1857.] Henry Ward Beecher on Boys. 103 top of human attachment. Strings are wanted for snares, for bows and arrows, for whips, for cats, cradles, for kites, for fishing, and a hundred things more than I can recollect. A knife is more exciting than a string, but does not last so long, and is not so various. After a short time it is broken, or has cut the fingers. But a string is the instrument of endless devices, and within the management and ingenuity of a boy. The first article that parents should lay in, on going to the country is a large ball of twine. The boys must not know it. If they see a whole ball, the charm is broken. It must come forth mysteriously, unexpectedly, and as if there were no more. For in-doors, next, we should place upon the list pencils and white paper. At least one hour in every day, will be safely secured by that. A slate and pencil is very good. But as children always aspire to do what men do, they account the unused half of a letter and a bit of pencil to be worth twice as much as any slate. Upon the whole, we think a safe stream of water near by, affords the greatest amount of enjoyment among all natural objects. There is wading and washing; there is throwing of stones, and finding of pebbles; there is engineering, of the most laborious kind, by which stone and mud are made to dam up the water, or to change the channel. Besides these things, boys are sensitive to that nameless attraction or beanty which specially hover about the sides of streams; and though they may not recognize the cause, they are persuaded of the fact that they are very happy when they see stones with gurgling water around them, shady trees and succulent undergrowth, moss and water-cross, insect, bird, and all the population of cool water-courses. But boys are not always boys. All that is in us in leaf, is in them in bud. The very yearnings, the musings, yea, the very questions which occupy our latter years as serious tasks, are found in the occasional hours of boyhood. We have scarcely heard one moral problem discussed in latter life, that is not questioned by children. The creation of the world, the origin of evil, divine fore-knowledge, human liberty, the immortality of the soul, and various other elements of elaborate systems, belong to childhood. Men trace the connections of truths, and their ethical applications and relations, but the simple elements of the most recondite truths seem to have gained in them very little by the progress of years. Indeed, all truths, whose root and life is in the infinite, are like the fixed stars, which become no larger under the most powerful telescope than to the natural eye. Their distance it too vast to make any appreciable variation in magnitude possible. They are mere points of light. Boys have their soft and gentle moods too. You would suppose by the morning racket that nothing could be more foreign to their nature than romance and vague sadness, such as ideality produces in adults. But boys have hours of great sinking and sadness, when kindness and sympathy are peculiarly needful to them. It is worthy of notice, how soon a little kindness, a little consideration for their boy nature, wins their confidence and caresses. Ever boy wants some one older than himself, to whom he may go in moods of confidence and yearning. The neglect of the child's want by grown people, and the treatment of children as little, rattling, noisy imps, not yet subject to heart-throes, because they are so frolicsome in general, is a fertile source of suffering. One of the most common forms of selfishness, is that which refuses to recognize any experience as worthy of attention, if it lies in a sphere below our own. Not only ought a man to humble himself as a little child, but also to little childeren. A thousand things are blamed on them, simply because, measured by our manhood standard, they are unfit, whereas upon the scale of childhood they are congruous and proper. We deny children's requests, often upon the scale of our own likings and dislikings. We attempt to govern them by a man's regimen, and not a child's. And yet badgered, snubbed and scolded on the one hand; petted, flattered, and indulged on the other-it is astonishing how many children work their way up to an honest manhood, in spite of parents and friends. Human nature has an element of great toughness in it. When we see what men are made of, our wonder is, not that so many children are spoiled, but that so many are saved. The country is appointed of God to be the children's nursery; the city seems to have been made by malign spirits to destroy children in. They are cramped for room, denied exercise, restrained of wholesome liberty of body, or if it is allowed, at the risk of morals. Children are half educated, who are not allowed to be familiar with the scenes and experiences of the open country. For this, if no other reason, parents might make an effort every year, to remove their children for some months from the city to the country. For the best effect, it is desirable that they should utterly leave the city behind them. It is absurd to go into the country to find the luxuries of a city. It is to get rid of them that they go. Men are cumbered and hampered by too much convenience in the city. They grow artificial. They lose a relish for natural beauty and the simple occupations of rural life. Our children need a separate and special training in country education. send them to the Polytechnique for eight months. But for four months we send them to God's school, in