Book: The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories

V >> Various >> The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories




The Bible contains many passages which condemn anger: "He that is soon
angry, dealeth foolishly." "Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry,
for anger resteth in the bosom of fools." "Make no friendship with an
angry man, and with a furious man thou shalt not go." "He that is slow
to wrath is of great understanding, but he that is hasty of spirit
exalteth folly." "Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow
to wrath; for the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God."

All habits grow stronger by indulgence. If you allow yourself to
become angry to-day, you will more easily become so to-morrow. If you
control your temper to-day, it will be less difficult to control it
to-morrow. Helen's victory was obtained by decision. To form the
determination to conquer herself required more effort of will and more
strength of character than any subsequent struggle with her besetting
sin could possibly require.

If you have any fault which you wish to correct, you must fully make
up your mind to succeed. You must resolve that you will conquer. If
you should occasionally be overcome, yield not to despair, but with
renewed courage try again.

"On yourself and God relying,
Try, keep trying."

[Illustration]




SELFISH ELLA.


Ella Russell is a little girl with soft, flaxen hair, bright eyes, and
a complexion fair and clear. She is neat and orderly in her habits,
and is very gentle and mild in her manners. Her musical laugh
sometimes rings through the house like a sweet melody. It is so
contagious that you would laugh yourself to hear it.

Ella is obedient, and needs as little care as any child I ever knew.
Her father is living, but she has no mother, and Ella lives with a
Mrs. Lindsley, who has three daughters, two of them older and one
younger than Ella. She is much attached to this lady, and feels
perfectly at home in her house.

Ella's mother was in feeble health several years before her death.
Ella was her constant companion, and nothing gave her more pleasure
than to wait upon her and do all in her power to relieve her
sufferings and make her more comfortable. Mrs. Russell said her
daughter was an excellent nurse, although she was not more than seven
or eight years old. It shows how much even small children can do for
the comfort of their invalid friends, if they really try. It is very
gratifying to a mother to have a child so careful and thoughtful, and
Ella and her mother loved each other more and more every day. Mrs.
Russell's disease was consumption, and she could not be restored to
health. Poor Ella, how lonely she felt when her mother died! She was
young to know so much sorrow.

Ella's home is not far from the city. Her father often goes there, and
frequently sends her some delicacy which he knows she would relish--a
box of early strawberries, or a basket of plums or peaches, or
whatever fruit may be in season. Mr. Russell is exceedingly generous,
and he expects his little daughter to divide the fruit with the family
where she has found so excellent a home.

Ella, good child as she is in most respects, has one sad fault. She is
selfish. When she receives any rarity she would prefer to eat it
herself, just as the chickens do when they have found a nice tit-bit.
It is really a trial to her that she cannot eat a whole basket of
peaches before they would spoil! Indeed, one day, after receiving such
a present, she said to a person in the family, "I wish my father would
not send so many. I like it better when I have only a small basket,
and can keep it in my own room."

At one time Mr. Russell sent a basket of peaches to Mrs. Lindsley.
Ella was not at home. She had gone out to make a call on some of her
friends. She heard this basket had been sent, and hastened back as
soon as she could. "I hope they haven't eaten up all my peaches!" was
her first exclamation. She was quite indignant to find the basket had
been opened.

Mrs. Lindsley gave her all she considered it safe for her to eat; but
Ella was not happy. She felt as if they all ought to be hers, and she
really cried about it. A day or two after Ella saw her father, and he
told her the peaches were designed for the family. Ella was somewhat
mortified, and afterward told Mrs. Lindsley what her father said about
the basket of fruit.

It seems very strange that Ella should be so selfish, for her father
is not at all so, and I know it must grieve him to have a child of his
so forgetful of the enjoyment of others. This selfishness does not
make her happy. It occasions her much trouble, and it always will.

I know a little boy, six years old, who is very fond of fruit, and who
is much delighted when his father brings him an apple; yet I have seen
him, when he had but one, divide it between his brothers and sisters,
and reserve no part of it for himself. He seemed entirely happy in
doing so.

One day he heard his mother say, "I have not even a penny in my
purse." He went up-stairs to his money-box, and brought down a handful
of pennies, and gave them to her. His mother kissed his plump,
brown cheek, and thanked him for his gift.

