Front Cover
 Title Page
 Note from cousin Alice
 Table of Contents
 To my little niece
 The story of Marion's illness
 The country school
 Hennie Palmer's trial
 Little Mary and her dead broth...
 The bouquet of flowers
 The guardian angels
 Story of a mouse
 The poor man's faith
 The battle-ground of Yorktown
 The vain girl
 The brother and sister
 The wilful fairy
 "Life is sweet"
 The ship
 Slow to anger
 Wishing: A dialogue
 The happy day
 The hermit
 Child's evening hymn
 Keeping a journal; or, Miss Percival's...
 Little Nell Everwish
 The fancy ball
 Carry, and the dog Argus
 Back Cover

Title: The child's fancy, or, Stories for grave and gay
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001937/00001
 Material Information
Title: The child's fancy, or, Stories for grave and gay
Alternate Title: Stories for grave and gay
Physical Description: 166, <32> p., <1> leaf of plates : col. ill. ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Haven, Alice B ( Alice Bradley ), 1827-1863 ( Editor )
Hazard, Willis P ( Willis Pope ), 1825-1913 ( Publisher )
Kite & Walton ( Printer )
Publisher: Willis P. Hazard
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Manufacturer: Kite and Walton
Publication Date: 1852
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1852   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1852   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1852   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations -- 1852   ( local )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
Hand-colored illustrations   ( local )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Statement of Responsibility: edited by "Cousin Alice."
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
General Note: Illustrations are hand-colored.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001937
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223744
oclc - 09054286
notis - ALG3996

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
    Title Page
        Page iv
        Page v
    Note from cousin Alice
        Page vi
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
        Page viii
        Page ix
        Page x
    To my little niece
        Page 11
        Page 12
    The story of Marion's illness
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    The country school
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
    Hennie Palmer's trial
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    Little Mary and her dead brother
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    The bouquet of flowers
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    The guardian angels
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
    Story of a mouse
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
    The poor man's faith
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    The battle-ground of Yorktown
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
    The vain girl
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    The brother and sister
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    The wilful fairy
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
    "Life is sweet"
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
    The ship
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
    Slow to anger
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    Wishing: A dialogue
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
    The happy day
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    The hermit
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    Child's evening hymn
        Page 129
        Page 130
    Keeping a journal; or, Miss Percival's new rule
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
    Little Nell Everwish
        Page 150
        Page 151
    The fancy ball
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
    Carry, and the dog Argus
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
    Back Cover
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
Full Text




The Baldwin Library
11' l t




Author of "Pictures from the Bible," Lessons of
Charity," Helen Morton's Trial," &c.




No. 50 North Fourth St.


Dear Little People,
I can very well remember how delightful a new
book used to be. How we looked at all the pic-
tures first, and then read the stories, one by one,
and talked them over with each other. I only
hope this will give you as much pleasure as
"The Mirror," and Atlantic Tales," and "Pe-
ter Parley's" books used to bring to us. You will
find all sorts of stories; grave and gay; but all,
I believe, with some lesson that will be worth
remembering, so that your minds and hearts will
be none the less improved, because your "fancy"
was first interested.


MARION'S ILLNESS.-By Mrs. Neal, 13
THE COUNTRY SCHOOL.-By Jennie Elder, 27
Fairy Tale, 31
By Nilla, 39
seau, 43
-By Mrs. Law, 57


THE POOR MAN'S FAITH.-By M. L. Churchill, 69
Mrs. Richards, 75
THE VAIN GIRL.-By Jennie Elder, 79
man, 87
LIFE IS SWEET.-By M. L. Churchill, 94
THE SHIP.-By C. B. C., 100
" SLOW TO ANGER."-By Cousin Alice, 107
WISHING, A DIALOGUE.-By a School Girl, 113
THE HAPPY DAY.-By Mrs. Neal, 116
THE HERMIT.-By Cousin Alice, 125
KEEPING A JOURNAL.-By Cousin Alice, 131
TIE FANCY BALL.-By Nilla, 152

w,. .'?..Y




^ OVELY art thou,-little maiden!
Full of beauty,-full of grace;
With life's sweets thy path is la-
Smiles are beaming on thy
Naught thou knowest yet of sorrow,
Sunbeams only, gild the morrow !

Lightly fall the silken lashes
On thy fair and glowing cheeks;
'Neath its veil, thy dark eye flashes,
And thy heart's revealing speaks,-
Telling that within its keeping,
Woman's faith and love lie sleeping.


Guileless darling,-may each hour
Bring thee joy as pure as now !
And an angel's guardian power,
Breathe Heaven's peace upon thy brow;
Leaving there a holy token,
That with God thy soul hath spoken.

To thy Saviour's kind protection
We commit thee,-gentle child!
Trusting Him with pure affection,-
Be thou like Him, meek and mild;
And when time's fleet course is ended,
Be thy home where Christ ascended.



"Please, Cousin Alice, will you not write a
new story very soon ?" said Mary Connor, two or
three evenings since.
Now Cousin Alice had not intended to do so
this week, as she was very, very busy; but Mary's
request was so quietly urged, and she was trying
so patiently to bear a distressing toothache, that
Cousin Alice could not refuse it. We all of us
know how hard it is to bear such a violent pain,
for most little girls have lost all their first teeth
before they get to be of Mary's age. So I think
we may agree it was very good in her to try and
stifle the moans that every now and then would
come, so that they should not disturb her mamma.


She knew that there were visitors in the parlor,
for'Harry's kind aunt had been up to see her, and
had given a full history of Annie's pet chickens,
that were so gentle she could take them anywhere
about the house. Ella raised her curly head from
the pillow, and repeated all that Harry's aunt
had told them. She thought a chicken was an
odd pet.
Besides Mary knew that her mamma was very
tired; for Mr. Connor was just recovering from
a very severe illness, and she had nursed him
through it all; so the little girl hoped her mamma
would enjoy a nice game of chess, without being
disturbed by cries of pain she could not relieve.
Cousin Alice was sitting on the foot of the bed
in the little girls' own room. There was the closet
in which the baby house was kept. The room
was neatly furnished, and quite large enough for
young misses of five and eight years of age. As
it was quite late in the evening, they had been in
bed some time, and Ella was fast asleep when
Cousin Alice, speaking to Mary, roused her.
Then she was wide awake in an instant, and both
joined in asking for a new story.
Mary's trial of Patience brought to mind some-


thing that happened when Cousin Alice was quite
a little girl.


Marion Grant was just-Mary's age when she
was seized with a sudden and violent illness. She
had always been a very healthy girl; for she had
lived in the country, and had been allowed to run
and play in the open air as much as she chose,
after her lessons were learned, and her sewing for
the day completed.
But now all was very different. She was
obliged to lie quite still, in a very dark room; for
after a while she could not vary the tedious con-
finement by sitting up a little, every day. At
first she had a terrible fever ; this made her cheeks
quite scarlet, and her eyes brighter than ever they
hadbeen before. Then she would toss about the
bed, and try to get cool by throwing the counter-
pane off. But the fever left her; and then she
was so very weak that she had scarcely strength
to lift her hand.
It was quite sorrowful to see how the little girl
had changed. Her face was pale and thin; and
her hands were almost like a baby's, they had


