up a hill. The hill grew steeper at every step, and the man bent down
under the weight of the load until his forehead nearly touched the
ground in front of him. Then I saw one having a face full of love and a
strong arm come up beside the man. But just as I supposed he was going
to help him, what was my surprise to see this strong one pick up a
heavy stone and put it on the top of his burden! Then I looked to see
the man sink down, crushed, to the earth, but I saw the other touch
him, and by that touch new strength was given him; so that he bore this
heavy burden more easily than he had borne the lighter one.
And the teacher said: “No load is to be feared if only the strength be
given to bear it.”
Then he took the mirror from before me and held it up to his own lips,
breathing upon it. And I saw the vapor gather on its surface for a
moment and then disappear.
And the teacher said: “Such are good impressions when made on the heart
of man unless a higher Power fix them there.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CLOUD-SHADOWS.
A CLOUD came sailing on the wind, which died away just as it reached a
fruitful field.
“Pass on,” said the field, “and let me see the blue sky.”
The cloud spread itself out to catch the little air that was left, and
slowly passed on to a field beyond. There it hung motionless. In the
night it began to drop its watery contents upon the thirsty sward
beneath, so that every green blade glistened as the sun rose upon it,
and sprang up with renewed freshness and beauty. The field that had
complained, seeing this and being parched with the sun’s rays, said:
“Ah that I had borne the cloud’s presence a while for the sake of the
blessing it contained! I was impatient under its shadow, and now long
for that which my neighbor has gained who submitted to its visitation
without murmuring.”
* * * * *
We put out our hand and thrust away an imagined evil, to find out
afterward that, if we had but welcomed it, it would have filled that
hand with good.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE PENITENT TRANSGRESSOR.
A GOOD natured poodle-dog, while trotting along the street one day, saw
a friend of his, an ugly pug, lying on a doorstep looking very much
dejected and out of spirits.
“Why do you look so mournful?” asked the poodle. “What has happened?”
“I feel sorry for something I’ve done,” replied the pug.
“What is it? Have you been peeping into your master’s looking-glass?”
“No, but I’ve bitten another dog.”
[Illustration]
“Well, I suppose he took a bone away from you or snarled at you, or did
something else to deserve it.”
“He did snarl at me, that’s true, but I don’t think I ought to have
bitten him.”
“Didn’t he bite you back again?”
“No, and that makes me feel all the worse.”
“Oh, well, cheer up; it’s over now, and very likely you’ll never see
him any more.”
“Yes, I will, though, for he’s a relation of mine.”
“But you’ll never bite him again after being so sorry for it—I’m sure
of that—and that’s some comfort.”
“But I’m not sure, for I’ve done it before, and been sorry too. When
anything doesn’t please me, all at once I get so mad that I hardly know
what I’m about, and then I’m ready to bite my dearest friend.”
“Do you mean that you get crazy and lose your senses?”
“No, I only mean that I lose my temper. I’m sorry for it every time,
but I go on losing it and biting my friends over and over again; and
I’m discouraged about it, and don’t know what to do.”
“Well, if you haven’t got sense enough to stop it, right now and
without any more whining, the sooner you go and give yourself up to the
dog-catchers, the better.”
* * * * *
Persons who easily fly into a passion forfeit not only the regard and
confidence of other people, but also their own self-respect.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE DRY WELL.
A MAN who had always been able to get as much water from his well as he
wanted, on drawing up the bucket one hot summer day, found less than
a cupful in it. There was so little water at the bottom of the well
that the bucket could not turn over and fill itself. As soon as the man
discovered this he began abusing his well, saying:
“Is that all you can do? You are not worth the room you take or the
money you cost to dig. If there is any one thing more useless and
contemptible than another, it is a well that holds no water.”
“Does all my past service go for nothing, then?” asked the well. “I
have filled your bucket, year after year, with unfailing streams, as
you yourself know. And even now what I have I willingly offer, to the
last drop.”
[Illustration]
“‘Drop’ indeed, and little more!” said the man. “But what good will
that do me? What I want is a barrelful or a hogsheadful if I need it.”
