Now here come a parcel of fellows in white tights, tight as their skin, tumbling head over heels, up side down, standing on each others’ heads, and cutting up untold and untellable capers. I must say their strong limbs are quite beautiful, just as God intended limbs should grow, just as I hope yours will grow, one of these days, though I think it may be done without your being a circus tumbler. See how nimble they are, and how like eels they twist and squirm about, leaping on each others’ shoulders like squirrels, leaping down again, running up tall poles and sitting on the top and playing there with half a dozen balls at once, which are tossed up at them from below. It is really quite wonderful, and yet I can’t help thinking had they taken as much pains to learn something really useful, as they have to learn to be funny, how much good they might do; for, after all, a monkey, or a squirrel, or an ourang-outang could do all that quite as well as a man, who is so much superior to them, quite as gracefully, and without any teaching, too; but, bless me, a circus is no place to think, and yet I wish those men’s heads were as well trained as their heels; if you listen you will find out they are not; just hear those stupid jokes they are making, how badly they pronounce, how ungrammatically they express themselves, and hear—oh, no—don’t hear that! what a pity they should say any thing indelicate before ladies and pure little children. Now I know why fathers and mothers do not like their little boys and girls to go to the circus. Mr. Pat Smith, Mr. Pat Smith, you must leave off those stupid bad jokes, if you want to draw ladies and little children.
I wish somebody would get up a good circus without these faults. I can not think so badly of the people as to believe that they would like it less if it were purified. I think it might be made a very pleasant and harmless amusement for little children, who seem to want to go so much, and who have often felt so badly because their parents were not willing. Perhaps there are such good circuses, that I may not have heard of. I like good schools, I like study, but I should like to write over every school-room door:
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
WHAT EVERY LITTLE CHILD MAY SEE.
I hope you love to look at the bright sunsets; oh the joy they are to me! Yesterday it had been raining all day; dark, gloomy clouds hovered overhead; the birds and the children were nested out of sight; the hens crept up under the shed corners, and the old cows stood patiently waiting under the trees for the sun to shine out. It shone at last, and oh, with what a glory; I wished I had a hundred eyes to gaze, for every moment the lovely hues changed to hues more beautiful—sapphire, topaz, emerald, ruby, opal, amethyst, diamonds. Overhead, the mottled gold and purple; in the west, a field of blue, clear and pure as a baby’s eyes, with fringes of brown, like its sweet-drooping lashes; farther still, floated golden clouds, bright enough to bear the baby’s spirit to heaven; while in the east, the dark heavy, rain-clouds, were rolled up and piled away; back of the snow-white cottages, back of the tall church-spire, which pointing upward seemed to say, Praise him who made us all. Who could help it? Oh, if earth is so lovely, what must heaven be? if God’s foot prints are so beautiful, what must be His throne?
Evening came, and all this glory faded out only to be replaced by another; countless stars, sparkled and glittered over head; then came the moon, slowly; veiling itself bride-like in fleecy clouds, as if not to dazzle us with her beauty. On came the still midnight; when sleep fell like flower-dew on weary lids; when the whispering leaves told each other all their little secrets, and the queen moon glided about, silvering the poor man’s roof while he slept, as if it had been a palace. Morning came, and the jealous sun shot forth at her a golden arrow, to tell her that her reign was past. She grew pale, and moved slowly on, one little star keeping her kindly company. Up flashed the sun, brighter for his eclipse. The flowers and the children opened wide their dewy eyes; the dew-drops danced, the little birds shook their bright wings, tuned their throats, and trilled out a song, oh, so bright, so joyous. God listened for man, but he was dumb.
A STORY FOR BOYS.
Now, boys, I am going to write a story for you. I don’t know why I have written more stories for girls than for boys, unless it is because all the boys I ever had have been girls. Sometimes I have been sorry this was so, because I think boys can rough it through the world so much better than girls, especially should the latter have the misfortune to lose their father when they are young. I hope this is not the case with you; it is very sad for young eyes to be watching the way he used to come, and see only other happy gleeful children with their living, breathing, loving, fathers.
But I will not talk about this now. I want to tell you that I do love boys, though I am very much afraid of them.
Afraid?