"'Oh, mine! I suppose you mean to say,' answered Arthur, pettishly.
"'Well, my dear boy, only look at your writing to-day. It resembles a
company of soldiers, each of whom carries his musket to suit himself,
this one to the right, that to the left, a third horizontally, a fourth
perpendicularly, and all the rest of the letters with broken backs and
crooked legs. Just look at it!'
"'Oh, dear! you are always mocking me,' whined Arthur. 'One would think
I did it all on purpose. Oh, dear me!'
"At last this lesson came to an end; but the others were no better, and
the poor master went away with his temper sorely tried, sadly
remembering the happy and good little Arthur of the year before.
"In the afternoon, his mother said, in a pleasant tone, 'Come, dear
Arthur, come and take a walk with me; it is such a lovely day; the
robins are singing in the trees; and look, how fast the delicate white
clouds are sailing through the air! Come, dear.'
"'It isn't pleasant! and I can't _bear_ robins,' said Arthur.
"His mother sighed and went alone.
"Left at home, Arthur tried to amuse himself. He got out his puzzle, or
dissected map of the United States; but as ill-tempered people are
never patient or gentle, in a very little while he had cracked South
Carolina nearly in two, snapped off the top of Maryland, broken New York
into three pieces, and made mince-meat of the Union generally, which was
a very shocking thing to do, even on a dissected map; and then, the
cross boy ended by throwing all the States into the black coal-scuttle.
"After this he tried to read; but nothing seemed to amuse him. From
'Robinson Crusoe' he went to the 'Rollo Books,' and from those to
'Nightcaps,' and declared they were all stupid alike, 'a perfect pack of
nonsense!'
"As a last resource, he called Jumbo, his big cat, who was so fond of
Arthur, that he would let him do just what he pleased with him, that
is, as long as his little master was kind; but to-day he pinched his
ears, and pulled his tail, and twitched his whiskers at such a rate,
that poor Jumbo puckered up his face like a pudding-bag, and squalled
like a first-class opera singer.
"'The bad old thing!' exclaimed Arthur. 'I declare, he ought to be
drowned! I'll never play with him again. Scat! scat! get out!' and off
scampered poor Jumbo, and hid himself behind the kitchen door.
"All this time you are wondering his mother did not punish him. Wait a
little. Just read to the end, and then tell me what you think of her
mode of punishment. I shall wish very much to know if you approve of
it.
"One evening, after Arthur had gone to bed, his father and mother had a
long consultation with each other about the best way of curing Arthur's
ill temper; and they agreed upon a plan his mother had thought of during
the day.
"The next morning came, when the trial was to be made. Every one
received his or her instructions from Arthur's mother, and were quite
ready to begin the new mode of punishment.
"But, for a wonder, on this particular morning Arthur awoke feeling very
pleasant and amiable. Never mind, he was to receive his lesson all the
same.
"While Mary was helping him to dress, she seemed very snappish and
impatient.
[Illustration: ARTHUR'S MOTHER TELLING HER PLAN.]
"'Do, for goodness sake, keep still, Master Arthur!' she said; 'you are
always fidgeting and fussing.'
"'_I?_' said Arthur, laughing. 'Why, I've been as still as a mouse!'
"Mary was silent for a moment, but presently she exclaimed--'How
carelessly you have washed your hands, your shirt is all wet. I have
shown you how to wash without splashing a hundred times. You worry my
life out!'
"'I _tried_ to do as you told me,' said Arthur, with a little sigh.
"'Oh, fiddlesticks! don't tell _me_! You are a terrible boy!' and Mary
bounced out of the room, banging the door behind her.
"Arthur went down to breakfast, and ran up to his mother to tell her
about Mary. 'I think _she_ was "terrible,"' he said. 'What could be the
matter with her, mamma?'
"'Perhaps she was indulging in ILL TEMPER,' answered his mother,
significantly.
