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Entered according to Act of Congress, in J une, 1869, by J. W. Burke & Cos., in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the So. District of Georgia.
Vol. Ill—No. 28.
From the Little Sower.
ETIENNE.
_
Na little Swiss village, high up
mon the side of one of the Al
pine mountains, lived Etienne.
The sunny mountain slope, with its
groves and vines, and clear, sparkling
streams, falling over the steep rocks in
cascades and waterfalls, was a pleasant
place, and Etienne had never been far
away from it.
Every spring, a portion of the vil
lagers, including men, women and half
grown girls and boys, went up past the
groves of oak ; and up, still, past where
the beeches grow ; and still up, beyond
the firs, to the rich pasture lands of the
mountain. They took with them the
donkeys and cows, and remained all
summer, only now and then, one would
come down for a little while. Near the
pasture was a house, called a chalet ,
where the women lived who made the
butter and cheese.
Above the pasture-lands grew saxi
frage, gentians and moss, and in nooks,
crevices and places sheltered from the
sun, the snow lay all summer. Higher
still, rose the white peaks of the moun
tains, the region of glaciers and eternal
snow. At sunset, these mountain-tops
gleamed like pearl, or seemed to glow'
in crimson, purple, amber, and gold.
When Etienne saw the gay procession
move away, with music and bells, and
the cows’ horns streaming with ribbons,
he thought he would like to go, too,
although his mother was to stay in the
village below. He wanted to go up
where he could watch the swift-footed
chamois leap from peak to peak, or see
the great eagles come swooping down
for their prey.
But his mother said, “No, you must
stay below to help me. We must catch
fish, and gather fagots for next winter’s
fire.”
“I don’t think I like to gather fagots,”
answered Etienne, “but would rather
catch fish.”
“We must often do what we do not
like,” said his mother. “By and by,
when you are older, 3'ou can go up the
MACON, GEORGIA, JANUARY 8, 1870.
mountain, but now you can be more
useful below.”
And so Etienne, who was really a
brave little fellow, kept back the tears,
and followed his mother through the
fields and woods, helping her as much
as he could, and not hindering her by
fretting and wishing.
“ When the cows come home, if they
have given plenty of milk, I will go to
the market-town and sell the butter and
cheese, and bring you home a Noah’s
ark,” said his mother, one day.
Then Etienne’s black eyes danced
with joy, for he had long wished for an
ark, but had no money to buy one. The
summer passed away, and there was
plenty to do. The kids needed tending,
and the bees must be watched lest they
swarm and lly away. After awhile,
there were grapes to press, and grain to
bind, and always the fagots must be kept
Whole No. 132.
in mind. He soon learned to gather his
bundle, and tie them up nicely without
being told.
Sometimes, the little boy went with
others, to fish for pike and salmon in the
clear streams, and he soon learned to
manage his line so well, that where the
stream ran swiftest, he could catch the
graining, or delicate, plaided umber.
One cool, pleasant evening, Etienne
was going home from the field, where
he had been since morning, helping his
mother and aunt. Thoughts of the ark
which his mother had promised him,
made him very happy, and he sang
softly as he walked along. Just after
they crossed the stile, a boy met them,
and said, “A large rock has been dis
lodged from the side of the mountain,
and in falling has killed one of your best
cows. ’ ’
Poor Etienne! “No ark for me,
now!” and the tears filled his eyes, till
he thought the “man in the moon”
must be grinning at him, and then he
brushed them away.
“ I will try and be more brave !” he
exclaimed. “ Mother has more reason
to be sorry than I, and, see! she
smiles !” So he put on a cheerful
countenance, and when the market-day
came around, he had almost ceased to
think about the promised ark.
But his mother had not forgotten, and
when, on her return, she unfolded the
quaint, old-fashioned toy, he declared
he was the happiest boy in all Switzer
land.
Laura Spring.
»•€>••*
If one should give me a dish of sand
and tell me there were particles of iron
in it, I might look for them with my
eyes, and search for them with my
clumsy fingers, and be unable to detect
them ; but let me take a magnet and
sweep through it, and it would draw to
itself the most inevitable particles, by
mere power of attraction. The unthank
ful heart, like my finger in the sand,
discovers no mercies ; but let the thank
ful heart sweep through the day, and, as
the magnet finds the iron, so it will find,
in every hour, some heavenly blessings
—only the iron in God’s sand is gold.