[Illustration: His mother kissed his plump, brown cheek.]

Which should you prefer to be like--selfish Ella, or this generous
little boy?

The selfish person is always willing to receive favours, but to the
generous "it is more blessed to give than to receive."

[Illustration]




"OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN."


"Father is coming, father is coming!" shout a merry group of children,
as Mr. Wilmot appears around a little knoll, on his return from his
business.

"Let us run and meet him,"--and away they scamper over the lawn to see
which will get to him first. They are laughing gaily, and their feet
trip lightly, as hatless and bonnetless they hasten to him. Mary's
brown curls are streaming in the wind, and it is a beautiful sight to
look upon these children, so full of life and joy and love.

Mr. Wilmot greets them with a smile, and stoops to kiss each of them,
as they put up their arms to give him a loving welcome to his home.
One of them takes his basket, and another his cane, and then the
unoccupied hands are claimed by the tiny ones who love to walk by his
side.

Why do these children hasten so eagerly to meet their father? It is
just because he is their father. He has provided them with a home, and
with food and clothing, and has given them many pleasant things to
enjoy. He loves them, and his love and approbation are very precious
to them. They obey his wishes, and strive to please him, and this is
one source of the happiness which fills their hearts.

I think most of you, dear children, have kind parents, to whom you are
warmly attached, and that you do not hear the name of father without
emotions of pleasure. Some of you have no earthly father, but you all
have one in another and better world.

Most of you, in your infancy, have learned to repeat the Lord's
Prayer. How beautiful and expressive are the words with which it
commences, "Our Father who art in heaven." God, then, is your father,
and you may go to him as his children. You may tell him all your
wants, all your sorrows, and all your joys. You may pour out your
heart to him with perfect freedom. You need not fear to do this as you
would to a stranger, for he is your Father, and knows all about you.
He knows every time you suffer, and he sees every thought of your
heart. God loves you more than any earthly friends can, and he has
enabled them to bestow upon you all the comforts which surround you.

When you kneel down to pray, will you not remember that it is to a
father you are speaking, and will you not love him as truly and warmly
as you do the dear father who takes you on his knee, and speaks so
kindly and affectionately to you. Your father in heaven has given you
this earthly parent, and you should surely love him for all he has
done for you.

Do not let the precious words, "Our Father who art in heaven," be
unmeaning ones to you; but strive to realize the great goodness and
condescension of God in permitting you to call him by so sweet a name,
and give him the only thing you can in return,--your young and
grateful hearts.

[Illustration]




HATTIE AND HERBERT.


"Was there ever so good a mother as you are?" said Hattie Atherton,
throwing her arms around her mother's neck, and kissing her with great
affection.

"Oh yes!" answered little Herbert, in a solemn tone, "there is one a
great deal better."

"Why, Herbert! what do you mean?" exclaimed Hattie, who knew Herbert
loved his mother as dearly as she did.

"I mean God. He is better than mother."

"But God is a Father. He is our Father in heaven," continued Hattie.

Herbert was quite satisfied with Hattie's correction, and was then
ready to agree with her, that his mother was the best mother in the
world.

Herbert was a very little boy, but he had been taught that God was
more worthy of love than even his father or mother could be. He was
too young to understand much about the being of God, and when he
called him a mother a great deal better than his own mother, it was an
expression of his love and reverence.

Do you, dear children, when you realize something about the love
which your mother feels for you, and which enables her cheerfully to
do so much for your comfort, remember that God loves you even more
than she does, and that He is far more deserving your strongest
affections?

"He that loveth father or mother more than me," the Saviour said, "is
not worthy of me." God should occupy the first place in your heart,
and next to Him you should love your parents.

Happy is that child who is so willing to be governed by her mother's
wishes that she is at all times ready to exclaim, "Was there ever so
good a mother as my mother!"

[Illustration]




THE TWO WILLS.


When a man of wealth dies, there is always much interest felt in
regard to the disposition he has made of his property by will.
Sometimes large bequests are made to benevolent societies, and the
donor is generally considered a very generous man. Many bless his
memory, and his name is cherished with grateful respect. It is right
that it should be so. God loves the cheerful giver.

