Cheerful Cherry;
OR, MAKE THE BEST OF IT.
“Oh dear me,” said Frederic; “how the wind does blow! It will take my hat off and throw it into the pond! I wish it wouldn’t blow so!”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” said little Philip, set agoing by the cries and complaints of his elder brother; “Oh dear, naughty wind, blow Philip away!”
“How it does rain!” said Frederic.
“Oh how it rain!” said Philip.
“Oh dear, I’m so wet!” said Frederic.
“Oh! Philip all wet!” said the little boy.
“Nonsense, nonsense,” said Geraldine; “don’t mind the wind and the rain. Why, Freddy, you should be more of a man. Philip, my dear, it won’t hurt you to get a little wet. You are not made of sugar, child! We’ll run home as fast as we can, and if you get wet I’ll put you on a nice dry apron, and a dry gown, and you will be all right again. Come along! Don’t mind the storm, Freddy. Always make the best of it. We’ll soon get home!”
Thus cheered by their sister, who was considerably older than themselves, the children scampered towards the house as fast as their little feet could carry them. On the way, Freddy’s hat was taken off by the wind, and away it went, hop, skip, jump, across the field. Geraldine, or Cherry, as she was familiarly called by the family, left Philip, and gave chase to the runaway hat. It was a funny race, for the hat really seemed as if it was alive, and having gained its freedom, was determined to take final leave of its proprietor. At one time it rolled along edgewise, like a hoop, and then it leaped from a little eminence, and skimmed away on the wind, like a hawk with expanded wings. At last, it seemed to pause for a moment, and Cherry, who was close upon it, reached out her hand to take it. But just then a puff of wind lifted it high in the air, whirled it round and round, and with a determined sweep, cast it into the edge of the pond.
Cherry still pursued, and nothing daunted by the water, in she went, and seizing the truant hat brought it safely to land. It was dripping with water when she gave it to Frederic, who, greatly distressed at the unaccountable behavior of his hat, stood crying where Cherry had left him. Philip was at his side, and encouraged by the example of his brother was crying at the top of his little lungs.
“Don’t cry, Freddy! don’t cry, Philip!” said Cherry; “there’s no harm done!”
“I say there is,” said Frederic; “it’s all wet!”
“Oh dear, it’s all wet, it’s all wet!” said Philip.
“Oh poh!” said Cherry; “that’s nothing; always make the best of it, Frederic! We’ll soon be home now: don’t stop to cry about it—come! come! We’ll be all safe in a few minutes, and then what a laugh we’ll have! We’ll tell mother all about it—how the rain and the wind came, and how Fred’s hat ran away, and jumped into the pond, and how I dove in to get it! Come on! come on!”
Thus cheered and encouraged, the children hurried forward, and were shortly safe at home. By the time they arrived there they had been put in good spirits by Cherry, and instead of weeping and wailing about their adventures and mishaps, they laughed about them very heartily, and told the story to their mother with the greatest glee.
“Oh mother,” said Frederic; “we have had such a funny time!”
“Oh! mamma, funny time!” said little Philip, determined to have his share in the glory.
“Oh yes,” said Frederic; “it rained big drops, and it blew a hurricane.”
“Yes,” said Philip, impatient to speak; “a hallycane, a great big hallycane, as big as a barn!”
“Yes, mother,” continued Frederic; “and the hurrycane took my hat, and it went whirling along just like a hoop, and then it went a great way up into the air, and then it went right down into the pond, and ’twould have drownded if Cherry had not gone into the pond, and got it out.”
“Yes, so ’twas,” said Philip; “Freddy’s hat went right into the pond, and was all drownded, and Cherry was all drownded, and the hallycane was all drownded, and the pond was all drownded, and everything was all drownded, and it was all so funny!”
This eloquent speech of little Philip’s caused a merry laugh in the party—the mother and Cherry and Frederic all joining in it—and Philip was so cheered by the applause, that, like an orator of the stump, he went on in the same strain, raising his voice, and throwing up his hands, until he was quite out of breath.
