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ARTHUR AND HIS DOG.]
ARTHUR HAMILTON,AND HIS DOG.
_Written for the Massachusetts Sabbath School Society, andapproved by the Committee of Publication_.
1851.
ARTHUR HAMILTON.
CHAPTER I.
LEAVING HOME.
One pleasant October evening, Arthur Hamilton was at play in front ofthe small, brown cottage in which he lived. He and his brother James,were having a great frolic with a large spotted dog, who was performinga great variety of antics, such as only well-educated dogs understand.But Rover had been carefully initiated into the mysteries of making abow while standing on his hind legs, tossing pieces of bread off hisnose, putting up his fore-paws with a most imploring look, and piteouswhine, which the boys called "begging for money," and when a chip hadbeen given him, he uttered a most energetic bow-wow-wow, which theyregarded as equivalent to "thank you, sir," and walked off.
While they were thus amusing themselves, their mother was sitting on therude piazza which ran along the front of the cottage, now looking at themerry children, and then thoughtfully gazing at the long shadows whichwere stretching across the road. Mrs. Hamilton was a woman of wonderfulstrength, and energy, both of body and mind; and she had been sustainedfor many years by the Christian's hope; but there was now a heavy burdenresting on her soul, which even her native energy and Christian trustwere unable to remove. She had known many days of worldly prosperity,since she had resided in that little cottage; but of late, trials hadmultiplied; and days and nights of heart-crushing sorrow had beenappointed unto her. He who should have shared life's trials andlightened their weight, had proved recreant to his trust, and was nowwandering, she knew not whither; and poverty was staring the desertedfamily in the face. Debts had accumulated, and though Mrs. Hamilton haddone all that could be done to meet the emergency, though she hadlabored incessantly, and borne fatigue and self-denial, with a brave andcheerful spirit, it had been found necessary to leave the home so dearto her,--the home where she had been brought a fair and youthful bride;where she had spent many happy years, and which was endeared to her byso many sweet and hallowed, as well as painful, associations. Every footof the green meadow, the orchard on the hill, and the pasture lyingbeyond, was dear to her; and it was painful to see them pass into otherhands. But that heaviest of all the trials which poverty brings to themother's heart, was hers also. The conviction had been forced upon her,that she must separate the children, and find other homes for such aswere old enough to do any thing for themselves. This necessaryseparation had now taken place. Her eldest son had gone to a distantsouthern state, carrying with him, his mother's prayers and blessings;and a strong arm, and stout heart, with which to win himself a name anda place in his adopted home. John, the second, still remained with her,assisting, by his unceasing toil, to earn a supply for their dailywants. Henry, the third son, a bright-eyed youth of sixteen, hadattracted the notice of his pastor, and by his advice and assistance,had been placed on the list of the beneficiaries of the AmericanEducation Society, and was now at an Academy, preparing for College.James was living with a farmer in the neighborhood, and was now on thegreen with Arthur. These changes had already taken place, and now, couldshe part with Arthur,--her sweet-tempered, gentle Arthur? That was thequestion which agitated and saddened her. An offer had been made her, byMr. Martin, who lived in an adjoining town, and whom she knew to be anexcellent man. He wished to take Arthur, and keep him till he wastwenty-one; would clothe him, send him to school, and treat him as oneof his own family; training him to habits of industry and economy. Couldshe hope any thing better for her darling boy? There was a youngerbrother and two sisters still remaining at home, and embarrassed as shewas, ought she not to be grateful for such an opening, and thankfullyavail herself of it? Such was the view another might take of thesubject, but to her it was unspeakably painful to think of theseparation. Arthur was ten years old; but he was a modest and timid boy,whose sensitive nature had led him to cling more closely to his mother'sside than his bolder and more active brothers.
Mrs. Hamilton knew that this was no time for the indulgence ofsentiment; she knew that _duty_ must be done, even though everychord of her heart quivered with agony. After much consideration andearnest prayer, she had concluded to let him go, and the thought ofsending him away from her, and all he loved, among entire strangers, waswhat made her so sorrowful. She strove to calm herself by thereflection, that she had done what seemed to be right, and byremembering the blessed promises of God's Holy Word to the fatherless,and to all those who put their trust in Him. With a cheerful voice, shecalled the boys, telling James it was time for him to go home, asCaptain L., with whom he lived, was a very particular man, and would bedispleased if he staid out beyond the proper time. Mrs. Hamilton's sonshad been trained to obedience, and James never thought of lingering andloitering for half an hour, as I have seen some boys do, after beingtold to go. He just gave Rover a good pat on the back, and saying ahasty "good-night" to his mother and Arthur, he ran home.
