Life Without and Life Within; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems.
of the human family, and we must respect the aged sire whom we see on
the frontispiece of the almanacs, and believe his scythe was meant to
mow down harvests ripened for an immortal use.
Yet the best provision made by the mind of society, at large, for these
admonitions, soon loses its efficacy, and requires that individual
earnestness, individual piety, should continually reanimate the most
beautiful form. The world has never seen arrangements which might more
naturally offer good suggestions, than those of the church of Rome. The
founders of that church stood very near a history, radiant at every page
with divine light. All their rites and ceremonial days illustrate facts
of a universal interest. But the life with which piety, first, and
afterwards the genius of great artists, invested these symbols, waned at
last, except to a thoughtful few. Reverence was forgotten in the
multitude of genuflections; the rosary became a string of beads, rather
than a series of religious meditations, and "the glorious company of
saints and martyrs" were not so much regarded as the teachers of
heavenly truth, as intercessors to obtain for their votaries the
temporal gifts they craved.
Yet we regret that some of these symbols had not been more reverenced by
Protestants, as the possible occasion of good thoughts. And among others
we regret that the day set apart to commemorate the birth of Jesus
should have been stripped, even by those who observe it, of many
impressive and touching accessories.
If ever there was an occasion on which the arts could become all but
omnipotent in the service of a holy thought, it is this of the birth of
the child Jesus. In the palmy days of the Catholic religion, they may be
said to have wrought miracles in its behalf; and, in our colder time,
when we rather reflect that light from a different point of view, than
transport ourselves into it,--who, that has an eye and ear faithful to
the soul, is not conscious of inexhaustible benefits from some of the
works by which sublime geniuses have expressed their ideas in the
adorations of the Magi and the Shepherds, in the Virgin with the infant
Jesus, or that work which expresses what Christendom at large has not
even begun to realize,--that work which makes us conscious, as we
listen, why the soul of man was thought worthy and able to upbear a
cross of such dreadful weight--the Messiah of Handel.
Christmas would seem to be the day peculiarly sacred to children, and
something of this feeling here shows itself among us, though rather from
German influence than of native growth. The evergreen tree is often
reared for the children on Christmas evening, and its branches cluster
with little tokens that may, at least, give them a sense that the world
is rich, and that there are some in it who care to bless them. It is a
charming sight to see their glittering eyes, and well worth much trouble
in preparing the Christmas tree.
Yet, on this occasion as on all others, we could wish to see pleasure
offered them in a form less selfish than it is. When shall we read of
banquets prepared for the halt, the lame, and the blind, on the day that
is said to have brought _their_ Friend into the world? When will the
children be taught to ask all the cold and ragged little ones, whom they
have seen during the day wistfully gazing at the displays in the
shop-windows, to share the joys of Christmas eve?
We borrow the Christmas tree from Germany. Would that we might but
borrow with it that feeling which pervades all their stories about the
influence of the Christ child; and has, I doubt not,--for the spirit of
literature is always, though refined, the essence of popular
life,--pervaded the conduct of children there!
We will mention two of these as happily expressive of different sides of
the desirable character. One is a legend of the Saint Hermann Joseph.
The legend runs, that this saint, when a little boy, passed daily by a
niche where was an image of the Virgin and Child, and delighted there to
pay his devotions. His heart was so drawn towards the holy child, that,
one day, having received what seemed to him a gift truly precious,--to
wit, a beautiful red and yellow apple,--he ventured to offer it, with
his prayer. To his unspeakable delight, the child put forth its hand
and took the apple. After that day, never was a gift bestowed upon the
little Hermann that was not carried to the same place. He needed nothing
for himself, but dedicated all his childish goods to the altar.
After a while, grief comes. His father, who was a poor man, finds it
necessary to take him from school and bind him to a trade. He
communicates his woes to his friends of the niche, and the Virgin
comforts him, like a mother, and bestows on him money, by means of which
he rises, (not to ride in a gilt coach like Lord Mayor Whittington,) but
to be a learned and tender shepherd of men.
Another still more touching story is that of the holy Rupert. Rupert was
the only child of a princely house, and had something to give besides
apples. But his generosity and human love were such, that, as a child,
he could never see poor children suffering without despoiling himself of
all he had with him in their behalf. His mother was, at first,
displeased at this; but when he replied, "They are thy children too,"
her reproofs yielded to tears.
