Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 List of Illustrations
 Scene of the story
 Giving invitations
 The party
 The story-telling
 Wallace's story
 The ship Gibralter
 The court-martial
 Ascending the mountains
 The lost bonnet

Group Title: Wallace
Title: Wallace : a Franconia story
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002094/00001
 Material Information
Title: Wallace : a Franconia story
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Abbott, Jacob
Publisher: Harper and Brothers, Publishers
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1850
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002094
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA2250
ltuf - ALG0971
oclc - 05814052
alephbibnum - 002220768

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 1a
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Table of Contents
        Page 7
    List of Illustrations
        Page 8
        Page 9
    Scene of the story
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
    Giving invitations
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The party
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
    The story-telling
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
    Wallace's story
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    The ship Gibralter
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
    The court-martial
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
    Ascending the mountains
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
    The lost bonnet
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
Full Text


AB V wEf ire WOtB

~mI, tomuI. Ac t ofq uO I. ~s Ow ye NN by
SkiM & UROlSEUs,
bt3 Go0'" O. r bs dom Btbsm DkWie of Re Yak.


THe development of the moral sentiments in the
human heart, in early life,-and every thing in fat
which relates to the formation of character,-ia deter-
mined in a far greater degree by sympathy, and by
the influence of example, than by formal precepts and
didactic instruction. If a boy hears hi father speak-
ing kindly to a robin in the spring,-welcoming its
coming and offering it food,-there rses at once in
his own mind, a feeling of kindness toward the bird,
and toward all the animal creation, which is produced
by a sort of sympathetic action, a power somewhat
similar to what in physical philosophy is called indue-
Mo. On the other hand, if the father, instead of
feeding the bird, goes eagerly for a gun, in order that
he may ihoot it, the boy will sympthise in that desire,
and growing up under such an influence, there will be
gradually formed within him, through the mysterious
tendency of the youthful heart to vibrate in unison with
heart that are near, a disposition to kill and destroy
all helpless beings that come within his power. There



is no need of any formal instrution in either ase.
Of a thousand children brought up under the former
of the above-described influences, nearly every one,
when he see a bird, will wish to go and get crumbs
to feed it; while in the latter case, nearly every one
will just as certainly look for a stone. Thus the grow-
ing up in the right atmosphre, rather than the receiv-
ing of the right instruction, is the condition which it
is most important to secure, in plans for forming the
characters of children.
It is in accordance with this philosophy that these
stories, though written mainly with a view to their
moral influence on the hearts and dispositions of the
readers, contain very little formal exhortation and in-
struction. They present quiet and peaceful pictures of
happy domestic life, portraying generally such conduct,
and expressing such sentiments and feelings, as it is
desirable to exhibit and express in the presence of
The books, however, will be found, perhaps, after all,
to be useful mainly in entertaining and amusing the
youthful readers who may peruse them, as the writing
of them has been the amusement and recreation of the
author in the intervals of more serious pursuits.


- 000 ---'-

L--aBZIcm .
IL-Grn'm I1vrrTATIs,
IV.-Tar Sonu.T-ELLING,
VIl--AcumDio THE MOUmrAs,
IX-T-I Loa BomaT,

. .
. 5
.. 76
. 9

. . 119

. 181


Tm Hauo-FPOru
Buzcmur's DAo, . .9
CAoUMi's Po, . 44
Panour's CLmnmIN TH TRuLL, 78
TN FRY WTE, . 98
Tm Gza.LTA, .187
OvuN D, 164
MKar BzLL AuD THE FLOW ,. . .. 172
WALc's DScrn, 901







Pranoon, a place among du moautaain at the North. The
time i midsummer.

WAACr, a young college stodent, pending h vcatio at
UMn Haery', at Franconi
Ma. HI T, Wallace's unt, residing at Franeomia
ALoromo, commonly called Phony, Mrs. Henry's on; nine
* years old.
MAULLrn rallace's sister; even years old; spending the
summer arnt's.
Amome Buxouammrn a Frech Canadian boy, livjn at
Mrs. Henry's.
Canoun, a young lady residing inthe village; thirteen
years old
MaTr Bac, her fried, residing at a little dtace from the
illage, with her mother; twelve yer old.
PArIsa a village by.



Walme. itudlos H udhab. Phamy lomptorg atm
WALLACE'S home was in the city of New
York, but he often spent his college va.
cations at his aunt Henry's, in Franconia. He
was very studious too in these vacations, spend-
ing a great deal of his time in his aloove, read-
ing and studying. This, as it seemed to Phon.
ny, was very unreasonable and absurd, since
vacations, as he maintained, were meant for
play and not for study. Jtis true that Wallaoe
went out very often to lke long walks, or to
ride on horseback, making excursions along the
banks of the river or -up and down the glen.
Still it appeared to Phonny that Wallace was
almost continually at his studies. Phony
complained of this sometimes, as it prevented
him from having his cousin's company in his
own expedition and rambles; and he would

s lfhM beW MiopM. mnel mme. HMk liMy.
have complained of it more, were it not that
when Wallace went with him on these expedi-
tions, he was generally very silent and though
ful, and so not a very agreeable company
Sometimes he even took a book with him'
read on the way.
Phony liked to have the company of Beech-
nut, as the children called him-a French boy
from Canada that lived at his mother's-much
better than that of Wallace. Beechnut was
always full of frolicking and drollery, and both
Phonny and Malleville liked to be with him
very much indeed. But then he could not
very often go away with them on pleasure ex-
cursions, because he had to stay and attend to
his work at home.
This boy's real name was not Beechnut, but
Antoine Bianchinette. The way in which he
came to be called Benonut was this. He was
a French boy, havingreen brought up in Paris
and well taught there, until he was about ten
years old. Then his father set out to come
across the Atlantic with him, intending to set.
tle in Canada, where a great many French peo-
ple live. After living in Canada for a time, his
father concluded to remove into the United
States, and taking with him all the money that

BzoIxvrT. M

he had, in a bag, and a supply of provsios to
eat by the way, he and Antoine undertook to
travel across through the woods from Canada
to the United States, on foot. The money w-
in gold, and so the beg was not very heavy.
In the midst of the journey, Antoine's father
fell sick and died, and Antoine had to come the
remainder of the way alone. At last he ate up
all the provisions that he had, and then bqea
to live upon what the farmers would give kim
a be came along, and sometimes upon the
beechnuts that he found in the woods. In this
way he came on for two or three days, and
then reached Franconia. Walking along the
road, he came to Mrs. Henry' house. He was
tired and hungry, and so he stopped. He went
and sat down upon a mountig-stone wioh
stood in a corner of the yaud,--that is, store
with a step by the side of it, which was used fr
mounting horses. He sat there waiting for
somebody to see him from the house, and eome
and offer him something to eat.

G M 1b i elf heavir tea dSrr, but it is so mek
more valuaie t any givm sum in liver s very mnb&
heavier tha he Ime umomt in goed. TI bag at gd
wMk Antow hther hal to emay we0rit abed t*
pe- .

14 WALLAC' .

.is was what he always did in such case.
He would not beg. He was too proud to beg.
At all the farm-houses where he stopped as he
came along, he never would go to the door and
ask for any thing,-but would sit down upon a
log or a stone near the house until he perceived
that the people saw him. Then, he knew, if
they were kind-hearted people, and wished to
help him, they would come out and ask'him
where he was going and if any thing was the
matter; and if they were not kind-hearted and
desirous to help him, he did not wish for their
help. He would rather go on alone and live on
He had plenty of money with him, it is true,
in his bag, but it was all in very large and val-
uable gold pieces, and he did .not think that the
farmers would be willing to change them. Be-
sides, he thought that it would not be safe to
have it known that he had so much money in
his possesion. He was afraid that he might
be robbed.
Accordingly, when Antoine reached Mrs.
Henry's house, he sat down upon the mounting-
stone, which seemed to be the most convenient
mst that he could find, and waited patiently,
eating the beechnuts from time to time, whioh

BBnDonnn. M
Rompmgeona m m. Omyeine besa
he bhad brought with him in his pookes. At
lat Phonny, who was at that time about even
yean old, saw him there. He went and told
his mother that there was a boy out upon the
mounting.tome, with a pea on hi back and a
cane in his hand, as if he were a traveler. Mrs.
Henry, immediately gave Phonny leave to go
and ask him what his name was, sad whether
. he had been travelin far, and was hungry. Be
Phoony went out toward the moanting-toe.
He advanced oautiously and timidly toward the
stranger, and sooosted him with,
- "My mother want to know if you have been
traveling very far."
"About-" here Antoine hesitated a if
making a calculation. He was running over
in his mind the ditgaoe from Pari to Havre,
from Havre aores the ooean to Montreal, and
from Montreal to Franoonia. "About four
thousand five hundred miles, as near as I can
Oo-oo-what a story I" said Phoany.
Antoine made no reply to this exclamation,
but went on eating his beechnut.
The beechnut is a small three-ornered nut,
which grow, two together, in a bhak or bur.
Boh of te two nts has a tender rL or e'.

ft..bpp i.p. s mpeabi tos mom
ring like that of the chestnut, which may be
pulled off by help of the thumb nail. The ker-
nel of the nut has a rich and sweet taste like
that of the almond.
"What is your nqme ?" asked Phonny.
"Antoine Bianchinette," said the boy.
Phonny conned over this singular name a
moment in silence. He could not make any
thing of the first part of it. Antoine'pro.
nounced it as if it had been spelled AiStoire.
Phbony thought that the second word was
meant for Beechnut.
"Where are you going?" asked Phonny,
after a little pause.
"I don't know," said Anioine, shaking his
head mournfully.
*Are you hungry '? asked Phonny.
SYes," said Antoine, I am hungry and tired,
and sleepy and cross."
Phony looked at this strange visitor for a
moment, puzzled and perplexed, and then went
in and told his mother that the boy out there
said that ihe had walked five thousand miles
that day, and that his name was Beechut.
.His mother, and all who heard this, laughed
at the manifest absurdity of it, but Phonny per-
sited that that was what the boy had told him.

