~~/'t vU7  c       o'
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FOR
/Xn:,
PUBLISHED BY THE
AM M E R I C  A 2   R ACT   SO  CIETY, 
NO. 28 CORNHIILL, BOSTON




GEO. C. RAND  & AVERY
EaOTROTYPER8 AND PRINTERBB, 3 COQNHIIT, BOBTO0.




In compliance with current
copyright law, LBS Archival
Products produced this
replacement volume on paper
that meets the ANSI Standard
Z39.48-1984 to replace the
irreparably deteriorated
original.
1993
TM








*LW      L
CONTE TNTS+
RUTH'S FIRST JOURNEY.......... 5   THE ONLY NEW THING I'VE GOT..... 75
THE CHILDREN'S PSAI......... 10   WHO TAUGHT THEM?...........         77
THE LITTLE SLAVE...........       13  THE GOOD FIGHT OF FAITH........   80
ONE MORE WORKER........... 15   GRETA AND THE FLOWERS........     83
A SCENE AT A RAILROAD STATION..... 19   THE LITTLE FACE IN NORTON ALLEY... 84
JESSIE'S HYACINTH............. 21  PATSY................... 91
DON'T SMOKE................   24   LITTLE bATTY; OR, WHAT IS IT TO BE
LUCY LEE................ 28              WORTH HALF A MILLION?...... 94
A GOOD ANSWER'............ 32   GANPATI; AN IDOL GOD.........  97
MOTIVES AND ACTIONS...........  33   ELSIE'S BOOKS.............. 99
HOW PICTURES ARE MADE........     36   GOING INTO A MINE............. 10 3
LITTLE MAY AND THE OLD MAN.... 38  SOW BESIDE ALL WATERS.........    105
WHAT SUSY SAID............. 41   LITTLE BY LITTLE.............          109
HOW GOD TAKES CARE OF HIS CHIL-         THE HYBRID TREE............110
DREN.................. 43   THE GREAT CONQUEROR..........112
LAMBS AT PLAY.............. 48   THE PILGRIM MONUMENT......... 115
OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES......  50   THE TRUANT SKATER............ 117
MY VISIT TO THE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD;   AN AQUARIUM............... 119'
OR, KINDNESS BRINGS KINDNESS... 52   "NOT THANKFUL ENOUGH"........ 123
THE MISSIONARY FAMILY.........56   KATE AND THE GOAT........... 125
NOT ALL FOR ONE............. 60   THE ALPINE PASS............           126
CHARLIE RAY'S TROUBLES.......... 63  TIDY LEARNING TO READ......... 131
WORKING FOR IMMORTALITY.......   66   " STINGINESS"...............      135
ANNI'S DISOBEDIENCE......... 68  THE "GROTTO DEL CANE"........138
THE LITTLE SOLDIER......         72   Too MUCH TROUBLE..1.......... 44




i       3 O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~... I




RUTIt'S FIRST JOURNEY.
LITTLE Ruth stood at the front window of a large farm-house,
and looked eagerly down the village road.  Occasionally she
glanced with great satisfaction at her crimson merino frock,
her holiday attire; for every day this child ran about the farm
hunting for eggs, and giving the aid of her little hands wherand looked eaoerly down the  illage road.  Ocasionally sh
~ili~ ~ ~  ~~z
glanced wit  great satifaction at  er crimson   erino frock
her holday attre; forevery dy this hild ra  about he far
huntng or ggs an   giingthe  id  f hr lttl hads  her




6                     HOME STORIES.
ever they were needed, in a plainer dress of dark stuff, and a
long-sleeved, gingham apron. An unusual event was about to
take place in Ruth's life. She was going to visit an aunt who
lived twenty miles away, and, as the two places were not connected by a railroad, it had been arranged that an old minister,
who was returning to the village, should carry with him, in his
chaise,.the little traveler. This accounted for the agitation
Ruth.felt, while waiting in her warm coat and straw hat for
the coming of the venerable man. Ruth had also under her
care a thick shawl and a basket, into which she peeped frequently to see if the red apples and cakes of maple sugar
were safe, and on the steps her hair trunk was placed. Now,
this journey happened many years ago, when little girls seldom
went away from home with their clothes packed in trunks by
themselves. All others in the farm-house were eating dinner.
Ruth had begged her mother to let her watch for the chaise,
meanwhile.
It was that pleasant season of the year when the sap springs
again into the trees, and the violets know that it is time to
open; when the little straws and threads are picked up by the
builders of cunning nests. It was spring, too, in Ruth's life;
she was full of. happy anticipation. When the old horse first
came in sight, Ruth called out joyfully; the family gathered
about her, glad to help, in any way, the child who was always
willing to help others.




RUTH'S FIRST JOURNEY.              7
The chaise approached slowly, and at last stopped before the
gate. A mild, kind face looked out; Ruth saw the silvery
hair and the white cravat, and began to regret her coming
ride. One brother took up the hair trunk and strapped it on
a rack behind the chaise; the father shook hands with the
minister, and lifted Ruth carefully to the seat by his side.
Another brother handed the shawl and basket to be stowed
away in the vacant space between them, for Ruth was very
small. The mother stood in the door-way smiling another
good-by; the sisters laughed and talked to cheer poor Ruth, for
she had tearful eyes at the prospect of going away so far with
this grave old minister.
The reins were gently pulled, and the obedient horse
resumed his usual pace; the old chaise creaked and rocked, and
Ruth had fairly commenced her long-talked-of journey. She
looked timidly at her companion; he was apparently meditating on some subject far beyond her comprehension. Little
Ruth felt very much as if she was shut up with an oldfashioned book of divinity. The good man was indeed full of
thought; the mysterious providences of God filled his mind,
and he pondered on the days of old. He was quite forgetful,
for a time, of the child intrusted to his care; she had taken
such a very short step in life that he knew not what to say to
her; his thoughts and words were " grown up," not adapted to
childish ears.




8                     HOME STORIES.
Ruth busied herself with studying the horse and his heavy
harness then the narrow view visible from the chaise. Just as
Ruth's tongue was beginning to feel restless, in its unaccustomed stillness, and the road grew very flat and uninteresting,
and just as she was wondering whether she had better eat an
apple, the old minister remembered that he had in his chaise a
little girl, and came down from his solemn thoughts. In vain,
he tried to think of something to say to her; perhaps she was
sleepy; he turned toward her, but the bright eyes were
watching him  curiously. When they reached a long hill,
where the horse walked in a very moderate way, the old
minister made one more effort, and said to Ruth, "Little girl,
do you love the Lord Jesus Christ?" Ruth's heart began to
beat very fast when she heard this question; she was old
enough to know the whole mystery of godliness, and felt
afraid that her answer would astonish and displease her companion; at last, after much hesitation. she replied faintly,
"Yes; I believe I do."
"Do you?" said the old man, with a smile of joy; "I'm glad!
-I'm so glad!" then both were silent again. Ruth began to
meditate, now, on some of the very things which had been in
the mind of her old friend. She was a little frightened at
herself for saying so decidedly that she loved the Lord Jesus,
for she was not quite sure that she did in reality possess that
new heart; but she could not bear to say to this minister of




RUTH'S FIRST JOURNEY.              9
Christ that she did not love the dear Sayiour who had suffered
little children to come unto him.
The twenty miles began to seem long to Ruth; she was
anxious to reach her aunt's that her attention might be
diverted from that haunting question. She sat on the very
edge of the seat, that she might the better watch the farmhouses they passed. The sap-pails in the maple-trees, the cows
in the yard, made her think of home, and their gathering
about the tea-table. The old horse jogged along slower than
ever; Ruth wrapped her shawl about her, and nibbled quietly
a cake of maple sugar. To her great relief, the scattered
houses of the village at length appeared. Nor was it very
long before the aunt's familiar face banished from Ruth the
tinge of homesickness which the evening lights had inspired.
Ruth did not again remember that question until, left alone by
her aunt, she knelt to pray her evening prayer. Then the
words, "Lovest thou me?" rang in her ears, and her heart
could not answer.
Long after this ride had faded entirely from the recollection
of the old minister, he was again preaching in the village
where Ruth lived one of his last sermons. As he left the
pulpit, a young girl lingered in the aisle to speak with him.
"I am that little Ruth," she said, "who rode in your chaise,
of whom you asked a question which troubled me until I
could answer it aright. Then I did not love the Lord Jesus




10                    HOME STORES.
Christ; but now I can truly say,'Thou knowest all things, thou
knowest that I love thee."'
Tears of holy joy filled the old man's eyes. That one
question will add to the brightness of his crown, will save a
soul from eternal death. That dull and dreary ride was full
of blessedness to Ruth, for through eternity she will repeat
with ever-growing confidence, "Thou knowest all things, thou
}lnowest that I love thee."
THIE CHILDREN'S PSALM.
LITTLE did David think, when he wrote "The Lord is my
shepherd," how many lambs of the flock, down to the end of
the world, would call it "mmy psalmnz;" how often it would be
lisped on mothers' knees when the daylight was fading; how
bright eyes would grow still brighter when the minister in the
pulpit chanced to read it from the big church Bible; how it
would be loved and cherished through life, above all the other
songs of the -sweet singer of Israel, till the little one, grown
old and gray-headed, standing in the gathering shadows of the
dark valley, could still say, "I will fear no evil, for thou art
with me!"
The dearest lamb to me in all the flock was sitting on my




THE CHILDREN'S PSALM.             11
knee in the Sabbath twilight, repeating the psalm with many
a gallant dash at the long, hard words, and sinking back with a
sigh of self-congratulation when the last verse was reached.
For a few minutes he leaned his head on my shoulder, and
silently watched the stars as they came out one after another
in the dadrkening sky,- but silence was not a frequent guest
on those prattling lips.
"Auntie," he said, "where is the house of the Lord? did
you ever go there?"
So I told him, in words he could understand, of the house
not made with hands,-the place Jesus has gone to prepare,the beautiful city whose streets are of gold, and its gates of pearl,
and of the multitude of little children who are there, with
their music and gladness, their tears all wiped away, and their
pain gone for ever.
"And are there green pastures there, and still waters?" he
asked with sparkling eyes. I turned to the twenty-second
chapter of Revelation, and read a few verses about the river,
clear as crystal, and the tree of life on either side.
"And is mamma there? and when they packed little Alice
up in a box, did the — send her to. the house of the Lord
for ever? "
"Yes, mamma is there, and baby Alice is there, too; but it
was only her little body that we put in the coffin,- the angels
came.for her soul, and carried it right to Jesus' home."




12                    HOME STORIES.
"Let us go there, auntie, - such a nice place to live in! "
" We can't go there, dear, till God sends for us."
"Well, if an angel should come some afternoon, and say God
had sent him for little Eddie Arnold, you would let me go
with him, wouldn't you?".
"Yes, darling," I said; "I couldn't keep little EddiA, if Jesus
wanted him;" but in my heart I prayed that the day might be
far distant when the boy should be wanted among the angels.
A few weeks had passed. The rose-bushes that were then
showing their first green leaves were now full of blossoms, -
the Sabbath twilight was again settling over the earth; but
the Angel of Death had come for the little lamb I loved,- he
was leading him even then into the valley.
All through the day he had lain in a stupor, but now his
eyes opened, and, as they met mine, he said, "Say it, auntie,my psalm."
Slowly I repeated, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not
want. He- maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he
leadeth me beside the still waters."
Dreamily he repeated after me, — " green pastures, — still
waters."
Ah, my darling! the waters were very " still " for you, - still
and low, scarcely wetting the little feet that passed through
them so fearlessly. One gasp, and there was another lamb
safe in the fold of the Good.Shepherd.
[1~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 




THE  LITTLE  SLAVE.                       13
THE LITTLE  SLAVE.
I DWELL where the sun
Shines gayly and bright,
Where flowers of rich beauty
Are ever in sight;




14                    HOME STORIES.
Here blooms the magnolia,
Here orange-trees wave;
But oh, not for me,I'm a poor little slave!
They say, "Sunny South"
Is the name of my home;'Tis here that your robins
And' bluebirds are come,
While snows cover nests up,
And angry winds rave;
They may rest here,-not.I;
I'm  a poor little slave!
Here beautiful mothers,'Mid splendors untold,
Their fairy-like babes
To their fond bosoms fold;
Mly mamma's worked out,
And lies here in the grave;
There's none *to kiss me, —
I'm a poor little slave!
I've heard mistress telling
Her sweet little son,
What Jesus, the loving,
For children has done;




ONE MORE WORKER.                    15
Perhaps little black ones
He also will save;
I ask him to take me,
A poor little slave!
ONE MORE WORKER.
MATTIE had been very sick, but her life was spared. There
was more work for her to do. Her pale, thin face was a perpetual reminder to Willis of God's great mercy in giving her
back to them after taking her down so near to the shadow of
the grave. He was almost constantly with her, beguiling the
tedious hours of convalescence with stories or quiet talk.
When she slept, he held the little blue-veined hand, or softly
smoothed the brown hair.. "The'boys" might have laughed,
had. they seen him; but what were the "boys" to him, compared with Mattie? Their laugh was not the bugbear that it
had been. He seemed changed in more ways than one.
One evening while Mattie slept, Willis sat with his mother
in the parlor. The lamps had not been lighted, and the coalfire but faintly illumined the room. Mrs. Walker smoothed
back the hair from her boy's forehead, musingly. "Well,
Willis;' said she at length, "where are you?"




16                 HOME STORIES.
"A good way off, mother; among the stars."
"Rather a long journey, Willis, for one evening!"
"Yes'm; I know it; I was thinking " —
"Thinking what?"
"I was thinking how every thing in nature is useful, and has
something to do; and I wondered if stars have any thing to do.
Have they?"
" You know what the sun is to us, and the moon; and think
what the North Star is to the traveler and the sailor; and then
to the poor slaves it is a kind of star of Bethlehem, guiding to
the land where for them Liberty lies new-born."
"Yes, mother."
"Perhaps some of these stars are North Stars to other
worlds; perhaps some are suns and moons. Every star has its
own part in the wonderful economy of the Universe."
"Well," said Willis, presently, "to come down a little, what
do you suppose is my work?"
"Can't you possibly find out?"
"Why, I don't see any regular work;-there's enough small
fry to see to; but I've been looking ahead!"
Mrs. Walker smiled. "The large work will appear in time.
You know the saying: There's a loom for every man who can
weave. See to your'small fry' carefully, and if you really
want to be a worker, God will provide work."
Willis spoke earnestly, "I do want to be a worker, mother.




ONE MORE WORKEER.                   17
I never used to think much about it; but lately it has seemed
to me I ought to be doing something."
"Why, dear Willis?"
"Not because Mattie is better," said Willis in a choked
voice; "but I've thought up a great many things. I don't
deserve such mercy at all, and if God loves me so, I want to
love him and do something for him. I mean, any way, I want
to stand up on his side. It all came over me by degrees, how
selfish I had been, —always trying to make number one comfortable, and forgetting other people. I know it wasn't
Christ's way, and I'm determined it shan't be mine."
"That is right, Willis," said his mother. "If you bravely
and earnestly try to follow Christ, he himself will help you.
There is strong help to be had simply for the asking."
"What do you think my work is, mother?" said Willis. "I
must take care of my feelings, and"
"No, my son; leave that to Christ. That is not part of
your work."
"Well, I mean I've got to do right, and that's hard enough;
but I want something else. I feel as if I could dig right
through a mountain!"
Mrs. Walker smiled, but the smile grew sad.
"'Doing right' covers a great deal of ground, my boy!
Your mountain is yourself. The better you know Willis
Walker, the clearer you will see that you have plenty of work
2




18                  HOME STORIES.
on hand! The'great work' will come along in due time.
You must be faithful, upright, true, in every little thing. You
can honor Christ in your every-day life, at school, at home, at
play. You can live such a beautiful, holy life, now while you
are only a school-boy, that it will help the Saviour's cause."
"I hope I shall, mother. But if I happen to forget? If I
torment Mattie before I think?"
"Then you will ask forgiveness of One who will be more
grieved than she; and if you are in earnest, you will be
willing to ask her forgiveness, too."
Willis winced as he' thought how his pride must be brought
down before he could do that. "Any way, you rebel," said he
to himself, as he went up-stairs, "you and I will have some
tussles, I guess, and you don't beat either! with God's help,"
he added, reverently.
"Mattie, you awake?"
"Yes, Willis."
"If you'll guess this riddle, I'll roast the best sweet apple
in the house for your supper!"
"Oh, dear!" said Mattie; "I'll try, but I know I can't
guess."'" What enemy is there, who hates boys, who torments them
from morning till night, who helps them do wrong and keeps
them from confessing it, who attacks them on all sides like a
swarm of bees? Sometimes he kills the boy, and sometimes




A SCENE AT A RAILROAD STATION.            19
the boy kills him (as I intend to); but the strangest thing
is, nobody ever saw this enemy. Now show the Yankee
colors, little Mattie!"
A SCENE AT A RAILROAD STATION.
AMONG the green hills of New Hampshire, where the flowers
bloom wild, and the bright berries grow by the road-side, I was
waiting for.the.cars to take me to my home, when I heard a
loud whistle, and rumbling and rattling through the woods
they came; -but instead of the nice cars, with open windows,
came a long train of boards and barrels, and huge boxes, holding I don't know what; then one car all closed up save the
sides, where there were long slats put across. And what do
you think I could see behind them? Just as many sheep and
lambs as could be put in; and as the cars stopped a moment,
there they stood, looking through the narrow windows, no
doubt wishing they could get out to nibble the sweet clover,
and lie under the shady trees,-for they looked so hot and
crowded and dusty I know they would have enjoyed it very
much.
Little boys and girls sometimes like to ride in the cars, for




20                 HOME STORIES.
they have nice seats and plenty of room to make themselves
comfortable; but I don't believe the poor sheep and lambs ever
like to ride in such a way; and I could not help thinking how
patient they were, how gentle and quiet, although they were
leaving the bright green fields and sweet clover, and were shut
up so close, where they could not even rest themselves by
lying down.
Don't you remember that Jesus was called the Lamb of
God? This was because he was so gentle and good; and don't
you think we all ought to be like him? But we very often
forget and grow impatient and fretful; but I hope that when
we are tempted to be so, we may remember the Lamb of God
and try very hard to please him.
God, who made the sheep and lambs, takes care of them, as
well as of the little sparrows. Let us love him, and ask him
to take care of us, also, and take us when we die to the fold
of the great Shepherd above.




