The Pearl Box by A Pastor
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A Pastor >> The Pearl Box
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7 [Illustration]
THE
PEARL BOX.
CONTAINING
ONE HUNDRED
BEAUTIFUL STORIES
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
BY A PASTOR.
Transcribers Note: There are many, but not one hundred,
stories in this volume.
PREFACE.
In preparing this volume of stories for young readers, the writer has
had in view their instruction, by presenting to them their station in
a familiar and instructive story. Each story contains a moral, and
teaches principles by which the youth should be governed in their
private, social and public relations in life. In the perusal of these
stories, we hope to accomplish our great object, of aiding young
persons to pursue the peaceful and pleasant path of duty--to render
them more useful in the world, and to grow wiser and happier in the
path of life.
THE PEARL BOX.
* * * * *
THE DYING BOY.
A little boy, by the name of Bertie, was taken very ill, and for
sometime continued to grow weaker until he died. A few hours before
his death he revived up, and his first request was to be bathed in the
river; but his mother persuaded him to be sponged only, as the river
water would be too cold for his weak frame. After his mother had
sponged him with water, he desired to be dressed; when his mother
dressed him in his green coat and white collar, and seated him at the
table with all his books and worldly treasures around him. As he sat
there, one would have thought that he was about to commence a course
of study; and yet in the marble paleness of his features, and in the
listless and languid eye, there was evidence that life in the boy was
like an expiring taper, flickering in the socket. He soon asked to go
out in his little carriage. His grandfather, whom he very much loved,
placed him in it, and carefully avoiding every stone, drew him to a
spot commanding the entire landscape. The tide was up and the sun was
shining on the deep blue waters, and bathing the distant mountains and
the green meadows in liquid gold. The gardens and orchards around were
gay in the rich crimson blossoms of the apple tree; the air was filled
with the sweet fragrance of flowers, and the birds were singing
beautifully, when little Bertie looked for the last time on the scenes
of earth. He could not remain long, and was soon taken back to the
little parlor, where he sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on the
table. It was not long before the little boy died. But he was very
happy. Among his last words were these, addressed to his little sister
three years old: "Well, Emmie, very ill--me going to Jesus."
"Oh, mamma, Emmie loves her Saviour."
* * * * *
THE BOY AND THE GOLD ROBIN.
A bright eyed boy was sleeping upon a bank of blossoming clover. The
cool breeze lifted the curls from his brow, and fanned with downy
wings his quiet slumbers, while he lay under the refreshing shade of a
large maple tree. The birds sang to him during his happy hours of
sleep. By and by he awoke, and a beautiful gold robin sat on the
spray, and sung a song of joy. The boy reached out his hands to secure
the prize, but the robin spread his golden wings and soared away. He
looked after it with a longing gaze, and when it disappeared from his
sight, he wept aloud. At this moment, a form of light approached, and
took the hands of the child and pointed upwards; and he saw the bird
soaring in freedom, and the sun shining upon its burnished plumes.
Then the shining one said: "Do you love that beautiful bird?" In the
midst of his tears the child replied, "Oh, yes." "Then," said the
angel, "shall it not wing its flight from flower to flower and be
happy, rather than to dwell in a prison with thee?" Then the streams
and flowering vales of Elysium, that breathe the pure air of freedom,
spake: "Wouldst thou bring her back to thee, and make her a prisoner?
Dry up thy tears, and let thy song be, 'Stay not here, but speed thy
flight, O bright one, and snuff the mellow air of freedom.' God made
the birds to be happy in their short existence, and ought we to
deprive them of their own elements of happiness, and take from them
the freedom which they enjoy?"
* * * * *
THE WAY TO OVERCOME EVIL.
A little girl, by the name of Sarah Dean, was taught the precepts of
the Bible by her mother. One day she came to her mother very much
delighted, to show her some plums that a friend had given her. The
mother said to her: "Your friend was very kind, and has given you a
great many." "Yes," replied Sarah. "she was, and she gave me more than
these, but I have given some away." The mother asked to whom she had
given them; when the child replied: "I gave them to a girl that pushes
me off the path, and makes faces at me." Upon being asked why she gave
them to her, she answered: "Because I thought that should make her
know that I wished to be kind to her, and perhaps she will not be
unkind and rude to me again." This was true. The rude girl was
afterwards very good to Sarah, and felt very sorry that she had
treated her unkindly. How truly did the little girl obey the command,
"_overcome evil with good_."
* * * * *
HARRIET AND HER SQUIRREL.
