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 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 The prince and princess storie...
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Group Title: The prince and princess stories
Title: The Prince and princess stories
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00085416/00001
 Material Information
Title: The Prince and princess stories
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 27 cm.
Language: English
Creator: W.B. Conkey Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: W.B. Conkey Company
Place of Publication: New York
Chicago
Publication Date: c1896
 Subjects
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1896   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1896   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1896
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Illinois -- Chicago
 Notes
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
Statement of Responsibility: beautifully illustrated by our own artists.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00085416
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002224594
notis - ALG4860
oclc - 234189843

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Frontispiece
        Page 3
    Title Page
        Page 4
    The prince and princess stories
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
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    Back Cover
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Full Text















































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HAPPY GREETINGS.


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PRINGE AND PRINGE8 STORIES


BERfUTIFUbbY


ILLUSTRfTED


BY OUR OWN ARTISTS.
COPYRIGHT 1896, BY W. B. CONKEY COMPANY.


NEW YORK.


CHICAGO.


W. B. CONKEY COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS.



































THE MUSIC- LESSON

































FLOSSIE.


Flossie, dear, do not drum on the
piano so-it drives me almost dis-
tracted. Mamma's head is aching
badly ;" and'Mrs. Ashton pressed her
hands to her throbbing temples. Peni-
tent Flossie stopped her drumming,
and ran to the lounge. "Well, mam-
ma, I do not know what to do. I've
played with my dollie, and sewed all
my patch-work. I'm so tired. I do
wish I might go out. My child, you
know that is impossible in this storm,
besides, mamma wants you ;" and here
Mrs. A. buried her aching head in the
pillow, unable to speak. In a moment
all Flossie's pettishness was gone, and
a wish came into her sympathetic little


heart that she might relieve poor, sick
mamma. She looked around the un-
tidy room. Nurse had taken baby
down stairs; the floor was strewn with
his playthings, and general disorder
prevailed. Tip-toeing softly about, she
gathered up the little traps, set the
chairs in place, piled the books and
papers neatly on the table, and brushed
up the hearth, bravely forbearing to
poke the glowing coals-a child's temp-
tation-but strictly forbidden in her
home. Then pouring out some water
in a pretty china bowl, and adding a
few drops of cologne, with a very wise
air, she sat by mamma's side, and dip-
ping her fingers in the cooling water,
gently passed them back and forth over
the hot forehead. She soon had the
satisfaction of hearing her breathe in a
refreshing sleep. Then quietly draw-
ing her chair to the window, took her
black pussy-cat on her lap and sat
watching the snow-flakes chasing
down, tipping every thing with soft,
downy puffs. Then the sleighs dashed
by so merrily-the jingling made her
think of the glad Christmas, so near
at hand. "I must really make up my
mind what presents I mean to give
every body," said the little woman to
herself. Straightway she put downthe
names and gifts. It took a long time
and a great deal of profound thinking,
and before she knew it she was nod-







ding and smiling, reveling in bright
dreams of Christmas bells and Christ-
mas trees. A soft kiss awoke her, and
she found it had grown dark. The
lamp was lighted, and mamma was tell-
ing papa what a good, quiet girl she
had been, and how much better she
felt. It may seem a small thing simply
to "keep quiet," but for a lively, healthy
little girl, it is a great restraint. But
Flossie felt well repaid for her self-
sacrifice.



DO YOUR BEST.

The great secret of success in any
enterprise, lies in the thoroughness of
the work performed. It matters little
whether the work be of hand or brain;
if it is well done it seldom fails in its
object. If it is done in a heedless,
slovenly manner, only a change of cir-
cumstances can render it successful,
and that success reflects less credit on
the doer than on the favorable circum-
stances which render it possible. If a
man be a common laborer, he can gain
such respect by doing his work so well
that his labor will be sought for and he
will be honored for his fidelity. Such
men will not be long out of employ-
ment, even in hard times, while those
who are known to perform their work
with the least possible trouble to them-
selves, or unskillfully, will always be
complaining of the hard times.
If you are a maid in the kitchen, do
your work so well that you will be in-
valuable in a household. A faithful
servant is a friend, and will beso con-
sidered by those who do their work
well.
Whatever your station in life, aim to
do your best, and you can but honor
the stati! you occupy. Think no work
degrading which is well done, and
all work degrading which is half
done.


HURTFUL READING.
A bad book, magazine, or newspaper
is as dangerous to your child as a vi-
cious companion, and will as surely cor-
rupt his morals and lead him away from
the paths of safety. Every parent
should set this thought clearly before
his mind and ponder it well. Look to
what your children read, and especially
to the kind of papers that get into
their hands, for there are now published
scores of weekly papers, with attract-
ive and sensuous illustrations, that are
as hurtful to young and innocent souls
as poison to a healthful, body. Many
of these papers have attained large cir-
culations, and are sowing broadcast the
seeds of vice and crime. Trenching
on the very borders of indecency, they
corrupt the morals, taint the imagina-
tion, and allure the weak and unguarded
from the paths of innocence. -The dan-
ger to young persons from this cause
was never so great as it is at this time,
and every father and mother should be
on guard against an enemy that is sure
to meet their child.
Look to it, then, that your children
are kept free as possible from this
taint. Never bring into your house a
a paper or periodical that is not strictly
pure; watch carefully lest any such get
into the hands of your growing-up
boys. Buy 'your boys a "Treasure
Box" every year.


SHE SUNG IT.
She was asked to sing "Home, Sweet
Home," and she did it up after this
style :
"Mid play sure, sand pal aces, though
heam a Rome,
Be it averse, oh, wum bull, there, snow
play sly comb,
H'arm from thesk eyeseem stew wal-
low a sheer,
Witch seek the whirl discern et
twitched swear."







































AT THE PICNIC








MAYING.
Phil says he thinks it is a great pity
when the May isn't out till June, be-
cause you can't go Maying if there
isn't any May, and it's so,stupid to go
Maying in June. Phil is eleven months
and fourteen days younger than I am,
and his birthday is on the fourteenth of
February and mine is on the first of
March; so for fourteen days we are the
same age, and when it's Leap Year we
are the same age for fifteen days.
I don't understand why it should be
a day more some years and not others,
but mother says we shall learn about it
by-and-by. Phil says he will like learn-
ing all that, but I don't think I shall,
because'I like playing better.
Phil and I have a little dog of our
own, and he belongs between us. His
name is Dash. He came from the
Home for Lost Dogs, and we didn't
know his name, so Phil and I sat on
the grass, and we called him by every
name we could think of, until Phil
thought of Dash, and when Dash
heard that name he jumped up, and
ran to Phil, and licked his face. We
don't know what kind of dog he is, and
father called him a 'terrier spaniel;'
but he laughed as he said it, and so
we're not quite sure that he wasn't in
fun. But it doesn't matter what kind
of dog Dash is, because we are all fond
of him, and if you're fond of any one
it doesn't matter what they're like, or
if they have a pretty name.
Dash goes out with us when we take
a walk, and I'm sure he knew yesterday
when we went out without leave, be-
cause we wanted to go Maying. There's
a beautiful hedge full of May blossoms
down the lane and across the meadow,
and we did want some May very badly.
So Phil and I went without asking
mother, and Dash went with us.
We found the place quite easily, and
had pulled down several boughs of it,
when we heard a gruff voice calling to
as, and the farmer came up, asking what
we were doing to his hedge.


I said, "Please, we didn't know it
was yours, and we want some May very
much, because to-morrow's the first of
June, you know, and Phil says we can't
go Maying then."
The farmer didn't say any thing until
he caught sight of Dash, and then he
called out, angrily,-" If that dog gets
among my chickens, I shall have him
shot!"
We were so frightened at that, that
we ran away; and Dash ran too, as if
he understood what the farmer said.
We didn't stop for any May blossoms
though we had picked them, and we
did want them so, because of its being
the thirty-first of May.
Phil said the farmer was calling after
us, but we only ran the faster, for fear
he should shoot Dash. When we got
home, mother met us in the porch, and
asked" where we had been; then we
told her all about the farmer, and how
we wanted to go Maving while we
could.
She laughed a little, but presently
she looked quite grave, and said,-" I'm
very glad to find you have told me the
whole truth,- because if you had not I
should still have known it. Farmer
Grey has been here, and he told me
about your having gone across his
meadow that he is keeping for hay.
He has brought you all the May you
left behind, and he says you may have
some more if you want it, only you
must not walk through the long grass,
but go round the meadow by the little
side-path. He said he was afraid he had
frightened you, and he was sorry."
Phil and I had a splendid Maying
after that. We made wreaths for our-
selves, .and one for Dash, only we
couldn't get him to wear his, which
was a pity.
But the best of all is that mother
says she can always trust us, because
we told the truth at once; and Phil and
I think we would rather never go May-
ing any more (though we like it so much)
/than not tell her every thing. I'm sure
it's a very good plan, and we mean to






do it always, even when we're quite
grown up. Mother laughs at that, and
says,-" You will have your secrets
then;" but Phil and I don't think we
shall, because it couldn't be a really
nice secret if we mightn't tell mother.
.I. T,

GRACIE'S TEMPER.

"Once a gentle, snow-white birdie,
Came and built its nest,
In a spot you'd never dream of,-
In a baby's breast.

Then how happy, gentle, loving,
Grew the baby, Grace;
All the smiles and all the dimples
Brightened in her face.

But a black and ugly raven
Came one morn that way;
Came and drove the gentle birdie
From its nest away.

Ah!- how frowning and unlovely
Was our Gracie then,
Until evening brought the white dove
To its nest again.

Children, this was Gracie's raven,
this her gentle dove,-
In heart a naughty temper
Drove away the love."


MONG
the pas-
se ngers
onboard
a river-
steam er
recently
was a
woman,
accom-
panied
by a bright-looking nurse-girl, and a
self-willed boy, about three years old.
The boy aroused the indignation of
the passengers by his continued shrieks
and kicks and screams, and his vicious-
ness toward the patient nurse. He tore
Sherbonnet, scratched her hands, without
a word of remonstrance from the
mother.
Whenever the nurse showed any
firmness, the mother would chide her
sharply, and say,-" Let him have it,
Mary. Let him alone."
Finally the mother composed herself
for a nap; and about the time the boy
had slapped the nurse for the fiftieth
time, a bee came sailing in and flew on
the window of the nurse's seat. The
boy at once tried to catch it.
The nurse caught his hand, and said,
coaxingly:
"Harry mustn't touch. It will bite
Harry."
Harry screamed savagely, and began
to kick and pound the nurse.
The mother, without opening her
eyes or lifting her head, cried out,
sharply:
Why will you tease that child so,
Mary? Let him have what he wants
at once."
"But, ma'am, it's a-"
"Let him have it, I say."
Thus encouraged, Harry clutched at
the bee and caught it. The yell that
followed brought tears of joy to the
passengers.
The mother awoke again.
Mary she cried, "let him have it."
Mary turned in her seat, and said,
confusedly :-" He's got it, ma'am."















































%dt Gossip with the Jtoo00.


MET the moon the other night,
SOut by the chestnut tree;
'1l tell you, if you'll listen all,
Some things she told to me.
She says that long ago she was
As blooming as the sun,
Though now so pale her cheeks, and blanched
Her roses one by one,.
She says she sees the frost before
It comes upon the ground;
And hears the footstep of the snow
While men are sleeping sound.


She says she sees the babies smile
When no one else can see;
And that she loves to see them dream,
And dimple prettily.
She told me many a pretty tale,
And many a secret, too,
And made me promise yester-night
I'd never tell it you!
But if, to-morrow night, my dears,
You'll seek the chestnut tree,
No doubt she'll tell you every word,
lust as she did to me i
R. W. LowgIx, in Our Little Onev






























PUTTING OUT THE CANDLE


Charles Dickens, for that is the
name of the gentleman you see sitting
by the table, wrote many books and
stories. Some of his stories are about
little children for grown folks to read,
and others are for the children them-
selves. Mr. Dickens had a pet cat,
that was always in his library. Strange
to say, it had no name. That was no
matter, because the cat could not hear.
He was deaf. But he liked very much
to be petted, and plainly showed some-
times that he was not pleased to have


his master do any thing else. One even.
ing, when Mr. Dickens was sitting at
the table reading, his candle suddenly
went out. He did not know why it
should have done so, but he got up
and lighted it. In a few moments it
began to get dark again, and he looked
up quickly at the candle, and saw puss
just raising his paw to put it out.
"What did he do?" He gave the cat
a loving little pat and went on with
his reading. What a sly cat was that to
find a way to make his master notice him.














vit


"I. 2.I. m il











































lit- --s
..-..-- -

Ol.*o-. .-
AMONG TH tLSOS







MISS, BEAUTY PIGEON.

MRS. JEAN A. WARD.

There were a great many of the
Pigeon family lived on the old Wood-
side. Place in Virginia.. Their great-
great-grandfathers and grandmothers
had lived there long years before them
and they had fine -houses and plenty
to eat and an elegant country to roam
about in.
So these Pigeons were generally a
very well-contented and a well-behaved
flock. They did not pretend to be of
the first family of Pigeons or to be
very stylish, but they were nice com-
fortable, home-bodies that it was very
pleasant to have around and the Wood-
side Place would not have seemed nat-
ural without them.
But somehow, a few seasons ago,
Mother Pigeon, one morning,
when she looked into her nest at the
funny little chick pigeons that had just
peeped through their shells, found
one that seemed in some way to be
different from the rest. She did not
know just what the difference was, but
it seemed to be there.
So she waited to see what she should
see, and as the young ones grew she
found out that among -her blue-black
and white and speckled youngsters
there was a Beauty. Such a thing had
never been heard of before among the
Woodside Pigeon family, but there
she was, and the bright colors of her
feathers, such as were never seen on
pigeon before, grew brighter each day,
and the other pigeons would come and
walk around her, and people would
stand and look at and talk about her
day after day, and evening after eve-
ning.
As Beauty Pigeon grew older she
could not help, noticing the attention
she attracted and gradually she began
to like, and then to look for it, and to
keep herself apart from the rest of the
flock so that she could easily be seen.
S2


Still she did not understand it entirely
until one day, flying about the Wood-
side Mansion, her wings carried her
through a great open window and she
fotnd herself in a large, finely-fur-
nished room. She had never seen any
thing like this before, and hopped
around and on every thing, examining
all with great curiosity. At last she
took a little fly, and lighted upon a
dressing-bureau, from the uprights of
which swung a large mirror, and in its
bright surface she saw reflected all the
beautiful colors of her breast, and wing
and tail feathers.
She stood there a long, long time,
and puffed and swelled and strutted
and admired herself, and thought how
very much more elegant she was than
all the rest of her family or any pigeon
she ever saw.
When at last she heard some one
coming and flew away through the win-
dow to the cot again, the home she
once thought so comfortable seemed
shabby, and old and dirty, and no place
for such a beauty as she; and her
mother and family looked shabby and
common in her eyes, and she treated
them very badly.
After that, at every chance, she
would be in the room and before the
looking glass again, just lost in admira-
tion of herself. Her mother soon
found out what she was doing and gave
her a kind talking to, telling her that
the fine, bright feathers she was so
proud of, were not of her own making,
and that while she might be glad to
have them it was a sin that would be
sure to cause her trouble if she in-
dulged in so much vanity over them.
13ut Miss Beauty would not listen to
her good mother, and continued to
visit the glass, though she was often
driven away, and would have nothing
to do with her family.
At last, the lady of the house, who
grew tired of having her dressing-
bureau all littered by a pigeon, made
up her mind she would stand it no
longer, and gave orders to a servant,






who, one morning, when all the other
pigeons were picking up the nice clean
corn and oats that were thrown out for
them, took a gun and stood on the
outside of the house, just below the
window of the lady's room.
Miss Beauty Pigeon had been so
anxious to admire herself that she was
willing to risk losing her breakfast for
a look at herself in the glass, so she
flew through the window and took her
usual place. She had not been there
long before the maid came in with a
broom and made a sweep at her.
'Away flew Miss Beauty, but just as
she reached the outside air, "Bang!"
went the. gun, ahd down tumbled the
poor pigeon-dead! wither fine feath-
ers all blown away, and her bright breast
all torn open with a great charge of
shot.
The family were very sorry for her,
even though she had not treated them
well, and poor Mother Pigeon said to
the rest of her flock: "You see, my
dears, that beauty is a snare, and van-
ity is sure to lead to destruction.
Can any of the boys or girls who
read this see the moral there is in it ?