JESSIE S HYACINTH.                 21
JESSIE'S HYACINTH.
"OH, I do wish I was grown up!" exclaimed Jessie Burns
one morning as she looked out of the window. It was no uncommon wish with her, nor is it with other little girls eight
years old; but her tone indicated some new reason for it just
then; so her mother asked, "Why, my child?"
"Because I want to be of some use in the world. I mean
to be ever so good, mamma, when I am grown up, and to do
good, oh, so muchz good, -more than any body ever did before,
- don't you hope I shall? "
"Yes, dear, I hope you will do a great deal."
"I don't know but I shall be a missionary: I've been thinking that would be a good way, wouldn't it, mamma?"
"Yes, a very good way, if you were fitted for one, and the
way should be opened for you."
"I guess I'll go to Africa; Mr. Lindley told us such nice
stories about Africa, you know; only they are all black folks
there, real jet-black negroes; I shouldn't much like to live
with black folks all the time. But then a missionary wouldn't
mind such things."
"No, and you wouldn't go to have a nice time, but to do
good."
"Yes; and I should like to see ostriches and antelopes, and
all such curious things. I could, you know," she added, seeing




22                 HOME STORIES.
a smile hovering about her mother's lips, "while I was doing
good."
"Yes."
"And oh, I hope we should have to live in wagons, as they
did ever so many weeks, and be drawn about by oxen. Did
you hear him tell how they used to tie the oxen to the wagon
at night, and how when they were all laid down in the wagon
and most asleep, they could hear them  breathing outside, and
hear the lions roar off in the great woods close by? "
The mother thought of a little girl she knew, who screamed
with fear, if only a little mouse nibbled at the wall. Perhaps
Jessie did, too, for after a little meditation, she said, —
"I guess missionaries are never afraid of any thing; and -he
said they didn't come near them, because they built a bright
fire to keep them off."
Jessie ran on at much greater length, planning the details
of her wandering African life, ending at last with a great sigh,
and the exclamation with which she began, "Oh, if I were
only grown up, —I can't go till I am!"
"Not to Africa, Jessie, but you. can begin to do good now,
and that will be the best way of preparing yourself to become
a missionary."
"Why, how can I do good, mamma? I can't think of any way."
"You know Miss Dana, and how long. she has been sick, and
how very fond she is of flowers?"




JESSIE S HYACINTH.                  23
"Yes, mamma," said Jessie, greatly wondering what that
could have to do with her question.
" I was thinking of her this morning, and wishing I could do
something for her, she is so lonely and often sad; and just then,
my eye fell on your beautiful hyacinth, and I thought how
much she would enjoy it."
"But you don't mean that I should give that away!"
"You could, if you wished to do good."
"Why, mamma, I love that better than all my flowers,- a
great deal better! " and her eyes filled with tears.
"But you can never do good, my child, or have a genuine
desire to, without being willing to make sacrifices. Self-denial
is the very essence of benevolence,- its life, without which it
can never attain to strength or value."
The struggle began in little Jessie's heart,-that struggle so
often going on in young hearts and old, between inclination
and conscience. She felt as if she ought to be self-denying,
but she did not want to be; and it really cost her a severe
effort to decide to carry her cherished plant to cheer the
lonely invalid. But once decided, her heart felt lighter; and
after dinner, she tripped over to Miss Dana's with the hyacinth
in her hand, her cheeks glowing and eyes sparkling with a
consciousness that she was doing good.
"Oh, mamma!" she exclaimed, on her return, "Miss Dana
was so glad and so pleased, she could hardly keep from crying.




24                   HOMIE STORIES.
She said the very sight of the beautiful blossoms sent sad
thoughts out of her mind, and made her feel better than she
had for weeks. I am so glad I carried it to her; it made her
happy, and me happy, too."
Anld the glad mother folded her own sweet flower in her
arms lovingly, and gave her a tender kiss.  Herr heart w~as
happy too.
_:
DON'T SMOKE.
OH, little boy, don't smoke, now don't!  It is a dreadful
habit. It will ruin your health, waste your money, disgrace
your parents, and make you disagreeable to every person of




l                     D W  DON'T SMOKE.               25
refinement or decency. You say it is manly. What makes
you think so? Because men do it?  But men steal and
swear and drink rum. And are these practices manly, and
are you going to imitate these, too?  Oh, no, you are
mistaken; it is not manly. I'll tell you why. It is not manly
to do any thing wrong. It is mean to do wrong.
Is it manly to make yourself sick? "Oh," you say, "smoking
doesn't make me sick." But it did once, before you got used to
the taste and smell of the nasty weed. I recollect very well
that summer morning, when you came in from your play in
such a hurry, and threw yourself down on the lounge in the
basement, looking as white as a sheet. How faint and deathlike you felt! You were frightened, too, and so was your poor
mother. "Dear me," she exclaimed, "what can be the matter
with Henry? Why, he was just as well as ever at breakfast
time! Why, Henry, what ails you?  What has happened?"
But you never answered a word, and only tossed your head
from side to side, growing more pale and sick every moment.
"Run for the doctor this moment, Bridget, and go in for Aunt
Carrie, too. IHenry is so sick, I don't know but he'll die."
How did that word "die" make you feel just then? Did it
make you feel any easier in body or mind? Then Aunt
Carrie came in, and what did she say? She didn't seem so
very much alarmed after she had stood and looked at you a
moment. But you saw her smile a queer sort of a smile as she




26                 HOMIE STORIES.
turned around to your mother, and said, "He'll be better by
and by, Mary; don't be worried. It's nothing but that cigar I
saw him smoking this morning."
"A cigar?  This morning?  My Henry smoking?  Why,
Carrie, what do you mean?"
"Henry know s well enough what I mean," said Aunt Carrie;
and she turned again and fixed her large black eyes full on
you. How red you grew all at once! — and you threw your
head round with a quick motion as if you were very sick
again, and tried to cover up your blushing face. But it had
told the truth.
Well, your mother wasn't quite so much frightened after that,
but she had a heavy, aching feeling away down in her heart,
that was very hard to bear. "' Oh, dear!" she kept saying to
herself, "Oh, dear!"  And when the doctor came and gave
you that ugly emetic that was so hard to take, and made you
feel so badly after you had swallowed it, your mother didn't
feel half so much concerned at your pain, as she did at the
thought of what you had done, and she hoped that the nauseous medicine would for ever cure you. You remember how
she talked to you afterward, don't you? Yes; you will never
forget that. I am sure you think of it every time you put a
cigar into your mouth. What a pity!
Is it manly to waste your money, or your father's money, to
buy cigars with? No indeed! the money belongs to God, and




DON T SMOKE.                    27
it is wicked to use it for what can do you no good, and still
worse to spend it for what will do you harm. If all the
money spent for cigars was put together in one great pile, how
much there would be, and how much good could be accomplished with it. I know some men that have smoked their
money almost all away. Wouldn't you rather have gold than
smoke for your portion? I would.
And do y6u think it is manly to make yourself disagreeable
to nice people? I can't bear to go any where near a person
that smokes. I know a great many others who feel just the
same. I wouldn't marry a man who smoked, — not I. I
couldn't love him at all, he would be so disgusting to me. You
had better take care, little boy. Perhaps you may take a
great fancy to somebody, one of these days, who feels just as I
do, and it might hurt your feelings very much for you to find
out that she didn't like you and the reason why.
Oh, little boy, don't smoke! Throw away that cigar, and
promise yourself and God that you will never touch your lips
to another as long as you live.




28                    HOME STORIES.
LUCY LEE.
A DEAR lover of all that is beautiful in nature is little Lucy Lee.
A gleam of sunlight is herself, wherever she goes; up-stairs in
the nursery, or in the playroom, down in the kitchen, out in
the garden among the fiowers, in the woods and fields looking
for the first blue violets, or sitting quietly in her mother's




LUCY LEE.                      29
room with her sewing, as you see her here, she seems the same
happy child, such as makes older hearts grow light, and sad
faces glad.
Perhaps one reason why Lucy always seems so happy is,
that her mother never looks cross, and she has been taught
from infancy that nothing is worth a cross look or an angry
word.
Not that Lucy never does wrong. I do not think she means
to be naughty,-for if she is, one sight of her mother's grieved
face will almost break her heart, and she is not satisfied until
her mother's kiss, and a promise that she "will not feel badly
any more," tells her she is forgiven, -but she always seems so
happy, I feel she can not be often naughty.
She has -had her ramble out of doors, and has finished her
lessons with mamma, and now the little fingers are busily
stitching a garment for Dolly, whose summer wardrobe is "all
out of order," Lucy says, having been very much diminished
by the gifts she has sent from it to other dolls, not so well provided for. She has climbed up into the window where she
loves to sit, not forgetting the hyacinth which she carries with
her from room to room, that she may lose nothing of its
sweetness; and busy you see her as any young mother who is
aroused to the wants of her little family by the soft, faint-away
air of the coming spring.
"Oh, mamma, do see this dear little robin so close to the




30                 HOME STORIES.
window! I do believe it is the very one that built his nest
here last year, and he has come back to see if it is ready
for -him. Do you remember how Jamie used to watch him
picking up straws, and sometimes the threads and bits of
cotton we threw out for him? Oh, I. am so glad spring has
come!" and then without awaiting any reply, she went on
thinking aloud. "How Jamie would love to see them.now!
He used to say'birdie' so cunningly, and listen for their
singing, and make his hands go so fast, laughing to see how
quickly he could make them fly away. Oh, I do wish he was
here now, mamma! Do you think there are birds in heaven?'
Her mother was silent; and in a moment Lucy dropped
her work, and, jumping down from the window, she clasped
her mother lovingly as she saw her tearful'eyes, saying,."I
am very sorry I said so, I didn't mean to make you cry, but
I only thought how Jamie used to love the birds. That was
not wrong, was it, mamma?"
"Oh, no! my daughter, but you brought him so before me
as I used to see him standing and begging to get up to the
window; and then I felt how we had missed him."
"'P'ease, sister, p'ease,' he used to say, and stamp his little
feet as if he could not wait a minute. Don't you wish he
was here?" she added, earnestly.
"No, Lucy, I can not say that, for he is where he will
never be sick any more, nor tired."




LUCY LEE.                     31
"But, mamma, won't he be very lonely away from you?
He was always shy of strangers, and there is no one in
heaven who knows Jamie."
"Oh, yes! dear. grandma is there, and Aunt Martha,and
there are many little children there too, and Jesus, who loves
Jamie better even than we could, and there is music there."
"And Jamie loved music. I used to think I should never
want to go to heaven without you and papa, but now he is
there it seems more home-like, and not. so far off."
"That is one reason why Jesus took Jamie to himself, I
suppose, to make us think more of heaven."
Lucy sat thinking. —" Do you suppose I should go to
heaven?" she said, in a tremulous voice. "You have often
told me, none but good people could go there, and I know I
am not -always good, for I sometimes make you sorry; but I
am so glad I was kind to Jamie! I don't believe I ever hurt
him."
"No, Lucy, I don't think you ever did, and that will always
be pleasant for you to remember, but that would not take you
to heaven. If you were ever so good, you could not go there,
unless Jesus had come to this world and died for you."
"Is that why I always say,  for Jesus' sake,' when I ask God
for any thing?"
"Yes; we could none of is go to heaven, if it were not for
what Jesus has done for us. You are too young yet to under



32                 HOME STORIES.
stand how it is, but you can remember that he is your best
friend, and thank him for opening for us the way to such a
happy home."
"I'm sure I ought to love him very much and do something
for him. Could I, mamma? "
"Yes, Lucy; you can do what he most wants you to do.
You can give him yourself, and that means to give him your
love and your service, to live to please him, instead of pleasing
yourself; and he will help you to do this."
Lucy went to her room with a softened heart, and prayed
more earnestly than ever before, that Jesus would take her
for one of his loving, little friends, and make her very good
and very useful.
Dear little reader, will you not do' so too?
A GOOD ANSWER.
A YOUNG lady in a Sabbath school, a few mornings since,
asked her class how soon a child should give its heart to
God. One little girl said, Whlen thirteen years old; another,
ten; another, six. At length the last spoke: "Just as soon as
we know who God is." Could there be a better reply?




MOTIVES AND ACTIONS.                 33
MOTIVES AND ACTIONS.
"CTinRE is one thing Miss Leighton always nas in her.
prayer, mother, that I don't exactly understand."
"What is it Bell?" asked her mother, gently, as she noticed
Bell's hesitation.
"Something about our motives, mother; she asks that'we
may be careful that our actions shall be the result of pure
motives.' And I am sure she thinks a great deal about that,
from something I heard her say to-day. It was when Bessie
Green came in at recess, and asked permission to go with a
poor woman who was lame and carrying a basket of work,
and help her by taking the basket for her to her home.
It was a long way up the hill, and Bessie did not get. back
until the school was nearly closed."
"What was it that Miss Leighton said?"
"One of the older girls asked her, just after Bessie started,'if that was not beautiful in Bess?' and Miss Leighton said,'It is always pleasant to see persons kind to the unfortunate, but the beauty and worth of the action depend upon
the motive.' There was a curious little smile, too, about the
corners of her mouth which made me think she meant something special about Bess."
"Perhaps not. Could yotu think of any other reason Bessie
3




34                 HOME STORIES.
might have had for asking to go, besides helping the lame
woman?"
"To be tnought well of by the other girls, do you mean?"
"That might have been the reason, —could you think of
another?"
A little pink tinge covered Bell's cheeks as she replied,
"If 1 had asked to go with the lame woman, there might
have been another."
"What, Bell?"
I should have been away from my arithmetic recitation,
and sometimes I might have liked that, but to-day I shouldn't,
for I had my lesson perfectly, and had all my examples
ready on my slate."
"I can show you what your teacher means by being careful of our motives, Bell. Suppose you had not had your
lesson, and had asked to help the poor woman. The act
would have appeared the same, but the motive —a desire
to cover your own fault by apparent kindness to anotherwould not have been worthy of the action. Bessie may not
have thought of her lesson, and only have had, the best
motive. But, while it is not right for us to judge others too
severely, we should scan our own acts carefully. We shall
never gain any thing but shame and confusion in the end
from acts, however noble or praiseworthy they may appear,
if He who reads our hearts, and sees the first springs of




MOTIVES AND ACTIONS.                 35
action there, is not pleased with the motives from which
they spring.
"Suppose a little girl was often giving her mother trouble
by staying one or two hours longer than she had permission,
when allowed to visit little friends. Suppose, one day, she
was told to be at home precisely at three, and, just as she
was starting from the door, overheard her mother say to the
servant,' We shall ride at three this afternoon,' do you think,
if that little girl was home just a little before three that
day, that she would deserve particular commendation for
being obedient?"
Again the little pink flush came, and Bell said, as she
remembered her own fault, "Mother, I see there is some one
who watches motives besides Miss Leighton."
Bell's mother smiled, as she replied, "If we take good care
of them, Bell, it will only be a pleasant thought that others
sometimes read them; and could we live so as to be glad that
one perfectly good Being always knows them, and loves to
approve them when right, we should be happy indeed."




~36   ~HOME STORIES.
i -
II
HOW  PICTURES ARE MADE.
MA-x a little reader while looking at the beautiful pictures
in this book, has said, "I wonder how  these pictures are
made!"  We will try to describe the process.
In the first place, the artist procures a piece of wood, of the
exact size of the picture he is to make. This is generally
boxwood, —a kind which has a very fine grain, and grows compact and hard. This is sawed across the grain, in blocks about
an inch long, which will of course be as large as the stick was
from which they were sawed.  As this, however, is rarely more
than six or eight inches in diameter, two or more blocks are
joined together when a large picture is to be engraved.




