The Angel Children<br />or, Stories from Cloud-Land by Charlotte M. Higgins (motivational books to read txt) 📕

one would have predicted for him over his cradle, when the rosy cheeks sank into the soft pillow, and the long lashes of his baby eyelids rested upon them! I love that brother now, and his child, who had become penniless after his death, I warmed in my chimney-corner, and held to my heart as though she had been my own child. Brother, I know thou hast repented, long ago, of the wrongs thou didst inflict, and that some time, in the presence of God, I shall clasp thee in my arms, pure again as when we sat together on our mother's knee![Pg 112]

See how I have wandered away off from my story!

Let me tell you how we got our clothes. Did you ever ask yourself what we could do then, when there were so few shops, and so little money to carry to the shops?

We had sheep, who gave us wool, which my mother spun, and wove it into cloth. Just think of that! Do you imagine you would have as fine clothes, if your mothers had to spin all the cloth? She knit, too, O, so fast! as well in the dark as the light. I have known her to knit a coarse stocking easily of an evening—her fingers flew along the needles! Cotton cloth was a great rarity among us. I remember once my mother had a cotton gown, and it was esteemed very precious.

Father made our shoes, and rough ones they were too, and which we only wore in the coldest part of the winter. The long winter evenings were so beautiful to us! Father taught us to read and spell, and chalked out sums on the wall for us; then we would draw profiles on the wall, for the great blaze of the wood-fire cast a bright light, and, consequently, the shadow was well marked. A[Pg 113] huge chimney-place we had, with a broad hearth, and all about this would we sit, roasting apples and popping corn by the heat of the fire.

So we lived; in the summer, playing "hi-spy" around the corners of the barn, and, in the winter, living snugly in the chimney-corner, telling stories.

When the revolutionary war broke out,—you've heard of that, of course; but then I'm afraid you'll never know how much we endured then; our feeling against the injustice of Mother England was very great. You do not know how we had loved her, nor how we children used to listen to stories of that beautiful country beyond the sea. Our father and mother spoke of it as "Home," and we all hoped that some time, when we were men and women, we might go "Home." Then, when she began to tax us for more money than we were able to pay, in order to build grand palaces, it seemed hard to us; and, even after we had remonstrated again and again, she took no notice of our petitions. She laid a heavy tax on some little comforts we had, such as sugar and molasses; and then, when we refused to buy them rather than[Pg 114] pay the tax, she imposed a heavy tax on tea, and sent a great deal of it here to force us to buy it. We wouldn't have the tea, however, and you must have heard how a party of men, disguised as Indians, threw it all into Boston harbor.

All these things seemed the more cruel because they came from "Home." And, finally, worn out with the injustice constantly experienced at their hands, we prepared to resist them by war.

The declaration of independence, which you celebrate every fourth of July, was received with mingled emotions of joy and sorrow. It was severing an old tie which had once been sweet; but yet it promised us, through the doubtful conflict, freedom and independence.

How enthusiastic we children were! Father made us rude wooden guns; and drilled us every morning, for no one knew how long the war would last; but we were determined to conquer, even though our fathers died in the war, and our children succeeded to it. I remember when the recruiting army came round. I seized my gun, and manfully joined its ranks. But to my dismay I was sent back; my wooden gun, and extreme[Pg 115] youth, were thought insufficient to meet the demands of a soldier's duty. I remember well when the battle was fought on Bunker Hill. A great part of the town was gathered upon a slight elevation, from which we could distinctly hear the roaring of the cannons and the clashing of the artillery. It was a terrible day! There was many a woman there who had a father or husband in the battle; and, at each report which filled their ears, they fancied they saw them falling before the foe, and trampled beneath the feet of the conquerors.

