clock; one of those old-fashioned high clocks that had been hidden away
in that dark corner of the attic many years. Not that we didn't know of
its existence; every annual housecleaning it had been remarked upon;
but last spring Tom said, "See here, Nell; don't you know these old
clocks are all the rage?"
"Yes, I know, but that old thing won't go."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't, only I should suppose if it hadn't been past its usefulness,
Grandfather Bradley would not have bought a new one in its place."
"O, people do not always use things until they are worn out; did I not
hear you tell aunt Mary that our centre-table looked so shabby and
old-fashioned that although it was strong and not broken at all you
intended to send it to the attic and have a new one? Now I suppose that
either aunt Mary or aunt Charlotte thought the same thing about the old
clock, and when some 'Yankee peddler' came along with a new-fashioned
Connecticut clock, they coaxed grandfather to buy one and sent this old
one to this dark corner. Now I am going to investigate." Indeed Tom was
soon ready to report. "See here, Nell! I believe that the old thing
only needs cleaning and oiling to put it in running order. Let's take
it down to Lampson and see what can be done."
By this time I was interested; to have that old clock down in the hall
would be to excite the wonder, admiration and envy of the neighborhood.
The old man laughed when he saw it.
"I remember that clock. I sold your grandfather the one which took
its place. I was a young fellow then, and I remember that your aunts
wanted a new clock while the old gentleman thought the old one was good
enough; but the girls always had their way with their father. I have
wondered about this old clock lately and meant to try to get hold of it
and make my fortune out of it;" and the old man laughed heartily; "but
you young ones have got the start of me. Yes, it is all right; I can
make it run about as well as ever. It will outlast half a dozen modern
clocks. Thirty years? Yes, more'n that. It's nigher fifty years since
I used to sell clocks, hereabouts. Well, changes have come about that
would astonish one to know, since then.
"Tom," said the old man suddenly, after a pause in which his thoughts
seemed busy with the past, "when I was a young fellow like you I did
not think that at seventy I should be just an old tinker; there's a
place over across the river that used to just suit my fancy and it was
my ambition to get rich enough to buy it and take a sweet girl I knew
in those days over there and live out my time, growing old, respected
and looked up to as your grandfather was. Do you know why I failed? My
boy, I threw away just thirty years of my life! That is why I failed.
Your father can tell you how he has seen me reeling through the streets
in those days. There were half a dozen of us fellows and I am the only
one left--the only one who has escaped a drunkard's grave. And I have
only just escaped. It was after I had squandered my money, broken my
wife's heart, made my children outcasts and ruined my health that I was
saved. All the rest went down, drinking to the last. I tell you, my
boy, never touch it! _Never tamper with temptation!_ Yes, I can fix the
old clock and make it run about as well as ever, but you can't mend up
an old drunkard and make him tell off the remaining hours of his life
with any certainty. Whiskey somehow uses up the inside works and it is
a poor sort of a service that a worn-out old rum drinker can render his
Master. And Tom, I say, let rum alone! And Nellie, don't have anything
to do with a young fellow that will not sign a pledge!"
The old clock adorns our lower hall, is much looked at and admired;
but to Tom and me, every stroke as it tells off the hours comes as a
warning voice, and we seem to hear the old man saying, "Never tamper
with temptation."
F. H.
[Illustration: "HIS THOUGHTS SEEMED BUSY WITH THE PAST."]
_Volume 13, Number 20._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_March 20, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: "SHE THOUGHT IT OVER!"]
WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.
NOT a long journey this time. It was a bright Sabbath afternoon, and
I walked own Gilbert avenue, then McMillan avenue, then Kibbe street,
until I came to a large new building into which all the world seemed to
be trying to crowd. We were late; the sound of many voices in song made
us try to hasten, but the crowd was so great that this was not easy to
do. On the way, Sabbath though it was, we had passed many crowds of a
different sort. Men and women pushing into street cars, talking loud
and laughing gayly, on their way to park, or garden, or theatre. On the
corners were crowds of boys, talking, spitting, swearing; we passed
saloons out of which reeled drunken men; in short, we passed places
and people which did not make us think of Sunday at all. But this was
different. The singing was very sweet; the room was large, and had many
windows; the walls were white, and everything was fresh and new. The
floor was carpeted, and seated with chairs, and every chair was filled;
so also were the aisles, and the doorways leading into the side rooms.
