Happy Days for Boys and Girls

Then they gazed at each other in silence by the red light of the fire.

They were no longer two pale, sad children, with haggard little faces, already prematurely old. They had been separated ever since Emilie had left the gymnasium, and, not living in the same place, they hardly recognized each other. Emilie was a tall and beautiful girl, enjoying all the delight of perfect health. Jacques almost had become a man.

M. Martel had not heard without emotion about his daughter’s generous act, and her efforts to have Jacques received as a pupil in the Amoros gymnasium.

“Am I not well rewarded?” she exclaimed, extending her hand to the young man. “You would not have had any daughter without him, papa. The horror of my position, the impossibility of my finding a rope, a ladder, or any way of escape, frightened me so, that I lost my senses, and I should have been burned alive, if it had not been for Jacques.”

“Ah, mademoiselle,” said the slater’s son, with emotion, “it is not life alone that I owe to you; is it not more than life? It is health, the use of my limbs, and the happiness of being able to support my mother. Yes, mademoiselle,” added Jacques, with fervor, “I am a workman, and thanks to the lessons of our excellent professor, Colonel Amoros, I am more skilful than any of my fellow-laborers. I can support my family, and my wages are higher, because I can work harder and work longer than the rest.”

“Brave boy!” exclaimed M. Martel, pressing Jacques in his arms, who was quite overcome at the meeting. “From this day forward you shall be my son. I will take charge of your education and your advancement, of your mother and your sister. Brave boy! My daughter has done much for you, but you deserve it; she understood your heart.”

M. Martel kept his word. And some days after, when Jacques and his uncle met in the small attic of the poor widow, and were rejoicing over the happy change in their fortunes, the poor mother clasped her boy’s head to her heart, and bathed his curls with tears, and covered them with kisses, exclaiming, —

“Now you see, brother, Jacques was not a useless creature. It is owing to him that our fortune is made.”

“Yes, thanks to Colonel Amoros,” said the workman.

“Thanks to Mademoiselle Emilie,” said Jacques, heaving a sigh.

    S. W. Lander.

A DINNER AND A KISS

I HAVE brought your dinner, father,”
The blacksmith’s daughter said,
As she took from her arm the kettle,
And lifted its shining lid.
“There is not any pie or pudding;
So I will give you this;”
And upon his toil-worn forehead
She left the childish kiss.

The blacksmith took off his apron,
And dined in happy mood,
Wondering much at the savor
Hid in his humble food,
While all about him were visions
Full of prophetic bliss;
But he never thought of the magic
In his little daughter’s kiss.

While she, with her kettle swinging,
Merrily trudged away,
Stopping at sight of a squirrel,
Catching some wild bird’s lay,
O, I thought, how many a shadow
Of life and fate we would miss,
If always our frugal dinners
Were seasoned with a kiss!

MY MOTHER

“Honor thy father and thy mother.”

FATHER and mother! sacred names and dear;
The sweetest music to the infant ear,
And dearer still to those, a joyous band,
Who sport in childhood’s bright enchanted land.

And when, as years roll on, night follows day,
The young wax old and loved ones pass away,
Through mists of time yet holier and more dear,
“Father and mother” sound to memory’s ear.

The days, the hours, the moments as they speed,
Each crowned by loving thought or word or deed,
Oh, heart’s long-suffering, self-denying! sure
Earth holds no love more true, and none so pure.

Thou happy child whom a good God hath given
A parents’ shelt’ring home, that earthly heaven,
Where ceaseless care, where tireless love and true,
Nurse thy young life as flowers are nursed by dew.

E’en as the flowers, for the dear debt they owe,
Bloom, and sweet odors in rich meed bestow,
Let the fair blossoms of thy love and duty
Cluster about thy home in fragrant beauty.

Never from eye or lip be seen or heard
The sullen glance or the rebellious word,
And never wilfully or heedless pain
The tender hearts that cannot wound again.

But fond caress, sweet smile and loving tone,
Obedience prompt and glad, be thine alone,
For filial love, like mercy, is twice blest;
While to the parent of earth’s joys the best,
Richer than treasures of the land or sea,
It wins God’s blessing, O my child, for thee!

REGINALD’S FIRST SCHOOL-DAYS

ONE frosty morning in January two delicate-looking children were sitting before a blazing fire in a long, low nursery with oak rafters running across the ceiling. Between them lay a great shaggy dog.

“You will take good care of Rover whilst I am away?” said the boy, winding his fingers in Rover’s shaggy hair and leaning his head against him.

“Yes; he shall go for a walk with me every day, and in the twilight I will talk to him about you,” answered Alice. “You might send messages to him in your letters,” she added.