It was on a Sabbath eve, when at a friend's house, we were all sitting
in the piazza, conversing about the efforts which were being made for
the poor heathen, and the number of Testaments which were being sent
to them.
"Father," said little Harriet, "do the little heathen children wish to
learn to read the New Testament?"
"O yes, my child, many of them do," said the father.
"But have they all got Testaments if they did know how to read?" "No,
my love; few of them have ever heard about the Testament, about God,
or about Jesus Christ." "Will half a dollar buy one?" said Harriet. "O
yes, my child."
"Then," said Harriet, "may I sell anything I have, if I can get the
money?" Her father told her she might.
Now, every child has some favorite toy. Harriet's was a beautiful tame
_gray_ squirrel. It would eat from her hands, attend her in her
rambles, and sleep on her pillow.
She called its name Jenny. It was taken sick, and the little girl
nursed it with care, but it at last died in her lap.
Little Harriet wept sadly about it, and her father tried to console
her, and told her not to feel so.
"Ah," said she, "you know, father, you told me that I might sell
anything I had to buy a Testament for the heathen children, and I was
going to sell my pretty squirrel to Mr. Smith, who said he would give
me half a dollar for it; but now my Jenny is dead." The Father then
put a silver dollar into Harriet's hand, and she dried her tears,
rejoicing that Jenny's death would be the means of his little daughter
having two or three Testaments instead of one.
* * * * *
THE REWARD.
A teacher in a Sabbath School promised to supply all the children in
his class with a catechism, who had none.
One of the little girls went home from the school after the books were
given out, and said:
"Mamma, if I had told a lie to-day, I would have got a catechism."
"I think that very strange, Eliza; for the Sabbath School is no place
for lies, and if you could be so wicked, I know your teacher would not
have rewarded you for it."
"Mother," said Eliza, "I tell nothing but the truth; and now I will
explain it.
"You know I went to school this morning with the other girls. They
told me on the way how their mother had bought each of them a new
catechism on last market day, and they said, if I once saw how pretty
their books were, I would not look at my old one any more. Our teacher
asked us all, when we went in, if we had any catechisms, and those who
said they had not, received one from the teacher as a present. Jane,
after all she told me, by the way, denied that she had any, and Lizzy
did the same. But when he asked me, I told him I had one at home; but
if I had said no, I would have got a new one."
Her mother then told her that she should be rewarded for not telling a
lie by giving her a new book and a new Bible.
* * * * *
ANECDOTES.
A poor Arabian of the desert was one day asked, how he came to be
assured that there was a God.
"In the same way," he replied, "that I am enabled to tell by a print
impressed on the sand, whether it was a man or beast that passed that
way."
THANKFULNESS.--Walking along Bishopgate street one morning, I saw two
men standing as if amazed at something that had happened.
"Pray, gentlemen," said I, "what is the matter?" One of them informed
me that a genteelly dressed man had hastily come up to him, and
tapping him on the shoulder, had said:
"Sir, did you ever thank God for your reason?"
"No," said I, "not particularly."
"Well," said he, "do it now, for I have lost mine;" when he marched
off with great speed.
HONESTY.--An honest boy, whose sister was sick and the family in want,
found a wallet containing fifty dollars. The temptation was great to
use the money; but he resolved to find the owner. He did so; when the
owner, learning the circumstances of the family, gave the fifty
dollars for their comfort. He took the boy to live with him. That boy
is a prosperous merchant in Ohio.
THE BOY AND HIS MARBLES.--One Sunday a lady called to her little boy,
who was shooting marbles on the pavement, to come into the house.
"Don't you know you shouldn't be out there, my son? Go into the back
yard if you want to play marbles; it is Sunday."
"Yes, mother; but aint it Sunday in the back yard?"
* * * * *
THE BOY AND THE DEW DROPS.
A little boy who had been out early in the morning playing on the lawn
before his father's house, while the dew drops lay on the grass, was
soon after seen returning to the spot, and finding them all gone, he
sat down to weep. His father asked him why he wept.
"Because," said he, "the beautiful dew drops are gone." His father
tried to soothe him, but he continued weeping. Just then a cloud
passed over, and on the cloud the beautiful rainbow had cast its arch.
"There, see, my son," said the father, "there are all your dew drops;
the sun has taken them up only to set them forth in greater brightness
in the sky."
"O father, dear father, why pass they away,
The dew drops that sparkled at dawning of day,
That glittered like stars in the light of the moon;
Oh, why are the dew drops dissolving so soon?
Does the sun in his wrath chase their brightness away,
As if nothing that's lovely might live for a day?
