then she cried again because +a piece was put by for you and Anne, and she cannot be contented now, +though Anne shares hers amongst us. If this is not being greedy, I do +not know what greedy means. It is no names, it is only saying what a +thing is." + +"Now I know another thing," said Anne; "when mamma called me to +receive my piece of cake, she said, 'And you shall take a piece also +to Mary,' but when she unfolded the paper, there was only _one_ +piece; mamma did not say anything, but I think she _thought_ +something." + +At this remark, Frances redoubled her crying, but, for the sake of a +share of the present feast, did not attempt to leave the party. No +more was said, and the feast was concluded in good humor by all +except the conscious greedy girl, and they then all went into the +garden together to finish their hour's recreation before they were +called again to their lessons. + +There was a little plantation of young fir-trees at one corner of +the garden, intended to grow there for shelter from the north-west +wind: the grass was so high amongst them, that the gardener had +orders to go and carefully mow it down. He was engaged in the +business when the children ran out to see him work. + +"Hush! hush!" he exclaimed, as they approached, "I have just cleared +a bough from the grass, and see what's there!" + +All curiosity, they went forward on tip-toe, and were directed to +something lodged on the spreading branch of a young larch. + +"A bird's nest!" said William. + +"A bird's nest!" they all repeated. "But what is in it, I cannot +tell." + +"Look steadily," said the gardener, "and you will find out." + +It was difficult to trace what it was; something all in a heap, +brown naked skin; alive, as might be known by the heaving breathing. +William putting his finger to touch them, immediately four wide +mouths stretched open, with little tongues raised, and the opening of +their throats extended to the utmost. + +"Look at the little things," said William; "they thought their +mother was come when I touched the branch, and they have opened their +mouths to be ready to receive what she would put in. + +"They are _blind_!" said William. + +"Yes, they cannot have been hatched more than two days." + +"Will they take what the mother gives them?" asked William. + +"Yes," said the man, "they trust her, and swallow down what she puts +into their mouths." + +"I wish the mother would come," said Anne. + +"But she will not whilst we are here," William replied. + +"Touch it again, William," said Frances. + +William touched the edge of the nest "See!" said he, "they think the +mother is come, they stretch, their months still wider." + +"Hark!" said Mary, "what an impatient noise they make: they look +ready to stretch themselves out of their nest, and as if their little +mouths would tear." + +"Poor little things! do not disappoint them, give them something," +said Anne. + +"We have not proper food for them," said William. + +"I will run and fetch some crumbs," said Mary. + +Mary soon returned with a piece of bread, and giving it to her +brother as the most experienced, he broke it into extremely small +crumbs, and, again touching the nest, awakened the expectation of the +young birds: they opened their mouths wide, and as he dropped a small +crumb into each, they moved their tongues, trying to make it pass +down into their throat. "Poor little things, they cannot swallow +well, they want the mother to put it gently down their throat with +her beak." + +"See! see!" said all the girls, "they want more, give them more." + +William dropped his crumbs again. + +"More, more, William; see! they are not satisfied." + +"I dare not give them more for fear of killing them, we cannot feed +them like the mother. We will stand still at a little distance, and +you will see them go to sleep." When all was quiet, the little +nestlings shut their mouths, and dropped their heads. + +"I should like to see the mother feed them." + +"You would see how much better she would do it than we can; perhaps, +if we could conceal ourselves behind that laurel, she would come, but +she will be very frightened, because all is so altered now the grass +is cut down, and her nest is exposed; but I dare say she is not for +off, she will be watching somewhere." + +They took William's hint, and retreated behind the laurel; they had +not waited ten minutes, before the hen bird flitted past, and, +darting over the larch, as if to inspect whether her little brood was +safe, she disappeared again. In a few minutes more, she returned, +skimming round to reconnoitre that all was safe, she perched upon the +nest. Instantly the little nestlings were awake to the summons of her +touch and chirp, and, opening their mouths wide, were ready for what +she would give. She dropt a small fly into the mouth of one of them, +and, having no more, flew away to provide for the other hungry mouths +as fast as she could. As soon as she was gone, they again shut their +mouths, and dropt their heads in silence. + +"What a little bit she gave them," said Frances. + +"Yes," answered William, "but she knows it is _plenty_." + +"How contented the others seem to wait till she comes again!" + +"Yes, Mary," William again answered, unable to resist the comparison +which had come to his mind, "they did not take the little bit away +from the other. Shall we wait till she comes again?" + +"O do." + +"Very well, I want to see whether the one that was fed first will +take away the bit the others got." + +The allusion made a little laugh, but, seeing that Frances +understood and felt that it applied to her, Anne said, "Do not let us +tease Frances; it is better to tell her at once what her fault is, +than to seem to like to hurt her." + +"Indeed, dear Anne, I have not spared to tell her, her fault, as she +knows very well, for she has often given me reason, but I cannot make +her ashamed of such things; and I know mamma is very uneasy to see it +in her." + +Frances looked grave, but did not cry; turning pale, however, she +said, "O Mary take me out of this laurel--I am so sick!" + +Mary hastened to take her into the freer air, but all in vain. The +sisters were alarmed, and took her in to their mamma; who received +her gravely, without expressing any concern for her indisposition. + +"What can we do for Frances, mamma? Will you let her have your +smelling bottle, or shall I run and get some sal volatile?" + +"Neither, my dear Mary; it is an indisposition caused by her own +selfish appetite, and probably the relief may be obtained by her +stomach rejecting what she so improperly forced upon it. We will wait +a short time, and if not, I will give her something less palatable, +perhaps, than plum-cake, but necessary to remove it." + +Frances was too ill to make any remark; she became paler still, and +then quickly flushed almost a crimson color, her eyes were oppressed, +and her eyebrows contracted, and she impatiently complained, + +"O my head! how it beats! What shall I do, mamma?" + +"Bear the consequences of your own inordinate appetite, Frances, and +learn to subject it to the wholesome rules of temperance." + +"O the nasty plum-cake! I wish you had not given me any, mamma." + +"You _once_ thought the plum-cake _nice_, and you would +not be contented with the small portion I knew to be sufficient and +safe for you." + +"O my head! I think it is very cruel, mamma, that you do not pity me." + +"I do pity you, Frances, and will take care of you now that I see +you require help, as I perceive that you will not have any relief +without medicine." + +Frances began again to cry, "O, I am so sick! I cannot take +medicine. I am sure I cannot." + +"Come to your room, Frances; I shall give you something proper, and +you had better lie down after you have taken it; you will, perhaps, +drop into a sleep, and be well when you awake again." Her mamma took +her hand and led her up stairs, and Frances knew very well it was in +vain to make any objection, as her mamma always made a point of +obedience. The medicine was administered, although for some time +Frances refused to look at it. When she laid down, her mamma placed +the pillow high under her head, and, drawing the curtain to shade the +light, left the room that she might be perfectly quiet. And when she +returned to the drawing-room, she inquired of the other children what +they had been doing, and received a full account of the feast, and +the bird's nest, and all the little circumstances of each. + +It was time to resume their studies, and, except that Frances was +not in her usual place, all things proceeded as before. When the +lessons were finished, they entreated their mamma to go with them, +and see the bird's nest." + +"It is _so_ pretty, mamma!" said Anne; "and they know when the +mother comes, and they take what she puts into their mouths." + +"We will first inquire after Frances," she answered; "if she is well +enough, she can accompany us." + +"I will run up, if you will be putting on your bonnet and shawl, +mamma." + +"Very well, I hope you will find her recovered, we will wait your +return." + +Anne soon returned,--"She is gone! I do not see her anywhere!" + +"Gone! In perhaps we shall find her at play in the garden." + +In this expectation they all went out, and as they drew near the +spot where the nest was, they saw Frances looking very eagerly into +the nest, and seeming to be in some agitation, then she threw +something out of her hand, and ran away as if wanting not to be seen. + +"She is about some mischief," William said, and ran forward to the +nest. But what was his grief to see one of the little birds dead on +the ground, two others in the nest with pieces of bread sticking in +their mouths, gasping, unable to swallow or reject it, and the fourth +with its crop gorged, and slowly moving its little unfledged head +from side to side, struggling in death. + +Full of sympathy with the little sufferer, and indignant with +Frances, he exclaimed, "Provoking girl! she has stuffed the little +creatures as she would like to stuff herself; and I believe she has +killed them all." + +The lively interest the other children had in the nest, impelled +them to hasten to the spot, and their lamentations, and even tears, +soon flowed. + +"William, William, cannot you do anything for them? do try." + +"Well, stand still and do not shake my arm--so saying, he began the +attempt, and drew the bread carefully out of the distended mouths of +the two. + +"Now the other! the other, William!" + +"That I cannot help," he answered: "see! she has forced it down, and +we cannot get it back again; it is dying now." + +Anne picked up the dead one from off the ground, and stroking it +with her forefinger, "Poor little thing!" she said, "was she so cruel +to you!" + +It was not long before they heard a rustling in the tree near the +place, and then a chirp of fright and distress. "Ah!" said their +mamma, "there is the mother! poor things, we will go a little +distance to let her come to the nest; perhaps she will be able to +save the two." + +They all withdrew, and the little parent bird was soon on her nest, +fluttering and chirping to awaken the dead and dying little ones, +till at length she sorrowfully brooded down on her nest, and spread +her wings over them, occasionally chirping as if to solicit an answer +from her little brood. + +"Oh!" said Mary, bursting into tears, "I cannot bear it! cruel +Frances, to be so unkind to the little birds!" + +"Go and find Frances," said their mamma, "and bring her to me." + +"I will go," William answered, "I think I know where she will hide +herself." + +It was not long before William returned, leading Frances, who very +reluctantly yielded to accompany him. + +"Come here," said her mamma, stopping the accusations she saw were +ready to overwhelm the offending little girl; "come here, and let me +talk to you about this sad thing you have done to the little birds. +Do you see what you have done by your ill-judged kindness?" + +"Kindness! mamma," they all exclaimed. + +"Yes, dear children, she has been very faulty, but I believe she +meant to be kind, and through ignorance did this thing which proves +the death of the birds. _You_ would not have done it, William, +because you have already learnt there is such a thing as a necessary +prudence to deal out your morsels with wisdom, and in a measure +suited to the age and the capacity of the birds, and also that their +food should be of