moan, and the sea--no longer raging like a maniac--sobbed and sobbed
with a piteous human voice all along the coast. And well it might,
after that night's work. Twelve sail of the Gloucester fishing fleet
had gone down with every soul on board, just outside of Whale's-back
Light. Think of the wide grief that follows in the wake of one wreck;
then think of the despairing women who wrung their hands and wept, the
next morning, in the streets of Gloucester, Marblehead, and Newcastle!
Though our strength was nearly spent, we were too cold to sleep. Fred
Langdon was the earliest to discover a filmy, luminous streak in the
sky, the first glimmering of sunrise.
"Look, it is nearly daybreak!"
While we were following the direction of his finger, a sound of
distant oars fell on our ears.
We listened breathlessly, and as the dip of the blades became more
audible, we discerned two foggy lights, like will-o'-the-wisps,
floating on the river.
Running down to the water's edge, we hailed the boats with all our
might. The call was heard, for the oars rested a moment in the
row-locks, and then pulled in towards the island.
It was two boats from the town, in the foremost of which we could now
make out the figures of Captain Nutter and Binny Wallace's father. We
shrunk back on seeing _him_.
"Thank God!" cried Mr. Wallace, fervently, as he leaped from the
wherry without waiting for the bow to touch the beach.
But when he saw only three boys standing on the sands, his eye
wandered restlessly about in quest of the fourth; then a deadly pallor
overspread his features.
Our story was soon told. A solemn silence fell upon the crowd of rough
boatmen gathered round, interrupted only by a stifled sob from one
poor old man, who stood apart from the rest.
The sea was still running too high for any small boat to venture out;
so it was arranged that the wherry should take us back to town,
leaving the yawl, with a picked crew, to hug the island until
daybreak, and then set forth in search of the Dolphin.
Though it was barely sunrise when we reached town, there were a great
many people assembled at the landing, eager for intelligence from
missing boats. Two picnic parties had started down river the day
before, just previous to the gale, and nothing had been heard of them.
It turned out that the pleasure-seekers saw their danger in time, and
ran ashore on one of the least exposed islands, where they passed the
night. Shortly after our own arrival they appeared off Rivermouth,
much to the joy of their friends, in two shattered, dismasted boats.
The excitement over, I was in a forlorn state, physically and
mentally. Captain Nutter put me to bed between hot blankets, and sent
Kitty Collins for the doctor. I was wandering in my mind, and fancied
myself still on Sandpeep Island: now I gave orders to Wallace how to
manage the boat, and now I cried because the rain was pouring in on me
through the holes in the tent. Towards evening a high fever set in,
and it was many days before my grandfather deemed it prudent to tell
me that the Dolphin had been found, floating keel upwards, four miles
southeast of Mackerel Reef.
Poor little Binny Wallace! How strange it seemed, when I went to
school again, to see that empty seat in the fifth row! How gloomy the
play-ground was, lacking the sunshine of his gentle, sensitive face!
One day a folded sheet slipped from my algebra; it was the last note
he ever wrote me. I couldn't read it for the tears.
What a pang shot across my heart the afternoon it was whispered
through the town that a body had been washed ashore at Grave
Point,--the place where we bathed. We bathed there no more! How well I
remember the funeral, and what a piteous sight it was afterwards to
see his familiar name on a small headstone in the Old South
Burying-Ground!
Poor little Binny Wallace! Always the same to me. The rest of us have
grown up into hard, worldly men, fighting the fight of life; but you
are forever young, and gentle, and pure; a part of my own childhood
that time cannot wither; always a little boy, always poor little Binny
Wallace!
_T. B. Aldrich._
A YOUNG MAHOMETAN.
The bedrooms in the old house had tapestry hangings, which were full
of Bible history. The subject of the one which chiefly attracted my
attention was Hagar and her son Ishmael. I every day admired the
beauty of the youth, and pitied the forlorn state of his mother and
himself in the wilderness.
At the end of the gallery into which these tapestry rooms opened was
one door, which, having often in vain attempted to open, I concluded
to be locked. Every day I endeavored to turn the lock. Whether by
constantly trying I loosened it, or whether the door was not locked,
but only fastened tight by time, I know not; but, to my great joy, as
I was one day trying it as usual, it gave way, and I found myself in
this so long-desired room.
