Voice of Flowers and Peeps into Birdland
Unknown Author
Table of Contents
Preface
THE following little work was originally issued in parts, month by month, as the seasons rolled on.
It is now republished, with many additions, in one volume, in the hope that it will prove more acceptable in this form, and help the young reader not only to make some acquaintance with the character and habits of many British plants common enough in the fields and woods of our native land, but, with the Lord's blessing, lead him also into those higher and more precious truths which may be gathered by "considering the lilies of the field.”
The object of this volume, therefore, is not to teach botany, but rather to show that every flower that blooms in the meadow or the forest, or by the wayside hedge, has a VOICE for “all who have ears to hear"—a language of its own which never ceases to tell of Him who made it.
To interpret that VOICE, and help the reader to learn that language, and thus lead the soul of the young believer into habitual communion with Christ Jesus our Lord, is the desire of the writer.
May He whose glory alone is sought bless these pages to that end!
Chapter 1: A Boy Who Loved Flowers
“O Lord, how manifold are Thy works! in wisdom hast Thou made them all; the earth is full of Thy riches."—Psalm 104: 24.)
IT seems quite a long time since we took our pleasant “Peeps into Wonderland” together; or in thought watched the "Children of Many Lands" at their lessons, or their play. Now I am going to invite old friends, and as many new ones as care to be of our party, to join me in country walks. The birds and flowers shall be our teachers, and, if we listen to their voices, we shall learn many lessons of the wisdom and goodness of their Creator. But, before we begin our rambles, I should like to tell you the story of “A Boy who loved Flowers" they were the friends of his childhood; the lesson-books of his youth and early manhood, and, because he observed carefully, he was able in later life to teach others many things he had learned during country walks, for
“Not alone the fairest flowers;
The merest grass,
Lichen, and moss, and sturdy weed
Along the roadside where we pass,
Tell of His love Who sends the dew,
The rain and sunshine too,
To nourish one small seed.”
Carl Linne (better known as Linnaeus, the Swedish botanist), was born rather more than a hundred years ago, at Rashult, in Sweden. The name Linnaeus, in Swedish, means a linden tree, and was taken from a very fine tree growing on a farm which had belonged to his great-grandfather. His father, Nils Linnaeus, had, when quite a young man, spent much of his time in the study of plants, and, though at first he was pleased to find the same taste in his son, his pleasure became pain and disappointment when, a few years later, he found that his little son had no love for books, did not care for study, and would only learn his lessons when forced to do so.
Still, Carl was no idler, and did not, as his parents feared he might, grow up a dunce. He had a bright, active mind, and was gifted with a more than usual power of observation. The seven years of his childhood were very happy ones, as the greater part of his time was spent in his father's beautiful garden, which, though not very large, was laid out with great taste and care. He never seemed to tire of asking thoughtful questions about trees and flowers; questions which his father was well able to answer.
But, at the age of seven, his real or fancied, troubles began. His father engaged a tutor for him; but the boy did not get on well; many tears were shed over the multiplication table before he was, able to repeat it correctly. Parents and teachers in those days were very strict, often severe, and no one even seemed to think of making lessons pleasant or easy; so Carl got no pity, and when at nine years of age he was sent to school, his parents were, after a short time, obliged to remove him; or his health would have broken down entirely. After this his father took great pains with his education, and taught him Latin; but, to the timid, nervous boy, book-learning was hard, up-hill work.
Holidays, and the long summer evenings, were spent either in the garden or near his home, in the woods and fields. At last his father, who was disappointed at finding his little son more backward than most boys of his age, forbade his rambles, and ordered him to spend more time in preparing his lessons. This was a great trial to the boy. His mother could understand, and, if she could, would help him. "When I go into the garden, the fields, the woods, or climb the hill," he said, "every flower, every leaf has a tongue with which it speaks to me of its own being and of God. I cannot tell you how its speech fills my heart. We might make in our garden a clock of the flowers. I can always tell what time it is by seeing which of the flowers have opened their petals, and which have closed them up.”
His mother kissed him, told him to be a good boy, and try to please his father by learning his lessons well, but said that by early rising he might still have some time in the garden, and she would try to persuade his father that his health required fresh air, and out-door exercise. At sixteen he was sent to a large public school, called “The Gymnasium."Still his progress in his studies was not rapid, he searched the school library for books on “Botany"; these he carried to his room, and read with great delight. He was soon known among his fellow students as “The Little Botanist." After two years his father paid him a visit; and was bitterly disappointed at finding that his son had not won a single prize, nor even a good place in any of the classes he attended. His head-master told him that he thought a learned education would only be wasted upon his son, and advised him to make a gardener, or a carpenter of him. For some time the old gentleman had been far from well, and his grief on hearing such a report of his son was so great, that he became seriously ill.
Carl, who really loved and wished to please his father, was greatly distressed; he did not feel that he deserved all the scoldings showered upon him. God, however, raised up a friend for him in a wise and clever physician who was called in to attend his father. After some conversation with the youth, Dr. Rothman felt sure that he was neither stupid nor idle; and, as many plants are used in medicine, offered to take him into his own house for a year, and give him such instruction as would prove useful, should he wish to study for the medical profession. The kind offer was accepted.
His friends wished him to enter an University at some distance; again he found a friend in the doctor in whose house he lodged, who not only encouraged his study of plants, but urged him to add other subjects; and kindly lent him books, from which he gained much valuable information about birds, fish and minerals.
During his summer holidays he was advised to apply for admission to another and larger University, where it was thought he would enjoy greater advantages. He went, but found himself among strangers; he had no private means, and often wanted a meal; when his shoes were worn out, he tried to mend them with folds of paper, as he could not afford to take them to a shoemaker to be repaired. But this state of things did not last long. His industry, and the knowledge he had gained, attracted the attention of the directors of the botanical gardens, and, through their influence, he was placed almost at the head of an institution where, just a year before, he had applied for the situation of gardener.
But, without the degree of doctor, Linnaeus had no legal right to give lectures; and some who were jealous of his success, used this against him. Still, he was not discouraged, but, leaving the platform for a time, he set out with seven young men to explore some mountains, gain a better knowledge of minerals, and so prepare to pass a somewhat stiff examination. They traveled through Sweden, and a great part of Norway. On his return, he made friends with another doctor, whose daughter he very much wished to marry. The father, however, felt that, though personally he liked the young man, he was not in a position to provide suitably for his daughter, so insisted that they should wait at least three years.
The waiting was by no means wasted time. He worked hard, took his degree as doctor, became a fully qualified lecturer; and, after some delays and disappointments, returned to claim his bride. He visited England, Holland and Germany. Many learned men sought his society, and valued his friendship. He was the author of many valuable works on botany; several of the best text-books in use to-day are full of information drawn from what is still called his system. It is interesting to find that all, or nearly all his books, begin and end with quotations from Scripture; and the attention of his readers was often called to the goodness of God, as an All-wise Creator. Toward the close of the year 1776, Linnaeus had a fit of apoplexy, which affected his speech, and left him weak and almost helpless. He was however still cheerful, and took a great interest in all that was going on around him. He died in 1778, at the age of seventy years and seven months. Among his last words were, “The Lord has led me Himself, with His Own Almighty Hand.”
Chapter 2: A Winter's Day in the Woods
“All Thy works shall praise Thee, O Lord, and Thy saints shall bless Thee." — (Psalm 104:10.)
WE shall hardly expect to gather flowers this bright January morning, and it is too early in the year for us to learn much about the secrets of “Birdland,"as the work of building or repairing nests has not yet begun; but our walk through the wood need not be a dull or uninteresting one. When quite a child I remember reading a story in which I was greatly interested; it was called “Eyes and No Eyes." It was about two boys who went for a walk. Like ourselves, they had chosen a winter's morning. Both took the same walk, but the report they gave was totally different. When the first, whose name I forget, so will call him Harry, returned, he was cold, cross and discontented. He had seen nothing, observed nothing; said there was nothing worth looking at, and wondered that anyone not really obliged to go out should care to do so on such a day.
A little later, his brother Bertie, entered the schoolroom; glowing with exercise, and looking very bright and happy. He had had a lovely walk. The untrodden snow was so purely white, and the ice candles that hung from the boughs of many of the trees glittered and sparkled in the sunshine till they looked almost like diamonds. More than once a wild rabbit had crossed his path, and he had watched with great interest, the odd ways of a flock of lapwings.
We shall all, I feel sure, agree that the boy who used his eyes was by far the wiser and happier of the two, but before starting our rambles in woods and fields, I should like to remind my young friends, that it is only believers, those who know the Lord Jesus as their own trusted Savior, who can, in the best and highest way, admire and enjoy the wonderful works of God in Creation. Many years ago, a great traveler, Mungo Park, was crossing a desert in Africa. By some means he had become separated from the caravan with which he traveled. Parched with thirst, and overcome with weariness, he lay down, alone and friendless, he thought to die; but, at that moment his eye rested upon a tiny clump of moss, green, fresh and beautiful. It was God's little messenger to that lonely man. As he looked at it, the thought came, “If God takes care of that tiny moss, and keeps it alive in this sandy desert, He is surely able to take care of me." With fresh hope and courage he got up, and before very long found some of his friends. And to-day, flowers and plants are doing just the same kind of work.
A Scripture-reader called upon a poor woman who rented one small room in a dull, crowded court in one of the poorest parts of East London. She was a widow, and very, very poor. Her room contained very little except a broken table, one or two chairs, and an apology for a bed; but on the narrow window-sill, a strawberry plant grew and flourished in an old, cracked flower-pot. As the visitor noticed its bright green leaves, and white blossoms, he said: "Your plant thrives well here, you will soon have ripe strawberries." “I don't keep it for its fruit," was her reply. "Why do you keep it at all then?" she was asked. “Just to keep me in mind of the Goodness of God. I am too poor to keep even a bird, or a cat, but I know my little plant could not live if He did not send the sunshine, and give me the sense to give it a little water from time to time; and every day, as I look at it, it helps me to trust Him to take care of me.”
Several of the houses we passed on our way to the wood looked bright and cheery with the yellow flowers of the Cape, or winter jessamine; always a welcome sight. I do not know exactly what it means in the language of flowers, but, to me, its message always seems to be, “Have Faith in God.”
The trees are leafless, but the holly, with its bright green leaves and red berries, is a pleasant sight, and numbers of wild birds are feeding, though most of them fly off at our approach. Hark! there is the well-known chirp of the Robin. One of the best-known of British birds, and his half-shy, half-saucy ways of making himself at home near our houses, and in our gardens, have made him many friends. It is not quite easy to say where we should be most likely to find a robin's nest, as, while it sometimes builds quite near the ground, it is more often in a hole in some wall, or tree, or it may choose a low bush or hedge, while ivy, growing against a wall, is a favorite nesting-place. Sometimes a robin's nest is found in a box, or flowerpot, and now and then, when it has learned to know and trust its friends, it will even venture to build inside the house. The nest is nearly always built of dead leaves, with mosses and fine stems of plants woven in, and inlaid with wool, hair and some feathers. The eggs vary greatly in color, as sometimes they are pure white, at others tinged with pale gray or green, they are frequently spotted or speckled with pale red; they are usually five or six in number. Robins begin to build early in the year, and two or three broods are hatched and reared during the season.
Early in the year as it is, in some sheltered corner of the wood we are almost sure to find a few leaf buds. Gather the largest you can find; open the outer covering very carefully, and you will be able to notice how wonderfully the little leaflet is folded within; not crumpled, but folded, in some kinds, doubled over, in others, neatly wrapped round each other. Try to unfold without breaking it. It will need a very gentle hand, and light touch. But how fresh, and green, and beautiful it will look. Lay it upon a piece of white blotting paper, place one or two thicknesses of blotting paper over it, put it into a book, and place a weight upon it, when it is dry you will have a leaf, that the sun never shone upon, that never felt the cold breath of the winter's wind; and, as you look at it, you may, perhaps, be reminded of some little child you have known and loved, early taken by the Lord Jesus, our Good Great Shepherd, to be with Himself, where He is.
"Forbid them not,' the words were spoken
On the far-off Judæan shore;
But the echo of their music
Fills the ages evermore.
They are going, little children,
Going where the Master calls;
Where no stain of sin can enter,
Where the shadow never falls.
They are coming, once our children,
In the triumph of the King,
He must bring the sleeping with Him,
Ere His Kingdom's joys begin.
Chapter 3: A Box of Snowdrops
“For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." — (Rom. 10:13.)
“Doctor, how long have I to live?" The speaker was a lady somewhat past middle age, who had entered the consulting-room of a Christian doctor, personally known to the writer. He was not her medical adviser; she did not even wish to place herself under his care, but she had been told that Dr. N did not hide from his patients his opinion with regard to their real state of health.