"When they sat down to breakfast there was no toast.
"'I should like a piece of toast,' said Arthur.
"His mother rang a little bell, and the cook came in. She looked first
at the mistress, with a peculiar smile, and then she looked at Arthur.
"'Margaret,' said he, 'there is no toast.'
"'I know it, Master Arthur; it was too brown; and you are so hard to
suit, that I did not dare to serve it.'
"'_I_ hard to suit?' cried Arthur, who seemed to have forgotten what a
naughty boy he had been. '_I_ hard to suit? Not at all. If the toast
_is_ a little too brown, I don't mind it. Give it to me, Margaret.'
"'I threw it away,' said the cook.
"'Oh, well, I'm in no hurry; I will wait while you make me another
piece.'
"'My fire has gone out,' said the cook.
"'Well, you can re-light it, can't you?'
"'Do you think I have nothing to do but to wait upon you?' cried the
cook. 'You know nothing ever suits you; and you always speak rudely to
me;' and she flounced out of the room.
"'How _can_ she say so, mamma?' cried Arthur. '_I_ speak rudely to her?
Why, I was as polite as ever I could be. It is too bad!'
"'Servants find it very hard to attend upon you, Arthur. They are
accustomed to polite treatment from the rest of us.'
"'Well--but mamma--to accuse me to-day, when it was _she_ who'--
"'Was indulging in ILL-TEMPER,' interrupted his mother.
"_Arthur understood_, and was silent.
"The hour for his grammar lesson had now arrived. The tutor bowed to
Arthur's mother, smiled, and commenced:
"'Do you _know_ your lessons, my young friend?'
"'I have studied them, sir.'
"'Do you _know_ them? It is of little consequence that you have studied
them, if you do not know them.'
"'I believe I do, sir.'
"'Well, let us see--begin.'
"'In the _tenses_,' began Arthur a little embarrassed, 'we should
distinguish the _moods_ and the verbs.'
"'Nonsense! you should have said, "In the _verbs_ we should distinguish
the moods and the tenses."'
"'Yes, sir, that is what I _meant_ to say; I knew that, but my tongue
slipped.'
"'Your tongue slips very often. Continue'--
"Arthur, still more embarrassed, said--'We should also distinguish the
_moods_ and the persons.'
"'You must be demented! What have the moods to do in that sentence?
Perhaps you are expecting a visit from the man in the moon, and that
makes you talk such nonsense. The grammar says--"We should distinguish
the _numbers_ and the persons." Your tongue does nothing but slip; you
do not know your lesson.'
"'Excuse me, sir; I do know it.'
"'You are not respectful, Master Arthur,' said the teacher in a cold,
severe tone.
"'But, sir'--
"'When a boy knows his lesson he does not make such abominable blunders
in reciting.'
"'But, sir, you troubled me; you put me out.'
"'_I_ trouble you? A very singular excuse, and a very poor one. Come,
let me look at your composition.'
"But here matters became worse and worse. The master 'pshawed,' and
frowned, and grumbled to himself. 'No application! no thought! bad
spelling! bad grammar! a perfect mass of faults!'
"Arthur grew red and pale by turns, as his teacher wrote right across
the page in large letters: 'A composition so badly done, that it is
impossible to correct it.'
"Then he rose coldly, looking very grim, took his hat, and addressing
Arthur's mother, said--'Madam, I cannot consent to teach your son any
longer; I have so little success, that I feel I have no right to the
very liberal salary you have accorded me. Another, perhaps, will do
better.'
"'Oh, sir! no! pray, don't go!' exclaimed Arthur; 'I will try to do
better! indeed, I will! upon my word and honor I will. I love you, sir!'
"A pleasant light suddenly came into the teacher's eyes, and a soft
smile passed like lightning over his lips.
"'Do, please, give me your hand, sir,' said Arthur, 'and promise me that
you will continue to teach me.'
