Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 6

M. R. W.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A woman, an elderly man and two children watch b.u.t.terflies in a garden}]

THE SONG OF THE ROSE.

I come not when the earth is brown, and gray The skies; I am no flower of a day, No crocus I, to bloom and pa.s.s away;

No cowslip bright, or hyacinth that clings Close to the earth, from whence it springs; Nor tulip, gay as song birds' wings.

I am the royal rose, and all things fair Grow fairer for my sake; the earth, the air, Proclaim the coming of the flower most rare.

Green is the earth, and beautiful the sky, And soft the breeze, that loves to linger nigh; I am the rose, and who with me shall vie?

The earth is full of gladness, all in tune With songs of birds; and now I come, O June, To crown thee, month of beauty, with my bloom.

T. E. D.

RICH AND POOR.

My dear little girl, with the flowers in your hair, Stop singing a moment, and look over there; While you are so safe in the sheltering fold, With treasures of silver, and treasures of gold, Just a few steps away, in a dark, narrow street, With no pure, cooling drink, and no morsel to eat, A poor girl is dying, no older than you; Her lips were as red, and her eyes were as blue, Her step was as light, and her song was as sweet, And the heart in her bosom as merrily beat.

But now she is dying, so lonely and poor, For famine and fever crept in at the door.

While you were so gay, in your beautiful dress, With music and laughter, and friends to caress, From the dawn to the end of the weariful day, She was always at work, with no moment for play.

She saw you sometimes, but you seemed like a star That gleamed in the distance, so dim and afar.

And often she wondered if G.o.d up above Remembered the poor girl, in pity and love.

Ah, yes, _He remembered_, 'mid harpings and hymns, And loud alleluias, and waving of wings, He heard in _His_ heaven the sound of her tears, And called her away while the sun of her years Was yet in the east; now, she never will need From you any more a compa.s.sionate deed.

Nay, some time, perhaps, from her home in the skies, She will look back to see you with tears in your eyes, For sooner or later we quiver with pain, And down on us all drops the sorrowful rain.

She never will need you; but many bereft, Hungry, and heart-sore, and homeless are left.

You can, if you will, from the place where you stand, Reach downward to help them; the touch of your hand, The price of one jewel, the gift of a flower, May waken within them, with magical power, A hope that was dying. O, don't be afraid The poor and the desolate spirit to aid.

The burdens are heavy that some one must bear, You dear little girl with the flowers in your hair.

ELLEN M. H. GATES.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RICH AND POOR.]

LACE-MAKING.

"See, mamma what is the woman doing? She looks as if she was holding a pin-cushion in her lap and was sticking pins in it."

"So she is, my dear," Ellen's mother remarked. "But that is not all she is doing. There is a cl.u.s.ter of bobbins hanging down one side of the cushion which are wound with threads, and these threads she weaves around the pins in such a manner as to make lace."

"I never saw anybody make lace that way. I have seen Aunt Maria knit it with a crochet-hook."

"This is a different kind of lace altogether from the crocheted lace.

They do not make it in the United States. The woman whom you see in the picture lives in Belgium in Europe. In that country, and in some parts of France and Germany, many of the poorer people earn a living at lace-making. The pattern which in making the lace it is intended to follow is p.r.i.c.ked with a pin on a strip of paper. This paper is fastened on the cushion, and then pins are stuck in through all the pin-holes, and then the thread from these bobbins is woven around the lace."

"Can they work fast?"

"An accomplished lace-maker will make her hands fly as fast as though she were playing the piano, always using the right bobbin, no matter how many of them there may be. In making the pattern of a piece of nice lace from two hundred to eight hundred bobbins are sometimes used. In such a case it takes more than one person--sometimes as many as seven--at a single cushion."

"It must be hard to do."

"I dare say it would be for you or me. Yet in those countries little children work at lace-making. Little children, old women and the least skilful of the men make the plainer and coa.r.s.er laces, while experienced women make the nicer sorts."

"What do they do with their lace when it is finished?"

"All the lace-makers in a neighborhood bring in their laces once a week to the 'mistress'--for women carry on the business of lace-making--then this 'mistress' packs them up and takes them to the nearest market-town, where they are peddled about from one trading-house to another until they are all sold."

"Do they get much for them?"

"The poor lace-makers get hardly enough to keep them from starvation for their fine and delicate work; but the laces, after they have pa.s.sed through the hands of one trader after another, and are at last offered to the public, bring enormous prices. A nice library might be bought for the price of a set of laces, or a beautiful house built at the cost of a single flounce."

"I think I should rather have the house, mamma."

"So should I. But the people who buy these laces probably have houses already. There is over four million dollars' worth of lace sold every year in Belgium alone."

Ellen thought she should never see a piece of nice lace without thinking of these wonderful lace-makers, who produce such delicate work and yet are paid so little for it; and while she was thus thinking over the matter, mamma went quietly on with her sewing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LACE-MAKERS.]

HELP YOURSELVES.

Many boys and girls make a failure in life because they do not learn to help themselves. They depend on father and mother even to hang up their hats and to find their playthings. When they become men and women, they will depend on husbands and wives to do the same thing. "A nail to hang a hat on," said an old man of eighty years, "is worth everything to a boy." He had been "through the mill," as people say, so that he knew. His mother had a nail for him when he was a boy--"a nail to hang his hat on," and nothing else. It was "Henry's nail" from January to January, year in and out, and no other member of the family was allowed to appropriate it for any purpose whatever. If the broom by chance was hung thereon, or an ap.r.o.n or coat, it was soon removed, because that nail was "to hang Henry's hat on." And that nail did much for Henry; it helped make him what he was in manhood--a careful, systematic, orderly man, at home and abroad, on his farm and in his house. He never wanted another to do what he could do for himself.

Young folks are apt to think that certain things, good in themselves, are not honorable. To be a blacksmith or a bootmaker, to work on a farm or drive a team, is beneath their dignity, as compared with being a merchant, or practising medicine or law. This is PRIDE, an enemy to success and happiness. No _necessary_ labor is discreditable. It is never dishonorable to be _useful_. It is beneath no one's dignity to earn bread by the sweat of the brow. When boys who have such false notions of dignity become men, they are ashamed to help themselves as they ought, and for want of this quality they live and die unhonored.

Trying to save their dignity, they lose it.

Here is a fact we have from a very successful merchant. When he began business for himself, he carried his wares from shop to shop. At length his business increased to such an extent, that he hired a room at the Marlboro' Hotel, in Boston, during the business season, and thither the merchants, having been duly notified, would repair to make purchases. Among all his customers, there was only one man who would carry to his store the goods which he had purchased. The buyers asked to have their goods carried, and often this manufacturer would carry them himself. But there was one merchant, and the largest buyer of the whole number, who was not ashamed to be seen carrying a case of goods through the streets. Sometimes he would purchase four cases, and he would say, "Now, I will take two, and you take two, and we will carry them right over to the store." So the manufacturer and the merchant often went through the streets of Boston quite heavily loaded. This merchant, of all the number who went to the Marlboro' Hotel for their purchases, succeeded in business. He became a wealthy man when all the others failed. The manufacturer, who was not ashamed to help himself, is now living--one of the wealthy men of Ma.s.sachusetts, ready to aid, by his generous gifts, every good object that comes along, and honored by all who know him.

You have often heard and read the maxim, "G.o.d helps those who help themselves." Is it not true?