l^ 4-^^—/*^ '/h THE LITTLE SPEAKER, JUVENILE EEADEE. BEING A COLLECTION OF PIECES IN" PROSE, POETRY, AND DIALOGUE. DESIGNED FOR EXEI?OISES IN^ SPEAKING, AND FOK OCCASIONAL KEADINa, IN PEIMARY SCHOOLS. BY CHARLES NOllTHESD, A.M., PRINCTFAL OF THE EPES SCHOOL, SALEM, MASS., AUTHOR OF "TUB AMERICAN SPEAKER," " SCHOOL DIALOGUES," "COM?aON SCHOOL BOOK-KEEPING," AND "YOUNG CO-ilPOSKR." ]06 LEONARD STllEET. 1867. 3 ELOCUTIONARY WORKS,' PUBLISHED BY COLLINS & BROTHER, 82 'Warren Street, New York. NORTHEND'S AMERICAN SPEAKER. The American Speaker:" being a collection of pieces in Prose, Poetry, and Dialogue, for exercises in declamation in schools. By Charles Nortliend, A.M., author of the "Little Speaker." Im- proved edition. 12mo ; 264 pages. Price 75 cents. . KORTIIEXD'S SCHOOL DIALOGUES. School Dialogues : comprising One Hundred and One Selections, particularly adapted to the use of schools. By Charles Northend, A. M. Twentieth edition, enlarged*. 12mo ; 312 pages. Price 75 c^nts, ZACHO'S NEW AMERICAN SPEAKER. The New American Speaker : a collection of Oratorical and Dramatical Pieces, Soliloquies and Dialogues, with an original irt"oductory Essay on the Elements of Elocution; designed for the use of Schools, Academies, and Colleges. By J. C. Zacho», A.M, A new edition. 12mo ; 552 pages. Price $1. I Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S49, by CHARLES NORTHEND, In the Clerk's Office of the Disti-ict Court of ]Massachusetts. r c)« REMARKS, Since the publication of the " American Speaker," the compiler has frequently been requested to prepare a similar work adapted to the wants of ' hildren in our primary schools. It has been found that quite young children may engage in the exercise of ** speaking " with profit, and, generally, they do so with more interest than is manifested by those who are older. It is usually true, that the longer, exercises in declamation and composition are delayed, the more difficult it will be t^ enlist the attention, and aw^aken interest in them. It has been a leading object, in the compilation of this little volume, as it was in that of the larget Speaker, to insert pieces calculated to have a goo € vessel, when the flames had reached the powder. Thr boy stood on the burninne post, tu death, in still, yet brave despair, And shouted but once more aloud — '* M\j fathrr! must I stayV While o'er him fast, tiirough sail and shroud, Tiie wreathing fires made way. They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder sound — The boy — I where was Ua ? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea ; — With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part— - But the noblpst thing that perished there Was tiiat young, faithful heart. 54 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. THE CRICKET AND NIGHTINGALE The Cricket to the Nightingale Once boasted of his song ; An insect who the same dull chirp Repeats the whole day long ! A boast like that before a bird Of harmony the queen ! One wonders how the noisy fright So foolish could have been. ** I do not want admirers/' Said the little silly thing ; '* For many folks in harvest t;:T»e Will stop to hear me sing ; I do not want admirers, And many come from far." The Nightingale said, *' Little one, Pray tell me who they areT' ** The pretty bugs and beetles, sir, And surely you must know That they are very knowing ones^ And here are * all the go.' " ** That may be very true," Replied the modest little bird, ' Ihu of their taste for music, 1 confess, I never heard. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 55 ** So take advice, my little friend, In future, be not vain, Nor anxious the applauses Of the ignorant to gain ; Your music, for a Cricket, Is the best I ever knew ; But it is not quite a Nightingaie^s " And so away she flew. THE USE OF FLOWERS. God might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, — The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, Without a iluwer at ail. We might have had enough, encugh For every want of ours, Fur luxury, medicine, and toil And yet have had no flowers. The ore within the mountain mine Requireth none to grow ; Nor doth it need the lotus-flower To make the river flow\ The clouds might give ahundnnt rain, And nightly dews mig-ht fall, And herb, tliat keepeth life in man. Might yet have drunk tliam all. 56 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Then, wherefore, wherefore, were they made All dyed with rainhow lio-ht — All fashioned for snpremesl fjrace — Upspringing day and night : — Sprincring in valleys green and low, And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness, Where no nfian passeth hy ? Our outward life requires them not— • Then wherefore had they birth? To minister dehn^ht to man, To heautify tlie earth ; — To Cfimfort man — to whisper hope, Whene'er his faitii is dim ; For who so careth for the floiveis^ Will much more care for htm! THE LITTLE COLT. pRAV, how shall 1, a little lad, In speakmff make a fiirure? You are but jesting, I 'm afraid Do wait till 1 am bigger^ But since you wish to hear my part, And urge me to begin it, 1 '11 strive for praise with all my art, Though small my chance tc win it. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 57 I '11 tell a tale, how farmer John A little roan colt bred, sir, And every ni^-ht and every morn He watered and lie fed, sir. Said neif^hbor Joe to fariner Johr. , Yon surely are a doll, sir, To spend such daily care upon A iiiiie useless colt, sir. Tlie farmer answered wondering Joe, *' I bring my lilile roan up, Not for the fjood he now can do, But may do, when he 's grown up." The moral you may plainly see, To keep the tale from spoilmg. The little colt, you think, is me, — I know it by your smiling. I now entreat you to excuse My lisping and my stammers; And, since you've learned my parents' views, I '11 humbly make my manners. 58 THE LITTLE ?E^LAKKR. ! MUSIC. BY JAMES LOMBARD. Thkre 's music in the little broohc, That sings so sweet and low To flowers that bend their tiny head, To see themselves below. There 's music in the cheerful note Of birds in. yonder tree, — Their song '.s one continued strain Of pleas'.ng melody. There 's music in the roaminof breese, That gently parts the hair, — In it we hear the voices of The cherished ones that were. There 's music in the drowsy tone Of the " little busy bee," Humming to the flowers all day A soothing lullaby. There 's music everyAvhere on earth, Where'er there 's joy or love ; It is a feehle echo from The spirit-land above. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. ^9 VACATION. Vacation is coming, We all will be gay, To leave our Avorn school-books, For sports and for play. We '11 olT to the country, To visit our friends, And spend our time hnely Till vacation ends. We '11 roarn o'er the fields To gather sweet tiowers, And chase the jriirht songsters From bo\A er to bower. But quick] V time passes, Our play-hours will ewd^ And back to the school- rut;:n Our footsteps must bend. And then to our studies We "11 cheerfully tend. Performing our ^Uities, I'hus please our dear friends. For all their kind elTorts That we may improve, We will seek a report Deserving their love. 60 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. THE FIGHTING BIRDS. Two little birds, in search of fuod, Flew o'er the fiekis, and skimmed the flood,-- At last a \\orra they spy ; But who shoald take the prize they strove ; Their quarrel sounded througii the grove in notes both shrill and high. But now, a hawk, wliose piercing sight ][:id marked his prey, and watched their fight, With certain aim descended ; And pouncing on their furious strife, iie stopped their battle with their life, And so the war was ended. Thus^ when in discord brothers live, And frequent blows of anger give, With hate their bosoms rending ; In life, with rogues perchance they meet, 'i\i take advantage of their heat, Their lives in sorrow ending. THE POPPY. High on a Ifrighl and sunny bed A scarlet poppy grew ; And op it held its staring head, And held it out to view. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 61 Yet no attention did it win By all these efforts made ; And less offensive had it been In some retired shade. For, though within its scarlet breast No sweet perfume was found, It seemed to think itself the best Of all the flowers around. From this may I a hint obtain, And take great care indeed, Lest I should grow as pert and vain As is this gaudy weed. THE VIOLET. Down in a green and shad^ bed A modest violet grew ; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flow^er, Its colors bright and fair ; It might have graced a rosy bower. Instead of hiding there. Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed ; And there it spread its sweet perfume Within the silent shade. Fe" 62 THE LITILE SrEAKKR. Then let me to the ^ aiiey go, This pretty t\r ^er to see ; That I mav \i60 learn to grow la sweei numility. WORK AND PLAY. Poor children, who are all the day Allowed to wander out. And only waste their time in play, Or running wild about — > Who do not any school attend, Bat idle as they will, Are almost certain in the end To come to something ill. Some play is good to make us strong, And school to make us wise ; But always play is very wrong, And what we should despise. There 's nothing worse than idleness For making children bad ; 'T is sure to lead them to distress. And much that 's very sad. Sometimes they learn to lie and cheat, Sometimes to steal and swear ; These are the lessons in the street For those who idle there. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 63 But how much better 'tis to learn To count., and spell, and read ! 'Tis best to play and work in turn — 'Tis very nice, indeed. INFINITE WISDOM. Who taught the bees, when first they take Their flight through flowery fields in spring" To mark their hives, and straight to make Their sure return, sweet stores to bring? Who taught the ant to bite the grains Of wheat, which, for her winter store, She buries, w^ith u,iwearied pains. So careful that they grow no more^ Who taught the beavers to contrive Their huts, on banks so wisely planned, That in the w^inter they can dive From thence, and shun their foes from land ? Who taught the spider's curious art. Stretching from twig to twig her line, Strength 'ning her w^b in every part, . Sure and exact in her design 1 Who taught the swallows when to take Their flight before chill winter comes ? The wren her curious nest to make"? The wand 'ring rooks to find their hon::es? 64 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. The God whose work all nature is — Whose wisdom guides the vast design. Man sees but part ; but what he sees Tells him this wisdom is divine. THE SCHOOL FOR ME.* It is not in the noisy street That pleasure 's often found ; It is not where the idle meet That purest joys abound. But where the faithful teacher stands, With firm but gentle rule ; 0, that '% the happiest place for me — The pleasant common school ! O, the, school-room! O, that 's the place for me ! You '11 rarely find, go where you will A happier set than we. We never mind the burning sun, We never mind the showers, We never mind the drifting snows, While life and health are ours ; * The chorus can be omitted, if the piece is spoken by one ; but it will be more interesting, if several will unite in speak- ing or singing the chorus. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 65 But, when the merry school-bell throws Its welcome on the air, In spite of rain and drifting snows. You '11 always find us there. O, the sciiool-room ! &c. The stamp that 's borne on manhood's brow Is traced in early years ; The good or ill we 're doing now In future life appears ; And as our youthful hours we spend In study, toil, or play, We trust that each his aid may lend To cheer us on our way. G, the school-room ! Sic. MY MOTHER. I ftfusT not tease m^y mother, For she is very kmd, — And every thing she says to me I must directly mind. For when I was an infant, And could not speak or walk, She let me on her bosom sleep, And taught me how to talk. 6* 66 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. I must not tease ray mother ; And when she wants to read, Or has the headache, 1 must step Most silently indeed. I will not choose a noisy play, Or trifling troubles tell, But sit down quiet by her side, And try to make her well. I must not tease my mother ; She loves me all the day, And she has patience with my faults, And teaches me to pray. How much 1 '11 try to please her She every hour shall see, For should she go away, or die. What w^ould become of me? THE LOST KITE. My kite ! my kite ! I 've lost my kite ! O, when I saw the steady flight With which she gained her lofty height, How could I know that letting go That naughty string would bring so low My pretty, buoyant, darling kite, To pass forever out of sight ? THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 67 A purple cloud was sailing by, With silver fringes, o'er the sky ; And then I thought it came so nigh, I 'd let my kite go up and light Upon its edge so soft and bright, To see how noble, high, and proud She 'd look while riding on a cloud ! As near her shining mark she drew, I clapped my hands ; the line slipped through My silly fingers ; and she flew Away ! away ! in airy play, Right over where the water lay. She veered, and fluttered, swung, and gave A plunge — then vanished with the wave ! I never more shall Avant to look On that false cloud, or on the brook; Nor e'er to feel the breeze that took My dearest joy, thus to destroy The pastime of your happy boy. My kite ! my kite ! how sad to think She soared so high, so soon to sink ! THE LITTLE SPEAKER. KINDNESS. Brothers and sisters, names so dear, Should sweetly sound in every ear ; And ties so strong should always be The link of love and harmony. When such relations disagree, Most sad tlie consequence must be ; For those who should be joined in heart Can never do so well apart. Bid not our Saviour, chiding, say We should no faults to others lay, Or see a uiote in brother's eye, Until to move our own we try ? Then let no quarrels interpose, To turn such kindred into foes ; Nor to each other raise a hand. Against the Lord's express command. USEFULNESS. How many ways the young may find To be of use, if so inclined ! How many services perform, If will and wishes are but warm ! THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 69 Should wealth make all our comforts sure. We may be useful lo the poor ; Though we have servants to attend, We may be useful to a friend. A life that 's spent for self alone, Can never be a useful one ; The truly active scorn to be But puppets in society. However triilin^ what w^e do, If a g-ood purpose be in view, Although we should not meet success, Our own good-will is not the less. THE BOYS AND WOLF. Forth from an humble, happy cot Sped three fair, smiling boys, Full of life's sunny pleasantness And childhood's stainless joys. Far through the deep and darksome wood With fearless steps they roam. Gathering the fallen brari'^h and bough. To light the hearth of home. 70 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. With well-filled basket, back again They tread their grassy way, Bes"uJlino- time, and distance too, With some sweet, simple lay. But quick 'v^fore iheir startled gaze, Lured by iheir gladsome shout, From the clo.--^ covert of the trees A wolf sprung fiercely out. With glaring eyes, and shining teeth, The shaggy brute drew near. Checking the Hfe-blood in their veins With horror and with fear. The eldest boy, with manly heart, Upraised his deadly knife. Shielding, with his own tiny form, Each little brother's life. The unequal strife had scarce begun, When through the wood there sped A vengeful ball — and at his feet The angry wolf lay dead. Trust ever to that guardian Power That watches for thy good, — And stretches forth a helping hand Even in the darksome wood. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 71 ON EARLY RISING. How foolish they who lenfTthen night, And slumber in the morning li^ht ! How sweet, at early morning's rise, To view the glories of the skies ! The sprightly lark, with artless lay, Proclaims the entrance of the day. Her fairest form then nature wears, And clad in brightest green appears. How sweet to breathe the gale's perfume, And feast the eyes with nature's bloom! Along the dewy law^n to rove. And hear the music of the grove ! Nor you, ye delicate and fair. Neglect to take the morning air ; This will your nerves with vigor brace, Improve and heighten every grace, 'T wdll give your breath a rich perfume, Add to your cheeks a fairer Viloom ; With lustre teach your eyes u. giow, And health and cheerfulness bestow. 72 THE UTTLE SPEAKER. AMBITION. I WOULD not wear the warrior's wreath ; I would not court his crown : For love and virtue sink beneath His dark and vengeful frown. I would not seek my fame to build On glory's dizzy height ; Her temple is with orphans filled, Blood soils her sceptre bright. I would not wear the diadem By folly prized so dear ; For want and woe have bought each gem. And every pearl 's a tear. I would not heap the golden chest, That sordid spirits crave ; For every graia (by penury curst) Is gathered from the grave. No ; let my wreath unsullied be — My fame be virtuous youth — My wealth be kindness, charity — My diadem be truth. THE LITTLE SPEAKER NATURE'S INSTRUCTIONS. The daily labors of the bee Awake my soul to industry. Who can observe the careful ant, And not provide for future want? My dog, the trustiest of his kind, With gratitude inflames my mind ! I mark his true, his faithful way, And in my service copy Tray. In constancy and nuptial love, I learn my duty from the dove ; The hen, who from the chilly air With pious wing protects her care, And every fowl that flies at large, Instructs me in a parent's charge. From Nature, too, I take my rule, To shun contempt and ridicule. My tongue within my lips I rein, For w-ho talks much, must talk in vain. Nor would I, with felonious flight, i3y stealth invade my neighbor's right. Rapacious animals we hate : Kites, hawks, and wolves deserve their fate. Do not we just abliorrence find Against th lOad and serpent kind : But envy, calumny, and spite Bear stronger venom in their bite. 7 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Thus every object of creatioA Can furnish hints for contemplation ; And from the most minute and mean A virtuous mind can morals glean. DUTY. O THAT it were my chief delight To do the things I ought ! Then let me iry with all my might To mind what 1 am taught Whenever I am told to go, I '11 cheerfully obey ; Nor will I mind it much, although I leave a pretty play. Whtjn I am bid, I '11 freely bring Whatever I have got^ And never touch a pretty thing If mother tells me not. When she permits me, I may tell About my little toys ; But if she 's busy, or unwell, I must not make a noise. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. And when I learn my hymns to say, And work, and read, and spell, I will not think about my play, Bat try and do it well. For God looks down from heaven on high, Our actions to behold ; And he is pleased when children try To do as they are told. CHARLEY AND HIS SHILLING. Little Charley found a shillinof, As he came from school one day ; ** Now^," said he, *' 1 'II have a fortune, For I '11 plant it right away. " Nurse once told me, T remember, When a penny I had found, It would grow and bear new pennies, If I put it in the ground. ** I '11 not say a word to mother, For I know she would be willing ; Home 1 'li run, and in my frarden Plant my precious, bright new^ shilling. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. •' Every day I 'li give it water, And I '11 weed it with great care, And I guess, before the winter It will many shillings bear. ** Then I '11 buy a horse and carriage, And a lot of splendid toys, And I '11 give a hundred shillings To poor little girls and boys." Thus deluded, little Charley Laid full many a splendid plan, As the little coin he planted, Wishing he were grown a man. Day by day he nursed and watched it, Thought of nothing else beside, Day by day was disappointed, For no signs of growth he spied. Tired at last of hopeless waiting, — More than any child could bear, — Little Charley told his secret To his mother, in despair. Never was a kinder mother, But when his sad tale she heard, 'Twas so fnnny, she, for laughing, Could not speak a single word. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 71 This was worse than all, for Charley Thought his sorrow too severe, And, in spite of every effort, Down his cheek there roiled a tear. This his tender mother spying, Kissed it off before it fell ; ** Where to plant your bright new shilling, ' Said she to him, '' let me tell." " Peter Brown's two little children Long have wished to learn to read. But their father is not able To procure the books they need. ** To their use if you will spend it, Precious seed you then may sow, And, ere many months are ended, Trust me, you will see it grow." THE SCHOOLROOM. In the scoolroom while we stay, There is work enough to do ; Study, study, through the day, Keep our lessons all in view. There 's no time to waste or lose, Every moment we should use. For the hours are gliding fast, Soon our school-days will be past. 7« B THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Here, then, let us early sow, While we 're in our opening youth, Seed that will take root and grow^, Seed of knowledge, virtue, truth. For the time is coming, when Women we shall be. and men ; Then, 0, then, we '11 need it all, In discharging duty's call. Let us have a lively zeal In the school that we attend ; Interested always feel, And our influence to it lend. For with it we rise or fall, — Teacher, scholar, one and all ; Let us then united be For our school's prosperity. LAZY NED. " It s royal fun," cried lazy Ned, ** To coast upon my fine new sled, And beat the other boys ; But then I cannot bear to climb The plaguy hill, for every time It more and more annoys !" THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 79 So, while his schoolmates glided by, And gladly tugged up hill, to try Another merry race, Too indolent to share their p.ays, Ned was compelled to stand and gaze, While shivering in his place. • Thus he would never take the pains To seek the prize that labor gains, Until the time had past ; For all his life, he dreaded still The silly bugbear of up-hill^ And died a dunce at last. THE RETURN OF SPRING. Now Spring returns, and all the earth Is clad in cheerful green ; The heart of man is filled with mirth, And happiness is seen. The violet rears its m.odest head, To welcome in the Spring, And from its low and humble bed Doth sweetest odors bring. The birds are warbling in the grove, And flutter on the wing, And to their mates in notes of love Responsive echoes sing. 80 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Far as the eye can view, the hills Are clad in verdure bright ; The rivers and the trickling rills Are pleasant to the sight. Nature another aspect wears ; Stern Winter's reign is o'er ; While everything the power declares Of Him whom we adore. JACK FROST. Who hath killed the pretty flow^ers, Born and bred in summer bowers'! Who hath ta'en away their bloom? Who hath swept them to the tomb ? Jack Frost — Jack Frost. Who hath chased the birds so gay, Lark and linnet, all away ? Who hath hushed their joyous breath, And made the woodland still as death? Jack Frost — Jack Frost. Who hath chilled the laughing river.- Who doth make the old oak shiver? ^ Vho hath wrapped the world in snow ? Who doth make the wild winds blow 1 Jack Frost — Jack Frost. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 81 j Who doth ride on snowy drift, When the nig[ht wind 's keen and swift — O'er the land and o'er the sea — Bent on mischief — who is he ? Jack Frost — Jack Frost, Who doth strike with icy dart The way-worn traveller to the heart? Who doth make the ocean wave — The seaman's home — the seaman's grave? Jack Frost — Jack Frost. AVho doth prow-1 at midnight hour Like a thief around the door, Through each crack and crevice creeping, Through the very key-hole peeping ? Jack Frost — J ack Frost. Who doth pinch the traveller's toes ? Who doth wring the schoolboy's nose ? Who doth make your fingers tingle? Who doth make the sleigh-bells jingle? Jack Frost — Jack Frost. 