form no idea of happiness independent of their presence and
participation. Though exceedingly fond of seeing collections of animals,
which his knowledge of Natural History led him to regard with peculiar
interest, he insisted that his father should take him from the first
exhibition of the kind which he had ever witnessed, and when he was
highly entertained by an elephant, ostrich, and some monkeys, because he
discovered that his mother had withdrawn. The attachment usually felt by
children for the tender guides of their infant hours, seemed in his case
heightened by the consciousness that they were the dispensers of that
knowledge with whose love he was smitten. When heaven was represented to
him as a delightful abode, and rendered still more alluring by the image
of a beloved and departed relative, whom he was taught to consider as
among its inhabitants, he would express his unwillingness to be removed
there unless "dear father and mother would go too."
A grateful spirit seemed to mingle with his filial affection, and moved
him to an expression of thanks for every little favour. When given only
a piece of bread, if a few moments happened to intervene between its
reception and the customary acknowledgment, he would inquire as if
troubled at the omission, "Did I forget to thank mother?" He was often
told that to his Father in heaven, he was indebted for what he most
loved, and with an affecting earnestness and graceful gesture of his
little head, would say, "_Thank God_." At the period of family devotion
he was early taught a quiet and reverent deportment, and after books
became so interesting to him, preferred to look over when his father
read the Scriptures, and to have it spread before him when he knelt
during the prayer.
It might possibly have been feared that the mind, by starting into such
sudden expansion, would have left the heart at a distance, but the germs
of gentleness and virtue kept pace with the growth of intellect. There
was also preserved a fine and fortunate balance between mind and body,
for his physical education had been considered an important department
of parental care and responsibility. His erect form, and expanded chest,
revealed the rudiments of a good constitution, while his fair brow,
bright black eye, and playful smile, bespoke that union of health,
beauty, and cheerfulness, which never failed of attracting attention.
There was less of light and boisterous mirth about him than is common to
children of his age. His features expressed rather a mild and rational
happiness than any exuberance of joy. This might have arisen partly from
the circumstance of his having no young companion to encourage wild or
extravagant sports; but principally, that the pleasures of thought were
so continually resorted to, as to modify and elevate the countenance.
His whole appearance was that of a healthful, happy, and beautiful
infant, in the possession of a degree of learning and intelligence, to
which infancy usually has no pretensions.
But it was forbidden us to witness the result of this interesting
experiment upon mind; or to trace the full development of a bud whose
unfolding was so wonderful. An acute dysentery which prevailed in the
neighbourhood, numbered him among its victims, and after a fortnight's
painful languishing, he died on the 11th of August, 1829, at the age of
two years and five months.
After the breath had forsaken him he was still lovely, though emaciated.
Fresh roses and orange flowers were around his head and on his bosom,
and a bud clasped in his snowy hand. He seemed like one who had suffered
and fallen asleep, and there lingered a peaceful and patient spirit
around his silent wasted lips. His mother was seated by her dead son,
pale, but resigned. She had never been separated from him since his
birth, and she wished to continue near him till the grave should claim
its own. The parents were strengthened as true Christians, to yield
their only one to the will of his Father in heaven. And the anguish of
their affliction was undoubtedly mitigated by the recollection, that
nothing in their power had been omitted to promote his improvement and
heighten his felicity, and that his dwelling was now to be where
knowledge is no longer gained by slow laborious efforts, but where light
is without cloud, and the soaring soul freed from its encumbrances of
clay.
The Last Rose-bud.
The child was radiant with delight,
As from the garden's shade,
With golden ringlets clustering bright,
She burst upon the mother's sight,
And in her hand, like fairy sprite,
A blooming rose-bud laid.
'Twas the last wreath by summer wove
That thus the darling brought,
For Autumn's breath had chill'd the grove;
Oh mother! was that gift of love
With aught of sadness fraught?
Say, didst thou think how soon that head
In silent earth would rest?
A solemn curtain o'er it spread,
And the green turf she joy'd to tread,
A covering for her breast?
But, for the buds that fade no more,
Look thou in faith above,
Look, mother! where the seraphs soar,
Where countless harps their music pour,
And raptur'd cherubim adore
The God of boundless love.
The Cherub's Welcome.
