The Pearl Box

by Anonymous

  When his father died, he being the eldest son, the paternal estate wasleft to him to manage. But as he feared that it would occupy too much ofhis time and attention, he gave it entirely to his brother and sisters,reserving only enough for his books and college expenses. At the age oftwenty he entered the ministry, and seven years after was chosen aprofessor in the University of Dublin. In 1640, he visited England atthe time of the commencement of the rebellion; all his goods were seizedby the popish party, except some furniture in his house, and his libraryat Drogheda, which was afterwards sent to London. He bore his loss withsubmission, but he never returned to Ireland. He had many trials toendure on account of the troublous times in England, (it being the timeof the civil wars.) In 1646 he received a kind invitation from theCountess of Peterborough to reside in one of her houses, which proposalhe accepted and lived in one of them till his death, in 1665. By thedirection of Cromwell he was buried in Westminster Abby.

  A GOOD ACT FOR ANOTHER.

  A man was going from Norwich to New London with a loaded team; onattempting to ascend a hill where an Indian lived he found his teamcould not draw the load. He went for the Indian to assist him. After hehad got up the hill he asked the Indian what was to pay. The Indian toldhim to do as much for somebody else.

  Some time afterward the Indian wanted a canoe. He went up Shetucketriver, found a tree, and made him one. When he had finished it he couldnot get it to the river; accordingly he went to a man and offered to payhim if he would go and draw it to the river for him. The man set aboutit immediately, and after getting it to the river, the Indian offered topay him. "No," said the man; "don't you recollect, so long ago, helpinga man with a team up the hill by the side of your house?" "Yes." "Well,I am the man; take your canoe and go home."

  A BOY REPROVED BY A BIRD.

  The sparrows often build their nests under the eaves of houses andbarns. A young lad saw one of the sparrows conveying materials for hernest, which she was building under the eaves of a cottage adjoining hisfather's house. He was told not to disturb it. But birds' eggs form atemptation to many boys. At a favorable opportunity the lad climbed upto the roof of the cottage and carried away the nest with the eggs init. Among the materials of which the nest was composed was a piece ofpaper with some printed verses on it. The boy pulled it out and found itto be a page of one of Dr. Watts' hymns, which had been picked up in theyard by the poor bird for strengthening her nest. The boy unfolded thepaper and read:--

  "Why should I deprive my neighbor Of his goods against his will? Hands were made for honest labor. Not to plunder nor to steal."

  The lad says, in his after years, "I never forgot the lesson presentedto me by that leaf of paper which had been fixed to the nest of thepoor sparrow." Let young people remember that when they do wrong theywill get reproved, and it may be by the means of a bird.

  THE ECHO.

  Little Charles knew nothing about an echo. As he was playing by himselfin the field, he cried out, "Ho, hop!" and immediately a voice from thewoods near by answered, "ho, hop!" Being surprised at this, he calledout, "who be you?" The voice answered, "who be you?" Charles thoughtthis very strange, and cried out "you're a stupid fellow," and "stupidfellow," was the reply from the woods.

  Charles began to be much displeased, and called several abusive names,and every name he called, came back to him. "I never met with suchinsolence," said he, "but I'll revenge myself;" and he ran up and downamong the trees, trying to find the supposed offender, but he could seeno one. Vexed and disappointed, he hastened home and told his motherthat a bad boy had hidden in the woods and called him all sorts ofnames.

  His mother smiled and shook her head. "Now you have been angry atyourself, Charles, for you must know that you heard nothing but your ownwords repeated. As you have seen your own face reflected in the water,so you have now heard your own voice echoed." Had Charles spoke kindwords he would have heard kind words in return. It is often true thatthe behavior we meet with from others, is but an echo of our own. If wespeak kind words we shall have kind words in return.

  LIZZY AND HER DOG.

