love, who can hear their approving voices, who can utter the words of
knowledge, and rejoice in the glorious charms of nature, who know also
that life is short, and that you must give strict account of it to God,
how faithfully and earnestly should you improve your time! You who have
the great, blessed gift of speech, be careful to make a right use of it.
Yes: speak kind, and sweet, and true words, and so help your own souls
on their way to Heaven.
Laura Bridgman.
THE DEAF, DUMB, AND BLIND GIRL, AT THE INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND, IN
BOSTON
Where is the light that to the eye
Heaven's holy message gave,
Tinging the retina with rays
From sky, and earth, and wave?
Where is the sound that to the soul
Mysterious passage wrought,
And strangely made the moving lip
A harp-string for the thought?
All fled! all lost! Not even the rose[1]
An odour leaves behind,
That, like a broken reed, might trace
The tablet of the mind.
That mind! It struggles with its fate,
The anxious conflict, see!
As if through Bastile-bars it sought
Communion with the free.
Yet still its prison-robe it wears
Without a prisoner's pain;
For happy childhood's beaming sun
Glows in each bounding vein.
And bless'd Philosophy is near,
In Christian armour bright,
To scan the subtlest clew that leads
To intellectual light.
Say, lurks there not some ray of heaven
Amid thy bosom's night,
Some echo from a better land,
To make the smile so bright?
The lonely lamp in Greenland cell,
Deep 'neath a world of snow,
Doth cheer the loving household group
Though none around may know;
And, sweet one, hath our Father's hand
Plac'd in thy casket dim
Some radiant and peculiar lamp,
To guide thy steps to Him?
[Footnote 1: Laura is deprived of the sense of smell, which in Julia's
case is so acute.]
Humble Friends.
Kindness to animals shows an amiable disposition, and correct
principles. The inferior creation were given for our use, but not for
our abuse or cruelty. Many of them add greatly to the comfort of
domestic life, and also display qualities deserving of regard. The noble
properties of the dog, the horse, and the "half-reasoning elephant,"
have long been known and praised. But among the lower grades of animals,
especially if they receive kind treatment, traits of character are often
discovered that surprise or delight us.
Cats, so frequently the objects of neglect or barbarity, are more
sagacious than is generally supposed. The mother of four young kittens
missed one of her nurslings, and diligently searched the house to find
it. Then she commenced calling upon the neighbours, gliding from room to
room, and looking under sofas and beds with a troubled air. At length
she found it in a family in the vicinity, where it had been given by her
mistress. Taking it in her mouth, she brought it home and bestowed on it
her nursing cares and maternal caresses for a few weeks, then carried it
back to the same neighbour, and left it in the same spot where she found
it. It would seem as if she wished to testify her approbation of the
home selected for her child, and desired only to nurture it until it
should be old enough to fill it properly.
A cat who had repeatedly had her kittens taken from her and drowned
immediately after their birth, went to a barn belonging to the family,
quite at a long distance from the house. She so judiciously divided her
time, as to obtain her meals at home and attend to her nursery abroad.
At length she entered the kitchen, followed by four of her offspring,
well-grown, all mewing in chorus. Had she foresight enough to conclude,
that if she could protect them until they reached a more mature age,
they would escape the fate of their unfortunate kindred?
A little girl once sat reading, with a large favourite cat in her lap.
She was gently stroking it, while it purred loudly, to express its joy.
She invited a person who was near, to feel its velvet softness.
Reluctant to be interrupted in an industrious occupation that required
the use of both hands, the person did not immediately comply, but at
length touched the head so abruptly that the cat supposed itself to have
been struck. Resenting the indignity, it ceased its song, and continued
alternately rolling and closing its eyes, yet secretly watching, until
both the busy hands had resumed their employment. Then, stretching forth
a broad, black velvet paw, it inflicted on the back of one of them a
quick stroke, and jumping down, concealed itself beneath the chair of
its patron. There seemed in this simple action a nice adaptation of
means to ends: a prudent waiting, until the retaliation that was
meditated could be conveniently indulged, and a prompt flight from the
evil that might ensue.
