it to his pocket, the coin slipped through his fingers, and fell in
the snow. A rough blast of wind made his teeth chatter, and pulling up
the window in a great hurry, with a little shiver he drew the fur rug
closely round him.
"It certainly was too much," he murmured philosophically, as the
carriage rolled on, "but then I am very rich, and can afford to do a
generous action now and then."
When his comfortable dinner was over, and he was sitting in front of a
blazing fire, he thought once more of the poor old woman.
"It is not nearly so cold as I thought," he remarked as he settled
himself more comfortably in his deep arm-chair. "I certainly gave that
old creature too much. However, what's done, is done, and I hope she
will make good use of it. I was generous, very generous indeed, and no
doubt God will reward me."
Meanwhile the other traveller had also reached his journey's end; and
he too had found a blazing fire and good dinner awaiting him. He could
not enjoy it, however, for he was haunted by the remembrance of that
bent and shrunken figure in the waste of snow, and felt very
remorseful for not having stopped to help her. At last he could bear
it no longer.
"Bring another plate," he said, calling the servant to him. "There
will be two to dine instead of one. I shall be back soon."
Saying this, he hurried through the darkness to the spot where he had
left the old woman; she was still there, feebly searching amongst the
snow.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"I am trying to find a piece of money, which a gentleman threw me from
his carriage window," she told him falteringly, scarcely able to speak
from cold and hunger. It was no wonder, he thought, that she had not
found it, for her hands were numbed and half frozen, and she was not
only old, but nearly blind.
"I am afraid you will never find it now," he said. "But come with me,"
he added consolingly, "I will take you to my inn, where there is a
bright fire and a good dinner waiting for both of us. You shall be my
guest, and I will see that you have a comfortable night's lodging."
The poor old woman could scarcely believe her good fortune, as she
tremblingly prepared to follow her new friend. Noticing that she was
lame as well as nearly blind, he took her arm, and with slow and
patient steps led her to the hotel.
When the recording angel wrote that night in the Book of Heaven, he
made no mention of the piece of gold which the wealthy traveller had
given by mistake, for only a worthy motive gains credit in that Book;
but amidst the good deeds that had been wrought that day, he gave a
foremost place to that of the man who had repented of his hardness,
and faced once more the bitter cold that he might share his comforts
with a fellow-creature so much less fortunate than himself.
THE BAR OF GOLD
By Lillian M. Gask
Long years ago there lived a poor labouring man who never knew what it
was to sleep in peace. Whether the times were good or bad, he was
haunted by fears for the morrow, and this constant worrying caused him
to look so thin and worn that the neighbouring farmers hesitated to
give him work. He was steady and frugal, and had never been known to
waste his time in the village inn, or indulge in foolish pleasures--in
fact, a worthier man could not be found, and his friends agreed in
saying that he certainly deserved success, though this never came his
way.
One day as he sat by the roadside with his head on his hands, a kindly
and charitable doctor from the town close by stopped his carriage to
ask him what was the matter.
"You seem in trouble, my good man," he said. "Tell me what I can do to
help you."
Encouraged by the sympathy in his voice, "Weeping John," as he was
called, poured out his woes, to which the doctor listened with much
attention.
"If I should fall sick," the poor man finished by saying, "what would
happen to my little children, and the wife whom I love more dearly
than life itself? They would surely starve, for even as it is they
often go hungry to bed. Surely a more unfortunate man has never been
born--I toil early and late, and this is my reward." And once more he
buried his face in his hands, while bitter sobs shook his ill-clad
shoulders.
"Come, come!" said the doctor briskly. "Get up at once, man, and I
will do my best for you. I can see that if you do not kill worry,
worry will kill you." Helping the poor fellow into his carriage, he
told the coachman to drive straight home, and when they arrived at his
comfortable mansion, he led him into his surgery.
