Father! on this lovely morning,
Up to Thee my thoughts take wing:
With the little hills rejoicing,
With the birds I sing.
All the air is filled with praises—
All thy wondrous works proclaim,
In one sweet harmonious chorus,
“Hallowed be thy name!”
Father! wilt thou warm and water
_My heart_ with Thy sun and showers,
Even as Thy hand sustaineth,
Birds, fruits and flowers.
While in love toward Thee it turneth,
Thy rich blessing, oh renew!
As the lily’s cup thou fillest
With the grateful dew.
Up to me, sweet childhood looketh,
Heart, and mind, and soul, awake,
Teach me of Thy ways, O Father!
For sweet childhood’s sake.
In their young hearts, soft and tender,
Guide my hand good seed to sow,
That its blossoming may praise Thee
Wheresoe’er they go.
Give to me a cheerful spirit,
That my little flock may see
It is good and pleasant service,
To be taught of Thee.
Father, order all my footsteps;
So direct my daily way,
That in following me, the children
May not go astray.
Let thy holy counsel lead me—
Let thy light before me shine—
That they may not stumble over
Word, or deed of mine.
Draw us, hand in hand, to Jesus,
For his word’s sake, unforgot,
Let “the little ones come to me,
And forbid them not.”
Mary had been taught neat habits when she was a child, and she still
observed them. She never left her chamber in the morning, until her bed
was made, and every thing was put into its place. When she rose, she
took off her night-dress, and put on a dressing gown which hung in the
wardrobe or clothes-press; then she took the bed-clothes from the bed,
and turned them, with her night-dress, to the window, to air; then she
shook up the bolster and pillows, and placed them on the window-sill;
and after she had combed her hair, and washed her person, and had
thoroughly cleaned her teeth and nails, which occupied some time, she
made her bed, and dusted the furniture before she finished dressing.
Such was the beginning of Mary’s day. She always looked fresh and pure,
and came down stairs in the morning with a pleasant face.
[Illustration: Mary’s mother reading with her]
* * * * *
After breakfast, Mary set out for school early, and alone; and she told
Charles and Harry Linn and their sister Lucy, to come at school-time.
Mary walked slowly along, stopping by the way to gather a nosegay of
wild flowers. She found violets and the delicate white anemone, and
buttercups and daisies.
The grass was quite wet, but Mary did not mind that, for she had thick
shoes on, and she made a beautiful bright nosegay for the school-room.
She liked to make it look pleasant to her scholars, and she opened all
the windows to let in the pure morning air, and placed her flower-pot
where they could all see it. After she had arranged the room to her
liking, she sat down in the doorway to select a portion of Scripture for
the evening reading; and then she read a chapter to herself, which was
her daily practice. Mary was still sitting in the doorway thinking about
what she had been reading, when her scholars began to arrive.
[Illustration:
~Third Day.~
Mary waiting for her scholars to come. p. 15.
]
Carry Deacon was the first to come, and she ran up to Mary to kiss her,
and tell her that she had not stopped on her way to school to see Mike
Terry’s kittens; she had only just peeped through the garden-railing as
she passed by, to look at his rabbits—little white rabbits with pink
eyes.
A group of very happy little boys and girls were Mary’s scholars. They
had now all collected for school on the green before the door, and they
were pressing round Charles Linn to see a new kite, which he had made at
home, all himself. Mary had told Charles he might bring it to school
with him if he would put it out of sight until recess-time. Charles said
to his little schoolmates:
We must put it away,
Till we go out to play;
And then we can try,
How high it will fly.
Mary gave leave for all of them to go with Charles, down to the
tool-house, in the wood, where they kept their playthings, to help him
put it away. Some of them took hold of the kite, and one carried the
little piece of wood on which the string was wound: and the little ones
carried the tail of the kite. After it was put away they all returned to
school, in love and good humour one with another.
This was Geography morning. The lessons were first said, and afterwards
Mary had those who studied the map, to find upon it all the places which
they had described in their lesson. Then she took a long stick, or rod,
for a pointer, and told them to stand off at a little distance from the
map, so that they could not read the names of the places, and as she
pointed out the rivers and towns, and bays and creeks upon the map, they
could tell her what each one was named.
