The Angel Children Part 2

Genevieve was a very quiet girl, but she was always ready to do something to please her dear mother, and at night brought her father's slippers from the closet, and placed them ready by his chair. She did, too, many little things for the servants, who all loved her very dearly; so when, a few years afterwards, she fell sick, and nothing they could do for her was able to make her any better, but the doctor said she must die, they all wept very much, and no comfort or joy could come into their hearts. But Genevieve gently kissed them, and told them a beautiful peace had come into her heart, for that, in the night, Christ often came to her, and told her how the angel was all ready to take her into his beautiful garden, and teach her out of his great golden books.

At last, one morning she died, and they laid her away in the garden near by the fountain; and they planted the mignonette and myrtle, that, mingling with the moss, it might grow over her grave.

And her mother said in her heart, "Let her lie here, that, as often as I come hither, I may be reminded of the more beautiful gardens of G.o.d, to which she has flown. And when, in the cool night, the stars look down, the soft fragrance of the mignonette shall tell them of her loveliness, and the myrtle and the moss of the constant love twining together the souls of the mother and the daughter."

It was as Christ had said; the angel stood ready, and when Genevieve closed her eyes in death, he caught her in his arms, and placed her before the Great Gate, which led into the gardens around the kingdom of heaven. A great many men, women and children stood about it, waiting for it to be opened, when suddenly a very bright angel, brighter than any she had ever seen in her dreams, came among them, seated on glorious clouds.

Then one by one did the crowd go before him, telling him what things they had done on earth, in order to be admitted into the gardens, to be prepared still more for the heavens. One said he had built a large college, given it a large sum of money, and called it by his name, that the world might see his works, and praise the Lord. Another told him how he had toiled in heathen lands, and dwelt among savages, that they might know and love G.o.d; another that he had prophesied; another that he had built a hospital for the poor, and had sheltered them from the cold winds; another still that he had delivered slaves from cruel masters, and brought them to the light of freedom. O, there cannot be counted all the men and women who came before the angel, and told of the things they had accomplished! And, as the words came upon Genevieve, her heart trembled for fear, and had it not been for the remembrance of those kind tones of Christ, poor Genevieve would have shrieked aloud.

What should she do? Rapidly she recalled every act of her life; but nowhere in it could she find one act worthy to be brought before the great bright angel. Alas! she had neither founded colleges nor hospitals; she had never toiled in heathen lands, nor prophesied, nor delivered slaves from bondage. Alas! must she lose those gardens when still so near?

The angel's glance fell upon Genevieve, and she drooped down in fear; but what was her surprise when the angel came down from the cloud, and raising her up, said, in tones of loving cadence,

"Look, little one, thy work was accepted long ago!" and, looking as he bade her, she saw Hepsa at her side, to whom, so long ago, she had spoken of heaven, when she had found her a dirty, ignorant girl.

"You have worked well," said the angel tenderly. "Go now into the garden, and ere long I will come to put you into the Christ's arms."

So Hepsa and Genevieve together walked through the gates, and the angels who would be their teachers went with them; but I cannot tell you of the beauty and glory of those scenes. I only beg you too to work well, that the angel may speak as lovingly to you.

THE GARDEN OF G.o.d;

OR,

THE BABY'S FIRST SMILE.

In a very lovely little cottage, around which grew sweet-briers and rose-trees, and up whose windows climbed honeysuckles and jessamines, lived a mother with her baby.

The mother was a young woman, with golden hair, kind blue eyes, and fair white skin. There was always a look of love in her eye, and in the gentle tones of her voice the most soothing tenderness. People said the baby looked like her; but he cried so much that his face was continually distorted, and so the resemblance was not of any use to him.

Now there was a great deal of discussion about the baby's looks, as to which he most resembled, his father or mother; some decided in favor of his father, who was a tall man, with black hair, and black eyes, and large, sharp features. It was a difficult question to answer, inasmuch as the baby had yet but a very few hairs on his head, and his features were not easily distinguishable; and as each person's decision affected only his own opinion, there was a great deal of discussion and comparing of the poor baby's little face with those of his parents, and, through dint of being often shown them, the father and mother began to find the most remarkable resemblance to each other in their little child.

Well, one day he had been crying very hard, and his poor mother was nearly worn sick with trying to quiet him. She had walked all over the house, shown him everything on the tables, taken up books and shaken them before his eyes, carried him to the windows and cried "See there!

see there!" with fresh tones of love and pity, without his seeming to be in the least edified by it all. She tossed him before the looking-gla.s.s; but he did not seem to be comforted by the glimpse of himself, done up in a blanket, which he caught; until, at last, after putting everything into every place in which it didn't belong, and trying to make him look at things he didn't care to see, she resolutely put him in the cradle, rocked him with his head moving now on this and now on that side of the pillow, until he fell fast asleep.