  I wish to relate to you a very affecting story about a good girl whodied when she was thirteen years old. She was an interesting young girl,and possessed great intellectual powers. She was also very fond of theworks of nature, especially of flowers, and would often say, "How goodGod is to make these beautiful flowers for us to enjoy." Soon it wasvery evident to her friends that disease was preying on her delicateconstitution. She bore all her sickness with calm submission, and whenshe died she appeared to all who knew her to be prepared for heaven.While she was sick, her parents did every thing to make her comfortableand happy. They had a dog which Lizzy set a great deal by, and with himshe used to play in the house and in the garden. When Lizzy was so sickthat she could not play with him, he would come and lay himself down ather bed side, and appeared to be very sad on her account. When she diedand was buried, the dog followed with the parents in the funeral, to thegrave yard where Lizzy was laid away. One day, about five monthsafterwards, I went with her father to see the grave of Lizzy. As we wentinto the grave yard, we walked slowly along, reading the names ofpersons buried there, while the dog followed us. We soon missed the dog,supposing he had wandered into some other part of the cemetery. But whenwe came within a few yards of Lizzy's grave we saw him sitting at itshead, leaning against the stone which was erected in memory of thelovely daughter. It was a very affecting scene--the attachment of thedog, as well as the power of his memory. Dogs are faithful creatures,and we can never bear to see them abused. Be kind to them and they willbe kind to you.

  JULIA'S SUNSET WALK.

  It was a beautiful June day, just at the sun's setting, when JuliaEasworth went to visit the resting place of a dear grandmother. Whileshe was in the grave-yard, meditating on the loss of one of her bestearthly friends, she saw a lady dressed in mourning busily engaged indoing something near a rose bush that grew at the foot of a littlemound, at a short distance from where she stood. Julia walked along andcame near where she was, and laid her hand gently upon the woman andsaid, "Madam, is this your little mound?"

  "Oh, no, my child; it is my dear Elise's grave."

  "And is it long since you laid her here, ma'am," said Julia.

  "Only a few weeks," was the reply; "there were buds on this rose bushwhen I brought it here."

  "And was it her's," asked Julia, as she stooped down to inhale the richfragrance of the beautiful flower.

  "Yes, my child, it was a dear treasure to her. My Elise was a goodchild, she was my Idol, but my Heavenly Father has seen best to removeher from me. I only cared to live that I might be useful to her ingiving her such instructions as might be a blessing to her. I almostadored her, but she is gone from me, and I am alone. I know she ishappy, because she was good."

  "And have you always lived here in our town," asked Julia.

  "Oh, no! I am from Italy. When my child was but two years old, I left mynative shores, and with my only relative, my father, followed my younghusband, who is an American, to his own land. We settled in the State ofVirginia, and a short time ago he died and left me with a charge to takecare of our dear Elise. She had her father's hair and complexion, andinherited his delicate constitution. We were poor and I labored hard,but I cared not, if I could only make my child comfortable and happy.She was not like me--her mind was full of thoughts of beauty--she wouldoften talk of things with which I could not sympathize--the world seemedto her to be full of voices, and she would often say 'How beautiful_heaven_ must be.' Her nature was purer and gentler than mine, and Ifelt that she was a fit companion of the angels. But she is now gone tobe with them, and I hope soon to meet her."

  Julia bid the lady good bye and went towards her home. As she walkedslowly along, she thought to herself, "Elise with the angels!" and shedwelt on the theme till her mother, seeing her rather different in herconduct, asked her the cause, when she replied, "Oh, mother! I want todwell with the angels."

  FLORA AND HER
PORTRAIT.

  "And was there never a portrait of your beautiful child," said AnneJones to a lady whom she met at the grave where her child had been laina few weeks.

  "Oh, yes! but I may never have it," replied the woman, as she stoodweeping at the grave.

  Anna did not understand the mother's tears, but in a few moments shebecame calm, and continued to explain.