Bauos ntr. W
a Nyut bVO S..W h6.. aEs un UM oun,^
He might possibly be wrong, he said, about t
distance, but he was positive in regard to the
"I am sure," said Phonny, very earnestly,
"that he said his name was Beechnut, only he
did not pronounce it very well."
Mrs. Henry sent out to invite the stranger to
come in. She gave him some supper, and then
becoming more and more interested in him and
in his story, she invited him to remain all night.
Beechnut thankfully accepted the invitation.
He amused Phonny very much all the evening
in the kitchen, by drawing droll pictures upon
the slate. He had learned to draw in France,
and having a great deal of originality of mind, he
invented, in making his drawings, a great nam.
ber of singular scenes and figures, and wrote
humorous inscriptions under them in verse.
Phonny was continually carrying the slate into
the parlor to show the pictures to his mother.
Mr. Henry was then away from home, bat
Mrs. Henry finding that Antoine, as she called
him, or Beechnut, as Phonny called him, was a
remarkable boy, she kept him at the house until
Mr. Henry returned. Mr. Henry engaged him
to stay with him and work about the house and
In the family for wages. Al this time Antoilt

s1 WALLAo.
11 dMkpub of bb m asY. M Nm
said nothing about his money, but kept it hid
under a board which he contrived to get up
from the floor of the barn. He wished to wait
until he could ascertain positively that Mr.
Henry was a trustworthy man. When at
length he was satisfied on this point, he told
Mr. Henry about his money, and brought it to
him to put it under his care. Mr. Henry was
very much surprised. He, however, took the
money, and put it out at interest, for Antoise's
future benefit.
The family found it rather difficult to pro.
nounce the name Antoise, as Antoine himself
pronounced it, and so they concluded to call
him Antonio, which is another form of the same
name, and which Antoine said was "just as
well." The children, however, preferred to
continue calling him Beechnut, which he said
was "a little better." In- the village he was
generally called Antony, and some of the vil.
large boys shortened this sometimes to Tony,-
so that he had a great variety of appellations.
He was, however, very good-natured, and he
did not care what they called him.
Antonio had a great many singular adven-
tares in the course of his long travels, but there
is not time to describe them here. They will

Bseo.uTr. A
Vwrm.a hd a@y.. f tmm. d m. so
be given in the volume of this series entitled

Beechnut came to Mr. Henry's houe, as has
already been said, two or three years before the
time at which this story commences. He had
become a great favorite with all who knew him.
Wallace, however, did not yet know him very
One pleasant summer morning, Wallace was
seated in the alcove where he was accustomed
to study, engaged in his usual occupations.
There was a great book upon the table before
him, and alo a manuscript book in which he
was writing from time to time. The great
book was a volume of an Encyclopedia. The
rest of the volumes of the work were on the
shelves in the alcove.
While Wallace was sitting in this manner at
his work, with the window open and the birds
singing upon the trees in the yard and garden
without, the door opened and Phonny came into
the room. He was coming to see if he oould
not persuade Wallace to go down to the river
and get a boat and go a fishing that morning.
Malleville was behind him. As soon as he
opened the door he said to Malevile,

Thimir. bL T .tplir. WdMs w swF.
"Yes, we can speak to him. The curtains
are up."
There were curtains before Wallace's alcove,
and the rule was, that if one curtain was down,
the children must not speak to Wallace unless
it was absolutely necessary to do so. If both
were down, they could not speak to him at all.
Phonny and Malleville advanced to the table.
Phonny leaned upon the edge of it and began
to look upon the manuscript book in which
Wallace had been writing. There was a draw.
ing of some machinery in it. Malleville went
and sat down upon what she called the upper
seat of a little library step-ladder, which Wal-
lace kept in his alcove to get down his books
When Phonny saw how busy Wallace was
with his studies, he began to despair of getting
him to go a fishing.
"Oh dear me I" said he, with a long sigh. "I
wish, cousin Wallace, you were not quite so
fond of studying all the time."
Wallace smiled, but went on measuring some*
thing in the drawing of the machinery, with a
pair of dividers.
"And I suppose you wish that Iwas a little
more fond of it," continued Phonny.

Bsscouxv. $1

"Oh no," id Wallsae; "not at al. I am
always afraid when I ee a small boy too food
of study."
Why ? exclaimed Phonny. He was quite
surprised to hear Wallace express mch an
"Why are you afraid ?" asked he.
"Because boys of your age, if they are in
good health, are always more fond of play."
"Well, I am sure I like to play best," said
Phonny. "I rather think that I am in pretty
good health."
Yes," said Wallace, "and I am very glad
of it."
I like to read story-books" said Malleville,
Hob said Phonny, "that isn't studying."
"The great business of a child," said Wal-
lace, "until he is about ten years old, is to run
about and play-at least that is what it is best
for him to like. That makes him grow strong
and rugged. After he is ten or twelve, it is
time for him to begin to like study."
"I mean to tell my mother that," said Phon-
ny, "and she will let me play all the time."
"No," said Wallace, I did not sy that you
nuht not to study, but that I did not care shoit

Tshe nneyekta.d Mdb a otm orwMO
your liking it particularly. Boys ought to be-
gin to learn long before they are ten years old,
and in order to learn, they must study,-but I
think it is much better for them to be required
to study by the authority of their parents and.
teachers, than to like it on its own account.
They ought to make no difficulties or objec-
tions, but they can not be expected really to
like it"
Here Phonny's eyes happened to fall upon
what is called the running title which was
printed upon the top of the page of Wallace's
Encyclopedia. The words were SUGAo Es-
"What are sugar estates ?" asked Phonny.
They are estates in the West Indies where
they make sugar," said Wallace. "I am read-
ing about them. I want to know about them."
"What do you want to know about them
for?" asked Phonny. "You do not expect
ever to go to the West Indies and make sugar
on a sugar estate, do you ?"
"No," said Wallace, "but then I expect to
be a man of business of some kind or other, and
I want to get all the information I possibly can
about every thing that is going on in the world.
It will be of use to me in some way or other."

Bascunwr U
as.. m .y.mlmni Urn LWrM
SI don't see how it can be of any use to you
to know about uga estates, if you are never
going there," aid Phonny.
a Why, suppose," rejoined Wallace, that I
should be a lawyer, in New York, and some
great sugar planter should come to me with a
law cae connected with the affairs of his estate,
how convenient it would be for me to know
something about the business beforehand."
"I don't see why you could not find it out
just as well then," said Phonny. You could
have an Encyclopedia in your office, and might
read about it then."
SYes," said Wallace, "and very likely that
would cost me twenty dollars."
No," said Phonny, "I don't think it would
cost you any thing at all. You could take your
Encyclopedia right down from your shelf and
read it"
Yes, but that would take time. A lawyer's
working time in New York is worth at least
two dollars an hour, if he is in good practice.
SNow I have been reading about sugar estates
two hours this morning, and have got three
hours more to read before I get through. That
is five hours. All this I may save for myself

WMrbE m advoi InI i MNO d O
in the value of time, hereafter, which will then
be worth two dollars an hour."
That only makes ten dollars," said Phonny,
Sand you said twenty."
True," said Wallace, "but if by my work
to-day I can get ten dollars by and by, it will
be doing pretty well."
Here there was a short pause. Phonny was
reflecting upon what Wallace had said.
But, Wallace, I thought you were studying
for the pleasure of it, and not to earn money."
Well," said Wallace, "it is for the pleasure
ph of it in some sense; but then it is my idea of
the usefulness of the knowledge that I am ac-
quiring that makes the acquiring of it pleasant."
Wallace," said Phonny again, after another
short pause, "Malleville and I know how to
make sugar. Don't we, Malleville ?"
"Yes," said Malleville, "we made a little,
We made it last spring out of the sap from
the sugar trees," said Phonny.
How much did you make ?" asked Wallace. -
"Why the first day, said Phonny, "we ate
it all up, trying it while it was boiling, but after.
wards we made some and carried it home."
"Was it good sugar?" asked Wallace.

Basosnai. U

Yes," said Phoony, "only it was oady
rather than sugar, and pretty bitter, for we gt
it burnt."
Phonny said this with a very grave face,-i
fact the expression of his countenance was quite
mournful, as he recalled to mind the disappoint.
ment and regret which he experienced on the
occasion referred to, at finding that his candy
was burnt. Wallace made an effort to look
sober too, but he could not help laughing.
"In the West Indies," said Wallace, tey
do not make sugar in that way, that is, by tap.
oing trees to get the sap. They make it fre
the juice of the sugar-cane, which they grion
ap in miles, and then press out the juice by
means of heavy machinery."
Saying this, Wallace turned to the plates i
the Encyclopedia, and showed Phonay and
Malleville the engravings representing the ma-
chinery by which the juice was expressed from
the canes. The machinery was very compli-
cated, and Phonny could not understand it vry
well. Maleville could not understand it at all.
Phonny said that he thought tapping ws a great
dea the best plan. Ifhelivedin the Westn-
dies, and had a sugar estate, he would tap the
canes and catch the juice in bottles, instead of

nosw"% WtM up-. WaOaN% s howg.
having all that machinery which nobody could
Then Wallace turned to his own manuscript,
and showed the drawings which he had made,
which were much more simple in character
than those in the book, being intended to repre-
sent only the essential parts of the machinery,
such as the rollers between which the canes
were crushed and pressed, and the cog-wheels
by which the rollers were driven. Phonny un-
derstood this better than the other, but he said
that he did not think that Wallace could draw
very well.
Beechnut," said he, "can make a great deal
prettier pictures than these."
"Yes," said Wallace, "I wish I could draw
better. I have heard that Beechnut can draw
When did he learn ?"
He learned in Paris, he says," replied Phon
"In Paris ?" said Wallace.- Indeed! Then
perhaps he can draw. They are famous for
drawing well in Paris. I should like to see
someofhis drawing. Haveyou got any of it 7'
"No," said Phonny,-" but I can get him to
draw me something, if you wish to se. I can
go and do it now."

Mbu A.jmWs. hmnw .mhM to psspm .
Well," aid Wallace, I wish you would."
"I will on one condition," replied Phonny.
"What is that P asked Wallace.
"Why, that you will go a fishing with me."
SGo fishing l" repeated Wallace. He took
out his watch and reflected a moment, and then
said he would go, provided the drawing was a
good one.
SAh!" said Phonny. "But who is todebid
that ?"
"Il decide it," said Wallace,- or no, MId
leville shall decide. Only Beechnut hall draw
it off-hand, jut as he always does. You shba
not tell him that it is for me."
"Well," said Phonny. "He is oat in the
garden now. Ill go right and ask him. You
must give me a pencil and paper, andpens and
"You don't want pencil and pen both," said
"Yes," rejoined Phonny. "He always makes
a little sketch first in pencil, and then fnishd
it in ink."
So Wallace gave Phonny a piece of smooth
but thick white paper, which he put between
the leaves of a small book, that it might not get
tumbled in the carrying. He also gave him a


pencil and a pen, and a small pocket inkstand,
the top to which fastened down by a spring.
Malleville wanted to carry something, and so
Phonny gave her the book.
Thus equipped, the children went down into
the garden. They found Beechnut raking out
the walks which led along the borders. When
Phonny told him that he came to ask him to
draw him a picture, he said that he would do
so if Phonny and Malleville would, in the mean
time, go on with the raking. This they agreed
to do. Beechnut accordingly took his seat
upon a stone bench, and placed the drawing
materials which the children had brought down,
by hbi sie.
SWhat shall I draw you ?" said Beechnut, as
he was sharpening the pencil.
"Oh, whatever you please," said Phonny.
"Make us up something."
Beechnut then went to work with the pencil,
and Phonny with the rake. In about a quarter
of an hour, he called them and told them the
picture was ready.
Phony and Malleville put down the rake
and came to see it.. It was a picture of an old
woman with a basket filled with children in-
stead of lothes, which she was hanging out on

The drwing finished. eebanut's poetry.
a line. Underneath was written, Mas. PID-
OETT, and beneath that there was this couplet:

Whenever she washed her children she hung them out to dry,
Because she thought, if she left them wet, they'd all catch
cold and die.


