"A little child shall lead them."
One cold market morning I looked into a milliner's shop, and there
I saw a hale, hearty, well-browned young fellow from the country,
with his long cart whip, and lion-shag coat, holding up some little
matter, and turning it about on his great fist. And what do you
suppose it was? _A baby's bonnet!_ A little, soft, blue satin hood,
with a swan's-down border, white as the new-fallen snow, with a
frill of rich blonde around the edge.
By his side stood a very pretty woman, holding, with no small pride,
the baby--for evidently it was _the_ baby. Any one could read that
fact in every glance, as they looked at each other, and then at the
large, unconscious eyes, and fat, dimpled cheeks of the little one.
It was evident that neither of them had ever seen a baby like that
before.
"But really, Mary," said the young man, "isn't three dollars very
high?"
Mary very prudently said nothing, but taking the little bonnet, tied
it on the little head, and held up the baby. The man looked, and
without another word down went the three dollars--all the avails of
last week's butter; and as they walked out of the shop, it is hard
to say which looked the more delighted with the bargain.
"Ah," thought I, "a little child shall lead them."
Another day, as I was passing a carriage factory along one of our
principal back streets, I saw a young mechanic at work on a wheel.
The rough body of a carriage stood beside him, and there, wrapped up
snugly, all hooded and cloaked, sat a little dark-eyed girl, about
a year old, playing with a great, shaggy dog. As I stopped, the man
looked up from his work, and turned admiringly towards his little
companion, as much as to say, "See what I have got here!"
"Yes," thought I; "and if the little lady ever gets a glance from
admiring swains as sincere as that, she will be lucky."
Ah, these children, little witches, pretty even in all their faults
and absurdities. See, for example, yonder little fellow in a naughty
fit. He has shaken his long curls over his deep blue eyes; the fair
brow is bent in a frown, the rose leaf lip is pursed up in infinite
defiance, and the white shoulder thrust angrily forward. Can any but
a child look so pretty, even in its naughtiness?
Then comes the instant change; flashing smiles and tears as the
good comes back all in a rush, and you are overwhelmed with
protestations, promises, and kisses! They are irresistible, too,
these little ones. They pull away the scholar's pen, tumble about
his paper, make somersets over his books; and what can he do? They
tear up newspapers, litter the carpets, break, pull, and upset, and
then jabber unheard-of English in self-defense; and what can you do
for yourself?
"If I had a child," says the precise man, "you should see."
He does have a child, and his child tears up his papers, tumbles
over his things, and pulls his nose like all other children; and
what has the precise man to say for himself? Nothing; he is like
everybody else; "a little child shall lead him."
The hardened heart of the worldly man is unlocked by the guileless
tones and simple caresses of his son; but he repays it in time, by
imparting to his boy all the crooked tricks and callous maxims which
have undone himself.
Go to the jail, to the penitentiary, and find there the wretch most
sullen, brutal, and hardened. Then look at your infant son. Such as
he is to you, such to some mother was this man. That hard hand was
soft and delicate; that rough voice was tender and lisping; fond
eyes followed him as he played, and he was rocked and cradled as
something holy. There was a time when his heart, soft and unworn,
might have opened to questionings of God and Jesus, and been sealed
with the seal of Heaven. But harsh hands seized it; fierce goblin
lineaments were impressed upon it; and all is over with him forever!
So of the tender, weeping child is made the callous, heartless man;
of the all-believing child, the sneering skeptic; of the beautiful
and modest, the shameless and abandoned; and this is what the world
does for the little one.
There was a time when the divine One stood on earth, and little
children sought to draw near to him. But harsh human beings stood
between him and them, forbidding their approach. Ah, has it not
always been so? Do not even we, with our hard and unsubdued
feelings, our worldly and unspiritual habits and maxims, stand like
a dark screen between our little child and its Saviour, and keep
even from the choice bud of our hearts the sweet radiance which
might unfold it for paradise? "Suffer little children to come unto
me, and forbid them not," is still the voice of the Son of God;
but the cold world still closes around and forbids. When, of old,
disciples would question their Lord of the higher mysteries of his
kingdom, he took a little child and set him in the midst, as a
sign of him who should be greatest in heaven. That gentle teacher
remains still to us. By every hearth and fireside Jesus still sets
the little child in the midst of us.
Wouldst thou know, O parent, what is that faith which unlocks
heaven? Go not to wrangling polemics, or creeds and forms of
theology, but draw to thy bosom thy little one, and read in that
clear, trusting eye the lesson of eternal life. Be only to thy God
as thy child is to thee, and all is done. Blessed shalt thou be,
indeed, "when a little child shall lead thee."