It proved to be a very large library. If you never spent whole
mornings alone in a large library, you cannot conceive the pleasure of
taking down books in the constant hope of finding an entertaining one
among them; yet, after many days, meeting with nothing but
disappointment, it becomes less pleasant. All the books within my
reach were folios of the gravest cast. I could understand very little
that I read in them, and the old dark print and the length of the
lines made my eyes ache.
When I had almost resolved to give up the search as fruitless, I
perceived a volume lying in an obscure corner of the room. I opened
it. It was a charming print; the letters were almost as large as the
type of the family Bible. Upon the first page I looked into I saw the
name of my favorite Ishmael, whose face I knew so well from the
tapestry in the antique bedrooms, and whose history I had often read
in the Bible.
I sat myself down to read this book with the greatest eagerness. I
shall be quite ashamed to tell you the strange effect it had on me. I
scarcely ever heard a word addressed to me from morning till night. If
it were not for the old servants saying, "Good morning to you, Miss
Margaret," as they passed me in the long passages, I should have been
the greater part of the day in as perfect a solitude as Robinson
Crusoe.
[Illustration]
Many of the leaves in "Mahometanism Explained" were torn out, but
enough remained to make me imagine that Ishmael was the true son of
Abraham. I read here, that the true descendants of Abraham were known
by a light which streamed from the middle of their foreheads, and that
Ishmael's father and mother first saw this light streaming from his
forehead as he was lying asleep in the cradle.
I was very sorry so many of the leaves were gone, for it was as
entertaining as a fairy tale. I used to read the history of Ishmael,
and then go and look at him in the tapestry, and then return to his
history again. When I had almost learned the history of Ishmael by
heart, I read the rest of the book, and then I came to the history of
Mahomet, who was there said to be the last descendant of Abraham.
If Ishmael had engaged so much of my thoughts, how much more so must
Mahomet! His history was full of nothing but wonders from the
beginning to the end. The book said that those who believed all the
wonderful stories which were related of Mahomet were called
Mahometans, and True Believers; I concluded that I must be a
Mahometan, for I believed every word I read.
At length I met with something which I also believed, though I
trembled as I read it; this was that, after we are dead, we are to
pass over a narrow bridge, which crosses a bottomless gulf. The bridge
was described to be no wider than a silken thread; and all who were
not Mahometans would slip on one side of this bridge, and drop into
the tremendous gulf that had no bottom. I considered myself as a
Mahometan, yet I was perfectly giddy whenever I thought of passing
over this bridge.
One day, seeing the old lady who lived here totter across the room, a
sudden terror seized me, for I thought how she would ever be able to
get over the bridge. Then, too, it was that I first recollected that
my mother would also be in imminent danger. I imagined she had never
heard the name of Mahomet, because, as I foolishly conjectured, this
book had been locked up for ages in the library, and was utterly
unknown to the rest of the world.
All my desire was now to tell them the discovery I had made; for I
thought, when they knew of the existence of "Mahometanism Explained,"
they would read it, and become Mahometans to insure themselves a safe
passage over the silken bridge. But it wanted more courage than I
possessed to break the matter to my intended converts. I must
acknowledge that I had been reading without leave; and the habit of
never speaking, or being spoken to, considerably increased the
difficulty.
My anxiety on this subject threw me into a fever. I was so ill that my
mother thought it necessary to sleep in the same room with me. In the
middle of the night I could not resist the strong desire I felt to
tell her what preyed so much on my mind. I awoke her out of a sound
sleep, and begged she would be so kind as to be a Mahometan. She was
very much alarmed;--she thought I was delirious, and I believe I was;
for I tried to explain the reason of my request, but it was in such an
incoherent manner that she could not at all comprehend what I was
talking about.
The next day a physician was sent for, and he discovered, by several
questions that he put to me, that I had read myself into a fever. He
gave me medicines, and ordered me to be kept very quiet, and said he
hoped in a few days I should be very well; but as it was a new case to
him, he never having attended a little Mahometan before, if any
lowness continued after he had removed the fever, he would, with my
mother's permission, take me home with him to study this extraordinary
case at leisure. He added, that he could then hold a consultation with
his wife, who was often very useful to him in prescribing remedies for
the maladies of his younger patients.
