The Baldwin Library
I S mB u.'lf
/i i' W
FLOWERS IN MAY
MRS. SALE BARKER
WITH FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROAuWAY, LUI)GATE HILL
NF\W YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE
GATHERING FLOWERS IN MAY.
WON-DER Is this your great grand-
Gath-er-ing flow-ers in May;
Search-ing for deep-bell-ed cow-slips,
And vi-o-lets through the day ?
I think it a pret-ty pic-ture
Of a time now long ago,
All na-ture was the same then,
But our grand-mo-thers were dress-ed so..
The world was as full of gay flow-ers,
The birds had as sweet a song,
But lit-tle girls then wore mob-caps,
And their dress-es won-der-ful-ly long.
The earth was studd-ed with blue-bells,
And sweet lit-tle dais-ies trim,
The child-ren were some-thing the same too,
But I fancy a tri-fle more prim.
GATHERING FLOWERS IN MAY.
Gathering Flowers in .May.
The skies of those days long de-part-ed
Were marbl-ed, and gold-en, and blue;
The sun when he rose in his glory,
Was cloth-ed in as gor-ge-ous a hue.
The child-ren I dare-say were clev-er,
More re-spect-ful per-haps they might be,
They were quaint and stiff-back-ed lit-tle per-sons,
That, I think, you can ve-ry well see.
Each lit-tie girl did her samp-ler,
Could clev-er-ly make cow-slip wine;
Would gath-er a bow-pot or po-sy"!
And nev-er was dress-ed up too fine.
Per-haps all the world then was bet-ter,
More simple, per-haps, if less gay,
Like this dear lit-tle maid-en be-fore us,
Gath-er-ing flowers in May.
AR, far a-way in the coun-try there lived a lit-tle
boy in a cot-tage with his fath-er and mo-ther.
His fa-ther was a poor man, and went out
to work ev-ery day, and was a-way near-ly all
day. Tim-my-for the lit-tle lad's name was Tim-o-thy-
:and his mo-ther were left in the cot-tage a-lone. Tim's
mo-ther had plen-ty to do to keep her cot-tage clean,
wash the clothes, and have all ready for her good 'man
when he came home. And Tim's fa-ther was wel-com-ed
by a bright fire, a well-swept hearth, clean cot-tage, and
.a sweet lov-ing smile when-ev-er he re-turn-ed.
He got sweet smiles from his wife, that is to say, but
not from his lit-tle boy, who was a bad-tem-per-ed lit-tle
ur-chin. He was the on-ly child of his mo-ther, so she
thought he was the on-ly child in the world. Tim suf-fer-
ed for this, for he rul-ed his mo-ther, and that you know
is a ve-ry bad thing for any lit-tle child to do. The fact
was that Tim, the on-ly child, gave as much trou-ble as
four or five good lit-tle boys of his age would have done.
If his mo-ther's back was turn-ed he would eith-er pop
some-thing in-to the fire or try to pull out a light-ed stick.
When she was at her wash-tub he would take up a piece
of dirt and throw it in a-mongst the clothes that were
be-ing wash-ed, or some-times he would run a-way as fast
as his naugh-ty lit-tle legs could car-ry him and hide; so
that his mo-ther would have a fine fright, not know-ing
what had be-come of him.
This was the trick his mo-ther dread-ed most, for she
was in great fear of los-ing her pre-cious boy in spite of
his bad ter-per and naugh-ty ways. Tim would of-ten
be quite cross and sul-ky to his fa-ther, with-out any
rea-son, when he came home; in fact he was an o-di-ous
One day he ran off from the cot-tage so far that his
mo-ther saw his stout lit-tle fig-ure quite like a speck in
the dis-tance, and she had a fine run af-ter him. How-
ever, she was thank-ful to catch him at last and have
him in her arms a-gain to car-ry home. But when she
took Mas-ter Tim up he kick-ed, and scratch-ed, and
scream-ed, and made a ter-ri-ble fuss. Then, for-tun-ate-ly,
Tim's fath-er saw the scene from a dis-tance, and he came
quick-ly, took the child from his mo-ther, and car-ri-ed
him to the cot-tage. Now," he said to Tim, I am
mas-ter of this cot-tage, and I won't have you be-have in
this way ; you must be good I say."
Little Tim, still in a great fury, screamed out:
I mas-ter of dis cot-tage, I mas-ter."
"Ve-ry well," said his fa-ther, "you shall be mas-ter,
but it shall be of the out-side of the cot-tage." And
tak-ing him up he put him out-side the door, and shut it.
Tim's mo-ther was too wise to in-ter-fere.
When Tim found him-self shut out he no lon-ger
wish-ed to run off. He thought of his kind mo-ther's lap,
of his lit-tle chair by the fire-side, of his nice bread and
milk, of his lit-tle warm bed, and he cried bit-ter-ly now
from sor-row at be-ing turn-ed out. At last his fa-ther
o-pen-ed the door and took com-pas-sion upon his naugh-ty
lit-tle boy, and Tim had his tea and went to bed hap-pi-ly.
He nev-er ran a-way a-gain, or said that he was mas-ter
of the cot-tage. You see he was a bet-ter boy af-ter this
CISSY AND TODDLES.
IS-SY is a lit-tle girl, and Tod-dles is her cat.
S Cis-sy one morn-ing came into her man-ma's
S bed-room with a face beam-ing with joy.
"Mam-ma, mam-ma," cri-ed she ; Cook
call-ed me down stairs just now and told me
she had some-thing to show me, and what do you think it
was ? Now guess."
Mam-ma grave-ly con-sid-er-ed for a sec-ond, and sug-
ges-ted "a plum cake." "No, no, mo-ther dar-ling,"
cri-ed Cis-sy; "not cake at all; some-thing ni-cer."
Cis-sy's mam-ma, a-ware of the fail-ings of her child,
thought of one or two fav-our-ite good-ies in which she
knew her lit-tle girl took plea-sure. But Cis-sy as-sur-ed
her she was quite wrong. So give it up, mam-ma dear,
and I will tell you." Mam-ma ac-cor-ding-ly gave it up:
and Cis-sy con-tin-ued,-" Well, Cook call-ed me in-to the
kit-chen, and then went to the cup-board, where she keeps
wood, and she took out a bas-ket, and in the bas-ket there
lay the sweet-est, dar-ling-est, dear-est lit-tie duck of a
tab-by kit-ten you ev-er saw. There,' Miss Cis-sy, said
Cook, 'we've on-ly the old mo-ther and this kit-ten, and
I dare-say your mam-ma would-n't mind your hav-ing it
for your own.' And you would-n't mind, dar-ling, dar-ling
mam-ma, would you ? It is the sweet-est, pret-tiest kit-ty
you ever saw, with long hair-I do think it will have
long-ish hair-at an-y rate, may I keep it ?"
What could Cis-sy's mam-ma say ? Of course the kit-ten
was Cis-sy's. And a fine pet Cis-sy made of it; the lit-tle
crea-ture was ve-ry pret-ty-pret-tier ev-en than most kit-
tens are-and all you lit-tle folks know how pret-ty they
.' .. ...
., ,. ...
CISSY AN TODDLES
...,. ., "
' \: i "
: :, ,, .
Cissy and Toddic':.
al-ways are. Its hair re-ally prom-is-ed to be long, much
long-er than the hair of an or-din-ary cat.
Cis-sy's af-fec-tions were quite set up-on her kit-ten. It
was al-ways with her, and she pet-ted it, fed it, and
thought of it night and day. She thought of a good
many names for her cat, but could not de-ter-mine up-on
one. She con-sul-ted mam-ma and pa-pa, sis-ters and
bro-thers, un-cles, aunts, and cou-sins, but could not fix
up-on a name. At last, how-ev-er, the name of Tod-dle-
kins seem-ed to please her, so that name she a-dop-ted,
and Tod-dle-kins was, af-ter a lit-tle while, shor-ten-ed
in-to Tod-dles, and Tod-dles it re-main-ed. Tod-dles was
taught all sorts of tricks by her lit-tle mis-tress. She
would jump through your hands, or over a stick; she
would sit up and beg like a dog, she would trust, fetch
and carry, and in fact so ac-com-pli-shed a pus-sy, of such
ten-der years, had ne-ver been known be-fore. Tod-dles
was in-deed one in a thou-sand a-mongst cats. Cis-sy's
lit-tle bro-ther, a by no means gen-tle lit-tle boy, used to
carry Tod-dles about un-der his arm or over his shoul-der,
up-side down, or any way, and Tod-dles was ne-ver,,
ne-ver known to scratch. Tod-dle's claws were al-ways
hid-den un-der a vel-vet pad.
So Tod-dles was lo-ved by the whole fam-ily, and of
course most of all by her lit-tle mis-tress. It would take
too long to tell you here about all Tod-dle's sweet ways.
One hab-it of hers was, that when-ev-er she saw her mis-
tress af-ter an ab-sence, she would ut-ter a lit-tle plain-tive
miow, and jump-ing up light-ly on her shoul-der, she
would kiss her fond-ly in cat fash-ion, rub-bing her lit-tle
hairy face gent-ly a-gainst Cis-sy's cheek.
One day, alas! Cis-sy re-turn-ed home from a vis-it of
a few days to her aunt in the coun-try, to find Tod-dles
Cissy and Toddles.
gone. Yes, it was on-ly too true, Tod-dles was lost!
