Twilight And Dawn.
by Caroline Pridham.
"Everywhere, everywhere A tale is told to me-- It is told in the sunny air, It is told on the sparkling sea.
"It is told in the forest brakes, It is told on the purple hills, By the silent mountain lakes, By the singing and leaping rills.
"In the meadows that stretch away As a sea of golden green, With hedges of sweet white may And the reedy brooks between.
"Where I wander and run and rest, The tale is told to me, The sweetest tale and the best Of all the tales that be.
"The tale is the tale of Jesus; It is told in heaven above, On the sea and the moors and the mountains, In language of all the peoples, The speech of love.
"The morning star and the dayspring, The sun and the cloud and the shower, The gra.s.s and the rose and the cedar, His glory and love are telling From hour to hour.
"The birds in the green wood singing, The sea that is wide and deep, The sheep in the folds of the mountains, The corn in the golden valleys, And all beside.
"All round me are glorious pictures Of him who has made them fair; Through the long bright day I can see Him, And I fear not the silent darkness, For He is there,"
--FRANCES BEVAN.
Taken, by permission, from _Hymns by Ter Steegen and Others_ Second series.
INTRODUCTORY.
Ten years have pa.s.sed since this book was first published, and in issuing a third edition it seems desirable to say a few words as to the object with which it was written, and to explain why some additions and alterations have been made.
The earlier chapters remain pretty much as they were, but the latter have been recast; and the writer"s original endeavour to show that the Story of Creation is not the Story of Evolution, as set forth in many attractive but misleading books for the young, has been more constantly kept in view.
It is hoped that by this means the end sought may be better reached, and that the young readers may be furnished with the truth before they meet with false teaching on this important point. The mind which has been carefully grounded in what is true may confidently be expected to detect and refuse what is erroneous, however fair may be its show; and if the need for early training on the lines marked out for us in Scripture was apparent some years ago, how much more imperative is it now, when the authority of G.o.d and of His Word is questioned on every hand?
It has been argued, with some reason, that the early chapters of these "Simple Talks" are "too childish" when compared with the latter part of the book; but it may be said in excuse for this seeming inconsistency that the wish of the writer was to furnish a.s.sistance to mothers and those who train young children. She therefore began at the beginning, intending the early chapters to be read aloud, with additions and omissions, as the young listeners were "able to bear." These chapters, therefore, are full of repet.i.tions, of which the young mind does not weary, but which are necessary as long as it can only receive "here a little and there a little," without overstrain.
The later chapters will be found more suited to children of larger growth, who will be able to enjoy reading for themselves, without needing the "line upon line and precept upon precept," apart from which it is vain to attempt to teach the little ones.
How imperfectly the work is done will be manifest to those who know anything of the subjects, which are touched upon rather than explained. The difficulty of deciding how much to tell, and how much to leave untold, has sometimes made the writer"s task seem an almost impossible one; but she has taken courage to go on by remembering a wise saying--that if we shrink from attempting any little work which comes in our way from the fear of making mistakes, it is easy to make the great mistake of doing nothing at all.
If what has been a labour of love to the writer should be of some interest and profit to readers, young or old, that labour will be amply repaid.
The book is now sent forth again, with prayer that He who said, "Suffer the children to come unto Me," and who "took them up in His arms, put His hands on them, and blessed them," may be pleased to use it in His service and for His glory.
EVESHAM.
TWILIGHT AND DAWN.
G.o.d"S BOOK.
"_As the cold of snow in the time of harvest, so is a faithful messenger to them that send him: for he refresheth the soul of his masters._"--PROVERBS xxv. 13.
"_The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times._"--PSALM xii. 6.
I wonder whether you are as fond of asking questions as I was long ago--so fond that I did not mind asking them when I well knew I could get no answers, because I spoke to things, not to people who could speak to me again?
Still, if any mere thing could be supposed capable of answering for itself, I think a book might; and so perhaps as you take this book of mine into your hand, and run away to some quiet place to have a look at it, you may be taking it into your confidence, and asking it some such questions as these:
(_a_) What are you all about? Are you a lesson-book?
(_b_) Have you any stories--real stories, not made-up ones?
(_c_) Any pictures?
(_d_) I wonder whether I shall like you? Does the person who made you like children, and know the sort of things they care for?
