Fire-Flies
In the New World’s warmer forests they find great numbers of a shining fly ;* and so plentiful is their light that people often turn them to useful purposes. A friend of our own, when his ship lay anchored off the coast, had occasion to search for a book in the cabin overnight, and recollecting that two of these livins: lanterns were enclosed in a pill-box, with their aid he ran over the titles of the different volumes, till he found the one he wanted. The natives often keep a few in a vial, to guide them at little turns of household work; and as there is no danger of their causing combustion, travellers sometimes put one of these vials along with their watch, and under their pillow.
Of such tiny lights we now send the reader a specimen. It is not the object of
* Elater noctilubus, a sort of beetle.
these tracts to give a system of theology, but we shouhJ be glad if we could impart the A B C of Christianity; and in studying its early lessons, our fire-flies may lend a little lio-lit. Thankful should we be if they proved of service to any one journeying in the dark, and perplexed about his road; or if they shed a ray, however feeble, on any sentence of God’s own word. And though grown people may despise them, we are not without the hope that, like the flying lamps in Chili, they may find favor with your boys and girls.
THE PILGRIMS AND THEIR PITCHERS.
It was long ago, and somewhere in the eastern clime. The k’ms: came into the garden and called the children round him. He led them up to a sunny knoll and a leafy arbor on its summit. And when they had all sat down, he said, “You see far down the river, and hanging as on the side of the hill, yon palace? It is a palace — though here it looks so little and far away. But when you reach it you will find it a larger and sweeter home than this: and when yon come you will find that I have got there before you. And when you arrive at the gate, that they may know that you belong to me, and may let you in, here is what each of you must take with him.” And he gave to each of the children a most beautiful alabaster jar — a little pitcher so exquisitely fashioned that you were almost afraid to touch it, so pure that you could see the daylight through it, and with delicate figures raised on its sides. ‘• Take this, and carry it carefully. Walk steadily, and the journey will soon be over.” But they had not gone far before they forgot. One was running carelessly and looking over his shoulder, when his foot stumbled, and as he fell full length on the stony path the pitcher was shivered in a thousand pieces; and one way and another, long, bug before they reached the palace, they had broken all the pitchers. When this happened I may mention what some of them did. Some grow sulky, and knowing that it was of no use to go forward without the token, they began to shatter the fragments still smaller, and dashed the broken sherds among the stones, and stamped them with their feet; and then they said, “Why trouble ourselves about this palace? It is far away, and here is a pleasant spot. We will ju?t stay here and play.” And so they began to play. Another could not play, but sat wringing his hands, and weeping bitterly. Another grew pale at first, but recovered his composure a little on observing that his pitcher was not broken so bad as some others. There were three or four large pieces, and these he put together as well as he could. It was a broken pitcher that could hold no water, but by a little care he could keep it together; and so he gathered courage, and began to walk along more cautiously. Just then, a voice accosted the weeping boy, and looking up he saw a very lovely form, with a sweet and pleasant countenance — such a countenance as is accustomed to be happy, though something for the present has made it sad. And in his hand he held just such a pitcher as the little boy had broken, only the workmanship was more exquisite, and the colors were as bright as the rainbow round the stranger’s head. “You may have it,” he said; “it is better than the one you have lost, and though it is not the same, they will know it at the gate.” The little mourner could scarcely believe that it was really meant for him; but the kind looks of the stranger encouraged him. He held out his hand for the stranger’s vase, and gave a sob of joyful surprise when he found it his own. He began his journey again, and you would have liked to see how tenderly he carried his treasure, and how carefully he picked his steps, and how sometimes, when he gave another look at it, the tear would fill his eye, and he lifted up his happy thankful face to heaven. The stranger made the same offer to the playing boys, out by this time they were so bent on their new amusements, that they did not care for it. Some saucy children said, he might lay his present down and leave it there if he liked, and they would take it when they wanted it. He passed away, and spoke to the boy who was carrying the broken pitcher. At first he would have denied that it was broken, but the traveller’s clear glance had already seen it all; and so he told him,” You had better cast it away, and have this one in its
stead.” The boy would have been very glad to have this new one, but to throw away the relics of his own was what he could never think of. They were his chief dependence every time he thought of the journey’s end; so he thanked the stranger, and clasped his fragments firmer. The boy with the gift-pitcher and this other reached the precincts of the palace about the same time. They stood for a little and looked on. ‘J’hey noticed some of the bright-robed inhabitants going out and in, and every time they passed the gate, they presented such a token as they themselves had once got from the king, but had broken so long ago. The boy who had accepted the kind stranger’s present now went forward, and held it up; and whether it was the light glancing on it from the pearly gate, I can not telJ, but at that instant its owner thought that it had never looked so fair. He who kept the gate seemed to think the same, for he gave a friendly smile, as much as to say, “I know who gave you that;” and immediately the door was lifted up and let the litde pilgrim in. The boy with the broken pitcher now began to wish that his choice had been the same; but there was no help for it now. He adjusted the fragments as skilfully as he could, and trying to look courageous, carried them in both his hands. But he who kept the gate was not to be deceived. He shook his head, and there was that sorrow in his look which leaves no hope. The bearer of the broken pitcher still held fast his useless sherds, and lingered long. But no one took any notice of him, or felt the smallest pity for him; and though he made many efforts, every time he approached the door it seemed of itself to shut again.*
THE ROYAL FEAST.