The race of rats are usually considered remarkable only for
voraciousness, or for ingenious and mischievous inventions to obtain the
gratification of appetite. A vessel that had been much infested by
them, was when in port fumigated with brimstone, to expel them. Escaping
in great numbers, they were dispatched by people stationed for that
purpose. Amid the flying victims a group was observed to approach
slowly, upon the board placed between the vessel and the shore. One of
those animals held in his mouth a stick, the extremities of which were
held by two others, who carefully led him. It was discovered that he was
entirely blind. The executioners making way for them, suffered them to
live. It was not in the heart of man to scorn such an example.
Another of our ships, while in a foreign port, took similar measures to
free itself from those troublesome inmates. Amid the throngs that fled
from suffocating smoke to slaughtering foes, one was seen moving
laboriously as if overburdened. Climbing over the bodies of his dead
companions, he bore upon his back another, so old as to be unable to
walk. Like Eneas, escaping from the flames of Troy, perhaps it was an
aged father that he thus carried upon his shoulders. Whether it were
filial piety or respect for age, his noble conduct, as in the previous
instance, saved his life and that of his venerable friend.
Sheep are admired for their innocence and meekness, more than for strong
demonstrations of character. Yet the owner of a flock was once surprised
by seeing one of his fleecy people rushing to and fro beneath his
window, in great agitation and alarm. Following her to the pasture,
where she eagerly led the way, he found a fierce dog tearing the sheep.
Having put him to flight, he turned in search of the messenger, and
found her in a close thicket, where she had carefully hidden her own
little lamb, ere she fled to apprize the master of their danger. This
strangely intelligent animal was permitted to live to the utmost limit
of longevity allotted to her race.
The instinct of the beaver approaches the bounds of reason. Their
dexterity in constructing habitations and rearing mounds to repel the
watery element, surpasses that of all other animals. A gentleman who
resided where they abound, wished to ascertain whether this was
inherent, or the effect of imitation. He took therefore, to his house,
an infant beaver, ere its eyes were opened. It was an inmate of his
kitchen, where one day, from a leaky pail, a small stream of water oozed
out upon the floor. Out ran the little beaver, and collected sticks and
clay, with which it built a dam to stop the passage of the tiny brook.
An Indian, going out to shoot beaver, saw a large one felling a lofty
tree. Ere he gave the finishing strokes, he ascended a neighbouring
hill, throwing his head about, and taking deep draughts of air. The
Indian, who stedfastly regarded him, supposed that he was taking an
observation of which way the wind blew: as when he made his last effort
on the tree, he made use of this knowledge to shelter himself from
injury at its fall. He then measured the trunk into equal lengths for
the height of the house he was to build, and loading his broad tail with
wet clay, made a mark at each division. Uttering a peculiar cry, three
little beavers appeared at their father's call, and began to knaw
asunder the wood at the places which he had designated.
"When I saw this," said the Indian, "I turned away. Could I harm such a
creature? No. He was to me as a brother."
Among the insect tribes, the ant sustains a good character for foresight
and industry, having been cited by the wise monarch of Israel as an
example and reproof to the sluggard. Their almost resistless force in
the tropical countries, where they move in bodies, shows the power that
the feeble may acquire through unity of effort and design.
When Dr. Franklin was on his embassy in France, soon after our
Revolution, he one morning sat musing over his solitary breakfast, and
perceived a legion of large black ants taking possession of the
sugar-bowl. His philosophic mind being ever ready for experiments, he
caused it to be suspended from the ceiling by a string. They returned.
The sweet food was above their reach. It was worth an effort to regain
it. One placed himself in a perpendicular position, and another mounted
upon his shoulders. Others ascended the same scaffolding, each
stretching to his utmost altitude. Down fell the line. Yet it was again
and again renewed. Then the Babel-builders disappeared. Had they given
up the siege? No. They had only changed their mode of attack. Soon they
were seen traversing the ceiling, and precipitating themselves upon the
coveted spoil, by the string that sustained it. Here was somewhat of the
same boldness and perseverance that led Hannibal across the Alps, to
pour his soldiers down upon astonished Italy.