grown so small and delicate. Then she could
only speak in a low whisper; and when she was
well none shouted more gaily, or sang more sweetly
than Marion. The tears -often came into the eyes
of her elder sister-who was her kind nurse-as
she saw the patient child lying there so helpless.
It was two or three months before she was able
to sit up, more than fifteen minutes at once. Then
she was lifted from the bed to the large easy chair,
and back again, when she was weary.
One warm spring day, Marion thought she
would like to walk across the room, if her sister
would help her; but both were very much fright-
ened to find that one foot did not touch the floor,
at all. She had had a large swelling upon one of
her limbs, during her illness; and as it had been
healed, the limb had slightly contracted, and was
found to be nearly an inch shorter than the other!
Her mother was alarmed when she saw this,
and their good physician blamed himself very
much for not guarding against it. However, he
said he hoped it could be entirely remedied; and
from that day there was a new trial for Marion's
patience. Every morning her leg was placed be-
tween two straight pieces of wood, connected with
some kind of a screw, and then it was pulled down-


ward very tightly, giving her most severe pain.
She could not help screaming the first morning,
and when after a few minutes she was released,
she cried and sobbed as if her very heart was
breaking. She had been told that this must
be repeated every morning for a month at least,
and she could not bear the idea of such terrible
Her mamma was surprised to find her give up
in this way, for Marion had suffered so patiently
all through her illness. She had taken large
quantities of disagreeable medicine, without a
word, and had borne the leeches bravely. Mrs.
Grant waited until the first burst of sobs was over,
and then she took Marion upon her lap, and wiped
the tears away very gently.
Do you not know, my little girl," said she,
"that we would not, willingly, give you this
Indeed, mamma,.I do not see why I should
be so plagued. What good can that horrid stretch-
ing do ? I am sure it will kill me if you and Dr.
Gordon try it again!" was the answer.
"Do you think we do it to tease you, Ma-
"I'm sure I don't know why else!" sobbed the


child, for now anger and a rebellious spirit were
rising in her heart, and she spoke without think-
ing what she said.
Mrs. Grant looked pained, but she knew that
Marion had been suffering intensely, and was still
very weak. So she quietly answered,
"Did you ever know me to give you unneces-
sary pain ? While my little daughter was ill, did
I put those cruel blisters on her neck, for the
pleasure it gave me to see her suffer ?"
Marion felt rebuked, but she said, still sullenly,
"Well, what good can all this do? I know
the blisters were to take the pain from my fore-
head. But this, mamma, is only to torment me,
and I won't bear it again."
Then, with the recollection of the pain, her
tears burst out afresh and she tried to believe her
mother was very unkind.
Mrs. Grant saw that she had done wrong in
not explaining to Marion at first the nature of the
danger with which she was threatened, and how
necessary it was that immediate remedies should
be applied. She did not chide her for the impa-
tient and disobedient exclamation, but said-
Marion, do you remember the Miss Hutton
you saw at Hampton Beach last summer?"


There was no reply, but Mrs. Grant continued.
Do you remember how difficult it was for her
to walk, and how much you pitied her. I think I
heard you say you would rather die than go about
on crutches all your life."
So I had," said Marion, fretfully.
"And do you know when we first discovered
about your foot, Dr. Gordon said there was dan-
ger that you might be exactly like Miss Hutton
as long as you lived ?"
Marion uncovered her eyes and looked up with
a frightened glance, as if to be sure that her
mamma was not deceiving her. Mrs. Grant had
not told her Dr. Gordon's opinion before, as she
wished to spare her little girl all unnecessary pain,
and she hoped that the remedies they were now
using would soon prove effectual.
It is only the truth, my daughter; though
we hoped that this cruel remedy, as you no doubt
think it is, might cure you entirely. I said no-
thing to you about it because I wished to spare
you all unnecessary pain. What do you think
now, Marion ?"
"Oh, dear mamma!" was all the little girl
could say. It was so frightful, the thought of


being lame for life, and then she had blamed her
mother so unjustly, and had spoken unkindly.
Mrs. Grant saw that Marion was grieved for
her hasty words, so she did not say any more
about that. She asked if her little girl had a
headache, for Marion now and then put her hand
to her forehead, which burned as it did when she
had the fever. Crying so bitterly had increased
the little pain she had early in the morning.
Her mother took some cologne from the dress-
ing table, and bathed the forehead very softly.
While she did so she .explained to Marion how
they hoped by means of the daily application, to
remedy the lameness entirely. Indeed Dr. Gor-
don had said just before he left, that there was
now very little fear but that a few weeks would
make all right again, and she certainly was
gaining strength very fast.
After Marion had been laid again in her soft
bed, her mother placed the pillow so that she
could not help resting comfortably. Just then
she was called away to attend to something in
the store-room, and kissing her little girl, she
bade her good-bye for the present. Marion smiled
happily, notwithstanding the pain she felt, and


thought, as her mother left the room, that she
could never do anything that could repay such
Mr. Grant was a clergyman, and he often
brought his book in from the study, and read by
Marion's side. The study door had been open
while Marion and her mother were talking, so
that Mr. Grant had heard all that had passed.
Marion was just sinking into pleasant reveries,
about the time when she should be well once
more, when she heard her father's voice.
He had drawn a chair close to the bed, and took
one pale little hand in his as he said-
"So my little daughter thinks we would not
pain her willingly?"
I was very naughty, papa," said Marion,
"I was not speaking of that now, dear. It was
very natural in you to rebel against pain which
seemed to you unnecessary. All of us do that.
I have been thinking that your trouble this morn-
ing is but an illustration of the way many of us
receive afflictions from the hand of our Heavenly
Father. His word tells us expressly that He
does not afflict willingly, or grieve the children of


men,' and yet we are too apt to murmur at his
corrections. Suffering 'for the present seemeth
not joyous, but grievous'-and we think, I am
afraid, we often think, his chastising unnecessary
and unkind. Now I do not suppose God would
send grief to us more willingly than mother would
pain Marion. Do you ?"
Oh no, sir," said the little girl, her eyes
brightening as she comprehended the meaning of
her father's words.
"I suppose it happens in this way. He sees
that we have faults in our hearts, and our disposi-
tions, that are quite as crooked as your poor little
limb. That if they are allowed to go on so, they
would be fixed for eternity, and render us quite as
miserable as your lameness would have made you.
So He sends these punishments as gently as he
can, although they seem harsh to us because we
do not know how much they are needed. You did
not know how much danger you were in, did you
Marion ?"
"No," said she, softly.
"Now I think my little girl was-wrong, first of
all in not trusting her mother's love and wisdom
fully. She ought to have been sure that her


mother would not willingly pain her; or do so
without a cause. Just in this way we sin against
God. We ought to have such faith and confidence
in his love and superior knowledge, as to be sure
that although we cannot see why we heed correc-
tion, He does, and administers it as gently as
possible. All our suffering in this life is but to
fit us for the world to come, in just this way, by
curing our faults, and purifying our hearts from
too great a love of this world. If we could all
believe this as we should, do you think we would
ever murmur and make ourselves needless unhap-
piness ? Can you not bear the pain better to-mor-
row, now that you know its use ?"
"I will try to be very patient."
"I know you will, my daughter, and see, I have
found a text for you to learn from your own tes-
tament. One of these days, when I am not by
you to counsel and comfort you, this may come in
your mind, should you be tempted to rebel at pre-
sent sorrow."
Marion read aloud to her father the text which
he had found.
"For our light affliction, which isfor a moment,
worketh forts a far more exceeding and eternal


weight of glory." And after Mr. Grant had gone
to his study she fell into a sweet sleep, still repeat-
ing the words.


-- -I c ;a

\X ** c

+. N +,-
ra -4.. 1 1 t \


y~c_ ~'-;irc*c




T happened one evening, when
M-^ i breezes blew cool,
I passed by a nice little love of a
'Twas a little white house, over
which the old trees
Refreshingly waved at each turn
of the breeze :
While their old gnarled roots formed a snug, cosy seat,
Where the scholar in leisure his task would repeat.
Then, a little ways off, was a clear, bubbling spring,
Whose pure, crystal waters did whisper and sing
As they wandered away through the woods out of sight,
And nourished the woodbines and wild-roses bright.