82 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. THE WHIP-rOOR-WILL. There 's one among the feathered choir, Whose evening sonnet, loud and shrill, Touched off on nature's tuneful lyre, . Proclaims the name of Whip-poor-will. I love to hear its pensive song, W^hile musing on our cliff-crovi^ned hill, To hear its echo wend along. To hear its echo — Whip-poor-will. How sweet, at sunset's beauteous hour, As chastened radiance lingers still, In rural cot, or summer's bower, To catch the sound of Whip-poor-will ! While rambling forth in twilight gray, Along the mead or leaping rill How soft tlie notes on zephyrs play. The plaintive notes of Whip-poor-will . Or, when the moon, fair queen of night, With pearly beams her horn shall fill. And pour on earth her silvery light. How sweet the tones of Whip-po(»r-will ! But there 's an eve, 't is holy rest. An hour which thoughts unearthly fill — O ! then thy vespers yield a rest, Thy thrilling vespers, W^hip-poor-will. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 83 And, as I muse on truth and hfcdven, The softened note comes sweeter still, Borne trembling- on the breath of even. The softened note of Whip-poor-will. LINES FOR AN EXHIBITION. Kind friends and dear parents, we welcome you here. To our nice pleasant schoolroom, and teachers so dear ; We wish but to show you how much we have learned. And how to our lessons our hearts have been turned. But we hope you '11 remember we all are quite youngs. And when we have sjAiken, recited, and sung, You will pardon our blunders, which, as all are aware, May even extend to the President's chair. We seek your approval with hearty good will, And hope the good lessons our teachers instil May make us submissive, and gentle, and kind. As well as enlighten and strengthen the mind. For learning, we know, is more precious than gold. But the w^orth of the heart's jewels ne'er can be told ; We '11 strive, then, for virtue, truth, honor, and love, And llius lay up treasures in mansions above. 84 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Our life is a school-time ; and, till that shall end, With our Father in heaven for teacher and Iriend, O ! let us perform well each task that is given, Till our time of probation is ended in heaven. PERSEVERANCE. A SWALLOW, in the spring, Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring Wet earth, and straw, and leaves. Day after day she toiled, With patient art ; but ere her work was crowned. Some sad misliap the tiny fabric spoiled, And dashed it to the ground She found the ruin wrought ; But, not cast down, forth from the place she flew, And, with her mate, fresh earth and grasses brought. And built her nest anew. But, scarcely had she placed The last soft feather on its ample floor, When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste, And wrought the ruin o'er. But still her heart she kept, And toiled again ; — and, last night, hearing calls, 1 looked — and, lo ! three little swallows slept Within the earth-made walls. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 65 What truth is here, O Man ! Hath Hope heen smitten m its early dawn! Have ch)iids o'ercast thy purpose, trust, or plan ? Have Faith, and struggle on ! THE HOME OF MY YOUTH. Between hroad fields of wheat and corn Is the lonely home where 1 was horn ; The peach-tree leans against the wall, And the woodbine wanders over ail ; I'here is the shaded doorway still, But a stranger^ s foot has crossed the sill. There is the barn — and, as of yore, I can smell the hay from the open door And see the busy swallows throng, And hear the pewee's mournful song ; But the stranger comes — O, painful proof! His sheaves are piled to the heated roof There is the orchard — the very trees, Where my childhood knew long hours of ease, And watched the shadowy moments run, Till my life imbibed more shade than sun ; The awning from the bough still sweeps the air, But the strano;er's children are swino:inor there. 8 S6 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. There bubbles the shady spring below, With the bulrush brook, where the hazels grow ; 'Twas there 1 found the calamus root. And watched the minnow poise and shoot, And heard the robin lave its wing ; But the stranger's bucket is at the spring. LIFE. Life 's a game of hide and seek ; What is sought but few can find, Be their purpose wise or weak, Fortune, fame, or peace of mind. Many, seeking for a friend, Thinking he is found at last. On some treacherous foe depend. Who their fondest hopes will blast. Some on fortune build their trust. And the joys it can impart ; Soon the treasures turn to dust, And the joys corrode the heart. Err not thus, my little girl ; Seek the good that may be found, Not in pleasure's giddy whirl, Not on fortune's fairy ground. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 87 Be what may thy earthly lot, Seek thou for the things above ; Seek the Friend that faileth not, And the treasures of His love. ADDRESS. Weeks have passed on, and months their roses shed, And some dear friends been numbered with the dead, Since last in these loved walls 't was ours to trace The cheering smiles of each remembered face, Dear to our grateful hearts, to Science dear. Whom Learning loves, and Virtue bids revere. The flowers of sunruner, that were late in bloom, Have shed their leaves, and souo^ht their wintry tomb ; The leaves of autumn tremble on the gale, And sighs of sadness steal along the vale, The harbingers of that more chilling hour When Charity's warm hand her gifts display, To chase the wants of misery away. Again you come your kindness to diffuse. To wake the genius of the slumbering muse, O'er learning's path to shed your welcome ray, Tc 3heer young genius, brightening into day, To warm our hearts, to kindle proud desire, And bid our hopes to virtue's heights aspire 88 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Your presence animates our youthful views, Your kindness aids us and our love renews. What shall I say? — words linger on my tongue -- Our Teacher's thanks, the praises of the young. Are yours, to-day, for benefits bestowed (3n learning's path and virtue's sacred road. While our best thanks are to your kindness due, Siill be it ours improvement to pursue, To tread the paths of science and of truth, And add new virtue to advancing youth. While other nations mourn departing day, And weep in vain o'er learning's vanished ray, — While Greece looks out with half despairing eye, To hail the sun that warmed her elder sky, — While barren realms in desolation wait For some kind favors from according fate, — Here learning spreads her choicest treasures free Of present worth, and honors yet to be. May we partake the banquet she bestows. And drink the stream of science as it flows. May each advancing year our minds behold Advance in knowledge, and to worth unfold ; More gentle grow from pleasing day to day. And thus your kindness and your care repay Our task is done — the lesson of to-day ! May the next lead us on a brighter way ; Each mental step rise higher from earth's sod, And the last brinfj us to the throne of God ! PAUT III. DIALOGUES. MENTAL IMPROVEMENT. Almtra. Sure, my dear Mary, 'tis a pleasing^ scene, Where youthful virtue spreads its joys serene, When childhood strives in learning to improve And follows science fronn esteem and love. In all the regions of terrestrial bliss, Where is the pleasure half so pure as this T Mary. Yes, and how many children are denied | The high advantages to us supplied ! — - I How many, do«.>med in ignorance to pine. Want charms that make the soul still more divine . 8* 90 thp: little speaker. Almirx. Yet I am told that some are pleased to say, Our steps in learning's realm are led astray. There is no need, they say, that we should know How many oceans round this world may flow — How many hrilliant planets, hung on high. Trace their bright orbits through the vaulted sky ; Nor will it help to boil our tea, we 're told. That we should know what causes heat and cold. Mary. Yet will it aid in many an untried scene. When doubts may press and troubles intervene, To knov*' the philosophic cause of things. And whence each incident and error springs. If our young minds are with good learning stored, And all the aids that science can afford. Almira. Then must our friends admire, while they approve, That we make truth the object of our love, And take pure science and the gentle arts, Instead of vanity, to our young hearts. Mary But most they say, our speahng has no use, And only serves to make our morals loose. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 91 Almira. Nay, if it makes us more iiitent to please, Gives our minds freec^jm and our manners ease, P^or harder studies heightens our regard, With Uttle harm it brings a good reward. Mary. Then since our friends liave sou2:ht so much to find Tiie highest arts to store oar youthful mind, O ! let us seek with grateful hearts to show How much we love^ if not how much we know, Almika. Accept, then, guardians of our youthful minds, The thanks that real candor ever finds. 'Tis by your provident and fosteiin^" care That we the stores of worth and learninij share. Then, while we strive in science to excel, May we obtain the praise of doino- well ; And, though in many things we fail to please, May all our future joys be pure as these ; May peace and pleasure to this life be given. And to the next the higher bliss of heaven. 92 THE LITTLE SPEAKER CHOICE OF HOUIIS Father. I LOVE to walk at twiligrht, When sunset nobly dies, And see the parting splendor That lightens up the skies, And call up old lemembrances, Deep, dim as evening gloom, Or look to heaven's promises. Like starlight on a tomb. Laura. I love the hour of darkness, When 1 give mvself to sleep. And I think that holy angels Their watch around me keep. My dreams are light and happy. As I innocently lie, For my mother's kiss is on my cheek. And my father's- step is nigh. Mart. I love the social afternoon, When lessons all are said. Geography is laid aside, And grammar put to bed ; THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 93 Then a walk upon the Batiery, With a friend, is very sweet, And some money for an ice-cream, To give that friend a treat. I\IuTII£R. I love the Sabhath eveninfr. When my loved ones sit around, And tell of all their feeiinn-s By hope and fancy crowned ; And thoug-h some plants are missing In that sweetly thou^^htf'.il hour, I would not call them back again To earth's decaymg bower. WHAT IS MOST BEAUTIFUL? A Dialogue for eight little Girls. SrsAN. The stars that jrem the brow of night Are very beautiful and brio-ht ; They look upon us, from the skies, With such serene and holy eyes, That I have fondlv deemed them worlds Where Joy her banner never furls. What marvel, then, that 1 should love The stars that shine so briijht abovel 94 THE LITTLE Sl'EAKER. Ellen. The moon that sails serenely through The skies of evening, deeply hlue, Perhaps half hidden from the eye By some dark cloud that wanders by. Yet shines with mellow light and pale, Like some fair face beneath a veil, Appears more beautiful to me Than all the stars 1 nightly see. Mary. The golden sun that rises bright, And dissipates the gloom of night, Is beautiful, and brighter far Than is the largest evening star ; Its light at morning, or at noon, Exceeds the brightness of the moon. The world indeed were very sad Without its beams so w^arm and glad. Hannah. The merry birds upon the wing, That all day long so sweetly sing, And, when the stilly evening comes, Are sleeping in their leafy homes, With plumage yellow, red, and gold. Are very pretty to behold. I love to listen to their airs — The) drive away my gloomy cares. THE LITTLE SPEAKEK. 95 Maria. The brooks that through the meadows go, And sing with voices sweet and lo'W, Ar6 beautiful to look upon, As gladly on their ways they run ; The tiny fishes gayly swim Their bosoms fair and clear within, And flowers, that on their margins grow. Look down to see themselves below. Ann. The flowers that blossom everywhere, And with their fragrance scent the air, Are fairer than the birds or brooks, With their serene and modest looks ; And though they have no voices sweet, Like birds and brooks, our call to greet, Yet in their silence they reveal Sucli lessons as the heart can feel. Sarah. But there is something brighter far Than sun, or m.oon, or twinkling star; And fairer than a bird or brook. Or floweret with its pleasant look : It is a simple little child, Whose heart is pure and undefiled ; And they who love their parents well In loveliness all thinors excel. 