Arthur was alone with his mother, and she told him of the arrangementshe had made for him, and the reasons for it. Arthur was quite overcomeat the idea of a separation from the mother he loved so dearly, andexclaimed--
"Oh, mother, don't send me away from home, I can earn something, andwill work very hard if you will only let me stay. Please mother, let mestay with you!"
"It is quite as painful to me, Arthur," said his mother, "to part fromyou, as it can be to you; but I think it is best for you; and I am sureyou will not increase my trials by complaining. Be a brave boy, Arthur,and learn to submit cheerfully to what God sends upon you. Trust in Him,and he will bless you wherever you are. Always remember He watches overyou, and loves you. I think Mr. and Mrs. Martin will be kind to you, andI hope you will make yourself very useful to them. They are quite aged,and a pair of young hands and feet can be of great service to them.Always do cheerfully whatever they wish of you, even if not quite soagreeable at the moment. Always be respectful in your manners to them,and to all others with whom you come in contact, and try to make themhappier. A little boy may do a good deal to make others happy, orunhappy. I hope you will try to do what is right at all times, and Idoubt not you will be contented and happy there, after you becomeaccustomed to it."
Arthur had dried his tears, but his heart was heavy as he laid down inhis bed that night, and when he was alone, his sobs burst forth afresh.It seemed to him very cruel to send him among strange people, and hethought he should rather go without much to eat or wear, than to leavehome.
About ten days after, John carried Arthur to Mr. Martin's. Mrs. Hamiltonhad made his clothes look as neat and tidy as possible, by thoroughlywashing and mending them, (for she could not afford to get any newones), and John had made him a nice box, in which they were allcarefully placed.
Arthur tried to be a brave boy, as his mother wished; but he could noteat his breakfast that morning. Every mouthful seemed to choke him; andwhen he bade his mother and the children good-bye, the tears would comefast and thick into his eyes, in spite of all he could do to prevent it.Tears were in his mother's eyes too, but she spoke cheerfully.
"Well, Arthur," said she, "it will be only six weeks to Thanksgiving,and Mr. Martin has promised you shall come home then; and how glad weshall all be to see you!"
It was a sunny, autumn morning. The white frost lay on the grass and thefences, and the north-wind was chilly, as the boys drove on. Roverpersisted in following them, and finally Arthur begged John to take himin, and carry him over. Rover was delighted, and laid himself down inthe bottom of the wagon, and l
ooked affectionately into Arthur's face.
"Poor Rover," said he, "you will miss me I know; and I shall miss you agreat deal more. I wonder if Mr. Martin has a dog?"
"I guess not," said John, "for he took no notice of Rover, and everybody who likes dogs speaks to Rover, because he is so large andhandsome. I am afraid you will be homesick at first over there, but wemust do the best we can, for these are hard times. I don't see how wecan do any thing more than pay the rent this year, after all my summer'swork; for the dry weather ruined the potatoes, and corn won't bring morethan fifty cents a bushel; and how we are to live, I don't see. I am notafraid for myself, but it is too bad for mother, and the little ones;so, if you are homesick, you must try to get over it again, and not comeback, or let mother know it, for she has just as much trouble as she canbear already."
"Oh, no," said Arthur, "I won't be homesick, I _will_ be a braveboy, as mother calls it, and never complain, let what will come; but Ido wish we were not so poor."
"I don't know," said John, "I think poor folks that work hard, enjoyabout as much as anybody, after all. It isn't a disgrace to be poor, ifwe are only honest, and do what is right; and you know the minister saidlast Sabbath, that Jesus Christ when he lived on the earth was a poorman, and worked with his hands for a living. He won't despise the poornow he has gone into heaven again; for he will remember how he was pooronce. Mother says, nothing will break her heart but living to see us dosome wicked deed, and that she could not survive that. We must becareful not to break her heart, musn't we, Arthur?"
So the lads rode on till noon; and when the sun shone out warmly, theforest-trees looked more magnificent in its golden light, than KingSolomon in all his glory. There was the crimson-leaved maple, and theyellow beach, and the variegated oak, mingled with the fresh greenhemlocks and pines. There was something in the quiet, and deep stillnessof the woods, which made the boys silent, as they rode through; theyfelt the influence of its exceeding beauty, though they could not haveexpressed it in words; for God always speaks to us through his works,and if we will listen to the voice, our hearts will be softened, andpleasant and profitable thoughts will arise.
