THE ORPHANS’ FRIEND.
Wednesday, June 14, 1S76.
BOYS’ AND GIRLS’ DEPARTMENT.
I.EAKX A EITTEE EVERY DAY.
Tiny steeds make boundless harvests,
Drops of rain compose the showoi'S,
Seconds make the flying minutes,
And the minutes make the hours.
Let us hasten then and catch them
As they ])ass us on the way.
And witli honest, true endf^avor,
TiCarn a little every day.
Let us read some striking passage,
Cull a verse from every page;
Hero a line and there a sentence,
’Gfainst the lonely time of age.
At our work or by the wayside,
While the sun shines making hay,
Thus we may, by help of study,
Learn a little every day.
LITTLE FOXES.
Some years ago I read a book
for grown people called “Little
Foxes,” which I don’t suppose
many of you ever read. But I
think children as well as grown
people have a great deal to do
with these same troublesome lit
tle animals that “spoil the vines,”
and I mean to show to you, as
the little book showed me, wh.it
some them are called, and what
is some of the mischief they do.
Then, whenever you come across
them, you will know them at
once, and can set as many traps
for them as you please.
I suppose of course you have
seen foxes, and have heard peo
ple tell about the naught}' things
they do. But if you had never
heal'd these stories of plundering
chicken roosts, you would think,
to look in their faces, that they
were the meekest, gentlest, most
kind-hearted little creatures in
the world.
I have no doubt -v'ou have
heard of tlie little fox who fancied
the grapes must be sour because
they were too high for him to
reach, but did you ever read in
the Bible of foxes who really
reached the grapes, and spoiled
them too ?
There is a verse in the “Song
of Solomon” which reads in this
way : “Take us the foxes, the lit
tle foxes that spoil the vines, for
our vines have tender grapes.”
Noiv of course you think that Sol
omon meant real, living “little
foxes,” and real, growing “tender
grapes,” do you not f Perhaps he
did, but I think underneath this
meaning—as the book showed
me—he had a deeper and better
one. And little children as well
as children who are older, have
a deal to do with these same lit-
■d.e foxes who “spoil the vines,”
and eat up the “tender grapes.”
Lid you ever see a little boy
very content on some wonderful
story-book, quite hidden away
perhaps, in an easy chair, with
his feet on the fender, and no
eyes or ears for anything but the
story !
His mother says: “Johnnie,
won’t you run around to the store
and get me a spool of thread ?
Johnnie heaves a long sigh,
and keeps right on with his read
ing.
“Johnnie, my son, don’t you
hoar ?”
“Oh! rna,” says Johnnie, ‘can’t
you make that thread do f I’m
so tired, and ‘Thomas’ is just go
ing to be shipwrecked.”
Mother sighs and wonders why
Johnny can’t be more obliging;
and unless she speaks again in
two minutes he has forgotten all
about it.
Do you see how the little fox
“Uawillinguess” is spoiling all
Johiiuio’s “tender grapes” ot obe
dience and love I
If ho had put his book by, ris
en in tlie midst of that wonderful
ship-wreck, long enough to do
that little deed ot kindness for
his mother, how much more he
would have enjoyed the- story,
and his warm corner when he
came back to them ; and how
much more comfort his mother
would have had in her boy. I
think you little ones don’t quite
understand, how we who are
older, feel our hearts warming
towards you with love and admi
ration, when we hear }'ou say to
one and another “Oh I let ma do
that for yon,” or “What is it you
wanted I I’ll run up stairs for it
at once.”
This is a very small fox, yon
think, but oh I how he grows and
tlirives upon grapes I
Then there’s little fox ‘Wait-a-
while.’ Do you think you ever
heard of him before ? He gets
at a good many vines, and spoils
more tender grapes . than you
would suppose. lie is such a
well-looking little fox in the face,
with very innocent eyes, and
seems to mean no manner of
harm. But all the time he is en
feebling- our wills, overturning
our resolutions, and working a
great deal of harm. This iiarm-
less-looking fox is very greedy
indeed.