HOW PICTUR ES ARE MADE.                  37
When the block is shaped and smoothed, its surface is
whitened, and it is then ready for use. Next the designer
draws upon it the picture, in pencil. Then the engraver cuts
it in the block, using a tool called a graver,- a sort of triangular-shaped chisel, which is pushed along in the wood, as
shown in our cut above. A rod supports a magnifying glass
near the eye of the artist, to enable him to make the delicate
lines with the utmost care.and nicety.
When the work is done, the picture will show on the block
cut in relief. That is, the lines and points are left above the
surface, while all the spaces which are to appear white are cut
away. For example, in this outline figure of a dog, every
thing is cut out but the bare outline itself. This,
standing higher than the other parts, will receive the ink, when the cut is to be printed, and    au
leave it upon the paper which is pressed upon it. Otherwise,
if the outline itself were cut out, it would appear
thus:The engraved block, when finished, is then
set up with the type, ready for printing.
The beauty of the picture, it is obvious, will depend mostly
on the skill of the designer and engraver.  These are generally
different persons, the two arts, indeed, being reckoned as
entirely distinct from each other. The designer commonly
puts his name on one corner of the picture, with the letters




38                  HOME STORIES.
"del. " for "delinivit," i. e.'" designed;" the engraver on another
corner, with " sc. " for " sculpsit," i. e. "engraved."  Often, however, the names alone are regarded as sufficient.
Of course these engravings must be expensive. Several
days, and sometimes weeks, are required to complete a large
picture. So much, however, do they add to the beauty and
interest of books and papers, that they are now very extensively used. Most people are willing to pay enough more
for handsomely illustrated publications to make up the difference in cost.
LITTLE MAY AND THE OLD MAN.
ONE sunny day, fair little May
Went through the woodland near;
Tripping along by brook and stone,
Without a thought of fear;
Though she had never known tlhe way
Until she found it out that day.
Outside the wood, a path she took,
That to the meadow led;
And there she saw, with book in hand,
A man with hoary head;




LITTLE  MAY AND  THE OLD  MAN.                 39
His smile was sweet, his eyes were'blue;
He said, "Young lady, whence come you?"
"I'm little May; from home I came
To take a summer walk;
May I sit down upon the bank?
I'd like with you to talk.
What is that book within your hand?
Can I its meaning understand?"
"Sweet lady,'tis a blessed book,
Which makes my old eyes see,
In that calm sky which hangs above,
A blessed company.
Three children have I living there,
And I expect their home to share."
Said little May with wondering eyes,'"And will it show to me,
Oh, good old man, as well as you,
That glorious company?"'Dear lady, yes; each human eye
Their heavenly beauty may descry.
"Please read your book here by the brook."
And so the old man readSweet words that filled her with surprise,
Until she softly said,




40                   HOME STORIES.
"I did not know there is a place
Where we can see a Saviour's face."
"He came to earth," the old man said,
"To die for you and me."'"Why did lie die?"  "'That we might join
That glorious company."
And still the old man read his book,
And still sung on the chiming brook.
He read how Jesus put his arms
Around each little child;
And how, with hands upon its head,
In holy words and mild,
Each tender little form He blessed,
Then laid it on the mother's breast.
And little May, full many a day,
Passed through the woodland lone,
And always found the good old man
Upon his mossy stone;
And by the little singing brook,
He read from his delightful book.




WHAT SUSY SAID.                  41
WHAT SUSY SAID.
SusY's tongue runs as fast as any little girl's can, about a
great many things; but there is nothing she loves better to
talk about than what her brother Sammy can do,-how he
carries her on his sled, how well he skates, how strong he is,
and how kind.
One evening, Susy went to a little prayer-meeting. Something was said to the children there. They were told that
now is the time for them to come to Christ; that, as they could
not be happy if their mothers were angry with them,'no more
could they be happy while God is angry with them; that to
love God now with all their hearts is the only way to be happy
now, as well as to escape the wrath of God for ever, and be
happy with him eternally.
Susy said afterwards to a lady who was at the meeting,
"Why, I never felt so before. I thought what Mr. C. said
meant something. And when I looked at you, and saw the
tears on your face, I thought you thought it meant something.
And when Mr. G. began to pray for us, that we might not
grieve that kind Saviour, who said,'Suffer the little ones to
come unto me,' and who died for us, I was sure he thought it
meant something too, and that it was time to give myself to
Christ. And I have been trying; but it is hard work to come
alone, and I am afraid I shall not stick to it. I want my




42                 HOME STORIES.
brothers to be Christians; but I think if Sammy will, he would
help me most, for he would stick to it."
So Susy tried to think how she could persuade Sammy to come
with her and help her in this new way on which she had set out.
She could not attend the evening meetings, unless one of
her brothers would go with her, and Sammy used to wonder at
first why she was so anxious to go, and sometimes tried to
persuade her to stay at home; but he loved so well to please
her that her pleadings usually prevailed.
She had begun that very night to read a chapter in the
Bible every evening, but she often found verses which she
could not understand. She had been so accustomed to go
to him for an explanation of whatever puzzled her, that it
was very natural to ask him about these.  He could not
tell her any thing about one of them, when she first asked
him, but after a while he came back and said,
"Oh, I remember, now, what my Sabbath-school teacher
said about that."
How happy that teacher was to hear that one who had
often pained her by appearing very inattentive in che class,
had laid up in his memory some of the things she had tried
to teach him  years before; more happy still, when she
learned that he had begun to read the Bible with his sister,
and when, a few days later, he took hold of her hand, and,
with eyes full of tears, said, —




HOW  GOD TAKES CARE OF HIS CHILDREN.   43
"I want to thank you a thousand times for the book you
gave me so long ago,'Come to Jesus.' I've been reading it
lately, and I hope it has done me good."
Will you not pray that Susy and Sammy may both "stick
to it;"-and will you not begin to "cleave unto the Lord"?
HOW GOD TAKES CARE OF HIS CHILDREN.
IN my walks across Boston Common a year ago, I often
met a little lame girl, whose interesting countenance and
quiet manner, as she offered her candy for sale, attracted my
attention. Sometimes, I bought a trifle to encourage her; at
others, gave her a penny. She told me that her family
were very poor, and she tried to help them all she could.
One of her little brothers was also lame; both were obliged
to use crutches.
When the cold weather came on, the little girl was missing from'her -accustomed place; but, as soon as the warm
breath of returning Spring covered the trees with verdure,
and the ground with its rich, living carpet of green, she
returned and offered her small stock of candy to the passerby as before.
One day, in July last, I found the mother with her little




44                 HOME STORIES.
girl. She had a care-worn, anxious countenance, just one of
those we can not forget; while tottering about, now on this
side, then on that, was a baby, who seemed to have just
become conscious that it could walk alone.  It was rather
pretty, and its dress, though poor and worn, was neat and
clean. Such little ones always attract me; they remind me
of the dear ones whose playful, winning ways once made
up much of the happiness of our household, and. do still,
though their home is now a heavenly one. Taking a penny
from my purse, I gave it to the baby, and, nodding to the
mother, who seemed pleased at the notice, I passed on.
Upon reaching home, a half-dollar, which had been given to
me for a particular use, was missing. Where could it be? I
recollected a recent purchase I had made, and was certain that
it was then in my purse. I had opened the purse but once
afterwards, when I took from it the penny. Could I have
dropped it at that time?  I thought not. "Well, wherever
it is, I hope it may do somebody some good,' thought I, and it'passed from my mind.
Two months later, I found the mother and her little girl at
the old place; a small table stood near, on which were temptingly spread out apples, candy, etc. As I approached, the little
girl ran out to meet me, and the mother exclaimed, "Oh, dear
lady! I bless God that I see you, and thank you for the help
that you gave me that day in my great trouble."




HOW GOD TAKES CARE OF HIS CHILDREN.   45
"When was it? " said I
"The day that you gave my baby the penny and half-dollar.
I have prayed to the blessed Jesus for you every day since."
"' I am very glad that it helped you, but I dropped it," said I.
"Yes," she replied, "when you gave it to the baby," seeming pot to understand me. "Oh, that was the day of my
great want. My children had nothing to eat, and my oldest
girl lay on the floor crying with hunger. That was dreadful,that day of my very great want!" she repeated. "The money
kept my poor children from starving, and if it had not been
for that, I never could have got this table. I do not sell
very much, but we have never been so badly off' as then."
"This was the way then,' said I to myself, "that my halfdollar went. God wanted it to supply the need of his poor,
suffering ones." I was made the instrument of relieving
them, and they had prayed that blessings might descend upon
me. But it was no act of mine. It was not my intention
to bestow the half-dollar upon them; it had been done by
a higher power. Could I doubt that it was the hand of a
kind, heavenly Father, whose watchful care is extended to all?
It was one of those beautiful providences, often unseen and
unnoticed by us, of which the world is so full, by which he
accomplishes his purposes of mercy and love to his children.
The cries of that suffering family had reached his ear, and in
infinite wisdom he came to their relief.




46                 HOME STORIES.
THE SUMMER CLOUD, AND ITS LESSON.
IT had been a day of much unhappiness to my spirit. I
had yielded to temptation once, and several times spoken
bitterly and hastily to dear friends. When I retired to my
room at night, I was so unhappy, that it was long before I
could bring myself to pray; but when I had done so, earnestly
and repentantly, I was greatly relieved, and soon after my
head was laid upon my,pillow, I fell asleep. A kind Father
watched over me when I could not take any care of myself;
and although I had disobeyed and forgotten him during the.
day, he refreshed me with quiet sleep; and kept evil from me.
At early day I awoke, and to him who should ever receive
our first thoughts I offered my morning prayer. One by one,
the stars faded away, and a broad beam of light flooded the
distant hill-tops; it spread wider and wider, till the sunbeams
streamed up the eastern sky. The clouds, which had gathered
in one dark mass during the night, now began to separate and
move away, hastened by the northerly wind which closely
followed in their track.
I had closed my eyes for a few moments, when upon opening theni I saw the outline of a hand pointing with one finger
toward the rising sun. Instead of passing off as the other
clouds had done, it remained stationary for a while, and then
gradually faded away, leaving the clear blue sky in its place.




THE SUMMER CLOUD, AND ITS LESSON.    47
It was a pleasant thought to me that perhaps it was designed
that my sometimes doubting, rebellious heart should receive a
lesson from this little cloud-hand; for it reminded me of that
which is unseen, yet ever present, which the believer trusts is
conducting him to his heavenly'home; leading us through the
mazes of this perplexing life to that world where we shall
know as we are known, and trouble and sin find no entrance.
The finger of that summer cloud pointed to the glorious sun
as he rose to give light to the whole world. It repeated to me
the oft-told advice of pastor and Sabbath-school teacher, to look
to the Sun of Righteousness, if in darkness or error, that healing and purifying balm might be shed upon my soul by his
heavenly beams.
From this hour, dear young reader, let us strive to walk as
"children of the light," that when the shadows of death settle
over us we may behold "light beyond," and find a happy
entrance where there is no night. Then shall we bless and
praise the hand which now mixes for us the bitter cup of
sorrow or disappointment, feeling that it was good that we
were chastened on earth, else perhaps the glories of the upper
temple would not have been prepared for us.




48                  HOME STORIES.
LAMBS AT PLAY.
LAAmiBS  at play! A whole family! A happy family!  Was
ever any thing more beautiful to see!  They are so glad to
escape from their winter quarters and enjoy the fresh, tender
grass! Those three in the foreground have had such a frolic,
playing "hide and go seek " among the low shrubs; or "catch"9
upon the velvety lawn; and now they are all ready for a
jump! Can you not almost hear them say, "One to begin!"




LAMBS AT PLAY.                    49
just as you do when you jump on the stout, fresh hay in grandmother's barn?
They seem full of life and frolic, and yet they are not rude.
How very soft their touch as they push each other about!
You see as they stand here, Bunch does not crowd Bess off one
side of the rock, and Bess don't pull Jenny's wool, nor bite her
ear, nor step on her toes! Very loving are they in their plays,
and so their plays always end happily; and when the mother
sheep says "B-a-a," Bess pricks up her ears and says " M-a-a,"
and scampers off, as fast as her nimble legs can carry her. Bunch
and Jenny follow, expecting a call every minute, and obeying
even before they hear the voice!
Very beautiful are they, and do you not think it would be
very pleasant if every family of brothers and sisters would
live together as happily as the lambs seem to?
You need not always be at play as the lambs are just now,
to be happy. Play does not always make children happy.
Indeed, too much play, or playing with a selfish spirit, makes
them very unhappy, tired, and cross.  It is the, heart that
makes us happy. If that is right, every thing we do is pleasant If that is wrong, even play is dull and tiresome.
4




50                    HOME STORIES.
"OUT OF THE MOUTH  OF BABES."'TIs from the little ones, O God,
Their simple hearts and artless ways, —
Wiser, because more pure than we,
Thou hast perfected praise.
A tiny creature, scarcely learned
In words to tell her infant thought,
A nursling of three tender springs,
This precious lesson taught.
She was abroad where social cheer
To every friendly lip was pressed,
And love had dainties well prepared
To please the little guest.
Her father's faith for daily bread
A daily blessing had implored,
And prayer she deemed with each repast
Must rise above the board.
And wonderingly she sat, and sad,
Untasted all the bounty given, —
The master did not pause to thank
The Giver up in heaven.




"OUT OF THE MOUTH  OF BABES."'                  51
Then sorrowful to him she turned,
And softly lisped, "Pease, sir, pease pay."
Unnoticed or unknown it passed, —
That sweet request to pray.
And so she bowed her head, and laid
Her folded hands with reverent care,
And in her baby accents said
Her little evening prayer.
The guests were silent: she who spoke
In pure simplicity had prayed;
An aged voice the silence broke,
As reverently it said,"Out of the mouth of babes, 0 Lord,
And sucklings". (wondrous are the ways
And wise the counsels of his word)
"Thou hast perfected praise!"
rc,



52                 HOME STORIES.,'..
MY VISIT TO THE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD; OR, KINDNESS BRINGS KINDNESS.
WE may often learn from the brutes that surround us lessons
of kindness, as well as of wisdom.
When I was a very little girl, not more than six or seven
years old perhaps, I received as a birthday present two volumes prettily bound in red morocco. I had often admired




MY VISIT TO THE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD.    53
them  long before they were mine; for, each time that I
entered my father's study, I could see them on the shelf,
where amongst many others for which I did not care a bit,
they seemed to wink out their brilliant and attractive color to
me. How perfectly happy I was on a lovely spring morn,
when these same coveted treasures were given to me! Yes,
they were mine. I had a right to take them, and open them,
and even hide them away in my little room, if I chose. For
my name was written on the fly-leaf, and no one could dispossess me of them. But, what was the story which those pretty
red books told?  It was not one only, but a great many, and
each one of them was about dogs; —not ill-tempered, ugly, or
cross dogs, of course, but intelligent, well-behaved, and kind
dogs. These stories were intended to show how even animals
can be taught to understand obedience, to feel gratitude, and
to return kindness; and no child could read them without
making the resolution never to be guilty of the least cruelty,
or even the least neglect toward the brave creatures who so
often display traits of touching heroism.
I once went to the top of Mount St. Bernard, that lofty pass
of the Alps which is occupied by a hospital, celebrated for the
kindness of its monks, and of its noble dogs, toward poor
travelers who( have fallen beneath the terrible snow-storms
which sweep through those desolate solitudes. And there I
saw a great many of the famous St. Bernard dogs. They




54                  HOME STORIES.
originally came from Spain; and yet, now, they would perish
if they were carried to a warm climate, for they love snow.
These St. Bernard dogs are a brave, courageous race, which
God seems to have created to be the friend as well as the companion of man in those dangerous places. No one'can look at
them without a feeling of great interest, for they share,- consciously, one would think, — the constant perils in which,
to save the lives of others, the good monks often risk their
own. Some travelers have tried to buy these dogs, but no
money could purchase them. One of the monks told me that
an Englishman had offered a large sum of money for a fine
St. Bernard dog, but he replied to him that the French
soldiers had been before him, and were soon made to know
that the monks and their dogs could not part. Without
them, the generous and Christian charity of these monks
would be useless, as it is the dogs, which, obeying their
mysterious instinct, go into the mountains and search the deep
snow-drifts, where a man, woman, or child, may be buried
alive.
The St. Bernard dogs are taken care of with a sort of
respectful tenderness, and I felt proud myself to stroke the
head of the oldest one, called Barry, in honor of one of his
ancestors, who immortalized himself in saving the lives of
fifteen persons. Barry the first is now "stuffed," and can be
seen in the museum at Berne. Around his neck is a little




MY VISIT TO THE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD.   55
board on which is written a memoir of his services to humanity. What a noble monument to old Barry. While I was at
the Hospice, two of the monks, accompanied by four dogs,
started off on their daily errand of mercy. It was affecting to
see what a human-like interest and eagerness the dogs apparently took in their duty; and, as I watched them go out in
the dismal, dreary cold of the Alpine snows and the approaching night, I asked myself, "Could I go so cheerfully and so
readily out of my way to do good?" This was an instance
where dogs were my teachers, and I was very glad to learn
from them.
These earlier incidents of my life have been recalled by a
circumstance which took place a few days ago. A little girl
of my acquaintance went with her brother on a visit to
Raymond, N. H.  When she returned home, the first thing
she told her mother was, how happy she had been in making
the acquaintance of Slago, an old brave family-dog, which had
been so very kind to her. The mother asked her what had
made the old dog so kind? And the little girl simply answered,
"Oh! it was because I was kind to him  myself. I spoke
gently' to him, and patted him, and so he loved me very
much."
And thus it ever is; if we are kind, either to a dog, or
to one of our species, kindness will come back in return.' If the
monks of St. Bernard were rough and cruel to the noble ani



