Part 3
"Sometimes it may happen we have a dear friend sick, nigh unto death; we have called in doctors and they have written down what medicine must be taken; we notice the busy apothecary making up the mixture, when lo, after putting three or four different things into the phial, he lays his hand upon a bottle labelled poison.
"'Hold,' we cry, 'you must not use that—poison! It will surely kill, instead of curing the patient!'
"'Not at all,' he answers, 'alone it would do so, but mingled with the rest, and working together with them, it is certain to turn out well.'
"Now this is how we should look at God's dealings with us; all our trials and troubles, that threaten to bring us with sorrow to the grave, are working together. One day we shall shout with joy at the result. God's providence led George and his mother through deep waters of affliction, but the hand of God was in it all and gave a blessing at the end."
"And what became of George, grandpa?"
"He grew up to be a man."
"And what then?"
"Then he was married, and had sons and daughters of his own."
"And what then?"
"Then he grew old, and saw his children married, and have little ones, who called him grandfather, and on one cold, sharp, wintry night he told the story of his early life, with a pretty dark-haired girl looking up into his eyes, whose name was Annie!"
"Why, grandpapa, are you the little boy that slew the wolf?"
"Even so, dear children; old, weak, infirm now, but once strong, and vigorous, and daring. Yes, I am George the Wolf-Slayer."
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MARGARET KAURNER.
A STORY OF GOLD AND COPPER COINS.
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INTRODUCTION.
NO unimportant branch of education is letter writing. A great part of the commerce of human life is carried on by this means. In the days of old we find that letter writing was esteemed by the Romans in the number of liberal and polite accomplishments. Thus Cicero, a great and learned man, mentions with pleasure an elegant letter he had received from his son.
A fine letter does not consist in saying fine things, and the following anecdote of the Rev. R. Robinson, of Cambridge, is perhaps one of the most complete essays on the true art of letter writing that is to be found. The reverend gentleman was very fond of children, and used to make himself very familiar with them by adapting his conversation to their capacities, and joining heartily in all their sports. Still he never lost an opportunity of throwing out some hint that might be useful in after life.
Among his little favorites were two fine boys, sons of a much-esteemed member of his congregation. The elder, named John, was about ten years old; the younger, Robert, about eight. Upon one of Mr. Robinson's visits to their father, Robert, being told of his arrival, came bounding into the room, and, as usual, jumped upon his knee, when they entered into the following dialogue:—
_Mr. R._ Well, Robert, so you have taken your old seat; but how is it my other knee is unfurnished? Where is John?
_Robert._ Oh, sir, John is gone to London.
_Mr. R._ Indeed! How long has he been gone?
_Robert._ More than a fortnight, sir.
_Mr. R._ How many letters have you written to him?
_Robert._ None, sir.
_Mr. R._ How is that?
_Robert._ Because I do not know how to write a letter, sir.
_Mr. B._ But should you like to know how?
_Robert._ Oh, yes sir, very much indeed.
_Mr. R._ Then suppose you and I, between us, try to make up a letter to John; shall we?
_Robert._ Oh, dear yes, sir, if you please: I should so like to do that.
_Mr. R._ Well, then, let us begin: "Saucy Jack." Will that do?
_Robert._ Oh dear, no, sir, I should not like to say that at all.
_Mr. R._ Why not?
_Robert._ Because that would be so rude, sir.
_Mr. R._ Let us try again then: "My dear brother." There, will that do?
_Robert._ Oh, yes, nicely, sir.
_Mr. R._ Well, then, let us go on. "Last Thursday half Cambridge was burnt down, and—"
_Robert._ Oh, no, no, sir; that will never, never do.
_Mr. R._ Why won't it do?
_Robert._ Because it is not true; you know, sir, there has not been any fire at Cambridge.
_Mr. R._ Then suppose we alter it to "Last night our tabby had three kittens." That's true, you know, because you told me so just now.
_Robert._ (Hesitatingly.) Y-e-s, sir, it is true, but I should not like to write that.
_Mr. R._ But as you know it to be true, why should you not like to write it?
_Robert._ Because I do not think it worth putting into a letter, sir.
_Mr. R._ Oh, oh! Then, if I properly understand you, friend Robert, you think that when we write to our friends, we should, in the first place, never be rude; secondly, we must never say what is not true; and, thirdly, we must never tell them what is not worth their knowing. Am I right?
_Robert._ Yes, sir; if I were to write a letter, I should try to think of all that.