"His broad, black eyebrows immediately contracted into a great frown;
and he said gruffly--'Very well, I will try you once more,' and left the
room.
"For a few moments there was silence; then a distressed expression came
over Arthur's face, as he said--'Mamma, my teacher was very--(he was at
a loss for a word) very _singular_ with me to-day--don't you think so,
mamma?'
"'What do you mean by _singular_?'
"'Why, not as he usually is--not at all.'
"'His reproofs seemed perfectly just to me; you were not perfect in your
lessons.'
"'Well, mamma, I do not deny that; but at all other times he has been so
kind and patient, and never treated me with such unexpected severity.'
"'Ah!' said his mother, 'I am afraid, then, that this morning he was
indulging in ILL TEMPER.'
"Arthur hung his head, and was silent: his conscience was busy
whispering to him, and the rest of the morning passed painfully; but
after luncheon, he prepared for a walk with joy, for the day was lovely,
and the air exhilarating.
"But all at once the sky became overcast, and very soon after the rain
fell in torrents.
"'Oh, dear me, how tiresome!' cried Arthur, 'just when I am going to
take a walk; it is perfectly hateful.'
"'God sends the rain,' said his mother, gently.
"Arthur hung his head again without answering. What could he say,
indeed? But with his new resolution strong in his mind, he determined
to bear this disappointment with patience; and he called Jumbo to play
with him.
"But the cat, usually so quick to come purring to his knee, remained
just where he was, as if he had been suddenly struck deaf, and dumb, and
blind. Arthur went to him, and tried to take him in his arms; but he
hissed at his playmate, and scampered away with his back and tail high
in the air, and hid under the sofa.
"'Ah me!' sighed Arthur, 'I suppose Jumbo is like the rest; he is
indulging in ILL TEMPER, too.'
"'Not quite that,' observed his mother; 'but animals have _memories_.'
"'I think you had better say that they are spiteful, mamma.'
"'Perhaps they are, my son; but they have no reason, while _we_ are
capable of controlling our impatience, and governing our passions, if we
ask God to help us.'
"Upon this Arthur fairly broke down; and, bursting into tears, sobbed
out--'Oh, dear mamma, I understand the lesson I have received from every
one to-day. Do believe that I will try with all my strength to conquer
my ill temper: I promise you. Do, please mamma, forgive me.'
"His mother wound her loving arms around her son, and tenderly kissed
him, and said--'I forgive you, my dear child, with all my heart, and we
will both pray to our Heavenly Father to send down His Holy Spirit to
guide and direct your efforts to do right. You have borne your
disappointments to-day with patience and resignation; and I feel that
you will soon be the good, sweet-tempered boy, you were a year ago.'
"Arthur kept his promise, and whenever he was tempted to give a cross
answer, or get in a passion, he was sure to remember in time the
celebrated day when everybody, by his mother's instructions, attempted
his cure, by showing him, in their own persons, the unlovely
consequences of indulging in
ILL TEMPER."
* * * * *
"What a nice story!" exclaimed the children, "and what a good way of
curing Arthur--better than a hundred whippings. When we do any thing
bad, mamma, you must punish us Aunt Fanny's way. Couldn't you punish us
for something now?"
The little mother laughed at this comical request, and said--"I can't
think of any thing just now to punish you for; and I hope you don't want
to do any thing naughty on purpose."
"O dear, no!" cried the children, but George, with a good-humored
twinkle in his eye, added--"At any rate, mamma, the next time Harry puts
salt into the sugar-bowl, and makes me spoil my coffee, I intend to put
powdered sugar into the salt-cellar for him to sprinkle over his stewed
oysters."
"Oh, do!" cried all the children; "only think of oysters and sugar!
perfectly dreadful!"
"'Well,' said Harry, laughing, 'I shall have to buy a snuff-box, then,
and keep it in my pocket full of salt.'