But, as I was saying, I passed by the school,
When the day's tasks were o'er, and released from all
The young creatures danced o'er the velvety sward;
No bonnet or gloves could their motions retard:
For their dear little hearts were so bothered by books,
That they now were too happy to think of their looks.
0, let's go to the spring," said the gay Annie Ford;
Ido so love to drink from that old crooked gourd;"
And she and her comrade bound off at the word,
As fleet as the doe or the bright startled bird;
While Marion Merton, with whom none could cope
In agilely skipping the old grape-vine rope,
Flung her sun bonnet down,'mong the grass and the
While her long, careless curls fell around her in
And a bright, healthy glow overspread her young face,
As she skipped with a dainty and coquettish grace.
And others are swinging high up in an oak,
Where an old giant limb that when young was half
But now thick and strong, it has proved just the thing
To safely bear up the rude, old fashioned swing:
Though swinging is healthful, 'tis dangerous, too,
And it crippled for life a sweet girl whom I knew:


She was swinging one evening, with wild, reckless
And, when high up, it broke, and she fell to the
Poor girl! her leg broken, she fainted with pain,
And she never was healthful or joyous again.
And this makes me tremble whenever I see
The swing bounding up to the top of the tree.
Other maidens stray off to seek woodbine and rose,
That down by the spring-branch" enchantingly
They're to form a chaplet for sweet Emma Wood,
Whom all in the school pronounce gentle and good.
O, dear shall I ever find language to tell
Of the maiden who won all their hearts by the spell
Of her amiable nature that never gave pain,
Or, if given unwittingly, soothed it again.
As a matter of course, all her tasks were well done,
For she made a resolve, that the bright summer sun
Should ne'er set while the thought that her time was
Would e'er come to dispel the sweet dream of content,
Which results from the thought that we've acted aright,
In our duties at school, in the Almighty's sight.
Such a girl was sweet Emma-there were others, of


Whom each one declared there was nobody worse;
But, indeed, I don't like to hold faults up to view,
Which the sweet Birds' Nest readers I hope never
I know they're good scholars, for Lindley can write
In a manner that sure his mamma must delight;
That is, when we think of the'infantile age
Of the fingers that glide o'er the pure snowy page.
Ah! I'm always sad, when I think of the hours
When I, a child, sported 'mid sunshine and flowers;
When my school days were passed without ono thought
of sorrow
To mar the sweet dream that would come of to-morrow,
O, dear little girls, never wish to be older-
Never wish for the time when your hearts will grow
By contact with selfishness-fashion's stern rule,
Which cause us to sigh o'er the days spent at school.
You see I am sad, and inclined to be despond,
And, rather than tire you, I think I'll abscond;
But, just as we part, I will sigh in your ear,
" Be gentle and good, and you've nothing to fear."




was what I should call a
cruel girl. She would
pull off the legs and wings
of the poor little house
Sflies that crawled upon
the window pane; she
would catch butterflies
and press them between the leaves of her writing
book; stick pins through lady bugs, and swing
May flies and make them twirl around on a thread
of cotton. Now, that hurt the poor insects very
much, and I should call such actions cruel-
shouldn't you? I wouldn't like to be treated in
the same way, and I wouldn't treat an insect that


lives so, would you? Henrietta did, however;
and I am going to tell you how she was punished
for her cruelty. She ran out into the garden one
night-one beautiful moonlight night, just to
gather some rose buds with the dew on them for
her sister. She saw a butterfly, with folded wings,
asleep in the bosom of a sun flower. It was a
very large one, with a splendidly laced coat; and
Hennie said she would press it; so she threw her
handkerchief carefully over it, and caught it. Then
she-pinched off its head, and going into the house,
spread the wings between the leaves of a book;
after this, Hennie thought nomore about it. Not
so the other butterflies of the garden, however;
for it happened that the one Henrietta killed was
King of the Butterflies; and his indignant sub-
jects vowed to have vengeance on the murderer.
They knew that Hennie had done it, because a
wakeful snail had seen the deed committed all in
the still moonlight, and had travelled all night
till the broad daylight" to give information.
Moreover, they were well acquainted with Hen-
rietta's cruelty, for many of the insect tribe had
suffered from it. So they laid a wonderful plan
to revenge their noble and well-beloved king.
The very next night it happened that Henrietta


went to the garden agaih. She skipped along the
alley, once stopping to pull a flower, and twice to
crush a 'tumbler bug" and a black beetle that
lay in her path. That was a cruel action, but one
which Henrietta always did; if she saw a bug or
worm in her way, she was sure to kill it. She
took her seat at length beneath a lilac tree, in-
tending to remain there awhile, because the gar-
den was very pleasant-the night. birds whisper-
ing, and the dewy air full of coolness and fra-
grancy. She had not sat there long, when such a
buzzing and whispering, and flapping of wings,
and trampling of little feet, sounded near her,
that she could not think what it was. She wasn't
a bit afraid, however, and she kept her seat.
Presently a whole army of butterflies and May-
flies, flanked by as many lady bugs and rose bugs,
with a perfect battalion of snails, beetles, tum-
blers, June bugs, grasshoppers, caterpillars and
crickets, bringing up the rear, appeared before
Henrietta's wondering eyes. A half a dozen
fairies, in shape no bigger than" one's little fin-
ger, sprang each upon a blue-bell blossom, and
gave orders in a shrill, musical voice. Immedi-
ately the butterflies rested in a cloud upon Hen-
nie's shoulders and head; and the snails, et cetera,


surrounded her completely, fettering her hands
and feet with chains industriously plaited of long
grass. They gave many a sly pinch to her fingers
and twitch to her hair, during their work; and in
this time Hennie sat spell bound, compelled to
endure all. When she was completely bound,
and, added to that, her hair pulled out of its
braid, and her arms pinched black and blue by
the malicious things, headed by a sharp-nosed,
spiteful-eyed fairy I had forgotten to mention,
(peace sake I hope this same fairy won't pinch
me for disrespect to her ladyship !) then the fairies
on their blue-bell thrones called for silence, and
commenced the trial of "a mortal accused of the
awful crime of slaying the King of the Butter-
flies !" The Butterfly Fairy was chief judge,
seeing as she was the one most concerned in the
death of her appointed king-The snail was prin-
cipal witness; his evidence was concise and clear.
The snail, we know, is not naturally very poetical
or very sublime, yet he actually grew quite elo-
quent in describing "the cruel, cold-blooded,
monstrous murder of the noble king, even while
he slept in quiet innocence."-And his voice sunk
to the lowest of pathetics as he told of the droop-
ing wings, and bleeding body, and low, dying wail


of the murdered king," while it swelled again in-
dignantly to speak of "the heartless mortal who
now stood a culprit before the Butterfly Fairy
Queen." All this, of course, was "proof conclu-
sive ;" and the fairy now asked the culprit what
she had to say why a sentence of a terrible death
from the hands of the fairies should not be passed
upon her? Poor Henrietta trembled all over
with terrible fear; her tongue was silent and re-
fused to speak.
Her fairy judge frowned awfully, and was about
to speak the sentence, when there came a flutter-
ing of the leaves and trembling of the blue bell
stem, and all suddenly a little fairy stepped forth
before the queen.
Please her majesty, it was a flower fairy-one
who had charge of the blue-bell and all other blue
flowers; and she had come to pray for pardon for
the mortal, who was young, and did not know the
greatness of the crime which she had committed;
who, moreover, was very kind to the flowers, and
watered them every day, when without her they
might die of thirst."
It was a peculiarly pretty and pleasant looking
little fairy this, with a most sweet, infantile ex-
pression on her delicate face, and in her blue eyes,


