Chapter VI: Going Abroad (1)

It was on a bright, warm, breezy morning in early June, that our friends at Honeysuckleville decided that the home education of their children had been attended with such success as to encourage the hope that they would "come out" creditably to themselves, and their parents. Arrangements were accordingly made, and I assure you there was much talking and no little excitement and bustle upon the occasion. It was proposed to spend some weeks in travelling, that the young people might enjoy themselves, and acquire much useful information, which could be obtained no other way.

The weather was delightful. A few light, fleecy clouds were floating in the blue sky, continually changing from one form of beauty to another. The sun shone forth in his splendour, cheering the tender grass and the up-springing seeds, and drawing them nearer and nearer to his bosom. They stretched toward him their feeble blades and diminutive leaves, as if they would gladly be clasped in his arms; but their growing roots were striking deeper and deeper into mother earth, and binding them closer and closer to her.

The gentle, cooling zephyrs were playing among the leaves, and winning sweet music from the tiny voices, which responded in glee to their salutations. Often they lifted the soft hair from the brows of the children, and frolicked amid their curls, and fanned their sun-burnt cheeks. It was a morning which all nature enjoyed. There could not have been a finer day to start upon a journey. As birds do not need a change of dress, there was no trunk to pack, and no travelling-bag to be laden with comforts. All the preparation necessary was the usual attention to the toilet, and the instruction and advice which the exigency required.

The hearts of the young adventurers fluttered with excitement. There was a mingling of curiosity to visit the great world of which they had heard such glowing descriptions, and of fears to trust themselves to the power of their wings to bear them from their pleasant, happy home, and keep them out of harm's way. They had seen Pussy, as she walked about in her white and black robe, and though she seemed so gentle, they had been warned against her as one of their most deadly enemies. They knew she was often prowling about, with stealthy tread, to prey upon the unwary. They feared that, instead of flying to the walnut-tree, as was the plan, they should fall upon the grass, where she could pounce upon them and destroy them, notwithstanding the screams and agonizing entreaties of their parents. Puss is a full believer in the doctrine that "might makes right;" and she is as unmoved by the cries and appeals of her victims as if they had no hearts to suffer, and were made merely for her own use.

Many words of encouragement were addressed to them by their parents. They told them how they themselves had suffered from similar fears; how difficult it was for them to trust implicitly in the wisdom of their own father and mother; and how they stood, tremulous and fearful, on the top of the nest, wishing they had sufficient resolution to obey, and yet fearing to venture; but how easy and pleasant they found it to spread their wings in the air, and be borne up by it, when they fully determined to make the attempt.

Our little birdlings still hesitated, just as I have seen children hesitate and quiver with terror when for the first time they go into the water to learn to swim. They know their father tells them the truth, for he has never deceived them. He has bound a life-preserver beneath their arms, and has promised to remain near, to catch them, if they begin to sink; yet they are afraid, and draw back. They lack faith. When at last they timidly push from the shore, and find themselves buoyed up on the water, their delight is almost unbounded, and they are as unwilling to leave as they were reluctant to enter it.

The old robins stood on one of the branches of the walnut-tree, and endeavoured to persuade their timid brood to come to them. They were not stern and severe, for they had not forgotten their own youth, and they sympathized deeply with these children; but the father found he must be decided, so he told them, (as it seemed,) authoritatively, that they must hesitate no longer. He would count one--two--three; and when he said three, they must spread their wings and do as well as they could. The mother smiled lovingly upon them, and they determined to obey, whatever effort it might cost. "One--two--three," counted the robin, in his full, musical tones. The birdlings fluttered their wings, and strained every nerve to alight by the side of their parents. With what joy they felt their feet clinging round the branch! How elated they were with their success! They chirped continually, and merry and brisk was the conversation. "What is this?" one asked, and "What is that?" said another, till it seemed as if the old birds would be weary of their questions; but they never lost their patience; they thought the little folks remarkably intelligent.

When they were rested, away flew the birds to the elm, and called to their young. Grown courageous by success, they quickly followed, and, through the whole day, they were flying about from tree to tree, enjoying themselves highly.

At sunset, I saw them on the locust-tree, near the cottage, inhaling its delicious perfume, with their faces toward the west, wondering, perhaps, what occasioned all that glorious beauty, as the sun escaped from their view.

Presently they flew to a great cherry-tree, and, from the chirping and calling, we concluded they spent the night in its shelter. How strange it must have been to them, this first night of their perching! The sky was clear, the stars twinkled, and the half-moon shed her silvery light on the earth, and gleamed through the cherry-leaves, as it had done through the honeysuckles; but it was not home, that cherry-tree, and they sighed as they thought of their birthplace. They sat close to their mother's side, and felt that, after all, where she was, was the best place for them. They curled up one foot into the soft down, and turned back their heads till their bills were beneath their wings. The lids slowly closed over their eyes, and they slept quietly and sweetly, till wakened in the morning by the warbling of songsters who welcomed the rosy dawn.

