Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The three wishes: Bessie's...
 A Christmas stocking with a hole...
 The little castaways: Julia's...
 A faery surprise party: Lillie's...
 The rock elephant
 The old brown coat: Alice's...
 New Year's day in the garden
 Back Cover

Title: Seven little people and their friends
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00003256/00001
 Material Information
Title: Seven little people and their friends
Physical Description: 240 p., 6 leaves of plates : ill. ; 18 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Scudder, Horace Elisha, 1838-1902
Randolph, Anson D. F ( Anson Davies Fitz ), 1820-1896 ( Publisher )
Chapman, Frederick Augustus, 1818-1891 ( Illustrator )
Jenkins, Edward O ( Printer , Stereotyper )
Publisher: Anson D. F. Randolph
Place of Publication: New York
Manufacturer: Edward O. Jenkins, Printer and stereotyper
Publication Date: 1862
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Fairies -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Magic -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1862   ( lcsh )
Blind stamped cloth (Binding) -- 1862   ( local )
Bldn -- 1862
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Blind stamped cloth (Binding)   ( local )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: illustrated by F. A. Chapman.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00003256
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002237243
oclc - 04352041
notis - ALH7727
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
    The three wishes: Bessie's story
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Wish the first - under the sea
            Page 11
            Page 12
            Page 13
            Page 14
            Page 15
            Page 16
            Page 17
            Page 18
            Page 19
            Page 20
            Page 21
            Page 22-25
            Page 26
            Page 27
            Page 28
            Page 29
            Page 30
            Page 31
            Page 32
            Page 33
            Page 34
            Page 35
            Page 36
        Wish the second - on the mountain
            Page 37
            Page 38
            Page 39
            Page 40
            Page 41
            Page 42
            Page 43
            Page 44
            Page 45
            Page 46
            Page 47
            Page 48
        Wish the third - in the cottage
            Page 49
            Page 50
            Page 51
            Page 52
            Page 53
            Page 54
    A Christmas stocking with a hole in it: Ben's story
        Page 55
        Page 56
        The stocking is hung
            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
            Page 76
            Page 77
            Page 78
        Kleiner Traum visits Peter Mit
            Page 79
            Page 80
            Page 81
            Page 82
            Page 83
            Page 84
            Page 85
            Page 86
            Page 87
        Kleiner Traum visits David Morgridge
            Page 88
            Page 88a
            Page 89
            Page 90
            Page 91
        Morgridge Klaus
            Page 92
            Page 93
            Page 94
            Page 95
            Page 96
    The little castaways: Julia's story
        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 110a
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    A faery surprise party: Lillie's story
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
    The rock elephant
        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
        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
    The old brown coat: Alice's story
        Page 173
        Page 174
        The gift
            Page 175
            Page 176
            Page 177
            Page 178
            Page 179
            Page 180
            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 198a
        The sacrifice
            Page 199
            Page 200
            Page 201
            Page 202
            Page 203
            Page 204
            Page 205
            Page 206
            Page 207
            Page 208
            Page 209
            Page 210
            Page 211
            Page 212
            Page 212a
            Page 213
            Page 214
            Page 215
            Page 216
    New Year's day in the garden
        Page 217
        Page 218
            Page 219
            Page 220
            Page 221
            Page 222
            Page 223
            Page 224
            Page 225
            Page 226
            Page 227
            Page 228
            Page 229
            Page 230
            Page 231
            Page 232
            Page 233
            Page 234
            Page 235
            Page 236
            Page 237
            Page 238
            Page 239
            Page 240
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

6i, ~
v d

:: st!:

I- r

i~E~P -~i~ I
~i 5 ''~'
~ I.r
--1~ ;~
r ': 1:J~-~:'::
..;.. i r1---
IL; Qr;
.:V Lr
~ ~

r ~s

:5i ;

*. I .I~i-?: Al'
.~ .

c .i


St: i
~ ~;

~5 1
~ I
ir B~L~~ 1.=, e
i :

_i s-~

"iirg~";~E~sla~a7iER~Pr~srr~... ~ ~~I~BL~ ~~





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern
District of New York.

winterr antb Ztereotaper,

THE Seven Little People who have lived
with me for the last two or three years, and
with whom I have been wont to entertain my
friends among the children, are now about to
leave their quiet home and make their appear-
ance in society. The experience which they
severally have enjoyed, whether under the sea
or in Percanian palaces, or on desert islands,
or upon birth-nights, has perhaps hardly fitted
them for associating with the world's people;
and yet, I trust, they will find some glad to
receive them, and hear them tell of the friends
whom they found in their various wanderings.
It is true that two of these Little People have
no friends at all, but then it was their own


choice, for did they not deliberately cast them-
selves away, and abjure all society but that of
their mute companion? It will be found also
that in one of these Stories there are no Little
People, but it is no more than just that the
Friends should for once be allowed their
drama to themselves. All of these Seven are
the children of my brain, and I am somewhat
loth to let them go so far from me; but if
they find no hospitable fireside to receive
them, they will at least always be welcome
at mine.




Under the Sea .................................... 11


On the Mountain ................................. 37


In the Cottage................................... 49



Midnight ........................................


Kleiner Traum Visits Peter Mit ....................


Kleiner Traum Visits David Morgridge ..............

Morgridge Klaus ................................

THE LITTLE CASTAWAYS.................


THE ROCK ELEPHANT.... ...........



The Gift ............. ............. ......... 115

The Sacrifice.................. ................. 199

NEW YEAR'S DAY IN THE GARDEN............. 219


%is fle irs i---mnbta r f^ Sea.

ITTLE Effie Gil-
der's porridge did
taste good! and
so it ought; for
beside that, Moth-
er Gilder made it,
and Mother Gil-
,-r ..- der's porridge was
always just right,
Effie was eating it
-:_ / on her seat upon
--the sea-shore in
front of her fath-
er's house. The
sun was just go-
ing down and the
tide was rising,
so that the little
waves came tumbling up on the beach, as if they were
( 11)


racing, each one falling headlong on the sand in the
scramble to get there first; and then slipping back
again, there would be left a long streak of white foam
just out of reach of Effie. She was sitting on what
she called her chair, but it was a chair without legs or
back or arms--only a great flat stone, where she used
to come every sunshiny afternoon and eat her bowl of
It was smoking-hot-that porridge! and she was
eating away with a great relish, holding the bowl in
her lap and drumming upon it with her drumstick of a
spoon. I wish you could have seen her as she sat
there,with her hat falling off and the sun touching her
hair and turning the rich auburn into a golden color.
But somebody did see her; for just before the sun
went down, Effie spied an old man coming along the
beach to the place Where she sat. "That must be
Uncle Ralph," thought she, coming home from fisl-
ing." "No," she said, as he came nearer, "it isn't;
it's Granther Allen. Why no! it is n't Granther; who
can it be? what a queer old man! "
By thjs time the old man had come quite near. He


was a very old man. His hair Was long and as white
as snow; he was so bent over that as he leaned upon
his smooth stout cane, his head almost touched the
knob on the top of it ; and it kept wagging sidewise,
as if he were saying "No" all the time. He had on a
long grey coat almost the color of his hair, and it
reached down to his feet on which was a pair of shoes
so covered with dust that they were of the same color
as his coat; and his hat was the oddest of all! it was
very high and peaked, and looked as if it had been
rubbed in the flour barrel before he put it on.
This old man came up toward Effie very slowly, his
head shaking all the time and his feet dragging one
after the other as if he could hardly reach her. Effie
began to be.frightened, but when he spoke to her it
was with such a sweet musical voice that she thought
she had never heard anything half so beautiful.
"My little child," said he, "I am very tired; I have
come a long way to-day and have had nothing to eat
since morning. Will you give me some of your por-
ridge that looks so nice ?"
Oh yes! sir," said Effie, jumping up and giving him


the bowl. "But there is n't much left. Won't you come
into the house and mother will give you some bread."
Oh, no! my little girl," said the old man. I do
not need anything more than this porridge to make
me strong again ;" and as he spoke, he raised himself
up and stood as straight as his own smooth stick that
his hand hardly rested on; and his head stopped wag-
ing, and he stood there a tall old man with a beautiful
face and such a beautiful voice as he asked again:
What is your name, my little girl ? "
Effie Gilder, sir. And this is my birth-day; I'm
six years old to-day."
Six years old to-day and what shall I give you, /
little Effie, on this your birth-day? I love all good
little children, and you were good to me to give me
your porridge. Little Effie, I am going to let you wish
three things, but you may only wish one thing at a
time. One thing to-day, and another when your next
birth-day comes, and the last when the birth-day after
that comes. Now tell me what you wish most of all."
Effie looked at him in wonder. "What really?
have any thing she wanted for the asking ?"


