“My child,” said his mama, who watched him at his sorrowful task, “if you had taken half the trouble for bunny, when alive, as you do now he is dead, he would have been alive now.”
“Yes, yes, dear mama,—I know—I know; but do tell me, pray do—will not rabbits go to heaven? Is there not some place where they can be happy? I hope my poor bunny may!” and here the little fellow sobbed again.
“Give me a kiss, my dear boy,” said his mama; come leave this spot: and so she gently led him away from the rabbit’s grave.
JULIA MARTIN.
In many of the little coves and bays on the coast of Cornwall, small villages may be found—the dwellings of fishermen, their wives, and families. Here, perhaps, they have lived from the time they were born, without a thought or a wish, as far as the land is concerned, beyond the narrow place in which they dwell. The sea is the great object of their cares, for it contains the means by which they live. By the fish which they catch in it, they are provided with meat, drink, and lodging: and too often is the sea their grave. The poor men lead a hard and anxious life in their fishing pursuits; and are often tempted to risk their lives, rather than give up a chance, when a favorable shoal of fish may be expected. The women mostly spend their time in making and mending nets, and drying and salting the fish. Even the children may be always found employed about fish in some way or other. The very young make playthings of the bones; those about ten or eleven assist their mothers in curing fish; and all, both old and young, feed, with a relish never lost, on the finny tribe. It is a pretty sight, on a fine sunny day, to see the seine, or net, drawn in on the white pebbly beach: it contains, perhaps, many hundreds of fishes, tinted with all the colors of the rainbow. The various families to whom the net belongs crowd down to the shore for their share of the fish; for, as the net costs a great deal of money, the price is divided, perhaps, between half a dozen owners. During the winter season, should there have been any failure in the fishing, great hardships are sometimes felt by these poor people. The stock of salt fish is done; potatoes are dear, and money to buy bread is but scarce. The patience and self-denial shown under such privations is truly to be admired, and might furnish a useful lesson to those whom it had pleased God to provide, at all seasons, with every thing that can make life pleasant; and who are too apt to complain if some of the lesser means of their enjoyment are cut off by a hard winter season.
THE FISHERMEN.
Rosecreay, one of the fishing villages we have been describing, was fortunate, during a very severe winter, in having near it a very charitable lady, who had taken a house which for many years had been without an inmate.