CHARLES


GEORGE
DON.


GOR-


BY CHARLES WOOD.

No more heroic figure than that of
General Gordon has appeared in this
century. He was the incarnation of
the three qualities that are said to
make the hero-ideality, magnanimity,
courage. He was original and unique,
but all that made him admirable is
within the common reach. Every one
may have a high ideal, and following it,
become magnanimous and courageous.
Charles George Gordon was born at
Woolwich, the great arsenal town of
England, Jan. 28, 1833. His father was
a soldier, and the boy was educated


in the Royal Military Academy at
Taunton. His name was first heard by
the English public in 1855, the black
winter, as it was called, of the Cri-
mean war. At the close of the cam-
paign he was awarded the Legion of
Honor, a rare distinction for a subal-
tern,-as he then was. When he was
twenty-six he went out to join the En-
glish forces in China, and was present
at the capture of Pekin and saw that
unpardonable act of English vandalism
-the sacking and burning of the royal
palace at Yuen-Min Yuen. Four
years later he was asked, by the Chi-
nese Government, to command an army
for the subduing of certain rebels called
Taipings. Then began the greatest
work of his .life. He made an army,
and with it conquered armies incredibly
outnumbering his own. He compelled
fortified cities to surrender without a
blow. When he sailed away from
China, in 1865, he left behind him a
vast empire in peace, and he carried
with him every honor, and all the grat-
itude possible for orientals to give.
The next six years he lived at Graves-
end, directing the improvement of the
defences of the Thames. No city mis-
sionary could have done more for the
poor than he, and he was as happy as
he was helpful. In 1874 he went to
the Soudan. The Egyptian authorities
wanted this peace-maker of China to
bring the unruly tribes of the South
into subjection. In five years he put
an end, for the time, to the slave trade,
expelled corrupt officials, redressed the
wrongs of the degraded and enslaved
felhaheen, and returned to Cairo the
best loved and best hated of govern-
ment officials. Passing over the varied,
but comparatively unimportant events
of his life for the next few years, we
come to Jan. 18, 1884. On the evening
of that day he accepted the mission
of the English government of directing
the Egyptian population in evacuating
the Soudan. Another revolt had broken
out in the province of which Gordon
had been Governor General. A relig-








ious fanatic had proclaimed himself
El Mahdi, or the prophet. Egyptian
armies sent against him had been licked
up like pools of water under.the hot
Southern sun. The English govern-
ment, whose vassal the Khedive is,
had at last.concluded to remove the sol-
diers, officials, traders, and leave the
country to itself, and Gordon was
thought to be the only man who could
accomplish such a delicate and danger-
ous task. He flashed across the conti-
nent and over the Mediterranean to
Alexandria, Cairo, Assouan, Korosko;
and then on a swift dromedary over the
desert.240 miles to Abou Hamed. On
Tuesday, Feb. 18, he efitered Khartoum
asa deliverer. England breathed freely.
He released prisoners unjustly confined,
burned in the market square the cruel
whips, and records of oppressive taxes
unpaid, and the work he was sent to do


seemed sure of accomplishment. A1
most a year passed, and, Gordon was
still in Khartoum, the lines of the false
prophet drawing tighter around the
doomed city; then, while a great En-
glish army was hurrying to his rescue,
came the news of a catastrophe that
made the civilized world shudder with
grief and horror. Khartoum was be-
trayed, and Gordon, the lion-hearted
hero, cut down in the streets by trai-
tors, in sight of his own palace. :It
was his only failure--no, it was his
grandest success. He did more by his
death than by his life. He has held
before the world a glowing, unselfish
Christian character. He has changed
the world's conception of the hero, from
Alexander and Caesar and Napoleon, to
the self-sacrificing soldierwho willingly
gave his life for the distressed and the
helpless. .


:o:-


A BEAUTIFUL FATHER.


Tell your mother you've, been very
good boys to-day," said a school-teacher
to two little new scholars.
"Oh," replied Tommy, "we hasn't
any mother!"
"Who takes care of you ?" she
asked.
"Father does. We've got a BEAUTI-
FUL FATHER. You ought to see him!"
Who takes all the care of you when
he is at work?"
"He takes all the care before he
goes off in the morning, and after he
comes back at night. He's a house-
painter, but there isn't any work this
winter, so he's doing laborin' till spring
comes. He -leaves us a warm break-
fast when he goes off, and we have
bread and milk for dinner, and a good
supper when he comes home, when he
tells us stories, and plays on the fife,
and cuts out beautiful things for us
with his jack-knife. You ought to see
our father and our home, they are both
so beautiful."


Before long the teacher did see that
home and that father. The room was
a poor attic, graced with cheap pic-
tures, autumn leaves, and other little
trifles that cost nothing. The'father,
who, was at the time preparing the
evening meal for the motherless boys,
was, at first glance, only a rough, be-
grimmed laborer; but before the stran-
ger had been in the place ten minutes
the room became a palace, and the man
a magician.
His children had no idea they were
poor, nor were they so with such a
hero as this to fight their battles for
them. He was preaching to all about
him more effectually than was many a
man in sacerdotal robes in a costly
temple. He was rearing his boys to
put their shoulder to the burdens of
life, rather than become burdens to
others in the days that are coming.
He was, as his children had said, "a
beautiful father in the highest sense
of the word.









IENNIE HERE-I-AM.

BY ALEX. DUKE BAILIE.

Jennie Barton was her real name, but
the hearty, ready and willing answer,
" Here-I-am," she always gave to every
call, at home, at school, or from her
young friends, gained her the title at
the head of this little story.
Her mother was a widow who had
to work hard for her living. They
lived in a little cottage not far from the
village where I was stopping for the
summer. I had taken a long walk on
that road one afternoon, for the .first
time, and on my return was tired and
thirsty. I stopped at the little house
and asked for a drink of water. It.
was cheerfully and politely given me,
and when invited inside to rest for a
time, the front room looked so cool,
and neat and pleasant, that I gladly
accepted.
Mrs. Barton only was at home, and I
was soon acquainted and in conversa-
tion with the kindly lady.
You have a very nice little home
here, madam," I said.
Yes," she replied with a slight sigh,
"and I am very thankful I have it. Mr.
Barton was unfortunate, just before his
death, and the means he had gathered
by a long life of hard work was nearly
all lost, but this cottage was left to us,
and while we have a good roof over our
heads, and health to work, I do not
fear that we shall come to want."
You have some one in your family
then to help you," I said.
"Only my Jennie," was the answer,
"but she is worth more to me than
three of such children as most peo-
ple have. I am sure I don't know
why I should be so blessed in my child,
but I can never be-sufficiently thank-
ful that she is the comfort and help she
has ever been to me.
She is old beyond her years in care
and usefulness, no work seems hard or
unwelcome to her if it is to aid me,


and yet she is as bright and happy, and
enjoys her play as much as any little
girl I ever saw. Though I am poor,
and work hard, yet I have many, many
blessings to be thankful for, but my
Jennie is far above all others. I never
have to call her twice, never have to
ask her to do any thing her eyes can see
must be done, and no matter where she
is it seems that I have only to call,
'Jennie !' and I hear the answer-"
"Here I am "
It was clear, sweet young voice, that
called the reply from the outside. I
was sitting near the open door, and
looked through it into the road. It
was near sunset of a beautiful evening,
the sky was all in a bright glow of
color, the tops of the villas and village
houses beyond could be seen just over
the rise of meadow land.
My eyes fell upon a little girl, about
ten years of age, standing in the green-
bordered path leading up to the house.
A very bright picture she made there,
her neat, if rough blue dress, clean
white apron, red stockings and stout
shoes, showed that she lacked no
mother-care. From finder a coarse
straw hat came tumbling a mass of nut-
brown curls all about her forehead and
neck. Her face was flushed with
health, her big brown eyes sparkling
with good humor and pleasure. Upon
her head she balanced a load of some-
thing, tied up in a bright red cloth,
that would have made- many children
pout or cry to have had to carry on
such a warm day. But Jennie stood
there with both hands raised, her eyes,
lips, her whole figure a perfect pic-
ture of happy greeting to her home
and pleasure that she could give pleas-
ure to the mother she loved.
When she saw me, and in obedience
to her mother's call, she entered the
house, placed her bundle on the floor,
and then I could judge how heavy
it was,-and came and shook hands
with me like a little lady.
"I asked her what was her name."
"Jennie Here-I-am," she replied,









































ROBERT AS GRANDFATHER.








and then as she laughed, said, "that
is, what every body calls me, and it seems
almost as though it was my name,
but mother is Mrs. Barton."
"And how did you happen to get
such a queer name ?" I asked.
Oh she answered bashfully, "it's
just a saying I have when any one
calls me, and I like to have people
call me and ask me to help or to do
any thing for them, and so I got that
queer name.
I talked long with Jennie and her
mother, not only then, but often after-
wards, and found that their cheerful-
ness under privation and toil, their
earnest faith in all things being ordered
for the best, and their earnest desire
to help any and all in every way in
their power, was the true secret of
their content and unvarying happi-
ness. I made up my mind that Jennie's
"Here-I-am," in answer to each call
had the true ring of a Christian sol-
dier's brave response; I found that I,
even though I was older than either,
and thought I knew more than both,
could learn from that little child and
her toiling parent, and I believe that
I am doing my duty to my neighbors
better to-day because I always have
in my mind, in answer to a call for
aid, the cheering response of Jennie,
"Here-I-am !"



DOUBLE "E" AND
DOUBLE "O."

A little boy was learning to spell and
read at the same time, and his text-
book was a First Reader. His chief
stumbling stone was a double letter.
When he came to the word "feel," in-
stead of spelling it "f-double-e-l, feel,"
he would say, "f-e-e-l, feel," repeating
the double letter twice. It took weeks
to teach him to say double e or double o,


when he found them together, but he
learned at last.
One day, toward the close of a vaca-
tion, during which he had grown rusty,
he was brought out before a company
of ladies and gentlemen, to read any
piece they might select in his First
Reader. His mother watched him with
trembling anxiety, but he appeared to
feel himself equal to the occasion.
A young lady among the company se
elected a little poem which began with
this line:
"Up, up, Lucy, the sun is in the sky."
The little fellow took his place in the
centre of the parlor floor, made a bow
and rea-d the first line as follows:
"Double up, Lucy, the sun is in the
sky."
He never finished the recitation,
every body laughed so much.




LEONARD'S APRIL FOOL.

The trouble is, there is no fun about
April Fool, now-a-days," Leonard Wells
said, with a long face. "You can't
find any body to fool-the folks all
know you are trying to, and they keep
watch of you all the time; and when
you are in real earnest they think ycu
are fooling. I wish I could think of
something that nobody ever did."
His brother Willis was taking a walk
up and down his room with an open
book in his hand. "I might help you
in that," he said. "I think I could
put you in the way of doing something
that you never thought of before."
Leonard looked interested. His stu-
dent brother had very little time to
spend in fun, but he was pretty sharp.
"What could I do ?" Leonard asked.
"Old Grandmother Ba te s isn't
troubled with April-jokes very often-
at least of a kind that surprise her. I
see she has a whole cord of wood in








her yard; how would it do to put it
somewhere else, and make her think it
was stolen?"
"I think it would be t o o horrid
mean !" Leonard said,, his handsome
face flushing. She is old and lame.
I '11 go without fun before I get it in
any such hateful way."
"I wouldn't," his brother said. I'd
do it. Let me tell you how nicely you
could plan it."
So he drew a chair and sat down to
explain his plan. As Leonard listened
his lip curled less scornfully. This
didn't sound quite so mean as he had
thought it would; and it would cer-
tainly be something new.
"There would be a good deal of work
about it, I guess," he said at last.
Not so very much for half a dozen
strong fellows, with a whole afternoon
and a moonlight evening before them.
I shouldn't wonder if mother would
help you about that April fooling."
The result of this talk was that
mother was very ousy in the kitchen
next day, making cakes and biscuits,
and Leonard went to Grandmother
Bates' house right after breakfast, and
presented his mother's compliments,
and invited her to tea that afternoon.
No sooner was she safely seated in
his mother's parlor than Leonard had
a company of sturdy boys, each shoul-
dering a horse and saw. What fun
they hjd! It was so nice to be at work
all together, and to be in a hurry; for
the work must all be done before Mr.
Wells' horse and wagon brought grand-
mother home, or the fun would be lost.
Saw! saw! saw! for two good hours,
and split! split! split! for two hours
more, then it was supper-time. Away
they went to Mr. Wells' to supper!
Such a splendid supper as Leonard's
mother had set out in the dining-room !
How they ate, and talked, and laughed,
and then rushed back to that wood-pile.
Before nine o'clock the little wood-
shed, that had been quite empty, was
piled to the top with nicely split wood.
There was a great placard of white


paper tacked toa pole, and set up where
the wood-pile lay that afternoon, and on
the paper, in large letters, were the
words:
"APRIL FOOL!"
Over this they giggled. In the early
dawn of the next morning Granid
mother Bates opened her side door,
and limped out to pick up a little stick
or two from the unsawed pile. As she
went she said :
I must try to find somebody to saw
and split my wood to-day; then I must
contrive to pile it up myself, little by
little. I wish it didn't cost as much to
have wood sawed and split as it did to
buy it in the first place." You see
Grandmother Bates was poor.
If Leonard had heard her groan when
she reached the place where the wood
ought to be, and saw nothing but the
pole with its flapping sign, I don't
know but he would have thought it
too bad after all She stood there in
the cold for some minutes, looking
around, wondering where the cruel
beings, who had played the fool to her,
could have put her wood, and whether
she would ever find- it all, and how
much it would cost her.
Then she turned and went slowly
back to the house; and because she
wasn't thinking what she was about,
she turned to the little empty wood-
shed and went in. What was that?
A great pile of beautifully split wood,
another flapping sign saying :
"APRIL FOOL!".
I can't tell you how she looked when
she saw this, but the boys all knew,
for they were hiding just where they
could get a full view, and they chuckled
so loud that they almost betrayed them-
selves when they saw her face.
"It was the first real jolly April Fool
I ever had!" Leonard said gratefully,
to his student brother that evening.
I anr glad that you enjoyed it," the
brother said. Then he went on with
his Greek lesson.









