=MaryHowitt was born in 1804, at =Coleford, =England. She wrote many
charming stories for children in prose and verse, and also translated many
from Swedish, Danish, and German authors. This story is arranged from one
in a collection named "=PeterDrake's Dream, and Other Stories." She died
in 1888.

There were, in very ancient times, two brothers, one of whom was rich,
and the other poor. Christmas was approaching, but the poor man had
nothing in the house for a Christmas dinner; so he went to his brother and
asked him for a trifling gift.

The rich man was ill-natured, and when he heard his brother's request
he looked very surly. But as Christmas is a time when even the worst
people give gifts, he took a fine ham down from the chimney, where it was
hanging to smoke, threw it at his brother, and bade him begone and never
to let him see his face again.

The poor man thanked his brother for the ham, put it under his arm, and
went his way. He had to pass through a great forest on his way home. When
he had reached the thickest part of it, he saw an old man, with a long,
white beard, hewing timber. "Good evening," said he to him.

"Good evening," returned the old man, raising himself up from his work,
and looking at him. "That is a fine ham you are carrying." On this, the
poor man told him all about it.

"It is lucky for you," said the old man, "that you have met with me. If
you will take that ham into the land of the dwarfs, the entrance to which
lies just under the roots of this tree, you can make a capital bargain
with it; for the dwarfs are very fond of ham, and rarely get any. But mind
what I say: you must not sell it for money, but demand for it the ' old
hand mill which stands behind the door.' When you come back, I'll show you
how to use it."

The poor man thanked his new friend, who showed him the door under a
stone below the roots of the tree, and by this door he entered into the
land of the dwarfs. No sooner had he set his foot in it, than the dwarfs
swarmed about him, attracted by the smell of the ham. They offered him
queer, old-fashioned money and gold and silver ore for it; but he refused
all their tempting offers, and said that he would sell it only for the old
hand mill behind the door.

At this, the dwarfs held up their little old hands, and looked quite
perplexed. "We can not make a bargain, it seems," said the poor man, "so
I'll bid you all a good day."

The fragrance of the ham had by this time reached the remote parts of
dwarf land. The dwarfs came flocking around in little troops, leaving
their work of digging out precious ores, eager for the ham.

"Let him have the old mill," said some of the newcomers; "it is quite
out of order, and he don't know how to use it. Let him have it, and we
will have the ham."

So the bargain was made. The poor man took the old hand mill, which
was a little thing not half so large as the ham, and went back to the
woods. Here the old man showed him how to use it. All this had taken up a
great deal of time, and it was midnight before he reached home.

"Where in the world have you been," said his wife? "Here I have been
waiting and waiting, and we have no wood to make a fire, nor anything to
put into the porridge pot for our Christmas supper."

The house was dark and cold; but the poor man bade his wife wait and
see what would happen. He placed the little hand mill on the table, and
began to turn the crank. First, out there came some grand, lighted wax
candles, and a fire on the hearth, and a porridge pot boiling over it,
because in his mind he said they should come first. Then he ground out a
tablecloth, and dishes, and spoons, and knives and forks.

He was himself astonished at his good luck, as you may believe; and
his wife was almost beside herself with joy and astonishment. Well, they
had a capital supper; and after it was eaten, they ground out of the mill
every possible thing to make their house and themselves warm and
comfortable. So they had a merry Christmas eve and morning.




The monkey is a very cunning little animal, and is found in many parts
of the world.

A lady once had a monkey, which had been brought to her as a present.
This monkey, like all others, was very fond of mischief and of doing
whatever he saw others do.

His mistress found him one day sitting on her toilet table, holding in
one hand a little china mug with water in it, and in the other her
toothbrush, with which he was cleaning his teeth, looking all the time in
the glass.

Her little daughter, =Maria, had a large doll with a very handsome head
and face. She one day left this doll in the cradle, and went out of the
room. The monkey came in, took the doll in his arms, and jumping upon the
washstand, he began to wash its face.

He first rubbed it all over with soap. Then seizing the towel, he
dipped it in the wash bowl, and rubbed it so hard that the doll's face was
entirely spoiled, the paint being all washed off.

There have been many tales of monkeys who, armed with sticks, have
joined together and made war or resisted their enemies with great effect.
These are not true, as it is known that in their native state monkeys have
no idea of weapons.

The sticks and other missiles said to be thrown at travelers as they
pass under the branches of trees, are usually the dead branches, etc,
accidentally broken off, as the monkeys, with the natural curiosity of
their tribe, pass along the tops of trees to watch the actions of the
people below.