"'But don't forget yourself,' said Anna, 'and politely offer a pinch of
it to the first old lady you meet; she might think you meant to play a
trick upon her, you know.'
"'What an idea!' cried Harry; 'I wouldn't do such a thing; I should
think it would make her sneeze worse than any snuff. Wouldn't it?'
"'The best way to find that out,' said George, with a roguish smile,
'would be to take a good pinch yourself.'
"While this conversation had been going on, little Johnny had
disappeared in the pantry; and now, at this very moment, he came out,
screaming: 'Oh! my nose hurts! my nose hurts!' and ran to his mother.
"It seems that, anxious to find out what kind of snuff salt would make,
he had privately walked into the pantry, and had snuffed and poked quite
a quantity into his poor little nose, and now it smarted as if twenty
hornets had stung him at once; and he jumped up and down with the pain.
"They had a great time soaking his nose in warm water, and felt very
sorry for him, though they could not, for their lives, help laughing
when George said that Johnny had salted and pickled his nose so well,
that it would keep in the hottest weather; at any rate, it would last
him as long as he lived; which comforted Johnny very much, for he
thought that it might have to be cut off to get the salt out.
"After this they bid everybody good night, and went to bed, and Johnny
said he felt 'pretty _compertuffle_.' His mother had told him that 'good
little Henry,' of whom you have read, always said 'compertuffle' for
'comfortable,' and Johnny thought it was just the right word to express
his feelings."
THE FIFTH LETTER.
THE ROSE CROWN.
_For Clara._
DEAR, TENDER-HEARTED LITTLE CLARA:--In the olden time, there was a
beautiful superstition in Germany, that on Christmas eve our Saviour,
just as he was when a little child here below, comes at midnight in at
the door, and fills all those children's shoes with gifts, who have
followed His example of goodness and obedience. You know that _you_
hang up your _stockings_, and Santa Claus comes down the chimney; but
the little German children believe that they are far more blessed. It is
a beautiful idea, for it brings Him, who for our sakes became a little
child on earth, more closely and lovingly to the children's hearts. They
grow up sure of His love and sympathy, from infancy to old age.
I have asked Sarah ("the doctor") to write me another story after the
German fashion, on purpose for you. She has given me this "Rose Crown;"
and the story turns upon the sweet and solemn belief of the German
children.
You will perceive that the little Gottfried in the story thought of this
with such intensity, and with such perfect faith in its truth, as to
cause him to walk in his sleep, like a somnambulist. No doubt your dear
mother can tell you many strange and extraordinary stories of
somnambulists, who do the most wonderful and startling things while in
this kind of trance state, of which they are utterly unconscious when
they awake.
I hope this story will please my dear little Clara; it is called
THE ROSE CROWN.
"It was Christmas eve, and a cold winter's day. The flakes of snow fell
softly and thickly, and had already covered the earth with a white
cloak.
"At one of the windows of the large house that stands on the top of the
hill, where the purple violets first peep out in the spring-time, stood
the little Gottfried and his sister Marie.
"'Only look, dear Marie,' said Gottfried, 'how fast the snow falls! What
large flakes! They look like little milk-white doves.'
"'It is the Mother Holle shaking her feather-beds,' cried Marie,
laughing; and looking up towards the sky, and beckoning with her hand,
she sang--
"'Mother Holle,
Good wife Holle,
Fill the meadows fair and full:
Stay not, pause not,
Shake away,
Make the snow fall fast to-day.'
"'Oh! I can sing a prettier song than thine,' said Gottfried. 'Listen,
now. The good wife Katarine taught it to me;' and he sang--
"'See the snow-flakes,
Merry snow-flakes!
How they fall from yonder sky,
Coming lightly, coming sprightly,
Dancing downwards, from on high.
Faint or tire, will they never,
Wheeling round and round forever.
Surely nothing do I know,
Half so merry as the snow;
Half so merry, merry, merry,
As the dancing, glancing snow.