TWO RUNAWAYS.
Bess was the only one at all to blame;
and if you had once looked into her
blue eyes, or felt her chubby little arms
around your neck; you never could have
found it in your heart to scold her.
As for Prince, you can see by the way
he holds his head that he is really proud
of his part in the story. This is the
way it happened. Bess was spending
a week with Grandma, because some-
body's baby, in the very next house to
where Bess lived, had the scarlet fever,
so they sent her away to be out of
danger. She was as happy as a bird for
three days, trotting after the chickens,
poking grass through the fence to the
white calf, feeding the lame duck with
her bread and butter, and sailing pea-
pod boats in the trough where they
watered the horses. Wherever Bess
went, Prince followed. You might have
thought he understood every word when
Grandma said, "Now, Prince, you must
take care of Bess; I'd sooner trust you
than most nurse girls," he looked up in
Grandma's face with his soft, beautiful
eyes, swung his great plume of a tail,
and whined a little as if he were just
going to speak, but from that moment
e seemed to feel that Bess was his
special charge.
The fourth day was washing day, and
to make matters worse, Grandma had
a. bushel of strawberries to can. A
bushel of ripe, red, delicious berries,
and only one pair of fingers to pick off
the troublesome stems. Bess helped,
of course, till her little red mouth, that
gaped like a robin's, would not open for
another one, and then Grandma carried
her away to the bed-room for her morn-
ing nap. There she lay on the pillow
watching a spider weave a lace curtain
behind the morning-glory vines,, and
though she wvas not very sleepy, she
would never have thought of getting
up if some one had not come in and left
the door open. Some one was Sophy,
who tip-toed to the closet, got Grand-
ma's bonnet and parasol, and tip-toed


out again, forgetting to shut the
door.
Did you notice if Bess was asleep ?"
asked Grandma.
"Very near it," said Sophy, "she lies
there sucking her thumb as contented
as an angel.'
"She's safe for two hours then, and
when she wakes you can give her her
dinner. It's too bad about the ber-
ries, but sick folks are of more conse-
quence than strawberries," and away
went Grandma to see what was the mat-
ter with poor old Mrs. Dawson.
"I'll just do those berries myself,"-
said Sophy, and went to work so busily
that she quite forgot Bess, and did not
hear a sound when the little lady took
her thumb out of her mouth, slid down
from the bed, and walked out of the
front door. Prince was lying on the
step, but he got up, stretched himself,
walked slowly behind Bess to the gate,
and stood patiently by her while she
looked up and down the road. There
was not very much to look at, but pres-
ently a lovely butterfly came flutter-
ing~over the wall, sailed about a great.
thicket of May weed, and then settled
down upon a purple thistle, waving its
wings slowly as if it were half asleep in
the sunshine.
"Oh," said Bess, her eyes -dancing
with delight as she saw it, but before
she reached the thistle the butterfly
finished its dream and went on. It was
not in any haste; it stopped here and
there for a sip of honey, it dropped
down on a spot of wet sand, it went
from side to side of the road, and still
Bess followed, and Prince kept close
beside her. By-and-by the butterfly
went over a fence into a field, and Bess,
with a little bit: of disappointment in
her heart, pressed her face against the
rails and looked in. It seemed to be a
field of lovely red roses; thousands and
thousands of them.;, not growing on
high bushes, but one low mass of round,
bobbing flowers and dark green leaves.
Bess thought she could get through
the fence, so she squeezed her fat lit-








tie body between the lower rains, ana
began to squirm and wriggle. Prince
had been uneasy before, but now he
thought it was time to protest; he
whined, gave short yelps, jumped about,
and even caught his little mistress by
her dress, but she worked her way
through, and rolled at last into the bed
of red clover, hot, tired, but triumphant.
How sweet the blossoms were, and not
a thorn to scratch the soft fingers that
picked them so eagerly till both hands
were overflowing. And there was the
butterfly, going on now as if he had
business to attend to, faster and faster,
and away up into sunshine.
Bess began to be very thirsty, and
wished she had some cool, sweet milk.
Her legs ached, too, and seemed to get
tangled up in the clover, and presently,
when she came to a snug little hollow,
with a crooked old apple-tree leaning
over -it, she sat down to rest. Prince
sat down beside her. Perhaps he was
anxious, but I am inclined to believe
he thought out-doors much better than
in, and it was not many minutes until
the two were fast asleep. They slept
two hours-at least Bess did, and there
is no guessing how much longer her
nap might have lasted, had not Prince
heard the dinner horn which Sophy
_blew to call the men from the field.
He pricked up his ears, and moved a
little; he touched the warm hand with
his cold nose, and even ventured to
lick it softly. Then he lay very pa-
tiently, until a squeaky old chaise came
lumbering down the hill, the rickety
old top going "a-cree, a-cree, a-cree,
with every step of the steady, gray
horse. This was too much for Prince;
up he -came, his splendid head in the
air, his nose pointed straight at the
bars, while his quick, short barks said,
"See kere! as plain as you could say
it. Grandma understood him, too, and
stopped old Ball, and looked into the
clover field. Yes, there was Prince, and
there was a tumbled little heap, slowly
getting up on to some fat legs that were
still hal asleep-could that be Bess .


"My goodness, child, how did you
get here," asked Grandma, as she lifted
her over the fence; and Bess really
couldn't tell.
Old Mrs. Dawson wasn't so very
sick after all, and so Grandma hurried
back to finish her strawberries; and
the first that Sophy knew of what
might have happened to Bess, was
when she came riding home in the
creaky old chaise, with Prince trotting
proudly behind.
"She's about starved, the blessed
little soul," said Girandma." Give her
bread and milk, in the best china
bowl; there's no telling what might
:have become of her if the Lord hadn't
taken care of her-yes and you too,
Prince; you helped, and you're a good,
faithful fellow."
And Prince certainly looked as if he
understood.
EMILY H. MILLER.


-- -j-
MY SHIP.

Now, little ship, go out to sea,
And bring good fortune back to me;
But don't, likepapa's "ship," I pray,
Be gone forever and a day.
He's always saying what he'll do,
When his ship comes to land;
But somehow it has never come,
Why, I don't understand.


























A HOLL-BOUG., fwth
l singing anovw, t
Stands out against the iy,
Where frosted lewu, in fairy
aheam.s.
And wintry shadowlte;.
Wb soirgsters on the leafs tree,
To ~fi11 ith solodr the reae..
The ierrea red, laove our Lead
Danceeiathe frosty Ighlt,
Ana gleanmng fair, in d=Ita i
rare,.
PeeM from tlie leave sa ibr g;
The sure snow glistens on uAs
groulna
An.d cesdad are the streams
armuld.
TIringlh f itkUenfii g far-y iin r.-
light's glow
Mlis ruddy all tlro ruom.
And chFild deaa dr, with Imppy
iLsp.el th winItrs. gloom;.
EThei youthful faces, bilho and
gay,
W8tcnAl y Y a"C amse they iay,.
J uiarm MfiK4jAz-








































Fow P OYVOINGi
JUST as Millie had brought out her beautiful new doll for a ride, it must begin to
snow. Happily, she has brought an umbrella with her. And now she will hasten
home, lest Dolly should get wet through and catch cold.
...



































STORY OF LAWRENCE
GRAY.

"Well, all right, don't go," said Hal-
sey Bonner. "You're a pet lamb, that's
what you are, and I always knew it.
If you had the pluck of a bull-frog,
you'd do as I want you."
'' will do as you want me, but don't
I tell you I'm afraid? Grandma will
find out I haven't been to school, and
she's so good to me," said little Law-
rence Gray.
"Baa! baa!" said Halsey,.derisively,
"you give me your skates and I'll hide
them in my overcoat pockets till to-
morrow, and we'll skate down to the
Gypsy camp, and they'll let us race their


Sponies and they'll sell us some of
their things; they've got trick
toys, that's iakea racket in school.
Bring a big lunch with you; tell
your Grandmother that you get
tremendous hungry .these. days,
and.we'll have the .biggest fun!"
This was said as the two boys
wended their way homeward after
school, and the prospective "fun"
was to be enjoyed on the morrow.
S "All right,' said Lawrie, "if
you won't call me 'pet lamb' any
more, I'll go.'
e WIll, keep mum about it,
and be sure to bring plenty of
doughboys along." These were
odd-looking, fried sweet-cakes,
that Lawrie's Grandmother made,
because he liked them, and they
found a ready acceptance with
SHalsey, although his father had a
hired cook, ard Halsey had French
novelties to dine upon.
Lawrie rushed into his Grand.
mother's sitting-room, as red.
cheeked and boisterous as ever,
and the old lady smiled pleasantly
at him, and when she said,
Deary, there's a big, red apple
on the mantel-shelf for you,' he
felt a pang, and something come
into his throat like a great lump.
But those Yeelings passed away im-
mediately,.and he began to think of
the good time he should have in the
company of that fearless companion
and jolly good fellow, Halsey.
The cakes that Halsey would surely
ask for were not so easily obtained.
If Lawrie should ask for more than his
usual ration, his Grandmother would
ask questions, and he would not be
able to stand that ordeal. He peeped
into the pantry, and there was a beau-
tiful platter full of them, and some
little, round mince pies, that were made
on purpose for Lawrie's lunch, on an-.
other.
"I don't think it would be very bad
to take a handkerchief full of them
now, and by-and-by come and get some








more. I must take enough, -because
we're to be gone all day," he thought.
He slyly carried them up to his room,
and hid them, and when bed-time
came, he kissed his Grandmother good-
night, but she seemed to hold him
closer to her than usual, and look at
him in a sweeter way. This he thought
of, afterward. The excitement of the
coming good time, and the fact that he
had never played truant before, pre-
vented him from falling immediately to
sleep, and the full moon had come up
above the woods and looked into, his
window in a wide-awake way, and he
tossed about restlessly.
What should he do with the good
things he had secreted ? He certainly
could not take them when he went to
school to-morrow, and there they were,
an unmistakable proof of pilfering.
They must be got out of the house in
some way, he thought. If they were
only outside in some convenient place,
they could carry them off unobserved.
Betty, the house-girl, would get the
credit of taking them, and it didn't
make much difference if. she did, "She
is an awful sassy thing," he said to
himself.
All sounds in the house had at last
subsided, and for some time he thought
-nd thought of what should be done.
He hit upon it at last. He would get
up and dress and take the cakes and
pies in a basket and softly leave the
house, and deposit them under a lit-
tle, low bridge, that crossed a frozen
stream, a short distance down the road.
They would be perfectly safe there till
school time, and a turn of the road
effectually hid the bridge from his
home.
No sooner thought of, than he began
to put. the scheme into operation. He
wrapped the cakes up in a towel, and
putting them in a basket, went noise-
lessly down the carpeted staircase in
his stocking feet, carrying his shoes in
.one hand. He turned the key softly in
the front door, and then returned to
the hat-rack for his overcoat and cap.


Do not think ie did all this without
a warning from conscience; no, he felt
an anxiety and fear that made him turn
back once and blush hotly; but then,
how could he boast of his courage to
Halsey, to-morrow. Then, again, if he
backed out now, there' was Halsey's
ridicule, which to Lawrie was simply
unbearable.
He went out into the road, and run-
ning swiftly in the direction of the
bridge, he turned as he reached the
bend and looked back at his home. All
was quiet. Not the least fear that
he had been discovered. He turned
the bend, and, running down the bank,
stooped under and crept along a few
feet into the arch. He set the basket
in a safe place and turned to go out,
when he saw, between him and the
light, the figure of a rough-looking
man, stooping down and peering into
the arched opening.
Lawrence's heart bounded in his
breast; fear seized him in every fibre
of his body.
"Bill,"-said the figure, "you jest stop
the hole on t'other side, there's game
here!" The man spoken to ran into
the meadow, and prevented any escape
in that direction.
SThe speaker crawled under the arch,
seized Lawrie, bound a handkerchief
over his mouth to stifle his cries, and,
throwing a coarse bag over his person,
pulled him along the road. The other
man assisted, and in this manner, half
dragged and half carried, Lawrie was
taken, he knew not whither. He at-
tempted once to cry out, but he was
struck smartly on the head with a whip,
and bade to "shut up "
They now seemed to -have entered
the wood, as they stumbled against
trees, and the going became difficult.
Lawrie was well nigh insensible from
exhaustion. After awhile they stopped,
and tumbling him into a wagon, they
carried Lawrie many miles from his
home.
Lawrie had been kidnapped by the
Gypsies. They brought him to their



































-
1 -


NS c


I/ I


TRAPPING A CHIPMUNK.


,i


c.- ~ii;i







camp, and their women treated him not
unkindly in their rough way; but hard
work and miserable privation were be-
fore him, without any hope of escape.
Preparations were evidently making for
a hurried departure, and after a consul-
tation, from which Lawrie could only
gather the words, nobss" and "re-
ward,' he surmised that he would be
detained a prisoner until a sufficient
sum of money should be obtained to
release him.
Oh, the bitterness of that wrong-
doing! Dear, dear Grandma; with her
tenderness and thoughtful care; she
knew not the fate of her little boy.
The Gypsies left that part of the
country, carrying Lawrie with them,
his skin stained, and with ragged gar-
ments scarcely keeping out the frost.
Here we will leave him.
His Grandmother was crazed with
grief at his absence. Her love foi the
only son of her dead daughter could not
be for a moment forgotten. She deter-
mined to travel to every Gypsy camp
she could hear of. It was surmised
that Lawrie's fate was somehow mixed
up with the visit of those people to the
neighborhood.
She shut up her house, took her lit-
tle hoard of money from the savings
bank, and went out to wander the wide
world for Lawrie. She met most kind
and sympathetic people, who directed


and comforted her. It availed nothing.
A year had passed and Grandmother
had traveled through many States-
many children were brought to her,
but none of them were sunny-haired,
cheery, bright-eyed Lawrie.
She had reached the city of St. Louis.
and had called a street-car, upon a seat
of which she sat, listless, discouraged-
meditating a return to her old home.
A wild-eyed, starved-looking bo)
jumped into the car, from, no one
knew whither, screaming, "Grand-
mother! Grandmother!" A police-
man entered quickly and was about
seizing him, when Grandmother stood
up, looked closely at him, and then,
sinking upon the boy's breast, sobbed,
" Lawri, my own Lawrie, I have found
you!"
The policeman looked incredulous,
and they both went with him to a
neighboring station.
This was Lawrie, who had escaped
from his hideous servitude, and was
begging his way homeward. The kind
policemen interested themselves for the
old lady and the boy. A suit of nice
clothes was purchased, and Grandma's
money was not all spent, and they sp. d
on their rejoicing way, to the pleasant
home in New England.
No one has felt more bitterly than
Lawrie, that "The way of the trans-
gressor is hard."







































SUMMER SOLITUDE.








THE LEGEND OF THE
FUCHSIA.