A CERTAIN king prepared a feast in honor of his dear and only son. And the first invitations he issued to the nobles of the land, and some ancient families who had been long in favor with the prince. But when the appointed l)our arrived a sulky fit had seized them, and, as if by previous concert, scarcely one of them appeared. But
Perhaps you will understand this story by laying the following texts together: —
“Without holiness no man shall see the Lord.” — Heb. xii. 14.
»’ God made man upright.” — Eccl. vii. 29.
“All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” — Rom. iii. 23.
“All the world is guilty before God. And by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight.” — Rom. iii. 19, 20.
“But now TiiK uifJHTEorsKEss OF God is manifested; even the righteousness of God which is by faith of Jesus Christ, unto all and upon all them that believe.
resolved that his munificence should not be lost, nor the honor intended for his son defeated, and as all the people there around were equally his subjects, he said to his servants, “The feast is ready, but the guests are not come. Go into the streets and hedges, and bring in whomsoever you find.” Forth went the servants, and great was the wonder when they announced their errand. A poor laborer was returning from his work, and having got no wages from his master, was trudging wearily home to his empty cupboard, when the king’s messenger hailed him, and told him that a feast was prepared for him. After the first gaze of incredulity,
Being justified freely by his grace, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus: whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood.” — Rom. iii. 21, 22, 24, 25.
“Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ: by whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.” — Rom. V. 1, 2.
“But they being ignorant of God’s righteousness, and going dbout to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God.” — Rom. x. 3.
finding that he carried this commission from his king, and was really in earnest, the poor laborer turned his steps toward the palace. The next was a cri|)ple, who sat by the wayside, begging. He had gathered little that day, when the messenger told him he woidd find a feast at the palace, and the kinir desired to see him. The lame man had heard that something remarkable was going on at the court, and that the king was giving an entertainment in honor of some special event in his son’s history; and though he expected no more than a loaf of bread and a flairon of wine at the gate, as he knew that the king was of a very sumptuous and gracious disposition, he did not hesitate, but raised himself on his crutches, got up, and hobbled away. Then the mcssenixer came to a shady lane, down which a retired old gentleman lived on a small spot of ground of his own. The messenger had far more trouble with him. It was not so much that he questioned the message, or that he did not like the invitation, but that he was annoyed at its abruptness and his own want of preparedness. He asked if there were to be no more invitations issued next week, or if there were no possibihty of postponing the visit till the following evening; for, considering his station in society, he would like to appear in his best, and could have been glad of a little leisure to get all things in order. “However,” said the messenger, “you know the custom of our court — the king provides the robes of state — all things are ready, come away;” and as he posted on, the old householder thought that rather than run any risk, he had better go at once — though some noticed that as he passed along he occasionally eyed his thread-bare garment with a look that seemed to say, he could have put on better, had longer time been allowed him. Then at the palace it was interesting to see how the different parties acted. According to the custom of that country, and more especially after the magnificent manner of that king, each guest was furnished on his arrival with ;i gorgeous robe. They were all alike, exceeding rich and costly; and, the moment he came up, one was handed to each n(?w-coiner, and he put it on, and parsed in to the dazzling banquet-hall. Some awkward ))ersons, who did not know the usage of the place, and who had carried with them the mean notions which they learned among the highways and hedges, scrupled to receive these shining robes, and asked what price they must pay for them. And one individual was observed to come in with rather better attire than the rest, and when offered a robe of the king’s providing, he politely declined it, and stepped forward into the state-apartments. He was no sooner there than he rued his vanity — for his faded tinsel contrasted fearfully with the clothing of wrought gold in which the other guests were arrayed. However, instead of going back to get it changed, he awaited the issue. All things were ready; the folding-doors opened, and from chambers all-radiant with purest light, and redolent of sweetest odors, amidst a joyful train the king stepped in to see the company. A frown for a moment darkened his majestic brow as he espied the presumptuous guest, but the intruder that instant vanished; and, with a benignity which created in every soul such a joy as it had never felt before — with a look which conferred nobility wherever it alighted, and a smile that awakened immortality in every bosom. — he bade them welcome to the ivory palace, and told them to forget their father’s house and their poor original, for he meant to make them princes every one, and as there were many mansions in die house they should there abide for ever.*
THE BLASTED BOWER.