Those were trying times. Children, I pray God you may never know such; and you never can, for you will not struggle with poverty as we did. When I look upon your happy faces, and see the satchel full of books on your arm,—when I look in upon your happy homes, upon the career of honor and usefulness before you in the future,—I am, by the strong contrast, transported to those "trying times" when we lived in the cold houses, and wore the coarse cloth; when we sacrificed the refinements of knowledge, and the pleasures of luxury, to the bold struggle of liberty against tyranny; when our hard-working mothers at home[Pg 116] melted their last pewter plate, that the guns should know no lack of bullets, and sent all the little comforts of food and clothing they could find, to bless the husbands and fathers toiling in the war; and when the fathers fought with the fangs of thirst and hunger fast upon them, and leaving behind them, upon the sharp ice, the traces of their footsteps, engraven by their bleeding feet. Then, children, tears of joy and gratitude fill my eyes; for we did not toil in vain. In you all do I behold the fruits of our labor. We were ignorant, that you might be wise; poor, that you might be rich; outlawed and disgraced, that you might build up a free and generous nation. And, in reaping these privileges, do not forget the old man, and the old woman, who, bowed and wrinkled with age, need your kind hand. We have given you these things gladly; and now, before we go to our further toil in eternity, let us hear your blessed voices speaking to us in kind tones of love; let us feel your young lips pressed upon our old brows; let us clasp your little hands, and feel the gladness with which your attentions come to us. And when you see an old man, alone, with those of his gen[Pg 117]eration passed away, treat him tenderly. Guide his tottering footsteps, and bear with him when he is slow; for he is waiting for the kind servant, Death. He is thinking of a dear little girl, who, long ago, with her blue eyes and golden hair, her light step and soft embrace, went up to live with the angels; and the tears fall fast over his worn cheeks, as he remembers the lone place she left in his heart, for she was the last thing which had been left him from his broken family. Speak to the old man gently, for his heart is often in converse with the beautiful past! Speak to him gently, for his soul dwells among the angels of heaven![Pg 118]

A STORY OF THE CHRIST-CHILD.

In one of those tall, splendid houses, standing in proud streets, in which some poor people imagine heaven to dwell, lived a little girl by the name of Helen.

It was Christmas-day; and early in the morning did she jump from her bed, and run to look at her stocking by the fireplace, where it was hung that Santa Claus need not be troubled to hunt for it.

There it hung, filled full, and all about on the sides had fallen the presents it was not large enough to hold. O, how quickly did she empty its contents; and how delighted were her exclamations!

"A beautiful bracelet!" she said to herself, sitting down on the carpet and drawing her little white feet under her; "just such a one, with the opal stone, as I saw in the window, yesterday, when[Pg 119] I went to walk with mamma on Washington-street; and she sent me home, I know, so she could buy it. O, and this beautiful book! how its edges shine! What pictures! Let me see;—'From your affectionate father,'—I knew father gave me that;—and see the pretty cushion, and the box, and the china cups and plates for my doll; and O, a new silk dress for dolly, and something little, away down!" continued Helen, drawing out her hand and peeping into the little stocking; then, putting her hand back, drew out a pretty ring for her finger. "If this is not nice! I never did see anything so pretty,—a ring and a bracelet! O, dear, dear! how happy I am!" She actually danced about the room for joy; and, when Katie came to wash and dress her, she scampered around and around her, for she could not keep still.

There was ever so much candy too, and she wanted only to sit down and eat it, unmindful of Katie's remonstrances.

She had been so delighted with her presents as almost to forget the merry Christmas she was to bid her father and mother; and so, when she went down stairs into the breakfast-room, where the hot[Pg 120] rolls were smoking, and the loving parents waiting, they had almost surprised her with their wishes before she bethought herself.

Then she began to think of a party which was to be at her teacher's house, and of the Christmas-tree and the Christ-child, which so many children would go to see in their best frocks and best looks.

So, after the famous Christmas-dinner with its nice roast-meats, and puddings, and pies,—after the game of romps with her father, and the ride on the rocking-horse with her brother, who, at last, from mere mischief, had tipped her off, and sent her crying to her mother,—she began to think about going there. She had seen herself nicely arrayed in the pretty plaid dress, with the ring on her finger, and the opal bracelet on her arm, which she had found in her stocking that morning. Then she bethought herself of how all the children were to bring a few pieces of silver for an offering to the Christ-child, that it might be sent off into distant lands to children who knew nothing of the blessed Christ-child and the Christmas he brought.

It is true Helen had a bright box with a hole[Pg 121] in the lid, through which she had dropped many a bright piece of silver; and it is also true that the box had a lock, and the key of the lock lay quietly in one of Helen's drawers; but the money there was destined to some very great and vague purpose; and she never would have dreamed of unlocking the box and taking from it any silver for the Christ-child. She knew well enough papa would give her money for that purpose. So to papa she went, and told him what she wanted; and he, proud that his little girl should carry as much as others whom she would meet there, gave her a beautiful gold piece of money—a veritable five dollars!

Then did Helen speed along with exultation in her heart—exultation for the gold in her tiny pocket, and exultation in the very bright dress, quilted pink bonnet, and pretty white furs. And she was so often thinking, "What will Mary say when she sees this?" Not once did Helen ask herself what the Christ-child, or he whom the Christ-child represented, the Saviour in heaven would say to the gold she brought.

Poor Helen![Pg 122]

She was not bringing the gold for the children so far away. She was bringing it because the others would bring some, and she wanted hers seen of them!

Away down in an obscure street, where you would not look for anything kind or beautiful, lived a brother and sister, who made each other very happy in their love. Their names were Johnny and Susan. Johnny was a lame, sick