A few leading questions, a careful examination, and then the doctor said, very gently, "If the disease continues to make the same rapid progress it has done lately, I should say it cannot be more than three or four months.”
“Thank you, doctor," and Miss V rose to go, seemingly unmoved by what she had heard. But could one who knew the Lord Jesus as his own trusted Savior let her depart thus; so near eternity, and yet, perhaps, unsaved? Detaining her for a few moments, he began to speak of unseen things. She appeared grateful, and, before leaving, had accepted some Gospel books, and Dr. N had received permission to ask a friend of his own to call upon her.
Two days later the visitor called, and received a cordial welcome. After a little conversation about her health, Miss V spoke freely of her past history, and felt need of salvation. For nearly twenty years she had filled a responsible post as Matron of a large Infirmary. “I have," she said, "been present at hundreds of death-beds, I very often read the Bible to my patients, and always begged any who were so ill that it did not seem likely that they could recover to allow me to send for the clergyman; if anyone tried to be a good woman, I have, and yet, after all, I am not sure that God is pleased with me.”
“You are making a very common mistake, dear friend," said her visitor, "you expect God to be satisfied with your doing, and do not yet see, that He has been not only perfectly satisfied, but glorified by a work already DONE, the work of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the cross." Then a Bible was opened, and several passages read showing the willingness of God to receive and pardon ALL, who, owning their need, accept salvation as a FREE GIFT; and the old, yet ever new, story of the Love of God in the gift of His Son, was again very simply told. Miss V seemed to drink in every word. On this and the two following visits, the visitor was encouraged to hope that, though she had not given a clear testimony as to her knowledge of forgiveness through the precious Blood of Christ, a work of God was going on in her soul. And then the door, for a time at least, was suddenly, strangely closed. The visitor called several times, but was not allowed to see the one in whom she had grown so deeply interested. “Miss V was too ill to see anyone, or had retired early, and had given orders that she was not to be disturbed," was all she could learn. And a chill seemed to creep over her spirit, and a dim, vague sense of defeat and disappointment almost to weigh her down. Still, God, she knew, was the hearer and answerer of prayer, and He was able to open even the fast-barred door.
And so the days went by, and the one who was longing and praying for Miss V received by post, a box of snowdrops. “How lovely!" she exclaimed. "I will take them to Miss V. Even if I am not able to see her, the flowers, with a message, may reach her.”
To her surprise the door was opened by a stranger a bright, pleasant-faced young woman, who made no objection to her going at once to the room of the invalid. Miss V received her with, "Why have you been so long in coming? I should have sent for you, had I known your address.”
During the conversation that followed, Miss V told her friend that she was not afraid to die, for, as a sinner, she had trusted herself to the Savior. It was the last time they met; forty-eight hours after, the Lord gently put her to sleep in the spotless robe of righteousness, of which the snowdrop is so beautiful an emblem.
Flowers are often God's silent messengers to sick, lonely and tired people.
“The Savior beheld them unfolding in beauty,
And flinging their wealth at His feet;
True lover of Nature, He drew precious lessons,
From natural things that were sweet.”
It will, I think, give a fresh interest to our woodland rambles, if we remember that birds and flowers were used by the Lord as object lessons. "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. (Matt. 6:28, 29.)
It is too early in the year to expect to find many wild flowers; still:
“When the trees are leafless,
When the fields are bare,
Buttercups and dasies,
Spring up everywhere.”
Have you ever stopped to admire a daisy? It is a really beautiful, perfect flower. Its dainty fringe of white petals are arranged in such regular order round its golden center, closing as the shadows lengthen, and twilight comes on. Its name is said to come to us from Saxon times, daisy (day's-eye) It was so called because it is always looking up. May it not remind us of a beautiful verse in one of the Psalms? “My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning, O Lord, in the morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee, and will look up." (Psalm 5:3.)
The German name of this pretty flower is said to mean “child of light,"and we must not forget that all true believers are “children of light." Nellie, who has brought her pocket Bible, opens it and reads, “For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord, walk as children of light." (Eph. 5:8.)
The Sparrow is one of the earliest of nest-builders, the first brood of the season often being hatched by the end of February, or beginning of March. The nest of the Sparrow is one of the most easy to find, it is a domed nest, built with a roof, an opening being left at the side. It is made of grass, small twigs, hair, straw, and any odds and ends the birds can find; feathers form a soft lining, but the work always seems to have been done in a hurry, and is never neatly finished; loose straws, left hanging, often betray the whereabouts of the nest. Sparrows often build near houses, an ivy-covered wall being a favorite nesting-place. They are noisy little birds, and, where they build in large numbers, the chirping and scolding that goes on seems almost endless. “Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?" (Matt. 6:26.)
Chapter 4: March Violets
“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory, and honor and power, for Thou hast created all things; and for Thy pleasure they are and were created."—(Rev. 4:11)
HAVE you ever noticed that by far the larger number of early-flowering plants have yellow blossoms? It is early March, but such a bright, breezy morning; as we cross the fields we cannot fail to notice the deep yellow of the coltsfoot, while the bees are humming a welcome to the paler buttercups, and diving into their paler flower-cups in quest of honey. The golden balls of the dandelion are everywhere. We call it a weed, but it is really a very pretty flower; in France its leaves are largely used as salads, and its roots are of use in medicine. All these flowers belong to the same family, called “composites," In the garden we shall be almost sure to find yellow crocuses, and, perhaps, a few sprays of wall-flower.
How is it that so many early flowers are yellow? Those who have studied the subject tell us that as all color depends upon the action of the sun's rays; and as yellow requires less light and heat to develop it than any other color, the early flowers seem messengers sent to remind us that the winter is passing, and spring is already on its way. If you wish to try for yourselves the effect of light, take a plant, shut it up in a dark room, or cellar; do not forget to give it a little water from time to time, it may live, but notice how pale and sickly and almost colorless the leaves are. It cannot thrive. Without light and warmth, how soon we should droop and die!
And our souls have real needs; without light and warmth there can be no vigorous, healthy growth; no fruit of the Spirit. We can only get light and warmth by keeping near Christ; He is the true and only Light-giver. When the Lord was on earth, He said, “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12.) But man put out the Light. The holy, sinless Son of God was, "by wicked hands crucified and slain"; but the grave could not hold Him; nor the weight “of all our sins detain Him prisoner in the guarded tomb.”
LOOK UP!
“To that bright glory
Where rejected He has gone;
Bearing marks of all the hatred
Of a world He sought in love.”
But we must not forget what we really came out to seek; the early-scented violets. We shall not find them in the open meadow; we must search for them on some mossy bank in the hedgerow, or in the woods. Perhaps it will make our flower talks and stories still more interesting if we learn the names and uses of the different parts of a flower. We have all seen and admired the graceful fuchsia. It is what botanists call a perfect flower, that is one which has all the parts we are going to speak of; some flowers have not all these parts, A perfect flower has four circles, one within the other. The calyx is the first or outside circle. The calyx is really one piece, though in some flowers it is deeply divided; it is only a figure, but it may remind us of something far more important; The Church of Christ, which is composed of all true believers, though to our eyes it looks so divided. The second circle is the corolla, or flower cup, which is sometimes in one piece, and sometimes in more. These pieces are called petals. In the fuchsia the corolla, or blossom consists of four petals. The third circle has four little stems called stamens. Some flowers have a great many stamens. The stamens are tiny thread-like stalks inside the flower, which have a very small rounded point or points called anthers, when fully ripe they are covered with a beautiful yellow dust, called pollen. The fourth and last circle is the pistil. The pistil has a small head, sometimes shaped like the head of a pin, while in other flowering plants it appears cleft into three. This little head is called the stigma. The stigma is really a mouth, which receives the golden dust that falls upon it from the anthers of the stamens.
But, perhaps, you are getting tired of our botany lesson. The names of the different parts of a flower are really not difficult to remember, and, if we keep them in mind, they will help us to see in the most common flowers proofs of the wisdom and goodness of God we might not otherwise have noticed.
Some years ago I read a very interesting account of how the fuchsia, which is really a native of warmer lands than ours, first became common in England.
About eighty years ago, Mr. West, who was at that time a well-known florist and nurseryman, was passing through Ratcliffe Highway. It was a very poor neighborhood. Most of the people who lived in the small, uncomfortable looking houses that crowded each other so closely, were the wives and families of sea-faring men. It certainly was not a very pleasant walk, but business had called Mr. West in that direction, and he kept steadily on.
Suddenly he stopped before a cottage window, and for some minutes stood still, gazing with delight at a large and beautiful fuchsia, almost covered with lovely crimson blossoms. It was a flower he had never seen before, and, as he looked carefully at it, he saw it would not be difficult to rear young plants by means of slips taken from the parent stem. It was, he felt sure a prize, which, if possible, he must secure. Entering the cottage, he asked the owner of the fuchsia several questions. Her husband, who was, she said, a sailor, had brought it from abroad, and, on his return from his last voyage given it to her; she could not remember the name of the place where he told her the pretty flower grew, but it had done well in her window.
“Was she willing to sell it?" At first she was not willing, but she had been ill, her rent was in arrear, and when her visitor offered all the money he had in his purse, quite a large sum, she consented, and Mr. West carried it off, well pleased with his afternoon's work. On reaching home he stripped it of its blossoms, and cut it into slips, these he placed under glass in his forcing-house. Weeks and months of patient waiting followed; then he had several young fuchsias just opening their buds. Two only were on view at one time. The beauty of the new and rare plant attracted great attention, and all his young plants sold at a high price. At first only rich people were their owners; but, by degrees, they became quite common, and on the South coast of England, and in the Isle of Wight, grow well in the open air. It is pleasant to remember that Mr. West did not forget the sailor's wife, but sent her one of his best plants, with a substantial money present.
The scent of the violets will often guide us to the spot where they grow. Here are a few, half-hidden by leaves. Gather them carefully, for they will not bear rough handling. The small white or blue-scented violet is a type of humility. A little later in the year we shall find plenty of the larger, or dog violet, but it is scentless. The violet never seeks to attract attention to itself. Content with a lowly place it sheds its fragrance on the air, and seems the very breath of spring. May it not remind us of One Who was “meek and lowly in heart," Whose whole path from the manger to the Cross, was a sweet savor unto God?
There are eight species of British violets, but only one is scented.
Children's Flowers
Violets white and violets blue,
Violets wet with early dew;
Violets blue and violets white,
Bathed in beautiful morning light;
Whisper it softly, a message true,
What is the work ye have come to do?
The children gathered us white and blue,
With a joy that is ever fresh and new;
They spied us out in each cool retreat,
Where the ripple of waters was low and sweet,
From pleasant homes in the woodland shade,
From hedgerow green, or mossy glade.
They bade us go to some darkened room,
With forms of beauty to cheer its gloom;
To blossom awhile by the bed of pain,
To whisper, “The Spring has come again”
Children whose faces are white and sad,
Have a welcome for us, a welcome glad.
Primroses yellow, and fresh and cool,
Prom mossy bank, or wayside pool.
The children gathered you, one by one,
When lessons were over, and tasks were done,
Prom leafy homes, where wild birds sing,
Say, ' What is the message you come to bring '?
Are ye not like us, ye children of earth?
To have sighs in its sorrow, and songs in its mirth,
Ye, too, are fading, and passing away;
Are ye children of night, or children of day?
Are ye trusting a love that for aye must endure,
Have ye drunk of the waters life-giving and pure?
Have you not a volume wherein ye may read,
Of love that is wondrous, peerless indeed?
Have ye not heard how the blest Son of GOD,
As Jesus, the Savior, obedient trod,
The pathway that led Him to suffer and die,
Now risen and living, He's pleading on high.
Chapter 5: Spring Flowers
“Lo! the winter is past; the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." (Song of Solomon 2:11)OS 2:11{
LAST month we could only find a few sprays of wallflower, which, as if heedless of cold winds, or chilling frosts, had in some sheltered corner of our gardens, or under a south wall, struggled into bloom; but it is April now, and the pretty, sweet-scented flower seems to blossom everywhere. It grows alike upon the churchyard wall, and in the cottage garden. I have seen it in the early springtime make the crumbling walls of the ruined castle at Hastings a perfect vision of beauty. The castle was built so long ago that if we are curious to know its history we must go back to Saxon times, as it is said to have been standing when the Normans came to England.