The geography lesson of the little ones, was a set of questions which
Mary had prepared; and my little readers who live in the country may
perhaps like to try to answer them.
In what country do you live?
In what State?
In what county?
Near what large town?
What do the farmers cultivate in the part
of the country where you live?
In what month do they plant corn?
When do they plant potatoes?
When do they sow wheat?
When do they sow rye?
What kinds of fruit are produced in the
orchards and gardens?
How is the market of the large town near
which you live supplied with provisions for
the people to eat?
When this class had taken their seats, Charles Linn came up to Mary, and
whispered to her that he would like to ask a question. Mary gave him
leave, and he asked if those who lived in towns would not starve, if the
country people did not bring food to market for them to eat? “Mary,”
said Charles, very earnestly, “the people in the city could not do
without country people, could they?”
Mary told him that people in the city could not get along very well
without country people, and country people could not get along very well
without them. The farmers take meat and vegetables, and grain and fruit,
and butter and milk, to market, to sell to the citizens. They get money
for all these things, and with the money which they get, they buy from
the shops and stores what they cannot buy at home. They buy books to
read, and hats and shoes and other clothing, and sugar and molasses, and
tea and coffee, and many other things which do not grow on farms in the
country. We get all the books from which you learn your lessons, and the
maps and slates and pictures and our Bibles too, from the book-stores in
towns. And you would not like to do without any of these things, would
you?
Charles said, “No, indeed I should not.”
Charles looked very thoughtful, and Mary asked him if there was any
thing else he would like to know.
“I was thinking about something my father said at the breakfast table
this morning. I do not quite remember it, but I think he meant what you
have been explaining to me. Will you please to make me understand,
Mary?”
“I will try, Charles. Your father remarked that our all-wise and
merciful Creator has so ordered our wants and needs, that all classes of
men are dependent upon one another for support. He meant by this, that
farmers and merchants, and mechanics and authors, and men of almost
every honest occupation, and poor people and rich people are necessary
one to another.
“In saying this, your father told us one of the most important truths of
this kind which we can learn; but, you know, he was conversing with
Doctor May, and he did not speak so that a little boy like you could
fully understand him.
“I will try to explain to you so much of what he said as you are capable
of comprehending.” Charles looked very much pleased, and Mary said, “You
know, your father took you to the city last week to see a ship. That
ship belonged to a merchant, and how do you suppose he got it?”
Charles said he did not know.
“I will tell you,” said Mary. “A mechanic called a ship-carpenter built
it for him. The merchant could not have built it for himself. He had to
call a ship-builder, and tell him what he wanted, and then the
ship-carpenter, with his men, built it, and the merchant paid him with
his money. Do you see now how merchants and mechanics are dependent upon
one another?”
“Yes,” Charles said.
“I will tell you more about a ship,” said Mary. “You know, that when you
came home, you told us about all that you saw in the ship. You said the
ship had masts and sails, and ladders made of rope, on which the sailors
went up to spread out the sails, or to take them in; and you saw the
little house on the deck where the steersman stood to guide the ship
over the ocean; and the cabin, furnished just like a parlour, and the
berths for sleeping rooms.
“Before he could have all these necessary things in his ship, somebody
must go into the woods and cut down the trees, out of which all the
timber was got, and then it must be sawed into large and small sticks
and into boards and planks. Then, too, the merchant had to employ a
sail-maker to make the sails, and a rope-maker to make the ropes, and a
cabinet-maker to make sofas and tables. So you see that the merchant
cannot carry on his business without the help of all these different
workmen and tradesmen, and they could not get money unless they earned
it by working at their trades. Then there must be a captain and mates,
and sailors, to take the ship on her voyage, for she could not sail
without them. The merchant pays them for taking care of his ship, and
with the money they receive from him they support their wives and
children who stay at home while they are away at sea.”
“I understand now, how merchants and mechanics are dependent upon one
another,” said Charles. “But, Mary, are all sorts of people dependent
upon one another in the same way? Are we dependent upon merchants?”
“Yes,” said Mary.