Thousands of years ago, there lived a prince-philosopher. In his youth he was
* See Matt. xxii. 1-14; and Luke xiv. 15-24; and compare them with Isaiah xxv. 6, Iv. 1-3; Phil, iii. 8, 9; Rev. iii. 17, 18.
single-hearted and devout. He loved to pray, and liie beautiful hymns which his father had written lie delighted to sing, and he made some of his own as beautiful. And the Most IIii;;li Cod loved this pious prince, and prospered him wonderfully. And as, harp in hand, he sat on one of the knolls of Zion singing Jehovah’s praise, there began to sprout and bourgeon from the soil sweet scents and brilliant blossoms; and as the psalm proceeded, the vines and creepers mounted, and the tendrils took hold of one anotl)er, till they mantled overhead, and the minstrel sang in a nest of flowers. The young prince was very fond of this alcove, and spent in it many a sultry noon. But, by-and-by, he began to love God less, and soon forgot him altogether. He did not care to sing psalms and pray; and a bad wife taught him to worship her god. It was a gilded idol, shaped like a beautiful woman; and this silly man said his prayers to this image of gold. And at last he took the image into his beautiful bower: but no sooner bad it entered than a shudder passed through the alcove, and every leaflet trembled. The jasmine breathed sickly, the rose flung down its petals, and the heart’s-ease died. The prince was much mortified. He vowed that he would make the bower blossom again. So he took a costly urn, and filled it with a rare elixir — an infusion into which he had melted music, and precious gems, and daintiest delights — and poured the voluptuous draught around the roots. But without effect: all continued bare and blighted. Then he filled the urn with conquest, and with the blood-red irrigation soaked the reeking soil. In vain. And, last of all, he travelled far, and climbed a lofty steep in quest of a famous dew. And in his pilgrimage to the world-top mountain, he amassed such knowledge as no mortal had ever gleaned before. He learned the entire of things, and spake of birds and beasts and fishes; and when he returned so wondrous wise, his compatriots raised a
—
shout with which the welkin vihrates still. And from the chalice he poured the hoarded drau2:ht — the lar^est flood of fame ever wasted on weary land. But still there was nothing seen except the wiry trellis against the burning sky; and on his blasted bower the broken-hearted monarch wrote, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”
Years passed on, and, visiting the spot, the soul of the prince was moved. It felt as if all his youth had been a balmy trance in this bower of blessedness, and as if he had tasted no real joy since then. And, observing beneath the withered canopy the crumbling stock of Ashtaroth, he seized the rotten pagod and hurled it far away. Then, sinking on the c:round in a paroxysm of bitter grief, he cried, “My Father, my God, wert not thou the guide of my youth?” His spirit relented. To the God of his early adoration he felt his early love returning, and soon sank into a sleep which ingenuous shame and godly sorrow pervaded. As he woke, the smell of a delicious flower
Startled a youthful memory; and, gazing upward, roses of Sharon looked down through the lattice, while among them, like pulses of Paradise, exquisite odors went and came. Heaven’s window had opened while the penitent slept, and had sent a plenteous rain. And rising from the fragrant couch, as a conclusion of the whole matter, and as the business of his remaining days, Solomon wrote this inscription: “Fear God, and keep his commandments; for this is the whole duty of man.”*
THE VOYAGE.