Thus the disagreeable adventure of the morning, instead of being a source of sorrow and vexation, was turned into a pleasant channel, and it was a long time remembered as the occasion of agreeable recollections.
Now it will be seen by the reader, that Cherry, through her cheerfulness, by making the best of it, drew pleasure and mirth out of circumstances, which, in most cases, would have been sources of trouble and sorrow. Nor was this all: for she taught her little brothers that even misfortunes, met by gaiety of heart and cheerfulness of mind, cease to be misfortunes, and are turned into blessings. And Cherry’s example may teach us all that cheerfulness has a power that can transform many of the evils, accidents, and adversities of life into sources of positive pleasure.
If this virtue of cheerfulness, then, have such a wonderful power, why should we not all cultivate it? It is certainly worth more than silver and gold, for these cannot insure happiness: we may still, though we possess riches, be ill-tempered, discontented, malicious, envious, and consequently miserable. But cheerfulness chases out these bad passions from the heart, and leaves it peaceful and happy. Cheerfulness is like sunshine: it clears away clouds and storms and tempests, and brings fair weather over the soul.
This subject is so important, that I propose to tell my young reader something more about Cheerful Cherry; thus hoping to impress her example on the mind, and render the lesson I would teach enduring and effectual.
Cherry’s father, whose name was Larkin, removed from his home in the country, and lived in Boston, where he pursued the business of a merchant. Now, when spring comes, we all know that it is a delightful thing for city people to get out into the country, where they can see the green fields, gather wild flowers, and hear the birds sing.
Well, two or three years after the storm I have described, once when spring had come, Mr. Larkin told his children, on a Friday evening, that it was his intention to take the whole family in a carryall, the next day, to Chelsea Beach, about five miles from Boston. This promise delighted the children very much, for they wanted to go into the country, and above all they wished to go to Chelsea Beach. Frederic was in ecstasies, and Philip, as usual, echoed his older brother’s thoughts, words and feelings.
When it came time to retire to bed, the two boys could not go to sleep for a long time, so excited were they by their hopes and wishes and expectations for the morrow. At last they sunk to repose, but they woke as early as the lark, and talked of their enterprise till the time came to be dressed, and go down to breakfast.
What was the disappointment of the family, and especially of Frederic and Philip, to find that the weather was chill, cloudy and rainy, so as entirely to forbid the idea of taking the proposed excursion! Frederic pouted, and Philip cried.
“Oh dear, dear, dear!” said Frederic; “I wish this ugly rain would stop!”
“Oh dear,” said Philip; “wish ugly rain go away!”
“Father,” said Frederic; “why can’t we go to Chelsea Beach?”
“Why, it rains very fast! my son,” was the reply.
“Well, I don’t mind that! we can go as it is.”
“Certainly you wouldn’t go in such a storm?”
“Yes I would: I don’t care for the storm!”
Such was the reply of Frederic, and nothing could be said by his father or mother, to pacify him or little Philip. They both became sulky, and were sent out of the room. Cherry now came to them, and began to talk in her cheerful way with them.
“Why, what’s the matter now?”
“We want to go to Chelsea Beach; father promised to take us there,” said Frederic.
“Yes,” said Cherry; “he promised to take us, but it was under the idea that it would be pleasant weather. I am as sorry as you are not to go. I wished very much to pick up some shells along the beach; and to see the blue ocean; and to observe the white gulls, skimming and screaming over the water; and to watch the vessels, with white sails, gliding by in the distance. I love the ocean, and every time I see it, it makes my heart beat, as if I had met some dear friend, whom I had not seen for a long time.”
“And so do I love the ocean, and wish this dirty rain had kept away,” said Frederic, with a very sour face.
“And so do I love the ocean, and the rain is very naughty!” said Philip, in the same temper as his brother; for it is to be observed that one child is very apt to reflect the feelings of another.
“Well, well!” said Cherry; “you may call the rain all the hard names you please: you cannot mend the matter. The rain does not come or go at your bidding. Do you know who makes the rain, Frederic?”