Gather a spray, and look closely at its flower-cup. It belongs to a family of flowering plants, which, though not so numerous as the composites, we noticed last month, we shall often find during our summer rambles. The corolla or blossom is formed of four distinct petals; which, as they lie open form a fragrant cross, richly tinted with varying shades of red and yellow. Shall not its form have a voice for us? Yes, surely, if we are “swift to hear," it will remind us of the CROSS of our Lord Jesus Christ. I do not mean only the wooden Cross on which He died, but of the tale of wondrous love that could have been fully told out nowhere else. It speaks of judgment borne, and sin put away forever. It tells of sins forgiven, of peace with God, of everlasting blessing, and coming glory. In the Cross the sinner sees how "God so loved the world." Has it any message for you?
“Inscribed upon the cross we see,
In shining letters, 'GOD IS LOVE';
The Lamb who died upon the tree,
Has brought us mercy from above.”
How many stamens are there? Just six; four short, and two long each with a rather large anther; they surround the pistil in the center, with its little stigma, waiting to receive the golden shower that, when fully ripe, will fall upon it.
I must not forget to tell you that the family to which our little wallflower belongs is called the “Cruciform." For all plants are divided into orders, or families. This family is a very curious one, for it not only includes all flowers that have the corolla, divided into four petals, but also several kinds of vegetables, such as turnips, cabbages, land and water cresses and even sea-kale! How strange! you will say. Yes, but we all know how useful these vegetables are, and, if you look carefully at the blossom of any of these you will see the four petals forming a cross-shaped flower, with its six stamens, and one pistil which, when the pollen has fallen upon it and ripened the seed within, becomes the seed vessel. In some plants the seed-vessel lies below the pistil, but in the crucifous family the pistil itself becomes the seed pod, or pouch.
“Spring! Spring! Beautiful spring,
Hitherward cometh, like hope on the wing—
Raises a chorus of joy in the wood;
Pleasantly looketh on streamlet and flood;
Toucheth the bud and it bursts into bloom,
Biddeth the beautiful rise from the tomb;
Blesseth the heart like a heavenly thing,
Spring! Spring! Beautiful spring!”
The varied colors of the different flowers add greatly to the interest and beauty of our gardens; but it may surprise us to learn that, with very few exceptions, they may be divided into two classes, or, as they are called, series, the yellow and the blue. The dahlia, the tulip and rose all belong to the yellow class, but though, by the skill and care of the gardener, they exhibit almost countless tints of white and red, a yellow flower will, as a rule, refuse to become blue; the common harebell belongs to the blue series, and though, owing to conditions of soil and light, may take a deeper or paler shade, never becomes a yellow flower. Donald reminds us that the pansy is often both a blue and yellow flower. Yes, it is, perhaps, one of the exceptions to the rule, but it still remains to be proved that a yellow petal would ever become blue.
Flowers have a silent yet very precious ministry of their own. Not very long ago I was spending a spring day with a devoted Christian lady, who, though her health is far from strong, finds many open doors for loving, loyal service. When in the garden she said, “I do hope my sweet-peas will do well this year. I am praying about them, asking the Lord to send the sunshine, or the showers, just as He sees best. I do not want them for myself, but for my dear, old people in P—Workhouse. There are over thirty in the ward in which, whenever possible, I spend one afternoon every week; I take a small bunch of flowers for each, and you don't know how pleased they are. They do so enjoy having anything of their own; workhouse life is not all sunshine, and though never really alone, some who have seen better days, make few if any friendships and often seem sad and lonely. A few flowers are not much to give; and yet the tiny bunch of spring blossoms often seems like a key that opens some fast-barred door, for it gives me a golden opportunity of speaking of the Love of God, in the gift of His SON.”
Bird-life is all astir, for many of our British birds build or repair their nests during April, and a few of the earlier birds of passage re-visit our shores, after spending the winter months in warmer lands than ours. Perhaps, of these, the swallow is one of the best-known, and certainly one of the most interesting of our feathered friends. It loves to build near our houses, and its nest which is shallow and open at the top, may often be seen under the over-hanging roof of a stable or barn, or in some sheltered corner near the chimney-tops. The nest is formed of mud or clay, which the birds carry in their bills from the road, or the bank of a river. While damp it is molded into shape, and when dry is quite firm and strong. Inside it is carefully lined with fine grass or straw, over which is placed a soft bed of feathers. Four, five, or sometimes six eggs are laid; they are long and narrow, they are white in color, but spotted all over with gray or brown. Two broods are usually reared during the season; the last being hatched about the end of July; so that all the young birds are fully grown, able to fly, and strong enough for their long flight to Spain or Africa by the end of September.
The swallow is an insect feeder, and feeds on the wing; it can see its prey at some distance, and, darting after it, catches the fly or moth in its long and slender bill; it seldom alights on the ground, and so escapes the snare of the fowler. As I write, a Bible verse seems to be saying itself over and over to me. “Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird."(Pro. 1:17), or, as the margin reads, “in the eyes of anything that hath a wing.”
Have you, dear young believer, found out that you have wings? I do not mean to your body, but to your soul, wings by which, through faith in a Risen, Living Savior, and in the power of the Holy Spirit, you can rise up, above the world, and its poor, quickly-passing pleasures, and enjoy the "unseen things that are, where Christ is now at the Right Hand of God." Satan has many kinds of snares; some are so cleverly hidden that if we begin to seek for pleasure in the world, we are almost sure to get caught in one or other of them. Our only safety is like the swallow, to keep on the wing, and the only way by which we can do so is “Looking unto Jesus."The One Who knows, as none other can, all our weakness, and all our need said, “Without Me ye can do nothing." (John 15:5.)
Don't try to hide Whose you are, and Whom you serve. A simple, modest confession will honor your Savior and Lord; and if still in dependence upon Himself, you will be better fitted to meet the next testing time.
A young Christian had taken a situation in the showroom of a large drapery establishment, at some distance from London. A few hours after her arrival, the manager said, "To-morrow, Miss M—is our early-closing day; we usually subscribe for the hire of a wagonette, and, if the weather permits, go for some miles into the country, where some hours are very pleasantly spent in dancing under the trees and other amusements. We shall hope to have the pleasure of your company." “Dancing and worldly amusements!" She felt it would be no place for her; but should she have faith and courage to give her real reason for refusing to join the party? In a moment the suggestion came, "Say you have home letters to write, and so cannot accept. Wait till they know you better, before saying why you don't want to go. It will be easier later on." But she knew it was the voice of “a stranger," not that of the Great, Good Shepherd of the Sheep.
Just a moment's pause—her color rose, and her heart beat quickly, but she answered, “I am sure you mean kindly by asking me to be of your party; but I am a child of God. My time belongs to Him, and I do not think I should glorify Him by spending it as you propose.”
Miss M—remained for some years in the same situation. Telling the story afterward, she said, “At first they thought me very strange, and sometimes used to tease me a good deal, but now they are all kind to me, and if any of our young people are in trouble, or have bad news from home, they are sure to come and tell me about it.
The bees are out in quest of honey, and it is pleasant to listen to their low, musical hum.
THE WASP AND THE BEE.
“A wasp and a bee together
Went out on silver wings,
With bodies black and yellow,
And both of them had stings.
Bee flew into a tulip
And sucked its golden cup,
And when her thighs were laden,
Went home to store it up.
Wasp got into a cherry,
And stung a little boy
Who snatched the rosy berry,
And then flew off with joy.
Boys and little maidens,
Be good, and true, and kind;
'Tis better to store up honey
Than to leave a sting behind.”
Chapter 6: A Woodland Walk
“The trees of the Lord are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon, which He hath planted. Where the birds make their nests; as for the stork, the fir trees are her house." (Psalm 104:16, 17.)SA 104:16-17{
“WHAT a glorious morning!" someone is saying. It is indeed, and we are all glad that our weekly holiday gives us time for a long ramble through the woods, for birds and flowers are to be our school-books, we shall find much to observe; much, I hope, also to learn.
Who does not love the month of May? It is so full of beauty, and also of promise. The scent of the hawthorn is wafted to us on the soft breeze; in the chorus of song that greets our ears, we can hardly fail to distinguish the varied notes of several of our feather friends. Many wild and some garden flowers are already in bloom, and, as we cross a pleasant meadow, on our way to the wood, Gertrude asks if I remember some lines written by Miss Havergal, which she thinks may have been suggested by some such day as this.
“Pair the blossoms opening early,
For the dew fell upon them, cool and pearly,
Brightening each hue;
Like a little, thirsty flower, lift thy face,
Seek the gentle, holy shower of His grace.”
The lily of the valley is in full bloom this month; we may not find any in the wood, as, though in the Lake District and a few other places in England, this lovely flower grows wild, it is a general favorite in gardens, and, though quite a different flower from the lily of Palestine, to which the Savior called attention, "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow" (Matt. 6:28), yet it has a beauty all of its own, and will well repay our study. The lily loves the shade, and almost seems as if it sought to bloom unseen. It usually grows to a height of about six inches; ornamented from the top downwards with pendant white flowers, each attached to the main stem by a short, thread-like foot-stalk. The long, broad leaves of the lily-of the-valley add greatly to its beauty; and, as the flower stands erect, in some shady spot, its head slightly bowed, its pure white blossoms speak of purity and peace; we pause for a moment, for surely it should remind us of One Who once, a Heavenly Stranger, was
“When here upon earth, among men;”
All purity, pity, lowly grace, and gentleness.
“Lepers gathered round Him,
Sinners sought His face;
None too vile or loathsome
For a Savior's grace.”
When on earth, the Sinless Savior stood alone, the only One on Whom the eye of a holy God could rest with satisfaction; The One of Whom His Voice could declare, “This is My Beloved Son in Whom I am well pleased." (Matt. 3:17.)
Some years ago a friend gave me a single root of the lily-of-the-valley. I planted it under a south wall; sunshine and shower did their work, and it grew and flourished. I watched its growth with interest, and rejoiced when a single spike of bloom unfolded among sheltering leaves. Its beauty was but short-lived; the blossoms faded, the plant died down, to all appearance my lily was dead; but, underground work I could not see was going on, rootlets were forcing their way downwards, while tiny bloom shoots were pressing upwards towards air and light. The next spring-time, where my lily had stood alone, a whole clump, pure and graceful as the parent blossomed into beauty, and filled the air with their perfume. Not one, but many; and to me their message was, “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." (John 12:24.)
In life the Lord Jesus was ALONE, in holiness, in truth and love. Upon the Cross He was ALONE, but, as Risen from the dead, He became the Leader of a new race; of a new company; and of that company even the weakest and feeblest believer forms a part. No words of mine can explain this wondrous truth to you, dear young Christian, but, if you really want to know, pray about it, and the Holy Spirit will be your Teacher, your Guide into all truth.
The birds are having a busy time, for, in nearly every nest is a brood of newly-hatched, half-fledged, wee birdies, still unable to fly, and needing the constant care and attention of the parents. The number of journeys from and to the nest, to supply food to the hungry, little creatures between sunrise and sunset, has often been a matter of surprise to those who have given time, and taken the trouble to study the ways of Birdland.
We shall notice great variety in the way in which our British birds build their nests; and, though some are Shore-birds, and we shall not find their nests in fields, or woods, our talk about nests and nest-builders, will I hope, not prove a dull, or uninteresting one. The Sand-martin seems quite content to lay her eggs in a hole dug in the sand, and lined with straw. The Kingfisher collects fish-bones, for a bed in some hole in the bank of a river, or stream. The Bottle-tit, though one of the smallest of the tit family, takes great pains to build a cozy, little nest; while the Moorhen is a most careful mother, and builds nest after nest, for each brood, for, as the chicks grow larger, more room is required. The nest of the Ring-dove is quickly and loosely built; often in a forked branch; sometimes in a hollow tree. The Partridge does not build a nest, but, choosing a clump of grass, walks round and round in the center till it is well trodden down, a hollow deep enough to receive the eggs being thus formed. One kind of sea-fowl forms its nest of broken shells; another of brown, slimy seaweed. How does it happen that each bird chooses the site for building where it will be best able to find the kind of food required by its young? It is guided by no blind law of chance, but by the unerring instinct implanted in it by its Great Creator; The mighty God,
“Who wings a seraph, guides a sparrow's fall.”
Listen! There is the well-known note of the Cuckoo. The habits of this strange bird have long been a puzzle to Naturalists. It is, as we all know, a bird of passage, and spends the winter months abroad. It does not build a nest for itself; but leaves its eggs and young in the care of some other bird, always taking care to choose one whose nestlings, like its own, require to be fed on insects. The favorite nests appear to be those of the Meadow-Pipit, Water Wagtail and Hedge Sparrow; but Cuckoo eggs are often found in the nests of other birds. It is said, that when the foster-mother has been killed, the Cuckoo has been known to return and feed its own chicks; but such instances are very rare.