There was a man who owned a little ship, and carried on in it a petty coasting trade. He used to creep from port to port, and bought or bartered such commodities as each supplied. And being fond of knowledge and strange sights, he sometimes landed and visited the interior, and
* For the key, consult the Book of Ecclesiastes, and 1 Kings, xi.
noted down any curious thing he came upon.*
But being of a wistful and aspiring turn, he often longed to spread a bolder sail, and make some nobler land.t He had heard the rumor of brighter climes; a whisper of spicy forests and dazzling wings; a distant report of waters which mature the pearl, and rivers which run down gold.j: But the rumor was vague, and stirred no effort; and so our merchantman still cruised about from one dingy port to another of the little island where he was born; till one day, talking to a friend, and lamenting his joyless life, his labor without profit, and his success without satisfaction, he was surprised to Learn that his friend had long felt the same. Nay, more: he had been making inquiry, and had resolved on forsaking his present line of life. He had learned that the Lord of that better land was a most kind and generous Prince, and made all strangers welcome, provided that,
Eccl. i. IG, 17. t Psalms, Iv. 6. I Cor. ii. 9.
ere setting out, they secured a passport, which was freely supplied to all who chose. And he had gained some information regarding the country itself. The exact distance he could not tell. Some had reached it in a few weeks, and others had been at sea for several years. But he had procured a chart in which the course was clearly marked, and the grand port of arrival set down. And, for his own p.rt, he was sick of this wretched coast, which yielded nothing except the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eye, and the pride of life; and he was determined to lose no time in setting sail for Immanuel’s land.
Delighted with the information, and furnished with the chart, our voyager also resolved to steer for this better country. And, like one into whom a mighty purpose has entered, there was great alacrity in his movements, and much energy in his preparations. He might sometimes be seen for hours bending over the chart, and familiarizing himself with its landmarks. And, in his anxiety to be well-informed on the subject, he got the narratives of some distinguished mariners who had performed the voyage lately; but after reading several, he found that they all agreed in extolling the minuteness and fidelity of the chart; and always ended by saying, that whosoever took heed to his track, according to its markings, could never go wrong.*
At last he set sail. It was a bright and airy morning when his little vessel turned her head to sea. In the healthy flutter overhead, he heard a promise of better things to come, and the thought, “Bound for the better land,” put springs into his feet as he paced the exulting deck. The very clouds, which scurried light and pure along the sky, he hailed as friends and fellow-voyagers, for they, too, seemed to seek that brighter shore; and the faith and hope with which his whole nature swelled and thrilled, at last melted into love and wonder; and with uplifted hands he cried, Psalm cxix. 9, 99.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, according to his abundant mercy, hath begotten me to a lively hope — to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away;” and presently, *bn bended knees, he was pouring out the gratitude of his ravished heart to the glorious Lord of that land.
He was getting clear of the roads when he noticed a lighthouse rising up from the water, and looking to the chart, he found that it was erected over the Demas sands.* And just here a pilot-boat came alongside of him, bearing despatches from the shore. One was a letter reminding him of his engagement to grace with his presence a splendid rout, which was to come off next day, and reminding him that it was partly in honor of himself that it was given, and they would all be so dull without him. And the other was a letter from a near relation, telling him, that if he persisted in this 2 Tim. iv. 10.
ridiculous course, although he had intended to make him his heir, he would alter his will, and cut him off with a shilling. But, just at that moment, the peace of God was to keeping his mind, that neither message disturbed him. rf remembered, “Be not conformed to the world: love not the world, neither the things that be of the world;” and having written two brief but decisive notes, he turned the vessel’s head a point more to seaward, and cleared in safety the Demas sands.
After this the breeze abated, and toward noon it was nearly calm. Our voyager was in high spirits at the moral victory which he had just achieved, and was now pretty sure that he had not only set out in the right direction, but that, at this rate, nothing could hinder him from landing aright. A little self-complacency sprang up in his mind, and he thought less about the kindness of Him who had invited him to the goodly realm, than about his own luck or wisdom in actually going. And while he was thus musing, he wondered, but he rather thought the ship was standing still. There could be no doubt of it. The sails were still a little set, and breaths of air were still moving about; but the ship was fast, and would not answer to the helm; and, looking over the side, he could see quite plainly the ridge of rock on which it had grounded. He was much amazed; for he had felt no shock nor jar, and had taken it as gently as if it had been a sunken cloud or a spell in the water. But there he was, fast and firm; and it was no use backing the sails, for he could not move, and, to make the matter worse, the tide was ebbing. Just then, he noticed a sail near hand, and signalled her. She proved to be his old friend, who had first suggested the idea of this voyage, and who himself had newly put to sea.