which were now suffused with tears in grief for
Henrietta. She wore a robe made of the petals
of blue violets. The Butterfly Queen seemed
touched with her grief; and the little blue-bell
fairy increased her prayers and solicitations till
at length the queen granted a pardon to Henrietta
on condition that she would never again be cruel
to any body or any thing. This decision gave
much dissatisfaction to the butterflies and the
other insects, and they commenced to accuse poor
Hennie of new crimes, and call out most vehement-
ly that she should be killed. A red spotted lady
bug spread her wings and poised herself on a car-
nation, where she could look into the little girl's
face, and cried out,
"Yes, kill her! for she killed my sister only
I did not; oh, indeed I did not !" exclaimed
Hennie, in affright.
"Just hear her! Oh, the hardened sinner!"
screamed the lady bug, flying off the flower, and
flapping her wings close in Henrietta's face.
Henrietta wanted very much to crush the im-
pudent little lady bug, but she was afraid.
"Yes, only hear her!" said a large, beautiful
v atterfly, with yellow body, and crimson wings


laced with black. Hear her stories! I sawher
stick a pin through the lady bug myself, and at
the same time she took the life of my brother."
A little fly now came buzzing into her ears
something about broken legs and torn wings.
A grasshopper and a cricket came next. The
cricket chirruped out his accusation. He was on
the hearth, singing a sweet song to her, he said;
but as soon as ever the ungrateful creature saw
him, she tried to set her foot on him; but fortu-
nately the hearth was broken, and he contrived
to hide in a hole.
A rose bug came and fastened his claws on her
arm, and looking up with such impudence in her
face, asked her "how she dared to drown a whole
company of his friends, with her watering pot,
yesterday ?"
"Because they eat up my roses!" exclaimed
Hennie indignantly, throwing off the clinging
thing from her arm; and I'll do it again. I
wish I could kill all the ugly wretches."
Do you hear that Ugly !" angrily cried the
rose bug, spreading his wings more fully to dis-
play his fancied perfection.
But Hennie was right-they are ugly, and they
spoil the sweet flowers with their "nippers."


Many an other insect had a tale to tell against
Henrietta, and all were true, or nearly so. She
saw with shame what a very bad child she had
been in that respect, and shoresolved never again
to hurt any living thing just for the sake of wan-
ton cruelty. She said this very humbly to the
Butterfly Queen, and that fairy, after some words
of advice, gave her full pardon, called off the hos-
tile troops, who would have made war upon her,
and dismissed her.
Henrietta gave "most hearty thanks," particu-
larly to the sweet little blue-bell fairy, and sped
out of the garden as quickly as possible.
After this trial, Hennie Palmer never killed a
butterfly again, I guess.



STOOD within the grave-yard
Where lay the village dead;
O'er which the towering oak and
Their leafy branches spread
I rested on a mossy stone,
And viewed the landscape fair,
And thought ere long I too should rest
With those who slumbered there.

As thus I mused a funeral train
Came winding slowly by,
And hastily I brushed away
The tear-drop from mine eye;


But quickly it refilled again,
For on a child-like bier
An infant's coffin came in view,
With six small bearers near,

And close behind the Mother came,
Leading a girl and boy;
And neathh the coffin's veiling lid,
Was hid her youngest joy.
I sadly joined the weeping throng,
Which stood around the grave,
And thought how soon above that child,
The springing grass would wave.

'Twould be forgot by those around,
Who now so freely wept;
And only in its mother's heart,
Would be its image kept.
As slowly in the open grave
They laid that confined child,
From little Mary's loving heart
Arose a pleading wild-

Do see those naughty boys, mamma,
They've taken Willie dear,
And put him in the ground, mamma,
They must not leave him here;


" For he will be so cold, mamma,
And see-there is no light ?
You know Willie's afraid, mamma,
And always cries at night.

" Tell them to take him home, mamma,
I will not make a noise;
And if he's sick again, mamma,
I'll give him all my toys.

SYou said that he was dead, mamma,
And then I saw you cry-
Do tell me ; what is dead, mamma ?
What does it mean-to die ?

You raised me to his little bed,
And bade me kiss his check;
But oh it felt so cold, mamma,
-I could not help but shriek.

What made his cheeks so pale, maimmn ?
What made him lie so still ?
What made his little hands, mamma,
And rosy lips so chill ?


And is papa, too, dead, mamma,
Will Willie see his face?
Where is it that they live, mamma,
Tell me about the place ?"

Spell-bound we stood around the grave,
Listing her childish words;
And every heart that heard her voice
With sympathy was stirred.
Dear friends, this is a simple tale,
But one that touched my heart;
And when fond memory cons it o'er
The tear-drops ever start.
Pomfrel, Conn.



OME, Ellen, the story about
flowers, if you please," said
"Ada Carroll," Ellen com-
menced, "lived in a very
pleasant country village.
Her father's house was large
and handsome; with a beau-
tiful lawn in front, shaded by tall trees of many
kinds: but there were no flowers, for Mr. Carroll
did not care to cultivate them. He spared no
trouble or expense in getting fine trees, because
he thought they gave a noble appearance to the
place. There was a very good school in the vil-
lage, taught by Mrs. Smith, the widow of the for-


mer clergyman. Ada attended it, with nearly all
the other girls in the neighborhood. She was
quite pretty, and very lively and pleasant in her
manners, and a great favorite among her school-
"Near Mr. Carroll's house was a neat little
white cottage, with green venitian shutters. There
was an avenue of Locust trees leading to it, and
a garden on both sides. All through the winter
this house had been vacant, and the snow blocked
up the avenue, and lay in high heaps against the
doors; and the little snow birds hopped about
with nobody to scatter crumbs of bread for them.
But one day when Spring had returned, and the
sun had melted away the snow, as Ada was going
to school, she saw a man unpacking a car load of
furniture which stood at the door. And the next
morning there was a lady dressed in mourning
and a little girl about her own age standing on
the portico.
How old was Ada ?" I asked.
"About twelve years old," Ellen replied, and
then continued: Two weeks after Ada first saw
the strangers at the cottage, the lady brought the
little girl to school. Mrs. Smith introduced her
as Sophie Grey, and said she hoped the girls


would be very kind to her, because she was a
stranger among them, and that they would always
help her to do good, and never in any way tempt
her to do wrong.
Ada was very much given to taking fancies
for or against people at first sight. She often used
to say that she could tell in a moment whether she
would like any one or not, and that she was very
seldom mistaken. She was very impulsive. I
mean by that, that she did not wait to think long,
but always acted as her feelings directed at the
"I like that sort of people," I interrupted.
So do I," said Ellen; "if their feelings are
never wrong. Or, as my father would say, if their
feelings were always under the direction of right
principles. But all persons have evil feelings in
their hearts; and although I like to see people do
good from impulse, still, I think, this will not be
of much use, unless they have right principles and
strength of mind sufficient to help them to act
out their good impulses; and it is well sometimes
to think a long time before we act; particularly
if we are about to act under a feeling of dislike
towards another-no matter what may be our
reasons for it.