“I have not the ocean to draw from,” replied the well, “or even a
river, but only one trickling spring. If that fails, I have no other
resource, but must wait till its dried-up current begins to flow again.
Can you, at all times, command the same fulness and excellence in your
own work? Pray, do your powers never fail?”
* * * * *
How often are we intolerant of a single failure on the part of those
who have generally succeeded in pleasing us, and who are still doing
their very best to accomplish that end!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE FRUIT TREE.
A FRUIT tree sprang up from a seed in the corner of a certain man’s
field. It grew rapidly and put forth branches. Great was the man’s
delight when he saw these bearing blossoms.
“Now I shall have fruit of my own,” he said.
Autumn came and the fruit appeared, but as it ripened, instead of
growing round and rich and mellow, it grew knotted and hard and bitter
to the taste.
“’Tis because it is young and the soil where it stands thin and poor,”
the land-owner said.
Then he loosened the ground around its roots and enriched and watered
it, and afterward waited for spring. Spring came, and again the tree
put forth blossoms and bore fruit, more abundantly than before; but it
was worthless and unfit to be eaten.
Another winter passed and spring returned once more, and one sunny
morning, as the land-owner stood looking at his tree and repining over
it, there came a gardener by that way.
“What troubles you?” he said, seeing the man’s sad face.
“My tree has proved worthless,” replied the other. “Yet I have done all
that could be done to it, and still it bears only evil fruit.”
At this the gardener took out his pruning-knife and opening it, he
came to the tree and at one stroke severed its top, with all its
spreading boughs, so that they fell down on the ground, as fit only for
the burning. Then he made a deep cleft in the stock of the tree, and
into this he inserted a young shoot that he carried with him. Next he
anointed, with clay, the wound that his knife had made, and wrapped it
about carefully, and, turning to the land-owner, said:
“Be patient; give it time. All yet will be well.”
Another season came. The new shoot put forth buds; it blossomed, and
then (after the gardener had grafted it, but not before) the tree
brought forth good fruit.
* * * * *
There is a life which is ours by natural inheritance, and another which
comes only as a free gift. Though both are housed in the same body,
they are received at different times and have each a separate existence
and destiny.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE DEER.
A DEER that lived in a country far from the abodes of men used to stay
during the winter on some low-lying lands where she could find patches
of grass growing through the cold weather, and thick coverts, also,
among the evergreens, in which to hide while the fierce snow-storms
were prevailing. But as soon as spring returned she left the low-lands
and hastened to a mountain many miles away, and there, roaming over its
wooded heights and drinking from a quiet lake that lay spread out on
its very top, she stayed, rejoicing, all the summer long.
After she had been doing thus for many years, and when she was no
longer young, it happened one winter that certain strange sensations
crept through her frame such as she had never before known. She rose
from her lair with more difficulty than formerly, and walked at times
with an unsteady step. She grew weak and thin, and afraid of the storms
that she used to face boldly when going forth in search of food. Then
she began to wonder, and say:
“What ails me, and what do these feelings mean?”
But presently she answered:
“I know what I need: it is a drink from the lake on the mountain-top.
When I can taste of it once more, these feelings will pass away.”
So she waited in her low-land home, through the cold and dreary winter
days that remained, for the opening buds and singing birds of spring.
As soon as these appeared she started on her journey to the mountain.
But now that journey seemed longer than it used to seem. She had to
rest oftener by the way. Instead of leaping from crag to crag as she
ascended the mountain-side, she found herself picking out the easiest
and safest paths. Still laboring on up the steep ascent, she at last
reached the summit and stood beside the lake that she loved. It looked
the same. The rocks around its shores were reflected in its bosom, the
water-lilies floated on its surface, the trees and wild-flowers grew
down to its very edge. All was as it had ever been. She said: “I shall
soon be well again;” and, putting her mouth down to the water, drank.
But presently she raised it slowly, saying: “Either it is changed, or I
am. It does not taste as it once did, or bring the refreshment it has
always before brought to my wearied frame.”
Then, turning with feeble step to the bed of moss under the thick
bushes where she had so often rested in years gone by, she lay down,
to rise from it no more. The fresh, pure mountain-breeze was still
blowing; other deer came and drank in new life and vigor at the lake;
it was as beautiful and its surroundings were as health-giving as ever;
but they could not recall the life that, having reached its farther
bound, had passed away.
