Bessie on Her Travels

Meanwhile, Mr. Temple was continuing his “horrid nonsense” to Bessie, in spite of more than one reproof from Kate and her brother; but the little “princess” received it in the most disdainful silence, which greatly amused not only the two last, but also the offender himself. But at last it became more than Bessie could bear, and she too slipped from Kate’s hold and went back to her mother. From this time, the children avoided Mr. Temple as much as possible; and, if they could help it, would not join the Maynards when he was with them.

“What is the reason you don’t like George Temple?” asked Kate of Bessie one day.

“I don’t know,” said Bessie, coloring: for she did not know she had made her dislike so plain; and she really found it difficult to put in words the cause of her annoyance. “I don’t know, Miss Kate; but I don’t like him. I believe I don’t approve of young men,” she added doubtfully, as if she were not quite sure of the latter fact.

“But you like Charlie, don’t you?” said Kate, smiling, “and he is a young man, younger than Mr. Temple.”

“Yes,” answered Bessie, with an air of deep reflection, “but – then – I b’lieve the reason is, that Mr. Temple is not so very gentleman as Mr. Maynard. Your brother plays with us, and makes fun for us, but he is just as polite as if we were big ladies; but I think Mr. Temple is one of those people who seem to think children don’t have feelings. You know there is such a kind of people, Miss Kate.”

“She knows the ring of the pure metal,” said Kate afterwards to her mother, “and distinguishes the true gentleman in heart and feeling, as well, or better than her elders. She did not mean her words for me, I am sure; but I could not but remember that it is not so long since I was myself one of that “kind of people who seem to think children don’t have feelings”;” and Kate laughed at the recollection of Bessie’s solemn air, when she had pronounced her opinion of Mr. Temple. “Poor Maggie! how I used to tease her.”

“Yes, indeed, Kate,” said Mrs. Maynard, “grown people, I fear, too often forget how easily a child’s feelings are wounded; how the word, the look, or laugh, which to us is a matter of indifference, or some passing moment’s amusement, may mortify and grieve some sensitive little heart, and leave there a sore spot long after we have forgotten it.”

“Yes,” said Kate, regretfully, “my conscience is not at ease on that point. And you may thank darling Bessie, mother, for giving me more than one innocent lesson in consideration and thoughtfulness for others, both old and young. The honey-bee, too, with all her heedlessness, – and she is naturally a careless little thing, – leaves no sting behind her, for she never forgets the rule which she calls, ‘doing unto others.’”

X

MAGGIE’S POEM

“Isn’t it a nice day, Maggie?” said Bessie, coming to her sister, who was leaning with both arms on the railing which guarded the upper-deck, watching the flashing water, the magnificent mountains, the blue sky, and all the other beauties around and above her.

“Yes,” answered Maggie; “and we’re having such a nice sail, except for that man. Bessie, my head is quite full of poetry about it.”

“Write some then,” said Bessie; “and we’ll send it to my soldier. He’ll be so pleased. I’ll ask papa for a pencil and some paper;” and she made her request to her father, who let her take his memorandum-book for the purpose; and, furnished with this and excited by all the beauty around, Maggie broke forth into the following verses, the first of which was thought remarkably fine by Bessie and herself, as being not only extremely poetical, but also as containing a great deal of religious sentiment very touchingly expressed: —

“POEM ON A STEAMBOAT SAIL

“I have so very many mercies,
I have to write them down in verses;
Because my heart in praise goes up
For such a full and heaped-up cup.

“But, ah! ’tis my unhappy fate
To see on board a man I hate:
I know I should not be so mad;
But he behaves so very bad.”

“‘Hate’ there only means ‘can’t bear,’” said Maggie, when she had finished this last verse and read it aloud to her sister: “but you see ‘can’t bear’ don’t rhyme very well with ‘fate;’ and I want to put that, it is such a very poetical word, and sounds so very grown-up-y. I had to put that verse about Mr. Temple for a relief to my feelings; and ‘hate’ must be excused.”

“That first verse is lovely,” said Bessie. “It sounds so very nice; and, besides, it is so pious.”

“Yes,” said Maggie. “I thought I’d better begin with a little religion and gratitude. Besides, it was that made the poetry come into my ideas, Bessie. I was thinking how very good and grateful we ought to be, when God gives us such a very beautiful world to look at, and travel about in.”

“Yes,” said Bessie, putting her head on one side and giving her sister a look which expressed as much admiration and affection as a look could do, “yes: what a very smart, nice girl you are, Maggie!”

“You think so,” said Maggie; “but everybody don’t.”

“That’s they don’t know any better,” said Bessie, whose praise might have spoiled Maggie, if the latter had been at all vain and conceited.

“The second verse isn’t very pious,” said Maggie, looking at it doubtfully; “but I guess I’ll leave it in.”

“And you can explain it to Uncle Horace when you write to him,” said Bessie. “But make some more, Maggie: your poetry is splendid.”

Thus encouraged, Maggie went on, —

“I look upon the blue, blue sky,
That spreads above us there on high:
Below, the water sparkles bright,
And all around the land is light.

“The sun is shining, too, above,
And whispers to us, ‘God is love!’
The moon, also, will shine to-night,
And pretty stars will twinkle bright.”

“Oh, what lovely description you do make!” exclaimed Bessie, when Maggie read these two verses.

“This world is all so beautiful,
We should be very grateful;
But then, you know, sometimes we’re not,
And do forget our happy lot.”

“We’ll have to read gra-te-ful to make it come right with beautiful,” said Maggie, “but it sounds good enough.”

“Oh! it’s perfectly lovely,” said Bessie.

“Our father and our mother dear,
Each sitting in a steamboat chair;
Aunt Bessie too, the darling dear,
And Uncle Ruthven sitting near.

“Oh! it doth make my heart rejoice
To hear each loved and pleasant voice;
And then I have my sisters sweet,
Who with kind smiles me always greet.”

“What does ‘greet’ mean?” asked Bessie.

“It means something like welcome,” answered Maggie. “I can’t explain exactly; but I know it is a word poetry-writers use a great deal, and I thought I had better put it in.”

Maggie wrote on, —

“And then I’ve lots of friends at home,
From whom just now away I roam;
I trust they’ll all be safe and sound
When I again at home am found.”

“That is enough for to-day,” said Maggie “but I am going to make a long poem out of it, and I’ll do some more another time. I s’pose Niagara will be a good thing to put in it. You know they say it is splendid.”