“Yes, God makes it,” was the answer.
“Yes, my dear brother,” said Cherry; “God makes it rain, and do you think it right to bestow hard words upon that which is God’s work? Is it right to grumble or complain on account of what God is doing?”
“I did not think of that!” said Frederic.
“I know you did not,” said his sister; “if you had thought of it, I am sure you would not have spoken so: but we ought always to consider that what God does is right, and instead of grumbling at it, we should feel cheerful and content; knowing that what he does is not only always right, but for the best. Now I wish to show you that in this case, it is for the best that it should rain.
“You know that it is now spring: that is, all the buds of the trees, and flowers, and seeds, are now springing forth. Well, these things all need rain, for it is as necessary that they should have drink, as that little children should. Now God looks down upon the earth, and he sees millions and millions of buds, lifting up their heads, and asking for drink. The sun has been shining very warmly for several days, and all the plants, the grasses of a hundred kinds, the roses, the dandelions, the lilacs, the daphnes, the leaves of the trees—all, all are thirsting for water, and these myriad children of God look up to him and ask him for rain. And God says, ‘Let there be rain!’ and the rain begins to fall, and the leaves, and grasses, and plants, and shrubs, and trees are rejoicing; when, lo! Frederic Larkin comes forth, and calls out, ‘Stop, stop, rain! or I can’t go to Chelsea Beach!’”
Here Frederic smiled, and though he felt the absurdity and unreasonableness of his conduct, he was silent, and Cherry went on as follows: “You see, Frederic, how very important it is that we should have rain; for without it the grass and grain would perish, and we should perish too for the want of food. The rain that falls to-day, will probably be the cause of producing food enough for ten thousand people a whole year: and you, just for the sake of going to Chelsea Beach, would prevent all this good; you, for a day’s pleasure, would make ten thousand people starve.”
“But I didn’t think of all this,” said Frederic.
“I know you did not,” said Cherry; “and I am not complaining of you; I am only telling you these things, so that when the rain comes in the way of your pleasure or your plans, you may see that it is all for the best. If, instead of looking out for causes of discontent, we would always regard the bright side of things, we could never fail of finding something to make us cheerful.
“Now as it regards this matter of the rain, if any one had the power of putting it off, we should never have any rain, and therefore all the living things in the world would starve. You would put it off to-day, because you want to go to Chelsea Beach: somebody else would put it off to-morrow, for then he would want to go there, or somewhere else. The next day some other person would put it off; and so it would be put off and put off, till all plants would perish, and the earth would become a scene of desolation.
“Now God, instead of entrusting so important a matter as rain to us short-sighted human beings, has kept it in his own hands: and now tell me, Frederic, are you not satisfied, nay, happy that he has done so?”
“Yes, I am,” said Frederic; “I did not mean to complain of God.”
“I know you did not, my dear brother,” said Cherry; “and what I am now saying is not designed to rebuke you, but to make you take a right view of this matter; for if you will do this, you will be able, even when your favorite plans are thwarted by the dispensations of Providence, to turn the sources of disappointment into sources of peace and content. When we find our schemes marred, our wishes defeated by the weather, or some other event of Providence, we can reflect that it is best that it should be so; it is best, as well for others as ourselves; and this conviction, if it is sincere, will reconcile us to every disappointment.”
By such talk as this, Cherry soon put her little brothers in good humor; partly by making them forget the cause of their vexation, and partly by making them feel and see that it is right that God should rule the weather, and that his creatures should cheerfully submit to his doings. Beside all this, they had now acquired some new ideas, and these were a source of diversion. Frederic himself went to the window, and looking across the street, saw there a climbing rose, against the side of the house, just putting forth its rosy buds; and, for the first time in his life, it seemed to him one of the children of God, looking to its heavenly Father for water: and thus it was that the rose acquired a new interest in his eyes; he now saw that it was an object for which even God had cared.
He also reflected upon the vastness of God’s works, as compared with those of man; for while God was sending his clouds to quench the thirst of myriads of plants, and provide for millions of animated beings, he was only thinking of himself and his ride to Chelsea Beach.
