The Angel Children
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Charlotte M. Higgins >> The Angel Children
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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 shirt-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 God), soared above him. One came down and wiped off the
drops of sweat from his brow; another passed 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
passed 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 God!"
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 pass 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 God; 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-shore 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 shells 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 passed 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 destitute 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.
"Let us give her rest and comfort," said the angel-children; and, waving
their wings over her, she fell to sleeping.
The nurse said, then, there might be hope. Listen and hear,--what bright
hope there was, indeed!
They whispered to her, that soon her pain should cease, and that, for
her trust and patience, she should go to God's beautiful garden. They
showed her the fountains and the birds; they told her how she should
again ride upon the clouds, and study from the great books of God. Then
in her sleep she smiled, and the nurse, who was watching her face, wept
for joy, and exclaimed,
"There is hope! there is hope!"
Yes, there was hope!
When the little girl awoke, there was a more heavenly patience still,
in her soul, and a longing to meet the loving glances of the
angel-children again.
As the children wended their flight back to the gardens, and sat down
beneath the green trees, and ate of their delicious fruit, they strove
in vain to bring back the brightness to the face of the earth-baby.
"Ah, it would be so beautiful to stay with you!" he said. "I would like
always to comfort these afflicted ones; but, alas! I shall need comfort
myself, and you will come to me, as we have been to others. When I am on
the earth there seems something gone and lost, and what is before me is
confused and dim. I find myself so weak and helpless, when here I am so
sprightly and strong! I cannot move myself at all, and when I remember
these gardens I have left, and you with whom I have played, I can but
cry all the time! It looks cold and bleak there, as it never does here.
Then, should I grow up to be wicked, like those children we have seen,
and so go far away from heaven, how wretched should I become,--how much
better that I never had left these gardens!"
Thus he complained, and the other children were silent, for they knew
how they, too, at some time, must go down and try their fortunes upon
the earth; and, too, they sorrowed to lose their companion, for they
knew that soon he could not come to them any more;--and while they told
him, very eagerly, how they would come to watch over him, a soft tread
fell on their ears, and their dear teacher approached them.
Her hair floated in long curls upon the cool air, and her eyes were bent
down in sorrow upon the earth-child.
"Have you so soon forgotten the lessons you have learned from the book
of God?" she asked; and the tones of her voice were like the soft
harmonies of heaven. She held in her hand a book, along whose pages the
letters sparkled in the brightness of gold and silver. At the sight of
her, the earth-child threw himself at her feet, and besought her thus:
"Keep me with you, dear teacher, and teach me from your book! Why
should I go to the earth-home again?"
Tenderly did the angel-teacher embrace and uplift the imploring child.
She pointed to a distant part of the garden, towards a grate of
lattice-work, in gold, silver and pearls, whence issued a glorious
light. Beyond this they saw angels walking, in their hands bearing still
more glorious books than the one she held.
"When I taught you, long ago, how beautiful was the life there, how
_pure_ the love, did you not long to go thither? And when I told you
that the way thither was only through the earth,--that it was long and
difficult and narrow,--that many troubles must make you strong to walk
in it,--did you not long to go, promising not to complain? Do you so
soon falter? Have I not told you that the book you carry in your hands
there must first be formed on the earth?--that there you shall pick up
one by one the shining letters which compose it? Why do you
complain?--have you forgotten that your home is better than those
miserable ones which have been given to those who were your beloved
playmates here? This is your last visit to the garden of God. The
angel-children shall come and whisper to you in your dreams; and, when
they in their turns go down to live upon the earth, hold your arms out
to them, and, when their steps are weak, help them along. And when you
see children with tattered clothes, in poor cottages, look not proudly
on your own, but remember that here, in the garden of God, you played
together in the same fountain, drank the same dew; and think no more of
yourself or your beautiful earth-home, for God gave it to you for the
same purpose he gave the wretched cottage to the other. Remember, too,
the good mother, who has patiently hushed your cries, and will yet bear
you through many dark places. She has never yet tired in caring for you,
and you have given her little else but trouble. Go; be henceforth
patient and loving."
Sorrow came into the heart of the child for his selfishness; and, as he
thought of his beautiful mother, how she always smiled upon him, and
would help him to heaven, his heart filled up with love to her.