Yes," said the old man; but you must ask it
before the sun goes down."
Effie looked at the sun; it had nearly touched the
water and looked like a great red ball, and she
thought it would go down, clear, into the water, as she
had so often seen it, without any clouds around it.
"I wish,-" said she, "let me see what I wish
oh, I wish that I might go down to the bottom of the
ocean and see all the beautiful shells and the fishes,
and every thing that 's going on dbwn there !" When
she said it, the little waves laughed as they came
scampering up to her, as if they said-"What a droll
idea !"
You shall go," said the old man, before many
more suns have set. And next year when your birth-
day comes round, I will come again for your second
wish. Farewell, my little child."
Effie looked at him, and lo he was quite bent over
again, and his head was shaking harder than ever, as
if he said "No, no, no," all the while ; then she looked
at the sun to see it go down, clear, into the water, but
about it were clouds of gold and crimson, and the sun


just peeped out behind them, as behind bars, for a
moment, and then went down covered by the clouds
into the black waters; and in a moment or two, as
she stood watching, the beautiful clouds were grey and
sombre and spread in a long, low line along the horizon.
"Effie Effie come into the house !" she heard her
mother calling; and there was Mrs. Gilder, standing in
the door-way with her gown tucked up around her,
and an apron on, which was the most wonderful apron
for pockets you ever saw! I should not dare to say
how many pockets it had, for fear you would not be-
lieve me, but if you had seen how many things she
kept in them, you would think with me, that there
never was such a wonderful apron.
Come here, Effie," said she, and diving into one of
her apron pockets she pulled out a little parcel.
"See what I've brought you from the village for a
birth-day present ;" and she unrolled the paper and
showed her a little candy dog; his body was white,
striped blue and red, and his short tail stood straight
up, which was more than the little dog could do, for
when he was put on the table, instead of standing on


nis four legs like respectable dogs, he fell over on
his side. Effie took the dog, but did not seem half so
glad to get it as her mother thought she would, and
even forgot to thank her for it.
Oh, mother I" said she, did you see that real old
man just now, with such long white hair, and a white
coat that came way down to his heels, and his head
went just so"-shaking her own, "and oh! he told
me I might have any thing I wanted, and I said I
wanted to go down to the bottom of the ocean, and
he said I should, and he's coming again on my next
birth-day, and I am to wish for something again. Do
you think he really can take me to the bottom of the
sea ?"
Nonsense I child. It's some old crazy man. I won-
der you did n't run away from him. Come into the
the house, it's time for you to go to bed. And bring
* your dog along with you. You must n't eat it. It's
only to play with."
"I hate that nasty little dog!" said Effie, and her
pretty face became twisted into a pucker, and I don't
want to go to bed."


"Tut, tut! Puss," said Father Gilder, who was
smoking his pipe by the fire. What! naughty on
your birth-day? I thought you were going to be
good always after this. I guess she 's tired, mother."
Effie's pouting was crying by this time, and Mother
Gilder brought a handkerchief out of another of her
pockets, and wiping the child's face, led her to her
little cot and put her to bed with the little dog where
she could see it when she woke up, lying stiff on his
side with his tail straight up in the air.
Father Gilder shook his head. "'T won't do,
mother," said he, "we can't have little Effie a cross
child. Bless me why, my pipe 's out I where 's some
tobacco ?"
"Here," said Mrs. Gilder, plunging her hand into
another of her wonderful apron's pockets and fishing
out some tobacco, and then diving into another for
matches, filling and lighting her old man's pipe. They
looked at the little child lying in her crib, and thought
how they would do any thing in the world to make her
happy and good. She was fast asleep now, and her
little face had become untied-for you know it was


in a knot when shd lay down-and now she was
smiling, in her sleep. Perhaps she was dreaming
about the old man with the beautiful voice, and think-
ing she saw him again.
The next day, Effie was playing on the beach, pick-
ing up the shells and making little holes in the sand,
watching to see the water come up and fill them, when
she remembered the old man she had seen the day
before, and she said to herself, "I wish he would come
and take me down to the bottom of the ocean I" when,
lo! just as she had wished it, the queerest little man
came walking out of the water to where she stood.
He was the funniest looking little man, I '11 be bound,
you ever saw. He was not more than three feet high,
and he had a hump-back-so humped that it looked
almost like a wide horn coming out of his back. And
he was dressed entirely in green; just as green as sea-
weed, and to tell the truth, his clothes were made of
sea- weed when you came to look at them closely; all
woven of green sea-weed, and on the hump, his coat,
which was made to fit it, was stuffed with soft sea-
grass so that it looked like a cushion. His feet were


great flat feet, and his hands were almost as large as
his feet; and as for his legs, they were so crooked and
so covered with barnacles, that you never would have
known them for legs anywhere else. He had on a cap
made of seal-skin with two ends bobbing behind.
He came right out of the water and stood before
Effie, dripping with wet, and bowing, and smiling,
and scraping and twitching his cap, as much as to say,
"Your most obedient servant, Miss, and what can I do
for you this morning?" and he did say out aloud, "It's
all right! Get up there "-pointing to his hump-
"and I will carry you down safely, little maiden!"
But I shall get wet !" laughed Effie.
Oh, no !" said he, "I '11 cover you up." So he
stooped down, but he did n't have very far to stoop,
he was so short; and she got on top of the hump and
held on by the ends of the seal-skin cap that were
dangling behind. The little man put his hands in his
pockets and pulled out bunches of sea-weed and cov-
ered her up with it, and tied her on with long strings
of sea-grass, until she was quite safe, and then waded
straight into the water.


The beach sloped quickly and the little man was
short, so that in a few strides the water was up to
the hump on which Effie was sitting. Then the little
girl began to be frightened and shut her eyes tight,
and when she heard the water splashing about them,
she wanted to cry out, but she could n't and held on
tight to the bobs of the seal-skin cap. Then she felt
the water rushing over their heads, but still the little
sea-green man went striding over the ground, putting
out his flat hands at his side, as if they were oars, and
seeming to push the water away as he went swiftly
forward. At first Effie could hear the water over-
head, tumbling and rolling about, and rising up and
down; then it became quieter, and finally it was per-
fectly still, except when some fish would dart by them,
just grazing the hump and disturbing the water a
Now, when every thing was so quiet, she began
slowly to raise her eyelids a little, until she had her
eyes wide open and was staring about her. She
seemed to be looking through green glass, and could
not see very distinctly, but every once in a while,









"There is no thing in all the sea,
That I or hate or hateth me.
I only hate the sin I flee."

When it came to the little fishes' turn, the old con-
stable sword-fish looked sharply at them, but they
answered like the rest in a demure way, with a side
wink at the dolphins ; those lubberly fellows blun-
dered through somehow, and looked sheepish enough
at saying it so poorly. Last of all came the sword-
fish, who seemed to feel hurt that he should be asked
the same question, and gruffly answered, whereupon
the gate was shut and they all passed along.
Then they came in sight of the palace of the
Queen. What a sight that was The walls were of
pure coral, and all about the doors and windows were
shells of every variety of colour and form. There
were arches and pillars set around with shells, and
in the corners grew graceful sea-weed, that clung to
the palace and waved to and fro its long, soft leaves.
Little Effie looked up and saw that the building was
not finished, and that all around her there was a con-
tinual hum of movement. Then they entered the


door of the palace and passed through long galleries,
until they came to a great and beautiful door and
heard within voices singing. A porter sat behind
this door also, and asked the same questions, and they_
all answered as before, in pne voice, only they Epoke
more softly. Now they stood in the great hall of the
palace, and lo! there was the Queen herself, sitting
on her throne, and about her were her maids of honour.
It was they who had been singing, but who stopped
when the procession came in. They were sitting at
wheels and long stone looms, spinning and weaving
wondrous robes of purple and scarlet and green; the
Queen herself was weaving a gorgeous garmeLt of
al4We most beautiful colors.
The little man stopped in front of the Queen and
made three of his comical little bows, and all the
attendant fishes bobbed their heads up and down; the
dolphins gave some awkward, bungling shakes of the
whole body that made the little fishes almost burst
into laughing, and the old- fellow with a sword looked
exceedingly serious and made the most dignified bow
imaginable. Then the Queen spoke:


"My faithful servant, hast thou obeyed my com-
mands and brought the child of earth ? "
"She is here, my good-loving Queen," said he.
"What is thy will with her?" When little Effie
heard this, she began to be frightened and to think-
" Oh, dear I what is she going to do with me? but the
Queen looked so good that she felt at ease again and
listened for what she would say.
Take the child," said she," and show her the beau-
ties of my palace, and let her see the wonderful works
that are done here ; answer all her questions and
bring her back to me again." Then they all bowed
again. And as they moved away, Effie heard the song
that the maidens at the wheels and looms sang.

Tbt Song of tte %Ca-Raibatns.
SPIN, maidens, spin I let the wheel go round !
Hours that once are lost can never be found.
(Chorus) Work, hands Love, heart I
Every one here has his part,-
Has his work to do,-has his love to give,
Thus we wor;, thus we love ever while we live.


Weave, maidens, weave I let the shuttle fly 1
Time and we are racing; faster, faster ply I
(Chorus) Work, hands I Love, heart I etc.

Sing, maidens, sing I as ye spin and weave,
Work was never meant our joyous hearts to grieve.
(Chorus) Work, hands I Love, heart I etc.