Oh, Aunt Nana, where did you get
that lovely cluster of Fuchsias ?
"The gardener cut it for me a few
moments ago; is it not graceful, with
its glossy green leaves, and creamy
buds ?
Yes, and I wonder, Auntie, where
it got its crimson heart in such strange
contrast to the waxen white petals,"
said thoughtful Helen.
Well, if you wish, I will tell you the
Legend of the Fuchsia, but, of course,
you know there is not a word of truth
in it, only it is rather interesting."
"Oh, tell us! tell us!" and the
three children promptly settled at her
feet in listening attitude, for Aunt
Nana's stories held a peculiar charm
for them.
"Well, once upon a time-to begin
in the genuine story fashion-there
lived a beautiful young Princess, in a
castle upon the banks of a gentle, flow-
ing river. She was very lovely; with
long, golden hair, eyes blue as forget-
me-nots, and milk-white skin; but she
seldom wore silken and velvet gowns
to show off her wonderful beauty, be-
cause her brothers, who were very wild
young Princes, spent all the gold their
father, the King,-could exact from the
subjects of his small Dominion. Often
she would deck her arms and neck with
garlands of flowers, and wonder how
she would look if they were sparkling
jewels-foolish little Princess.
"One day a great giant rode along,
and, seeing the flower-wreathed maiden
gazing at herself in the clear water of
the river, instantly fell in love with
her. Knocking at the castle gate he
demanded an audience with the King,
asking his daughter in marriage. He
was very rich and owned vast estates.
"The King sent for the Princess, who,
in spite of the ugliness, and immense
size of her lover, thought it a grand
thing to have all the finery she wanted,


consented, and the great fellow car-
ried her off to his grim castle, miles
away. *
He gave her velvet and ermine
robes, and rare gems, more than she
could wear, and placed in her tiny pink
ears, rings, the shape of a delicate, bell-
like flower, made of costly pearl, and
told her there would be strange doings
sometimes at the castle, and if ever
she listened or tried to find out any
thing, the heart of the jeweled flower
which she wore in her ears would turn
blood-red, and he would sever her head
from her body with his sword. The
frightened Princess promised to obey
in all things.
"But her rich surroundings grew
wearisome after awhile, and one night,
tired of strumming the golden strings
of her harp, she wandered through the
dimly-lighted halls, trying to amuse
herself with the quaint old portraits
and armor on the walls, when in pass-
ing a door, she heard loud voices and
laughter. Forgetful of every thing,
she gathered her gleaming white satin
robes about her, and softly stole to the
crack in the door, to look and listen.
"No one ever knew what she saw, for
instantly the door swung open, and the
giant, in great fury, rushed out, caught
the unhappy little Princess in his rude
arms, and turning her to a mirror which
ran from ceiling to floor, she saw, with
horror, that the heart of the pearly blos-
soms in her ears was blood-red. With
one stroke of his sword, the wicked old
giant cut the golden head from the
white shoulders.
"Her friends buried the poor Prin-
cess on the banks of the river, by her
-old home, and planted on her grave the
fuchsia, which, till then, had always a
pure white flower. When, lo! the next
time they visited the lowly mound, they
found, to their amazement, that the
center of the bell-like blossom was scar-
let, and ever since it has had a purple
or red color."
"Poor Princess!" sighed the chil-
dren.







































OUR XMAS CLUB.








DISSOLVING COIN TRICK.

For this trick we require a small
tumbler made of thin glass, and a dime
or other small coin which has been
previously marked, so as to be readily
identified. The coin is dropped, in full
view of the audience, into the glass,
over which a handkerchief is thrown,
and all are placed on a table. The
performer then gives out a good-sized
table-knife and a plate of oranges. The
knife is examined, and an orange se-
lected. Returning to the tumbler, he
bids the coin to leave it and pass into
the orange. He removes the hand-
kerchief, and it is seen that the coin
has disappeared from the glass, and
on cutting open the orange it is found
in the center.
For this trick the young conjurer re-
quires first, a prepared tumbler; second-
ly, a tiny ball of wax. Just even with
the bottom of the tumbler is a small
slit, which any glass grinder will cut
for a few cents. When about to pour
water into the tumbler, it is held with
the hand encircling it, so that one
finger presses into and covers the slit.
After the water is emptied and the tum-
bler wiped dry, the coin is thrown in,
anctthen by slightly tilting the glass,
just as it is being covered with the
handkerchief, the coin will drop into
the hand. Before beginning the trick,
the performer lightly presses the tiny
ball of wax upon the lowest button of
his vest, so that he can get at it just
the minute he needs it. After the
knife has been examined, and whilst
going for the oranges, he picks the wax
off its resting-place, pressing it firmly
upon the center of the knife-blade, and


then, in turn, presses the marked coin
upon it, and lays the knife on a table
with the coin side down. In cutting
the orange, the point of the knife is
used until a cut is made about half-way
down, and then, to finish, the blade is
drawn through, thus detaching the
coin, which will remnain inside. As
some of the wax is likely to adhere to
the coin, the magician easily re-
moves it under pretense of wiping off
the orange juice.-.



THE FATE OF A FLEET

Two bright boys forsook their toys,
And cracked some nuts in two;
And set them afloat, each little boat,
NWith its flag of red or. blue.

"Let's start a breeze," said Fred, as he
shook
His kerchief to and fro;
He kept up the fun, till every one
Of his boats began to go..

Said Fred, "Let's run along the bank.,
And see which one will beat!"
And Harry went, on a good time bent,
And watched the tiny fleet.

But soon they met with a sad mishap,
And all the sport was done;
They sailed right into a flock of geese,
And were floundered, every one.









LIVINGSTONE ANEC-
DOTES.
[From Dr. Livingstone's journal.]

The entire absence of shops obliged
us to make every thing we needed from
the raw materials. If you want bricks
to build a house, you must -proceed to
the field, cut down a tree, and saw it
into planks to make the brick-moulds.
The people cannot assist you much, for
though willing to labor for wages, the
Bakwains have a curious inability to
make things square. As with all Be-
chuanas, their own dwellings are round.
I erected three large houses at differ-
ent times, and every brick and stick
had to be put square by my own hand.
A house of decent dimensions, costing
an immense amount of manual labor,
is necessary to secure the respect of
the natives.
Bread is often baked in an extempore
oven, constructed by scooping Out a
large hole in an ant hill, and using a
-slab of stone for a door. Another plan
is to make a good fire on the ground,
and, when it is thoroughly heated, to
place the dough in a short-handled
frying-pan, or simply on the hot ashes.
A metal pot is then put over it, and a
small fire is kindled on the top.
We made our own candles, and soap
was prepared from the ashes of the
plant salsola, or else from wood-ashes,
which in Africa contain so little alkaline
matter, that the boiling of successive
lyes has to be continued for a month or
six weeks before the fat is sponified.
There was not much hardship being de-
pendent on our own ingenuity, and
married life is all the sweeter when so
many comforts emanate directly from
the thrifty housewife's hands.
COOLNESS IN PERSONAL PERIL.
Although Livingstone was a man of
peace, and a preacher of peace, he could
show fight, and resist imposition and
wrong, with ready courage and fearless
decision. On one occasion, a chief


surrounded his encampment, with the
evident purpose of intimidation and
plunder. On some trifling pretext he
demanded compensation for alleged in-
sult to one of his people, saying he
must have an ox, or a gun, or a man to
be taken as a slave. The unreasonable
demand was refused; but as the people
were armed, the doctor, after parleying,
offered one of his shirts. The young
Chiboque warriors were dissatisfied,
and began shouting and brandishing
their swords. To try to appease them,
a bunchlbf beads and a large piece of
cloth were added. "The more I yielded,"
says the doctor, "the more un-
reasonable they became, and at every
fresh demand a shout -was raised, and
a rush made around us with brandished
weapons. One young man even made
a charge at my head from behind; but
I quickly brought round the muzzle of
my gun to his mouth, and he retreated.
I felt anxious to avoid the effusion of
blood; and, therefore, though sure of
being able with my Makololos to drive
off twice the number of my assailants,
I strove to avoid actual collision. The
chief and his counselors having accepted
my invitation to be seated in front
of me, my men quietly surrounded
them, and made them feel they had
placed themselves in a trap, and that
they had no chance of escaping the
spears of the Makololos. I then said
that as every thing had failed to satisfy
them, it was evident that they wanted
to fight, and if so, they must begin
first, and bear their guilt before God.
I then sat silent for some time. It
was certainly very trying, because I
knew that the Chiboque would aim at
the white man first; but I was careful
not to appear flurried, and having four
barrels ready for instant action, looked
quietly at the savage scene around.
he chief and his counselors, seein
themselves in greater danger than I
was, and influenced, perhaps, by the
air of cool preparation which my men
displayed; at last put the matter before
us in this way: "You say you are










friendly; but how can we know it ex-
cept you give us some of your food,
and you take some of ours ? If you give
us an ox, we will give you whatever you
wish;' and then we shall be friends.'
In accordance with the entreaties of my
men, I gave an ox, and being asked what
I should like in return, I mentioned
food as the thing we most needed. In
the evening the chief sent some meal
and part of our own ox, with an apology
that he had no fowls and very little
food of other kinds. It was impossible
not to laugh at the coolness of these
generous creatures. I was truly thank-
ful, however, that we had so far gained
our point as to be allowed to pass on
without having shed human blood."


THE BOBOLINK'S NEST.

Bobolink, Bobolink, tell me why
You hide your nest in the grass so high.
Is it because you are very shy ?

Over the meadow for days you sung,
And said so much in an unknown tongue
To your mate, who on the tall grass
swung.

And I watched you, Bobolink, and I
know
You live where the deep .red clovers
blow.
Sometimes to your nest I sqftly go.

But Bobolink, you can trust me well,
[ promise you I will never tell
Where you and your little birdlings
dwell.

But listen, Bobolink, some fine day,
The man with the scythe will come this
way.
But sing in the meadow while you may.
MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.


BESSIE'S TREASURES.

I've written all my treasures down,
I have such lots and lots of things:
A kitten and a little dog,
A bird that sings;
More picture-books than I can count,
And dolls-oh, twenty-five, I guess,
Of china, paper, wood, and wax-
Such fun to dress;
A trunk just full of other toys,
A lovely ruby ring to wear,
A sewing-basket all my own,
A little chair,
A writing-desk;-I guess that's all,
I cannot think of any other,
Except-I really did forget
My baby brother!


A FEW LITTLE MAXIMS.

Never put off any thing until to-mor-
row. To-morrow is the destroyer of
all good intentions. To-morrow always
flies before us, and never comes to us.
To-morrow deceives by quitting the
conscience of the idle. 'To-morrow!'
is the favorite cry of the spirit of evil,
who laughs at our good intentions.
To act without thought is to start
upon a journey without preparation.
The happiness of the rich does not
consist in the goods they possess, but
in the good they are able to do.
We must never think a duty too lit-
tle to be faithfully done.
Let us be very indulgent toward
the faults of others, very stern toward
our own.





















Witgr's Bnwts.

SUMMER joys are o'er;
Flowerets bloom no more,
Wintry winds are sweeping;
Through the snow-drifts, peeping
Cheerful evergreen
Rarely now is seen.

Now no plumed throng
Charms the wood with song;
Ice-bound trees are glittering;
Merry snow-birds, twittering,
Fondly strive to cheer
Scenes so cold and drear.

Winter, still I see
Many charms in thee-
Love thy chilly greeting,
Snow-storms fiercely beating.
And the dear delights
Of the long, long nights.
Ludwig HI1ty.















































A NEGRO MELODIST.

It has often been remarked that in
the bird world the rule is for the males
to have the brilliant plumage, with all
54


the beautiful
colors and for
the females
to be the
dowdy ones-
a rule which
would entail
a revolution
in fashions,
startling and
ludicrous, if
it were to be
introduced
for variety
among our
own kind.
Again, gaily.
dressed birds
have the least
pleasing song
Si-the scream-
ing jay bear-
ing an unfa.
vorable com-
parison with
the thrush-
and the mod-
estly-attired nightingale having fur-
nished, in all ages, a brilliant example
of virtue unadorned. The nightingale,
however, leaving before the climate has
become objectionable, we must praise
its musical accomplishments rather.as
being those of a distinguished guest, or
foreign prima donna, than of an indi-
genous artist. But we have another
bird who is always here, facing winter's
blasts in addition to summer s bloom,
who in voice stands unrivaled; no com-
petitor approaching any where near
him for fluency, richness, -and liquid
melody of song-to wit, the blackbird.
This negro melodist seldom spares
his lungs at all until winter is far ad-
vanced into its New Year months;
and even amid the bitter mornings of
January, his rich, unfaltering notes can
sometimes be heard. His coat is a
glossy black, always, cleanly brushed,
and in the case of one. family, some
times called the "Red-wing, with a
gorgeous scarlet lapel on either side.




























How THE DAYS WENT AT SEA-GULL 'BEACH.


No school! And the beautiful sum-
mer days coming so early in the
morning, that none of us children ever
could get awake to see the sun rise, and
staying so long that we grew quite
tired of being happy; and some of us,
Gracie and Jimmie in particular, were
so little, that they couldn't stay awake
through the whole of it, and went off
into a nap every day after dinner.
But this was in the city, and when we
arrived at the beach we didn't get tired
or cross the whole day long. There
were many children at the hotel, and
when we came, with our dolls and toy
boats, our fishing-tackle and spades,
and pails, we made a host of friends
immediately.
Reginald and Willie, oui older broth-
ers, did not always go with Gracie and
Jimmie and me, but made the acquaint-
ance of the men that went out to sea
to fish for the great hotels ; and they
went oftentimes with them, and we
used to enjoy seeing the little boats
launched; they almost stood on end
when they went over the breakers,


making us scream with excitement and
delight. And as the little fleet grew
less and less, and at last disappeared,
we girls thought it was a grand thing
to have such brave brothers.
I was the elder girl, being ten, and
Gracie seven. Our Gracie was a lovely
little sister; she had large blue eyes,
and wavy brown hair, and was very
gentle and obedient, and people called
her "Pet," almost as soon as they be-
came acquainted with her.
Mother had blue flannel suits made
for us, and dressed in these, with
sailor hats that had little tapping rib-
bons at the sides, we scurried along
the beach, climbed the rocks, or waded
out into the salt water.
But we had on our very prettiest
dresses in the evening, for the chil-
dren were allowed to have the grand
parlor, and dance to the music of the
band until nine o'clock. This was a
privilege we older ones talked of con-
tinually, and looked forward to all day.
We were so dainty, genteel, and good-
mannered for an hour, that it impre-,4
































even ourselves; and boys and girls be-
came models of gentleness and polite
behavior, and the effect of those de-
lightful evenings has given growth and
direction to many graces in our char-
acters.
But the little ones, like Gracie and
her friends, really couldn't stand the
excitement, and rolled around in odd
corners on-the floor, or sought the
grateful obscurity behind the sofas, to
indulge in naps, long before nine
o'clock. I found Grace, in her pink
silk dress and violet slippers, lying
curled up under the table, with her
head on the back of Bosin, the great
Newfoundland dog that had stolen into
the parlor against rules.
Nelson Faber was a little boy, not
much older than Gracie, and they
seemed to enjoy each other's society
very much. He too oftentimes suc-
cumbed to sleepiness when we wanted
him to do his sailor dance; but when
the morning came, they were as rosy-
cheeked and bright-eyed as ever, and


trotted along the pleasant walks with
their hoops and pails, inseparable
friends. It was fortunate for Gracie, too,
that he preferred to play with her,
rather than to go off with the boys, for
one day after a boisterous night, the
sea came up higher on the beach than
we had ever before seen it; and unsus-
pecting Gracie was caught by a wave
and thrown down, and as it retired it
seemed to drag her along with it; we
older ones lost our presence of mind
entirely, and screamed and cried, and
did nothing, but that heroic little fellow
ran into the boiling surf and caught her
dress, and with the dog's assistance,
dragged her to a safe place. She said
he was, "Very nice and dood."
One day, some of my girl compan-
ions proposed to visit the rocks th.a
lay at the mouth of Green river, ju,.
where it gently met the ocean. Right
there, no end of sea-weed and shells,
and things thrown up by the ocean,
could be found; and there were such
curious rocks, with nooks and basins,






where the water stayed in tiny pools,
and there we went fishing, and brought
lunch, setting it out on the most con-
venient flat rock, we could find. I tell
you, cold chicken, pickles, cheese, and
spdhge cake, with milk, tasted as they
never did
before or F --_,:--
since, to : -.
our party -- -
of hungry
children. .- -- .
We climb- -
ed and fell, .
and laugh- -- .
ed, and
chatted,
with the ----_
salt breeze ,. --
lifting our -
hair, and "Y'
fanning -~
our brown i' -
faces, and _
going out -
far on the
point, we
came upon -'
a little
shining --- .-
lake, sur- .
rounded by
rocks, upon
which we i'
could sit,
and dabble
our feet in
the water.
It was n:
place more -
than a foot
deep, and
we decided
to wade INSEPARA
round in it.
It was a comical sight to see us navi-
gating ourselves in procession through
that water, but it was a very ques-
tionable joke, when Milly Sayre
jumped and screamed, and ran like a
frantic creature from the pool, and up
the rocks.


