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Short StoriesFlora And Her Portrait."And was there never a portrait of your beautiful child," s... Remember The Cake. I will tell you an anecdote about Mrs. Hannah More, when sh... The Saint's Rest. We've no abiding city here: This may distress the wo... The Market Day. Mrs. Ford had three little children--Lily, Hetty, and a dea... The Lady Or The Tiger? In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, wh... The Way To Overcome Evil. A little girl, by the name of Sarah Dean, was taught the pr... Benny's First Drawing. You have perhaps heard of Benjamin West, the celebrated art... Anecdotes. A poor Arabian of the desert was one day asked, how he came... A Good Act For Another. A man was going from Norwich to New London with a loaded te... Jane And Her Lessons. It is a mark of a good scholar to be prompt and studious. S... Lettice Taking Home The Work. Early in the morning, before it was light, and while the tw... Story About A Robber. I will tell you a true story about a robber. A gentleman wa... Flying The Kite. Flying the kite is a pleasant amusement for boys, and when ... The Boy And The Dew Drops. A little boy who had been out early in the morning playing ... The Brother And Sister. (In three Stories.) ... Anecdotes. TRUE BENIFICENCE.--Mark Antony, when very much depressed, a... Pledge. Our hands and our hearts we give To the temperance p... His Wife's Deceased Sister It is now five years since an event occurred which so color... Pleasant Play. There are many plays in which children may amuse themselves... Comfort And Sobriety. Let me here give you a few maxims to commit to memory:---- ... |
THE DYING BOY.A little boy, by the name of Bertie, was taken very ill, and for sometime continued to grow weaker until he died. A few hours before his death he revived up, and his first request was to be bathed in the river; but his mother persuaded him to be sponged only, as the river water would be too cold for his weak frame. After his mother had sponged him with water, he desired to be dressed; when his mother dressed him in his green coat and white collar, and seated him at the table with all his books and worldly treasures around him. As he sat there, one would have thought that he was about to commence a course of study; and yet in the marble paleness of his features, and in the listless and languid eye, there was evidence that life in the boy was like an expiring taper, flickering in the socket. He soon asked to go out in his little carriage. His grandfather, whom he very much loved, placed him in it, and carefully avoiding every stone, drew him to a spot commanding the entire landscape. The tide was up and the sun was shining on the deep blue waters, and bathing the distant mountains and the green meadows in liquid gold. The gardens and orchards around were gay in the rich crimson blossoms of the apple tree; the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of flowers, and the birds were singing beautifully, when little Bertie looked for the last time on the scenes of earth. He could not remain long, and was soon taken back to the little parlor, where he sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on the table. It was not long before the little boy died. But he was very happy. Among his last words were these, addressed to his little sister three years old: "Well, Emmie, very ill--me going to Jesus." "Oh, mamma, Emmie loves her Saviour." Next: THE BOY AND THE GOLD ROBIN.
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