“The merchant’s ship goes away across the ocean to foreign countries,
and brings back sugar and salt, and tea and coffee, and cloth and silks,
and many other things which we use in our houses. Do you see now, how we
are dependent upon the merchants?”
“Yes,” said Charles, “for we could not get these things unless the
merchant brought them in his ship.”
“Now, Mary, will you tell us, how we are dependent upon authors and
doctors and mechanics?”
_Mary._ “Do you not know that printers and shoemakers and
carpenters are mechanics?”
Charles said, “He never knew exactly what a mechanic was until Mary told
him.”
_Mary._ “We could not get our books printed, you know, without
the printers. We could not get our shoes made, without the
shoemakers, and we should have no comfortable convenient houses to
live in, if the carpenters did not build them for us.
“Authors are persons who write books, and if authors did not write
books, printers could not print them; and you see that an author must
write, and a printer must print what he writes, before we can have our
books to learn from.
“If we are sick, we send for a doctor, because he can tell what ails us.
The doctor’s business is to learn a great deal about the human body,
which we have no opportunity to learn. He knows where our brains lie;
and where our heart is; and where the lungs are placed through which we
breathe; and he can tell how our bones are knit together, and what is
the office of every nerve and fibre and muscle in our bodies. His
knowledge teaches him the laws by which we move our tongues and our
heads and our limbs; and if we are sick, he knows that something within
us is out of order, and that disease is the consequence, and he can
often tell what the disease is. Thus you see we are dependent upon the
doctor, when we most need help, that is, when we are sick and cannot
help ourselves. And if it pleases our heavenly Father that we should be
restored to health, the doctor’s knowledge of our bodies enables him to
cure us.”
_Charles._ “I know now, what my mother meant, when she said a
little verse about God, after brother Harry got well of the
measles.”
_Mary._ “Will you repeat it Charles?”
“God blessed the doctor’s skill;
My heart is full of joy,
That it has been Our Father’s will
To give me back my boy.”
Mary’s scholars were all listening to her talk with Charles Linn: and
she told them that our heavenly Father designed all classes of men to
help one another, and he requires them to love one another too.
“Are we to love everybody, Mary?” asked Susan Field.
“Yes,” said Mary. “If we love God, we cannot help loving every one whom
he has made: and if we do not love God, we cannot love our fellow beings
as we ought to love them.”
“But we are not to love little dirty ragged boys and girls; are we,
Mary?” said Susan.
_Mary._ “Yes! and we are to try to do them good: but we cannot
love them and do them good unless we love our heavenly Father. If we
ask our heavenly Father for his help, he will teach us by his good
Spirit in our hearts how we may show our love to him. And if we love
him, we shall feel as if we wanted to do something even for poor
little ragged boys and girls; and when we help them, or instruct
them, we shall find out in what ways the rich and the poor are
dependent upon one another.
“And now, we must not talk any more at present: I intend to give you a
long recess this morning. I promised you, you know, to go out with you
to gather flowers and plants for our botanical exercise.”
Mary’s little boys and girls went cheerfully to their seats to look over
their reading lesson. Soon she heard them read aloud, one by one, first
the large scholars, and afterwards the smaller ones, who were just
learning to read, and she made them spell every word as they went along.
When the reading was over, they each repeated a Bible verse, which Mary
required them to learn at home; and then Mary rang the little bell for a
recess.
There was great alacrity in putting up books and slates, and soon every
boy and girl was ready for a long walk with Mary.
Charles Linn ran off to the tool-house, and all the boys and girls after
him, calling out:—
“Now for my kite! Now for my kite!”
When he attempted to take it out, he found that the bobs of paper, of
which the tail was made, had been so twisted about and entangled in the
string that he could not disengage them. The more he tried, the more
entangled they became. The scholars were all round the kite, waiting to
see how high it would fly; for Charles had told them it would fly away
almost up to the clouds, until it looked no bigger than one of their
balls.
Mary had stopped to gather a bunch of dogwood blossoms, and now they all
ran in search of her. They knew she could help Charles out of his
trouble about the kite. They found her coming towards them; and she laid
down her flowers and took the kite out of Charles’ hand, and showed him
how to disengage the papers from the string; and then she showed him how
to prevent such a mishap in future, by putting it away more carefully.
