Boys and girls should do the same. They should not want to reach the man in the moon, but try to make the best of what they have. They may be sure that to be good and do as they are bid, will give them more joy than the most bright things they could find in the moon.
FRANK HART.
There is in this world one grief of a kind so sad that there are some who have not heard of it—there are still more who have not felt it.
This is the grief of a young child when he feels that he who ought to be his best friend—he who ought to love him more than all else love him—he who ought to soothe all his pains, and be glad at all his joys,—that he has no thought, no care, no love for him; and what is far worse than this, who chills the pure first thoughts of a young child's mind, and turns such thoughts to pain.
Let all those who have not heard of grief so great as this, joy and be glad; but let them, while they dwell with thanks on their own lot, think and feel for the lot of poor Frank Hart.
Mr. Hart was a man who did not know the rule of self. He had not been taught this rule when he was young, and when he grew up to be a man, self had full rule over him.
His young ones, for he had more than Frank, felt this fault hard to bear. So great was their fear of Mr. Hart, that when he was in the room they did not dare to speak, or to laugh, or to move. Had they a book in hand, they did not dare to turn the leaves, for fear that they might be heard; nor could they leave the room, for their shoes might creak, or the door might make a noise.
Thus would these poor things sit, till (sound of joy!) the well known, and at times the long sought for sound, the push of Mr. Hart's chair, told them he would soon be gone. Then the door would shut; and no shut of door could bring more ease and joy than the shut of that.
He was gone! and these young ones, freed from such chains as few so young have felt, would rise up from their chairs and jump, in proof that they were free; and though they might not speak a word, each knew what was felt by all.