University of Virginia Library

MOTHERS' DAY [SECOND SUNDAY IN MAY]

THE LARK AND ITS YOUNG ONES A HINDU FABLE

BY P. V. RAMASWAMI RAJU [ADAPTED]

A CHILD went up to a lark and said: “Good lark, have you any young ones?”

“Yes, child, I have,” said the mother lark, “and they are very pretty ones, indeed.” Then she pointed to the little birds and said: “This is Fair Wing, that is Tiny Bill, and that other is Bright Eyes.”

“At home, we are three,” said the child, “myself and two sisters. Mother says that we are pretty children, and she loves us.”

To this the little larks replied: “Oh, yes, our mother is fond of us, too.”

“Good mother lark,” said the child, “will you let Tiny Bill go home with me and play?”

Before the mother lark could reply, Bright Eyes said: “Yes, if you will send your little sister to play with us in our nest.”

“Oh, she will be so sorry to leave home,” said the child; “she could not come away from our mother.”

“Tiny Bill will be so sorry to leave our nest,”

answered Bright Eyes, “and he will not go away from our mother.”

Then the child ran away to her mother, saying: “Ah, every one is fond of home!”

CORNELIA'S JEWELS
BY JAMES BALDWIN

IT was a bright morning in the old city of Rome many hundred years ago. In a vine-covered summer-house in a beautiful garden, two boys were standing. They were looking at their mother and her friend, who were walking among the flowers and trees.

“Did you ever see so handsome a lady as our mother's friend?” asked the younger boy, holding his tall brother's hand. “She looks like a queen.”

“Yet she is not so beautiful as our mother,” said the elder boy. “She has a fine dress, it is true; but her face is not noble and kind. It is our mother who is like a queen.”

“That is true,” said the other. “There is no woman in Rome so much like a queen as our own dear mother.”

Soon Cornelia, their mother, came down the walk to speak with them. She was simply dressed

in a plain, white robe. Her arms and feet were bare, as was the custom in those days; and no rings or chains glittered about her hands and neck. For her only crown, long braids of soft brown hair were coiled about her head; and a tender smile lit up her noble face as she looked into her sons' proud eyes.

“Boys,” she said, “I have something to tell you.”

They bowed before her, as Roman lads were taught to do, and said: “What is it, mother?”

“You are to dine with us to-day, here in the garden; and then our friend is going to show us that wonderful casket of jewels of which you have heard so much.”

The brothers looked shyly at their mother's friend. Was it possible that she had still other rings besides those on her fingers? Could she have other gems besides those which sparkled in the chains about her neck?

When the simple outdoor meal was over, a servant brought the casket from the house. The lady opened it. Ah, how those jewels dazzled the eyes of the wondering boys! There were ropes of pearls, white as milk, and smooth as satin; heaps of shining rubies, red as the glowing coals; sapphires as blue as the sky that summer day; and diamonds that flashed and sparkled like the sunlight.

The brothers looked long at the gems. “Ah!” whispered the younger; “if our mother could only have such beautiful things!”

At last, however, the casket was closed and carried carefully away.

“Is it true, Cornelia, that you have no jewels?” asked her friend. “Is it true, as I have heard it whispered, that you are poor?”

“No, I am not poor,” answered Cornelia, and as she spoke she drew her two boys to her side; “for here are my jewels. They are worth more than all your gems.”

The boys never forgot their mother's pride and love and care; and in after years, when they had become great men in Rome, they often thought of this scene in the garden. And the world still likes to hear the story of Cornelia's jewels.

QUEEN MARGARET AND THE ROBBERS

BY ALBERT F. BLAISDELL [ADAPTED]

ONE day when roses were in bloom, two noblemen came to angry words in the Temple Gardens, by the side of the river Thames. In the midst of their quarrel one of them plucked a white rose from a bush, and, turning to those who were near him, said:—

“He who will stand by me in this quarrel, let

him pluck a white rose with me, and wear it in his hat.”

Then the other gentleman tore a red rose from another bush, and said:—

“Let him who will stand by me pluck a red rose, and wear it as his badge.”

Now this quarrel led to a great civil war, which was called “The War of the Roses,” for every soldier wore a white or red rose in his helmet to show to which side he belonged.