Days pass-ed and Tod-dles did not return. Loud and
deep were the lam-en-ta-tions of the fam-ily over the dis-
ap-pear-ance of Tod-dles. In-quir-ies were made in all
di-rec-tions, but to no pur-pose, no one knew what had
be-come of Cis-sy's cat. Days grew into weeks; and now
another, and as Cis-sy's mam-ma thought, a much worse
trou-ble be-fel the fam-ily. The child-ren had the
mea-sles, and Cis-sy was the worst, and long-est in get-
ting o-ver them. Whe-ther the loss of Tod-dles prey-ed
on her mind, and so made her worse, I don't know, but
the others were well and about, and Cis-sy was still weak,
and could. on-ly sit up for a few hours in the day.
One Sun-day eve-ning in the sum-mer, Cis-sy's mam-ma
left her lit-tle girl in bed, and went to the eve-ning ser-
vice of the Par-ish Church. As she re-turn-ed home
through the quiet street, in the soft sum-mer eve-ning,
her at-ten-tion was at-trac-ted by a sound be-hind her,
and then she felt some-thing touch-ing her dress; she
look-ed down, and saw the long lost Tod-dles, who knew
her in the street and had been fol-low-ing her for a long
way. Cis-sy's mam-ma call-ed her, and Tod-dles trot-ted
mer-rily a-long un-til they both got home to-geth-er.
Cis-sy had fall-en in-to a dose, lis-ten-ing to the church
bells. She slept a long while, for she was a-waken-ed by
-what do you think ?-a soft and gen-tle miow, from
the chair close be-side her bed, and there was Tod-dles,
sit-ting look-ing at her with lov-ing eyes. Cis-sy gave a
great shout of joy, and then Tod-dles sprang on the bed
and was soon kiss-ing her lit-tle mis-tress in her sweet
af-fec-tion-ate way. You may be sure Tod-dles was
wel-com-ed by ev-ery-body.
Af-ter this, Cis-sy ve-ry soon re-cov-er-ed.
CHILDREN AT TEA.
AM ve-ry an-xious, child-ren dear,
That you should qui-et be,
And take care to be-have quite well
While I pour out the tea.
Ma-til-da Jane, I need not scold,
For you be-have so well;
You sit so straight, and try your best
To please me, I can tell.
But oh, Be-lin-da, what a sight!
See how she sits a-wry,
I can-not make that child o-bey,
No mat-ter how I try.
Her hair is al-ways in a furze;
Her dress and sash un-tied;
She drops her shoes, turns in her toes,
I know not what be-side.
CHILDREN AT TEA.
Children at Tea.
- --------. ---.--------_----^
But now for once, Be-lin-da dear,
I trust you will be-have;
Not spill the milk, nor spoil your dress,
My trouble try to save.
And then you both shall have a cup
Of most de-li-cious tea;
A piece of cake, per-haps some jam,
And then go out with me.
(Lily's Letter to her Cousin May.)
Y DEAR MAY,-You want to know how we
spent Cis-sy's birth-day. Well, to be-gin, Cis-sy
was fetch-ed home from school by Nurse be-fore
din-ner, and we had time to give her our pre-
sents. Pa-pa gave her a beau-ti-ful locket, mam-ma gave
her a chain for it, John-nie gave her a book, and I gave
her a sil-ver ring with Miz-pah on it. And she had a lot
more pre-sents, but I can't tell you all; but they were
none of them baby-ish, be-cause, you know, Cis-sy was
four-teen on this birth-day-al-most grown up.
Well, we had ev-e-ry-thing Cis-sy likes for din-ner,
chick-ens, and tri-fle pud-ding, and o-ther nice things
be-sides. And then at four o'clock we went to the Zoo.
Now the nice part of going to the Zoo, be-sides the fun
of see-ing the an-i-mals, was that pa-pa could go too-
you know he is still ill, and can-not walk well-as
di-rect-ly he got out of the car-riage lie could get in-to
a bath chair, and be drawn all o-ver the gar-den to see
ev-e-ry thing splen-did-ly. So off we start-ed-this was
in-side the Zoo-lo-gi-cal Gar-dens, youth know--pa-pa in
his chair, with such a jol-ly old chair-man to drag it, and
us three and maim-ma, walk-ing be-side pa-pa.
We didn't go straight to the bears, as we ge-ne-ral-ly
do, but turn-ed down a side path, and saw a lot of such
cu-ri-ous birds! pel-i-cans and fla-min-goes. I thought
the pel-i-cans ve-ry ug-ly, but mam-ma li-ked to look at
them be-cause she said they were such good mo-thers.
I don't think I care much a-bout that, but it is true I
should if I was a lit-tle pe-li-can. The fla-min-goes were
cer-tain-ly the most won-der-ful crea-tures, with such long
legs, and the odd-est knees you ever saw; and fright-ful
mouths, or beaks, but their feath-ers were beau-ti-ful!
And we saw love-ly e-grets, with those cu'-ri-ous thin
feath-ers grow-ing out of their backs, that peo-ple wear
still, some-times, on their bon-nets and heads.
Then we came by a round-a-bout way to the po-lar
bear. He is all a-lone now, poor fel-low! .fo his wife is
dead; she di-ed of old age. He seem-ed sad, but I don't,
know if he was fret-ting, or on-ly hun-gry. Then. we
saw all the o-ther old bears, and wolves, and wild dogs,
who look-ed so nice, and so like Mo-na and Len-ny, that
I want-ed to pat them. Then we turn-ed the corn-er and
came to the cage of the laugh-ing hy-ae-na, and we got
a keep-er to make her laugh-for the one who laughs is
a she you must know-and her name is Sa-rah. The
keep-er gave her .a piece of meat to pre-vent her from
bi-ting, and then he call-ed the o-ther hy-ae-na to him and
be-gan to stroke and pat him, which made Sa-rah so
an-gry, that, al-though she had the meat in her mouth,
she would not eat it, but be-gan to laugh from rage, and
she went on laugh-ing, and laugh-ing, till we all laugh-ed
too; pa-pa in his chair, till the chair shook, and mam-ma
laugh-ed, and Cis-sy laugh-ed till she look-ed quite red,,
and John-ny got all limp from laugh-ing, and near-ly
tum-bled down. And peo-ple came run-ning round, in
all di-rec-tions, and as soon as they came, they be-gan to
laugh too. Ev-er-y one look-ed so fun-ny, and so sil-ly,.
laugh-ing for no-thing.
Af-ter that we went to see the seals, and sea-li-ons..
There were two sea-li-ons, and two seals; one of the seals,
the small-est of all, had on-ly late-ly been caught, and
his poor lit-tle face was bad-ly hurt. He was ve-ry cross,
be-cause, I sup-pose, he was in such pain, and the big sea-
li-ons did not dare to go near him, be-cause he tri-ed to
scratch them, and suc-ceed-ed so well that they were quite,
a-fraid of him. The keep-er fed them for us, and it was
so fun-ny to see them each jump on a chair, and sit there
to be fed; the keep-er threw fish to them and they caught
it in their mouths. Each seal knew his own chair, and
jump-ed on it when he was told.
Then we. went to see the li-ons and ti-gers. And out-
side, in one of the o-pen cages, we saw a cru-el ti-ger
Cissy's .Birth dai.
walk-ing a-bout, who had kill-ed his sis-ter a short time
ago; he fought with her, and bit her so bad-ly that she
di-ed from her wounds. He look-ed quite well and hap-py;
was it not hor-rid of him? In-side the li-on house we
saw the beau-ti-ful li-ons. There was one who had din-ed
a lit-tle time be-fore, he was in a cage with a li-on-ess;
and they both seem-ed so good na-tur-ed and kind. The
li-on-ess rub-bed her head a-gainst the li-on like a cat,
and he was quite pleas-ed and grunt-ed at her in a good
tem-per-ed way. He was ve-ry sleep-y and yawn-ed a
good deal, but he was so hand-some and nice I should
have lik-ed to stroke him.
Be-fore we left the gar-dens we saw such a cu-ri-ous
bird. It is kept in the place where the small fish live.
It is call-ed a pen-guin, and lives on fish. When I first
look-ed at him I be-gan to laugh, for he is just like a
lit-tle but-ler with a long white waist-coat. Then he has
the odd-est legs, so thick, and short; black web-bed feet,
and his wings are not a bit like wings, they hang down
like crook-ed arms at his side. I thought them ve-ry
use-less, till I saw him in the water, and then, when he
was swim-ming, he look-ed just like a lit-tle seal with a
bird's head and beak. I have no time to write more now,
but al-to-ge-ther I must tell you that we en-joy-ed Cis-sy's
birth-day ve-ry much. 'We had straw-ber-ries and cream
for tea too!
Your lov-ing lit-tle Cous-in,
* .. ..... -- --- --- ------------- ---- --- '~ ~ ~
HIS is my new boat, thinks Har-ry;
Look how trim she is and neat,
I would go a voy-age in her,
But she's too smaIl and has no seat.
Yes, the Lily is a beau-ty,
I make no mis-take in that,
She is quick, and oh, so grace-ful!
Some-thing like our lit-tie cat.
How I love to come to East-bourne!
How I love the great, grand sea,
The yel-low sands, the shells and sea-weed !
This is a hap-py time for me.
What fun, some-times, to find a star-fish,
Or peri-win-kle on the rocks!
To watch the crabs that run all side-ways,
To pad-dle with-out shoes or socks!
Then how nice to go out fish-ing,
For fa-ther some-times takes me out,
To watch the great rough sail-ors haul-ing
Up the fish, with ma-ny a shout.