The Cuckoo is a brown bird, not quite as large as a pigeon. For the size of the bird, its eggs are very small, and not unlike those of the birds in whose nests they are left, but the young Cuckoo grows so quickly, that when only two or three days old it is able to lift with its strong bill, and turn out of the nest, the eggs and young birds of its foster-parents; while it requires so much food that they have a hard time in finding enough to supply its wants.
An old rhyme, common in the North of England says of the Cuckoo:—
“In April come it will,
In May it sings all day;
In June it changes its tune,
In July it may fly,
In August go it must.”
I am not sure that the last line is quite correct, as I remember once, when in Kent, hearing the Cuckoo's call early in September. Perhaps the birds may remain a few days later in the south than the north of our island home; their going like their coming, may depend in part upon whether the season is warm and open, or the reverse.
Though the Stork seldom, if ever, visits our shores, still as it is named in the verse that forms the heading of this chapter, it is certainly well worth our notice. The Stork, like the Crane, is a tall, long-legged bird. It usually spends the winter in Africa or Egypt; and, though J. G. Wood, who wrote several delightful books on Natural History, says that there are good reasons for thinking that at one time the Stork was a frequent visitor to the British Isles, it is now so uncommon that the appearance of one would cause quite a sensation, and it would most likely soon be shot.
The children of Holland and Denmark, watch for its arrival, just as our children do for that of the Cuckoo, and sing little songs of welcome. A cart-wheel is sometimes fixed upon the roof of a house to encourage the birds to build there. Year after year a pair of Storks have been known to return to the same nest, and when kindly treated, soon make themselves at home.
A short time ago I read in a Missionary Magazine an interesting story of a Stork, that made itself useful as a Postman.
Some children, living, I believe, in Denmark, had made pets of a pair of Storks, who built their nest upon the almost flat roof of a workshop belonging to their father. One of the birds had grown so tame that it would come at their call and take food from their hands. But, as the days grew shorter, they knew the time when they, like other birds of passage, must take their flight, was near.
After talking it over between themselves they decided to write a letter and tie it under the wing of the bird; they did so, telling in their own simple way, that the bird had been their pet, and asking, whoever read the letter, to be very kind to and never forget to feed it. The birds soon after left their summer home, but the next spring returned.
Their little friends were delighted; but judge of their surprise when they found it had again been employed as a letter-carrier. Their letter had been read by a Missionary working, almost single-handed, in Central Africa, who replied to it by saying that he thought children who were so kind to a bird would be interested in hearing about the black boys and girls among whom he lived and worked.
Quite a number of them were orphans, having lost one or both parents during an outbreak of fever the year before; several who had no relations to care for them, he had taken into his own home, though it was only a hut, somewhat larger than those in which the natives lived. He and his wife were caring for, feeding and teaching them; a few, they hoped, really loved the Lord Jesus; but they were all very badly off for clothes; and he thought, that perhaps, if the need was known, that the children of Holland (who are such clever toy-makers) would like, he hoped, from love to Christ, to spend part of their play-time in making garments.
The correspondence, thus strangely begun, was followed up, and more than one box of clothing gladdened the heart of the missionaries.
“Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow observe the time of their coming; but My people know not the judgment of the Lord." (Jer. 8:7.)
Chapter 7: The Month of Roses
“The Lord is good to all; and His tender mercies are over all His works." (Psalm 114:9.)SA 114:9{
JUNE has been called "the month of roses," and whether we walk in the fields or linger in the shade of the pleasant arbor, half-hidden as it is by the climbing stems of rose and woodbine, we shall hardly fail I think, to enjoy our out-of-door lesson with birds and flowers for our school-books.
Suppose we vary our plan somewhat to-day. Let us each choose a flower, and learn all that we can about it. Elsie has already made her choice and gathered a daisy from the lawn, saying, “It’s just a simple, little flower, but she thinks it is pretty."Yes, Elsie, poets have sung of the “wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower," but, perhaps, we shall find it not quite so simple as at first sight it seems to be. What looks like only one blossom is composed of many, perhaps two hundred, although there may be more or less, each one perfect in itself. We shall hardly need to be told that our daisy belongs to the composite, or compound-headed order of plants, a family so large that we are told by botanists, that one out of every ten of the flowering plants known to them belongs to this order.
Look closely at your daisy and you will see that it is composed of three circles, one within the other; the first is pale green, in most flowers it would be called the calyx, but in the daisy it is really an envelope, enclosing a whole crowd of tiny flowerets. Next comes a double circle of white ray-like petals, often tipped with red; last, but not least, a bright yellow disc, “a golden gem in a silver cup."“What a crowd of flowers!" Yes, but they all spring from one root, grow from one stem, and are held together by one envelope, and, as we look at it, we are reminded of what we sometimes hear called, "church truth." What Scripture calls the Church, is not, as many people think, a building of brick, or stone, but a posy, of which all true believers, even the youngest, forms a part. Each receives life from Christ, and nothing can change His love, because it is eternal. The Apostle, Paul, in more than one of his letters, speaks of this wonderful truth. If you get your very own Bible and read Eph. 4:4, 6; and 1 Cor. 12:12 to 27, the written Word of God will explain this wonderful truth to you much better than I can.
But the Daisy may teach us another, even if a more homely lesson, that of contentment. It never frets or worries about where it grows, it is content to be just what it is—a little flower:
“With petals softly closing at twilight's dewy hour.”
The children love to gather it, and, if only air and sunshine are to be had, it is at its best everywhere. Are we always content with the place in which the Lord has put us? I am afraid not; and yet, if we have even just begun to love the Lord Jesus, we shall be ready to say,
“I would not have the restless will
That wonders to and fro,
Seeking some mighty thing to do,
Or secret thing to know;
I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.”
Have you ever watched a daisy closing its petals, as the shadows lengthen, and the dew begins to fall? You see less of the crimson, then the white rays close slowly till the golden disc is hidden, and, lastly, the green envelope enfolds the whole, till the flower looks only like a tiny bud; but it will not suffer from the chilling frosts, or cold night winds; and, surely, we shall find in it a little picture of the Family of God. Kept, by a Father's Hand, till “the long, dark night, is past," and the morning breaks, “a morning without clouds.”
Sometimes, on a bright moonlight night, when the daisy should be asleep, it is wide awake, and seems to be enjoying the rays of moonlight. The moon has no light of its own, but reflects that of the absent sun; and so Christians are to be a reflection of The Absent One—of Christ. But, it is only as we are "Looking unto Jesus," in the place where He now is, that we can in any little way reflect His beauty; if we are looking at ourselves, or at one another, even at our fellow-Christians, those around will not see much of the grace of Christ in our words and ways.
Now gather a dandelion. How did it get its name, "dent. de-leon?" From the shape of its petals, which are not unlike the teeth of a lion.
Some years ago there lived in one of the cities of Italy, a great artist. His fame as a painter had spread far and wide; and his studio was always crowded; young men, who, as they wished to be artists also, were glad to be taught by one who was such a master of his art. One day the master said, “Now I am going to give you all a test of progress. I wish you all to go to a certain picture-gallery, where you will find many beautiful pictures. You are each to choose one, and make a careful copy of it. I leave you quite free as to your choice. Take pains with your work, for one day, I do not say when, I shall inspect your paintings, and decide not only who has the most correct copy, but who has made the best choice.”
The students soon reached the gallery; one quickly found his model, saying of a picture that had taken his fancy, “That’s not very difficult; I am sure I can copy that."He was soon at work, with canvas and brushes. A second and third, also chose their models; but one, though he saw many beautiful pictures, had not found one that quite satisfied him. He walked to the far end of the gallery, and there hung the masterpiece; a picture so beautiful that for some time he stood silent and still, admiring its beauty. At last, he said, “I can never hope to paint like that, but it shall be my model; I will copy nothing else.”
True to his promise, the master came at length. He had a word for each, but when he reached the spot where the young man sat, so intent on the copy of his masterpiece that he had not noticed his approach, the student rose hastily, exclaiming, "Oh, sir! Don't look at my daub; look at this painting. Did you ever see anything so beautiful? Look at the folds of that robe, the expression of that face; the beautiful blending of colors in the whole. The more I look at it, the more I feel how poor and faulty my work is.”
The master laid his hand kindly upon the youth, saying, “You are the man for me; yours is the best choice; you will one day be a great artist, for you have an eye for perfection.”
I wonder if my little story will help any dear boy or girl to understand what I mean by speaking of taking Christ as our Model? The more by faith, we behold that Altogether Lovely One, the more we shall feel how far we come short. Still, it is a great thing to be able even to desire to say, with Paul, “this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and pressing forth unto those things which are before." (Phil. 3:13.) To have a Perfect Model, Christ in glory.
But our talk about the Daisy has taken us further than I intended and Nora gathers a rose, saying as she does so,
“The rose has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flowers of the field;
When its beauty is gone, and fine colors are lost,
How sweet a perfume it will yield.”
And Nellie, who has brought her pocket Bible, reads, “I am the Rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys."(Song of Sol. 2:1.) and asks, "Is Christ speaking in this verse?” Many Christians have thought so; but, of late years the Lord has been giving His people clearer light on some passages of Scripture, and it seems to be more the response or answer of the Church to the love of her Lord; knowing that she is fair and precious in His sight, and looking on to that day when His cup of joy shall be full, when His blood-bought Church shall share His glory, and His throne, for
“There made ready are the mansions, Glorious,
Glorious, bright, and fair,
But the Bride the rather gave Him,
Still is wanting there.”
Mildred asks if the Sunflower does not belong to the same family as the Daisy? Yes, it is made up of a great number, sometimes hundreds of very small flowers, each one complete in itself, and each having a seed-vessel of its own. An old German poet has drawn a beautiful lesson from its habit of always following the course of the sun:—
“As the sunflower ever turning
To the mighty sun,
With the faithfulness of fealty
Following only One.
So make me, Lord, to Thee.”
Time will not allow us to do more to-day than take a somewhat hasty peep into "Birdland," but Grace wants to know if I can tell her anything about the homes and habits of the Water-Wagtail, as she has a pleasant memory of, during her summer holiday, when having tea on the beach at Studland, near Swanage, being greatly interested in watching the half-shy, half-saucy ways of a whole family of these pretty birds, who came to share the meal, and made themselves quite at home, as they hopped about, picking up crumbs.
The Water, or, as it is sometimes called, the Pied-Wagtail seems to be a general favorite. Its dainty plumage and graceful form give it a special place among our feathered friends. It is not quite easy to say where we shall or shall not find its nest; but most likely it will not be more than a few feet from the water's edge; sometimes hidden in a clump of tall grass, or built in a hole in a wall, or beneath some over-hanging ledge or rock. The nest is very neatly and carefully built, fine grass, moss, and the fibers of roots being used; the inside has a soft lining of horse-hair and feathers.
Two broods are reared during the nesting season. The eggs are five or six in number, of a blue-gray shade, spotted with gray and brown. Sometimes the markings are all over the shell, but at others only at the larger end. A pair of Wagtails will often return to their old homes, and build in or near the same place year after year.
The Gray Wagtail is a very near relation of the Pied or Water Wagtail, but, though it too loves to build near a stream or river, it may often be seen in the early months of summer on some common, or open hillside; the parent birds busily engaged in attending to the wants of their small, but hungry, family of five or six wee birdies. The nest in which five or six eggs of a greyish-white are laid, sometimes having a pale yellow tinge, are speckled or spotted with a darker gray, and sometimes have a circle of brown spots at the wider end, is nicely built of fine grass, wool and roots, and so carefully hidden, often in some prickly clump of bramble or thorn-bush that it is by no means easy to find.
The first brood is generally out of the nest by the end of May or early in June.
Chapter 8: A Chat in the Arbor
“Let the glory of the Lord endure forever; Let the Lord rejoice in His works." (Psalm 104:31, R. V.) SA 104:31{
A CLOUDLESS sky, bright sunshine, with a temperature of 97° in the shade, all seem to suggest that we should wait till the shadows begin to lengthen, and the great heat of the day is over before we go for our ramble in woods or fields; let us gladly rest awhile in the rose-covered arbor. We will take our Bibles, for wonderful and beautiful as the works of God in Creation are, we need the Written Word before we can rightly understand their true meaning or beauty.
“All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small;
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.”
How lovely the roses are! The breeze is laden with their sweet scent, and every shade of color from the rich damask, as full of petals as of fragrance, to the pale blush rose, all seem to invite our notice. The moss rose has a grace and beauty all its own. Some of our friends say it is the queen of flowers; but it would be hard to find a fairer, or purer flower than the White Rose.
Its purity and perfume may well remind us of a Name, sweeter than all other names, and lead us to exclaim, with praise-filled hearts,
“How sweet the Name of Jesus sounds,
In a believer's ear;
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.”
