BY A LADY.
LONDON:
J. HATCHARD AND SON, 187, PICCADILLY.
1832.
LONDON:
IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.
[Pg 3]
I have some little children who are fond of listening to me while Itell them stories; but I always find, that when they are very muchpleased with one, they ask these questions: “Is it all true,mama? Is it about a real little boy and girl?” and when I am obligedto answer, “No, I do not think it is,” their countenances fall, andthey seem as if half their pleasure and half their interest were gone.Now I cannot help fancying that other little boys and girls may havethe[Pg 4] same love for true stories that mine have; so I think I will writesome and try. Would you then like to hear about some real children whoare now alive, and at the moment you read of them, most likely eitherplaying or learning their lessons, either good or naughty, just as theyare going to be described to you? You would.—Well then, Emily, Edwin,and Charles, are my children, and I will make you know them as well asif they were your own playfellows; and who can tell but you may sometime or other chance to see them, and to play with them in reality? Howdroll it would be to meet them, and to find out that they were the verychildren you had been reading about, and how surprised they would be tosee that you knew all that had ever happened[Pg 5] to them. Why, they wouldthink that you must be little fairies, and would be half afraid totrust themselves with you for fear that you should play off some elfishtrick upon them.
[Pg 7]
“Mama,” said Emily to me the other day, “I like to hear you tellCharles about God, and to see him listen as if he wanted to understandall you say, so very, very much. Do tell me how you first began toteach me, and whether I seemed to love to be taught as much as Charliedoes. I suppose you began when I was a very little girl, and now I amnearly six years old; so of course I cannot remember such a long timeago.”
[Pg 8]
“I think, dear Emily, the first time I told you any thing about Godwas when you were a little more than two years old. I had been drawingdifferent things to amuse you. After the house, and the tree, and thecow, which you so often hear little Charlie beg for, you asked me todraw the sun, and the moon, and the stars; then, lifting up your littleface, you said, ‘But, mama, who could reach up and draw those prettygreat pictures of the sun and moon that Emmie sees in the sky?’”
Emily.—“O then, mama, no doubt you told me that they were notreally pictures, but great lights which God, who is better and wiserthan we are, and can do every thing and reach every where, placed inthe sky for our sakes; and then you could easily go on to tell me,about his creating us, and taking care of us by night[Pg 9] and by day; andhow we ought to thank and to love him.
“And did I love him, mama?”
“Yes, my Emily; and I believe you thought that every thing hemade should do the