THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 9
PRE FEEREFSEREEHEERPTEHRTTTEPeTreneennneneennileinminenimteinistieitinntininienindammniasiiiieaiitiinitauia, seid
feelings, that my arm was entirely un- | never could harm one of the dear little
nerved. I did not violate the peace of | things since.
that happy family, but left them chirp-| I remember once having killed a robin
ing their gratitude and gladness. Boys | withastone. Idid it rather through care-
have often strong temptations to rob the | lessness than by design, however. The
nests of the beautiful birds that cluster | robin was as busy as he could be pick-
around the abodes of men, so confid- ing currants in our yard, when I threw
ingly, so lovingly. I have had some|a stone at him, to frighten him away.
such temptations. But never, since my |The stone hit the poor fellow, how-
sister’s eloquent plea ever—strange enough, I always thought,
for the young spar- | for I was a very indifferent marksman—
rows, have I yielded | and he fell down from the bushes, flut-
to this temptation. | tered a few minutes, gasped a few times
That plea has secur- | for breath, and died. I wept along time
ed the happiness of | about that tragic affair. The image of
many a forest war-|the dying robin did not leave my mind
bler. I owe much | for the entire summer, and I did not
of the good-will IJlove to go near the spot where he died
have ever cherished | for months afterward.
toward the birds to] That was a sad day for us all, when
the tenderness with |we learned that this cherished sister
which she always | must die, and it was a sadder day still
treated them. Ij when the dreaded hour arrived. Yet
— her end was calm and peaceful.. Her-
. Pep sun went down while it was yet day.
ey But it went down unclouded. “I am
weary, brother,” said she, “let me
sleep.” She did sleep—slept the long
sleep of death, and her tired spirit found
repose.

My sister! how like a flood do
thoughts of her kind and loving heart;
of her deep, warm, active piety; of
her cheerful, patient, trustful spirit ;
of her happy frame, while sinking under
the influence of disease—how do these
thoughts, and such as these, rush into
my mind, as I muse on the past at
this calm hour of twilight—

“In the still hour of thought, when we are free
To leave the real world for things which seem.”

“For things which seem.” But are they
seeming only ?

   
 
 
 
 
  
     
      
   
    
   
     
   
   
    
     
         
 
 
 

 

Vee
Dee ca Drea
Dann ip Dr? ~ “pee an

apr

pt — ||
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