But the great evergreen letters on the space opposite the main door,
said--
WELCOME.
And the ushers came forward cordially and motioned us in, saying
cheerily, "Always room here for one more." So we elbowed and wedged our
way.
What was going on? Why, this was the dedication of Bethany Chapel, the
room for which the young men and the young women up on these Hills have
been working for years. Yesterday it was in order. On the wall hung a
motto at which everybody looked and smiled. It was a very pretty motto:
FAITH IN ACTION.
Those were the words; and looking about the pretty room, one could not
help feeling that there must have been a good deal of it in action to
have given us such results. But I noticed that people looked beyond
the motto at the nail from which it hung. A gold nail! Very large,
and entirely covered with gold. That was certainly a new kind of nail.
I wondered what it meant; presently the superintendent of the school
told us about it. It seems that, a long time before, the teachers had
explained to their scholars just what was to be done, and just how much
money, and time, and work, it would take, and how much help would be
needed. Among others, the primary teacher had explained very carefully
to her little bits, and had said: "Now we all want to help; every
little girl and every little boy must do something; I am sure you each
want a nail in the new building. Don't you?"
Then of course every one of them said "Yes, ma'am," in their eager
little voices; and then I suppose some of them went home and forgot all
about it. Not so little Faith whose story I am going to tell you. She
thought it over, fixing all the powers of her mind on it. She talked it
over with her particular friend Robbie, as he worked with the scissors
and a sheet of paper trying to cut a pattern for a new kind of cart
wheel which he intended to make.
"How should she get a nail to put in the new Sunday-school room? It
ought to be a _very_ big nail, Robbie," she explained. "Because, you
see, I should want it to help hold something; and I should want it to
hold real hard, or else I would be ashamed of it."
Robbie agreed, but was too busy with his wheel to say much. "And where
do you s'pose I could get one?" said Faith. "If I only had some money I
could buy a great big one; but I haven't a single cent."
It took days of thinking and planning, and hunting, but at last, oh,
joy! Faith found the object of her desire; a great big nail! Very
rusty and a trifle bent, but so large that it filled her heart with
delight. Never was a happier maiden than the one who carried the
precious nail to her teacher, all neatly wrapped in paper. Some of the
scholars laughed, and said it was not good for anything; but that was
because they did not know any better. That blessed superintendent did
not laugh. He received the gift with smiles and thanks, and he took
it down town and had it straightened, and covered with gold; so that
the unsightly rusty thing glowed with beauty, and then it was used to
hold the motto; and is to fill its place in Bethany Chapel so long as
the building stands. Will anybody say little Faith did not do what she
could?
But I want to tell you about the meeting. There were many speeches and
much singing. When Doctor Hays began to speak, all the little children
straightened themselves and made ready to listen; there was something
in his voice which made them think he was worth listening to.
"Children," he began, "how many know what I have in my hand?" Hundreds
of voices answered that he had a watch.
"Is there anything about it in the Bible?"
This they did not know; so he told them he wanted them to be sure to
remember his text, for it was that one word, "Watch," and they would
find it in Mark, thirteenth chapter and last verse. He had quite a
time getting them to remember where it was, and they laughed a little
at their mistakes; but at last I think every boy and girl there could
give it correctly. He had a good deal to say about a watch; how the
"little fellow" inside of it worked away all day and all night, and day
after day, never stopping to fret because it had so much to do; never
resolving that it would begin to-morrow morning and do great things,
and being content because of that resolve to do nothing, for awhile;
it just worked away, a tick at a time. Then he said there were three
things he wanted to tie to their memories by the help of that watch.
First, they were to watch for scholars for their Sabbath-school. Every
boy and girl there ought to be on the watch for those who went nowhere
else, and nab them.