They can, however, be taught to use a stick, and to use it well. Some
time ago, two Italians together owned an organ and a monkey, by means of
which they earned their living. During one of their exhibitions, a dog
flew at the little monkey, which made its owners very angry.

They and the owner of the dog quarreled about it, and at last it was
agreed that the dog and the monkey should fight it out; the monkey,
because he was smaller, was to be allowed a stick.

The monkey was taught what he was to do in the following manner: One
of the Italians crawled on his hands and knees, barking like a dog, while
the other got on his back, grasped his hair, and beat him about the head
with a stick.

The monkey looked on with great gravity, and, when the instruction was
over, received the stick with the air of a man who knew his work and meant
to do it.

Everything being settled the dog flew at the monkey with open month.
The monkey immediately leaped on his back, and, grasping the dog's ear,
beat away at his head with such good will that his adversary speedily gave
in. The monkey, however, was not content with a mere victory, but
continued pounding at the dog's head until he left him senseless on the
ground.




Mr =Jones: Boys, if you have nothing to do, will you unpack these
parcels for me?

The two parcels were exactly alike, both of them well tied up with good
whipcord. =Ben took his parcel to the table, and began to examine the knot,
and then to untie it.

=John took the other parcel, and tried first at one corner, and then at
the other, to pull off the string. But the cord had been too well secured,
and he only drew the knots tighter.

=John: I wish these people would not tie up their parcels so tightly, as
if they were never to be undone. Why, =Ben, how did you get yours undone?
What is in your parcel? I wonder what is in mine! I wish I could get the
string off. I will cut it.

Ben: Oh, no, do not cut it, =John! Look, what a nice cord this is, and
yours is the same. It is a pity to cut it.

=John: Pooh! what signifies a bit of pack thread?

=Ben: It is whipcord.

=John: Well, whipcord then! what signifies a bit of whipcord? You can
get a piece of whipcord twice as long as that for three cents; and who
cares for three cents? Not I, for one. So, here it goes.

So he took out his knife, and cut it in several places.

Mr =Jones: Well, my boys, have you undone the parcels for me?

=John: Yes, sir; here is the parcel.

=Ben: And here is my parcel, father, and here is also the string.

Mr =Jones: You may keep the string, =Ben.

=Ben: Thank you, sir. What excellent whipcord it is!

Mr =Jones: And you, =John, may keep your string, too, if it will be of
any use to you.

=John: It will be of no use to me, thank you, sir.

Mr =Jones: No, I am afraid not, if this is it.

A few weeks after this, Mr =Jones gave each of his sons a new top.

=John: How is this, =Ben? These tops have no strings. What shall we do
for strings?

=Ben: I have a string that will do very well for mine. And he pulled it
out of his pocket.

=John: Why, if that is not the whipcord! I wish I had saved mine.

A few days afterward, there was a shooting match, with bows and
arrows, among the lads. The prize was a fine bow and arrows, to be given
to the best marksman. "Come, come," said Master =Sharp, "I am within one
inch of the mark. I should like to see who will go nearer."

=John drew his bow, and shot. The arrow struck within a quarter of an
inch of Master =Sharp's. "Shoot away," said =Sharp; "but you must understand
the rules. We settled them before you came. You are to have three shots
with your own arrows. Nobody is to borrow or lend. So shoot away."

=John seized his second arrow; "If I have any luck," said he;--but just
as he pronounced the word "luck," the string broke, and the arrow fell
from his hands.

Master =Sharp: There! It is all over with you.

=Ben: Here is my bow for him, and welcome.

Master =Sharp: No, no, sir; that is not fair.  Did you not hear the
rules? There is to be no lending.

It was now =Ben's turn to make his trial. His first arrow missed the
mark; the second was exactly as near as =John's first. Before venturing the
last arrow, =Ben very prudently examined the string of his bow; and, as he
pulled it to try its strength, it snapped.

Master =Sharp clapped his hands and danced for joy. But his dancing
suddenly ceased, when careful =Ben drew out of his pocket an excellent
piece of cord, and began to tie it to the bow.

"The everlasting whipcord, I declare," cried =John! "Yes," said =Ben, "I
put it in my pocket today, because I thought I might want it."

=Ben's last arrow won the prize; and when the bow and arrows were
handed to him, =John said, "How valuable that whipcord has been to you,
=Ben. I'll take care how I waste anything hereafter."




In a distant field, stood a large tulip tree, apparently of a century's
growth, and one of the most gigantic. It looked like the father of the
surrounding forest. A single tree of huge dimensions, standing all alone,
is a sublime object.