Yes, I'm al-ways good and hap-py
When I play up-on the shore,
I love the world, and all that's in it,
I can't be naugh-ty any more.
07 o 2
JESSIE AT THE SEA-SIDE.
JESSIE AT THE SEA-SIDE.
SES-SIE had been ill-very ill. She
had caught Ger-man mea-sles,
Show, no-bod-y could tell, and she
had been so ill that her mo-ther
Shad suf-fer-ed ter-ri-bly on her ac-count. And
al-so on ac-count of the o-ther child-ren, of
whom there were five. The child was a long
time in re-cov-er-ing, and as she was o-blig-ed
to be kept a-way from the other child-ren she
led a dull life. She mo-ped, and at last grand-
ma-ma had to come to the res-cue, and pro-pose
that Jes-sie should go to the sea-side with her.
Jes-sie's lit-tle pale face bright-en-ed, and by the day
that her clothes were pack-ed, and grand-ma-ma's pre-
par-a-tions made, Jes-sie already look-ed a dif-fer-ent
child. When lit-tle hearts are light, it is won-der-ful to
see how quick-ly lit-tle cheeks turn round and rosy and
lit-tle eyes grow bright. Grand-ma-ma and Jes-sie were
go-ing to stay for a month at Hast-ings. And, al-though
Jes-sie was of course a lit-tle sad at leav-ing home, yet
she look-ed for-ward to this month, and felt sure it
would be the hap-piest one of all the ten years she had
liv-ed in the world.
When Jes-sie a-woke on the morn-ing af-ter their ar-
ri-val at Hast-ings, she could hard-ly tell where she was.
She slept in a lit-tie dress-ing room open-ing out of her
grand-ma-ma's room, and these rooms both faced the sea.
Jes-sie jump-ed out of her bed and look-ed out at the win-
dow; she drew a long breath of de-light when she saw the
sea ly-ing, shin-ing, and danc-ing un-der the sun-beams.
" Oh! grand-ma-ma," cri-ed Jes-sie, it is- such a love-ly
morn-ing. Do let us go out."
Jessie at the Sea-side.
So di-rect-ly after break-fast, down Jes-sie and grand-
ma-ma went to the sands. Grand-ma-ma sat on some
rocks, with a book and her work-bask-et be-side her, and
Jes-sie ran a-bout for a long time pick-ing up shells. Then
grand-ma-ma walk-ed a lit-tle way with her, and bought
her a spade and pail so that Jes-sie could dig deep holes
and build fine castles.
Jes-sie was de-light-ed for a time with this. Then what
fun it was to get the beau-ti-ful sea-weed! it was in-deed
a hap-py morn-ing. How-ever, pre-sent-ly Jes-sie thought
it would be a fine thing to take off her shoes and stock-
ings, and to wade about in the sea, as she had seen other
child-ren some-times do-ing. She pro-pos-ed this to grand-
ma-ma, who did not quite ap-prove at first; how-ever,
Jes-sie pleaded very hard,-" Do let me, dar-ling grand-
ma-ma," beg-ged Jes-sie; "it will be so de-light-ful to wade
a lit-tle in the de-li-ci-ous water, and to feel it creep-ing over
my ank-les. Be-sides, nurse said sea-water al-ways made
child-ren's legs strong, and I fan-cy mine have been rather
weak since I was ill." This was fan-cy; how-ever, it de-
cided grand-ma-ma, and she said :-" Well, you may do it
Jes-sie, but don't go far, or I shall be a-fraid you will be
Jes-sie pro-mis-ed to be care-ful, and tak-ing off her
shoes and stock-ings, and with pail and spade in hand she
wad-ed in-to the sea. It was ra-ther cold, but very nice;
on went Jes-sie a lit-tle fur-ther--and then-grand-ma-ma
was startl-ed by a loud scream, and she saw Jes-sie stand-
ing on one leg with the other foot up and a lit-tle
crab hang-ing to it.
Grand-ma-ma ran at once to poor Jes-sie and man-
aged, but with dif-fi-cul-ty, to get rid of the nas-ty crab.
But Jes-sie's toe was cruel-ly pinch-ed; it bled, and was
sore for a long time.
A SAD TALE OF A TAIL.
NCE up-on a time there liv-ed three mon-keys.
They were not un-hap-py caged mon-keys,
but wild, free, joy-ous crea-tures, sport-ing
a-bout at large. How-ever, though they
were wild, and joy-ous, they were not ami-
a-ble; at least two out of the three were not so. They
were friends, as they call-ed them-selves, but not what I
should call friends; for they were of-ten spite-ful to one
an-o-ther, and each ra-ther en-joy-ed any mis-for-tune
which might fall upon the other two. Their names
were, Sharp-eyes, Nim-ble, and Mis-chief
Now one day, when co-coa-nuts were scarce, and o-ther
food of the same kind not plen-ti-ful, the three mon-keys
a-greed to go down to the shore, and see if they could
not get fish of some kind for their sup-per. They did
not like go-ing in-to the
sea, so they thought they .
might try and catch a ten- '.
der young crab or two, as
they were to be found on '
the shore. Crabs hap-pen-
ed to be ra-ther plen-ti-ful
in that part of the world,
and the mon-keys, all three, '
thought it a cheer-ful i-dea
to have some for sup-per.
The dif-fi-cul-ty of catch-
ing them did not oc-cur to
Ar-riv-ed at the shore, they could not see the crabs. The
crabs, how-ever, had seen them, and had hid-den them-
A Sad Tale of a Tail.
selves in crev-i-ces in the rocks.
SThe mon-keys felt sad, and sat
op-po-site to where they saw
*. c a lit-tle piece of a crab's claw
1\ k\ peep-ing out from a cleft in
7" the rock. Sharp-eyes had
no-tic-ed it first, I must tell
you. Sud-den-ly, Mis-chief
seiz-ed hold of Sharp-eyes'
tail, and, to the as-ton-ish-ment
S of the un-hap-py mon-key,
i thrust it in-to the crev-ice, ex-
"-_ claim-ing, as he did so,-
Hap-py thought! a new way
to catch crabs." He and Nim-ble fell to gri-mac-ing, and
laugh-ing, while poor Sharp-eyes was in-deed in-clined to
do very much the re-verse. For the large strong claws of
a gi-gan-tic crab, who was tight-ly wedg-ed in-to a hole,
had seiz-ed him fast, and
there was no get-ting free. -
Sharp-eyes pull-ed with all _..
his might, cry-ing to his ill-
na-tur-ed com-pan-i-ons to ".:.:'
help him. Mis-chief only
laugh-ing-ly re-fused, but
per-haps Nim-ble might -
have re-lent-ed, and come
to his aid, had he not now :i
felt a se-vere pinch at the -'
end of his own tail; he gave
a long scream of pain, and
turn-ed: head over heels,
A Sad Tale of a Tail.
bring-ing his tail down with such a se-vere thump up-on
Sthe ground, that the crab that was at-tach-ed to it-
Sbe-ing for-tu-nate-ly a small one-was knock-ed so vio-
lent-ly a-gainst the rocks that it re-lax-ed its hold and
fell in-to the sea.
P Then these two self-ish young apes, Nim-ble and Mis-
chief, one from fear and the o-ther from wick-ed-ness, gal-
lop-ed off. And poor Sharp-eyes was left a luck-less
pri-son-er, pull-ing and drag-ging with his hands at his
un-for-tu-nate tail, which was firm-ly grip-ped by the large
crab. It was in-deed a fear-
ful mo-ment of men-tal, as
well as bod-i-ly, a-gony for the
hap-less Sharp-eyes when he
dis-co-ver-ed that his cru-el ---_-3---
com-pan-i-ons. were leav-ing
him to his most mis-er-a-ble
fate. He was left now quite
a-lone. What could be done ?
Alas, no-thing! The pangs
of hun-ger now as-sail-ed him. .
Oh! if he were but free he "
would be well con-tent to live -
on herbs for the fu-ture and -
leave crabs a-lone. "Ah!"
thought the hap-less mon-key,-"' What would I not give
now for a few green ber-ries and a draught of de-li-ci-
ous cold water."
Think-ing of water made him no-tice the splash of the
ti-ny waves near him ; he could hear them now much more
dis-tinct-ly than at first. The poor mon-key won-der-ed
what could be the rea-son of this. A-las,,a,-las! he soon
A Sad Tale of a Tail.
dis-co-ver-ed that the tide was ris-ing. It was then e-ven
al-most touch-ing him. Our poor Sharp-eyes! in a ve-ry
few mi-nutes the wa-ter was wash-ing o-ver him, and
his trou-bles were end-ed.
When the tide turn-ed a-gain, the bo-dy of the mon-key
lay up-on the sands, wash-ed up by the sea. The bo-dy,
with but half a tail-for the crab had nip-ped it in two,
As you may sup-pose, my lit-tle friends, the wick-ed
Mis-chief and Nim-ble came to no good af-ter this. Nim-
ble was shot by a hunt-er. And Mis-chief was caught, and
is now go-ing a-bout in tight boots, a red jack-et, cock-ed
hat and fea-ther, danc-ing in great pain, to the mu-sic of a
crack-ed or-gan. His mas-ter is a cru-el one, and he rich-ly
de-serves his fate.
EE the pige-ons how they fly!
Ea-ger-ly each bird-ie comes:
They know well that May has dined,
And her hands are full of crumbs.
May now counts her pige-ons o'er-
Counts and finds the num-ber nine,
Proud-ly gives each bird a name,
Says:-" You know they all are mine.