The children looked at the picture very at-
tentively a minute or two, and read the writing
that was under it, and then, laughing heartily,
they ran off with it to Wallace.
Malleville decided that it was a very good
picture indeed, and Wallace said that he would

Qmae lof riht Ir pet to the dmrg.
go a fishing. He was going to put the picture
away in his drawer, but Phonny claimed it as
No," said Wallace, it is mine, and I am
going a fishing with you to pay for it."
"No," said Phonny, I did not say the pic-
ture should be yours. I was only going to get
it and show it to you."
Well, I'll put it in the drawer now," replied
Wallace, "while we go a fishing, and we will
settle the question whose it is some other time.'
So they went a fishing.

A patu plImn. QuYusm eea as ti .

Ows day Malleville was going to have a party
and she had great difficulty in getting the invi-
tations written. Her aunt recommended that
she should have the wagon brought out, and et
Phonny drive her around to all the place* where
the girls lived whom she war going to invite,
and ask them herself verbally. But Malleville
said that she wanted the invitations written.
If she could only once get the notes written,
she should like very much to have the wagon
and. go and give them out.
"Well," said Mr.. Henry, "then you and
Phonny must write the invitations yourelves."
But I can't write well enough," said Malle-
ville. "I wish you would write them for us,
aunt Henry ;-just this once."
"I would do it, if I had time," said Mrs.-
Henry, but I shall have a great deal to do to
get ready for your party, in repeat to other
things more necessary than written invita-
tions "


"Never mind," said Phonny, who had been
standing by during this conversation, "come
with me; I can write them."
This conversation had taken place in Mrs.
Henry's chamber. Phonny proposed that he
and Malleville should go down into the sitting-
room, and write the invitations there. The sit-
ting-room was a large and pleasant room on the
back side of the house. It had several windows
which opened out into a pretty, green yard, be-
tween the house and the garden. It was a very
pleasant room both in summer and in winter.
In winter there was always a blazing wood-fire
in the great fire-place. In the summer, the fire-
place was closed up with a fire-board, which
had a beautiful picture upon it. One of the
windows opened down to the floor, and. by
means of this window the children could go
out into the yard. There was a seat in this
yard near the house; that is, there was a sort
of bench which was made for a seat; but
Phonny and Malleville often used it for a table.
It was just high enough for a table for them.
And two little stools, or crickets, as they called
them, which they had, answered very wel
for seats. The children were accusootomed
to use this plmw a great deal in their various

Ln eMldaU WrS ~sppmmu. bsta.
plans of amusement, in the summer after-
In this instance, however, they did not at
first go out to the seat in the yard, but put their
papers and writing materials upon a table in
the sitting-room. They had an inkstand which
was fastened securely in the middle of a round
pan, so that it could not be upset. In addition
to this precaution, Mrs. Henry had taken care
to put into the inkstand not free ink, which
would run out, but only a wad of cotton with
ink sufficient, to saturate it. This wad would
give out a part of its charge when pressed with
a pen, but otherwise it held it securely, even if
the inkstand wvere turned upside down. The
children were also always required to spread
down a newspaper upon the table before they
began to write, and thus, if by any accident
they dropped a drop of ink from a pen, it would
do no harm. This rule was a rigid one.
Phonny and Malleville accordingly, on this
occasion, spread out their newspaper upon the
table, and then put the inkstand upon the mid-
dle of it. They got some note-papers also, and
two pens, and then brought chairs to the table,
and sat down to the work.
Malleville dipped her pen into the inkstand,
I .


. and in her eagerness to get ink enough, she
pressed the cotton so hard as to take up too
much, and a drop fell upon her note-paper.
There," said she, "now I've spoilt my in.
vitation I"
You must take another paper," said Phon-
ny; "and you must not squeeze up so much
Malleville tried again, and now avoided the
danger of taking up too much ink; but she met
with new disasters of various kinds, and so she
finally concluded not to try any more herself,
but to let Phonny write the invitations. Phon-
ny had been busy writing for some time, and
she asked him to read what he had written
Phonny did so.
"Yes," said Malleville, "that is right,-onl3
I want you to tell her to come as early as sh1
Well," said Phonny, "I'll put that in."
So Phonny wrote a little longer, and then
read the whole invitation aloud from beginning
to end. It was as follows :
"-i, MaUeville requeMs the compliments of Auuts's
empany to-mrrow. And oame a early you a."

Phonny.wrote one or two more invitation,

VM* I Wa Ir iI I so.* m a
varied a little perhaps in the phraseolog from
this but all to the same purport. He became
tired, however, before he had got half the neoes-
Mry number written, and he concluded that
the reason why he was tired was because the
table was so high. So he and Malleville de-
termined to move their things all out to the
seat in the yard, and work there. Phonny
wrote one more invitation there, and then he
proposed to Malleville that they should go up
and see if they could not get Wallace to write
some of the invitations for them.
Well," said Malleville, "so we will."
They accordingly went up stairs. They
found Wallace as usual in his alcove; but the
curtains were both down. When, however,
Wallace heard them open the door, he raised
the curtains. He supposed that they wished
to speak to him, and he was willing to hear
what they had to say. The children accord.
ingly advanced to the alcove table, and told
Wallace what they wanted.
"We have written six," said Phonny, show-
ing Wallace the notes which he held, all folded
up neatly, in his hand.
"And how many more are there to be
written" asked Wallace.

Waes weres iykvntaol xr Mary i el.
"Why there is Mary Bell, and Caroline,
and one, two, three, four, five more," said
Phonny, looking at his list, and counting.
"Well," said Wallace, "I'll write one for
Mary Bell."
"And for Caroline too," said Malleville.
"We want good ones for Mary Bell and
Caroline, because they are older than the
I'll write one for Mary Bell," said Wallace,
"but you must get somebody else to write one
for Caroline."
So Wallace took out a sheet of small note-
paper, from a little portfolio which he kept in
a drawer, and began to write.
"Tell her to come early," said Malleville.
"How early ?" asked Wallace.
"Oh, as early as three," replied Malleville.
Wallace then went on and finished the in.
citation, as follows:-

i* M Malleille Henry request the plesre of Mir
UMry Bell' company to-morrow fteroo t thee o'clock "

Yes," said Phonny, that's exactly right"
While Phonny was saying this, Wallace
began to diaw a little picture of grass and
flowers hear the upper left-hand corner of the

The mbdld*mm*l "rW Wa" 8rW."
sheet, at the place where such ornaments are
often printed upon note-paper.
That's very pretty," said Malleville, when
he had finished it.
Wallace made no reply to this, but began
immediately to write something in a very fine
hand along one of the blades of grass. It was
very fine, so that Phonny and Malleville could
scarcely read it. Phonny at last made it out
to be, "Wallace scripsit."
"What does that mean ?" asked Phonny.
"That is latin," said Wallace.
"But what does it mean ?" asked Phonny.
"You must guess." said Wallace. "And
now you must go away. I can't do any thing
more for you."
I wish you would just write one for Caro-
line," said Phonny.
SNo," said Wallace. "Beechnut will write
you one for Caroline, perhaps; and he can put
a much prettier picture in it, than I have put
in Mary Bell's."
"Well," said Phonny, tuning to Malleville,
"let us go and ask Beechnut."
Phonny was going to take Mary Bell's in-
vitation, and put it with those which he had
written himself, but Wallace first enclosed it

Thue edMe go to haut, il the priM
in a small envelope, and sealed it with sealing.
wax,-stamping it, while the wax was hot, with
a little seal. He then wrapped it up, envelope
and all, in a piece of newspaper, to keep it
from getting soiled; and he charged Phonny
not to tumble it. In this shape Phonny put it
among his other notes, and he and Malleville
went to find -Beechnut.
They found him as usual in. the garden.
Beechnut's work at this time of the year was
in the garden, as there were a great many
borders, beds, and alleys to be taken care of.
He kept them all in very nice order. He was
now at work near the arbor. When Phonny
and Malleville got to the place, they told
Beechnut that they had come to ask him to
write some invitations for them; and so they
all went into. the arbor, and sat down to talk
about it.
We have got so many written," said
Phonny; and he showed Beechnut the bundle
of notes which he held in his hands. Beech-
nut read two or three of them, with a very
grave face, and then folding them up and
giving them back to Phonny, he said,-
SI don't see how I can leave my work very
well to write invitations for a party. Besides,

GIviao IvlITArTION. s
TMo hWA toa s. *ee l e.p. 16
you have got enough. You can invite the
others just as well without writing. I know a
little song, called The Invitation, which I could
teach you all to sing when the party comes."
What is it ?" asked Malleville. Sing it to
It is addressed to a girl named Mary Ann,"
said Beechnut. "This is it" So he began and
sung as follows:

*Come ed aee me, xry Ana,
k afternoon at three;
Came a early a you ea,
And stay till after te.
*We'll jmp te rope, well dre the doll,
We'll feed my distr' birds,
And rad my little story boob,
AlU fllof e asy word
SSo cam md ee me, Mary Anz,
Thi aternoon at three;
ome as early a you ca,
And tay till after te."

"What a pretty song," said Malleville. "It
would do very well for me to send for an invi-
tation, only I have not got any sister, and she
has not got any birds."
"The tune is very easy," said Beechnut.
"You can all learn to sing it very soon."

beaoalns tloc tIhe o to g the pUr.
SWell," said Malleville, "and you will come
in and teach it to us when the girls come ?"
No," replied Beechnut; "you must all come
out here in the garden to me, and learn it here.
Scholars go to the teacher, not the teacher to
the scholars. When your party get together
and have played in the house till they are pretty
merry, bring them all out here, and I will teach
them. I will play the tune on my flageolet."
Beechnut had a very pretty flageolet.
The plan which Beechnut thus proposed, was
fully approved by both Malleville and Phonny,
and they agreed that if he would teach them
the song, they would not ask him to write any
invitations. They would go themselves and
invite the girls that were to come, but in order
not to lose the benefit of what they had already
written, they determined to take the notes which
they had prepared, and deliver them, as far as
they would go, to the various persons to whom
they were addressed, after previously inviting
them verbally, in order to avoid all possibility
of mistake. They determined especially to do
this in the case of Mary Bell, since Wallace
had taken so much pains to write the invitation
for her.
Phonny and Malleville met with various ad


ventures in delivering their invitations. They
went in the wagon. It was arranged that
Phonny was to drive, but Beechnut harnessed
the wagon and, made all ready. Phonny was
scarcely old enough to drive a wagon; but a
he was a careful boy, and as the road to the
village was wide and plain, and especially as
there was no occasion to turn, since there was
a sort of triangle of roads at the village, which
Phonny could go round when he was ready to
come home, it was considered safe for him to
drive when they were only going to the village
and back. It is true he might meet with some
unexpected accident, but then all drivers are
liable to meet with accidents. A certain de-
gree of danger is always incurred when we
mount into a vehicle on wheels, to be drawn
by a horse, even on a well-traveled road.
Caroline's home was in a large and handsome
house in the village. Mary Bell, on the other
hand, lived in a small but very pleasant farm-
house, up the glen. Caroline's father was a
man of business. He had a large family, and
he received a great deal of company. Mary
Bell led a very retired life, alone with her
mother. Caroline liked society. Mary eI
j eoyed stlusion. They were both very ami.