Second, they were to be on the watch against sin. He knew a very little
boy who once prayed this prayer: "Dear Lord, make Satan look just like
Satan every time he comes after me, so I will know who he is, and
fight." That was a good prayer, said Doctor Hays. "You see to it that
you know who Satan is, every time, when he comes after you. When he
comes whining to you that it isn't a very bad thing to hang around the
street corners, and play, or to disobey your mother, or to tell what
isn't true, say to him '_You are Satan_: I know you; and I am not going
to have anything to do with you.'"
Thirdly, they were to be on the watch for opportunities to do good.
There was a very earnest little talk about that, which I have not room
for; and besides, I cannot tell it as Doctor Hays said it; I wish I
could. But the three heads to his sermon I remember, because of the
watch on which he hung them. What made him think of the watch? Because,
when the disciples of Jesus were talking with him, one day, he said
that word, not only for his disciples, but for you and me: "And what
I say unto you, I say unto _all, watch_." And after he was through
talking with them, he went to Bethany. So as the new school was named
Bethany, the doctor thought the scholars would remember his sermon and
text better if he told it in that way.
There were some little boys and girls who recited Bible verses about
the House of the Lord, each bringing an evergreen letter which
commenced their verse, and when the letters were hung on the wire
waiting for them, they spelled
OUR SABBATH-SCHOOL.
I began to copy the verses for you. Then I decided not to do any such
thing. I said: I will tell the Pansies about it, and ask them to hunt
out verses for themselves which will spell the same; verses that they
think would fit their Sabbath-school, or describe what their lives
ought to be, or that they like very much, for some reason. Then they
will have an acrostic of verses of their own. How many will do it? What
is the use of our going to so many places together, if we don't learn
some new nice things to do when we get home?
PANSY.
* * * * *
Two little pussy cats wrapped in fur
Sit on the wall and they mew and purr
Mew! mew! mew!
If you listen you'll hear the black one say
"I like the night much better than day."
If you listen you'll hear the white reply,
"You're quite right, pussy, and so do I."
Mew! mew! mew!
So they sit on the wall and mew and purr
These two little pussy cats, wrapped in fur.
--_St. Nicholas._
"OLD SNOOKS."
THUS the boys built of the snow what they pleased. Sometimes it was
"Old Snooks." He was the village drunkard, with a big brandy nose and
ragged coat.
[Illustration: THE BOYS AT WORK.]
When it was done and declared to be a good
likeness, each fellow armed himself with snowballs, and, standing
a little way off, the command was given to fire, and "Old Snooks"
received a merciless pelting, one ball hitting him squarely in the eye,
another on the nose, another knocking off an ear, until the image was
completely demolished amid shouts of triumph.
Then somebody else was set up for a mark. But usually the most fun
was in building a fort and laying siege to it--or rather storming and
taking it.
Once the real "Old Snooks" himself came staggering by while the boys
were raising the breastworks. He stopped a moment to swear as he
usually did, when one of the little "rascals" took deliberate aim and
fired, and Snooks' old hat was lifted into the air and landed over the
fence into a big snowbank.
Now when the boys saw the rage of the old man, and that he was making
for them as fast as his poor legs would let him, away they ran. But
all that night and the next day they trembled and kept out of the way,
fearing the wrath of Old Snooks.
The wretched man found it easier to catch his hat than scampering boys.
So he gave up the chase and urged his way homeward.
But the track was drifted, and his limbs chilled. Soon he fell, but was
picked up by a passing neighbor and carried to his miserable home.
Not long after the village bell tolled for his funeral. Those boys were
thoroughly sobered when they remembered that their fun had something to
do with Old Snooks' death; so they resolved that, whatever they did,
they would never find pleasure again over the misery or sin of any one.
One day when their snow fortress was done and besiegers and besieged
were about to see which party was master of the situation, several of
General Gage's soldiers came along. This was more than one hundred
years ago, and the "village" was Boston; the playground Boston Common;
Gage, the British general in command. It was a time when almost every
American man, woman and child, was "mad" at England because of taxes or
the "Stamp Act."
The wise old men said with an ominous shake of the head that trouble
was coming. The boys heard it and began to talk war and "play soldier."
They were at it now. Those in the fort were "British;" those about to
storm it, "Americans."