The Rose, as we have already been reminded, does not, like other flowers, lose its perfume when dead. A vase, filled with dried rose-leaves, and placed in a room, will, if gently stirred from time to time, give out a sweet odor; and so a heart, filled with Christ, will shed fragrance all around. When Mary of Bethany, annointed the Feet of the Lord, “the house was filled with the odor of the ointment." (John 12:3.) The costly ointment was poured forth upon the Lord Himself; but every one who was in the house shared in its fragrance all around.
You may know a great deal about a rose, but, if you had never seen one, you would only have a very poor idea either of its beauty, or its perfume. You may be able to answer questions in Old and New Testament history, to repeat whole chapters in the Bible, and even to tell others the way of salvation, and, yet, if you do not know Christ, as a real, living Person, you have NOTHING. Unsheltered by the precious Blood of Christ, You, who are, perhaps, the child of many prayers, stand in danger of eternal death. How very solemn!
The fruit of the rose is the hip, a tiny vase full of seeds. It forms part of God's provision for the birds during the cold days of winter, and, as we enjoy the loveliness of the wild rose and hawthorn, as they fling their garlands of beauty from spray to spray in the hedges, or intertwine with the bramble, we can hardly fail to be reminded of our Lord's words, "Behold the fowls of the air, for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?" (Matt. 6:26.) Do not be content with knowing about Christ; have personal dealing with Him. He is no longer on the Cross; though many who paint pictures, and make images, seem to think of the Lord of Glory as if He were still there. He is not in the grave:
“His wonderful work was finished,
No grave could hold Him then;
He had lived and died for sinners,
He must go to His Father again,”
He is in Heaven, in the place of power, “He is on the Right Hand of God” (Col. 3:1.). Just in the place where your cry of need; your prayer for pardon, can reach His ear.
But young believers have their difficulties as well as older people, and Nora says she has been thinking a great deal about a verse in one of the Gospels, “For many are called, but few are chosen."(Matt. 22:14.) and wants to know how she may be sure, quite sure, that she is one of God's "chosen" ones. His Own Word will answer her question much better than I can. Shall we open our Bibles at the first chapter of Paul's first letter to the Corinthians; there, by the pen of the Apostle, the Holy Ghost gives a description of those who are chosen “unto salvation,"and she will, I trust, find herself in the list. “Not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called. But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised; hath God chosen; yea, and things which are not, to bring to naught the things that are. That no flesh should glory in His presence. He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord."(1 Cor. 1:26, 31.) Who is willing to take his or her true place as “foolish,"“weak," and base? or to go lower still, as "nothing?" Then look up, into the very Face of your Savior and Lord, and whisper a glad thanksgiving, for YOU are “chosen" and precious in His sight.
And there is really nothing upon which our souls can find a solid resting-place, but the Written Word of God. A farmer's wife, whose name I do not remember, so we will call her Mrs. Green, had been attending some Gospel meetings held in a tent near her home. Night after night she stayed behind for conversation and prayer; she was really anxious to be saved, there was no doubt of that, and yet she did not seem to see clearly, God's way of peace.
One of the Lord's servants calling upon her, found her deeply convinced of sin. With fast falling tears, she said, “Oh, Mr. F—, if the Lord would only be pleased to give me a token that I am a child of God, I should be perfectly happy.”
You are waiting for a token, are you? Now, what kind of a token would set you at rest?”
“Oh, anything the Lord was pleased to give me.”
“Wait a moment, and we will see."Not far from where Mrs. Green lived there was a large stone quarry, so her visitor said," Suppose one of the men employed at the quarry were to call and tell you that while digging and blasting they had found a stone engraved with the words, 'Mrs. Green's sins are all forgiven.' Would that satisfy you?”
“I should think it would?”
“Or, if on your way home from the meeting tonight, you were to see a bright cloud, and on it was written in letters of light, 'you are a child of God,' would that make you happy?”
“If it would please the Lord to give me a token like that, I would never doubt again.”
“Listen to what the Lord Jesus Himself said: 'Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My words shall not pass away.' (Luke 21:33.) Now, don't you see? When the heavens pass away, your cloud would be gone; and the stone will one day crumble into dust. So, if you are not resting upon the Word of the One who said, 'Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out,' you will have nothing left.”
I do not know if Mrs. Green received in simple faith, the testimony of God concerning His Son, but this full, free salvation is to-day offered to you.
“I cannot work my soul to save,
For that my Lord has done;
But I would work like any slave,
From love to God's dear Son.”
The hum of insects reminds us that the bees are at work, diving into the cups of flowers in search not only of food for their nurselings, but of the honey they will lay up for winter store. In the common buttercup a tiny scale at the bottom of each flower covers a very small cell in which the honey or nectar is stored. The scent of many flowers seems to render them in a special way attractive to insects, while several members of the large family of the orchids are remarkably like insects in shape. Perhaps the best-known are the bee orchis, the fly orchis, the spider, and the butterfly.
Bees and other insects also carry the pollen, or yellow powder from one flowering plant to another, and so help to render the plants fruitful, for though when we speak of fruit, we generally mean apples, pears, cherries, or something of the kind, we must not forget that a seed, whether small or large, is really the fruit of a flowering plant.
Lucy says that to her the fruit-trees have lost much of their beauty. They were so lovely in the early spring, with their fair array of pink and white blossoms. Look again, dear one. There is something more lasting, and of greater value than the flowers. The fruit, though not yet ripe, is formed, and gives promise of an abundant crop. We shall find many Scriptures that speak of fruit, and fruit-bearing. God, when speaking by the prophet Hosea to His earthly people Israel, says, “From Me is thy fruit found."(Hosea 14:8.) Millie, adds, and the Lord Himself said, “I am the true Vine, and My Father is the Husbandman. Every branch in Me that beareth not fruit He taketh away; and every branch that beareth fruit, He purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit." (John 15:1, 2.)
Let us remember that there can be no fruit-bearing apart from Christ. There may be the outward show of a fair profession, but apart from heart love to Christ, all is worthless.
Mary G—was the only child of a widowed mother. She was a bright, clever girl, about twelve years of age. She had a good memory, and a fair amount of Bible knowledge, but, though her mother, who was a devoted Christian, had often pressed her to yield herself to Christ, Mary would answer to her pleading: "Oh, mother, dear, please don't talk to me like that. I am not so bad as you think me; haven't I brought home the good conduct prize for two years running; and I heard the head-teacher tell a lady who was visiting the school that I was one of her best girls, and never gave her any trouble. I didn't mean to listen, but I think the lady was rather deaf, so Miss M—had to speak so loud that I could not help hearing what she said.”
Mrs. G—was silent, but continued to pray that the Holy Spirit would show Mary that she was really a lost sinner.
Mary's birthday was close at hand, the G—'s were in poor circumstances, and Mrs. G—said to her daughter, "I cannot afford to buy you a present this year, Mary, but you shall choose the kind of pudding you like best." “Oh, may I, mother! Well, I should like an apple pudding." Apples were scarce and dear, but Mrs. G—sent for a small quantity. There was one large apple, ripe and rosy. The others were small and did not look at all tempting.
Mary said, “Do give me that large apple, it looks so good."“There will not be enough for a pudding without it, and I cannot spare the money to buy more," the mother urged. “Never mind about the pudding, mother, do say I may have it."So Mary had the apple, but when cut open it proved to be worm-eaten and worthless. Tears filled Mary's eyes, but they were not tears of disappointment at the loss of her apple. The Holy Spirit had fulfilled His office as the convincer of sin. Turning to her mother, she said, “Mother, do pray for me. That apple was just like me; all right to look at, but all wrong inside.”
Chapter 9: In the Corn Fields
“The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few; Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that He will send forth laborers into His harvest." (Matt. 9:37, 38.) AT 9:37-38{
AUGUST is the harvest month; and, as I write the words, I almost seem to hear a chorus of voices reminding me, that the long-looked-for school holidays are here at last. Lessons are over, and school-books and slates lie idly on the shelves of the book-case, The grain is ripe, and ready for removal. Let us go into the corn-fields, for harvest-time is a busy season, and when there is so much to be done, so much to be learned, there is no need for us to stand mere careless on-lookers.
“Lord of the harvest, once again
We thank Thee for the ripened grain;
Nor vainly from Thy word we ask
For lessons from the reapers' task.”
Shall we try to find out what some of these lessons are. A field of yellow corn is always an attractive sight, dotted as it often is with blue corn-flowers, and scarlet poppies. As the grain sways gently to and fro in the light summer breeze, the poppy sways with it, as if to say, "We are all of one family, we all share the sunshine and the shower; we all draw our life from the goodness of the soil." Ah, but how different! the ripened corn is a proof of the unchanging goodness and mercy of God; the poppy, though beautiful to the eye, is not only useless but poisonous, when the corn is cut, and carried to the garner, the poppies will be left behind to wither and die.
Only a few more days, and we shall hear the song of the reapers. The corn will be cut, bound, into sheaves and carried to the barn. All this should remind us that the “Coming of the Lord draweth nigh" (James 5:8), when His Own will be caught away to meet their Lord in the air; and the unsaved left for judgment. Would YOU, dear young friend, be glad if He were to come this very day?
Harry B—was a very small boy, not more than four or five years old. In the quiet of a Lord's-day evening, his mother who loved the Lord Jesus, had been telling him in very easy words, about the Coming of the Lord to take His own away. For some time Harry paid great attention, but, suddenly he slid from his chair and ran to the door. “Where are you going, Harry?"his mother asked; “Father won't be home from the preaching for quite half an hour." “I’ve just a few things I want to finish before the Lord comes," was Harry's answer.
We smile and say, “Oh, but he was such a very little boy!" True, but are we older people, who, when we hear about the return of the Lord, say, ' Oh, yes, we believe it all, ready to meet Him with joy? If we knew Him better as a Real, Living Person, we should, I feel sure, have more desire for His return.
But, perhaps, just one who will read this little book is saying, “But I am afraid that I have never been converted. I have often wished to be a Christian, and sometimes when I have heard others speak of knowing their sins forgiven, I have gone away, all by myself, and cried because I could not say the same.”
Your sorrow and unrest, is just the still, small voice of the Lord Jesus, speaking to YOU; saying, “Come unto Me;—and I will give you rest." (Matt. 11:28.) Cannot you take Him at His word, as really as you would any earthly friend. Trust Him as simply as a little girl whose story I heard the other day, trusted her father.
Nellie Roberts was an American girl, who attended a day school at some distance from her home. She was not very strong, so her father very often drove over in his trap or sledge, and called for her when school was over. One winter's day they came in sight of the school-house, he told her that he had made an appointment with a gentleman to meet him on business in a town several miles away, so might not be able to call for her as early as usual, but said, as he kissed her good-bye, "Don't be afraid to wait for me Nellie. I will call for you before dark.”
School was over, and as the girls put on their hats and warm wraps, they noticed that Nellie had not even taken hers from the peg, but sat quietly down by the fire. “Why don't you get ready, Nellie?"asked the last girl. “I’m waiting for father; he may be late, but he'll be here before dark; he told me so," was Nellie's reply.
“But it will be dark pretty soon, and you won't like waiting here all by yourself, I wouldn't, I know.”
“Father’s sure to come," said Nellie. The teacher came in saying, "I am sorry to leave you here alone, Nellie, but I promised to meet a friend at the cross roads, so I really must go. Good bye, Nellie." “Father said he would come before dark, and he always keeps his word," was again her confident reply.
It was beginning to get dark, and, left alone in the large empty school-room, Nellie certainly did feel a trifle lonely. She put on her wraps and going to the door, looked down the long, straight road, she could see for more than a mile, but her father was not in sight. It was getting nearly dark when she heard the sound of sledge bells. “Father’s coming now,"she said to herself; but it was not her father, but a neighbor, who, on seeing her, called out, “What are you doing here, Nellie?" “Waiting for father; he won't be long now." “But it's nearly dark, you had better jump on my sledge, and let me take you as far as our house.”
“No, thank you. I'll wait for father. I know he's coming for he told me so."The sledge and its driver went on. Five minutes later and Nellie was clasped in her father's arms. He had been detained in the town longer than he expected, and had left his business unfinished, that he might keep his promise to his little girl. “Did you think I was never coming, Nellie?" he asked, as he lifted her tenderly to the sledge. “No, father; for I knew I could trust you," said Nellie, with a happy smile. What a beautiful example of trust in an earthly father; yet Nellie's father had not done a hundredth part of what God has done for us.
In the green hedge that surrounds the corn-fields, we shall find the blackberry bushes in full bloom. And as we notice the pretty white-tinted blossoms we cannot fail to notice their likeness to the wild rose. They are a promise of fruit still to come, a promise that if the blossoms are allowed to be fulfilled, food for the wild birds, and a joy to the village school children, who, on half-holidays will have a good time black-berrying.
