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JLMSTEAD & C0., PUBLISHERS.
ps —— 3
ar) 7 PY
A BRAVE BOY AND HIS SISTER.
~ Ina pleasant New Jersey village lived fwo boys
* named respectively John Wilson and Harry Grant.
| ‘The former of these boys was nine, anq'the other
i ~ eleven years of age. Their conditions jn life were
ao ey, different. Harry Grant lived in a beautiful
* cottage close by the village church, with a pretty
yard full of flowers stretching out before the door,
é-yud a great garden lying behind it. Johany Wil-
in son, on the contrary, lived in an old, dilapidated
* house, without any yard before it or “ny garden
‘hehind it; with only a little patch of ground, sur-
“rounded by a straggling fence.
Harry Grant’s father was a clergyman, and Harry
had one brother, two years younger than himself.
} Johnny Wilson’s father was a shoemaker by trade.
~ A litle sign over the door told the passers-by that
* within they could have “boots and shoes made and
repaired.” But the sign-board was deceptive ; for
“Thomas Wilson—the people in, the village gener-
“ally called him “Tom"”—was an idle, lazy man;
he cared more for lounging at the tavern and
drinking with the bar-room Toafers than for work,
and so it happened that be was very seldom found
cay tks
at-home when the villagers called to have him per-|:
form their “jobs.” Tom Wilson had three children
in all: Johnny, why. was the oldest; Mary, who
was two years younger; and Robby, who was yet
* a litle baby, only one year old, with the light of
heaven still in his eyes. To all of these hunger
was a familiar guest, and few were the days of sun-
shine in their lives. Yet while these two boys lived
» # very differently, they were not so very different in
“!,* character. ¢ If-anything, Johnny Wilson was the
manlier of the two, He had so much trouble to
encounter that he grew “strong in resisting it; and
he gaw.so much in his father’s life that he knew to
a be wrong, and so much suffering in his home, that
“he le learned to hate_sin, and, to speak out agaigst it
Tear whatever.
ny was helped yery much in learning to do
right L, by ‘hie mother, who was a true Christian wo-
jam, and taught her children to avoid everything
vithat’ was wrong. Every night and morning, in
‘their, little garret-room, she ‘would hear them say
‘their prayers, sometimes telling them a pleas? nt
atory about Jesus and His love for little children.
Johnny, with such a guide and helper, grew.up to
_be a pleasant, kind and noble boy, whom every-
body Idyed, but none so much as.his little sister
Mary.
But Johnny was not without his troubles. Very
often he had his principles put to severe trials.
One day his« futher, who had been wandering
irritably about the- house for some hours, com-
manded Johnny to take the jug and go to the tav-
ern for a quart of liquor.
I cannot go, papa,” said Johnny; “I am
pledged never to taste nor handle anything that
“= mases drunk.”
« Won't. go, eh!” angrily exclaimed the father.
“Take that jug, sir, and march straight along, or
you'll rue it sorely.” —
Johnny was used to these threats, | so he only re-
peated:
“T can’t go, papa.
Tom Wilson did not stop any yTonger te: argue
the case. Seizing the brave little Johnny, he beat
him savagely about the head until he was out of
breath, and then, raising his foot, kicked him into
the corner of the room, where he lay bruised and
bleeding, while the inhuman father, snatching the
jug, hurried off to the tavern.
Johnny’s mother lifted him from the floor and
carried him to the bed, where she kindly bathed
+ his bruised face, smoothed down his rumpled hair,
* * ‘and with soft words soothed his sobbing heart,
. while little Mary, her eyes full of tears, stood by,
holding one of Johnny's hands in hers,
~ “Don’t cry,” said the mother; “father did not
» know what he was doing. He would not do so if
it wasn’t for thd’naughty liquor.”
“But what makes papa drink the nasty ‘mo
said little Mary.
The mother did not answer; she only tarned
away her face that her little ones might not see the
; pechful look in her eyes; and very soon Johnny
“Se asleep, and Mary, forgetting her grief, was
Note on the floor as though no sorrow had ever
ened her young life.
' BOSTON, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 12
son’s home, but, he: had “never “beatin his son 80
severely as on this occasion.” It seemed as if he
had lost all feeling, and had become a brute. It
was no wonder that, long after Johnny ' was asleep,
his mother sat with her hands lying in her lap and
a sorrowful look in her eyes. She ‘remembered
how, when she was a happy young girl, ‘Tom Wil-
son asked her to be his wife; how afterwards they
were married, and went toa pleasant home with
honeyauekles elambeving over the ..windows, ,and
clusters of flowers grouped along the garden walks ;
how for two years they lived happily and prosper-
ously; how afterwards her husband fell into bad
company, and waa often from his home; how he
drifted on from bad to worse, until at last he ceased
to care for his home, and neglected: his business,
and became unkind to all about him; and how now
he was a poor, helpless drunkard, the:slave of a
pitiless appetite, with want in his home, his life
stripped of its bloom,’and desolation all around
him.