Mary told Charles he must not attempt to fly his kite in the woods, for
it would be caught in the tops of the trees. She led the way across a
little stream of water, which Mary first, and her scholars after her,
had to jump over, into a fine open meadow. Soon up went the kite, and
the boys cried out,
“Hurrah for the kite! Hurrah for Charles Linn’s wonderful kite!”
It rose higher and higher; and Charles was so proud of having them to
praise his kite, that when he had unwound the string to the very end, he
thought he would like to have it rise higher still, and very foolishly
let go the end of the string.
Poor Charles! He had scarcely let it go when the kite began to come
down, and presently it plumped into the water, near where they were
standing. Charles looked as if he would cry—but Mary laughed and said—
“My kite, my kite! I’ve lost my kite!
Oh when I saw the steady flight
With which it gained its lofty height,
How could I know that letting go
That paltry string would bring so low
My pretty, buoyant, darling kite!
My kite! My kite! how sad to think,
It flew so high, so low to sink!”
“Never mind, Charles. Pick up your kite, and leave it here to dry, while
we take our walk. We will not suffer the loss of a kite to spoil all our
pleasure. Another time you must hold the string fast.” Charles looked
very sorrowful; but Mary helped him to get his kite out of the water,
and then she took his hand, and said, “Come now, let us have a race.”
Mary took her scholars over the meadow, and they scampered about in high
spirits; sometimes stooping to gather buttercups and violets; and then
they would hold the buttercups under one another’s chins, to see who
loved butter best. Then they would play tag, and when they were tired of
play they all sat down around Mary, on the grass, and she talked to
them.
She showed them how perfectly the little flowers were formed, and how
beautifully the leaves were coloured and shaded; and she told them that
our heavenly Father made these to grow, for the delight of our eyes and
to give us pure tastes. Then she pointed out to them the great variety
of trees, and their blossoms, and their different odours. Mary wished
her scholars to have as many enjoyments as their situation in life
admitted of; and she knew that little children who lived in the country,
would enjoy life more if they were taught to observe what was wonderful
and beautiful around them; and she thought they would love God more, if
she taught them that He made every thing that was beautiful and
wonderful in the whole world. Eddy Forester was lying on his back upon
the grass, and he said,
“Mary, I like to look at the sky and the clouds; and I like to see the
sky when the sun sets; for then God paints the clouds with gold and red
and all the beautiful colours; and I like to look at the sky in the
evening, when the stars come out. When it is dark and I go to bed, I can
see the sky through the window, and it makes me think of God; and the
stars seem like eyes looking down upon me—like the angels’ eyes—the
angels that live with God in heaven.”
Charles Linn said he did not care about looking at the clouds and the
sky. He would rather look at the cows eating grass.
“Look, Mary,” said Charles. “There, over in the other meadow, are the
red cow and her calf. The calf is only four days old, and you know she
is to be mine. And there is Brindle, chewing her cud under the great
chestnut tree.”
Harry Linn said he liked horses better than cows, and his father allowed
him to have a ride on the gray horse every morning before school.
Lily Forester was sitting on Mary’s lap, and Mary said, “And what does
little Lily like best?” Lily said, she liked to play with Harry Linn
better than any thing.
Then Carry Deacon came and put her arms round Mary’s neck, and whispered
to her that she loved her better than playing. Mary kissed Carry and
patted her dimpled cheeks, and said to her:
“You are a dear, affectionate little girl, Carry, and I believe you
think you love me better than play; but I do not mean to put your
constancy to the trial. I hope we all love one another.”
“Yes, that we do,” said Charles Linn. “But hurrah for doing something! I
am tired of doing nothing.”
It was so pleasant out of doors to-day, that Mary asked her scholars if
they would like to have their botanical lesson in some shady place in
the wood instead of the school-room. They all exclaimed “Yes!” and the
little ones jumped about and clapped their hands for joy that they could
stay out of doors a little longer.