A reminder that all Christians should be fruit-bearers; for fruit can only be borne by the work of the Holy Spirit in our souls. It must be watered by the gentle dew of God's grace, and ripened in the sunshine of His love. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance, against such there is no law." (Gal. 5:22, 23.)
The flowers do not all appear at the same season of the year, or unfold their petals in exactly the same way; they differ greatly in size, color and perfume; hardly less varied than the works of God in Creation, are the ways of God in grace. Some are suddenly aroused to a deep sense of need; with others the work of the Holy Spirit is "the still, small voice.”
I came upon some lines not long ago, that seem to tell the story of my own conversion. “You ask me how I gave my heart to Christ?
“You ask me how I gave my heart to Christ?
I do not know;
There came a yearning for Him in my heart,
So long ago.
I found earth's flowers would fade and die,
I wept for something that would satisfy,
And then—and then, somehow I seemed to dare,
To lift my heart to Him in prayer,
I do not know,
I cannot tell you how;
I only know
He is my Savior now.
You ask me when I gave my heart to Christ?
I cannot tell;
The day, or just the hour, I do not now
Remember well,
It must have been when I was all alone,
The light of His forgiving Spirit shone
Into my heart so clouded o'er with sin;
I think—I think 'twas then I let Him in.
I do not know,
I cannot tell you when,
I only know
He is so dear since then.”
But we have not taken our usual "Peep into Birdland;” and Nellie says that the Skylark is one of her special favorites; she not only loves to listen to its song, but to watch its upward flight, she has more than once tried to find its nest, but, though she thought she had marked the very spot from which the bird rose, she has never been able to do so.
Nellie is not the first of our young friends who has tried and failed in an attempt to find the nest of the skylark. In this case I would hardly suggest that "Try, try, again” should be taken as their motto; for, with the instinct God has implanted in the bird, it never seems to forget, that visitors who would not be welcome might call during its absence, so always goes to some distance before rising. The nest, when found, is usually in a slight hollow in an open field of hay or corn, sometimes almost covered by a stone, or tuft of thick grass. The skylark has a method of building all its own. The male bird does not build, but brings to the female bird dry grass and moss with which she builds to her liking, very fine grass, or horse-hair being used for the lining. The first eggs, four or five in number, are laid during April; their color is a dull green, spotted all over with brown. As soon as the young birds are able to fly, another brood is reared, and sometimes a third by the end of the summer.
“The bird that soars on highest wing
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade, when all things rest.
In lark and nightingale I see,
What honor hath humility.”
The Nightingale is a bird of passage, and generally arrives about the end of April; no time is lost in choosing summer quarters—a small wood, park, or shrubbery being a favorite place for building, though it likes, if possible, to be near a lake, or running water. The nest is rather roughly put together but more carefully lined. Four or five eggs of a deep olive-brown are laid in it. The nightingale sings during the day, as well as at night, but in the daytime its notes are so blended with the songs of other birds as to attract but little attention. About the middle of June the young birds are hatched; after that, the parents are so busy attending to their wants that they have little, if any, time for singing.
Chapter 10: Fern Gatherers
“Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness; and Thy paths drop fatness.” (Psalm 65:11)SA 65:11{
“WHAT a glorious day!" someone is saying; small, white clouds flit across a deep blue sky; the breeze is cool and refreshing, and our walk to the woods gives promise of being a very pleasant one. Several of our party are carrying small baskets, one or two are, I see, provided with garden trowels; Nellie and Nora say that early autumn is a good time for digging up fern roots, and they would be glad of a few additions to their out-door fernery.
Ferns are among the most beautiful and graceful forms of the vegetable kingdom. Ferns do not bear flowers, and so, perhaps, can hardly claim a place on these pages, and yet, as I think we have all learned to love and admire them, they, too, can hardly fail to have a message for us. There are about fifty different species of British ferns; while the number in hot countries is much larger. They form a most interesting family. Our British ferns vary greatly in size, from The Royal Osmunda, one of the tallest, down to the little spiderworts; they all add greatly to the charm of our woodland scenery.
As a rule, ferns choose moist and shady situations, though some of the spiderworts flourish and grow strong and healthy upon wall-tops, or shoot up their green, feathery fronds from some ledge of rock, where it seems hardly possible that they can find root-hold. Ferns are, perhaps, at their best when they grow near the spray of a waterfall, or in some forest dell, where under the shade of lofty trees, they retain their bright green for some time after the monarchs of the wood are quite leafless.
Ferns are called flowerless plants, so we shall not expect to find either stamens, pistil, or corollas, but, if we look carefully on the under side of the leaf, we shall notice a number of very small brown dots, generally they seem to belong to the veining of the frond, but, in some species, are only found along the margin. These dots are called sori, and are the coverings or envelopes of minute capsules that contain the seeds; in the maiden-hair fern, and some other varieties, the edge of the leaf is neatly folded round the seed so no other envelope is needed. When the seed is ripe, the leaf unfolds, or a tiny elastic ring gives way, the capsule bursts, and the seeds fall to become seed-bearing ferns.
We often hear it said, “God works by means." As a rule, this may be partly true, but our talk about ferns should teach us a lesson. How, we might ask, is a plant that never bears flowers, to produce seeds? God has wonderful ways of working out His own purposes; His resources are so many and so varied, that He sometimes works without any seen or visible means. I have known people who were very fond of saying, "God works by means," sometimes ask His blessing upon what is really the fruit of unbelief, and want of attention to the plain and simple teaching of God's Word. Sometimes people who have no love for the Lord Jesus are asked to give their money to help forward the work of God. This is to say the least of it, a want of faith, and cannot be pleasing to the Lord.
Many rare and beautiful ferns are found among the Swiss Alps. Two English gentlemen who were spending their summer holiday in Switzerland, saw a rare and beautiful fern, which they very much wished to possess. But how were they to get at it? It was growing in a cleft of the rocks many feet below where they stood. They were provided with ropes, but, as they looked down, and saw to what a depth they must be lowered, neither had courage to make the attempt. A shepherd boy was tending his flock of sheep and goats, not far from them, and one of the tourists proposed that they should call the lad, as he thought they knew enough Italian to make him understand what they wanted, and, as he was most likely used to mountain climbing, get him to get the fern. He was called, and offered a bright half-crown if he would allow them to tie their rope, which was a new and strong one, round his body, and lower him to where the coveted fern grew. The boy looked at the coin: he had never owned so large a sum; the offer was certainly a tempting one; but he did not know the strangers, they had promised to hold the rope, and to draw him up very carefully, but he could not feel perfect confidence in anyone he did not know.
After a moment's thought, he said, pointing to a shepherd's hut not very far away, "Just you wait till I run and fetch father. I'll go if he'll hold the rope. I know my father won't let me fall." The father came, held the rope, the fern was got; and the boy went off delighted with the reward he had received. I do not know if the tourists learned, on that lonely mountain among Alpine snows, a lesson of confidence in the care of a Heavenly Father; but we surely may. “Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him." (Psalm 103:13.)
The trees are beginning to put on their autumn dresses of varied tints of brown, yellow and red; and are hardly less beautiful than they were in the early spring, or in the deeper hues of their summer foliage. Hark l there is a rustle of falling leaves; reminding us that “we spend our years as a tale that is told." (Psalm 90:9.) Why do the leaves fall? Look closely at the stem of a fallen leaf, and at its end you will notice a slight hollow, formed by the bud still hard and undeveloped having formed beneath it; so, as the bud grows, the hold of the leaf upon the parent stem, becomes looser and looser, till, caught by some gust of wind, it flutters downward to the green sward, and dies. But is the work of the leaf done? No, for exposed to the action of air and moisture, it undergoes certain changes which will in time reduce it to leaf-mold and so help in the nourishment of the tree.
Nellie says she has heard that fossil ferns have often been found by miners, when at work in coalmines, and would very much like to know how they came there? A very interesting question, Nellie, and though I am afraid I shall not be able to explain very fully, for the subject it opens up is a very large one, I will try to answer as simply as I can.
Long, long before history books began to be written, many who have given much time and thought to the study of a science called Geology, agree in believing that the climate of our island home was much warmer than it is now; more like that of New Zealand at the present time; the whole, or nearly the whole of the land being covered by thick forests, where, under the shade of lofty trees, grew countless numbers of ferns. Great changes in the surface of the earth must have taken place; one among others being that many of these trees were torn up by their roots during the storms that so often occur in hot countries, and swept into some lake or inland sea. There, for a time, they floated, but at last sank to its bottom, where they became imbedded in the mud, after which great chemical changes began to take place, until at last, in the All-wise and wonder-working ways of God, immense beds of coal were stored up. When we see the cheery flames give light and warmth to all around, it is pleasant to remember that the coal, once a vegetable, but now a mineral, is giving out as light and heat, the sunshine the forest trees drunk in long ages ago. "All Thy works shall praise Thee, O Lord." (Psalm 145:10)
The fossil ferns found in our English or Welsh coal-mines, are not as a rule either so perfect or numerous as the yield from the mines of Bohemia; the pressure, it is supposed, from some cause having been greater than their delicate forms could resist.
But our talk about fossil ferns has taken us a long way from the flowers. The composite family is a large one, and we shall find many members of it in full bloom this month. In country lanes, in out-of-the-way nooks and corners, or by the dyke-side, we shall find a profusion of small, chamomile-like flowers; tall thistles are in full flower. Nora has guessed rightly, all these belong to the composite order, or are very nearly related to it. When other flowers have faded, when leaves are falling, then the strong, bright blossoms of the composites meet the eye at every turn.
“Gems of the changing autumn, how beautiful ye are!
“Shining from your glossy stems, like many a golden star;
Peeping through the long grass, smiling on the down,
Lighting up the dusky bank, just when the sun goes down;
Yellow flowers of autumn, how beautiful ye are
Shining from your glossy stems like many a golden star!”
Surely the autumn flowers have a message for us. Do they not seem to say, “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the Word of the Lord endureth forever." Some who are not very old in years have begun to learn for themselves a lesson that sooner or later, all must learn, that this world is a scene of change, and that death may enter the happiest home. Do you know, dear ones, what it is to long for something that will not pass away; for SOME ONE Who will never die? The Written Word of God is enough for faith; we rest upon it, and are at peace, even though the storm may rage around. And it is not a dead, but a Living Christ, Who has stooped to win your love, Who invites your confidence.
Among the bright-hued blossoms in the hedgerow we shall find some that have died, but live again. We all remember how, during the early spring, the well-known dandelion held up its head everywhere. I wonder if any of us noticed its absence during the summer months? See, it is here again, its petals are of a deeper yellow, and its leaves of a brighter green than they were, when, several months ago, it first unfolded its star-like blossoms. Shall I tell you a secret of the dandelion? It has died, and risen again. The old root is still in the ground, but the flower, in its added freshness and beauty, is a NEW THING. Has not something very like this, dear young believer, taken place in the history of your soul? New desires, new affections, new hopes, have been yours ever since you first trusted yourself, as a lost sinner, to a Risen, Living Savior. They may be very feeble at times, but, if they are not there at all you are still in your sins; unsaved, unsheltered by the precious Blood of Christ. But, for the youngest and weakest, as well as for the most advanced Christian, the message of this wayside flower surely is, “If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God. Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God." (Col. 3:1, 2, 3.)
The Swift, one of the largest and strongest of the Swallow tribe, very seldom alights on the ground, as it is an insect feeder, but secures its prey by darting after flies, moths, or any winged insect that may cross its path while on the wing. Those who have watched its habits closely, tell us that materials for its nest are collected in much the same way. Feathers, light straws, scraps of wool and cobwebs, and such light materials as we should think were of very little use for building, are glued together by a sticky saliva the bird discharges from its bill, and, in this way, a small round, flat nest is formed, rather than built. Small as it is, it is quite large enough to contain two long, slender eggs, which are generally laid about the beginning of June. Unlike its near relations, the Swallow and Martin, a pair of Swifts rear only one brood during the summer. The eggs are pure white, without any spots or markings, and the surface is somewhat rough.
But the fern-gatherers tell us their baskets are filled, and lengthening shadows remind us that it is time to begin our homeward walk.
“The toils of the day are over,
And heart and hand are free,
So with a child's glad trusting,
I turn to my rest in Thee.”
Chapter 11: Life After Death
THE Dandelion is not the only flower that dies to live again. The lowly Daisy is, as we remember, another member of the composite order. It again raises its head, and seems to whisper of life on the other side of death; resurrection life. But the Daisy has another lesson to teach; The French call it “Marguerite,"this name comes from a word meaning “a pearl." If we open our Bibles at Matthew 13:45, 46, "The kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchantman seeking goodly pearls; Who, when he had found one pearl of great price went and sold ALL THAT HE HAD and bought it.”