“It is hard— ery, very hard,” said the poor
woman ; “but vive, me strength, dear God, to bear
the burder \to do all my duty, and so
gave my chi 4 evils that beset them.” |
Little M); | 4s ai'the little patch of ground
behind the hou > a little rose-bush—a pale, sickly
thing, on which she lavished the tenderest, éare.
The day that her father beat Johnny so cruelly, a
tiny little rose had burst into bloom, and Mary was
in ecstacies over it. She was fondling it, when,
toward evening, the father came home with his jug
in his hand, Forgetting how savagely he had be-
haved only a little while before, Mary, in her joy,
called to him to come and look at her pretty flower.
Her delight seemed to rouse the very worst pas-
sions of his nature—there are some natures, you
know, so perverse that they resent whatever is
good and pleasant—and walking deliberately to
the bush, he pulled off the rose and stamped it on
the ground. Then saying, with a. horrid oath,
“Get out of this,” he pushed her roughly away and
lay down with his jug beside him on the grass.
Mary was a sensitive creature; her rose-bush
was her only pet, and the loss of her flower was
like the loss of a treasure which could not be re-
placed. Crying bitterly, she ran to her mother,
and for an hour lay sobbing in her arms. After
a while ehe was put to bed, but her moans did not
cease; and even Johnny, lying with his bruised
face at her side, forgot bis own grief in Pitying his
ister.” .
XGthe pe ext morning little Mary was wild with
fever.” The want of proper food, with the excite-
ment she had suffered, had, proved toa much for
her fragile frame, and now she lay insé. tible, ber
mother seeking in vain to call home her wandering
thoughts.
Johnny had gone out for the doctor. Tn the
street he met larry Grant, to whom he told his
sad story. Harry hurried home, and very soon
or nes like this y vere yery frequent in Tom Wil-
minister’s wife was sitting with Mrs. Wilson
few
oy
eee eee
ope
by Hitule Mary’s’ bed, speaking consoling words.
After a while the doctor came, and for some min-
uted stood attentively watching his little patient ;
ther; he shook his head sadly, “She is a very sick
chill, Mrs, Wilson,” he said; “she has suffered
some grief that has been too much for her young
heart; besides, she has hot had sufficient nourish-
ment, and is so weak I am afraid if will be difficult
to rully her,” You should have sent for me before.”
~ Me doctor, administered some medicine and |?
went away. Toward night little Mary’s reasun
returned, but she could only speak in a whisper.
Thus all night long she lay, sometimes sleeping
quietly, then rousing in a startled manner as if
frightened by some dream. ,Once she said, “Don't
Jet him come, mamma,” and Mrs. Wilson knew she
was dreaming of her father, from whose cruelty all
her illness had proceeded.
The night passed; the morning came, beautiful
and fair; but Mary was no better. The doctor
called at an early hour, but only remained a mo-
mént. Taking Mrs, Wilson's hand, he said, “Your
little girl must die; she can hardly live till night,
probably not later than noon, Where is your hus-
band ?”
Mrs. Wilson, with a white face and choked
voice, replied, “I do not know, sir; maybe at the
tavern, But O
The doctor did not answer; he only shook his
head, and, pressing the mother’s hand, withdrew.
Bat in a moment he returned, and said, “If there
is any thing I can do for you when she is gone, let
me know,” and again disappeared, muttering to
himself as he went, “It's a shame, a downright
crime, that any man should 80 treat his family—
lounging in the tavern when his child is dying.”
Toward noon, Mrs. Grant, with Harry, came to
sit with Mrs. Wilson. Johnny was not in; he
had heard what the doctor said to his mother, and
soon after slipped out unnoticed. And where do
you suppose he went? We have said he was a
brave boy, and he proved it now. Ile thought to
himself, “Father must know what the doctor said ;
he may beat me again, but I will go and tell him.”
So, sobbing as he went, Johnny Wilson ran off
toward the tavern, Reaching the door, he saw, his
father within, standing at the bar. With him were
several other men, and all had glasses in their
hands. Johnny hesitated a moment, then walking
up to his father, he said, with a trembling voice:
“Mary is dying, father. Won't you come home 2”
* The father’s face blanched at these simple words;
but a strange look came into his eyes, Without a
word, he suffered Johnny to take him by the hand,
and the two walked away toward their home.