After Frederic had been standing at the window for some time, Cherry, who had been out of the room, returned, and sitting down, called Frederic to her side, and said that she would tell him a story. He therefore seated himself, and she proceeded as follows:—
“In Europe there is a country called Greece, the people of which, two or three thousand years ago, believed in a deity whom they called Jove. The people fancied that he lived up in a tall mountain, called Olympus, and from this place issued forth his decrees. They believed that he ruled over the earth; that he made the clouds; and bade them go forth to water the earth; that he made the thunder and the lightning, and commanded them to display his power; that he made the sun, and required it to rise upon the world, giving light and heat to its inhabitants. Now I will tell you a sort of fancy story, founded upon these notions of the ancient Greeks. At the foot of mount Olympus, there was a little village, the people of which were always grumbling at the weather. It was always too wet or too dry, too hot or too cold. Even when the weather was appropriate to the season of the year, there were some persons in the village always finding fault with it. If Jove sent a shower of rain, it always produced dissatisfaction and disappointment to some of the people. Some wished to go a fishing, and the rain interfered. Some wished to proceed on a journey, and they were disappointed. Some wished to work in their fields—some to go on excursions of pleasure, and the rain prevented the execution of their several plans.
“Now the murmurs of this people came to the ears of Jove, and he determined to show them their folly. Accordingly he sent them a messenger, called Mercury,—a lively little fellow, with wings at his shoulders and his heels, which enabled him to fly very swiftly, and execute his master’s commands with despatch.
“Mercury flew to the village, and told the people that Jove, having heard their complaints, had concluded to resign his government over the weather, and give it up to them; that, accordingly, he had commanded the clouds and the rain, the thunder and the lightning, the sun and the wind, the heat and the cold to obey the inhabitants of the village.
“This annunciation was received by the people of the village with the greatest demonstrations of joy. They assembled in the street of the place, and bade Mercury take back their thanks to Jove, their benignant master. Mercury promised to do this; ‘but,’ said he, ‘I have one thing more to communicate: that all may be satisfied, it is Jove’s decree that you must be unanimous in your proceedings. The sun will not rise while one individual opposes it: nor will it rain till every one is ready; and in fact, all the business of making the weather must stop, until all are prepared.’ The people, considering this as a new evidence of Jove’s justice and mercy, shouted aloud in their exultation, and Mercury departed to report the reception of his message to his master.
“It was evening when Mercury went away. The next morning, at the usual hour, the greater part of the people arose, but the sun did not appear as before. It was the time of summer, and the hour of sunrise was four o’clock. But now it was nine, and the sun had not risen. This caused a good deal of confusion in the village; the farmers wished to be at work in their fields; the dairy women wished to milk their cows; the traveller to set out on his journey; the fisherman to go to his nets; but all were prevented by the total darkness. The fact was that there were some lazy people in the village, and the sun had always risen too early for them; so now they determined to snooze it out; and consequently it was not till twelve o’clock that all could agree to have the sun rise; so that about half the day was lost.
“This was only the beginning of trouble; for when the sun was up, it was difficult to get all to agree when it should set; and thus everything was thrown into confusion. Similar difficulties occurred in regard to everything else. The people could not all agree to have a brisk wind for several months; in consequence of which fevers began to visit the place, and pestilence swept off numbers of the inhabitants. Nor could they agree upon any particular day when all were ready to have it rain; so that at last, when they did agree, the rain was too late, and everything was parched up; and the crops were cut off, and the cattle died, and the people came near starving to death. Nor could they agree upon the degree of heat that was required for vegetation; for many people did not like hot weather, and so it was kept very cold; and this was another reason why famine came upon the land.
“After having tried the experiment for a year, and finding that more than one half the people of the village had perished, and that the rest were very miserable, those that remained signified their wish to communicate with Jove. Accordingly Mercury came to them, and the people desired him to take back to his master the power he had placed in their hands. ‘Tell him,’ said the people, ‘that we are now satisfied that Jove is wiser than we; and that it is in mercy, and not in judgment, that he has ruled over the weather. We wish to restore things to their former condition; for we believe that it is best for man that there should be a providence, whose ways are above our ways, and whose thoughts are higher than our thoughts.’”