Shall I tell you what they're call-ed ?-
Puff-y, Bright-eyes, Blue-bell, Snow,
Spot-ty, Red-toe, Sweet-heart, Tom,
State-ly;-Now see, off they go!
"When I call them, back they fly,
For you see they're ve-ry tame,
And they al-ways are as kind,
Al-ways love me just the same.
11. i 1 2
liiil~8,_"~~1~IIlli iI!IIIWiIIlIIIII ii Ii
"'I am a ve-ry hap-py child;
Now, tell me, don't, you all a-gree ?
To have so man-y that I love,
And that re-turn the love to me.
"Be-sides, my pige-ons, I have pets,
A gar-den where my flow-ers grow;
Roses red, sweet mign-on-ette,
I wish you'd have sine,-don't say no."
.\ ... ..
THE SHAM FIGHT.
THE SHAM FIGHT.
OOK, now, I beg, at this dear lit-tle boy,
?e A can-non with-in his hand.
Look at the sol-di-ers he or-ders a-bout,
That o-bey his word of com-mand.
See the brave cav-al-ry pranc-ing a-long,
See how the in-fant-ry stand,
Think of the bat-tie that soon will take place,
A battle in fan-cy-land.
Think of the wound-ed that lie on the field,
Think of the brave sol-di-ers dead,
Think of the hors-es with bro-ken rein:
It is well that they're all made of lead.
There are the bul-lets that whis-tle a-bout,
They don't make a ve-ry loud sound;
But think of the men, and the poor hors-es too,
That they stretch in a row on the ground.
Dread-ful des-truc-tion takes place all a-round,
Dealt by such can-non as these,
Though the men and the hors-es are hard-er by far-
Made of met-al-the bul-lets are peas.
Don't you en-joy, now, a fam-ous sham fight,
And en-gage in a skir-mish with zest?
Ah! boys, if your bat-ties could all be sham fights,
In-deed it would be for the best.
,, ,r'F ..
S T was an au-tumn e-ven-ing, the fifth of
No-vem-ber. Such a busy day to the boys !
I mean the boys that I am go-ing to tell
you a-bout, and a great man-y o-ther boys
These par-ti-cu-lar boys, Torn, Har-ry, and
Jack Pe-ters, were the sons of the Vic-ar of Ed-ham, and
they were so busy, be-cause they were mak-ing a guy.
Such a guy! they had jam-med, and ram-med, and cram-
med a quan-ti-ty of straw in-to some old clothes, they had
man-ag-ed to get the most won-der-ful mask from the
vill-age shop, and they had got an old chair in-to which
they forc-ed the guy's bod-y, bent his knees, and made
his legs hang down, had put a peak-ed hat up-on his
head, and there he was, a guy, a fam-ous one too as large
as life, and twice as ug-ly.
But the boys were not con-tent with mak-ing their
guy, they want-ed to burn him in a bon-fire. And not
on-ly that, they must have fire-works. They in-tend-ed
to have a grand dis-play if they could man-age it. This
was all ve-ry well, as far as the guy went, and e-ven the
bon-fire; for the Vic-ar had said they might have both.
But the fire-works were ve-ry dif-fe-rent; they were
for-bid-den. The boys were young, and fire-works in
their hands might be dan-ger-ous. The sta-ble-men and
gar-den-ers would make up the bon-fire, and the Vic-ar
would be there him-self to see them burn the guy. But
once al-low the boys to buy fire-works, and it was an-o-ther
mat-ter. So the Vic-ar said, a day or two be-fore the
fifth,- Mind you boys don't go to the shop to get fire-
works." The boys had said, No, fa-ther." But Tom,
the eld-est, a-ged e-lev-en, crav-ed for fire-works; so did
the o-thers. They could not go to the shop to get them,
then what should they do ?
"Let's send Pat-ty," pro-pos-ed Har-ry, the se-cond boy.
"All right," said Tom; bright i-dea! "
Now Pat-ty was their lit-tle sis-ter of five years old, the
on-lygirl, and a love-ly lit-tle child she was. But, a-las poor
lit-tle Pat-ty was un-like most o-ther hap-py lit-tle chil-dren,
she was sad-ly af-flict-ed, for she was deaf and dumb. She
had not al-ways been so, but two years be-fore the time I
am writ-ing of she had had scar-let fe-ver ve-ry bad-ly, and
since that the child had ne-ver spo-ken a-gain. The
doc-tors hop-ed her speech might re-turn, but they could
not be sure. In the mean-time, Pat-ty had to get on as
well as she could by talk-ing on her lit-tle fin-gers.
The boys made signs to their lit-tle sis-ter on their
fin-gers bid-ding her go to the shop-which was just
op-po-site the church-yard gate-and buy some fire-works
for them. They took her through the church-yard, and
watch-ed her a-cross. The shop was a toy-shop kept by a
wo-man who was a dress-mak-er. She had fire-works, and
as she had oft-en sold toys to the lit-tle dumb child, she
un-der-stood her signs and her way of talk-ing on her
fin-gers. She sold her the fire-works without hes-i-ta-tion,
know-ing she was the Vic-ar's lit-tle daugh-ter, and sup-
pos-ing her nurse was out-side the shop. The boys, too,
had writ-ten down the dif-fer-ent names of the fire-works
they wish-ed for.
Back came Pat-ty tri-um-phant, la-den with her fire-
works, which the three boys speed-i-ly re-liev-ed her of.
They had wick-ed-ly dis-o-bey-ed their father in re-al-i-ty,
though they had not en-ter-ed the shop them-selves.
As night came on the boys want-ed to let off the fire-
works in a field be-hind the vic-ar-age, where the Vic-ar
would not be like-ly to see them. Ac-cord-ing-ly they
stuff-ed their pock-ets with squibs; and just as their fa-
ther and mo-ther were go-ing in to din-ner, they made
:signs to Pat-ty to come out of her mo-ther's dress-ing-
room, where she was sit-ting be-fore the fire wait-ing for
nurse to take her to bed. Tom and Har-ry slip-ped
down stairs, leav-ing lit-tle Jack to fol-low with some
match-es which he was to get from his mo-ther's dress-ing-
room. The child took the match-es from the writ-ing
ta-ble, then he has-ti-ly made signs on his fin-gers tell-ing
Pat-ty to look out of the nurse-ry win-dow pre-sent-ly.
His pock-ets were stuff-ed out with squibs, and fool-ish,
thought-less lit-tle Jack now struck a match just to see
if they were all right and light-ed well. Then an-o-ther,
.and, with-out his see-ing it, the light-ed top of the wax
ves-ta, still quite red, fell in-to his pock-et on the top of
Jack turn-ed to be off, for nurse's step was heard in
the pass-age. When sud-den-ly-bang, bang, bang,
sound-ed through the house, and there was a loud yell
from Jack ming-ling with the ex-plo-sion. The child was
on fire At the same mo-ment, and as the Vic-ar and
his wife ran out of the din-ing-room, an-o-ther sound was
heard. A lit-tle child's scream! It came from Pat-ty.
The fright, and the shock of the loud ex-plo-sion, had
brought back her speech!
Jack was more fright-en-ed than hurt, luck-i-ly, and the
boys were for-giv-en that time. But they un-der-stood, for
their fa-ther ve-ry grave-ly ex-plain-ed to them, how wick-ed
and de-ceit-ful they had been.
- .- -
SAYS Nurse, How ve-ry cold it is
On this De-cem-ber day,
I real-ly wish the muf-fin boy
Would just pass by this way.
f If there's a thing that com-forts one
SWhen snow is on the ground,
It is a muf-fin very hot,
Or but-ter-ed toast-a round!
S-y'' "Now, child-ren, if you're ve-ry good,
And all o-bey me well,
I'll just step down, and at the door
I'll lis-ten for his bell.
And then, my dears, we'll make the fire,
And you shall quick-ly see
How well I toast a muf-fin,
And have some for my tea.
"Now, lis-ten, pray, I beg of you,
I think I hear his ring;
Ah, yes! I see the muf-fin boy:
And now the tea I'll bring.
"And each shall have a tiny bit,
For more would make you ill,
And then you know that you would have
To take a nasty pill."
. .-.-.- ....
- -- -. -
'HALL I tell you a-bout lit-tle Blue
Eyes ? I am sure you would like
to hear a-bout her, for she is the
sweet-est lit-tle girl I know. Her
real name is Amy. But she is call-ed Blue-
eyes by her friends ve-ry oft-en be-cause her
eyes are so glo-ri-ous-ly blue,-dark, deep blue.
So bright, and yet so soft! Her grand-pa-pa
first gave her the name of Blue-eyes and the
child likes the name, for she is so fond of her
Her own pa-pa is dead; he was a sol-di-er and
was kill-ed in bat-tie ; and her mam-ma now lives al-ways
with her dear old fa-ther far a-way in the coun-try, and
Blue-eyes, her on-ly lit-tle child, with her. Blue-eyes and
her mam-ma go up to Lon-don eve-ry year, just for three
weeks or so. They go gen-er-al-ly in Jan-u-ary or Feb-ru-
ary, so that Blue-eyes may see a pan-to-mime be-fore they
are all o-ver. And then for the rest of the year they
stay far, far a-way, in the coun-try.
One Christ-mas Day Blue-eyes had trudg-ed through the
snow with her grand.fa-ther and her mam-ma to the Church,
which was near-ly two miles from grand-pa-pa's house.