BLE FR


i -
;:i


-:




C


"-What's the matter, Milly," we cried.
\.re you hurt ? What did you see?"
e breathlessly shouted.
"Oh! oh!" was all she could gasp,
inting to a place she had just left.
'e l11 scrambled out instantly, and
peered
Over the
-- rocks into
the water.
What
should we
see but a
little crea-
ture, gro-
tesque and






.E D .-... t c el ity
Shideous,
.4--q that made
its. way
round in
the water,
Switch as-
tounding
c celerity,
throwing
out legs
or claws,
or what
ever they
were, from
every point
cumfer-
ence. Its
Body was
flat and
wasagreen
color above
Sand pink
e e under, and
S l' l i to add to
Sits alarm-
ing appear-
TENDS. anC e, i t
looked at
with two black eyes, in a very sinister
Id uncanny manner. We looked at
ch other with blanched faces and
eechless horror, and then kept a sharp
okout, lest it might take it into its
:ad (we couldn't tell if it had any
:ad, for the place where the eyes were,








did not seem different from any other
part of its body,) take it into its "in-
ternal consciousness, to crawl out on to
the rocks and chase us. It got through
the wate: in a distracting manner,
which was really quite amusing after a
cew moments, and from being horribly
frightened, we became interested when
we found it did not attempt the offen-
sive. We gave it some lunch and
called it "Jack Deadeye," and for the
whole afternoon he was the center of
attraction.
Let us take him back with us," I
proposed. "We can get him into a
pail, and then we can have him in some
pool nearer home, and see what he'll
turn into. I don't believe but what
he'll be something else in a few days."
My knowledge of natural history had
always been lamentably meager, and
more than once I had brought the
laugh upon myself by my ignorance.
So I forbore to predict what would be
his ultimate form of beauty.
'A whale said Susie Champney.
"Oh, dear, no; whales d:'t have
legs and claws," said Estella Bascom.
"It's a tadpole."
"You're mistaken there," said Ma-
mie Fitz Hugh; "tadpoles are just the
little jokers that do have tails. I've
seen hundreds of them, and this crea-
ture has no tail."
We all rushed again to the edge of the
rocks to look at him, with added wonder.
"Well, we'll take that tad home on
a pole, any way," said Nannie White,
who was the cutest girl to say things
in the whole crowd. She immediately
ran off to secure a piece of drift that
was tumbling about on the wet sand.
But how to get him into a pail was the
next problem. A committee of the
whole was called. I thought we could
obstruct his path by putting the mouth
of the pail in front of him, and then
when he sailed into it, we could in-
stantly pull him out. This was decided
upon; but how to get it down to him
without falling in? A bright idea struck
me. I whipped off my flanel sash, and


running it through the handle, da.nct
it into the water; but that proceeding
only frightened him-we must move
more cautiously. We worked for an
hour and had him in twice, but were so
excited both times that he escaped.
First time, Totty Rainsford shouted,
"We've got him!" and immediately
rolled off the rocks, head first, into the
water. We were all so scared, with the
water splashing, and she screaming at
the top of her voice, "Save me! Save
me!" -that Jack got away. She scraim
bled out pretty lively, and when we got
him in again, we were all seized with
another fit of Jaughing at Totty, who,
in her moist predicament, was jumping
round to dry herself, because she didn't
want to go home, that he crawled out
as leisurely as possible. But we se-
cured him at last, safe in the pail; and
to prevent his crawling out, I clapped
my sailor hat over the top of it, and the
elastic kept it down tight. We put the
pole through the handle and Estelle
and myself took hold of the ends, and
we came near losing him every few
minutes, owing to the inequalities of
the ground. The pail would slide down
to either end, as the pole inclined, and
Estella would drop it and scream when
she saw the pail traveling noiselessly
toward her, and if it hadn't been for
my happy thought of putting the hat
over him, he'd have got away to his
"happy hunting grounds," or rather,
waters, in short order.
. We arrived at the hotel at last, with
Jack all safe, and the rest of the girls
went to dress for dinner, and left me
to find the boys, to help me deposit
him in a secure place, for we were sure
we should very greatly astonish the
boarders and achieve renown as having
discovered a new species of marine
beast.
The boys were in a perfect ecstacy
of curiosity to see what the girls had
caught. When I carefully took off the
hat, I found the water had all leaked
out, and his. monstership lay kickL'Z
and crawling at the botto:r,.

















































ri



Ill'L














TE SALIH






THEE SIGNALL LGFHT.








"Ho! ho! ho!" shouted Willie, "is
that what-cher call a curiosity?"
"Oh, Flossie! you have been dread-
fully taken in," said Regy.
"Oh, no," I said, "it s this wonder-
ful animal that's been 'taken in,' and
he's going to be kept in, too."
I began to feel, though, that
there was a great laugh somewhere
in the future, and that it was com-
ing at our expense.
"Why, Flossie it's nothing but
a baby crab," said Regy. "I can
get a. peck of them in an hour, over
in the river."
I felt greatly chagrined, and
blushed with mortification. The
boys kept bursting out laughing


turn him on his back, all of which
caused me to scream every time, and
sent tremors all over me.
"What-cher goin' to do with him?"
inquired Willie.
"I shall study his habitudes, and im-
prove my knowledge of the crustacea,"


RNVW MANY OMtJ D93) VP TAIE 7TO LANI H~t


every few minutes, asking such ques-
tions as:
"How many girls did it take to land
him ?" "Was he gamey, Flossie?"
"Did ye bait him with a clam-shell, or
an old boot? they'll snap at any thing."
"Oh! I'd given away my dinner to,
have been there!" and then Regy
would stir him up with a stick, and


said I, giving him a sentence directly
out of my text-book. "I shall look at
him every day."
"Yes, and he'll look at you every
night. I have read a book that told
about a traveler that offended a crab
once, and he informed the other crabs,
and they all made for him at night, and
twenty thousand of them came that







night and crept under his tent,
44d sat there and looked at him.
And there he was in the middle
-of them, and you know their
eyes are fastened in their heads
by a string, and they.can throw
them out of their heads and
draw them back again; and, at
a signal, they all threw their
eyes at him. He was so horri-
fied that night, that he got insane
and had to be sent to a lunatic
asylum."
I've heard your stories before,
Regy, and I simply don't credit
them. We girls are going to
hunt up a pond to put him in,
where we can pet him, and edu-
cate him.
"You'd best hunt up a frying
pan to put him in; hes
capital eating for breakfast,
well browned, with hard-
boiled eggs and parsley
round him," said Reginald. .
I told him if he couldn't
do any better than to lie
there and make an exhibi-
tion of his bad taste and
ignorance, he'd -
better get up and
work off the fit. "
I insisted upon :
his helping me
to -fill the pail
with salt water,
and hang him _
uporI the rocks
until we could
make a future,
permanent dis-
posal of him.
That evening
our parlor man-

were
ssome- -


-JL.wM WE GAff PET AND ILDUCAMA A.








tess decorous and elegant, owing to
the fact that Reginald and Willie had
been industriously circulating the epi-
sode of the morning, with such addi-
tions as they thought would add point
and piquancy, among the rest of the
boys, and there was no end of innu-
endo and witticism indulged in, that
caused the young gentlemen to retire
in groups and laugh; and we could
hear such remarks as, "Dick, there
was a whale hooked on this coast this
afternoon, did you know it?" Or, "I
think Jack Deadeye is the most comical
character in Pinafore, he's so crabbed."
The girls of our party stood it as they
best could; and in the morning we
stole out to look at our prize, after the
boys had gone off, but the tide had
swept Jack and the pail out to sea.
It was a long time before we heard
the last of it, however.


MAX AND BEPPO.


Down by the lake they trotted,
All the summer day;
Max and Beppo never plotted
Yet, to run away.
Two little donkey pets, Oh, I loved
them so!
When I was in Switzerland, just a year
ago,

How they liked bananas!
And 6ur apples sweet;
They had lovely manners,
Every thing they'd eat.


Then, I'd rub their furry ears, and
they'd shake their bells, .
While old driver Raspar, funny stories
tells.

Max turns round and winks so pretty,
Little, sharp round eyes;
Beppo sings a jolly ditty,
Quite to our surprise.
Then we mount, and off we go, up and
down the mall,
Never do they careless trip, never make
a fall.

Once, a princess royal
Wanted little Max;
How to part those friends so loyal,
Her little brain she racks.
She would give her gold and silver, in
a little purse,
Then throw in for measure good, her
scolding English nurse!

Then she cried, and chattered
All her pretty French,
And her little feet she pattered,
On the rustic bench.
"My papa is king," she said, "and I'd
have you know,
I shall have the donkey, and to prison
shall you go."

How their tiny feet would scamper,
Up the valley blue,
Carrying each his generous hamper,
And his rider, too.
Sure of foot, they'd clamber round the
mountain spur
Where the foot-sore tourist scarcely
dared to stir.

In this bright, sunshiny weather,
SI remember with a sigh,
We no more can play together,
Beppo, Max and I.
Never dearer friends exist, in this world
below,
Than I made in Switzerland, just a year
ago

























































"WE ARI BUT YOUNG PEOPLE YET."
























CHRISTMAS AT HOMESDALE.


Snow! snow! It just came drifting
down in great crystal heaps, whitening
trees and fences, as though it never
would stop. My brothers Bob and
Will were whistling gaily and stepping
around in high glee, for, wasn't this
glorious Christmas weather? Papa and
mamma lived with our grandparents, in
the old homestead, where we children
were born and brought up; and this
evening, the brothers and sisters, with
their families, were coming from the
city to spend Christmas at the old
place; and we were .counting upon a
grand, good time. Once more I tripped
through the pretty rooms, and surveyed
the wide hall, with its blazing logs in
the fire-place, to see- that every thing
was all right; there was not a bunch of
holly to be re-adjusted, or a wreath out
of place. Papa had pronounced the
decorations perfect, and as I danced
down the polished floor and peered out
of the front door, a fresh gust of wind
blew in my face, and I cried,-" Mamma,
may I go out fora little run ? the boys
are busy with their snow-man, and the
company will not be here until six.
Receiving permission, I wrapped up
warm, and with an umbrella over my
head, started for a brisk walk. Wasn t


it fun? the snow fell thick and fast,
and the sharp wind whirled the flakes
in my eyes till I could hardly see, but
it set my blood tingling; with splendid
health and good spirits, it was sport to
brave the storm, and to-morrow was to
be Christmas! At six o'clock prompt
we heard the tingling of sleigh-bells,
and all bounded into the hall, throwing
wide open.the door. Such greeting and
kissing, and hugging you never saw;
nor such a multitude of children. Uncle
John, who had just returned from Japan,
said it was past belief, that all these
were his nephews and nieces.
After tea, we all gathered around the
bright fire, in the old hall, and told
stories, and cracked jokes till after
eleven; then papa said, we had better
retire, because Kriss Kringle woulh
soon be driving over the tops of the
houses, with his eight tiny rein-
deers, and if he saw any little folks up,
would not come down the chimney, and
what a sad sight would be fifteen or
twenty empty stockings, in the morn-
ing. "Come, manikins, scamper !
said Uncle John, and as we were kissing
good-night, cousin Bessie, who is the
sweetest little darling just four years
old, lisped from her mamma's arms


















































DOWN THE HILL.



























were she sat cuddled up, looking with
sleepy blue eyes in the fire: "Oh, I do
wis' all littlee boys ap' dirls had lots of
sings in their stockings, to-mollow! "
We older ones felt reproached; in..our
fullness of, joy, had we forgotten the
homeless poor, who to-morrow would
know no Christmas; ah, how many times
we had seen the wretched little waifs,
shivering in ragged rows, in front of
gay, tempting shop-windowslongingly
peeping inside. We could but echo
Bessie's wish, and add,-"God help
them."
No sleep the next morning; before
day-light little white robed figures could
be seen tip-toeing from room to room,
arms filled with presents, and drag-
ging corpulent stockings. And later,
the house resounded with merry greet-
ings and the shouts of happy children.
Dinner over-during which repast any
amount of turkey and plum-pudding
had been stored away in capacious little
stomachs, the young people repaired to
the great upper hall, where, they in-
formed the folks, they must not come
till bidden. Some wonderful doings
were evidently to take place. Readers,
I wish you had been mice, in a corner,


and seen the funny things which
transpired. At one end of the hall was
a dais, or raised platform, such as is
often seen in old houses ; in front of
this, for a curtain, was strung a blue
and white counterpane, from behind
which, occasionally a wild pirate's head
emerged, with inconsistent knicker-
bocker legs,-the make-up not being
completed-a mysterious sweeping of
trailing robes, and loud stage-whispers
gave one an idea that charades of
theatricals were to be the order of the
evening. After prolonged waiting, the
audience were summoned. I,am sorry
I cannot enter into the details of the
plays, but they were really quite good
for impromptu efforts. There was a
little monotony about the scenery to be
sure (Bob having borrowed the one
stage scene the village show-room af-
forded) and a hitch now and then in the
curtain, showing the company's heels
in flight, after an act; and then Romeo
may have used a trifle too much burnt
cork, but on the whole, the acting was
creditable. What brought down the
house, however, were the tableau, from
babes in the woods, acted by Master
Ted and wee Bessie. Their costumes




































'rji-/


I MOVE THE SWEET FORGET-ME-NOTS

THAT GROW FOR HAPPY LOVERS,








were very pretty and appropriate, and
the chubby faces, so sweet and innocent,
(See frontispiece.)one did not wonder
the wicked ruffian's heart failed him.
The performance wound up with a
grand chorus, -"The Three Little
aids," and elegant scenery formed by
the beautifully-embroidered and painted
Japanese screen Uncle had brought
mamma, and which we had guiltily
purloined for our play. But she for-
gave us when she saw how successfully
produced was our finale. The young
actors and prima-donnas were heartily
congratulated upon their talents, and
all were invited down to a "bountiful
collation," as the papers say, feeling
that it had been the most delightful
Christmas they had ever spent.
A. DEG. H.