On the top of this tree, an old eagle, commonly called the "Fishing
Eagle," had built her nest every year, for many years, and, undisturbed,
had raised her young. A remarkable place to choose, as she procured her
food from the ocean, and this tree stood full ten miles from the seashore.
It had long been known as the "Old Eagle Tree."

On a warm, sunny day, the workmen were hoeing corn in an adjoining
field. At a certain hour of the day, the old eagle was known to set off
for the seaside, to gather food for her young. As she this day returned
with a large fish in her claws, the workmen surrounded the tree, and, by
yelling and hooting, and throwing stones, so scared the poor bird that she
dropped her fish, and they carried it off in triumph.

The men soon dispersed, but =Joseph sat down under a hush near by, to
watch, and to bestow unavailing pity. The bird soon returned to her nest,
without food. The eaglets at once set up a cry for food, so shrill, so
clear, and so clamorous that the boy was greatly moved.

The parent bird seemed to try to soothe them; but their appetites were
too keen, and it was all in vain. She then perched herself on a limb near
them, and looked down into the nest in a manner that seemed to say, "I
know not what to do next."

Her indecision was but momentary; again she poised herself, uttered one
or two sharp notes, as if telling them to a "lie still," balanced her
body, spread her wings, and was away again for the sea.

=Joseph was determined to see the result. His eye followed her till she
grew small, smaller, a mere speck in the sky, and then disappeared. What
boy has not thus watched the flight of the bird of his country!

She was gone nearly two hours, about double her usual time for a
voyage, when she again returned, on a slow, weary wing, flying uncommonly
low, in order to have a heavier atmosphere to sustain her, with another
fish in her talons.

On nearing the field, she made a circuit round it, to see if her
enemies were again there. Finding the coast clear, she once more reached
the tree, drooping, faint, and weary, and evidently nearly exhausted.
Again the eaglets set up their cry, which was soon hushed by the
distribution of a dinner, such as, save the cooking, a king might admire.

"Glorious bird," cried the boy, "what a spirit!" Other birds can fly
more swiftly, others can sing more sweetly, others scream more loudly; but
what other bird, when persecuted and robbed, when weary, when discouraged,
when so far from the sea, would do this?

"Glorious bird! I will learn a lesson from thee today. I will never
forget, hereafter, that when the spirit is determined it can do almost
anything. Others would have drooped, and hung the head, and mourned over
the cruelty of man, and sighed over the wants of the nestlings; but thou,
by at once recovering the loss, hast forgotten all."

"I will learn of thee, noble bird! I will remember this. I will set my
mark high. I will try to do something, and to be something in the world; I
will never yield to discouragements."




"I will have revenge on him, that I will, and make him heartily repent
it," said =Philip to himself, with a countenance quite red with anger. His
mind was so engaged that he did not see =Stephen, who happened at that
instant to meet him.

"Who is that," said =Stephen, "on whom you intend to be revenged?"
=Philip, as if awakened from a dream, stopped short, and looking at his
friend, soon resumed a smile that was natural to his countenance. "Ah,"
said he, "you remember my bamboo, a very pretty cane which was given me by
my father, do you not? Look! there it is in pieces. It was farmer
=Robinson's son who reduced it to this worthless state."

=Stephen very coolly asked him what had induced young =Robinson to break
it. "I was walking peaceably along," replied he, "and was playing with my
cane by twisting it round my body. By accident, one of the ends slipped
out of my hand, when I was opposite the gate, just by the wooden bridge,
where the ill natured fellow had put down a pitcher of water, which he was
taking home from the well."

"It so happened that my cane, in springing back, upset the pitcher, but
did not break it. He came up close to me, and began to call me names, when
I assured him that what I had done had happened by accident, and that I
was sorry for it. Without regarding what I said, he instantly seized my
cane, and twisted it, as you see; but I will make him repent of it."

"To be sure," said =Stephen, "he is a very wicked boy, and is already
very properly punished for being such, since nobody likes him or will have
anything to do with him. He can scarcely find a companion to play with
him; and is often at a loss for amusement, as he deserves to be. This,
properly considered, I think will appear sufficient revenge for you."

"All this is true," replied =Philip, "but he has broken my cane. It was
a present from my father, and a very pretty cane it was. I offered to fill
his pitcher for him again, as I knocked it down by accident. I will be
revenged."

"Now, =Philip;" said =Stephen, "I think you will act better in not
minding him, as your contempt will be the best punishment you can inflict
upon him. Be assured, he will always be able to do more mischief to you
than you choose to do to him. And, now I think of it, I will tell you what
happened to him not long since."