TheM. Maydelh9' bMakM A plbm ur
able and excellent girls, though they were very
different from each other in disposition and
Besides Caroline and Mary Bell, there were
various other girls to be invited. These others
lived in different places in the village and along
the road. Phonny had taken the precaution to
make a list of them, with the names arranged
in the order in which it would be most conve-
nient to call upon them in passing along the
roads. This list, together with all the invita-
tions which had been written, was safely de-
posited in a small basket which Malleville car-
ried in her lap, when she was seated in the
"Leaving the yard by the great gate, Phonny
turned the horse into the road which led toward
the village. The road followed the bank of the
river, which was very beautiful, presenting to
the view, in some places, a winding sandy
beach, and in others a fringe of drooping wil-
lows, with here and there a little promontory
projecting into the water, and surmounted with
a grove of trees. Phonny and Malleville rode on
without any special adventure, until at length,
jst before they reached the village, they saw
at a distance before them, a girl walking along

Smaoia NSo. Mo oalr Mwr. 2'Wr kberW vUrf r
toward them. She was walking in a little path
by the side of the road. As soon as Maleville
came near her she knew who it was.
"Ah, Sarah," said she. I am glad this is
you. Stop the hore a minute, Phonny."
So Phonny stopped the horse.
We are coming to invite you to my party,"
said Malleville. "Perhaps I have got an invi-
tation for you in this basket. I will look and
So saying, Malleville began to look over the
notes in the basket, to see if she could ind one
for Sarah.
"When is the party to be ?" asked Sarah.
To-morrow," said Malleville; "in the afer-
noon. No, I have 'nt got a written invitation
for you. We could not write so many notes."
",But that's no matter," said PhoIny. "It
is all the same thing; we want you to come
to-morrow,-in the afternoon,-as early as yon
Well," said Sarah, "I will ask my mother."
Phonny and Malleville then bade her good-
bye and rode on.
When they reached the house where Caroline
lived, they drove in at a large gate which was
open, and which led into a spacious yard by

lThe Ibo wherL (croaei lud. Tlhe M
the side of the house. The yard was very
large and very pleasant. Phonny drove the
hore up to a post which stood under a tree, at
the corner of the house. He got out of the
wagon himself, fastened the horse to me post,
and then helped Malleville out. They then
advanced together into the yard.

aou Ua'S porT.

At a little distance before them they saw
Caroline and some other girls, her company,
aming themselves in riding a black pony.
near a piaza. The pony belonged to Caroe

GMJIMpeW. Omef -AnsMbL
line. Her father had bought it expressly for
her. Phonny and Malleville advanced toward
the pony party.
Caroline was mounted upon the pony her-
self .though some of the other girl. were asking
her to let them ride. She said that she would,
presently; and, in the mean time, she sat upon
the horse in a very graceful attitude, and
looked pleased and happy. When she saw
Phonny and Malleville coming, she began to
ride towards them to meet them.
"Oh what a pretty pony I" said Malleville.
After speaking to Phonny and Malleville
very politely, and saying that she was glad to
see them, Caroline rode back to the piana.
After a time she dismounted, and allowed some
of the other girls to take her place and ride.
They were all very eager to do so. They
could mount very easily by means of the stps
of the piazza, and the pony was very quiet and
gentle. The girls praised and admired him
very much, but Caroline said that she did not
like him very well. He was too small for her.
He would do very well for a little girl
I am going," she said, to get my father to
buy me a handsome saddle horse,-a whie

ibhmy dt MaSni Intv OOaMa to tshe pr.
one,-perfectly white. I keep teasing him
about it every day, and he almost says yes."
Malleville told Caroline that she had come
to invite her to her party, and Caroline said
that she should be very happy to come. alle-
ville then looked over her basket to find the
invitation destined for her. It is true that they
had not succeeded in inducing Beechnut to
write one, but then they had made one for her
by writing her name upon the outside of the
one which had been intended for Augusta; for,
as Caroline was older than Augusta, the3
thought it better that the written invitatioL
should go to her. Malleville proposed at firsa
to erase Augusta's name, where it occurred on
the inside of the note, and write Caroline's
instead, so that the inside and the outside
might correspond. But Phonny said that
that would only make a blot, and that it would
do just a well as it was, since they were to
se Caroline, and they could tell her that
they meant the invitation really and truly for
After Malleville had delivered the note, and
made the necessary explanations, and had also
distributed quite a number of other invitations
to the girls who were present at this time, and

I"GamyWL bIM l diug. lbebbimL
who, s it fortunately happened, were'all of
them on the list of persons to be invited, Caroline
proposed to her and to one or two of the other
girls to go into the house, and see her canary
bird, and her mother's conservatory. They
went in very readily, leaving the other girls to
ride the pony while they were gone. Phonnyw
was very much interested in seeing the canary
bird, and in hearing it sing. Caroline, however,
appeared to care very little about it. She
showed her visitors the conservatory too, which
was a small place full of beautiful plants and
flowers. They did not appear to be particu-
larly pretty, but Caroline showed them several
which she said were very rare and costly. The
rooms that Malleville went into were all very
beautifully furnished. There was a sort of
ebony box or cabinet upon a table in the buad
parlor, which Caroline said contained hes
treasures. She got the key and opened this
cabinet, and brought out from the various
divisions and drawers, a number of rings, and
bracelets, and chains, and miniatures set in
gold. The other girls seemed very much in-
terested in these things; but Malleville did not
care much about them, nor about the canary
bid, nor the conservatory, nor about the

Canlltl.,v pto of Jtrd ry. h b d*plhi.
beautiful furniture. She had seen a great
many such things in New York.
In fact, Caroline perceived that Malleville
was not very much interested in viewing her
treasures, though the other girls expressed a
great deal of admiration and delight. Caroline
Seemed to be, or pretended to be, quite indiffer-
ent to them herself. She said, in fact, that she
did not value them at all. She never did care
any thing about jewelry, she said.
Malleville had observed before this, that there
were several rings on Caroline's fingers, and
she was just going to say,
"Then what do you wear so many rings
But she doubted whether it would be quite
polite, and after a moment's pause Caroline
added, addressing Malleville,
"And then, I suppose, such things don't ap.
pear of much consequence to you. I dare say
you have seen a great deal prettier things than
these in New York."
"Yes," said Malleville, "I have."
Caroline made no reply to this,-and, in fact,
she looked a little offended, though Malleville
did not see what there was to be displeased
about. Caroline shut up her cabinet in a very

Giviwe IriVTATrION. 0
I-r- -y-rf. b--"- *i lY h
dignified manner, and went away. The other
girls followed her, and presently Phonny and
Malleville got into their wagon and drove out
of the yard.
They delivered several other notes and ver-
bal invitations in the village, and then began to
ride along a very pleasant road which led tow-
ard the house where Mary Bell resided.
The road was smooth and level, though there
were high precipices and mountains at a short
distance on either hand. There was a wide
border of very smooth green grass on one side
of the road, with a foot-path running along in
the middle of it. Beyond the grass was a fence,
and beyond the fence there were fields waving
with grain. On the other side of the road there
I was a wood, with winding roads here and there
leading into it, every one of which Malleville,
as she came to them successively, wished par-
ticularly to explore. But Phonny said it would
not be safe to leave the wagon.
After a little while they came in sight of
Mary Bell's house. It stood back from the
road, under some ancient trees. It was built
of gray stones, but it had green blinds. There
was a great gate which led in toward the house,
but the gate was shut, and so Phonny could not

im p.[& kir 3am. b mu". .
drive in. There was a post outside of the great
gate. Phonny got out of the wagon and fas-
tened the horse at this post, and then he helped
Malleville out. There was a small gate by the
side of the great gate. Phoy opened the
small gate, and he and Malleville went in.
There was a pleasant path. winding along
toward the house, with high grass, and here
and there a rose or lilac bush, on each side of
it. Phonny and Malleville walked along this
path, and very soon they saw Mary Bell. She
came running along in the path to meet them.
She said that she was very glad to see them.
She knew Phonny and Malleville very well,
though Malleville had-never been to see her at
her mother's house before.
Mary Bell led the children around to a very
pleasant yard behind the house. There was a
pretty little garden here against the side of the
house. Mary Bell said it was her garden It
was very small, but it had a great many beau
tiful flower growing in it. There was a large
moss-rose bush at one end near the wall, which
Mary said was her favorite. It had a great
many buds upon it, and several roses fully or
partly blown. In fact it was overloaded with
foliHae and flowers, so that the branches wos

GIvINo INvIsA-ionr. M

borne down n every ide. Mary said that he
needed a trellis for it, but she did not know how
to get one.
She lifted up the branches one by one to look
at the roes, andat length selected the prettiest
one, which was about half blown, and out it of
with a small pair of scisors whish she took from
her pocket. She then began to walk about the
garden in the little paths, to find some other
flowers to give to Malleville with the mor-rose.
Malleville was so much interested in the garden
and in the lowers, that she forgot for a time the
invitation which she had for Mary Bell in her
basket. After Mary Bell had gathered the
lowers, she went to the step of the door, which
was formed of a large and flat stone. This
stone, though smooth, was irregular in its form,
as it was in its natural state, just as it had been
found in the pastures. Mary Bell sat down
here, with Phonny on one side and Mallaville
upon the other, and began to arrange the flow.
ers which she had gathered, into a bouquet.
There was a well at a little distance from
the step of the door, and a narrow path, made
oa stones of various shapes, imbedded in the
ground, leading to it. The grams was vry
gr enad rich on eah side of the path Them

UteSw ar aL drswl es ~ 5L 2%n9 L
was a flat stone before the well, raised con-
siderably, like a step with an abundance of
soft green moss growing about it. The bucket
was made to ascend and descend by a rope
and a wheel; and the bucket, wheel, and curb,
though sound and strong, were dark with age.
A willow, and some other trees, on the sides of
the well and beyond it, shaded the spot, and
made it look very pleasant and cool.
"What a pretty well," said Malleville.
"Yes," replied Mary. "I made a drawing
of it once, and the teacher said it was a very
pretty subject"
Malleville and Phonny wished to see the
drawing, and Mary said that she would show
it to them. So she took them into the house
and led them up stairs to her room. The
room was a very pleasant chamber, with cur.
tains to the bed and to the windows, In one
corner, near a window, was a table with a
portable desk upon it. There was a small
book-case on the other side, with drawers
underneath. Mary Bell opened the drawers
and showed Phonny and Malleville her treas-
ures. They consisted of various little gifts and
keepsakes, curiosities which had been found in
the fields, pmall and delicate flowers and mosses,

aN fd 5R p I5 ed IW M6-- to daw.
which had been pressed in a very careful man-
ner, and gummed upon papers in pretty little
groups, so that they looked like presed bou.
quets. Underneath them were written the
names of the girls who were with her when she
gathered and presed them, or of the places
where they were found. One of the drawers
contained a great variety of materials for
drawing and painting, and another, portfolios
of pictures which she or her friends had made.
Malleville admired the drawings very much,
and said she wished that sh could draw.
"You can learn," said Mary BelL "Come
and see me some afternoon, and we will sit up
at this table, and I will give you a lesson."
"Oh that reminds me," said Malleville, "1
have got an invitation for you. It is in my
So Malleville opened the basket and took
out the invitation. Mary Bell read it with a
countenance expressive of great interest and
pleasure, and then ran off with it to show it
to her mother. In a few minutes she returned,
and said that her mother had given her leave
to go. She then read over her invitation
again, and examined the little drawing and
the Wallace ripsit," with great attention

Phloy aid NDMeynl go sy.
Finally, she put the note away in one of her
drawers, among her treasures.
After a little time longer, Phonny and Malle-
vile bade Mary Bell good-bye and went away.
Before they went, however, Mary gave Malle-
vile the picture of the well, and Malleville
carried it home in the basket for safety. The
bouquet of flowers she carried in her hand.

