The Book of One Syllable Part 3

Mr. Pill said that he was not quite dead, that he might, with great care, be brought to life, but that he would be ill for a long time.

George was brought to the fire and wrapt up in warm things; air was blown down his mouth, and he was put in a warm bed. At last he came to life, but he was so ill that he knew no one, and could not speak.

The men told George's Aunt that they were in their boat, and had just gone out to fish, when they saw George fall down from the cliff. They got their boat to the place as soon as they could, and brought him home. George's Aunt now knew that he had gone to the edge of the cliff, when she had told him not to do so.

While George lay in bed, he thought what a bad boy he had been, and of what his Aunt had told him. And he thought, too, that if he should get well he would try to do what his Aunt told him to do.

George was a month ill. As soon as he was well he told his Aunt he would be a good boy, and try to do as she bid him--for he now knew that what she told him to do was right.

Since that time George has done what he has been told to do, in all things; for he has thought of the fall he had down the cliff.

He was such a good boy, that all were fond of him, and what is more, he has grown up a good man.

Then let this tale warn those boys and girls who read it. May they do as they are bid, and may they not, as George once did, think that they know more than those who are more old than they are.

THE MOON.

What is the bright moon, that shines so in the sky?

It is a world like ours, but not so large; and boys and girls may live there, and go to school and play, as they do on this earth. To boys or girls who live in the moon this earth of ours shines like a large moon, and must give a great deal more light to them than their moon does to us. They could see to read and write by the light of the earth quite well.

The moon gives light from the sun, and does not shine with its own light; and so the earth would give back the sun's light to the men in the moon.

There are land and sea, and hills and dales, in the moon; and the marks we see on it, like a face, are the lights and shades of the land, the hills, and the sea. There are hills too which are on fire, and they can be seen through a large spy-gla.s.s. Some men have thought they could make a spy-gla.s.s so large as would let them see the boys and girls in the moon, but they have not yet done it.

What a strange sight would it be if we could see them all at work!

THE MAN IN THE MOON.

Once on a time there was a man who had his home in the moon. He was a queer man, with a large round face that was kept so clear and bright that it shone, and on a clear night could be seen far, far off--on the earth.

This man in the moon did like to look on the earth, and though it was so far off, he oft thought he should like to come and live here.

The earth to him did look so large and bright that he thought it must be a fine world to live in, where he could have more room to walk up and down, and not be kept in so small a place as the moon.

It made him sad when he could not look on this world, but for three weeks in each month he was made to turn his face, or to shade it from the world, so that he could not catch a straight view of it at those times.

And then he could not be seen by those men and boys on the earth, to whom he was so great a friend. His large round face was so bright that they, too, did not like him to leave them; but they knew he would come back in less than a month.

When he first came he was seen near to the sun, where it had just set, and he gave a side look at the earth. The next night he would be more from the sun, and swell out his face a bit; it would then look like a hoop that had been cut in two. His face would grow more fat each night, till one eye could be seen, then two, and then his whole round face.

Now this man would fret, and try to get on to the earth. Day by day, hour by hour, he would try, and try, and try to come more near.

He did move quite fast, and thought he got some miles on his way, but for all that he was still as far off. He went in a round, like a horse in a ring, and there kept, and still keeps as far off as he was, and will keep there for years to come.

Now you could tell him that it is far from wise for a man with a fat round face like his, to grieve and want to come to a world that he does not know to be a more nice place than the one he lives in.

You could tell him that there is much grief and pain to be borne here--that few men who live here have such a round fat face as his, and that if he came he would have to work hard, and that care, and work, and pain might soon make him look thin, and lose his round bright face that shines so.

Yes, man in the moon, stay where you are. Do not long to have what you can not get, but rest there, and do what you have to do in peace and joy.

Be sure, man in the moon, you will find peace and joy if you do all the good you can in that world of yours, and that if you pine and grieve to come here, you will do no good at all, and make your life sad.

Boys and girls should do the same. They should not want to reach the man in the moon, but try to make the best of what they have. They may be sure that to be good and do as they are bid, will give them more joy than the most bright things they could find in the moon.

FRANK HART.

There is in this world one grief of a kind so sad that there are some who have not heard of it--there are still more who have not felt it.

This is the grief of a young child when he feels that he who ought to be his best friend--he who ought to love him more than all else love him--he who ought to soothe all his pains, and be glad at all his joys,--that _he_ has no thought, no care, no love for him; and what is far worse than this, who chills the pure first thoughts of a young child's mind, and turns such thoughts to pain.

Let all those who have not heard of grief so great as this, joy and be glad; but let them, while they dwell with thanks on their own lot, think and feel for the lot of poor Frank Hart.

Mr. Hart was a man who did not know the _rule of self_. He had not been taught this rule when he was young, and when he grew up to be a man, _self_ had full rule over _him_.

His young ones, for he had more than Frank, felt this fault hard to bear. So great was their fear of Mr. Hart, that when he was in the room they did not dare to speak, or to laugh, or to move. Had they a book in hand, they did not dare to turn the leaves, for fear that they might be heard; nor could they leave the room, for their shoes might creak, or the door might make a noise.

Thus would these poor things sit, till (sound of joy!) the well known, and at times the long sought for sound, the push of Mr. Hart's chair, told them he would soon be gone. Then the door would shut; and no shut of door could bring more ease and joy than the shut of that.

He was gone! and these young ones, freed from such chains as few so young have felt, would rise up from their chairs and jump, in proof that they _were_ free; and though they might not speak a word, each knew what was felt by all.

Frank was not so old by two years as the one next to him in age: he was but eight years old, and he did not dare to tell how great was his fear of Mr. Hart.

Frank thought that to feel as he felt must be wrong, and yet he could not help it. He thought this when he saw all boys else so glad to see the friend who was to them all that Mr. Hart ought to have been to Frank.

Frank, when he saw the rush of joy, when he heard the loud laugh of glee with which these boys were wont to greet this friend of theirs, has felt sad.

The bell that calls a child, though from its room of play to the room down stairs, that bell which is a sound so full of joy, brought no joy to poor Frank. It was a sound that he could not bear to hear, for to him it rang a knell of pain. And who can blame Frank for this? who _can_ when they know the scene to which such a bell would call him?

"Come in, Frank," said Mr. Hart one day to him, "come in: here is an egg for you."

Frank could not think that such a thing could be for him, yet he _saw_ the egg, and his face told how glad he was.

"Thank you," said Frank, as in great haste he took hold of the spoon.

He broke the sh.e.l.l with much care, and took it off bit by bit. He had just put his spoon so as to take up some of the nice white, when he found that quite as hard as he had found the sh.e.l.l. This was odd! but still he broke through _that_, when his spoon fell through it--it was but an egg-sh.e.l.l full of air!