Now before you put any more questions to my book, I will answer for it; and that we may not miss any, we will call them questions (_a_), (_b_), (_c_), (_d_), and answer one at a time.
Your first question (_a_)--the first part of it at least--is what grown people as well as children have a right to ask of a book; and it would be a poor thing for the book to answer, "Oh, I am about nothing in particular! I can"t quite tell you why I was written." But most books are about something in particular, and what that is you can best find out by reading them right through; for many people miss their way in a book by beginning at the end and travelling backwards, or beginning about the middle, and not knowing whether to go backwards or forwards. So you see I want you to find out for yourself the answer to question (_a_), only I will just say that the book is mostly about your own dwelling-place. I do not mean your body, though that is, in one sense, your dwelling-place; neither do I mean your own home, nor even that part of England where you were born. By your own dwelling-place I mean this wonderful world which you see all around you, where G.o.d has made so much for you to see and enjoy; and learn about too, that you may use and enjoy it better.
[Ill.u.s.tration: GOOD-BYE TO THE SWALLOWS]
So you will find in this book something about the firm ground upon which you trod as soon as you were old enough to run about the fields and pick the daisies. Something too about the blue sky, where the lark sings and the swallows fly; and the great wide sea, where the fishes live; and a little about what the Bible tells us of how all that you see around you came to be; long, long ago, when everything was quite new and beautiful, and G.o.d said that all that He had made was "very good."
"Then it is a lesson-book?" I hear you say.
Yes, in one way, and yet not quite all lessons, for you will find some stories here too.
And now I must answer the (_b_) question about these same stories, for I want you to know, before you begin to read them, that they are all true, and there is no pretending or making-up about them.
Question (_c_), about the pictures, you can soon answer for yourself; so now I have only the (_d_) question to answer, and I can only say for my book, that I do not know whether or not you will care for it; but I do know that the person who made it loves children, and very much likes teaching them and talking to them. And that you may better understand that I know something about children, I will explain that, though I am only talking to you just now, I shall tell you in this book the very same things which I told to some children who came every morning to do their lessons at my house, three or four years ago--at least, I will write down for you all I can remember of the talks these children and I had together, and I will tell you the same true stories which I told them. I used to ask them to give me their ears, and I must ask you to give me your eyes; for writing is different from talking, is it not? You cannot look up in my face and ask me questions as my children did; and when I ask you a question, I cannot hear you answer, but am obliged to fancy what you would be likely to say. Still, I think we shall be friends, and get to know each other a little, even by means of this dumb-show talk, as I speak to you with my hand and you listen to me with your eyes.
And now I want to tell you about my children. It was a beautiful morning in September when I opened the schoolroom door, and found them, all the seven, sitting round the table, waiting to begin school again, for the long summer holidays were over. I was afraid they would think it rather hard to sit still and do lessons, especially when the sun was shining brightly and it was as pleasant a day as could be out of doors; but as I looked at their bright faces, I thought they did not seem as if they minded coming back to school so very much after all.
I wonder what you feel like, when the holidays are over and your little work-a-day world begins again? Does it seem too bad to be true? or are you just a tiny bit glad to have something that you really must do, instead of all play and no work? Do you know--and you remember I told you I knew children pretty well--I have actually met with girls, and boys too, who have sometimes, especially on a very wet day in the holidays, found this delightful having nothing to do all day long harder work than the most difficult of their lessons?
And now for the names of my children. You would like to know them, would you not? for they are real boys and girls, not children in a story book.
My eldest boy was Ernest, and he sat at the bottom of the table, opposite the place where I always sat, and where someone had put a chair for me.
Next in age came Charlotte, Ernest"s sister; and then Chrissie, the elder brother of Eustace and d.i.c.k. I put Sharley and Chrissie together, because they were both ten years old and did most of their lessons out of the same books. Next came another little pair: May, Ernest"s younger sister, and Eustace. Last of all, the little ones: Ernest"s youngest brother, Leslie, and Chrissie"s youngest brother, d.i.c.k. These little boys were only six years old.
Now that you know the ages of my children you will be able to tell whether any of them were about your own age; perhaps you may be older than Chrissie and Sharley, or even Ernest, who was nearly twelve, but I am quite sure that if you are younger than any of my elder children, you will be able to understand some of the lessons which we had from the Bible every morning.