As the wheel goes round- as the shuttle flies,
Let your songs and hearts upward, upward rise !
(Chorus) Work, hands Love, heart!
Every one here has his part, etc.

They passed out of the hall, and the little sea green

man said, To the Top I" So they came to the top
of the louse, and there they saw hundreds and thou-

sands of little coral insects, working to make the

house more beautiful, and each, when he had done all
that he could, lay down and died. And the little

man told Effie how all this beautiful palace had been

made by these insects and how it never would stop

growing, but always some coral insect would be doing

his tiny work, and when he had done all he could,

would die.


What is that humming ?" asked Effie.
That is the song they sing as they work," said he.
"Listen do you not hear it?" Effie listened hard
and just caught a few words of the chorus.

Every one here has his part,-
Has his work to do, has his love to give,-
Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live."

Why, that is what the maidens who were spinning
sang," said she.
Yes," said he, "they all sing the same song to
different music." Then she began to hear the words
all about her, and she found that the little *a green
man, and the fishes, small and great, and the dolphins
and the old constable sword fish were all singing the
same song, each in his own way. So they went down
again and through the whole palace and saw the
shells, some of them indeed making pearls, but all sing-
ing the same song, and the sponges that were growing,
and the branches of coraline that one by one loosened
themselves and floated upward, singing as they rose.


All about her, from corals and shells and grasses and
sponges and fishes, came this one song, each singing it
to his own air, yet the whole melody rising and sink-
ing in a single harmonious strain.
Effie looked on at every thing in wonder, and at
last they came back to the Queen's presence. She,
too, was singing with her maidens; but when the pro-
cession came in again, and went through their bows
once more, she said to the little sea-green man-and
their voices were all hushed.:
"My faithful servant, have you shown the little
maiden all the wonders of the palace ?"
"Yea, my good-loving Queen."
"And do they all spend their lives in good-working,
singing as they work ?"
"Yea, my good-loving Queen, all;" and the hum
of the song rose all about her.
"Then back again lead the little child, and carry
her to her home on earth, that she too may live and
work and sing. For

Every one there has his part:
Has his work to do, has his love to give,"-


And all the voices sang with her
"Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live."

Then the procession moved out again, and Effie
Sclung still to the little man's seal-skin cap, as she sat
on her cushion of sea-weed, upon the hump on his
back; and he marched along, using his flat hands like
oars, while the gruff old constable with his sword, and
the dolphins and the fishes, great and small, moved
beside the pair, and they all went swiftly up from the
light to the darker green, the voices growing fainter
to Effie, and their forms more indistinct.
The little sea-green man brought Effie out of the
water, and set her down on the beach, and then, mak-
ing his profoundest bow, he walked off to thl water
again, the ends of his seal-skin cap dangling and
bobbing behind. Effie watched him go under the
water, and then walked up into the house. There
was her mother frying some fish which Father Gilder
had just brought home for supper, while he was chop-
ping wood at the side of the house. It was not a bit
like the beautiful palace she had seen, with the Queen
of the Ocean Deeps, and her maidens about her, weav-


ing and singing songs. Effie wished the little sea-
green man had never brought her up again, but had
let her always live in such a beautiful place.
"What's the matter, Effie?" asked her mother,
looking up from the frying- pan, and seeing Effie stand
there, staring into the fire.
Oh, mother I" said she, "I have seen such beauti-
ful things!"
"Whereabouts, child!
"Oh, way down under the water! Such a funny
little man, all dressed in sea-weed, took me down on
his back, and-"
"Nonsense, Effie! don't come to me with such stories.
Go and wash your face and hands, and get yourself
ready for supper."
"But really! mother,-"
Sh I child; do as I tell you, and don't talk to me
about your going down underneath the water; you 'd
ha' been wet through if you had."
But he covered me all up with sea-weed."
"Poll! you 've been asleep on the rock, and dream-
ing about it; it's a wonder you didn't fall 9ff into the


water. Come run and wash yourself. Supper's
most ready."
Effie went off pouting; and Mother Gilder took the
frying-pan off the fire with the fish sizzling and smok-
ing hot. Come, father! said she, "and Effie, hurry
up! supper 's on the table."
"Where 's your little dog, Effie ?" said her father.
Effie did n't speak.
Have you eat him up, eh ?" Never a word from
"The child is naughty!" said her mother, "Effie,
speak to your father! But Effie looked crosser than
Well, you shall go to bed without your supper,"
said Mrs. Gilder, getting up, "if you 're going to
behave so. The little thing's been telling some
ridiculous story about a man's taking her down under
the water on his back I "
"He did take me down! cried Effie, "and I wish
I'd stayed there! erhn! erhn! erhn I" and she cried
and cried.
"Soh, soh, little one," said Father Gilder, "you


would n't want to leave your old father and mother,
would you, Effie ?"
N-n-n-no, b-b-but m-m-mother said I didn't go."
Ah, well! eat your supper, Effie, and then come
and tell me all about it." So Effie ate her supper and
then sat in her father's lap, and began to tell him all
that I have told you; but before she had gone a great
way, she was so sleepy that she couldn't tell any thing
more, but kept saying, "And-and-and-a-n-d-
a-n-d," till she fell fast asleep, and Mother Gilder put
her to bed, and she did not wake up once more till
the next morning.
Well, what d'ye think, old man, about this stuff ?"
asked Mrs. Gilder, when Effie was snug in bed.
Well, I don't know," said Mr. Gilder. Its queer I
its queer! I guess the child's been dreaming. Light
my pipe, old woman."
So, when Mrs. Gilder had foraged in the pockets of
her wonderful apron and brought out the tobacco and
matches, and had filled the pipe and lighted it, the
fisherman tilted his chair back against the chimney
and smoked his pipe, and thought about it ; but could


not come to any conclusion, till at last his pipe went
out, and he nodded, and nodded. Mother Gilder who
sat on the other side of the fire-place, knitting a stock-
ing that she brought out of one of her pockets, began
to nod, too, waking up every once in a while to find
she Lad dropped her stitches, and so making the need-
les g) fast again for a few moments and then slower,
till che nodded again, and at last she was fast asleep
on one side of the fire-place, and Father Gilder on the
other side, and little Effie in her crib. And we '11 steal
out on tip-toe, so as not to wake them, and come back
again in just a year wanting one day.

ELL, we have
been gone a year
lacking one day,
and here we are
back again on the
beach, and there is the
cottage, and Mrs. Gilder
by her table sewing on
a frock for Effid, who is sitting
1 l/ on her seat-the great flat
rock, you know-down by the

"< water. Effie is a year older now, and
S tthis is her seventh birth-day. She has
been a pretty good girl; but then she wished a great
many times that she could have stayed at the bottom
of the sea, and whenever she thought of it, she seemed
to hear the song that they sang there. Now she was
sitting on her seat, looking out for the old man, who,
( 5'7)


you remember, had promised to come for her Second
Wish. She had thought about him a good many times
and had made up her mind what she would ask for.
It was growing late and she began to be afraid he
would not come. She thought she would walk down
the beach and meet him ; so she walked along looking
for him all the while, when she spied a boat coming
toward the shore; but she did not look at it much, she
was so anxious to see her old man, and she thought she
could make him out, just coming along in the distance.
Pretty soon, the boat came up to the beach where she
was, and a rough-looking sailor jumped out.
Little girl," said he, where does Simon Gilder
live ?"
"In that house, sir," pointing to the red cottage.
"He is my father."
So you're his little girl, are you ? Is your father
in the house ?"
No, sir, he is in the patch in the woods back there,
hoeing potatoes."
Will you go with me and show me where it is ?"
Effie looked along the beach and saw the old man, as


she thought, slowly coming toward them ; Oh, dear!"
thought she, if the old man should come while I am
What's the matter, little girl ?" said the sailor-
man, when he saw she did not answer. Are you
afraid to go with me ?"
"No," faltered Effe looking down. But mother
said I was n't to go away from the beach."
Oh, Effie, Effie said a voice close to her. She
started. Why! that was the old man's voice ; and
when she looked up, there was no sailor-man and no
boat, nd no one coming down the beach; but the
same old man that she saw last year, in the same grey
clothes, with the same beautiful long white hair, and
his head shaking the same way as he bent down over
his old smooth stick-the same old man stood by
Oh, Effie!" said he in his beautiful voice, you
have deceived me. You weren't willing to do me a
kindness; you cared too much about your own happi-
ness. And this is your birth-day. I have come for
your Second Wish. Remember, you have only one


more wish after this. You must tell me this one before
the sun goes down. Look!"
Effie looked as he pointed, and the sun stood just
on the water's edge; and there were clouds above it
and around it, but she thought it would go down clear.
She had her wish all ready, though. I wish," said
she, that I might go on to the great mountain off
there," pointing back from the sea, and see the birds
and the trees and the flowers."
When she had said it, the clouds gathered before
the sun, so that it could not be seen, and spread over
the whole heavens, and she had hardly time to run
to the cottage, before the rain began to pour down in
torrents. Out at sea it was all black, except where
the white caps of foam lighted up the waters; the
waves rushed roaring on the beach, and the wind
drove the sharp rain against the house. Effie put her
face against the window-glass and peered out into the
'darkness, but she could see nothing of the old man.
A bad ending to your birth-day, little Effie," said
her father, coming in just then, all dripping wet.
"Never mind. A bad beginning makes a good ending,


so your birth-day must have begun well, and this day
is the beginning of the year for you, so the year 'll
end well. So it's good all round, ha! It's a bad night,
wife I hope nobody's out in the storm ; it came up
Effie thought of the old man and shivered to think
how wet and cold he would get. But she only thought
of it a moment, and then began to wonder how the
wish would come to pass, and whether another little
sea-green man would come for her.
So she went to bed and to sleep. But, lo! before
morning came she was waked by a tapping outside on
the window-pane, close by her bed. At first she was
frightened and put her head under the bed-clothes;
then she thought, Perhaps that is for me to go up on
the mountain!" No sooner did she think of that
than she heard the tapping again, and then a voice
that said, Come Effie! come with me to the moun-
tain !"
Effie jumped out of bed and opened the window.
The storm was over and the stars were shining bright-
ly, while in the East was a patch of grey light, that


showed the sun would rise before a great while.
" Hurry hurry I" said a voice near her, but she could
not see anything. "Where are you?" said she.
" Here," said the voice over her head. She looked up
and there was a very indistinct white figure, that
looked as if it might be a shadow. All she could see
was something white like a robe, and two arms stretch-
ing out toward her ; one of the hands came close to
her; she caught hold of it, and in a moment was
drawn up to the figure and wrapped in the white robe.
Then a wind, blowing from the sea, bore them along
and they flew off toward the mountains.
Now the mountains were a great way from the sea-
shore, and Effie had never been there. She could see
their tops from the house where she lived, and once in
a while, somebody would come who had been there,
and he would tell her about the trees and the brooks
and the birds. Now she was to go there herself!
She was held closely in the folds of the robe, only
she could look out as she went and see the ground
over which they were flying but they went so swiftly
that she did not dare look down, so she looked up to


the sky. The stars were growing fainter, and the
long grey streak of dawn was growing brighter.
They were nearing the mountain, too, and Effie could
hear, once in a while, the tinkling of the brook as it
rippled along below. At last they were close to the
top of the mountain. There was a wide plain upon
the top, covered with trees, while the springs of the
brooks bubbled up there and flowed down the sides,
and on the ground were flowers nestled among the
leaves and the blades of grass.
Look and listen I" said the voice of the Figure
that carried Effie, at the same time wheeling about, so
that they faced the East. Effie looked. The stars
were.all gone now, save one in the distance-the
morning-star. Everywhere overhead the sky was
blue and clear-not a cloud to be seen; while away
off before them in the East, the sky was tinged with
deep rich colors. Perfect quiet was everywhere.
The wind was still; motionless the trees stood; on
their boughs the birds sat, hardly rustling their feath-
ers. She could just hear the tinkling of the brook.
The flowers on the ground had their leaves folded,


and near by a great eagle stood perched on a rock.
The Figure holding Effie moved not at all, only as
Effie sat breathless looking down to the ground, its
hand pointed to the East and Effie again looked up
The sky was a fiery colour now, and far up toward
the zenith, the crimson light shot its feathery rays;
just above the horizon came a bit of gold; then
higher it rose, till like a golden ball leaving the earth,
it floated calmly up, up, soaring to heaven. The sun
had risen! and the instant it lifted itself above the
line, the voice of the figure said: Listen !" and Effie
listened. First she heard a low murmuring, and she
saw the tops of the trees swaying back and forth,
lifting their branches and bending them again toward
the East; and as they murmured, the brooks struck
in with their sparkling notes, and the trees and the
brooks sang together; then the little birds on the
branches opened their mouths, and their throats
swelled, and out burst their pure sweet notes, chim-
ing with the music of the trees and the brooks. Then
the great, deep-mouthed wind came, first trembling


and quavering, then with rich full breath, and the
trees and the brooks, the birds and the wind, all sang
the same glad song. The flowers opened their leaves
and lifted their heads, the bright colours sparkling
and shining; from the bushes sprang, fluttering, the
gay butterflies and insects, and the large eagle spread
its wings and sailed majestically in great circles to-
ward the sun. Oh I it was a wonderful sight, and it
was a wonderful song they. sang I The whole moun-
tain seemed to sing as the great golden sun rose
higher and higher.
Only Effie was silent. Then the Figure wrapped
her closer, and turning, flew back toward the sea-
shore. "What was the song they sang ?" asked
Effie. "I could not tell the words." You could
not tell the words," said the voice of the Figure, be-
cause you did not sing with them. If you had sung
with them, you would have heard the words. I can
only tell you a little of it, but if you sing these words,
the rest will some time come to you. They all sang
at the first-

"Praise to Thee I Praise to Thee I
Thou art all Purity.
Thou art the Source of Light-
Scatter Thou the dark night.
Shine on us I shine on us !"

Effie said the words over, and the voice said again,
"If you sing them with the song of the sca-inaidens,
you will understand them better." Then Eflie fell
asleep, just as they came again to tlhe open window,
and she know nothing more till she was waked by
her mother calling out-
"Effie, child wake up! the sun was up long ago!
come come !"
Effie started up. It was broad daylight. Her
father was out-doors, looking after his nets, and her
mother was getting the table ready for breakfast.
She dressed herself quickly, saying over in mind the
words just taught her. Then she recollected that
she could understand them better if she sang the
song of the sea. So sle said that to herself also.
Do you go and get some water to put in the ket-
tle, Effie," said her mother.


Yes, mother," said she, and as she went she sang
to herself-

"Work, hands I Love, heart I
Every one here has his part."

"Good-morning, little one," said her father, meet-
ing her in the doorway; here 's a bright day for
your new year !"
Is n't it said Effie, giving him a kiss and then

"Praise to teo Praise to thee !
Thou art all Purity.
Thou art the Source of Light."

"I believe the child's going to be a good girl, wife,"
said Father Gilder, coming into the house.
Well, I hope she is, for she's been sulky enough
before this," said Mother Gilder.
"True, true," replied he, "but sulky birds don't
The year went slowly by. Effie sang the two sons
as she worked, and helped her mother and was a com-


fort to her father. Every morning when she got up,
she sang the Song of the Mountain, and through the
day she kept singing, too, the Song of the Sea. Very
often she thought of the old man, and wondered what
she should ask for the third and last time he came.
She thought she ought to ask for the best thing she
could think of, but for a long time she could not make
up her mind, until a few days before her birth-day,
as she was singing the two songs. Then was she im-
patient for the day to come, that she might ask her
last and great wish.

HE eighth birth day
// came at last, but before
the sun was to set, Mrs.
Gilder called her. "Here,
SL- Effie," said she, I want you
to go down cellar before
)it is dark, and sweep it
clean. It 's dreadfully
"Must I go now, mother?"
"Yes, right off; it'll be too dark if you don't make
haste," and Mrs. Gilder drew a bunch of keys out of
one of her apron pockets and unlocked the closet door
and brought out a broom for Effie. Effie took the
broom and went down cellar. Well," thought she,
" I must do my work at any rate, and the old man may
not come by till I get it done." So she set to work,


sweeping out the cellar. She had just finished and
stooped to pick up a perverse chip. As she lifted her-
self up, there stood that same old man again I
Why I how did you get in, sir?" said she.
The sun is most down, Effie," said he without
answering her question, "what is your Last Wish?" As
he said it his head shook harder than ever before, and
he leaned on his cane so that he was almost bent
Oh, sir! I wish," said Effie, that I might do some
great work that should make others happy, and that
I might be able to sing the whole of the song of the
mountain." As she said this the old man raised his
head slowly from his staff, and when she finished, lo!
he was changed into a great beam of light that cast
its rays all about the cellar. Effie flew up stairs with
her broom, and ran to the cottage door. The sea was
sparkling with light, and the sun went down clear and
"Aye there's a sunset for you, chicky," said Father
Gilder, coming up from the shore. "There 'll be no
storm after that! Do you remember your last birth-


day, little one, when there was such a sudden storm
came up?" Yes, indeed, Effie remembered it and
wondered whether the sky would always be clear
The next day Effie looked for somebody to come
and give her some great thing to do, and teach her
the Song of the Mountains, as she had wished for her
last wish. But no one came -no, nor the next day,
nor the day after; and then every thing went wrong.
Her mother became sick and cross, and finally died;
and Effie had to wear the wonderful apron with so
many pockets, and work hard every day. How could
she do any great work? All she could do was to
take care of the house and do little things ever
so many of them there were, too, so that when the
evening came she was quite tired out. But her father
said she was a comfort to him, and he loved to have
her sit by him and sing to him. She sang the two
songs over and over, as she did every day at her
work, and never tired of singing them, nor did he
tire of hearing them.
So she lived on. She had a great many more birth-


days, but no old man came to see her, and nobody came
to give her a great work to do, or to teach her the rest
of the song. By and by her father died too, but Eflic
lived still in the little red cottage by the ,ea-shorc.
And if any were sick or in trouble, they were sure to
come to her. For every body loved her, and wherever
she went she seemed to carry the sunlight with her,
and to make everybody better and happier. Still no
one came, though every birth-day she sat at the door,
looking for the old man.
But he did come at last. It was her birth -day.
She was an old woman, but she sat in the door way as
she used to, watching for somebody to come to her
with a great work to do, and the rest of the song.
She sat in her great arm-chair, and her eyes were
very dim so that she could not see very well, and her
ears were very dull, so that she could hardly hear at all.
There was the sun that had so often gone down with-
out any one's appearing. But before it touched, the
water she heard a voice--that old sweet voice that
she had never forgotten, saying, "Eflie!" She looked,
and there she saw the same face that the old man used


to have, but that was all she could see. Then. it said
again, Effie! and she said:
"Oh, sir! have you come at last to give me my
wish? I have looked for you year after year, and
now I am an old woman, and have not many more
days to live."
Your wish has been granted, Effie. You asked for
some great work to do to make others happy. All
your life since you have been doing the great work.
There is nothing right or holy done for others that is
not great. The little daily duties that you did so
faithfully; the little kindnesses you showed to others;
the little pleasant words you spoke these are all
great things."
"But the Song of the Mountain ?" asked Effie.
Dear child," said lie, you have sung the song all
your life. If you have thanked God for his goodness
to you -if you have loved him for his love to you -
if you have prayed to him to make you good and holy
- you have sung the Song of the Mountain."
Praise to thee! Praise to thee!" murmured the
old woman. Then she thought she heard the whole


mountain singing as it did the morning she listened to
it; and the great song was sung, and she sang also,
and the voice beside her sang.

-- The people who lived about there say, that
when they came in the morning to see Old Effie, she
was sitting in her arm-chair, with her hands folded,
and her lips half parted as if she had sung herself to
sleep; and when they touched her she did not move-
for Old Effie was dead.


SthriLstma totakintg
With a ho lea i t.


a5g e fartin g is living.

"i' in New York, the
'J ,_ people who live in
C' jthe upper part of the
city cannot hear the
chimes that ring from
Trinity steeple; but
in the dwelling streets
S which run in and out
among the warehouse
O streets, and in the courts
which stand stock still
\ and refuse to go a step
further,-there the Trin-
ity music is heard and the "merry Christmas" of
the bells is flung out to all however poor. Beside
,* (s7)


Trinity there are but few chimes of bells in the city;
neither do poor children there sing Christmas carols
in the streets and thus unlatch the doors of even crab-
bed hearts.
But the merriest chimes of bells are played and the
sweetest carols sung even in New York. For when
at Christmas one walks in the crowded streets he may
hear on all sides the merry Christmas! merry Christ-
mas to you! to you rung out on every key'and the
chiming makes perfect music; the poor children sing
carols too, for are they not each little songs as they
stand in their rags before well-to-do folk-songs
without words-reminding us of the poor child Jesus
and the blessings which He brought? Yes, the bells
ring in our hearts and we hear carols then at least if
not at other times; and in some old cobwebbed heart
does Christmas fancy or Christmas memory enter and
ring disused bells that sound but a hoarse blessing, so
rusty has their metal become, but a blessing at least
well-meant. Blessed be Christmas that it knocks so
at the door of our hearts.
Now it was on a certain Christmas that some very


pleasant chimes were rung, and that too within hearing
of Trinity bells. In the street on Christmas eve were
Bundles of great coats and furs tied together with tip-
pets, who hurried along like locomotives, puffing and
snorting and leaving behind a line of smoke. But all
the people in the streets were not Bundles, by any
means. Some scarcely had any wrappings, let alone
such heavy coverings as great coats and furs. Little
boys may be Bundles if they are properly wrapped ip
and tied with a tippet or scarf, but not all little boys
are Bundles. On this eve one might see many who
were not. They kept their hands in their pockets or
breathed upon their red fingers, and drew their shoul-
ders together and screwed their faces as if they were
trying to hide behind themselves, while the wind blew
through every crevice of their bodies and rattled the
teeth in their mouths.
One of these little boys upon this very Christmas
eve hung up his stocking, and what became of it is
now to be told. His name was Peter Mit. He had
been out all day selling cigars, and was on his way
home to supper. But hungry and cold as he was, he


could not help stopping to look through the shop-
windows at the beautiful things spread out so tempt-
ingly behind them. Such toys and games and picture
books! "Now," said he, I must run ;" but just as he
started, he came to a window so much finer than any
he had seen that he stopped before this also. There
was a-string fastened across the inside of the window
with picture and story papers hung upon it; the glass
nts not very clear, for the frost made it almost like
crown-glass, but it was clear enough in the corner to
shew one of the pictures, which was a double one; in
one part there was a little boy in his night-gown
hanging a sticking upon the door of his bed-chamber ;
in the other part the little boy is shown snugly asleep
in his bed, while a most odd little man hung over with
toys and picture books of all kinds stands on tip-toe
before the stocking, filling it With playthings. There
was some printing underneath that explained the pic-
ture; as well as Peter could make out, this little boy
like a great many others hung up his stocking before
he went to bed on Christmas eve, and some time
during the night, Santa Klaus, a queer old man, very


fond of little folk, came down the chimney and filled
the stocking with presents. This was all new to lit-
tle Peter, and astonished him exceedingly ; but it was
really too cold to stand there looking at even the
most wonderful picture, so he blew into his red fists
and ran off home, taking long slides on the ice wher-
ever he could.
He left the bright Main Street and turning one or
two corners came to Fountain Court. That is a fihe-
sounding name, but the houses are very wretched..and
low, though quite grand people lived there in olden
times ; where the fountain was no one could say, un-
less the wheezy pump that stands at the head of the
court were meant for it ; of this the Pump itself had
no doubt. It was very large and had a long heavy
handle that always stood out stiffly ; there was a knob
on the top of the pump that had once been gilded,-
but that was a long time ago, when the Pump was
aristocratic and presumed itself to be a Fountain. It
was dingy and broken now, but the.Pump was none
the less proud and dignified; it took pleasure in hold-
ing out its handle stiffly and never letting it down,


though people stumbled against it every day. It
had been there the longest," the Pump said, it had a
right to the way; people must learn to turn out for it."
It was down this Fountain Court -though people
now generally called it Pump Court that little
Peter Mit ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He
stopped at the fourth "house on the right-hand side;
it was a low building, only a story and a half high,
yet a respectable merchant had lived there formerly.
Before the door stood a battered wooden image of a
savage Indian, holding out a bunch of cigars in his
hand, and looking as if he meant to tomahawk you if
you didn't take one. The Indian was quite stuck
over with snow -balls, for he was a fine mark for the
boys in the court, who divided their attention between
his head and the knob on top of the Pump. If it
were not so dark, one might spell out on the dingy
sign over the door, the names MORGRIDGE AND MIT,
DEALERS IN TOBACCO." The only window was adorned
with half a dozen boxes of cigars, a few pipes, a
bottle of snuff, and a melancholy plaister sailor, who
had been smoking one pipe, with his hands in his


pockets, as long as the oldest inhabitant in the court
could remember.
Peter Mit opened the door from the street and
entered the shop; one solitary oil lamp stood upon
the counter, behind which sat David Morgridge, the
surviving partner of the firm of Morgridge and Mit,
Dealers in Tobacco. Solomon Mit, the uncle of little
Peter had been dead five years, and on dying had
bequeathed his orphan- nephew to his partner, and so
as Mr. Morgridge had no children, and Peter had no
father, the two lived together alone in the old house.
Mr. Morgridge was not a talkative man--one
would see that at a glance ; his mouth looked as if it
shut with a spring. Mr. Mit, when living had been
even more silent, but when he did speak -then one
would look for golden words; for so small a man he
was surely very wise. Mr. Morgridge used to say
that it was because his name was Solomon, and that
was the only thing Mr. Morgridge had ever said that
came near being witty. All the court knew it, and the
saying almost turned the corner at the heal of the
court. They divided the business between them.


Mr. Morgridge attending the snuff department, Mr.
Mit to the cigar and pipe branch. It was the inten-
tion of Mr. Mit, expressed soon after the adoption of
little Peter, to bring him up to take charge of the
chewing tobacco branch. In consequence of this divi-
sion of the business, David Morgridge took snuff
incessantly, but never smoked. Solomon Mit smoked
all the while but never took snuff. They did this to
recommend their wares. Besides, it served to explain
the duty of each partner. If a customer came in for
pipes or cigars he invariably went directly to Mr.
Mit; if he came for snuff, he as surely turned to Mr.
When Peter entered the shop, Mr. Morgridge was
just wiping his face after a pinch of snuff; the whole
air of the shop was snuffy, and no one came in with-
out instantly being tempted to sneeze. Peter sneezed
as a matter of course, and Mr. Morgridge, after his
usual fashion, replied with a God bless you!" He
seldom got the compliment in return, however, as in
his case the blessing would have become so common
as to be quite worthless. Mr. Morgridge then in-


quired into Peter's sales, and with that his regular
conversation ended. His mouth shut so closely, with
the corners turned down to cover any possible open-
ing, that one would know immediately that no acci-
dental words could escape. But to-night Poter did
not mean to let his guardian keep his usual silence;
he was too much concerned about the picture he had
seen in the shop-window. He waited however till
after tea. Then, as they returned to the shop, Mr.
Morgridge taking his customary seat upon his bench,
with a pot of snuff beside him, set about his work of
putting up tobacco in divers shapes. Peter took his
customary seat also, much above Mr. Morgridge. It
was a seat which lie had inherited from his uncle.
Solomon Mit, being a contemplative man, was desirous
of being lifted above ordinary things when he pur-
sued his meditations, and had accordingly built a sort
of watch-tower out of several boxes, placed one upon
another, and topped by an arm-chair, deprived of its
legs. Into this chair Solomon used to climb, and
when there, his head was not far from the ceiling.
Here he would sit in his lofty station, and wrapped


in the smoke from his own pipe, would revolve in his
mind various questions, occasionally dropping from
the clouds a remark to his partner, who sat snuffing
below on the bench. Customers, when they entered
the shop, had become used to the sight of the little
man's legs as they appeared below the cloud, and a
classical scholar chancing in one day to fill his pipe,
had likened him to Zeus upon the top of Olympus.
Peter valued this watch-tower above all his pos-
sessions, and here every night he sat perched, and
counted the fly-specks on the ceiling, or fished up
things from the floor by means of a hook and line
which he kept by him. To-night, however, after he
had climbed into the chair, he broke the usual silence
by putting the following question to Mr. Morgridge:
Mr. Morgridge, is this Christmas Eve ?" to which
David Morgridge, after taking a pinch of snuff cau-
tiously replied:
It may be;" and then added, as if to explain his
uncertainty of mind-" I don't keep the run o' Christ-
"Does Santa Klaus really come down a chimney


Christmas night and fill the stocking with presents ?"
proceeded Peter. And then, getting no answer, he
gave an account of what he had seen in the window,
and being very much interested, he told also what he
thought of it all, and the resolution that he had finally
come to, namely, to hang up his own stocking that
very night. Mr. Morgridge having listened to what
Peter had to say, took more snuff and seemed dis-
posed to let that end the matter, but Peter persisted
in getting his opinion.
"Mr. Morgridge," said he, "do you think Santa Klaus
will come and fill my stocking?" Being pressed
for an answer, Mr. Morgridge made shift to say-
May be, but should say not; used to believe in San-
ta Klaus when I was a boy ; don't now ; 'taint no use."
This was rather discouraging, but Peter upon think-
ing it over on his watch-tower, reflected that Mr.
Morgridge used to believe in Santa Klaus, and that
the queer fellow only visited boys ; besides, he thought
it might be owing to the snuff that he disbelieved in
him now; for it was by that Peter usually explained
Mr. Morgridge's eccentricities.


But Peter was tired and drowsy, and clambering
down from his perch, set out for his bed, groping his
way up the steep staircase that led to the half-story
above, where he had his cot. He never went up that
staircase in the dark-and a light was a luxury not
to be thought of-without imagining all manner of
horrors which he might see at the top. In one place,
there were two small holes in the floor close together;
the place was over the shop, and whenever there was
a light burning below, he could see these two holes
blinking and shining like two eyes. It was the last
thing he saw when he got into bed, and he would say
to himself in a bold way, as if to show any ghosts or
goblins that might possibly be about, how undaunted
he was, Two Eyes come here and swallow me up "
and then he would draw the bed-clothes over his
head for a minute or two, and peep out to reassure
himself that Two Eyes had not taken him at his word
and come to swallow him up. But Two Eyes never
came, and this gave him fresh courage, so that of late
he had become quite bold in the dark.
As he climbed up the staircase this night, his little


head was full of the idea of Santa Klaus. The chim-
ney was convenient, he thought to himself, for it
passed through the loft and there was a large open
fire-place in it never used. But then, suppose he
should come down before the fire in the room below
was fairly out! he would get scorched. But it was
too cold to sit long guessing about such matters, so he
undressed himself quickly. Last of all, he drew off
his right stocking. This he held in his hand-
" Oh! said he, it has got a hole in it; the things
will all come out!" Indeed, it was almost all hole,
for beside the proper hole which every stocking has
or it isn't a stocking, there was a hole in the heel and
another very large one in the toes. He looked at it
in despair, and then took up the other one; but that
was even worse. He consoled himself, finally, as well
as he could, by the reflection that Santa Klaus would
probably put all the large things in first, and thus
they would stop the holes up and nothing would be lost.
He cast about now for a place to hang it. The
little boy in the picture hung his on the door, but that
was out of the question, for there was no nail there.


He remembered finally a hook in the wall not far
from the chimney. It was a dreadful place to go to,
so near Two Eyes! but he mustered courage, especially
when he considered how very convenient it could be
for Santa Klaus. His heart went pit-a-pat as he stole
over the floor ; the boards under his feet creaked and
every bone in his body seemed to be going off like a fire-
cracker. It seemed to him as if Two Eyes and all his
friends were starting from every corner of the room.
Going back was not so bad as all the ghosts were
now behind him. He shivered into his cold bed, and
drew his knees up to his chin. So excited was he
about Santa Klaus, that when he looked presently
toward the other end of the room and saw Two Eyes
blinking at him, he forgot for the instant that he had
ever seen them before, and fancied Santa Klaus must
have made his appearance already. He was just
ready to scream, when he recollected what the Eyes
were, and boldly saying :-
Two Eyes I come here and swallow me up !" he
rolled himself up in the bed-clothes and was soon fast

HE clock of Trinity
Struck twelve. One would
have thought from the
long pause after each
stroke, that it had great
difficulty in making out the
complete number. Really it
i was so long about it because
it wished to give plenty of
time for starting to the vari-
ous persons and things in the
neighborhood, who are wont to be
agog at that hour only. The Man
on St. Paul's, however, was so long getting ready that
the twelfth stroke came before he was fairly off,--so he
lost his chance for this time. It is so with him every


night. When the first stroke comes it startles him
and he rubs his eyes and wonders where he is; he
continues to rub his eyes and wonder till the sixth
stroke has sounded. Then he collects his thoughts a
little, and by the ninth stroke remembers that if he is
quick enough, he can shut up his book, get down from
his high and uncomfortable perch, and stretch his legs
a little in a ramble through the church-yard or round
the Park. Having to be in a hurry, for it must be
done during the three following strokes, he gets con-
fused, and before he can muster sufficient presence of
mind, the clock has struck twelve, and he must wait
another day.
The Grocer on the City Hall was in a difficult pre-
dicament. It has long been his intention to get down
with his scales and weigh the City Corporation. He
tries to do it when the clock strikes twelve, as that is
his only chance. He heard the first stroke, and was
on the alert. He indeed succeeded in reaching the
ground, but he could not find the Corporation, though
he searched the Hall and the Park. All that he could
discover was a sleepy alderman. He returned to


his place in disgust. He could not see, for his part,
why the Corporation did not sit in the night-time;
it would seem to be the proper hour. This he said to
the Eagle perched on a pole near by, and who had
just returned from a visit to his grand-uncle who has
been all his life on the point of dropping an umbrella,
point downward, on the greatest rogue in the city.
The Eagle found his grand-uncle had not yet dropped
the umbrella, because he was not sure that he had
found the greatest rogue.
But other people and things are not so stupid as the
Man on St. Paul's, nor so unsuccessful as the Grocer.
They are brisker and seize the opportunity to enjoy
themselves. The Pump, for instance, that stands at
the head of Fountain Court, generally indulges him-
self in a soliloquy. He talks through his nose, to be
sure, which sounds disagreeably, but the nearest lis-
teners do not mind it. For the Man on St. Paul's is
too stupid or it may be asleep. The Grocer is run-
ning round with his scales, looking for the Corpora-
tion. Sir Walter Raleigh has taken so much snuff
that his own voice is even more disagreeable, and so


he has no right to complain. The nearest listener
of all would be the Indian in front of Morgridge and
Mit, dealers in tobacco, but he has gone to have a
talk with Sir Walter Raleigh; so the Pump has it
all its own way. Let us hear what the Pump said
this night:-
"Well, so it's Christmas again, is it? how the
years do go by and how things change To think
of the difference between this court now and what
it used to be Why, I can remember very well
when fine ladies and gentlemen gathered here on
Christmas eve. The watchman would go along with
them with a lantern in his hand. I was of impor-
tance then-I am now, to be sure, but then people
recognized me and considered me. I gave the name
to the court-that was something! But those days
went by ; and then there was that time when a noisy
fellow got up on my head, where he kept his place
with difficulty, and spouted ever so much eloquence
about rights and liberty and constitution. No good
ever came of that! for it was he who broke off a
piece of the gilt knob on my head, and it has never