Thus the spider that sought so many times to fasten its frail thread,
and at length succeeded, gave a profitable lesson to King Robert the
Bruce, when he ruminated in discouragement and despair on his failing
enterprises.
Parrots are generally considered as senseless repeaters of sounds and
words, that convey neither sentiment nor feeling. Now and then, there
seems some variation from this rule. A parrot who had been reared with
kindness, selected as his prime favourite the youngest child in the
family. By every means in his power he expressed this preference. The
little girl was seized with a severe sickness. He missed her in her
accustomed haunts, and turning his head quickly from side to side,
called loudly for her.
At length, the fair form, stretched in its coffin, met his view. In wild
and mournful tones, he continued to utter her name. He was removed far
from the room, but the shrill echo of his voice was still heard amid the
funeral obsequies, pronouncing with frantic grief the name of his lost
Mary. Ever afterwards, when the sound of the tolling bell met his ear,
the fountains of memory were troubled, and the cry of "Mary! Mary!"
mingled with the mournful knell, till it ceased.
Since so many interesting properties are discovered in the inferior
creation, where, perhaps, we least expected them, it is well to search
for such traits of character as deserve our regard, and consider them as
humble friends, that we may better do our duty to them, and please Him
who has entrusted them to our protection.
Butterfly in a School-Room.
Gay inmate of our studious room.
Adorn'd with nature's brightest dyes,
Whose gadding wing, and tissued plume,
Allure so many wandering eyes.
The breath of eve is gathering bleak,
And thou dost shrink beneath its power,
And faint, or famish'd, seem'st to seek
The essence from yon withering flower
Haste to thine own secluded cell,
And shield thee from the chilling blast,
And let the honied casket well
Supply a fresh and free repast.
Hast thou no home? Didst thou provide
No shelter from autumnal rain?
Hast thou no cheering board supplied
From all the treasures of the plain?
What wilt thou do 'neath wintry skies?
Behold! the charms of summer fade,
Thy friend, the labouring bee, was wise
Ere on their stalks the plants decay'd,
Frail insect! shivering 'mid the storm,
Thy season of delight is past,
And soon that gaudy, graceful form,
Shall stiffen on the whelming blast.
Companions dear! whose frequent glance
Marks yon fair creature's brilliant hue,
Methinks, its wing in frolic dance,
Doth speak in wisdom's lore to you:
Seek not to flutter, and to flaunt,
While a few years their courses roll,
But heed approaching winter's want,
And store the sweetness of the soul.
A Brave Boy.
There are ways in which boys may show true courage, without being
forward and bold in contention. It often requires more to avoid it. To
show forbearance when they are provoked, or to tell the whole truth when
they have committed faults, are proofs of more lofty and high principle
than to imitate the fighting animals, and repel force by force, or the
fox-like ones, and practise cunning. To live at peace, may need more
firmness than to quarrel; because one is to control our passions, and
the other to indulge them.
The bravest boy is he who rules himself, and does his duty without
boasting. I have known some beautiful instances of this class of
virtues, and will mention one that is now in my mind.
A widow, who was the mother of several children, resided in a pleasant
part of New England. She faithfully nurtured and instructed them, and
one of her precepts was, that when they had any difficult duty to
perform, they should ask strength from above. Her youngest was a boy of
eight years old, active and intelligent. He was not only obedient to
her, but attentive to his studies, and beloved by his instructors.
One fine summer afternoon, when there was no school, he was walking on
the banks of a river that beautified the scenery of his native place. He
admired the silver stream as it sparkled in the sunbeams, and the rich
verdure that clothed its banks. Suddenly, a large boy plunged in, as if
for the purpose of bathing, though he did not divest himself of any part
of his clothing. Soon, he struggled in distress, as if ready to sink.