At that moment he opened his eyes, and there by his side sat the
mother, watching for his awaking; a heavenly smile stole over his
features, and he held up his arms to her. The mother caught him from the
cradle, and wept over him in the ecstasy of a new-found joy and love;
for it was the _First Smile_ her baby had given her.
CYBELE, THE TAMBOURINE GIRL.
Cybele was a little girl; she had large gray eyes, and brown hair
smoothly parted over her forehead, while there was a pitiful expression
round her mouth, that pleaded with you so earnestly, you could scarce
help stopping, as you met her, to give her a few pennies.
Her real home was not in this country. Long ago she had come over from
the bright land of Italy,--from its warm, sunny skies and beautiful
gardens, where the birds sang so joyfully, and gay music sounded on the
air,--all which she longed to see and hear again; and as all things
there had been so beautiful, and here so dreary, all beauty grew to be
the same thing as that dear Italy, so that when she even saw flowers in
the window of some lordly house, she would stand, gazing tearfully
through them at the far-off home!
Cybele's mother had died in that beautiful land, and it was in one of
its lovely gardens her body rested while her spirit soared heavenward.
The little girl knew this place so well;--the orange-trees grew about
it, and the song of the waterfall, near by, played and sparkled in the
tones of the birds. But Cybele's aunt had taken the little girl with her
to this distant land, and the child could no longer go and weep over the
grave where her mother's body had been laid; but her heart was there--it
could not forget. She dreamed of it in the long nights; and, when she
played upon her tambourine, the remembrance inspired her notes, making
people love to listen to her.
Away down in an uncomfortable, out-of-the-way part of the city dwell a
great many poor people, who have come from distant countries to find
here some bread, which may keep them from starving. The streets where
they dwell are dirty, and the houses look smoky and wretched. There are
queer little shops, with oranges and cigars, bread and tobacco, in the
windows, and if you go in you smell yeast, and see milk-cans standing
about, while a man in a green jacket sells you what you ask for. To such
shops do the people near by come for their bread and cent's worth of
milk. To such a shop little Cybele came, early in the morning, and late
at night; and so dingy looked the shops and people, that her aunt's room
seemed bright and cheerful in comparison. This room, nevertheless, was
small and quite dark, having but one window, which looked down into a
brown back-yard; but her aunt kept the room neat and clean; the bed
stood off by itself, in one corner, the two chairs on either side of the
table, and in the cupboard were a few plates and cups, with which the
scanty table was spread; yet was this room dear to the child, since the
dreams she had dreamed there hung over her still with their light and
love.
It chanced, one day, that her aunt fell sick--so sick as to be obliged
to lie on the bed. For a long time she had not been able to do any hard
work, but had sat at home and made little brooms for Cybele to take out
with her when she went to play the tambourine about the streets. And
Cybele had seen how her aunt grew pale, day by day, but she had not
dreamed the time would come when her aunt must lay still on the bed for
weariness.
With a heavy heart she took the brooms and the tambourine, and went out,
hoping to get a few pennies, and bring home a doctor for her aunt.
But it was a sad day for Cybele. She was rudely sent away from the doors
at which she stopped, and though she stood long before the windows of
lordly houses, in which she felt were many persons, still the sashes
were left down, and no kind group appeared to encourage her. So she
passed on, through quiet squares and noisy streets, but everywhere met
with a repulse.
What should she do? It was impossible to go home without money. She
thought of the poor aunt who was sick, and of the mother who lay away in
the gardens of Italy, and new courage came into her soul. A gentleman
came toward her, with ruddy cheeks and smooth, rich clothes. Surely he
will not turn away from the little child. So she stepped forward, and,
when he came near, she looked up in his face, saying,
"Please, sir, will you not buy one of my brooms?"
But he brushed by her, unheeding her gentle tones, and leaving her eyes
filled with tears.
Then came along a careless boy, whistling a merry tune, and with his
hands thrust into his pockets. Confidence and hope made her ask him
also.
"Please, will you buy a broom?"
