Part 4 (2/2)

Mistaken fly! He fared very much as you might suppose he would. He lost his life in the mola.s.ses.

MORAL.

That is just the way with thousands, who have fewer legs and ought to have more brains than this fly. They are not content with a right and proper use of the good things which G.o.d has given them. They plunge into a sea of pleasure, so as to enjoy as much of it as they possibly can. But such a surfeit, instead of increasing the enjoyment, makes them miserable. They are drowned in the midst of their pleasures.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

IX.

CAROLINE AND HER KITTEN;

OR, THE PRETTY FACE, WITH A SCAR ON IT.

Caroline Rose was as happy a girl as ever you saw in your life--”as happy as the days are long”--so her schoolmaster used to say. There were a great many good points in Caroline's character besides this, that she was so generally cheerful--for I consider that a good point in any one's character. She was kind to her companions, obedient, respectful, and affectionate to her parents; and she seldom got into a fit of anger, or made a fool of herself by being sulky. One might have met her frequently, and have supposed that he was well acquainted with her, and still have loved her very much. Yet there was one thing in her character which every one, as soon as he saw it, must dislike, and which sometimes, where she was well known, made her appear exceedingly unlovely. Shall I tell you what that was? I will do so, so as to put you on your guard in that particular point. That trait in her character was _selfishness_. If she ever got anything that she liked, she used to act as if she were not willing that any one else should enjoy it with her. Indeed, she appeared to be displeased, if one of her playmates, as was sometimes the case, did take a great deal of pleasure in her pretty things.

Her father once brought her home a fine set of tea things, when she was quite young. Now, should you not suppose that she would like to have all the girls in the neighborhood come and take tea with her, and use her pretty new cups and saucers, and spoons and plates? Well, so should I. But she showed a great deal of selfishness in this matter--so much, in fact, that she made herself appear ridiculous, as well as unlovely. She was glad to have the girls come and look at the tea things, and hear them say that they were very pretty. But that was as far as her generosity went. She did not ask the girls to sit down and drink tea with her. Indeed, she did not want her playmates to handle the cups and saucers. ”I'm so afraid you will break them!” said she. What a foolish and unreasonable girl!

It got to be a sort of proverb in the little village where Caroline resided, when any one was not very generous, ”She's almost as selfish as Carrie Rose,” I don't know whether she knew how she was regarded among boys and girls of her own age; and I don't know how much she cared for their good will, if she did hear what they thought of her.

But this I know, that I could not bear to have such a character. I would rather give away half of all I am worth than to give any reason to people to think I was mean and selfish. How I should dislike to have folks say to themselves, and perhaps to others, when they meet me in the streets, ”There goes a selfish man--a man who is about as good as people will average, in other respects, but who is as small as the little end of nothing, in his dealings.” I think I would rather live on a crust of dry bread than to get money by being close, and small, and mean, and selfish.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY PRETTY KITTEN.]

Caroline had a kitten given her, by her uncle, when she had grown up to be quite a large girl. It was a beautiful creature. I think they called it a Maltese kitten. Nothing of the kind had been seen in the place where Caroline lived, before Tommy, as she called her new pet, was brought there. Well, of course she told all the little folks what a fine present her uncle had made to her, and they were invited to come over and see the ”dear little creature.” She talked about her kitten as if it were one of the wonders of the world, and as if she thought she was a young queen, with the wealth of Cleopatra or Elizabeth, and that half the inhabitants of the globe would certainly come and bow before her and her wonderful kitten.

When she met her young friends, she talked of nothing hardly but ”my pretty Maltese kitten.”

That is the way with selfish folks. They think and talk a great deal of what concerns _them_, and you seldom hear them praise anything that belongs to their neighbors.

I shall never forget--if you will allow me to go a step or two out of my way for an ill.u.s.tration--I shall never forget how, when I was a little school-boy, Mother Budd, a rather selfish old lady, used to call us into her kitchen, to see the nice honey she had been taking out of her bee-hives. ”Isn't that fine?” she would ask; ”eh, isn't that fine honey, boys?” Of course it was fine, and we said so. ”Well, you can go now,” she would say, after that. As for letting us taste of her fine honey, that she never thought of doing.

I don't know but we should almost have served her right, if we had done something as a good old minister I have heard of, once did in very similar circ.u.mstances. He was making a call upon one of the ladies of his parish--upon Aunt Katy, who was noted all over the neighborhood for being close-fisted. Almost as soon as the good man had got into the house, she invited him to go into the b.u.t.tery, and look at her nice cheeses. He went in, the old lady acting as a guide.

”There,” said she, pointing to a mammoth cheese which she had just made for the fair, and which she was particularly proud of, ”there's a cheese for you.” ”Thank you, Aunt Katy,” said the minister, ”my wife was saying only this morning that we should have to get a new cheese pretty soon.” And he took the cheese down from the shelf, carried it out to his wagon, bade the astonished lady of the house a good morning, and drove off to visit some of the rest of his flock.

Selfishness has the same face, look at it where you will. It made quite a scar in the features of Caroline's character. Without that, they would have been beautiful--with it, they were ugly enough.

But about that kitten. Clara Goodsell was as full of fun as a hickory nut is of meat. She heard of Caroline's kitten, and she, too, was invited to call and see it. She did not go, though, and, indeed, the girls very generally failed to comply with the invitation. They knew well enough that, if they went to see the kitten, they would not be allowed to take it, and that all they could do would be to stand a little way off, and look at it, and remark how beautiful it was.

One day, when the girls at school were required to write compositions, Clara thought she would write something which would make Carrie ashamed of her selfishness. The teacher read all the compositions aloud. When he came to Clara's, the girls had as much as they could do to keep from laughing, for they knew, before it was read, what it was about. The schoolmaster had to bite his lips to keep from smiling a little, too.

Clara did not call any names. But she wrote such a composition about ”_My Pretty Kitten_” that anybody could see it was meant for Caroline. The selfish girl saw it, as well as the rest, and before school was out, she burst into tears, she felt so badly. But the composition did her good. She improved wonderfully after that.

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