The Pearl Box. UnknownЧитать онлайн книгу.
said I, "not particularly."
"Well," said he, "do it now, for I have lost mine;" when he marched off with great speed.
HONESTY
—An honest boy, whose sister was sick and the family in want, found a wallet containing fifty dollars. The temptation was great to use the money; but he resolved to find the owner. He did so; when the owner, learning the circumstances of the family, gave the fifty dollars for their comfort. He took the boy to live with him. That boy is a prosperous merchant in Ohio.
THE BOY AND HIS MARBLES
—One Sunday a lady called to her little boy, who was shooting marbles on the pavement, to come into the house.
"Don't you know you shouldn't be out there, my son? Go into the back yard if you want to play marbles; it is Sunday."
"Yes, mother; but aint it Sunday in the back yard?"
THE BOY AND THE DEW DROPS
A little boy who had been out early in the morning playing on the lawn before his father's house, while the dew drops lay on the grass, was soon after seen returning to the spot, and finding them all gone, he sat down to weep. His father asked him why he wept.
"Because," said he, "the beautiful dew drops are gone." His father tried to soothe him, but he continued weeping. Just then a cloud passed over, and on the cloud the beautiful rainbow had cast its arch.
"There, see, my son," said the father, "there are all your dew drops; the sun has taken them up only to set them forth in greater brightness in the sky."
"O father, dear father, why pass they away,
The dew drops that sparkled at dawning of day,
That glittered like stars in the light of the moon;
Oh, why are the dew drops dissolving so soon?
Does the sun in his wrath chase their brightness away,
As if nothing that's lovely might live for a day?
The moonlight is faded, the flowers still remain,
But the dew drops have shrunk to their petals again."
"My child," said the father, "look up to the skies;
Behold that bright rainbow, those beautiful dyes,
There, there are the dew drops in glory reset,
'Mid the jewels of heaven they are glittering yet.
Oh, are we not taught by each beautiful ray
To mourn not earth's fair things, though passing away?
For though youth of its beauty and brightness be riven,
All that withers on earth blooms more sweetly in heaven.
Look up," sad the father, "look up to the skies–
Hope sits on the wings of those beautiful dyes."
LETTICE AND MYRA. A SCENE IN LONDON
My young readers may have heard about the poor people in London. The following story is a specimen of the hardships of many young girls, in that famous city.
"Two young women occupied one small room of about ten feet by eight. They were left orphans, and were obliged to take care of themselves. Many of the articles of furniture left them had been disposed of to supply the calls of urgent want. In the room was an old four post bedstead, with curtains almost worn out, one mattrass with two small pillows, a bolster that was almost flat, three old blankets and cotton sheets, of coarse description, three rush-bottom chairs, an old claw table, a chest of draws, with a few battered band-boxes on the top of it, a miserable bit of carpet before the fire-place, a wooden box for coals, a little tin fender, and an old poker. What there was, however, was kept clean, the floor and yellow paint was clean, and the washing tub which sat in one corner of the room.
"It was a bitter cold night, the wind blew and shook the window, when a young girl of about eighteen sat by the tallow candle, which burned in a tin candlestick, at 12 o'clock at night, finishing a piece of work with the needle which she was to return next morning. Her name was Lettice Arnold. She was naturally of a cheerful, hopeful temper, and though work and disappointment had faded the bright colors of hope, still hope buoyed up her spirits.
"Her sister Myra was delicate, and lay on the mattrass on that night, tossing about with suffering, unable to rest. At last Lettice says to her:–
"'Poor Myra, can't you get to sleep?'
"'It is so cold,' was the reply; 'and when will you have done and come to bed?'
"'One quarter of an hour more, Myra, and I shall have finished my work, and then I will throw my clothes over your feet, and I hope you will be a little warmer.'
"Myra sighed, and lifted up her head, and leaning upon her arm watched the progress of her sister as she plied the needle to her work.
"'How slowly,' said Myra, 'you do get along. It is one o'clock, and you have not finished yet.'
"'I cannot work fast, Myra, and neatly too; my hands are not so delicate and nimble as yours,' and smiling a little, she added: 'Such swelled clumsy things, I cannot get over the ground nimbly and well at the same time. You, are a fine race horse, and I a drudging pony. But I shall soon be through.'
"Myra once more uttered a sigh and cried:
"'Oh, my feet are dreadful cold.'
"'Take this bit of flannel,' said Lettice, 'and let me wrap them up.'
"'Nay, you will want it,' she replied.
"'Oh, I have only five minutes to sit up, and I can wrap this piece of carpet round mine,' said Lettice.
"And she laid down her work and went to the bed and wrapped her sister's icy feet in the flannel, and then sat down and finished her task. How glad was Lettice to creep to the mattress and to lay her aching limbs upon it. A hard bed and scanty covering in a cold night are keenly felt. She soon fell asleep, while her sister tossed and murmured on account of the cold.
"Lettice awoke and drew her over little pillow from under her head, and put it under her sister's and tried every way to make her sister comfortable, and she partly succeeded; and at last Myra, the delicate suffering creature, fell asleep, and Lettice slumbered like a child."
How thankful ought we to be for kind parents, a comfortable home, and a good fire in a cold night. I will tell you in my next story what Lettice did with her work.
LETTICE TAKING HOME THE WORK
Early in the morning, before it was light, and while the twilight gleamed through the curtainless windows, Lettice was up dressing herself by the aid of the light which gleamed from the street lamp into the window. She combed her hair with modest neatness, then opened the draw with much precaution, lest she should disturb poor Myra, who still slumbered on the hard mattrass—drew out a shawl and began to fold it as if to put it on.
"Alas!" said Lettice, "this will not do—it is thread-bare, time-worn, and has given way in two places." She turned it, and unfolded it, but it would not do. It was so shabby that she was actually ashamed to be seen with it in the street. She put it aside and took the liberty of borrowing Myra's, who was now asleep. She knew Myra would be awful cold when she got up, and would need it. But she must go with the work that morning. She thought first of preparing the fire, so that Myra, when she arose, would only have to light the match; but as she went to the box for coal, she saw, with terror, how low the little store of fuel was, and she said to herself, "we must have a bushel of coal to-day—better to do without meat than fire such weather as this." But she was cheered with the reflection that she should receive a little more for her work that day than what she had from other places. It had been ordered by a benevolent lady who had been to some trouble in getting the poor woman supplied with needle work so that they should receive the full price. She had worked for private customers before, and always received more pay from them than from the shops in London, where they would beat down the poor to the last penny.
Poor Lettice went to the old band-box