THE FIRE IN THE AUS-
TRALIAN BUSH.

BY .REV. EDWARD A. RAND.

"Whoa! "
It was Carl Mason who thus cried to
his horse. Away off in the Australian
bush, he desired to.halt and look about
him, and find out at.that point what
kind of a country he was in, and if any
of his master's sheep were there. He
was an American boy, -who had come
to Australia in one of the vessels in-
terested in the trade between that
country and America. On board this
ship was a gentleman who had largely
invested in the wool business, and
wished, among other places, to visit a
Queensland sheep-run, of which he was
part owner. Carl had been granted
his discharge from the vessel, and had
accompanied the wool-merchant up
into the Australian bush. He next
obtained a chance to try his hand at
sheep-raising on this same far-reaching
run. His engagement, though, was


conditional; if his work were satisfactory
he might have a permanent situation.
As he halted off in the lonely country,
and turned round on his horse's back,
he said to himself:
"Now, if I could stay here always, I
could get rich. But there is Benson !"
Benson Loring was a second boy on
the sheep-run. He was also on trial.
It would be Benson or Carl that would
have a long, steady job, and which of
the two?
"I would like to stay,".thought Carl,
glancing across the country.
What a lovely land it was! Aus-
tralians know the territory away from
the towns as the "bush", and it is bushy
indeed in parts. Vast forests stretch
far away, the tree-trunks succeeding
one another like the ranks of count-
less armies. In many places there is,
in these forests, an absence of under-
growth. The ground is thatched with
grass on which the sheep can feed.
Other pastures are destitute of trees.
The only covering of the grass is the
wide, limitless sky. Here the sheep
may browse for miles and not come to
the shelter of a tree. On the lonely,
rough bushland Carl was now looking.
-t looks like Australia," he added,
"and I don't see any of master's sheep."
But what did he see, at his right? It
was a dark, low object, moving slowly
over the ground.
"Benson!" he said; "I don't like
him."
The two boys were not congenial.
They had differed that very morning
when discussing this subject-honesty.
Carl had been trained to keep his word
scrupulously, to hate deception in every
form. He was an orphan. He had
been early thrown upon the world. His
parents had lived long enough, though,
to teach him to hate dishonesty. Ben-
son had said that morning:
"When it comes to choosing between
my interests and those of. the man I
work for, I shall choose my own, though
I have to lie for it."
"I don't think, in matters of right&









7


"GOOD-BYE, MY DARLING.








and wrong, we are to look at our own
interests at all," replied Carl.
"Nonsense!" said Benson. "They
say charity begins at home, and you
may say that about lots of things.
When I've got to choose between the
home of another and my home, I shan't
stop long to think of the other man's
home."
"Right is right," said Carl.
"Nonsense!" said Benson again, and
when a person has no good argument
to offer, "nonsense" is a very conven-
ient word.
As Carl, seated on his horse, looked
over toward this low, dark object, sup-
posed to be Benson, he recalled the
above conversation. This dark object
soon disappeared. Carl also went away,
purposing, in another part of the bush,
to hunt up the sheep of his master, Mr.
Robert Edmonds.
"Ah!" said Carl, a half-hour later,
"there are the sheep, and I will pull
up by that stream and have my din-
ncr.
It was an easy matter to kindle a fire,
make a pot of tea, and toast the bread
he had brought in his lunch-basket.
While he contentedly ate his lunch,
the sheep contentedly browsed amid
the grass near the banks of the stream.
There, by the water, green patches
could be found, while away from the
stream the herbage was fast drying and
withering, so long had the country been
without rain.
Carl extinguished, as he thought,
every trace of his fire, mounted his
horse and rode off to hunt up another
section of his master's great flock. He
soon reached the great forest, and as
it was free from all underbrush, he
could easily ride beneath the spread-
ing branches. For about ten minutes
he penetrated the forest, and not see-
ing any sheep, he slowly retraced his
way. He made a very leisurely retreat,
and by the time he was in the open
country again half an hour had elapsed.
But what was it he saw in the neigh-
borhood of his late camp-fire!


"Smoke!" he said, excitedly, and
then he drove his horse madly onward.
Yes, a threatening cloud was hang-
ing above the spot where he had had
such a contented meal. It was any-
thing but a scene now to inspire one
with contentment! Under that long,
low, threatening cloud of smoke was a
scarlet line of fire! How it sharpened
as Carl rode toward it! The wind, too,
had freshened. As the flames rose and
fluttered in the wind, they flared like
the banners of an evil host advancing
to some work of destruction.
"Ho! shouted a voice.
It was Benson.
"Pitch in, Carl!" he cried. "This
fire is making headway. Grass is like
tinder."
What if the flames should get past
the boys, ravage across the bush in
every direction, reach the long wool-
sheds and level them, burning, too, the
fences that enclose the sheep-run and
-Carl did not dare lo think any longer.
In every possible way, the boys fought
the fire. They would run ahead, ignite
untouched patches of grass, and watch-
ing and beating down the flames in the
rear, let in front the fire conquer fire.
They were so busy that they did not
observe the arrival of a third party, and
Benson called out to Carl:
"How did this fire start ?"
"It -" Carl hesitated. Undoubt-
edly it originated in his noon-camp, he
thought. Should he confess ?
"You needn't own up if you don't
want to, do you say? I cannot let you
tell a lie," said Benson, sneeringl
" You must not tell it to Edmonds.
a good boy."
"No, I wont tell a lie. I suppose it
came from my camp-fire."
"Your chance's gone for employ-
ment," said Benson.
"Can't help it. Shan't put the fire
out with a lie."
But who was the new arrival work-
ing in the rear of the boys? They
chanced to turn, and there was the
owner of the. sheep-run.









































































.. .... ...


0.,ur


THE TRUSTING PLACE







"He heard every word," thought
Carl. "I am a hopeless case."
There was nothing said by Mr. Ed-
monds, but he gave his attention to the
fire, determinedly fighting it until it
sullenly sank lower and lower, and all
along the red line of attack went out.
"A good deed done!" said Benson,
complacently.
"Well, yes;" replied Mr. Edmonds.
"One good deed done, the fire is out."
Was any thing else done that was not
good? Benson shrugged his shoul-
ers and looked uneasy.
"How did the fire start, boys? It's
a terrible thing, you know, if fire gets
under way on a sheep-run," said Mr.
Edmonds.
Benson turned pale.
"I was under the bank of the stream,
and, looking over the brow of the bank,
I saw you set the fire, Benson. You
knew only one boy could remain in my
employ, and why you set it, too, where
Carl had his lunch, you know well
enough. Carl, I like your honesty.
You may stay with me."
And-Benson ? That day he sneaked
away from the sheep-run to try his
hand at wrong-doing elsewhere i the
bush.-The Interior.




WHY DOES COAL BURN?

Now that winter has come, and col-
lecting out-of-doors will be confined
mostly to snow-balls, perhaps you will
be glad to turn your attention to some
things in the house which you would
hardly think of looking at in the pleas-
ant summer time.
Suppose you make the coal-hod your
first field for investigation. You know
that coal is dug out of the ground, that
it is taken from mines like many other
minerals. But most minerals will not
burn, and why should thi?. Let us


compare it with something else that
will burn, and see what resemblances
we can find.
You will select charcoal, I am sure,
as being the most like mineral, coal or
any thing that will burn. Charcoal,
you will probably know, is charred wood,
wood that has been partly burned in a
pit or smothered place. If you examine
pieces of this, you will see the woody
structure quite plainly. The grain of
the wood shows in every piece, and
traces of bark may sometimes be found.
Is there any thing like this in your
coal? Choose a piece of soft coal,
sometimes called bituminous coal, for
comparison. It is black, and soils the
fingers like charcoal, but still it seems
much harder and heavier than that. If
the dust is carefully brushed off, you
will see that certain sides of your
specimens are quite hard and shiny and
clean; but you will also observe that
there are two opposite sides which look
much more like the charcoal. They
are soft, appearing very dirty when
rubbed, have no lustre, and, when you
examine them closely, you will see
patches which show the grain and form
of wood. If you are fortunate, you may
even find delicate impressions of leaves
or ferns.
These woody patches will cut and
flake up with a knife exactly as charcoal
does. Now split your piece of coal into
thinner pieces, making the break paral-
lel with the dull surfaces-it splits most
easily in this way-and you will find
that every new surface thus exposed
has the same resemblance to charcoal
as those you have been examining.
This will convince you that the char-
coal structure goes all the way through
the piece. In fact, your coal is a kind
of natural charcoal, and as you will
readily guess by this time, was once
wood.
Something more, however, has hap-
pened to it than to ordinary charcoal.
Besides being wood that has been
partly decayed, which means the same
thing, the weight of the rocks that








were on top of it when it was in the
ground have made it hard and solid,
and much heavier than common char-
coal. In short, it has been changed
into a mineral, has become mineralized.
Soft coal has been only imperfectly
mineralized, so that in it we find much
that still looks like charcoal; while
hard coal, or anthracite, which has been
more thoroughly changed, shows hardly
a trace of woody structure. It is hard
and brilliant on all sides.
It will not seem strange that coal
should burn when you know that it was
once wood, and you will see that the
reason why it burns so much more
slowly than wood is because it is so
much more compact.



THE RUSSIAN EXILES.

I have a little boy who, whenever I
am telling him a story, asks, "Mamma,
is it true?" So I will answer your un-
asked question-this is a true story.
The wedding bells rang out merrily,
and the gay procession of guests moved
slowly to the sound of sweet music,
from the little rustic church, toward the
home of Olga Hurtz, who that morn
had wedded Leon Von Bayley, the suc-
cessful young surgeon of Odessa, a
large town near Moscow.
Feasting and dancing continued for
several days, as is the custom in Rus-
sia, and then the fair Olga laid aside
her wedding veil and silver crown, and
assumed the more modest coif of white,
with a simple myrtle wreath-for she
was still a bride.
In their charming home, their cup of
happiness seemed full. But you know
that northern country is disturbed by
great political troubles; the people are
aroused and in arms against their ruler,
and the head that wears the golden
crown of Russia never knows peaceful
rest. The lite of the Czar is in con-
stant danger, and any one who is under


the slightest suspicion is immediately
thrown into prison, and often without
trial sent to Siberia-that word which
makes the stoutest heart quiver.
About a month after his marriage,
one night, suddenly, without warning,
Leon was torn from his beautiful bride
and lovely home, and put under arrest
as a Socialist. In vain he protested
his innocence, and all efforts of his de-
voted wife to clear him were fruit-
less; he was doomed to banishment,
with no chance of defending himself.
He started on his terrible journey, in
mid-winter, of 4,000 miles, to Irkoutsk,
and when he reached there, fate de-
creed that he should be sent still fur-
ther on, 2,000 miles, to a frozen,soli-
tude, almost within hailing distance
of the Polar Sea.
The heart-broken, but loyal wife, re-
ceived permission to follow her exile
husband, and frail and delicate as she
was, undertook the long distance
through bitter winter weather, over the
pitiless white plains and dreary steppes.
After three months of horrible suffer-
ing, she reached Irkoutsk, fondly hoping
there to meet Leon. Alas! it was a
cruel disappointment; as we know he
had been removed. The shock was
too great; and the fair young Olga
died of a broken heart. Many months
later the sad news came to the poor
exile, which whitened his dark hair at
the age of twenty-seven. Finally Leon,
with four other exiles, planned an es-
cape by way of Behrings Straits to
Alaska; but was missed, pursued by
Cossacks, and returned to endure still
greater hardships.
Boys and girls, I know your hearts
are beating with pain and sympathy at
this pathetic little tale. But do you
ever stop to think what a privilege and
blessing it is to live in this grand free
country of America, with its laws of
justice and right ?
Every one of you should take great
priae in our noble, beautitui land.

A. DE G. H.























































































)WBOYIS FOSTOEFFIOCZ.

































SCLARI
TH
ANIMAL


Clara was a little western
had lived in San Francisco
was nine years old, when
mamma and papa brought h
live with Aunt Mary and Co
lie, and they were growing v
her indeed, for she was so
kind and always obedient.
One day she was sitting out
blossoming trees on the ol
seat, her book lying, unread,
and her eyes having a dr
away look in them, when,
l lcony overhead, sounded
little voiee:


"Clara, Tousin Clara! has oo dot
my Animal book?" and a small, rosy-
cheeked boy came running to her, rub-
| bing his sleepy, dark eyes.
2-- "Why, Charlie, have you finished
your nap so soon? yes here is your
Animal book, and what shall I read
\ AND about?"
S"Oh, about the deers, wiz their dreat
E big horns, and-and-every sin," and
SBOOK. he nestled close, satisfied he would
hear all he wished. So she read a short
sketch of the deer, its haunts and habits,
girl. She when he interrupted:.
until she "Has oo ever seen a deer-a real live
her dear one?" and his black eyes opened wide.
ler east to "Oh, yes; and when we were com-
usin Char- ing east, across the plains, whenever
ery fond of the train drew near a wooded stream,
sweet and often the screaming whistle would star-
tle a herd of deer from their covert,
under the and they would rush up through the
d Worden trees, antlers erect, and sleek brown
in her lap, bodies quivering with alarm, and fol-
eamy, far- lowed by the soft-eyed, gentle fawn.
from the It was- quite a pretty picture.
a piping "Tell me more; what tind of a city
did oo live in?"







"A very beautiful city, Charlie. You
should see our noble bay, with the
great ships riding at anchor; our fine
parks and stately buildings. Then if
you should go down in Market street,
where most of the business is done,
you would see some funny sights. All
kinds of people are there-Ranchmen,
Indians, Spaniards, English, Ameri-
cans and lots of queer little Chinamen,
and they have small, dark shops full of
curious things, and besides spread their
wares on the walk.
After telling about the orange groves
and vineyards, the lovely flowers, es-
pecially the fuchsia, which winds its
branches like a vine over the porches,
often reaching the upper story of a
house, Charlie thought it must be a
wonderful country, and expressed his
intention of living in California when
he became a man.



--In a Chinese village during a time of
drought a missionary saw a row of idols
put in the hottest and dustiest part of
the road. He inquired the reason and
the natives answered: "We prayed
our gods to send us rain, and they wont,
so we've put them out to see how they
like the heat and dryness."




