THE POOB HOME.
THE REWARD OF
G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET.
NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.
SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
THE GIANT HANDS.
POOR lit-tle Wil-lie re-turn-ed from the for-est la-den with
as much wood as his fee-ble strength could bear. He was
hun-gry and wea-ry, and had a great sor-row at his heart, for
he had lost his fa-ther in the ear-ly spring, leav-ing his mo-ther
to toil for a scant live-li-hood to sup-port her-self and him.
He threw the wood up-on the cin-ders on the hearth, and
quick-ly rais-ed a cheer-ful blaze, at which he warm-ed his
na-ked, swol-len feet, as he watch-ed the smoke ma-king its fan-
tas-tic ed-dies up the wide chim-ney, and a-midst the raf-ters of
the low roof. He heav-ed a deep sigh; for he saw no pot up-on
the fire, which ought to have been bub-bling up with their
fru-gal din-ner: but, a-las! they had none.
"This must not be any long-er," thought he, "for I am
get-ting ve-ry big and strong, and have a pair of hands that
ought not to be i-dle. As my poor mo-ther gets weak-er, I should
work for her; and as I grow in-to a man, she should not work any
more, but sit by the fire and get the din-ner rea-dy, which I shall
then be a-ble to la-bour for."
MEETING THE HANDS.
Wil-lie was of an in-dus-tri-ous mind, and did not love to sit
i-dle when e-ven his ti-ny strength might be used to some end.
So he sat and lis-ten-ed for the foot-step of his poor mo-ther,
who, he knew, would come home, wea-ri-ed with la-bour, to share
her scan-ty crust with her boy.
He had not to wait long be-fore the latch lift-ed, and his
mo-ther en-ter-ed. She kiss-ed him, and threw her-self in-to a
chair, with the tears of fa-tigue and ex-haus-tion in her eyes.
He em-bra-ced her, and whis-per-ed in-to her ear his firm re-
solve to start out in-to the world, and seek for la-bour, that he
might no long-er be a bur-then to her. Her heart sank at the
i-dea; but she saw no o-ther means to save them from star-va-tion,
as her fail-ing strength gave warn-ing of the in-e-vi-ta-ble e-vil.
The morn-ing a-rose bright and cheer-ful. The old lock-er
was o-pen-ed, and his on-ly shoes, trea-sur-ed for high-days and
ho-li-days, were ta-ken out and brush-ed up, as was al-so his best
suit, which was in-deed ve-ry lit-tle bet-ter than the care-ful-ly
mend-ed suit of his e-ve-ry-day wear. He, how-e-ver, thought
him-self ve-ry fine, and felt that his ap-pear-ance would act as a
re-com-men-da-tion in his fa-vour.
They sat down to break-fast: it was a ve-ry tear-ful one,
and, with a strange feel-ing, they a-void-ed each o-ther's looks,
hop-ing to hide their tears one from the o-ther.
Oh! it want-ed a great re-so-lu-tion for poor Wil-lie to say,
"Well! dear mo-ther, I must be start-ing;" but he did do it at
last, al-though it was af-ter ma-ny strug-gles to keep down the
beat-ings of his heart.
TH~fE FIRST ASSISTANCE.
His mo-ther heard him with a be-wil-der-ed look, as if she
heard the pro-po-sal for the first time; and her grief burst forth
with un-con-trol-la-ble vi-o-lence as she threw her arms round
his neck with an a-go-ny on-ly known to a fond mo-ther.
He tried to cor-fort her, and to smile through his tears, as
he put on his hat with a re-so-lute thump, seiz-ed up-on his stick
and wal-let, and lift-ed the latch of the door that was to o-pen
for his bold en-trance in-to the world, so full of pro-mise to him.