Tun PiAr. S
lMpNM wr as Imy. The tkM n th nmvm.i

TEa next day Phonny and Malleville were
in a state of great excitement all the morning,
preparing for the party. There was a table
spread with refreshments, in a sort of summer-
houe, which stood in the midst of a green
yard. The refreshments were to consist of
sandwiches, cake of two kinds, various pitchers
of milk, plates of strawberries, with cream to
put upon them, and other such things. The
table was set in the forenoon, though the straw-
berries were not to be put in the plates, nor the
milk into the pitchers, until just before the hour
which was appointed for the collation. In the
mean time, the strawberries were kept in two
tin pails, under a seat in the summer-house, in
a corner 'that was very cool, while the milk
remained in the pans in the cellar.
The summer-house had a table in the middle
of it, and seats around, upon the sides. When
the table had been set, and every thing had
been properly arranged, the door was slr and

T1" iho o 0 so ptny. Iboy Ias 1t 00G bMn
looked, in order to keep all safe until the after-
The girls began to assemble about three
o'clock in the afternoon. The two oldest were
Caroline and Mary Bell. Malleville had won-
dered why, when they were writing the invita-
tions, Wallace had not been as willing to write
one for Caroline as for Mary Bell, for Caroline
was a very pretty girl indeed, and very accom-
plished and agreeable. Mary Bell was more
gentle, and silent, and still than Caroline.
Malleville liked very much to hear Caroline
talk, and to have her to come to her parties,
she was so active in leading the plays; but
after all, she loved Mary Bell the most, and was
always happiest when she was sitting down,
still, by her side.
When the girls were all assembled, the first
thing was to run about through all the rooms
which were open to them in the house, and look
at the picture books and playthings which Mal.
leville and Phonny had put upon the tables for
them to see. Then they played a little while
in the sitting-room. At last Malleville proposed
that they should go out into the garden and
learn Beechnut's song.
The party were all very much pleased at this

Tun PAIrr. a
mwp b cimera.i hr.
proposal, principally because it would take them
into the garden. They all thought much more
of the flowers that they expected to see, than of
the song. So Malleville led the way, and they
all followed, toward the garden gate.
But the gate was fastened. Malleville won-
dered what this could mean. She asked Phou-
ny to climb over the fence and unfastes it
Phonny thought that Beechnut must have fas
tened it, and that he must have had some rea
son for doing it; and so instead of getting over
the fence, he climbed up upon it a little way,
and called out to Beechnut to come and let
them in. When Beechnut heard him calling
he came. Instead of opening the gate, how-
ever, he stood leaning upon it and looking over
the top of it at the group of girls on the other
side, with a queer expression of countenance.
"We want to come into the garden," said
"I don't know whether I oan let such alar
party come into my garden," said Beechnut,.
"except on conditions."
"What are the conditions ?" asked Caroline.
"I'll tell you what they are, one by one,"
said Beechnut, "and if you will promise to
abide by them, you must all say' Agreed.'"


"Very well," said Caroline; begin."
"In the first place, then," said Beechnut
"you must be very careful not to step upon
any of the beds or borders."
"Agreed!" "Agreed said all the children.
"In the second place, you must not gather
any flowers," continued Beechnut.
Several voices said agreed. Others did not
answer. Caroline said,
"We shall certainly want you to give us
some flowers."
"I did not say I should not give you any,"
replied Beechnut. I said you must not gather
any yourselves."
"Well agreed," said Caroline. Then all the
,therchildren said "agreed," too.
You may all look around the garden," con-
inued Beechnut, "and choose three flower
aiece, and I will gather them for you, and
give them to you, unless they are the fobidle
lowers. I can't give you any of the forbidden
"Which are the forbidden flowers ?" asked
Malleville was iB this time standing back be-
hind the other children, with Mary BelL She
seemed very much surprised to hear Beechnut

Tun PARTv.
kain es sheet dmbwui. ebe g,
talk in this way, and looking to Mary Bel, dhe
said in a low voice,
"I don't believe there are any forbidden
dowers ?"
Beechnut did not hear, or at least did not
notice this, but replied to Caroline's question
by saying,
"I can't tell you what they are beforehand;
you must ask me, when you have hosen your
flower, whether they are forbidden or not If
they are, you must choose again. If not, I will
gather them for you, but not until just before
you are ready to go out of the garden. Now
what do you say to these conditions '?
"Agreed I" said the children.
"There is one thing more," nid Beechnut;
'before you go out of the garden, you must
sing me a song."
The girls all laughed at this, but they did mot
ay agreed. Finally, Beechnut aid that he
would not insist upon this as a condition, but
that if they kept all his other conditions he
would teach them a song, and play the tune of
it himself on his flageolet. Then directing
Phonny to jump over the fence and open the
gate, he turned around and walked away. The
gate wa opened, and the children were mon

2W d admI.d. m. I" bows%
running in every direction, all over the gar.
They were moon continually coming to Beech-
nut and calling him this way and that to look
at the flowers which they had found, so as to
tell them whether they were forbidden or not.
In fact, it was only owing to Beechnut's wish
to give them occasions to come and speak to
him often, that led him to say any thing about
forbidden flowers. There were no forbidden
flowers really, and he did not say that there
were any; he only said he could not give them
any forbidden flowers. Thus he said nothing
that was not true, though the children were for
a time misled by what he said.
Beechnut had two reasons for wishing that
the children should come and speak to him.
First, for his own pleasure. They were all
very pleasant girls, and he liked to see them
coming to him and looking up into his face to
ask a question, with countenances animated
with the interest which they all seemed to fel
in finding out whether the flowers were forbid-
den or not. Then again he wanted them to
get acquainted a little with him, so that they
should not be afraid to sing, when the time
came for teaching them their song.

Tas PARTr. at

The plan uooceeded admirably wel. The
girls kept coming to him continually, and when
he told them that the flower which they had
chosen were forbidden, they took it very good-
naturedly, and went to look for other They
all did this excepting Caroline. Caroline, how.
ever, felt a little piqued at being told that one
of her fower was forbidden, and she would not
look for another to take its place. She told an.
other girl who was walking with her, that if
Beechnut was not polite enough to give her
uch flowers a she wanted, she would not have
any. In fact, Caroline was very little acous-
tomed to be refused, and though generally a
very good-humored girl, she was yet so food of
attentions, that any thing that appeared at all
like a slight, was very apt to awaken her re
She was mistaken, however, in this instance,
in her interpretation of the ase, as those very
frequently are, who are ready to take offnoe
at any fancied slight which they receive. The
true reason why Beechnat said that her lower
was forbidden, was because she was so beauti-
fl a girl, and there was uch a charm in her
air and manner when she came to ask him to
go and look at her lowe, that he wished to

lM -m muL s Me auirr. anL Ille.
give her occasion to come again. He con-
demned two of Mary Bell's flowers afterward
for this very reason.
At last when Beechnut thought that the party
began to feel enough at home in his. presence
to make it probable that they could be induced
to try to sing, he called them all together
around him in the arbor. When they were
assembled, he produced his fageolet. He first
played them several tunes, which pleased the
girls very much. Then he played the tune of
the song which he was going to sing to them,
two or three times over. Then he sang the
song itself, and afterward repeated the words
to them, they repeating them after him, line by
lie, again and again, until they all knew the
words. Then he let them sing the words while
he accompanied them upon the flageolet The
words aad the tune, as they ang and played it,
were as follows. If any of the young readers
of this story have a sister who plays upon any
instrument, or who can sing by note, she an
sing and play this song so that they can hear
in some measure how it sounded as performed
by Beechnut and the children in the garden.

Tua PavTr.

OOam AMD xa, MaI Am.

COamawid MnI AaITbjff am sai -
C- as er *lya- 7mm AdsayU mill tr-.

is p M4! 1 m N- ft % -
S. I~fYF~~IP .~*

We'll j.pthusep,4We'ldidessMdarn WeUHftaimbr ii

AW siit lm *Ile mh.wraYbhlIM s*.qr wk

J obem stdo m, Kly Aa, Thip*sr-aamat A)

Oma ear-ly ydu ,Ad mi yUIl a-lier e-.

In nging the ong, ll of the party peant
joined very oonudialy in the perfonrmea e,
opting Carolu S I emed to fad a ittl
above it. And it is indeed tree that thi sog,
both in rzepeot to the words and the tan, wn
dergned for young children, and not for yo~g
ladies of twelve or thirteen. But the, the
majority of theparty present were of the right
age to be interested in the song, the older per-
ees should have joined in it heartily or he

" --

alM mle u. Wdm u wvimw.
sake of promoting the general enjoyment.
Mary Bell did pursue this course. She stood
with Malleville near the door of the arbor, and
appeared to take great interest in learning both
the words and the tune. In fact she liked to
hear the song herself very much, although she
was much older than the class of children for
which it was particularly intended. Besides,
she immediately thought that it would be a very
pretty song to teach the children who often
came to visit her at her mother's.
Caroline, on the other hand, instead of taking
any part in the singing, seemed to say, by her
haughty air and manner, that such childish mu-
sic as that was entirely beneath her taste and
appreciation. She sauntered carelessly about
the alley near the door of the arbor, looking
first at the flowers near the path, and then
more generally around the garden. At last,
happening to turn her eyes toward the house,
she saw Wallace standing upon the balcony
which was before his window, looking down
into the garden. She pretended not to have
observed him, and yet began to walk along
slowly and carelessly toward the gate which
led to the house. Wallace, however, paid no
attention to her. He was listening to the song.