A new sense of responsibility filled their hearts. They were no longer mere children, their every want supplied by others; but they were youth, and must begin to provide for themselves, and depend upon their own energies. We frequently hear the young robins among the trees, but we seldom see them. We really miss them, and think of them as pleasant visitors who have been spending a few days with us.

We hope that Honeysuckleville will not be forsaken; but that every year the birds will return, and rear their young beneath its fragrant shade, making hearts of the little Dudleys glad, and teaching them to love.

"All things, both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
Hath made and loveth all."

"MAY I POP SOME CORN?"

"May I pop some corn?" asked Eddie.

"Yes," answered his mother; and laying down her work, she went to the closet and got for him several small ears--some red and some white--the kernels of which where not half so large as those of common corn.

Eddie took a white bowl and sat down on the carpet by his mother with the tiny ears in his apron. He worked away for some time, shelling first one ear and then another, till every little kernel was in the bowl, and nothing but cobs left. These he thought would help to build a "log-house," so he put them in his play-box, with those he had treasured before, and took his bowl to the kitchen.

Kate, the cook, was a coloured woman, and she loved children. When he said to her, "Mother told me I might pop some corn," she cheerfully placed the iron pan on the stove, and when it was hot enough, told him he might put in the corn. Pretty soon it went Pop! pop! pop! till the pan was filled with snow-white kernels. Eddie always wondered how they could turn inside out and suddenly grow so large. He did not understand that it was because of the expansion or swelling of the air within the hard case, which then burst open to find more room.

Eddie was very busy for some time in the kitchen attending to his corn. When it was all done, he separated that which was popped from that which was only parched, and put it in different dishes. He gave his dog Philo some of the brown kernels, and he seemed to like them as well as Eddie himself. Eddie enjoyed hearing him crack them with his sharp teeth, and would stroke his great head, and say kindly, "Poor Philo! you are a good Philo;" and the dog would wag his tail as much as to say, "Dear Eddie! you are a good Eddie."

After giving Philo his share, and Kate hers, Eddie carried up a large dishful to his mother and the children. He did not wish to eat it all himself for he was a generous boy and always liked to have others partake of his pleasures, whatever they might be. He reserved some of the nicest of it in a tumbler, which he placed on his mother's work-table. Mrs. Dudley took a little, saying to him,

"If you miss your corn, Eddie, you will know what has become of it."

He looked up from his play quite soberly, and said slowly, "Mother, if _you_ wish to eat more you may, but _I_ am not going to."

"Why not, my child?"

"I am going to save it for father."

Mrs. Dudley was pleased to see Eddie willing to deny himself to give to others, so she said to him, "That is right." When his father came home from his business, Eddie placed the tumbler beside his plate on the tea-table. After the blessing was asked, Mr. Dudley, looking at the children, inquired, "Where did this come from?" "I popped it," answered Eddie. And his father thanked him with a kind and loving smile.

Eddie was much happier than if he had eaten all the corn himself, for he had made others happy by his generosity. "It is more blessed to give than to receive," the Bible tells us; and Eddie had been learning this truth in the great pleasure he felt in dividing his popped corn with others. I hope you who read this story know how to sympathize with him. If you do not, will you try the experiment, and see if you are not far happier to share your corn, or your candy, or whatever else you may have, with your brothers and sisters, and those around you, than you are to devour it yourself? I have seen little chickens seize their favourite morsel and run away and hide where they could eat it all alone; but I should be sorry to think that any child would do so.

"WHICH WOULD YOU RATHER I SHOULD DO?"

"Which would you rather I should do?" asked Eddie of his mother, his large blue eyes filling with tears.

"I should rather you would stay with me," was the answer.

"Then I will, mother!" and the tears remained where they were, and did not chase each other down his plump cheeks. A trembling smile played around his mouth; for he had conquered himself, and had readily yielded to his mother's wishes. There had been a struggle, severe, but short, in his mind, and when he said, "Then I will, mother," he meant he could be happy to stay at home, and would not ask again for permission to go with the other children. Mrs. Dudley could not resist the impulse to clasp him to her heart, and tell him he was a good boy; and this made him still happier. He saw he had pleased her, and her approving smile was worth more to him than any enjoyment could be without it.

Eddie, you know, is a little boy, five years old. He has brothers and sisters older than himself, and they have fine sport in sliding and skating. Their teacher takes them every day to enjoy it, and they come home in high spirits, swinging their skates by their sides, and talking loud and fast about it.