Again they lin-ger-ed in their lit-tle gar-den, where e-ve-ry
flow-er seem-ed an old friend to be part-ed with: a-gain the
tears and the em-bra-ces. At last the lit-tle gate was swung wide
o-pen, and Wil-lie step-ped bold-ly forth. His mo-ther co-ver-ed
her face and wept. He turn-ed to-wards her with ir-re-so-lu-
tion: he felt how dif-fi-cult it was to leave one so dear and af.
fec-tion-ate; but his du-ty was sim-ple, and he would do it:
with one more good bye," he was gone on his way weep-ing.
The lark rose in the morn-ing sky, and sang her joy-ous
song. The sweet, bal-my air of ear-ly day cool-ed his throb-bing
brow, and his tears gra-du-al-ly ceas-ed to flow; but his lit-tle
breast heav-ed now and then with sobs as the storm of grief sub-
si-ded. His foot-steps grew quick-er the far-ther he left his
home be-hind; for be-fore him lay the land of pro-mise, and his
lit-tle brain was full of dreams of suc-cess, and the con-se-quent
joy that would be at his heart when he re-trod those ve-ry
fields on his re-turn, la-den with rich-es to throw in-to his
As these thoughts rush-ed through his mind, they gave him
THE LITTLE TENT.
much cor-fort; and he even hum-med an air as he trot-ted on,
to show his man-li-ness and cou-rage.
Pre-sent-ly, as he pass-ed through a val-ley which was la-den
with the sweets of wild flow-ers that bloom-ed on ei-ther side,
a cu-ri-ous and al-most trans-pa-rent flee-cy cloud ap-pear-ed
a-cross his path, from which a-rose two e-nor-mous hands. He
start-ed, and well he might, for he saw no-bo-dy be-long-ing to
them: no, there they were, on-ly hands. There was no fear of
them, for they were spread o-pen up-on the grass be-fore him
with-out the slight-est ex-pres-sion of threat-en-ing in them.
As he stood ga-zing with won-der up-on them, a voice, which
ap-pear-ed to pro-ceed from the cloud, said,-
Wil-lie, be not a-fraid: I know the praise-wor-thy er-rand
that you are on, and I come to be-friend you. Per-se-vere in
your de-sire to be in-dus-tri-ous, and I will be e-ver rea-dy to
as-sist you. I shall be in-vi-si-ble to all eyes but yours, and
will work when the need ap-pears. Come on, then, and fear
not; the road to suc-cess is o-pen to you, as it al-ways is to
Thank you, good hands," said Wil-lie; I am sure you
mean me good, for I am too lit-tle for you to wish to harm."
The arms va-nish-ed, and Wil-lie pro-ceed-ed on his way.
He felt so re-as-su-red by this ex-tra-or-di-na-ry ad-ven-ture,
which pro-mi-sed so well for his fu-ture suc-cess, that he leap-ed
and dan-ced a-long his path with ex-cite-ment and de-light: he
look-ed for-ward to no ob-sta-cle to stop him in his ca-reer, and
he pur-su-ed his way re-joic-ing.
THE OGRESS S CASTLE.
How-e-ver, as the day grew on, he slack-en-ed his pace, for
the un-ac-cus-tom-ed fa-tigue be-gan to tell up-on his frame; so
at last he threw him-self up-on the grass, and look-ed up-wards
to the blue sky, and watch-ed the flee-cy clouds pur-sue each
o-ther a-cross the bound-less ex-panse of the hea-vens. As he
lay, half dream-ing, he thought he heard some-thing like the
roll-ing of thun-der: he lis-ten-ed with great-er at-ten-tion,
un-til he was as-sur-ed there was some cause in his close vi-ci-
ni-ty for the un-u-su-al and cu-ri-ous sounds. He a-rose, and
pro-ceed-ed to-wards the di-rec-tion of the sounds, which grew
loud-er and loud-er as he ad-van-ced; when, com-ing to the
edge of a pre-ci-pice, he be-held a grand and aw-ful rush of
foam-ing wa-ters, which threw them-selves head-long down the
riv-en rocks with a deaf-en-ing roar and tu-mult.
