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Gray Hairs made happy 
 
 4-; 
 
 AN INTERESTING STORY 
 FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 33robfticncc: 
 
 l 
 
 H. H. BROWN, PRINTER. 
 
 i S3 i . 
 
Youth has its pleasures; and age has 
 its cares* 
 
GRAY HAIRS MADE HAPPY, 
 
 Opposite to the house in which 
 Mary's parents lived, was a little 
 opening, ornamented with a grass 
 plot, and overshaded by a ven- 
 erable tree, commanding an ex- 
 tensive view before it. On this 
 delightlul spot, Mary used fre- 
 quently to sit in her little chair, 
 while employed in knitting stock- 
 ings for her mamma. 
 
 As she was one day thus em- 
 ployed, she saw a poor old man 
 advancing very slowly towards her. 
 His hair w 7 as as white as silver, 
 and his back bent with age; he 
 supported himself by a stick, and 
 seemed to walk with great diffi- 
 culty. " Poor man," said Mary, 
 
looking at him most tenderly, u he 
 seems to be very much in pain, 
 and perhaps is very poor, which 
 are two dreadful evils." 
 
 She also saw a number of boys, 
 who were following close behind 
 this poor old man. They passed 
 jokes upon his thread-bare coat, 
 which had very long skirts and 
 short sleeves, contrary to the fash- 
 
 It is very wicked for children to rid- 
 icule aged persons, Seel/. Kings ii, 23. 
 
ion of those days. His hat, which 
 was quite rusty, did not escape 
 their notice; his cheeks were hol- 
 low and his body thin. These 
 wicked boys no sooner saw him, 
 than they all burst out a laughing. 
 A stone lay in his way, which he 
 did not perceive, and over it he 
 stumbled, and had liked to have 
 fallen. This afforded them sport, 
 and they laughed loudly; but U 
 gave great pain to the poor old 
 man, who uttered a deep sigh. 
 
 " I once was as young as you 
 are," said he to the boys, " but I 
 did not laugh at the infirmities of 
 age, as you do. The day will 
 come in which you will be old 
 yourselves, and every day is bring- 
 ing you forward to that period. 
 You will then be sensible of the 
 impropriety of your present con- 
 duct." Having thus spoken, he 
 
6 
 
 endeavored to hobble on again, 
 and made a second slumble, when 
 in struggling to save himself from 
 falling, he dropped his cane, and 
 down he fell. On this the wicked 
 boys renewed their laugh, and 
 highly enjoyed his misfortune. 
 
 Mary, who had seen every thing 
 that had passed, could not help 
 pitying the old man's situation, 
 and therefore putting down her 
 stocking on the chair, ran towards 
 him, picked up the cane and gave 
 it him, and then taking hold of his 
 other arm, as if she had been as 
 strong as a woman, advised him 
 to lean upon her, and not mind 
 any thing the boys might say to 
 him. 
 
 The poor old man looking at 
 her very earnestly, c Sweet child/ 
 said he, ' how good you are! This 
 kindness mataesi me in a moment 
 
forget all the ill behavior of those 
 naughty boys. May you ever be 
 happy.' They then walked on 
 together; but the boys being pro- 
 bably made ashamed of their con- 
 duct by the behavior of Mary, fol- 
 lowed the old man no further. 
 
 While the boys were turning 
 about, one of them fell down also, 
 and all the rest began laughing, 
 as they had before done to the old 
 man. He was very angry with 
 them on that account, and as soon 
 as he got up, ran after his com- 
 panions, pelting them with stones. 
 He instantly became convinced, 
 how unjust it was to laugh at the 
 distresses of another, and formed 
 a resolution for the future, never 
 to laugh at any person's pain. Ha 
 followed the old man he had been 
 laughing at, though at some dis- 
 tance, wishing for an opportunity 
 
8 
 
 to do him some favor, by way of 
 atonement, for what he had done. 
 
 The good old man, in the mean 
 time, by the kind assistance of 
 Mary, proceeded with slow but 
 sure steps. She asked him to stop 
 and rest himself a little, and told 
 him, that her house was that be- 
 fore him." Ci Pray stay," said 
 she, il and sit a little under that 
 large tree. My parents, indeed, 
 are not at home, and therefore 
 you will not be so well treated; 
 yet it will be a little rest to you." 
 
 The old man accepted Mary's 
 offer. She brought him out a chair, 
 and then fetched some bread and 
 cheese and good small beer, which 
 was all the pretty maid could get 
 at. He thanked her very kindly, 
 and then entered into conversa- 
 tion with her. 
 
 u I find, my dear," said he, 
 
9 
 
 you have parents. I doubt not 
 but you love them, and they love 
 you. They must be very happy, 
 and may they always continue to 
 be so." 
 
 " And pray, good old man/ 5 
 said Mary, u I suppose you have 
 got children." u I ]iad a son," 
 replied he, " who lived in London, 
 loved me tenderly, and frequently 
 
 /■came to see me; but alas! he is 
 : now dead, and I am left disconso- 
 late. His widow, indeed, is rich; 
 
 " but she assumes the character of 
 the lady, and thinks it beneath 
 her to inquire whether I be 
 dead or living, as she does not 
 wish it to be known, that her hus- 
 band's father is a peasant." 
 