He had no sooner closed his eyes to sleep than he left his baby's body in the cradle, and ran straight off to the gardens of G.o.d in heaven, towards that place where dwell the angel-children who are yet to go down and live upon the earth. As he came near the tall flowers, whose golden petals were spread, and in whose cups lay sweet dew, he clapped his hands with joy, and a bright smile lay on his lips, which before had been distorted with grief.

Not far from him there rose a bright fountain, which, falling, dashed its water gently down into a broad, silvery basin beneath. In the midst of the falling spray a large bird, with long, blue plumage, played, now diving beneath the water, and now catching the drops as they fell from the fountain. Then came other birds, some in gay scarlet plumage, with white feathers about their necks and at the tips of their wings and tails; they, too, played in the fountain, and chased each other over the sparkling waters.

Then there were tall trees, of such a bright green as is seldom seen on the earth, and on them were fruits which looked a little like those we see here, but a thousand times more beautiful, for they shone like precious stones. About everything was a glory which it is impossible to describe.

At a little distance was a troop of fair children at play, and when they had seen the little child from the earth they ran towards him, and would have kissed him joyously, but that they saw the tears he had so recently shed still standing upon his cheeks; at this, sorrow shone over their faces, and tears like pearls entered their own eyes, as, in the tenderest manner, they asked him the cause of his grief.

"Do not ask me, dear brothers and sisters," he entreated; "I wish only to think how I am with you now for a little while, and I long to forget the earth-scenes." Speaking thus he kissed them all, and led them away off among the bright fields.

Very gayly they played a long time; they plucked the golden apples from the trees, and threw them far up in the sky, and the apples bounded so lightly that they still went on, till at last they dropped down to the earth into some dark rooms where poor people lived, who, when they found them, rejoiced exceedingly.

Then they went riding on the clouds, and the light of their faces gave a brightness to the edge of the clouds, so that the people on the earth loved to stand watching them, never fancying what a troop of angel-children were frolicking on them.

At last they became weary of this sport, and bent their way quite towards the earth. At this our earth-child saddened, and did not wing his flight as quickly as the others did. Upon this they looked around upon him and said:

"Why tarry you? Do you not know we go to the earth, to do there what our dear Teacher bids us? You have played with us, and will you not now do the work which you have so often done with us before?" So he sped on with them, but his voice was silent and his heart wept.

They soon came to the earth, and then, unseen by any one, they made their way towards a little, dingy house, in one room of which sat a little boy upon a bench, driving pegs into the sole of a boot. On one side lay all the boots in which he had driven pegs, and on the other a great many more in which he must still drive them. He looked sad and pale, and the sweat lay in large drops upon his forehead. By his side sat a large, stout man, with his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves rolled up, displaying strong, brawny arms, while his face was red and stern. He was also at work, but watched the boy well, and if he saw his arm rested for a moment he would give him a little push, bidding him mind his work; and so the poor boy had to drive the pegs into the soles of the boots, even though he was weary and his face pale and sad.

Then the angel-children, seized with one feeling of love and pity (for they could remember how the poor boy used to be one of them and play in the garden of G.o.d), soared above him. One came down and wiped off the drops of sweat from his brow; another pa.s.sed his soft hands over the boy's face, and rested him; and another put comforting thoughts into his soul.

Then the master looked up, and when he saw how the boy seemed suddenly refreshed, he told him it was good to work and silly to be tired; and when the boy heard these hard words, tears came into his eyes, and he thought of his mother who used so tenderly to care for him, but had now been gone long to the home of the angels.

Then some of the angel-children wiped away the tears which had come into the boy's eyes, and another shook his beautiful wings over his head, so that at once a cool breeze fell over him and hopeful words entered his soul. Some of the children moved his arm up and down as he drove the pegs into the boot, and he wondered how easily he was able to work.

All this time our earth-child stood apart, nodding his head sadly, and when the others asked him the cause, he answered, "O, you do not know how hard it is to live on the earth! See this poor boy; how far different was it with him when he played with us in the gardens up there!"

The children were silent; they knew not how to comfort him. They thought, too, of the time when they should live on the earth.

Then they flew along and came to a large city, in which lived many homeless children, who were led about by unkind and evil spirits; and pa.s.sed constantly by men and women, who did not so much as give them one kind word.

