The Pearl Box Part 5

The truth flashed on the father's mind, The truth in all its power, "There is a G.o.d, my child," said he, "Who made that little flower."

ANNE CLEAVELAND.

Anne was the daughter of a wealthy farmer. She had a good New England school education, and was well bred and well taught at home in the virtues and manners that const.i.tute domestic social life. Her father died a year before her marriage. He left a will dividing his property equally between his son and daughter, giving to the son the homestead with all its acc.u.mulated riches, and to the daughter the largest share of the personal property, amounting to 6 or 7000 dollars. This little fortune became at Anne's marriage the property of her husband. It would seem that the property of a woman received from her father should be her's. But the laws of a barbarous age fix it otherwise.

Anne married John Warren, who was the youngest child, daintily bred by his parents. He opened a dry goods store in a small town in the vicinity of B----, where he invested Anne's property. He was a farmer, and did not think of the qualifications necessary to a successful merchant. For five or six years he went on tolerably, living _genteelly_ and _recklessly_, expecting that every year's gain would make up the excess of the past. When sixteen years of their married life had pa.s.sed, they were living in a single room in the crowded street of R----. Every penny of the inheritance was gone--three children had died--three survived; a girl of fifteen years, whom the mother was educating to be a teacher--boy of twelve who was living at home, and Jessy, a pale, delicate, little struggler for life, three years old.

Mrs. W---- was much changed in these sixteen years. Her round blooming cheek was pale and sunken, her dark chestnut hair had become thin and gray, her bright eyes, over-tasked by use and watching, were faded, and her whole person shrunken. Yet she had gained a great victory. Yes, it was a precious pearl. And you will wish to know what it was. It was a gentle submission and resignation--a patience under all her afflictions.

But learn a lesson. Take care to whom you give your hand in marriage.

THE ORPHAN'S VOYAGE.

Two little orphan boys, whose parents died in a foreign land, were put on board a vessel to be taken home to their relatives and friends. On a bitter cold night, when the north-east winds sang through the shrouds of the vessel, the little boys were crouched on deck behind a bale of goods, to sleep for the night. The eldest boy wrapt around his younger brother his little cloak, to s.h.i.+eld him from the surf and sleet, and then drew him close to his side and said to him, "the night will not be long, and as the wind blows we shall the sooner reach our home and see the peet fire glow." So he tried to cheer his little brother, and told him to go to sleep and forget the cold night and think about the morning that would come. They both soon sank to sleep on the cold deck, huddled close to each other, and locked close in each other's arms. The steerage pa.s.sengers were all down below, snugly stowed away in their warm berths, and forgot all about the cold wind and the frost. When the morning came the land appeared, and the pa.s.sengers began to pace the deck, and as the vessel moved along they tried some well known spot to trace.

Only the orphans do not stir, Of all this bustling train; They reached _their home_, this very night, They will not stir again!

The winter's breath proved kind to them, And ended all their pain.

But in their deep and freezing sleep, Clasped rigid to each other, In dreams they cried, "the bright morn breaks, Home! home! is here, my brother.

The angel death, has been our friend, We come! dear father, mother!"

LOOK UP.

A little boy went to sea with his father to learn to be a sailor. One day, his father said to him, "Come, my boy, you will never be a sailor if you don't learn to climb."

The boy was very ambitious, and soon scrambled up to the top of the rigging; but when he saw at what a height he was he began to be frightened, and called out, "Oh, father, I shall fall, what shall I do?"

"Look up--look up, my son," said his father; "if you look down you will be giddy; but if you keep looking up to the flag at the top of the mast you will descend safely." The boy followed his father's advice, and soon came down to the deck of the vessel in safety. You may learn from this story, to look up to Jesus, as the highest example, and as the Saviour of mankind.

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THE FLOWER THAT LOOKS UP.

"What beautiful things flowers are," said one of the party of little girls who were arranging the flowers they had gathered in the pleasant fields. "Which flower would you rather be like, Helen?"

"Just as if there would be any choice," said Laura. "I like the Rose. I should like to be queen of flowers, or none." Laura was naturally very proud.

For my part, observed Helen, I should like to resemble the _Rhododendron_; when any one touches it, or shakes it roughly, it scatters a shower of honey dew from its roseate cups, teaching us to shower blessings upon our enemies. Oh, who does not wish to be as meek as this flower? It is very difficult, I know, said Helen; but we are taught to possess a meek and lowly spirit.

"It is difficult, I know," said Lucy, "if we trust to our own strength.

It is only when my father looks at me in his kind manner, that I have any control of myself. What a pity it is that we cannot always remember that the eye of our Heavenly Father is upon us." "I wish I could," said Helen.

"Now, Clara, we are waiting for you," said Laura. Clara smiled; and immediately chose the pale woodbine, or convolvulus, which so carelessly winds in and out among the bushes--this is an emblem of loving tenderness.

"Now what says Lucy?" exclaimed Helen.

"I think I can guess," said Clara; "either a violet, or a heart's ease.

Am I right?"

"Not quite," said Lucy, "although both the flowers you have mentioned, are great favorites of mine. But I think I should like to resemble the daisy, most, because it is always looking upward."

Certainly Lucy made a wise choice. What more do we require for happiness, than to be able, let the cloud be ever so dark, to look upward with trusting faith in G.o.d.

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THE WAYSIDE FLOWER.

There's a moral, my child, In the wayside flower; There's an emblem of life In its short-lived hour.

It smiles in the suns.h.i.+ne And weeps in the shower, And the footstep falls On the wayside flower.

Now see, my dear child, In the wayside flower, The joys and the sorrows Of life's pa.s.sing hour.

The footsteps of Time Hasten on in its power; And soon we must fall Like the wayside flower.

Yet know, my dear child, That the wayside flower Will revive in its season And bloom its brief hour; That again we shall blossom In beauty and power, Where the foot never falls On the wayside flower.

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THE FARMER.

The Farmer ploughs and sows his seed, 'Tis all that he can do; He cannot make the dry seed grow, Nor give it rain and dew.

G.o.d sends the suns.h.i.+ne, dew and rain, And covers it with snow; Then let us thank Him for the gift,-- To Him our bread we owe.

Whene'er we view the waving grain, Or eat our daily food, Let grateful thoughts to G.o.d arise, Praise Him, for He is good.

The youthful mind is like a field; Our teachers sow the seed; But when instruction's work is done, There's something more we need.