CHEERS AND TEARS. V. "It's very, very grand, I know," All say 'Hurrah!' while I am crying; And may be killed, as well as others!" VI. "Why, bless thee, child," the Sergeant said, To find that war's not all a blessing." VII. And still the ringing shouts went up By one alone, of all the village. The oak and cedar bend and writhe, When roars the wind through gap and bracken; But 't is the tenderest reed of all That trembles first when earth is shaken. R. H. Newell. 205 EXERCISE. 1. An old sergeant went tramping in an army's wake. 2. The rustics cheered till every throat was hoarse and parching. 3. Countless white handkerchiefs were whirring. 4. They only saw a gallant show of stalwart heroes under banners. 5. It was theirs to yield wild hosannas. [Shouts of praise.] 6. "How is this?" the sturdy trooper straight repeated. 7. His brawny hand caressed her curls. 8. He marched away to stop the benignant tear. LXXXVI. - BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. D URING one of last summer's hottest days, I had the good fortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and four children, whose relations with each other were singularly beautiful. It was plain that they were poor. The mother's bonnet alone would have been enough to condemn the whole in any one of the world's thoroughfares, but her face was one which it gave a sense of rest to look upon; it was earnest, tender, true, and strong. The children-two boys and two girls were all under the age of twelve, and the youngest could not speak plainly. 2. They had had a rare treat. They had been visiting the mountains, and were talking over the wonders they had seen with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied; and the mother bore her part all the while with such equal interest and eagerness, that no one not seeing her face would have dreamed that she was any other than an elder sister. 3. In the course of the day there were many occasions when it was necessary for her to deny requests and to ask services, especially from the elder boy; but no girl anxious to please a lover could have done either with a more tender courtesy. She had her reward, for no lover could have been more tender and manly than was the boy of twelve. 4. Their lunch was simple and scanty, but it had the grace of a royal banquet. At the last the mother produced with much glee three apples and an orange, of which the children had not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently a great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out selfishness. The mother said: "How shall I divide this? There is one for each of you, and 1 shall be best off of all, for I expect big tastes from each of you." 5. "O, give Annie the orange! Annie loves oranges,' BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 207 spoke out the elder boy, with the air of a conqueror, at the same time taking the smallest and worst apple for him"O yes, let Annie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine years old. self. 6. "Yes, Annie may have the orange, because it is nicer. than the apple, and she is a lady and her brothers are gentlemen," said the mother, quietly. Then there was a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with the largest and most frequent mouthfuls; and so the feast went on. 7. Then Annie pretended to want apple, and exchanged thin golden strips of orange for bites out of the cheeks of Baldwins; and as I sat watching her intently, she suddenly fancied she saw a longing in my face, and sprang over to me, saying, “Do you want a taste too?" 8. The mother smiled understandingly when I said, "No, I thank you, you dear, generous little girl; I don't care about oranges." 9. At noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat for two hours on a narrow platform which the sun had scorched till it smelt of heat. The elder boy, the little lover, held the youngest child and talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. 10. The other two children were toiling up and down the railroad banks, picking ox-eyed daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They worked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost too big for their little hands. They came running to give them to their mother. 11. "C O dear!" thought I; "how that poor tired woman will hate to open her eyes! and she never can take those great bunches of wilting, worthless flowers in addition to her bundles and bags." I was mistaken. 12. "O, thank you, my darlings! How kind you were! Poor, hot, tired little flowers, how thirsty they look! If they will try and keep alive till we get home, we will make them very happy in some water, won't we? And you shall put one bunch by papa's plate and one by mine." 13. Sweet and happy, the weary and flushed little children stood looking up in her face while she talked, their hearts thrilling with compassion for the drooping flowers, and with delight in giving their gift. Then she took great trouble to get a string and tie up the flowers; and the train came, and we were whirling along again. 14. Soon it grew dark, and little Annie's head nodded. Then I heard the mother say to the elder boy, “Dear, are you too tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder and take a nap? We shall get her home in much better case to her papa, if we can manage to give her a little sleep." How many little boys of twelve hear such words as these from tired, over-burdened mothers? 15. Soon came the city, the final station, with its bustle and noise. I lingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the father. "Why, papa is n't here!" exclaimed one disappointed little voice after another. "Never mind," said the mother, with a still deeper disappointment in her tone; "perhaps he had to go to see some poor body who is sick." 16. In the hurry of picking up all the parcels and the sleepy babies, the poor daisies and buttercups were left forgotten in the corner of the rack. I wondered if the mother had not intended this. May I be forgiven for the injustice! A few minutes after I had passed the little group, standing still just outside the station, I heard the mother say, "O my darlings, I have forgotten your pretty bouquets. I am so sorry! I wonder if I could find them if I went back? Will you all stand still and not stir from this spot, if I go?" 17. "O mamma, don't go ! We will get you some more. Don't go!" cried all the children. 18. "Here are your flowers, madam," said I. "I saw you had forgotten them, and I took them as mementos of you and your sweet children." She blushed and looked disconcerted. She was evidently unused to people, and shy with all but her children. 19. However, she thanked me sweetly, and said, "I was very sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get them, and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead." 20. "They will never die!" said I with an emphasis which went from my heart to hers. Then all her shyness fled. We shook hands, and smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted. 21. As I followed on, I heard the two children who were walking behind saying to each other," Would n't that have been too bad? Mamma liked them so much, and we never could have got so many all at once again." 22. "Yes, we could, too, next summer," said the boy, sturdily. 23. They are sure of their "next summer," I think, all of those six souls, children, and mother, and father. They may never raise so many ox-eyed daisies and buttercups "all at once." Perhaps some of the little hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless their summers are certain to such souls as these, either here or in God's larger country. LXXXVII. — THE STREAMLET. 1. T is only the tiniest stream, IT With nothing whatever to do, But to creep from its mosses, and gleam In just a thin ribbon or two, Where it spills from the rock, and besprinkles The flowers all round it with dew. II. Half-way up the hillside it slips From darkness out into the light, Slides over the ledges, and drips In a basin all bubbling and bright, Then once more, in the long meadow-grasses, 18 |