56                 HOME STORIES.
mals which share their exile, they would soon run away into'
other and wilder regions of the Alps, and be of no use to
any one.
If you shout in a scolding tone of voice before an echoing
cliff, the echo will be sure to come back scolding also; but
speak gently and kindly, and the echo will be gentle and kind.
THE MISSIONARY FAMILY.
I SHOULD like to take you with me in fancy, dear children, on
a long voyage. Far away in the Southern Ocean, where the
rays of the sun fall slantingly and feebly, and fragments of
icebergs float like little white boats almost always on the dark
waters, we should find the rocky coasts and rugged hills of the
island I want you to visit,- the missionary island of Keppel.
The little cottage of the missionary, the only house but one on
the island, stands. on a hill-side, and still lower down toward
the shore are two small huts and a stable. A dreary and deso-'late place, you think, for which you would not like to leave
your happy homes and gardens, your pleasant Sunday-schools,
and your playmates.
The missionary family have none of these enjoyments
Their nearest neighbors live on the gray land you can just see,




THE MISSIONARY FAMILY.                 57
far to the south, -the Falkland Islands, where their father
goes, once in a great while, to bring flour and provisions home.
It is summer with them now, but you shiver at the chill wind,
and wonder how they can bear it when their winter comes,
with its cold, stormy winds, its short, dark days and long nights
of frost. There are no trees on the island, only low shrubs
and coarse grass, on which the cows are feeding, and thorny
vines on which the large blackberries are ripening.
See! -the house door is thrown open, and the missionaries'
daughters have come out to gather the fruit.  The two
younger run on first, as full of life and enjoyment on their
lonely island as any little girl at vacation; then follow the
two elder ones with their fair, rosy, English faces, carrying the
basket between them. But there is some other person comning
up from one of the huts to go with them. She is a little darkskinned woman, with black hair, which her husband has just
braided neatly for her, and who seems rather uncomfortable in
her new dress, for she is one of the natives from the Tierra del
Fuego, to whom the missionary has been sent to teach them
the glad tidings of a Saviour.
The younger girls are soon busy among the bushes with the
native woman, whose name is too long and difficult for our lips
to pronounce, and one of them stops now and then to drop a
blackberry into the mouth of the little child of the native,
who responds with "Cutta-cutta," meaning "'Thank you," or,




58                 HOME STORIES.
pulling at her dress, cries "Yamer, yamer," "Give me."  The
older girls are still on the hill, looking far over the sea toward
the west, in the hope of seeing their father's ship, the "Allen
Gardiner," with her white flag, bringing him home in safety
from the Tierra del Fuego, where he has gone to bring back
some more natives to be taught at the station. Well may
they be anxious for him. But a few months ago, when he had
been detained at home, the ship had been seized by the treacherous natives, and all but one man in her murdered. Still, the
missionary perseveres in his work, thinking that the more
wicked, cruel, and ungrateful the natives are, the more they
need to hear of a holy God and a forgiving Saviour.
But the sun is setting, and the baskets are filled, and after
gathering a handful of a delicate, sweet-scented, little white
flower, to ornament their sitting-room, the girls run down to
the wharf to meet their little brother. He has been fishing in
a boat, with a native and an English lad who came out with
them, and has an amusing account to give, of the brown hairy
seals they have seen on a piece of ice, watching them with
queer, intelligent faces. So they turn toward their home,
where they share the duties and lighten the labors of their
mother, for they can obtain no help there.
You would scarcely think, if you saw them working with
active and skillful hands in the house, that not very many
years ago I used to see them led by their nurses, through the




THE MISSIONARY FAMILY.                 59
wide hall of their English home, with its colored windows, into
their. father's drawing-room, that he might introduce the shy,
fair little creatures, in their fresh white dresses, to his guests.
Do you wonder why their father brougft them from that
dear home, with its lovely garden and all its comforts, to live a
life of labor on this lonely island? It was because he loved
his God and Saviour, and when he heard that in the desolate
land of Tierra del Fuego there were five thousand savages,
who had never heard of God or heaven, who lived in ignorance
and wickedness, killing and even eating each other, and dying
without any knowledge of a life to come, he felt it his duty to
leave his happy and comfortable home, and try to teach them
of Jesus, and his love to sinners. And now, dear children,
when you pray to the Saviour you have early learned to love,
will you not remember to ask him to help and protect that missionary till some of these poor savages have learned to obey
and love our Lord Jesus Christ?




60                  HO.ME STOIRIES.
NOT ALL FOR ONE.
A GERMIAN FABLE.
A PEACOCK was strutting proudly round the domains of his
owner, with his tail wide spread, when he espied a poor black
raven on the dead limb of a tree. "Hoot, there!  Be off, you
shabby fellow! " he cried. "I'm the king over all winged gentlemen about here, and" - flapping his wings and mounting a
huge stone gate-post - "this is my throne. I'll have no such
mean gentry as you about."
"Caw, caw, caw!" cried the raven. "I think mine is a hard
lot indeed; and I wonder what I was made for! Probably to
afford fun for such grand birds as you! To be scorned and
ordered from one tree to another!  If I only had a voice like
jiL-~-                                                         I ~~ _~~i  ii




NOT ALL FOR  ONE.                   61
yonder nightingale, who is sleeping to make up for the time
she lost in serenading last night, why, it would atone for my
rusty coat and croaking voice! But, alas, I'm a poor, despised
creature, and had better be out of the world than in it, unless
I had a better fate!"
"Ah, sir," screeched the peacock, "you have one charm,
which, as you do not seem to value or even to claim it, must
belong to me, —those fine red boots on your legs! I've not the
least doubt but they were made for me, to match my magnificent plumes; so off with them! Take these poor rusty ones I
have on, and don't let me catch you thieving from gentlemen
l again, or I'll order you shot as a cherry-thief or a hen-robber!"
"Alas, alas, what a fate is mine! " croaked again the raven.
"Will he tear the red boots, my only charm, from off my
legs.?"  "Indeed I will, and the voice from out the throat of
that lady in the nest, too! I am very sure that he who gave
me these splendid plumes never intended that I should go
about without a voice and a pair of boots to correspond with
them!  You and the nightingale are nobody now; and you
could not be less if you yield me my rights." And with this
fine speech the gentleman turned himself round and round,
that the sun might glisten among his feathers while he waited
for his boots, as he called them.
" Caw, caw, caw! " croaked the raven. "What is to become
of me? I'll be stripped of my one only charm if I stay, and




62                 HOME STORIES.
I'll be shot for a thief if I attempt to fly! I wish I'd never
been hatched! "
Now, during all this conversation, a poor dull toad had been
in the garden-beds near by, picking up his breakfast of bugs
and worms. He was amazed at the scornful pride of the
peacock, as well as at the miserable discontent of the raven.
He knew that he was one of the humblest creatures the Lord
of the garden ever made; but he resolved to rebuke his
superiors for this spirit of rebellion. "Look at me, friends,"
he whispered, in a voice scarcely audible; "what have I to
boast of? I am the meanest creature that ever came from
the great Father's hand, so men say. I have no gay plumes
nor red boots to delight the eye, no voice to charm the
ear.' My eyes are dull and swollen, my whole form is loathsome; so that delicate ladies and little children run from my
presence and shriek if I hop — for I can not even walk —
toward them. And yet the good Lord has not overlooked
even me; to me he has given lfe, with the power of enjoying his air and his sunshine. For this I will bless him, rather
than call in question his wisdom in forming me the unlovely
thing that I am. I know not for what I am placed here,
nor yet do the men who spurn me know; but it is very
certain that the All-wise has made nothing in vain. Doubtless I have a corner to fill, a work to do which would suit
no other. Therefore will I thank my Maker for the sweet




CHARLIE RAY S TROUBLES.                63
boon of life, and bow quietly to his will. Learn of me each
to be content with his own mercies, — the peacock with his
plumes, the raven with his boots, and I who have nothing
else, with life;- remembering that he who doeth all things well
gives not unto any one of his creatures all his good things;
but divides them according to his wisdom." And with one
leap the poor, humble teacher escaped from their sight and
hid himself under the broad leaves of the waving corn.
CHARLIE RAY'S TROUBLES.
"IT is so very, very hard to be good," said Charlie Ray,
mournfully, holding his hot cheeks in his little fat, dimpled
hands.
"Yes; it is very hard indeed," said his mother, in a sympathizing tone; " I think I should get discouraged myself if God
had not promised to help me when I ask him."
" But God is so far of," said Charlie, though in a tone less
sad; and now he rested those feverish cheeks in his mother's
hands.
"Yes, so far off that he is present in the most distant star of
night, but so near, so very near, Charlie, that he is by your side
to know your most secret thoughts."




64                 HOME STORIES.
"But it can not be so hard for grown-up people to do right,
- why can not I wait till I am older?"
"Why, Charlie!" interrupted Mrs. Ray; "you forgot to
change your shoes."
Charlie hung his head. "Why, you see, mother, I have got
so much into the habit of not changing them that I forgot,
though I do try to remember."
" From this, then, you see why it is very important for you
to get into the habit of doing right when you are a little boy,
or it will be very hard for you to begin to do right when you
are a man."
"I never thought of that," said Charlie, eagerly; "so it may
be harder for a man to do right than for me!"
"Yes, but remember if you get into the habit of doing
right now, it will be easier for you to do right when you are
a man."
"So it will," exclaimed Charlie, with delight, "and I will try."
"But, besides this, you must not think you will have less
temptations when you are older. You do little things to help
me now, because you are a little boy; when you are larger
and do more, your work will not seem harder to you than it
does now, for you will have more strength to do it. So, now,
it seems to you that you have great temptations and little
strength to meet them; when you are older, you will have
greater temptations and greater strength to meet them."




CHARLIE RAY'S TROUBLES.               65
"But, mother," and Charlie hesitated, "it does not seem as
if God knew just how very hard it is for such a little boy to
do just right."
"Who is Jesus Christ?"
"God the Son."
"And Jesus Christ was once a little boy in Nazareth, and
knew all a little boy's troubles. He knew what it was to have
his playmates sometimes ill-natured and selfish, and therefore
just how hard you find it always to be kind and generous.
Think, then, when you are troubled and tempted, that we are
told, —' He was tempted in all points like as we are,' that he
might help us when tempted; and that he knows just how
hard a little boy like you finds it to do right. Ask for help
for the sake of the holy child Jesus."
"And I too can think," said Charlie's brother Henry, " that
he was once a young man in Galilee. You, dear mother,
good and kind as you are, can not know all a young man's
trials and temptations, but Jesus Christ does. Thank you for
this thought. Oh, howv it will strengthen me to think of Jesus
Christ not only as the Wonderful, the Counselor, the Son of
God, but as the young man who was pure and holy, not bnly
in his country life among the hills of Galilee, but amid the
stronger enticements of the great city. Thank God not only
that he died for men, but that he lived among them. Thank
God for his boyhood and youth, as well as busy manhood."
5




66                  HOME STORIES.
i 1111!; i,,lll t tf ":   i  i
WORKING FOR I MMORTALITY
satisfied till the form before him should move and breathe.;iri 111/i~~~~~~~~~~iiiiiiii'1~~~~~~~~,'1 ~ ~~ —-~ ~ ~.~_                  "~?
~                         j,
WORING  FR I M criLI.
O~~m of the old  masters in sculpture was noted for tho~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ii
length of time ho always spent upon h~~~aiis  ok.S inewa
hi  y   o the beaut/iiii fu,ta  iti sem~h   oudnI r
sat~isfie t~1 hefom efrei~& h    hul   oe     rete




WORKING  FOR  IMMORTALITY.                67
At one time he was longer than usual over a cetain subject
in which he was all absorbed. The gray dawn found him
before the marble, and the shadows of twilight fell upon him
still there, with chisel in hand. Again and again it was pronounced finished; but still he saw a touch wanting here and
a line there, and went to work with all the devotion of the
artist to a fresh subject. Thus did he renew his toil through
many a day, and far into the small hours of night. A friend,
to whose less practiced eye the work seemed already perfect,
ventured to expostulate with him on what appeared to be a
waste of time.'Why," he asked, "do you spend so much
time and labor upon that one statue?" "Because," replied
the sculptor, "I am working for imnmnortality."
All we, in a higher sense than this, are working for immortality. We are forming characters for eternity. Every word,
every thought, every action, makes a line or a touch far more
enduring than that of the chisel upon the sculptor's marble.
Nor is it upon our own hearts only that the influence of
our work is seen. If some touch of ours has left a line of
beauty upon another, it shall live there for ever; if we have
marred the form we should have graced, the blemish shall also
live and reflect its unseemliness upon us again. Whether we
would have it thus or not, so it is; all our work is for immortality. The material upon which character is wrought is more
abiding than granite. It will survive when earth itself, and all




68                  HOME STORIES.
it contains, shall have passed away. Oh, how important that
we take for our model Jesus, -the holy, the pure, the beautiful; and that we touch and retouch our work until we see in
ourselves his blessed likeness! Let us also aim to reproduce
his features on all around; then shall our labors shine forth
glorious in their immortality. Well will it be for us, when we
meet the products of life' and labor in eternity, if there be
none upon whom, by our example or direct influence, we
have wrought a dark line or an unsightly shade. If God
has kept us so.that no dear buried heart bears the impress of
our neglect or unkindness, let us pray that all our work in
the future may be done in love; so that we may rejoice to
know that it is done for immortality.
ANNIE'S DISOBEDIENCE.
ONE pleasant Saturday. afternoon, Annie Stone received her
mother's permission to visit a young friend, and stay to tea.
She was not often permitted this indulgence, and now she was
highly delighted. Her anticipations of happiness were so
great, that it was rather difficult to wait patiently for her playmate Mary Ann, who was to accompany her. At.last she
came, and as they were going, Mrs. Stone said, "Annie; you




ANNIE'S DISOBEDIENCE.                   69
know that Angeline lives very near the river. Remember
that you must not go to the water, or get into a boat, because,
if you should, you might get hurt, or perhaps drowned."
Annie promised to obey, and with light hearts and nimble feet
the little girls were soon out of sight.
Their half-mile walk led them through the pleasant village,
along the bank of the river, and their attention was constantly
occupied with something new and interesting. When they
arrived at their young friend's house, they found two other
little girls, who made a pleasant addition to the party, and all
played happily together.
After an early tea, Harriet Bailey, one of the girls, said,
"Come, let us go down to the vessel. My father is going
to sea in it, and I visit it every day." But Annie said, " Oh,
no. My mother told me not to go to the water because I
might get drowned."
"No, you won't," replied Harriet. "I know just where to
go."  Annie hesitated, but finally, rather than remain alone,
she allowed herself to be persuaded, and followed on after them.
The vessel did not lie close by the wharf, and, for the convenience.of those who had business on board, a plank had
been laid across. When Annie looked down into the deep,
dark water she was afraid, and shrunk back; the others had
no fears, and they took hold of her hand and led her safely
- over. The men who were about the vessel had finished their
II~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




70                HOME STORIES.
work for the day and gone home. There being none to
restrain them, the young visitors ran about, looking at every
thing, and peeping into every strange place. Annie did not
feel quite as happy as the others. She could not forget her
mother's command, and knew that she was doing wrong.
Dear children, think of the kind parents God has given you.
They love you, and require only what will make you
happy. It may not always seem so to you, but they know
better than you do. Avoid the first wish to do wrong; this is
sin, and will lead you on step by step to ruin. Imitate Jesus.
He was always obedient to his father and mother, though he
was Immanuel. Do this, and it will make you happy.
Night was fast approaching, yet the little girls were so much
occupied that they did not notice it. "There was a great hole
here in my father's vessel," said Annie, "where they put down
barrels." "Oh, no," said they, "there is none here;" but
Annie was right; the hatchway was now open, and many loads
of stones had that day been thrown into the hold for ballast.
In the darkness, the children did not see it, and suddenly
Annie plunged headlong down - down- struck on the stones,
and became insensible. When consciousness returned, she
heard Mary Ann calling her, and found that she, too, had fallen.
"Are we in the river?" said Annie, for her face and hands
were wet. "No, " replied her companion," we are down in the
bottom of the vessel."  Annie cried, and said they never




ANNIE'S DISOBEDIENCE.                71
should get out. How sadly she felt when she remembered
that disobedience to her mother had brought this suffering
upon her. Mary Ann was not much hurt, and by getting up on
the pile of stones she could see a little light from above. After
what seemed a very long time to the poor children, they heard
a strange voice calling, "Children, where are you?" and a man
with a lantern in his hand looked down from the deck. It
was Harriet's father, who, having heard of the accident, had
come to the vessel, and was greatly relieved to find the little
girls alive.
After Annie was rescued, she was found- to be covered with
blood which flowed from a deep cut on her head, and soon
became insensible again. Assistance was obtained, and she
was immediately carried home. It would be difficult to
describe the alarm of Mrs. Stone when the door opened, and
two men entered bringing Annie in their arms, pale and
covered with blood. The physician came, carefully examined
the wound, and dressed it. Though she was suffering much
pain, Annie bore it patiently; she felt that she deserved it,
and that God had punished her for disobeying her kind
mother.
Dear children, is not this story of disobedience a sad one?
Annie never forgot the lesson. She is now herself a mother,
and often, when wishing to impress the duty of obedience
upon her children, she relates this event in her history, and




72                    HOME STORIES.
shows the long white scar on her head, which time can
never efface. Little friends, when you wish to do what your
parents have forbidden, remember that disobedience will
sooner or later be punished. Look to Jesus for help to do
what is right. Say, —
"Heavenly Shepherd, please to watch us,
Guard us both by night and day;
Pity show to little children,
Who like lambs too often stray.
"We are always prone to wander;
Please to keep us from each snare;
Teach our infant hearts to praise thee
For thy kindness and thy care."
THE LITTLE SOLDIER.
"OH, would I were a soldier,'
Cried little Bertie Lee;
"If I were only older,
How very brave I'd be;
I'd fear not any danger,
I'd flee not from the foe,
But where the strife was fiercest,
There I'd be sure to go.




