And, oh! how ungrateful and cruel will he be, if he neglect that
mother, and by his unkindness cause her to weep! But you see that he
looks like a noble-hearted boy. His countenance seems to say, "Dear
mother, do not cry; if ever I grow up to be a man, you shall never
want, if I can help it." Oh, who can help loving the boy who loves his
mother!
There was a little boy about thirteen years old, whose name was
Casablanca. His father was the commander of a ship of war called the
Orient. The little boy accompanied his father to the seas. His ship
was once engaged in a terrible battle upon the river Nile. In the
midst of the thunders of the battle, while the shot were flying
thickly around, and strewing the decks with blood, this brave boy
stood by the side of his father, faithfully discharging the duties
which were assigned to him. At last his father placed him in a
particular part of the ship to be performing some service, and told
him to remain in his post till he should call him away. As the father
went to some distant part of the ship to notice the progress of the
battle, a ball from the enemy's vessel laid him dead upon the deck.
But the son, unconscious of his father's death, and faithful to the
trust he posed in him, remained in his post, waiting for his father's
orders. The battle raged dreadfully around him. The blood of the
slain flowed at his feet. The ship took fire, and the threatening
flames drew nearer and nearer.
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