The moonlight is faded, the flowers still remain,
But the dew drops have shrunk to their petals again."
"My child," said the father, "look up to the skies;
Behold that bright rainbow, those beautiful dyes,
There, there are the dew drops in glory reset,
'Mid the jewels of heaven they are glittering yet.
Oh, are we not taught by each beautiful ray
To mourn not earth's fair things, though passing away?
For though youth of its beauty and brightness be riven,
All that withers on earth blooms more sweetly in heaven.
Look up," sad the father, "look up to the skies----
Hope sits on the wings of those beautiful dyes."
* * * * *
LETTICE AND MYRA.
A SCENE IN LONDON.
My young readers may have heard about the poor people in London. The
following story is a specimen of the hardships of many young girls,
in that famous city.
"Two young women occupied one small room of about ten feet by eight.
They were left orphans, and were obliged to take care of themselves.
Many of the articles of furniture left them had been disposed of to
supply the calls of urgent want. In the room was an old four post
bedstead, with curtains almost worn out, one mattrass with two small
pillows, a bolster that was almost flat, three old blankets and cotton
sheets, of coarse description, three rush-bottom chairs, an old claw
table, a chest of draws, with a few battered band-boxes on the top of
it, a miserable bit of carpet before the fire-place, a wooden box for
coals, a little tin fender, and an old poker. What there was, however,
was kept clean, the floor and yellow paint was clean, and the washing
tub which sat in one corner of the room.
"It was a bitter cold night, the wind blew and shook the window, when
a young girl of about eighteen sat by the tallow candle, which burned
in a tin candlestick, at 12 o'clock at night, finishing a piece of
work with the needle which she was to return next morning. Her name
was Lettice Arnold. She was naturally of a cheerful, hopeful temper,
and though work and disappointment had faded the bright colors of
hope, still hope buoyed up her spirits.
"Her sister Myra was delicate, and lay on the mattrass on that night,
tossing about with suffering, unable to rest. At last Lettice says to
her:----
"'Poor Myra, can't you get to sleep?'
"'It is so cold,' was the reply; 'and when will you have done and come
to bed?'
"'One quarter of an hour more, Myra, and I shall have finished my
work, and then I will throw my clothes over your feet, and I hope you
will be a little warmer.'
"Myra sighed, and lifted up her head, and leaning upon her arm watched
the progress of her sister as she plied the needle to her work.
"'How slowly,' said Myra, 'you do get along. It is one o'clock, and
you have not finished yet.'
"'I cannot work fast, Myra, and neatly too; my hands are not so
delicate and nimble as yours,' and smiling a little, she added: 'Such
swelled clumsy things, I cannot get over the ground nimbly and well at
the same time. You, are a fine race horse, and I a drudging pony. But
I shall soon be through.'
"Myra once more uttered a sigh and cried:
"'Oh, my feet are dreadful cold.'
"'Take this bit of flannel,' said Lettice, 'and let me wrap them up.'
"'Nay, you will want it,' she replied.
"'Oh, I have only five minutes to sit up, and I can wrap this piece of
carpet round mine,' said Lettice.
"And she laid down her work and went to the bed and wrapped her
sister's icy feet in the flannel, and then sat down and finished her
task. How glad was Lettice to creep to the mattress and to lay her
aching limbs upon it. A hard bed and scanty covering in a cold night
are keenly felt. She soon fell asleep, while her sister tossed and
murmured on account of the cold.
"Lettice awoke and drew her over little pillow from under her head,
and put it under her sister's and tried every way to make her sister
comfortable, and she partly succeeded; and at last Myra, the delicate
suffering creature, fell asleep, and Lettice slumbered like a child."
How thankful ought we to be for kind parents, a comfortable home, and
a good fire in a cold night. I will tell you in my next story what
Lettice did with her work.
* * * * *
LETTICE TAKING HOME THE WORK.
Early in the morning, before it was light, and while the twilight
gleamed through the curtainless windows, Lettice was up dressing
herself by the aid of the light which gleamed from the street lamp
into the window. She combed her hair with modest neatness, then opened
the draw with much precaution, lest she should disturb poor Myra, who
still slumbered on the hard mattrass--drew out a shawl and began to
fold it as if to put it on.