THE UNSOCIABLE DUCKS.

Three meadow birds went out in great
glee,
All in the sunshiny weather;
Down by-the pond, with the reeds
waving free,
Where the ducks were- all standing
together.


"Good day Mrs. Duck," said the three
meadow birds,
"From all the news we can gather,
You're a very good friend, of very few
words."
Then one flew away with a feather.



"Quack!" said the duck, "That
feather is mine,
I see through your ways altogether;
You want our feathers, your own nests
to line,
All in the bright summer weather."



"What shall we use?" Said the three
meadow birds,
"There's no good in moss or in
heather."
"We don't care a straw," said the old
blue drake,
"If you line all your nests with sole
leather."



"Quack! Quack! Quack! Yea must
think we are slack !
You talk too polite altogether;
We've had quite enough of your high
flown stuff,
And_ we know, you are birds of a
feather.


















































*I -


ITAMNB ANOMI


,I .I


-1 ,

----1;









SA FUNNY HORSE.

Knock! Knock! Knock! I've been
before this block
More than half an hour, I should say;
I am standing in the sun, while Miss
Lucy lingers on,
Talking of the fashions of the day.


It is a trick you know, she taught me
long ago,
But now I am in earnest, not in play;
And the world is very wide, to a horse
that isn't tied,
I've a mind to go and ask the price of
hay


There's a nail in my shoe that needs
fixing too,
And I want a drink more than I can
say;
How I could run, with my dandy har-
ness on!
But it's such a mean thing to ru


away.

Rap! Tap! Tap! That's
break a nap-


enough to


There she comes, and is laughing at
the way
I brought her to the door, when she
wouldn't come before,
That's a trick worth playing any day.
S6


MRS. GIMSON'S SUMMER
BOARDERS.

It was recess at the school-house at
the cross roads, and three country girls
gathered round a companion, whose
unhappy face showed that something
had gone wrong.
"Is this your last day at school,
Lucindy ?" asked Carrie Hess, a girl
of fifteen, and the eldest of the three
sisters.
"Yes, this is my last day, thanks to
the summer boarders. I can't bear to
think of them. I hate them! "
"Will you have to work harder than
you do now?" asked Freda, who was
next younger to Carrie.
I don't mind the work so much as I
do their impudent airs, and their
stuck-up ways. I wont be ordered
around, and if Auntie thinks I'm going
to be a black slave, she'll find she's
mistaken."
Lucindy's face flushed, and she ap
peared to be greatly in earnest.
"I'd be glad to have them come to
our house, they have such nice'clothes,"
said Lena, the youngest and most mis-
chievous.
"Yes, it's very nice, I must say, to
go around in old duds, and have a girl
that's not a whit better in any way
than you, only she's been to a city
school and has a rich father, turn up her
nose at you, and perhaps make fun of
you, with her white dresses and her
silk dresses, and her gaiter boots."
"Can't we come to your house any
more? Can't .we come to play?" asked
Carrie.
Oh, can't we come ?" said the othei
two, almost in a breath.
No, Auntie told me this morning,
that I must tell you and the rest of the
girls, that it wouldn't be convenient to
have you come, as you have done; you
are not stylish enough for Miss Hattie
Randolph to associate with, I suppose."
The girls looked really disappointed.
Lucindy was a great favorite, and a








leader, fearless and successful in all es-
capades that required originality and
coolness, and her company would be
sorely missed. Her aunt had indulged
her in all the dress and amusement she
could afford, and her companions had
always been welcome to visit at the
house, but now there was a necessity
for her-services, and play could not be
indulged in so often for the rest of the
summer, as the household needed the
avails, if not the presence of summer
boarders.
"Is she older than we?" asked Car-
rie.
"No, but she's lived all her life in
the city, and feels above everybody.
She and her brother and her mother
will just take possession of our piazza
and door-yard, and our swing; and I
can wash dishes, and sit on the back
door-step, and never see a girl from.
one month's end to another. Here
Lucindy burst out crying.
It's too bad," said Carrie.
The little Lena, ever fertile in inven-
tion, crept near, and putting her arms
around Lucindy'soneck, whispered:
We'll come to see you on the sly,
and we can go down in the fields and
have fun, when your Auntie goes out
for an afternoon.'
I wish you would," said Lucindy.
"And I'll bring down some cake and
pickles, and some honey, and we'll
have a pic-nic in spite of Mrs. Ran-
dolph !"
This was a solution of the unhappy
problem, and it seemed to throw a ray
of sunlight slantwise into the gloomy
picture of the coming summer.
The progress of the afternoon at
the school-house was not marked by
any unusual occurrence, and at the
close, the little company of schoolmates
proceeded together, until they came
to the road leading to Lucindy's home.
Here they parted, with many profes-
sions of everlasting friendship; Lu-
cindy, walking backwards, watched her
companions until the turn in the road
hid them from view,


Then she sat down upon a bank by
the roadside under an old tree. Throw-
ing her slate and books down on the
grass, she snatched a few daisies that
grew near, and thought of many things
of a disquieting nature, pulling the flow-
ers to pieces.
"I feel mad enough to run away!"
she thought. "I could earn my living
easy enough in the city, and not have
to work so hard either. Miss Hunter
can't teach me any thing more. I've
learned all she knows. It's just too
bad not to be able to get more educa-
tion. I'll just take my own way, if
Auntie crowds me too much I don't
care if she don't like it. If my father
and mother were alive, she wouldn't
be my boss. I can get on in another
place with what I know about a good
many things.
"But oh, that girl that's coming has
so much better times than I. Those
lovely city schools! no one can help
learning -there, they take such pains
with you."
She looked down the road upon which
the slanting red light of the declining
sun was shining, and there she saw a
cloud of dust. This road was not a
great thoroughfare, and she knew that
was the stage, and it probably would
bring the undesired summer guests.
She shrank visibly back into the
shadow of the tree as it came on, and
smoothed out her faded calico dress and
pulled her sun-bonnet farther over her
face.
The coach came rolling past, and a
girl in the back seat directed the atten-
tion of a fashionably-dressed lady to
herself, she thought, and laughed as
though immensely pleased, at the same
time pointing at her. A little boy,
who sat in the front seat with the
driver, and who was playing upon a
harmonica, stopped, and looking in her
direction, laughed too.
"It's my outlandish sun-bonnet
they're making fun of," she thought.
"I suppose this is the beginning of
it."









Now this ungentle girl was mistaken
in her surmise, as she was about many
things that caused her unhappiness.
What the people in, the stage were
really interested and amused with were
a couple of lambs in the field back of
Lucindy, and their playful gyrations
were a novel sight to them, and they
had come for the very purpose of being
pleased with country sights and experi-
ences. Lucindy felt sure these were
the summer boarders, and, taking a
short cut aiross the fields, arrived at her
aunt's just as the gfiests were alighting.
Lucindy stood at the back corner of
the house, and heard the sprightly talk
of Mrs. Randolph and the merry laugh
of the daughter, as her aunt bade them
welcome, and she knew they were being
conducted to the upper rooms that had
been prepared with such thoughtful ref-
erence to their comfort.
Her aunt came down very soon, and
seeing Lucindy, bade her wash her.
hands and smooth her hair, and put on
a white apron, and prepare to get ready
the tea. This duty Lucindy had always
done, and a little curiosity, mingled
with her other feelings, came to her, as
to how the boarders would like her
aunt's puffy biscuit, and if the cold
custard and raspberry jam wouldn't be
to their taste. If coffee and fricaseed
chicken would not be just the thing
after an all-day ride, and remarked to
herself: "If they don't like such fare,
let them go where they'll get better."
The tea passed off with great good
feeling; the new people making a most
favorable impression upon her aunt, and
impressing Lucindy with the discovery
that polite manners were a recommend
to strangers, for her aunt made gratified
remarks from time to time as she came
into the kitchen. Lucintly would not
wait upon the table the first evening, a
convenient head-ache being the excuse.
Mrs. Gimson was a most kindly dis-
posed person, and endeavored, in every
way, to make the time pass pleasantly
to her guests ; but all she could say in
their favor did nothing toward dispos-


ing the mind of her niece to regard
them with any toleration. She per-
formed the household duties that fell
to her with a stolid indifference, or with
an openly expressed reluctance, and
her aunt bore all kindly, explaining and
smoothing away what she could, prom-
ising Lucindy that she should have a
nice present of money when the guests
departed.
Hattie Randolph had not taken any
notice of her, never really having seen
her, for Lucindy had positively refused
to wait upon the table; and had kept
herself in the back-ground, thus mak-
ing her life at home more of a disci-
pline than was necessary. She envied
Hattie's graceful ways and refined con-
versation; and her apparel was a reve-
lation, not of beauty, but of another
source of jealous envy to the country
girl, for in putting the guests' rooms
in order, she examined, critically, the
pretty things in the wardrobe.
The city people found so much to
interest them in the beauties of the
surrounding neighborhood, that they
were out nearly all the time, and when
the evening came, Mrs. Randolph, with
her son and daughter, made a pleasant
addition to Mrs. Gimson's parlors, with
heir graceful talk, and numberless re-
sources of entertainment.
Lucindy, observant and sullen, kept
herself informed of all their movements,
and was continually having the blush
brought to her cheek and the bitter-
ness of comparison to her heart, as she
noted the wide difference there was be-
tween herself and them. It never once
occurred to this foolish girl, that this
difference was growing more and more
every day, by the fostering of pride and
an ignorant stubbornness, which pre-
vented her, utterly, from ever cultivat-
ing their envied characteristics.
It was a long time since she had
seen any of her playmates from the
school, but by an ingenious contrivance,
that had been thought out by Lucindy,
a tin box had been inserted into an old
tree in a fence corner, about midway











































































.4Lm 1"1J D.


1iii~B~s~i~







,,
~





~-~9~a~8~9~:~ ::~i.~:~ ~i~4 C ~H;fk~~







between her home and the school-house,
and in this they deposited their notes
to each other.
This was a solace to Lucindy, as all
the happenings at the school could be
reported, and many a mis-spelled, soiled
missive found its way to the eager
hands of the absent one. Not less in-
teresting was the news as to the doings
of the boarders. Nothing, however
trivial, that happened not to accord
with Lucindy's notions was overlooked
in her setting forth of grievances, and
she found ready sympathizers in the
Hess girls. Carrie 'Hess stood under
the old tree, one lovely morning, over-
staying her time in doing so, as the
warning bell had rung at the school-
house, reading a note she had taken
from the tree post-office. Among other
things; it communicated the welcome
news, that herself and sisters might
come to the pretty knoll behind the
house that afternoon, and that Lucindy
would take the occasion to make a
holiday for herself, as her aunt was
going, after dinner, to look up fresh
butter and eggs, and would be gone
until near tea time. .
Mrs. Randolph had hired a team, and
,with her family would be gone the
same length of time, for a ride.
Carrie took a race to school, very
much elated at the prospect of enjoy-
ing Lucindy's*company once more.
Recess came, and after eating their
very generous lunch, they prepared to
quietly put a considerable distance be-
tween themselves and the precincts
over which Miss Hunter's authority
extended. They were "skipping," as
they termed it, and as their parents
would not know of it, they reveled in
theforbidden freedom. They proceeded
over fences and across stubble fields,
and soon reached the coveted meeting-
place. A wide-spreading tree, with a
wreath of apples upon it, just turning
to a ruddy hue, was almost completely
surrounded at its trunk with hazel
bushes, but on one side they did not
grow; this was away from the house,


and toward the wheat field. It was a
natural bower, and into this they crept
to await the coming of Lucindy.
They were not kept long in suspense,
and when she appeared what a hugging
and kissing were gone through with!
"Have your boarders gone for their
ride?" asked Carrie.
"Yes, and I thought they'd never
get off. Old Mrs. Randolph fusses so,
you'd think she was going to a party
every time she goes to ride. I wonder
who she expects to see on a country
road ?"
"Sure enough. How was the girl
dressed, Lu?"
"Oh, she had on a light check silk,
and a lovely brown jockey, trimmed
with pink satin ribbon rosettes and
long ends at the back, and a lovely,
wide collar.".
"Don't you like her better than her
mother?" asked Lena.
"Well, she doesn't put on as many
airs as her mother, and she's acted, two
or three times, as if she were going to
speak to me, but I managed not to let
her. I don't want her acquaintance.
I don't want any of her coming down
to me!".
"I suppose they have nice things,
that they've brought with them, in their
rooms," said Carrie.
"Yes, Mrs. Randolph has an elegant
blue satin pin-cushion, with morning-
glories and apple-blossoms painted on
it, and a dressing-case with white ivory
combs and brushes, and they do your
hair up lovely, for I fixed mine in her
room yesterday with them. This caused
much merriment.
Lucindy proceeded to take from her
pocket a pack of children's cards, illu-
minated with gaily-dressed ladies and
gentlemen, and queer-looking figures of
all kinds. These caused a sensation;
they.looked incredulously at Lucindy,
as she said:
"These are the things that make
them laugh evenings. Ifwe.knew how
to play them, we could have some of
their kind of fun."






























{ ~ j.


_.A'
- #-l

**II- i


111,i '' 1


THEZEM NO .TRUSTING MN.


-----~ ,_.~: ~-- ,'--~-~-~-'r-:Ti


IX

:e

I
;-


%Ir









They passed them to' one another
ahd examined them. They threw them
aside presently, and returned to the
subject of never-failing interest-the
wardrobe of the boarders.
Carrie and Lena intimated more than
once, that if they could only see some-
thing that city people really considered


Lucindy had no scruples whatever in
procuring so coveted a pleasure for her
dear friends. She ran back to the
house and up into Mrs. Randolph's
room. She fumbled over the dresses,
and thinking it was as well to take out
two or three, that they might fedst
their eyes upon a variety, she piled


GREI'CHE TRAINING THE BEAUTIFUL MULL OVERSKIRT ON THE GROUND.


elegant, they would be satisfied, and for-'
ever indebted to Lucindy for the sight.
"Oh, dear, if that will please you so
much," said Lucindy, entirely willing
to gratify them, "Ill go and get one
of Mrs. Randolph's prettiest dresses
and show you. It wont. take me a
minute."
"Oh, do, Lucindy! we're just crazy
to see it! She'll never know it," said
Carrie, with eagerness.


two silk dresses and an India mull upon
her arm, and hurried out.
They dragged considerably upon the
dusty path, but this was not noticed, and
the wild delight of the girls, when they
really had them in their hands, amply re-
paid Lucindy for any risk, she thought.
They fingered them over, the bead
embroideries and lace trimmings, and
examined the fashion of each with un-
tiring interest.









