Willie and his cousin Grace were coming from church, one fine Sunday morning, when, in crossing the meadow, they heard and saw strange things. Three idle boys were playing at marbles, and swearing at each other in a most dreadful manner. Willie drew his cousin's arm closer into his, and led her as quickly as he could from the horrid scene. But it took some minutes to get out of sight of them, and still more time to get out of the way of hearing them. Grace saw they were dirty and in rags, and she heard words which made her shudder with horror and with pity. "Poor creatures! they do not know what they say," cried she, as she moved past them. "I dare say, they have no friends to teach them better."—"They ought to be soundly thrashed," said Willie; "I dare say, that would do them good. I know them; they are sad rascals, Grace, my dear, and do not deserve your pity."—"Do not say so, Willie; perhaps a little pity and kindness would be of more use to them than all your thrashings."—"Perhaps it would, my sweet Grace, if you were the speaker," said Willie; "for I know, when I am in a rage, your gentle voice softens me down in a moment; and all my master's frowns do not touch my heart half so much as one of your little angry shakes of the head." Grace smiled, and said, "If you find gentle means are best for yourself, why do you not try it for others?"—"Because I am a man, Grace."—"But you might be a gentle-man," said Grace, with an arch look. Willie laughed, and they talked on, and it was agreed between them that the word gentle-man came from gentle, to be mild, and humane, and kind, and not from genteel, to be polite, civil, graceful. When this was settled, which took them all the time they were crossing the meadows, and going down the hawthorn lane, they began to speak again of the poor boys; and by the time they reached their home they had also settled, that they would try all manner of gentle means of curing these wicked idlers of their bad habits. Grace was to ask her papa to speak kindly to them and to send them to school; and Willie was to stop and reason mildly with them; and both Grace and Willie were to give them little presents of good books, and decent clothes to go to church in. "Well, Grace, dear," said Willie, drawing himself up, and looking like a man, "we must see what can be done for these poor children; at all events, there is no harm in trying to help and reclaim them."
SMALL FAULTS OFTEN END IN GREATER.
Eve used to laugh when her mother told her, that if she desired to grow up in goodness, she must avoid the smallest faults; "for, my dear Eve, people do not become bad all at once. No, they begin with thoughts of evil, and making excuses for evil, and doing little things that are not quite right, and so go on in error, till all their virtue is fled." In time, Eve found out the justness of her mother's remarks, and the goodness of her advice. Eve was very fond of fruit, but, for all that, she would not have touched a pear or a plum that did not belong to her, for all the world; and as for lying and stealing, she thought they were crimes it was not possible she could ever commit. But we shall see. Eve very often asked for more fruit than her mamma chose to give her. "There is plenty, mamma, why may I not have more?"—"My dear Eve, learn to restrain your wishes even when you can indulge them. Learn to see things you like, without wanting them, that you may be able to govern your desires. Thus, when you grow older, you will find it easy to exert self-control when needful." Eve felt the good sense of this speech, but she did not allow it to guide her. She used to indulge each whim that came into her head; would eat all the sweet things she could obtain, and buy all the toys she could afford. Soon, she had no thought to deny herself any fancy. From eating all the fruit she could buy, or slyly coax out of friends, she went on to pick a peach here, and an apple there. "I will tell, if they ask me," thought she; and thus she cheated herself to do what she knew was wrong. No one asked her, and she went on picking and eating, till she had got the habit of helping herself to all she liked, whether she had a right to it or not. It was soon noted that fruit did not remain safe on the sideboard, or in the open closet, so her mamma and the servants ceased to leave it about. Eve had got such a habit of eating fruit, that she felt as if she could not now do without it; so at last she stole the key of the store-room, and went in there to eat apples. She ate in such haste and horror that they almost choaked her; her eyes were starting; her heart beating; her limbs trembling. Poor wretched creature! Could she call this pleasure; her mind all the time full of that divine command, "Thou shalt not steal!"
Small Faults end in Greater.
Pubd. May 1, 1831, by J. Harris, St. Pauls Church Yard.
GEORGE THE HERO.
When George and his sisters were going to school, they all cried as if their hearts would break. Their mother tried to console them. "I know this parting of friends is one of the cruel sorrows of life," said she; "but do not forget, my dear children, that this pain brings us our sweetest pleasure."—"Oh! mother, what is that?"—"The joy of meeting." George wiped his eyes, and looked as cheerful and as manly as he could to calm his sisters. For he was a dear boy, and always tried to be kind to all, and to do good to all. When his mother left the room, he took her place, and went on with her efforts to soothe and comfort the weeping girls. Emma and Lucy could not hear his cheering words, could not look on his rosy face, with a tear in his eye and a smile on his lips, and not be soothed. "We are so happy at home!" said Emma. "And it is such pain to part!" cried Lucy. "I know all that very well," said George, with the air of a sage, and the firmness of a hero: "I know all that very well, my dear girls; but I also know that our home will seem dearer after this absence; and then the sweets of return will make up for these moments of anguish." The girls smiled upon him, and thought him a very fine fellow; so, to finish their regrets, he added, "Winter is not pleasant, but its rigours make us enjoy with double relish the charms of spring." All the party laughed at this sage speech, and George owned that he had learnt it from papa. They went to school; they were so busy there, and had so many playfellows, that time passed swiftly. Easter soon came, and George called to take his sisters home with him. The chaise rolled quickly along; soon they were at the well-known gates; soon George ran up stairs after his sisters; soon sprang after them into the dear room. Mamma was there and dear papa. The girls were in a moment hugging their mamma, whilst the sage and the hero, master George, stood one instant at the open door to exclaim, "Did I not tell you, girls, that the joys of meeting would repay the pangs of parting?" This was all he had time to say; for he, too, wanted to be in mother's arms, and prest to mother's heart. He, too, wanted to feel father's clasping hand, and hear father's dear "Welcome home!"