Ralph Edward, the son of the widow, had been taught to swim. Throwing
off his boots and his little coat, he hastened to the relief of the
drowning stranger. He found him nearly senseless, and though much larger
than himself, and nearly twice his age, succeeded by great exertions in
bringing him to the shore. There, he supported him against a bank, until
he had thrown from his mouth a quantity of water, and was able to thank
his benefactor. He confessed that he was ignorant of the art of
swimming, but had a great desire to learn, and had no idea that the
river was so deep and swift. When he was able to proceed on his way,
Ralph Edward returned home. His head was giddy, and his breast throbbed
with the efforts he had made He went to his little chamber, and throwing
himself upon the bed, wept bitterly. His mother heard him moaning, and
inquired the cause of his grief. He told her he could not forget the
convulsed features of a half-drowned boy, and the pain he seemed to feel
when he gasped for breath upon the bank. Then, in compliance with her
request, he related all the circumstances.
"My son, do you know that you have been in great danger? Have you never
heard that the grasp of drowning persons is fatal?"
"Oh, yes. But mother, what could I do? Should I stand still, and see him
die? Had I waited for other help, he must have sunk to rise no more."
"Was he your friend?"
"I do not even know his name. I think he is a servant in some family not
far off. I have seen him driving a cow to pasture, but never spoke to
him until to-day."
"How were you able to swim, and support a boy so much larger than
yourself?"
"Mother, I cannot say. I only know that I remember what you told us to
do when we had any difficult duty to perform, and I begged for strength
of our Father who is in Heaven."
The mother comforted her child, and soothed his agitated nerves, and
gave him her blessing. After that he slept sweetly and awoke refreshed.
Trembling at the risk he had run, she still was thankful for the spirit
that had moved him to do good to a stranger, and the piety that had made
him mindful of the great Giver of strength and Hearer of prayer.
She reflected with gratitude also, upon his humility. He did not say
boastfully, "I have rescued a boy from the river, when he was ready to
sink. He was larger than I, but I did it all alone. He is almost twice
as old too, and does not even know how to keep himself up in the water,
while I can swim as well and boldly as a man."
No. He came home without alluding to the occurrence, as if it were a
matter of course, to help those who were in need. He complained not of
fatigue, though every nerve was strained and tremulous. He went silently
to his own secluded room, and shed tears of pity at the remembrance of
the struggles of the sufferer. The true greatness that prompted this
forgetfulness of self, was as remarkable as the courage that snatched a
fellow-creature from danger.
May Morning.
May is here, with skies of blue,
Tuneful birds of varied hue,
Blossoms bright on plant and tree:
Ye, who love her smile of glee,
Leave the city's thronging streets,
Meet her in her green retreats,
And, with thrilling heart inhale
Perfumes from her balmy gale.
Come! for countless gifts she bears;
Take her cordial for your cares:
Cull the charms that never cloy,
Twine the wreaths of social joy,
And with liberal hand dispense
Blessings of benevolence:
For when Spring shall fade away,
And the year grow dim and gray,
These, with changeless warmth shall glow
Mid the hills of wintry snow,
And undying fragrance cast,
When the _Spring of life_ is past.
The Huguenot Grandfather's Tale.
It is doubtless known to my readers, that the Huguenots were French
Protestants, who on account of religious persecution fled from their
country. The Edict of Nantz was a law made by Henry IV. of France,
allowing liberty of conscience, and safety to those who dissented from
the faith of the Church of Rome, the established religion of the realm.
This edict was repealed by Louis XIV. in 1685; and the Protestants, or
Huguenots, as they were generally called, left their country in great
numbers and sought refuge in foreign lands. Thousands found a peaceful
home in this western world, and their descendants are among the most
respected and honoured inhabitants of our happy country.
Once, on a cold wintry evening, somewhat more than a century since, a
bright light was seen streaming from the casement of a pleasant abode in
Boston, casting cheerful radiance upon the snow-covered pavement.
Within, by a blazing hearth, a group of children gathered around their
mother, and the white-haired grandsire, singing with sweet voices, their
evening hymn. Then, as the mother led away the little ones to their
rest, the eldest, a boy of about twelve years old, drew his seat near
the arm-chair of the aged man, and gazing affectionately on his mild,
venerable countenance, said,
"Please, dear grandfather, tell me another of your good stories about
our ancestors."
