A FAMILY PARTY.
What a blessing it is to be possessed of a happy and cheerful
disposition!
And who so likely to have such blessing as those who not only _say_ 'Our
Father which art in Heaven,' but believing what they say, 'try to walk
with Him in love, as dear children.' Such persons diffuse cheerfulness
all around them; while on the contrary, those who are selfish and
passionate, sow the seeds of trouble and discontent broadcast around
them. And pride--oh, that hateful sin--what have children to do with
pride? Helpless and dependent as they are on parents or friends, what
have they to be proud of? Nothing!
Look at that curly-headed little boy, Freddy Ellis, who would be
beautiful were it not for the disdainful curl on his upper lip, and the
indignant expression in his eye when he has received some supposed
affront. Listen to the passionate vehemence of his words when he is
refused some indulgence which he has been teasing his mamma to grant
him, though it would surely try your patience, as it has done mine, to
hear the stamping and screaming that is going on just outside the
parlour-door; and yet, for all this, Freddy receives no punishment. Oh
no! 'It would break his spirit.' What absurd reasoning!
Do we inquire from whom is this spirit, which has more of the _serpent_
than the _dove_? The answer will be, 'It is _not_ from the meek and
lowly Saviour!'
Oh parents, whoever you be, take care lest you foster the serpent that
will diffuse its subtle poison over the cherished blossoms which you
are, or _ought to be_, training for heaven, and leave a sting which may
pierce your own hearts. One thing we may be sure of, that the faults
which we, through negligence or weak indulgence, leave unchecked in our
children in early life, a wiser though severer hand than ours will use
the rod of correction to eradicate. And can this really be _love_, that
puts off the proper time of chastisement, knowing that it is likely to
be doubled on that account? Alas, no!
But I must crave pardon for sermonising, and return to the sick chamber,
for Mabel's papa and mamma have come to pay their promised visit. Poor
girl, she is so thin and pale that papa, who has only seen her twice
during her illness, is quite shocked, and sitting down beside the
arm-chair, declares that he can scarcely believe she is his once plump,
rosy girl. Mamma has seen her often, and has shed many a tear over her
suffering child; but still it was a comfort to her to know that Mabel
was in such good hands. Sister Julia is also here, looking very
sorrowful; but Aunt Mary says:
'Now I am not going to permit anybody who draws a long face to remain in
my nursery; so those who look as if they were preparing to cry, instead
of to smile, must please take a walk in the garden, till they have
recovered themselves. What say you, Freddy, to this?' inquired Aunt Mary
of her little nephew, who stood looking on, not knowing seemingly
whether he was expected to smile or to cry, though on hearing his aunt's
cheery address, he came to the conclusion that it was not necessary for
him to commence the disagreeable alternative, although it must be
confessed he was a ready practitioner in yelling bouts.
'I should like to go into the garden, aunt,' responded Freddy. 'I want
to see Clara's hens and chickens; may I go now?'
'No, not just now, dear,' replied his aunt; 'your cousin will go with
you presently; she is engaged just at present, so you will have to
wait.'
This waiting, however, did not at all suit the impatient spirit of
Master Fred, and on Aunt Mary's going out of the room he gave expression
to his vexation.
'Why can't I go into the garden by myself, I wonder?' he exclaimed
passionately to his mamma, by whose chair he was standing. 'Aunt needn't
think that I should hurt the fowls; it is very unkind of her.'
All this was said in a subdued tone, that papa, who was talking with
Mabel, might not hear.
'Hush, hush, Freddy!' said his mother; 'your Aunt Mary is never unkind:
you should not say such things of her.'
'But _I_ think she is very unkind,' repeated the boy emphatically, as if
what he said must settle the point; but it only drew the attention of
his papa, who inquired what the vehement talking was about, and
threatened severe punishment if any of Fred's tempers were exhibited at
Oak Villa.
'Don't check the poor child so harshly,' said unwise mamma; 'he only
wants his aunt to let him go and see the fowls. And really I think she
might let him go, for he could do no harm.'
Mr. Ellis had a strong inclination to reply to this ill-advised speech,
but he looked at the pale face beside him, and prudently forbore any
further remark.
A nicely spread tea-table, on which there were plenty of cakes, smoothed
down the ruffled temper of the spoilt boy; yet he did not forget what
had all along been uppermost in his mind, namely, that he was to go and
see the chickens as soon as tea was over. Had Mr. Ellis not been afraid
of creating a disturbance at Oak Villa, he would certainly have
prevented Fred's going into the garden, after his display of temper in
his sister's room. He, however, made no opposition when the impatient
boy, having despatched his tea and cake, made the announcement to his
cousin Clara, that he was ready to go with her to see the fowls; and she
good-naturedly rose from the table to attend him--not, however, without
asking her aunt's leave.
Freddy of course was delighted with all he saw, though he said he
thought the chickens were very large ones, and inquired after those he
had seen a month ago, being very difficult to be persuaded that those he
was now looking at were really the very identical chickens.
Like his sister Mabel, Freddy wanted to nurse one of the chickens; nor
did he ask if he might do so, but while Clara went for the corn he
opened the wire door and boldly thrust his hand in: only, however, to
receive, as she had done, a severe peck from the hen, which sent him
stamping and screaming up and down, no doubt to the great astonishment
of the cock and hens, and the immediate disarrangement of the family
party, who all rushed out to know what was the matter. It certainly was
a severe peck that the old hen had given, and a very great fright that
the household had been put into by the screams and the roaring of the
cowardly boy, which continued as he clung to his mamma's dress, until he
accidentally caught sight of his papa, and then the storm ceased as if
by magic; and so much of sham had there been in the affair, that the
tempest calmed down without leaving trace of sob or tear.
Mr. Ellis saw that his presence had been effectual, so he only said a
few words to the young rebel, but he cast a half-sorrowful, half-angry
glance at his wife; and Aunt Mary could not help whispering, 'Ada, what
troubles you are making for yourself!'