Imágenes de páginas
[ocr errors]

in such things as she likes. Might not the children of Mr. White, the baker, and Mr. Shape, the tailor, ask if little Sally Meanwell should be indulged in her pleasures? Are you not better dressed than they are, and is not your baby house better furnished than theirs?

Sally. Why, I believe so; I remember Polly White was very glad of one of my old dolls, and Nancy Shape cried for such a sash as mine, but her mother would not let her have one.

Mrs. M. Then you see, my dear, that there are many, who have fewer things to be thankful for than you have. Every thing ought to suit the station in which we live, or are likely to live. Your papa and I are willing to lay out part of our money for the pleasure of our children; but it would be wrong in us to lay out so much, that we should not leave enough to pay for your education, and some other necessary articles. Besides, you would not be happier if you had a coach to ride in, and were better dressed than you are now.

Sally. Why, mamma?

Mrs. M. Because the more of such things that we have, the more we want. Which, think you, enjoys most a ride in a coach, you, or Miss Har


Sally. I suppose I do.

Mrs. M. But if you were both told, you should never ride in a coach again, which would think it the greatest hardship? You could walk, you know, as you have always done before; but she would rather stay at home, I believe, than expose herself to the cold wind, and trudge about in the wet and dirt.

Sally. I believe so too; and now, mamma, I see that all you have told me is very right.

Mrs. Meanwell. Well, my child, make yourself contented and cheerful in your station, which you see is so much happier than that of many children. So now we will talk no more on this subject.



Ir was Sunday morning. All the bells were ringing for church, and the streets were filled with people, moving in all directions. Here, numbers of well dressed persons, and a long train of charity children, were thronging in, at the wide doors of a handsome church; there, a number, equally gay in dress, were entering an elegant meeting house. A Roman Catholic congregation was turning into their chapel; every one crossing himself, with a finger dipped in holy water, as he went in.

The opposite side of the street was covered with Quakers, distinguished by their plain and neat attire, who walked without ceremony into a room, as plain as themselves, and took their seats, the men on one side, the women on the other, in silence. A spacious building was filled with an overflowing crowd of Methodists, while a small society of Baptists assembled in the neighbourhood.

Presently the services began. Some of the churches resounded with the solemn organ, and

[ocr errors]

the murmuring of voices following the minister in prayer; in others a single voice was heard; and in the quiet assembly of the Quakers, not a sound was uttered.

Mr. Ambrose led his son Edwin round these assemblies; he observed them all with great attention; but he did not so much as whisper lest he should interrupt any one. When he was alone with his father, "Why," said Edwin, “do not all people agree to go to the same place, and to worship God in the same way?"

"And why should they agree?" replied his father. "Do you not see that people differ in a hundred other things? Do they all dress alike, and eat and drink alike, and keep the same hours, and use the same diversions?"

"In those things they have a right to do as they please," said Edwin.

"They have a right too," answered his father, "to worship God as they please. It is their own business, and concerns none but themselves."

"But has not God ordered particular ways of worshipping him?"

"He has directed the mind and spirit, with which he is to be worshipped, but not the manner. That is left for every one to choose. All these people like their own way best."

The several congregations now began to be dismissed, and the streets were again overspread with persons going to their own homes. It chanced that a poor man fell down in the street in a fit of apoplexy, and lay for dead; his wife and children stood round him, crying and lamenting in the bitterest distress.

The beholders immediately flocked round, and with looks and expressions of compassion, gave their help. A Churchman raised the man from the ground, by lifting him under the arms, while a Presbyterian held his head, and wiped his face with his handkerchief. A Roman Catholic lady took out her smelling bottle, and applied it to his nose. A Methodist ran for a doctor. A Quaker supported, and comforted the woman; and a Baptist took care of the children. Edwin, and his father, looked on. Here," said Mr. Ambrose, "is a thing in which mankind are made to agree."




HAVE you ever walked through the crowded streets of a great city? What numbers of people pouring from opposite quarters. You would imagine it impossible for them to get through; yet all pass on their way without stop.

Were each man to proceed exactly in the line in which he set out, he could not advance many steps without encountering another, full in his face. They would strike against each other, fall back, push forward again, block up the way for themselves, and those after them, and throw the whole street into confusion.

All this is avoided by every man's yielding a little.

Instead of advancing square, stiff, and with

arms stuck out, every one who knows how to walk the streets, glides along, his arm close, his track gently winding, leaving now a few inches on this side, now on that, so as to pass, and be passed, without touching.

He neither goes much faster, nor slower, than those in the same direction. If any accidental stop arises from a carriage crossing, a cask rolled, or the like, instead of rushing into the bustle, he checks his pace, and waits till it is over.

Like this, is the march of life. In our progress through the world, a thousand things stand in our way. Some people meet us; some stand before us; and others follow close upon our heels. We ought to consider that the road is as free for one, as for another, and therefore we have no right to expect that persons should go out of their way to let us pass, any more than we out of ours. It is our business to move on steadily and quietly, doing every thing in our power to make the journey of life easy to others as well as to ourselves.



COME, let us go forth into the fields: let us see how the flowers spring; let us listen to the singing of the birds; and sport upon the new grass. The winter is over and gone; the buds come out upon the trees: the blossoms of the peach and nectarine are seen; and the green leaves sprout.

« AnteriorContinuar »