Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 41

The famous Benjamin West said his mother's kiss made him a painter.

Robbie Barnes might have said the same thing, for from that moment he was more than ever determined to persevere. A few weeks after this, Robbie and Thomas were out in the woods together. It was a holiday with them both, and Robbie had determined to spend the time in sketching a certain landscape he had in view. They had brought their dinner with them; and while Robbie was drawing, Thomas laid out the provisions. Having got it all ready, he went off to the brook to fetch a mug of water, and as he returned called to Robbie to come to dinner.

But what was his annoyance, as he came near, to see the mischievous dog munching the last piece of cheese? In sudden pa.s.sion he caught up a stick and gave chase to Pink, who scampered off with the cheese in his mouth. Robbie was so amused at the comical scene that he thought he would attempt a painting of it, and this idea set Thomas laughing as heartily as himself. It was weeks before he had finished the sketch; but when it was completed, it made a striking picture for a boy of his age.

Years pa.s.sed, and Robbie worked faithfully at his painting, and made such progress that Mr. Moring urged him to go with him on a visit to the neighboring city, where he could see some gentlemen who might be able to a.s.sist him in his desire of becoming a painter. Robbie was unwilling to leave his mother, but she was resolved he should not lose the opportunity for her; and shortly afterward Robbie, with Thomas and Mr. Moring, was on his way to the great city, which he had never seen before. Arrived there, Mr. Moring took him to an exhibition of pictures, and there introduced him again to his old friend Mr. Page.

The artist, to whom Mr. Moring had already showed the painting of the dog running off with the dinner, was exceedingly surprised that a boy so entirely self-taught should have made such progress, and was pleased indeed to see him again. His judgment of the merits of Robbie's work was such that Mr. Moring undertook to have the boy instructed by one of the best teachers of drawing, and so put him in a fair way of attaining that upon which his heart was set--the becoming a painter like Mr. Page. Robbie's mother, though sad to part with him, gratefully consented to his leaving his home for a time for this purpose; and though Robbie was much troubled to think what his mother would do without the little help he had been able to render her, he was persuaded that the best way to serve her was to improve himself.

He had not been long away before a message came to his mother telling her that he could earn enough by the sale of his little drawings to pay one of the village-lads to fetch wood and water, and to do other little things for her; that he was improving very fast, and that he had good reason to hope that he should one day be able to earn enough to keep them all in comfort.

Little Maria was busy braiding straw when this message came.

"I shall not want Robbie to work for me, mother," she said. "I shall soon be able to earn my own living, and I will help to support our dear mother when she grows old."

"G.o.d bless you, my child!" said the happy mother. "With such dutiful children as you and your dear brother, no mother need fear to grow old."

You're starting to-day on life's journey, Along on the highway of life; You'll meet with a thousand temptations; Each city with evil is rife.

This world is a stage of excitement; There's danger wherever you go; But if you are tempted in weakness, Have courage, my boy, to say NO!

THE RUSTIC MIRROR.

Sadie's boudoir is a meadow, Carpeted with blue-eyed gra.s.s; Slender birches, rounded maples, Frame her inlaid looking-gla.s.s.

Curtains woven up in cloud-land Trail their fringes over all, Shifting shadows gray and purple, Which aerial elves let fall.

Hither Sadie, morn and evening, Comes for water from the spring, Pausing ere she fills her pitcher Where the greenest mosses cling,--

Pausing where, as in a mirror, She a wistful face beholds; Magic mirror, for within it Many a vision fair unfolds.

When the April clouds are driven Over depths of azure skies, Windows open into heaven, And she sees her mother's eyes.

When she binds upon her forehead Wreath of daisies twined with wheat, She is queen, and wears a jewelled Crown, with slippers on her feet.

When the glories of October, Crimson maple, golden birch, Make her mirror finer, richer, Than stained windows of a church,--

She of golden-rod and aster Weaves a garland for her hair, Leans above the magic mirror, Murmuring, "Mother called me fair."

But 'tis best when clouds are flying O'er the clear blue April skies, And through dreamy depths she gazes Into heaven and mother's eyes.

M. R. W.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RUSTIC MIRROR.]

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD.

Come back, come back together, All ye fancies of the past, Ye days of April weather, Ye shadows that are cast By the haunted hours before!

Come back, come back, my childhood; Thou art summoned by a spell From the green leaves of the wildwood, From beside the charmed well, For Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore.

The fields were covered over With colors as she went; Daisy, b.u.t.tercup and clover Below her footsteps bent; Summer shed its shining store; She was happy as she pressed them; Beneath her little feet; She plucked them and caressed them; They were so very sweet; They had never seemed so sweet before To Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore.

How the heart of childhood dances Upon a sunny day!

It has its own romances, And a wide, wide world have they-- A world where Phantasie is king, Made all of eager dreaming; When once grown up and tall-- Now is the time for scheming-- Then we shall do them all!

Do such pleasant fancies spring For Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore?

[Ill.u.s.tration: LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD.]

She seems like an ideal love, The poetry of childhood shown, And yet loved with a real love, As if she were our own-- A younger sister for the heart; Like the woodland pheasant, Her hair is brown and bright; And her smile is pleasant, With its rosy light.

Never can the memory part With Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore.

Did the painter, dreaming In a morning hour, Catch the fairy seeming Of this fairy flower?

Winning it with eager eyes From the old enchanted stories, Lingering with a long delight On the unforgotten glories Of the infant sight?

Giving us a sweet surprise In Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore?

Too long in the meadow staying, Where the cowslip bends, With the b.u.t.tercups delaying As with early friends, Did the little maiden stay.

Sorrowful the tale for us; We, too, loiter 'mid life's flowers, A little while so glorious, So soon lost in darker hours, All love lingering on their way, Like Red Riding-Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore.

Laet.i.tIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Maggie runs to rescue the child from the bull}]

HOW MAGGIE PAID THE RENT.

Presence of mind is one of the rarest, as it is one of the most enviable of endowments. It is the power of instantaneously forming a judgment, and acting upon it, and includes not only moral courage, but self-possession. No matter how brave a man may be in the face of expected peril,--if he lacks presence of mind, he is helpless in a sudden emergency. But, as this quality is an ingredient of the highest courage, the bravest men invariably possess it. The presence of mind of one man has often saved thousands of lives in sudden peril, on sea or land. This is naturally enough regarded as a distinctively masculine virtue; but it is one that both s.e.xes may profitably cultivate, as is shown by the following story. Girls as well as boys should be taught self-reliance--to depend on themselves, to think quickly and act promptly. Perhaps no emergency will arise in their lives in which the importance of such mental training shall be ill.u.s.trated; but it is well to be prepared "for any fate," and the discipline which produces this virtue gives strength and symmetry to the whole intellectual organism.

"Is supper nearly ready, Maggie? It is time for Jack to return from his work."

The speaker was an elderly woman in a widow's garb, and the person she addressed was her granddaughter, a pleasant-looking girl, who might perhaps have been fourteen years of age.

"Yes, grandmother, it is just ready, such as it is," replied Maggie; "but I could wish poor Jack had a better meal after his hard work than what we are able to give him."

"Ay, ay, child, I wish it as much as you can; but what is to be done?

Wishing will never make us rich folk, and we may be thankful if worse troubles than a poor supper do not come upon us soon."

So spoke the grandmother, and taking the spectacles from her nose, she wiped their dim gla.s.ses with her ap.r.o.n.