a wholesome kind suitable to their nature. Nothing +of this did Frances know, and it seems she had not learnt wisdom from +the circumstances she had herself so lately fallen into. + +"It reminds me of the scripture, which teaches us to profit: 'Open +thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.' These little birds first +attracted your attention by their _open mouths_, which they had +stretched to receive what their poor mother was preparing to put into +them. As one lighted on the edge of their nest, they instinctively +opened their little yellow-edged beaks; she delighted to see them do +so; and they, taking with content what she had provided for them, +with the utmost confidence swallowed it down. She had a bit for every +one of them in turn and they waited patiently until it was given +them. All was well whilst they were nourished with parental +tenderness and prudence, and none other meddled with them, or +ventured to give them other things, which they, being blind, received +and knew not the hand that gave, nor the consequences of eating food +not such as their parent would have provided. + +"Here you see Frances, neither prudent nor aware of consequences, +has stuffed these little birds with improper food, both in quality +and quantity. The consequences are fatal; one is dead, another is +dying, and it is very uncertain whether the others also will not die. +She fed them without measure, and their crops and throats were gorged +so as to stop their breathing. They took it greedily, because they +knew not the fatal consequences. + +"Frances, you are a greedy girl. You had been suffering for this +offence, and had not the wisdom to leave it to me to apportion your +food. You opened your mouth wide, but you must remember it is not +written that _you_ are to fill it according to your own desires. +'I will fill it,' saith the Lord. He knows what is good for us, and +he will measure his bounty according to his own wisdom." + +Frances began to look ashamed and sorrowful. + +"I was to you," her mamma continued, "in the affair of the cake, +endeavoring to fulfil this my duty, but you rebelled against my +discretion, and would covet more than was right. You _helped +yourself_, you gorged your stomach. You were cross and peevish, +and ill, and when the medicine had relieved you, as it was designed, +you, without reflection, sallied forth and suffocated the little +birds. You could not feed them as the _mother_ would. You could +not find in the air and on the ground the little insects, and small +worms and little grains which were their proper food, and you should +have left it to their own mother to fill their opened mouths. +_She_ would have made no mistake either in the quality or +quantity _convenient_ for them." + +"O," Mary said, "how that reminds me of the scripture in Proverbs +xxx. 8: 'Feed me with food _convenient_ for me.'" + +"Yes, my dear girl, it's a scripture of great importance and often +does it impress my mind in combination with the other I mentioned, +Ps. lxxxi. 10: 'Open thy mouth wide, and _I_ will fill it,' in +their spiritual application, when I am providing for you, and +dividing out your portions, and considering what diet is most suited +to your constitution, and limiting the quantity of dainty or rich +luxuries not _convenient_ for you. I am also frequently led to +apply it to myself, and to offer my petition to the Lord that he will +graciously judge for me, both temporally and spiritually to +_fill_ my mouth, and feed me with food _convenient_ for me." + +"I think too, mamma, that there is some meaning belonging to this in +our Lord's teaching us to pray, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' +Matt. vi. 11." + +"Assuredly, my dear child, and I am rejoiced to find you are led by +this subject to compare spiritual things with spiritual. + +"You see how the word of God interprets itself, and we are taught to +go direct to the bounteous hand who giveth liberally, but never +wastefully Our daily bread is sufficient for the day, and we must +wait on him still for the daily bread of the succeeding day; so we +are instructed to open our mouths wide to ask the Lord to fulfil his +promise and to fill them, and to be contented with convenient food." + +"O Mamma, you cannot think how many scriptures seem to come to my +mind, and to give me a clearer understanding. You know the manna +which was given in the wilderness, was _convenient_ food when +it was gathered daily as the Lord commanded, but when they laid it +up, you know it was no longer _convenient,_ for it stunk and +bred worms. Does not this teach us to trust God as well as not to +_disobey _ him?" + +"May this ready application of the word of God proceedeth from that +grace, my child, which teaches you, like Job, to esteem the word of +God more than your necessary food, for you will also remember what +our Lord said to the tempter, 'It is written, Man does not live by +_bread alone,_ but _by every word_ that proceeded out of +the mouth of God.' But we are too apt to forget this, and to imagine +that we can provide well for ourselves by fulfilling the desires and +lusts of the flesh, and by so doing, we are likely to be brought to +_forget_ God, the bountiful and wise Supplier of all our wants." + +"I remember the text, mamma, which has in it, 'Feed me with food +_convenient_ for me; and in another part, 'lest I be full and +deny thee,' Prov. xxx. 9; and this little bird's nest has helped me +to understand it better." + +"May the Holy Spirit engrave it on your heart, for it will often +remind you of the thankful contentedness with which you ought to wait +on the Lord." + +"Yes, mamma," William said, "but there is no harm, you know, in +opening the mouth _wide_." + +"No, William, certainly no _harm_, for it is a _duty_. +'Open thy mouth wide,' is an injunction of God, but it is immediately +subjoined and strictly said, 'and I will fill it.' Therefore bear in +mind the double instruction. Neither take the filling on yourself, +nor be ready to swallow every crude and unwholesome morsel which the +ignorant or the wicked would present to you. Do you remember a +certain day last week when something happened?" + +William looked anxious to recollect what his mamma alluded to, and +in less than a minute he shook his head, and said, "Ah, mamma, that +is too bad, you mean when Mrs. Arnot called, and you were out." + +"Yes I do, William; you all opened your mouths wide, and _she_ +filled them. Her sweet things did not prove _convenient_ food. +You see, therefore, we should learn to discriminate between a +heavenly Father's provision, and that of a stranger, whose busy +interference may cost you your life. I was not many minutes away from +my little nest, when a stranger came, and, by mistaken kindness made +you all ill. + +"Frances, have you never read that scripture: 'Put a knife to thy +throat, if thou be a man given to appetite.'" + +Frances cried, and, sobbing, said, "I do not know what it means?" + +"What can it mean, my dear Frances, but parallel with those, 'If thy +right eye offend thee, pluck it out if thy right hand offend thee, +cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, +than, having two hands or two feet, to be cast into everlasting +fire,' Matt. xvvi. 29, 30. ii. 8, 9. It means that spirit which will +sacrifice the lust of the heart, and deny itself, though it should be +a present mortification. The _throat_ of an inordinate or +diseased appetite is to be cut, and its carnal desires crucified." + +"Was it not something of this kind that Isaac fell into when he sent +Esau to hunt venison, and make him savory meat, such as his soul +loved? Gen. xxvii. 4." + +"Yes, William, and this very thing he desired presented the +temptation by which he was deceived. And you might have mentioned, +too, how Esau himself yielded to his appetite, and sold his +birthright for a mess of pottage, Gen. xxv. 29. When we yield to +these propensities of the flesh, we lay a snare for our own souls, +and expose our weakness to an adversary, ever ready to take advantage +of our infirmity. It is a common fault in children to desire with +greedy appetite such food as is pernicious, and to wish for more than +even a mouth opened wide requires--till at length they learn to lust +after _forbidden_ things. And what does it lead to? Frances, you +began to pick and steal, and your own iniquity chastised you:--you +were sick and ill." + +Frances hid her face in her frock. + +"Ah mamma," said Anne, "I shall be afraid of wanting anything, as I +used to do; and I hope I shall remember how much better you can feed +me, than I can feed myself." + +"I wish I may too," said William. "If Eve had but waited for the +Lord only to fill her mouth, she would not have eaten that which +brought sin and death." + +"Tell me, Frances, if you feel the force of all we have learnt from +the little birds, and your own mistaken idea of what would be good +for them?" + +Frances did not answer. + +"But you know, my child, you were guilty of another fault; when the +medicine was offered, which was likely to do you good,--you +_refused_ to open your mouth, and was long before you would let +me fill it, so you see we must leave it all to the Lord to give us +much or little, bitter or sweet, just as he knows to be +_convenient_ for us." + +"Yes," Mary said, "these poor little birds will long teach us a +lesson. We may imitate them to open our mouth wide, but we must be +warned by what happened to them, to let the _Lord_ only fill +them." + +"Let us look again at the nest." They approached, and frightened the +mother so, that she flew off. + +"See, see! William," said Anne, "the two little things are opening +their mouths again. O how beautiful! let us never meddle with them +any more. Only remember, 'Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.' +Now, Frances, do not cry any more: come, we will bury these little +dead birds." + +Frances wiped her eyes, and Anne giving her a kiss, they went away +to do as she proposed. After they had made a little coffin, they put +the two little dead birds into it Then William got a spade, and dug a +grave just large enough to hold the little coffin: and, as he lowered +it into the grave, Mary wiped away the tears which gathered in her +eyes. When William had filled up the grave, they all returned to +their mamma, who said-- + +"My dear children, do not let us dismiss this interesting subject +without a closer application. My dear Frances, come near to me, and +hear what I have to say." + +Frances drew near with some timidity. Conscious of her faults, and +expecting the word of truth to be directed to her heart, she had at +that moment rather have escaped from it. But her mamma, taking her +hands into hers, and sitting down on a garden stool that was nigh, +she felt that the words would be words of love, aid her heart +beginning to soften, the tears were ready to flow, for she knew that +her mamma would speak to her of Jesus and of his blood, which was +shed for sinners. + +"Do you know quite well, my child, that among the fruits of the +Spirit enumerated, Gal. v., there is one called TEMPERANCE?" + +"Yes, mamma," she replied. + +"Are you not also conscious, my dear child, that your desire of +indulging your appetite is quite contrary to this holy fruit?" + +"Yes, mamma." + +"Then what are you to do in order to overcome the one, and to obtain +the other?" + +"I must ask the Lord Jesus to give me the Holy Spirit." + +"Yes, my child, to him must you come for all help, and he will not +send you empty away. Here is a subject on which you must indeed open +your mouth wide, in earnest prayer, and wait on the Lord for his +gracious answer. 