“Jenn}r, you must put away
your hat and sacque,” says grand
ma, ‘don’t leave them lying about,
my dear.’
Jenny has just come home from
school, and is busy cutting a dress
for her doll—very busy, indeed.
‘Yes, grandma,’ she answers, ‘I
am going to put them away in a
minute.’
The minute passes and the half
hour too, very likely—the dress
is cut and almost fashioned.
‘Jenny,’says Grandma, coi-ning
into the room again, ‘your things
are lying there still.’
.‘Oh ! I forgot grandma ; just
wait till I put in these last few
stitches.’
And after a while grandma,
who is a little too indulgent, qui
etly carries off the hat and sacque
and hangs them up herself.
‘Jenny,’ says mother, coming in
presently from a sewing-meeting,
‘are your lessons learned my lit
tle girl!’
‘Oh ! ma. I’m going to leai'ii
them after sujjper; it’s a great
deal nicer.’
Mother says nothing, having
weightier cares on her mind, and
after supper tired little Jenny
falls asleep on the sofa, and is
sent np early to bed. Slie com
forts herself with the thought that
she will get up early in the morii-
ing, and have plenty time for
study before breakfast, which she
tliinks is really the best plan, for
one feels so much fresher in the
morning. But alas ! mother calls
a great many times, and the break
fast bell rings before this sleepy
little girl can summon resolu
tions to jump out of bed, and hur
ry on her clothes. Then with no
word of prayer to help her through
the day, she goes down to a cold
breakfast, and begs to have aii
excuse for the history lesson, that
little fox ‘Wait-a-while’ has kept
her from learning.
This is a very mischievous lit
tle fox, for beginning with a few
grapes, he climbs up to the large
and beautiful bunches, and if he
is not caught will likely be the
cause of very great sorrow and
ruin.
and grows like Jack’s wonderful
fairy bean-stalk, until he is no
longer a little fox, but goes about
like a great -wild beast, preying
on far choicer things than grapes.
At first, however, he is a little
fellow, and he rather charms and
amuses us sometimes. Take the
very baby brother, who only
creeps about on the floor and
laughs at you ; who gets into all
manner of mischief; who would
put Ins hand in the fire if he
could reach it, and tips over
mama’s work-basket a dozen times
a day. You see him put up his
pretty lips, and strike out with
his fat little hand at sister, be
cause she won’t let him help him
self to a bowl of sugar ; and don’t
you laugh and think it is the fun
niest sight in tire world ? Such a
wee, dainty fox as this can never
do any harm !
But w:ait till he has grown a lit
tle Tlien some day while you sit
in a corner reading, you may
hear the same little brother say
to one of his school-mates :
“Bob Jones, you’ve taken my
new top, I left it just here on the
table.”
“Hum,” says Bob, “I haven’t
any such thing; think I want
your old tup-penny totum, John
nie White f’
Johnnie flushes like a full
blown popy.
“Guess I know where I left my
own top, and you’d best own up.”
And Bob answers back, and
Johnnie gets very angry and
gives him a blow in the face per
haps ; and it you, like a good sis
ter, don’t stop them at once, no
one knows where it would all end.
So you see how the little fox
has grown in a few years, an '.low
it may grow in the years to come,
unless Johnnie looks for God’s
grace to strangle it.
There are a great many other
little foxes ; for I have only told
you ot tinee, and if we began to
count them on our fingers, per
haps we should hardly know
where to stop. Can any of }'ou
tell me how to catch and kill
them 1 Of course, the verv best
time is to begin at once, and
strangle them while they are lit
tie, before they have grown so
great and fierce as to master us
entirely. But wo cannot kill
them of ourselves. Asking tlie
Lord to help us, we must pray
and watch. If your little fox shows
the least tip of his nose, put out
all your sti'ongtli to push him
down, or else he will spoil tlie
tender grapes that are growing in
}-oiu' hearts.
Love i'oa’ ChkhSrcBi.