96 THE LITTLE SPEAKED . Martha. The sun, the moon, the stars of nij?ht, And birds, and brooks, and blossoms bright, With ricliest cbarms are ever full — With us Iheij are the beautiful ; But little children, who are good, Whose tender feet have never stood In pathvt^ays by the sinful trod — They are the beautiful with God I THE SEASONS. Jan^e. I LOVE the SprinjT, when slumbering buds Are wakei^ed into birth ; When joy and gladness seem to run So freely o'er the earth. Charles. I love the Summer, when the flowers Look beautiful and bright ; When I can spend the leisure hours With hoop, and ball, and kite. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 97 Geokge. I love the Autumn, when the trees With fruit are bending low ; When I can reach the luscious pluma Tliat hang upon the bough. Fkank. I love to have the Winter come, When 1 can skate, and slide, And hear the noise of merry sleighs That swiftly by us glide. Anna. I love the seasons in their round ; Each has delights for me ; Wisdom and love in all are found ; God's hand in each I see. Mother. You Ve right, my child ; remember hiis^ As seasons pass away, And each revolving year will bring You nearer heavenly day. 98 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. CHILDREN S WISHES. Susan. I WISH I was a little bird, Among the leaves to dwell ; To scale the sky in gladness, Or seek the lonely dell ; — My matin song should celebrate The glory of the earth, And my vesper hymn ring gladly With the trill of careless mirth. Emily. I wish I were a floweret, To blossom in the grove ; I 'd spread my opening leaflets Among the plants I love; — No hand should roughly cull me, And bid my odors fly ; 1 silently would ope to life, And quietly would die. Jane. i wish ] was a go.'d-fisb. To seek itie sunny v»3ve. To part the gentle ripple, A nd 'mid its coolness lave ; THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 99 I 'd glide throufrh day deliglited, Beneath tlie azure sky, And when nio^ht can^e on in snfiness, Seek the starlight' s milder eye. IMOTHER. Hush! hush! romantic prattlers ! ^ou know not what you say. When soul, the crov/n of mortals, You would lightly throw away : AVnat is the songster's warble, And the floweret's blush refined, To the noble thought of Deity Within your opening mind ? GENEROSITY, Brother. Dear sister, only look, and see This nice red apple I have here ; 'Tis lar2"e enough for you and me, So come and help me eat it, dear! Sister. No, brother, no ! 1 should be glau, If you had more^ to share with you, But only one — 't would be to^ bad ! Eat it alone, dear brother, do . 100 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Brother. No, no ! there 's quite enough for iwo, And it would taste so much more sweet, If I should eat it, dear, with you — Do take a part now, 1 entreat ! Well, so T will ! and when I get An apple sweet and nice like this, I 'm sure that I shall not forget To give you, dear, a fine large piece THE ANGELS. Mary. Sister Emma, can you tell Where the holy angels dwell? Is it very, very high. Up ahove the moon and sky ? Emma. Holy angels, sister dear, Dwell with little children here, Every night and every day ; With the good they always stay. THE LITTLE SPEAK b:R. 101 Mary. .Yet I never see them con\e Never know when tiiey 0:0 home, Never hear them speak to me - Sister dear, how can it be ? Emma. Mary, did you never hear Somethinfj whisper in your ear, ** Don't be naughty — never cry — God 13 lookmg from tiie sky !'* Mary. Yes indeed ! and it must be That 's the way they talk to me ; Those are j'jst the words they say, Many times in every day. Emma. And they kindly vv'atch us, too, When the fl owners are wet with dew ; When we are tired and go to sleep, Angels then our slumbers keep. Kvpry night and every day, When we work and when we play, God's good angels watch us still, Keeping us from every iil. 1 102 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. When we 're good, they 're glad ; When we 're naughty, they 're sad ; Should we very wicked grow, Then away from us they go. Mary. ! I would not have them go, 1 do love the angels so ; I will never naughty be, So they '11 always stay with me. ABOUT SCHOOL. Ellen. The sky is cloudless, sister, The balmy air is sweet. The echo gently murmurs Each word it would repeat. The clock is striking, sister, And we must leave this spot, To con dry lessons o'er. Which study-hours allot. But, 0, how pleasant, sister. If school-days were but o'er ! Then we again would never Learn these dry lessons more. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 103 Anna. But we are young now s\stei • How little do we know ! We 'd wish to learn more, surely, Before v/e older grow. The birds are singing, sister, The bnlmy air is sweet ; We lovt ^s gentle breathing, And the songster's song to greet. But how long, think you, sister^ Before we each should tire Of all these scenes of beauty Which now we so admire ? Do you remember, sister, What father said to-day — That study gave a relish, And sweeter made our }4ay? Then should we murmur, sister Or yet in sadness grieve, Were we our pastimes ever For study called to leave ? ' Ellen. O, yes. I see, now, sister, That all the fault was mine • I thought not of the future^ But of the prescTiX time. 104 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Yes, yo^i are right, my sister, No more time we will lose ; To school, then, we will hasten, And there our time improve. LITTLK LUCY AND HER MOTIJEK Lucy. MOTHER ! may I go to school With brother Charles to-day? The air is very soft and cool — Do, mother, say I may. 1 heard you say, a week ago, That 1 was growing fast ; 1 want to learn to read and sew — 1 'm four years old and past. ]MOTirER. Well, little Ijiicy, you may. go, }( you will he quite siitl ; 'T is wrong to make a noise, you know- I do not think you will. He sure and do what you are told ; And, when the school is done, Of brother Charley's hand take hold, And he will lead you home. THE LITTLE SPEi*KER. 103 Lucy. Yes, mother, I will try to be, O, very good indeed ; I '11 take the book you gave to mc, And all the letters read. And I will take my patchwork, too, And try to learn to sew ; Please, mother, tie my bonnet blue, For it is time to go. [Exeunt, and Mary enteis.] Mary. Perhaps the little girls and boys Will like to have me tell, If little Lucy made a noise. Or whether she did well. And I am very glad to say That Lucy sat quite still ; She did not whisper, laugh, or pl*y, As naughty children will. 106 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Win WATCHES OVER US? {The following ma^- ^*^ read, spoken, or sung, by two c asses, alternately.] First Class. Little schoolmates, can you tell Who nas l.ept us safe and well Through the watches of the nip-ht? — Brought us safe to see the light ? Second Class. Yes, it is our God does keep Little children while they sleep ; He has kept us safe from harm, 'Let as sleep so sweet and calm. First Class. Cm\ you tell who gives us foo(1, Clothes, and home, and parents good, Schoolmates dear, and teachers kind, Useful books, and active mind ? Second Class. • Yes, our heavenly Fatljer's care Gives us all we eat and wear ; All our books, and all our friends, God, in kindness, to us sends. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 107 All. O, then, let us thankful be For his mercies larjre and free ! Every morning let us raise Our young voices in liis praise. THE CREATOR, Mary. Mother, vi^ho made the sun and moon, Which give such pleasant light? To shine by day, the brighter one, The lesser one by night 1 Wixci made the flovi^er, the grass, the tree, The river, and the brook ? Who made the many things I see, Whene'er abroad I look ? Mother. *T was God, my child, made all you see ; He lives in heaven above ; I'htj world is his — an^^ you and n>e He looks upon In love. — _ . ^ — ^ 108 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. I He holds the stars, the sun and moon, Flach in their proper place ; He makes them shine at night, at noon, The emblems of his face. The river, and the rippling brook, The trees, the grass, the flower, And all the things whereon we look, Came by his mighty power. Then learn, my child, this God to love, Whose mighty power you see — He sits enthroned in heaven above, God of Eternity ! THE EVENING STAR, Ellen. MOTHER ! tell me of this star That every night I see. From its blue home, so high and far, Look brightly down on me ! Is it the kindly angel Power That is forever near, To guide and guard me in the hour Of danger and of tear ? THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 109 Is it the heaven to which we go When life is passed away ; Whose joys the good alone can know, Who love to watch and pray i Or, is it some resplendent gem — Or, an archangel's eye ? Or, the glory of the diadem Of Him w^ho rules the sky ? Mother. It is, my child, the evening star — One of the pure lights given To drive the gloomy darkness far, And beautify the even ! Less bright than gems that b-ngels wear, 'Tis but a world like this ; And myriad beings wander there, Like us, in woe or bliss. Wait a brief time, till life is o'er, And you shall rise on high, And, with an angel's pinions, soar Thiough all the starry sky. If good and pure, till in death's night To slumber you lie down. Brighter than all those g*ems of light Shall be your starry crown ! 10 110 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. GOING TO SCHOOL. BIOTIIER. Wi jLie, it is half-past eight, And I fear you will be late ; Don't forget your teacher's rule ; Take your hat, and run to school. Willie. Mother, I am tired to-day, Let me stay at home, I pray ; The air is warm, and close, and thick, And, really, I am almost sick. Mother. Your cheek is red, your eye is bright, Your hand is cool, your step is light ; At breakfast time you ate your fill — How can it be that you are ill ] Willie. True, mother, I 'm not ill enough To take my bed, or doctor's stuff; But yet at home pray let me stay, — I want to run about and play. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Ill Mother. Ah ! that 's the thing. Now, let me see Next June you nine years old will be ; And if you often stay at home, What of your learning will become ? Willie. Bnt just this once — I shall not stay At home another single day ; I do not think 't will make a fool To st3.y just once away from school. IMOTHER. Stay once, and it is very plain You '11 wish to do the same again ; I 've seen a little teazing dunce, Whose cry was always, Just this once ! Willie. A day 's but a short time, you know — I shall learn little, if I go ; Besides, I 've had no time at all To try my marules and my ball. Mother. The bee gains little from a flower — A stone a day will raise a tower ; Yet the hive is filled, the tower is done, If steadily the work goes on. 112 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Have you forgot that weary day You stayed at home from school to play^ How often you went in and out, And how you fretted all about? Then think how gay you laugh and run When school is o'er, and work is done ; There 's nothing fills the heart wdth joy Like doing as we should^ my boy ! Willie. Yes, mother, you are right, 'tis plain ; I shall not ask to stay again ; I will not — - no, not even for once — Leave school for play, and be a dunce. THE TREE AND ITS FRUIT. Charles. Down in the garden, close by the wall, There stands a tree ; it is very tall — Its leaves are green — it seems to be, In every respect, a goodly tree. But I tasted its fruit — and, 0, dear me ! I tliought no more of that beautiful tree — The face that I made would have raised a laugh For wormwood was never so bitter by half. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 113 David. The tree, you will find, is known by its fruit And not by its leaves, its branches, or root ; For often we see that trees outwardly fair The very quintessence of bitterness bear. x\nd thus may we judge, by the actions of me:^ Of the heart that is hidden so deeply within ; J5y the actions, my friend^ aCid not by the faos, Or the beautiful language of sweetness and grace, Charles. Well, I think it is true ; but 1 never should dream That a tree could so much like a hypocrite seem ; Stretching out its green arms to the glorious sky, As though it were asking for wings to fly. And all the while, on its dark green bouglis, Such crabbed, and bitter, and sour fruit grows ; I shudder to think of the taste that I took, And henceforth shall judge of the tree by \\sfiiut. 