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18 Our Dumb Animals 211 (1885-1886)

handle is hein.journals/animals18 and id is 1 raw text is: 

                                                    40                                               CANIV02'

                                                    I would   not  enter  on  my   list of friends,
                                                    Though   graced   with   polished   manners and fine sense,
                                                    Yet  wanting   sensibility,  the  man
                                                    Who   needlessly   sets foot  upon   a  worm.- CowPER.

Vol. 18.                                                     Boston, June, 1885.                                                                     No. 1.

          June, with its roses - June!
   The gladdest month of our capricious year,
   With its thick foliage and its sunlight clear;
          And  with the drowsy tune
   Of the bright, leaping waters, as they pass
   Laughingly on amid the springing grass!

          The overarching sky
   Weareth a softer tint, a lovelier blue,
   As if the light of heaven were melting through
          Its sapphire home on high;
   Hiding the sunshine in their vapory breast,
   The clouds float on like spirits to their rest.
          A  deeper melody,
   Poured by the birds, as o'er their callow young
   Watchful they hover, to the breeze is flung-
          Gladsome,  yet not of glee-
   Music heart-born, like that which mothers sing
   Above their cradled infants slumbering.

          These are thy pictures, June!
   Brightest of summer months-thou  month of flowers!
   First-born of beauty, whose swift-footed hours
          Dance  to the merry tune
   Of birds, and waters, and the pleasant shout
   Of childhood on the sunny hills pealed out.
           I feel it were not wrong
   To deem thou art a type of heaven's clime,
   Only that there the clouds and storms of time
           Sweep not the sky along;
   The flowers-air-beauty-music-all   are thine,
   But brighter-purer-lovelier-more  divine!
                               -William  H. Burleigh.
           A glimpse thou art of heaven,
              Lovely June!
           Type of a purer clime
           Beyond the flight of time,
           Where the amaranth flowers are rife
           By the placid stream of life,
               For ever gently flowing;
           Where the beauty of the rose
           In that land of soft repose
           Nor blight nor fading knows,
               In immortal fragrance blowing.
           And  my prayer is still to see,
           In thy blessed ministry,
A transient gleam of regions that are all divinely fair;
           A foretaste of the bliss
           In a holier world than this,
And a place beside the loved ones who are safely gathered
      there.                        -Mary   N. Meigs.

                 Aunt Betty's Story.
  It was the eve of Aunt Betty's birthday. My present
had been  waiting for ever so long. I gloated over it in
secret with distracted feelings; I would not for worlds have
betrayed it prematurely, yet I longed to let her guess at the
wonderful surprise in store for her. Thus divided in my
childish mind I sought her little room in the twilight.
  She was not there, and I grew impatient. I must needs
look for something to amuse me. But there was nothing
that owned the charm of novelty. I gazed about, yawning,
when a large moth on the window caught my  eye. That
called me to action, and, forgetful of all Aunt Betty's pious
injunctions to leave God's creatures unmolested, I forth
with set upon  a chase. Nor  was it long before I had
caught the hapless insect; it fluttered anxiously, but I held
it fast, bent upon examining it, when suddenly Aunt Betty
entered. Overtaken in my  boyish  cruelty I closed my
hand upon the little prisoner, and stood trembling.
  Aunt Betty, however, did not seem to notice that I was
ill at ease, and turned to me with her usual kindness. I
felt very miserable, and conversation would not flow, so
she told me a story, her usual device when she thought I
needed rousing.  Now,  whatever  her stories might be
worth,- and  they were not by any means always inven-
tions of genius,- they were sure to culminate in some sort
of moral which never failed to impress me. Aunt Betty's
story on this occasion led up to the statement- God seeth
  The  words fell on me like judgment; involuntarily I
hid my hand behind  my back, my heart beating, ready to
   You  must know, darling, Aunt Betty went on  un-
consciously,  that God sits upon His holy throne, an
angel on  His right hand, and another on His left, each
having  a book before him.  And  the angel to the right
marks  down  all the good, however little or weak, which
man   strives to do while he lives on earth; that angel is
always  smiling a heavenly smile. But the angel on the
left is full of weeping, as he notes down the evil deeds of
men.   And at the last day, when the great reckoning has
come,  a voice is heard from the throne-' Give up  the
boolks!'  And  then our deeds are examined; if there is
more  evil than good, and  we  have not repented of it
humbly,  and received forgiveness of sin, it will go ill with
   Auntie's story troubled me greatly. I pressed my hand
 together closer and closer, feeling at the same time as
 though a  live coal were burning  my  palm.   It was
 conscience which burned. The poor moth must have been
 dead long before, yet I felt as though it were still fluttering
 within my  grasp, trying to free itself from the unkind

hold. God   seeth all things, said auntie, and we must
answer to Him  for all our deeds at the last day!  Self-
control was at an end; a flood of tears came to the rescue;
and, unable to say a single word, I held out my palm to
Aunt Betty, the crushed moth witnessing against me.
  She understood at once, and drawing me to her heart she
first pointed to the wing of cruelty; but added her own
sweet words of consolation, that God would forgive me if
my  tears could tell Him I was sorry. But I was not able
at once to grasp this assurance, sobbing piteously. Never
was there anything more  tender, more full of love, than
Aunt Betty's ways when comfort was needed. It was she
who  prayed, I repeating the words after her. But they
came from my  heart, and never was there more sincere re-
pentance. *  *
  As for the poor moth we buried it sorrowfully in one of
auntie's flowerpots. We gave it a coffin of rose leaves, so
that the mangled corpse need not be touched by the cover-
ing earth.
                                   -From   the Danish.

             Duty  of Training  Animals.
  Next to the duty to supply the wants of dependent ani-
mals  is the special duty of wisely training, so far as we
may,  the animals which are in any sense committed to our
care. That  this is a duty to the animals themselves is
obvious from their capacity to be educated by such train-
ing, and to gain more or less enjoyment from the discipline
which follows.  Few men  are aware how wide and various
are the opportunities, and how imperative is the duty to en-
hance  the enjoyment of the animals with which they are
associated by  means of wise  and judicious and patient
training. The domestic animals of a household, which is
controlled by a spirit of order and kindness, in this part icu-
lar seem almost to belong to another species than those of
a  family in which  conscience or skill in this service is
absent. 'It would almost seem as though the horses and
herds  and fowls of the one came from a different stock as
compared  with those of the other, especially if the disci-
pline of gentleness and method  has been tried from the
birth of the animals in question, and been re-enforced by a
physiological heredity. That men need to be awakened to
a  sense of their defects and opportunities in respect to this
class of duties is obvious. That, when they are aroused to
any  just estimate of both, and are quickened to heed the
suggestions of wisdom and the voice of conscience, the ani-
mals  which haunt the houses and are seen in the streets of
men  will be in a sense transformed by sympathy with their
masters, cannot be doubted.
          - President Porter's Elements of Moral Science.

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