Little Ferns For Fannys Little Friends | Page 7

childish, far-reaching question! and the next--and the next! That clear, penetrating, searching, yet innocent and trusting eye! How will you meet them? You'll be astonished to find how often you'll be cornered by that little child--how many difficulties he will raise, that will require all your keenest wits to clear away. Oh, you must get off your clerical stilts, and drop your metaphors and musty folios, and call everything by its right name when you talk to children.
Yes, I repeat it. Children should have a minister. Not a gentleman in a stiff neck-cloth and black coat, who says solemnly, in a sepulchral voice, (once a year, on his parochial visit,)--"S-a-m-u-e-l--my-- boy--how--do--you--do?" but a genial, warm-hearted, loving, spiritual father, who is neither wiser, nor greater, nor better than he who took little children in his arms and said, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven."

THE LITTLE "MORNING GLORY."
Dear little pet! She was going a journey in the cars with mamma; and her little curly head could not stay on the pillow, for thinking of it. She was awake by the dawn, and had been trying to rouse mamma for an hour. She had told her joy in lisping accents to "Dolly," whose stoical indifference was very provoking, especially when she knew she was going to see "her dear, white-haired old grand-papa," who had never yet looked upon her sweet face; although pen and ink had long since heralded her polite perfections. Yes, little pet must look her prettiest, for grand-papa's eyes are not so dim, that the sight of a pretty face doesn't cheer him like a ray of glad sunlight; so the glossy waves of golden hair are nicely combed, and the bright dress put on, to heighten, by contrast, the dimpled fairness of the neck and shoulders; then, the little white apron, to keep all tidy; then the Cinderella boots, neatly laced. I can see you, little pet! I wish I had you in my arms this minute!
Good bye! How the little curls shake! What a nice seat our tiny voyager has, by that pleasant open window, upon mamma's knee! How wonderfully fast the trees and houses and fences fly past! Was there ever anything like it? And how it makes her eyes wink, when the cars dash under the dark bridges, and how like the ringing of silver bells that little musical laugh is, when they dart out again into the fair sunlight. How cows, and horses, and sheep, all run at that horrid whistle. Little pet feels as though she was most a woman, to be traveling about, seeing so many fine things. On they dash!--it half takes her breath away--but she is not afraid; no, indeed! What little darling ever could be afraid, when its hand was in mamma's love clasp?
Alas! poor little pet!
Grand-papa's eye grow weary watching for you, at the little cottage window. Grand-mamma says, "the cakes will be quite spoiled;" and she "knits to her seam needle," and then moves about the sitting-room uneasily; now and then stopping to pat the little Kitty, that is to be pet's play-fellow. And now lame Tim has driven the cows home; and the dew is falling, the stars are creeping out, and the little crickets and frogs have commenced their evening concert, and still little pet hasn't come! Where is the little stray waif?
Listen! Among the "unrecognized dead" by the late RAILROAD ACCIDENT, was a female child, about three years of age; fair complexion and hair; had on a red dress, green sack, white apron, linen gaiters, tipped with patent leather, and white woolen stockings.
Poor little pet! Poor old grand-papa! Go comfort him; tell him it was a "shocking accident," but then "nobody was to blame;" and offer him a healing plaster for his great grief, in the shape of "damage" money.

THE CHARITY ORPHANS.
"Pleasant sight, is it not?" said my friend, glancing complacently at a long procession of little charity children, who were passing, two and two--two and two--with closely cropped heads, little close-fitting sun-bonnets and dark dresses; "pleasant sight, is it not, Fanny?" Yes--no--no, said I, courageously, it gives me the heart-ache. Oh, I see as you do, that their clothes are clean and whole, and that they are drilled like a little regiment of soldiers, (heads up,) but I long to see them step out of those prim ranks, and shout and scamper. I long to stuff their little pockets full of anything--everything, that other little pets have. I want to get them round me, and tell them some comical stories to take the care-worn look out of their anxious little faces. I want to see them twist their little heads round when they hear a noise, instead of keeping them straight forward as if they were "on duty." I want to know if