I have just read the last "will and testament" of a little boy nine
years old, who lived in Ohio. Not very long ago he was taken ill with
fever. The disease was violent, and he suffered much. At length it
became evident that he must die.

A few hours before his death, he looked up to his mother and said:

"Do you remember my gold dollar?"

"Yes, my son; but we had better not think of that now."

"But mother," said George, "I want you to give it to the missionaries,
and my shillings too, and all the pennies. Give it all to the
missionaries."

George died, and I trust has gone to heaven. His desire to do good was
no doubt acceptable and pleasing to God. He could not receive here
the reward God has promised to those who give to the poor, but in
another world his heavenly Father can most richly recompense him. The
sum contributed by the dying child was not large, but it was all he
had.

In the same town lived a little girl, whose father was a clergyman.
One after another of his dear ones were taken from him. A precious
babe of seventeen months, a sweet prattler of three years, and another
of five, were called to leave this world and grow up with the angels
in heaven. Then this child of eleven must go too--the fourth out of
that family circle within one short month! She had been a follower of
the Saviour for three years, and had thought much of the condition of
the heathen, who have no knowledge of the way of salvation through
Christ. She hoped, if she lived, to become a missionary herself, and
teach them about the true God and his son Jesus Christ.

She was ill nearly three weeks, but she was not unhappy. She did not
fear to die. The Saviour, whom she loved, was near her, to walk with
her through the valley of the shadow of death, and his rod and
staff--they comforted her. She knew that her beloved parents would
soon join her in the heavenly world, when they all together should
enjoy the immediate presence of their Lord. She looked forward
cheerfully and joyfully, to the glorious immortality upon which she
was so soon to enter. When dying, she exclaimed, "It is all dark here,
but I shall soon be where it is light. I shall be with my heavenly
Father, and the blessed Saviour, and all the good people."

One of this child's last requests was, that her dollar--the only money
she possessed--should be sent to a missionary society to buy
Testaments for heathen children.

These children's offerings, small though they are, are yet precious
gifts cast into the treasury of our Lord. Their influence will never
cease. Many souls may be converted through the truth these "two mites"
may be the means of teaching.

[Illustration]




"BLESS GOD FOR THIS DOLL."


When Mary Wilson was about five years old, her aunt Ann came from a
distant place to make her mother a visit. She was fond of children,
and often talked and played with her little niece, and assisted her in
making dresses for her doll. This gratified Mary, and made her love
her more and more, as we always love those who are kind to us.

Mary's doll was not pretty, but she liked it very much, and took good
care of it. She always undressed it at night, before she went to bed,
and put on a nice white night-gown her mother had made for it; and in
the morning she would dress it again for the day. She named it Louisa,
but her younger brother always called it Quesa, and, after a time, all
the family spoke of it by that name.

Mary often wished she could wash Quesa's face, as her own was washed;
but she had tried it once, and found it would not answer, for the
colour came off its cheeks, and it looked more than ever as if it
needed a good rubbing with a sponge.

Sometimes, when passing the shop-windows, and seeing the new dolls so
temptingly displayed, Mary would ask if she might stop and look at
them, and would, perhaps, say, "I should like that doll." Mrs. Wilson
would gladly have purchased one of them for her, but she was obliged
to be economical, and could not gratify all her wishes. Mary had early
to learn many lessons of self-denial, and I must do her the justice to
say she was always satisfied with her mother's decision.

Mary would occasionally go to walk with her aunt Ann, who observed
with what delight she looked at the porcelain dolls, so bright and
fresh, and she thought she could not make her a more acceptable
present than one of them.

One day, when Mary was not with her, she bought a doll with rosy lips
and cheeks, blue eyes, and short curling hair, and dressed it in
clothes which could be taken off and put on easily, as all little
girls like to have them. It was indeed very pretty, and its face could
be washed without injury as often as Mary pleased to do it.

Mary knew nothing about the present she was to receive, till all this
was done; and then her aunt, going into the nursery, put it in her
arms as she was sitting in her low chair playing with Quesa. Mary
looked at the new doll, and then at her aunt, and then at the doll
again, as if to say, "What does all this mean?" Aunt Ann answered the
look by saying, "The doll is for you, Mary."