It was a ter-ri-bly se-vere win-ter, the snow had be-gun
ve-ry ear-ly, and by Christ-mas Day peo-ple had be-come
quite ac-cus-tom-ed to snow ly-ing near-ly a foot deep on
the ground. How-ev-er on Christ-mas Day the snow was
deep-er than ev-er, and lit-tle Blue-eyes found it dif-fi-cult
to wade through it to Church and back, but grand-pa-pa
would not have the hors-es out on Christ-mas Day. He
want-ed all the world to en-joy them-selves on that day at
Little Blue Eyes.
least. So the hors-es had an ex-tra feed, and no work to
do. And af-ter all, the walk-ing through the snow was
great fun to Blue-eyes.
Af-ter din-ner Blue-eyes beg-ged her mam-ma to let her
take a piece of bread out, and go and feed the dick-ies.
" The poor lit-tle dick-ies who can-not en-joy this Christ-
mas Day, mam-ma," said sweet lit-tle Blue-eyes.
So mam-ma gave leave, and the child walk-ed off with
a good large slice of bread in her hand; she was warm-ly
dress-ed, and mam-ma thought her lit-tle girl was quite
safe. But lit-tle Blue-eyes, not con-tent with feed-ing
the poor hun-gry dick-ies in the gar-den, wan-der-ed out
through the gates in-to the o-pen coun-try; she found
plen-ty of poor lit-tle starv-ing birds on all the trees and
hedg-es; some tame e-nough e-ven to eat out of her
But the short win-ter's day be-gan to close in, and Blue-
eyes was not in the house. Mam-ma call-ed her pet, but
she didn't come. The fact was, lit-tle Blue-eyes had lost
her way! As the dark-ness deep-en-ed, grand-pa-pa,
mam-ma, and some men, start-ed off to look for the lost
trea-sure, and they had not gone far be-fore they found a
lit-tle for-lorn figure cry-ing quiet-ly to it-self, and wan-
der-ing a-bout in the dusk of the win-ter's e-ven-ing.
Blue-eyes had giv-en all her bread a-way, but she did not
re-turn emp-ty-hand-ed, for she had pick-ed up a lit-tle
half dead, froz-en, and hun-gry bird, and wrap-ping it in
her pock-et hand-ker-chief, she had plac-ed it in-side her
jack-et to keep it warm, as she had no-thing to give it
How glad grand-pa-pa and mam-ma were to have their
Blue-eyes back a-gain I need not tell you. So this
Christ-mas Day end-ed hap-pi-ly aft-er all.
UKAR-LINGS, list-en to the sto-ry
SeOf two lit-tle sis-ters dear;
One was good, the o-ther naugh-ty,
iW 3 VYe-ry naugh-ty, I much fear.
Vi-o-let, so true and hon-est,
Said to Rose: To-night, to-night,
We will hang up each our stock-ing,
To-mor-row morn-ing, what de-light!
"Down the chim-ney, Fa-ther Christ-mas
Creeps with toys, and good-ies too;
Fills our boots with-in the fen-der,
Stock-ings both for me and you."
Rose said, "I wish Fa-ther Christ-mas
Would bring me a dol-ly gay."
Vi-o-let cried, "Oh! yes, and me too:
What a hap-py Christ-mas Day!
I"i,~ I ii(Il
i,,,I ,,' ,, ,
,o,' 1'1 i,,,-,, 1'1 -l'
11~,,I .,,,', i '1, ,,,
I ~~~~. .,' ~ ~,I,
i tlij I, III ill ll
Jl I I, ,, ,, I, I
- _1 I- -i --I
JUST PU N?: ISININT
" Mine must have hair gold and cur-ly,
Eyes so bright and love-ly blue!"
Rose said, "I should like a fair one,
A dark-hair'd one will do for you."
They went to bed, this lit-tle cou-ple,
Placed their boots, their stock-ings hung,
Went to sleep with plea-sant fan-cies,
As they heard the ca-rols sung.
Rose woke up, all in the dim-light,
To-wards the fen-der then did stare;
In each boot she saw a dol-ly,
But on-ly one had gold-en hair.
Vi-o-let's was the fair-hair'd ba-by.
Rose crept soft-ly from her bed,
Changed the ba-bies, gave her sis-ter
A dark-hair'd dol-ly now in-stead.
She fell a-sleep, but in the morn-ing,
Vi-o-let found sweet gold-en hair.
Rose's shoe con-tain'd a birch-rod!
And no dol-ly dear was there!
IUTH was five years old when she gave a
most de-light-ful sur-prise to her mam-ma,
and in-deed to all her fami-ly. I dare say
you would like to know about it, so I will
Ruth was the young-est child in the house; she had
four big sis-ters, and one broth-er who was next in age to
her, but three years old-er. Tom went to a day-school,
and, as he was a sharp and in-dus-tri-ous lit-tle boy, he
was ve-ry tor-ward for his age. Lit-tle Ruth was deli-cate,
and as yet did no les-sons, for a cer-tain wise doc-tor had
told her mam-ma that child-ren were all the bet-ter for
not work-ing their lit-tle brains be-fore they were sev-en
years old. "Then let them be-gin in earn-est," said he.
But Ruth was ve-ry anx-ious to read, so she ask-ed her
mam-ma if she might try and learn to read, with-out
hav-ing regu-lar les-sons in the school-room. And her
mam-ma said,-" Yes, dar-ling, cer-tain-ly."
Oh mam-ma!" cried lit-tle Ruth, "how I should like
to spise you by tak-ing my turn in read-ing the Bi-ble
ev-ery morn-ing! I will try." I must tell you that
Ruth's sis-ters and broth-er took it in turn to read a
chap-ter in the Bi-ble a-loud ev-ery morn-ing to the
o-thers, pa-pa and mam-ma al-ways be-ing pres-ent.
Tom said he would help his dear lit-tle sis-ter; and
when he came home from school ev-ery day, they would
sit to-geth-er on a low ot-to-man in the back draw-ing-
room, she eag-er-ly learn-ing, and he teach-ing, for half
an hour at a time. Ruth had her dolls with her, and the
eld-ers of the fami-ly on-ly said, How quiet-ly the two
lit-tle ones are play-ing One day a sis-ter ask-ed Ruth
what she and Tom were play-ing at so quiet-ly, and lit-tle
Ruth laugh-ed and said, That's a sec-ret." But in this
way the child learn-ed to read, and one morn-ing, be-fore
her sixth birth-day, she as-tonish-ed all the fam-i-ly by
read-ing out a chap-ter in the Bi-ble as well as any of
them; not miss-ing any hard words, and mind-ing all her
stops. When she saw how sur-pris-ed they were, she
laugh-ed-her lit-tle face all dim-pled with fun-as she
said, "That was the se-cret."
OOR Nel-ly stood out-side the door,
_ She had her tea, then ask-ed for more.
HIo, ho, the pity of it!
She was re-fus-ed, but had her way,
So stands and eats this sum-mer day.
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
She eats, and thinks of many things-
Of lit-tle Kit, her bird that sings:
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
Of sing-ing birds, not birds that hiss;
No thought of rude-ness like to this-
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
Had ev-er cross-ed this maid-en's mind,
And lit-tle Nel-ly griev-ed to find-
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
How gree-dy geese can some-times be,
In-deed it's ve-ry sad to see.
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
Poor Nel-ly had a cru-el fall,
She lost her bread and jam and all,
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
Her pock-et she had fill-ed with grass,
The geese took that and then, alas!
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
They peck-ed her legs so fat, and white
In-deed it was a sorry sight.
Ho, ho, the pity of it!
11~ ~ ~ ~- 311111; IIi I.
BABY AND PUSSY.
BA-BY AND PUS-SY.
H, lit-tle ba-by dear! Oh, what a treat!
Some-thing for ba-by so good-y to eat,
A lump of nice su-gar from dear mam-ma's
S Not for pus-sy," says ba-by, "no, no, but
" Per-haps, pus-sy, you may have milk when I've done,
But now, go on wink-ing a-way in the sun;
'Tis my mam-ma," ba-by says, "my ve-ry own;
You, pus-sy, have none, and live all a-lone:
" At least, I'm a mam-ma to you, that you know,
For I pet and love you, and nurse you up so,
But you mustn't be want-ing to have mam-ma's tea:
That's for real mam-mas, pus-sy, and ba-bies, you see.
" Nurse doesn't like pus-sy, she makes a cross frown
When you come in the nur-se-ry, just to sit down.
But, pus-sy, I love you-that is, when you're good
And don't want my su-gar, but be-have as you should.
" You shall have a treat, too, now pus-sy, my dear,
If you don't stick your claws out, Miss Puss, do you
You must make your paws soft as vel-vet or silk,
Or, Miss Pus-sy, I real-ly can-not give you milk.
"And when the sau-cer is put on the ground,
You must drink all the drops that you some-times
And then, with your paw, you must wipe your mouth
And you'll be the best pus-sy that ever was seen."
139 s 2
THE SECRET LET OUT.
THE SE-CRET LET OUT.
SCUN-NING lit-tle ro-bin built her ti-ny nest
With-in a ve-ry hol-low tree, be-cause she thought
She said, It will be saf-er and qui-et-er by far,
For I do not like in-tru-ders who come to ask
us how we are."
So she ga-ther-ed ma-ny pieces, and twigs, and moss so green,
And built her co-sy lit-tle nest, as nice as could be seen;
And she flut-ter-ed to and fro, all through the bright spring day,
And sang as blithe-ly as might be, I'm glad I had my way."