He look-ed from right to left, and his way seem-ed bar-red
by this tre-men-dous ob-sta-cle. His heart fail-ed him as he
saw how im-pos-si-ble it was for him to pro-ceed: in-deed, as
he sat him-self down on the edge of the ca-ta-ract, he could not
help weep-ing at his un-ex-pect-ed di-lem-ma.
He had not been ma-ny mi-nutes in-dul-ging in his grief,
when he felt him-self gent-ly lift-ed from the ground by a
gi-gan-tic hand, which pass-ed him high a-bove the threat-en-ing
wa-ters, and pla-ced him in safe-ty on the op-po-site bank. As
the hand put him on his feet, it be-came in-dis-tinct; but be-fore
it had quite van-ish-ed, Wil-lie took off his hat, and, bow-ing,
said,-" Thank you kind-ly, good hand; you have kept your
TIE OGRESS' CASTLE.
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Cer-tain now that the fai-ry hands were not a dream, which
he had real-ly be-gun to think them, his cou-rage rose with the
con-vic-tion of the pro-tec-tion which sur-round-ed him from
their great pow-er and good-will to-wards him.
He soon came to a dense wood, where the gi-gan-tic trees,
with gnarl-ed and twist-ed trunks, wound their e-nor-mous
limbs a-round each o-ther in the most fan-tas-tic forms, and the
tan-gled un-der-wood twi-ned like snakes a-cross the path, as if
to for-bid any ven-tu-rous foot from en-ter-ing into the dark
green depths. He, how-e-ver, look-ed up-on all such ob-sta-cles
as no-thing in com-pa-ri-son with the last which he had been
en-a-bled to sur-mount with the as-sist-ance of the hands. So
he plun-ged on, strik-ing right and left, to clear his way, with
his good stick. As he was lay-ing a-bout with a right good
will, he was brought to a stand-still by a fe-ro-ci-ous growl.
He turn-ed his eyes a-round, and be-held, much to his dis-may,
a fierce wolf pre-par-ing to spring up-on him. He shrank down
with ter-ror as he look-ed up-on the white teeth and fi-e-ry eyes
of the sa-vage brute, and gave him-self up for lost, when, to his
joy, one of the great hands e-mer-ged from a-midst the thick
fo-li-age of a tree, and pla-ced it-self be-tween him and his
en-e-my; at the same time the o-ther hand seiz-ed the wolf,
and crush-ed it in its grasp.
Wil-lie fell on his knees, and re-turn-ed thanks for his
de-li-ver-ance; then, look-ing round for the hands, he found
they had va-nish-ed.
Wea-ri-ed with his jour-ney, he sat down un-der a tree, de-
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THEIt KIITCHEN O1F TH-E OGII SS.
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ter-min-ed to rest for the night; and pull-ing out his wal-let,
pre-par-ed to re-fresh him-self with part of its con-tents, for he
had scarce-ly eat-en any all day, so com-plete-ly had he been
ta-ken up by the won-der-ful ap-pear-ance of the good hands.
Af-ter fi-nish-ing his meal, which he did with ex-ceed-ing
rel-ish, he be-gan to turn o-ver in his mind how he was to make
up his bed in his ve-ry large bed-cham-ber, for it ap-pear-ed as if
he had got the great fo-rest all to him-self. When he had
col-lect-ed a suf-fi-ci-en-cy of dri-ed leaves to-ge-ther to make
his rest-ing place soft-er, he pre-par-ed to lie down, when,
to his as-to-nish-ment and de-light, he be-held the4gi-gan-tic
hands spread them-selves over him, with the fin-gers en-
twin-ed, ma-king for him the most per-fect lit-tle tent in the
world. How his heart bound-ed with gra-ti-tude to-wards the
good fai-ry hands, as he felt how safe-ly he might in-dulge in
his slum-bers be-neath such pro-tec-tion!
Thank you a-gain, good hands," said he, "for your kind
care of me; but be-fore I say my pray-ers, can-not you, since you
are so pow-er-ful, tell me some-thing of my dear mo-ther-whe-
ther she is more con-so-led, and whe-ther she has food to eat?"