The passing soldiers heard the words, "Drive the Britishers out;"
"shoot them;" "kill the tyrants." Though it was all in play, the words
stung them, and coming suddenly upon the boys, they handled them
roughly, calling them "young rebels," and demolishing the fort.
This did not make the boys less "rebel." They spread the news of their
bad treatment by General Gage's soldiers. Teachers, parents, everybody,
was angry.
The next day a procession of boys, headed by one of the "storming
party," marched through the Common and halted before General Gage's
headquarters. Three of the number were admitted to his presence and
asked what it all meant. Nothing frightened by being surrounded by
officers, glittering with armor, the young "captain," looking the great
general full in the face, recounted the affair about the destroying of
their fort by the soldiers.
General Gage patiently heard the statement and promised to reprove his
men and see their sport should not be spoiled again in that way.
So the procession departed in triumph. The boys were no more molested.
But the Revolution soon came on, and instead of snowballs and snow
forts and the sport of children, there were musket balls and roaring
cannon, there were stone forts and "banners rolled in blood."
Seven years of war followed, in which the sword, the bayonet, the
bullet, fire and famine, played their awful part, and--"the Britishers"
went home to England.
America was free!
How many of those boys who snowballed "Old Snooks" and visited General
Gage became Congressmen, I have never heard. Yet I dare say some of
them got into the high places of the new nation.
[Illustration: THEIR PLAYGROUND.]
But one of the best "resolutions" ever passed was theirs:
Never to have fun at the expense of such creatures as "Old Snooks."
UNCLE C.
MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.
BY PARANETE.
V.--THE SAD FATE OF AN ENGLISHMAN.
"I CONFESS," the pin went on, "that I was not sorry I had been brought
along. The beautiful, boundless sea was around me everywhere. It was
exhilarating. Most people talked about the refreshing odor, but the
sight and sound was enough for me. And the day that we had the tempest,
when everyone seemed so frightened, I thought it was delightful to
watch the giant waves as they raised and lowered the ship.
"Finally we reached the shore. I did not know where we were. We got in
a train, and after a few hours' ride, changed to a carriage, and drove
through the streets. The rest of the party seemed greatly interested
in the signs over the store doors, but as I had never learned to read,
I saw nothing strange about them. We reached a large building, and
were ushered into a fine 'suite of rooms.' That was what they called
them. As I was the only pin on the cushion, my mistress sent for some
more, and soon several were placed with me. From them I learned that we
were in Paris, in the country of France, though it was with difficulty
that they made me understand, and doubtless we could not have talked
together at all, only they had met an English pin, who had taught
them some of his language. They were Parisians, as they told me with
much haughtiness, but if they were, I did not like them for they were
very proud. My dear young friend, if you ever expect to be agreeable
company, you must not be proud.
"By some chance, a disconsolate-looking, and acting pin was put on the
cushion, after the Parisians had all gone. He told me he was English;
and gave me the story of his life, which was a very sad one. He said
he did not care what happened to him now, and that the first chance he
could get, he should make away with himself. I advised him not to do
so, and tried to console him a little. But it was useless. He said that
without friends, life was but a burden to him.
"When I told him how I was made into a pin, he seemed much amazed, and
said the wire that he had been made of had been softened by heating,
and then had been pounded and twisted like a horseshoe into the right
shape. He said that that was the way with all his former English
friends, and he sighed. Then I was proud (I confess it) of my country;
proud that I was an American, and did not have to go through all
English pins did! While my creation only lasted ten seconds, his took
many minutes.
"Just as we were discussing the different methods by which we were
made, my mistress (and his) came into the room, and he hurriedly said
good-by.
"'You will never see me again. She will take me, and not you. Mine has
been a sad life, and it will have a sad end. I hope that you will be
happy. You are the only one that has ever tried to comfort me since all
my friends were taken away from me; but you could not. Good-by!' And
with that, my mistress took him away.
"She went over to the marble basin with the silver faucets, and turned
some water in, while she held the pin, not very securely, I suppose,
for he tried with all his strength, and gave a leap into the basin. The
water carried him swiftly through the hole, and he was seen no more!