The boy stopped, and, still whistling, looked into her face, glanced
over her dress, tambourine and brooms; and, as his eyes rested upon
these last, he replied:
"Buy a broom! Pray, what think you I want with one of those flimsy
things?" And then he looked at her as though he thought her so absurd!
Cybele was abashed by his manner, and began to think she had asked him
to do a very foolish thing, so she hurried to reply:
"I don't know, I'm sure; but they brush away flies with them."
"Flies!" he repeated, contemptuously, at the same time taking one of the
brooms from her little bundle, and thrusting it about him in all
conceivable ways; pulling open the brush, and altogether ruining it.
"Flies! it is getting too cool for flies; and, besides, my mother never
lets any get into the house; so it's no use any way. Why don't you go
home? It's a shame to be walking round the streets so. You ought to be
in school, or at work, or something else."
[Illustration: CYBELE THE TAMBOURINE GIRL.]
"I don't know how to do anything else," replied Cybele, the blood
rushing to her cheeks; "my aunt is sick, and I want to get some money."
"Tush!--always sick!" replied the boy, contemptuously; "how silly! I
wonder the beggars don't all die some day, they've been sick so long!"
"We are not beggars!" said Cybele, raising her head somewhat proudly,
and preparing to move away. "If you don't want the broom, I'll take it,
if you please."
The boy seemed half pleased, as he looked at her, and said:
"Proud, too--if it isn't funny! Here, don't go away--I want to hear your
tambourine."
So she laid down her bundle of brooms, and, arranging her tambourine,
played him some merry tunes.
"Can't you dance, too?" asked the boy, when she had finished. So she
danced and played to him; and, when she stopped, he placed a penny in
her hand, and coolly walked away.
She looked at the penny lying in her hand, and then after the boy, who
was walking up the street, and she couldn't help thinking how very
little it was, and how she hoped he would have given her more. She
looked at the little broom he had ruined, and everything seemed sadder
than before. Then, by some strange freak, her mind ran off to the
gardens where her mother slept, as it always did when darkness gathered
round her, and she longed, more than ever before, to throw herself on
the ground there, and quietly sleep a long, long time. During the whole
day she had received but a few pennies; so few, they would not induce a
doctor to go down to her sick aunt. If she only could have met some kind
heart, which would have gone home with her, and given kind words and
soothing draughts to the sick one! But it was not brought into her path.
When she came home and saw how much worse her aunt was than when she had
left her in the morning, her little heart grew sick; and Cybele, who had
seen her mother grow thin and die, began to be terrified, lest the aunt
too would be taken.
So, she went up to her gently, and kissed her brow, and the poor aunt
opened her eyes and smiled mournfully; and when she heard how little
money the tambourine had brought that day, she tried to conceal her
sorrow lest the little child should be grieved.
Then Cybele lighted a small fire in their bit of a fireplace, and made a
little tea for her aunt. It was the very last she had; but when she
thought how much her aunt needed it, and how she would need still more
on the morrow, hope whispered, quite cheerfully, that with the
tambourine she would win from people's pockets many a bright cent. With
these thoughts, she looked very lovingly towards the tambourine, which
lay quietly upon the floor in the corner, its gay bells silent, as if
it, too, felt sorrow for the aunt's sickness.
After Cybele had toasted a bit of bread, and given it, with the tea, to
the aunt--had received the kind kiss, and saw her close her eyes--she
thought she slept, and new courage filled her heart; she began to think
of the pleasant people she should see to-morrow. What a kind crowd she
drew about her! They looked on her with loving eyes, and the sweet
smiles played about their lips. There were the groups of pretty
children, in gay frocks and rosy cheeks, which should gather about the
parlor-window, when she should stop before it and strike the tambourine
with her hand; and they would smile upon her, and then the elder sister,
who should be so mild and gentle, would come and throw up the sash, and
speak with her; and, perhaps, even she would throw down to her a sprig
of the geranium which stood near by on the flower-stand. Then she was
lured further on, to think of a great fortune which was to be obtained,
that she might go back to the laughing skies of Italy, and spend her
days in the lovely garden where her mother slept.
But when Cybele arose in the morning, and told her aunt how she was
going out to gather in the pennies, the poor aunt sighed, and bade her
stay at home a while, for she could not bear to be alone.
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