"Good Wil-lie," re-plied a voice, your mo-ther knows
that you will be pro-tect-ed, as all good chil-dren are; and
she has food, for she is in-dus-tri-ous; her hands were giv-en
to her from my king-dom, in which no i-dle hands are ever made,
as you shall know from me here-af-ter. Sleep, then, in peace,
that you may rise pre-pa-red for la-bour on the com-ing morn."
So Wil-lie slept.
7, 1r~I ',~l c
THE DEATH" OF THE OGRESS.
Wil-lie was ear-ly a-foot; for the day, ac-cord-ing to the
hands, was to be a day of la-bour, with its fruits. He soon left
the wood be-hind him, and saw a large cas-tle before him.
"Here, sure-ly, is some-thing to be done," thought he; so
he leapt up the steps, and tri-ed to raise the knock-er, but it
was too hea-vy for his pu-ny strength. In an in-stant the hands
ap-pear-ed, and knock-ed such a dou-ble knock, that it e-cho-ed
like thun-der through the val-ley, and you might have heard it
rum-bling a-way on the dis-tant moun-tains.
The door o-pen-ed with a sud-den jerk, and the mis-tress of
the man-sion ap-pear-ed. The mo-ment Wil-lie saw her, he
back-ed down the steps, for she was an o-gress, and as ug-ly as
o-gress-es ge-ne-ral-ly are. She gla-red up-on the lit-tie-man who
she sup-po-sed had giv-en that great knock, with sur-prise and
as-to-nish-ment; and then, in a voice like a ve-ry hoarse ra-ven,
"' How dar-ed you to knock like that at my door, you lit-tle
var-let? You have put me all in a twit-ter."
Wil-lie trem-bling-ly took off his hat, and re-pli-ed in an hum-
ble voice, "' If you please, prin-cess, I wish-ed to know whe-ther
you want-ed a ser-vant to as-sist in your mag-ni-fi-cent cas-tle."
A ser-vant, brat!" said she; what can you do ?"
Any-thing to please your high-ness, for I want to work."
Oh, oh! do you? Then, come in, for my ser-vants have all
left me be-cause I don't put my work out," said she.
With that, Wil-lie en-ter-ed, and soon found that he had
plen-ty to do; for his first job was to get the o-gress's din-ner
- e- 2 I fi
ready, who, in truth, had no de-li-cate ap-pe-tite, for the pro-
vi-si-on con-sist-ed of fish, fowl, beef, soup, mut-ton, and ham-
pers of ve-ge-ta-bles.
He sigh-ed as he look-ed up-on such a-bun-dance, which would
have di-ned sump-tu-ous-ly his own na-tive vil-lage. A-gain he
sigh-ed: as he did so, the gi-ant hands ap-pear-ed. If you could
on-ly have seen them truss this, skew-er that, boil the o-ther,
turn out the sau-ces, pick the pic-kles, cut the bread, and put the
dish-es to the fire, you would have been as-to-nish-ed, Wil-lie
all the time do-ing all he knew to aid in the work.
The o-gress di-ned, and smi-led up-on her trea-sure of a
Self-in-dul-gent people are al-ways un-grate-ful; and so the
o-gress pro-ved, for she was con-ti-nu-al-ly de-si-ring more and
more at the hands of poor Wil-lie, un-til he had no rest: and,
one day, when she had been more im-po-sing than u-su-al, he
turn-ed round, and told her that she left him hard-ly time to
sleep, and that her ap-pe-tite was fright-ful.
Could you have seen her face, you would have been as
fright-en-ed as Wil-lie was.
"Lit-tle wretch!" scream-ed she, I have half a mind to snap
you up as I would the wing of a chick-en: and, re-mem-ber from
this mo-ment, if my din-ner is short of what I de-sire, I will eat
you to make up for what you have o-mit-ted."
Then I shall leave you," said Wil-lie.