Eddie has watched them many days from the nursery window, and has longed to be with them; but his careful mother has feared he would get hurt among so many skaters, or perhaps be lost in one of those "air-holes" which are often found in the most solid ice; so when Eddie asked her if he might go to the river, she hesitated, for she did not like to deny him. "Which would you _rather_ I would do?" then inquired the dear boy; and when his mother told him, he did not tease her, but resumed his place at the window.

Mrs. Dudley resolved to go herself with her little son to the river, when the children went again. She did not tell him so, however; but the next day, when the merry skaters were in the midst of their enjoyment, she put on her hood, and her warm blanket-shawl, and thick gloves, and calling Eddie to her, wrapped him in his wadded coat and woollen tippet, and placing on his head his "liberty-cap,"--knit of red and black worsted, with a tassel dangling from the point--and pulling it well down over his ears, and covering his fat hands with warm mittens, they started out on the white snow. The snow was frozen sufficiently to bear them, and they had a pleasant walk above the hidden grass and stones.

Eddie was in great glee. His mother enjoyed it almost as much as he did, for it was an exhilarating sight. Some of the boys were sliding, some skating, and others pushing sleds before them, on which a mother or sister were sitting. It reminded one of the pictures we often see of skating in Holland; and, to make the resemblance more perfect, a Dutchman was there with his pipe, defiling the pure, fresh air with its foul odour.

Mrs. Dudley was invited to take a ride, and, leaving Eddie in the care of another, she was soon seated on one of the sleds, and speeding away before a rapid skater. She found it far more swift and agreeable than riding in the usual way. Eddie, too, had a ride, and his little heart was brimfull of happiness. He walked about on the ice quite carefully and fearlessly.

The river, on which these children were, rises and falls with the tide. Eddie saw other boys sliding off towards an icy meadow bordering on it, and he thought he would go too. The ice formed an inclined plane; his feet slipped on its smooth surface, and down he went; he jumped up, but the blood from his nose, flowing over his face and coat, and staining the snow, frightened him, and he uttered a loud cry. The skaters were with him before his mother, though she was but a few steps away, for she could not move as quickly as they. It was pleasant to see their sympathy, and hear their kind inquiries. His mother soon comforted him; for he had not been cut by the ice as they feared. The blood from his nose testified to a pretty hard bump. He soon forgot the pain, and was as happy as ever. He will long remember his first sled ride on the river.

Why do you think, dear children, I have told you this story about a child whom you have never seen? I wanted to ask you, or rather have you ask yourselves, if you are willing, as Eddie was, to do as your mother thinks best? Much as he wanted to go on the river, he felt satisfied to do as his mother wished. I hope, when you know what your mother prefers, you will make up your minds to give up your own plans, and be happy in doing so.

I am not one of those who imagine children have no trials. I know their lives are not all bright and sunny. I have not forgotten being a child myself. Many a hard battle has to be fought with wrong feelings and wrong wishes; but never fear; resolve to conquer yourselves, and subdue every thing that is sinful. Every victory will make you stronger, and render it easier for you to do right. Will you try?

"If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again."

THE BIRDS AND THE SNOW-STORM.

The weather is warm and sunny. The snow of winter has disappeared. The grass is green, and growing finely. The early spring-flowers have opened their blossoms, and we all think summer is so near, that the cold weather must be over. The birds have thought so, too; for they are flying from tree to tree, singing most beautiful melodies, and peeping about, here and there, making arrangements for summer, and selecting places where to build their pretty nests.

But the wind blows chill again. The sky is clouded, and people begin to say, "I think we shall have another snow-storm." It is not long before the feathery flakes begin to descend. The earth is so warm that they scarce touch it before they are melted and absorbed. The snow continues to fall, the earth grows colder and colder, and soon it cannot melt the snow, but is itself chilled, and accepts it as a mantle. For three days the storm rages. The ground is as white as in mid-winter.

What is to become of the birds? They can find neither food nor shelter. It is painful to see them flying distractedly through the storm, not knowing where to go; but too cold and too hungry to remain in the trees, and too fearful to seek comfort in the many warm houses, that would have opened their windows, if they would have entered under their protecting roof.

Mrs. Dudley's children are all watching them from the windows, and throwing out hominy and bread-crumbs for them to eat. How cold the little sparrows look, as they pick up their food! Children's hearts are generally tender, and always so unless they have been hardened by the practice of cruelty, and Mrs. Dudley's were full of sympathy for the little sufferers. "Oh! mother!" said Eddie, the youngest, "if the birds knew how we loved them, they would come into the house;" but the birds did not know, and they stayed out in the snow, and many of them perished.