There
re is a little fox blacker
than eitlier of those, a very bad
looking, dangerous little fox, call
ed “ Ill temper.” There is one
strange and alarming thing about
him, which is this; he never
keeps little, very long-, but
: grow s
Among tlie amiable character
istics of noted men none are more
pleasing than the ease with which
they attract, and the faculty with
which they adapt themselves to
children. The late Rev. Dr.
James W. Alexander wits gifted
with this power. The writer
once saw him quiet, in a s'tago
coacli,afretfureliiId who was very
annoying to its mother, and not a
httle irritating to the passengers.
By a few words he attracted the
child’s attention; a little incident,
told in three or four short senten
ces, quieted it; and then, for
some half hour, child, mother and
passengers were all interested, as
the learned divine impirovised a
story.
In the days when Daniel Web
ster and Henry Clay were rival
leaders of the old Whig party, a
writer quite accurately set forth
the difiereiice between the tem
peraments and characters. He
said that if a child should meet
Daniel Web.ster on the road, it
would step aside, put its hands
behind its back, and, with open
mouth, stare at the great man. If,
however, it should meet Henry
Clay, its impulse would be to
run up to him, catch him by the
hand, and say, “Won’t you let me
go with you, Mr. Clay f’
We recently met with an an
ecdote which shows 'the love of
Washington Irving for children.
Its purports to liave been told by
a lady in Sacramento Cal, as an
incident of her early life :
Travelling in a coach in a
thinly-settled part of Alabama
with her parents, she gave u ter-
ance to the enthusiasm of a young-
girl at tlie romantic scenery.
Her father apologized to a fellow-
passenger for her exuberance.
The stranger answered,—
“Do not check lier ; enthusiasm
is a gift of God.” And then he
began, in eloquent language, to
tell of scenes he had gazed upon,
and lands he had visited, dwell
ing alternately on the majesty of
the wilds ot the West, and the
splendors of the highest civiliza
tion.
The girl’s fancy was all aflame,
and she led the stranger to speak
of foreign lands, and at last of
Spain, until, forgetting himself,
he spoke of scenes and narrated
legends in words which disclosed
to her his identity. Chipping
her hands, she cried, “You are
Washington Irving!” They
made a covenant of friendship
then which was close and warm
to the day of the author’s death.
THE
Orphans’ Friend.
A L!VE ANO LIVELY WEEKLY!
EITERTAIIMG MB IN-
STSFCTIYE TO THE YOUNG,
A ZEALOUS FEIEND AND ADVOCATE
©F EHFCATION.
THE GIAMT
The Marabou crane is a native
of West Africa. When full-grown
it will often measure seven feet;
the head is covered with white
down thinly spread over it, and is
not unlike that of a grey-headed
old man.
A young bird, about five feet
high, was brought up tame, and
given to a chief of the country,
and being accustomed to be fed
in the great hall, soon became fa
miliar, duly attending that place
at dinner-time, placing itself be
hind its master’s chair, and often
before the guests entered. Tlie
servants were obliged to watcli it
narrowly, and to defend tlie ])ro
visions with switches ; but, not
withstanding, it would often
snatch something or otner off the
table. Every thing is swallowed
whole; and so wide is its tliroat,
that a shin of beef broke asunder
serves it but for two morsels. It
has been known to swallow a leg
of mutton of five or six pounds
weight, a hare, and also a small
fox.
Do you a.sk of what service is
this giant bird? Wo would an
swer—In very hot countries, as
Sierra Leone, in West Africa, all
food soon becomes corrupt, and
all dead birds, and animals, as
well as all refuse, would quickly
decay, and cause fever to the peo
ple of those lands. But this bird
acts as a sort of scavenger. Its
great appetite makes it ready to
devour anything that comes in its
way, and its large bill is a capital
scoop and shovel; so that in a
short time it clears away that
which, if left, would endanger hu
man life. Every creature is made
for some wise purpose, though at
all times we may not be able to
know wh}A
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