One time, when he had given away his coat to a poor child, he got
wearied and belated on his homeward way. He lay down a while, and fell
asleep. Then he dreamed that he was on a river shore, and saw a mild and
noble old man bathing many children. After he had plunged them into the
water, he would place them on a beautiful island, where they looked
white and glorious as little angels. Rupert was seized with strong
desire to join them, and begged the old man to bathe him, also, in the
stream. But he was answered, "It is not yet time." Just then a rainbow
spanned the island, and on its arch was enthroned the child Jesus,
dressed in a coat that Rupert knew to be his own. And the child said to
the others, "See this coat; it is one my brother Rupert has just sent to
me. He has given us many gifts from his love; shall we not ask him to
join us here?" And they shouted a musical "yes;" and the child started
from his dream. But he had lain too long on the damp bank of the river,
without his coat. A cold, and fever soon sent him to join the band of
his brothers in their home.
These are legends, superstitions, will you say? But, in casting aside
the shell, have we retained the kernel? The image of the child Jesus is
not seen in the open street; does his spirit find other means to express
itself there? Protestantism did not mean, we suppose, to deaden the
spirit in excluding the form?
The thought of Jesus, as a child, has great weight with children who
have learned to think of him at all. In thinking of him, they form an
image of all that the morning of a pure and fervent life should be and
bring. In former days I knew a boy artist, whose genius, at that time,
showed high promise. He was not more than fourteen years old; a slight,
pale boy, with a beaming eye. The hopes and sympathy of friends, gained
by his talent, had furnished him with a studio and orders for some
pictures. He had picked up from the streets a boy still younger and
poorer than himself, to take care of the room and prepare his colors;
and the two boys were as content in their relation as Michael Angelo
with his Urbino. If you went there you found exposed to view many pretty
pictures: a Girl with a Dove, the Guitar Player and such subjects as are
commonly supposed to interest at his age. But, hid in a corner, and
never, shown, unless to the beggar page, or some most confidential
friend, was the real object of his love and pride, the slowly growing
work of secret hours. The subject of this picture was Christ teaching
the doctors. And in those doctors he had expressed all he had already
observed of the pedantry and shallow conceit of those in whom mature
years have not unfolded the soul; and in the child, all he felt that
early youth should be and seek, though, alas! his own feet failed him on
the difficult road. This one record of the youth of Jesus had, at
least, been much to his mind.
In earlier days, the little saints thought they best imitated the
Emanuel by giving apples and coats; but we know not why, in our age,
that esteems itself so enlightened, they should not become also the
givers of spiritual gifts. We see in them, continually, impulses that
only require a good direction to effect infinite good. See the little
girls at work for foreign missions; that is not useless. They devote the
time to a purpose that is not selfish; the horizon of their thoughts is
extended. But they are perfectly capable of becoming home missionaries
as well. The principle of stewardship would make them so.
I have seen a little girl of thirteen,--who had much service, too, to
perform, for a hard-working mother,--in the midst of a circle of poor
children whom she gathered daily to a morning school. She took them from
the door-steps and the ditches; she washed their hands and faces; she
taught them to read and to sew; and she told them stories that had
delighted her own infancy. In her face, though in feature and complexion
plain, was something, already, of a Madonna sweetness, and it had no way
eclipsed the gayety of childhood.
I have seen a boy scarce older, brought up for some time with the sons
of laborers, who, so soon as he found himself possessed of superior
advantages, thought not of surpassing others, but of excelling, and then
imparting--and he was able to do it. If the other boys had less leisure,
and could pay for less instruction, they did not suffer for it. He could
not be happy unless they also could enjoy Milton, and pass from nature
to natural philosophy. He performed, though in a childish way, and in no
Grecian garb, the part of Apollo amid the herdsmen of Admetus.
The cause of education would be indefinitely furthered, if, in addition
to formal means, there were but this principle awakened in the hearts of
the young, that what they have they must bestow. All are not natural
instructors, but a large proportion are; and those who do possess such a
talent are the best possible teachers to those a little younger than
themselves. Many have more patience with the difficulties they have
lately left behind, and enjoy their power of assisting more than those
farther removed in age and knowledge do.
Then the intercourse may be far more congenial and profitable than where
the teacher receives for hire all sorts of pupils, as they are sent him
by their guardians. Here he need only choose those who have a
predisposition for what he is best able to teach. And, as I would have
the so-called higher instruction as much diffused in this way as the
lower, there would be a chance of awakening all the power that now lies
latent.
If a girl, for instance, who has only a passable talent for music, but
who, from the advantage of social position, has been able to gain
thorough instruction, felt it her duty to teach whomsoever she knew that
had such a talent, without money to cultivate it, the good is obvious.
Those who are learning receive an immediate benefit by an effort to
rearrange and interpret what they learn; so the use of this justice
would be twofold.
Some efforts are made here and there; nay, sometimes there are those who
can say they have returned usury for every gift of fate. And, would
others make the same experiments, they might find Utopia not so far off
as the children of this world, wise in securing their own selfish ease,
would persuade us it must always be.
We have hinted what sort of Christmas box we would wish for the