The children were sadly grieved, when, after the storm, they found many of their feathered friends dead. How much they regretted they could not have saved their lives! If the birds had only known, as Eddie said, how much the children loved them, they would have flown into the house, and been warmed and fed.

There are many dear children who do not know how much Jesus loves them; how much he wishes them to enter the "ark of safety," and escape the dangers there are in the world. There are many who have not even heard of him; and many of those who have, do not know he is their best friend.

Do _you_ know how much he loves you, and have you sought his protection amid all the dangers that surround you? If you have not found refuge in that "high tower," of which David speaks in the Psalms, you are no safer than were the birds flying through the cold snow, and you surely will be lost if you do not fly to that kind Saviour, who has prepared a way of escape for you.

THE FIRST STRAWBERRY.

How bright and red it looked, half-concealed as it was by the green leaves! It was the first strawberry of the season. Mary gathered it with delight, and ran with it to her mother.

"Here is something for you, mother," she said, holding up the rosy treasure.

"Thank you, my dear!" said Mrs. Dudley, smiling upon her daughter. She ate it with a double relish. She was very fond of the fruit, and she was gratified by this expression of the thoughtful, unselfish love of her dear child.

How much more Mary enjoyed that look of love, and that approving smile, than she would have enjoyed eating that luscious strawberry herself!

Every day, Mary, Willie, and Eddie search for the fruit as it ripens, and almost every evening their father and mother find a saucer of berries, with sugar and cream, beside their plates at the tea-table.

How pleasant it is to see children think so much of their parents! I hope they will continue obedient and attentive, for there is no more beautiful sight than an affectionate, united family.

God will bless those who honour their parents.

"I PRAYED ALL DAY FOR HELP."

It was a beautiful evening early in June. The air was cool and pleasant. The trees and shrubs were covered with luxuriant foliage, and the roses were in their opening beauty. The frogs were croaking in the pond, and the birds singing on the trees. The sun had just sunk beneath the horizon. The clouds which lingered around his pathway received his parting rays, and were most gorgeously decorated with the richest of his colouring.

Willie walked about the lawn, his face lighted up with a smile, and his dark gray eye bright with happiness. His heart was attuned to harmony with all nature around him, and he would frequently look up to his mother, who sat by the open window, enjoying the delightful evening. Presently Willie came, and stood by her side.

"How happy I am this evening!" he said to her. She put her arm around him, and drew him towards her.

"What makes you so happy?" she inquired.

"Because I have been trying to control my temper, I suppose"--was his answer.

"You have not been angry to-day, have you?"

"No, mother."

"Did you pray about it, Willie?"

"Yes, mother. I prayed all day for help."

"How did you pray?"

"I said, Forgive my sins, and give me a new heart."

"God heard your prayers, and he has helped you to control your temper. God always hears prayer, and helps those who ask his aid. I hope you will never forget to pray for what you need," said his mother. Willie smiled, and kissed her, and went out of doors again to enjoy the evening--

"So cool, so calm, so bright."

Willie is generally a good boy, but he has a quick temper. When three or four years old, he would sometimes get very angry. I have even known him to throw things at children with whom he was playing, if they did any thing to offend him. He did so one day when his mother was from home. She was much grieved when she heard it, and talked seriously with him. It made a deep impression on his mind. He speaks of it now with great solemnity, and asks his mother if she remembers it. He feels that he committed a great sin. He knows it is wrong to let his temper govern his reason, and he is struggling to control himself. I think he will succeed.

I knew his grandfather when I was a little girl, and I remember hearing him say that he was naturally quick-tempered; but, although I lived in the same house with him, and saw him under a great variety of circumstances, I never heard him speak a hasty word. I hope Willie will obtain as perfect control over himself, and, if he lives to manhood, that his friends will be able to say of him what I can say of his grandfather.

Willie was, at one time, playing with some children, and found he was growing angry. He immediately left them, and sat down on the stairs alone. Pretty soon they followed him. He did not feel entirely good-natured, so he again left them, and went into the library. He shut the door and prayed to his Father in heaven for strength to conquer himself. He remained there alone till he felt he had obtained the victory.

Willie is not the only little boy who has a quick temper, and I tell this story about him for the sake of the dear children who sometimes get angry. I hope, like Willie, they will learn to go to God for help, and then, like his, their countenances will be radiant with gladness; and they, too, can say, "How happy I am!"

"An angry man stirreth up strife, and a furious man aboundeth in transgression."

"He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."

"He that hath no rule over his own spirit, is like a city that is broken down, and without walls."

"EVER SO MANY BEAUTIFUL THINGS."

"There are ever so many beautiful things up in the sky, mother!" said little Eddie, as he sat in his mother's lap, leaning his head upon her encircling arm.