Well do we know the “Merchantman” of the parable was the Lord Himself, Who laid aside His glory "Emptied Himself of all but love,”
Why? Again the Written Word of God shall answer our question. “Christ also loved the Church, and gave Himself for it.... That He might present it to Himself, a glorious church not having spot or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish."(Eph. 5:25, 27.) His church is to Christ, the “Pearl of great price." But to secure it for Himself, He must go beneath the dark waters of death and judgment. The pearl is, we know, the treasure of the sea, found within the shell of a certain kind of oyster. Most of us have, I think, heard or read about pearl fisheries. The oysters are brought up by divers. Long ago, a great number of slaves were employed in fishing for pearls. To encourage them to look carefully, and to bring up as many pearl oysters as they possibly could, the hope of a possible reward was held out; the one who found a pearl of more than usual beauty and value received his freedom.
But oh, how deep and dark were the waters the Savior passed through, when, upon the cross, the question of sin was gone into and settled between a sin-hating God, and a sin-bearing Savior.
“Lord, e'en to death Thy love could go,
A death of shame and loss,
To vanquish for us every foe,
And break the strong man's force.
Oh what a load was Thine to bear
Alone in that dark hour;
Our sins in all their terror there,
God's wrath, and Satan's power.”
His cup of joy will not be full till His return to claim His blood-bought church. Do not let us forget that that moment may be very near.
“There made ready are the mansions,
Radiant, bright and fair,
But the Bride the rather gave Him
Still is wanting there.”
Our little friend, the humble Daisy, has not lived and bloomed in vain, if the precious, though unseen things, of which we have spoken have been brought freshly to our minds by the wee, modest flower.
But October mornings are apt to be chilly, and the shortening days remind us that winter will soon be here; though some of the trees retain the beauty of their many-colored leaves till the late autumn, others are leafless and bare. The Swallows have gone! No one saw them go, or knew the exact moment of their departure. For days past they had been observed collecting in flocks; perching upon telegraph wires, church steeples, and other high buildings; perhaps, some of us had said, “The swallows are getting ready for their long journey over land and sea, to warmer lands than ours." But no one saw, no one heard them go. May not this bring to our minds an event that is really going to happen, the taking away of the Church to meet her Lord in the air, when those who sleep in Christ will be raised, and living believers changed at the coming of the Lord. (1 Thes 4:13, 18; 1 Cor. 15:51, 52.)
Nuts and blackberries are ripe! Well do the children know it. And the hedgerows are bright with hips and haws, the ruddy fruit of hawthorn and dog-rose. On opening the haw you will find that it contains a stony seed, called a “drupe." It belongs to the same family as all stone fruits, the cherry, peach, plum and many others; even the blackberry is included in this family circle. “But the blackberry is surely not a stone fruit” Nora is saying. Look closely at it, and you will notice that each berry contains a number of very small stony seeds.
Half hidden among withered leaves, a lovely bunch of coral-like berries often peeps out at the root of some old trees, or among a thick growth of brushwood. It is the fruit of the Wake-Robin, or Arum, often called by children, “lords and ladies." It is really a lovely plant, and has a very curious floral arrangement. In April or May a broad green leaf, something like that of the lily of the valley, is all that meets the eye; it enfolds the spedia, beautifully colored, and not unlike a very small bulrush; at its base are seed-vessels, also higher still are the stamens forming a circle, and, higher still, a tiny coronet or crown, which may have suggested the strange name given to it by the children. Wrapped in its mantle of green, its beautiful colors unseen by any eye but His who made it; and often hidden by the common weeds of the hedge-bank, it stands erect and alone. But wait till the autumn; pistils and stamens will each have done their appointed work; the green wrapping falls off, and a cluster of beautiful red berries will for some weeks-remain to gladden the eye of any who love to wander through the forest glade and note the beauty of the many-tinted woods.
Many of the arums grow in out-of-the way nooks and corners, but is their beauty wasted? Surely not, for He who formed them with such skill knew exactly where to place them. Perhaps what I am writing may be read by just one of the Lord's hidden ones; someone who is often sick, and lonely, and who is sometimes tempted to wonder if such a very quiet life can be of any possible use? Look up in faith and hope, dear, much-tried one; for you the Wild Arum has a very distinct message. The Lord has need of His hidden ones; it is for His eye, and heart that you are just where you are. In Old Testament times, we read of those who “stood by night in the house of the Lord." It is quite likely that very little was thought or known about their service; they served while others slept. But God had appointed their temple services, and we may be sure that their ministry of prayer and praise was precious in His sight. Who shall say how many blessings were outpoured on the slumbering Israel around in answer to the prayers of those who, unnoticed, and perhaps unknown, served through the long, dark night. And yours, dear suffering one, in the quiet-it may be of a sickroom, is a service not less blessed and holy. Yours is a MINISTRY OF INTERCESSION. There are so many for whom you need to pray. Busy workers; who often long for the quiet times alone with the Lord, they find it so difficult to get. Some of these work at home, and sometimes get discouraged and depressed; others have gone at the Master's call to the far-off mission-field, their message must be given to a people of strange language who often do not want—however much they need—the Gospel.
“The weary ones had rest, the sad had joy
That day!—I wondered how?
A plowman singing at his work had prayed
‘Lord, help them now.'
Away in foreign lands they wondered how
Their simple word had power;
At home the Christians 'two or three' had met
To pray an hour.
Yes, we are always wondering, wondering ‘how,'
Because we do not see
Some one, unknown perhaps, and far away,
On bended knee.”
Along the hedge-tops and twining in and out among the branches, you may often see a something that looks very much like a string of cornelian-like beads, somewhat withered it is true, but still very pretty to look at. Try to trace its windings. No root can be found, and it seems to have no object in its wanderings; it almost might have been flung among the brambles by some passing gust of wind. It is the WHITE BRYONY, the only British plant which belongs to the gourd family. It is a poisonous plant, though in the summer months. its palm-shaped leaves and green-veined flowers were pleasant to look at, as its trailing stem worked its way upwards, clinging to every object within its reach, until it gained the very top-most place, and seemed to look proudly down. But autumn soon robbed it of its short-lived glory, the stem withered, and the berries hung loosely down, or fell to the ground.
May it not remind us of the men and women of the world, who live and toil with no higher object in life than themselves, their pleasure, fame or riches. They die, and leave no fruit. “Verily, every man at his best estate is altogether vanity. Surely, every man walketh in a vain show; surely they are disquieted in vain; he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.”
The hips and haws will supply food to countless flocks of wild birds during the winter months. Truly “The Lord is good to all and His tender mercies are over all His works.”
Listen! There is the strong, clear note of the Thrush. Yes, and the little songster is one of the cleverest of nest builders. The outside of a thrush's nest is thick and is made of grasses, moss and fine twigs, all neatly woven together. The inside is a firm wall of clay, beautifully round, and as smooth as the wall of a house. The plaster required for this is formed of clay and wet mud, held together by scraps of decayed wood. While building, the female bird molds it into a cup-like shape by moving round and round in it, and pressing her breast against its damp sides. When dry this wall is so strong that it often lasts long after the outside has fallen to decay.
The favorite building-place is in some thick bush or hedge, sometimes in ivy growing against a wall. From four to six eggs are laid, they are of a bright blue, spotted with black. The first brood is hatched about the end of April, and there are generally two or three broods during the season.
The Blackbird builds in much the same way as the Thrush, and uses the same kind of materials, but the inside of the nest has a soft lining of feathers and horse-hair. The Blackbirds begin to build in March, the first brood being out of the nest by the end of May; a new nest is then built, in which eggs are again laid. The eggs are of a blue green color, marked and speckled with brown. A third brood is often reared by the end of the summer.
The Finches are a large family of birds, few are perhaps better known than the Chaffinch. It loves to build in the forked branch of some tree or bush; a snug little nest with a rather deep hollow is built among sheltering leaves; green grasses and moss only are used, and the nest is so cleverly hidden that it is by no means easy to find. In April or May, four or five bluish-white eggs are laid; often spotted with light and dark shades of reddish brown. Like other members of the Finch family, the Chaffinch rears only two broods during the season.
Chapter 12: The Sloe and Its Lessons
“He led them on safely, so that they feared not.” (Psalm 78:53.) SA 78:53{
WE shall not find many wild flowers in the woods or fields; and yet, now and then we get a mild, almost spring-like day in what many people are so fond of calling “dull, cheerless November." We will make the most of a fine afternoon, and try to find some lingering beauties; we would not miss the lessons wild fruits and berries may have to teach.
The hedges are still bright with their profusion of hips and haws, God's bountiful provision for the winter food of the wild birds. The jet-black berries of the sloe form a striking contrast to its rosy neighbors. We should hardly think at first sight that the sloe was very nearly related to the hips and haws, or in fact, a member of the same family. And in the spring, when the branches are covered with small white rose-like blossoms, it would be easy to trace the relationship. It lacks the sweet scent of the hawthorn, and few, perhaps, care to gather it, but, in the autumn, it has a beauty all its own, as the rich, blue bloom so often seen on its fruit, adds greatly to its attractiveness.
I have known dear young Christians who were sometimes tempted to feel sad, and get discouraged because they were not clever, and could not write or speak as others did. For such, the BLACKTHORN has its own special message. “That day," to which the eye and heart of the Apostle Paul was ever looking onward, will declare what the fruit has been; and the weakest and feeblest are just as dear, perhaps, even dearer, than the strong to the Heart of the Lord Jesus, our Good, Great Shepherd, of Whom Isaiah wrote, "He shall feed His flock like a Shepherd; He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom."(Isa. 40:11) Perhaps, in our colder climate, the early-flowering Blackthorn may help to give us some idea of what the Almond Tree was to the people of Israel. In both, the flowers appear before the leaves, and the whole tree seems to awake from sleep, and burst at once into life and beauty. We remember Aaron's rod that budded and “brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds."(Num. 17:8), and again our hearts are filled with praise and wonder at the goodness of God in choosing the almond as a symbol of His wonder-working power-the God of Resurrection, who alone could cause the seemingly lifeless stick to blossom and bear fruit. The Hebrew name of the almond is said to mean “the hastening tree." Many of us have seen it in gardens, and know how beautiful it is, when, in February or March, its leafless boughs are almost covered with pink and white flowers.
Whatever the BLACKTHORN is to others, let it be to you, dear young believer, always a reminder of Him Who is “THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE." The One Who wept at the grave of Lazarus. Not very long ago I came upon some verses in which the tenderness and compassion that filled the heart of Christ are so touchingly expressed that I need make no apology for adding them here.
“He (Jesus) abode two days still in the same place. (John 11:6.)
“The truest heart that ever loved,
Could give its object pain;
Could bear to see the suffering
That brought the untold gain.
The mightiest hand that ever moved,
Could wait to bring relief,
'Two days' apparent heedlessness
Of nature s deepest grief.
Would they have missed that sacred thing,
His sympathy—His tears,
Scene on which breaking hearts have leaned,
These eighteen hundred years.
The wonder-working word that gave
Their loved one back again,
Seems scarce as precious as the groan,
That proved He felt their pain.
Oh, heart that loves so perfectly,
Thou often waitest still;
And blessed are the emptied hearts,
Thy sympathy can fill.
Some years ago when visiting in one of the largest of the London Hospitals, owing to an unexpected change having been made in visiting hours, I found myself in one of the wards before the House Surgeon had finished his rounds. The patient, whose bed was next the door, asked me to take a seat near her. I did so, and soon found she had only been in the hospital a few days; her interest in Divine things appeared slight, and had been only newly-awakened. How and when, I will, as far as I can remember, tell in her own words.
“I was," she said, "very ill when I was received as an in-patient. The day after I came in, a lady passed through the ward with a basket, in which were small bunches of flowers. She gave one to each patient, saying a few words to each; her face and voice were kind, though I could not hear what she said, but I was feeling tired and did not want to talk, so, when she came near my bed, I turned my face to the wall, she thought I was asleep, so laid a nosegay on my bed, and passed on without speaking.
When I heard her go down stairs, I took up the flowers, I was always fond of growing things, and began to look at them. I found a small card had been tied on to their stems, with some words written upon it. I read them over two or three times; I never read the Bible much, but I seemed to know that they were Bible words. I put the card, as I thought, safe in my locker; but, in the morning, it could not be found, and when I asked the nurse, she said she had not seen it, and now I can't remember the words. You have a Bible, I see, perhaps you can tell me what they were.”