Ada did not like Sophie, from the very first
time she saw her. I do not know why, unless it
might be that Sophie was a pale, bashful little
thing, and not at all pretty. Several of the girls
spoke to her at recess, and seemed inclined to be
friends with her; but after school Ada told them
that she did not like Sophie, for she knew that
she was a disagreeable sort of a girl, whom they
Should all dislike, as soon as they knew her better.
"Why?" asked Susan Morris and Mary Dan-
"I can tell by her looks," Ada answered; "and
I have seen enough, when passing to and from
school, to convince me that they are not a plea-
sant sort of family."
"What did you see to make you think so of
them?" Mary enquired.
Oh, I cannot tell you," was her reply; there
were several little things, which I judged from,
that cannot be very well explained."
The girls tried to find out what these little
things were, but Ada would explain no further.
I suppose she could not tell her reasons for dis-
liking Sophie, for she hardly knew herself. She
had heard that Mrs. Grey had educated Sophie,
without any other assistance, and was rather strict


in some of her notions, and she had seen that their
furniture was quite plain and old fashioned. This
was all she knew, but she felt that these were in-
sufficient reasons for her dislike, so she thought it
best not to mention them.
Much of Sophie's bashfulness wore off as time
passed away. She began to laugh and talk with
her companions, and tried to make them love her.
But this was very hard work, for they were all
very fond of Ada, and very much under her influ-
ence, and she still continued to dislike Sophie.-
She never tried to win Ada's love, because Ada
always treated her so coldly that she felt it would
be of no use.
"Many a time poor little Sophie was hardly
able to keep from crying, when she saw how the
girls avoided her, and how unkind Ada was to
her. And very often when she went home, she
used to go to a lonely part of the gardeli, or up
to her own room, and cry as if her heart would
break. She was an only child, and had always
told her mother all her troubles ; but she could
not bear to tell this one. Perhaps it was because
there is a feeling of mortification in knowing that
people-don't love us, that makes us wish to keep


it secret; or perhaps she did not wish to make
her mother unhappy on her account.
'Very often one of the girls would repeat to
Sophie something unkind, which Ada had said of
her; and then-for Sophie was just like other
persons, and would. do wrong sometimes-she
would say that Ada was unjust and unkind, and
occasionally mention some fault in her which
others had not noticed. These things were always
repeated to Ada, and sometimes made to appear
much worse than Sophie had intended; until they
were farther from being friends than ever.
One day Mrs. Smith praised Sophie for her
improvement in music, and at the same time re-
proved Ada for practising in a careless manner.
Ada was quite provoked, and as they were leaving
school said, looking towards Sophie.
"Mrs. Smith has a strange fancy for homely
people, and always praises them whether they are
deserving or not: I suppose she pities them, and
wishes to make them feel more comfortable."
This was repeated in such a way that all the
girls knew that it was meant for Sophie.
Sophie looked towards her, and with a flushed
face, and excited voice, said,
Was that the reason why Mrs. Smith praised


Miss Ada Carroll's embroidery yesterday morn-
Then, without waiting for an answer, she
over to the other side of the road.
When she reached home her mother met her,
and seeing that there was some trouble upon her
mind, asked what it was. Sophie burst into tears,
and told her the cause of her sorrow.
"Perhaps you have injured her in some way,"
said Mrs. Grey.
Oh, no, mother; I have always tried to treat
her as kindly as she would let me ;" Sophie re-
plied.-Then suddenly recollecting that she had
often spoken exultingly of Ada's faults, she laid
her head upon her mother's lap, and frankly
acknowledged where she had been to blame, even
to the way in which she had answered Ada whbn
they left the school.
Mrs. Grey told Sophie where she had been
wrong, and kindly sympathized with her trouble.
"Now what shall I do, mother, to show Ada
that I have no unkind feelings towards her? I
am sure I am willing to be her friend," said
All you can do," Mrs. Grey replied, is to do
her some good whenever you have the opportu-


nity, and never to speak unkindly of her again, no
matter what is said to you."
"Mrs. Grey had a beautiful garden, filled with
a great variety of rare flowers. The next morn-
ing, while Sophie was cutting some flowers to fill
the vases, Mr. Carroll and Ada passed by. The
high hawthorn hedge hid her from view, and she
heard Ada say to her father,
I do wish we had such a garden as Mrs. Grey's
-I love flowers so very much."
"Sophie did not hear Mr. Carroll's answer.
For an instant she had felt glad that she could
boast of having one advantage which Ada had not;
but very soon she remembered the conversation
with her mother the evening before, and felt sorry
that she had had such thoughts. Then she leaned
her head upon her hand, thinking of the wrong
feelings she had had towards Ada. Suddenly a
new and pleasant thought struck her-her face
I will send Ada Carroll some of the very pret-
tiest flowers we have," she exclaimed. "I will
get her papa to take them as he goes home this
Sophie understood how to arrange flowers
very beautifully; so she made up a bouquet of the


very sweetest flowers in the garden-of half-blown
roses and verbenas of every shade, intermixed
with mignonette, heliotrope and white jessamine.
This bouquet was given to Mr. Carroll with a
card, on which Sophie had written,
"For Ada, from one who wishes to be her
"When Ada came home from school, and saw
the flowers, she was very glad, for she was very
fond of flowers. She knew Sophie's writing, and
her heart reproached her for her unkind behaviour.
Without waiting one moment, she put on her bon-
net, and went over to see Sophie, and told her
that she was very sorry that she had been so un-
kind. Sophie said she, too, had been very much
to blame; and from that time they were the very
best of friends."
I think Ad'a Carroll was a very proud girl,"
said I.
I guess we are all rather proud, in one way
or another," replied Lucy.
I think so too," said Ellen.





GOLDEN Persian legend
came floating to my
As idly in the garden this
wreath for thee I twined;
It well befits the stillness of
twilight's dreamy hour,
When sweet south winds sway gently each closing bud
and flower.
So listen, fair young sister, and check thy mirth
(Though well I love, my darling, to see that happy
Come rest upon my bosom, as in the days gone by,
Again-again I clasp thee, as closely, tenderly.


Thus runs that ancient legend,-that to each soul is
Two white-robed guardian Angels, to bear it home to
Both bear a spotless tablet, on which each act is
Good deeds graved with a diamond can never be ef-
The other beareth plainly the record of all sin,
Each wicked thought or prompting that comes the
heart within,
Yet, humble prayer for pardon the stain will take away,
If offered by the erring before the close of day.

But should he yield to slumber, ere grace was thus
The record of his folly forever there remained.
A witness found against him that tablet frail would be,
When Time itself, forgotten, lapsed in Eternity.
And, darling, I have thought it, an emblem of this life,
That we are thus attended through weary toil and strife,
That all may sue for pardon, though with the latest
Yet woe to him who yieldeth unto the sleep of Death


And hath not, with repentance, this free forgiveness
For, with most mournful errors, each human life is
And there at last remaining upon the mystic scroll,
Shall witness to the ruin of that misguided soul.
Oh may we both remember this pardon here to crave,
Nor dare without its power a future life to brave :
Then thou and I, young sister, shall find a sweeter rest,
Than we are now enjoying, together and so blest!


Translated from the French


The indiscretions of parents seldom serve as warnings to their children.