"Very unluckily for him, he chanced to see a bee hovering about a
flower which he caught, and was going to pull off its wings out of sport,
when the animal stung him, and flew away in safety to the hive. The pain
put him into a furious passion, and, like you, he vowed revenge. He
accordingly procured a stick, and thrust it into the beehive."

"In an instant the whole swarm flew out, and alighting upon him stung
him in a hundred different places. He uttered the most piercing cries, and
rolled upon the ground in the excess of his agony. His father immediately
ran to him, but could not put the bees to flight until they had stung him
so severely that he was confined several days to his bed."

"Thus, you see, he was not very successful in his pursuit of revenge.
I would advise you, therefore, to pass over his insult. He is a wicked
boy, and much stronger than you; so that your ability to obtain this
revenge may be doubtful."

"I must own," replied =Philip, "that your advice seems very good. So
come along with me, and I will tell my father the whole matter, and I
think he will not be angry with me." They went, and =Philip told his father
what had happened. He thanked =Stephen for the good advice he had given his
son, and promised =Philip to give him another cane exactly like the first.

A few days afterward, =Philip saw this ill-natured boy fall as he was
carrying home a heavy log of wood, which he could not lift up again.
=Philip ran to him, and helped him to replace it on his shoulder. Young
=Robinson was quite ashamed at the thought of this unmerited kindness, and
heartily repented of his behavior. =Philip went home quite satisfied.
"This," said he, "is the noblest vengeance I could take, in returning good
for evil. It is impossible I should repent of it."




I gave you, in the last lesson, the history of =GeorgeJones, an idle
boy, and showed you the consequences of his idleness. I shall now give you
the history of =CharlesBullard, a classmate of =George. =Charles was about
the same age as =George, and did not possess superior talents. Indeed, I
doubt whether he was equal to him in natural powers of mind.

But =Charles was a hard student. When quite young, he was always careful
and diligent in school. Sometimes, when there was a very hard lesson,
instead of going out to play during recess, he would stay in to study. He
had resolved that his first object should be to get his lessons well, and
then he could play with a good conscience. He loved play as well as
anybody, and was one of the best players on the ground. I hardly ever saw
any boy catch a ball better than he could. When playing any game, everyone
was glad to get =Charles on his side.

I have said that =Charles would sometimes stay in at recess. This,
however, was very seldom; it was only when the lessons were very hard
indeed. Generally, he was among the first on the playground, and he was
also among the first to go into school when called. Hard study gave him a
relish for play, and play again gave him a relish for hard study; so he
was happy both in school and out. The preceptor could not help liking him,
for he always had his lessons well committed, and never gave him any
trouble.

When he went to enter college, the preceptor gave him a good
recommendation. He was able to answer all the questions which were put to
him when he was examined. He had studied so well when he was in the
academy, and was so thoroughly prepared for college, that he found it very
easy to keep up with his class, and had much time for reading interesting
books.

But he would always get his lesson well before he did anything else,
and would review it just before recitation. When called upon to recite, he
rose tranquil and happy, and very seldom made mistakes. The officers of
the college had a high opinion of him, and he was respected by all the
students.

There was, in the college, a society made up of all the best scholars.
=Charles was chosen a member of that society. It was the custom to choose
some one of the society to deliver a public address every year. This honor
was conferred on =Charles; and he had studied so diligently, and read so
much, that he delivered an address which was very interesting to all who
heard it.

At last he graduated, as it is called; that is, he finished his
collegiate course, and received his degree. It was known by all that he
was a good scholar, and by all that he was respected. His father and
mother, brothers and sisters, came on the commencement day to hear him
speak.

They all felt gratified, and loved Charles more than ever. Many
situations of usefulness and profit were opened to him; for Charles was
now an intelligent man, and universally respected. He is still a useful
and a happy man. He has a cheerful home, and is esteemed by all who know
him.

Such are the rewards of industry. How strange it is that any person
should be willing to live in idleness when it will certainly make him
unhappy! The idle boy is almost invariably poor and miserable; the
industrious boy is happy and prosperous.

But perhaps some child who reads this, asks, "Does God notice little
children in school?" He certainly does. And if you are not diligent in the
improvement of your time, it is one of the surest evidences that your
heart is not right with God. You are placed in this world to improve your
time. In youth you must be preparing for future usefulness. And if you do
not improve the advantages you enjoy, you sin against your Maker.

