  "I will not go to Sabbath school to-morrow," said Florence Drew, as she threw aside her catechism and sat herself sullenly by the window. "Florence!" said her mother; "I am astonished to hear you speak so rashly." "I don't care,—I will not go,—my lesson is so hard I can't get it;" saying which, she burst into tears. Mrs. Drew cast a look of sorrow upon her only child as she left her to regain her good humor. No sooner had the door closed after her mother than the rustling of leaves beneath the window drew the attention of Florence. Thinking it her favorite Carlo, and being in no mood for a frolic, without lifting her eyes she bid him "begone;" but she was soon undeceived by a shrill voice pronouncing her name, at the same time finding her arm tightly grasped by the thin, bony fingers of Crazy Nell, the terror of all the truant children in the village. The terrified child vainly tried to disengage herself from the maniac's hold; and, finding her calls for help all unheeded, she gave up in despair. The wild, searching eyes of Crazy Nell detected her terror, and her stern features relaxed into a smile as she said, "Poor child! I will not harm you; you fear me, and think me mad; yes, I have been mad, but I'm not now; and I have come to save you from being as I have been. Nay, Florence, 't is useless for you to try to escape me; I will detain you but a short time. I heard your angry words as I was gathering herbs, and saw you fling your book away. I heard all. Listen to me, Florence Drew, and I will tell you a story by which I hope you will profit. "I was once young, gay, and happy, as you, and, like you, an only and indulged, but wilful child, with a quick and ungoverned temper. "One day, I was studying my Sabbath school lesson, and finding it, as I thought, rather hard, I threw it away, as you did yours, saying that I would not go to school at all. My poor mother's entreaties were all unheeded by me, and I grew up in idleness and ignorance. My mother's health daily declined, partly through my ill-treatment and wickedness. Often did she plead with me, with tears streaming down her cheeks, to alter my conduct; but I rudely repulsed her." Nell paused, and seemed very much agitated; her eyes glared wildly, and bending close to Florence, she continued in a whisper: "We became very poor, in consequence of my extravagance; I then thought my mother a burden; she was too ill to work, and I left her to starve; she did not, however; she died of a broken heart. I was her murderer! 'T was that which drove me mad. Look! see you not that black cloud which darkens the sunshine of my life?" "I cannot see a cloud," sobbed poor Florence, who was now tasting the bitter cup of repentance. "I know it, poor child!" continued Nell; "the cloud I mean is such as you just felt,—Temper. It is within us! Conquer your temper, Florence Drew, and you may yet be good and happy. Go, now, and seek mother, who is at this moment shedding tears of sorrow for her little girl's ill-temper. Go to her and—" But, ere she could finish, Florence had glided into her mother's room, and was kneeling humbly at her feet Tears of sorrow were changed to those of joy and repentance, as Mrs. Drew folded her little girl to her breast in a long and affectionate embrace. Florence has never been unkind to her mother, or given freedom to her temper, since that day. She is now the teacher of a class in a Sabbath school, and she often relates to her little scholars the story I have just related to you. Crazy Nell continues to gather herbs, an object of pity to the benevolent, and of sport to the unfeeling. And now, my dear little readers, I must repeat Crazy Nell's expression: "Conquer your temper, and you will be happy;" or, in the words of the sacred Scriptures, "He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city." MAY. |
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