In a few days he fetched me away. His wife was in the carriage with
him. Having heard what he said about her prescriptions, I expected,
between the doctor and his lady, to undergo a severe course of
medicine, especially as I heard him very formally ask her advice as to
what was good for a Mahometan fever, the moment after he had handed me
into his carriage.
She studied a little while, and then she said, a ride to Harlow Fair
would not be amiss. He said he was entirely of her opinion, because it
suited him to go there to buy a horse.
During the ride they entered into conversation with me, and in answer
to their questions, I was relating to them the solitary manner in
which I had passed my time, how I found out the library, and what I
had read in that fatal book which had so heated my imagination,--when
we arrived at the fair; and Ishmael, Mahomet, and the narrow bridge
vanished out of my head in an instant.
Before I went home the good lady explained to me very seriously the
error into which I had fallen. I found that, so far from "Mahometanism
Explained" being a book concealed only in this library, it was well
known to every person of the least information.
The Turks, she told me, were Mahometans. And she said that, if the
leaves of my favorite book had not been torn out, I should have read
that the author of it did not mean to give the fabulous stories here
related as true, but only wrote it as giving a history of what the
Turks, who are a very ignorant people, believe concerning Mahomet.
By the good offices of the physician and his lady, I was carried home,
at the end of a month, perfectly cured of the error into which I had
fallen, and very much ashamed of having believed so many absurdities.
_Mary Lamb._
[Illustration]
THE LITTLE PERSIAN.
Among the Persians there is a sect called the Sooffees, and one of the
most distinguished saints of this sect was Abdool Kauder.
It is related that, in early childhood, he was smitten with the desire
of devoting himself to sacred things, and wished to go to Bagdad to
obtain knowledge. His mother gave her consent; and taking out eighty
deenars (a denomination of money used in Persia), she told him that,
as he had a brother, half of that would be all his inheritance.
She made him promise, solemnly, never to tell a lie, and then bade him
farewell, exclaiming, "Go, my son; I give thee to God. We shall not
meet again till the day of judgment!"
He went on till he came near to Hamadan, when the company with which
he was travelling was plundered by sixty horsemen. One of the robbers
asked him what he had got. "Forty deenars," said Abdool Kauder, "are
sewed under my garment." The fellow laughed, thinking that he was
joking him. "What have you got?" said another. He gave the same
answer.
When they were dividing the spoil, he was called to an eminence where
their chief stood. "What property have you, my little fellow?" said
he. "I have told two of your people already," replied the boy. "I have
forty deenars sewed up carefully in my clothes." The chief desired
them to be ripped open, and found the money.
"And how came you," said he, with surprise, "to declare so openly what
has been so carefully hidden?"
"Because," Abdool Kauder replied, "I will not be false to my mother,
whom I have promised that I will never conceal the truth."
"Child!" said the robber, "hast thou such a sense of duty to thy
mother, at thy years, and am I insensible, at my age, of the duty I
owe to my God? Give me thy hand, innocent boy," he continued, "that I
may swear repentance upon it." He did so; and his followers were all
alike struck with the scene.
"You have been our leader in guilt," said they to their chief, "be the
same in the path of virtue!" and they instantly, at his order, made
restitution of the spoil, and vowed repentance on the hand of the boy.
_Juvenile Miscellany._
[Illustration]
THE BOYS' HEAVEN.
Harry and Frank had a hearty cry when an ill-natured neighbor poisoned
their dog. They dug a grave for their favorite, but were unwilling to
put him in it and cover him up with earth.
[Illustration]
"I wish there was one of the Chinese petrifying streams near our
house," said Frank. "We could lay Jip down in it; and, after a while,
he would become a stone image, which we would always keep for a
likeness of him."
Harry, who had been reading about the ancient Egyptians, remarked that
it was a great pity the art of embalming was lost.
But Frank declared that a mummy was a hideous thing, and that he would
rather have the dead dog out of his sight forever, than to make a
mummy of him.
"It seems very hard never to see him again," said Harry, with a deep
sigh.
"But perhaps Jip has gone to some dog-heaven; and when we go to the
boys' heaven, we may happen to see our old pet on the way."
"If he should get sight of us he would follow us," said Frank. "He
always liked us better than dogs. O yes, he would follow us to the
boys' heaven, of that you may be sure; and I don't think boys would
exactly like a heaven without any dogs. Mother, what kind of a place
_is_ a boys' heaven?"