been mended since. That was the beginning of my
troubles, and now to what a pass have things come I
Why, a ragged, drunken man leaned up against me
-ugh I this very night, and I see the poorest kind
of people go down the court. I was used to have
nothing but fine pitchers and pails brought to me
to fill, but now I have to look into dirty broken
pitchers and old tubs. They have even begun to call
the place Pump Court, as if I were no better than a
common every-day pump! What is worst, there is
an upstart just the other side of the way,-it lets
out water to be sure, but it has nothing to say about
it; it has no handle, and the water comes out by just
turning a screw; altogether it is a very plebeian
thing; it can know nothing of the pleasure of feel-
ing a box go rumbling down your inside, and fetch-
ing up water from the depths of the earth.
There go the Christmas bells I Many a time I 've
heard them before, and seen Santa Klaus hurrying
along to visit every house in the court. He never
goes near them now, and no wonder, for he can't
care to associate with such low people. When he


does come, he looks soberer, and not so jolly as he
used to; nor does he bring so many and such fine
things. I am in fact the only respectable thing in
the neighborhood. But bless my boxes! what a
shock that was! somebody must have struck my
handle; served him right; he ought to turn out.
I 've been here the longest."
It was a worthy alderman who was hastening by.
"Confound that pump-handle !" said he. That's
the second time to-day I've stumbled against it.
I'11 have the pump taken up and carted off to-mor-
row. It.'s a nuisance; nobody wants it here."
It was difficult to make out what the Pump said
to this; it was so choked with rage at the indignity,
that only a confused gurgling could be distinguished
in its throat. But that was the end of its solilo-
The Pump was partly right. Santa Klaus did not
visit the court as often as he used, nor did he bring
such fine presents with him. But it was not be-
cause he disliked the society that he did not come,
it was because they did not hang stockings up. The


stocking must be hung or he will not go-that is
the rule. He is wonderfully keen in scent; he will
go straight to a stocking even if it be hidden in
the darkest corner. He cares nothing about time or
place either. He can be where he chooses at any
moment. So, just as the twelfth stroke of Trinity
sounded, Santa Klaus was in Fountain Court. The
Indian was scurrying down the place with his cigars
in his hand, and taking his stand before Morgridge
and Mit, put on his face its fiercest expression as
the sound of the stroke died away. At the same
moment Santa Klaus was in the house, in the loft
where little Peter Mit, had hung his stocking.
Whether he entered by the chimney or not, it is
impossible to say, but I suspect he did, for the door
was locked and there was no other entrance.
At any rate there he was, and standing on tip-toe
by Peter's stocking. He began to fill it and emptied
one of his pockets. "Really," said he, this is a
very capacious stocking." It was not full yet, and
he emptied into it another pocketful. "This is re-
markable!" said he, stopping in amazement, "it is


as roomy as a meal-bag. What an extraordinary
foot that little boy must have !"
Santa Klaus' clothes are all pocket pretty much,
and he emptied the contents of a third into the
stocking, which was still not full. Then he stopped
to examine it. Oh! oh said he, "this is very
bad there is a hole in the stocking !" It would
never do to keep pouring things in at one end while
they passed out at the other, and his presents could
only be placed in stockings. So Santa Klaus sor-
rowfully gathered up the presents, and leaving the
stocking as empty as he found it, was off in a twink-


Mllener gtranm visits Vatr lit.

HE moment Santa Klaus
S whisked out of the rqom,
I Kleiner Traum whisked

say how he got into the
room either; it is enough
that he was there. Klei-
S ner Traum is a very re-
markable personage. He is
like Santa Klaus in this,
S = .that he moves very quickly
and can make visits in one
night all over the world. But
more than that, he has the
S- power of making people see
just what he chooses. Some
persons that think they have
seen two Kleiner Traums, a good and a bad, but the


fault is in their eyes. He carries a kaleidoscope
with him and shakes it before people; just how he
shakes it, so are the things they see. These things
are very apt to be like what has happened to them at
different times, only much more grotesque.
Kleiner Traum had come to make Peter Mit a visit,
and show him his kaleidoscope. Little Peter was fast
asleep-that is the only time when Kleiner Traum
visits people,-and snugly curled up in bed. He was
not thinking or dreaming about anything, when now
Kleiner Traum held the kaleidoscope before him, and
gave it a twist. What now did he see ?
He saw an exceedingly queer-looking man squeeze
out of tie fire-place; he was hung over with toys,
and his pockets bulged out with the things inside ; in
fact, he was quite the image of the little man he had
seen in the picture in the shop-window, and Peter
made up his mind instantly that it was Santa Klaus.
As soon as he got on his legs in the middle of the
room, Two Eyes, whom Peter had so often called upon
to swallow him up, began moving about, apparently
trying to mislead Santa Klaus. Peter was ready to


scream out, but for the life of him he couldn't make a
sound. He watched Two Eyes, who seemed to think
he would draw Santa Klaus to the head of the stair-
case, and then dance about so as to make him tumble
headlong down the steps. But Santa Klaus was too
knowing foi Two Eyes. Peter saw him go to the
door as if expecting to find the stocking there, and
then not finding it, turn about and walk around the
room till he came to where it hung upon the hook.
Peter was now terribly excited, and Kleiner Traum
gave the kaleidoscope another twist. During the
process of twisting, Peter's mind was in a queer jum-
ble, and he thought he saw Two Eyes peeping out of
the stocking, and Santa Klaus sitting on the Pump at
the head of the court; but as soon as the kaleido-
scope was still, it was clear again, and he could see
Santa Klaus standing on tip-toe before the stocking
and emptying into it the contents of his pockets.
The first thing he took out was a tin trumpet; just
such a one as Peter had himself seen in a shop-window
the day before. This he put into the stocking, giving
a chuckle and trying it to see if it were good; it


sounded splendidly. Then came a sled. It was aston-
ishing how it ever came out of Santa Klaus' pocket,
and still more astonishing how it could get into the
stocking. Yet surely Peter saw it enter, and that
very easily. After the sled came a monkey-jack.
Before he put it in Santa Klaus twitched the monkey,
and made it turn summersaults over the stick, till he
was nearly ready to fall down with laughing at it. A
mask came next-a leering mask with a long nose,
and eyes, frightful enough to scare all the people in
the court. Then followed a warm muffler for the
head; it was a very comfortable looking thing. No
sooner was the muffler safely in than a pint of peanuts
rolled into the stocking, and after the peanuts came
some marbles, and after the marbles, a dozen red
apples, and after the apples a pair of skates, and after
the skates a bundle of candy.
It certainly was astonishing to see how much the
stocking would hold. Peter -could hardly believe his
eyes, yet there it was, and he saw everything that
went into it. But the candy was the last thing; the
stocking was now full. and the candy peeped out at the


top. Peter saw Santa Klaus look approvingly at the
stocking, give it a pat and disappear through the fire-
place again, looking just as full of presents as when
he came down.
At this point Kleiner Traum turned the kaleido-
scope, and Peter was all in a jumble again. Appa-
rently the stocking was going up the chimney and
Santa Klaus was riding on the toe, while Two Eyes
was coming toward Peter to swallow him up. Peter
was just on the point of giving himself up for lost,
expecting the next moment to be swallowed up by
Two Eyes, when it was clear again, and Two Eyes was
in his old place, and the stocking was hanging on its
hook; only Santa Klaus had disappeared up the chim-
ney. For you see. Kleiner Traum's kaleidoscope was
quiet again.
Now what did Peter see? The stocking was swol-
len to an enormous bulk, and what was more, Peter
could see everything that was going on inside. He
saw that they were quarrelling about the places they
should occupy; for in the heel and in the toe of the
stocking, were the two holes which were now of an


alarming size. The Sled commenced the trouble. It
felt itself slowly but surely slipping toward the hole
in the toe, with the weight of all the other things on
him. "Don't crowd so Peter heard the Sled say to
the Tin Trumpet.
"I'm not pushing," said the Tin Trumpet; "I'd
give anything if I weren't sliding so toward that
dreadful hole "Monkey-Jack, I'll thank you to
keep that stick of yours out of my mouth." Just
then, an apple losing its footing, dropped through the
hole in the heel of the stocking, and Peter heard it go
rolling over the floor; and another quickly followed,
and another.
Oh!" said the Mask, this is getting dangerous;
there is a dreadful cavity under me; but I'll put a
bold face on it. There goes another apple." Peter
heard apple follow apple out of the hole in the heel,
till the whole dozen were on the floor, where they still
went rolling off after each other toward the staircase
when they hopped thumpty-thump down the steps, till
the last one had gone. Meanwhile the Sled, the Tin
Trumpet and the Monkey- Jack were having a sad time


in the foot of the stocking. I cannot hold on much,
longer," said the Sled, and it had hardly spoken the
words, before it slid out through the toe, and Peter
heard it go sliding over the floor and follow the apples
down the staircase.
Matters were no better, but rather worse in the leg
of the stocking. A weak voice was heard in the
corner. It was a Peanut complaining bitterly of the
Marbles. If ye had not come in here among us,"
it said, we should have done very well, but now ye
are pushing us all toward the hole." The Marbles
could not reply, they were too frightened themselves;
they had crowded in among the Peanuts for safety, and
now there was danger of both going. One large
Marble alone held them all back; it was wedged in
by the Monkey-Jack, and the Monkey-Jack had its
stick in the Tin Trumpet's mouth. But the Tin Trum-
pet had only caught by a single thread of the stock-
ing; that gave way, and down came the Trumpet fol-
lowed by the Monkey-Jack. The Trumpet rolled off
toward the door like the rest, and the Monkey-Jack
went head-over-heels after it. Of course the large