"See here," he cried, pointing to a shining bar in a glass case, "that
bar of gold was bequeathed to me by my father, who was once as poor as
you are now. By means of the strictest economy, and hard work, he
managed to save sufficient money to purchase this safeguard against
want. When it came to me, I, too, was poor, but by following his
example, and keeping a brave heart, in cloud and storm as well as
sunshine, I have now amassed a fortune that is more than sufficient
for my needs. Therefore, I will now hand over to you the bar of gold,
since I no longer require it. Its possession will give you confidence
for the future. Do not break into it if you can avoid it, and remember
that sighing and weeping should be left to weak women and girls."
The labourer thanked him with much fervour, and hiding the bar of gold
beneath his coat, sped joyfully homeward.
As he and his wife sat over the fire, which they were now no longer
afraid to replenish, he told her all that the good doctor had said,
and they agreed that unless the worst came to the worst, they would
never touch that bar of gold.
"The knowledge that we have it, safely hidden in the cellar," said his
wife, "will keep from us all anxiety. And now, John, you must do your
best to make a fortune, so that we may be able to hand it on to our
dear children."
From that day John was a changed man. He sang and whistled merrily as
he went about his work, and bore himself like a prosperous citizen.
His cheeks filled out, and his eye grew bright; no longer did he waste
his leisure in lamentations, but dug and planted his little garden
until it yielded him richly of the fruits of the earth, and the
proceeds helped to swell the silver coins in his good wife's stocking.
The farmer who had before employed him when short of hands, was so
impressed with his altered looks that he took him permanently into his
service, and with regular food and sufficient clothing John's delicate
children grew strong and hardy.
"That bar of gold has brought us luck," he would sometimes say
blithely to his wife, who held her tongue like a wise woman, although
she was tempted to remind him that the "luck" had come since he had
given up weeping and lamentations concerning the future.
One summer's evening, long afterwards, as they sat in the wide porch,
while their grandchildren played in the meadow beyond, and the lowing
of the cows on their peaceful farm mingled with the little people's
merry shouts, a stranger came up the pathway and begged for alms.
Though torn and tattered, and gaunt with hunger, he had an air of
gentleness and refinement, and, full of compassion, the worthy couple
invited him in to rest. They set before him the best they had, and
when he tried to express his gratitude, John laid his hand on his
shoulder.
"My friend," he said, "Providence has been good to us, and blessed the
labour of our hands. In times gone by, however, I was as wretched as
you appeared to be when you crossed the road, and it is owing to a
stranger's kindness that I am in my present position." He went on to
tell him of the bar of gold, and, after a long look at his wife, who
nodded her head as if well pleased, he went and fetched it from the
cellar, where it had lain hidden all these years.
"There!" he exclaimed. "I am going to give it to you. I shall not want
it now, and my children are all well settled. It is fitting that you
should have it, since your need is very great."
Now the stranger understood the science of metals, for he was a
learned man who had fallen on evil times. As he took the gleaming bar
in his hands, while murmuring his astonished thanks, he knew by its
weight that it was not gold.
"You have made a mistake, my friends," he cried. "This bar is not what
you think it, though I own that most men would be deceived."
Greatly surprised, the old woman took it from him, and polished it
with her apron in order to show him how brightly it gleamed. As she
did so, an inscription appeared, which neither she nor her husband had
noticed before. Both listened with great interest as the stranger read
it out for them.
"It is less a matter of actual want," it ran, "than the fear of what
the morrow will bring, which causes the unhappiness of the poor. Then
tread the path of life with courage, for it is clear that at last you
will reach the end of your journey."
When the stranger paused there was a dead silence, for the old man and
woman were thinking many things, and words do not come quickly when
one is deeply moved. At last John offered the stranger a tremulous
apology for the disappointment he must now be suffering through their
innocent mistake.
"On the contrary," he replied warmly, "the lesson that bar has taught
me is worth far more than any money that you could give me. I shall
make a new start in life, and, remembering that we fail through fear,
will henceforth bear myself as a brave man should."
So saying, he bade them adieu, and passed out into the fragrant
twilight.