"'See the snow-flakes,
Solemn snow-flakes!
How they whiten, melt and die.
In what cold and shroud-like masses
O'er the buried earth they lie.
Lie as though the frozen plain
Ne'er would bloom with flowers again.
Surely nothing do I know,
Half so solemn as the snow,
Half so solemn, solemn, solemn,
As the falling, melting snow.'
"'Ah! thy song is sad, brother,' said little Marie: 'it makes me sigh.'
"As she spoke, a little boy, poorly clad, was seen coming up the avenue;
and Gottfried exclaimed--'Here comes Heinrich!' and running out of the
room, he presently returned, leading by the hand Heinrich, the little
faggot-maker, whose mother, a poor but pious widow, lived in a hut just
out of the village.
"'Why, Heinrich, where hast thou been this cold day?' asked Marie.
"'Taking my faggots to Herr Kaufferman's,' said the poor boy. 'But oh,
Gottfried, they have there the most beautiful Christmas Tree!' and then
Heinrich paused and sighed.
"'And to-night the dear Christkindchen, or Holy Child, will bring them
presents,' said Gottfried. 'I hope he will fill _thy_ shoes full.'[A]
"'Alas! the Christ-child never comes to me,' said Heinrich.
"'What! hast thou never heard how he comes at midnight, bearing a
lighted taper and a crown of white roses, and gives presents to all
the good children?'
[Illustration: THE BAD BOY TAUNTING HEINRICH.]
"'My mother has told me of this,' said Heinrich, 'and I have waited and
watched, but he _never_ comes! He never _will_ come. It was only
yesterday that I met Hans, the butcher's son, and he mocked me, and
snapped his fingers in my face, and said--"Thou art so poor, that thy
shoes will never have any thing in them;" and I was so angry, and wanted
to strike him, but my mother said I must never fight or quarrel with any
one, and I went away from him; but it is hard to be poor,' and here he
began to cry.
"'Ah! yes, it is sad, dear Heinrich; but do not weep; here, wipe thine
eyes with my new pocket-handkerchief. Come, now, be happy; and I will
pray to the Christ-child, and beg him to come this very night to thee.'
"At this the little faggot-maker's face brightened, and soon after he
went away.
"In the evening, the children had their supper, and soon after they
stood by the knee of their kind mother, and sang this hymn:
"Jesus, our Shepherd! we ask for thy blessing,
Through the long hours of this dreary night;
Let us not know (thy kind favor possessing)
Danger or sorrow, till morning is bright.
"Jesus, our Saviour! oh! grant thy protection,
To thy dear arms we have trustingly come;
Oh, Lamb of God! make secure our election,
Guard us, and keep us, and call us thine own.
"Jesus, our Crown! Oh, thou Heavenly Glory!
Humbly we kneel, and entreat thee to love,
Bless and receive us, as in Bible story,
Till we shall come to thy mansion above."
"When they had finished the hymn, they reverently repeated their
prayers; and then, each bidding the other good night and sweet dreams,
went to their white-curtained beds.
"Later at night, their mother came to see that they were warm. Gottfried
was still awake; he was troubled about little Heinrich; and he told his
mother how the poor boy had grieved because the Christ-child never came
to him. 'I have prayed to Him, dear mother; do you think He will hear
me?' said the tender-hearted boy.
"'Yes, dear child,' said the mother, 'dost thou not remember what the
hymn says?
"'And when, dear Jesus, I kneel down,
Morning and night to prayer,
Something there is within my heart,
Which tells me THOU ART THERE."
"'He works sometimes through _human_ hands; and now look thou, my little
Gottfried,' continued his mother, kissing him, 'I will make this night a
wreath of white roses for thee, and fasten a purse about the stems, with
some golden guilders within, and thou shalt take it to Heinrich
to-morrow morning.'