Marble had no help for it now; he dropped out of the
heel, and the rest of the Marbles came tumbling after
with the Peanuts in the midst of them. The Marbles
and Peanuts, unlike the rest, rolled off toward Two
Eyes; the Marbles disappeared through one eye, the
Peanuts through the other.
It seemed of no avail now for the rest to keep their
place. It is no use to keep up appearances longer,"
said the Mask, and he dropped out and walked off on
his nose. The Skates who had not spoken before,
now turned to the Muffler and said : We shall cut a
pretty figure going through the hole like the rest;
we may not go after all; there's many a slip-"
but before they had finished the sentence they had
followed the rest, and were striking out for the
Nothing now remained but the Muffler and the
Candy. The Muffler spoke in a thick voice, I am a
sort of relation to the stocking and intend to remain
by it, if it is a poor relation. It won't turn me out of
doors, surely." The Candy, replied in a sweet voice,
"As for me, I shall stick to the stocking. My dear


Muffler, you quite melt me, you are so warm and affec-
After this point, Peter could see or hear nothing
further, and for a very good reason-Kleiner Traum
had vanished with his kaleidoscope.


iUt r Eranm Hisits glabib gargrike.

T is no secret whither
Kleiner Traum vanished.
The moment he had left
t .-itr ^i,'l,' little Peter Mit, he was
a., *sitting on David Mor-
gridge's breast, kaleido-
S scope in hand.
,I One shake of the ka-
S leidoscope. Really, Mr.
Morgridge sees strange
-i ~ things. He sees a little
boy no bigger than Peter
Mit, in a snug little room, hang-
ing up on the door a red and
white plaid stocking. The strangest thing is that
he remembers the place and surroundings perfectly.



He knows the cozy room, the white dimity curtains,
the little cot bed, the sixteen-paned window looking
out on the church-spire and the meadow; it was as
if he had skipped sixty years of his life backward, for
the little boy was a diminutive David Morgridge.
But the kaleidoscope makes quick shifts. Here is
another turn, and Mr. Morgridge, as if he were a
picture on the wall, is looking at a room which he
knows well enough. It is the tobacco shop. There
are two men in it; one sits on the bench and takes
snuff, and does up little paper pellets; the other is
just discoverable under a cloud of tobacco smoke,
perched upon the top of a small observatory. This,
too, is Christmas Eve, for so the little man on the
watch-tower announces, as if he kept the calendar of
the seasons, .and piped an All's Well to his com-
rade below.
David," he says, David Morgridge! This is
Christmas Eve. On earth peace, good will toward
men.' That's what the Bible says, and that's what
Trinity chimes say. How many Christmases have
we kept together? eighteen, David; then that's


eighteen turkeys for the poor folk, though bless us,
we're not much richer." This is a long speech for
Solomon Mit, yet the man snuffing on the bench says
nothing, but scowls. Then does Solomon Mit clam-
ber down from his watch-tower, and with his cheery,
piping voice sing a Christmas hymn, and though
David Morgridge never lends his voice, the little
man is no whit disheartened, but ends with laying
his hand on David's shoulder and heartily wishing
-" God bless you, David Morgridge, old friend-
God bless us all I" and climbs once more to the top
of his tower.
Quickly turns the kaleidoscope again, and now Mr.
Morgridge, like a shadow in the dark that can see,
but not be seen, is in the room where he is now
sleeping. But he is not on the bed, he is standing
by the side of it, and the old cheery voice, though
weaker now, of Solomon Mit comes from the pillow.
The little man has come down from his tower for the
last time, and has puffed his last pipeful of tobacco
smoke. This, too, is Christmas Eve, and Solomon Mit
has not forgotten it. Listen, he is speaking now.


"David Morgridge, old friend, twenty years we 've
lived together. You 've been a true friend to me.
We have n't said much, but we 've trusted each other.
I 'm the first to go, and I 'm glad to go on Christ-
mas Eve. I 'd like to go when the bells are ringing
and Trinity is chiming, 'Peace on earth, good will
toward men;' that's it David. Don't forget the
turkeys; twenty you know; and don't make 'em
chickens. You have n't always liked to give them,
but you will now. And you'll be good to little Peter.
I bequeath him to you, David, to hold and to keep
in trust; and all that's mine in the shop; it's all
yours. There are the bells-

'All glory be to God on high,
And to the Earth be peace'"-

But Solomon Mit has sung without finishing his last
What more Mr. Morgridge might have seen, we
shall never know, for at this point Kleiner Traum
and his kaleidoscope vanished, and did not come back
that night at any rate.

i mHEN does Christ-
mas Day begin? It
can never be deter-
S 'l mined, but most peo-
ple think it begins
I when they wake,

though all do not wake
at once; the children
S generally have the
longest Christmas Day.
Now, in Fountain
c" = j Court, almost before
"" -daylight, there was some
one astir. He came out of
," i the door of Morgridge &
Mit, dealers in tobacco, and
toddled up the court at an astonishing gait. Where


did he go to? he certainly passed the pump and turned
the corner, and in a quarter of an hour more was trot-
ting down the court with a parcel in his hand. The
door of Morgridge & Mit closes behind him, but not
before we have seen his face. Verily, it is Mr. Mor-
gridge, but so extraordinarily like Santa Klaus is he,
that we are puzzled to know which of the two it is;
the form and shoulders are those of Mr. Morgridge,
but the face at least is borrowed from Santa Klaus;
Mr. Morgridge never in his life looked so jolly. Not
to confound this person with the sour-faced man who
sat glumly upon the bench taking snuff, the night
before, let us call him Morgridge Klaus.
Morgridge Klaus stole slily up stairs to Peter Mit's
loft. He went up stairs because there was so much
of the Morgridge about him; if there had been more
of the Klaus he would undoubtedly have come down
the chimney. At the top of the stairs, where it was
still quite dark, he could see Peter curled up in
bed. But it was not he that he had come to see.
He began groping about on the floor in search of
something. Ah! here it is!" he said with a chuc-


kle, bringing to light a stocking most woefully rid-
dled with holes. Morgridge Klaus stuffed a paper
parcel into the stocking, and laying it carefully on
the floor, stumbled down stairs, chuckling to himself
and taking snuff immoderately.
Mr. Morgridge's Christmas Day had in fact com-
menced, but it was an hour yet before Peter Mit
began his Christmas Day. The little fellow rubbed
his eyes and drew his knees nearer his chin when he
awoke. Then he remembered the day and looked
eagerly toward the chimney. There hung his stock-
ing, as small, as full of holes, and as empty as when
he hung it. So it was a dream only after all," he
said sorrowfully. Still he went over to it in hopes
that the dream might have come true, and that the
candy and muffler had remained by the stocking, but
they too were gone. Peter shiveringly dressed him-
self. He had now only one stocking and a shoe to
put on. How heavy the stocking was! there was'
something in it! Peter grew greatly excited-
" Santa Klaus must have taken this stocking after
all!" said he. Yes, there was a bundle, and the


paper stuck to the inside. It was candy without a
doubt; but where was the muffler ? Peter turned
the stocking inside out, but the muffler had gone
after the rest of the things. The candy alone was
Peter hastened down stairs. Mr. Morgridge was
there getting breakfast ready. Peter eagerly told
him of his good fortune. What a chuckle did the
old fellow give! it was amazing to Peter. He had
never before heard Mr. Morgridge make such a noise.
He had never seen his face so broken up into smiles
and grins. He could hardly believe it was Mr. Mor-
gridge. Nor was it-it was Morgridge Klaus.
While breakfast was in preparation, Peter climbed
up into his watch-tower. Well done! there was a
muffler in the chair I precisely like the one which he
had seen enter the stocking the night before. How
could it have found it's way to his seat? As he
was looking at it in wonderment, there was another
undoubted chuckle from Morgridge Klaus. Peter was
astonished beyond measure. Could Mr. Morgridge
be Santa Klaus ? impossible yet he began to believe


it, for was it any harder of belief than that it was
Mr. Morgridge who then spoke in a voice that had
in it the cheeriness of Solomon Mit:-
"Come down, little Peter! To-day is Christmas
Day. We must hurry through breakfast; for we've
got twenty'five turkeys to carry to twenty-five honest
poor folk. It will go hard with us, but we'll make
shift to buy 'em. God bless you Peter Mit I" and
may the Indian in front of the door tomahawk me
if David Morgridge did not then and there, in his
old, wheezy, snuff-choked voice, sing-

"All glory be to God on high,
And to the Earth be peace,
Good will, henceforth, from Heaven to men,
Begin and never cease !"

.--- -<-"^5 ___ -_


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