RALPH EDWARD.

LESSON LXVII.

121

RALPH EDWARD.

ONE Saturday afternoon, when as usual there was no school, Ralph Edward was walking on the banks of a river which beautified the scenery of his native place. It was fine weather in summer, and he admired the sparkling waters, and the verdure that clothed their margin. Presently he observed a large boy plunge in for the purpose of bathing. He wondered that he should select a spot where the water was very deep', and also, that he freed himself from no part of his clothing. Soon he observed him struggling as if in distress', and saw that he appeared to be sinking.

Ralph Edward knew well how to swim'; and throwing off his boots, and his little jacket, hastened to the relief of the stranger. He found the drowning boy nearly senseless', but by great exertions, gained the shore with him', though he was much larger than himself, and nearly twice his age. He supported him against the bank until he had thrown a quantity of water from his mouth, nose and ears', and was able to thank his preserver. He owned that he did not know how to swim', and promised not to venture again in so dangerous and deep waters until he had learned. When he was in a place of safety, Ralph Edward returned home. His heart throbbed, and his head was giddy, with the violent efforts he had made. He went to his little bed and wept bitterly. His mother heard him mourning, and came to inquire the cause of his grief. He told her he could not forget the pale and distorted features of the half-drowned boy, when he gasped for breath upon the shore. After he had suc

ceeded in drying his tears, he related, at her request', all the circumstances.

66

been in great dan

Did you ever hear

My son', she said`," you have ger', perhaps without knowing it. how fatal is the grasp of drowning persons'?"

"Mother', what could I do'? I could not stand and see him die. If I had waited to call a man to help', he would have sunk to rise no more."

"Was he a friend of yours'?"

"I only know that he is a servant in some family not far distant. I have seen him driving cows', but never spoke to him until to-day."

"But how was you able to swim with and support a boy, so much larger than yourself?"

"Mother', I remembered what you told us to do when we had any difficult duty to perform', and I asked strength from our Father in Heaven."

My young friends', boys eight years old, who may happen to read this true story', in what should you prefer to resemble Ralph Edward',-in his courage', his piety', or his humility'? I know that you will join me in the wish that he may "lead the remainder of his life according to this beginning`; and that his widowed mother may reap the fruit of her instructions and example', in the obedience and happiness of all her children.

LESSON LXVIII.

A LETTER TO MISS A. ABOUT SPELLING.

I HAVE received the long and pleasant letter you wrote me. I thank you for your kind wishes, and should be happy to see your generous plan of paying me a visit', in company with your little friends and

COURAGE AND COWARDICE.

123

companions', put in execution. Be assured, I shall not require you to knit and sew for me', as a compensation for the stories which I may tell'; these I am glad to repeat to all little people, who are willing to become my listeners.

Your letter is written in a very good hand', and is well expressed'; but I remark a few instances of bad spelling. You must forgive me for mentioning this', as I deem bad spelling a great fault. Sometimes serious consequences follow bad spelling', for you know that many words of different meaning' are pronounced alike, but in writing they are distinguished by a different spelling.

I remember a story of a little girl, who was once writing to her aunt. Now the girl had been very much troubled with the little insects called ants', so she writes in her letter as follows:

"I am vexed to death with aunts; they trouble me night and day`: I hate them with all my heart', and would kill them all if I could."

Now, all this time the little girl was speaking of the little insects'; but she had written the word aunt', instead of ant`, and her aunt to whom she was writing' was greatly offended', for she supposed that her niece wished her', and all her other aunts, dead.

LESSON LXIX.

COURAGE AND COWARDICE.

ROBERT BROWN and Henry Lee were walking home from school, when, on turning a corner of the street', Robert called out, "A fight a fight! Let us go and see!" "No," said Henry', "Let us go quietly home', and not meddle with strife—we have nothing to do

with the quarrel', and may get into mischief." "You are a coward', and afraid to go'," said Bob`, and off he ran. Henry proceeded straight home', and in the afternoon went to school as usual. But Bob had told all the boys that Henry Lee was a coward', and they laughed at him a great deal. Now Henry had learned that true courage was shown most in enduring reproach when it was undeserved'; and that he ought to be afraid of nothing but sin.

A few days after, Robert was bathing with some other school fellows', and got out of his depth. He struggled and screamed for help', but all in vain. The boys who had called Henry a coward', got out of the water and would not assist him. Robert was sinking', when Henry threw off his clothes', and springing into the water', just reached him as he was sinking the second time', and by great exertion brought him to the shore' and thus saved his life.

Robert Brown and his school fellows were ashamed of having called Henry a coward', and confessed that he had more courage than any of them.

Little boys', never be afraid to do good`; but always dread the commission of evil.

LESSON LXX.

1LL-NATURE.

"Ellen', I wish you would run up stairs, and get for me the little apron which you will find upon the table."

"I shall not do any such thing. You may get it yourself. It is pretty well', too, if I must run on your errands."

This conversation took place between two sisters';

the eldest of whom, named Mary', had charge of a little baby who was creeping about the floor.

"I would get the apron myself', if I could leave the child'," continued Mary', "but since you are so illnatured' it is no matter.

The mother of the children had gone out that afternoon, and promised, that on her return she would make each of them a present', if they had been good. Now do you think that Ellen deserved' a present', when she was so disobliging'?

As soon as her mother entered the door, Ellen ran to her to claim the promised reward.

"Have you been good, Ellen'?"

"O, very good. I have been quiet all the time you have been gone. I haven't thrown down the chairs', nor scratched the tables', nor broken the china', nor injured' any thing."

"And you have done all in your power to assist your sister', I suppose',' e," said her mother.

"You

have been kind', and gentle', and in good humor', all the afternoon' ?"

Ellen hung down her head', for she did not like to tell an untruth.

"Here is the present," said her mother', handing her a beautiful little work-box. "Of course', you are conscious of having deserved it`; and here is another for Mary."

Ellen eagerly took the box from her mother's hand. She opened it, and examined its contents. It contained a pair of scissors', a silver thimble', a needlecase', some little articles made of ivory', and a looking-glass fastened underneath the cover. It was very

pretty, and it took her some time to examine it. "How useful this will be to keep my needles and work in," said Ellen', " and how neatly it will look in my drawer!-But', but', have I come by it fairly'?