The leaders of the “Red Rose” sided with King Henry the Sixth and his wife, Queen Margaret, who were fighting for the English throne. Many great battles were fought, and wicked deeds were done in those dreadful times.

In a battle at a place called Hexham, the king's party was beaten, and Queen Margaret and her little son, the Prince of Wales, had to flee for their lives. They had not gone far before they met a band of robbers, who stopped the queen and stole all her rich jewels, and, holding a drawn sword over her head, threatened to take her life and that of her child.

The poor queen, overcome by terror, fell upon her knees and begged them to spare her only son, the little prince. But the robbers, turning from her, began to fight among themselves as to how they should divide the plunder, and, drawing their weapons, they attacked one another. When

the queen saw what was happening she sprang to her feet, and, taking the prince by the hand, made haste to escape.

There was a thick wood close by, and the queen plunged into it, but she was sorely afraid and trembled in every limb, for she knew that this wood was the hiding-place of robbers and outlaws. Every tree seemed to her excited fancy to be an armed man waiting to kill her and her little son.

On and on she went through the dark wood, this way and that, seeking some place of shelter, but not knowing where she was going. At last she saw by the light of the moon a tall, fierce-looking man step out from behind a tree. He came directly toward her, and she knew by his dress that he was an outlaw. But thinking that he might have children of his own, she determined to throw herself and her son upon his mercy.

When he came near she addressed him in a calm voice and with a stately manner.

“Friend,” said she, “I am the queen. Kill me if thou wilt, but spare my son, thy prince. Take him, I will trust him to thee. Keep him safe from those that seek his life, and God will have pity on thee for all thy sins.”

The words of the queen moved the heart of the outlaw. He told her that he had once fought on

her side, and was now hiding from the soldiers of the “White Rose.” He then lifted the little prince in his arms, and, bidding the queen follow, led the way to a cave in the rocks. There he gave them food and shelter, and kept them safe for two days, when the queen's friends and attendants, discovering their hiding-place, came and took them far away.

If you ever go to Hexham Forest, you may see this robber's cave. It is on the bank of a little stream that flows at the foot of a hill, and to this day the people call it “Queen Margaret's Cave.”

THE REVENGE OF CORIOLANUS

BY CHARLES MORRIS [ADAPTED]

CAIUS MARCIUS was a noble Roman youth, who fought valiantly, when but seventeen years of age, in the battle of Lake Regillus, and was there crowned with an oaken wreath, the Roman reward for saving the life of a fellow soldier. This he showed with joy to his mother, Volumnia, whom he loved exceedingly, it being his greatest pleasure to receive praise from her lips.

He afterward won many more crowns in battle, and became one of the most famous of Roman soldiers. One of his memorable exploits took place during a war with the Volscians, in which the Romans attacked the city of Corioli. Through

Caius's bravery the place was taken, and the Roman general said: “Henceforth, let him be called after the name of this city.” So ever after he was known as Caius Marcius Coriolanus.

Courage was not the only marked quality of Coriolanus. His pride was equally great. He was a noble of the nobles, so haughty in demeanor and so disdainful of the commons that they grew to hate him bitterly.

At length came a time of great scarcity of food. The people were on the verge of famine, to relieve which shiploads of corn were sent from Sicily to Rome. The Senate resolved to distribute this corn among the suffering people, but Coriolanus opposed this, saying: “If they want corn, let them promise to obey the Patricians, as their fathers did. Let them give up their tribunes. If they do this we will let them have corn, and take care of them.”

When the people heard of what the proud noble had said, they broke into a fury, and a mob gathered around the doors of the Senate house, prepared to seize and tear him in pieces when he came out. But the tribunes prevented this, and Coriolanus fled from Rome, exiled from his native land by his pride and disdain of the people.

The exile made his way to the land of the Volscians and became the friend of Rome's great

enemy, whom he had formerly helped to conquer. He aroused the Volscians' ire against Rome, to a greater degree than before, and placing himself at the head of a Volscian army greater than the Roman forces, marched against his native city. The army swept victoriously onward, taking city after city, and finally encamping within five miles of Rome.

The approach of this powerful host threw the Romans into dismay. They had been assailed so suddenly that they had made no preparations for defense, and the city seemed to lie at the mercy of its foes. The women ran to the temples to pray for the favor of the gods. The people demanded that the Senate should send deputies to the invading army to treat for peace.

