THERE was once a dear child named Ada, who was of so sweet a temper that she only knew how to love; and the consequence was, that everybody and everything that could know her, loved the sweet little girl in return. I do not believe that a servant in her father’s family ever spoke unkindly to Ada, she was so good. There are but few of my young readers, I am afraid, that can say so of themselves. Cook scolds, the chambermaid is so cross, and nurse is out of temper, whenever you come near them. Yes, you know all that; but, my young friends, I am afraid it is all your own fault. Now, examine closely your own feelings and conduct, and see if you do not make this trouble for yourselves. Do you always speak kindly to those around you; and do you always try to give them as little trouble as possible?
As for Ada, everybody loved her; and the reason, as I have already stated, was plain: she didn’t know any feeling toward others except that of love. Even the dumb animals would come to her side when she appeared. The cat would rub against her, and purr as she sat in her little chair; and when she went out to play among the flowers, would run after her just as you have seen a favourite dog run after his master. She never passed Lion, the watch-dog, that he didn’t wag his great tail, or turn his head to look after her; and if she stopped and spoke to or put her hand upon him, his old limbs would quiver with delight, and his face would actually laugh like a human face. And why was this? It was because love prompted Ada to kind acts towards everything. Love beamed from her innocent countenance, and gave a music to her voice that all ears, even those of dumb animals, were glad to hear. Yes, everything loved Ada, because she was good.
The father of gentle, loving Ada was a rich English lord—a certain class of wealthy and distinguished men in England, as most young readers know, are called lords—and he had a great estate some miles from London, in which were many animals; among them, herds of deer. When Ada was three or four years old, her father went to live on this estate. Around the fine old mansion into which they removed were stately trees, green lawns, and beautiful gardens; and a short distance away, and concealed from view by a thick grove, was the park where roamed the graceful deer.
Under the shade of those old trees, upon the smoothly-shaven lawn, or amid the sweet flowers in the garden, Ada spent many hours every day, one of the happiest of beings alive.
One morning—it was a few weeks after Ada had come to live in this fair and beautiful place—she strayed off a short distance from the house, being lured away by the bright wild flowers that grew thickly all around, and with which she was filling her apron. At last, when her tiny apron would not hold a blossom more without pushing off some other flower, Ada looked up from the ground, and discovered that she was out of sight of her house, and among trees which stood so thickly together that the sky could scarcely be seen overhead, nor the light beyond, when she endeavoured to look between the leafy branches. But Ada did not feel afraid, for she knew no cause for fear. She loved everything, and she felt that everything loved her. There was not any room in her heart for fear.
Still Ada felt too much alone, and she turned and sought to find her way out of the woods and get back again. While yet among the trees, she heard a noise of feet approaching; and turning, she saw an animal that was unlike any she had seen before. It came up close to her, and neither of them felt afraid. It was a fawn, only a few months old. The fawn looked into Ada’s face with its dark bright eyes, and when she spoke to it, and laid her hand upon its head, the young creature pressed lovingly against the child.
When Ada found her way out of the woods, and came again upon the green lawn, the young deer was close by her side. As soon as Lion saw the fawn, he gave a loud bark, and came dashing toward the timid creature. But Ada put her arm around its neck, and said,—
“Don’t be afraid. Lion won’t hurt you. Lion is a good dog.”
And Lion seemed to understand the act of Ada, for he stopped short before he reached them, wagged his tail, and looked curiously at the new companion which Ada had found. First he walked round and round, as if the whole matter was not clear to him. He had chased deer in his time, and did not seem to understand why he was not to sink his great teeth into the tender flank of the gentle creature that had followed his young mistress from the woods. But he soon appeared to get light on this difficult subject, for he came up to be patted by Ada, and did not even growl at the fawn, nor show any disposition to hurt it.
The fawn would not stay in the park after this. Ada’s father had it taken back once or twice, but before the day was gone it managed to escape, and came to see its newly-found friend. After this it was permitted to remain; and every day little Ada fed it with her own hand. When others of the family approached, the timid creature would start away; but when Ada appeared, it came with confidence to her side.
Ada had a brother two years older than she was. He was different from his sister in not having her innocent mind and loving heart. Sometimes he indulged in a cruel disposition, and often he was ill-tempered. When William saw the fawn he was delighted, and tried to make friends with the gentle animal. But the fawn was afraid of him, and when he tried to come near would run away, or come up to Ada. Then, if William put his hand on it to caress it, the fawn would shrink closer to Ada, and tremble. William did not like it because the fawn would not be friends with him, and wondered why it should be afraid of him, and not of Ada. He did not think that it was because Ada was so good, while he let evil tempers come into his heart.
“But how could the fawn know this?” ask my young readers. “The fawn couldn’t see what was in William’s heart.”
No; for if it could have done so, it would have been wiser than a human being. But all good affections, let it be remembered, as well as all evil affections, represent themselves in the face, and picture themselves in the eyes; and there is, besides, a sphere of what is good or evil about every one, according to the heart’s affections—just as the sphere of a rose is around the flower in its odour, showing its quality. Animals, as well as human beings, can read, by a kind of instinct, the good or evil of any one in his face, and perceive, by a mysterious sense, the sphere of good or evil that surrounds him.
You do not clearly understand this, my young reader; nevertheless it is so. If you are good, others will know it at a glance, and feel it when you come near them. And the same will be the case if your hearts are evil.
Ada’s pet fawn stayed with her many months, and nothing harmed it. The horns began to push forth, like little knobs, from its head; and afterwards it grew up to be a stately deer, and was sent back to the park. Ada often went to see her favourite, which now had a pair of beautiful branching antlers. It always knew her, and would come up to her side and lick her hand when she held it forth.
Such power has love over even a brute animal.