L dod= do" we a weepl YIn w.
The child sag the souin the arbor, un-
der Besebumt' direction, several time, in order
to learn it perfectly, and then Beechaut went
awy and resumed his work, having the chil-
dren to themselves. They all wished to go on
with the singing a little longer. So they re-
mained and ang the song by themselves serve
ral times, under Mary Bell's direction. She
formed them into a ring in a small circular
area, which had beea made in front of the ar.
bor, in laying out the garden. There was a
beautiful weeping willow in the center of the
area, and the children made their ring around
it. It was a very good place to dane in a ring,
only the willow in the center, beautiful and
graceful as it was in its form, was extremely
inappropriate a an emblem on this oooo,
inamuch as that tree, with its long and droop
ing branches waving in the wind, and pnemea
ing seh an expression of hopeless dejetion
and grief, has been always considered as oon-
secrated to sorrow, and not to light-heartednes
and joy.
After singing and dancing till they were tired
the children left the garden and went back into
the yad, where they played a long time very
happily. Her Caroline was the ife and nal

UIy U6 mmdOum. TMr* dam
of the party, she was so active and so full of
vivacity. She contrived plays, and planned
expeditions; she sang songs and told stories,
and she had all the time a crowd standing
about her when she was still, and following her
as she moved along from place to place. Mary
Bell was more silent and retiring. She joined
sometimes with the rest in Caroline's plays, but
at other times she was to be seen walking slowly
in the garden, with two or three companions,
or sitting apart with them upon some rustic
seat or smooth stone. At such times, however,
whenever any of the other girls approached the
place where she was sitting or walking, she al-
ways welcomed them with so cordial a smile as
to show that her inclination for quiet and se-
clusion did not arise from any disposition to
withdraw from the company, and isolate her.
self from them for the purpose of enjoying ex
elusively the society of two or three of her par.
ticular friends. To avoid any appearance of
this, which is justly considered in all social
gatherings as very impolite, she constantly
changed the companions whom she walked
with, going sometimes with one and sometimes
with another, so as to bestow her attentions
ennally upon all. This is the course which it

Tan PAaTY. a

is always proper to pursue in parties assembled
for social enjoyment.
It is true that it is often very pleasant to en.
joy exclusively the society of one or two very
near and dear friends, but that is not the kind
of enjoyment that we are to seek when assem-
bled in parties of pleasure, and if we attempt to
obtain it there, we excite jealousy and mar the
general happiness.
Mary Bell, therefore, though more inclined
than some of the other girls, to thoughtful and
reflective pleasures, was always r-adv to join
in the general plans, and to take her pan in he
plays which the others-proposed. Thus the
afternoon passed away very pleasantly. At
last the time came for the collation, and all pro-
ceeded to the summer-house. The door was
unlocked, and they all went in. The strawber.
ries had been placed upon the table, and the
cream and the milk had been put into the pitch.
era. Every thing was ready. The children
stood for a few minutes about the table, admir-
ing the arrangement of it, and the abundance
of the preparations which had been made for
their feast Then they began gradually to take
seats on the benches which had been placed
around the sides of the summer-house.

* NP6 B in

I propose," said Caroline, "that we have a
queen. I think it would be a good plan to have
a queen to preside, and she can appoint some
assistants who will carry round the cake, and
help to the strawberries and cream."
Yes," said Mary Bell, "I think that will be
a good plan."
If you all like that plan," said Caroline, say
The children all said, "agreed." Some of
them, quite unnecessarily, said it two or three
S& propose that Caroline be appointed queen,"
said Mary Bell. If you all like that plan, say
"Agreed!" "Agreed!" said a great many
voices. Some, however, said, "No. Mary
Bell." "Let Mary Bell be queen."
It is agreed that Caroline shall be queen,"
said Mary Bell.
"I think you ought to be queen," said a little
girl in a low timid voice, who was sitting next
to Mary Bell. Her name was Alice.
Hush," said Mary Bell. So saying, she put
her finger upon her lips, and looked upon Alice
with a smile, which showed that though she said

anil -iu1.


310 re a- n qem. AUItqiih
Hiush," he was not displeasd with her for
having spoken.
Caroline took her place near the head of the
table and commenced the discharge of her du-
ties. e appointed her assistants, and took,
through them, the direction of the feast. She
performed the duties of her station with great
tact and propriety. In fact, she was in all re-
spects admirably qualified to fulfil the functions
of a queen.
There were, however, a few who were quite
disappointed that Mary Bell had not been made
queen, and they came, around her while the
whole company were busy in eating the oake
and the strawberries, and began to express their
discontent. The sound of the voices in the
summer-house was so incessant, mingled as it
was with calls, exlapations, and shouts of
laughter, that the malcontents could easily talk
together without being overheard by the rest
Some, in fact, had taken their cake and their
plates of strawberries, and had gone out at the
door of the summer-house, and had taken seats
on the step or on seats outside.
"I think y~ ought to have been the queen,"
said Alie. "You ae the oldest "
"Only a month or two," said Mary Bell.

MaWy e1 suelam "arolae quuem.
SNo, Caroline ought to be the queen, became
she was proposed first."
That was only because you proposed her,"
said Malleville.
Besides," said Mary Bell, "I wouldiUthe
that she should be queen. I think-"
Here Mary Bell paused. What she began
to say was, that she thought that Caroline would
make a better queen than she herself. She did
really think so, but she decided on reflection
that she would not say so. She was right in
not saying it. It is not only impolite to say
any thing directly in praise of oneself, but it is
in general almost equally impolite to say any
thing in disparagement of oneself; for remarks
of self-disparagement almost always appear as
if they were made for the purpose of drawing
from the hearers the expression of a contrary
"But never mind now," said Mary Bell.
Caroline is chosen, and she makes an excellent
queen. I propose that we go into the garden
and make a wreath to crown her with. We
will keep it a secret until we get it all ready."
The girls were very much pleased with this
proposal, and especially with the idea of keeping
it a secret. Mary Bell sent Alice to the queen

Tai PARrt. it
glblu lbmlewes as q. -mo o emm
to ask her majesty's permission that Mary her-
elf; and three other girls might go away for a
short time.
"If she should seem not to be willing," said
Mary Bell, "whisper in her ear that it is to get
a wreath to crown the queen."
Alice accordingly went to Caroline with the
petition, while Mary Bell and the other girl
strolled slowly along the path. Caroline said at
first that she could not give any of her subjects
leave to go away; but when Alice had whis-
pered in her ear what the object was, of the pro.
posed expedition, she consented immediately,
and sent word to Mary Bell that she was very
much obliged to her for thinking of it
The children who went with Mary Bel be-
came very much interested in gathering Sow
era and making the wreath; and by the time
that the wreath was finished and carried in, #d
the queen was crowned with it, the three girls
were as warm friends of Caroline's reign as any
girs in the party. It was, in fact, with a view
to this result that Mary Bell had made the pro.
posal. The plan succeeded perfectly, and every
thing went on afterward in a very harmonious
manner. Caroline reigned supreme. It wokld
be a mistake, however, to suppose that her pod-

1t WALL a.
Ia ahanM ad ret. t.r pl. nm ahr e tybaw
tion was, after all, any more elevated than that of
Mary Bell; since she who makes a queen, and
crowns her, and upholds her power, is certainly,
in some respects, higher than the queen herself
when made.
After the collation, the children played about
the yard for some time, and then, when they had
become a little tired of this exercise, the queen
proposed that they should go into the sitting-
room and sit down quietly for a while, for some
still play. They all approved of this proposal,
and Phonny said that he would go up into Wal.
lace's room and ask Wallace to come down and
tell them a story. He accordingly went undek
Wallace's window, which, as described in the
book called MALL VnmLu had a balcony project-
ing from it on the outside. It was so arranged
that one could open the window and step out
upon the balcony. The balcony was supported
by two long posts, the lower ends of which rest.
ed upon the ground. There were pegs inserted
in these posts, at short intervals, intended to
support the vines which climbed up, by means
of them, to the balcony and window.
The posts were thus intended as a sort of
trellis, but Phonny had been accustomed to use
drem fo ladders, to climb up to the balcony upon.

Tan PawrT. .

in order to get into Wallsae's room through the
window, instead of going round through the
house and up the stairs.

When Phonny had got to the top of the post,
he topped to look down upon the girls that wre
playing about the yard below. Some of them
had gone into the house, and others were ram-
bling about and gathering flowers underneath
the balcony. Phonny was so accustomed to
climb up the posts that he oould stand upon the
pegs at any elevation, almost as much at his eae

wdmn s&A Anmmness at dhe I. 2%Suin049.
as he could upon one of the upper steps of a
Phonny came down by way of the stais, af-
ter communicating his request to Wallace, that
he would join the party in the sitting-room and
tell them a story. Wallace very readily prom-
ised to come, though as usual in such cases, he
said that he did not know any stories. When
Phonny returned to the sitting-room he reported
this answer to Caroline, and to the children, who
were all assembling there and taking their seats.
There were two sofas in the room, which Caro-
line and Mary Bell drew pretty near together,
by a window, in such a manner that by means
of a few chairs placed in connection with them,
a small space was enclosed. Upon the floor
within this space, they put various small bench-
es, and stools, and cushions, for the smaller chil-
dren to sit upon. As fast as these seats were
arranged, the children took possession of them,
in little bands, two or three together; though
u they generally changed their position several
times, running from one seat to another, to me
which was best, it was some time before they
were all quietly settled. There were two arm-
chairs placed opposite to each other, among the
other chair, on different sides of the enclosed

Wdd.dMo l f kbnfM. am Wuii emioi l mdmnbM
area. One of these arm-hairs was for the queen,
and the other for Wallace.
When Wallace came down, the company
were all at first somewhat afraid of him. He
was considerably older than the oldest of the
girls. Malleville told him that Caroline was the
queen, and that he must obey her in every par-
ticular. In reply to this he made a very low
bow to the queen, and said that he should be
very happy to be one of her majesty's subjects.
Caroline said, however, that she should not be
queen any longer; he must be king. To this
Wallace replied, that he would not be king, and
thus usurp her power, but he would, if Caroline
pleased, be her majesty's prime minister. This
proposal was very cordially seconded by all
present, and as Caroline made no objection, it
was determined to adopt it. So Wallace as-
sumed the general direction of the meeting, as
the prime minister of Queen Caroline

Wdrl ppu mWeM. Mave rdmi t eas p. Why.


WAILic knew very well that if he now began
to call upon the children to relate stories, there
was danger that they would one and all decline,
and would say that they did not know any sto-
ries. He thought that he could diminish the dan-
ger of this result by aiding them a little m the
selection of a subject. So he proposed that the
subjects of all the stories should be accidents,
misfortunes, and calamities.
Try to think," said he, all of you, of some
misfortune or accident which has happened to
you at some time or other, and let your story
be about that My story is about an accident
that happened to me one night in being locked
out of my father's house in New York. I shall
tell you all about it, when it comes to my turn.
In the same manner you can all think of some.
thing that has happened to you. I will ae'
upon Malleville first."
The reason why Wallace called upon Male-
ville first was, that as she was so well acquaint.