"Alas!" said Lettice, "this will not do--it is thread-bare, time-worn,
and has given way in two places." She turned it, and unfolded it, but
it would not do. It was so shabby that she was actually ashamed to be
seen with it in the street. She put it aside and took the liberty of
borrowing Myra's, who was now asleep. She knew Myra would be awful
cold when she got up, and would need it. But she must go with the work
that morning. She thought first of preparing the fire, so that Myra,
when she arose, would only have to light the match; but as she went to
the box for coal, she saw, with terror, how low the little store of
fuel was, and she said to herself, "we must have a bushel of coal
to-day--better to do without meat than fire such weather as this." But
she was cheered with the reflection that she should receive a little
more for her work that day than what she had from other places. It had
been ordered by a benevolent lady who had been to some trouble in
getting the poor woman supplied with needle work so that they should
receive the full price. She had worked for private customers before,
and always received more pay from them than from the shops in London,
where they would beat down the poor to the last penny.
Poor Lettice went to the old band-box and took out a shabby old
bonnet--she looked at it, and sighed, when she thought of the
appearance she must make; for she was going to Mrs. Danvers, and her
work was some very nice linen for a young lady about to be married.
Just at this moment she thought of the contrast between all the fine
things that young lady was to have, and her own destitution. But her
disposition was such as not to cause her to think hard of others who
had plenty while she was poor. She was contented to receive her pay
from the wealthy, for her daily needle work. She felt that what they
had was not taken from her, and if she could gain in her little way by
receiving her just earnings from the general prosperity of others, she
would not complain. And as the thought of the increased pay came into
her mind, which she was to receive that day, she brightened up, shook
the bonnet, pulled out the ribbons, and made it look as tidy as
possible, thinking to herself that after buying some fuel she might
possibly buy a bit of ribbon and make it look a little more spruce,
when she got her money.
Lettice now put on her bonnet, and Myra's shawl, and looking into the
little three-penny glass which hung on the wall, she thought she might
look quite tidy after all. The young lady for whom she made the linen
lived about twenty miles from town, but she had come in about this
time, and was to set off home at nine o'clock that very morning. The
linen was to have been sent in the night before, but Lettice had found
it impossible to finish it. This was why she was obliged to start so
early in the morning. She now goes to the bed to tell Myra about the
fire, and that she had borrowed her shawl, but Myra was sound asleep,
so she did not disturb her, but stepped lightly over the floor and
down stairs, for it was getting late, and she must be gone. Read the
next story, and you will be deeply interested in the result.
* * * * *
LETTICE AND CATHERINE,
OR THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.
I must tell you who were Lettice and Myra. They were the daughters of
a clergyman, who held the little vicarage of Castle Rising. But
misfortune, which sometimes meets the wise and good, reduced the
family to poor circumstances. After the parents' decease, Lettice and
Myra located in London, for the purpose of doing needle work for a
living.
We said in the last story, that Lettice had entered the street and was
on her way with the work she had finished for the young lady. It was
a cold morning, the snow blew, and the street was slippery. She could
scarcely stand--her face was cold, and her hands so numbed that she
could scarcely hold the parcel she carried. The snow beat upon her
poor bonnet, but she comforted herself with the idea that she might be
supposed to have a better bonnet at home. She cheerfully trudged
along, and at last entered Grosvenor Square, where the lamps were just
dying away before the splendid houses, while the wind rushed down the
Park colder than ever. A few boys were about the only people yet to be
seen about, and they laughed at her as she held her bonnet down with
one hand, to prevent its giving way before the wind, while she carried
her bundle and kept her shawl from flying up with the other.
At last she entered Green Street, and came to the house of the kind
lady who had furnished her and many others with work; raised the
knocker, and gave one humble knock at the door. She had never been at
the house before, but she had sometimes had to go to other genteel
houses where she had been met with incivility by the domestics.
But "like master, like man," is a stale old proverb, and full of
truth. The servant came to the door. He was a grave old man about
fifty. His countenance was full of kind meaning, and his manners so
gentle, that before hearing her errand, observing how cold she looked,
bade her come in and warm herself at the hall stove.
"I have come," said Lettice, "with the young lady's work--I had not
time to come last night, but I hope I have not put her to any
inconvenience--I started before light this morning.'
"Well, my dear, I hope not," said the servant, "but it was a pity you
could not get it done last night. Mrs. Danvers likes to have people
exact to the moment. However, I dare say it will be all right."
As Reynolds, the servant-man, entered the drawing-room, Lettice heard
a voice, "Is it come at last?" And the young lady, who thus enquired,
was Catherine Melvin, who was then making an early breakfast before a
noble blazing fire.
"Has the woman brought her bill?" asked Mrs. Danvers.
"I will go and ask," said the servant. "Stay, ask her to come up. I
should like to enquire how she is getting along, this cold weather."
