I saw such an unpleasing sight to-day! Two old, gray-headed men, their lips white with passion, clenching their fists in each other’s faces, and calling each other all the disagreeable names they could think of; while the bystanders looked on, laughed, took sides, and encouraged them to fight, for their own amusement. I could not laugh. I felt more like crying. These old men, with one foot in the grave, who seemed to have outlived everything but their own bad passions—it was a pitiable spectacle! Ah! said I, to myself, as I walked away, I am afraid there are two mothers somewhere (may be they are not alive now), who have been sadly to blame; or those respectable-looking old men would not be here, degrading themselves by a brawling street fight. I think, when they were little boys, that “I will!” and “I won’t!” must have been intimate friends of theirs (and very bad company they are, too). I think these fighting old gentlemen were allowed, when they were boys, to come and go when and where they liked, and to lie abed till ten o’clock in the morning, till breakfast was all cold, and then stamp and kick till they got a hot one. I think, when they neglected to get their lessons, and were, very properly, reproved for it, at school, that their mamma thought it was dreadful bad treatment, and took them away; and I think that, when she sent them to another school, they often played truant; and then told the teacher that they had been sick. I think they were stuffed with pies, and cake, and candy, and I think they called upon poor, tired servant girls to brush and black their shoes, when they should have learned to do it themselves. I think, when their sisters asked them to go of any little errand, they roughly replied, “Do it yourself!” I think, when their mothers said, “John (or Thomas) go to the grocer’s for me, that’s a good boy!” that they replied, “How much’ll you give me if I go?” and then, I think, when their mother gave them a three-cent piece, that they pouted, and said that they wouldn’t go, without they could have sixpence. That is the way such gray-haired old men as I saw fighting in the street to-day, are made.
THE LITTLE PRINCES.
“As happy as a king—as happy as a queen!” Ah! what thoughtless words are these! The tall pine rocks to and fro, and struggles with the fierce winds and storms; one by one, its beautiful green branches are torn off, and in an unexpected moment comes the terrible lightning flash, scorching its very heart, and leaving it but a blackened cinder. All the time the little flower at its feet sleeps, secure in its sweetness, its very lowliness its surest safeguard and protection. Do you never think of this when you envy the rich and the great? Perhaps you are poor, and meanly clad, and poorly fed; and it seems to you that God is not good and just, to make such a difference between you and another child of your own age, who seems to be born only to have everything it wants, and to rule over others? Have you never, when walking in the field, spied upon some rocky height, a gaudy flower, which you imagined to be sweet-scented and beautiful? Have you never torn your clothes, and sprained your limbs, and nearly put your eyes out with briers, to get it, only to find it, when obtained, nauseous, and full of thorns? Have you never chased the brilliant butterfly over the meadows, till your breath gave out, only to hold in your rash hand, after the eager, weary chase, but a handful of glittering dust?
Well, just like this is human greatness, seen at a distance—just so unsatisfactory its possession. Now, I suppose, you sometimes sit down and dream with your eyes open, what you would like to be when you grow up. I know I did, when I was a child. I don’t remember that I ever wished to be great or celebrated; I never cared for that, and I care for it now less than ever; but I wanted to be loved, oh! so much—so much! I forgot that they whom I loved might die, or change, and so, you see, my house, built upon the sand, was as likely to tumble over as they who desire greatness. But I used to hear my little companions say, Oh, if I were a prince or a princess! and I suppose children now-a-days wish the same wishes as then; for childhood is childhood, while it lasts, all the world over, with its blue skies, and rosy clouds, and angel dreams—never seeing the dark cloud in the distance; never hearing the low, muttered thunder, or seeing the brief lightning flash. And oh! it is well that it is so, else the little bud would not dare to unfold its bright leaves; but would close them tightly round its little, fragrant heart, and shrivel up in its green inclosure, and drop from the stem, before the world had praised God for the gift of its sweetness.
Perhaps you think princes and princesses are happy? Let me tell you the story of two little princes.
They had lived in a great deal of splendor in a beautiful palace—had plenty of rich clothes, plenty of toys, plenty of little ponies in the stable to ride, plenty of servants to wait on them, and to do whatever they wished; and I suppose the poor little things thought it would always be so. But kings have enemies as well as friends, and so had their father; and these enemies grew more numerous, and wished that the father of these little princes were dead; and after a while they succeeded in having things their own way, and the king was sentenced to have his head cut off. Ah! it was not well to be a little prince then! for little princes, if they live long enough, will one day be kings, you know, unless they are put out of the way; and so these bad men thought. Therefore, when their father was led out to be beheaded, these cruel wretches forced the little princes to see it done, and then took their father’s blood, and sprinkled it upon their bright, fair locks, and upon their little garments. And then they took them, although they had committed no crime, unless it was a crime to be the children of this king whom they hated, and put them in prison. This was bad enough; but they did worse than that. They shut them each up in a separate cage, made very broad at the top, but narrowed down to a point at the bottom, so that the little prisoners could neither stand straight, nor sit, nor lie down; and then they fastened them in. The elder of these little boys was but eight years old, and the other only six. Just fancy it! The only comfort they had, was to put their arms through the bars of their cages, and hold each other by the hand.
“We cannot live this way long,” said little Frank, the younger, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Would papa like to see you cry?” asked Henri. “Do you not see,” said the courageous child, “that they treat us like men of whom they are afraid; let us not, then, act like babies.”
So little Frank dried his tears, as his brother bade him; and they talked about the beautiful palace they used to live in, and the fountains, and the groves, and the gardens; and tried to imagine themselves back there, and so to forget their troubles; but, after all, it was dreary work.
One day, a little mouse peeped out of its hole in the lonely dungeon. I dare say you have often run away from a mouse, or else wanted to have it killed, or taken away; but then you were never shut up in a dungeon, with nobody to care for you, else you would feel as these little prisoners did, and have been glad to see even a friendly mouse. At first the mouse was afraid, and ran back to its hole at sight of the little princes. They called and called, and coaxed it to come back, for they were very weary of their cages, and of having nothing to do, day after day. Besides, their cramped limbs ached badly, and it was hard work to bear pain of body as well as pain of mind, and have no one to say, I am sorry for you, dear child. At last the little children thought of throwing out a few crumbs of their prison bread. The little hungry mouse understood that, and ventured out, and by and by, after a few days, he would climb up into their cages, and eat from their hands.