_Mr. R._ Then, my dear boy, you must never again tell me you don't know how to write a letter; for I assure you that you have a much better notion of letter writing than many people have who are five times your age.
The narrative we are about to relate is contained in a series of letters; and though, perhaps, this is not the most interesting form of story-telling, the events described are of so amusing a character that we feel sure our young readers will feel pleasure in their perusal. They are very simply written, affording a fine illustration of the recipe for letter writing—civility, truth, and interest.
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LETTER I.
MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.
DEAREST MOTHER:—You will be glad to know that I have arrived safe in the city. I came exactly at the appointed time, and my mistress was much pleased with my punctuality. She welcomed me affectionately.
I think you will be pleased to know the reason of her taking me into her service. She very kindly told me what induced her to select me for the vacant situation. It appears that when she came on a visit to our good pastor last spring, that she had occasion to consult a great number of papers, and had but little time to devote to her children.
In order to divert and gratify them, our good minister sent for me, that I might take care of the children and lead them into the woods and fields, so that they might thoroughly enjoy the country while they were in it. One day, the lady, accompanied by our minister, who you must know is the lady's brother, followed us to the meadow, and watched us, though we knew nothing of their presence. It was a bright morning, and the sun was shining on the little stream. The youngest boy saw some glittering fish and wished to wade into the waters to catch them. In order to turn his attention from this, and to lead him away from the stream, where I feared some accident might occur, I called him to follow me, and the children gathering round me, we sought out a pleasant spot all filled with flowers. There I know the children were secure, and there I knew they would be very happy. Children love flowers. Flowers, you used to tell me, are the children of the earth.
"Now," said I to the children, "cannot God make beautiful flowers? Is He not good to care for them, and give them rain and sunshine?" The children agreed. "Then," said I, "how much more does He care for children! And how ought we to love Him, who loves us so fondly and so constantly." I had no thought that anybody was listening but the dear little ones, but it was overheard. My observations pleased the lady. The good minister praised you, dearest mother, for the instruction you had given me. He spoke very favorably of my attention at school, and the lady was so well pleased, that when the children's maid was obliged to return to her parents who needed her, and the situation became vacant, she sent for me; and kind enough was she to say that she thought it was God who had brought us together.
Her house is very grand, the furniture splendid, the grounds delightful; but after all, I love the green walls of the light airy nursery, and am never so happy as when surrounded by my little charge. When she took me into the room, the children recollected me, and came and kissed me, and said they were glad that I had come. They all began to ask me questions about the country, and about their uncle. It was late in the autumn, but the children did not think of that, and wanted to know whether I had brought them any bright beautiful flowers. I told them the flowers were all gone, but that I had brought them some apples from the trees which were covered with blossoms when they saw them in the spring.
The fruit was divided between them, and they were greatly delighted. They praised the apples for their fine red cheeks. The lady bade me take good care of the children which I faithfully promised to do, and she then told me she would ever be a kind and affectionate mother to me. She is very good and kind, but she can never supply your place, dearest mother. Never can I forget your kindness and your care. If I live to be very old, I shall always remember how you went with me all through the rain to the place from which the coach started, how you had carefully prepared a cake and had gathered some of the rosiest apples, but more than all, how you kissed me while the big tears were on my cheeks, and how warmly and lovingly you bade God bless me!
Dearest mother, I shall never cease to remember your counsel, and shall always pray, that I may remain—
Your dutiful and affectionate daughter,
MARGARET KAURNER.
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LETTER II.
MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.
DEAREST MOTHER:—It is but a week since I wrote to you, and here I am inscribing another letter. O how thankful ought I to be that I was ever taught to write; it is such a pleasure and comfort to sit down and pen one's thoughts. I feel as if I were chatting with you as I used to do in our pretty little parlor. All is now very quiet in the house, the children are sleeping softly, and nothing can disturb me.
I am a very happy girl. My mistress is so reasonable, so kind, and so considerate. I have seen mistresses in this city who seem to imagine that their servants are destitute of all feeling; but my mistress is a Christian, all her orders are given in the kindest manner, and she takes great pains to teach me everything that I do not know. My happiness is increased by the happiness of the children. They are quite fond of me. They will stay with me as willingly as with their mother. This is a great advantage to her, for her husband being very often absent from home, she has to attend a great deal in the ware room—O, such a ware room, filled with muslin, in which my mistress deals. It is really beautiful. The muslin is so fine and even, and such a lovely white, the texture, too, is so delicate, that I think, dear mother, you would be as surprised as I was. I could not cease wondering how it was made. My mistress told me it was all spun by machines.