After they had selected a shaded place, Mary sat down on the stump of a
tree, and they gathered round her. Mary looked over the leaves and
flowers which they had collected during their walk, and chose from them
a plant which Carry Deacon had pulled up out of the earth. Mary selected
this for the first lesson in botany, because it was a perfect plant,
having a root, stem, branches and leaves. Mary had a way of her own of
teaching her scholars, and when she presented a new subject before them,
her first object was to awaken their interest in it, so that they would
desire to know more about it. She held up the plant before them, and
asked who could tell her what it was?
The scholars all looked and seemed puzzled. Charles Linn said it was a
flower; Eddy Forester said it was a flower and something more than a
flower; for it had green leaves; another said, “Yes, and it has a root
and stems.”
Mary told them it was a plant; that a flower with root, stem, leaves and
branches, was called a plant. “And now,” said she, “I will explain to
you the uses of these parts of a flower.
“The root holds it fast in the earth; and the root sucks drink from the
earth, which keeps the plant alive, very much as the calf sucks milk
from the cow to sustain it.”
Eddy Forester looked attentively at Mary while she was speaking, and she
asked him if he understood her. “Yes,” said Eddy, “and I was thinking
about the verse you say sometimes, which has ‘Mother Earth’ in it. Is
the earth the mother of all plants?”
“Yes,” said Mary, “because they get their drink from her bosom, as very
little children get their food from the bosom of their mother.
“Now,” said Mary, “I wish you to remember that the root of a plant is
called an _organ_. The plant has other organs besides the root, and can
you tell me what they are?” No one answered, and Mary said, “The stem is
an organ, and the branches and leaves are organs. I will tell you what
the stem is for. The stem is a pipe, which conveys the nourishing drink
that the root sucks in from the earth, up into the leaves and branches.”
Mary’s scholars came closer to her, for they liked to hear what she told
them, because they could understand it all. Then Mary said, “I will tell
you what the leaves and branches are for. The branches are between the
stem and the leaves to carry the moisture from the stem into the leaves.
The leaves of a plant have a number of small veins, which you can see if
you examine them; and these veins have little mouths at their ends, wide
open; and though they are so small you cannot see them without a
microscope, yet the air passes into the plant through the mouths of
these little veins. The plant could not live without air and water, any
more than one of us could live without air and water; and our heavenly
Father, who is as wise as He is kind and good, has furnished plants with
these organs, through which they receive the sustenance which is
necessary to preserve their life and health and beauty.”
Mary questioned her scholars until she perceived by their answers that
they thoroughly understood what she had taught them: and then she
dismissed them for the morning.
[Illustration:
~Third Day.~
Happy children! Away they skipped p. 43.
]
Happy little children! Away they skipped through the woods to their
respective homes, and Mary followed them with her eyes till they were
quite out of sight.
* * * * *
In the afternoon, Harry Linn came running to school out of breath, to
remind Mary of a promise she had made him at home, that if he was a good
boy, on the next sewing afternoon she would read aloud some stories
about the sagacity and faithfulness of dogs. She told him she had not
forgotten it, but the lessons must be said first. The larger scholars
had definitions to say, and Harry’s class had a spelling and reading
lesson.
When the work-basket was brought out, Harry and Lily came up to Mary
with pleasant smiling faces, to know if they might pass the work round
to-day. Mary told them they might, as they had been good little
children.
Mary was very busy this afternoon. She had work to oversee, and crewels
to sort out, and copies to set for the boys, who did not sew, and
figures to make on Harry Linn’s slate. He was the only little boy in
school who did not cipher. After all this was done, Mary read to them.
When the large boys had finished their copies, they took their slates to
do sums, and Mary instructed them and assisted them when they needed
help. Mary never wearied the little ones with any one study or
occupation; and when she observed that Harry Linn had made three rows of
figures on his slate, and that Ellen Raby and Lily Forester had finished
their little tasks of sewing, she called them to her to say the
Multiplication Table in concert. Then she asked them some questions.
Thus—
“Harry, if you had an orange, and Lily had two, and Ellen had three, and
Lily and Ellen gave you their oranges, how many would you have?” Harry
answered, “Six.” Mary asked them a number of such questions, for she
wished to make them understand what arithmetic was for, before she
taught them to do sums on their slates.
Harry’s father had shown him the picture of a blind beggar and his dog,
at home, and there was a story about it, which Mary had promised to read
aloud this afternoon.