UNCLE DAVID'S NONSENSICAL STORY
By Catherine Sinclair
In the days of yore children were not all such clever, good, sensible
people as they are now. Lessons were then considered rather a plague,
sugar-plums were still in demand, holidays continued yet in fashion,
and toys were not then made to teach mathematics, nor story-books to
give instruction in chemistry and navigation. These were very strange
times, and there existed at that period a very idle, greedy, naughty
boy, such as we never hear of in the present day. His father and
mother were--no matter who, and he lived--no matter where. His name
was Master No-book, and he seemed to think his eyes were made for
nothing but to stare out of the windows, and his mouth for no other
purpose but to eat. This young gentleman hated lessons like mustard,
both of which brought tears into his eyes, and during school hours he
sat gazing at his books, pretending to be busy, while his mind
wandered away to wish impatiently for dinner, and to consider where he
could get the nicest pies, pastry, ices, and jellies, while he smacked
his lips at the very thoughts of them.
Whenever Master No-book spoke it was always to ask for something, and
you might continually hear him say in a whining tone of voice:
"Father, may I take this piece of cake?" "Aunt Sarah, will you give me
an apple?" "Mother, do send me the whole of that plum-pudding."
Indeed, very frequently, when he did not get permission to gormandize,
this naughty glutton helped himself without leave. Even his dreams
were like his waking hours, for he had often a horrible nightmare
about lessons, thinking he was smothered with Greek lexicons or pelted
out of the school with a shower of English grammars, while one night
he fancied himself sitting down to devour an enormous plum-cake, and
all on a sudden it became transformed into a Latin dictionary.
One afternoon Master No-book, having played truant all day from
school, was lolling on his mother's best sofa in the drawing-room with
his leather boots tucked up on the satin cushions, and nothing to do
but to suck a few oranges, and nothing to think of but how much sugar
to put upon them, when suddenly an event took place which filled him
with astonishment.
A sound of soft music stole into the room, becoming louder and louder
the longer he listened, till at length, in a few moments afterwards, a
large hole burst open in the wall of his room, and there stepped into
his presence two magnificent fairies, just arrived from their castles
in the air, to pay him a visit. They had travelled all the way on
purpose to have some conversation with Master No-book, and immediately
introduced themselves in a very ceremonious manner.
The fairy Do-nothing was gorgeously dressed with a wreath of flaming
gas round her head, a robe of gold tissue, a necklace of rubies, and
a bouquet in her hand of glittering diamonds. Her cheeks were rouged
to the very eyes, her teeth were set in gold, and her hair was of a
most brilliant purple; in short, so fine and fashionable-looking a
fairy was never seen in a drawing-room before. The fairy Teach-all,
who followed next, was simply dressed in white muslin, with bunches of
natural flowers in her light-brown hair, and she carried in her hand a
few neat small volumes, which Master No-book looked at with a shudder
of aversion.
The two fairies now informed him that they very often invited large
parties of children to spend some time at their palaces, but as they
lived in quite an opposite direction, it was necessary for their young
guests to choose which it would be best to visit first; therefore they
had now come to inquire of Master No-book whom he thought it would be
most agreeable to accompany on the present occasion.
"In my house," said the fairy Teach-all, speaking with a very sweet
smile and a soft, pleasing voice, "you shall be taught to find
pleasure in every sort of exertion, for I delight in activity and
diligence. My young friends rise at seven every morning, and amuse
themselves with working in a beautiful garden of flowers, rearing
whatever fruit they wish to eat, visiting among the poor, associating
pleasantly together, studying the arts and sciences, and learning to
know the world in which they live, and to fulfil the purposes for
which they have been brought into it. In short, all our amusements
tend to some useful object, either for our own improvement or the good
of others, and you will grow wiser, better, and happier every day you
remain in the palace of Knowledge."
"But in Castle Needless, where I live," interrupted the fairy
Do-nothing, rudely pushing her companion aside with an angry,
contemptuous look, "we never think of exerting ourselves for anything.