As the angel-children wandered among them they shuddered: such strange words filled the air, and so dark and dingy looked the houses where they went in and out. Could it be that these children, who talked together in angry moods, who rather sought the opportunity to trouble each other, had ever played in that fountain, and laughed together in the heavenly fields? "O," they sighed, "could we but once drive the evil spirits from one of them, and whisper in his ear of the kind love of G.o.d!"

Then their wings fluttered and folded themselves over the head of a large boy, whose clothes were dirty and tattered, his hair matted and disordered, his body thin and wan, while the expression of his face was very old and vacant. A slight girl, holding a little pail in her hand, came along near him, and made as if she would go by him; but the boy would not suffer her to pa.s.s on, and, stopping her, said to her,

"Well, and what have you got?"

The child looked at him fearfully, and remained silent; but the boy did not heed her half-imploring look, but proceeded to lay hold of her pail, in which she had had hot corn to sell, and, opening it, discovered there six pennies instead.

"Ah," he cried exultingly, "that is what I wanted! You have done well with your corn; you may go on now;" and, despite the poor child's cries, he took away the pennies, and, in resisting the little struggle the child was able to make, he threw her down upon the pavement.

This was in a dark street, filled with people wicked like this boy, and where was no one who cared to take the child's part.

But those angel-children were silent witnesses of this scene, and they put out their hands, so the little girl was not much hurt in her fall.

Then they looked at each other in dismay; the pearly tears again came into their bright eyes, and they asked each other what they might do for this wretched boy. They remembered when the boy and girl played together in the fair garden of G.o.d; and it was not possible for them to remember that, and look unmoved upon this fearful change which had come over him. "O, this is a sad earth-life!" murmured the baby's spirit; and he nodded his head again in sorrow. "Why may not I, too, become like this boy?"

"But _must_ the earth-life bring this change?" asked another of the angel-children, who saw the anguish of his friend, but knew not how to comfort him. "Do we not remember the poor boy who worked so hard, and had no rest, yet he was patient and good, and kept bright, and hung the cord which tied his soul to heaven with the tear-drops which fell for his dear, dead mother? When tried, he gave back no hard words. He was better than we, who are happy always and have no trials."

Not long after, they found the wicked boy asleep; he had thrown himself down, in the corner of a dirty alley, on a little straw. The children hovered over him, trying how they might approach him. They drove hence the dark spirits, one by one, who hindered their approach, and then they carried him off by the sea-sh.o.r.e in a dream; they made him sit upon the sand and listen to the roaring of the waters; the large rocks stood scattered on the beach, and the sea-mosses and sh.e.l.ls were thrown up by the waves. Afar off, upon the water, he saw a long line of bright clouds, which seemed to climb up to heaven to meet the bright, twinkling stars. The moonlight shone softly down upon him.

Then they laid him down upon the sand, and made him look up into the sky to feel the rest and peace of it; still more came the moonlight upon him, and the stars seemed to open and close their eyes for pity. The wind came towards him and pa.s.sed along his brow and over his heart. Then came into his soul an indescribable longing, such as he had never felt before--a longing which the noise of the sea, the beauty of the clouds, the peace of the sky, and the tenderness of the wind, had aroused in him.

He felt that something inexpressibly dear had been lost to him, and he feared never again to regain it; the quiet moon and the pitying stars made him fear. A deep grief entered his heart, and he wept as from an everlasting sorrow. As he wept the angels rejoiced, and hovered over his head in a halo of light; for they knew that these tears would bring him into the path that led to heaven!

Not far off lived a man who cared for dest.i.tute and ignorant children; the angel-band flew to bring him, and when the boy opened his eyes, in which the tears of repentance still lay, the ocean and bright clouds had disappeared; but there was bent upon him a pitying, benignant look, which went to the boy's heart, and a kind voice lingered in his ear, subduing him by its very strangeness. So he at once received the proffered hand, and arose and went with him to his home.

After that, the angel-children went into a splendid mansion, where, in a large, handsome chamber, lay a little girl suffering under severe pain.

Her little couch was hung in blue silk, and rich laces adorned her pillows. On a little table by the side of her bed stood golden goblets, to refresh her parched mouth with pleasant drinks. Yet, still the little girl moaned in pain. Her eyelids were closed, and her weary hand lay still upon the bed. At her side sat her nurse, watching her wants and longing to relieve them. Costly toys lay uncared for on the rich, heavy carpet. The flowers had lost their charm, the delicious fruit lay, full and ripe, neglected on their dish.

Sleep would not come to the child; weary and in pain, she had laid there a long, long time, her poor little body wasting slowly away towards the grave.