AN old mouse having arrived at the close of his
existence, assembled his numerous family, and
addressed them in the following manner:
"If aught would make me regret life, without
doubt it would be the idea of the numerous perils
to which I leave you exposed;-but I flatter my-
self that you will console these, my last moments,
by being attentive and submissive to my counsels.
If you follow them,-like myself-you may arrive
at an advanced age. To excite your obedience, I
will relate to you the history of my life.
"I was born in the house which we at present


occupy, but I have here witnessed great changes.
At the period when I entered into life, it was in-
habited by a young English lady, who was ex-
tremely rich. Oh, my children, this lady's man-
sion was a land of milk and honey; a very Peru
for poor mice. She kept an open table, and had
in her service forty domestics. You can readily
imagine that with so many people to serve her,
she did not give herself the trouble of attending
to household concerns. A housekeeper, a steward,
and a head cook, were charged with buying and
managing the provisions. These three persons
derived a revenue from the dealers who furnished
the house ; and they were consequently interested
in increasing the expense. They ate a great deal,
and lost more; and this procured us abundance,
and also safety. We disdained the fragments of
the second table, because we could feed ourselves
upon more delicate morsels, which they carelessly
left scattered about. Two large cats,-guardians
of the kitchen,-left us fully at liberty, and passed
the period between their abundant repasts, in
gentle slumbers.
I could relate to you a thousand curious an-
ecdotes, of which I was a witness, during my
childhood. The housekeeper's room had been my


cradle, and it was in this basement palace, that
she received the homage of her inferiors,-most
frequently with an air of extreme haughtiness;
at other times she deigned to be more gracious,
and bestowed a kindly glance upon their devotion,
but she nearly always rewarded them. Except
her impertinence, she was one of the best creatures
in the world. She was anxious that the appear-
ance of the domestics should announce the wealth
of their mistress, and she therefore humanely at-
tended to their little wants. The servants be-
longing to the kitchen, were reduced, of mornings,
to a broth of oat-meal, and could have no tea;
but madam took hers so strong, and renewed it so
often, that these poor girls could still draw from
it quite a good decoction. The place where the
sugar was kept was not inaccessible, and when
she perceived that some had been stolen, she
laughingly said, "well, all the world must live !"
She was so extremely complaisant as to permit
every body to take their tea with cream in it; it
is true they did not dare to put the exact amount
on the bill, for fear the lady would some day take
a fancy to look over it; but they counted eight
quarts of milk instead of four, and by this means
every one was satisfied.


"I could not soon finish my recital, were I to
recount the immense waste caused by this woman
and her flatterers; but by a moderation rarely
found in one so old, I will limit myself to that
which I have just spoken.
"It was under this person's rule, that I
passed the first years of my life ; but by the great-
est of misfortunes, this happy condition disap-
peared like a beautiful dream, of which a sorrow-
ful remembrance alone remains. The mistress of
the house, who had not measured her expenses by
her revenue, found herself ruined, and obliged to
retire to the country; and the mansion, which
until then she had inhabited, passed into new
"As I had not yet had much experience, I re-
garded this change as a matter of little impor-
tance; but I soon became aware of my ill luck.
Our new mistress had as numerous a train as the
first one; however, her household was so arranged
that she really had need of but two servants; for,
in opposition to custom, she herself attended to
everything, and superintended the economical de-
tails of the family. Sugar, sweetmeats, and other
similar articles, were shut up in a closet, the key
of which was in her possession. She knew exactly


how much provision was necessary for daily con-
sumption, and it was not possible to deceive her,
even in trifles. She desired that every thing
should wear an air of ease, and of magnificence,
without causing her to suffer any waste.
I soon saw myself reduced to live on the
crumbs which fell from the domestics table; not
even a pitiful bit of cheese,-not an end of a can-
dle; all was gathered up and put to some use.
'Wretched woman,' cried I, in my sorrow; 'who
would think, on viewing the profusion of dishes
which appear on thy table, that any animal near
thee would be reduced to a state of famine, and
one, too, who requires so little for its nourish-
ment.' I flattered myself that this state of things
would not last long; but alas, I soon lost this
hope. The two amicable cats, of whom I have
before spoken, had not abandoned the house, and
displayed most woc-begone countenances. I was
curious to know what they thought of these mat-
ters, and one evening, when they were conversing
seriously together, I came out of my hole to listen
to them.
'You wish to leave the house in which you
have been born,' said the youngest of these cats.
' And why should we remain here?' replied the


other, with an air of chagrin. 'Do you not see
that the fast I have lately been obliged to observe,
has reduced me to skin and bones.' But,' said
the other, a refuge still remains to us Notwith-
standing the watchfulness of the cook, I have suf-
ficient courage and address to live well by means
of my industry. Besides, our mistress is becom-
ing aged, and cannot live much longer, therefore
our situation will soon be changed.' 'Vain hope!'
said the old cat; know that for our unhappiness
a German lady dwells here, and consequently
there is no remedy.' The women of this nation
take the entire charge of their households, and
are so well acquainted with their servants, that
they are seldom imposed upon. They know how
to inspire them with the spirit of order, and the
cook employed here, has been instructed thus for
ten years, and thoroughly understands her busi-
ness ; the least attempt at a trick would cost the
life of any cat. Besides, the age of our mistress
will not bring any alleviation to our misery.
These wretched Germans have the habit of bring-
ing up their children in the same system of econ-
omy to which they themselves have been accus-
tomed. Such young ladies, however rich they


may be, do not think it beneath them to under-
take the management of culinary concerns.'
"A footman who now entered the kitchen,
interrupted the conversation of these two cats,-
who disappeared the next day. Still young, I
paid less attention to the remarks of the old cat,
than to those of the other, and not being able, (as
I then thought) to support my situation, I exerted
all my industry to alleviate it, and after some ef-
forts, I discovered the means of introducing my-
self into the apartment where Madam kept her
provisions, and satisfied my appetite by a rich
repast. But the pleasure of the feast was trou-
bled by reflection. I played a high game, and
trembled lest my theft should be discovered.
However, I soon reassured myself; the past
seemed to answer for the future; and I remem-
bered that I had stolen a hundred times from the
housekeeper, of whom I have before spoken,
without her taking any precautions to prevent a
repetition. Fool that I was! I was ignorant of
the difference between the attention of the ser-
vant and the mistress.
Encouraged by my first success, I returned
the next day to the fatal chamber, and the first
object which attracted my attention was a grated


machine, in which was a piece of roasted fat.
Attracted by the odour, I entered it, and seized
my prey; but Ah, the misfortune which followed,
and which many years have not served, to efface
from my memory! Hardly had I touched the
fatal morsel, when the door of the terrible
machine closed upon me with a frighful noise,
preventing all means of escape. How much
I now bewailed my greediness How many reso-
lutions I formed to overcome it, if I but escaped
from this danger. I had not much time for re-
flection ; the noise made by the closing of the trap
attracted the attention of the mistress, and I heard
her issue orders that I should be drowned. One
of the chamber maids was told to execute the sen-
tence. You tremble my children !-Indeed no-
thing seemed capable of arresting this dreadful
doom! I saved myself, however, by the miserable
management of those whom my mistress had com-
missioned to put me to death. Experience now
taught me to correct a vice which had nearly
proved so fatal, and I never more went out of my
dwelling without using the greatest precautions,
confining my excursions alone to the kitchen. I
acknowledge that the life to which I now saw
myself reduced, appeared even worse than the


punishment from which I had just escaped; but
habit soon softened my situation. I perceived
that abstinence strengthened my constitution, and
I learnt to thank fortune"for the necessity which
had obliged me to moderate my appetite and my
sensuality. I saw renewed, three times, the race
of mice, with whom I had grown up. Few mice
have fulfilled the career for which nature has
destined them. Sickness has carried off those
who escaped the vigilance of the cat, and the
snares of their masters. But I am growing
weaker; adieu, my dear children; dread the fatal
closet where death lies hidden beneath perfidious
sweets! I die content, assured you will obey my
Scarcely had this wise mouse drawn its last sigh,
when the young and frisky family congratulated
themselves upon being relieved from the constraint
which this old dotard had subjected them to.
They laughed at his counsels; and called his so-
briety, avarice,-his watchfulness, cowardice.
They soon sought, and found their way to the
pantry; three paper coverings placed over a jar
of preserves, were broken open, and they felici-
tated themselves upon having thus far escaped
the perils with which they were threatened; but


their pleasure did not continue long; a cat, and
two mouse traps were placed in the closet, and
before the end of the week there only remained a
single mouse from among those who had despised
the experience and warnings of their great-grand-
father. We may conclude from their example,
That the Parents' indiscretions seldom serve as
warnings to their Children.