Voyager, Well, here’s an ugly trap. Do you know what they call this horrid reef?
Friend. Self-confidence. There is not a worse shoal in all the passage.
V. Why, then, is there no light nor
beacon over it?
F. There are these buoys. And what
is the use of your sounding-line ?*
V. But was it not curious that I should slide so softly on what you say is such a dangerous rock?
F. Well, it was just in the same way that the good ship Galatia was wrecked long ago. She had just parted with the best pilot who ever navigated those seas — the famous pilot, Paul; and the last glimpse he had of her she was runnins: well. And when word was brought him that the hapless Galatia was fast aground of this treacherous reef, so strange and unaccountable did it seem, that he exclaimed, “O, foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you?” But it is time you were thinking what to do; for, if rough weather find you here, you must go all to pieces.
V. And what shall I do?
F. Look yonder! Prov. xviii. 12; Rom. xi. 20; 2 Cor. xiii. 5.
And, as directed, the voyager looked aloft. And, though it was bright day, there shone in the clear firmament a broad and silvery star. The mariner knew that it was the Star of Bethlehem; and, as he intentlyeyed it, he felt his pinnace lifted off the reef, and soon the sails began to bulge, and, in gladness of release, the vessel bounded on her way.*
Humbled by this mismanagement, the voyager after this consulted his chart more carefully, and steered more exactly according to its minute directions. Sometimes he sailed in sunshine, sometimes in shade. At times, the currents were cross, or the gale was in the vessel’s eye. And then, again, the wind blowing where it listeth, would lift him fast along, and as one bright billow handed him to another, a joyous ditty would carol from the deck. Occasionly, he had a convoy from another seeking the same port, and often without a consort he pursued his solitary way.
* Phil. iii. 3; iv. 13; Psalm cxxiv. 7.
At last, a storm arose. There was first a lull and a lurid calm. A dusky red, a bloody dimness curtained the horizon, and enclosed the ship within its thickening pall. There felt like sulphur in the air, and the breath grew short, and the strength gave way, as when some fearful thing is coming. And when the angry sun was set, and nothing sparkled in the blotted firmament, and deep was calling unto deep — the moaning signals, in which the spirits of desolation seem to ask. If all be ready ‘? it flashed — again — again — again; and the welkin was fire, and the sea was foam; and, amid the splitting cracks, and the engulfing flame, and the rising hurricane, it felt as if the quivering skiff were a tiny morsel in destruction’s open jaws. ‘’ O my God, my soul is cast down within me. Deep calleth unto deep, at the noise of thy waterspouts, all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.” It was the hour of darkness, and of the prince of the power of the air, and strange whispers hissed through the gloom or gurgled up from the weltering flood. One of them suggested, “Cast away the beginning of your confidence.” Another murmured, “Curse God and die.” One yelled, “Hell is but a fable, and heaven a poet’s dream.” And the ghastliest of all was a reptile croak, “There is no God.” And the poor benighted soul began to wonder if it could be on the right track that all this riot of horrors went on, and feared that he must have got into some fiendish by-path, and almost wished, rather than hear those blasphemous voices, that the deep would swallow him quick. But from this belly of hell he cried again, and his brief but piercing prayer was ever the same, “Lord, save — or I perish.” And, through all the turmoil and din, that cry was heard; for what is yon pavilion of moving light — that sunny shrine which glides over the billows, and a glassy path spreads out before it? What is this presence from whose distant ray the phantoms of the pit have already retreated, and their foul accents died away? The bright and morning star is already on board; and to the “Peace, be still,” which he spoke, the obsequious storm and the crouching; waves have given instant answer. “It is I; be not afraid;” and, though still soaked in spray and cold with terror, the presence of his protector and deliverer restores the sinking soul. Assured that the Saviour himself has taken the helm, he drops into a tranquil slumber, and, when he awakes, his drenched garments are dry, and the monsoon is past, and those constant winds are entered, which will always blow the self-same way till he reaches the haven where he fain would be.