You may put your head in your pocket and your hands in your sides as
long as you choose to stay. No one is ever even asked a question, that
he may be spared the trouble of answering. We lead the most
fashionable life imaginable, for nobody speaks to anybody. Each of my
visitors is quite an exclusive, and sits with his back to as many of
the company as possible, in the most comfortable arm-chair that can be
contrived. There, if you are only so good as to take the trouble of
wishing for anything, it is yours without even turning an eye round to
look where it comes from. Dresses are provided of the most magnificent
kind, which go on themselves, without your having the smallest
annoyance with either buttons or strings; games which you can play
without an effort of thought; and dishes dressed by a French cook,
smoking hot under your nose, from morning till night; while any rain
we have is either made of lemonade or lavender-water, and in winter it
generally snows iced punch for an hour during the forenoon."
Nobody need be told which fairy Master No-book preferred, and quite
charmed at his own good fortune in receiving so agreeable an
invitation, he eagerly gave his hand to the splendid new acquaintance
who promised him so much pleasure and ease, and gladly proceeded in a
carriage lined with velvet, stuffed with downy pillows, and drawn by
milk-white swans, to that magnificent residence, Castle Needless,
which was lighted by a thousand windows during the day, and by a
million of lamps every night.
Here Master No-book enjoyed a constant holiday and a constant feast,
while a beautiful lady covered with jewels was ready to tell him
stories from morning till night, and servants waited to pick up his
playthings if they fell, or to draw out his purse or his
pocket-handkerchief when he wished to use them.
Thus Master No-book lay dozing for hours and days on rich embroidered
cushions, never stirring from his place, but admiring the view of
trees covered with the richest burnt almonds, grottoes of sugar-candy,
a _jet d'eau_ of champagne, a wide sea which tasted of sugar instead
of salt, and a bright, clear pond, filled with gold fish that let
themselves be caught whenever he pleased. Nothing could be more
complete, and yet, very strange to say, Master No-book did not seem
particularly happy. This appears exceedingly unreasonable, when so
much trouble was taken to please him; but the truth is that every day
he became more fretful and peevish. No sweetmeats were worth the
trouble of eating, nothing was pleasant to play at, and in the end he
wished it were possible to sleep all day, as well as all night.
Not a hundred miles from the fairy Do-nothing's palace there lived a
most cruel monster called the giant Snap-'em-up, who looked, when he
stood up, like the tall steeple of a great church, raising his head so
high that he could peep over the loftiest mountains, and was obliged
to climb up a ladder to comb his own hair.
Every morning regularly this prodigiously great giant walked round the
world before breakfast for an appetite, after which he made tea in a
large lake, used the sea as a slop-basin, and boiled his kettle on
Mount Vesuvius. He lived in great style, and his dinners were most
magnificent, consisting very often of an elephant roasted whole,
ostrich patties, a tiger smothered in onions, stewed lions, and whale
soup; but for a side-dish his greatest favourite consisted of little
boys, as fat as possible, fried in crumbs of bread, with plenty of
pepper and salt.
No children were so well fed or in such good condition for eating as
those in the fairy Do-nothing's garden, who was a very particular
friend of the giant Snap-'em-up, and who sometimes laughingly said
she would give him a license, and call her own garden his "preserve,"
because she always allowed him to help himself, whenever he pleased,
to as many of her visitors as he chose, without taking the trouble
even to count them; and in return for such extreme civility, the giant
very frequently invited her to dinner.
Snap-'em-up's favourite sport was to see how many brace of little boys
he could bag in a morning; so, in passing along the streets, he peeped
into all the drawing-rooms, without having occasion to get upon
tiptoe, and picked up every young gentleman who was idly looking out
of the windows, and even a few occasionally who were playing truant
from school; but busy children seemed always somehow quite out of his
reach.
One day, when Master No-book felt even more lazy, more idle, and more
miserable than ever, he lay beside a perfect mountain of toys and
cakes, wondering what to wish for next, and hating the very sight of
everything and everybody. At last he gave so loud a yawn of weariness
and disgust that his jaw very nearly fell out of joint, and then he
sighed so deeply that the giant Snap-'em-up heard the sound as he
passed along the road after breakfast, and instantly stepped into the
garden, with his glass at his eye, to see what was the matter.