THE. LITTLE  SOLDIER.                    73
"I'd be the boldest picket,
Nor fear the darkest night;
Could I but see a rebel,
How bravely I would fight;
I'd nobly do my duty,
And soon promoted beOh, would I were a soldier,"
Sighed little Bertie Lee.
"But when I'm grown to manbood,
This war will all be o'er,
I can not' join this struggle,
Our dear flag to restore,
I may not bleed for freedom,
That glory's not for me;
My name.will not be written,
The hero, Herbert Lee."
Then answered Bertie's mother,
In tender, loving tone,
"My darling, little Bertie,
You need not thus bemoan.
A nobler strife awaits you,'Tis even now begun,
And you may gain the victory,
If brave and true, my son.




74                   HOME STORIES.
"You are a little soldier, —
A picket guard, my boy,
To ward off every evil
That may your sdul annoy.
No earthly foe need vex you,
No midnight sounds alarm, —
With Jesus for your leader,
What could my darling harm?
" The noblest of all soldiers
MIy little son may be,
His name in heaven recorded,
The hero, Herbert Lee.
That were far higher glory
Than any earthly fame;
God grant the list'Promoted'
May bear my Bertie's name."




THE ONLY  NEW  THING I VE GOT.             75
"THE ONLY NEW  THING I'VE GOT."
LITTLE Henry, a boy of five years old, loved to sit beside his
mother and watch the progress of a pretty pair of scarlet
mittens. To his oft-repeated inquiry, "Whom are they for?"
she replied, " A good little boy."  After they were finished, she
laid them away, satisfying his eager solicitations by telling him,
if Henry proves " a good little boy," he will find them hanging
upon the family Christmas-tree with his name interwoven in
the wrist.
In the mean time, a contribution for a Home Missionary's
family was being made. Henry's mother, upon her return
from the ladies' meeting, informed her little son what they
were engaged in. After giving him some information respecting the missionary's children, she said, "Well, Henry, what will
you give for some one of these children?"  After thinking a
few moments, he replied, "I'll send my inew mittens to that little
boy of the missionary so near my age." His mother said,
"And go without all winter?  Perhaps mamma will not get
time to knit any more, although she would be so glad to do
so." His little chin quivered, and his eyes filled with tears.
He hesitated a moment, and then said, "Yes, if mamma will
sew up my old ones." Upon being assured that his old ones
should be mended, his countenance lighted up again. Upon
the entrance of his sister, he made known to her his intention.




76                  HOME STORIES.
"What! send your new mittens! and not have any on the
Christmas-tree!"  His head dropped again; he made no reply.
But his mother answered; " Let him do just as he has a mind
to." Soon after, his father and a favorite sister entered. His
mother said in a cheerful tone, "Papa, Henry has concluded to
send his new mittens to the missionary's little boy." His sister,
surprised, unconsciously said, "Why, no, Henry; I would not
send my little mittens; I would send something else!"  He
stood a moment, with downcast look, evidently in a deep
struggle of mind, when suddenly he looked up to his mother,
and, with a sorrowful and tremulous tone, said, "Then I can't
send any -thing, for my little mittens are the only new thing
I've got!"




WHO  TAUGHT  THEM.                     77
~-.~'..  i'~
WHO TAUGHT THEM?
THE Bible never attempts to prove the existence of God. It
takes that for granted. In the very first verse, instead of
formally declaring "There is a God," it says, " God created the
heaven and the earth."
But, dear children, there are some, even in this land of




78                HOME STORIES.
Bibles, this land in which God has so wonderfully shown his
handiwork, breathing a benediction of beauty on every tree
and shrub and flower that rejoices in the glad sunlight, who
say they do not believe there is any God, and many more who
act as if they did not believe it.
Let me tell you of one such person, in the words (as nearly
as I can) of the Sabbath-school superintendent from whom I
first heard the story.
"A short time since, a gentleman, conversing of his recent
visit to South America, spoke of an interview with a young
man, whom he had formerly known in New York.
This young man, like many others, having had more money
than good counsel left him by his parents, soon became very
self-sufficient. To show his independence, he began by breaking the Sabbath; and as one step in the downward road always
leads to the second, he went on from one vice to another till
he reached open infidelity, and remained thus when he left
New York for South America.
But when this gentleman met him, the avowed infidel had
become the humble believer in Jesus Christ, and the tongue
that was wont to blaspheme was lifting the voice of supplication for the blessing of God upon his guilty soul.
Greatly surprised at seeing the young man "clothed and in
his right mind," the gentleman inquired what had wrought the
change.




WHO TAUGHT THEM.                   79
Said he, "You know I spent much of my time in fishing and
hunting, and a few weeks since, on a beautiful Sabbath morning, I went in search of game. Being weary of roaming about
the woods, I sat down on a log to rest. While thus seated, my
attention was attracted to a neighboring tree, by the cries of a
bird which was fluttering over her nest, uttering shrieks of
anguish as if a viper were destroying her young.
"On looking about, I soon found the objectof her dread, a
venomous snake, crawling slowly toward the tree, his eye
intent on the bird and her nest. Presently I saw the male
bird coming from a distance with a little twig covered with
leaves in his mouth. Instantly the mother-bird dropped upon
-her nest, and the male bird laid the twig over his mate and
her young, and then perched himself on one of the topmost
branches of the tree, awaiting the arrival of the enemy.
"By this time the snake had reached the spot. Coiling himself around the trunk, he ascended the tree and at length, gliding along the branch till he came near the nest, he lifted his
head as if to take his victims by surprise. He looked at the
nest, then suddenly drew back his head as if he had been shot,
and hurriedly made his.way down the tree as best he might.
"I had the curiosity to see what had turned him from his
malicious purpose; and on ascending the tree, I found the twig
to have been broken from a poisonous bush which that snake
was never known to approach.




80                 HOME STORIES.
"JInstantly the thought rushed across my mind,'Who taught
that bird its only weapon of defense in this hour of peril?' and
quick as the thought came the answer'None but God Almighty,
whose very existence I have denied, but in whose pardoning
mercy, through Jesus Christ, I am now permitted to hope."'
"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them
shall not fall to the ground without your Father. Fear not,
therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows."
Oh, then, dear children, when the Evil One comes to that
hallowed spot, your own quiet home, to devour your souls by
scattering the seeds of discord and strife among your happy
circle, pray to him who heareth the young ravens when they
cry, that some kind messenger from yonder spirit land may be
commissioned to bring you protection from the destroyer, that
so you may " dwell in the secret place of the Most High, and
abide under the shadow of the Almighty."
THE GOOD FIGHT OF FAITH.
" MAMMA, how do they fight the good fight of faith?" asked
Nellie.
"Can either of these boys answer Nellie's question?" asked
her mother, addressing Allen and Freddy, who were preseitt.
Allen who was in raptures over a new bow and arrow which




THE GOOD  FIGHT OF FAITH.               81
his grandfather had given him, thought that was the weapon
used. Freddy was quite sure it was fought with swords like
Captain B.'s, which flashed and glittered in the sun, and he
thought he should like to fight the good fight of faith if his
father would buy him such a sword.
Nellie had remained quite silent during the expression of
these opinions, apparently deep in thought. Suddenly a bright
idea entered her mind, and she exclaimed, "I know now,
mamma; they fight the good fight of faith with pistols,.because
you know we read of Paul's pistols." Mamma explained to
Nellie that what she had thought pistols were epistles, or letters
written to the several churches, though she was quite willing to
admit that these same epistles had fired many a shot which had
wounded the King's enemies, and brought them on their knees
to acknowledge his rightful authority. "You have not yet
told me against what enemies these weapons are used;' said
Mrs. DI), anxious to draw out the opinions of her children,
that she might adapt her instructions accordingly.
"I think," said Freddy, " that it is the Secessionists."
Nellie could not think who they could be; apparently she
had exhausted her mental powers when she conceived the
brilliant idea of the pistols. Mrs. D — explained that most
of the battles in the good fight of faith were fought not with
Secessionists, but with the sins in our own hearts, and that the
weapon used was God's truth, the sword of the Spirit. She
6




82                 HOM.E STORIES.
proposed to the children that they should begin immediately
to fight against these sins; and, lest they should be discouraged,
she recommended that they take only one at a time.
" What shall I commence with? " said Nellie.
"I think," said Mrs. D, "that you should commence with
indolence." Nellie hung her head in shame, for she was now
eight years old, and could not read without spelling half her
words, because she had been too idle to study.
"How shall I begin?" said Freddy.
"You must watch against untruthfulness," said Mrs. D
"I have observed that you will sometimes screen yourself from
blame by telling what is not true."
"Mamma, I do not think I have any sins to fight against,"
said Allen, "for I do not tell wrong stories and I am not indolent." Mamma was not long in convincing Allen that this
extremely good opinion of himself was entirely erroneous;
and she pointed out to him that fretfulness was his besetting
sin, and one that was extremely annoying to others. Perhaps
I will tell you at some future day how these little soldiers succeeded in fighting the good fight of faith.




GRETA  AND  THE  FLOWERS.                  83
GRETA AND THE FLOWERS.
LITTLE Greta, pale and weary,
Fainteth in the city air;
Longing for the breezy country —
EIer fond mother bears her there.
Never had the eyes of Greta
Watched a bud from day to day,
With its perfumed leaves unfolding,
In God's own mysterious way.
So, although the snow-white ox-eye
Long had budded'mid the grain,
Seeking late and seeking early,
Greta sought a flower in vain;
Till the little maiden, waking
Once in light of early day,
Gazing on the pleasant meadow,
And the pastures far away,
Sees the rows of snowy ox-eyes
Waving in the morning air; —
(Never had the child in visions
Dreamed or thought of aught so fair; —)




84                 HOME STORIES.
Cries she now with joyous laughter,
"Mother, rise and look about;
Early have the busy fairies
Hung their tiny washing out."
THE LITTLE FACE IN NORTON ALLEY.
"CoME, my dear, put your book away and take a walk with
me," said Mrs. Cooper to her little daughter one October day,
when October was beautifully glorious with color and sunshine.
"Where are you going, mamma?"
"To Norton Alley."
"It's a mean place, mother."
"No, it is only a poor place, and I wish you to go."
" What for? "
"I am going in search of little boys or girls for the Sunday
school."
"Oh, I don't wish to go; I am reading the nicest little book
that ever was written."
"Well, your book will wait until you come back. I wish to
show you an unwritten book."
"What is an unwritten book?"
"Come, and I will show you."




THE LITTLE FACE IN NORTON ALLEY.            85
"There! I told you it was mean," said Alice, as soon as they
came within the alley; "just look at those children,- they
are ragged and dirty, and look as if they liked it."
"So would you be if you had had no one to teach you that
it is better to be tidy and clean."
"I can't believe it, mother."
"It is only true; if you had always lived in this alley and
played with children like these, vou would not know the
difference."
Mrs. Cooper called one of the little girls to her.'" What is
your name?" she asked.
"Gertrude,'that's my name."
"Have you ever been in Sunday school, Gertrude?"
"I don't know where'tis, ma'am; is it like the circus where
they jumps on the horses that runs? " asked the child.
Alice laughed, and Gertrude grew very red arid angry, as
she said,"  You needn't to laugh at me; the circus is the only
place I knows anything about."
"My little girl shall not laugh at you," said Mrs. Cooper,
"and I will tell you what kind of a place the Sunday school
is. It is a nice large room, with pictures on the walls, and
seats in it, where many little boys and girls go every Sunday,
and are taught how to read a book that tells them what
they must do in this world if they would go to heaven when
they die."




86                 HOME STORIES.
"Die! die!" repeated the child; "why, that's what Bobby's
been doing."
"Where is he?"
"Come, and I'll show you; he looks as if he'd been whitewashed, and he won't get up a bit; mother's been calling him/
all day, and I don't believe a bit as he can hear what she says;
come right on, and I'll show him to you."
"No! no! Gertrude," called Mrs. Cooper, "you may tell your
mother that there is a lady here who would like to come in."
"Don't go, don't, mother," pleaded Alice; "it's so dirty and
mean."
" This is only one leaf of the book," said her mother; "come
and look at it."
Alice drew back, and looked as if she would run away if
she had the courage. Gertrude came from a house near by, a
moment later, and said, " You may come if you're a mind to,'cause she don't take no notice of me, no more nor if I wasn't
there."
Gertrude led the way into the house, followed by Mrs.
Cooper and Alice.
Over a little form bent the mother, who was sobbing
piteously, and neither moved nor spoke when Mrs. Cooper
went in.
"When did the little boy die?" asked a sweet voice of the
bending mother. It aroused her. She lifted herself up and




THE LITTLE FACE IN NORTON ALLEY.            87
turned her tearful eyes upon Mrs. Cooper, only murmuring,
"He's dead,- he's gone, like all the rest; my last one, — my
little boy."
"When did he go?"
"He died in the night."
"Shall I wash the little face for you?" asked Mrs. Cooper.
"Thank you, ma'am; I suppose it ought to be done."
" Don't, mother, don't touch it!" whispered Alice; "I shall
be afraid to kiss you to-night if you do."
"Very well, my dear, you may not kiss me, but you may go
home as quickly as you can, and tell nurse that there is a little
boy dead here, and I wish her to come to me with whatever
she thinks I may need."
Alice did not wait for a second bidding. She ran out of
the alley as swiftly as she could.
"Look here, what's your name?" called Gertrude, who had
followed Alice.
"My name is Alice. Where are you going?"
"With you, to see whereabouts you live."
"You had better not," said Alice; and poor Gertrude turned
back with a sad face.
Alice hastened home and reported the case to nurse, who
made the needful preparations, and, with her hat on, stopped
to ask, "Are you not going with me?  I do not know the
way."




88                  ROME STORIES..
Alice had thought the disagreeable duty done, and had
opened the "nicest story-book in the world." She closed it,
and went with nurse.
Gertrude was sitting on the floor beside the bed, looking
intently at the face of her little brother.
"Why, mamma, how pretty he is! " exclaimed Alice, as she
saw the change her mother had wrought in the face of the
dead child; "he looks more as if the angels would take him
into heaven now," she said.
"Don't they let no folks go into that place if they haven't
clean faces?" asked Gertrude,-"'cause I'll go out to the
pump and wash mine quick, if that'll let me in."
"It is clean hearts that we must have to go there," said Mrs.
Cooper, as she lifted the dead darling gently from his mother's
arms, and prepared to robe him in his last little dress.
"It's pretty!" said the mother, and she put her hand on the
dress nurse had brought, and for an instant looked up into Mrs.
Cooper's face.
"Y' es, it was my Willie's dress," she said.
"Haven't you him now?"
"No," said Mrs. Cooper, and a tear-drop found its way to
Willie's little dress.
"Why - where?" and the newly-bereaved mother could
ask no more.
"I am glad, I am thankful," said Mrs. Cooper, "Willie has




THE LITTLE FACE IN NORTON ALLEY.            89
gone to heaven; we ought always to be happy when they are
there, you know."
"Do you think they'd let my Bobby in?"
"I know he is safely there."
"How can you tell?"  And the mother looked up eagerly;
she had forgotten for an instant. the present clay.
"Because Jesus has promised it."
"Jesus! Jesus! Is he like God?"
"He is God's own dear Son," said Mrs. Cooper; "and the soul
of little Bobby is safe with him in heaven."
"I wish I'd known, I wish I'd known, so's I could tell him
when he looked so frightened," said the poor woman. "Look,
ma'am, Bobby was little, Bobby never did naughty things;
how shall Iever get where he's gone?"
"Why, mother, don't you know?" said Gertrude; "the lady
says we must have clean hearts, but I don't see how we can
wash them, for they're all covered up tight."
" We can't wash them; it is Jesus who washes them with his
blood, if we ask him," said Mrs. Cooper.
Gertrude sat still on the floor, looking very much puzzled at
these new things, and Alice began to think that it was very
beautiful of her mother to make Bobby look so nice.
"I will come again in the morning and see you," said Mrs.
Cooper, as, having made the dead child ready for its burial, she
kissed the cold face, and bade the mother good-by.