  "Not many weeks before my child's illness, as we were walking togetherin the city, an artist observed my daughter and followed us to ourhumble home. He praised her countenance to me, and said her beauty wasrare. In all his life he had never seen face to compare with it, nor aneye so full of soul--and begged to have me consent to his drawing herportrait. After many urgent entreaties, my dear child consented. Forseveral mornings I went with Flora to the artist's room, though I couldill afford the time, for our daily bread was to be earned. When he wasfinishing the picture, Flora went alone. One day she returned, andflinging into my lap her little green purse, she said:--'The picturedoes not need me any more, and I am very glad, for my head aches badly.They say the portrait is very like me, mother.'

  "I resolved to go and see it the day following, but when the time camethat I first looked upon it, my dear child began to fade in my arms,until she died. And here she is buried. Since then I go to the artist'sroom to see her portrait, and there, full of life and beauty, she standsbefore me, and I have permission to see it every day.

  "But I am about to leave this country for our native land. My agedfather has long wished to return to his own country, and we shall soonsail with our friends for Italy. I must leave the dear child here. Butif I can purchase the picture of the artist, I shall be happy. We arepoor; but by the sale of some little articles, we have raised moneyenough to buy the picture, at the price which the artist demands for asimilar picture.

  "When I went to buy it, you know not how I felt, when the artist,notwithstanding all my pleadings, denied my request. His apology was,that he had taken it for some purpose of his own--some great exhibitionof paintings--what, I could not fully comprehend. He would not sell it.Day after day I have been to him, but in vain. And now the time of ourdeparture will soon come, and duty demands that I must go with myfather, and I must leave my dear Flora, and portrait too."

  She then laid her face upon the grave and wept. Anna's eyes were filledwith tears, and for some moments she did not speak. At last shethought--"I know the artist." And then touching the mother, who wasalmost insensible, she said, "Madam, it may be that I can do somethingfor you--describe to me the picture. I think I must have seen it at thissame artist's room."

  The mother then gave the description, and after Anna had gathered fromthe mother all needful information, her name, and residence, and timeof sailing, then giving her own address, and speaking to her words ofconsolation and hope, she arose and left the stranger at the grave ofher child. The next story will tell you how the picture was obtained.

  THE PORTRAIT OF FLORA PURCHASED.

  Anna started for her home, and when she had arrived, she slowly ascendedto her room, flung herself upon her couch, and buried her face in itscushions.

  "Edgar," (for that was the artist's name, and Anna knew him,) "Edgar iscold hearted." She did not meet the family at tea that evening, but whenher mother came to inquire if she was ill, she related all the sad storyof the childless mother, and asked what could be done. The nextmorning, Anna and her father went to see the artist. He was not inattendance, but one to whom they were well known brought forward thepicture, at Anna's request, and which she had before seen. While theywere looking at it, the artist came in.

  "Pardon me, sir," said Anna's father, "for examining your beautifulpicture during your absence, but my daughter has a very earnest desireto possess it. Is it for sale?"

  Edgar replied, "I have painted this picture for the coming artist'sexhibition, and, therefore, I have made no design as to its disposal,but it would be an honor to me to have you and Miss Anna its purchasers.I would wish, however, previously to its being given up, that it mightbe exhibited, according to my intention, at the rooms, which open onMonday next."

  Mr. H. hesitated--the vessel, which was to carry away the sorrowingmother, was to sail in a little more than two weeks--they must have thepicture at that time, if ever; and he said to the artist, "I am awarethat this is a beautiful painting, and I will pay you your price, but Imust be allowed to take it at the expiration of ten days, if at all."

  Edgar reflected a few moments, and being well aware that, in the mansionof Mr. Hastings, his elegant picture would be seen by persons of themost accomplished manners, and of excellent taste, concluded to sell thepicture. The bargain was made and Anna and her father departed, leavingthe artist somewhat elated at the thought of having Mr. H. the owner ofhis picture.

  That night Edgar dreamed that Flora, who had been buried a few weeks,and of whose image his picture was the exact resemblance, stood beforehim, pleading him to have pity on her lonely mother--he dreamed her handclasped his, and he awoke trembling.