The Senate, no less frightened than the people, obeyed, sending five leading Patricians to the Volscian camp. These deputies were haughtily received by Coriolanus, who offered them such severe terms that they were unable to accept them. They returned and reported the matter, and the Senate was thrown into confusion. The deputies were sent again, instructed to ask for gentler terms, but now Coriolanus refused even to let them enter his camp. This harsh repulse plunged Rome into mortal terror.

All else having failed, the noble women of Rome, with Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus,

at their head, went in procession from the city to the Volscian camp to pray for mercy.

It was a sad and solemn spectacle, as this train of noble ladies, clad in their habiliments of woe, and with bent heads and sorrowful faces, wound through the hostile camp, from which they were not excluded as the deputies had been. Even the Volscian soldiers watched them with pitying eyes, and spoke no scornful word as they moved slowly past.

On reaching the midst of the camp, they saw Coriolanus on the general's seat, with the Volscian chiefs gathered around him. At first he wondered who these women could be; but when they came near, and he saw his mother at the head of the train, his deep love for her welled up so strongly in his heart that he could not restrain himself, but sprang up and ran to meet and kiss her.

The Roman matron stopped him with a dignified gesture. “Ere you kiss me,” she said, “let me know whether I speak to an enemy or to my son; whether I stand here as your prisoner or your mother.”

He stood before her in silence, with bent head, and unable to answer.

“Must it, then, be that if I had never borne a son, Rome would have never seen the camp of an enemy?” said Volumnia, in sorrowful tones.

“But I am too old to endure much longer your

shame and my misery. Think not of me, but of your wife and children, whom you would doom to death or to life in bondage.”

Then Virgilia, his wife, and his children, came forward and kissed him, and all the noble ladies in the train burst into tears and bemoaned the peril of their country.

Coriolanus still stood silent, his face working with contending thoughts. At length he cried out in heart-rending accents: “O mother! What have you done to me?”

Then clasping her hand he wrung it vehemently, saying: “Mother, the victory is yours! A happy victory for you and Rome! but shame and ruin for your son.”

Thereupon he embraced her with yearning heart, and afterward clasped his wife and children to his breast, bidding them return with their tale of conquest to Rome. As for himself, he said, only exile and shame remained.

Before the women reached home, the army of the Volscians was on its homeward march. Coriolanus never led it against Rome again. He lived and died in exile, far from his wife and children.

The Romans, to honor Volumnia, and those who had gone with her to the Volscian camp, built a temple to “Woman's Fortune,” on the spot where Coriolanus had yielded to his mother's entreaties.

THE WIDOW AM HER THREE SONS [ADAPTED] ONE day a poor woman approached Mr. Lincoln for an interview. She was somewhat advanced in years and plainly clad, wearing a faded shawl and worn hood.

“Well, my good woman,” said Mr. Lincoln, “what can I do for you this morning?”

“Mr. President,” answered she, “my husband and three sons all went into the army. My husband was killed in the battle of—. I get along very badly since then living all alone, and I thought that I would come and ask you to release to me my eldest son.”

Mr. Lincoln looked in her face for a moment, and then replied kindly:—

“Certainly! Certainly! If you have given us all, and your prop has been taken away, you are justly entitled to one of your boys.”

He then made out an order discharging the young man, which the woman took away, thanking him gratefully.

She went to the front herself with the President's order, and found that her son had been mortally wounded in a recent battle, and taken to the hospital.

She hastened to the hospital. But she was too

late, the boy died, and she saw him laid in a soldier's grave.

She then returned to the President with his order, on the back of which the attendant surgeon had stated the sad facts concerning the young man it was intended to discharge.

Mr. Lincoln was much moved by her story, and said: “I know what you wish me to do now, and I shall do it without your asking. I shall release to you your second son.”

Taking up his pen he began to write the order, while the grief-stricken woman stood at his side and passed her hand softly over his head, and stroked his rough hair as she would have stroked her boy's.

When he had finished he handed her the paper, saying tenderly, his eyes full of tears:—

“Now you have one of the two left, and I have one, that is no more than right.”

She took the order and reverently placing her hand upon his head, said:—

“The Lord bless you, Mr. President. May you live a thousand years, and may you always be the head of this great nation.”