* * * * *
There is a day coming when the scenes and influences that once revived
our failing strength will do so no more, and their failure will be a
token that to us the end of earthly things is at hand.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
HOMELY AND HANDSOME.
A HORSE and a cow that were turned out to pasture together cropped the
grass in company until they came to a tree in the middle of the field,
where they stopped to rest in the shade. The cow lay down and chewed
the cud, but the horse stood switching off the flies with his long tail.
While doing this he turned to the cow and said:
“I’ve just been thinking what a contrast there is between us two. I
am so swift, and you are so slow. You travel only from the barn to
the field in summer, and hardly get out of the barnyard in winter.
Your walk is clumsy and awkward; and when you try to run, you seem
to have our old master’s rheumatism in every joint. How different it
is with me, galloping swiftly over the country around, visiting our
neighbors’ farms and hearing of all that is going on! But then it is
not your fault that you were made to be only a cow, while I was made a
fleet-footed horse.”
“I’m very glad,” said the cow, “that you are so well satisfied with
your lot, but I don’t want you to think I am dissatisfied with mine.
When our mistress pats me on the side and calls me kind names, after
milking, I feel proud too. For this I go through the fields picking
out the freshest grass and the richest clover, saying to myself, ‘I’ll
give her a good pailful to-night.’ Then, when I see the red cheeks of
the children, I know I’ve had something to do with them; and when our
master drives you to market with his butter-tub well filled, I have a
notion he would miss me, as well as you.”
“I don’t deny,” replied the horse, “that you have your good points and
are useful in your way. I was only pitying you for being so slow and so
ugly.”
As he spoke these words he saw the farmer coming through the gate into
the field and bringing a strange man with him. They came directly to
the tree where the horse and the cow were resting.
“Yes,” said the stranger, looking at the horse; “he’s a smart,
good-looking colt, and by putting him through some pretty hard training
I reckon I can work him off at a fair profit. I’ll give you your price
for him.”
“Then you can have him,” said the farmer. “If he’s worth that, I can’t
afford to keep him; a lower-priced beast will do just as well for me.”
With that the old man slipped a halter over the horse’s head and led
him away. As he sadly followed his master he looked back at the old
cow, still contentedly chewing her cud, and said:
“I go from this pleasant farm, where I was bred and have lived so long,
to be driven and beaten, and then sold I know not where. Ah, my old
friend! I wish now that I was as ugly and as slow as you.”
* * * * *
If we have any gifts beyond our neighbors, let us possess them humbly;
for we cannot tell but what those very gifts may some day cause our
happiness to be less than theirs.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE COLT AND OLD GRAY.
A COLT that had just been broken to harness was driven in a milk-wagon
every day to the city, where he was fastened to a hitching-post, and
left standing, while the farmer went around to the neighboring houses
serving milk.
A boy on the way to his work one morning chanced to rap against the
post in passing, when the colt put back his ears. Seeing this, the boy
stopped and gave him a thrust in the side, when the colt snapped at him
and raised his hind foot, showing that he was angry.
Instead of checking the boy, this only encouraged him; so that the
next morning he repeated his offence, and continued to do it afterward
every morning, seeming to take a wicked delight in rousing the colt’s
temper. Yet the colt, being tied, could do nothing to revenge himself,
as the boy took good care to keep out of the reach of both his teeth
and his heels.
[Illustration]
One day, on going back to the stable, the colt told an old gray horse
that stood in the next stall how cruelly he was tormented, without
being able to stop his tormentor.
“I know how you could stop him,” said the old gray, “and that without
giving yourself the least trouble.”
“Tell me,” said the colt.
“What will you give me for my secret?” asked Old Gray.
“My share of the feed that we’ll get for our dinner.”
“All right,” said Old Gray; “I’ll tell you as soon as I have eaten it.”
In a little while the farmer passed through the stable, and poured out
six quarts of oats for each horse. And the colt, although he was very
hungry and his mouth watered for them, allowed the old horse to put his
head over and eat up every grain in his manger.
