William Baker, and his brother Thomas and sister Ellen, were playing on the
green lawn in front of their mother's door, when a lad named Henry Green
came along the road, and seeing the children enjoying themselves, opened
the gate and came in. He was rather an ill-natured boy, and generally took
more pleasure in teasing and annoying others, than in being happy with
them. When William saw him coming in through the gate, he called to him and
said, in a harsh way,
"You may just clear out, Henry Green, and go about your business! We don't
want you here."
But Henry did not in the least regard what William said. He came directly
forward, and joined in the sport as freely as if he had been invited
instead of repulsed. In a little while he began to pull Ellen about rudely,
and to push Thomas, so as nearly to throw them down upon the grass.
"Go home, Henry Green! Nobody sent for you! Nobody wants you here!" said
William Baker, in quite an angry tone.
It was of no use, however. William might as well have spoken to the wind.
His words were entirely unheeded by Henry, whose conduct became ruder and
more offensive.
Mrs Baker, who sat at the window, saw and heard all that was passing. As
soon as she could catch the eye of her excited son, she beckoned him to
come to her, which he promptly did.
"Try kind words on him," she said; "you will find them more powerful than
harsh words. You spoke very harshly to Henry when he came in, and I was
sorry to hear it."
"It won't do any good, mother. He's a rude, bad boy, and I wish he would
stay at home. Won't you make him go home?"
"First go and speak to him in a gentler way than you did just now. Try to
subdue him with kindness."
William felt that he had been wrong in letting his angry feelings express
themselves in angry words. So he left his mother and went down upon the
lawn, where Henry was amusing himself by trying to trip the children with a
long stick, as they ran about on the green.
"Henry," he said, cheerfully and pleasantly, "if you were fishing in the
river, and I were to come and throw stones in where your line fell, and
scare away all the fish, would you like it?"
"No, I should not," the lad replied.
"It wouldn't be kind in me?"
"No, of course it wouldn't."
"Well, now, Henry," William tried to smile and to speak very pleasantly,
"we are playing here and trying to enjoy ourselves. Is it right for you to
come and interrupt us by tripping our feet, pulling us about, and pushing
us down? I am sure you will not think so if you reflect a moment. So don't
do it any more, Henry."
"No, I will not," replied Henry, promptly. "I am sorry that I disturbed
you. I didn't think what I was doing. And now I remember, father told me
not to stay, and I must run home."
So Henry Green went quickly away, and the children were left to enjoy
themselves.
"Didn't I tell you that kind words were more powerful than harsh words,
William?" said his mother, after Henry had gone away; "when we speak
harshly to our fellows, we arouse their angry feelings, and then evil
spirits have power over them; but when we speak kindly, we affect them with
gentleness, and good spirits flow into this latter state, and excite in
them better thoughts and intentions. How quickly Henry changed, when you
changed your manner and the character of your language. Do not forget this,
my son. Do not forget, that kind words have double the power of harsh
ones."
[Illustration: THE HERONS AND THE HERRINGS.]
THE HERONS AND THE HERRINGS.
A FABLE.
A Heron once came--I can scarcely tell why--
To the court of his cousins, the fishes,
With despatches, so heavy he scarcely could fly,
And his bosom brimfull of good wishes.
He wished the poor Herrings no harm, he said,
Though there seemed to be cause for suspicion;
His government wished to convert them, instead,
And this was the end of his mission.
The Herrings replied, and were civil enough,
Though a little inclined to be witty:
"We know we are heathenish, savage, and rough,
And are greatly obliged for your pity.
"But your plan of conversion we beg to decline,
With all due respect for your nation;
No doubt it would tend to exalt and refine,
Yet we fear it would check respiration."
The Heron returned to his peers in disdain,
And told how their love was requited.
"Poor creatures!" they said, "shall we let them remain
So ignorant, blind, and benighted?"
Then soon on a crusade of love and good-will
The Herons in council decided;
And they flew, every one that could boast a long bill,
To the beach where the Herrings resided.
So the tribe were soon converts from ocean to air,
Though liking not much the diversion,
And wishing at least they had time to prepare
For so novel a mode of conversion.
A sensible child will discover with ease
The point of the tale I've related--
A blockhead could not, let me say what I please--
Then why need my MORAL be stated?