The Angel Children<br />or, Stories from Cloud-Land by Charlotte M. Higgins (most read book in the world .txt) 📖

dirty alley, on a little straw. The children hovered over him, trying how they might approach him. They drove hence the dark spirits, one by one, who hindered their approach, and then they carried him off by the sea-shore in a dream; they made him sit upon the sand and listen to the roar[Pg 36]ing of the waters; the large rocks stood scattered on the beach, and the sea-mosses and shells were thrown up by the waves. Afar off, upon the water, he saw a long line of bright clouds, which seemed to climb up to heaven to meet the bright, twinkling stars. The moonlight shone softly down upon him.

Then they laid him down upon the sand, and made him look up into the sky to feel the rest and peace of it; still more came the moonlight upon him, and the stars seemed to open and close their eyes for pity. The wind came towards him and passed along his brow and over his heart. Then came into his soul an indescribable longing, such as he had never felt before—a longing which the noise of the sea, the beauty of the clouds, the peace of the sky, and the tenderness of the wind, had aroused in him.

He felt that something inexpressibly dear had been lost to him, and he feared never again to regain it; the quiet moon and the pitying stars made him fear. A deep grief entered his heart, and he wept as from an everlasting sorrow. As he wept the angels rejoiced, and hovered over his head in a[Pg 37] halo of light; for they knew that these tears would bring him into the path that led to heaven!

Not far off lived a man who cared for destitute and ignorant children; the angel-band flew to bring him, and when the boy opened his eyes, in which the tears of repentance still lay, the ocean and bright clouds had disappeared; but there was bent upon him a pitying, benignant look, which went to the boy's heart, and a kind voice lingered in his ear, subduing him by its very strangeness. So he at once received the proffered hand, and arose and went with him to his home.

After that, the angel-children went into a splendid mansion, where, in a large, handsome chamber, lay a little girl suffering under severe pain. Her little couch was hung in blue silk, and rich laces adorned her pillows. On a little table by the side of her bed stood golden goblets, to refresh her parched mouth with pleasant drinks. Yet, still the little girl moaned in pain. Her eyelids were closed, and her weary hand lay still upon the bed. At her side sat her nurse, watching her wants and longing to relieve them. Costly toys lay uncared for on the rich, heavy carpet. The flowers had lost their[Pg 38] charm, the delicious fruit lay, full and ripe, neglected on their dish.

Sleep would not come to the child; weary and in pain, she had laid there a long, long time, her poor little body wasting slowly away towards the grave.

"Let us give her rest and comfort," said the angel-children; and, waving their wings over her, she fell to sleeping.

The nurse said, then, there might be hope. Listen and hear,—what bright hope there was, indeed!

They whispered to her, that soon her pain should cease, and that, for her trust and patience, she should go to God's beautiful garden. They showed her the fountains and the birds; they told her how she should again ride upon the clouds, and study from the great books of God. Then in her sleep she smiled, and the nurse, who was watching her face, wept for joy, and exclaimed,

"There is hope! there is hope!"

Yes, there was hope!

When the little girl awoke, there was a more[Pg 39] heavenly patience still, in her soul, and a longing to meet the loving glances of the angel-children again.

As the children wended their flight back to the gardens, and sat down beneath the green trees, and ate of their delicious fruit, they strove in vain to bring back the brightness to the face of the earth-baby.

"Ah, it would be so beautiful to stay with you!" he said. "I would like always to comfort these afflicted ones; but, alas! I shall need comfort myself, and you will come to me, as we have been to others. When I am on the earth there seems something gone and lost, and what is before me is confused and dim. I find myself so weak and helpless, when here I am so sprightly and strong! I cannot move myself at all, and when I remember these gardens I have left, and you with whom I have played, I can but cry all the time! It looks cold and bleak there, as it never does here. Then, should I grow up to be wicked, like those children we have seen, and so go far away from heaven, how wretched should I[Pg 40] become,—how much better that I never had left these gardens!"

Thus he complained, and the other children were silent, for they knew how they, too, at some time, must go down and try their fortunes upon the earth; and, too, they sorrowed to lose their companion, for they knew that soon he could not come to them any more;—and while they told him, very eagerly, how they would come to watch over him, a soft tread fell on their ears, and their dear teacher approached them.

Her hair floated in long curls upon the cool air, and her eyes were bent down in sorrow upon the earth-child.

"Have you so soon forgotten the lessons you have learned from the book of God?" she asked; and the tones of her voice were like the soft harmonies of heaven. She held in her hand a book, along whose pages the letters sparkled in the brightness of gold and silver. At the sight of her, the earth-child threw himself at her feet, and besought her thus:

"Keep me with you, dear teacher, and teach[Pg 41] me from your book! Why should I go to the earth-home again?"