“Now,” said the colt, impatiently, “tell me, as you promised, how I can
stop that young rogue from poking at my ribs every morning.”
[Illustration]
“In this way,” said the old horse. “Let him do it, and pretend you
don’t feel it.”
“Is that all you have to say?” said the colt, angrily. “I could have
done that without being told, or being cheated out of my dinner,
either.”
“But you never thought of it till I told you,” said Old Gray. “Now,
just try it.”
As the oats were all gone and could never be gotten back, the colt
concluded there was no use in fretting any more about them. Yet he
found himself thinking over Old Gray’s advice, and before night
concluded to try it.
The next morning the boy came along as usual, and, stealing up softly
by the colt’s side, gave him a thrust in the tender spot just behind
his shoulder. The colt never winced, nor even turned his eyes toward
him. The boy tried it again and again, with no better success, until he
had to hurry away, for fear of a scolding from his master.
For several mornings after this he renewed the attempt (though with
less spirit each morning), until, finding it made no impression, he
gave it up altogether, and passed by whistling, with his hands in his
pockets, as if no colt were there.
Shortly after this, one evening about sundown, as the colt was drinking
in the stable-yard, Old Gray came in from ploughing.
[Illustration]
Said the colt, raising his head from the horse-trough:
“Your advice was good and worth the oats, after all. I ask your pardon
for being so rude the other morning.”
“I can easily forgive you,” said Old Gray. “Trifles do not worry me.
You are only a colt yet, just put to the milk-wagon. You’ll be wiser by
the time you get to the plough.”
* * * * *
By noticing small affronts, we give every passer-by the power to vex
us; by overlooking them, we take that power away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE KING’S ALMONER.
A KING was told that his subjects in a certain city were suffering from
hunger and cold and nakedness. Then he said to himself,
“What man is there among them, of prudence and charity, with whom I can
intrust supplies for their relief?”
And one being named he sent to him stores of food and raiment and
money, with this message:
“These things are for the benefit of all the dwellers in your city.
Not that you should be neglected while others are provided for; on the
contrary, as you will have to wait on the rest as my almoner, you may
keep somewhat the largest share for yourself.”
So the man received what the king sent, and divided it in due
proportion between himself and the sufferers around him.
But after doing this justly and generously for a time he began, as new
supplies came in, to increase his own portion and diminish that which
he divided among his neighbors, thus making himself richer and richer,
while they became poorer and poorer.
Now, it was the king’s custom at certain seasons to leave his royal
palace and travel through his dominions, visiting his people in every
city; and, the time for his departure having come, he set out on his
journey, and at length came to the city which he had befriended. And he
went among the people, visiting them in their houses, and found great
poverty and distress among them.
Then he came to the house of his almoner, and walked through its
spacious rooms (for the man had built himself a new house) and saw his
children richly clothed and his table covered with dainties. And the
king sat down with them and partook of the rich fare that was provided,
and afterward went to his own home.
As soon as he came there he called his chief servant and commanded him
to send fresh supplies of food and money and raiment—greater and more
abundant than ever before—to the suffering city. And these, being sent
forth in haste, quickly reached their destination. And the king’s
almoner received them, and after giving a very little to the people
around him laid up the rest for himself. As he did so he said,
“Now am I sure of the king’s love and favor, for behold by his bounty
how my wealth has increased!”
But not many days after this the almoner’s servant who had charge of
his storehouse came to him, saying,
“The food which you have laid up has bred worms and is spoiled.”
Then the servant who kept his raiment came and said,
“The rich garments sent by the king, which you have laid by so
carefully, are being consumed by the moth and destroyed.”
And the keeper of his gold came, saying,
“The treasure-boxes which appeared so strong are falling to pieces;
much gold has already been lost from them, and because they are opening
of themselves they invite the hand of the pilferer and robber.”
Then the rich man was in great trouble, and he went in haste to the
king and told him of the losses which had so suddenly befallen him.
The king replied,
“How can that be lost now which was given long ago to the poor?”
The rich man answered,
“I have done wrong in keeping for my own what did not belong to me.”
So he returned to his house sad at heart, to find all his riches melted
away, and truly (as he knew) it was by his own act, and not by the hand
of an enemy.