90                 HOME STORIES.
"Mayn't I kiss him too, — he looks like Willie?" asked
Alice, turning back from the door. The child kissed the white
forehead, and, touched by her mother's kindness, a little of it
crept into her own heart. "You may come with me now, and
I will show you where we live," she said to Gertrude, "if your
mother will let you."
"We will wait until to-morrow, and then she may come,'
said Mrs. Cooper, "for now I am not going home."*
"Where?" asked Alice, when they were again in the alley.
"You shall see," said her mother; and Alice saw a little
coffin bought for Bobby; and the following day she tied a
wreath of flowers that lay over Bobby's still little heart, and
then they took him out of Norton Alley, and laid him in the
pure, fresh earth, until the time when God shall send out his
angels to gather in his lambs.




P A.T s Y.                  91
PATSY.
Tr children had been had been playing one summer afternoon in the
grassy lane that led down to the little cottage where Uncle
Tim lived. There were Fanny and Mabel and Bessy White




92                 HOME STORIES.
and Eunice, the youngest, whom they called "little Tuney;'
and Patsy, a little colored girl, whose mother used to wash and
iron for Mrs. White. Merry as the butterflies which they
chased, were these children, - all but Patsy. Not that she was
not as active as any of the others, but she was not allowed to
join in their plays; and when she attempted to do so, she was
repelled in an unkind manner, which brought the tears into
her eyes, and the big painful sobs into her bosom.
Uncle Tim had been sitting in the shade near the door of
his house enjoying the soft warm air of the afternoon, and
watching the play of the children. He was old and lame, but
he had a kind heart. Long years before, he had had a little
pet,- his Minnie,- but the bud did not remain to blossom,
for God took it to plant in his own garden above. Perhaps he
had been thinking of her this afternoon, for his eye was moist,
and his look was very gentle, so that when the merry players
ran that way, he called them to him, and spoke so pleasantly
that they came at once where he was sitting.
"What is the matter," he asked, "with Patsy?" "Oh! "said
Mabel, "she cried because Bessy White called her names and
pushed her away."
"Ah," said he, "I am sorry to near that! Why did you do
so, Bessy?"
"Because she is black, and we don't want such with us."
"Indeed!" replied Uncle Tim, at the same time calling the




PATSY.                       93
timid little Patsy to his knee, "is that all? I am sorry that
you are learning this lesson of unkindness so early. This is not
obeying what the Saviour says,'Do unto others as you would
have them do to you.'"
Bessy said nothing, but hung down her head, and Uncle Tim
proceeded:"Suppose that God had made you like Patsy, and somebody
despised you for it, and called you names, and treated you
unkindly, would you not feel very much hurt by it?"
"You say that Patsy is black; —but she can't help that;
and it is only the color of the skin after all. Don't you think
she has a soul within just as you have? Can she not learn to
read and spell and sing, and do all such things as well as
you?"
"Oh!" cried little Tuney, pushing her chubby face forward
from behind Bessy, "Patsy spelled a big word in the school
yesterday, and Miss'Jones praised her for it, and gave her a
little book."
" Well, that was right," said he, and, dropping his voice to a
gentler tone, he continued, " Didn't Christ die for her just as he
did for you; and if she loves him, won't he take her to his
beautiful home in heaven and give her a shining crown and a
snow-white robe and let her live with him.for ever? And
now will you be unkind to Patsy, and despise her because God
made her what she is?"




94                 HOME STORIES.
Poor Bessy! - she felt the reproof  Bessy had a kind heart
and didn't mean to do wrong, but she had seen similar conduct
in people older than she was, and had learned too early the bad
example. But'she now resolved that she would be more careful not to hurt Patsy's feelings again; and after this, when any
of her playmates did so, she interposed with Uncle Tim's question, "Didn't Christ die for her, and doesn't he love her just
the same?"
LITTLE MATTY; OR, WHAT IS IT TO BE WORTH HATLF
A MILLION?
MATTY was a little boy, three or four years of age, whose
noble and large-hearted father had died leaving him worth a
great deal of money; but he left him something -far better
than that. Some of my little readers will wonder what could
be better than a great many thousand dollars, with which a
little boy could buy all the marbles, tops, base-balls, or footballs, all the kites, tops, or candies that he might choose.
But little Matty had one thing better than all his money,
and that was a wise and good mother. She taught him about
a Father in heaven, who was far better, even, than the father
whose body they had laid away in the ground.




LITTLE  MATTY.                   95
She taught him that if he loved this good and kind Father,
and obeyed him, he would sometime go and live with him for
ever. She also taught him much more than this; but she
never told him that he was worth any more money than the
poorest boy that came to their door for bread.
At the time of which we speak, Matty began to go to school,
and to play with boys who had heard of his great wealth, and
who felt that it was a very fine thing to be worth so much
money. One afternoon, as Matty returned from school, a great
change was seen in his manner, and he ordered the servants
about as he had never done before.
None of them could tell what had happened, that a little
boy, who had always before been so lovely and amiable, should
so suddenly put on such important airs.
The secret, however, was soon revealed, for, as Matty met
with some reproof from his faithful old nurse, with all his
newly acquired dignity he said, "I am worth half a million."
Astonished at such words from Matty, she hastened to his
pious mother with the news of the change which had come
over her only son. Matty was immediately summoned, and,
although much of his self-importance vanished as he entered
the presence of his best earthly friend, yet he still showed
that some unhappy influence was at work upon his little heart.
" Matty, my son, what is this that I hear of you?" said his
dear mother.




96                 HOME STORIES.
"I am worth half a million," replied Matty.
With a sad and even grieved expression the mother continued, "What do you say, Matty?"
Matty's look was more subdued as he replied, "The boys say I
am worth half a million."
"Well, Matty, what is it to be worth half a million?"
This was something that Matty did not so well understand,
and his handsome and animated face became suddenly very
thoughtful. He knew that it was something very important,
for the words and manner of his play-fellows had plainly
shown this to be the case, but what it was to be "worth half a
million" he could not tell.
After a few moments' silent' thoughtfulness, Matty, looking
up into his mother's face, with a sweet and loving expression,
replied, "Dear mamma, I don't know, unless it is to be a good
boy, and go to Sabbath schooL"




G A NP AT I.                  97
GANPATI; AN IDOL GOD.
THE children will be pleased to know that this picture is a
copy of one which was sent to us for them from Bombay, in
India. It was accompanied by the following letter, which tells
7r




98                 HOME STORIES.
about the picture, and also gives some interesting facts about
India.
MY DEAR CHILDREN: India is a land full of idols. Some of
them are very large, and made of stone; others are small, and
made of brass, or silver, or gold, and others still are printed on
paper. This morning I sent a little boy out to buy the picture
of a god, so that you might see what strange things these poor
ignorant people worship. Just look at that picture! A man's
body with four arms and an elephant's head. The iindoos
call it Ganpati.
But do the people really worship such images in India?
Certainly they do, every day. Although the images never
move and -never speak, yet the people are afraid of them.
Generally, they think the image itself is a god, though some
think there is a god in the image. Parents teach their children
to believe this, and so all become idolaters.
Not long ago, a native Christian went into the house of a
man who was making images like this picture, and when he
came home, he told me the following story. The idol-maker
had a little boy five or six years old, who sat watching his
father and hearing the conversation. While they were talking,
another man came in, and seeing one idol that was finished,
he began to worship it. The little' boy laughed, and running
to him said, —




ELSIE'S BOOKS.                    99
"What are you doing? - that is no god; father made it."
The father said, —" Hush, child, yes it is a god."
"But," the boy replied, "you just now took the clay and
made it. How can it be a god?"
Then the father repeated two lines of poetry, very common
among the Hindoos -
"If you worship it, it's a god:
If you don't worship it, it's a stone."
The poor boy could not understand this, and he did not
believe it, yet without stopping to say more, he ran merrily
away repeating to himself what the father had just said.
Poor boy! He too will probably be an idol-maker, and like
his father learn to worship the work of his own hands. Can
we not do something for these poor children? Don't you
think there would be room enough for them in heaven, if they
should learn to love Jesus? I am sure there would, and I
think all the. angels would rejoice if they should see any of
these children coming to heaven.
ELSIE'S BOOKS.
"WHY, Elsie, what are you doing?" asked Miss Agnes, her
governess, coming into the nursery one day after school.
"Tearing the leaves out of your books? Why, you mustn't
do so!"




100                HOME STORIES.
Why not?" answered the little girl, pettishly, "they are
my own to do what I please with; and I've read this one, and
read it till I'm sick of it; so now I'm going to cut out all the
pictures to paste in my scrap-book. I like that best of any
thing."
"Yes, but my dear, it is wrong willfully to destroy any thing
that may be of use to another. Only think how many poor
little children there are in the world, who never had a storybook in their lives, who would be made happy for weeks, by
the gift of one of those which you are destroying just for a
fancy!"
"Children that never had a story-book!" repeated the little
girl incredulously; "why, I never heard of such a thing! All
the little girls I know have plenty; they wouldn't take these
old things of mine if I offered them. I suppose you mean
little beggars,- but they don't care about reading, do they?"
"Why, haven't they minds and hearts and souls, as well as
other children? They would enjoy the treat of a pleasant
story all the more because they have so few pleasures. I think
if you would sometimes give one of the books you are tired
of to the poor little beggars who come for cold victuals, it
would make them very happy indeed, and perhaps help them
to be good; for all your books teach how children should try
to do right."
"I never thought about it before,' said Elsie, looking down.




ELSIE'S BOOKS.                 101
"And not only little beggars," said Miss Agnes; "but still
more the poor children in alms-houses and hospitals and nurseries. Only think, Elsie, how many hundreds of children
there are in such places in this great city; poor little orphans,
most of them, whom kind people take care of, providing food
and clothes, and a roof to shelter them, but not much else.
You know it takes so much money to buy necessary things for
so many. little friendless creatures, that very little is left to buy
books or playthings for them. And yet those children would
enjoy such things just as much as others. How happy it
would make some of them to have that very pile of nice
story-books that you have' gathered around you to cut up!"
" Well, Miss Agnes, and they shall!" exclaimed the warmhearted child, her face glowing, and her eyes wet at this appeal
to her sympathy. "If you'll only help me to get them to
them! Poor little lonesome boys and girls with nothing to
play with! We'll speak to mamma about it; but you know
she lets me do just as I like with my things. I'm so glad you
told me!"
Miss Agnes put her arm around the child, who had sprung
to her side in her eagerness, and kissed her.' Very well, my dear," she said; " then we will look over
your shelves now; you have the most extensive library I ever
saw, for a young lady of nine years! and we'll put together all
you'know by heart,' as you say, and ask your papa to let




102                 HOME STORIES,
John take the parcel to the Home for the Friendless to-morrow. That will be much better than cutting them up,
won't it? "
"Oh, yes, Miss Agnes," said Elsie, blushing; " I'll never do
such a selfish thing as that again! and I'll keep my papers too,
— you know  I always cut up my'Child at Home,'.and'Reaper,' and all the rest for the pictures. But I will take'
care of every thing for the poor children now, - see if.I
don't! It will be so nice to give them a pleasure!"
"And it will give pleasure to some one else," said Miss
Agnes, gravely.. "Who was it, Elsie, who when he was on
earth was one of the poor himself, who has given us special
charge to be kind to the poor and needy, and share with them
the good things his kindness has bestowed on us?"
"Jesus," said the little girl, reverently; "'.oh, Miss Agnes, I
have been a very selfish girl, -I didn't think; but indeed, I
never will waste my money and every thing so again; I will
put it by for poor people; you will help me."
" Yes," said Miss Agnes, stroking her hair fondly; " and now
we will set about our pleasant task."




GOING  INTO A MINE.                 103
GOING INTO A MINE,
Tins is a picture of coal miners,:  men and boys, — going
to their work. They are lowered, as you see, in a sort of box
or basket, through that deep hole which leads to the mine, and
which is called the shaft. When they reach the bottom, they
will grope their way along, through those underground passages, with no light but what comes from the little lamps




104                HOME STORIES.
which they carry, until they reach the galleries where they
work, and there they will stay, all through the day, returning
to their homes above-ground at night.
It is a very dangerous calling. Sometimes the mines are
suddenly overflowed with water, or there are explosions of
gases, or the roof of the mine - that is the coal and earth
above them — gives way, and, falling down, stops all the passages, so that the poor miners are buried alive. These accidents seldom, if ever, happen to the miners of our country,
and not so often in England as formerly; but they do sometimes occur, and many lives are lost. So you see, these miners
have need every day-to commit themselves to the care of Him
who can as easily see and watch over them, in their deep, dark
working-places, as he can see us who are out in the light of
the sun.
This picture is one of the illustrations of a book entitled,
"Down in a Mine." It contains a most interesting story of
a frightful accident which happened to five miners, three of
whom were boys. The two men who were with them had the
love of Christ in their hearts, and it is delightful to read how
that love sustained these men in their dreadful trial, and
enabled them to comfort their young companions. Truly,
God is always ready to listen to the cry of those who put
their trust in him. It also relates a second catastrophe in
which all the workmen perished.




"SOW  BESIDE ALL WATERS."              105
"SOW  BESIDE ALL WATERS.'
THE noonday train for Boston rushed into the station of one
of our large inland towns, and, exhausted, stood panting for
breath and lolling its hot, red tongue till water should be
brought it.  The passengers were lightly brushing the dust
from their clothes, taking looks at each other, and wondering
how long they must wait, when an unusual stir in the depot
turned all eyes toward an advancing group. In a moment,
several men stalked into the car, followed by one whose dress
indicated his position as an army officer. Some of the newcomers quietly seated themselves, but the rest, packed three in
a seat, entertained the company without by their loud jests
and songs, some of which were more highly appreciated by
the singers than by most of the passengers in the car.
The train having finished its lunch of wood and water, was
ready to move on, which it did, amid the shouts of the bystanders, and the performance of the " Red, White, and Blue,"
by the noisy travelers.
"Who are these men?" was a question more easily asked
than answered. Being accompanied by an officer, they must
be on their way to do something in their country's service,
but the apparent indifference of their farewells left little room
for the thought that they were going into scenes of danger,
to fight the battles of law and liberty. Yet they would make




106                HOME STORIES.
grand soldiers, so athletic and well-formed were they. Even
the things which prevented their being a pleasant addition to
a quiet car might make them of use in the field of battle. And
sure enough, to the battles they were going, as was ascertained
when the conductor appeared.
Still singing, each man, at one time, drew from his pocket a
huge bit of uncooked, salt cod-fish, from which, after brandishing it as if it were a bowie-knife, he bit a piece. By this, one
of their older and quieter companions seemed to be reminded
that he, too, was not unprovided with "creature comforts," and
out of his pocket came a little newspaper package, which,
being opened, was seen to contain tobacco, evidently the parting gift of some boon companion.
Now all this, though not very agreeable, could have been
very easily borne, especially as the men were just volunteering their services for their country's defense, had it not been
for the profaneness of their conversation. The name which
we are.accustomed to take upon our lips only reverently in
prayer, or lovingly in conversation, even that of the blessed
Saviour, was lightly mentioned. This could not be endured.
Many took refuge in the next car, but that was soon filled.
The officer, who was a very young man, and had, as yet, no
real authority over the volunteers, was probably afraid that if
he reproved them, they would leave him at the next stoppingplace; or he may have considered it as a matter of course




"SOW BESIDE ALL WATERS."               107
that soldiers should swear. Whatever were his thoughts, he
was silent on the subject.
The future defenders of the Constitution were in the midst
of a song, rather a pretty one it was, about " the old red schoolhouse," when a child left her place and went and stood by
them as if listening. Her little head and heart, however, were
full of something far more interesting to her than any song.
She looked in each sunburnt, manly, though reckless, face, hesitated, retreated to her mother, who gave her an encouraging
smile, returned to the men, stood a moment, then climbing
on the seat at their backs, hastily thrust a pocket Testament
into the hands of one of them, and scampered back to her
mother
The little creature had been breathlessly watched in fearful
hope, and now the unspoken prayers which, without doubt,
had gone up from more than one heart for her success were
changed to thanksgivings as the young man took the book,
and after examining it with a pleased smile, put it carefully in
his breast-pocket. His comrades wanted it. " No, it was given
to me, and I will always keep it," said' his face, and probably
his tongue.
In a few minutes, the candy-boy passed, and the young man,
with his little book still tightly buttoned under his coat, bought
a paper of pop-corn; which he took across the car, and gave,
with a kiss, to the little girl. Then he must have her to sit




108                HOME STORIES.
by him, not among his companions, but in another seat, where
they talked together till the cars again stopped, and with a
good-by kiss, the child left him and tripped lightly to the depot platform, where, with a sunny smile on her pretty face, she
stood, waving another farewell.
A wonderful change had indeed passed over the men. Not
one more oath had the child heard, and only two more profane
words were uttered during the whole trip. Those men, with
manly hearts beating under the rough exterior, could no more
have been boisterous in her presence than could the doctors in
the temple of old, in the presence of the wondrous boy who
questioned them. After she passed out, there was a silence,
broken at length by songs of a different nature from those
sung at first; more patriotic and touching than comic. This
was before the invention of the blasphemous "Hallelujah chorus." Had it been popular then, those men would not have
sung it that afternoon. Though full of life and activity, and
by their droll sayings amusing all about them, they grew less
excited, and disposed to talk together of the parents and brothers left behind.
The little girl who so early began her missionary work - a
work which no other person could have done —may never
know, what others took pains to ascertain, to what regiment
her Testament has gone, and when she hears of the different
companies engaged on the field of battle, can only wonder if




LITTLE  BY LITTLE.                   109
the little book, hidden in the breast-pocket, is laid beneath the
green turf of Virginia; but God knows where it is. Without
doubt, the seed which she cast on the deep, muddy waters of
sin, as the Egyptians scattered their grain on the fields overflowed by the Nile, found a sure lodging-place, and by and byit may not be till the great Harvest-when the angels will be
the reapers, it shall come again to her.
LITTLE BY LITTLE.
ONE step and then another,
And the longest walk is ended;
One stitch and then another,
And the largest rent is mended;
One brick upon another,
And the highest wall is made;
One flake upon another,
And the deepest snow is laid.
So the little coral workers,
By their slow but constant motion,
Have built those pretty islands
In the distant dark blue ocean;
And thb noblest undertakings
Man's wisdom hath conceived
By oft-repeated efforts
Have been patiently achieved.