'Ask, and ye shall receive,' he says, and after +showing how an _earthly_ father will act towards his child that +asks for bread, how does he conclude?" + +"He says, 'How much _more_ will your _heavenly_ Father +give the _Holy Spirit_ to them that ask Him!'" + +"Will you then, my dear Frances, profit by this gracious +instruction, and will _you_ ask for the Holy Spirit?" + +"Yes, mamma, I will try." + +"Do you believe the Lord will give you the Holy Spirit when you ask?" + +"He _says_ He _will_, mamma." + +"That is enough, my child; what the Lord says is yea and amen. It is +written, 'Hath he said, and will he not do it?'" + +"Yes, mamma, I know God is _Truth_, He cannot lie." + +"But you know also, my dear Frances, when the Holy Spirit is given, +he takes up his abode in the heart, and he _acts_ in the soul, +and will not dwell there without producing his holy fruit; and tell +me now what is the fruit you particularly want to overcome this +sinful desire of appetite which prevails in your heart." + +"Is it not _temperance_, mamma?" + +"Yes, and if He comes into your heart, he will give it you, and +moreover teach you to _repent_ of your sins; for consider, my +Frances, sin is an offence against him, and needs to be repented of. +Do you repent?" + +"I am very sorry, mamma." + +"But repentance is more than sorrow; it will make you ashamed before +God, and make you feel yourself vile; and it will also make you +carefully watchful against the temptation; it will make you anxious +to quit the sin, and clear your soul from its power; it will make you +indignant against it, and urge you to seek that strength from the +Spirit, which will resist the sin, and overcome it. When, therefore, +you ask for the Holy Spirit, be _willing_ that the Lord should +_fill_ you. Be ready to _exercise_ the mighty gift for +_all_ his offices, to convict you of sin, to lead you to true +expectations, and to strengthen you to overcome your sin, giving you +that grace which is specially opposed to the leading sin of your +heart." + +"I wish I had this gift; for my sin makes me very unhappy: I know it +is wrong." + +"Do not stop in _wishes_, dear child, go and _pray_; +'_Ask_, and ye shall receive.' 'Open your mouth wide' in the +full utterance of all your distress, and of all you desire; pray for +what you _want, name_ it; pray for _repentance_, and for +_temperance_. Pray that the _lust of your appetite_ may be +_crucified_, and pray that the blood of Jesus, the Lamb of God +who taketh away sin, may be sprinkled upon your guilty soul, and +cleanse it from all sin. He giveth liberally, and upbraideth not. He +is angry only when we neglect his promises and his gifts. + +"It is not long since, dear Mary, that you and I conversed on this +text, 'My people would not hearken to my voice, Israel would none of +me: _so I gave them up to their own heart's lusts_,' Psa. lxxxi. +A dreadful judgment! what would become of _you_, dear Frances, +if you were given up to the dominion of your appetite?" + +"But, my dear mamma," Mary said, "do you not remember the end of +that psalm, what a sweet verse there is?" + +"Repeat it, dear girl, and let little Frances hear it!" + +"'_Had_ they hearkened and obeyed, then should he have fed them +with the finest of the wheat, and with honey out of the rock should I +have satisfied them.'" + +"O my children," said their mamma, "here is spiritual food for the +spiritual appetite! You know who is the Bread of Life, and who is the +Rock of our salvation. Turn unto him your whole heart, and though you +feel the burden of the body of this death, you shall soon be able to +thank God, who, through Jesus Christ our Lord, will deliver you." + + "Poor Esau repented too late, + That once he his birth-right despis'd, + And sold for a morsel of meat, + What could not too highly be priz'd. + How great was his anguish when told, + The blessing he sought to obtain + Was gone with the birth-right he sold, + And none could recall it again! + + He stands as a warning to all, + Wherever the gospel shall come! + O hasten and yield to the call, + While yet for repentance there's room! + Your season will quickly be past; + Then hear and obey it to-day, + Lest when you seek mercy at last, + The Saviour should frown you away. + + What is it the world can propose? + A morsel of meat at the best! + For this are you willing to lose + A share in the joys of the blest? + Its pleasures will speedily end, + Its favor and praise are but breath; + And what can its profits befriend + Your soul in the moments of death? + + If Jesus, for these, you despise, + And sin to the Saviour prefer, + In vain your entreaties and cries, + When summon'd to stand at his bar: + How will you his presence abide? + What anguish will torture your heart, + The saints all enthron'd by his side, + And you be compelled to depart. + + Too often, dear Saviour, have I + Preferr'd some poor trifle to thee; + How is it thou dost not deny + The blessing and birth-right to me? + No better than Esau I am, + Though pardon and heaven be mine + To me belongs nothing but shame, + The praise and the glory be thine." + + + + +I. + + +The Little Pavior. + + +"Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and +whether it be right,"--PROVERBS, xx. 11. + +Happy the child who is active, intelligent and obliging, and who +takes pleasure in serving those that are about him! Happy above all +is the child, who, fearing and loving the Lord, shows himself thus +zealous and obliging, from a feeling of piety, and a desire to please +God. + +Such was Francis, and this we shall soon see, from the following +narrative: + +Francis, who was about eight years old, was spending the month of +June with his Grandpapa in the country. + +His Grandpapa lived in a pretty house, roofed with slates, and +surrounded with a verandah, in which were seats, and between each +seat, some flower-pots. Jessamine and roses entwined themselves +around the verandah, and adorned it with elegant festoons of flowers. + +Behind the house was a yard, where chickens, turkeys, and guinea- +fowls, were kept; and in the front, looking towards the west, was +laid out a fine garden, well provided with evergreens, such as holly, +yew, and pine-trees, and amongst these, also, many birch and ash- +trees flourished. + +At the bottom of the garden, which sloped a little, flowed a pure, +but shallow stream, which was crossed by means of a wooden bridge, +surrounded with elders and large hazels. + +This was a delightful dwelling-place, but those who inhabited it, +were still more delightful than the beautiful garden or the smiling +groves. For it was the beauty of piety which was found in them, +united with that gentleness and amiability of character, that humble +spirit of cordiality, which our Saviour enjoins upon all his true +disciples. + +These inhabitants, so good and so amiable, were the Grandpapa and +Grandmamma of Francis, and their domestics, who, with them served the +Lord, and lived in that peace, which His Spirit gives to such as +delight in His Word. + +This dear Grandpapa then, since he was pious, was charitable, and +took particular pleasure in visiting his aged neighbors, especially +the poor peasants, to whom he always carried comfort and +encouragement from that gracious God, with whom he himself daily +endeavored more and more to live. He used generally to pay these +charitable visits in the middle of the day; after having read the +Holy Bible for the second time, in a retired summer-house in the +garden, near which a little gate opened upon a footpath, which, +passing through the orchard, led to the village. + +Francis, who was already acquainted with his Grandpapa's habits, +never came to disturb him while he was in the summer-house, and +whenever he saw his Grandpapa going out of the little gate he took +good care not to follow him. + +But in about an hour or two, he would go to meet him, sometimes +towards the road, at others, as far as the bridge over the stream;-- +his Grandmamma was never uneasy, because she knew that Francis was a +prudent boy, and that God watched over him, as one of the lambs of +the good shepherd. + +Grandpapa then, had just finished reading; he had put on his hat and +taken his cane, and had gone out through the gate. + +Francis, who was sitting before the house, under the pretty green +verandah, saw him pass behind the garden hedge, and was already +thinking of going to meet him at the end of an hour, when to his +great surprise he saw his Grandpapa pass again behind the hedge, and +then enter the garden through the little gate, walking apparently +with much difficulty. + +"What is the matter, dear Grandpapa?" cried Francis, springing +towards the garden.--"Oh! how you are covered with mud! It must be +that rude Driver who wanted to fawn upon you. He has always such +dirty paws." + +"You must not scold Driver, but _me_," mildly replied his +Grandpapa, "for I incautiously, and most imprudently, walked upon +that part of the path which has been inundated by the water from the +fountain." + +"Grandpapa, did you fall?" asked Francis, quite alarmed. + +"Yes my boy, your Grandfather fell like a heedless man.... But +thanks to our gracious God, who ever takes care of us! it was +nothing; I was only a little frightened. You see, Francis, you must +not forget that we only stand, because God supports us." + +So saying, his Grandfather entered the house, and with the same +serenity related his accident to his wife, who bestowed every +attention upon him. + +Whilst his Grandfather was resting himself, and Francis had +ascertained that he had not suffered much, he hastened to look at the +spot where his kind Grandpapa had slipped and fallen. It was a little +bit of the path, perhaps about three paces long, covered with the +water which was issuing from the fountain, and which being of clay, +had become very slippery. + +The trench round the fountain had been already deepened more than +once, in order to turn its course from that part of the orchard, but +as the ground was rather low, the water always returned. + +Francis examined all this, and tried to find out what could be done +to remedy the evil, in a more durable manner. + +"_I know!_" he cried at last. "I must make a pavement here, a +little higher than the path is at present!" + +"Come! cheer up! 'Where there's a will,' says Grandpapa, 'with God's +help there's a way.' To work, to work! 'For he who does nothing +makes little progress,' says also, my dear Grandpapa." + +It may be here well asked, how a little child, eight years of age, +could even conceive such a project, and much more how he could have +had sufficient strength to accomplish it. + +But Francis was not a thoughtless or inattentive child; on the +contrary he observed on his way _to_, and _from_ School, +and when he walked out with his Papa, everything that workmen did. + +It was thus that he had often noticed how the Paviors first laid +down the stones, and then pressed them together, and as we shall soon +see, he found no difficulty in what he was going to attempt. + +"First and foremost," said he, "the tools!" and immediately he ran +off to look for a little wheel-barrow which his Grandpapa had made +for him; with the spade, the trowel, and the iron rake, which were at +his disposal. + +When the tools were collected, Francis, having taken off his jacket, +traced out the portion to be paved. + +"Now," said he, "I must take away two or three inches of earth, that +the stones may fit in." + +He then took away the earth, and piled it up on the upper side of +the path, in order to compel the water to pass by the drain. + +"Now," he said, "I must find some sand; where is there any? Oh! +behind the hen-house; the masons, who plastered the walls of the yard +over again, have left a large heap of it there"--and then he quickly +ran with his wheelbarrow, once, twice, and even three times, and soon +had as much as was necessary. He spread it out, and arranged it, and +then pronounced the great word of all his work, "_Stones!