Tenderly did the angel-teacher embrace and uplift the imploring child. She pointed to a distant part of the garden, towards a grate of lattice-work, in gold, silver and pearls, whence issued a glorious light. Beyond this they saw angels walking, in their hands bearing still more glorious books than the one she held.

"When I taught you, long ago, how beautiful was the life there, how pure the love, did you not long to go thither? And when I told you that the way thither was only through the earth,—that it was long and difficult and narrow,—that many troubles must make you strong to walk in it,—did you not long to go, promising not to complain? Do you so soon falter? Have I not told you that the book you carry in your hands there must first be formed on the earth?—that there you shall pick up one by one the shining letters which compose it? Why do you complain?—have you forgotten that your home is better than those miserable ones which have been given to those who were your beloved playmates here? This is your[Pg 42] last visit to the garden of God. The angel-children shall come and whisper to you in your dreams; and, when they in their turns go down to live upon the earth, hold your arms out to them, and, when their steps are weak, help them along. And when you see children with tattered clothes, in poor cottages, look not proudly on your own, but remember that here, in the garden of God, you played together in the same fountain, drank the same dew; and think no more of yourself or your beautiful earth-home, for God gave it to you for the same purpose he gave the wretched cottage to the other. Remember, too, the good mother, who has patiently hushed your cries, and will yet bear you through many dark places. She has never yet tired in caring for you, and you have given her little else but trouble. Go; be henceforth patient and loving."

Sorrow came into the heart of the child for his selfishness; and, as he thought of his beautiful mother, how she always smiled upon him, and would help him to heaven, his heart filled up with love to her.

At that moment he opened his eyes, and there[Pg 43] by his side sat the mother, watching for his awaking; a heavenly smile stole over his features, and he held up his arms to her. The mother caught him from the cradle, and wept over him in the ecstasy of a new-found joy and love; for it was the First Smile her baby had given her.[Pg 44]

CYBELE, THE TAMBOURINE GIRL.

Cybele was a little girl; she had large gray eyes, and brown hair smoothly parted over her forehead, while there was a pitiful expression round her mouth, that pleaded with you so earnestly, you could scarce help stopping, as you met her, to give her a few pennies.

Her real home was not in this country. Long ago she had come over from the bright land of Italy,—from its warm, sunny skies and beautiful gardens, where the birds sang so joyfully, and gay music sounded on the air,—all which she longed to see and hear again; and as all things there had been so beautiful, and here so dreary, all beauty grew to be the same thing as that dear Italy, so that when she even saw flowers in the window of some lordly house, she would stand, gazing tearfully through them at the far-off home!

Cybele's mother had died in that beautiful land,[Pg 45] and it was in one of its lovely gardens her body rested while her spirit soared heavenward. The little girl knew this place so well;—the orange-trees grew about it, and the song of the waterfall, near by, played and sparkled in the tones of the birds. But Cybele's aunt had taken the little girl with her to this distant land, and the child could no longer go and weep over the grave where her mother's body had been laid; but her heart was there—it could not forget. She dreamed of it in the long nights; and, when she played upon her tambourine, the remembrance inspired her notes, making people love to listen to her.

Away down in an uncomfortable, out-of-the-way part of the city dwell a great many poor people, who have come from distant countries to find here some bread, which may keep them from starving. The streets where they dwell are dirty, and the houses look smoky and wretched. There are queer little shops, with oranges and cigars, bread and tobacco, in the windows, and if you go in you smell yeast, and see milk-cans standing about, while a man in a green jacket sells you what you ask for. To such shops do the people[Pg 46] near by come for their bread and cent's worth of milk. To such a shop little Cybele came, early in the morning, and late at night; and so dingy looked the shops and people, that her aunt's room seemed bright and cheerful in comparison. This room, nevertheless, was small and quite dark, having but one window, which looked down into a brown back-yard; but her aunt kept the room neat and clean; the bed stood off by itself, in one corner, the two chairs on either side of the table, and in the cupboard were a few plates and cups, with which the scanty table was spread; yet was this room dear to the child, since the dreams she had dreamed there hung over her still with their light and love.

It chanced, one day, that her aunt fell sick—so sick as to be obliged to lie on the bed. For a long time she had not been able to do any hard work, but had sat at home and made little brooms for Cybele to take out with her when she went to play the tambourine about the streets. And Cybele had seen how her aunt grew pale, day by day, but she had not dreamed the time would come when her aunt must lay still on the bed for weariness.[Pg 47]

With a heavy heart she took the brooms and the tambourine, and went out, hoping