* * * * *
He who will be richer than he ought to be shall be poorer than he need
to be.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PANSIES.
TWO purple pansies opened their velvet-like leaves one summer morning,
but on looking around them saw that they had not the garden-bed alone.
On one side a clump of crimson poppies towered above their heads, and
on the other some tall golden lilies were nodding in the breeze.
When the lowly pansies saw their lofty neighbors, the joy which at
first they felt in their new being quickly waned. They looked up
enviously, first at the poppies, and then at the lilies, saying to one
another,
“Between these haughty flowers, there is nothing left us but to hang
our heads in shame.”
Just then the gardener passing by, they cried,
“Take us from here, we pray you, and plant us in a bed of flowers yet
lowlier than ourselves.”
“And why do you ask this change?” he said.
“Do you not see,” they replied, “how our gorgeous neighbors overshadow
us, and by contrast how poor and mean we seem?”
“Then it is nothing but pride,” the gardener answered, “that prompts
the request: you would be to others what these gorgeous neighbors are
to you. Be satisfied rather to remain where you are. And know that it
is not for the glory of the flower its place in the garden is chosen,
yet its greatest beauty may be attained where it stands in fulfilling
my design.”
* * * * *
A desire to be the greatest as well as a willingness to be least may
lead us to choose our place in a lower sphere.
[Illustration]
THE BIRDS AND THE BELLS.
A VILLAGE church was presented with a chime of bells, which were rung
for the first time on a bright spring morning. The country-people were
delighted with the unusual sounds, but there was one class of hearers
displeased. These were the birds. Heretofore they had made all the
music for the fields and hills, and the sound of the bells seemed to
them an invasion of their rights. They met together in an evergreen
hedge to talk over the matter.
Said the robin:
“My notes can no longer be heard.”
The bluebird said:
“I might as well have no voice at all.”
The wrens and swallows whose nests were in the church-tower declared
they were driven out of house and home. The meeting appointed the
oriole and the dove to wait on the pastor and lay their grievance
before him.
The next morning, as the good man was at work in his garden, the two
appeared in a pear tree near by.
“Good-morning, sir,” said the oriole.
“Good-morning, my feathered friend,” replied the pastor. “When did you
arrive from the South?”
“Only a few days ago, but it was to find a sad change here.”
“Pray, what may it be? Not gunners already, nor boys after your nests?”
“Not these, but the bells in your church-tower.”
“Why, do not they please you?”
“No, indeed! and all the birds have sent us to protest against them. We
and our forefathers have enlivened these hills with our songs time out
of mind, and we believe the air, for music, belongs to us still. And we
have come to give you your choice: Take down the bells, or we will be
still and never sing for you again.”
The pastor was dumb with astonishment as the birds flew away. He held
the hoe in his hand full five minutes without moving, deep in thought
concerning the strange interview. But of course submission to so
unreasonable a demand was not to be thought of, and the next Sunday
morning the bells again sent forth their glad peal. The ringers were in
earnest, and their chimes floated far over hill and vale. But for the
rest of the sacred day, and
[Illustration] for full twenty-four hours afterward, not a bird
uttered a note. They could be seen flitting through the bushes and the
trees, but all was perfectly still.
“How I miss their sweet voices!” said the pastor to his wife. “Though
the leaves are unfolding and the rosebuds are swelling, without the
birds’ voices it does not seem like spring.”
“Never fear,” replied his wife; “it will all come right again.”
Now, the birds, in resolving not to sing, had forgotten that, besides
disobliging the people, they might inconvenience themselves. The spring
was the season for their songs, and they soon found this out. After
being silent for two whole days, the robin said:
“I really cannot keep still any longer. I will fly down to the other
end of the woods, beyond the creek, where nobody can hear me, and sing
a little song to myself.”
But great was his surprise, on reaching the woods, to hear the oriole,
who had come there for the same purpose a little while before him. And
presently the cuckoo, and a number of other birds, joined them at the
place.
“What does this mean?” they said, looking round at each other.
“It is not hard to guess,” said the wren. “I don’t doubt we have all
gone through the same experience. To confess the truth, I believe we
are spiting ourselves more than anybody else.”