Tan STona.TaLLStw. W
s.r seens -u amw .. -oM.t w.a
ed with him, he supposed that she would not
be so much afraid as the others, to begin.
"I don't remember any accident," said
Malleville, nless I tell you about how I broke
my little purple flower-glas."
"That will do very well," said Wallace, "I
am sure. Tell us all alout it."
Why, you see," said Malleville, I tied it on
my telegraph string, and the string broke or
slipped off, and the glass fell down into the yard
on the pavement, and broke to pieces."
Here Malleville paused, as if she had finished
her story.
But you must make a longer story of it than
that," said Wallace. "You must tell us what
the telegraph string was, and what you were
doing with your glass. You most describe the
place too, and thus explain the whole affair to
us from bopning to end, like the stories in
"Well," said Malleville, "the telegraph was
a wire that you made for Augusta and me, to
go from my window up to her balcony. It was
in New York. My window and her balcony
were both behind the house. Her house is next
to ours. There are a great many grape vines
there, climbing up among the trellimom and t.

Malk -J.le dml4opdof the tehlgrap The b&I Tho eat
chimneys. The telegraph was a pretty strong
wire. You fastened one end of it at her baloo-
ny, and the other end at my window, and we
could pull things up and down on it"
How could you fasten them on ?" aid Car.
Why, we had a ho2k,-a kind of a double
hook; one end hooked upon the wire, and the
other hung down a little, so that I could hook
everything upon it which I wished to send up
to Augusta."
"How could you make it go up?" asked
"Oh, she pulled it up with a string," said
Malleville. There was a string fastened to the
hook, and one end of it was fastened to Augusta's
. balcony. The string was so long, that when Au-
gustalet it all out, it would lower the hook down
to my window; and when I had *n off what
she had sent down, I could put something else
upon.the hook, and Augusta could draw it up."
Wallace smiled at hearing this description
of his contrivance. He remembered it very
We had a little basket," continued Malle-
ville, "that we used to fasten to our hook to
wnd thinr'.nn and down inrand also a little bag

Tun 8roear.TLLias W
NMy so i qman te mi a dawls
which we sometimes put on. We called it ow
mail bag."
Was the balcony directly over your win-
dow ?" asked Mary Bell
SNo," said Malleville; it was on one side.
1 wis that you would make a picture of it,
Mary Bell."
"Oh, I could not make a picture of it," said
Mary Bell.
Yes, do, Mary Bell," said all the children,
"1 will make you a rough sketch," said Wal-
lace to Mary Bell, to show you the forms of
the buildings, and the direction of the vines on
the trellises."
So Wallace took out paper and a pencil from
his pocket, and placing his pocket-book upon his
knee for a desk, he began to make a sketch,
while Mary Bell, who happened to be sitting
pretty near him, and all the other girls who could
get their heads near enough to see, looked 9ver.
As Wallace went on with his sketch, he accom-
panied his work with verbal explanations, such
as This is the back side of the block; here is
a projection built out from one house, and here
is another projection belonging to the next one.
This is a trellis. and here is a mas of vines,

S.1 mma, u mlami. .he bel
eI." The form and character of the building
were so familiar to Wallace's mind, and the
elements of the view were so simple and few,
that he finished his sketch in a few minutes,
and then all the girls were very eager to have
Mary Bell go to the table and make the drawing
at once, while the others were telling the st.
rie. Mary seemed quite unwilling to venture
on the undertaking. She finally, however, con-
sented to try, on condition of not being required
to tell a story. The picture was to be received
instead. The children were at first very un-
willing to accede to this condition, but Wallace
told them he thought it was reasonable, and so
the plan was agreed to, and Mary Bell was led
to the table. She said that nobody must look
over her while she was at work, but that they
should all see the picture when it was finished.
Wallace went up into his room and brought
down some drawing paper and pencils, and
Mary Bell then commenced her work, while
the rest of the party resumed their seats, and
prepared again to listen to the story.
SWell, Malleville," said Phonny, "go on."
"I had a beautiful little flower glass," said
Malleville, resuming her narrative, that is, a
class to hold little bouquets of flowers in wate

Tur Svoav-.TLLIsw. s
1M. eeM.. Mbar iy. The P.upL. ufs 1l
My unle gave it to me, at Christmas I hept
it on a table in my room. One day Auguta
sent me down grapes. She gathered them from
the vine which grew over her balcony. There
were two bunches. She put one bunch in the
basket, and she hung the other pretty near the
basket, on the wire. She then let them both
come down to me."
I was very glad to have the grape., and I
thought I would send Augusta up some powers.
I had some flowers in my little flower-glass
So I tied a string around the glass, and then
fastened the end of it to the hook. Then I told
Augusta to pull. She pulled, and the glass with
the flowers all in it, went very safely a little
way, but at last, when it had got about halfway
up, it ll off and went down into the yard below.
It fell on the stone walk, and broke all to pieo."
Some of the children on hearing this, looked
quite concerned, while others who happened to
sit pretty near Mary Bell's table, ran toward it
"Where? Letus see, Mary, where it wa."
But Mary Bell put her hand over her draw.
ing, and said,
SNo, it is not finished yet. You must not
ook until it is finished "

IAte & bi brKing, kta h I gi t upo.
SThen they all went back to their places spin.
Wallace said that Malleville had told a very
good story.
SI am sorry for the los of your glare said
he, "especially as it was partly my fault. I
should have told you when I put up your tele-
graph wire, that it would not be safe to attempt
to convey any thing valuable, and especially
any thing frangible upon it."
"What does frangible mean ?" asked Malle.
Any thing easily broken," replied Caroline.
"Then my flower-glass was very frangible,"
said Malleville, for it broke into ten thousand
After this, Wallace called upon one after an-
other of the girls in the company, to relate their
stories. They attempted to give accounts of
accidents which had befallen them, but they did
not succeed quite so well as Malleville had done,
for they were afraid to speak before so large a
company, and so they made their stosis, in
general, very short, and rather unsatisfactory.
In fact, the story which Sarah told was merely
"The only accident that I can remember,
was that once I was trying to jump over a little

Tan SToaT TuLLINw. a
mI mrfd aoor U> dlaer ha b Wa A .S
brook, and I did not jump far enough, and o J
fell in and got wet."
"Did you get in all over aid Phomny.
"Oh, no!" replied Sarah.
How deep war the brook ?" asked Phonny.
SOh it war not very deep," said Sarah.
"Was it so deep ?" said Phonny, holding his
hand horizontally up to his chin.
"Oh, no," said Sarah.
SSo deep, then ?" continued Phonny holding
his hand now at his breast.
"Oh, no, not near so deep as that."
"How deep was it, then ?" asked Phonny.
SOh it was not deep at all," aid Sarah. "It
was only a little brook that my brother made,
pouring down some water with a mug in the
"Hoh I" said Phonny, in a tone of contempt

Another of the store which wee related,
was an account given by one of the little girls
of getting a curtain on fire. I was on a sum-
mer evening, and she went up stairs with a
lamp to get a story-book. She put the lamp
down upon the table, not very far from the win.
dow, but far enough, as she supposed, to be afe.
She placed the lamp on that table, she aid, in

Iinsie damr. Tb iLhe maddd ibdh
order that it might shine into the closet where
the books were kept. She did not carry it into
the closet, for fear that she might set some of
the books or papers on fire.
While she was in the closet herself looking
for the book that she wanted, the curtain, waft-
ed by the pressure of the evening air through
the open window, floated slowly into the room.
The lower border of it hovered for a moment
in the air just over the lamp, and then gently
descending into it, lighted itself with a very
graceful motion, and then sailed back again
into its place in the window. The flame as-
eended very rapidly, and illuminated the room.
The girl saw the light shining into the closet.
She ran out, and seeing what had happened,
sh rushed to the stairs crying fire. Her father
came up, she said, and pulled the curtain down
with the tongs, and drew it, all in flames as it
was, to the hearth, where he put it out by
treading upon it.
SMy father told me," added the narrator of
this story, in concluding it, that I was not at
all to blame, for I could not possibly know when
I put the lamp upon the table, that the wind
would blow the curtain in against it, and t it
on fire."

Taun oTar.TILLINae
m ~Ury. IUit hk ). A ps.
When at length it came to Phonny's trn to
relate his story, he began as follows:
The only accident that has happened to me
for a long time, that I remember, was losing the
key to my trunk. I was coming home from a
journey. The last place where I stopped, I
locked up my trunk in the morning, but instead
of putting the key in my pocket, I laid it down
upon the carpet, while I buckled the straps.
The man came after my trunk in a great hurry,
and told me to make haste, and that made me
forget to take up the key. So I came away
and left the key on the carpet."
Here Phonny paused, as if he had finished
his story.
I that all ?" said Wallace.
"Yes," said Phonny; "only when I got
home I could not open my trunk."
"What did you do?" asked several of the
"Oh, Beechnut managed it for me," said
Phonny. "Gues how he did it?"
"He found another key," said one.
"No," replied Phonny, "we tried all the
trunk keys in the house, and none of them
would fit it."
"He broke open the look," said another.

VMIn 7sW.. 0- Is UP. Ip.i
"No," said Phonny.
SHe opened the lock by some kind of tools
or instruments," said Caroline.
* "No," said Phonny.
Then he sent for the locksmith," said Caro-
"No," replied Phonny, "that is not it."
"I know what he did," said Malleville.
"Yes, but you must not tell," said Phonny;
"let them guess."
"He took off the hinges," said Sarah, "and
so lifted up the lid that way."
No," said Phonny. "He could not do that,
the hinges were inside, and he could not get at
What did he do then? said Caroline. "Tell
us; we can't guess. We give it up."
He turned the trunk up side down," said
Phonny, "and took the bottom out. So I took
all my things out bottom upward."
The company all laughed aloud at this termi-
nation of the story. When silence was re-
stored again, they looked toward Wallace, in
expectation that he would call for the next nar-
"Learn from that story," said Wallac,

Tsa STOar-TsLLINe. $I
a A sm t ma mm. esmsi.
that when you are traveling, you must take
good care of the keys of your trunks."
"Yes," said Malleville, we wilL"
It came at length, in the progress of the rota.
tion,to Caroline's turn to relate a story. Shewa
very ready to begin. In fact she was so flent
in the use of language, and could express her-
self so well, and her voice was moreover so
clear and melodious in its tone, that it was very
pleasant to listen to her, independently of the
interest excited by what she had to say. She
began as follows:
My story will not be a very long one. It
is an account of my crossing a ferry on the ice
and by a boat, one cold winter night, and how
my mother broke through and yet was brought
out dry."
"I don't see how that could be," said Sarah.
"What ?" asked Caroline.
"Why, in the first place," rejoined Sarah,
"I don't see how you could cross on the ice,
and in a boat too; and then I don't see how
your mother could break through and not get
You will find out in the course of the story,"
said Caroline. It was a very cold night. Fa-
ther, mother and I were coming home from a

