The Boys' And Girls' Library Part 25

"See, my child," continued the curate, "how G.o.d cares for thee: when thy late mother was lying on her death-bed He had already conducted thy second mother here, unknown to us, nor has He allowed her to depart without having first found thee, and adopted thee. Know, in this, His fatherly care;--love with all thy heart the good and merciful G.o.d, who so evidently takes care of thee--trust in him, and keep his commandments. Be as good and obedient a child towards this thy new mother, which He has given thee, as thou wast towards thy mother which is now dead, and then this kind lady will rejoice in thee, and thou shalt prosper. One thing remember especially,--in thy future life, sorrow and misfortune cannot be kept entirely aloof; but when it does come, pray with the same child-like trust with which thou hast been taught; and as G.o.d has helped thee now, he will help thee again."

The child's relatives were now summoned, and made no sort of objection to the arrangement; on the contrary, they were well pleased. Their satisfaction was still more increased by the Lady of Lindorf's declaring she would take Sophy as she was, and leave her mother's little legacy, together with her own clothes, to them and to their children. Sophy only wished for a few religious books as a remembrance of her mother, and these were willingly granted to her.

Early the next morning the Lady of Lindorf departed for her castle, accompanied by Sophy.

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THE CHILD ANGEL.

"Come, come," said the bright angel, In a whisper sweet and low, "To yonder stream so lonely Together let us go."

And the child made haste to follow The guide she could not see, For she said, "A sweet child angel Is whispering to me."

The morning sun shone brightly Through the branches overhead, And summer leaves upon the ground Their dancing shadows spread.

And still, upon the cool, green earth The trembling dew-drops lay, And fell in showers, beneath her touch, From every leaf and spray.

Yet onward, onward went the child Without a thought of fear, For the voice of the sweet angel Still sounded in her ear.

And now the path is hidden By branches bending low, And, pausing there, she listens To hear the waters flow;

And from the opening blossoms, That smile beside her feet, She twines, with ready fingers, A wreath, for angel meet.

The deep and waveless river Spread out before her lies, And she sees the fair child angel Look fondly in her eyes.

One cry of joy she utters, Her arms extending wide To clasp the lovely phantom Beneath that treacherous tide.

Weep not, thou childless mother, Above that beauteous clay, For the voice of blessed angels Has called the soul away.

Think, when thy lips are pressing That pure and marble brow, In heaven thy own child angel Is living for thee now.

THE STORM.

You have heard of Switzerland, my dear young readers. You have heard of its high mountains--its lovely streams--its pretty flowers--and bright sunshine in summer. You have heard, too, of its deep snows in winter--its frozen waters--and its fearful storms;--its beautiful lakes--one moment calm, soft and bright--the next changed into furious commotion, throwing its angry waters high into the air. There, many a little boat, that had gone out upon its smooth waters, confident that there could be no danger, has been lost, after struggling long and fearlessly with the waves, and sunk to rise no more.

One night I stood alone upon a high rock, which projected over the Lake of Lucerne, and saw what I have imperfectly described to you.

I had been on the mountains all day--a bright, beautiful day. I had climbed the hills, where nothing was to be seen but grey stone; I had pa.s.sed on to others, and found them covered with lovely flowers--growing in every spot where they could find any soil--and some large trees, that, spreading wide their branches, allowed me often to sit down in the cool shade to watch the gay b.u.t.terflies around me, and to contemplate that glorious and almighty Parent--the Creator of all that is beautiful and good, and the Author of all good feelings and affections, and who enables us to enjoy all which He has made.

The sun was setting, and there was a bright red glow over the lake, that lay like a large sheet of gla.s.s, smooth and bright; and that was only stirred when the trout leaped high in the air--as if to look once more upon the sun before it went to rest; and then sinking down, they left a bright round ring on the lake, that soon pa.s.sed away, leaving all smooth again.

In a little time the waters began to move, and there was a low sound of wind, that soon rose into a storm; and then the waves dashed furiously against the cliffs, as I have before described; when a boat, with a man and a child, which I had been watching for some time before, sailing gently on the water, was now high on the crested wave--now cast suddenly down; and each time I feared it was lost. All I could do was, to pray to Him, who could say to the wind, and the storm, "Be still!" But their time had come, and G.o.d saw it best to take this father and child to Himself. I watched the boat till it came very near,--so near that I could see every stroke of the oar--every look of the poor man, who seemed to use all his force--but in vain.

The little child, who was seated in the bottom of the boat, looked up into his father's face, as if to learn there, what hope was left; but he neither moved, nor uttered one cry of fear. At last, when every chance of saving their lives was past--when each moment brought them nearer and nearer the fatal rock, on which it must be dashed to pieces, the oars dropped from the father's hand; and throwing his arms around his child, in one moment they were gone below the wave--and I saw them no more.

They went down into the deep waters together--and together they will rise, I doubt not, to live in heaven with _their_ Saviour, and our Saviour for ever; for the man had lived, as I afterwards learned, the life of a true Christian, and was now removed, with his child, to a state of existence where the "wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."

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SOMETHING ABOUT DOGS.

"Come, little boys and girls, and let us have some talk about that kind and useful creature, the Dog.

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"_The Shepherd's Dog_ takes care of the sheep as they graze on the hills and plains; at night he drives them safely into the fold; and if a sheep or a lamb were lost, he would not rest till he had found it, and brought it back to the flock.

"_The Esquimaux_ sits in his sledge, wrapped from head to foot in warm fur, and his dogs draw him swiftly along many miles over the ice and snow.

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"_The Hound_ is used to hunt the sly fox, that steals our chickens.

"_The Newfoundland Dogs_ are so fond of water, and are so large and strong, that they have saved many people from being drowned. If one of them were to see a child fall into the water, he would immediately jump in after it, and quickly bring it to land.

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"Then we must not forget the pretty _Spaniel_:--he has silky ears, and a curly tail;--or _Little Shock_, whose long bushy hair nearly covers his eyes. These are great favourites with children, and play almost as many pranks as their young masters.

"Dogs are so fond of those who are kind to them, that they would do anything to protect them from harm.

"Sometimes they will not leave their master even after he is dead, but will sit by the body as long as they can, and moan very sadly, and at last lie down on the grave and die too."

OLD OAK CHEST.

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THE MORNING WALK.

"Come, George! come, my little son," said Mrs. Hope to her sleeping boy, one bright morning in June, laying her hand upon him, and endeavouring to awake him.

George roused up for a moment, and then fell off again to sleep. He felt heavy and dull.