HARP and fierce was the winter's cold,
And mournful was the sound,
S Of snow-flakes falling on the earth,
i Hiding the dark, cold ground.
It was a time of bitter want,
While poor men needed food !
And at the corners of the street,
The hungry beggars stood.

Then in a cottage, poor and cold,
An aged couple dwelt,
The storm that raged so fierce without,
They in full force had felt.


Empty for two whole days and nights,
Had been their humble board,
No longer in their cottage home
A single crust was stored.

Robert was crippled, and in vain
For work he oft had sought;
Men gave him alms, and turned away,
With scarce a passing thought.
Ellen his wife, so weak and old,
No longer work could find;
And so-in hunger, cold and want,
They heard the rushing wind.

But e'en in sorrow's sore distress,
In God their faith they rest,
And say with humble, earnest trust,
God wills, and it is best."
But now, e'en while they weaker grow,
And death so near appears,
Upon the threshold of their door,
A step, poor Ellen hears.

She hastens out, though weak and faint,-
"Perchance some houseless one,


Is left to weather this fierce storm,
Unsheltered and alone."
Quickly her kindly hands have ope'd
The cheerless cottage door;
Scarce can her weak hands hold it back,
She is so old and poor.

But on the step no form awaits
A shelter from her hand;
Naught but a basket, covered o'er
With heavy cloth doth stand;
Poor Robert called, comes slowly forth,
And thus they raise the store,
Their Father's hand in mercy placed,
E'en at their very door.

The basket bears old Robert's name,-
For them 'tis truly meant;
Some generous friend in their great need,
Food thus to them hath sent.
Quickly the basket's stores are known,-
Bread, meat, and even wine!
Learn ye, who doubt the love of God,
How wrongly ye repine.


But e're a morsel of the food,
The aged pair will taste,
They offer thanks unto their God,
Who food before them placed,
And from that cottage, old and drear,
Rises a grateful prayer,
From hearty, that in old age and want,
Still feel their Father's care.





"MAMMA! 0, mamma !" shouted Susie Day-
ton, Uncle Henry has loaned me his port folio
of 'studies' as he calls those bits of trees and old
fences, and those pieces of skies and rivers. There
are some real beautiful pictures among them
though; Is'nt this a pretty one ? there is a name
to it, The Battle-ground of Yorktown.'"
Let me see it Susie. Yes, that is the place,
sure enough, I remember when we visited it, the
Autumn I travelled in Virginia with your uncle."
"And was a battle really fought in that quiet
looking place, mamma ? and who were victo-
rious ?"
Yorktown had been fortified by the English


and was held by them. The Americans besieged
it and took it, and Lord Cornwallis and his army
surrendered their arms to the Americans. This
field was the place where the surrender took
place. It was a very important event in the war
of the Revolution; and then the English were
forced to give up all hope of subduing the 're-
bellion,' as they called our struggle for indepen-
And then, I suppose, the war stopped after
this. What year was it, mamma? I remember
the war commenced in 1775, and I thought 1783
was the close of it."
"The army was not disbanded, nor was the
independence of the colonies acknowledged by
the British Government until 1783. But from
the time of the surrender of Yorktown, in Octo-
ber, 1781, the war was pretty much at an end."
"The English had more soldiers than we had,
and they were real, trained soldiers, why did they
not conquer the people here ?"
Yes, the king's army was composed of regu-
lar soldiers, while the American army was made
up of all sorts of people, who had been taught
anything else than fighting. Besides this the
English army was well equipped, while the Amer-


icans were poorly provided with clothes, and with
weapons and ammunition, and sometimes even
with food. But they were fighting for their homes
and those they loved: they were fighting for free-
dom, and for the highest good of the country of
their birth. The English were good, brave sol-
diers, but neither their duty to their country, who
had ordered them to fight for her gain and her
glory, nor their own personal ambition, inspired
them with the courage and true devotion which
gave strength to the arms of our people. More-
over, it seemed as if the God of Battles fought for
us, and confounded those who boasted only in
their own might. Bight-not might, was the
password to victory."
"But why was the surrender at Yorktown so
important ?"
"Because the British had already met with
several defeats, and they, and their government
at home also, hoped much from this campaign in
Virginia. The French nation had sympathized
deeply with us in our great struggle, and a large
number of French troops had come over to help us.
You have heard the name of La Fayette almost as
frequently and as proudly spoken as that of Wash-
ington. IHe rendered great assistance in this


siege of Yorktown, and he and the other French
officers are entitled to a great deal of praise for
their noble efforts in our behalf. Our people had
recently been enraged by the massacre of their
countrymen at Fort Griswold, and had talked
loudly of revenge before the surrender, but they
deserve as much honour for their humanity and for-
bearance as for their bravery. The English were
forced to acknowledge their magnanimity and the
noble generosity of the French.
General Washington called on the army and
the Congress of rulers, to whom he wrote news of
the event to pay thanks to God who has given
us this victory.'"
Ah! mamma. That was indeed a proud day
for America. I am glad we have this picture of
Yorktown, or rather of this glorious field. I
would go a great ways to see the place where such
events took place, and I will beg uncle Henry for
a copy of this picture to put among my treasures."



THERE was once a little girl
Had a very pretty bonnet
Given to her by her uncle,
With a wreath of roses on it.

And she stood before the glass,
And she simpered quite demurely.
And she raised her brows and thought,
I'm a pretty lassie surely.

My eyes are bright and blue,
And my curls are very shiny,
And I look as graceful as
My favourite Lturustina.


These pink ribbons and pink flowers
Look as lovely as they can do-
What will cousin Lucy say?
What will little envious Ann do ?

I'll put on my crimson sack,
Over white it will look pretty,
And I'll take a little walk-
Come here this moment Lettic !

Was there ever such a negro ?
Keeps me waiting, waiting, waiting,
And I think she walks the slower,
When she knows that I am fretting.

Lettie! Lettie O, Lettic-e !
Are you come at last, you vixen,
Can you dare to treat me so ?
It is bad, it is perplexing !

And the ebon little handmaid,
Turns her dark face o'er her shoulder-
Smiling wide from ear to ear-
Lest her mistress should behold her.


" Lettie ready, missus, now,"
And the miniature fine lady
Sidles off with mincing pace,
And a head by no means steady.

And she'd toy with the bright ribbons,
And she'd glance down o'er her vesture
With a furtive, loving glance,
Yet a would-be careless gesture.

And she loved her own dear self,
And she worshipped her dear bonnet,
With its pretty pinky ribbons,
And its wreath of roses on it.

And she had no thought of living
For the love or good of others,
Self stood up between the forms
Of acquaintance, sisters, brothers.

And her parents loved her well,
Loved her dearly, yet most blindly,
For they fostered every wish,
Be it gentle or unkindly.


And the heart is prone to pride,
As the sparks that fly to heaven,
And its aptest thoughts are evil,
From fair morning until even.

Therefore we ought ever pray,
Ever watch against the entrance
Of a selfish, evil thought-
Of an act which needs repentance.

But about the little girl-
I am grieved to have to write it,
She was selfish, proud and vain,
Even more than I indite it.

And, as she walked along,
She could tell by intuition,
Who, among the crowd she met,
Did deserve her recognition.

And she had a scale of worth,
With nice gradations on it,
And her highest point of merit,
Was a costly dress and bonnet.


She soon met her young friend Ann,
And her gentle cousin Lucy,
And she kissed them in the street,
Very fast and very fussy.

We are told by Mrs. Manners,
To forbear this demonstration
Of our pleasure or our joy,
When in public observation.

I have seen young maidens kiss,
When at church and other places,
Whose love or joy at meeting,
Went no deeper than their faces.