Among the bright-robed host of heaven, two cherubs were filled with new
rapture. Gladness that mortal eye hath never seen beamed from their
brows, as with tuneful voices they exclaimed,
"Joy! joy! He cometh! Welcome, welcome, dear brother!" And they clasped
in their arms a new immortal.
Then to their golden harps they chanted, "Thou shalt weep no more, our
brother, neither shall sickness smite thee. For here is no death,
neither sorrow, nor sighing."
At the Saviour's feet they knelt together with their warbled strain,
"Praise be unto Thee, who didst say, 'Suffer little children to come
unto Me.'
"Thou didst take them to Thy bosom upon earth, and through Thy love they
enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. Endless praise and glory be Thine, Oh
Lord most High!"
They led the little one to amaranthine bowers, and wreathed around his
temples the flowers that never fade. They gave him of the fruit of the
Tree of Life, and of the water that gusheth forth clear as crystal from
before the Throne of God and of the Lamb.
And they said, "Beautiful one! who wert too young to lisp the dialect of
earth, sweet to thee will be the pure language of heaven. Bringest thou
to us no token from the world that was once our home?"
Then answered the babe-cherub, "Here is our mother's last kiss with a
tear upon it, and the prayer with which our father gave me back to God."
And they said, "Their gifts are sweet to us. We remember _her_ smile who
lulled us on her breast, whose eye was open through the long night, when
sickness smote us; and _his_ voice who taught us the name of Jesus.
Oft-times do we hover about them. We are near them though they see us
not. While they mourn we drop into their hearts a balm drop and a
thought of heaven, and fly back hither, swifter than the wing of
morning.
We keep watch at the shining gates for them, and for the white-haired
parents whom they honour, and for our fair sister, that we may be the
first to welcome them. Lo! when all are here, our joy shall be full."
Long they talked together, folding their rainbow wings. They talked long
with their music tones, yet the darkness came not. For there is no night
there.
Then there burst forth a great song, choirs of angels saying, "Holy,
holy, holy Lord God Almighty: Just and true are thy ways, thou King of
Saints." And the lyres of the cherub brothers joined the chorus,
swelling the melody of heaven.
The Babe, and the Forget-Me-Not.
A babe, who like the opening bud
Grew fairer day by day,
Made friendship with the loving flowers
Amid his infant play;
And though full many a gorgeous plant
Display'd its colours bright,
Yet with the meek Forget-me-not
He took his chief delight.
From mantel-vase, or rich bouquet,
He cull'd his favourite gem,
Well pleas'd its lowly lips to kiss,
And gently clasp its stem.
So, when to dreamless rest he sank,
For soon he was to fade,
That darling friend, Forget-me-not,
Was on his bosom laid;
And when, beside the mother's couch,
Who weepeth for his sake,
Some vision of his heavenly joy
Doth midnight darkness break,
He cometh with a cherub smile
In garments of the bless'd,
And weareth a Forget-me-not
Upon his sinless breast.
Treatment of Animals.
A grateful disposition, should teach us to be kind to the domestic
animals. They add much to our comfort. How should we bear the winter's
cold, were it not for the coat of wool, which the sheep shares with us?
How would journeys be performed, or the mail be carried, or the affairs
of government be conducted, without the aid of the horse?
Did you ever think how much the comfort of families depends upon the
cow? Make a list of articles for the table, or for the sick, to which
milk is indispensable. Perhaps you will be surprised to find how
numerous they are.
When the first settlers of New England, came to Plymouth, in the winter
of 1620, four years elapsed, before any cows were brought them. During
all this time, their bread was made of pounded corn, and they had not a
drop of milk for the weaned infant, or the sickly child, or to make any
little delicacy for the invalid.
There was great rejoicing in the colony, when a ship arrived, bringing a
few small heifers. Remember how patiently our good ancestors endured
their many hardships; and when you freely use the milk of which they
were so long deprived, be kind to the peaceable, orderly quadruped, from
whom it is obtained.
Domestic animals, are sensible of kindness, and improved by it. They are
made happier and more gentle, by being caressed and spoken to with a
pleasant voice. Food, shelter, needful rest, and good treatment, are
surely due to them, for their many services to man.