The clouds had gathered about the horizon, and assumed many beautiful and fantastic shapes. Some of them were gorgeously coloured with the rays of the departing sun, and were shaded from the most delicate rose to the darkest, richest crimson. As the sun receded farther and farther behind the green hills, they grew darker and darker, and the imaginative boy had seen fancied ships with their sails spread; steam-vessels with clouds of smoke rolling from their chimneys; mountains piled upon mountains; trees, birds, and many other wondrous things which filled his infant mind with admiration.

Soon the stars twinkled forth, and they awoke a new interest. At first they appeared one by one, as if timidly venturing to look down upon our beautiful planet, and when fully assured that the king of day had disappeared, they came forth faster and more numerously, till the whole heavens were bespangled with their glittering brightness. Then their companion, the moon, came slowly up, shining with a soft and mellow light, a new beauty in the "blue wilderness of interminable air."

Eddie had long gazed silently before he uttered the exclamation, "There are ever so many beautiful things up in the sky!" and I suppose he had many thoughts which it would have been pleasant for his mother to know. He did not often sit up so late that he could see the stars.

Eddie is not the only one who has been charmed with the glowing sunset, the gray twilight, or the starry firmament. David loved to look upon the works of God. In one of his psalms, he says, "When I consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained, what is man, that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man, that thou visitest him!" It was astonishing to David, that God, who was so infinitely superior to man, and who had given such proofs of his power and greatness in the creation of the heavens, should condescend to notice him, to provide for his minutest wants, and to protect him from danger. I suppose this psalm was written in the night, when the sweet singer of Israel had been looking at just such a sky as drew from Eddie his exclamation of admiration.

I often think, as I look abroad, how wonderful it is that God has made every thing so beautiful. We need never be weary in studying his works. The more we learn of them, the more we realize his greatness and perfection. "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork."

When you look at the clear blue sky, do you remember who has spread it out, and who has created the innumerable worlds which we see, when darkness covers our earth? "There are," indeed, "ever so many beautiful things up in the sky," and it was a Father's hand that placed them there. They are for us to enjoy, and many a lesson of love and confidence have they taught God's children. Dear little Eddie! I hope he will always love nature, and early learn to "look through nature up to nature's God."

I shall never forget a drive with my father, when I was a child so small that I sat on a little footstool in the carriage, between him and my mother. We were returning from a visit to Aunt Harriet, at whose house we had been spending the day. It was a fine evening. The air was balmy and pleasant. I remember how the frogs sung in the low ground, and how we listened to their quaint music. We had not ridden far before the moon rose, and the stars, one by one, appeared. My father had a true love for nature, and for whatever was beautiful or grand. We drove on without speaking for a time, each enjoying the evening. My father broke the silence by repeating that beautiful hymn of Addison's, commencing with these lines--

"The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim."

I was awed by the reverence of his manner, and I felt myself in the presence of my Maker,--a mere speck amid his vast creations. An ineffaceable impression was made on my mind, young as I was. My father died many years ago, while I was still a child, but the lesson of that hour has not been forgotten.

LILY AND HER DUCKLINGS.

The white duck, Lily, made a nest on the ground, in a small enclosure, from which some tame rabbits had been removed. She gathered the scattered straw into one corner, and made a much neater nest than the other ducks did, who laid their eggs under the wood-pile among the small chips.

She laid several large, smooth, white eggs, and when she had as many as she could conveniently take care of, she began to sit on them to keep them warm, till the little ducks should be ready to peck their way out. She plucked the soft white down from her breast, to line the nest, and to make it of a more even temperature for the eggs; and, whenever she left to procure food, or to take a short swim on the pond, she carefully covered them.

The duck cannot spread her wings as wide as the hen, so she has to be much more particular about her nest. She makes it deeper and warmer than Biddy. It is wonderful with what skill all animals rear their young. It shows the great goodness and kindness of God, that he should thus fit the creatures he has made for the duties they must perform. His care is continual, not only over us, but over them all. He hears the young ravens when they cry, and the ducks and the chickens are not forgotten by him. To the duck he has not given the brooding wings of the hen-mother; but he has given her a coat of down, from which she can make a warm bed for her cherished eggs.

It was a very pretty sight to see Lily on her nest, almost covered by the straw, her head turned back, and her broad yellow bill partially hidden beneath her wing. The down lay scattered about like snow-flakes. She looked patient and hopeful, as she opened her eyes to see who had intruded on her solitude.

When a sitting-duck goes in search of food, she acts so queerly that you would surely laugh to see her, if you are not accustomed to her odd ways. She bends her head back, and draws it close to her body, and waddles about in the greatest haste, quacking all the time.