Reynolds obeyed, and soon Lettice found herself in a warm,
comfortable breakfast room.
"Good morning," said Mrs. Danvers. "I am sorry you have had such a
cold walk this morning. I am sorry you could not come last night. This
young lady is just leaving, and there is barely time to put up the
things." Catherine (for this was the young lady's name) had her back
turned to the door quietly continuing her breakfast, but when the
gentle voice of Lettice replied:
"Indeed, madam, I beg your pardon, I did my very best"--Catherine
started, looked up and rose hastily from her chair; Lettice, advancing
a few steps, exclaimed--"Catherine."
And Catherine exclaimed: "It is--it is you!" and coming forward and
taking her by the hand, she gazed with astonishment at the wan face
and miserable attire of the work-woman. "You," she kept repeating.
"Lettice! Lettice Arnold! Good Heavens! Where is your father? your
mother? your sister?"
"Gone," said the poor girl, "all gone but poor Myra!"
"And where is she? And you, dear Lettice, how have you come to this?"
Such was the unexpected meeting of these two persons, who were once
children of the same village of Castle Rising. Lettice had been
working for her schoolmate, Catherine Melvin. The result was a happy
one, and it was not long before, by the kindness of Catherine, that
the two orphan girls were situated pleasantly in life. But as you will
wish to know how all this came about, I will give you the
circumstances in another story.
* * * * *
THE EXPLANATION.
Lettice's father was a man of education, a scholar, a gentleman, and
had much power in preaching. He received one hundred and ten pounds
per year for his services. Her father's illness was long and painful,
and the family were dependant on others for assistance.
"We at last closed his eyes," said Lettice, "in deep sorrow." He used
to say to himself, "It is a rough road, but it leads to a good place."
After his funeral, the expenses exhausted all that was left of their
money--only a few pounds were left when the furniture was sold, and
"we were obliged," said Lettice, "to give up the dear little
parsonage. It was a sweet little place. The house was covered all over
with honeysuckles and jessamines; and there was the flower garden in
which I used to work, and which made me so hale and strong, and aunt
Montague used to say I was worth a whole bundle of fine ladies.
"It was a sad day when we parted from it. My poor mother! How she kept
looking back, striving not to cry, and poor Myra was drowned in tears.
"Then we afterwards came to London. A person whom we knew in the
village had a son who, was employed in one of the great linen
warehouses, and he promised to try to get us needlework. So we came to
London, took a small lodging, and furnished it with the remnant of our
furniture. Here we worked fourteen hours a day apiece, and we could
only gain between three and four shillings each. At last mother died,
and then all went; she died and had a pauper's funeral."
From this room the orphan girl removed soon after their mother's
deceased, and located among the poor of Marylebone street, where Mrs.
Danvers accidently met with the two sisters, in one of her visits
among the poor, and for whom she obtained the work which led to the
unexpected meeting related in the previous story.
* * * * *
JONAS AND HIS HORSE.
A horse is a noble animal, and is made for the service of man. No one
who has tender feelings can bear to see the horse abused. It is wicked
for any one to do so. A horse has a good memory, and he will never
forget a kind master. Jonas Carter is one of those boys who likes to
take care of a horse. His father gave Jonas the whole care of an
excellent animal which he purchased for his own use. Every morning he
would go into the stable to feed and water him. As all the horses in
the neighborhood had names, Jonas gave one to his, and called him
Major. Every time he went into the stable to take care of him, Major
would whine and paw, as if his best friend was coming to see him.
Jonas kept him very clean and nice, so that he was always ready for
use at any time of day. At night he made up his bed of straw, and kept
the stable warm in winter and cool in summer. Major soon found that
he was in the hands of a kind master, and being well fed, and well
cleansed, he would often show how proud and nice he was, by playing
with Jonas in the yard. His young master would often let him loose in
the yard, and when Jonas started to go in, the horse, Major, would
follow him to the door, and when he turned him into the pasture, no
one could so well catch him as Jonas; for every time he took him from
the pasture, Jonas would give him some oats; so when he saw his master
coming for him, he remembered the oats, and would come directly to
him. Some horses are very difficult to bridle, but it was not so with
Major. When Jonas came with the bridle, Major would hold his head
down, and take in his bitts, and appear as docile as a lamb. He well
knew that Jonas never drove him hard, but always used him kindly.
Jonas was not a selfish boy; he was willing to let his friends ride a
short distance; and in the picture, you will see him talking with one
of his young friends about his horse.
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