His mother, who had just entered the room, knew nothing of what they
had been talking about; and, the question being asked suddenly, she
hardly knew what to answer.
She smiled, and said, "How can I tell, Frank! You know I never was
there."
"That makes no difference," said he. "Folks tell about a great many
things they never saw. Nobody ever goes to heaven till they die; but
you often read to us about heaven and the angels. Perhaps some people,
who died and went there, told others about it in their dreams."
"I cannot answer such questions, dear Harry," replied his mother. "I
only know that God is very wise and good, and that he wills we should
wait patiently and humbly till our souls grow old enough to understand
such great mysteries. Just as it is necessary that you should wait to
be much older before you can calculate when the moon will be eclipsed,
or when certain stars will go away from our portion of the sky, and
when they will come back again. Learned men know when the earth, in
its travels through the air, will cast its long dark shadow over the
brightness of the moon. They can foretell exactly the hour and the
minute when a star will go down below the line which we call the
horizon, where the earth and the sky seem to meet; and they know
precisely when it will come up again. But if they tried ever so hard,
they could never make little boys understand about the rising and the
setting of the stars. The wisest of men are very small boys, compared
with the angels; therefore the angels know perfectly well many things
which they cannot possibly explain to a man till his soul grows and
becomes an angel."
"I understand that," said Harry. "For I can read any book; but though
Jip was a very bright dog, it was no manner of use to try to teach him
the letters. He only winked and gaped when I told him that was A. You
see, mother, I was the same as an angel to Jip."
His mother smiled to see how quickly he had caught her meaning.
After some more talk with them, she said, "You have both heard of
Martin Luther, a great and good man who lived in Germany a long time
ago. He was very loving to children; and once, when he was away from
home, he wrote a letter to his little son. It was dated 1530; so you
see it is more than three hundred years old. In those days they had
not begun to print any books for children; therefore, I dare say, the
boy was doubly delighted to have something in writing that his friends
could read to him. You asked me, a few minutes ago, what sort of a
place the boys' heaven is. In answer to your question, I will read
what Martin Luther wrote to his son Hansigen, which in English means
Little John. Any boy might be happy to receive such a letter. Listen
to it now, and see if you don't think so.
"_To my little son, Hansigen Luther, grace and peace in Christ._
"MY HEART-DEAR LITTLE SON: I hear that you learn well and pray
diligently. Continue to do so, my son. When I come home I will
bring you a fine present from the fair. I know of a lovely
garden, full of joyful children, who wear little golden coats,
and pick up beautiful apples, and pears, and cherries, and plums
under the trees. They sing, and jump, and make merry. They have
also beautiful little horses with golden saddles and silver
bridles. I asked the man that kept the garden who the children
were. And he said to me, 'The children are those who love to
learn, and to pray, and to be good.' Then said I, 'Dear sir, I
have a little son, named Hansigen Luther. May he come into this
garden, and have the same beautiful apples and pears to eat, and
wonderful little horses to ride upon, and may he play about with
these children?' Then said he, 'If he is willing to learn, and to
pray, and to be good, he shall come into this garden; and Lippus
and Justus too. If they all come together, they shall have pipes,
and little drums, and lutes, and music of stringed instruments.
And they shall dance, and shoot with little crossbows.' Then he
showed me a fine meadow in the garden, all laid out for dancing.
There hung golden pipes and kettle-drums and fine silver
crossbows; but it was too early to see the dancing, for the
children had not had their dinner. I said, 'Ah, dear sir, I will
instantly go and write to my little son Hansigen, so that he may
study, and pray, and be good, and thus come into this garden. And
he has a little cousin Lena, whom he must also bring with him.'
Then he said to me, 'So shall it be. Go home, and write to him.'
"Therefore, dear little son Hansigen, be diligent to learn and to
pray; and tell Lippus and Justus to do so too, that you may all
meet together in that beautiful garden. Give cousin Lena a kiss
from me. Herewith I recommend you all to the care of Almighty
God."
The brothers both listened very attentively while that old letter was
read; and when their mother had finished it, Frank exclaimed, "That
must be a very beautiful place!"