Rage made the face of the o-gress glow like a fur-nace, as she
made a pounce at poor Wil-lie for his ill-ad-vis-ed speech; and she
,,/'x "-/, "
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would have caught him in her gripe, had he not dod-ged round
a large bun-dle of ve-ge-ta-bles which luck-i-ly lay on the floor.
Round and round she went af-ter him, un-til he felt that he must
be caught; when a ve-ry large hand grasp-ed her'round the waist,
and hur-ri-ed her, yell-ing, out of the kit-chen; Wil-lie fol-low-
ing, re-turn-ing thanks for his de-li-ver-ance. They came* to a
large win-dow which o-pen-ed to the sea: the hand thrust the
o-gress out, and held her ex-tend-ed o-ver the roll-ing waves.
"Mercy! mercy !" groan-ed, the o-gress, as she gaz-ed upon
the aw-ful depth be-neath her.
The hand gra-du-al-ly re-lax-ed its hold; and the o-gress,
with one des-pair-ing cry, whirl-ed o-ver and o-ver, and fell with
-such a plump in-to the sea, that the spray flew o-ver the high-est
tow-er, and the fish-es swam a-way in ter-ror. She yent down,
down, down: but never came up, up, up.
Wil-lie ran out of the front door; and when he got to the
mar-gin of the sea, he turn-ed his eye to the waves, ex-pect-ing
every mo-ment to see the head of the dread-ful o-gress pop up
a-gain; but it did not. He saw the good hands fol-low-ing him:
they plun-ged in-to the sea close at his feet; he jump-ed in-to the
palm of one, and seat-ed him-self. Be-tween the fin-ger and
thumb of each hand was one of his cook-ing forks, stuck through
two of the o-gress's ve-ry best hand-ker-chiefs, which made ve-ry
ad-mi-ra-ble sails, catch-ing the wind, and waft-ing him a-long
o-ver the sea as well as the fi-nest ship e-ver built.
As the moon rose, it found him safe-ly land-ed and snug
under the roof of a good farm-er who had pro-mi-sed him work
-ay, e-ven as much as he could do: but the farm-er did not
know the trea-sure he pos-sess-ed, for the next morn-ing lit-tle
Wil-lie was work-ing in his shirt-sleeves in the corn-field
reap-ing and shear-ing as much as two men, and stout ones too,
could do in a long day. But there, un-der the shel-ter of the
high corn, were the friend-ly hands work-ing mi-ra-cles;
ga-ther-ing up the corn, and put-ting it in-to sheaves in a
man-ner that could not be e-qual-led by mor-tal hands.
Wil-lie whistl-ed, and cut a-way, not-with-stand-ing the
burn-ing heat of the sun: his sic-kle glis-ten-ed, and the corn
fell in such long sweeps that I do be-lieve it was as ma-gi-cal as
the hands them-selves.
The long-est day will, how-e-ver, have an end: but when
Wil-lie's first day wa-ned, the farm-er was struck with as-to-
nish-ment at be-hold-ing the gold-en rows of hea-vy corn,
stand-ing for his ad-mi-ra-tion in the well ti-ed sheaves. He
look-ed from the lit-tle man to the fruits of his la-bour, and
pro-mi-sed to him-self to do his best to se-cure so va-lu-a-ble a
"' Oh, oh !" said the farm-er, "if he can reap so well, per-haps
he can plough:" so ac-cord-ing-ly the next morn-ing found lit-tle
Wil-lie as a plough-man. But how could he know how to do
it? any one would say. Why, the hands guid-ed the plough;
and the lands were plough-ed in fur-rows as straight as the
flight of an ar-row sped by the strong-est arm.
The farm-er watch-ed from his win-dow, but the hands were
in-vi-si-ble to his eyes: he saw the plough cut its way un-err-ing-ly
i- ~-1 --
in-to the bo-som of the earth, in a man-ner that sur-pri-sed e-ven
his ex-pe-ri-ence, and he a-gain bless-ed his good for-tune that
had giv-en him such a won-der-ful lit-tle la-bour-er.