The Arab treats his horse like his child, and the noble animal loves
him, and strains every nerve to do his bidding. I have seen a horse,
when wearied with heat and travel, erect his head, and show evident
signs of pleasure, and renew his labours with fresh zeal, if his master
patted his neck, and whispered with a kind voice into his ear.
It is delightful to see the young show a protecting kindness to such
harmless creatures as are often harshly treated. It seems difficult to
say why the toad is so generally singled out for strong dislike. Is it
only because Nature has not given it beauty? Surely its habits are
innocent, and its temper gentle.
The scientific gardeners of Europe encourage toads to live in their
gardens, and about their green-houses. They find them useful assistants
in guarding their precious plants from insects. So, they wisely make
them allies, instead of torturing and destroying them.
A benevolent English gentleman, once took pains to reclaim a toad from
its timid habits. It improved by his attentions. It grew to a very large
size, and at his approach, came regularly from its hole, to meet him,
and receive its food.
Ladies, who visited the garden, sometimes desired to see this singular
favourite. It was even brought to the table, and permitted to have a
dessert of insects, which it partook, without being embarrassed by the
presence of company.
It lived to be forty years old. What age it might have attained, had it
met with no accident, it would be difficult to say. For it was in
perfect health when wounded by a fierce raven, as it one day was coming
from its house, under the steps of the door, which fronted the garden.
The poor creature languished a while, and then died; and the benevolent
man who had so long protected it, took pleasure in relating its history,
and in remembering that he had made its life happy.
Cruelty to animals is disgraceful and sinful. If I see even a young
child pull off the wings of an insect, or take pains to set his foot
upon a worm, I know that he has not been well instructed, or else that
there is something wrong and wicked in his heart.
The Emperor Domitian loved to kill flies, and at last became a monster
of cruelty. Benedict Arnold, the traitor, when he was a boy, liked to
give pain to every thing, over which he could get power.
He destroyed birds' nests, and cut the little unfledged ones in pieces,
before the eyes of their agonised parents. Cats and dogs, the quiet cow,
and the faithful horse, he delighted to hurt and distress.
I do not like to repeat his cruel deeds. He was told that they were
wrong. An excellent lady with whom he lived, use to warn and reprove
him. But he did not reform. For his heart was hard, and he did not heed
the commands of God.
He grew up without good principles. He became a soldier, and had command
in the army. But he laid a plan to betray his country, and sell it into
the hands of the enemy.
His wickedness was discovered, and he fled. He never dared to return to
his native land, but lived despised, and died in misery. We know not how
much of the sin which disgraced his character, sprang out of his
hardness of heart, and cruelty to animals.
Many of the inferior creation display virtues which are deserving of
respect. How many remarkable instances have we heard of the sagacity of
the elephant, and the grateful attachment and fidelity of the dog.
A shepherd, who lived at the foot of the Grampian mountains, one day, in
going to look after his flock, took with him his little boy of four
years old. Some of his sheep had strayed. In pursuing them, he was
obliged to climb rocks, so steep, that the child could not follow.
The shepherd charged the child to remain where he left him, until he
should return. But while he was gone, one of those thick fogs arose,
which in that part of Scotland are not uncommon. With difficulty he
groped his way back again. But the child was gone.
All his search was vain. There was sorrow that night in the lowly
cottage of his parents. The next day, the neighbours joined, and
continued their pursuit for several days and nights. But in vain.
"Is my dog lost too?" said the father, as he one day entered his
dwelling, and sat down in weariness and despair. "He has come here
daily," said his little daughter, "while you and mother, have been
searching for poor Donald. I have given him a piece of cake, which he
has taken, and ran hastily away."
The household bread of the poor, in Scotland, is made of oatmeal, and
being not baked in loaves, but rolled out thin, is often called cake.
While they were speaking, the dog rushed in, and leaped upon his master,
whining earnestly.
An oatmeal cake was given him. He appeared hungry but ate only a small
portion of it. The remainder he took in his mouth, and ran away. The
shepherd followed him. It was with difficulty, that he kept his track,
fording a swift streamlet, and descending into a terrible ravine.
Then he entered a cave. And what was his joy to see there his little,
lost son. He was eating heartily the bread which the dog had brought
him, while he, standing by, and wagging his tail, looked up in his face
with delight, as he took the food, which he nobly denied himself.