Harry looked thoughtfully in the fire, and at last said, "I wonder who
told all that to Martin Luther! Do you suppose an angel showed him
that garden, when he was asleep?"
"I don't know," replied Frank. "But if there were small horses there
with golden saddles for the boys, why shouldn't Jip be there, too,
with a golden collar and bells?"
"Now, wouldn't that be grand!" exclaimed Harry. And away they both ran
to plant flowers on Jip's grave.
_L. Maria Child._
BESSIE'S GARDEN
[Illustration]
Above all things, Bessie loved flowers, but wild flowers most. It
seemed so wonderful to her that these frail things could find their
way up out of the dark ground, and unfold their lovely blossoms, and
all their little pointed leaves, without any one to teach or help
them.
Who watched over the dear little wild flowers, all alone in the
field, and on the hillside, and down by the brook? Ah, Bessie knew
that her Heavenly Father watched over them; and she loved to think he
was smiling down upon her at the same time that his strong, gentle
hand took care of the flowers and of her at once. And she was not
wrong, for Bessie was a kind of flower, you know.
One day the little girl thought how nice it would be to have a _wild_
garden; to plant ever so many flowering things in one place, and let
them run together in their pretty way, until the bright-eyed blossoms
should gaze out from the whole tangled mass of beautiful green leaves.
So into the house she ran to find Aunt Annie, and ask her leave to
wander over on a shady hillside where wild flowers grew thickest.
Yes, indeed, she might go, Aunt Annie said; but what had she to carry
her roots and earth in while making the garden?
O, Bessie said, she could take a shingle, or her apron.
Aunt Annie laughed, and thought a basket would do better; they must
find one. So they looked in the closets and attics, everywhere; but
some of the baskets were full, and some were broken, and some had been
gnawed by mice; not one could they find that was fit for Bessie's
purpose.
Then dear Aunt Annie poured out the spools and bags from a nice large
work-basket, and told Bessie she might have that for her own, to fill
with earth or flowers, or anything she chose.
Pleased enough with her present, our young gardener went dancing along
through the garden,--Aunt Annie watched her from the balcony,--dancing
along,--and crept through a gap in the hedge, and out into the field,
that was starred all over with dandelions, and down the hollow by the
brook, and up on the hillside, out of sight among the shady trees.
And how she worked that afternoon,--singing all the while to herself
as she worked! How she heaped together the rich, dark mould, and
evened it over with her little hands! How she dug up roots of violets,
and grass, and spring-beauty, and Dutchmen's breeches, travelling
back and forth, back and forth, never tired, never ceasing her song.
The squirrels ran up out of their holes to look at Bessie; the birds
alighted over her head and sang.
While Bessie was bending over her garden so earnestly, thump! came
something all at once, something so cold and heavy! How quickly she
jumped upon her feet, upsetting her basket, and making it roll down
the hill, violet-roots and all!
And then how she laughed when she saw a big brown toad that had
planted himself in the very centre of her garden, and stood there
winking his silly eyes, and saying, "No offence, I hope!"
The squirrel chattered as if he were laughing too; the bird sang,
"Never mind, Bessie, never mind; pick up your violets, and don't hurt
the poor old toad!"
"O no; it's God's toad; I shouldn't dare to hurt him," said Bessie.
Just at that moment she heard a bell ringing loudly from her father's
house. She knew it was calling her home; but how could she leave her
basket! She must look for that first; the hillside was steep and
tangled with bushes, yet she must make her way down and search for the
lost treasure.
[Illustration]
"Waiting, waiting, waiting!" suddenly sang the bird, from out of sight
among the boughs; "waiting, Bessie," sang the bird.
"True enough," said Bessie; "perhaps I'm making my mother or dear Aunt
Annie wait,--and they are so good! I'd better let the basket wait;
take care of it, birdie!--and none of your trampling down my flowers,
Mr. Toad!" And she climbed back again from bush to bush, and skipped
along among the trunks of the great tall trees, and out by the brook
through the meadow, hedge, garden,--up the steps, calling, "Mother,
mother! Aunt Annie! who wants me?"
"I, dear," said her mother's voice; "I am going away for a long visit,
and if you had not come at once, I couldn't have bidden my little girl
good by." So Bessie's mother kissed her, and told her to obey her kind
aunt, and then asked what she would like brought home for a present.