"O how I felt! To see one of my own race go to destruction before
my eyes was hard to bear! I would have wept, but you know that is
impossible to me, but whenever I think of the sad, sad fate of him with
whom I was acquainted, for so short time, my brassy heart aches, as it
were, and I feel as if I must go and comfort him, lie he in sewer or
sea!"
(Just here the pin seemed much moved, and trembled so violently that I
put my hand on the edge of the desk, to keep him from falling off.)
Presently he continued: "Let this be a lesson to you, my dear young
friend, never to be discouraged, whatever be your lot in life, or you
will meet with a sad fate, like my poor acquaintance, the English pin.
"It must have been for about a week then, that my life was rather dull.
I was sorry for this; I longed for something to divert my mind from the
sad scene I had witnessed. All I could do was to gaze disconsolately
at the shining marble basin in the corner of the room, feeling that it
was a sort of tombstone erected over the body of my friend, and make a
solemn resolve never to become so discouraged with that which it was my
duty to bear, as to desire to put an end to my existence, but always to
bear patiently the task set before me. And you, my boy, will find your
life much happier, if you make the same resolve.
"One day while my mistress' little girl was sitting reading by the
window, a gentleman came in who had made his appearance during the last
few days, and whom the children called uncle. He invited her to take a
walk. She hastily brushed her hair, and hunting around for a smaller
pin, evidently, took me reluctantly, to pin her sash with, and hurried
down to meet her uncle, who was waiting at the hotel door; for that I
had learned was the name of the building.
"They walked along down many streets, until finally they came to one
where stores were. Into one of these the little girl went, and bought
a paper of pins; as soon as they reached a quieter street, she took me
out, so as to fill my place with a smaller pin, and would have thrown
me into the gutter, but her uncle stopped her, saying:
"'Give it to me, if you don't want it. Never throw away even so small a
thing as a pin, my girl, or you may want one very much, some day.'
"She laughed, and handed me to him, and he put me on the inside of his
coat. When they reached home, or rather the hotel, he bade all the
family good-by, and that evening boarded a train, and travelled till we
reached another large city, where he took a steamer the next day, and I
learned from some of his remarks that he was going back to America. I
was very glad, I can assure you, for by this time I had grown homesick.
The ride back was just about the same as the ride away from home had
been, the only incident of any importance, that I remember, being
that my master once fell overboard while I was on his coat, which was
exceedingly disagreeable for both of us, until the sailors rescued
us, and though I suppose those same brave men did not even know of my
existence, I think I was really as thankful to them as was my master.
"When the steamer reached New York, the gentleman took a train, which,
after a few hours' ride, brought us to a small town, where we found at
the depot a carriage waiting for my master, with a gentleman in it, who
greeted him warmly.
"During the ride to the stranger's house, he suddenly exclaimed:
"'Will, my cuff has come unpinned, and the pin has mysteriously
disappeared. Have you another for me?'
"So my master put his hand to his coat, where I had been ever since we
left Paris, and gave me to the gentleman. He, of course, fastened his
cuff with me, and I remained in it till night, when, as he was taking
it off when making ready for bed, he (whom I had so faithfully served)
accidently dropped me from the open window, and I fell into a crack in
the sidewalk!"
DOES ALCOHOL WARM US?
A PATIENT was arguing with his doctor the necessity of his taking a
stimulant. He urged that he was weak and needed it. Said he:
"But, doctor, I _must_ have some kind of a stimulant. I am cold, and it
warms me."
"Precisely," came the doctor's crusty answer. "See here, this stick is
cold," taking up a stick of wood from the box beside the hearth and
tossing it into the fire, "now it is warm; but is the stick benefited?"
The sick man watched the wood first send out little puffs of smoke,
and then burst into flame, and replied: "Of course not: it is burning
itself!"
"And so are you when you warm yourself with alcohol; you are literally
burning up the delicate tissues of your stomach and brain."
Yes, alcohol will warm you, but who finds the _fuel_? When you take
food, that is fuel, and as it burns out, you keep warm. But when you
take alcohol to warm you, you are like a man who sets his house on fire
and warms his fingers by it as it burns.--_Temperance Banner._
[Illustration: A MOST UNWELCOME VISITOR.]
_Volume 13, Number 21._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_March 27, 1886._
THE PANSY.