Immediately, on observing a large, fat, overgrown boy, as round as a
dumpling, lying on a bed of roses, he gave a cry of delight, followed
by a gigantic peal of laughter, which was heard three miles off, and
picking up Master No-book between his finger and thumb, with a pinch
that very nearly broke his ribs, he carried him rapidly towards his
own castle, while the fairy Do-nothing laughingly shook her head as he
passed, saying:
"That little man does me a great credit. He has only been fed for a
week, and is as fat already as a prize ox. What a dainty morsel he
will be! When do you dine to-day, in case I should have time to look
in upon you?"
On reaching home the giant immediately hung up Master No-book by the
hair of his head, on a prodigious hook in the larder, having first
taken some large lumps of nasty suet, forcing them down his throat to
make him become still fatter, and then stirring the fire, that he
might be almost melted with heat, to make his liver grow larger. On a
shelf quite near Master No-book perceived the bodies of six other
boys, whom he remembered to have seen fattening in the fairy
Do-nothing's garden, while he recollected how some of them had
rejoiced at the thoughts of leading a long, useless, idle life, with
no one to please but themselves.
The enormous cook now seized hold of Master No-book, brandishing her
knife with an aspect of horrible determination, intending to kill him,
while he took the trouble of screaming and kicking in the most
desperate manner, when the giant turned gravely round, and said that,
as pigs were considered a much greater dainty when whipped to death
than killed in any other way, he meant to see whether children might
not be improved by it also; therefore she might leave that great hog
of a boy till he had time to try the experiment, especially as his own
appetite would be improved by the exercise. This was a dreadful
prospect for the unhappy prisoner, but meantime it prolonged his life
a few hours, as he was immediately hung up in the larder and left to
himself. There, in torture of mind and body, like a fish upon a hook,
the wretched boy began at last to reflect seriously upon his former
ways, and to consider what a happy home he might have had, if he could
only have been satisfied with business and pleasure succeeding each
other, like day and night, while lessons might have come in as a
pleasant sauce to his play-hours, and his play-hours as a sauce to his
lessons.
In the midst of many reflections, which were all very sensible, though
rather too late, Master No-book's attention became attracted by the
sound of many voices laughing, talking, and singing, which caused him
to turn his eyes in a new direction, when, for the first time, he
observed that the fairy Teach-all's garden lay upon a beautiful
sloping bank not far off. There a crowd of merry, noisy, rosy-cheeked
boys were busily employed, and seemed happier than the day was long,
while poor Master No-book watched them during his own miserable hours,
envying the enjoyment with which they raked the flower-borders,
gathered the fruit, carried baskets of vegetables to the poor, worked
with carpenter's tools, drew pictures, shot with bows-and-arrows,
played at cricket, and then sat in the sunny arbours learning their
tasks, or talking agreeably together, till at length, a dinner-bell
having been rung, the whole party sat merrily down with hearty
appetites and cheerful good-humour, to an entertainment of plain roast
meat and pudding, where the fairy Teach-all presided herself, and
helped her guests moderately to as much as was good for each.
Large tears rolled down the cheeks of Master No-book while watching
this scene, and remembering that if he had known what was best for
him, he might have been as happy as the happiest of these excellent
boys, instead of suffering ennui and weariness, as he had done at the
fairy Do-nothing's, ending in a miserable death. But his attention was
soon after most alarmingly roused by hearing the giant Snap-'em-up
again in conversation with his cook, who said that, if he wished for
a good large dish of scalloped children at dinner, it would be
necessary to catch a few more, as those he had already provided would
scarcely be a mouthful.
As the giant kept very fashionable hours, and always waited dinner for
himself till nine o'clock, there was still plenty of time; so, with a
loud grumble about the trouble, he seized a large basket in his hand,
and set off at a rapid pace towards the fairy Teach-all's garden. It
was very seldom that Snap-'em-up ventured to think of foraging in this
direction, as he never once succeeded in carrying off a single captive
from the enclosure, it was so well fortified and so bravely defended;
but on this occasion, being desperately hungry, he felt as bold as a
lion, and walked, with outstretched hands, straight towards the fairy
Teach-all's dinner-table, taking such prodigious strides that he
seemed almost as if he would trample on himself.