110              HoME STOnIES.
THE HYBRID TREE.
Tins picture represents a strange and curious product of nature growing on the south side of the Taunton and Middleboro'
Railroad, a few miles from Taunton. It is an apple-tree to the
hight of six or eight feet, and an elm the rest of the way!
None can explain how this strange thing was brought about.
The phenomenon would be the more remarkable if either the




THE HYBRID  TREE.                 1ll
apple portion or the elm portion or both were distinguished for
quality or beauty. But in these respects there is certainly not
much to recommend the singular partnership. The apples are
not particularly fine, nor is the elm particularly vigorous or
graceful, and the whole tree looks as if it knew it was a laughingstock to its fellows, and protested against the apparent attempt in its case to contradict the axiom in philosophy that
two bodies can not be in the same place at the same time.
I have known men who reminded me of this hybrid tree.
Well trained in boyhood, they began life with a disposition to
do good for its own sake, and they did indeed bear fruit. For
a while, their words and deeds were like " apples of gold in pictures of silver." But'in' the mean time -there seems to have
been another nature growing within them, and finally this
came out in the form of a worldly ambition that proved too
powerful for their simple Christian usefulness, and they shot
up intrusively into public notice, sacrificing all but the relics
of what they were, to affect a dignity which they could never
quite reach. Better remain an apple-tree, though a very humble one, than undertake to be an apple-tree and an elm-tree in
one, and finally make a failure of the whole tree.




112                HOME STORIES.
THE GREAT CONQUEROR.
I SAW a mother, not long since, whose son had enlisted in
the army. I expected to find her sad and disconsolate, for the
young soldier was an only son, and was very much beloved at
home. But to my surprise she was cheerful and happy.
"Merwin has gone," she said, "and I may never see him
again; but I can not make myself unhappy about it. I have
given him to God, and wherever the Lord's service takes him
he must go. I know he will distinguish himself, wherever he
is, for he has already proved himself a great conqueror."
" So young as he is!" I exclaimed; "how?"
"He has conquered himself," replied the mother; "and you
know what the Bible says about that."
"Oh, yes indeed," said I; "but I thought your Merwin was
one of those who find it very easy to be good. There is a
great difference in children. Some are so amiable and gentle
that when they become Christians you see but little change in
their outward conduct, and some""'But my son was not one of those," said she, interrupting
me. "He was born with a hot, fiery temper. It used to frighten me almost, when he was nothing but a baby, and I hardly
dared to think what would become of him when he grew
older. I prayed a great deal about it, and talked and labored
to help him to overcome his naughty, passionate spirit. And




THE GREAT  CONQUEROR.                113
he began very early to try to govern himself. I recollect
when he was not more than four years old, he had been very
much provoked about something, and I could see the fire
kindling in his eye and the color rising in his cheek. But
he kept very still until his anger had subsided, and then
he came running to me, threw his arms around my neck, and,
bursting into tears, he cried,'Kiss me, mamma, kiss me; I've
overcome." 
"That's beautiful!" I exclaimed.
"Many a time," the mother continued, "have I seen him
struggle with his hasty, angry feelings, until by degrees it grew
easier for him to control his temper, and now I can truly say,
I believe by the grace of'God, he has conquered himself. And
among the qualifications for good soldiership that is one of the
very best, I think."
I thought so too, as I repeated to myself the words of the
Bible, to which Merwin B.'s mother had alluded. You will
find them, little, reader, in Prov. xvi. 32: "He that is slow to
anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit,
than he that taketh a city."
And I felt as if I wanted all the little boys to become conquerors in this same sense. No matter if you are not called
to be soldiers to march at the call of your country to the
battle-field and fight. You may be called of God to conquer
enemies elsewhere. You may be called to govern and direct
8




114'              HOME STORIES.
others. Whatever may be your duty in life, the best preparation you can make is'to learn to govern yourself.
An angry spirit is a terrible enemy. It comes upon you so
suddenly that it takes you unawares, throws you off your
guard, and has vanquished you before you have time to
think. Then if you are on the watch, it is so strong, so furious, so unwilling to listen to the voice of reason, that L ou
are not well armed, and if you have not helpers close by, you
are most likely to be beaten. So, dear boys, it becomes you to
be on the lookout all the while for it. As Jesus said, "Watch
and pray, lest ye enter into temptation."  You must have
your armor on too, always. Never venture to lay it aside for
a moment. If you do, you will, I am sure, be overcome.
And more than all, do not live very far away from God, who
alone is able to make you conqueror over this dreadful enemy.
If you live near to him, he will protect you. He will "teach
your hands to war, and your fingers to fight;" will encourage
you in the heat of the conflict with his smile and whispers of
comfort and love, and will give you the victory. Better than
all, he will bring you at last up to his own home, put a crown
upon your head, and seat you upon a throne of glorious triumph in the heavenly kingdom of Jesus Christ; for hear what
Jesus has said: " To him that overcometh will I grant to sit
with me in my throne, even as'I also overcame, and am set
down with my Father in his throne."




THE PILGRIM MONUIMEN T.l,.~.~~~~~~~~lii
THE PILGRIIM I MONUMIENT.
EVERY child has heard of Plymouth Rock, and of the Pilgrims who landed there. It was on the 22d of December,




116               HOME STORIES.
1620. The picture shows the very large and costly monument
which is being built at Plymouth to commemorate that event.
The monument is to be one hundred and fifty feet high, built
of solid granite. The figure at the top is a statue of Religion
holding an open Bible, and pointing to heaven. The figures
below, two of which only are seen, are Morality, Education,
Law, and Liberty. Underneath these are representations of
the " Departure from Delfthaven," " The signing of the Social
Compact in the Cabin of the May-Flower," "The Landing at
Plymouth," and "The First Treaty with the Indians."  On
the four large panels are the names of the Pilgrims and the
principal events in their history.
It is a good thing to erect monuments of good men. Our
Pilgrim Fathers were such men. They loved religion, and they
came here to have a home where they could worship God without molestation. And as they honored God, so he has honored
them. He has made of that little company a great nation,
who recall with pride and veneration their memory. Let us,
as we enjoy our dear homes and our blessings, thank God for
the Pilgrims, and that we are now reaping the fruits which
they sowed for us in prayer and faith and suffering, almost
two hundred and fifty years ago.




THE  TRUANT  SKATER.                   117
THE TRUANT SKATER.
WHEN the trees with ice were laden,
And the north wind loudly blew,
Edward took his skates, and swiftly
Toward the ice-bound lakelet flew.
Foolish boy! his gentle mother
Had forbidden him to go;
For she saw the danger lurking
Under new-formed ice and snow.
Soon the merry skaters, dashing
O'er the moonlit lake, he sees;
And he hears their glad young voices
Humming like the busy bees.
All forgotten is his mother,
And her warning kindly said;
Soon among the bravest skaters
Loudly shouted truant Ned.
Now he nears a spot, where hidden,
Is a hole of frightful size;
But the bonfire's dancing brightnessDazzles his bewildered eyes.




118                  HOME -STORIES.
Down he goes! the icy water
Filling throat and ears and nose, —
"Ned is drowning! Can't you save him?
Oh, he's sinking!' There' he goes!"
See! poor Ned is slowly rising,
Almost senseless with his fears;
His cold hands are grasped above him,
And a friendly voice he'hears.
Boys now drag him, chilled and dripping,
Gasping, to the icy shore;
And with stiffened lips he whispers,
"I'll play truant nevermore;."




AN  AQUARIUM.                     119
AN AQUARIUM.
DID you ever see one? Many a child has visited the'-Aquarial Gardens" in Boston, and looked with delight upon the
strange and beautiful inhabitants of the sea, with the pebbles,
coral, and shells, that are gathered in glass tanks, of which
there is a large number to be examined. Our artist has given
you here a fine picture of an aquarium.
A friend of the children sends us a very interesting letter,
describing what may be seen near her home, which is onl the




120                 HOME STORIES.
sea-shore.  She gives an account of the coral insects. You
will notice in this picture the star-fish, the coral, and other
things of which she writes. This is her letter:"Come to our bay when the day is pleasant, the water
smooth as ice, and when the tide has gone out, leaving the
gray rocks and brown seaweed bare; enter our little boat, and
I will show you some of these curiosities.
"Let us row across to the lighthouse-pier, which stretches
far out. Once a treacherous sand-bank was here, covered with
water, and many a vessel struck, when the sailors thought
themselves safe in port, till this stone pier and the lighthouse
were built over it to warn them of danger. We will row up
close, and steady our boat by holding to the bunches of seaweed that grow thickly here, while we look for the coral.
" Here is a cavity left by the falling out of one of the granite
stones. Lift up the curtain of seaweed and look in; is it not
pretty as a fairy cave?  The gray walls are lined with white
or red enamel; this, also, is made by insects, but too small for
you to see. Here and there-is a ball of white or brown jelly,
waiting for the tide to open into wavy fringes. These are
the anenzones; and numbers of colored shells are being moved
about by their occupants, which are all life and enjoyment
among the bright-green seaweed.
" What is that lovely, sparkling blue? Only common brown
seaweed when out of the water, but looking as if it had stolen




AN  AQUARIUM.                    121
the color of the sky when in it; that we call the chondrus, but
I must not give you any more hard names to remember.
"SAh! here is the coral.. Do you see on that shelf of rock,
which the tide has not yet reached, something like a white
rose pressed flat, or a cluster of white snow-flakes? Look
closer, you will see it is something like the coral to which you
have been accustomed; a number of little stars close together,
with a tiny dot in the center of each.
" Now let us wait till the tide rises and the water just covers
them. Its first touch will waken the little animals now shut so
quietly, each in its own cell. Ah! there they come; that
largest one has put out a little circle of white fingers, delicate
as the finest silk; now another and another, all waving and
stretching and moving and reaching about in the water, till
even to the tiniest ones on the outside of the cluster, all are full
of life. But what are they doing? Eating; their mothers do
not cook for them, nor their fathers find food for them, yet the
good All-father feeds even these little things, for he cares for all.
"Atoms too small for you to see are swept past them by the
water, and their delicate fingers catch them and push them
down into their mouths, and so the insects are nourished and
make for themselves, each his little cell. What's this!  All
have disappeared, shut up as closely as if they had never been
open. Yet the water goes over them as smoothly as ever.
What is the matter?




122                HOME STORIES.
"Look! Don't you see the great, purple star-fish creeping
along with his hundred feet and thousand suckers? The hungry giant fancied he was about to have a good supper, but
scarcely has his foremost point touched the coral than all are
safely folded away. Creep on, Mr. Star, with those great rays
of yours! Walk over the coral; you will find only a hardedged surface, no tender little morsels to feed on; and then be
off, and surprise some unfortunate muscle that has just opened
his shell for a drink of clear water!
"Now he is gone, and out pops one' little finger, and another,
and in less than a minute they are as lively and active as ever.
There comes a wave and sweeps a heavy bunch of seaweed
over them, but they do not close. They are not so foolish
as some little children I have heard of, afraid of every thing
they meet; especially, afraid of the dark.
"' But how,' you ask,' do they know the difference between
the starfish and the seaweed?' I can scarcely tell you, except
that it is by the use of a certain power which God has given
them, and which we call instinct, and very quickly and willingly they obey its teachings.
"God has given much higher powers to you, children:
reason and knowledge and parents and teachers, to show you
what is right and wrong; yet I am afraid you do not always
obey these as readily as the poor little coral insects do their
only Teacher, though you are in far more danger.




"dNOT THANKFUL ENOUGH.                123
"And now the tide is rising over the mouth of the cave, so
we will drop the seaweed curtain, and leave them to their
quiet happiness."
"NOT THANKFUL ENOUGH."
I ENRED the cars at N   one morning, to go on the Connecticut River Railroad to S-, and sat down beside a little
fellow whom, from his appearance, I took for a boy of perhaps
nine or ten years. There was something in his countenance
which immediately arrested my attention. While an expression of content, and even of peace and joy, rested on his pale
face, I could see also the evidences of suffering; and I noticed
at the same time, as additional probf that he was subject to
some infirmity, a.pair of crutches standing by the car-window.
I commenced conversation with him, and found him very
intelligent, and quite willing to talk with me. Thus I learned
that, instead of being only nine years old, he was fourteen;
that at the age of three years he had been injured by a fall,
and from that time, now eleven years, he had been a hopeless,
suffering cripple. I felt much interested in his case, and
greatly benefited by his words, they were so full of meekness
and submission; for this dear boy, cut off by his misfortune




124               HOME STORIES.
from all the sports and the out-door amusements in which
boys so much delight, expressed, with beaming eyes, his happiness in the love of that Saviour who had seen fit to make
his path through so much trial.
When I reminded him that he had no doubt been kept by
his lameness from many temptations to wicked ways which he
would have met in the streets, "Oh, yes! " he said, "I know
that. And then I have a great many blessings, — a great
many things to make me happy. I often feel that I am not
thankful enough for them."
As I looked down upon that little form, checked in its
growth by suffering, and into that white, patient face, and as I
heard the expressions of trust in and love for Him who " doth
not afflict willingly," my heart smote me for my own ingratitude to my heavenly Father.
Dear children, when the day appointed for "Thanksgiving"
comes, do you ever find it hard to tell what you have to thank
God for?  Does it ever seem to you that the day may be
a very good one for grown-up people, —for men who have
gathered great harvests, or done a large business, or had richly
freighted ships come in, while you find it hard to see what
little boys and girls have to do with being thankful?
Sit down a moment and think of your blessings. Remember this little lame boy. Remember the deaf and dumb, the
blind, and multitudes of other children who are suffering in




KATE AND THE GOAT.                125
various ways, and see if you have not something to make you
thankful; and it may be that you too will be ready to say, "I
have many blessings, and I feel that I am not thankful enough
for them!"
KATE AND THE GOAT.
LITTLE KATE had many friends, and was generally a cheerful,
good-natured child; but she had a great fault, which sometimes
got her into trouble, — she was very stubborn. One day she
had to cross a stream of water on a plank, which served as a
foot bridge; but just as she got on one end, a goat stepped
on the other. Now Kate resolved that she would not give up
to a goat; so they met on the middle of the plank,.and stood
still for a few minutes looking at each other. The goat could
not turn back; so, as Kate would not, he ended the dispute by
pushing her into the water, and walking quickly over. She
soon screamed for help, and was taken out dripping wet, and
quite mortified. Though we should be firm in matters of duty
and principle, let us not be stubborn about trifles, nor too proud
to yield when we ought to do so.
I   -                               ~     i I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




126                HOME STORIES.
j= 
THE ALPINE PASS.
Do you know, boys, that you have entered upon the most
difficult and perilous passage of your life?  Ascending from
childhood up to manhood is like climbing up the steep, slippery sides of a high mountain, where the way all along
abounds in dangerous places, sharp turns, abrupt ascents, fearful precipices, and yawning chasms. Oh, how hard it is to get




THE ALPINE PASS.                 127
to the top in safety! How many, many boys fall and are lost
for ever!
I rode up the St. Gothard once, among the Alps, and I wish
I could describe the journey vividly to you, for I so often
think of it when I meet with a boy of your age, and perceive
the jeopardy which he is constantly in. The road was a
splendid one; there was no fault to find with that. It was
originally planned and constructed by Napoleon the Great,
and is now kept in the finest order by the government. And
your road is a good one; there could not be a surer or safer
one. If you walk riglt on and up in the path of truth and
duty, all will be well with you. The surroundings, the liabilities, the side-way exposures, are what make it so dangerous.
We started on a bright, sunny morning, just after a deep
snow, for it was mid-winter; and a large party of men had
been sent ahead to shovel the path and clear the way for us;
just as your parents and teachers have, as it were, been sent
before you, that by their experience your way might be made
smoother and more secure. It will be well for you to listen
to their counsels and heed their suggestions. As we could not
go in the usual conveyance,-the great lumbering diligence,the whole company of travellers co.uld not proceed together;
so we had to divide into pairs, and filled a line of twenty-five
single sleighs, or rather rude sledges on low runners. In these
narrow vehicles the two passengers sat facing each other, and




128                HOME STORIES.
the driver in front. These drivers, or pilots I might call them,
are very expert and careful men, thoroughly acquainted with
the way, and ever on the - alert to perceive and avoid danger.
They directed us to dress very snugly, not allowing a vail,
cape, or scarf to be worn, unless it was fastened down closely,
and not suffering us to place in the sleigh an umbrella, cane,
or any tbing that would project. Why? Because the winds
sweep in sudden and fierce gusts down those hights, and
around those sharp angles in the road, might catch in some
fluttering garment, and, filling it like a sail, whirl us in a moment over the awful precipice;.or a projecting article from
the sledge might strike against the rock in going rapidly
around the curve, and upset our frail conveyance, and topple
us down the abyss to a horrible death. The road wound up
and around the sides of the mountain in zigzag lines cut into
the rock like shelves. As our sleigh was almost the last of the
long procession, I could look up and see a line of a dozen or
twenty on a narrow ledge, almost perpendicularly over my
head, driving along at a furious rate, and in a moment or two
we were whirled up a steep place and around a point, and were
there ourselves, the others still higher on. In many places, I
could put out one hand and touch the rock that rose like a
solid wall straight up to an immense distance beside me, and.
turning my head on the other side, could look down, down,
hundreds and thousands of feet into the most terrific gulfs.