Lily waited four weeks before the ducklings appeared. Some of the brood were of a straw-colour, and some were marked with spots of black. They were all pretty. When I first saw them, they were partly hidden beneath their mother. Their glossy bills and bright eyes were visible, but they were afraid to venture from their shelter. They were provided with water and food in the old rabbit-house, because, if they followed their mother to the pond, the musk-rats would probably devour some of them.

While the little ones remained with their mother, they were safe, but when they became discontented, and wandered from home, they were sometimes lost. The rats were their principal enemies, and those from which they had most to fear. They were constantly lurking about to catch the ducklings, and sometimes the defenseless little ones ran directly into their deep holes, from which there was no possibility of escape. Quite a number of Lily's family came to an untimely end in this way.

When I saw them roving about in the high grass, seeking in vain to find their way to their mother's presence, and hearing their calls for help, and her answering cry of distress, I could but think of the dear children who forget their mother's counsel, and leave her protection before they are old enough to take care of themselves.

The ducklings, I observed, did not know who were their friends; for, one day, when the prettiest of the brood had found a way out of the rabbit-house, I thought I would catch it, and give it back to its mother. It was much alarmed, and Lily was in equal trouble. It ran away from me, thinking, perhaps that I was a greater enemy than the rats, against which it had probably been warned. Just as I was going to put my hand on it, it hid itself in a rat-hole, from which there was no escape. I could not rescue it, neither could its mother. The next morning, when I went to look at the ducks, and give them their breakfast, there lay the poor duckling, close by the fatal hole. The rat had brought it out, and partly devoured it.

Children often think they know what is best for them quite as well, if not better, than their parents, and when told not to do this or that, they are not satisfied to obey quietly, but ask, "Why not?" I think children may often be told why they are bidden to do this, or forbidden to do that; but they should obey their parents promptly, whether they know their reasons or not.

Sometimes there are reasons which children cannot understand, sometimes there are reasons which it would not be wise to tell them, and sometimes it is not convenient to give the why and the wherefore. Children are commanded to obey their parents,--not the reasons their parents may give them. The young ducks could not understand why their mother did not wish them to go out of that enclosure. They could not comprehend the dangers which surrounded them. They saw the birds flying about in the air, and heard the hum of the bees as they were going abroad for honey, or returning loaded to the hive, and they could not understand why they might not wander about too. The red clover looked very beautiful, and the white clover was so fragrant, they longed to ramble in it. They thought their mother unnecessarily strict, because she wished to keep them with her, instead of permitting them to see all the pretty things of which they could now and then catch a glimpse, as they peeped through the cracks of the rabbit-house.

Children sometimes feel unpleasantly because they are not permitted to play in the street. Ah! they are as ignorant of danger as the poor ducklings and they are too young to understand the peril to which they are exposed. Even if their mother should explain it to them, they could realize but little about it. It is by far the better way for children to feel that their mother knows best, and to be satisfied that her reasons are good and sufficient even if they do not know what they are.

I once heard a distinguished clergyman say he had always observed that those persons who had learned to obey their parents promptly, most readily yielded to the claims of God, and became converted, while those who had always liked their own way had generally a long, severe struggle, before they were willing to give up their sins, and oftentimes could not make up their minds to do so, and, though deeply convicted, remained impenitent.

It is a fearful thought that, if you form a habit of disobedience to your parents, it may cost you the salvation of your soul.

PRAYING FOR RAIN.

It was the first of July. There had been no rain for several weeks. Every one feared there would be a drought. The farmer looked anxiously upon his fields of corn, whose deep green leaves had not yet begun to turn yellow, and upon the potatoes, whose blossoms were still unwithered. They could not long remain thus beautiful and thriving, if the refreshing rain was withheld. The ground was so dry that, in hoeing the garden, no moisture could be observed.

Mrs. Dudley talked with her children about the need of rain, and the propriety of praying to our heavenly Father to water the earth, that it might "bring forth and bud," and "give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater." She told them how Elijah prayed for rain, after there had been none in the land of Canaan for three years and six months, and how God heard his prayer, "and the heaven gave rain, and the earth brought forth her fruit."

This great drought was a judgment upon the people of Israel for their sin in departing from God, and worshipping idols. There had been, in consequence of this want of rain, a "sore famine." We read in the book of Kings of one poor woman, who had only a handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse. When Elijah met her, and asked her for water, and a morsel of bread, she told him this was all she had, and that she was gathering two sticks, that she might bake it for herself and her son, that they might eat and die! She know not where to find any more food for herself or her child, and expected to "pine away, stricken through for want of the fruits of the field," and to die with hunger.

Elijah bid her not to fear, but go and do what she had said. He asked her to make him a little cake first, and bring it to him, and afterwards make one for herself and son. "For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, the barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth."