 Mary was much affected, 
 and could hardly believe that such 
 cruel people existed. "Ah! cer- 
 tain I am/ J said she, u that my 
 
10 
 
 dear mother would not behave so 
 cruelly. " He then rose and 
 thanked Mary with a blessing; 
 but she w r as determined not to 
 leave him, till she had accompan- 
 ied him a little way further. 
 
 As they walked on, they saw 
 the little boy who had been follow- 
 ing them; for he run on some way 
 beforehand was then sitting on the 
 grass. When they looked upon 
 him he cast his eyes downwards, 
 got up after they had passed^ ard 
 followed them again. Mary ob- 
 served hirn, but said nothing. 
 
 She asked the old man if he 
 lived alone. u No, little lady/' 
 answered he, " I have a cottage 
 on the other side of that meadow, 
 seated in the middle of a little 
 garden, with an orchard and a 
 small field. An old neighbor, 
 whose cottage fall down through 
 
11 
 
 age, lives with me, and cultivates 
 my ground. He is an honest man, 
 and I am perfectly easy in his so- 
 ciety; but the loss of my son still 
 bears hard upon me, nor have I 
 the happiness to see any of his 
 children, who must by this time 
 have forgotten me." 
 
 These complaints touched the 
 heart of Mary, who told him that 
 she and her mother would come 
 and see him. The sensibility 
 and kindness of this little girl, 
 served only to aggravate his grief, 
 by bringing to his mind the loss he 
 had sustained in his son. Tears 
 came in his eyes, when he pulled 
 out his handkerchief to wipe them; 
 and instead of again putting it in- 
 to his pocket, in the agitation of 
 his mind, it slipped aside, and fell 
 unnoticed by him or Mary. 
 
 The little boy who followed 
 
12 
 
 them, saw the handkerchief fall, 
 ran to pick it up, and gave it to 
 the old man, saying, " Here, good 
 old man, you dropped your hand- 
 kerchief and here it is." — " Thank 
 you heartily, my little friend/ 7 
 said the old man. u Here is a 
 good natured lad, who does not 
 ridicule old age, nor laugh at 
 the afflictions that attend it. You 
 will certainly become an honest 
 man. Come both of you to my 
 habitation, and I will give you 
 some milk." They had no soon- 
 er reached the old man's cottage, 
 than he brought out some milk, 
 and the best bread he had, which 
 though coarse, was good. They 
 all sat down upon the grass, and 
 made a comfortable repast. How- 
 ever, Mary began to be afraid 
 her parents might come home, and 
 be uneasy at her absence ; and 
 
13 
 
 the little boy was sorry to go, but 
 was sadly afraid, should he stay, 
 of being scolded by his mother. 
 
 " This mother of your's," said 
 the old man, t( must be very cross 
 to scold you." 
 
 u She is not always so," replied 
 the boy; "but though she loves 
 me, she makes me fear her." 
 
 "And your father?" " Oh, I 
 scarcely knew him, he having been 
 dead these four years." — u Dead 
 these four years!" interrupted the 
 old man, and fixing his eyes atten- 
 tively on the boy. u Is it possible 
 that I have some recollection of 
 your features? Can it be little 
 Lemuel!" — iC Yes, yes, Lemuel 
 is my name." 
 
 For a few moments the old man 
 stood motionless, and with an al- 
 tered voice, his eyes swimming 
 with tears, cried out, " My dear 
 
14 
 
 Lemuel, you do not recollect your 
 grandfather! Embrace me! xon 
 have got the very features of my 
 son! My dearest child, you was 
 not thinking of me! My son affec- 
 tionately loved me, and his son 
 will love me also. My old age 
 will not be so miserable as I ex- 
 pected, and the evening of my 
 life will not pass without some joy. 
 I shall depart in peace ! — But I 
 forget that by detaining you, I 
 may expose you to your .mother's 
 anger. Go, my dear child, for I 
 do not wish that my joy should 
 cost you tears. Go, love your 
 mother, and obey her commands, 
 even though you should not come 
 and see me. Come and see me 
 if you can; but do not disobey or 
 tell a story on any account." 
 He then turned to Mary, and 
 
5 
 
 said, though he then did not wish 
 her to stay, for fear of offending 
 her parents, yet he hoped she 
 would come again* He then dis- 
 missed them, giving them a hear- 
 ty blessing, and the two children 
 walked away hand in hand. » 
 
 Mary got home safe before her 
 parents, who were not long after 
 "ier, when she told them every 
 thing that had passed, which fur- 
 nished an agreeable conversation 
 for the evening. 
 
 The next day, they all went to 
 see the good old man, and after- 
 wards frequently repeated their 
 visits. Lemuel also came to see 
 his grandfather, who was rejoiced 
 to hear him speak, and to receive 
 is affectionate caresses. Lem- 
 uel, on his side, was equally re- 
 joiced, excepting when he did not 
 
 3 SI U5 2J 
 
16 
 
 meet with Mary; for then he went 
 home sorrowful and sad. 
 
 The nearer Lemuel arrived to 
 manhood, the more his affections 
 for Mary increased; and accord- 
 ingly, when he was old enough to 
 marry, he would think of no oth- 
 er woman, though she was not 
 rich. The old man lived to see 
 them married and happy, and 
 then finally closed his eyes in 
 peace. 
 
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