It seems that the dog was with the child, when, in the dimness of the
mist, he wandered away. He must have aided him to pass the deep waters
that crossed his path. And when he found shelter in that rude cavern,
and mourned for his parents, the faithful dog guarded him like a father,
and fed him with a mother's tenderness.
How can we fail to treat with kindness, a race of animals, that are
capable of such virtues. Others, that are less celebrated, often show
traits of character, which are worthy of imitation. Let us hear the
opinion of the poet Cowper, on this interesting subject.
"We too might learn, if not too proud to stoop
To animal instructors, many a good
And useful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among ourselves.
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Can move, or warp, and gratitude for small
And trivial favours, lasting as the life,
And glistening even from the dying eye."
Birds give us an example of tender affection. There is no warfare in
their nests. The little brothers and sisters dwell together in harmony,
till they are able to stretch out the newly-plumed wing, and quit the
care of the parent. Say they not to us, as they sing among the branches,
"_Live in love!_"
The innocent dove, is cited as a model in the Book of God. "Be ye
harmless as doves," said our Saviour, to his disciples. The stork
spreads out its broad pinions, and bears its aged parents, on their
journey through the air. It feeds and cherishes them with the same care,
that it received in its own helpless infancy. Shall we not learn from it
a lesson of filial piety?
Once, a robin, in returning to her nest, was shot dead. The mate mourned
bitterly for her loss, but took her place upon the nest. There he
brooded, until the young came forth from the egg, and then he sought
food, and fed them like a mother, until they were able to fly away.
Often while he was performing her duties, and always at the close of
day, his plaintive note was heard, lamenting his lost love. Ah! who
could be so wicked as to destroy the nest, or the eggs, or the young, of
those affectionate creatures. Our Father in Heaven, "taketh care of
sparrows, and feedeth the young ravens that cry."
The Trembling Eyelid.
It was the day before Christmas, in the year 1778, during our war of
revolution, that an armed vessel sailed out of Boston. She was strongly
built, and carried twenty guns, and a crew of one hundred and five
persons; with provisions for a cruise of six months.
She made a fine appearance, as she spread her broad sails, and steered
out of the harbour. Many hearts wished her success. And she bore as
goodly a company of bold and skilful seamen, as ever braved the perils
of the deep.
Soon the north wind blew, and brought a heavy sea into the bay. The
night proved dark, and they came to anchor with difficulty, near the
harbour of Plymouth. The strong gale that buffeted them became a storm,
and the storm a hurricane.
Snow fell, and the cold was terribly severe. The vessel was driven from
her moorings, and struck on a reef of rocks. She began to fill with
water, and they were obliged to cut away her masts. The sea rose above
her main deck, sweeping over it with its dark surges.
They made every exertion that courage could prompt, or hardihood endure.
But so fearful were the wind and cold, that the stoutest man was not
able to strike more than two or three blows, in cutting away the masts,
without being relieved by another.
The wretched people thronged together upon the quarter-deck, which was
crowded almost to suffocation. They were exhausted with toil and
suffering, but could obtain neither provisions, nor fresh water. These
were all covered by the deep sea, when the vessel became a wreck.
But, unfortunately, the crew got access to ardent spirits, and many of
them drank, and became intoxicated. Insubordination, mutiny, and madness
ensued. The officers, remained clear-minded, but lost all authority over
the crew, who raved around them.
A more frightful scene, can scarcely be imagined: the dark sky, the
raging storm, the waves breaking wildly over the rocks, and threatening
every moment to swallow up the broken vessel; and the half-frozen beings
who maintained their icy hold on life, lost to reason, and to duty, or
fighting fiercely with each other.
Some lay in disgusting stupidity; others, with fiery faces, blasphemed
God. Some, in temporary delirium, fancied themselves in palaces,
surrounded by luxury, and brutally abused the servants, who, they
supposed, refused to do their bidding.
Others there were, who, amid the beating of that pitiless tempest,
believed themselves in the homes that they never more must see, and with
hollow, reproachful voices, besought bread, and wondered why water was
withheld from them by the hands that were most dear.
A few, whose worst passions were quickened by alcohol to a fiend-like
fury, assaulted or wounded those who came in their way, making their
shrieks of defiance, and their curses heard above the roar of the
storm. Intemperance never displayed itself in more distressing
attitudes.