As he glances along on the gentle waters, he takes out his log-book, and enters a whole account of the hurricane. “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in the great waters; these see the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep. For hecommandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the heavens, they go down again to the depths; their soul is mehed because of trouble. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet. Oh, that men would praise the Lord for his goodness and for his wonderful works to the children of men.” And from that time forward he marks a happy change in the character of the voyage. There is more progress and less vicissitude. He has passed under deeper skies and got into steadier gales. And he has fewer adventures and perils to record. And he has a serene and prevailing hope of arriving safe at last. By-and-by, he begins to notice fragments of sea-weed, and crosses whole banks of them; but though they somewhat hinder the ship and make its way more cumbrous, he does not grudge them, for they tell that land is lear. And to tell it still more clearly, by-and-by new shapes are seen — bright pinions and dartins gems which have come from the hidden shore, and are going back again. And there it comes itself — the shore with its palm-trees waving and its snowy temple gleaming; and already he inhales the fresh and balmy odor from distant forests and unseen flowers — when some suspicious sail bounds toward him, some skulking corvette which prowls on its pirate outlook near the very harbor’s mouth, and for a moment he marvels that such murderous robbers should be suffered to cruise along the very margin of Immanuel’s Land. But a signal is made from shore, “Resist, and he will flee.” And obedient to the timely signal, the ship puts on her fighting trim; and no sooner is the flag of defiance shaken out, than the dark sail veers about, and, as it sneaks away, a shout pursues it, “O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy stirg?” When the morrow dawned, it showed the anchor dropped and the canvass furled; but it was the fair haven of Immortality, and the voyager had got safe to land.
THE DILIGENCE.
A friend of ours received an invitation to visit an illustrious prince in a foreign country. Our friend was considered a sincere and worthy man, but he had a sour and splenetic temper. In the stage which conveyed him, there were some other passengers; but as they were strangers, he did not speak to them. One had a coat of a peculiar fashion, and he set him down for a fop. Another had a slight blemish on a face otherwise pleasing; but every time that our traveller turned that way, his eye was arrested by that scar. A third had a slight impediment in his speech; but though this, like the rest, was a little thing, our tourist held that nothing is a trifle in so serious a matter as looks and language. The strangers, however, seemed to be well acquainted with one another, and from some casual expressions it appeared that they were all journeying to the same place. They failed to make any impression on their taciturn comrade; and, admonished by his short answers, they were polite enough to let him alone. It be2:an to rain; and as the large drops swept in on the passenger opposite, he wished to put up the glass: but his gruff neighbor demurred; and, rather than have any debate, the gentleman wrapped himself up in his cloak, and retiring into the corner, shunned the shower as well as he could. And so, stage after stage, they journeyed — the three happy and at home with one another, the silent man moody and self-absorbed. At last the hills around the mansion came in sight; and then the enclosing wall; and then the swelling lawn, studded with its noble trees; and last of all, the towers and battlements of the castle itself began to appear.
And now the passengers began to look sprightlier, and glanced out at the windows, as if they knew it all, and smiled to one another, and be2;an to D;et thino;s in readiness, as if they, too, meant to stop somewhere hereabouts. And so they did; for the moment the stage drew up at the castle-gate, they all got out, and it was evident, from the attendants in waiting, that they were distinguished visiters. Two of them were special friends of the prince, and the one who had borne the pelting of the shower so patiently was his brother. Our sullen traveller felt exceedingly awkward, and almost wished to retain his place in the vehicle and pass on. But ascertaining who he was, and that he too was bound for their mansion, the prince’s brother introduced himself, and exerted all his courtesy to supersede his apologies and restore his self-possession. By the time they reached the entrance-door, the poor man’s confusion had somewhat subsided; but bitter were his self-reproaches, and vehement his protestations that, if he had another journey to perform, he would not be so haughty by the way, nor look so silly at the journey’s end.
MORAL.
Be not sectaries — be not recluses. Please every one his neighbor for his good. Put up the window when it rains on your fellow-passenger; and to do good and communicate, do not forget. Fall not out with your Christian brethren by the way; and, in order to avoid painful discoveries and explanations when this conveyance of the visible church stands still and the journey of life is over, put on no arrogant nor exclusive airs while you still are fellow-travellers.