It would not have been strange, if this widow of Zarephath had been unwilling to divide her handful of meal with Elijah, or if she had doubted the promise which was made to her, but she did not. She baked the little cake for the stranger, and afterwards one for herself and her boy, and there was plenty of meal and of oil left for another repast. "She, and he, and her house, did eat of it many days." The barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, till the Lord sent rain upon the earth, and her wants could be supplied in the usual way. She did not lose the reward promised to those who give a cup of cold water to the friends of God.

God does not willingly afflict the creatures he has made. He is a gracious God, merciful, and of great kindness, and has compassion even on the beasts of the field. When Jonah complained that he spared Nineveh, because its inhabitants humbled themselves before him, and turned from their evil way, after having sent him to prophesy to them that in forty days it should be overthrown, he said to Jonah, "Should I not spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than six-score thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left; and also much cattle?"

In this long drought in the land of Canaan, the cattle must have suffered greatly, and many of them probably perished. Indeed, we read that Ahab, the king of Israel, and Obadiah, the governor of his house, searched the land for the fountains and brooks, to find grass to save, the horses and mules alive, that they might not be all lost.

God is a Father, and, like a tender, loving father, he removes his chastisements so soon as they have produced the effect designed. He was "grieved for the misery of Israel." He told Elijah he would send rain. The prophet went to Ahab, who, when he saw him, asked, "Art thou he that troubleth Israel?" Elijah answered, it was Ahab, and his father's house, who troubled Israel, because they had forsaken the commandments of the Lord, and worshipped Baalim.

Elijah went up to the top of Mount Carmel, and earnestly prayed for rain. God had promised that he would send it, and Elijah no doubt pleaded this promise, as he interceded with him. He directed his servant to go where he could look towards the sea. He went and looked, and said, "There is nothing." Elijah was not discouraged. He knew God would remember his promise, and he sent him seven times more. The seventh time the servant returned, and said, "Behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand." It grew rapidly larger and larger, till the sky was black with clouds and wind, and there was a great rain.

James, in his Epistle, says, "The effectual fervent prayer of the righteous man availeth much," and he mentions this instance of prevailing prayer in Elijah, as an encouragement to all Christians to ask for needed blessings. "Elijah was a man subject to like passions as we are," he tells us, and if he prevailed with God, so may others. God is the "same yesterday, to-day, and forever." He does not change. He is always a hearer of prayer.

Mrs. Dudley also told her children that God hears the cry of all who are in distress. She referred to one of the psalms of David, where he describes a storm at sea, and the great terror of the sailors. "Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he delivers them out of their distresses."

God does not forget any creature he has made. He provides the springs and the streams to give drink to the beasts of the field, and to the birds which sing among the branches. He causes the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man. He feeds the fowls, and clothes the flowers with beauty. He has taught us to ask for our daily bread, and as this must depend upon fruitful seasons it is proper we should ask for rain, whenever it is needed.

The children were quite interested in what their mother had told them. They knew that she earnestly desired rain, and that she often asked God to send it, before vegetation perished for want of it. They watched the sky with great anxiety, and when it became cloudy, and continued so from day to day, they thought surely a storm was near. After several days, there was a slight shower, but not enough to refresh the plants. Mary was greatly disappointed "I thought," (she said to her mother,) "it was going to rain in answer to your prayer."

"I thank God for that little rain," said Eddy, as he talked about it. Mrs. Dudley told him that was right, but they ought to pray for more, it was so much needed.

The next Sunday Mrs. Dudley was not well, and could not attend church. When her children returned she asked Mary if they prayed for rain. "No, mother!" she answered; "but I did."

The sky continued cloudy for some time, and then the rain gently fell for a day and a night, and all nature was refreshed and cheered.

Soon afterwards I left Mrs. Dudley's family. When I had been absent about a fortnight, I received a letter from Mary. She told me about the bantams, and the flowers, and many other things in which I was interested. She wrote that it had "rained on Sunday, and all day Monday. I cannot help thinking," she continued, "how good God is to send us rain when we most need it, and what cause we have for thanksgiving."

I hope Mrs. Dudley's children will never forget that God is the giver of every good gift, and that he likes to have people ask him for what they need. Children should think of God as their best friend, and should go to him in prayer, feeling as sure he can and does hear them, as they are that their mother does. In a season of drought they should ask him for rain, and when he sends it to make vegetation grow, they should thank him for that evidence of his loving-kindness.

THE GRAPE-CLUSTERS.

Very beautiful were the grape-clusters as they hung on the graceful vine, and very tempting to the hand that was near enough to pluck them.

Two little boys came on an errand to the lady who lived in the house which the grape-vine shaded. It was reviving to come out of the city's heat and dust, and enter that pleasant parlour, screened from the fiercer rays of the summer's sun by its green curtain of leaves. The hot pavement and the glaring walls of the city seemed far distant, for the charm of the country was spread over that retired room. All city sights were shut out, and peace and quiet reigned within.