_ No +stones, no pavement! I must have at least fifty of them!" He ran +about, searched and gathered, near the fountain, round the house, and +along the wall of the yard, and soon brought back four wheelbarrows +full of nice stones, well shaped, and not too large. + +But there were not enough, for he was obliged to put five or six +abreast. Where are there any more to be found? + +"In the brook," cried he! "It is rather far off, but I shall soon be +there!" And indeed in about a quarter of an hour, he had collected +all the proper materials. + +Then should he have been seen at work! The trowel in his right hand, +a stone in his left; the sand which he placed between each stone, and +the blows which forced it down, these things succeeded each other +rapidly, and were often repeated; till at length, at the end of the +third hour, the slippery bit of foot-path was no longer in existence, +but in its stead was to be seen a pavement slightly raised, which +could never be wetted by the overflowing of the fountain. + +"That will not do well," said Francis, when he had finished, and was +walking over the pavement; "it is uneven, Grandpapa will hurt his +feet upon it." And so saying, he ran to the woodhouse in the yard, +and returned, bending under the weight of the mallet, with which +Thomas used to strike the axe and wedges, when he split the large +pieces of oak. + +"Here is _my_ rammer," said Francis, laughing, as he thought of +those used by the paviors; and holding the mallet perpendicularly, he +struck with the butt-end, first one stone, and then another, until at +length the pavement was completed! It was solid, even and clean, and +Francis, repeating in truth, "Where there's a will, with God's help, +there's a way," gave thanks in his heart to that good heavenly +Father, who gave him both the idea and the will to do this act of +filial love, and enabled him to accomplish it. + +Some sand and a few stones remained; Francis took them up and +carried them back near to the house. Then he cleared away the +rubbish, and having put on his coat again, returned joyfully to +replace his tools in the green-house. + +All this was done after dinner, between the hours of three and six. +The evening passed quietly away. Grandpapa had not received any +bruises, and he could not sufficiently thank the Good shepherd, the +Lord Jesus, who had, as it were, "carried him in his arms," and "kept +all his bones." + +Grandmamma joined in his praises and thanksgivings, and these two +faithful servants blessed the Lord together, whose mercies are over +all his works. + +"To-morrow, please God," said Grandpapa to Francis, "I shall go and +see old George. He must have expected me to-day! But be assured, my +dear Francis, that your Grandpapa will walk no more like a giddy +child; and if the path is still slippery, I shall place my foot +prudently upon it." + +Francis said he hoped the path would be better; and however that +might be, that the Lord would preserve him thenceforth from slipping, +and above all, from falling. + +Grandpapa made Francis read the Bible as usual to the whole +household. He spoke piously of God's paternal care for our bodies as +well as for our souls, and in his prayer he gave abundant thanks to +the Saviour who had so graciously preserved him. + +The morrow came. Grandpapa had quite recovered his accident of the +preceding day, and after reading in the summer-house, he got up to go +and see old George. + +Francis, who was observing him from beneath the verandah, no sooner +saw him come near the little gate, than he ran round the house to +hide himself behind a hazel bush, a short distance from the pavement, +in order to see what his Grandpapa would do. + +Grandpapa walked on towards the orchard, and as soon as he set his +foot on the path, he prepared to proceed very carefully. He took +three or four steps, and then suddenly stopped, and raising his +hands, exclaimed, a "pavement! a pavement here already! How does this +happen? Who could have done this? It must be my faithful Thomas!"--he +continued--"I must thank him for it;" and he called out loudly, +"Thomas! Thomas!" Thomas, who was in the cow-house, heard his voice, +and ran to him in alarm. + +"Have you tumbled again, sir," he asked anxiously? + +"On the contrary," said Grandpapa, "thanks to _you_, Thomas, +for having made this good substantial pavement so quickly and so +well; it is really excellent," said he, stamping upon it with his +foot, and walking over it in every direction. "It is solid, and even, +and slopes on either side! I am very much obliged to you, Thomas." + +"Alas! sir," said the man, "it is not I who did it--how vexed I am +that I did not think of it what stupidity!"... + +"Who is it then?" asked Grandpapa, "for this has been done since +yesterday, and surely these stones are not mushrooms! Who could have +thought of this?" + +"I think I know who it is, sir," answered Thomas, "for yesterday in +the afternoon I saw master Francis going down to the brook with his +wheelbarrow. I could not think what it was for, but now I understand." + +"Francis! did you say," exclaimed Grandpapa; "how could that child +have done it even if he had wished? Are these stones only nuts, that +_that_ dear boy's little hands could have been able to knock +them into the ground?" + +"Do you wish, sir, that I should look for him and bring him here?" +asked Thomas. + +Francis could no longer remain concealed. He ran from behind the +bush, and threw himself into his Grandpapa's arms; saying, "Dear +Grandpapa, how happy I am to have been able to succeed." + +"It is _you_ then, indeed, my son!" cried Grandpapa, as he shed +tears of joy. "God bless your filial piety towards me! May He return +you two-fold all the good you have done my heart. But how did you +manage?" + +"You have often told me, dear Grandpapa, that 'Where there's a will, +with the help of God, there's a way,' and I prayed to God, and was +able to do it." + +"Well then, dear Francis," said Grandpapa, solemnly, "I promise you, +that every day of my life, as long as I shall walk here below, when I +pass over this pavement, which your affection has made for me, I will +say to God 'O Lord, prevent Francis from falling in his way! May thy +goodness _pave_ for him the path of life, whenever it becomes +slippery.'" + +Francis understood, and respectfully received this blessing; and +whilst his Grand father paid his visit, the little pavior went and +told his Grandmamma, what he had been able to do, and how God had +already blessed him for it. + + + + +II. + + +The Silver Knife. + + +"Then said Jesus unto him: Go and do thou likewise."--LUKE, x. 37. + +_Mary_.--(After having searched about the dining-room,) "Who +has seen my silver knife? William, John, Lucy, you who are amusing +yourselves in the garden, have you seen my silver knife?" + +_William_.--(Going up to the window, and in a sententious tone +of voice,) "'Disorder,' says an ancient writer, 'occasions sorrow, +and negligence, blame.'" + +_Mary_.--"Admirable! But that does not apply to _me_, for +it is scarcely an hour since I laid my knife on this very table, +which certainly belongs to us." + +_Lucy_.--"Are you quite sure of it, Mary!" + +_Mary_--"Yes, indeed, there is no doubt of it, for Sophy asked +me to give her a pretty little red apple, as usual, before going to +school. I went immediately to the fruit-room for it, and as it was a +little spoiled, I cleaned it with my silver knife, which I laid on +this table, whilst I was kissing her. I am therefore quite sure of it." + +_John_.--(Frowning,)--"For my part, I confess, I don't like all +these strangers who come about the house. For instance, that little +_Jane_, who sells lilies of the valley, and strawberries, and so +on--I very much distrust her sullen look; and who knows, if +perhaps...?" + +_Lucy_--"Fie, fie, brother, to suspect that poor little modest +gentle child, who supports her sick mother by her own industry! Oh! +it is very wrong, John!" + +"What is the matter?" said their Father, who had heard this dispute +from the garden, where he was reading under the shade of a tree. + +Mary related her story, and finished by saying,--"Well, if it be +God's will, So-be-it! My beautiful knife is lost!" + +"Yes, my dear girl," answered her father, "What God wills, is always +best. But it is His will that I should watch over, my household. I +must therefore know what has become of your knife. Did you ask +Elizabeth if she had taken care of it, when she cleaned the room?" + +Mary ran to the kitchen, and enquired of Elizabeth. + +"Your silver knife! Miss," said the servant, coloring. "Have you +lost that beautiful knife, which was given you on your birthday?" + +"I ask you, if you have taken care of it," answered Mary. "I laid it +this morning upon the table in the dining-room, near the window." + +_Elizabeth_.--(with astonishment,)--Near the window! Oh!--I +know where it is, now. About half an hour ago, when I went into the +dining-room, to ... put ... down ... some plates, I saw the great +magpie, which builds its nest up in the large elm-tree, at the end of +the garden, sitting on the window-ledge. It flew away as soon as it +saw me; but it had something white and shining in its beak. Oh! yes, +I remember now! it was the silver knife!" + +"The magpie," exclaimed Mary, "with my knife in its beak!" + +"Oh! Miss," replied Elizabeth, "there is no thief like a magpie. +When I was at home, one of their nests was once pulled down, and nine +pieces of silver were found in it, and a whole necklace of pearls! +Oh! magpies are terrible birds, and you may be sure that your knife +is in their nest." + +Mary returned to her father in the garden, and related to him all +that Elizabeth had said, but added, "For my part, I don't believe a +word of it!" + +"And why not?" exclaimed John, sharply, "Elizabeth is quite right! +Nothing steals like a magpie. Everybody says so. Come! let us to +work! A ladder, a cord, and a long stick! Down with the nest!--Papa, +will you allow me to climb the tree!" + +_Lucy._--(Holding John by the arm.)--"Brother, how _can_ +you think of it? The elm is more than eighty feet high! Papa, I beg +of you, not to allow it." + +_Father_.--(Calmly.)--"No one shall get up the tree and risk +his life, for a thing which certainly is not there." + +"There is no thief like a magpie," repeated John, looking at the +nest, which might be seen through the higher branches of the tree; +"but I confess it would not be easy to reach it. These branches are +very long and very slender!" + +William, who had said nothing as yet, but had been walking backwards +and forwards, with his head down, and his hands in his pockets, +turned suddenly round to Mary, and said, "I have been thinking we can +soon know if your knife is in the nest. We only want a polemoscope +for that. Hurrah! long live optics!" + +"A lemoscope!" said Lucy, "What is that? Is it a long hook?" + +_William_.--(Smiling rather contemptuously.) "Poor sister! What +ignorance!" + +_Father_--"William, speak kindly--tell your sister what this +instrument is, and what you want to do with it." + +_William._--(Scientifically.)--"In war, when a besieged +garrison wishes to know all the movements of the enemy, without being +seen, they erect behind the walls, or the ramparts, a mirror, placed +at the end of a long pole, and inclining towards the country. You +understand, then, that everything that takes place outside, is +reflected in the mirror, and can be seen from within, or in another +mirror placed at the bottom of the pole, and sloping inwards. This, +Lucy, is what is called a polemoscope--that is to say, an instrument +for observations in war." + +"Thank you, William," said Lucy, "but what are you going to do with +it?" + +_William._--"The thing is quite plain. I am going to fasten a +small mirror on a light pitchfork, inclining it downwards. This +pitchfork I shall fasten firmly to pole; then some one will climb, +dear papa, without any danger, as far as the strong branches reach; +from thence he can draw up the pole and its mirror, with a long +string, and by raising the mirror above the nest, he will enable us +to see, with the aid of your telescope, all that the nest contains. +This is my plan, and I think it is not so bad!" + +_Father_.--(Smiling.)--"Dear William. It is a great pity, +however, that you are so blind. There are two things you have not +considered. One is, that the branches which cover the nest, are very +thick and tufted. Therefore, your mirror, even if it reached their +summit, would only reflect the leaves, and consequently neither the +nest nor the knife; and the other thing which you do not observe, is +this, that the magpies, by an admirable instinct, which God has given +them, build their nests, not like a basin, as you supposed, but in +the form of a ball; so that the nest is covered with a vaulted roof, +formed of sticks closely interwoven, which shelters the bird and its +brood from bad weather, and above all, from the cruel claw of the +kite or hawk." + +"I am much obliged to you, dear papa," said William. "What a pity," +he added, with a sigh; "for my plan would otherwise have been +infallible." + +"Let us seek a better one," said their father. "Mary, go and see if +you have not left your knife in the fruit-room. Perhaps it was +yesterday, that you peeled the apple for Sophy." + +"I will do so," said Mary, and she went into the house for the key +of the fruit-room. + +She soon returned, exclaiming, "The key is not in its place, and I +put it there this morning." + +"Miss Mary is mistaken," said Elizabeth, coming out of the kitchen; +"I see the key in the door." + +"Papa," said Mary, "I recollect, when I put the key in the cupboard, +this very morning, Sophy looked at it, and said, 'It is certainly the +prettiest key on the bunch.'" + +"Let us go to the fruit-room," said the father, directing his steps +thither. "I fear this will prove a sad affair." + +"What is this, too," cried Mary, examining the shelves, "the big key +of the cellar here Where did it come from? And this key covered with +cheese, from one end to the other!" + +"Let us go to the cellar!" said the father. "I believe we shall find +out more there than we can here." + +They opened the door, and found the brilliant silver knife, not in +the magpie's nest, but sticking in a cheese, from which a large +portion appeared to have been detached. + +The children were amazed, and their Father much grieved. + +"Here is your knife, Mary," said John, who first saw it. "Certainly, +there is no need of a looking-glass to find it." + +"You must not joke, my children," said the Father; "this is a very +sad business. I am thankful it has taken place in the absence of your +dear Mother, and I forbid you writing her anything about it. This +must concern me, and me alone." + +_William_.