It was just what she had long wanted, and her heart was full of
happiness and gratitude. After holding it a moment, she laid it
carefully in her chair, and kneeling down, put her little hands
together and closing her eyes, said, "Bless God for this doll." Mary
had been taught that God was the giver of every good gift, and she
felt, that although aunt Ann gave her the doll, her heavenly Father
had put it into her heart to do so, and she wanted to thank him for
making her so happy.

Perhaps you think that God is too great a being to care about your
little wants, and that he does not put the thought into any body's
heart to buy dolls for children, as Mary Wilson did. Nothing which
concerns the happiness of the creatures he has made, is too small for
his attention. Nothing escapes his notice. "The very hairs of your
head are all numbered." So small a bird as a sparrow, the Bible tells
us, cannot fall to the ground without his knowledge. If he cares for
the birds, he certainly does for children, and wishes them all to be
good and happy.

God has given you all many gifts, for which you ought to thank him. If
I should look into your play-rooms, how many things I should see which
add to your enjoyment! In one there is a pasteboard house, with
windows and doors, and partitions to divide it into rooms. It is
furnished with tables and chairs, and the dolls can sit in them. In
another, are blocks with which to build houses, castles, and railways,
or any thing the fancy of the young architect may dictate; and here
is Noah's ark, in miniature, containing himself and family, and many
animals. Countless other toys are distributed among my young friends,
which make their bright eyes sparkle, and wreathe their lips with
smiles.

Other treasures, more valuable than these, are not wanting. How many
books I see! and as I open them, one after another, at the fly-leaf, I
read your own names and the names of those friends and relatives who
have given them to you.

Have you ever thanked your heavenly Father, as Mary Wilson did, for
these pleasant things which make you so happy, and for all the
blessings he confers upon you?

Your parents provide you with food and clothes, and many other
comforts which you need; but it is God who enables them to do so, and
who fills their hearts with such love for you as to make it a pleasure
to watch over and care for you. You should be grateful to them for all
their kindness, but you should never forget that to your Father in
heaven you owe your gratitude for such loving friends.

God himself has taught you to ask him, day by day, for your daily
bread. That prayer shows who provides for your wants, and whom you
should thank for the pleasant things you enjoy.

There is one gift of exceeding great value which the Lord has bestowed
upon us--greater than all others--but I will tell you about it another
time.




BESSIE HARTWELL.


Children who are called obedient children are often not so prompt in
their obedience as they should be. Instead of doing directly as they
are bidden, they stop to ask "Why?" and seem to wish some other reason
for compliance with a command than the word of a parent. It is often
proper to tell children why they should do or should not do certain
things; but children should be careful to remember that they must
obey, whether they know the reason of the requirement or not.

Bessie Hartwell is about eleven years old. She is generally a good
child, but, like all others whom I have known, she has some faults.
Although she always intends to obey, she does not always obey
instantly. I will tell you a sad accident which befell her in
consequence of this tardiness, and you will see it would have been
much better for her if she had learned to be prompt.

She was travelling with an aunt on a steamboat. She was very happy,
for she was going to visit her grandfather and grandmother, and she
knew she should enjoy herself on the fine farm, scampering about over
the fields, raking the new-mown hay, and riding on the top of the
load.

Bessie always liked to go to the country. Her home was in the city,
where she had only a small yard, not much larger than her
grandmother's capacious kitchen, to play in, and that was surrounded
by a high, close fence, so that she could see only the tiny patch of
grass beneath and the beautiful blue sky above.

Children in the country do not know how to prize their freedom. If
they could be penned up in the city for a few months, as Bessie was
for the greater part of the year, they would learn to appreciate it,
and they would look upon every tree and every blade of grass as a
friend. The chirping of the crickets, the singing of the frogs, and
the warbling of the birds would be thrice welcome music to them. No
wonder Bessie was so happy when she thought of the wide lawn studded
with trees, the orchard rich in apples and pears, the hills down which
she and her sisters could run, and up whose steep sides they must
scramble when the horn sounds for dinner. The country is rich in its
treasures of happiness, and they are bestowed freely and profusely
upon every one "who in the love of nature holds communion with her
visible forms."