  With books, or work, or healthful play,
  Let your first years be passed;
  That you may give, for every day,
  Some good account, at last.




=Frank's father was speaking to a friend, one day, on the subject of
competition at school. He said that he could answer for it that envy is
not always connected with it.

He had been excelled by many, but did not recollect ever having felt
envious of his successful rivals; "nor did my winning many a prize from my
friend =Birch," said he, "ever lessen his friendship for me."

In support of the truth of this, a friend who was present related an
anecdote which had fallen under his own notice in a school in his
neighborhood.

At this school the sons of several wealthy farmers, and others, who
were poorer, received instruction. =Frank listened with great attention
while the gentleman gave the following account of the two rivals:

It happened that the son of a rich farmer and the son of a poor widow
came in competition for the head of their class. They were so nearly equal
that the teacher could scarcely decide between them; some days one, and
some days the other, gained the head of the class. It was determined by
seeing who should be at the head of the class for the greater number of
days in the week.

The widow's son, by the last day's trial, gained the victory, and kept
his place the following week, till the school was dismissed for the
holidays.

When they met again the widow's son did not appear, and the farmer's
son, being next to him, might now have been at the head of his class.
Instead of seizing the vacant place, however, he went to the widow's house
to inquire what could be the cause of her son's absence.

Poverty was the cause; the poor woman found that she was not able, with
her utmost efforts, to continue to pay for the tuition and books of her
son, and so he, poor fellow had been compelled to give up his schooling,
and to return to labor for her support!

The farmer's son, out of the allowance of pocket money which his father
gave him, bought all the necessary books and paid for the tuition of his
rival. He also permitted him to be brought back again to the head of his
class, where he continued for some time, at the expense of his generous
rival.



But had any man in =England met such a man as I was, it must either have
frightened him or raised a great deal of laughter; and, as I frequently
stood still to look at myself, I could not but smile at the notion of my
traveling through Yorkshire in such a dress.

I had a great, high, shapeless cap, made of a goat's skin, with a flap
hanging down behind, as well to keep the sun from me as to shoot the rain
off from running into my neck; nothing being so hurtful in these climates
as the rain upon the flesh under the clothes.

I had a short jacket of goatskin, the skirts coming down to about the
middle of the thighs, and a pair of open-kneed breeches of the same; the
breeches were made of the skin of an old goat, and the hair hung down such
a length on either side that it reached to the middle of my legs like
pantaloons.

Stockings and shoes I had none; but I made a pair of something, I
scarce know what to call them, like buskins, to flap over my legs, and
lace on either side like spatterdashes; but they were of a most barbarous
shape, as indeed were all the rest of my clothes.

I had on a broad belt of goatskin dried, which I drew together with two
thongs of the same, instead of buckles; and, in a kind of frog on each
side of this, instead of a sword and dagger, hung a little saw and
hatchet; one on one side, and one on the other. I had another belt not so
broad, and fastened in the same manner, which hung over my shoulder; and
at the end of it, under my left arm, hung two pouches, both made of
goatskin, too; in one of which hung my powder, in the other my shot.

At my back I carried my basket, on my shoulder my gun, and over my head
a great, clumsy, ugly, goatskin umbrella, but which, after all, was the
most necessary thing I had about me, next to my gun.

As for my face, the color of it was really not so dark as one might
expect from a man not at all careful of it, and living within nine or ten
degrees of the equator. My beard I had once suffered to grow till it was
about a quarter of a yard long; but, as I had both scissors and razors
sufficient, I had cut it pretty short, except what grew on my upper lip,
which I had trimmed into a large pair of Mahometan whiskers, such as I had
seen worn by some Turks.

Of these mustaches or whiskers, I will not say that they were long
enough to hang my hat upon them, but they were of a length and shape
monstrous enough, and such as in =England would have passed for frightful.
But all this is by the bye; for, as to my figure, I had so few to observe
me that it was of no manner of consequence; so I say no more on that part.




A pretty little fawn had been brought in from the woods, when very
young, and nursed and petted by a lady in the village until it had become
as tame as possible. It was graceful, as those little creatures always
are, and so gentle and playful that it became a great favorite, following
the different members of the family about, being caressed by the
neighbors, and welcome everywhere.

One morning, after playing about as usual until weary, it lay down in
the sunshine, at the feet of one of its friends, upon the steps of a
store. There came along a countryman, who for several years had been a
hunter by pursuit, and who still kept several hounds, one of which was now
with him.