Wil-lie sat at the board of the good farm-er, who thought he
could not make too much of him, for he was grate-ful to the
in-dus-tri-ous youth, who seem-ed to take plea-sure in work-ing
for the in-ter-est of his mas-ter. Time roll-ed on, and Wil-lie
be-came quite head man, for it was found that he could be
en-trust-ed with any-thing. One day, when he was out on
the moun-tains, where he had gone to ga-ther the flocks for the
shear-ing, heavy storms came on, and the floods de-lu-ged the
val-ley, sweep-ing the flocks and the herds a-way in their head-
long course. Wil-lie wise-ly kept his charge upon the moun-
tain's side un-til the wa-ters had in some de-gree sub-si-ded;
but he was a-larm-ed when he de-scend-ed in-to the val-leys to
find that, in ma-ny pla-ces, the wa-ter was im-pass-a-ble to his
charge. As he stood in deep thought, the gi-ant hands spread
them-selves over the tur-bid wa-ters, form-ing the most per-fect
bridge im-a-gin-a-ble. He drove the sheep a-cross with-out fear,
and reach-ed his mas-ter's house in safe-ty, much to the joy of
all, who had giv-en him up for lost.
As Wil-lie lay down that night, full of gra-ti-tude for his
great good for-tune, and think-ing of his home, to which he
knew he should so soon re-turn to take hap-pi-ness to his fond
mo-ther, he was sud-den-ly a-rous-ed by screams of ter-ror and
cries of a-larm. He jump-ed from his bed, and put-ting on his
clothes, rush-ed in-to the farm-yard, where, to his hor-ror, he
THE ESCAPE FROM THE FIRE.
be-held his good mas-ter wring-ing his hands, and a-ban-don-ed
to grief; for the flames were fast de-vour-ing his peace-ful house,
and, worse than all, they had reach-ed the cham-ber of his
fa-vour-ite daugh-ter, whom he had in vain at-tempt-ed to
res-cue, for no lad-der could reach her win-dow, and the stair-
case had long been burnt. Wil-lie look-ed on in des-pair, for he
could de-vise no means to save the poor child; when sud-den-ly
the gi-ant hands ap-pear-ed, and plac-ing them-selves a-gainst
the side of the house, form-ed a lad-der, up which Wil-lie sprang
with-out the least he-si-ta-tion. In a few mo-ments he gain-ed
the suf-fo-cat-ing cham-ber of the girl, and fold-ing her in his
arms, rush-ed down the friend-ly hands, and pla-ced her, un-
harm-ed, in the em-brace of her des-pair-ing fa-ther.
A hea-vi-ly la-den wag-gon creaks along the wind-ing road,
co-ver-ed with a tilt as white as snow; but what has it in-
side? You can peep and see: beau-ti-ful ta-bles and chairs, and
sides of ba-con, and geese and chick-ens, and fair round chees-es,
and rolls of gold-en but-ter, with white eggs peep-ing through
the bars of their wick-er pris-on. Where is the wag-gon
go-ing? To mar-ket, per-haps: ask the youth who is trudg-
ing by its side, with a smil-ing, hap-py face, rud-dy with health
and the warm tinge of the sun.
Why, I de-clare that it is Wil-lie, grown quite stout and
Strong! Where is he go-ing with that well-stored wag-gon,
which real-ly has no hor-ses to draw it, and yet it goes for-ward
THE TRIUMiPHANTT RETURN.
at a pret-ty pace? Why, I do be-lieve that the gi-ant hands
are drag-ging it along!
It is Wil-lie, in-deed; and, joy-ous mo-ment! he is go-ing
home. In his pock-et he has much bright sil-ver, the pro-duce
of his la-bour: the con-tents of the wag-gon shows the farm-er's
gra-ti-tude to Wil-lie for his promp-ti-tude, en-er-gy, and
in-dus-try; and, more than all, for his risk-ing his life to save
that of his dar-ling child.