It was in the gray twilight of the morning that the steamboat arrived
at the wharf. When they went home, Bessie was awakened, and was soon
ready, with her travelling-bag on her arm, to leave the boat. Her aunt
took her by the hand, to lead her across the gangway. They had but
just stepped upon it, when she started forward to reach her uncle,
who, with an infant in his arms, had just preceded her. Her aunt
called to her to stop. She paid no attention, but passed rapidly on. A
car, laden with baggage, was drawn across the gangway. It frightened
her. She stepped quickly aside, and fell into the water.

Oh! the agony of that moment! Her uncle and aunt could not aid her. He
besought the people near him to take the infant from his arms, that he
might leap into the water to attempt the rescue of the child; but they
would not do it. They held him back, that he might not expose himself
to the danger of immediate death; for he could not swim, and of course
he could not render the assistance which was needed. He and her aunt
were both obliged to stand and look on, in unutterable anguish, while
strangers attempted to save her.

Bessie fell in such a way that she did not sink under the water. Her
clothes spread out, and buoyed her up like a life-preserver. A man let
himself down as soon as possible; but the rope was not long enough for
him to reach Bessie. He could only touch her with his foot. She took
hold of it, and he slowly raised her till he grasped her bonnet. In
this way they were both pulled up, and Bessie once more stood by the
side of her aunt. How freely they all breathed once more, when the
terrible suspense was ended, and she was safe!

Bessie seemed scarcely aware of the danger she had been in. She had
been perfectly calm, and did not lose her presence of mind; and it was
owing to this, probably, that she was so easily rescued. She tried to
save her travelling-bag, but, as she told her aunt, she could not hold
it any longer than she did.

It was wonderful that Bessie was not drowned. If she had not been
supported by her clothes, she would have sunk beneath the water, and
when she arose would very probably have come up under the boat, so
that it would have been impossible to save her.

If Bessie had been in the habit of obeying so soon as she was spoken
to, she would not have met with this fearful accident, and her uncle
and aunt would have been spared the mental suffering they endured. I
should think she never again would forget to obey at the first word
from those who have the care of her.

I hope, dear children, you will profit as much by Bessie's accident as
I trust she will; and that you will aim not only to be obedient, but
promptly obedient. You may not suffer the same mishap that she did,
even if you allow yourself to form the same habit; but it may lead you
into as great danger, and even greater, for it may peril the purity
and peace of your soul, and that is of far more consequence than the
safety of your body.

[Illustration]




"MARY'S GREAT TREASURE"


More than twenty years ago, there was a little blue-eyed, curly-haired
child playing about one of the pleasant homes in the West. She was
happy and kind, and every one loved her. She was only six years old,
yet she had a great treasure in her possession--greater than many of
the kings and queens of the earth can claim.

What do you suppose this treasure was? Was it a valuable diamond? Was
it an immense amount of silver and gold? Something better than
diamonds or silver and gold, was in this little girl's
keeping--something which will be safe when these have all perished.

I will tell you what this treasure was, because I want you to be as
rich as Mary, and, through the great goodness of God, you may all have
just such a precious gift. It was a NEW HEART--a heart that loved her
heavenly Father, that loved to pray to him and ask him to keep her
from sin.

Mary often talked with her companions about Jesus, and before she was
ten years old several of them had been brought to love and obey him,
and had, like Mary, a new heart. How happy they were together! How
much the Saviour loved them!

Mary is now dead, and has gone to heaven. Do you suppose she is sorry
she so early went to Christ and asked him for a new heart?

How pleasant it must have been to her to be able to say, as she looked
back over her past life, that she could not remember the time when she
did not love the Saviour; and she surely does not now regret, that
when she was a little child--less than most of you who are reading
about her--she went to Jesus and asked him for a heart to love him.

Our heavenly Father will give you a new heart, if you really wish to
have it and feel your great need of it. Jesus died that you might be
saved from sin, and he loves _little_ children. Will you not go to
him, as did Mary, and ask him for a new heart? If you are sorry for
your sins, tell him so; and if you are not, ask him to help you to
feel how wicked sin is, that you may have the "great treasure."

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