10* ^14 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. THE PRETTIEST SIGHT. Mother and seven Children. Mother. v.'oME, children, your mother is waiting ibi you, -^ Come one — come all ; and now tell me true, In the various places where you have been, The prettiest sight that you ever have seen. John. Why, mother, I think the most beautiful siirht Are the soldiers, all clad in their armor so bright, — The tall, waving plume, and the gay epaulette, Is the prettiest sight I have ever seen yet. Charles. They look well enough, brother Johnny ; but I Saw a prettier sight on the Fourth of July ; 'T was the circus-men riding their horses of gray — No soldiers were ever so pretty as they. Susan. Dear mother, I think the most beautiful sight Is the pure silver moon on a clear summer's night, With a host of bright stars, like the train of a queen ; 'T is the prettiest sight that I ever have seen. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 115 William. I like the high mountain that kisses the sky, Where the eagle looks down with his daik, piercing eye ; x\nd I love tlir hroad river, and cataract's roar, And the waves that roll up on the smooth, sandy shore. Bess. I went with two cents to buy dolly a dress, A nd what think I saw ? I know you can't guess ; 'T was a red sugar horse! such a beautiful one That I bought it, asd ate it, — so now it is gone. Lucy. Well, mother . I think the most beautiful things Are the dear little birds, with their soft, shining wings ; When they sing on the trees, and the branches are green, 'Tis the prettiest sight that I ever have seen. Mary. I, too, love the notes of the dear little bird, But they are not the sweetest I ever have heard ; T am glad when they come to the tall green trees, But I think there are prettier sights than these. On a sweet Sabbath morning, so balmy and cool. To see children come to our own Sabbath-school, So constant as never a lesson to miss — I know of no prettier sight than this. 116 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. All. Now, mother, dear mother, wherever you 've beenj Pray tell us the prettiest sight you have seen. Mother. Well, children, your mother loves not to behold The soldier's bright armor that glitters like gold ; For she thinks of the holy commandment of God, That long since forbade us to shed human blood. And the poor circus-horses — I often have been Where there are far prettier sights to be seen ; But one thing I 'm sure, — if those horses could speak, We should find them ashamed of the company they keep. I think, with dear Susan, the moon in the sky, On a clear summer's night, presents to the eye A beautiful picture, displaying abroad The wonderful goodness and glory of God. And, William, my dear son, in the cataract's roar, And the waves that roll up on the smooth sandy shore, W"e see the great power of Him, in whose eye Not even a sparrow unnoticed shall die. And what shall I say to my dear little Bess, Who, spending her money, robbed do 1 of her dress? [ think she has learned the good lesson to-day, That red sugar horses soon gallop away. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 117 Yes, lucy, the birds, with their soft, shining wings, Are among our Creator's most glorious things ; They feing to His praise on the green waving trees ; — Let the children unite in anthems like these. But, children, your dear sister Mary is right — Mother never has seen a more beautiful sight. On the sea or the sky, in the field or the wood, Than a circle of children all happy and good. THE WAY TO GAIN LOVE. Mary. Sarah ! how I wish that a fair}' would give me a charm that would cause every- body to love me ! Sarah, Why, Mary, are you not loved al- ready ? I am *=5ure I love you. Marij. Yes, I know that you love me, and my parents love me ; but there are several girls in our school who say they do not like me, and I am sure I do not know why it is so. Sarah. I am sorry to hear you say so^ Alary. Are you very certain that you have done nothing to induce them to dislike you ? Mary. I do not know that I have. lis THE LIITLE SPEAKER. Sarah, Are you always pleasant and kind; and do you try to oblige them and to assist tliem ? Mary. Why, I cannot say that I am always pleasant, for they sometimes vex me and make me angry, Sarah, Which, of all your schoolmates, do you love the best, Mary ? Mary, Why, Clara Jacobs, to be sure. 1 love her more than any other, and I think all the scholars love her. I never heard any one speak against her. Sarah, Well, can you tell why you and others love Clara so much? Mary, You would not ask that question if you knew her, Sarah. She is so kind, so amia- ble, and so gentle, that one cannot help loving her. I never saw her angry in my life, and I never heard her speak unkindly. She seems to love everybody, and she is loved by all. She is always cheerful and happy. Sarah. It seems, then, that Clara is a good girl, and beloved because she is good. Now, if you will imitate her, you will have as many friends as she has. Be kind, be pleasant, be obliging, be cheerful, and you will be happy, and be loved by all who know^ you. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 119 Mary. Well, Sarah, I think there is some- thing in what you say, and I will henceforth t7'y to be and do as you advise ; and I hope I shall never complain if others do not love me, for I feel satisfied that, if I am disliked, it must he on account of some fault of my own. If I am truly good, I think I shall be truly happy. Sarah I think you are right there ; and if you will only act accordingly, you will be one of the happiest and most beloved scholars in school. Mary, I will certainly try to do right, and I thank you for your kind and good advice. ABOUT ORDER. Ellen. I wish you would lend me your thim- ble, Eliza, for I cannot find mine, and I never can when I want it. Eliza. And why, Ellen, can you not find It ? Ellen. I am sure I cannot tell; but you need not lend me yours unless you choose, for I can borrow of somebody else. Eliza. I am perfectly willing to lend it to you, Ellen ; but I should like to know why you 120 THE LITTLE SPEAKER . always come to me to borrow, when you have lost anything ? Wlen. Because you never lose your things, and always know just where to find them. Eliza. And how do you think that I always know where to find my things ? Ellen. How can I tell ? If I knew, I might sometimes contrive to find my own. Eliza. I wdll tell you the secret, if you will hear it. It is this — I have a " place for ever}^- thing, and keep everything in its place ;" and then I know just where to find anything I may wish to use. Ellen. Well, /never can find time to put my things away; and, besides, who wants, as soon as she has used a thing, to have to run and put it away, as though one's life depended upon it ? Eliza. Your life does not depend upon it, Ellen, but your convenience does ; and let me ask, how much more time it will take to put a thing in its proper place, than to hunt after it when it is lost, or to borrow of your friends ? Ellen. Well, Eliza, I will never borrow of you again, that is certain. Eliza. Why, I hope you are not offended. Ellen. Certainly not; but I am ashamed, and I THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 121 j 1 am determined, henceforth, to adopt your rule, l and " have a 'place for everything^ and to keep I everything in its plarx,^"' HOW TO BE HAPPY. Ann. Lucy, where did you go yesterday af- ternoon ? Lucy. I went to visit my Aunt Walden, and did not return until this morning. Ann, Why, you made quite a visit. I think you must have had a good time. Lncy. 0, yes ; I always have a good time when I go there, and I love to stay as long as 1 can. Ann. And why do you enjoy yourself so much there, Lucy ? Lncy. O, it is a very pleasant place. Ann. I suppose they have a nice garden, with fine fruit and flowers, and many other interest- ing things. Lucy. Indeed they have ; but that is not what I care so much about. \l 122 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. An^. What is it, then, that makes you so happy there ? Lucy. \Yhy, they are so kind, and pleasant, and cheeriul, that one cannot help feehng happy with them. I am sure you would love them, if you only knew them. A?m. I almost feel that I love. them now. Lucy. They tell a great many interesting stories and sing songs ; and really I enjoy my visits there very much. Auji. What songs do you sing ? Lucy. We sung a very pretty one this morn- ing about the sun while it was shining there so brightly. A'/in. You don't think the sun shines brighter there than anywhere else, do you ? L7icy. It seemed so to me, although I knew it did not. A'un. I suppose it was because the song was about the sun. Lucy. Ves, I suppose it was. I do not mean to tell you anything that is not true; but, really, their puss Tabby and their dog Skip are the hap- piest animals I ever saw. Ann. They have not taught the cat and dog to love each other, have they ? THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 123 Jjucy. All I can say is, that Tabby and Skip are very peaceful and loving in their way. Aivi, It must be a delightful place. Liicy. 1 have often wondered, after being at Aunt Walden's, why everybody else cannot live in love and peace as they do. Ann, Well, ivhat is the reason ? Lucy. It seems to me there is nothing to hin- der, if people only feel like it. Ann, That is easy enough, surely. Lucy. Yes, and the wonder is, that when a thing is so easy and desirable, every one does not choose it. THE WORLD. Helen. Did you know, sister, that this world was round ? Sarah. Why, yes, Helen, I knew it a great while ago ; and it keeps turning round all the time, too. Helen. Where does it turn to ? I should think it would joggle sometimes so that we should feci it. 124 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Sarah, O, no, sis ; it goes right round in the air, and there is nothing for it to joggle against. Helen. 1 don't see what k^eps it going. Don't it stop sometimes ? Sarah. O, no, it caiit stop, for mother says God keeps it moving along all the time. Helen. I should think he would o^et tired sometimes, and let it stop. » Sarah. God is never tired, Helen; mother says he can hold this world in his hand just as easy as I can hold an apple. Helen. Well, I should thmk he must be a very great God to do that. Sarah, He is a great God, and a good God, too. Helen, Did you ever see him, sister? Sarah. O, no, I never saw him ; but my Sun- day-school teacher says that we shall all see him when we die, as we shall go to heaven and live with him, if we are good. Helen. I think I shall be afraid of such a great being as you say God is. Sarah. No, we shall not be afraid, for God loves children ; and when he takes them up to heaven, he makes them very happy. Helen. Then we ought to try to be very good, TJIK LITTLE SPEAKER. 125 so that he may never be offended with us. I will pray to him every day, and ask him to lead me in the right way. Sarah. If you do so, Helen, he will surely guide 3^ou, and make you happy. TRUTHFULNESS AND HONESTY. Lizzie [alone,) There, it is almost school time, and I have not learned my lesson yet; how provoking that I must go to school this morning ! Kate [enters.) Good morning, Lizzie ! Are you not going to school ? Lizzie. Yes, I suppose so ; but I have not learned my lesson. Kate. O ! I am sorry. But whj have xi\ you learned it ? Lizzie. Because L have not had any time; but I know what I will do. Kate. Ah, that is the general excuse of school- girls, that they have n't had time to get their les- sons ; but what is it you are going to do ? I should think by your looks that you were going to do something very strange. 11* 126 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Lizzie. Nor so very strange either ; but can't you guess ? Kate. To be sure I can guess — but what is it? I am not very good at guessing. Lizzie. Yielly you know Jane Moore stands beside me in our class, and I shall get her to tell me. But to be on the sure side, I shall see what question is coming to me, and I shall learn the ansvs^er to tkat^ and if any other question com.es to me, Jane can tell me. Kate. But perhaps Jane will not tell you, and then — Lizzie. 