CHILDREN'S BOOK
COLLECTION
LIBRARY OF THE ^f
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ^S
LOS ANGELES
No. 38.
THE
FARMER AND SOLDIER.
BY MRS. L. H. 8IGOURNEY.
[FOCKDID ox r
PUBLISHED BY
THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
No. 150 Nassau-street,
New-York.
THE
FARMER AND SOLDIER.
IT was a cold evening in winter. A
lamp cast its cheerful ray from the win-
dow of a small farm-house in one of the
villages of New-England. A fire was
burning brightly on the hearth, and two
brothers sat near it. Several school-
books lay by them on the table, from.
which they had been studying their
lessons for the ensuing day. Their pa-
4 THE FARMER [84
rents had retired to rest, and the boys
were conversing earnestly. The youn-
gest, who was about thirteen years of
age, said,
" John, I mean to be a soldier."
"Why so, lames'?"
" Because I have been reading the life
of Alexander of Macedon, and also a
good deal about Napoleon Bonaparte.
I think they were the greatest men that
ever lived. There is nothing in this
world like the glory of the warrior."
" I cannot think it is glorious to do
so much harm. To destroy great multi-
tudes of innocent men. and to make such
mourning in families, and so much po-
verty and misery in the world, seems to
me more cruel than glorious."
" O, but then to be so honored, and to
have so many soldiers under your com-
mand, and the fame of such mighty vic-
tories, what glory can there be to com-
pare with this T'
" James, our good minister told us, in
his sermon last Sunday, that the end of
life was the test of its greatness. Now,
85] AND SOLDIER. 5
if I recollect right, Alexander, he that
you call the Great, got intoxicated, and
died like a madman ; and Napoleon was
imprisoned in a desolate island, like a
chained wild beast, for all the world to
gaze and wonder at. :)
"John, your ideas are very limited.
You certainly are not capable of admir-
ing heroes. You are just fit for a farmer.
I dare say that to break a pair of steers
is the height of your ambition, and to
spend your days in ploughing and hoe-
ing and reaping is all the glory you
would desire."
The voice of their father was now
heard calling-: " Boys, go to bed." And so
ended their conversation for that night.
Thirty years passed away, and the
same season again returned. From the
same window a bright lamp gleamed,
and on the same hearth was a cheerful
fire. The building wore an unaltered ap-
pearance, but its inmates were changed.
The parents, who had then retired to
their sleeping apartments, had now gone
6 THE FARMER [86
down to the deeper rest of the grave.
They were pious, and their virtues were
held in sweet remembrance among the
peaceful inhabitants of their native vil-
lage. In the chairs which they used to
occupy sat their eldest son and his wife.
A babe lay in the cradle near them, and
two other little ones were breathing
quietly from their trundle-bed, in the
profound slumber of childhood. A blast
with snow beat against the casement.