It was a strange sight which met Mrs, Wilson’s
eyes when, a little while afterwards, the door
opened, and these two—father and son—entered
the room. Without a word,-Thomas Wilson
pashed to the bed, and leaned over to look into his
daughter's face; but she knew him not; again her
uy rt wandered,
_ But O, sir, can’t you save my little girl?” | .
, 1863.
“My pretty flower,” she was muttering to her-
self, “it was so sweet, but papa took it, and I can
never have another. 7 What will Ged do to him,
mother, for being eo wicked ?”
Then, changing her tone, she would beg her
father to give her back her flower, stretching out
her little hands as if she saw it right before her.
Tears filled the father’s eyes as he listened to...
Mary's wandering prattle, All his unkindness and *
neglect, all his rough words and rougher acts came
like a flash to his memory; and in that moment,
when the past stood revealed before him, he felt
how utterly unworthy he was of the name of father.
He thought of the day when little Mary was born;
how proud he was when the nurse put her into his
arms, her rosy little face peeping out from a cloud
of snowy muslin; how he watched her for a year
afterwards with all a father’s care; how afterwards
he grew neglectful, and repaid his little daughter's
love with indifference, often with cruel words and
blows, And now she was dying, and he could not
even ask her forgiveness! .
But after a while, the flush’left’ Mary's face; a
natural expression came into her eyes, and she -
looked about “with a faint smile of recognition.
Her mind was'no longer clouded by-delirium ; she
knew them all; and upon her father. hd? yeze
rested with a peculiarly tender look. Jesus, may>
be, was teaching her how to forgive. as
Her father met the gaze with one 2 of i inexpress .
ble longing. Soon she spoke:
“O, papa,” she said, “I have had such a Scausital ?
garden, and it, was full of flowers, and a brojk ran
right through it, and little children—O, I exd’t tell
how many—were playing. under the trees, every Lf
one with a bunch of flowers in his hand; and the
all beckon-gt me to come, but I couldn't, foi; mh
clothes were soiled, and I thought maybe mother]
and Johnny would want me home.”
The father sobbed“ with’ new angitisn “ae Rue
said, “You must get well, dear, and you shall have
a garden of your own.” “pr
She looked at him with a pleased face, but hoe an.
time she did not speak. ' Then she said, *No, papa,
I think Jesus wants me; I dreamed of Him last
night, and something told meI must go to Tim
after I said good-bye | to you and mother.”
After this she did not speak for some time,
hen, suddenly raising herself in bed, she crieds /,
“There! I see Him; He is calling wb. “See how Z
He smiles; and hold! the angels are singing, and
there is a great light falling from the sky. I must
go, papa—let loose of my hand, Johnny. Kiss me,
mamma; tell baby I'm going. He is calling me—
O,letme go!” And again exhausted, she fell back.
Then the agony of the father burst forth—“You
must not die, darling; I cannot let you 52 37 and
he flung himself on the dying child, and raising her
ona pillow, held her as if he would snatch her
from the very grasp of death.
But it was allin vain. Little Mary: had indeed
heard her Saviour’s call. Up in heaven there was
a seat ready for her coming, and a harp and crown
Maryold them thus of her fever-dreams, i bus oS)
~|which His dear blood had bought; and at the ~
gates of the city troops ¢ of angels waited to welcome
her home.
It was a sad scene; the ter bending despair-
ingly over the dying child; weeping Johnny cliag-
ing still to her hand; the mother resting her hand
on the hot forehead; Mrs. Grant, standing at the
bed-foot.
A few minutes passed, then, looking about on the
litde group, Mary whispered, “Kiss me again,
mamma, and you, too, papa—good-by, Johnny,”
and in another moment her head fell back, her
hands dropped at ber side, and Mary was dead.
Shall I tell you how all that night her father sat
by the corpse dressed by Mrs. Grant in pure white;
how Johnny stole in now and then to kiss the cold
lips; how the mother, kneeling, the next morning,
with both father and son, prayed that their present
loss might prove an everlasting gain? Two days
after they laid her in a grave in the village church-
yard, and for the first time in many months, Tom
Wilson walked to and fro along the streets a sober
man. The touch of little Johnny’s hand as he led
him home from the tavern had proved “stronger
than old temptations ; the last look.of little Mary's
eyes was dearer than any gleam of the “cup that
intoxicates,”
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