The dog, as it approached the spot where the fawn lay, suddenly
stopped. The little animal saw him, and started to its feet. It had lived
more than half its life among the dogs of the village, and had apparently
lost all fear of them; but it seemed now to know that an enemy was near.
In an instant, its whole nature seemed changed; all its past habits were
forgotten; every wild impulse was awake; its head erect, its nostrils
dilated, its eyes flashing.

In another instant, before the spectators had thought of the danger,
and before its friends could secure it, the fawn was bounding away through
the street, and the hound in full chase. The bystanders were eager to save
it; several persons immediately followed its track; the friends who had
long fed and fondled it, calling the name it had hitherto known, in vain.

The hunter endeavored to whistle back his dog, but with no success. In
half a minute the fawn had turned the first corner, dashed onward toward
the lake, and thrown itself into the water. But if for a moment the
startled creature believed itself safe in the cool bosom of the lake, it
was soon undeceived; for the hound followed in hot and eager chase, while
a dozen village dogs joined blindly in the pursuit.

A large crowd collected on the bank -- men, women, and children -- anxious
for the fate of the little animal so well known to them all. Some threw
themselves into boats, hoping to intercept the hound before he reached his
prey. The plashing of the oars, the eager voices of men and boys, and the
barking of the dogs, must have filled the heart of the poor fawn with
terror and anguish,--as though every creature on the spot where it had
once been caressed and fondled, had suddenly turned into a deadly foe.

It was soon seen that the little animal was directing its course across
a bay toward the nearest borders of the forest. Immediately the owner of
the hound crossed the bridge, and ran at full speed, hoping to stop his
dog as he landed. On swam the fawn, as it never swam before; its delicate
head scarcely seen above the water, but leaving a disturbed track, which
betrayed its course alike to its friends and foes.

As it approached the land, the interest became intense. The hunter was
already on the same side of the lake, calling loudly and angrily to his
dog; but the hound seemed to have quite forgotten his master's voice in
the pitiless pursuit. The fawn reached the shore. With a leap it had
crossed the narrow strip of beach, and in another instant it would reach
the cover of the woods.

The hound followed true to the scent, pointing to the same spot on the
shore; his master, anxious to meet him, had run at full speed, and was now
coming up at the same critical moment. Will the dog listen to his voice
or can the hunter reach him in time to seize and control him? A shout from
the bank told that the fawn had passed out of sight into the forest. At
the same instant, the hound, as he touched the land, felt the hunter's
strong arm clutching his neck. The worst was believed to be over; the fawn
was leaping up the mountain side, and its enemy was restrained. The other
dogs, seeing their leader cowed, were easily managed.

A number of persons, men and boys, dispersed themselves through the
woods in search of the little creature, but without success; they all
returned to the village, reporting that the fawn had not been seen. Some
thought that after its fright had passed it would return of its own
accord. It wore a pretty collar with its owner's name engraved upon it, so
that it could be easily known from any other fawn that might be straying
about the woods.

Before many hours had passed, a hunter presented himself to the lady
whose pet the little creature had been, and showed a collar with her name
upon it. He said that he was out hunting in the morning, and saw a fawn in
the distance. The little pet, instead of bounding away, as he expected,
moved toward him; he took aim, fired, and shot it through the heart.





It was no light act of courage in those days for a little fellow to say
his prayers publicly, even at =Rugby. A few years later, when =Arnold's
manly piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned: before he
died, in the Schoolhouse at least, and I believe in the other houses, the
rule was the other way.

But poor =Tom had come to school in other times. The first few nights
after he came he did not kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in
bed till the candle was out, and then stole out and said his prayers, in
fear lest some one should find him out. So did many another poor little
fellow.

Then he began to think that he might just as well say his prayers in
bed, and then that it did not matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting,
or lying down. And so it had come to pass with =Tom, as with all who will
not confess their Lord before men; and for the last year he had probably
not said his prayers in earnest a dozen times.

Poor =Tom! the first and bitterest feeling, which was like to break his
heart, was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which he
loathed was brought in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to his
mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And then the
poor, little, weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned for his
weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do.

The first dawn of comfort came to him in vowing to himself that he
would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and help
him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that night. Then he
resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what a coward
her son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved, lastly, to
bear his testimony next morning.

The morning would be harder than the night to begin with, but he felt
that he could not afford to let one chance slip. Several times he
faltered, for the Devil showed him, first, all his old friends calling him
"Saint," and "Squaretoes" and a dozen hard names, and whispered to him
that his motives would be misunderstood, and he would be left alone with
the new boy; whereas, it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that
he might do good to the largest number.