Who are the machines, I said, for I thought it was some particular sort of people to whom she referred. She heartily laughed at my blunder, and explained the thing to me. This surprised me more than before. She afterwards showed me some lace handkerchiefs, and dresses, the flowers on which were amazingly beautiful. These, she said, were not made by machines, but worked by the hand, by thousands and thousands of poor industrious people.
I mentioned to you in my last letter, that my mistress's house is very large and fine, and so it is. It stands in one of the broadest and handsomest streets in the city. A lady of rank lodges on the first floor. What a gay grand place is the city; how different from the quiet country village where I dwelt with you! The morning after my arrival the maidservant of our lodger came down to me with a clean white jug, with a plated lid.
"I say," she cried to me, "the girl that was here before you came, used always to bring the spa water from the fountain for my mistress. Will you do the same? It does not suit me to go tramping about with a jug in my hand, but you could easily spare a quarter of an hour in the evening, after the shop is shut up, and the children in bed; and my lady will very willingly give you a kreuzer * for every jug; and more than that, she will pay you regularly at the end of every week."
* About the value of one cent.
"I should be very glad to do what you require," I answered, "if my mistress were willing that I should do so. But I do not require payment for fetching a drink of water."
"Take the money, by all means," said my mistress; "the lady can well afford it, and a kreuzer a day is worth having. The secret of all greatness lies in littles."
I was very much pleased, as you may readily suppose, and, taking the jug, entered at once upon my duties as water carrier. Well, dear mother, as I was just lighting the lamp to-night, the maid came in and handed me six kreuzers. I was delighted with the money. It was fresh from the mint, and though it was only copper, shone just like gold. I thought myself amazingly rich. But the pieces will be far more valuable to you than to me; here I have every thing I need. These new coins I now send to you; I shall send you at the end of each month, all the kreuzers I get. All my letters the carrier has promised to take free.
I know that the present is a small one, but the will must be taken for the deed. If the pieces were gold instead of copper, they would better testify the love and affection of your daughter,
MARGARET KAURNER.
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LETTER III.
MRS. KAURNER TO HER DAUGHTER MARGARET.
MY DEAREST MARGARET:—I write to you in a state of the greatest surprise. My dearest child, what can you have been doing? I know not what to make of your last letter; there you talk of copper coins, and in it you enclose solid gold pieces. My heart misgave me; surely, thought I, in the gay city my dearest Margaret cannot have forgotten the lessons of virtue which were instilled into her mind in days long gone by. Surely, she cannot have been blinded by the glitter of gold, and betrayed into such an evil deed as robbery.
Dearest Margaret, you cannot tell the grief that these thoughts cost me. I then read your letter; you speak of shining kreuzers, and call them a poor present. This language puzzled me. Copper, thought I, cannot have turned into gold; perhaps, said I, one of her fellow-servants may have played a trick upon her, and put brass counterfeits into the letter instead of the kreuzers, in order to raise my hopes at first, and then disappoint them.
But of this I soon satisfied myself, by taking the coins to a money changer, who assured me that they were perfectly pure gold; every piece worth more than ten florins. I told him the whole circumstances of the case, and he advised me to send the money back at once.
"No doubt," he said, "the lady has given the gold coins by mistake for kreuzers. You say it was night, and then the blunder might very easily occur; send them back, by all means; otherwise, this little incident may become a bad business."
You recollect the old proverb, my dearest Margaret—"Coin brings care." I never felt the truth of that proverb so much as during the night after receiving your letter. I counted every hour. I listened to every sound. I trembled at every breath of wind, and kept fancying all sorts of horrors. I was so afraid that the house would be broken into, and the money stolen. This morning, I return the coins to you, and am very glad to be well rid of them. Go instantly to the lady, and give her back the gold. I shall not lay my head quietly to rest, till I know the money is again in the hands of the rightful owner. As soon as you have restored the money, write me word.
You remember the day when your brother George was marched away, with the other recruits from the village, how sadly both of us felt the loss; but now that George is more content and happy in his situation, I am more composed. Meanwhile, however, he is in want of all sorts of things; all the recruits receive something from home, but I have nothing to send him, not even a single kreuzer. If the gold pieces were my own, then—but not a word about them, my dearest daughter. Truly, the love of money is the root of all evil! Farewell. I beg of you to write immediately, and send a letter by the returning carrier, to your anxious, loving mother,
LOUISA KAURNER.