At length, Death began to do his work. The miserable creatures fell
every hour upon the deck, frozen, stiff, and hard. Each corpse, as it
became breathless, was laid upon a heap of dead, that more space might
be left for the survivors. Those who drank most freely, were the first
to perish.
On the third day of these horrors, the inhabitants of Plymouth, after
making many ineffectual attempts, reached the wreck, not without danger.
What a melancholy spectacle! Lifeless bodies, hardened into every form
that suffering could devise.
Many lay in a vast pile. Others sat, with their heads reclining on their
knees; others, grasping the ice-covered ropes; some in a posture of
defence like the dying gladiator: and others, with hands held up to
heaven, as if deprecating their awful fate.
Orders were given to search earnestly for every mark or sign of life.
One boy was distinguished amid a mass of dead, only by the trembling of
one of his eyelids. The poor survivors were kindly received into the
houses of the people of Plymouth, and every effort used for their
restoration.
The captain and lieutenant, and a few others, who had abstained from the
use of ardent spirits, survived. The remainder were buried, some in
separate graves, and others in a large pit, whose hollow is still to be
seen, on the south-west side of the burial ground in Plymouth.
The funeral obsequies were most solemn. When the clergyman, who was to
perform the last services, first entered the church, and saw more than
seventy dead bodies; some fixing upon him their stony eyes, and others,
with faces, stiffened into the horrible expression of their last mortal
agony, he was so affected as to faint.
Some, were brought on shore alive, and received every attention, but
survived only a short time. Others, were restored after long sickness,
but with limbs so injured by frost, as to become cripples for life.
In a village, at some distance from Plymouth, a widowed mother, with her
daughter, were seen constantly attending a couch, on which lay a
sufferer. It was the boy, whose trembling eyelid attracted the notice of
pity, as he lay among the dead.
"Mother," he said in a feeble tone, "God bless you for having taught me
to avoid ardent spirits. It was this that saved me. After those around
me grew intoxicated, I had enough to do to protect myself from them.
"Some attacked, and dared me to fight; others pressed the poisonous
draught to my lips, and bade me drink. My lips and throat were parched
with thirst. But I knew if I drank with them, I must lose my reason as
they did, and perhaps, blaspheme my Maker.
"One by one they died, those poor infuriated wretches. Their shrieks and
groans, still seem to ring in my ears. It was in vain that the captain
and their officers, and a few good men, warned them of what would ensue,
if they thus continued to drink, and tried every method in their power,
to restore them to order.
"They still fed upon the fiery liquor. They grew delirious. They died in
heaps. Dear mother, our sufferings from hunger and cold, you cannot
imagine. After my feet were frozen, but before I lost the use of my
hands, I discovered a box, among fragments of the wreck, far under
water.
"I toiled with a rope to drag it up. But my strength was not sufficient.
A comrade, who was still able to move a little, assisted me. At length,
it came within our reach. We hoped that it might contain bread, and took
courage.
"Uniting our strength we burst it open. It contained only a few bottles
of olive oil. Yet we gave God thanks. For we found that by occasionally
moistening our lips with it, and swallowing a little, it allayed the
gnawing, burning pain in the stomach.
"Then my comrade died. And I lay beside him, like a corpse, surrounded
by corpses. Presently, the violence of the tempest, that had so long
raged, subsided, and I heard quick footsteps, and strange voices amid
the wreck, where we lay.
"They were the blessed people of Plymouth, who had dared every danger,
to save us. They lifted in their arms, and wrapped in blankets, all who
could speak. Then they earnestly sought all who could move. But every
drunkard, was among the dead.
"And I was so exhausted with toil, and suffering, and cold, that I could
not stretch a hand to my deliverers. They passed me again and again.
They carried the living to the boat. I feared that I was left behind.
"Then I prayed earnestly, in my heart, 'Oh, Lord, for the sake of my
widowed mother, for the sake of my dear sister, save me.' I believed
that the last man had gone, and besought the Redeemer to receive my
spirit.
"But I felt a warm breath on my face. I strained every nerve. My whole
soul strove and shuddered within me. Still my body was immovable as
marble. Then a loud voice said, 'Come back and help me out with this
poor lad. One of his eyelids trembles. He lives!'