--(Indignantly.)--"It amounts to a theft, a falsehood!" + +_Lucy_.--"But who has done it, William? Did not Mary leave her +knife here?" + +_William_.--"Who saw the Magpie carrying it off in his beak?" + +_Mary_.--(To Lucy.)--"Do you not understand that it was poor +Elizabeth, who came here with my knife, which she took off the table +where I left it, and who, after having cut a piece of cheese with it, +went to the fruit-room, no doubt to steal some apples also." + +_John_.--(Angrily.)--"Papa, Elizabeth has acted deceitfully-- +will you allow her to remain with you? One of the Psalms, the 101st, +I think, says, 'He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my +house.'" + +_The Father_.--(Gravely.) "It is said also in Holy Scriptures, +my son, that 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment,' and perhaps, John, +if any of us, had been brought up like poor Elizabeth, we might have +done even worse than this." + +"I am quite vexed," said Mary, "Oh! why did I not take more care of +that wretched knife!" + +_William._--"But, Mary, it was not your knife left upon the +table, which tempted her to take two keys secretly out of the +cupboard, and which made them the instruments of this theft. For +Papa," continued he, "it _is_ a theft, and a shameful one too! +These stolen keys are no small matter!" + +_The Father_.--(Calmly.)--"I know it my children, and it +grieves my heart, that one of my servants, who daily hears the word +of God read and explained, should so far have forgotten the fear of +the Lord! This is what saddens me, and wounds me deeply." + +_Lucy_.--"Elizabeth has not long been our cook, and probably +she never heard the word of God before she came here. Poor girl I she +is perhaps very unhappy now,--and I am sure, she will repent and turn +to God." + +_The Father_.-"That is right, my dear child, I rejoice to hear +you plead the cause of the unhappy, and even of the guilty, for as I +said before, 'mercy rejoiceth against judgment.'" + +"I was therefore wrong," said John, "and I confess it ... for +certainly I scarcely pitied her.... I did wrong I and now I think as +Lucy does." + +"And I also," said William, "'Clemency governs courage,' says a +Grecian historian, and ..." + +_The Father._--(Very seriously.)--"But, my dear William, what +have the pagans of old and their morals to do here? My son, you know +it is the word of God which rules our conduct, and which commands us +to suffer and to forgive." + +_Lucy._--"Papa, will you allow me to repeat a passage, which I +learnt by heart last Sunday?" + +_The Father._--"Repeat it, Lucy, and may God bless it to us all!" + +_Lucy._--"'Execute true judgment, and show mercy and compassion +every man to his brother.' It is in the seventh chapter of Zechariah." + +"I too, was wrong then," said William, "very wrong! for it is the +wisdom of God alone, that enlightens us." + +"True, my son," said his Father, "may God always remind you of this. +I am going to speak to Elizabeth," he added, "as for you, my +children, do not say a word about it, and above all, bless the Lord, +for having made known to you his grace and holy law. Pray to him +together, that my words may have their due effect upon the mind of +this poor guilty creature." + +The Father went out to look for Elizabeth, and the children repaired +to William's room, who, having knelt down with them, prayed to the +Lord to take pity upon her, and to touch her heart, and he ended the +prayer in the following words:--"In thy great wisdom, O Most Gracious +God, and in thine infinite compassion, through Jesus Christ, grant +unto each of us true repentance, and a sincere change of heart, and +may this affliction be turned to the glory of our Saviour Jesus." + +The children then returned to their several occupations, and not one +of them ever thought of judging Elizabeth, or even speaking harshly +of her. + +We may add, that the exhortation of her charitable master, produced +sincere penitence in Elizabeth, and that the poor girl was not sent +out of the house; for "mercy pleaded against judgment." + +It is thus that God deals with us! Oh! which of us can tell how +often he has received pardon from the Lord! + + + + +III. + + +The Modern Dorcas + + +"The night cometh when no man can work."--JOHN, ix. + +Oh! my sister! my sister! What a lesson may we learn from the death +of our dear Amelia! She was but sixteen years old like myself, and +only two years older than you are, but how much had she done for the +Lord. I saw and heard her, when Jesus came to call her to himself; I +was in the churchyard when they placed her body in the grave! Oh! +what a solemn warning! and now I feel humbled before God, and I pray +Him to pour into my heart the same Spirit which He bestowed so +abundantly upon our friend, as well as that lively faith, which +although Amelia 'is dead, yet speaketh,' as it is said of Abel, and +which shall speak through her for many years to come! + +I wrote to you less than a fortnight ago, that Amelia was unwell; +but how little I then thought it was her last illness! Oh! how +uncertain our life is, dear Esther, and how much wiser we should be +if we would only believe so! + +On the seventh day of her illness, her mother said to me, "Anna, +your friend is going to leave us; the danger of her disorder +increases every hour, and we must give her up to God!" + +I wept much and bitterly, and could not at first believe it; but +when I was alone with Amelia, the next day, she said to me, with that +calm peacefulness which never left her, "I am going away from this +world, Anna; yes, dear Anna, I am going to depart; I feel it, and ... +I am preparing myself for it!" + +I tried to turn away her thoughts from this subject; I told her that +she was mistaken, and that God would certainly restore her; but she +stopped me with firmness of manner, and said, "Do you envy my +happiness, Anna? Do you wish to prevent me from going to my Heavenly +home, to my Saviour, unto his light and glory?" The entrance of her +father and the Doctor prevented my reply, and I left the room in tears. + +"You must not cry," said her mother to me. "We must pray, and above +all, seek profit from the occasion. The time is short! Her end is at +hand! But," added this servant of Christ, "_that_ end is the +beginning of a life which shall have no end!" + +Three more days passed away. On the fourth, we had some faint hope, +but the following day, all had vanished, and towards evening, Amelia +declared, that the Lord was about to take her. + +"Yes, my dear parents, my excellent father and mother," she said, +with a beam of heavenly joy on her countenance, "I am about to leave +you; but I do not leave my God, for I am going to see Him, 'face to +face.'" + +"My dear parents," she continued, affectionately, "rejoice at my +departure; I am going to Heaven a little before you, it is true, but +it is _only before you_, and you know it; and the Apostle says, +that, 'to be with Christ is far better.'" + +I was present, Esther, and was crying. + +"Why do you cry, Anna?" she said, "Are you sorry to see me go to my +Father's house?" + +"But, Amelia, _I_ lose you; we all lose you; and ..." + +"I do not like to hear you say that, Anna; do not repeat it, and do +not think of it. Our Saviour says that, 'He who believes on Him shall +not see death;' and I am certain, that my soul is about to join those +of His saints who have already departed this life, for His grace has +also justified _me._" + +"Ah!" said her aunt, who had not left her bedside for two days, "you +have always done the will of God, dear Amelia; you are therefore sure +of going to Him." + +"Dear aunt," she replied, with sorrow on her countenance, "I assure +you that you grieve me. I have been during the whole of my life, but +a poor sinner, and have by no means done what you say; but.... God +Himself has pardoned me, and it is only, my dear aunt, because the +blood of Jesus has washed away my sins, that I shall see God." + +It was thus, my sister, that Amelia spoke at intervals almost the +whole night. Her voice at length became weaker; and towards morning, +after a slight drowsiness, she said to her father, "Papa, embrace +your child once more." She then turned to her mother, and said, "My +dear mamma, embrace me also, and ... may Jesus comfort you all!" + +A few minutes after, our darling friend fell gradually asleep, and +her last breath died away like the expiring flame of a candle. She +experienced nothing of the agony of death. Truly, dear Esther, Amelia +knew not what death was! + +But oh! how I have myself suffered! and how difficult it is to tear +one's self thus forever here below, from such a friend as she was! + +Nevertheless, my sister, God knows we have not dared to murmur. I +wish you had heard the prayer that Amelia's father offered up, when +his daughter had ceased to breathe! Oh! it was the spirit of +consolation itself which spoke! And since that solemn hour, what +piety, what strength and peace of mind, Amelia's mother his +displayed! I am sure you would have said, that the Lord was present, +and that He was telling us with His own voice: "Amelia triumphs--she +is in _My_ glory!" + +I wished to be in the churchyard when our friend, or rather, when +her body of dust, was committed to the grave. There were many persons +present, but especially poor people; some old men, and several +children, came to take their last leave of her. + +A grey-headed and feeble old man was standing near the grave, +leaning with his two hands on a staff, and with his head depressed. +He wept aloud, when the clergyman mentioned Amelia's name, as he +prayed, and gave thanks to God. He then stooped down, and taking a +little earth in his hand, said, as he scattered it over the coffin: +"Sleep, sweet messenger of consolation! Sleep, until He whom thy lips +first proclaimed to me, calls thee to arise!" And with this, he burst +into tears, as they filled the grave. + +When all was finished, and the funeral procession had departed, the +poor people who were present approached the grave, sobbing, and +repeating, "Sweet messenger of goodness! Our kind friend, our +_true_ mother!" And two or three of the children placed upon her +grave nosegays of box and white flowers. + +"Alas," said a young girl, "she will never hear me read the Bible +again, nor instruct me how to live!" + +Another cried loudly, "Who will now come to visit my sick mother, +and read the Bible to her, and bring her comfort and assistance." + +And there was a father, a poor workman, with two little boys, who, +holding his children by the hand, came and placed himself near the +spot where the head of Amelia was laid, saying to them, "Here, my +poor children, under this sod, rests that sweet countenance which +used to smile upon you, as if she had been your mother! Her lips have +often told you, that you were not orphans, and that God was better to +you than a parent.... Well, my dear children, let us remember what +she used to say: 'God has not forgotten us, and He will sustain us!'" + +I was with my brother, who himself wept with all his heart, to see +the sincere grief of these poor people. He whispered to me, "I have a +great mind to speak to them, and ask them what Amelia used to do for +them." I had the same wish; so we approached a group which surrounded +the grave, and asked them when they had become acquainted with Amelia. + +"For my part," answered the old man, already spoken of, "this +messenger of peace visited me two years ago, for the first time. I +lived near a family to whom she had brought some worsted stockings, +for winter was just setting in, and so my neighbor mentioned me to +her, as a poor infirm old man. She desired to see me, and had she +been my own daughter, she could never have shown me more respect and +kindness! She procured me a warm quilt that same evening, and on the +morrow, towards the middle of the day, she came with her excellent +mother to pay me a long visit. + +"You must know, sir," continued the old man, to my brother, "I was +then very ignorant, or rather my heart was hard and proud towards +God. I had no Bible, and did not care about one. Well, this dear +young lady not only brought me one, with her own hands, but came to +read and explain it to me, with great patience, at least three times +a week, during the first twelve months. + +"God took pity on me," added the old man, in a low voice, "and last +year I began better to understand the full pardon which is in Christ +Jesus, and was even able to pray with Miss Amelia. + +"She used sometimes to call me, 'My old father,' but it was I who +ought to have called _her_ the _mother_, the true mother of +my soul. + +"Just one month ago, she came to me for the last time; she gave me +with a sweet smile, these worsted gloves, which she had knitted +herself, and then recommended me with much respect and kindness to +thank our Lord, who sent them me! This was the last of that sweet +lady's charities to me!"... + +Upon this, the old man turned away weeping, and as he walked slowly +on, he frequently looked back upon the newly-covered grave. + +"The same thing happened to me," said the workman. "The mother of +these two little children died ten months ago; we were in want of +everything, then, and I knew not even how to dress these children. +Believe me, Miss," he added, addressing me with feeling, "when the +mother is gone, all is gone!... but our gracious God did not forsake +us, for He sent us his angel; I say His angel, although she is at +present much more than an angel!... Is she not indeed a child of God +in heaven? ... but, in short, she clothed these two little ones, and I +am sure she did not spare herself in working for them; the clothes +they now wear were made chiefly by that dear young lady's hands. Then +she used to come and visit us; she often made my two children go to +her house, and always gave them good advice. She also sent them to +school, and although it was certainly her mother who paid for them, +yet it was Miss Amelia who taught them to read at home, and who, +almost every Sunday, made them repeat their Bible lessons. + +"Ah, Miss," he continued, "all that that dear young lady did for us, +for our souls as well as for our bodies, will only be known in +heaven, and at the last day. For my part, and I say it here over her +grave, and in the presence of God, I am certain, that when the Lord +Jesus shall raise us all up again, the works of Miss Amelia will +follow her, and we shall then see that while upon earth she served +God with all her heart. + +"No," he added, as he wiped away the tears from his children's eyes, +"I would not wish her to return from the glory which she now enjoys, +at the same time I cannot conceal from you, that my heart mourns for +her, and that I know we have lost our consolation, our benefactress, +our faithful friend!" + +"Who has not lost one?" exclaimed a poor woman, at whose side stood +the little girls who had planted the flowers; "I know very well that +Miss Amelia's mother will take her place, she is so good and kind! +but it was no little joy to receive a visit from that sweet and +amiable young lady, so good, so pious, and so full of joy. Oh! what +should I have done with my husband, so long confined to his bed, if +this messenger of goodness had not procured work for me, and +recommended me to the ladies who now employ me. And then again, what +were we, until Miss Amelia spoke to us? How much she had to put up +with when I refused to read the Holy Scriptures! and yet she was +never weary of me. Oh! no; she came day after day, to exhort and to +teach me, and blessed be God, we begin now to know something of what +the Saviour has done for us. + +"And," added she, drawing the little girl towards her, "I shall go +on with my dear children, reading and learning that word of God, +which was Miss Amelia's greatest joy. + +"Come, come, my friends," she said, in a persuasive tone, "_we_ +must also die, and be put each in his turn, under this ground; but as +our benefactress is not dead ... (no, she is not dead, for the Lord +has said it!)--so also shall not we die, if we follow in her steps." + +The poor woman then wished us good day, and moved away with her +children. We all walked on together, still speaking of Amelia. My +brother took the names and addresses of many of the poor people, with +whom he had just been conversing, and spoke a few words to them of +comfort and encouragement. + +As soon as we were alone, he showed me the list of names, at the +head of which was that of the old man, and he said, "Here is a +blessed inheritance which Amelia has left us. She has done as Dorcas +did: her hands have clothed the poor, and her lips have spoken +comfort to them. Dear Anna, Amelia was not older than we are; let us +remember this, for we know not when the Lord shall call us." + +How wise and pious this dear brother is! We have already been able +to pay together, two of Amelia's visits. Her mother, to whom we +related all we had heard, gave us further particulars of what the +pious and indefatigable Amelia used to do. Ah Esther, her religion +was not mere "lip-service." The Spirit of the Lord Jesus Christ +assisted her, and she might have said with truth, I show "my faith by +my works." + +Let us take courage, then, my dear and kind sister! we lament our +loss in Amelia's death, but on her own account I lament her not. I +can only contemplate her in the presence of God, and of her Saviour, +and I rejoice to think of her delight when she entered the region of +heaven. How beautiful it must be, Esther, to behold the glory of that +heaven! to hear the voices of saints and angels, and to know that God +loves us, and will make us happy forever. + +Think, sister, of the meaning of--_forever!_ + +Amelia's father, whom I saw a few hours ago with her excellent and +pious mother, said to me, in speaking of their darling child, "For my +own joy and comfort I should have wished to have kept her with us; +but, my dear Anna, even if I could have done so, what would have been +all our happiness, compared with that which she now possesses in the +presence of her God." + +But do not suppose, my sister, that Amelia, with all her piety, was +less prudent with regard to the things of this world, than faithful +regarding those of heaven. Her mother has shown me her books, and her +different arrangements, all of which indicate that discretion spoken +of in Scripture, carried out in the most minute particulars. + +First, as respects order and cleanliness in everything belonging to +her: it would be impossible to imagine a more proper arrangement than +the one she made of each article, both in her wardrobe, her writing- +table, her work-box, and her account-book. + +She had not much money to devote to her works of charity, but her +industry made up for her limited means; for instance, in opening the +Bible which she generally made use of, I found in it, four or five +pages written with a great deal of care; and her journal informed her +mother, who read it, of the reason of this circumstance. It runs thus: + +"As old Margaret has but one Bible, some of the leaves of which have +been lost, I have given her mine, which is quite complete, and have +taken hers, adding to it some sheets of paper, upon which I have +written the passages which were deficient. Thus I have saved the +expense of a new Bible; and it is the same thing to me." + +Amelia's diary is very remarkable; her mother has allowed me to read +many portions of it, and to copy out what relates to her usual manner +of employing each day. I send it to you, dear Esther, and you will +find, as I have done, that the Spirit of God always teaches those who +trust in Him, how precious _time_ is here below. The following +is what our dear friend wrote upon this subject. + +"_January 1st_, 1844--Nearly eighteen centuries, and a half +have passed away, since our Saviour took upon himself the form of +human flesh for our salvation. Those years seemed long as they +succeeded each other, but now that they are gone, they appear as +nothing. + +"Families, and nations, and the mighty generations of mankind, +which, in times gone by, peopled the earth, have all passed away. +Nothing remains of them here below! + +"But such is not the case in heaven,--I should rather say,--in +eternity. There, all these nations still exist, no man can be absent, +but must appear before the Sovereign Judge, to answer for the use +which he has made of his time. + +"How short that time is! Where are the years that David lived, and +where are those which Methuselah passed in this world? their whole +duration seems, at this distance, in the words of St. James, 'Even as +a vapor that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.' + +"It will therefore be the same with me. I know not how long I shall +live here below, perhaps I shall see but a portion of this year, and +shall enter into glory before it is concluded; or perhaps I shall yet +see many more years. This the Lord knows, and I ought not to consider +that such knowledge would be of any importance to me, since that +which constitutes my _life_, is not its length or duration, but +the use which is made of it. + +"It is to Jesus, then, that all my life must be devoted, without him +I can do nothing. 'My life is hid with Christ in God.' He has 'bought +me with a price,' I ought, therefore, 'to glorify God in my body, and +in my spirit, which are God's.' + +"Truly to live is to know, that my thoughts and actions are all +directed to the glory of Jesus, whether upon earth by faith and hope, +or in heaven by the sight and by the glory of God. + +"But here below, I have only time at my disposal; that is to say, +days composed of hours or rather, I have in reality but a single day +to make use of. Yesterday is no longer mine, and to-morrow, where is +it? I have it not yet, and perhaps shall never see it. + +"Lo my earthly life is 'to-day.' What must I do then with 'to-day,' +that God may be honored and glorified in it? for after all, if I have +the happiness of counting the year 1844, as dating from a Christian +era, and not from that of a false prophet with the Mahomedans, nor +yet of a false God, with the poor Indians, it must be to Jesus +Christ, from whose birth I count my years, that those years should be +dedicated. + +"Here I am, therefore, in the presence of my Saviour, of whom I +implore the Spirit of wisdom and prudence to guide me in the +employment of this my day, since in reality I have but one, and that +is, 'To-day.' + +"But I cannot do better than walk in the footsteps of my Redeemer, +and in his conduct and conversation whilst on earth, I observe these +three things: Temperance, piety, and charity, to all of which he +wholly devoted himself, and has thus left me an example to follow. + +"I will therefore imitate him first in his temperance. He rose early +in the morning--he eat frugally--he worked diligently--he wearied +himself in well-doing: in a word, he exerted the whole strength of +his mind and body in the cause of truth, but never in the cause of +evil. + +"These, therefore, must be settled rules, moderate sleep, moderate +repasts, moderate care and attention to the body; active employment, +always to a useful purpose, profitable to my neighbor, and never +interfering with my duties at home. + +"In the next place, I must imitate Jesus in His _piety_. His +Father's will was as His daily food. What a thought! To live wholly +to God, and as He himself teaches us in His Holy Word. To do this, I +must know His Word; I must study it, meditate upon it, and learn it +by heart. Besides reading, I must pray, for prayer is the life both +of my heart and soul with God. What glory is thus permitted to me, a +poor sinner, that I _ought_, and that I _can_, live to Him, +love Him, and devote myself to Him! It is heaven already begun on +earth; for in heaven my soul will enjoy no other happiness than that +of knowing God, and living to His glory. This thought fills me with +joy, and I am encouraged by it to consecrate myself wholly to Him, as +did my Lord and Saviour. + +"Lastly, I will, by the grace of God, imitate Jesus in his +_charity_. How many souls there are about me to love, to comfort, +to enlighten and to assist. But I can only do it in the measure which God +himself has assigned to me. At my age, and but a girl, subject to the +wishes of my parents, I ought only to desire to do good in proportion to +the means with which the Lord has furnished me. But I must, in so +doing, endeavor to overcome selfishness, idleness, the love of ease, +avarice, hardness of heart, pride, and indifference, and I must love my +neighbor as myself. Oh! what an important undertaking, and how many +excuses and deceits this kind of charity will encounter and overcome. + +"But I will look to Jesus, and pray to him; I will implore the +secret guidance of his Spirit; and since he is faithful, he will not +leave me alone, but will lead me, and enable me to walk day by day, I +mean 'to-day,' in his sight, and in communion with him, who is so +full of love and gentleness." + +This, my dear Esther, is what I have copied from Amelia's journal. +You see the light in which our friend regarded her life on earth, and +how much importance she attached to one _day_--a single day. + +As I read what she had written, I felt my soul humbled before God, +and I trembled to think of the useless way in which I had hitherto +spent my time. + +You see in particular what Amelia felt on the subject of piety; what +love her soul had for God! and this is what produced in her that +active, sincere, and constant charity. + +You cannot form the least idea of the work, of kindness and +benevolence which she was enabled to accomplish. That passage, "The +memory of the just is blessed," is truly applicable to her. + +Amelia was justified in her Saviour, for she trusted in him, and +thus was she also justified before God, by her faith in Jesus. The +spirit of Jesus led her in "all her way," and in whatever family she +appeared, her actions and words manifested a heavenly mind. + +Her name is remembered with blessing in the hearts of all who knew +her; her counsels, her instructions, her example, and her acts of +benevolence, are continually spoken of by those who witnessed them, +and it is thus that she left behind a sweet savor of holiness, like a +ray of heavenly light. + +Dear Esther, here is an example placed before us; it has been the +will of God that we should know her, that we might be charmed with +her excellence, and that the happiness both of her life and death, +might tempt us to imitate her. + +No, no, my sister, she is not dead; she is rather, as the poor +workman said, at her grave, "a child of God in heaven." As _she_ +followed Jesus, let us also follow her, and let her memory be thus a +blessing to us both. + +God be with you, my dear sister. I long to see you, that we may pray +the Lord together, to make us like his faithful, holy servant, the +dear and pious Amelia. + +Yours, &c., + +ANNA. + + + + +IV. + + +The Tract found by the Way-Side. + + +"Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a +vessel for the finer." --Prov. XXV. 4. + +Every one knows in these days what is meant by a _religious +tract_. It is a little printed pamphlet, which is sold at a very +low price, or is still oftener given away, or dropped in the streets +and lanes, that those who either purchase, or accept, or find them, +may read the truths of the Gospel, and the good advice which they +contain. + +This is an old-fashioned way of imparting instruction, both to high +and low. It was in use, for instance, as early as the first days of +the Reformation, when some faithful Christians of Picardy, in France, +assembled together to read the Holy Scriptures, on which account they +were exposed to persecution, death, and above all, to be burnt alive. + +These true disciples of the Lord Jesus composed and distributed, +with considerable difficulty, some little pamphlets, in which were +taught the doctrines of salvation by Christ alone, and in a form +which enabled the poor and ignorant to read and understand; for it +was impossible for them at that time to procure a Bible, which was +not only a scarce book, but cost a large sum of money: indeed, almost +as much as a thousand Bibles would cost in the present day, and +which, besides, they could not carry home and read quietly to +themselves, as they were able to do with a simple tract. + +At a later period, and chiefly for the last fifty years, this method +has been adopted in almost all countries where true Christian +churches and societies have been established; and even now, millions +of these tracts, adapted to all ages and conditions of men, are +published and distributed every year. + +It is, however, but too true, that many tracts thus distributed are +not _religious tracts_; that is to say, the substance of them is +not in conformity with the truth of scripture. Many are published for +the purpose of upholding false religion and wicked principles, and +which, consequently, do great mischief to those who read them. + +And if it be asked, "How can a good tract be distinguished from a +bad one?" we thus reply to this very natural question. + +A _good tract_ is that which leads us to the Bible; which +speaks of the love of God in Christ; and which encourages the reader +to be holy from a motive of love to God. + +A _bad tract_ is therefore that which does not speak of the +Bible; which tells us that salvation may be obtained by human merit, +and which consequently would persuade us to be religious from +interested motives: that is to say, to obtain pardon by means of our +own good works. + +Those tracts, too, which speak of man's happiness as if it came from +man alone, and not from God, and which consequently deny the truth of +God's word: these must also be called _bad tracts_, and must +therefore be carefully avoided. + +The good that is done by the distribution of good tracts, can +scarcely be believed. There are many families, even in prosperity, +who never tasted real happiness until some of these evangelical +writings found their way amongst them. The following anecdote is an +interesting proof of this: + +The family of a vinedresser, in the Canton of Vaud, in Switzerland, +was, unhappily, as well known in the village in which he lived, for +his bad conduct, as for his impiety. The father, whose name we will +not mention, was a proud and hard-hearted man, both intemperate and +dissolute; and his wife, who thought as little of the fear of God as +her husband did, was what might be called a _noisy babbler_. + +The pastor of the village had often, but vainly, endeavored to lead +these unhappy people to a sense of religion, but he was always +received by them with scoffing and ridicule. + +The family was composed of the vinedresser's three children. The +eldest, Mark, was as haughty as his father, and although he was only +fourteen years of age, he was already able to join in the disorders +of his drunken and gaming companions. He was entirely devoid of any +sense of religion. His sister, Josephine, who was rather more than +twelve years old, possessed a more amiable disposition. The pastor's +wife took much interest in this child, who could not help seeing that +her parents were not guided by the Spirit of God. Peter, the +youngest, was but ten years of age, but his brother's wicked example +counteracted all the good which he might have received from that of +his more amiable sister. + +About the end of May, there was to be, in a village not far distant, +a match at rifle-shooting. It was a public fete, at which all the +people in the neighborhood assembled. + +On the morning of this day, Mark had answered his father with great +insolence, at which he was so much enraged, that he punished him +severely, and forbad him, besides, to go to the fete. The father +went thither himself, and Mark, after a moment's indecision, +determined not to heed the command he had received, but to follow him +to the shooting-match. + +He therefore took advantage of his mother's absence, who, according +to her usual custom, was gone to gossip with some of her neighbors, +and notwithstanding the remonstrances of Josephine, he hastened over +fields and hedges, to the scene of the match. + +"What is this?" cried he, picking up a little pamphlet, with a cover +of colored paper, which was lying on the path near the opening in the +hedge. "Oh! it is one of those tracts they leave about everywhere; it +will do very well to load my gun;" and so saying, he put the tract +into his pocket, and ran on as before. + +But when he approached the village where they were shooting, +dancing, playing, and making a great noise, he suddenly stopped, for +he recollected that if he should meet with his father, who was there, +he would certainly beat him, and send him home again, in presence of +all the people who might be assembled; besides, his brother Peter was +there also, and he might see him, and tell his father. He therefore +kept at a distance, behind a hedge, not daring to advance any farther. + +"Supposing I read this book!" said he, at last, after having vainly +racked his brain to find out how he could be at the fete without +being discovered. "There is nothing in it but nonsense, I know +beforehand; however, it will occupy me for a while." + +This tract was called "The Happy Family," and Mark became so much +interested in it, that he not only read the whole, but many parts of +it twice over. + +"How odd it is," said he, when he had finished reading; "I should +never have thought it could be thus; this Andrew and Julia, after +all, were much happier than we are, and than I am, in particular. +Ah!" added he, as he walked on by the hedge-side, looking on the +ground, "possibly Josephine may have spoken the truth, and that, +after all, the right way is the one which this lady points out." + +As he thought over the little story he had been reading, he retraced +his steps towards his own village, at first rather slowly, but soon +at a quicker pace, and he entered his father's house very quietly, +and without either whistling or making a noise, as he generally did. + +"You have not then been to the fete," said Josephine. + +_Mark_.--(A little ashamed.)--"I dared not go, I was afraid my +father would beat me." + +_Josephine_.--"It would have been better, Mark, if you had been +equally afraid of offending God." + +Mark was on the point of ridiculing her, as he always did, but he +recollected Andrew and Julia, and was silent. + +_Josephine_.--(Kindly.)--"But is it not true, Mark? would it +not be better to fear God, than to be always offending him?" + +_Mark_.--(Knitting his brow.)--"Yes, as Andrew and Julia did! +would it not?" + +_Josephine_.--(surprised.)--"Of whom do you speak, Mark? Is it +of "The Happy Family," in which an Andrew and a Julia are mentioned. +Have you ever read that beautiful story?" + +"Here it is," said Mark, drawing the tract from his pocket, and +giving it to his sister. + +_Josephine_.--"Yes, this is it, exactly! But brother, where did +you get it, for it is quite new; did you buy it of a _Scripture +Reader_." + +"Did I _buy_ it?" said Mark, sullenly. "Do you suppose I should +spend my money in such nonsense as _that?_" + +_Josephine_.--"Then how did you get it? Did any one give it you?" + +_Mark_.--(Slyly.)--"Ah! they have often tried to give me some, +but I tore them to pieces, and threw them away, before their faces!" + +_Josephine_.--"So much the worse, Mark! for the truth of God is +written in them, and it is very sinful to tear the truth of God in +pieces." + +_Mark_.--(Rudely.)--"But you see I have not torn this, for it +is quite whole! And as you are so anxious to know how I came by it, I +found it on the ground, near the road, and just beyond the brushwood." + +_Josephine_.--"Ah! then I know where it came from. The Pastor's +son, and the two sons of the schoolmaster, have got up a Religious +Tract Society, who distribute them in all directions." + +_Mark_.--(Reproachfully.)