"So, I asked, in my boyhood, of our blessed grandmother, tales of olden
times, sitting close at her feet, when the lamps were just lighted. Even
now, I think I see her before me, with her silver locks, her brow but
slightly wrinkled, and her eye beaming with a brilliance like youth, as
she granted my request. My brothers and sisters loved and respected her,
as a being of a superior order. Her memory of early scenes was clear and
vivid, even in extreme age, when passing events made but a slight
impression. I perceive that my own memory is assuming somewhat of the
same character, and dwells with peculiar delight among the people and
events of ancient times."
"Those are exactly what I delight to hear. I love the conversation of
those who can tell what happened long before I was born. I will listen
most attentively to whatever you shall be pleased to relate."
"I shall tell you of my grandfather's first visit to Paris. He was then
about two years older than yourself, and was taken thither by his
father, who held a military command under Lord Teligny, who, you
remember to have seen in history, was son-in-law to the great Admiral
Coligny. They were summoned to attend and take part in the public
demonstrations of joy which marked the nuptials of young Henry of
Navarre, and the princess Margaret. This was in the spring of 1572. The
Queen of Navarre, with her son and suite, had just arrived, and were
received with great pomp and festivity. Charles IX. was at that time
king of France. He was a treacherous, vacillating character, and ruled
by his mother, Catharine de Medicis, who was far more wicked than
himself. To further her own plots, she induced him to treat the
Protestant noblemen with marked attention. He complimented the manly
beauty of De Teligny, the dignified deportment of the Baron de Rosny,
and the philosophy of the Count de la Rochefaucault. He was fond of
being seen walking arm in arm with the great Admiral Coligny, whom he
often addressed by the title of "_Mon Pere_." Among the gallant,
high-spirited Huguenots of rank, who dared and did so much for
conscience' sake, Coligny was at that period the most distinguished.
His whole life was marked by decided and habitual piety. Prayers, and
the chanted praise of psalms, arose up twice a day from his household.
The officers both of France and Germany, who often surrounded his
hospitable table, were the witnesses of his humble devotion. For as soon
as the cloth was removed, he rose up, with all who were present, and if
there was no minister there, rendered himself, earnest thanks to
Almighty God. The sacred worship which he enjoyed in the quiet of his
family, he endeavoured as far as possible to establish in the camp and
in the army.
Many of the French nobles followed under their own roofs the religious
example of Coligny. For he was ever exhorting and impressing on them the
importance of daily, practical piety, saying that it was not enough that
the father of a family should himself lead a holy life, unless he led
and induced his household to follow his footsteps and imitate his
example."
"Was Jane, Queen of Navarre, a Protestant?"
"Yes, and distinguished by the most devoted piety. She had not been long
in Paris, ere she was seized with mortal sickness. Some suspected it to
be the effect of poison, administered by Catharine, that this formidable
protector of the Protestants might be out of the way, ere her plot to
destroy them was hazarded. When the Queen of Navarre saw that her end
drew nigh, she called her son to her bedside, and charged him solemnly
to maintain the true religion, to take a tender care of the education of
his sister, to avoid the society of vicious persons, and not to suffer
his soul to be diverted from duty, by the empty pleasures of the world.
With patience and even cheerful serenity of countenance, she endured the
pains of her disease, and to her mourning friends said, "I pray you not
to weep for me. God by this sickness calleth me to the enjoyment of a
better life." It was on the 9th of June, 1572, that she departed, with
the prayer of faith on her lips, and the benignity of an angel."
"Was your grandfather in Paris at the time of the marriage of Henry and
Margaret?"
"He was, and attentively observed the splendid scene. The 18th of August
was appointed for the nuptial ceremony. An ample pavilion was erected
opposite to the great church of Notre Dame. It was magnificently covered
with cloth of gold. The concourse of spectators was immense, and their
shouts seemed to rend the sky, as the youthful pair appeared in their
royal garments. When Henry, bowing almost to the feet of his beautiful
bride, took from his brow the coronet of Navarre, the ladies admired his
gracefulness, and the freshness of his auburn hair, which inclining to
red, curled richly around his noble forehead. The princess had a highly
brilliant complexion, and was decorated with a profusion of splendid
jewels.