A sis e d s ash a u DOW Oan s 2Wmr.
journey. We were in a sleigh. Father and
mother sat upon the back seat of the sleigh, and
I sat upon a small chair, which had been placed
in frontbetween them. We were all covered
up with buffalo robes, and we had some hot
planks and bricks, all wrapped up in flannel
cloths, in the bottom of the sleigh, to keep our
feet warm. So we rode along very comfort-.
bly; at least I did. The snow was on the trees
in the woods, and when I peeped out from under
the buffaloes, I saw the stars shining very
bright. They were very bright indeed,-but
they looked very cold.
U When we got pretty near to the river, my
mother began to be afraid about crossing it,
She asked my father whether be thought we
should cross in a boat or upon the ice. My fa-
ther said that be did not know. They had been
crossing with a boat until within a few days,
but within that time it had been so intensely
cold that he thought it probable that the river
had frozen over. He hoped it had frozen, he
said, for if it remained open there must ne-
cessarily be a great deal of ice floating, which
would make it unpleasant, if not unsafe, to cross
in the boat. My mother said that she was
afraid to go either way. If the river should be

Tan SroaTr.TatLLIe. s
oto c rc.lar. lno .
found frozen over, she did not believe that the
ioe oould be strong and if they attempted to go
over upon it, they should break in and all be
drowned. And if, on the other hand, the river
should be found open, and they should attempt
to cross it in the boat, some great field of float
ing ioe would come running against them and
carry them down the stream, nobody could tell
where. She asked my father what he thought
we had better do.
We will do,' said my father, 'just what the
ferryman recommends. He is a careful, faith.
ful, and experienced man, and has managed this
ferry for a great many years, and no accident
has ever occurred. It is true an accident may
happen to-night for the first time, but then we
shall be more likely to avoid an accident by
acting according to hi, judgment than by fol-
lowing our own.'
"At length we got down to the bank of the
river. The ferry-house was an old dilapidated
building. In fact one part of it had tumbled
down. There were only two.rooms init which
were habitable; one of these was occupied by
the ferryman and his wife, and their two chil.
dren. There was a large bed in one corner of
this room, and a sort of trundle-bed under it foi

ow""=- wh emIn. fyrom A- se enho ne w.
the children. The trundle-bed was drawn out,
and the two children were asleep in it when we
went in; but the ferryman's wife pushed it
in under the great bed again, so far that nothing
but the children's heads were leftout. Shedid
this to make more room.
SMy father asked the ferryman if he thought
we could get across the river. The ferryman
said that we could get across ourselves, but that
we could not take the horse and sleigh over.
He said that the water was opea for about one
third of the way, and for the remaining two
thirds it was frozen; though we should not find
it very strong until we should get pretty near
the farther shore. He said that we should have
to take the small boat, for whenever the river
was partly frozen it was unsafe to use the great
boat at all. We should get into the boat, and
go on in it as far as the water was open, and
then force the boat on through the ice as far as
we could, by rocking the boat and breaking the
ice with poles. When we could no longer get
on in this way, we should find the ice strong
enough to bear us. We must then get out of
the boat upon the ice, and walk over on the ice
itlf, to the opposite shore.
My mother said that she should never dar

Tnu SToaT-TaLLIne. U

togo aros a riverinsuch a way as that. The
ferryman said that it was the only possible way
that they could go, that night, and that he
thought it was perfectly safe.
My father tried to persuade my mother not
to be afraid; but she said that she could not
possibly help it. She would rather stay all
night at the ferry-howue than to go in that
way. My father said that he must go at all
events. My mother said, very well, that she
would stay alone. My father told me that I
might go with him or stay with my mother, just
as I pleased. I told him I would rather go with
him. I wanted to get home and see Dicky;
and besides, I was not afraid of the ice."
Who was Dicky ? asked one of the chil-
SMy bird," replied Caroline.
"So it was agreed," continued Caroline, that
my father and I should go over with the ferry-
man in the boat, and that the ferryman's wife
hold make up some sort of a bed in the va-
cant room at the ferry-house, for my mother.
The ferryman thought that by the afternoon
of the nett day, the river would be frozen solid
from shore to shore, and then my father was to
come back and take my mother home."

lAmie h mna*g e riv,. am e.
"I think you ought to have stayed with you
mother," said Malleville.
That would not have done any good," said
Caroline; and besides, I wanted to go home.
So we left my mother at the ferryman's, and I
went down with my father to the boat. The
ferryman went with us, and two other men be-
sides, who were going to row. The boat was
frozen into the ice near the shore, but the men
soon got it loose by rocking it about, and break-
ing the ie around it with their poles. We then
all got into the boat and pushed out upon the
"There were a great many cakes of ice run-
ning down with the current, and here and there
we saw large sheets which were formed some-
times of smooth thin ice, and at others of a great
mass of broken pieces, all sailing down together.
The boatmen steered the boat among these in
the best way they could. At last, when we had
got nearly to the middle of the river, we came
to the edge of the fixed ice, that is, to where the
water began to be all frozen over.
"For a little way this ice was so thin that the
boatmen could row the boat directly through it,
breaking it with their oars, and rooking the boat
a little from.side to side to agitate the water.


Fixed Ic..

Medo obf ekif drefth IL

The ioe grew thicker and stronger as we went
on, and they had to rook the boat more and
more. It was very cold, but I helped them
rook the boat, and that kept me warm. At last
the ioe became so thick, that rooking the boat
would not break it."

TM r3T s WIurmT.

"And what did you do then?" asked Phonny.
"The ferryman and the boatmen got out of
the boat very carefully, and stood upon the ice,
holding on all the time upon the sides of the
boat, while father and I went toward the stern.

n.o in su inmson 1s bow. Oa.. b bb-@M
This made the bows of the boat rise a little out
of the water. The men then pulled the boat
forward till the bows rested partly on the ioe.
Then they got in, and father and I came for-
ward, and we all rocked the boat again until
the weight of the boat and the rocking of it
broke the ioe up. Then the men would get
out and pull the boat forward as before.
u In this manner we went on for a consider-
able distance. At last the boat would not break
through any more, and the ferrymen said that
the ice was strong enough to bear us in walk-
ing upon it the rest of the way. So we all got
out of the boat, except one boatman, and walked
on upon the ice. The ferryman went before
us, striking the ice continually before him with
the end of a heavy pole."
And so you got safe home said Wallae.
"Yes," replied Caroline. "When we got to
the shore, my father took me up to a tavern,
wrn- warmed myself by a great blaming fire,
wbile the men arnessed a horse into a leigh
to take us home. It was only two or three
miles that we had to go, and we got there very
quick, for my father drove the horse that night
very fast indeed."

Ta 8T6ar-.TsLLIae. w

Here Caroline pamued, a if she had finished
her story.
Is that all ?"' asked Phonny.
Yes," said Caroline.
SBut you mid that your mother broke in,"
said Phonny.
"Ah !-ye," aid Caroline, laughing. "I said
she broke through. I forgot to tell you about
that. This was the way it happened. The
ferryman's wife made up a bed for her in the
vacant room, and when the boatmen came
back, they took her trunk to carry it in-one
boatman at each end of it. My mother went
in also, and the ferryman's wife too, to oavy
the light. Now the house wa so old and de-
cayed, that the foor was not strong enough to
ear so many people, and my mother's trunk
too-which was pretty large-and so the tim-
bern gave way, and the people all went down
into the cellar together, among the rubbish."
Thire was a general exclamation of astonish-
ment among all the auditors at hearing of this
unexpected catastrophe. Mary Bell uaked Car.
oine if her mother was hurt,
"No," said Caroline. "I believe not It
was not really a cellar, I believe, and they did
ot fall very far. So be was not hurt. But
Oe was most dtiily frightened."
>t, 'q

*a" f waf.. .mry. i*e Pi=mWm I.

CaarTaI V.
"My story," said Wallace, in commencing
his narrative, "is rather more appropriate to
boys than to girls, or rather the moral of it, so
far as there is any moral, applies more particu-
larly to them than to you. I am afraid, besides,
that you will not find it very interesting in it-
self. It is nothing but an account of my getting
locked out of my father's house one night in
New York, and of my adventures in getting
a lodging at the hotel."
That will be an interesting story," said one
of the younger girls.
I was returning from the country," resumed
Wallace, where I had been spending the sum-
mer. All the family were out of town too, so
that the house was empty, except that there
was one servant there who had been left to take
charge of it. I returned a day or two before
the rest of the family, in order to make the a-
essary arrangements for opening the house, an

1 'k

WAI.LAOca' STorT. 97
dme.. .mmesW eYT. oame. Ss.m.
getting it ready for my father and mother, and
SThe oars in which I wa traveling were to
arrive at nine o'clock in the evening; and as
James did not usually fasten up the house until
ten, I thought I should have ample time to get
home from the station in Canal street, before he
had gone to bed."
"Who was James?" asked one of the chil-
dren named Marianne.
He was the servant," replied Wallace, "who
had charge of the house."
"Yes, you might have known that," said
Caroline. "You must not interrupt the story
to ask questions."
I thought that James would not have looked
up the house," continued Wallace, "before I
should get home, and if he should have done so,
I knew that it would be of no great conse-
quence, as I had a night-key."
What is that ?" asked Caroline.
"Why it is a kind of key," said Wallace,
"which the New York people use to unlock their
doors with, when they come home in the night"
SYes, you might have known that," said Ma-
rianne. "You should not interrupt the story
to ask questions."

r-M. n-W top~ ~po M e sn iM dd eil
The children all laughed at this retort. Car-
oline laughed too, more than the rest. She
shook her singer at Marianne, saying
"Ah, you little bobalink,-now you have
caught me-and made them all laugh at me,-
and I the queen too. I shall have to send you
to the tower for that."
This was the very best thing that Caroline
could have done in such a case. The very best
possible way to receive a harmless joke, is to
join in the laugh that it occasions. Caroline,
who was a girl of great intelligence and tact,
perceived this at once in this instance, and thus
escaped from her awkward position very grace-
fully. If she had looked grave and displeased,
and thus evinced ill-humor and resentment on
the occasion, she would have fixed herself in
the position in which Marianne's retaliation had
placed her, and made herself doubly ridiculous.
About half-past seven o'clock in the eve.
ning," continued Wallace, "when we were
about thirty or forty miles from New York, we
met with an accident which stopped the train."
"What accident was it?" asked Phonny,
eagerly. "Did you run over a cow ?"
No," said Wallace, "it was not that. Nqr
do I know, in fact, precisely what the accident

Zenr1 U>G I Mtm WuldtwIt NortO. WONOWS
was. Something gave way about the machine-
ry of the locomotive. We were detained an
hour; for the conductor was obliged to msnd
back five miles to get a new locomotive. Then
we had to stop after that, at almost every sta-
tion, to wait for other trains, coming from New
York; for we had lost the time that belonged to
our train, for getting into the city, and so we
had to go on afterward as we could, in the in-
tervals between the other trains. When at last
we turned into the great station at Canal street,
I looked at my watch and found that it wasfive
minutes past eleven. Then I knew of course
that James had gone to bed.
"I determined however to go home and get
into the house by means of my night-key, and
go to my room, without letting James know that
Ihad arrived, until the next morning. I had
my plan all formed for getting a light and for
doing every thing .else which should be neces-
sary, without disturbing James. What my plan
was, you will understand by hearing what I did.
As soon as I got out of the cars, I engaged a
hack and gave my checks to the driver."
What checks ?" asked Sarah. Sarah had
ever traveled by a railroad, and she did not
know what Wallace meant.

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs