God sends the sunshine, dew and rain, And covers it with snow; Then let us thank Him for the gift,-- To Him our bread we owe.
Whene'er we view the waving grain, Or eat our daily food, Let grateful thoughts to God arise, Praise Him, for He is good.
The youthful mind is like a field; Our teachers sow the seed; But when instruction's work is done, There's something more we need.
Then let us pray that God may add His blessing to their toil; Then our young minds and hearts will prove A rich, productive soil.
MAY-DAY.
All hail the bright, the rosy morn, The first of blushing May, While fragrant flowers the fields adorn. And Nature smiles so gay.
Oh, what a joyous festival To all the young and fair, Who love to rove through verdant fields And breathe the balmy air.
With rosy checks, and laughing eyes, They hie to Nature's bowers, While birds trill forth their sweetest lay, To pluck the fairest flowers.
Now some have strayed to sit beneath A grove of maples grey, To twine their flowers into a wreath, Or cull a sweet bouquet.
While one small group is seated round A florid, mossy knoll, And laughing lisp that they have found The sweetest flowers of all.
With bouquets sweet, and garlands gay, They homeward then repair, In haste to join without delay The pic-nic or the fair.
For times are not as they were wont To be in years gone by, When on the rural village green They reared the May-pole high;
While gathered round a merry group Of youths and maidens gay, To crown some rosy rustic maid The smiling Queen of May.
THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD.
MATT. VI. 28.
Behold the lilies of the field, In thousand colors drest; They toil not, neither do they spin, Yet God the flowers hath blest.
Then toil not for the things of earth, But seek your God to please; For Solomon, in all his pride, Was not arrayed like these.
Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass And flowers, that fade and die, Will he not much more care for you, And all your wants supply?
Why will ye, O ye faithless ones, Distrust your Father's care? Are ye not better than the flowers? Will he not hear your prayer?
Your Father knoweth what ye need; Fear not, but watch and pray; And let your light shine more and more Unto the perfect day.
MY EARLY DAYS.
(SEE FRONTISPIECE.)
My father's house was indeed a pleasant home; and father was the supremeguide of his own household. He was gentle, but he could be firm andresolute when the case demanded. Mother was the sunshine of our littlegarden of love; her talents and energy gave her influence; and united toa man like father, she was all that is lovable in the character ofwoman.
But the dear old home, where I grew from infancy to boyhood, and fromboyhood to youth, I shall never forget. It was a large house on theslope of a hill, just high enough to overlook several miles of our levelcountry, and smooth enough with its soft grassy carpet for us to rolldown from the summit to the foot of the hill. At the back of the housewas another hill, where we used to roll under the shade of the old elm,and where Miles and I would sit whole afternoons and fly the kite, eachtaking turns in holding the string. This was a happy place for us, andespecially in the spring time, when the happy looking cows grazed alongthe pathway which winds around the elm to the stream where Kate and Iused to sail my little boat. All summer long this place was vocal withthe songs of birds, which built their nests in safety among the talltrees of the grove in the rear of the farm. We had also the music of therunning brook, and the pleasant hum of my father's cotton mill, whichbrought us in our daily bread. Haying time was always a happy season forus boys. Father's two horses, "_Dick_" and "_Bony_" would take off thefarm as large a load of hay as any in the village.
Years past on, and we were a happy band of brothers and sisters. AfterKate, came the twins, Margaret and Herbert, and last of all came theyoungest darling, blue eyed Dora. We had a happy childhood. Our stationin the world was high enough to enable us to have all the harmlesspleasures and studies that were useful and actually necessary to boysand girls of our station. Father always thought that it was better inearly youth not to force the boys to too hard study, and mother lovedbest to see Kate and Margaret using the fingers in fabricating garments,than in playing the harp. We were free, happy, roving children onfather's farm, unchained by the forms of fashionable life. We had nocostly dresses to spoil, and were permitted to play in the green fieldswithout a servant's eye, and to bathe in the clear shallow streamwithout fear of drowning. As I have said before, these were happy days;and when I think of them gone, I often express my regret that we did notimprove them more for the cultivation of the mind and the affections. Inthe next story you will see that there were some passing clouds in ourearly summer days.
MARGARET AND HERBERT.
In a large family there are often diversity of character and varietiesof mood and temper, which bring some clouds of sorrow. In our littleEden of innocence there were storms now and then. Miles was a littlewild and headstrong from his babyhood, and Margaret, though verybeautiful, was often wilful and vain. For five years the twins had grownup together the same in beauty and health. One day an accident befellHerbert, and the dear child rose from his bed of sickness a pale andcrippled boy. His twin sister grew up tall and blooming. The twins lovedeach other very much, and it was a pleasant sight to see how thedeformed boy was cherished and protected by his sister Margaret. Shewould often leave us in the midst of our plays to go and sit byHerbert, who could not share with us in them.
We had our yearly festivals, our cowslip gatherings, our blackberryhuntings, our hay makings, and all the delights so pleasant to countrychildren. Our five birthdays were each signalized by simple presents andevening parties, in the garden or the house, as the season permitted.Herbert and Margaret's birthdays came in the sunny time of May, whenthere were double rejoicings to be made. They were always set up intheir chairs in the bower, decorated with flowers and crowned withwreaths. I now think of Margaret smiling under her brilliant garland,while poor Herbert looked up to her with his pale sweet face. I heardhim once say to her when we had all gone away to pluck flowers:
"How beautiful you are to-day, Margaret, with your rosy cheeks andbrown hair."
"But that does not make me any better or prettier than you, because I amstrong and you are not, or that my cheeks are red and yours are pale."
Miles was just carrying little Dora over the steeping stones at thebrook, when Herbert cried:
"O, if I could only run and leap like Miles; but I am very helpless."
To which Margaret replied: "Never mind, brother; I will love you andtake care of you all your life," and she said these words with asister's love, as she put her arms around the neck of her helplessbrother. She loved him the more, and aimed to please him by readingbooks to him which were his delight. This was a pleasant sight, and thebrothers always admired Margaret for her attention to their helplessbrother.
THE BIT OF GARDEN.
Young children like to have a small piece of land for a garden whichthey can call their own. And it is very pleasant to dig the ground, sowthe seed, and watch the little green plants which peep out of the earth,and to see the beautiful buds and fresh blossoms.
Every boy and girl has a bit of garden, and we are told in the good bookto take good care of it, and see that the weeds of vice do not spreadover it, and to be sure and have it covered over with plants ofgoodness. This garden is the HEART. Such things as anger, sloth, lyingand cheating, are noxious weeds. But if you are active and industrious,and keep cultivating this little garden, and keep out all the bad weeds,God will help you to make a good garden, full of pleasant plants, andflowers of virtue. I have seen some gardens which look very bad,covered
with briars and weeds, the grass growing in the paths, and theknotty weeds choking the few puny flowers that are drooping and dyingout. Every thing seems to say--"How idle the owner of this garden is."But I have seen other gardens where there were scarcely any weeds. Thewalks look tidy, the flowers in blossom, the trees are laden with fruit,and every thing says, "How busy the owner is." Happy are you, dearchildren, if you are working earnestly in the garden of your hearts.Your garden will be clean, pleasant, and fruitful--a credit and comfortto you all your days.
REMEMBER THE CAKE.
I will tell you an anecdote about Mrs. Hannah More, when she was eightyyears old. A widow and her little son paid a visit to Mrs. More, atBarley Wood. When they were about to leave, Mrs. M. stooped to kiss thelittle boy, not as a mere compliment, as old maidens usually kisschildren, but she took his smiling face between her two hands, andlooked upon it a moment as a mother would, then kissed it fondly morethan once. "Now when you are a man, my child, will you remember me?" Thelittle boy had just been eating some cake which she gave him, and he,instead of giving her any answer, glanced his eyes on the remnants ofthe cake which lay on the table. "Well," said Mrs. M., "you willremember the cake at Barley Wood, wont you?" "Yes," said the boy, "Itwas nice cake, and you are _so kind_ that I will remember both." "Thatis right," she replied, "I like to have the young remember me for _beingkind_--then you will remember old Mrs. Hannah More?"
"Always, ma'am, I'll try to remember you always." "What a good child,"said she, after his mother was gone, "and of good stock; that child willbe true as steel. It was so much more natural that the child shouldremember the cake than an old woman, that I love his sincerity." Shedied on the 7th of Sept., 1833, aged eighty-eight. She was buried inWrighton churchyard, beneath an old tree which is still flourishing.
BENNY'S FIRST DRAWING.
You have perhaps heard of Benjamin West, the celebrated artist. I willtell you about his first effort in drawing.
One of his sisters, who had been married some time, came with her babeto spend a few days at her father's. When the child was asleep in thecradle, Mrs. West invited her daughter to gather flowers in the garden,and told Benjamin to take care of the little child while they were gone;and gave him a fan to flap away the flies from his little charge. Aftersome time the child appeared to smile in its sleep, and it attractedyoung Benny's attention. He was so pleased with the smiling, sleeping,babe that he thought he would see what he could do at drawing a portraitof it. He was only in his seventh year; he got some paper, pens, andsome red and black ink, and commenced his work, and soon drew thepicture of the babe.
Hearing his mother and sister coming in from the garden, he hid hispicture; but his mother seeing he was confused, asked him what he wasabout, and requested him to show her the paper. He obeyed, and entreatedher not to be angry. Mrs. West, after looking some time, with muchpleasure, said to her daughter, "I declare, he has made a likeness of_little Sally_," and kissed him with evident satisfaction. This gave himmuch encouragement, and he would often draw pictures of flowers whichshe held in her hand. Here the instinct of his great genius was firstawakened. This circumstance occurred in the midst of a Pennsylvaniaforest, a hundred and four years ago. At the age of eighteen he wasfairly established in the city of Philadelphia as an artist.
THE GREY OLD COTTAGE.
In the valley between "Longbrigg" and "Highclose," in the fertile littledale on the left, stands an old cottage, which is truly "a nest in agreen place." The sun shines on the diamond paned windows all throughthe long afternoons of a summer's day. It is very large and roomy.Around it is a trim little garden with pleasant flower borders under thelow windows. From the cottage is a bright lookout into a distant sceneof much variety.
Some years ago it was more desolate, as it was so isolated from theworld. Now the children's voices blend with the song of the wood birds,and they have a garden there of dandelions, daisies, and flowers. Theroof and walls are now covered with stone crop and moss, and traveller'sjoy, which gives it a variety of color. The currant bushes are pruned,and the long rose branches are trimmed, and present a bloomingappearance. This house, with forty acres of land, some rocky andsterile, and some rich meadow and peat, formed the possessions of thePrestons in Westmoreland. For two hundred years this land had beentheirs. Mr. Preston and his wife were industrious and respectablepeople. They had two children, Martha and John. The sister was eightyears older than her brother and acted a motherly part towards him. Asher mother had to go to market, to see to the cows and dairy, and tolook after the sheep on the fell, Martha took most of the care of littleJohnny.
It is said that a very active mother does not _always_ make a veryactive daughter, and that is because she does things herself, and hasbut little patience with the awkward and slow efforts of a learner. Mrs.Preston said that Martha was too long in going to market with thebutter, and she made the bread too thick, and did not press all thewater out of the butter, and she folded up the fleeces the wrong way,and therefore she did all herself. Hence Martha was left to take thewhole care of Johnny, and to roam about in the woods. When she wasabout fifteen her mother died, so that Martha was left her mother'splace in the house, which she filled beyond the expectation of all theneighbors. Her father died when Johnny was sixteen, and his last adviceto his daughter was, to take care of her brother, to look after hisworldly affairs, and above all to bear his soul in prayer to heaven,where he hoped to meet the household once more. The share of herfather's property when he died, was eighty pounds. Here Martha spent herdays, frugal, industrious and benevolent. And it is said, there will notbe a grave in Grasmere churchyard, more decked with flowers, morevisited with respect, regret, and tears, and faithful trust, than thatof Martha Preston when she dies. In the next story you will beinterested in what happened at the Grey Cottage.
THE BOY FOUND IN THE SNOW.
One winter's night when the evening had shut in very early, owing to theblack snow clouds that hung close around the horizon, Martha sat lookinginto the fire. Her old sheep dog, Fly, lay at her feet. The cows werefoddered for the night, and the sheep were penned up in the yard. Flywas a faithful dog, and for some reason, this evening, he was veryrestless. Why he pricked up his ears, and went snuffing to the door, andpacing about the room, was more than Martha could tell.
"Lie down, Fly,--good dog--lie down," she said; but Fly would not mindher, which was an unusual thing. She was certain something was thematter, and she felt she must go up to the fell; and with the foresightcommon to the Dale's people, who knew what mountain storms are, she tookunder her cloak a small vial of gin, which was kept in case of anyaccident, and set out with the dog Fly. The snow fell fast, the windblew, and the drifts lay thick. She had great confidence in Fly, that ifany thing was the matter he would find it out. He ran straight up thelittle steep path which led through the woods. On she followed, hercloak white with snow, until she came into the more open ground, whereshe lost sight of Fly, and for a time stood bewildered, until he shouldreturn and guide her. The birds and beasts had gone to rest, and thestillness of the moors was awful. It was night, and dark. Suddenly sheheard a child's feeble voice, and in an instant she pressed on towardsthe spot from which the sound came; soon she heard Fly's loud howl foraid. At last she reached the spot, and found a little boy half asleep, akind of drowsiness which precedes death. He could not speak; he couldonly moan. She moistened his lips with the gin, and poured a little downhis throat. She then raised him up and carried him a short distance downthe hill; then she stopped to rest awhile; and then she got as far asthe woods, where the winds were not so cold. Again she gave him a fewdrops from her vial, and now he was able to walk a few steps; thenMartha put up a fervent prayer to God for assistance, as she dragged thelost boy to her cottage. She now laid him down to the warm fire, whileFly snuffed around him in great joy. She took off his wet clothes, andwrapped him in her woollen cloak. He soon recovered and was able to tellhis story.
His father had sent him up to the fells for a sheep that was missing.The dog lef
t him, and night and snow came on, and he got lost on thefells. The family had lately come to live near Rydal, and the lad didnot know all the landmarks. Martha took the best of care of the boy tillthe morning, when his mother came, with a grateful heart towards God forthe means which had guided Martha to her lost boy.
THE BROTHER AND SISTER.
(_In three Stories._)
THE PARTING SCENE.
In one of our western cities was a poor woman, in the garret of a lonelyhouse, who was very sick, and near dying. She had two children, abrother and sister, who knelt beside her bed to catch her dying words."Annie, my daughter," said the mother, "soon, and your young brotherwill have no earthly friend but you; will you, my daughter, be to him afaithful sister?"
"Yes, mother, _I will_" said the daughter, as she wiped away her tears.
And then she laid her hand upon the head of her son, and said, "Be agood boy, Willy, and mind your sister; she is but three years older thanyourself, but as far as her knowledge goes, she will be a guide for you;and she and you have a Father in Heaven who will never leave you. Willyou promise to do as she wishes?"
Willy raised his eyes to his mother, and bowed his head in token ofassent, and then burst into tears. The mother was a Christian, andputting her arm around the neck of Willy, and with the other handclasping her daughter, she calmly said to them, "Weep not, dearchildren, you will find friends; God is the father of the fatherless.Keep in mind that his eye is upon you; be honest and virtuous, faithfuland believing, and all things will work together for your good."