And then came the more subtle temptation, "shall I not be showing
myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right to begin it now?
Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, letting other boys know that I
do so, and trying to lead them to it, while in public, at least, I should
go on as I have done?" However, his good angel was too strong that night,
and he turned on his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but
resolved to follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in which he
had found peace.

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and
waistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then in the
face of the whole room he knelt down to pray. Not five words could he
say, -- the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in the
room, -- what were they all thinking of him?

He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At
last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still, small voice seemed to
breathe forth the words of the publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner!"
He repeated them over and over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose
from his knees comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world.

It was not needed: two other boys besides =Arthur had already followed
his example, and he went down to the great school with a glimmering of
another lesson in his heart, -- the lesson that he who has conquered his own
coward spirit has conquered the whole outward world; and that other one
which the old prophet learned in the cave at Mount =Horeb, when he hid his
face, and the still, small voice asked, "What doest thou here,
=Elijah?" -- that however we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good,
the King and Lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses; for in every
society, however seemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have
not bowed the knee to =Baal.

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be
produced by his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he
knelt down, but this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys
but three or four followed the lead.





A little girl nine years of age was brought into court, and offered as
a witness against a prisoner who was on trial for a crime committed in her
father's house.

"Now, =Emily," said the counsel for the prisoner, "I wish to know if you
understand the nature of an oath?"

"I don't know what you mean," was the simple answer.

"Your Honor," said the counsel, addressing the judge, "it is evident
that this witness should be rejected. She does not understand the nature
of an oath."

"Let us see," said the judge. "Come here, my daughter."

Assured by the kind tone and manner of the judge, the child stepped
toward him, and looked confidingly in his face, with a calm, clear eye,
and in a manner so artless and frank that it went straight to the heart.

"Did you ever take an oath," inquired the judge?

The little girl stepped back with a look of horror; and the red blood
rose and spread in a blush all over her face and neck, as she answered,
"No, sir." She thought he intended to ask if she had ever used profane
language.

"I do not mean that," said the judge, who saw her mistake; "I mean were
you ever a witness?"

"No, sir; I never was in court before," was the answer.

He handed her the Bible open. "Do you know that book, my daughter?"

She looked at it and answered, "Yes, sir; it is the Bible."

"Do you ever read in it?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; every evening."

"Can you tell me what the Bible is?" inquired the judge.

"It is the word of the great God," she answered.

"Well," said the judge, "place your hand upon this Bible, and listen
to what I say;" and he repeated slowly and solemnly the following oath:
"Do you swear that in the evidence which you shall give in this case, you
will tell the truth, and nothing but the truth; and that you will ask God
to help you?"

"I do," she replied.

"Now," said the judge, "you have been sworn as a witness; will you
tell me what will befall you if you do not tell the truth?"

"I shall be shut up in the state prison," answered the child.

"Anything else," asked the judge?

"I shall never go to heaven," she replied.

"How do you know this," asked the judge again?

The child took the Bible, turned rapidly to the chapter containing the
commandments, and, pointing to the one which reads, "Thou shalt not bear
false witness against thy neighbor," said, "I learned that before I could
read."

"Has anyone talked with you about being a witness in court here
against this man," inquired the judge?

"Yes, sir," she replied, "my mother heard they wanted me to be a
witness; and last night she called me to her room, and asked me to tell
her the Ten Commandments; and then we kneeled down together, and she
prayed that I might understand how wicked it was to bear false witness
against my neighbor, and that God would help me, a little child, to tell
the truth as it was before him.

"And when I came up here with father, she kissed me, and told me to
remember the Ninth Commandment, and that God would hear every word that I
said."

"Do you believe this," asked the judge, while a tear glistened in his
eye, and his lip quivered with emotion?

"Yes, sir," said the child, with a voice and manner which showed that
her conviction of the truth was perfect.

"God bless you, my child," said the judge, "you have a good mother.
The witness is competent," he continued. "Were I on trial for my life, and
innocent of the charge against me, I would pray God for such a witness as
this. Let her be examined."

She told her story with the simplicity of a child, as she was; but her
voice and manner carried conviction of her truthfulness to every heart.

The lawyers asked her many perplexing questions, but she did not vary
in the least from her first statement.

The truth, as spoken by a little child, was sublime. Falsehood and
perjury had preceded her testimony; but before her testimony, falsehood
was scattered like chaff.

The little child, for whom a mother had prayed for strength to be
given her to speak the truth as it was before God, broke the cunning
device of matured villainy to pieces, like a potter's vessel. The strength
that her mother prayed for was given her; and the sublime and terrible
simplicity, -- terrible to the prisoner and his associates, -- was like a
revelation from God himself.