It was two in the afternoon, when John and Arthur reached Mr. Martin's.He was not at home, but Mrs. Martin received them kindly, saying, "sheexpected they would come that day." She was a grave-looking old lady,who wore spectacles, and the inquisitive manner in which she looked overthe top of them into Arthur's face, quite frightened the little fellow,and he could only reply in very low monosyllables to the questions sheasked him; so John gave her such information as she desired. Mrs. Martinshowed them the small chamber in which Arthur was to sleep, and Johncarried up the wooden box, and put it down in one corner. After stayinghalf an hour, John thought he must go. A sense of the loneliness of hissituation among strangers, where no one familiar voice would be heard,and not one familiar object seen, came over the heart of poor Arthurwith such force at this moment, that he burst into a flood of tears,exclaiming--
"Oh, don't leave me here, John! don't leave me, I cannot stay." Brushingthe tears from his own eyes, John drew the sobbing child out into theyard, saying, as he put his arms affectionately about his neck,--
"But Arthur, what do you think mother would say to see you coming backwith me? How it would distress her! Indeed you _must_ stay, and tryto be contented. I think it looks like a pleasant place here. This is avery pretty yard, and yonder is a large garden; I dare say Mr. Martinwill let you have a bed in it next spring."
"But it is living here all alone, which I dread," said Arthur.
"You know mother says we are never all alone," said John. "God will bewith you, and if you try to be a good contented boy, he will approve ofyour conduct, and love you. Only six weeks too, remember, till you comehome. Just think how soon they will be gone!"
Rover had been gazing wistfully into Arthur's face, as if he wonderedwhat was going on that made them all so sober, and now he gently laidhis paw upon his hand. Arthur caressed him fondly, saying--
"Oh, Rover, dear good fellow, how I wish I could have you for company."
"I wish you could," said John, "but I don't think it would be right toleave him, for Mr. Martin might not wish to have him."
John now untied his horse, saying,
"Try to be contented for mother's sake, dear Arthur."
Many years after, when John was a middle-aged man, he told me thatnothing in his whole life had made him feel worse than leaving littleArthur behind him, that day. "I can see the poor little fellow now,"said he, "just as he looked standing at the gate, weeping bitterly."
Rover refused at first to leave Arthur, but John lifted him into thewagon, and drove off.
It was a lonely evening to Arthur. There was no frolic with Rover andthe children on the green; no kind mother's voice to call him in; noaffectionate good-night kiss for the little stranger. Mr. and Mrs.Martin were very kind-hearted people, but they had little sympathy witha child, and made no conversation with him. There was no hardshipimposed on Arthur; indeed they required less of him than he had beenaccustomed to doing at home, and had he been a courageous, light-heartedboy like his brother James, he would soon have been very happy in hisnew home. But we have said he was shy and sensitive; like a delicateplant he needed sunshine to develope his nature, and shrank from therough chilling blast.
None, who has not experienced it, can know any thing of the sufferingsuch a child endures when deprived of the sweet influences of home. Suchan one often appears dull and stupid to a careless observer, when thereis throbbing under that cold exterior, a heart of the keenestsensibility. Let the bold, healthy, active boy be sent from home, ifnecessary; a little hardship, and a little struggling with the rougherelements of life, will perchance but strengthen and increase hiscourage, and prepare him for the conflicts and struggles of after years;but oh, fond mother, keep that delicate, timid child which nestles tothy side with such confiding trust, which trembles at the voice of astranger, and shrinks like the mimosa, from a rude and unfamiliar touch,under thine own sheltering roof-tree, for a time at least; there seek todevelope and strengthen his delicate nature into more manly strength andvigor; there judiciously repress excessive sensibility, and increaseconfidence in himself and others; if it can possibly be avoided, do notexpose him, while a child, to the tender mercies of those who do notunderstand his peculiar temperament, and who, however kind theirfeelings, cannot possess his confidence.
We need not dwell on the first weeks of Arthur's stay at Mr. Martin's.They thought him a little homesick, but presumed he would soon get overit; he performed the little tasks they exacted of him with greatalacrity, and was quite a favorite with Mrs. Martin, who said he was themost quiet, and well-behaved child she ever saw. At first, Arthurthought of nothing but home, and home-scenes; but he struggled bravelyto rise above sad and sorrowful thoughts, and to be contented. "Theyshall never hear me complain," he said to himself, "and dear mother tooshall never know how bad I feel. I want to do my duty, and be a_brave_ boy."
Every fortnight a letter came from home, and though Arthur read it withstreaming eyes, it was a precious treasure. He would read them over andover, till he seemed to hear his mother's voice once more, and feel herloving hand upon his head. He answered them; but wrote only a few words,saying, he was well, and the other common place remarks children usuallywrite. He was not happy, but he was calmer now, and did not _every_night cry himself to sleep. The visit at home, was a bright, cheeringspot, to which he often looked forward; and as week after week passedaway, slowly indeed, he rejoiced in the certainty that thatlong-looked-for period was getting nearer and nearer, and _would_come at last.