Ethel's Sunday-School Lesson.
"BLESSED are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." That was little Ethel's text; and she was trying to learn it, by saying it over and over again, as she walked up and down the sitting-room. I was sitting by the window, reading a volume of Littell's Living Age; and my dog Ponto was stretched out before the fire, right in Ethel's way, as she walked the floor. So it happened that, in the middle of the verse, she stumbled, and lost her temper. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall—there, take that, you clumsy dog, always in everybody's way." So saying, she gave him a spiteful kick, which he returned with a spiteful snap, which tore a hole in her "go to meetin'" frock. Then she picked up a poker to give him a blow; but Ponto seized it so savagely that I was afraid he would really bite her, and I was forced to send him out of the room, and take Ethel in my lap to stop her crying. "I am very glad you lost your temper," said I. She wiped her eyes at once, and asked in great wonder:— "Oh, because it was a very bad temper; and I hope that, now you've lost it, you'll get a better one to take its place." "Where can I get it?" she inquired. "Out of your verse, which you have learned how to say, but have not yet learned how to practice." "How do you know I shouldn't practice it? I've had no chance yet to try." "Yes, you did have a first-rate chance to practice it on Ponto; and you didn't do it," was my answer. "What!" cried the little girl, "practice Sunday-school lessons on dogs!" "Certainly," said I, "did you never hear that 'a merciful man is merciful to his beast?' And a merciful Ethel will be merciful to Ponto. Your lessons will not do you much good, unless the dog and the cat and all your pets get the benefit of them." Ethel shook her head at that, and wanted to know if Sunday-schools were not meant to fit boys and girls to go to Heaven, and live with the angels. So I had to tell her that they certainly were meant for that. "But first," I said, "they must fit them to live on the earth." "Besides," I added, "no one who kicks a dog that hasn't done him any harm will ever live with the angels." Well, I can't tell you all the questions she asked me, and all I said to her in return; but what it amounted to was this:— "When a little stream flows out of a spring, everybody and everything gets the benefit of it. The fishes swim in it, the flowers drink of it, the trees drink of it, birds, dogs, cattle, men, women, and children, too, all drink of it, and are helped, strengthened, and refreshed. So, when one of your Sunday-school lessons has been perfectly learned by one who is eager to practice it, it will do some good to everybody and everything he meets. Dogs, cats, and birds will get the benefit of it, as well as men, women, and children. Let me see how boys and girls treat animals, and I can tell pretty nearly how much good their Sunday-school lessons have done them." "Did you ever see any one throw stones at a kitten, or torment a poor dog with snow-balls, or stand at the corner of a street and knock down the swallows that were flying near the ground? I have seen such things, and I have said to myself: 'That boy (or girl) has not yet learned his Sunday-school lesson.' For I think that every lesson of kindness which is good to be practiced toward human beings is also good to be practiced toward birds and dogs and other creatures." Just then we heard Ponto scratching at the door, and Ethel jumped down from my lap, saying:— "I'll practice my lesson on Ponto." And, when she let him in, they were friends directly, and began to frolic so merrily that I could scarcely read my book. But, before Ethel went to bed, I read her these lines from the book, which she afterwards learned, and recited to her teacher at Sunday-school:— He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast;
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All creatures, great and small,
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.