Amy's Tale.
THE LADY AND THE SERPENT.
"A LADY, named Miss Bird, on entering her bathroom one night during
her residence in India, happened to place her foot on the head of a
serpent. She did not yield to the natural impulse of fear, and start
back, and so release the dangerous reptile. Firmly she pressed down her
foot upon it. It coiled round her ankle, but she remained immovable!
When the servants came with lights they found the heroic lady with a
cobra capella lying dead at her feet!"
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"Oh! What firmness she showed!" exclaimed Jessy. "I am sure that I
should have started back and screamed the moment that I felt the slimy
creature under my foot!"
"Then if the lesson taught by the last story was decision, the lesson
taught by this must be perseverance," said Mr. Presgrave. "There are
many who act upon prompt and noble impulse, who trample, as it were, on
the sin that besets them, but fail when their trial is lengthened and
tedious, when their courage has time to cool and their hope to flag.
And we all need the apostle's exhortation—'Be not weary in well-doing,
for in due season ye shall reap if ye faint not.'"
"Ours must be a lifelong keeping down of the serpent," said Percy,
rather as if thinking aloud than as if addressing himself to his
companions. There was silence for a few moments in all the circle, and
an expression of grave thought even on Julia's little face. Then Louis
exclaimed—
"That story of persevering courage was such a short one, that I am sure
that uncle ought to give us another; why, it was not any longer than
Julia's."
"Oh! Give us another! Give us another!" cried the little people eagerly.
"That may not be so easy to do at a moment's notice," replied Mr.
Presgrave, taking off his spectacles, however, which the children
thought a sign that their request would be granted. He slowly rapped
the table for a few moments with his fingers, passed his hand over his
smooth forehead, and then, es if a thought had struck him, leaned back
in his chair, and began.
Mr. Presgrave's Tale.
THE SHIPWRECK.
"It must now be forty years ago—yes, it was in the year 1814, when I
was on a visit to some friends at St. Andrews—that, on one fearful
wintry day, intelligence circulated through the place that a vessel
had been driven on a sandbank in the bay to the east of the town. I
remember that the news reached us as we sat round the table, by a
blazing fire, enjoying a comfortable meal. In a minute the room was
empty—cloaks and hats were snatched from their pegs, and we all hurried
down to the beach."
"A crowd of sailors, citizens, and students were already assembled
there; and what a sight presented itself to our view! The vessel had
been cast ashore but a few hundred yards from the dry land, and she
lay so near that, though the air was darkened by the driving sleet, we
could see at intervals the fingers of the crew clinging to the ropes
and spars as each billow broke over her side! What was to be done? How
could aid be afforded? Must the sufferers perish before our eyes! The
hardiest fishermen drew back, and dared not face the fearful surge. For
myself, I knew not how to swim. I could only attempt to urge on others
to do that which I yet feared was but throwing away life, and adding
another victim to those before us!"
"At length I heard a murmur through the excited crowd: 'He will go—he
has offered;' and pressing forwards I beheld John Honey, a young
student of divinity, preparing to venture into the raging sea. Remember
his name, and honour it, my children, though his reward is above the
praise of man! Tying a rope round his waist, holding a knife between
his teeth, and struggling through the surf, he threw himself into the
waves! I, among others, grasped that rope, and watched with sickening
anxiety the swimmer making his way through the sea! Each giant billow
seemed as though it would dash him to destruction; his progress became
more slow, he was growing faint we feared."
"'He will never reach the vessel!' we cried, and began to draw him
back by the rope! But not so easily was his humanity foiled, or his
perseverance baffled. Judge of our astonishment, our terror, when we
felt the rope lightened of its weight, and pulled it on shore without
resistance! The determined young hero had cut it away, and so severed
his connection with the shore!"
"At last the joyful cry of 'He has reached it!' burst from the crowd,
and I could myself distinguish the form of young Honey standing on the
deck of the stranded vessel. It was but for a few minutes, then again
we saw him spring into the billows, one larger than the rest soon
landed him at our feet, and many hands grasped him, and many voices
welcomed, as we aided his cold dripping fingers to unfasten a rope
which he had borne with him from the ship."
"But the unhappy crew were too much exhausted to avail themselves of
this slender bridge through the foaming waters. They had been four
days without food, as we afterwards learned, and though the rope was
firmly secured on shore, in vain we watched in hopes to see one of
the sufferers venture upon it. Again young Honey plunged among the
breakers, aiding himself by the rope. Again, he gained the vessel, and
returned, pale, panting, but not alone! I will not lengthen my tale too
much, nor describe how the crew, consisting of six men, were, one by
one, safely landed on the beach—a shout of joy welcomed each arrival."
"There now remained but one human being on the sea-washed deck, and to
him the student made his way. He was a boy, so helpless that we feared
that he never could reach the shore alive! Loud shrieked the wind, and
the roaring billow swept over the heads of the two, as they attempted
to gain the land! Ha! There is now but one head visible, the exhausted
child has been swept from his hold, he has let go the rope—'He is lost!
He is lost!' we exclaimed."
"No, for a preserver was near him. Honey, whose philanthropy seemed to
endow him with strength superhuman, dived for the boy, and with joy
we again beheld them both clinging to the rope! Another tremendous
wave—once more the feeble hands have been unable to retain their grasp,
once more the student dives, rallying his exhausted powers for one last
effort—then what shouts of joy and triumph ring along the shore, as the
boy and his deliverer lie gasping on the strand!"
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"O uncle! How glorious!" exclaimed Bella, clasping her hands.
"Is Honey living yet?—May we not see him one day?—Is he living?" cried
the children.
"Yes, living, but not on earth. God grant that you may see him where
there is no more danger, or suffering, or death! Though Honey survived
that terrible day, we have reason to believe that in saving the lives
of others, he had sacrificed his own. The seeds of a wasting, fatal
malady had been sown in his breast by severe exposure and extreme
exertion, and he passed from this world in the prime of his days, a
martyr to humanity."
"But come," resumed Mr. Presgrave, after looking around him, and then
glancing at his watch. "We must not go to the ladies with weeping eyes,
and I see that we may soon expect a summons to the tea-table. We have
concluded the stories of our dear little girls, and they have given us
much food for reflection. The boys' we will reserve till after tea,
when, perhaps, we may be joined by my dear niece and Mrs. Presgrave.
But before we leave off, my young friends, let me ask—I would have you
ask yourselves—what truths will you carry away with you from these
tales, and our conversations over them? What is the honey that you have
gathered from the flowers, the profit more enduring than the amusement
of an hour?"
The sound of the tea-bell interrupted the old gentleman; his question
we will leave to our readers to answer.
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