"'Ah, thou dearest mother!' cried Gottfried, joyfully, and the loving
kisses were pressed upon her cheek. 'The dear Jesus has heard me
already;' and kneeling in the bed, he poured out his grateful thanks;
and then lying down, he soon fell asleep, with a bright flush of
happiness upon his face.
* * * * *
"The snow had ceased to fall, and it was late, but still in the widow's
cottage the fitful fire-light (for candles there were none) showed her
bending over some work. By her side on the hearth crouched the little
Heinrich.
"'Go to bed, dear child,' said his mother; 'it is too late for thee.'
"'Ah, dear mother! let me wait for thee,' answered the boy; 'it is so
cold and dark in our little room above.' He was silent for a moment,
gazing into the fire in a wishful manner; then he said--'Mother, dost
thou think the Christ-child will indeed hear Gottfried's prayer, and
come to me and thee?'
"'I hope he will, my Heinrich,' said the sad mother, smiling faintly.
"'Ah, but mother, dost thou not _know_ it?'
"The fire burned low, and the poor woman could no longer see. She put up
the coarse sewing with a sigh, and resting her hand tenderly on her
boy's head, sat quite still.
"Not a sound was heard. The light in the room was dim, and gloom had
settled upon the hearts of both mother and child.
"Hark! what was that?
"A low tap sounded at the door, and then it slowly opened; and to the
astonished gaze of the two sitting by the hearth, there appeared the
figure of a little child. A snow-white robe draped his slender limbs. In
one hand he bore a lighted taper, and in the other a most beautiful
wreath of white roses. His dark blue eyes shone with an unearthly
lustre, as it appeared to the amazed and bewildered Heinrich, and his
golden curls floated upon his shoulders.
"'Oh! mother! mother!' whispered Heinrich, almost breathless, 'it is the
Christ-child in very truth come to me at last. His face is like
Gottfried's--only far more beautiful;' and mother and son sank on their
knees.
"Slowly the little form advanced towards them, paused before Heinrich,
lightly placed the rose crown upon his head, and then, the sweet lips
parting in a faint, tender smile, it waved its little hand towards him,
and disappeared from their sight.
"When they could speak, the mother and son bowed their heads in thankful
prayer, then lifted their brimming eyes to each other.
"'Truly thou hast been wondrously rewarded, my Heinrich,' said the poor
widow; 'give the beautiful crown to me, that I may see what the dear
Christ-child has brought to thee.'
"She stirred the fire, and put on some light wood to make a blaze, and
then Heinrich lifted the crown from his head. As he did so--oh! wonder!
there fell from it a silken purse, and through the deep crimson network
they could see the yellow gleam of gold.
* * * * *
"With the early blush of morning little Gottfried awoke, and the first
thing he did was to run smilingly to the door to find his shoes. There
they were, in good truth, crammed to the very top with presents. Marie,
too, awoke at the moment, and from each little white bed there arose
delighted exclamations and merry shouts of joy.
"Now their mother entered, and said--'A merry Christmas to you, my
children.'
"With joyful kisses they welcomed her, and breathlessly showed her their
gifts; then Gottfried exclaimed--'Oh! mother! I have had such a
pleasant dream; I dreamed that the dear Christ-child went to Heinrich
with the wreath, and gave it to him.'
"'Well, thou shalt take it thyself this morning, dear child, when thou
hast eaten thy breakfast.'
"But what was this? Where could the wreath be? The good mother, faithful
to her promise had made it the evening before, and had laid it on the
table in the parlor, but it was not to be found.
"This loss put the little Gottfried in such distress, that his mother
promised quickly to make another; and she was just preparing to hasten
out to purchase the roses, when Heinrich ran in, his mother following;
and, scarcely pausing for breath, the boy told the wonderful thing that
had happened to them in the night.
"With a sudden understanding of the strange and beautiful story,
Gottfried's mother took Heinrich's mother aside, and whispered to her
how the rose crown had mysteriously disappeared from the house in the
night.