"I'm glad I made my house up here so far from pry-ing eyes;
I'm sure my lit-tle nest-lings will think their mo-ther wise,
For now the eggs lie quite, quite safe, not one can guess they're
And soon my lit-tle birds will come, my lit-tle chil-dren dear.
"And when I fly to seek for food, I shall quite hap-py be,
I shall know my lit-tle fledg-lings are safe, now don't you see!
For sure-ly there's not one would think that I should make this
Be sure I'll keep my se-cret well, not one shall hear my voice.
"It does seem hard, a ro-bin must so ve-ry pru-dent be,
And have to hide her lit-tle ones be-neath a hol-low tree.
But though the world is beau-ti-ful, some peo-ple are so bad
That they will ev-en hurt the birds. A-las 'tis ve-ry sad.
" So I'll keep my home, and fam-i-ly a se-cret known to none,
And when they fly the child-ren will as-ton-ish ev-er-y one."
A cat pass-ed by, and grim-ly said, I would not talk so loud;
If you fain would keep a se-cret, be si-lent and less proud."
N the pre-vi-ous page you see a pic-
ture of In-di-an Cat-tie, or Ze-bus,
that I be-lieve is the pro-per
S name for them. You see in this
pic-ture pa-pa, mam-ma, and ba-by Ze-bu.
They look very strange to you, lit-tle peo-ple,
do they not ? For those of you who have not
been to In-di-a-and I dare-say ve-ry few of
my lit-tle read-ers have tra-vel-led so far-can
on-ly have seen these Ze-bus in the Zoo-lo-gi-cal
'" To me these cu-ri-ous crea-tures, so un-like our
Eng-lish cat-tie, were at one time ve-ry fa-mi-li-ar; for,
you must know, that I once spent two years of my life in
In-di-a, and these Ze-bus are the cat-tie of that part of
the world. They are hand-some beasts, near-ly al-ways
white; with big black eyes, soft and ten-der look-ing, like
those of a stag, and they have long black eye-lash-es.
Then see what a cu-ri-ous hump they have grow-ing o-ver
their shoul-ders, and what fun-ny wrink-led skin hangs
down from the throat and chest of the fa-ther Ze-bu!
Now when I was in In-di-a, I had two large, fat, white
fel-lows of this kind to draw my bul-lock ban-dy, that is the
name of a close car-ri-age which peo-ple use in In-di-a when
they are o-bliged to go out in the mid-dle of the day; for
there the sun is very hot, much, much hot-ter than we
ev-er have it in any part of Eu-rope, you know; and
these ban-dies are made so as to be as cool as pos-si-ble,
with don-ble roofs and nice green Ve-ne-tian blinds. In
shape they are like an om-ni-bus, on-ly not so large, with
seats run-ning along each side, and they have a pro-
ject-ing roof o-ver where the dri-ver sits, to pro-tect his.
head from the sun.
It is ve-ry bad for horses to go out in the mid-die of
the day in In-di-a, when the heat is so great, so peo-ple
have their bul-locks put in the ban-dies, and drive them
in-stead of horses. The yoke is put o-ver their necks,,
just be-tween the neck and the hump, and, I am a-fraid,
they have a ring in their noses, to which reins are
at-tach-ed, so as to guide them. Then the pair of white
bul-locks go trot-ting along quite mer-ri-ly. Thei- heads
are so thick that no heat hurts them. Now these Ze-bus
are ge-ne-ral-ly in-tel-li-gent and gen-tle, but I once had a
lit-tle Ze-bu cow who was ve-ry much the re-verse.
One morn-ing my but-ler told me we were in want of
a new cow, and at the same time told me that there was
one just brought in-to the cor-pound-as we call our
grounds in In-di-a-for me to see. So out I went to
the ve-ran-da, which runs all round In-di-an houses, and
I saw the sweet-est, hand-som-est, lit-tle white cow, stand-
ing wait-ing for me to buy. She was so pret-ty! snow
white, and with the most beau-ti-ful dark eyes, look-ing
quite lov-ing-ly at the man who brought her to me to buy.
I was de-light-ed with her, and bought her at once, and
her black mas-ter led her to the back of the com-pound,
where all the an-i-mals liv-ed. I had such a num-ber!
I de-ter-min-ed I would make a great pet of my gen-tle
lit-tle cow, but that was not to be, for in about a quar-ter
of an hour my but-ler came run-ning to me to say that
the cow was "plen-ty bob-be-ry," and had knock-ed down
ev-er-y one who came near her when her old mas-ter went
a-way; and that she was so say-age they were all fright-
en-ed. So I had at last to send for the man I bought
her of, and make him take her back a-gain.
ON THE SANDS!
H! what fun it is to play,
Hap-py through the live-long day;
Build-ing cas-tles here and there,
Ga-ther-ing sea-weed, rich and rare,
On the sands!
Then to climb the rocks so steep,
Gaze in-to the pools so deep,
Pad-dle with small legs all bare,
Ro-sy toes, and feet so fair,
On the sands!
Then to look far out to sea,
Dream-ing of strange things that be
Tn-der waves that nev-er rest,
Think-ing then, that it is best
On the sands!
Hap-py child, with spade and pail!
Sights of won-der nev-er fail;
Ev-er-y rock and pool a-round
With fresh beau-ties all a-bound
On the sands!
ON THE SANDS
On the Sands!
Liv-ing flow-ers, bright and gay,
Lit-tle crabs, whose side-long way
Makes the chil-dren laugh with fun,
As the crea-tures home-ward run
On the sands!
And the waves come danc-ing in,
Try-ing who the race shall win,
Bring-ing health and strength to all,
As they dash, and break and fall,
On the sands!
ROSES AND WASPS.
RO-SES AND WASPS.
SHE chil-dren were so hap-py! Shall I tell
you why ? First, I must tell you the chil-
1 dren were Janey and Mau-rice, two lit-tle
SLon-don-ers. They had just come down to
spend a glad month in the coun-try. It
/ /was the mid-dle of June; bright, beau-ti-
ful sum-mer was just at its bright-est. All
the flow-ers gave forth their sweet-est scent,
/ the sky seem-ed al-ways blue, and the whole
wide world, in the coun-try, was a per-fect
hea-ven of en-joy-ment to the two chil-dren.
They had on-ly come down the e-ven-ing be-fore, and
al-though they tho-rough-ly en-joy-ed the soft still-ness
and -the fra-grant air of the coun-try, af-ter the noise and
heat of the great town, they were too tir-ed then to more
than have a la-zy feel-ing of en-joy-ment, as they drank
the de-li-cious coun-try milk, and ate the home-made
bread for their sup-per, be-fore they put their lit-tle heads
on their pil-lows, and went off to hap-py child dream-
But the next morn-ing what a wak-ing up it was!
S"Are we real-ly here ?" anx-ious-ly ask-ed Janey as she
a-woke. "I can-not be-lieve it," and she rub-bed her
Roses and Wasps.
"Don't be so sil-ly," an-swer-ed Mau-rice; look and
lis-ten, and smell the nice smells."
Janey was sev-en, and Mau-rice near-ly six. Pre-sent-ly
nurse threw up the win-dow, and the chil-dren jump-ed
from their beds and look-ed out up-on the bright sum-mer
morn-ing, that made all things seem beau-ti-ful. The
lawn was green, and soft like vel-vet, with spark-ling dew,
shin-ing like dia-monds, here and there. The large trees
threw long sha-dows, and the birds hop-ped mer-ri-ly
a-bout the grass close un-der the chil-dren's win-dow,
ea-ger-ly seek-ing food in the ear-ly morn-ing. The flow-ers
were all in full fresh beau-ty af-ter the short plea-sant
night, and the laugh-ing chil-dren seem-ed to have their
glad smiles re-turn-ed to them by all the hap-py coun-try
things sur-round-ing them. They heard the sound of the
riv-er down be-low, they saw the cows graz-ing in the
field be-yond, the whole world seem-ed bathed in sun-
shine and hap-pi-ness.
They were quick-ly dress-ed, had break-fast-ed, and
were out to run a-bout and rev-el in the coun-try life they
were go-ing to lead for, what seem-ed to them, a long
time, a whole month, of hap-pi-ness!
How the chil-dren were wel-com-ed by the an-i-mals
a-bout the place! The dogs came and wag-ged their
tails, the long-hair-ed cats purr-ed and rub-bed them-selves
a-gainst their legs; the par-rots, who liv-ed in the con-
ser-va-to-ry, came to the bars of their cages and cluck-ed,
in-vit-ing the chil-dren to scratch their heads, and ev-en
the lit-tle ca-na-ries seem-ed anx-ious to sing a loud song
Roses and 'Wasps.
of wel-come. Off went Janey and Mau-rice to the yard,
and peep-ed in-to the sta-bles to have a look at the horses;
they then in-spect-ed the ducks in the pond, and the cocks
and hens strut-ting a-bout near. Then through the kitch-en
gar-den, un-til they got quite to the fur-ther end, where
they found the pig-stye, and peep-ed at the grunt-ing
pigs. The sight of these gra-ti-fied the chil-dren ve-ry
much-as the pigs were of a rare kind, "Prince of
Wales's spot-ted pigs"-they were ve-ry ug-ly. Janey
con-fess-ed she was ra-ther dis-ap-point-ed in them, still,
it was some-thing to have seen them.
Then down from the kitch-en gar-den they ran past a
shrub-be-ry, and came a-gain up-on the lawn in front of
the house. Now they flut-ter-ed from bed to bed of
flow-ers, look-ing at, and smell-ing the sweet blos-soms;
not pick-ing; no, the chil-dren were too good for that.