The lady was sitting at her desk, writing, when the boys entered. She spoke to them kindly, for they were objects of her kind care, although they did not live with her. They handed her a note which required an answer. She gave them permission to play in the yard, while she should write it. They were very happy, for it was an unusual pleasure for them. They examined the flowers which grew in the narrow bed by the high, close fence, and then they began to look wistfully at the rich bunches of grapes, which were within their reach. The lady had not told them that they might gather any, and they felt that they ought not to do so. But the tempter was near, and they listened to his suggestions.

Looking towards the house to see if they were observed, they cautiously went up to the vine, and each gathered a bunch of grapes. They ate them secretly, that they might avoid detection; but although they knew it not, there was an eye in the house that saw them, and there was another eye from which their act was not hid--the eye of the all-seeing God.

When the note was written, the boys were recalled to the parlour, and pleasantly dismissed. I think they must have felt somewhat ashamed, that they had abused the confidence reposed in them, and had been guilty of stealing from their kind friend.

After they left, the lady was informed what they had done. When she visited "the home," where they lived, she mentioned the fact to their teacher, although she did not allude to it to them.

The teacher took occasion to talk with her scholars about being honest and trustworthy, and asked them what they should think of children who, when sent on errands and permitted to go into the yard to enjoy themselves, should stealthily take the fruit which grew there. They, of course, condemned such conduct. She gave them the instruction they needed, and endeavoured to impress its importance upon their minds.

Soon after the close of the school, the two boys who had taken the grapes went to her and told her what they had done. She talked with them kindly. They seemed truly penitent. She asked them if they would like to go to the lady and acknowledge their fault. They said they should, and immediately they put on their straw hats, and their clean sacks, and went cheerfully to make all the reparation in their power for the fault they had committed. Confession is always pleasant to the truly penitent.

Again they stood in that shaded parlour. They were affectionately welcomed as before. They confessed freely and fully, what they had done on their previous visit, and asked forgiveness, which was readily granted. Just as they were leaving, they turned and inquired, "Can you ever trust us again?" The lady assured them that she could, and they went away happy and strengthened in their good purposes.

From that time there has been a marked change in the children. Their characters have much improved and they have been, in all respects, more conscientious and trustworthy. One of the boys has, I think, found a Christian home, and the other is waiting for one.

"IT ALMOST MAKES ME CRY."

"It almost makes me cry to think of the heathen," said Willie Dudley, as he was standing by his mother's work-table, with his elbow leaning upon it, and his head resting upon his hand. "I don't wonder missionaries go to them." His face was thoughtful and sad, and the tears stood in his eyes.

He had just been looking at two hideous idols, which had been brought from Africa, and his mother had been telling him that the heathen thought they were gods, and prayed to them.

Little Eddie wondered that any people could think these stone images were God. His large, blue eyes looked larger and rounder than ever, they were so filled with amazement at what he heard. He could only say, "Oh, mother! oh, mother!" in tones which indicated surprise, pity, and horror.

Mrs. Dudley told her children that the heathen had not been taught, as we have, that God is a spirit, and that they had never learned the commandment, "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in the heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them; for I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; and showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments."

"I don't wonder that the missionaries go to them," was the sentiment on the mind of Willie, as he thought of the ignorance and degradation of the heathen. He loved, himself, to hear about God, and our blessed Saviour, and he knew that God required a pure and spiritual worship. He knew God was the Creator of the world, and that his power and glory could not well be represented or conceived by man. He had often heard of the heathen, and had read about their idols, but to see and handle a stone head which had been actually an object of religious worship, made it seem much more real to him than ever before, that there are many people who have never learned to worship the true God.

Willie has always had a great reverence for his heavenly Father. Several years ago, he was reading a description of one of the idols of the Hindoos. The picture was disgustingly repulsive. He went to Mrs. Dudley with his book, saying, "Mother, I don't like to call g-o-d God here; I want to call it d-o-g, for I don't think it is right to call such a thing by that great name."

Perhaps Willie will some day be a missionary, and preach the glad tidings of salvation to those who are now sitting in darkness, and in the shadow of death. But if he is not a missionary himself, I trust he will never forget to do what he can for those who, far from their homes and their friends, are fulfilling Christ's last command, to "go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."

All Christians cannot be missionaries, but they can all do something to spread a knowledge of true religion throughout the world. They can contribute of their property to this noble purpose. Our heavenly Father accepts the smallest gift, offered in love. We, surely, who live in comfortable homes, and are surrounded by so much that is pleasant, should never forget those who, in foreign lands, are preaching the "unsearchable riches of Christ."