“Try and think of just one or two words, and I will ask God by the Holy Spirit, to bring the right verse to my mind."“There was something about sin on the card." “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."(Rom. 6:23.) “Are those the words?" “No, that's not what I'm wanting to hear. I know there was something about sin on the card, but there was something about blood, too."“The Blood of Jesus Christ His Son, cleanseth us from all sin." (I John 1:7.)
“The very words! The very words!" and the face of my listener lighted up with an expression of real interest. She seemed to know very little about the Gospel story, but listened with undivided attention, while I told her as simply as one would to a little child, the oft-told, yet ever new story of the Love of God, told out in the gift of His Son.
I never saw her again, for, on my next visit to the hospital I found that Mrs. M—had returned to her home, and her address was not known. But God can use even a single verse of Scripture, to carry out His purpose of blessing, and who shall say that "that day" may not declare that a work of God had not been begun in that hospital ward, which shall be to His praise and glory through eternity.
Perhaps some of my young friends are feeling something not unlike disappointment; and are inclined to say that they think the title of the book anything but a well chosen one. “THE VOICE OF FLOWERS!"And yet so few out of the many that have bloomed in our fields and gardens during the year have found a “Voice “in its pages. It will not have been re-written in vain if, to only a few out of the many who will, I hope, read it, it has suggested “a new language of flowers." If it has led them to take more interest in “nature studies,"every plant and flower that grows has a “Voice" but we want the opened ear, the child-like spirit that we may hear what its message is.
Flowers that have been pressed and dried during the summer months, may, during the long winter evenings, be formed into an herbal, or flower album. The name of the flower or plant should be written at the top of the page; where found and gathered, and anything you may have learned about its habits may be added; then search your Bibles for some suitable text. Take the sweet-scented Violet as an example. Of its manner of growth will it not remind you of the Altogether-lovely One, who said, “I am meek and lowly in heart."Growing as it does half hidden among sheltering leaves, or moss-covered stones, yet guiding us to the spot where it grows by its perfume, will surely remind us of how “He could not be hid." And as we enjoy its scent, may we not think of that Name, Whose fragrance is “as ointment poured forth.”
Nora says that she has heard that flocks of wild ducks are often seen by those who spend a summer holiday in the Scotch Highlands, and she would like to hear a little about these birds, and their homes and habits. The nest of the Wild Duck is never very far from the water's edge, though sometimes it may be on some dry spot in a bog or on marshy ground; often among tall stiff rushes which support it just enough to keep the eggs from getting damp. It is a small nest for the size of the bird, and the number of her family. It is built of heather stems and grasses, and has a soft down lining. Building begins about the last week in March, though sometimes not till the beginning of April. As soon as the Duck begins to sit, the Drake leaves her, so when obliged to leave her nest in search of food, the eggs are carefully covered with down so that they may not take a chill in the absence of the mother-bird. When the ducklings are hatched they are taken at once to the water, where they find themselves quite at home, and swim round the duck while she finds their food, but, as the young ones are generally nine or ten in number, we may be sure that it is no easy task to provide for the wants of such a large and hungry family. The eggs are pale green with a smooth surface.
The Moor or Water Hen, is a bird we may have heard or read about, but few, if any of us, have really made its acquaintance. Like the Wild Duck, it loves to build near the water's edge, often among the tall grass and reeds growing near the bank of a river. Sometimes the stump of an old tree supports the nest a few feet above the water, or it may be placed among the branches of a willow and rocked by every passing breeze. The nest is made of grass, the roots and stems of rushes and dry leaves, It is open at the top, but when leaving it the hen hides it by a covering of rushes. The eggs vary in number from six to ten or even more. Three broods are hatched during the season and the chicks first hatched help to feed the younger ones, and also in building a second, and even a third nest as more room is required by the large and fast-growing family.
Chapter 13: Wild Flowers of Palestine
“... The land that floweth with milk and honey...."“Thou shalt bless the Lord thy God for the good land which He hath given thee." (Deut. 6:3; 8:10)EU 6:3{EU 8:10{
As we read the words, what a lovely picture seems to rise before our mental vision; a picture of green fields, murmuring brooks, and flowery banks! and though many parts of Palestine once fertile and well cultivated, are now barren and desolate, still throughout the great plain of Esdraelon, the high lands of Galilee, and the country around Mount Carmel, during the months of spring, every field and grassy band looks like a rich and many-colored carpet, the number and variety of wild flowers is so great.
“Near Carmel,"writes a traveler, who visited the land during the summer season," a collector of rare and beautiful plants would find ample interest and occupation; for, perhaps, there is not another spot on the face of the globe where flowering plants of the mountains, valleys, and sea-shore are to be found in greater beauty and perfection."Lovely even now! What must the Land of Promise have been when the Blessing of Jehovah rested upon it; when dark-eyed Jewish children played in its fields and vineyards; when the song of grateful praise to the God of Israel arose from the courts of the Temple! We can form but a faint idea, nor yet of what it will be, when God's long-loved, but now scattered people are again brought to that land of which God said so long ago to Abraham, "Unto thy seed have I given this land, from the river of Egypt, unto the great river, the river Euphrates." (Gen. 15:18.)
"Thou land of the cross and the glory,
Whose brightness at last will shine
Afar through the earth—what a story
Of darkness and light is thine!
He died as a Lamb—as a Lion
He spares thee, nor can forget
His desolate Exile of Zion;
He waits to be gracious yet.”
From every ruin, where the wild rose unfolds its petals, from every silent plain where the lily in queen-like beauty rears its head, from every valley where the sweet-smelling Cistus grows, a voice seems to whisper, “He waits to be gracious yet.”
The Cistus is perhaps one of the most beautiful of the many wild flowers of Palestine; it also grows freely in Arabia, and the Greek Islands and even in the South of England it has not altogether refused to grow and bloom. Its beautiful blossoms are in form not unlike those of the Wild Rose, but much larger and more varied in color. As it grows in rocky places, and upon dry, sandy soil, it is sometimes called the Rock Rose. A name which may remind us of that which is built upon the Rock, Christ—His Church— which, nourished by His grace, blooms in the wilderness of this world “a dry and thirsty land, where no water is.”
The colors of the Rock Rose are too suggestive to pass unnoticed. Its five petals are of a pure white, but they spring from a blood-red center, which, in its turn, encloses a disc of bright yellow. And will not each to whom it shall be given to be hereafter arrayed in white robes, delight to own that they owe it all to the precious Blood of Christ?
“All that we are, as saints on earth,
All that we hope to be,
When Jesus comes, and glory dawns;
We owe it all to THEE.”
How beautiful the early morning is in every Eastern land! Yet nowhere, perhaps, more so than in Palestine, where village life goes on much as it did two or even three thousand years ago. The people of the East are early risers, and even before sunrise, the sound of the millstone may be heard from almost every dwelling. The women are grinding corn between two large stones by pushing the upper one backwards and forwards. “Two women grinding at the mill," is as frequent a sight in Bible lands to-day as it was when the Savior was on earth. The corn must be ground, kneaded, rolled into thin, flat cakes and baked before the first meal of the day, which is seldom later than between six and seven o'clock. Water for household use must also be fetched from the nearest well or spring.
The women usually go to the well in groups, each one carries her water-jar or pitcher upon her head, and walks with a quick, firm step. Husband-men and farm laborers are also astir early; each man carries the tools he will require for his work; they are very simple, we might be inclined to call them clumsy. But something not unlike a large wooden key is dangling from the shoulder of almost every man we meet. The home may be a very poor one, all it may contain may be a few mats and cooking utensils, but, before leaving the dwelling, the door will be carefully locked; on returning it will be opened by putting the key into a hole left in the large wooden lock. The Eastern custom of carrying the key upon the shoulder, will help us to understand such verses as Isaiah 22:22, “And the key of the house of David will I lay upon His shoulder; so He shall open and none shall shut; and He shall shut and none shall open." Also Rev. 3:7, "He that hath the key of David; He that openeth and no man shutteth, and shutteth and no man openeth.”
We should hardly think at first sight, that there could be any connection between the lovely blossoming cistus, making as it often does "the wilderness and solitary place glad" with its beauty, with the dark, resinous gum called "Labdaram," used in medicine, and to be found in every druggist's shop in our busy towns, and great cities, but it comes from Palestine and Arabia, and is collected from the branches of the Rock Rose.
It is about seven miles from Nazareth to Tabor. The ride over the hills is always an interesting one, but never more so than in the early spring, when trees and flowers combine to make the whole country seem one lovely garden. The carob or locust-tree, the ibex, the hawthorn, the laburnum, and the terebinth tree, grow in almost countless numbers; every now and then the scene is varied by an orchard of dark olive-green figs, or pomegranates just bursting into bloom, while the almond trees are covered with a profusion of pink and white blossoms. Underfoot, the wealth of flowers forms a pleasing contrast to the bright green of the grass among which they grow. Flags, anemones of different colors, hyacinths, buttercups, dasies, yellow broom, dandelions, wild mignonette, wild cucumbers, flowering thistles, and many lovely flowers grow in great abundance, and fill the air with their perfume.
The white narcissus is to be seen everywhere, and is a great favorite with the people of Palestine; large bunches of its sweet-smelling blossoms are often carried by men as well as women when walking in the streets, or market-places, and all alike seem to enjoy its delicious perfume. The Myrtle, with its dark green leaves, and star-like flowers, is common alike on the hill-slopes, and in the gardens, and we linger, almost lovingly, for its very name seems to be a link with a Bible-story many of us learned to love when we were quite children.
Esther, was, as we know, the beautiful Jewish Queen, who was in the wonder-working ways of God, raised to the throne of Persia; but the name she bore in her childhood, and early womanhood was not Esther (a star), but Hadassah (a myrtle). She was not born in the land of Palestine. Many years before her birth, God had allowed the King of Babylon to carry His disobedient and backsliding people, Israel, away as captives to Babylon, which was at one time a province of the great Persian empire.
Esther was an orphan, and her life might have been a sad and lonely one, had it not been for the kindness of her cousin Mordecai, a godly Jew, who held some humble position in the court of the great monarch, Ahasuerus, who is believed to have been the Xerxes of history. He was probably much older than Hadassah, or Esther; who became his adopted daughter, Both knew and served the God of Israel, and we may be sure that when his daily duties were ended, and Mordecai was free to return to his humble home, perhaps a little way from the noise and bustle of the great city, they would often speak of their own land so far away; and of the beautiful Temple, of their God at Jerusalem.
Hadassah was beautiful in person, and appears to have been not only pleasing in her manners, but gentle and gracious in disposition.
The Queen Vashti had, as we know, incurred the anger of her hasty and self-willed husband, by her refusal to allow her great beauty to be by his unreasonable command, gazed upon by the princes and nobles of his vast empire, as they drank the red wine from golden goblets. Justice was on her side, for the law of Persia forbade any woman to appear at such feasts as the King was then holding. But it is quite possible that he had himself drank deeply, at that moment he thought of nothing, perhaps remembered nothing but that he was the greatest of sovereigns. None should dare to cross his will, or disobey his royal mandate. Vashti should be queen no longer, the crown royal should be taken from her; the remaining years of her life must be lived almost as a prisoner, in “the house of the women.”
An interval of from three to four years followed, during which the King was engaged in wars; many of them cruel and unjust; some of his own words, found not very long ago, as an inscription upon one of the ruined walls of his palace at Shushan, declare, "I will sweep across Greece like a whirlwind, I will overthrow it like a raging flood"; cried the haughty King. The Greeks, however, held their own with wonderful courage, and remained unconquered even by the overwhelming numbers of the Persian army.
Angry and disappointed, the King returned to Shushan, and was once more in his beautiful palace, more haughty and over-bearing than ever. It was then—acting on the advice of his seven chief princes, who were, history tells us, the heads of the seven noblest families in Persia, and were the only persons allowed to enter the royal presence uncalled, or to speak to the King on almost equal terms—the proclamation went forth that the most beautiful maidens in Persia were to be gathered together. The one who pleased the King best was to be his chosen Queen instead of Vashti.
The report of Esther's beauty may have reached the palace for she was commanded to be one of the number and had no choice but to obey. Space will not allow us to follow her story, step by step; but we know that she did not forget her own people; her conduct in the palace was marked by the same gentle, unselfish spirit she had shown while under the roof of Mordecai; and, when raised to the throne of Persia, she was still a true-hearted, noble woman; one upon whom the God of Israel put high honor; for, in His hand, she was the instrument by which the destruction of the whole Jewish nation, planned, as it had been by the wicked Haman, was averted.
You and I, dear young sisters in Christ, enjoy greater light, and have many more privileges than were Queen Esther's; Let us then seek “the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price." (1 Peter 3:4.)
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