Ev-er-y flow-er'seem-ed new and won-der-ful to these two
"Look, Janey," cried Mau-rice, I am sure I have
,nev-er seen this flow-er be-fore," as he point-ed to one
that at-tract-ed his par-ti-cu-lar at-ten-tion.
How can you be so fool-ish, Mau-rice," an-swer-ed
Janey. "Why, that is a cocks-comb, quite a com-mon
thing. But do come and look at this love-ly rose-bush,
grow-ing on the bank, cov-er-ed with the pink-est sweet-est
roses in the world. Come, you sil-ly lit-tle boy, you know
a rose when you see it, don't you?"
Mau-rice, ra-ther crest-fall-en, followed Janey to
the rose-bush. "Dear me," said that lit-tle la-dy, "I
JSoses. :a nd Wasps.
sup-pose ro-ses have a lot of ho-ney in them, for see what
a num-ber of bees there are a-bout." Mau-rice hung back
a lit-tle, for he felt a-fraid at the sight of such 'a num-ber
of buzz-ing wing-ed crea-tures. "Come, Mau-rice dear,"
said Janey, don't be a-fraid, bees you know- are such
good and use-ful things, and they nev-er hurt you, if you
don't hurt them; come close, dear!"
The chil-dren drew near the rose-bush, la-den with its
sweet flow-ers, but a-las !, the in-sects which sur-round-ed
it were wasps, who hap-pen-ed to have made a nest
with-in the bank. They re-sent-ed the ap-proach of the
chil-dren, and as Janey caught hold of a branch, to bring
the ro-ses on it near-er to her face, she dis-turb-ed two or
three wasps who were bu-sy feed-ing, and they were soon
buzz-ing in her hair. The chil-dren, both fright-en-ed,
beat their hands a-bout, and they were now re-gu-lar-ly
at-tack-ed by the an-gry wasps, and soon bad-ly stung.
They rush-ed cry-ing to the house, and it was not be-fore
much oil and blue-bag was used that their tears were
stop-ped. Mau-rice said, "It's worse not to know a wasp
than not to know a cocks-comb."
HAT a wealth of leaves and blos-soms
Now is grac-ing all the trees!
And the days are hot and sul-try,
We can catch no friend-ly breeze.
And the sun is full of pow-er,
Fierce-ly send-ing scorch-ing rays;
Tell-ing all that he reigns grand-ly
Through the burn-ing sum-mer days.
In the fields, and o-pen coun-try,
We corn-plain of thirst and heat;
And 'tis worse in roads all dus-ty,
Where then should the world re-treat?
Come with me, if but in fan-cy,
To the wood-the green soft shade;
'Tis a hav-en, pure and love-ly,
For the good of man-kind made.
List-en! you can hear the coo-ing,
Soft and sooth-ing, gen-tle sound;
Of the Pig-eons, as they nes-tle
In the branch-es all a-round.
In the ci-ty and the o-pen,
Man has built, or till-ed the land;
But the home of the Wood Pig-eon
Bears the touch of God's own hand.
MILLY'S HAPPY SUNDAY.
MIL-LY'S HAP-PY SUN-DAY.
iNE morn-ing in the mid-die of last sum-mer,
a hap-py lit-tle girl came out from the porch
of a pret-ty cot-tage. She had come to spend
S a day or two with her grand-papa. Mil-ly
tho-rough-ly en-joy-ed her vi-sits to grand-
S papa, so I am just go-ing to tell you how
she spent this Sun-day
First, as she came out of the porch, she
ran to kiss grand-papa, who was al-ready out
Sin the gar-den; then they went in-to the
house to-ge-ther, in-to the dear old din-ing
room with the deep chim-ney cor-ner. Af-ter
this grand-papa read prayers. Then Mil-ly
1had break-fast, with sweet honey in the comb,
Fruit and cream. Then off they went to
church, grand-papa driv-ing White-nose in
the po-ny car-ri-age.
SAf-ter church Mil-ly took her lit-tle bas-ket
and fil-led it with wild flow-ers, tak-ing care to car-ry her
Ja-pan-ese um-brel-la so that she did not get frec-kled, for
mam-ma would have been sor-ry then. And Mil-ly fill-ed
the bask-et in no time, and de-co-ra-ted the lunch-eon
table so pret-ti-ly, that the old din-ing room look-ed quite
gay and bright. Then in the af-ter-noon Mil-ly start-ed off
with a-no-ther lit-tle bask-et, this time fill-ed with a nice
Sun-day sup-per for two poor old wo-men. Now home
a-gain to tea, and then to eve-ning church. The walk
home through the fresh sweet smell-ing fields was quite
de-li-ci-ous. Af-ter the walk a lit-tle talk with grand-
papa, and then nice bread and milk, and then to bed.
So end-ed Mil-ly's hap-py Sun-day.
OOK now at this pic-ture, dar-lings,
S At this lit-tle vil-lage maid!
She has wan-der-ed through the mea-dows,
Under sun-light, and through shade.
She has walk-ed in sha-dow-ed wood-lands,
And she ran through sun-ny glades,
Ga-ther-ed all those fresh, sweet flow-ers,
Sigh-ed, and said, "Each flow-er fades."
"I am sor-ry that I pick-ed you,
You will die be-fore your time;
Some are buds-quite lit-tle ba-bies!
Flow-ers not yet reach-ed their prime."
Stand-ing there she look-ed so mourn-ful,
Ten-der-heart-ed lit-tle maid,
That I thought I'd try to cheer her.
Lis-ten to the words I said:
SLit-tle child, don't be down-heart-ed,
Flow-ers, like us, ful-fil their fate,
Some are pluck-ed in life's first morn-ing,
Some are left till ev-en-ing late.
Take your flow-ers home to mo-ther,
Let them make the cot-tage gay,
They will then ful-fil their mis-sion:
That we may do the same, I pray."
OOK at the bub-bles See how they fly!
High-er, yet high-er, up to the sky;
They float on their jour-ney, so soft, and so
Gleam-ing out gai-ly, in col-ours so bright.
Jes-sie de-mure-ly sits on her chair,
While John-ny sends bub-bles fast up in the air;
Both of them watch-ing, with keen eag-er eyes,
Each lit-tle bub-ble as up-ward it flies.
Dear lit-tle child-ren, so full of your play,
Blow-ing bright bub-bles on a wet day;
Eag-er-ly watch-ing the bub-bles that rise-
A bub-ble that floats for a se-cond-then dies.
Will it be al-ways so-are we the same ?
We blow our bub-bles too, chang-ed but in name.
We have fond hopes, that ex-pand and look bright;
We watch our fan-cies with eag-er strain-ed sight.
Then when our bub-bles look best, and most gay,
Be-fore we can grasp them they've melt-ed a-way.
Thus it is al-ways, from child-hood to age,
We send up our bub-bles, that fade as we gaze.
Ydt it is well so; Hope dulls our pain,
And we learn pa-ti-ence to try yet a-gain,
So blow up the bub-bles, and as they float high.
Re-mem-ber, while fad-ing, they lead to the sky.
MAY, EVA, ERIC, AND THE RABBITS.
MAY, E-VA, E-RIC, AND THE RAB-BITS.
NE day in Sep-tem-ber last the
three chil-dren were out play-ing
in the gar-den. They had fin-
ish-ed les-sons, and were hav-ing
a romp be-fore get-ting rea-dy for din-ner.
Pre-sent-ly up came Mar-chant, the gar-
den-er. "Would you young la-dies, and gen-
tle-men, care to keep some rab-bits ?" said he.
My boy is go-ing in-to ser-vice, and he wants
to part with his rab-bits, but he can't a-bear to
think as they might be kill-ed. If the Mis-sis
would al-low it, I would soon make a, nice hutch
for you to keep 'em in, and you could have the four of
'em as pets."
May, E-va, and E-ric, gave a shout of joy, and first
ran to mam-ma to ask if they might have these new pets;
and when she said yes," off they went to the pad-dock
where Mar-chant had put the rab-bits.
They were such pret-ty things: two white, and two
black. May had one white one, E-va the o-ther; and
they a-greed that E-ric should have the two black ones,
be-cause they were not so pret-ty as the white. So, as he
said, he made up in quan-ti-ty what he lost in qual-i-ty."
Then four piec-es of mon-ey were tak-en out of three
mon-ey box-es, and add-ed to by mam-ma; and a pair of
strong new boots were bought for Mar-chant's boy, and
he went to ser-vice quite hap-py. The rab-bits were
won-der-ful-ly tame, and ate out of the child-ren's hands.
They were call-ed Snow-ey, and Flos-sy, and Jet, and
163 x 2
JHOW A-DA PLEAS-ED GRAND-MAM-MA.
DA was ten years old;- she was a strong,
health-y lit-tle girl, and she lik-ed rid-ing,
i and all sorts of out-door amuse-ments much
S~ bet-ter than do-ing les-sons. Per-haps this
is not to be won-der-ed at, for A-da's home
was in the coun-try, and she had a po-ny of her own, a
lit-tle gar-den of her own, and a num-ber of pets that all
liv-ed out of doors. She had three bro-thers but no
sis-ter: so A-da used to be ve-ry dis-con-tent-ed when her
go-vern-ess call-ed her in to mu-sic, or any o-ther les-son,
on a fine morn-ing when she wish-ed to be out of doors
with her bro-thers.
How-ev-er, the re-gu-lar hours of les-sons had to be
at-tend-ed to whe-ther the lit-tle girl lik-ed it or not.
