Part 1 (1/2)
Wreaths of Friends.h.i.+p.
by T. S. Arthur and F. C. Woodworth.
Preface.
Young friends--stop a moment. We have set up a sort of turnpike gate here, as you see, between the t.i.tle-page and the first story in our book, in the shape of a preface, or introduction. ”What! do you mean to take toll of us, then?” Why, no--not exactly. But we want to say half a dozen words to you, as you pa.s.s along, and to tell you a little about these WREATHS which we have been twining for our friends. So you need not be in quite so great a hurry. Wait a minute.
You have no doubt noticed that it is a very common thing for an author to take up several of the first pages of his book with apologies to his readers. First, perhaps, he apologizes for writing at all; and secondly, for writing so poorly--just as if it was a crime to make a book, for which crime the author must get down on his knees, and humbly beg the public's pardon. We think we shall not take this course, on the whole, for this reason, if for no other--that we do not feel very guilty about what we have done. But as the plan of our book is somewhat new, we have been thinking it would be well enough, in introducing it to you, at least to tell how we came to make it.
We have both of us published a good deal, in one way and another, for young people; and we got a notion--a very pleasant one, certainly, and rather natural, withal, whether well founded or not--that among that cla.s.s of the public composed of boys and girls, we had a pretty respectable number of friends. Under this impression, we put our heads together, one day, and made up our minds to invite these friends of ours, every one of them, to a kind of festival, and that we would share equally in the pleasure of giving the entertainment. The book, reader, which we have named WREATHS OF FRIENDs.h.i.+P, as perhaps you have already guessed, grew out of that plan of ours.
We have not, as you will perceive, indicated the authors.h.i.+p of the tales and sketches, as they appear; and those readers who have any curiosity in this matter, are referred to the index.
We hope the volume will please you. More than this: we hope it will prove to be useful--useful for the future as well as for the present life; and, indeed, if it had not been for this hope, much as we love to entertain our young friends, these Wreaths would never have been twined by our hands.
We have little else to add, except the fondest wishes of our hearts; and, to tell the truth, it was to express to you these kind wishes--to give you something like a hearty shake of the hand--rather than because we had any thing of importance to say in our preface, that we stopped you at the outset.
THE AUTHORS.
WREATHS.
WHAT SHALL WE BUILD?
Four children were playing on the sea-sh.o.r.e. They had gathered bright pebbles and beautiful sh.e.l.ls, and written their names in the pure, white sand; but at last, tired of their sport, they were about going home, when one of them, as they came to a pile of stones, cried out:
”Oh! let us build a fort; and we will call that s.h.i.+p away out there, an enemy's vessel, and make believe we are firing great cannon b.a.l.l.s into her!”
”Yes, yes! let us build a fort,” responded Edward, the other lad.
And the two boys--for two were boys and two girls--ran off to the pile of stones, and began removing them to a place near the water.
”Come, Anna and Jane,” said they, ”come and help us.”
”Oh, no. Don't let us build a fort,” said Jane.
[Ill.u.s.tration: WHAT SHALL WE BUILD?]
”Yes; we will build a fort,” returned the boys. ”What else can we build?
You wouldn't put a house down here upon the water's edge?”
”No; but I'll tell you what we can build, and it will be a great deal better than a fort.”
”Well; what can we build?”
”A light-house,” said the girls; ”and that will be just as much in place on the edge of the sea as a fort. We can call the s.h.i.+p yonder a vessel lost in the darkness, and we will hang out a light and direct her in the true way.
Won't that be much better than to call her an enemy, and build a fort to destroy her? See how beautifully she sits upon and glides over the smooth water! Her sails are like the open wings of a bird, and they bear her gracefully along. Would it not be cruel to shoot great b.a.l.l.s into her sides, tear her sails to pieces, and kill the men who are on board of her?
Oh! I am sure it would make us all happier to save her when in darkness and danger. No, no; let us not build a fort, but a light-house; for it is better to save than to destroy.”