the openness and simplicity of the country. A diploma in this school will be of service to body and mind while life lasts. HOW CAN I FORGET? THE moon well knows her time to wane, The stars their hour to set, The flowers to deck the earth again But bid me not forget! For memory knows no fitting day, When she may hide one hour her ray, The dew-drop trembles on each tree, The zephy's wander, light and free How can I now forget? When we have twined at such fair hours, Fresh garlands of the heart's wild-flowers, "O that only the sun did always shine," said Frederica on a dark rainy day. Her wish was fulfilled; for months not the smallest cloud The long drought caused great injury in fields and meadows; and also in Frederica's garden the herbs and flowers withered, and her flax in regard to which she had entertained great hopes was scarcely as long as her finger. was seen. "Do you now see," said her mother, "that rain is as needful as sunshine!" And so also it would not be good for us if all our days were bright and joyful. We need also dark days of suffering and tribulation to make us grow in that which is good. The sun and rain are needed both the herbs and flowers bless, VI. THE RAIN. Once a Merchant rode from the annual fair toward home carrying behind him tied to the saddle a knapsack containing a large package of money. It rained heavily; and the good man got thoroughly wet. Whereupon he murmured angrily that God should give him such bad weather for his journey. The merchant now reached a dense forest, where he saw to his astonishment a robber standing by the side of the road, who aimed his gun at him and drew the trigger! But the rain had dampened the powder; and the gun did not discharge. The merchant gave his horse the spur and escaped. Being now safe, he said to himself: "What a fool I was that I did not patiently endure the bad, rainy day as a blessing from God! Had the weather been fair and dry, I would now lie in my blood, and in vain would my children expect me home. The rain, on account of which I sinfully murmured, saved my money and life." Though we complain, our God intends VII. THE RAINBOW. After a fearful thunder-storm there appeared a beautiful rainbow in the heavens. Little Henry just at that moment looked out at the window and full of joy exclaimed: "Such beautiful colors I have never seen. At the willow-tree yonder by the brook they reach from the clouds down to the earth. I am sure that all the leaves of the willow are dripping with the beautiful colors. I will hasten thither and fill all the muscle-shells in my box of paints." He ran as hastily as he could toward the willow-tree; but to his astonishment he only stood there in the rain, and could see nothing of colors. Drenched with the rain he returned sadly home and complained of his mishap to his father. The father smiled and said: "These colors cannot be gathered up into a shell. It is only the drops of rain which for a moment seem so beautifully colored in the beams of the sun. This splendor of color is nothing real, and does not endure. So, my dear child, it is with all the glory of this world. It seems to be a reality, but is only a vain show." How vain is all this earthly show, Build not your hopes on things below. VIII. THE ECHOE. Little George as yet knew nothing of an Echo. Thus once he called out in the meadow: "Ho, hop!" Immediately he heard from the little woods near by, "Ho, hop!" Hereupon he called with wonder: "Who are you?" The voice answered: "Who are you?" He cried again: "You are a dumb youth"-" dumb youth," replied the voice from the woods. Now, little George became angry and cried still more abusive words into woods. All these were faithfully returned to him again. Then he began to seek the imaginary boy in all the woods in order to punish him, but he could not find him. Hereupon George went home and complained to his mother, telling her how a bad boy who was hidden in the woods had abused him. His mother said: "This time you have told on yourself. You heard nothing but your own words. For just as you have often seen your own face in the water, so you have heard your own voice from the woods. Had you cried friendly words into the woods, friendly words would have came to you. So it is ever, the conduct of others is mostly but the echo of our own. When we meet others kindly they will meet us in the same way; but if we act roughly and rudely toward them, we can expect nothing better in return." Just as you call, bad or good, So the voice comes from the wood. OUR EARTHLY FRIENDS IN HEAVEN.. [THE following lines were found in the cont-pocket belonging to a young man, soon after his death, which was occasioned by consumption:] Is it wrong to wish to see them, Who were dear to us on earth, Is it wrong to mourn their absence From the parted household band? 1858.] Our Earthly Friends in Heaven. Is it wrong to hope to meet them Is it wrong to think them dearer I've a mother up in heaven, And, oh! tell me, if ye will, Can she look down from those windows, Will she clasp me to her bosom, And thou, loved one, who did'st leave us, Shall I see thy lovely features? And I think me of another, Who went up among the angels, Ere his life had scarce begun. Oh! I long once more to see him, With his thousand budding charms. Ah! 'tis true the soul must suffer, Ere 'tis fitted for its dwelling, Ere 'tis ready for its crown. But, O Jesus! blessed Jesus! Thou art loved without alloy, Thou wilt meet us, thou wilt bless us, IN Life's spring-time the purest, loveliest die, 107 |