Adapted from "Roughing it in the Bush," a story by Mrs =SusannaMoodie
(sister of =AgnesStrickland), who was born in =Suffolk, =England, in 1803.
She died in 1885.

The day was sultry, and towards noon a strong wind sprang up that
roared in the pine tops like the dashing of distant billows, but without
in the least degree abating the heat. The children were lying listlessly
upon the floor, and the girl and I were finishing sunbonnets, when =Mary
suddenly exclaimed, "Bless us, mistress, what a smoke!"

I ran immediately to the door, but was not able to distinguish ten
yards before me. The swamp immediately below us was on fire, and the heavy
wind was driving a dense black cloud of smoke directly towards us.

"What can this mean," I cried? "Who can have set fire to the fallow?"
As I ceased speaking, =JohnThomas stood pale and trembling before me.
"=John, what is the meaning of this fire?"

"Oh, ma'am, I hope you will forgive me; it was I set fire to it, and I
would give all I have in the world if I had not done it."

"What is the danger?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that we shall all be burnt up," said =John, beginning to
whimper. "What shall we do?"

"Why, we must get out of it as fast as we can, and leave the house to
its fate."

"We can't get out," said the man, in a low, hollow tone, which seemed
the concentration of fear; "I would have got out of it if I could; but
just step to the back door, ma'am, and see."

Behind, before, on every side, we were surrounded by a wall of fire,
burning furiously within a hundred yards of us, and cutting off all
possibility of retreat; for, could we have found an opening through the
burning heaps, we could not have seen our way through the dense canopy of
smoke; and, buried as we were in the heart of the forest, no one could
discover our situation till we were beyond the reach of help.

I closed the door, and went back to the parlor. Fear was knocking
loudly at my heart, for our utter helplessness destroyed all hope of our
being able to effect our escape. The girl sat upon the floor by the
children, who, unconscious of the peril that hung over them, had both
fallen asleep. She was silently weeping; while the boy who had caused the
mischief was crying aloud.

A strange calm succeeded my first alarm. I sat down upon the step of
the door, and watched the awful scene in silence. The fire was raging in
the cedar swamp immediately below the ridge on which the house stood, and
it presented a spectacle truly appalling.

From out of the dense folds of a canopy of black smoke -- the blackest I
ever saw -- leaped up red forks of lurid flame as high as the tree tops,
igniting the branches of a group of tall pines that had been left for saw
logs. A deep gloom blotted out the heavens from our sight. The air was
filled with fiery particles, which floated even to the doorstep -- while the
crackling and roaring of the flames might have been heard at a great
distance.

To reach the shore of the lake, we must pass through the burning
swamp, and not a bird could pass over it with unscorched wings. The fierce
wind drove the flames at the sides and back of the house up the clearing;
and our passage to the road or to the forest, on the right and left, was
entirely obstructed by a sea of flames. Our only ark of safety was the
house, so long as it remained untouched by the fire.

I turned to young =Thomas, and asked him how long he thought that would
he. "When the fire clears this little ridge in front, ma'am. The Lord have
mercy on us then, or we must all go."

I threw myself down on the floor beside my children, and pressed them
to my heart, while inwardly I thanked God that they were asleep,
unconscious of danger, and unable by their cries to distract our attention
from adopting any plan which might offer to effect their escape.

The heat soon became suffocating. We were parched with thirst, and
there was not a drop of water in the house, and none to be procured nearer
than the lake. I turned once more to the door, hoping that a passage might
have been burnt through to the water. I saw nothing but a dense cloud of
fire and smoke--could hear nothing but the crackling and roaring of
flames, which was gaining so fast upon us that I felt their scorching
breath in my face.

"Ah," thought I -- and it was a most bitter thought -- "what will my
beloved husband say when he returns and finds that his poor wife and his
dear girls have perished in this miserable manner? But God can save us
yet."

The thought had scarcely found a voice in my heart before the wind
rose to a hurricane, scattering the flames on all sides into a tempest of
burning billows. I buried my head in my apron, for I thought that all was
lost, when a most terrific crash of thunder burst over our heads, and,
like the breaking of a waterspout, down came the rushing torrent of rain
which had been pent up for so many weeks.

In a few minutes the chip yard was all afloat, and the fire
effectually checked. The storm which, unnoticed by us, had been gathering
all day, and which was the only one of any note we had that summer,
continued to rage all night, and before morning had quite subdued the
cruel enemy whose approach we had viewed with such dread.