  He raised himself upon his elbow, and pressed to his lips some flowerswhich were left on his table, and then rejoiced that the ocean wouldsoon lie between him and the wearisome old woman who had so long annoyedhim about the picture.

  The Monday morning came, and with it the portrait of Flora, which hadbeen admired at the exhibition rooms the previous week. A simple framehad been prepared for it, and for a few moments Anna gazed on thepicture, and with a love for the buried stranger, looked for the lasttime into the deep dark eyes which beamed on the canvas.

  The ship Viola, bound for the port of Naples, lay at the wharf, thepassengers were all hurrying on board, the flags were flying, and allwore the joyous aspect of a vessel outward bound. A carriage drawn by apair of horses came down to the vessel. Mr. Hastings and Anna alighted,and were followed by a servant, who took the safely cased portrait inhis arms, and accompanied them on board the ship. They soon met themother of Flora, and Anna took the picture and presented it to her, andpromised to care for the rose buds which bloomed at Flora's grave. Mr. Hreceived from the gallant captain a promise to take special charge ofthe Italian widow, and her aged father, and to care for the valuedpicture of Flora. Thanks and farewells closed the scene, when Anna, withher father, returned home. There she found a note from Edgar, theartist, requesting permission to call on Anna that evening. She wrote areply, saying that a previous engagement would forbid her complying withhis request, at the same time enclosing a check for $200, saying, "Myfather requests me to forward this check to you, in payment for theportrait of _Flora Revere_"

  THE SAINT'S REST.

  We've no abiding city here: This may distress the worldling's mind, But should not cost the saint a tear, Who hopes a better rest to find.

  We've no abiding city here; We seek a city out of sight, Zion its name: the Lord is there: It shines with everlasting light.

  Hush, my soul, nor dare repine; The time my God appoints is best; While here to do his will be mine, And his to fix my time of rest.

  A GOOD MOTHER.

  Mrs. Savage was the eldest sister of Matthew Henry. When she was a childshe had a great many advantages for the improvement of her mind. Whenonly seven years of age, she could translate the Hebrew language, andwhen ten years old, she would write out her father's sermons. Shepossessed a very amiable disposition, and was very kind and benevolentto all who needed the comforts of life. She was a Christian, and whenshe became a mother she began the work of educating her childrenherself. She had a large family of nine children, and as she hadtreasured up in her memory many hymns and verses which she had learnedwhen a child, she was able to teach the same to her children. She was sokind and affectionate that every body loved her. Her children took muchpleasure in hearing their mother repeat to them the hymns and texts ofScripture which she had learned.

  Some children are very careless, and indifferent to their parents'advice; such ones will regret it in their riper years. But Mrs. Savage'slit
tle boys and girls loved their mother, and were very obedient to hercommands. When evening came, before they retired to bed she would callher little children around her (as you see in the picture,) and theywould kneel down and say their evening prayer. A pleasant sight, indeed,to see our dear children remembering their Creator in the days of theiryouth. Mrs. S. was "useful, beloved, meek, humble, and charitable." Shelived a happy, cheerful life; she was an ornament to her Christianprofession, a "good mother." She died suddenly at the good old age ofeighty-eight.

  MOTHER'S LAST LESSON.

  "Will you please teach me my verse, mamma, and then kiss me and bid megood night," said little Roger, as he opened the door and peeped intothe chamber of his sick mother. "I am very sleepy, but no one has heardme say my prayers." Mrs. L. was very ill, and her friends believed herto be dying. She sat propped up with pillows and struggling for breath,her eyes were growing dim, and her strength was failing very fast. Shewas a widow, and little Roger was her only darling child. He had been inthe habit of coming into her room every night, and sitting in her lap,or kneeling by her side, while she repeated some Scripture passages tohim or related a story of wise and good people. She always loved tohear Roger's verse and prayer.