THE ALPINE  PASS.                 129
"Don't look down there," said the driver; "it will make
you faint and dizzy, and you may fall out."
"Do accidents often occur on these mountain passes?" we
asked.
"Not very often," he said, "for we understand our business
pretty well. I've driven up and down the St. Gothard almost
every day for twenty-five years, and our horses are well
trained, too. But sometimes something gives way, or the
animals take fright, and then nothing can stop them. In a
team of six horses, if one goes wrong, all the rest will go too.
A diligence went over, just about in this spot, last summer."
We shuddered to think of the horrid catastrophe.
Now, dear boys, don't you see some points of resemblance
between this fearful mountain-ascent, and the way in which
you must go?
You have a cautious, wise Pilot, who never errs, - Jesus. If
you will but follow his directions, you will be safe.
You must dress for your journey; that is, clothe yourselves
~around snugly with correct principles, good habits, and firm
resolutions. Bad habits will be the fluttering, projecting things
that will catch the evil wind, and be the occasion of your overthrow. So be sure to leave them  all behind, or put them
under your feet.
Don't go too near the edge of the precipice, curious to look
over the rugged sides, lest you should lose your balance and




130                HOME STORIES.
fall. Keep your eyes straight forward, "looking unto Jesus,"
and never turn to the right hand or to the left. Don't stop
on those dizzy hights to gather flowers, or heed the enticing
voices of gay, careless companions.  Follow  your Leader
closely; obey him, and you will find yourself, by and by,
safely arrived on the sublime hights of a noble and virtuous
manhod.
Happy, thrice happy are those who make the perilous ascent
from the sunny vales of infancy, through the slippery paths
of youth, up to mature age, uninjured by accident or stain
of sin.




TIDY  LEARNING  TO READ.            131
L!
TIDY LEARNING TO READ.
TIDY was a little slave at the South. She had to wait upon
two young girls, Amelia and Susie, the children of her master,
and every day she was accustomed to walk to the school-house
with them, to carry their books and the basket which con



132                HOME STORIES.
tained their dinner. But she always left them at the door.
The school was not for her.
One summer's morning they were earlier than usual, and
emerging from the woods, warm and weary with their long
walk, they threw themselves down upon the rock over which,
in the early day, the shadow of the trees refreshingly fell.
Amelia turned her face toward the run, and, lulled by the
gentle murmuring of the water and the humming of the insects, was soon quietly asleep; Susie, with an apronful of burs,
was making furniture for the play-house which they were arranging in a cleft of the rock; and Tidy, who carried the
books, was busily turning over the leaves and amusing herself
with the pictures.
"My sakes!" she exclaimed presently, "what a funny cretur! See that great lump on his back!" and she pointed with
her finger to the picture of a camel. "Miss Susie! what is
that? Is it a lame horse?"
"Why, no, Tidy; that's a camel;'tisn't a horse at all. I was
reading that very place yesterday, — let me see;" and, taking
the book, she read very intelligently a brief account of the
wonderful animal.
"How queer!" said Tidy, deeply interested. "And is there
something in this book about all the pictures?"
"Yes," answered Susie; "if you could only read now, you
would know about every one. See here, on the next page is




TIDY LEARNING  TO  READ.              133
an elephant; see his great tusks, and' his monstrous long
trunk;" and the child read to her attentive listener of another
of the wonders of creation.
"How I wish I could read; why can't I?" asked Tidy; and
the little colored face was turned up, full of animation. "I
don't b'lieve but I could learn as well as you."
"Why, of course you could," answered Amelia, who had
risen quite refreshed by her short nap. "I don't see why not.
You can't go to school, you know, because mother wants you
to work; but I could teach you just as well as not."
" Oh, could you?- will you? Do begin!" cried the eager
child. "Oh, Miss Mely, if you only would, I'd do any thing
for you."
"Look here," said Amelia, seizing the 0ooK from her sister's
hands, and by virtue of superior age constituting herself the
teacher; "do you see those lines?" and she pointed to the
columns of letters on the first page.
"Yes," said the ready pupil, all attention.
"Well, those are letters; the alphabet, they call it. Every
one of them has got a name, and when you have learned to
know them all perfectly, so that you can call them all right,
wherever you see'em, why, then you can read any thing."
"Any thing?" asked Tidy, in amazement.
"Yes, any thing; all kinds of books and papers, and the
Bible, and every thing."




134                HOME STORIES.
"I can learn them, I'se sure I can," said Tidy.'Let's begin
now."
"Well, you see that first one, - that's A. You see how it's
made; two lines go right up to a point, and then a straight one
across. Now say, what is it?"
" A."
" Yes; and now the next one, - that's B. There's a straight
line down and two curves on the front. What's that?"
" B."
"Now you must remember those two. I shan't tell you any
more this morning, and I shall make you do just as Miss Agnes
used to make me. Miss Agnes was our governess at home before we came here to school. She made me take a newspaper
see, here's a piece -and prick the letters on it with a pin.
Now you take this piece of paper and prick every A and
every B that you can find on it, and to-morrow I'll show you
some more."
Just then the bell sounded from the school-house, and
Amelia and Susan went to their duties, but not with half so
glad a heart as Tidy set herself to hers.
Thus Tidy began to learn to read.  She had very many
and very great difficulties to struggle against, but she persevered and was at last successful.  As the years passed by,
and she was enabled, by Him who watches over the lowly,
to understand what she read, the hymns she loved and the




"STI N G I NErS S."             135
Word of God were made the means of leading her to Jesus
Christ.
Tidy at length obtained her freedom, and she still lives, a
happy Christian. Though poor, she can say with a glad heart,
"I have every thing I want, for God is my Father. He gives
me every thing he sees best for me."
"STINGINESS."
"Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee,
turn not thou away."
"LizzIE, won't you lend me your new lead-pencil to finish
drawing my horse with, —mine is worn so short and stumpy?"
Little Georgie looked up pleadingly from his seat on the
floor, where he was bending over a rough drawing in an old
blank-book.
" No, George, I can't," answered his sister, a little pettishly;
"I'm afraid you'll break off the point."
"No; I'll be very careful; please lend it to me, Lizzie?"
"I can't, I say; don't ask me again."
"Why not, Lizzie?" asked her grown-up cousin, Grace, who
was sitting by the window, busy with some embroidery; "sup
pose he does break off the point, you can sharpen it again; or,
9




136                HOME STORIES.
if you can not do it nicely, I will do it for you; don't be diaobliging."
"Oh, well, I don't like to lend my things, Cousin Grace.
They always get spoiled in some way. Maybe he'll break off
the ivory head, or scratch it, or something, and I want to keep
it all nice and new."
Cousin Grace made no answer to this short and selfish
speech.
"I will lend you mine, Georgie," she said; ".it is away up
stairs, but no matter." And she rose and laid aside her thimble and scissors and work.
Georgie looked up with a delighted "Thank you," and Lizzie
pouted, but she -did not offer to save her cousin the trouble; so
the kind young lady went up stairs and brought down her
own pencil for the little boy, who was made happy for an
hour, by the nice, bold strokes with which he could now shade
off the horse he was drawing.
The next morning, as Cousin Grace was again seated near
the window, embroidering, Lizzie came up to her and said," Won't you be so kind as to lend me your small scissors,
Cousin Grace? Mine are so blunt they won't cut nice eyelets
at all, - and I shall spoil this band."
"No, Lizzie, I can't," said Cousin Grace, mimicking exactly
the tone in which Lizzie had answered her little brother the
day before. "I'm afraid you might break off the points."




CSTINGINES S."                 137
"Why, no, I shan't," said Lizzie, scarcely knowing whether
her cousin was in earnest or not; "I'm not going to cut tow
cloth with them."
"Well you might tarnish their brightness, or dull them, or
something," answered Cousin Grace, in a sort of pettish drawl;
"I like to keep my things nice and new."
Lizzie could not mistake her meaning now. She turned very
red, and, walking away without a word, sat down, and went on
hacking away with her blunt scissors in silence. Cousin Grace
sewed on silently, too, for some time; but she was very kindhearted, and' could not bear to punish her little cousin very
long. So she said, presently, in a kind, grave tine, -
"I suppose you think me a little hard in denying you so
small a favor, do you, Lizzie?"
Lizzie blushed again, but did not speak. She knew it was
only just.
" I am sorry to say that I have seen this fault growing upon
you,'my dear child," Cousin Grace continued, "and it is a
grievous one, and makes the person guilty of it disagreeable to
every one else.. How can Georgie love you, when you refuse
all his little requests, and never put yourself out to make him
happy? Or how can the rest of us love you when we see you
so disobliging? And more than that, God is displeased to see
you so selfish. Did you know that you were breaking a command of his yesterday, when: you refused to lend Georgie your




138                HOME STORIES.
pencil?  He says,'Give to him that asketh thee, and from
him that would borrow of thee, turn not thou away."'
"But I have heard mother say that it was not right to borrow," said Lizzie, a little sullenly.
"And so it is not right to make a habit of borrowing. It is
a very bad plan for neighbors to be constantly borrowing
among each other; they should try to have what is necessary,
of their own, and do without what they can not get for themselves. But that rule does not apply to such little acts of kindness and courtesy. Christ gave this command, as he did many
others, to teach us to be unselfish, and care for the pleasure of
others as much as for our own. I want you to learn that text,
Lizzie, and promise me that you will try to act according to its
spirit, hereafter. And, now, here are the scissors."
So Lizzie came to get them, and kissed her Cousin Grace,
and promised to remember what had been said to her.
THE "GROTTO DEL CANE."
THERE is a cavern near Naples, in Italy, called the "Grotto
of the Dog,"' because, while people who walk through it erect
are unharmed, the dogs, running with their noses to the ground,
drop suddenly dead a few steps within.




"sTHE  GROTTO  DEL CANE."               139
There is a very poisonous gas that men and animals throw
off from their lungs while breathing. JIt is called "carbonic
acid gas," and is the same as that which comes from burning
charcoal, and it kills people who are shut up in a close room
with it, and can not get the pure air. There is a great deal of
this gas in dark places, pits, and sewers, and underground
sinks, and the workmen who go down into them often lose
their lives.
It is this sort of gas that lies at the bottom of the " Grotto
del Cane," and takes away the breath of many a poor dog. I
suppose you would like to know why God made this poisonous
acid, that is so fatal to those who come in contact with it. I
will tell you something about the air we breathe, and try to
make it so simple that you will understand, and see the wisdom
of the great Creator, who doeth all things well.
I went to hear some very pleasant lectures on this subject
not long since. They were given for children, and I like to be
taught as the little people are, so I found myself among them.
The professor told us that the air is composed of two gases.
You know a gas is something you can not see or take hold of,
though it touches you all the time.
One of these gases is called oxygen, and without it you
could not live. The other is called nitrogen, and is, by itself, a very bad, ugly gas, and would destroy your life in a
room where it is.




140               HOME STORIES.
Then the lecturer took a jar of the oxygen and thrust a
lighted taper into it, and it burned brighter, but when he thrust
it into a jar of nitrogen, out it went in a trice.
"'You see, good young people," said he, "what a great difference there is in the two gases; which do you like best?"
Of course they all said, "Oxygen." "And yet," continued
he, " God has given us only one-fifth of oxygen in the common
air, to four-fifths of nitrogen. Would you like to know why?"
"Yes, sir! yes, sir!" cried the many voices.
"I will tell you what this pure oxygen would do if you
were to breathe it alone,' said he. "cIt would make your
pulse beat faster and faster, and swell your veins almost to
bursting, and you would be frisking about in a wilder and
wilder mood, until at last you would be quite frantic, and
would die. It is too stimulating for us; that is the reason
why God has diluted or weakened it with so much of this nitrogen, which by itself is so bad a gas."
"What if we were to have the nitrogen only?" asked an
intelligent little boy, who was an attentive listener.
"Why, your breath would cease in a minute, or at least as
quick as you had used up what oxygen there was in your
lungs when you were shut up. But I want to tell you something else that I think very wonderful indeed," said the professor, " about the carbonic acid gas that you and I, and all the
people' in this room, are throwing off. Let me see. There are




"THE GROTTO  DEL CANE'               141
four hundred people, and if we remain two hours, we shall
throw off from our lungs enough of this gas to make twentyfive pounds of charcoal."
The children began to look about to see if the windows
were let down.
"That is right," said the lecturer; "we must have some way
for this poison to escape. Do any of you feel dull or drowsy?"
"My head aches;' said a little girl in the corner, where it
was close and dark, and the children were packed tightly.
"What gas do we need here, children, to purify the air?"
asked the professor.
"Oxygen;' was the ready answer.'
"Well, where shall we get it?"
"Open the windows; let in more good air," said the little
people.
"That is true. Perhaps you have heard the dreadful fate
of the poor creatures that were put in the hold of a ship
during a storm, and the hatches closed upon them. When the
hatches were reopened, there were crowds of dead and dying,
all from the effect of this carbonic acid gas that so many lungs
were throwing off, while no fresh supply of oxygen could be
obtained."
Some of the children had heard it, and all said, "How
dreadful!"
"Would you believe that this carbonic acid gas, that is such




142                HOME STORIES.
certain death to the animal creation, can be necessary to the
life of any thing?"
"No," said the little voices, "no, no!"
"But it is; - the plants give us oxygen and take to themselves this that we discard, and it nourishes them and makes
them beautiful, even as the oxygen fills us with vigor and life."
It needs the light to help the plants in their good work, and
all the day the blessed sun is doing its part with the plants to
keep the air right for us.
"Isn't it strange," said the professor, "that we and the plants
are so dependent upon each other? You must never despise
even what you may call a worthless weed, dear children, but
remember that it is giving you that beautiful oxygen that is
so necessary to your life, and taking for its own use that ugly
carbonic gas, that would be so fatal to the animal system if it
were allowed to accumulate all over the earth, as it does in the
dark, unsunned places.
"There is something I want the boys and girls to learn from
this'Grotto del Cane,"' pursued the professor, "and that is, if
our moral nature, our souls, will but go through this life erect,
they will breathe a pure, sweet atmosphere, and be unharmed
by the poisonous stratum that lurks at, their feet; but if they
grovel to the level of a sinful world, if they go nosing about
like a dog, instead of lifting themselves up like men, they will
be sure not only to get all the bad, lower, vicious air, but will




"THE GROTTO DEL CANE."                143
sink down into a sudden and dreadful death. But perhaps I
am not making the lesson plain to you; I see some of you
yawning as if you had no interest in what I am saying."
The children brightened up a little, and seemed earnest
again.
The professor turned to a lad who sat near him on a sidebench. "My son," said he, "did you ever get into a group of
bad men, who were drunken and swearing? "
"Yes, sir," answered the lad.
"It is a more poisonous air than carbonic acid gas makes, if
one stops to breathe it, isn't it, children?"
"Yes! yes!" cried a hundred voices.
" Why? - does it kill any body? "
The children caught at the emphasis upon the word body.
"It kills the soul," said they.
"That is true," said the professor; "and how are we to keep
from harm?"
"By lifting our souls up to God in prayer, and walking
straight through, instead of stopping to listen, and by and by
getting down to the same level of wickedness," said the lecturer, as the young people looked to him for instruction.
"Let me hope that all the boys and girls whose faces are before me to-day will so pass through all trials and temptations
that no harm shall happen to their immortal souls."




144                HOME STORIES.
TOO MUCH TROUBLE.
"I HAVE wished I was a Christian a good many times," said
Harry to his mother, as he laid down his paper. "I should be
one if there were not so many things to do. I never could do
them all. I have tried a good many times."
"What is there to do, my son, but to give up what is wrzong,
and do what is right? You wish to do that?"
" Yes, mother, but that is what I can not do. It is too much
trouble."
"It was not too much trouble for the Saviour to leave
heaven, suffer, and die for you," said his mother.
"I know I ought to please him," said Harry, with eyes fixed
on the floor. "But I am doing wrong all the while. I pray,
and that does not stop me."
"Your heart is wrong, my dear child. It loves sin. You
can never love God till your heart is washed in the blood of
Christ. Pray for a new heart. Then you will delight in doing
God's will. If you keep praying, he will answer and bless.
you."