At last the cot-tage path is reach-ed. His mo-ther is
stand-ing at the gate: Wil-lie shouts; such a heart-y shout! His
mo-ther looks up-on him, but can-not speak: he is soon in her arms.
That night they sat late be-side their blaz-ing hearth:
a-midst the smoke might now be seen a large well-filled pot
bub-bling with some-thing more than wa-ter in it.
How much Wil-lie had to tell his mo-ther of his la-bour, and
what he ow-ed to the won-der-ful gi-ant hands, pre-serv-ing him
through all dan-gers, and e-ver yield-ing him as-sist-ance!
Wil-lie's mo-ther smi-led up-on him, as he con-clu-ded his
nar-ra-tive, with a kiss.
"Dear child," said she, "you have been in-deed for-tu-
nate; but you were de-serv-ing. That which ap-pears to you
as a mi-ra-cle is none. Those gi-ant hands have been known
to ma-ny: their pow-er is e-nor-mous; they al-ways as-sist the
will-ing and the good; the re-ward they be-stow is cer-tain;
they are the pow-er-ful hands of In-dus-try.
ROUTLEDGtS EVERLASTING BOOKS,
PRINTED ON CLOTH.
In Super-royal, 8vo, prico Sixpence each on Paper, or printed on Cloth, One Shilling, with Clotthe.
AUNT MAVOR'S TOY BOOKS FOR LITTLE READERS.
With Large Coloured Illustrations, and Fancy Covers.
LIST OF THE SERIES, VIZ:-
1. The Old Crnish Woman.
2. Mr Hare 1n11 M.i' F-x.
3. Little PItlly's Dll's House.
4. Stoiy .-f 1cynard the Fox. (The)
5. M.ltlt ir iuln,.h's Evening Party.
6. Tb.h Vict ,i;a Alphabet.
7. Anit, MavGr's Pieture Gallery.
8. Aunt. M.avor,' Alphabet.
9. Charles (rey's Travels.
10. UTTi-i.. lli(i's (.'c untry House.
11 W iilie. }[olilay.
12. The. Cat', Tea Iarty.
13. The Conc.-ited Gol'fiinuh; or, St.
14. Nursery Alphabet. (The)
15. History of Tom Thumb. (The)
16. Cinderella; or, the Three Sisters.
17. The Three Bears.
18. Beauty and the Beast.
19 Aladdin; or, the Wonderful Lamp.
20. The Bales in the Wood.
21. Jack the Giant Killer.
22. The Dog's Dinner Party.
23. Puss in Boots.
24. Hop o' my Thumb.
25. The Butterfly's Ball.
26. Little Red Riding Hood .
27. The Little Dog Trusty (By Maria
28. The Cherry Orchard.
2'. Dick Wliittington and his Cat.
30. The History of Our Pets.
31. Punch anul July.
32. The History of John Gilpin.
33. The History of Blue Beard.
34. Old Mother Hubbard.
.5. Little Totty.
:'#. Cock Robin. (Death and Burial of)
37. Sinbad the Sailor. (The History of)
38. Jack and the Bean Stalk.
39. The House that Jack Built.
ROUTLEDGE'S TWOPENNY CLOTH FIRST BOOKS.
1. Alphabet with Small Letters.
2. Alphabet with Capital Letters.
3. Domestic Birds and Fables.
4. Moral Lessons and Stories of Animals.
ROUTLEDGE'S PENNY CLOTH BATTLEDORES.
1. First Picture Alphabet. 4. Lessons in One Syllable.
2. Second Picture Alphabet. 5. Lessons in Numbers.
3. Third Picture Alphabet. 6. Words in Common Use.
The great advantages of the above for the use of Children will be found in their being printed
on or lined with cloth, and therefore not liable to be destroyed.
LONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON-STREET.
Edmund Evans, Engraver rnd Printer, Kaquet-court, Fleet-btrcet.