But A-da ve-ry of-ten used to miss the hour's prac-tis-ing
by her-self that Miss Be-van liked her to have dur-ing
the day. She had quite a ta-lent for mu-sic, and if she
had prac-tis-ed pro-per-ly she would have play-ed ve-ry
well for a child of her age.
Now I must tell you that A-da's grand-mam-ma liv-ed
in her son's house, which was A-da's home,: you know,
and A-da's grand-mam-ma, al-though not a ve-ry old la-dy,
HOW ADA PLEASED GRANDMAMMA.
owo Ada Pleased Grandmamma.
was a sad in-va-lid, and was sel-dom a-ble to get off the
so-fa. Be-fore she be-came so ill she had been a great
mu-si-cian, and she was still ve-ry fond of mu-sic, and
most anx-ious that her lit-tle grand-daugh-ter should play
well on the pi-an-o.
E-ven when she felt ve-ry weak and ill, soft mu-sic
seem-ed to soothe and com-fort her: and one warm day
in au-tumn when she was ly-ing near the o-pen win-dow,
she said: "A-da, darl-ing, you some-times play ve-ry
nice-ly; how I wish you would prac-tise more. It would
please me so much if you could play me 'We-ber's last
Waltz,' and play it cor-rect-ly and with ex-pres-sion."
A-da de-ter-min-ed she would try to please dear grand-
mam-ma, so the ve-ry next morn-ing she ask-ed Miss
Be-van to give her We-ber's last Waltz to learn: she
set to work and prac-tis-ed hard at the school-room pi-an-o
-which was a long way off from grand-mam-ma's room,
so that she could not be dis-turb-ed by it-and one day,
when grand-mam-ma was a-gain ly-ing by the win-dow,
watch-ing the dead leaves fly-ing o-ver the lawn, A-da sat
down to the pi-an-o and play-ed "We-ber's last Waltz so
cor-rect-ly and with so much feel-ing, that the tears were
in grand-mam-ma's eyes as she turn-ed, sur-pris-ed and
pleas-ed, to thank her lit-tle grand-child.
From that time A-da real-ly work-ed hard at her mu-sic:
scales, ex-er-ci-ses, and all; and dur-ing the rest of her
dear grand-mam-ma's life she sooth-ed and cheer-ed many
hours of pain and wear-i-ness by her mu-sic.
THE SIM-PLE FISH-ER-MAN!
NCE a lit-tle fish-er-man
Went out to catch some fish,
He thought he soon would have e-nough
To make a hand-some dish.
'He sat up-on the ri-ver's bank
And wait-ed for a bite;
He sat so very pa-ti-ent-ly
From morn-ing un-til night.
He some-times thought of crick-et,
And o-ther cheer-ful play;
But still that lit-tle fish-er-man
Sat on, all through the day.
He did feel ve-ry hung-ry,
He ate some bread and cheese;
But he was quite a-fraid to move,
He did not dare to sneeze:
THE SIMPLE FISHERMAN
The Simple Fisherman.
He had been told that fish were quick
Of hear-ing, and of sight;
So all the day he sat quite still
Un-til the wan-ing light.
And not a fish had he caught yet,
And now 'twas very late,
And shall I tell you why it was ?
He quite for-got the bait!
SYBIL AND NELLY.
SY-BIL AND NEL-LY.
SY-BIL is the lit-tle girl in the pic-ture: Nel-ly
the lit-tle dog. Sy-bil is eight years old,
Nel-ly on-ly four, but that you know is grown
A up for a dog. A-las! the dear dogs do not
live as long as we do, but it is as well: if we
Shad them for many more years with us we
should, per-haps, get to love them too well.
Nel-ly is Sy-bil's ve-ry own dog-gie, giv-en
to her by Aunt Jane; and child and dog are
True, fast friends. Sy-bil has taught Nel-ly
S all sorts of tricks. Nel-ly will sit up arid
beg, even on a nar-row win-dow-sill, as you
see her in the pic-ture. She will fetch and
carry, jump through hoops, lie down dead,
and, in fact, do every-thing that the most
in-tel-li-gent lit-tle sky ter-ri-er in the world could be ex-
pect-ed to do; and a great deal more.
Nel-ly will valse too; round and round she will go, like
a tee-to-tur. She is ve-ry fond of mo-ney, which is a cu-ri-
ous thing for a dog, is it not ? And she will do any-thing
if you give her half-a-crown to play with, she likes it much
bet-ter than a ball, and she will valse much long-er for a
piece of mo-ney than a piece of su-gar. Some-times she
will hide the mo-ney in order to keep it to play with an-
other time, so Sy-bil has to watch her and take it away
be-fore she has time to hide it.
Nel-ly is very use-ful when her lit-tle mis-tress plays at
lawn ten-nis, for she runs and finds the balls and brings
them back to Sy-bil, with-out mark-ing them with her
THE TOY MENDER.
THE TOY MEND-ER.
MY was a lit-tle girl of four years old; she
had a great num-ber of toys giv-en to her,
part-ly be-cause she was an on-ly child and
f had no lit-tle bro-thers or sis-ters to play
with her: strange to say, too, she had not
even small cou-sins to be her play-mates,
on-ly a big boy cou-sin at school. So Amy
was real-ly a ve-ry lone-ly lit-tle thing, and
S ve-ry de-pen-dent up-on her toys for plea-sure.
Her mam-ma was de-li-cate, and very ner-
vous a-bout her on-ly child, there-fore she
did not al-low her to have a dog for a pet, in
case she should tease it and make it bite
her, nor would she let her have a cat, for
fear it should scratch her.
Amy had a lit-tle can-ary, but she thought
it stu-pid, as it on-ly sat on its perch all day
and sang; it could not play with her, you see. Once she
thought she should like to have a large bird for a pet,
such as a cock-a-too, but. she went one day to see her
grand-mam-ma, and she seized grand-mam-ma's cock-a-too
by its top-knot be-fore any one could pre-vent it, and she
ye-ry nar-row-ly es-cap-ed a se-vere bite from Mr. Cock-a-
too's great black beak. She was so fright-en-ed that she
took a sort of ha-tred of birds af-ter this.
And so you see poor lit-tle Amy was ve-ry dull, and she
could on-ly fall back up-on her toys for a-muse-ment; but
The Toy Mender.
the worst of it was that she had no soon-er got a toy than
she broke it, she was so care-less, and ev-en im-pa-ti-ent,
with her toys. Her tem-per was pas-sion-ate, and she
was so ac-cus-tom-ed to have peo-ple do as she lik-ed-
this spoil-ed lit-tle girl-that if her horse did not drag
eas-i-ly, or her doll sit up as she lik-ed, or any other play-
thing do ex-act-ly as she in-tend-ed, she would just knock
them down off the ta-ble, or any o-ther place on which
they were stand-ing, and leave them ly-ing, brok-en and
use-less, on the floor. And then she would go to her
mam-ma, and ask for more toys.
Now at the be-gin-ning of one win-ter, when Amy was
just four years old, her mam-ma was tak-en ve-ry ill, and
the doc-tor or-der-ed her to go at once to a warm cli-
mate, and re-main there un-til the spring. It was set-tled
that Amy should be left with her grand-mam-ma dur-ing
her mo-ther's ab-sence. Amy was ve-ry un-hap-py at first
when her mam-ma went a-way, but grand-mam-ma was so
kind to her, and ex-plain-ed to her that her dear mam-ma
was com-ing home in the spring, they hoped quite well,
and would be so glad to see her lit-tle girl again, that
Amy did not fret much; then, too, grand-mam-ma gave
her a num-ber of new play-things, a pret-ty new doll, a
nice don-key, and sev-er-al o-ther toys. You may sup-pose
ihat grand-mam-ma was ve-ry an-gry when she found that
her lit-tle grand-child had brok-en all these things in a
very few days.
Then grand-mam-ma told Amy that she would not give
her any more toys. "Oh !" said Miss Amy, Christ-mas
com-ing soon, and me will have lots of toys then."
No," re-pli-ed grand-mam-ma, "not from me, at any
rate, for you treat them too bad-ly."
The Toy Mender.
Amy now felt ve-ry sor-ry, and took up her brok-en toys
one by one, and cri-ed o-ver them. Pre-sent-ly she heard
a sound of whist-ling, and the nur-se-ry door was push-ed
o-pen, and then who should come in but Cou-sin Jack, her
big cou-sin, who was spend-ing his Christ-mas ho-li-days
What's the mat-ter ? he ask-ed, and kiss-ed her.
Then Amy told him her trou-ble, and he kind-ly said,
"Well, if you can't have new toys, let's set to work to
mend the old ones, that will be best."
So he got his tool chest, and some glue, and gum, and
ev-ery-thing that was want-ed, and as he was a ve-ry han-
dy, as well as kind-heart-ed boy, most of the brok-en toys
were made al-most as good as new a-gain. At any rate
they were all made quite fit to play with. Amy was de-
light-ed, and from that time up to Christ-mas Day she
was so care-ful of her mend-ed toys, that grand-mam-ma, I
be-lieve, chang-ed her mind, and gave her a doll's house
for a Christ-mas pre-sent. And I know Jack had a sil-ver
Watch from grand-mam-ma and an in-ter-est-ing book that
he had long want-ed.
From the day Jack mend-ed the toys, Amy be-came
quite a care-ful child, and I need not tell you how pleas-
ed her mam-ma was to see the change when she came
It. C.AY, SONS, AND TAVI.OR, 1'It\'TEiRS,
BREAD STREET HILL.
*i 'I I 1