“This allegory,” continued Cherry, “may teach you, Frederic, what I have before said, that things are better managed as they are, than if confided to men: and instead of grumbling at the ways of providence, we should submit to them in cheerfulness, regarding them as the ways of a Father, who knows the wants of his creatures, and tenderly regards their happiness.”
“This is all very well,” said Frederic; “and I thank you for it, Cherry; but I am afraid I shall never be like you. Pray how is it, Cherry, that you make yourself so cheerful?”
“By making the best of everything, Fred!”
“But everybody cannot do this,” was the reply.
“Yes they can, my dear Frederic; I know they can. I used to be whimsical and capricious, myself—sometimes sweet and sometimes sour; but our good grandmother, who is now dead, used to talk to me, and she taught me better. She once told me a little story, which made a great impression on my mind, and I began to practise on the plan suggested by that story. At first I found it difficult, but after a while it came more easy; and now it is my custom to be cheerful: it is my habit to take pleasant views of things. When any disagreeable event occurs, I repeat the title of the story my grandmother told me—‘Always make the best of it;’ and this puts me in a right frame of mind, and so I do make the best of it. All this is easy to me now, for it is easy to do that which habit has rendered familiar. Our habits are of our own making; so, if a person wishes to render cheerfulness easy, he has only to cultivate the habit of being cheerful.”
“It must be a good story that can do such wonderful things,” said Frederic; “pray tell it to me, Cherry.”
“With all my heart,” said Cherry; and so she went on as follows:—
“ALWAYS MAKE THE BEST OF IT;
“A FAIRY TALE.
“In a far-off country a youth set out upon a long journey. One day, as he was travelling along a dusty road, he became very hot, and having proceeded a great distance, he grew fatigued, and at last angry and impatient. ‘Confound this dust and heat!’ said he; ‘I wonder why it must be so hot and dusty to-day, just as I am obliged to travel over this road. Why, it’s enough to melt an ox!’
“Thus complaining of the heat and dust, the youth worked himself up into a fury, so that he became hotter than ever, and it seemed as though he would choke from the influence of dust, heat and passion. Just at this moment, a lively little woman, with bright blue eyes and flaxen hair, stepped out from the road-side, and joining the youth unasked, walked along with him. The two soon fell into conversation, and the youth’s mind being diverted in some degree from his troubles, he forgot the evils which had disturbed him before. Taking counsel of his companion, he walked a little slower; avoided the deep sand in the path, and chose his way along the turf by the roadside; amused himself with thinking of something beside his toil; and thus he forgot his cares, and mitigated the labors of his journey.
“After a while, the little woman left the youth, and with a lightened heart he proceeded on his journey. He wished very much to get to a certain tavern to lodge for the night; so he travelled late in the evening. At last it grew very dark, and the youth once more became impatient. ‘I wonder why it need to be so horrid dark just now!’ said he. ‘Why, it’s black as Egypt!’ Thus talking to himself, and working his feelings up to a considerable pitch of discontent, he became careless, and ran against a post by the road-side. In an instant he fell to the ground, and as he was getting up he heard the little woman by his side.
“‘Never mind, never mind!’ said she; ‘it’s pretty dark, but still we can see well enough if we are careful and patient. This accident arose from your indulging your passions, which always tend to make us blind.’ Saying this, the little lady took the youth’s hand, led him into the middle of the path, and directing him to be of good cheer, left him to proceed on his way.
“The youth had not gone far, when he saw something before him which seemed to be a mighty giant, standing by the road, and stretching its long arms almost across the sky. He looked at it steadily for some time: at one moment it seemed to be a windmill, and then again it seemed to be a giant. He was a good deal perplexed, and though his reason told him that it must be a windmill, for there are no such creatures as giants; still his fears got the better of him, and he stopt short in the road, afraid to proceed any further.