--"And pray why do they scatter them +about in this way? Can't they leave people alone, without cramming +every body's head with their own fancies. Let them keep their +religion to themselves, and leave other people to do the same." + +_Josephine_.--"Do you think, Mark, that Andrew and Julia did +wrong to listen to their father and grandmamma, and to follow the +precepts of the Bible in preference to the ridicule of scoffers." + +_Mark_.--(Softened.)--"I did not say _that_.... I think +Andrew and Julia were right; but ... come give me back the Tract; I +want to look at something in it again." + +Mark then went away, carrying the Tract with him; and shortly after, +Josephine saw him sitting in the garden, behind a hedge of sweet- +briar, reading it attentively. + +"Where's that good-for-nothing Mark?" demanded the vinedresser, when +he returned home at night half tipsy. "Did he dare to venture to the +shooting-match? I was told that he was seen sneaking about the +outskirts of the village! where is he now?" + +"He went to bed more than an hour ago," answered his mother, "and +was no more at the shooting-match than I was, for I saw him reading +in the garden." + +"Mark, _reading_!" replied his father. "What could he be +reading? It would be a miracle to see him with a book in his hand. An +idle fellow like him, who never did learn any thing, and never will!" + +The vinedresser's wife was silent, and after putting poor little +Peter to bed, who was quite tired and weary, she managed to get the +father to bed also, and peace reigned for a season in this miserable +abode. + +Mark, however, who was not asleep when his father returned, had +heard himself called a good-for-nothing idle fellow, and he trembled +from head to foot, when he found he had been seen in the neighborhood +of the village. + +"What a good thing it was," said he to himself, "that I did not go +on! It was certainly God who prevented me!" added he, half ashamed of +the thought because it was so new to him; but he determined no longer +to resist it. + +On the morrow, to the great surprise of his father and mother, Mark +got up in good humor; he answered his father without grumbling, and +when he was desired to go and work in the field, Mark hastened to +take his hoe and spade, and set off, singing merrily. + +"What has happened to him?" asked the father. "One would scarcely +believe it was he! Wife, what did you say to him yesterday, to make +him so good-humored this morning?" + +"I never even spoke to him," said his wife, dryly. "You know how +whimsical he is." + +"I wish he may remain in his present mind!" said the vinedresser; +and thereupon he went off to the ale-house, to talk with his +neighbors of the best shots of the preceding day. + +Josephine related the history of the little tract to the good +pastor's wife, who advised her to meet Mark on his return from the +field, and to speak to him again of what he had read. + +"Is it _you_, sister?" said Mark, in a happy tone of voice, as +soon as he saw her. "It is very good of you to meet me." + +Josephine, who never received such a welcome from him before, was +quite delighted, and going up to him, she said, affectionately, "I +want very much to talk with you again about Andrew and Julia." + +_Mark_.--(Seriously.)--"And so do I. I should like very much to +resemble them." + +_Josephine_.--(Quickly.)--"Do you mean what you say, Mark? Have +you thought of it again since yesterday?" + +_Mark_.--(Still serious.)--"I have thought so much about it, +that I am determined to change my habits. Yes, Josephine, I think you +are right, and that, after all, religion is better than ridicule." + +The conversation continued as it had commenced, and when Mark +returned home, he went up and kissed his mother, who was just laying +the table for dinner. + +"What's the matter?" said she, with some surprise; "you seem in very +good spirits, today." + +"Nothing is the matter, good mother, but that I wish to alter my +conduct," replied Mark, seriously. + +"To alter your conduct," cried little Peter, as he looked up in his +brother's face, and began to titter. + +"And you, too, little Peter," said Mark, "you must become good, also." + +"What a funny idea," cried the child, laughing. "_What_ has +made you turn schoolmaster, all at once? and, pray, when am I to +begin?" + +"We shall see by-and-bye," said Mark, kindly. "In the meantime, come +and help me to tend the cow." + +"There is something behind all this!" said the mother and she +blushed to think that this change had not been occasioned by anything +she had said or done to him, herself. + +When the father returned from the ale-house, they all sat down to +dinner, and as usual, without saying "_grace_." Josephine said +hers to herself, and Mark, who recollected Andrew and Julia, blushed +when he took his spoon to eat his soup. + +After dinner, when they were out of the house, Josephine said to +Mark, "What a pity it is, brother, that papa does not pray before +each meal." + +"All _that_ will come in time, Josephine," said Mark; "I never +prayed myself, and yet ... I must now begin directly. But what shall +I do? Papa will be very angry if he sees me religious." + +"I do not think he will," said Josephine, "for I heard him say to +mumma, this morning, that he should be very glad if your conduct +improved." + +Mark blushed, but did not reply. He returned to his work without +being desired to do so, and his father, who was quite astonished, +said to his wife, "There is something very extraordinary about Mark. +I wish it may last." + +"You wish it may last!" said his wife; "how can you wish that, when +you do not care to improve yourself." + +"And you, my poor wife," said the vinedresser, "do you care to +change any more than I do? I think as to that matter, we cannot say +much against each other." + +"Well, at all events," said his wife, "I am not a drunkard." + +"Nor am I a tattler," replied the husband. "And for this reason let +us each think of our own fault, and if Mark is disposed to reform, do +not let us prevent him; for, my poor wife, _our_ example is not +a very good one for him." + +Josephine, who was working at her needle, in the adjoining room, +could not help overhearing this confession of her father, and she +felt the more encouraged to uphold Mark in his good intention. + +She therefore went again to meet him, and repeated to him all she +had heard. "I think," added she, "you will do well to relate what has +happened to our father and mother, and read them the little tract." + +"Not yet," said Mark, "for my principles are not sufficiently +strong. It is but an hour since the ale-house keeper's son laughed at +me, because I told him I would not play at nine-pins with him, during +working hours. He asked me if I was becoming a Methodist, and I did +not know what answer to make. However, I trust I am already +improving, and I have read the little tract again for the third time." + +"Oh!" said Josephine, "we ought to read the Bible, and we do not +possess one." + +"True," said Mark, somewhat surprised. "I never thought of +_that_. We have really no Bible in the house! Indeed, this must +not be," he added, looking on the ground, and striking it with his +spade. + +"What shall we do, then?" said Josephine, "for it would be very nice +to have one." + +Mark became thoughtful, but said nothing. From that day his conduct +was always regular, and his habits industrious, so much so, that his +father, who was never in the habit of showing him much kindness, said +to him, at the dinner table, and before all the rest of the family, +"Well, my good Mark, tell us what has happened to you; for it is very +pleasant to us to see how well you now behave. Tell us, my boy, what +has been the cause of this improvement." + +"It was from this book," said Mark, drawing it out of his pocket, +where he always kept it. + +"What book is it?" said his mother, scornfully. "Is it not some of +that horrid trash, that"... + +"Be silent," cried the father. "If this book has done good, how can +it be horrid trash? Do sour grapes produce good wine?" + +"But," replied the mother, bitterly, "I will not have any of those +books and tracts in this house." + +"Well, for my part," said the vinedresser, "I will encourage all +that teach my children to do what is right. Mark has worked well for +the last eight days; he has not occasioned me a moment's vexation +during the whole of that time, and as he says that this book has been +the means of his improvement, I shall also immediately read it +myself. Come, Mark, let us hear it. You can read fluently; come, we +will all listen. Wife, do you be quiet, and you too, Peter; as for +Josephine she is quite ready." + +Mark began to read, but he could not proceed far; his father got up +and went out, without saying a word, and his mother began to remove +the dinner-things. + +But as soon as the family re-assembled in the evening, the father +said to Mark, "Go on with your reading, Mark, I want to hear the end, +for I like the story." + +Mark read, and when he came to that part of the tract, in which the +Bible is mentioned, the vinedresser looked up to a high shelf on the +wall, where were some old books, and said, "wife, had we not once a +Bible?" + +"Fifteen years ago," she answered, "you exchanged it for a pistol." + +The vinedresser blushed, and listened with out farther interruption +until Mark had done reading. When the tract was finished, he remained +silent, his head leaning on his hands, and his elbows on his knees. +Josephine thought this was the time to speak about the Bible, which +she had so long wished to possess, and she went up to her father, and +stood for some time by his side without speaking. + +Her father perceived her, and raising his head, he said to her, +"What do you want, Josephine, tell me, my child, what do you want to +ask me?" + +"Dear papa," said the child, "I have long desired to read the Bible, +would you be so kind as to buy me one?" + +"A Bible," cried her mother, "what can _you_ want with a Bible, +at _your_ age?" + +"Oh! wife, wife," said the vinedresser, much vexed, "when will you +help me to do what is right?" "Yes, my child," he added, kissing +Josephine's cheek, "I will buy you one to-morrow. Do you think there +are any to be had at the pastor's house?" + +"Oh! yes, plenty," cried Josephine, "and very large ones too!" + +"Very well then," said the father, as he got up, and went out of the +house, "you shall have a very large one." + +"But," said his wife, calling after him, "you don't know how much it +will cost." + +"It will not cost so much as the wine I mean no longer to drink!" +replied the father, firmly. + +He kept his word. The Bible was purchased on the morrow, and the +same evening the father desired Mark to read him a whole chapter. The +ale-house saw him no more the whole of that week, and still less the +following Sunday. His friends laughed at him, and wanted to get him +back. He was at first tempted and almost overcome, but the thought of +the Bible restrained him, and he determined to refuse. + +"Are you gone mad, then?" said they. + +"No," replied he, "but I read the Bible now, and as it says, that +drunkards shall not 'inherit the kingdom of God,' I listen to what it +says, and I desire to cease to be a drunkard." + +"You see," said Josephine to Mark, as they accompanied each other to +church, "how good God has been to us. We have now a Bible, and it is +read by all at home." + +_Mark_.--"Have you been able to tell the pastor's son how much +good his tract has done us?" + +_Josephine_.--"I told his mother." + +_Mark_.--"And what did she say?" + +_Josephine_.--"She said, 'God is wonderful in all his ways,' +and that, 'He which hath begun the good work in us, will perform it +until the day of Jesus Christ.'" + +_Mark_.--(Feelingly.)--"Who could have thought that when I went +as a rebel to that Fete, that God was there waiting to draw me to +himself. But, dear Josephine, there is yet much to be done." + +"But," said Josephine, "where God has promised he is also able to +perform. He has told us to pray in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. +Let us do so, and you will see that God will renew our hearts, and +make us wise and good." + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL *** + +This file should be named fanny10.txt or fanny10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, fanny11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, fanny10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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