0, yes, she will ; for I shall carr}^ her some apples, and then I kmnv she will. Kate. But think a moment ; do you think that would be right ? Should you ever dare look in your teacher's face again ? Lizzie. ! as to that, I should not let ker find it out ? • Kate. But should you feel happy, while yoa •were deceiving your parents and teacher ? Lizzie. 0! I do not intend to deceive my pareiits ; and, besides, if my mother w^ould let me stay at home to-day, I should not deceive any one. Kate. But would your mother do right in THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 127 letting you stay at home, if she knew your rea- son for wishing to ? Lizzie. Why, no, — I don't suppose she would be doing right, Kate, Well, you do not wish your mother to do wrongs do you ? Lizzie, 0, no indeed ! Kate, Vou said a little while ago you did not intend to deceive your parents; but they suppose, of course, that you are learning your lessons in school, and reciting them properly, and if you do not, is it not deceiving them ? Lizzie, Why, yes; but 1 never thought so before. Kate, Because you never thought about it, I suppose ; but I have one question more to ask you, and I wish you w^ould answer it. Can you be happ}'' if you deceive your teacher, by doing as you said you intended to do ? Lizzie, I will answer you truly, Kate. I shall not be happy, if I do so. When I go to school I will study my lesson all the time till my class recites, and then, if I have not learned it, I will tell our teacher the true reason, and learn the rest at recess or after school. Kate, Do so, dear Lizzie, and you will be 128 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. much happier than if you deceived her. But, come, it is school time, and we must run aiong. or we shall be late. SPEAKING PIECES. CJiarles, I am glad to see you, dear Robert, for I want to talk with you about our school and teacher. Robert, Well, Charley, what have 3^ou to say about them ? Do you not think we have a pleas- ant school and kind teacher ? Charles. Why, yes, I do not know but that we have a good school and a pleasant teacher, but there are some thino^s that 1 do not like, and I wish we did not have anything to do with them in our school. Robert. And what are those things which yoii dislike, Charles ? Perhaps it may be your own fault that you do not like them. Charles, One thing I dislike very much is '' speaking pieces ;" and you know our teacher wishes us to learn and speak some piece every week. ^ . ^ THE LITTT.E SPEAKER. 129 Robert Well, Charles, why does she wish us to do so ? You speak as though she intended it as a XMiiishineiit ; hut have you never considered that she wishes it for our good ^ Our teacher will never require us to do anything that will injure us, I am sure. Charles. I do not suppose she wishes to do us any harm, or to trouble us ; but really, 1 cannot see what good it will do us to declaim. Robert. 1 feel, Charles, that it Vvill do us much good. In the first place, it will improve our minds and strengthen our memories to leai^ii pieces; and then, if we speak with proper care, it will be of great benefit to tis; — it will aid us in our read- ing lessons. Charles, Perhaps it may do a little good in these particulars ; but I can read well enough now. Robert, I fear you deceive yourself, Charles ; for I think there is not a scholar in school who reads well enough. It is not enough to be able to read fast and call the words rapidly. Charles, I should like to know, then, what you consider good reading. Robert. I think we should read slow, speak our words distinctly, and pay proper attention to 130 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. the marks of punctuation, and give proper em- php^sis and inflection. To read well, we shou'd understand what we t-i-ad, and feel an interest in it. Unless we feel interested ourselves, we sha'l not interest those who listen to us. If we com- mit a piece to memory, we shall be more likely to understand its meaning; and then we can better interest others in it. If you will learn a few pieces thormtghly^ and speak earnestly^ you will soon be pleased with this and all other exercises that our teacher requires. Charles. Well, Robert, I know that you are generally right, and that I may safely follow your advice. I will therefore try to feel that speaking pieces is useful, and I hope I shall soon feel in- terested in it. B.obcrt. You certainly loill, if you persevere, Charles. Only remember, " Whatever is ivor h doing at alL is worth doing iveliy Charles, I think that is an excellent maxim ; and if we all remember it, and act accordingly, we shall do much better than we have done. r™ ■ 1 THE LITTLE SPEAKER., 131 > INDUSTRY PROMOTES HAPPINESS. Alice. 0, clear, dear ! how tired 1 am ! I wish this work was done, and I could go and play. I don't think mother does right to make me se'v so much. Ellen {enters.) Why, Alice, what are you scolding about? How can you look so cross this beautiful morning ? Alice. Well, I guess you would look cross, too, if you had to sew as much as I do; it is nothing but work, work, work, from morning till night. 1 am sure 1 don't see the use of all these stitches. Ellen. Neither do I, and I often tell mother so ; but she always says that people are not sent into the world to live idly, and. that the mere in- dustrious we are, the happier we shall be. For V2y part, I don't believe any such doctrine, and I never work when I can possibly help it. I would n't make such a slave of myself as Julia Adams does, for ail California. Why, you never see her at home without a needle in her hand. Julia {enters.) 0, no, girls! you are luite mistaken there ; — I have plenty of time tc eat, ani sie^p, -jind play, and read. 132 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Alice, Why, Julia, where did you come fro.n, ! and how long have you heen here ? I Julia, Only a few minutes * but you were talking so earnestly, that 1 didn't like to inter- rupt you till I heard my own name mentioned, and then I thought it time to interfere. And, in the first place, Ellen, I want to know what au- thority you have for saying that I make a slave of myself. Ellen, Why, you are always sewing, — morn- ing, noon, and night, when you are not in school, — and if that is not making one's self a slave, 1 don't know what is. Julia. AVell, I mitst say, that if the slaves, that people talk of so much now-a-days, have as easy and happy a life as I do, I don't see the use of making such a fuss about them. I only sew four hours a day, and very pleasant hours they are, too , for mother sits with me, and we have such nice talks. Alice, Four hours a day ! Why, I shouldn't think you could lind work enough to do in all that time. Julia, My dear Alice, if you had gone where f went the other day, you would not wonder that 1 can find work enoui^h. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 133 Ellen, Where was it, Julia ? Do tell us about it. Jidia. I will, Ellen, if you and Alice will promise to go with me to the same place to-mor- row. Ellen. Well, I promise; don't 3^ou, Alice ? Alice. Certainly, for I am all curiosity to hear Julia's story. Julia. 01 it is not much of a story, and per- haps you will not be as much interested in it as I was ; but at any rate, it is true. I was walking with mother last Monday, when we met a little rag-ged girl crying bitterly. Mother stopped and asked Vv'hat was the matter. She said that her - mother was very sick, and she was afraid she would die. ^lother asked her to show us where she lived, and we followed her to an old house near the bridge. The room into which she led us was the most miserable place I ever sav/. It had hardly any furniture except an old bedstead and two or three chairs. The poor v/oman was lying on the bed, and two little girls vvere stand- ing beside her. Slother spol^e to her about her sickness ; and she said she had worked very hard lately, and that morning, in trying to geX up, had fainted; **but," said she, "if 1 cannot work, my 13 134 THE LITTLE SPEAKEK. children must starve." We were there some time ; and before we came away, mother told her that she would see that she was made comfortable, and asked if she would not like to send her children to school. " O, yes !" said she, " but they have nothing decent to wear." Only think of it! they could not go to school because they had nothing but rags to wear. When we came home, mtOther told me that, if I would like to, I might make some dresses for them. So she has cut them out, and by to-morrow I shall finish them; and 1 do long for to-morrow, the little girls will be so pleased with their new dresses. Mother has been to see them since, and she says the woman Is better, and the children are delighted at the idea of going to school. EIIoL, How many of them are there, Julia ? jidia. There are three girls and one boy. Ellen. I I wish I could do sometlting for them Alice, So do I. Poor little things, how I pity them ! I will never be so wicked again, as to think there is nothing for me to do. Jidia. Well, girls, I will tell you what wc can do. We w^ill ask our mothers to cut out some ''AXilQ dresses and aprons, and then v/e vilJ meet THE LITTl E SPEAKER. 135 together and work; for mother says there nre a great many people as poor and ragged as <■] ose I have told you about. Ellen. I should like to do so very much , an 1 I know mother will be willing, for she often says i she wishes I was more industrious. Alice, 1 agree to it with all my heart; and I think we might begin this very day, don't you ? Julia. Yes ; and if you will both come to our house this afternoon, I will have some work ready ; and to-morrow we will all ^o to see the poor \vom.an. So good-by, and don't forget to comxe. Alice. No, indeed, I guess / shan't, Ellen. Not I. Both. Good -morning, Julia i THE LITTLE PHILOSOPHER. Mr L. Qooking at the boy, and admiring kis ruddy , chterfid countenance.) I th.ank you, my good lad ! you have caught my horse very clev- erly. What shall i give you for your trouble ? (Fi citing kis hand into kis pocket.) 136 THE LITTLE SPEAIvER. Boy. 1 want nothing, sir. Mr. L. Don't you ? so much the better foi vou. Few m@fi can say as much. But pray what were you doing in the field ? Boy. I was' rooting up weeds, and tending the sheep that are feeding on the turnips, and keeping the crows from the corn. Mr. L. And do you like this employment ? Boy. Yes, sir, very well, this fine weather. Mr. L. But had you not rather play ? Boy. This is not hard work; it is abnost as good as play. Mr. L. Who sent you to work ? Boy. My father, sir. Air. L. Where does he live ? Boy. Just by, among the trees there, sir. Mr. L. What is his name ? Boy. Thomas Hurdle, sir. Mr. L. And what is yours ? Boy. Peter, sir. Mr. L. How old are you ? Boy. I shah be eight at Michaelmas. Mr. L. How long have vou been om ni this field ? Boy. Ever since six m the morning, sir. Mr. L. A nd are you not hungry ? THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 137 Boy Yes, ^ir ; I shall go to my dinner soon. Mr. L. If you had sixpence now, what would yon do with it? Boy. I don't know; _ r.ever had so much in my life. Ah. L. Have you no playthings? Boy. Playthings ! what are they ? Mr. L. Such as balls, ninepins, marbles, tops, and 'wooden horses. Boy. No, sir; but our Tom makes footboJls to kick in cold weather, and we set traps for birds ; and then I have a jumpirig-pole, and a pair of stilts to walk through the dirt with ; and i had a hoop, but it is broken. Mr. L. And do you want nothing else ? Boy. No, sir; I have hardly time for those ; for I always ride the horses to the field, and bring up the cows, and run to the town on er- rands ; and these are as good as play, you know. Mr. L. Well, but you could bay apples or gingerbread at the town, I suppose, if you had money. Boy. Ol I can get apples at home; and as for gingerbread, I don't ixiind it much, for mv rnotlKT gives me a piece of pie, nov/ and then, and that is as good. 12* 138 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Mr. L, Would you not like a knife to cut si 'cks ? Bf/i/, I have one — here it is; — brother Tom gave it to me. Mr^ L. Your shoes are full of holes — don't you v^ant a better pair ? Boy. I have a better pair for Sundays. Mr, L. But these let in water. Boy. I don't care for that ; they let it out again. Mr. L. Your hat is all torn, too. Boy, I have a better hat at home ; but 1 had as lief have none at ail. for it hurts my head. Mr. L. What do you do when it rains ? Boy. If it rains very hard, I get under the hedge till it is over. Mr. L. What do you do when you are hun gry before it is time to go home ? Boy. I sometimes eat a raw turnip, Mr. L. But if there are none ? Boy. Then I do as well as i can ; I work oii^ and never think of it. 3Ir. L. Are you not thirsty sometimes, this hot weather? Boy. Yes, sir ; but there is water enough. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 139 Mr. L, Why, my little fellow, you are quite a phijn oplr^r. Mr. L. I say you are a philosopher; but 1 aLi sure you do not know what that means. Boy. No, sir, — no harm, I hope. Mr. L. No, no ! Well, my boy, you seem to want nothing at all ; so I shall not give you money, to make you want anything. But were you ever at school ? Boy. No, sir ; but father says I shall go after harvest. Mr. L. You will want books, then. Boy. Yes, sir; the boys have ail a spelling- book and a Testament. Mr, L. Well, then, I will give you them — tell your father so ; and that it is because 1 thought you a very good, contented boy. So^ now go to your sheep again. Boy. I will, sir. — Thank you. Mr. L. Good-hy, Peter! Boy, Good-by, sir! 140 THE LITTLE SrEAKLR. ABOUT THINKirs^G. Edivhi. Alfred ! stop for a moment, will you ? I wish to talk a little with yon. Alfred, 1 cannot stop now, Edwin, for 1 wish to have a run with my hoop. Edivin, You have a nice hoop, nnd it runs along capitally. Can yoa tell me what -makes it go so well? Alfred, To be sure I can, Edwin. My stick makes it go ; and the harder I strike it, the faster it goes. Edwin. Well, hit this post as hard as you like with your stick, and see if that will move along. Alfred, To be sure it will not, for it is stuck fast in the ground. Edwin, But there is one yonder that lies on the ground ; hit that, arui see if it will run along like your hoop. Alfred, \ know it v.- ill not, because it is so heavy. Ediviii. WeM, then, here is my pocket-hand- kerchief; hi us see if you can make that roll along. Surely that will not be too heavy. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 141 Alfred. That will be too light; it will not run aloDg at all. Edioiii. You seem hard to please. The post is too heaoy, and the handkerchief too light ! Suppose I put a big stone into the handkerchief, and make it heavier, — will that do? Alfred, Why, no ! Edwbi, But why not, Alfred ? Alfred. Why, because — because — because — why, I Jinoiv it w^ill not. Edwin. Can you not give me the reason why it will not run along at all ? Alfred. No, I cannot ; for I never thought of it. Edwin. That is the trouble with us boys, — we seldom think about anything, but our play, unless we are obliged to do it. But I have late- ly been learning to think. Axlfred. Learning to think I why, I never heard of such a thing ! Edwin. 1 only wish I had begun years ago : for I have really learned more the last three monrhs than I did in all last year, I am sure. Alfred, But where is the good of learning to think ? Edidn, Where is the o-ood? — what a stranre 142 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. question that is ! Bat I dare say I should have asked it myself three months ago. If people had not tliought about things, we should never have had the comforts and pleasures we now en- joy. The food we eat, the clothes we wear, the houses we live in, and even our plays, have all heen the subjects of much thought. Thinking people have a great advantage over others ; they are much wuser. Alfred, Well, Edwin, I am not certain but that you hav*? formed a good resolution ; and hereafter I WxJ endeavor to spend some of my time in thhiking. 1 THE GOOD BOY ANI) THE TRUANT. John, Hallo ! James ! where ai*e you going ? James. Why, I am going to school, to be sure, and I am in a great hurry, too ; for it is most time for the bell to ring, and I have not been tardy this term, and do not meon to be. John. Why, how mighty particular you are ! I am glad / am not so afraid of being a umiutc late. I don't see any use of bemg in a hurry, i I ■Liii: l:ttl£ steaker. ILJ Come, go with me, and we will have a grand time. James. Where are you going? Johii. ! I am going into the woods, to gei some nuts'. Come, it won't hurt you to play truant for once in your life. You don't know liow the boys laugh at you for being so good. James. Well, let them laugh ; I am not afraid of being laughed at. I should be more afraid of disobeying my moiher, and displea-ing my kind teacher. JGhn. AVell, if you are not the strangest boy that I ever saw I Why, /'d rather be ivhipped, any day, tlian to be laughed at. Jaines. That is very foolish ; how can their laughing hurt you ? And, beside, if they see that you don't care for it, they will soon stop. But 1 cannot stay any longer. You had better come to school, and you will feel much happier at night fur having done your duty. [Moves off.) John. Do hold on a bit I you seem to be in a dreadful hurr}\ Look here, don't you tell that I am playing truant; for if you do, I shall get a whipping. James. No, John, 1 11 not tell of you ; but if you will come to school, we will have a nice 114 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. gfame at ball at recess, and this afternoon there will be no school, and then I will go with you to get the nuts. Jo/m. Will you ? Well, I have half a mind to go to school. James. O, do I I shall be so glad to have you ! Come, let 's run, for there is the bell, and you know how pleased our teacher is when we are in good season. John. I wonder if every boy is as happy when he does right as you seem to be. Javies. Why, yes, 1 suppose so; for I am al- ways u?ihappy when I do wrong. John. Well, 1 suppose I am, although I always try to thi?ik I 'ni happy. I believe I will follow your example for a little while, and see how I feel. James. Then mark my words, — you will save yourself much unhappiness. John. I believe I shall, for it seems to me J am now happier for having taken the Jirsr step. Ja7?ies. Well, here we are at school — so we cannot talk any more now. Joh7i, I am glad I came ; and I thank you for your good advice, which I shall try to follow. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 145 INDOLENCE WILL BRING WANT. Susan. . Dear Emily, do tell me about my les- son once more, for I can never get it alone. Emily, But why have you not learnc^d it ? Have you studied it diligently ? SiLsayi, Vf hy, no ; I can never leave my play to waste time over a dull lesson, I am sure. Efnily. Why, Susan ! how can you speak so ? Which do you consider most important, your lessons or your play ? Siisan, O, the lessons, I suppose I must say ! Bat then I like play the best, and only wish 1 could play all the time. Emily, But you will not be able to play al- ways ; and what v/ill you do when you cannot play ? Szisan, Why, when it comes to that, 1 will study or work. Kmily. But you will not knov/ how; and, when you are gTown up, you will be ashamed to learn as children do. Susan. It will be timie enough to think of that when the time comes ; but now I mean to enjoy myself 13 146 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. » Emily, You had bette^ think of it now. But let me tell you a story. " Ants, you know, are very industrious little creatures, and work hard in summer to lay up their winter stores. But grasshoppers do no work in summer, and die when winter comes. Well, a grasshopper once asked an ant to give him some food to keep him from starving. * What did you do all summer,' said the ant, ' that you have nothing to eat now? ' ' I sang and amused myself,' said the grasshop-^ per. 'You saiig ! ' said the ant ; * well, now you may go and dance .'' " Susan, Then you think I am like the grass- liopper, do you ? Emily. Yes, but t will be more kind than the ant, for I will assist you this once ; but hereafter I liope you will do your work, and learn your lessons, without the aid of any one. ABOUT STUDY Ella. Are you not going to school this mom- ing, Maria ? Maria. No, I do not like to go to school, and, THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 147 besides, it does me no good. I am going to stay at liome to-day. Ella. Did your mother say that you might ? Maria. No ; but she always ]ets mie stay at home whenever I want to. When I learn a les- son, it always goes in at one ear and goes out at the other; and that is all the good it does me. Ella. That is because you do not fix your attention upon it. Maria. Well, I cannot fix my attention upon it, and I have quite despaired of ever being as good a scholar as you are. But there is one study that I cannot get, and nobody can ever make me understand or like it, and that is Arith- metic. I am sure I shall miss on the next les- son, for I cannot get it. Ella. What is the lesson ? Maria. Well, you pretend to be so good a scholar, but yet you do not know where our les- sons are. Ella. But you know,. Maria, that I have just been put into a higher class, and do not get the same lessons that you do. Maria. O, dear! you are always getting mto higher classes, while I have to stay in one class for years, and study hard, and then I do not 148 THE LITTLE S?Ev\KER. knoii) any more Ijr it. Weil, the lesson is in Addition. Ella, O, that is very easy ! and if you will come to my hoiise to-morrow afternoon, 1 think i cm soon make you understand it. Maria. Well, but Geography is even worse than Arithmetic. I am always sorry when Wednesday comes, for I am sure to miss ; and our teacher gives us such long lessons ; it is too bad. Ella. Wlien do you generally begin to get your Geography lesson ? Maria. 0, 1 generally begin to get it Vv^ednes- day morning. Ella. Well, my plan is to learn a part of it every day, and I seldom miss ; and my advice to you is to do the same. Will you tiy ? Maria. Yes ; and I do not know but you are right in saying that study is of some use. If it were not too late for me to prepare for sehool now, I would go ; but I will go -this afternoon. Ella. I am glad to hear you say so ; and i think you will soon begin to like study and school. But do not forget to come to-morrow, so that 1 can show you how to get your Arithmetic lesion Maria, I certainly will not. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 149 :OHN HASTY AND PETER QUIET. John {Iiolding a broken string). That's jusl my luck ! If I look at a string, it will break ! But with you, Peter, it is different; everything slips smoothly through your hands ; but only let me touch a thing, and it is crack ! smash ! break ! Mother says I make more trouble about the house than all ten of the children besides; but I can't help it. Peter, But did you ever try to help it, John ? . John Try ! What 's the use of trying ? I tell you that I am one of the u?ilucky ones, Peter. Only yesterday, as I sat down to dinner, a fish- hook, that I had in my pocket, must needs stick Itself into sister Susan's dress. 1 gave a sudden jerk to get it out, and rip ! went her sleeve, and smash ! went my plate, and poor / was ordered away from the table, and lost my dinner. Peter, Losing your dinner is nothing to vvhat you will lose, John, if. you drive through the world in this style. I see that your new garden rake has lost file teeth ; how happened that? John. Why, they were all extracted at " one 13* i50 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. sitting-," and that without taking the fluid, either. You see, I was raking, and came across a snag ; I gave a twitch^ and out came the teeth. Pctyr. And the beautiful new book, presented to you by your uncle Charles — I notice that some of the leaves are torn. John, Well, that 's my hick again. I found sopie leaves whole at the top, and, being in a great hurry to read what was on the other side, I gave my knife a sudden pull, and, being dull, it tore the leaves, instead of cutting them. Peter, Well, really, John, it appears to me that whatever falls in your way is unlucky. You must have a great deal of trouble ; but I think most of it is the result of j'^our own care- lessness. I will give you two short words, which, if always kept in mind and obeyed, will make you a lucky boy. John, What are they ? If two words can make me lucky, I ought to have known them before. Peter, Well, it is not too late to know them now. They are simply these — " Keep cooV^ John, Keep cool ! I guess, if you had seen me the other day, when the ice broke and let me into the water, you would have thought I was THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 151 cool enough not to need your counsel. 