“While he stood here, his teeth beginning to chatter with terror, he heard the voice of the little woman, close in his ear. No sooner did he hear her tones, than his alarm vanished, and shame for his fears came over him. He immediately set forward, and the woman keeping along with him, they soon came close to the place where the occasion of his terror stood. There it was, an honest old windmill, standing perfectly still, and as little like a giant as possible!
“‘You see,’ said the little woman, ‘how we get cheated, when our fancies get led away by our apprehensions.—Fear is always an unsafe guide, especially in the dark; for then it can turn a windmill into a giant, or a bush into a ghost.’
“Having said this, the lively woman departed, and the youth soon reached the town in which he was to lodge. At the inn where he put up, he had a poor bed, and this vexed him very much. While he lay upon it, fretting and keeping himself awake with his murmurs, he heard the little woman’s voice, and looking up, there she was before him! ‘Lie down,’ said she—‘lie down!—and instead of magnifying the evils of your condition, consider that thousands are worse off than you. Your bed is small and rather hard, but how many are there that have no bed at all!’
“Doing as he was bid, the youth lay down, and closed his eyes, and was soon buried in sweet repose. The next morning, much refreshed, he arose and proceeded on his way. He travelled steadily until toward evening; being then much fatigued, and finding the road exceedingly rough, he became discouraged. So he sat down by the way-side, and gave himself up to despair. While he sat here, wailing at his fate, the lively woman leaped out from some bushes, and placed herself before him. ‘Courage, courage, my friend!’—said she, cheerily; ‘you have done a good day’s work to-day, and the place of rest, for the night, is near at hand. Then do not give way to despondence! Think not of the evils that you have suffered, or of those that lie before you: dwell rather upon the good things in your condition. Remember how much you have done—and how little remains to do, before sleep will restore strength to your limbs and courage to your heart.’
“Saying this, the bright-eyed lady lifted the youth from the ground, and reanimated him by her voice; he then left her, and proceeded cheerfully on his way. Soon he reached the place where he was to sleep for the night, and here he was soon buried in peaceful dreams.
“The next day the youth proceeded on his journey—and for several days he continued to pursue it, until at last he had nearly reached the point to which he was bound. On every occasion when his courage had failed—when fatigue had oppressed him, or when difficulties had stared him in the face—the little lady, of flaxen hair and bright blue eyes, had come to his aid, and, chasing away his despondence, had given him new courage to proceed. As the youth came in sight of the city to which he was travelling, she appeared once more, and addressed him for the last time.
“As he was about to bid her farewell, his heart smote him at the idea of parting with her forever. ‘My dear lady,’ said he, while he kissed her hand tenderly; ‘I owe you much more than my tongue can speak. You have watched over me in this long and tedious journey; you have lightened my burthen, cheered my fatigues, chased away my fears, and given me courage in the place of despondence. But for you, I had long since lain down and died in the path; or had lingered in misery by the way. Would that I could induce you to live with me forever.’
“‘That may not, cannot be!’ said the lady, as a smile passed over her face; ‘that may not be. I am not of flesh and, blood, like you: I am a fairy—my form is but a thing of hues like the rainbow, that seems a bridge leading from earth to heaven, and yet is baseless as a dream.’
“‘Lovely fairy,’ said the youth, kneeling; ‘pray tell me your name; and oh, if it be possible, tell me the art by which you have taught me to conquer difficulties, to rise above doubt, to triumph over indolence, murmuring, and despondency!’ The fairy replied as follows:—
“‘Listen, youth—for I tell you an important secret. My name is Cheerfulness, and all my art lies in a single sentence: Always make the best of it.’ So saying, the fairy departed, and was seen by the youth no more; but he now perceived the force of the fairy’s words, and practising accordingly, he soon possessed the great art of securing happiness, and of making himself agreeable to others.”
Caution.—As you would air a bed carefully, that has been slept in by one afflicted with an infectious disease, so be very considerate before you place confidence in a lawyer.