S"Let's put them on!" said Carrie,
"and see how we would look in them."
"We'll look sweetly stylish," said
Freda.
"Oh, do let us, Lucindy! Mrs. Ran-
dolph wont be back until evening.
It'll be such fun! insisted Carrie.
"All right, let us ; I don't care how
much fun we have with them, the more
the better," returned Lucindy. No
sooner said than done; over their clo-
thing they stretched the dresses, and
jerked and settled them into the proper
set. Shouts of laughter greeted every
ridiculous pose and awkward stumble,
and certainly nothing could be more
provocative of merriment than their
appearance. They trailed the dresses
over the stubble in mock dignity; they
improvised a dance, and-went through
all the grotesque changes they could
invent. Their comments and jokes
were most spicy and personal, and in
all Lucindy led.
After a good time enjoyed in this
way, the fun lost its point and novelty,
and they threw the dresses in a heap
on the grass, and sat and chatted over
the gossip connected with the school
at the cross roads. The afternoon was
wearing on, and Lucindy thought it time
to produce her good things, and tak-
ing up the dresses, ran along to the
house.
In getting through the--bars she
dropped the mull overskirt and did not
perceive her loss. Gretchen saw it,
and running after, brought it back.
Lucindy hung the dresses up in their
places, certainly not improved by the
airing they had had; but chancing to
look out of an upper window, she was
horrified to see down the road the
identical tean that Mrs. Randolph had
hired, ar. as true as the world, they
were coming home !
She rushed down, and abandoning
the lunch, ran as fast as she could to
the field, and as she approached, this
was the sight that met he. gaze:
Gretchen was strutting about with a
dock leaf held over her head for a para-


sol, and trailing the beautiful mull
overskirt on the ground, endeavoring
to realize the feelings of a fine lady in
a trailed dress.
"Gretchen! Gretchen !" screamed
Lucindy, as loudly as she dared. "Hide
it! hide it! Mrs. Randolph has come
home!"
Carrie jumped, and lifting Gretchen
from it, secured the skirt, aid Lucindy
grasped it and rolled it in a small ball
and hid it in the hazel bushes. Then
they held a hurried consultation, and
decided it was best for Lucindy to go
back immediately; but, as it was now
impossible to restore the skirt to its
place in the wardrobe, they urged her
to put it in some unfrequented spot,
until a favorable opportunity came to
get it back. Lucindy now feared her
aunt would arrive without warning, and,
although loth to part without the long
anticipated treat, they walked quickly
down the path by the fence toward the
road.
"What on the face of the earth will
I ever do with this thing?" whispered
Lucindy, for the first time betraying
fear. "I can't get it back to-night,
that's as plain as the nose on your face.
Oh, grief! she may inquire after it as
soon as. I go in It'll be just like my
luck for her to want to wear it to-night.
Maybe she expects some one to spend
the evening with them, and that's what
brought them back so early. Let me
see-Auntie will find it if I put it any-
where about the house or barn; I must
not be found out in this, because if I
am, Auntie wont give me the present
she promised. I'll tell you, Carrie, you
take it and put it down the hole in the
tree, under the tin box. No one has
ever found out that place; it will
be safe there until I go for it to-mor-
row."
This was immediately decided upon,
and the girls went sulkily home. The
skirt was forced down into the tree,
and the tin box placed on top, and they
trudged slowly homeward.
As Lucindy approached the house,








she began to see more and more the
serious dilemma in which she was
placed, and her face hardened visibly
as she thought.
"I'll deny the whole thing if I'm cor-
nered; perhaps Mrs. Randolph will
live through the disappointment of not
wearing her dress for once. I have to
live all the time without such dresses."
Just then she heard her aunt calling
her, and she knew that some unlooked-
for occasion had brought them home
before evening.
"Lucindy, we must hurry up the
tea; the folks are going to spend the
evening at Judge Brander's. The team
is waiting to take them there. Mrs.
Randolph saw me in the village, and
told me."
Lucindy did not answer, but went in
and about her duties as usual. Presently
Mrs. Randolph called for Mrs. Gimson
to come up stairs, as she wished to
speak to her. Lucindy felt that now
the discovery had been made, and
strengthening her purpose, to deny all,
worked on, quietly waiting for devel-
opments.
In a few moments, her aunt came
down in great excitement, and told her
that someone had been in the house,
while they were away, and had stolen
Mrs. Randolph's elegant India mull
overskirt, and had almost ruined her
other dresses, as the trimmings were
broken and destroyed, and some of
them were gone entirely.
"It must have been when I went for
water; I noticed that there were two
tramps going down the road, a man and
woman."
"Oh, Lucindy, you should have
locked the door! "
"Why, aunt, I never lock the doors
when I go after- water. I suppose
you'll put the blame of it on me!"
Here Lucindy began to cry. "I think
you are a very strange woman to leave
no one but a girl alone in a house, with
such valuable things ; it's a wonder the
robbers didn't kill me; my coming in
frightened them away. I've no doubt


they thought it was the hired man,"
Lucindy continued to cry.
Mrs. Gimson never suspccied her
niece of such systematic deception.
The well was a short distance from the
house, and that accounted for the fact
that nothing else was missing, as they
had not had time, and also that the
other dresses had been rudely dragged
to get them down.
She believed Lucindy's story. Mrs.
Randolph could not account for the
plight in which she found her clothing,
and bewailed her loss, as being particu-
larly annoying at this juncture.
Nothing more was said, and, after tak-
ing tea, they started for the Judges, leav-
ing Mrs. Gimson in a greatly perturbed
state of mind. She knew that this un-
fortunate thing would get abroad and
discourage patrons. Desirable board-
ers would avoid her house in future.
Lucindy, never uttering a comfort-
ing word to her aunt, went up to her
room with an air of injured innocence
that hurt her aunt quite as much as
any thing she had undergone. During
the early part of the evening a violent
thunder storm came up, and Mrs.
Randolph did not return. The next
morning it still rained, and there was
no excuse for Lucindy's going out,
and the dress could not be secured.
Mrs. Randolph returned at noon, and
informed Mrs. Gimson that she had
been invited to visit, for the rest of the
summer, at Judge Brander's, and would
leave Mrs. Gimson's the next day.
Just as soon as Lucindy could be
spared, she ran down to the tree post-
office, put a note into the tin box, and
returned. This, Carrie Hess got as soon
as recess came, and the scheme worked
out successfully, as the evett proved.
Barry, Hattie's brother, w,, stand-
ing by the shrubbery gate, when lit-
tle barefoot boy sidled up, and attracted
his attention by his curious behavior-
he finally sooke:
"I say, them Hitalyans stuffed yer
mother's clothes inter a tree down here;
I found it this morning, "























IjlF~


'Or


---







"What do you mean?" asked Barry,
not fully understanding the boy.
"That ere tree, don't yer see?" and
the boy pointed to the girls' post-office,
that stood out dimly down the road.
'"Is it there now?" asked Barry.
"I do'no, Iseed it there this morning .


the rain had soaked it and the decayed
wood had stained it.
"Yes, I think it must have been those
tramps," said Mrs. Randolph. "They
hid it there, expecting to come for the
rest of it the next day. They'll be dis-
appointed. I'll be gone."


q7,



I 4i
4 W.
711vw. 1 LA-7





L:!


-- --

A LITLEBAR-FOO BO SILED P AD ATR JCTR RT
ATTENTION


"Wait till I go and tell my mother,"
said Barry, and he ran into the
house.
In a moment Mrs. Randolph and Mrs.
Gimson were at the gate, but the boy
had disappeared. "Go down, Barry,
and see it what he says is true," said
his mother. He ran off, and returning
after a little time, brought the over-
skirt, rolled up in a soiled bundle, as


The boy was Carrie Hess's brother,
and the ruse had worked; entirely turn-
ing off all suspicion from Lucindy.
Mrs. Gimson lost her summer-board-
ers and Lucindy returned to school.
This unprincipled girl, however, learned
the hard lesson, in her after life, that
ingratitude to benefactors, and unfaith-
fulness to trust, meet a sure retribution,
even if they appear to succeed.





































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"A'ND DISCUSSED LITTLE A Mmg'B L'PUPOSED FLIGHT."







SULKY ARCHIE.

BY C. MANNERS SMITH.

It must be nice to be a sailor, and I
wish I was one. Every thing goes
wrong and mother is al-
ways scolding me, and
father is never done
growling; I am getting
tired of it."
The speaker was a
little, round-cheeked lad, .
of about nine years of age.
He was standing, with
a tall, fair-haired girl, -C
evidently his sister, on
the edge of the river '
Wyncombe. He was not
a lively boy. He was
one of those thoughtful,
gloomy little boys who
are always dreaming; al-
ways thinking and
imagining some fancied
injury from either father
or mother.
Archie Phillips was
the little boy's name,
and he and his sister
had got a holiday and
were watching a party of
older children from the
Wynne High School,
who had come down to
the river to spend the .
afternoon. There was
Algernon Wright with a
large model yacht, and
Willie Schofield, the
Mayor's son, with a new
silver-mounted fi s h ing is-g'
rod. They were all as
happy arid full of frolic
as all boys in the spring-time of life
ought to be. Little Archie was, how-
ever, of am rose temperament, and
did not share in any of the amusements.
The village of Wynne is a fishing vil-
lage, and is approached from the sea by
a beautiful cove on the Cornish coast.


The town is built on the slopes of the
hills reaching down to the water's edge,
and the river Wynne empties itself
into the sea near by.
It is, indeed, a pleasant place. At
the time of this story all the boys of
Wynne, young and old, were crazy after



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"NOBODY CARES."
maritime pursuits and sports. They
spent the bulk of their holiday time
either in, sailing about the bay, or in
fishing, bathing, or holding model yacht
races in the'cove.
"Why don't I have a yacht in the
place of a silly ball? Why don't I have








ooys to play with instead of Lucy and
Gyp? What do girls or dogs know
about a top or a cat hunt? I'm dis-
gusted! I'll go for a sailor! I'll run
away; there!
The girl took no notice of this dis-
course. It was no new thing for her
to hear grumbling from her brother, and
she was accustomed to bear it without
murmur or dissent. Presently she ran
away, along the river bank, with her
doll, to a shady place, where she knew
the sun was not strong, and where some
rushes overhung the path. There she
cduld put her doll to sleep. It was no
use asking Archie to join her. He was
too old and too much of a man to enter
into any such stupidity.
Presently Archie sat down in the
shade, on the balustrades of the church-
yard and watched the glee of the High-
Schoolboys with a sulky envy.
It was a glorious summer afternoon.
The sky overhead was one vast, in-
verted field ,of blue, without a single
speck of cloud. The hot sun was beat-
ing down almost perpendicularly, and
the rays penetrated the leaves, shed-
ding a lattice-work pattern on the
ground.
"I know Ben Huntly, the boat-builder,
will tell me how to go to sea. He has
been a sailor himself, and I know he
will tell me all about it. Nobody cares;
well, mother might, perhaps, a bit, but
then, I don't know.
Then he paused in his musings and
Sought of all the injustice done to him
by his mother. He thought, like all
gloomy, wretched little boys, of all that
was ill. He didn't for one moment re-
member, how, that very morning, the
self-same, unjust mother, after packing
up his little lunch-basket, had put her
arms round his neck, and a little red-
cheeked apple in his pocket, and told
him to keep away from the river. Oh,
no, he seemed to have quite forgotten
all that.
Then the sun went behind a cloud
and Archie felt the cool wind, which
blew from the cove, on his cheek, so he


jumped down from his musing place
and sped away as fast as his legs would
carry him toward the house of the
boat-builder. He ran across the green,'
down the grassy slopes and across a
stretch of shingly beach, to the cottage
of his friend.
Ben Huntly, the boat-builder, was a
good-hearted fellow, and was extremely
fond of all the children of the village.
He had that -methoc possessed by few
people of searching into the heart -of
a child and arguing with him in a
manner suitable for a child's under-
standing.
Archie had often sought Ben's coun-
sel when things seemed to go wrong,
and it was seldom that the boat-builder
had failed to convince the boy, even to
his satisfaction, that he was wrong.
It was an off day for the boat-builder.
He was sitting, smoking his pipe, in
the cottage porch, and reading a well-
thumbed copy of "Gray's Master Mari-
ner." He welcomed Archie with a se,
cret delight, for he knew, by his little
friend's face, that he was brooding over
some fancied injury, and it gave the
boat-builder pleasure to talk his little
friend out of his troubles.
"Well, Archie, what's new in the
wind," said Ben, as he greeted the
boy with a grasp of the hand. "It
seems almost an age since I sawyou, my
boy."
Little Archie sat down on a large
stone bench in the porch, and told Ben
his story. His mother had been vexed
with him that morning. She had asked
him to call at the rectory with a mes-
sage for Doctor Hart, and he wanted to
cut grass at the time, and objected.
His mother did not scold him, oh, no,
Ben, she sent Carrie, who willingly
took the message, and his father had
called him a name. Then, again, he
had no toys like other boys. Some had
a pony; he couldn't have one. His
father always answered his request for
a pony with the reply that he couldn't
afford one just then and he would sea
about it some day. If Ben would enly














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tell him how to go to sea he would cer-
tainly run away the next day.
Now, Ben knew the character of lit-
tle Archie better, perhaps, than his own
mother did; so, when he had given the
little boy a draught of cool milk from
the cottage kitchen, Ben lit his pipe
afresh, and took down an old telescope,
a relic of his sea-faring days, from the
wall. The young man and the boy then
strolled across a low, level tract of sand,
to a grassy hillock, formed by the cur-
rent of the Wyncombe. Here they
sat down in the fast waning twilight,
and discussed
little Archie's
purposed flight.
"Yes, Archie,"
said Ben, "a sail-
or's life is well-
enough, if you
don't mrind hard
beds and harder
words. If you
ran eat salty
meat and mouldy
bread it's a fine
life, Archie.
There is no life
I'd like better if
they'd give you
fresher water and
not quite so
many cruel blows.
But, if you've
made up your
mind, Archie, and
think you can
go to bed nights ARCHIE THIxKIN
in a rolling, tossing sea, with the wind
howling and the rain pouring, and your
mother thousands of miles away, look-
ing at your little empty bed, I should
think very seriously about it. Archie
looked thoughtful, as the gloom deep-
ened on his face, and silence fell on the
pair for a time.
Suddenly Ben spied a French frigate
looming against the darkening sky and
showed .it to Archie through the tele-
scope. He explained all the parts of
the ship and dwelt long in his answers


0G


to the lad's questions. He told little
Archie how, early one stormy morning,
he had been awakened from his bed in
the cottage by the sound of guns away
at sea, how he had descended to the
beach with a lot of the villagers, to find
the waves beating mercilessly over a
great, broken ship. He told how they
had all stood, in the leaden morning,
stricken with dread at the sight of the
disaster they were all powerless to pre-
vent; leaning hard against the wind,
their breath and vision often failing
as the sleet and spray rushed at them
from the great
mountain of
foaming sea
which kept break.
ing on the rocks
in the cove. He
told farther, how,
before all their
eyes, the vessel
had given one
great heave back-
wards and sank
beneath the
wa ves forever;
how they could
faintly hear the
heart-rending
screams of wo-
men and children
above the storm
as the great waste
of waters covered
the struggling
vessel. He told
OF BEN'S STORY. Archie that, on
the following evening, while he was
mending a boat down the bay, he came
across something lying amongst a
mass of sea-weed, and on turning it
over had found. it to be the dead body
of a sailor-a fair, curly-headed youth.
"He was clad," said Ben, "in a pair
of linen trowsers and a sea shirt, and
the weeds and sand were all tangled in
his hair. I raised him up from the
beach and a small bundle fell out of his
bosom. I laid him in my boat and
went for Doctor Hart. It was the talk




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