1 was so -, cool that 1 came near freezing. j Peter, You are disposed to be witty. John ; j but let me say, that, unless you exercise more ' care, you will have trouble ail the days of your hfe. John. Well, well, Peter, I will consitler what you have said when I have time ; but just now [ am in a great hurry. Good-by! Fetei', Good-by, John ! Keep cool I SCHOOL PROMOTES HAPPINESS. Litcy, Good morning, Sarah ! Where are you going so fast ? Sarak, 0, I am going to school, and I must not stop long, or I shall be late, and displease my kind teacher. Lucy. Poor girl ! how I pity you, s' ut up in a dull school-room all this long sum aer's day ! Don't you envy me, who have nothi ig to do but I to play ? Sarak. No, indeed! i shoaU^ n't know wl at 152 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. to do with myself; and besides, I have plenty of time for play, for you know that we are in school only six hours. Lucy. Six hours ! I should think that was long enough to sit perched up on hard benches, studying long, dry lessons — without understand- ing a word of them, either. And then, \{ you look off your book a minute, you have to take a scolding from the school-ma'am. I don't see how you can bear it; it would make me sick, ver}^ soon, I am sure. SaraJt, Why, Lucy, how ca7i you talk so ? 1 don't think you would , if you went to our school, and knew our teacher. She is as kind and pleasant as our own mothers ; and when we are naughty, she does not scold us, but talks to us so seriously and gently, that we cannot help loving her. But here comes Emma, and she will tell you the same, for she loves school and the teacher as well as I do. Emma. Good morning, girls ! What are you talking about so earnestly ? Sarah. Why, Emma, 1 am trying to make Lucy think, as we do, that it is much pleasanter to go to school and study than it is to play all the lime. L THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 153 Emma {to Lucy.) And will you not believe It, Lucy ? I am sure you would, if you had ever tried it. Lucy, But I did try it for a whole month, j and I never was so tired of anything in my ife. The. lessons were so hard that I could not learn them ; and then the teacher scolded me, and kept me in from recess, so that I did n't like her at all ; and I teased my mother till she took me away from school, and I have n't beeii willing to go since. Emma. Why, Lucy, either you must have been very naughty, or your teacher was not at all like ours. She never gives us too long les- sons; and if there is anything that we can't understand, she explains it to us, and talks about it till it seems perfectly easy. Sometimes, when w^e have been very good, she gives us little books to read; and when we carry lier flowers, she kisses us, and calls us her " dear little i?-irls." I I know 3^ou would love her, Lucy. Sarah. So I have been telling her; und I vv^sh she would only go with us for a little while, and see if it would not be better than playing all day. For my part, I always enjoy driving hoop and skipping rope much more after I have been 154 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. stuQying and trying to please my teacher; don't you, Emma ? Emma, Yes, indeed ! and if you wiii only follow our advn'ce, Ij'H*y, ymi will feel so too. Jjiicy. Well, you have said so much about it, that if you will let me go with you this morning, and I like it, I will ask mother to send me there all the time. Sarah and Emma. O, do come! dio come ! I know you will be happier. Emma. Come, let us go now, for I hear the school bell ringing. Sarah [to Litcy.) I am so glad you a.*e going with us ! ABOUT GAMBLING. Samuel. Come, leave your top, nnd let's go and toss buttons. Brother John won ever so many the other day, and he said he would have had more, but the boys got to lighting, and broke up the game. Joseph. My father does not think it right to play so, and he told m.e never to do it. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 155 Samuel, Where 's the har^n of tossing up with buttons, 1 wonder? Joseph. He says, the bo^^s who pla37- so with buttons soon learn to toss up cents ; and then they learn to cheat and steal to get cents to play with ; and as soon as they grow bigger, the}-" play cards and gamble, and get into the penitentiary , and that it often happens that they tight, and sometimes one kills the other, and then gets into prison. Samuel. How does he know all that? Joseph. He says he knows grown up men that have gambled away all their money, and that they began in this way. And he told me about apprentice boys, that stole money from their masters to play cards with. He says, if you see a boy tossing buttons, the next thing will be cents, and then you '11 hear of his playing cards, and then of his stealing money to buy lottery tickets. Samuel. I wish 1 had a lottery ticket. 1 heard the other day of a man that drew a prize of twenty thousand dollars. I suppose thoX was wrong, too, wasn't it? . Joseph. You need not laugh, Sam ; father says buying lottery tickets is gambling too, and 156 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. that people ought to work and attend to their business, and do what the Bible tells them, and they will get enough. He says boys that try to get money by pitching cents, and lotteries, and such things, lose their characters, and gi'ow tricky, and laz}^ and wicked. Sa/muel, Well, I know a great many boys that do it. Joseph. Are they steady^ honest boys ? Do they never cheat ? Would you trust any of them with money, if you had it ? Sanmel. I don't know, — I can't say I would. Joseph, Do they never fight ^ nor sivear ? SamiieL Why, i can't say but they do some- times. Joseph, Do they go to school and to church ? Samuel. I do know some scholars that pitch buttons, and cents too. Joseph. None in our school do so ; our teach- er tells us how wrong it is. He says he did see one or two scholars the other day at it, among a parcel of boys, and he was ashamed of them, and told them they would lose their characters. Samuel, How so ? Joseph, He eays a boy's character is not worth rauch that is seen in sy,ch company. And he J THE LITTLE SPEAKER. lo7 ' hopes, now they are told of it, they will not do go agTiin. Now, tell me, Sam, when you pitch cents, and lose, do you not feel as if you would do almost anythins: to o^et more to heo;in asfain ? Samuel. Well, I do, to be sure. Joseph. And don't you think that young- men that play cards, and other such games, feel just so too ? And if they are in a store, and their master's money is where they can get at it, would n't they take some ? Sanntel. I don't know but they would ; per- haps they might. Joseph, I heard, the other day,, of a very young man, who was clerk of a store in New York, who took so much of his m.aster's money that at last he was found out, and for fear of the shame and punishment he ran off, and has not been heard of. No, Sam ; I '11 not go and play any such plays with you, for it is quite wrong, and contrary to €rod's word, and nothiug but trouble and sin will come of it. So, if you vnll stay among boys that do so, you and I must part. But I hope vou will reflect, and decide to do ridit. 14 1^ THE LITTLE SPBAKER. THE PEACOCK. Mary, A\ hy is it, Jane, that you dislike the peacock so much? Has he attempted to hurt you? Jane, No, Mary ; he has never done me any harm; but I cannot bear to see him strutting about so proud of his feathers. Mary, Do you not think his plumage beauti- ful? Ja7ie. Indeed I do ; but then I do not like to see him make such a display of it. Whenever 1 pass the vain thing, he always spreads his tail, and struts about to catch my notice ; but now I never look at him. Mary. How do you know that he does this from pride ? Perhaps it is kis way of showing his regard for you. He surely would not take such pains, unless he wished to please you. Jane, I know he wishes to show off his plumage, and I will teach him to be more mod- est, by taking no notice of him. Mary. Did you ever see him before a look- ing-glass ? THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 15^ Jane {laughing). No, indeed ! he dcxjs not make his toilet as we do. Mary. Then he does not waste so much time, perhaps. But I forgot to ask you, Jane, how you like the new bonnet your mother bought yester- day. ^lane. I don't like it at all. It is a real homely thing, and I shall be ashamed to wear it to church to-morrow. Mary, Do you dislike its sJmpe ? Ja7ie. No ; its shape is well enough. Mary. Is it not adapted to the season ? Jane, Yes, it is warm enough, I dare say. Mary. Why, then, do you dislike it so much ? Ja?ie, Why, I expected a splendid riband, and a couple of ostrich-feathers, at least. Mary, Pray, what did you wish to do with them ? Jane. Wear them, to be sure. You don't think I would shut them up in my trunk, and never show them, do you ? There is not an ostrich-feather in the village, and I hoped I should have worn the first one, and mortified the country girls. Mary, Do you think the young ladies of the village would be pleased to see you looking so 160 THE LITTLE SrEAKER. much finer than they, and showing yourself off as you propose ? Jane, I don't care whether they like it or not; if J am pleased myself, it is enough. Mary. What will you do, if they hate you, and refuse to look at you ? for so you treat the poor peacock. Jane, Why, sister, do you think I resemble the peacock ? Marij. I must confess, Jane, that I cannot see any difference in your favor. If you hate him for his vanity and pride, although he is only a poor bird, without reason to guide him, how can ymi expect anything but hatred, if you show your dress, and strut about as he does? The poor bird, in my opinion, shows less pride in display- ing his own feathers, than you do in wishing to display the feathers of an ostrich, or any other borrowed finery. THE MAGIC LAMP. Sarah, I wish I could be as happy as Jane Seymour always is ! j Harriet, Well, you might be, if you could g^t the cJiarm which she carries with her. THE LITTLE SPEAKER. IGl Sarah, And pray do you believe in charms ? Harriet. Yes, in such charms a.s she has ; for it is the gift of no wizard or witch. Sarah, Well, do teii me what the charm is, and where she got it. Harriet, 0, she did n't go a great way for it, though she had to labor hard for it. Sarah, Labor hard for it I Why, I thought charms cu?7ie to persons, like fairy giUs, and not that th^y had to work for them. Harriet, No ; if you will look again into your fairy books, you will find that those lucky beings who obtained fairy favors wrought a good while before they obtained the gifts. Sarah, Well, I do remember some stories, where some poor little girls worked hard for their parents, and were real good, and then received from the fairies some strange charm to keep thtnn ever happy. Harriet, I guess the charm Vv'as not very stra?ige, — but like Jane Seymour's magic lamp. Sarah, Magic lamp! I-s tliat her charm of happiness ? Harriet, It is. Sarah, Pray tell me about it. Harriet. Why, it is a magic lamp, that ThQ 14* 162 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. wind can blow out, and no damp can make bum less brightly. It is always beautiful, and as pleasant as the sunshine. Sarnk, Well, that is singular indeed ; for the lamp must have magic in it, if no wind can blow it out, and no damp can make it dim. Ilaj'riet, It surely is a magic lamp ; and yaic can get it if yoii will work hard enough. Sarah. I am sure I am willing to w^ork for it; for would n't it be funny enough to carry it to school, and let the scholars see it burn bnghtly in the old ¥/ell ? They 'd think I was a wntch. Harriet, -rWell, if you had it, you would have much witchery over others. Sarah, Do tell me, then, what is this magic lamp. Harriet. Why, it is nothing more nor less tlian " good temper." Sarah. O, dear me! I guess that charm is n't to be got without working for it. But it is certainly a beautiful lamp, and I will try to become the owner of one. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 022 204 605 1