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LETTER IV.
MARGARET TO HER MOTHER.
DEAR MOTHER.—I wept very bitterly on the reception of your letter. How could it occur to you for a single moment, that I had stolen the money? Surely, I would sooner suffer my hand to be cut off, than commit any injustice!
Up stairs I ran to Madame Von Holme, and laid the six gold pieces on the table.
"Your ladyship," said I, "must have given me gold pieces instead of copper kreuzers."
The lady examined the pieces, and appeared very much astonished.
"This," said she, "is no mistake of mine. It is very extraordinary; perhaps some unknown hand, guided by a generous heart, has put the gold into the letter for your mother's use."
"And, dearest lady," said I, "this unknown hand was yours."
"No, indeed," she replied, "I have scarcely any gold at all, and of these new pieces not a single coin."
"But what shall I do, dear lady?" said I.
"Send back the gold to your mother," she replied, "for whom you intended the copper kreuzers; she may, with a safe conscience, apply the money to her own use, and should any mistake have arisen, and any one afterwards claims the gold, I will make it good."
While I was talking, two young ladies, friends of Madame Von Holme, walked in to pay a morning visit. My country costume was new to them, and they made me turn round and round, to get a good look at me. The little blue collar, with black edging; the red bodice; the green skirt; and the white sleeves and apron, were all examined. Madame Von Holme told them the story of the gold coins, with which they were much interested.
"Very strange indeed," said they, "and a great piece of luck for you; now, instead of your country costume, you must buy a new dress, such as the city girls wear."
"No," said I, "I cannot take your advice in this matter; the fine dresses of the town girls do not suit the country girls at all."
Madame Von Frame applauded my resolution, and said, "That many a country maiden had laid aside with her rustic costume, the purity of country manners, and in the smart dress, and smarter bonnets of the city girls, had become as vain and frivolous as they."
She told me to employ my money for some better purpose; and what better purpose can I put it to, than sending it to you? Send a part of it to dear George.
Mrs. Mayer, my mistress, was very much delighted to hear that I could spin, and requested me to spin her some fine yarn for a piece of cloth, during the winter. This I readily consented to do. But I cannot get on without my own nice spinning wheel, which my father made especially for me, a little before his death. Can you send it to me by the carrier? I wish we could sit together in the evenings, with our wheels humming in concert, how happy we should be! But still as I sit by the fire-light, and the wheel is humming its own home music, my thoughts will go wandering far away, and my heart itself leaps up with gladness, as I think of my old home, and think, as I am sure I may, that you will be thinking of me, and that in our own dear little parlor, sitting beside your spinning wheel, you still remember, with your old love,—
Your loving daughter,
MARGARET KAURNER.
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LETTER V.
GEORGE TO MARGARET.
DEAREST SISTER:—God bless you! Mother has sent me, through the post, three letters which you have written to her, and first-rate scholarly letters they are, dear Margaret, and do you great credit; and besides these letters, two of the gold pieces which you gave her. Why Margaret, you recollect the fairy tales, that amused our childhood in days gone by. It really seems that the good fairies have you under their keeping, and are going to make you as rich as a queen.
But more than with the letters, and more than with the gold, was I pleased with your honesty. Virtue is a brighter jewel than ever flashed from emperor's crown! What a strange commotion the letters made! My comrades all know that my dear mother is very poor, and when they heard of the money which the letter contained, and of the mysterious manner in which my mother obtained it, they came to the conclusion that the gold was stolen.
The affair came to the ears of my captain, who, though a young officer, is yet a man of great prudence and courage. He sent for me. "How is this, Kaurner?" said he, "you appear to have grown suddenly rich, and the story of your wealth is a very romance in itself. Have you got the letters with you?"
I answered that I had; gave him the four letters, and laid down on the table the two gold pieces, which I had not yet changed. He read the letters carefully, with evident pleasure.
"Your mother is a truly honorable woman," he said; "Your sister, an upright, virtuous girl, and you have always shown yourself an honest, brave lad. Your mother has brought you both up in honest principles. Always continue to love your mother as you do, and follow her good counsels. Your sister's kindness and civility to Madame Von Holme in offering to bring her the Spa water without fee or reward, particularly pleases me. Madame Von Holme is my aunt, and a more upright, excellent woman, does not exist."
"Perhaps," said I, "this good lady put gold coins in place of the copper ones."