'Tis enough to make one fret,
Or at least a little nervous,
To see coldness 'neath a mask,
Doing friendship false lip-service.

The pressure of the hand,
Or the warm heart-look of pleasure,
Beaming from a truthful eye,
Is an honest, true lhart measure.


But when I this rhyme began,
I had no thought of digression,
For I like a rhyme myself,
That makes forward, straight progression.

So I come Lack to the girl
With the very pretty bonnet,
With its pretty pinky ribbons,
And its wreath of roses on it.

She enjoyed a petty triumph,
At her young friends' admiration,
But she looked in vain to see
Either envy or vexation.

For their hearts were very happy,
And more natural their graces,
Though their dress was neatly plain,
And plain hoods concealed their fices.

We should cultivate a medium
Between vanity and neatness,
And we never should let pride
Overrun the young heart's sweetness.



(S y H-IAT is a dreary picture is it
Snot. You can see by the
light shining in the grated
window, that the room is in
a prison. Yes, it is a cell,
where people who do wrong
are shut up, and kept from
any more mischief. ]$ut
sometimes innocent people are sent to prison.
Does that seem strange to you? It happens in
this way,-that they are :'.i.'tfcd of doing wrong,
and they are confined until they can prove their
So this picture of a prison cell, with its rough
walls, and poor furniture, tells a very pretty


story I once read, and which you might like to
There were once two dear little children who
lived far away from the city, in the quiet of a
beautiful country home. Their house was a cot-
tage, with a garden before it, where the children,
Charles and Ruth, had their flower beds, and en-
joyed taking care of them very much. They went
to school too, and were taught to read the Bible;
and to Sunday-school, where it was explained to
them. Among other lessons, they were taught
the commandment


and Charles always remembered that it would be
a sin against God to take anything that belonged
to another; even though no eye saw him do it.
So these children grew up together, very fond
of each other, and obedient to their kind father
and mother. But by and by Charles got discon-
tented. He read about the great city of New
York, and how people got rich there; so he left
his quiet home, and very soon there was news that
"Charlie," as they all called him at home, was
going to be clerk in a grand store, where he could


afford to send home money to help the family
Everything went on nicely for a little while.
Ruth did the house-work, while her mother sewed,
and thus they were a cheerful, happy, little fami-
ly. But at length there was sad news from New
York. Charlie had been accused of stealing, and
had been put in prison Think how sadly they
must have felt; but the father said,
Charles is an honest boy, and he never told a
lie in his life."
So they trusted in Providence that everything
would be made clear.
But Ruth could not stay away from her brother.
She knew how much happier he would be in his
troubles, with some one who loved him, and she
started all alone for the great city. There every
thing was new and strange. Some laughed at her,
and others were rude and impudent as she was
hurried along in the crowd. But she did not
mind anything. She thought only of her brother;
and at last she found him in the prison, true
enough, locked up in a dismal cell.
Think how happy Charles must have been,
when that creaking door turned upon its hinges,
a nd instead of the harsh jailor, he saw his own


bright little sister Ruth, come in! And she
staid with him, like a noble girl as she was, and
kept him cheerful, and amused him in the long,
dull days, before his trial come. It was as her
father had hoped. The innocence of Charles was
plainly proved, and the two returned to their
home, all the happier for the trouble that had
threatened them. You may be sure, Ruth never
regretted her prison visit; and that she was bless-
ed in her future life for her brave sisterly love.
Happy is the father who can say of his son,-
He is an honest boy, and has never told a lie
in his life."



FAR down in a shady, moss-carpeted dell,
Just the kind of a place where the Fays love to dwell,
A gay laughing streamlet was tossing its spray,
Now kissing the pebbles,-then dancing away.

One bright moonlight night in the fall of the year,
When tall trees were dropping leaves yellow and sere,
Some fell in a streamlet by which a young fay
Was standing and watching them float on their way.

" Oh, see that huge leaf !" to her mother she cried,
" Pray let me jump on it, and take a nice ride,
The moon shines so brightly, and then the night breeze
Is gentle-you see, I can stop when I please."


But the prudent old fay shook gravely her head,
t You'll do no such thing, silly creature," she said,
" For there are great rocks in the streamlet below,
They'd upset your boat, and you can't swim, you

So she bade her stay there, while she went away
To get acorn cups for a fete the next day:
The young fairy pouted, and fretted, and thought,
"Dear me what a harsh, cruel mother I've got."

By and by she looked up, and spied coming down,
A beautiful oak-leaf, all crimson and brown,
Then she said, "I will just a little way go,
I soon can get back, and mother won't know."

So she quickly sprung on, and sailed off with glee,
Laughing mockingly at the miniature sea,
But a breeze springing up, bore her close to a rock,
Which her boat ran against with a terrible shock!

The poor little fay tumbled off in her fear,
And now for her ride might have paid very dear,
Had she not chanced to fall on the back of a trout,
Who quickly with her to the bank swam right out.


All shiv'ring and dripping, she sighed out Oh dear!
Had I listened to mother I had not been here;"
So then, children, you'll find, as did this young fay,
'Tis best if you always your mother obey.

Walnut Hill.



THERE was a shout of joy, from an angel band,
and from its numbers one was chosen to walk the
earth as guide of an infant, whose life had but
then commenced.
The child slept in her cradle bed, with her
young mother watching over her, when the angel
guide drew near and gently fanned the infant with
his bright wings.
Neither mother nor child, could see the angel's
form; but the babe smiled in her sleep, and the
mother bent closer over her, and kissed the fair,
pure brow, and prayed to her Father in Heaven,
that the young child might ever be blessed with
His especial love and grace.


For a few years the child walked by her mo-
ther's side, led by the angel guide, and when the
" soft summer wind" lifted the curls of her hair,
or the sun shone brightly, or sweet flowers spread
themselves near her, the angel would bid the
child look out, on all these things, and the child
obeying would laugh gaily, and often would cry,
"Mother, dear Mother Life is sweet!"
A few more years, and still the angel walked
with the being he was sent on earth to watch over
and cherish; but the mother no longer walked
with her daughter. God had taken the mother to
Himself, and for a time, the daughter found it
hard to say, as in early years, Life is sweet!"
But the angel had taught her that it was best
that her mother should be at rest in her heavenly
home, and with faith in the love of God, and a
heart filled with thankfulness for the blessings
still left to her upon earth, she once more cried
"Life is sweet !"
But the little child had become a woman, and
there were hard paths to be trodden with her angel
guide, and less frequently the soft wind played
around her, and fewer sunbeams lit up the way,
and but rarely a single flower bloomed before her,
but still her trust was in God, and with the an-


gel's hand clasped in her own, she would exclaim
as of old "Life is sweet !"
But the woman grew older, and sickness weak-
ened her, and she was no longer able to walk forth
in the green fields and beneath the blue sky of
heaven; but in her sick-room, the angel still was
with her, and reminding her of her Father's love
and gentle care through all her early years, and
that He in His wisdom, now called upon her to
suffer, that thus, He might prove her patience and
her faith. She folded her hands and bowed her
head in prayer, able even in much sorrow to cry
"while my Father wills that I shall be on earth,
I still have power to say 'Life is sweet !'"
The summer sun was going down in the west,
and through the window of the chamber where
rested the dying woman, the sound of the village
church bell, came gently to her ear. It was the
Sabbath evening, and good men gathered in the
House of God, to praise Him for His mercy and
great love, to all the inhabitants of earth.
The dying woman could not go forth into the
temple of the Holy One, but the angel heard her
murmur, My life on earth is over, and the life
above, free from all sorrow is sweet !"
Once more, there was a shout of joy from an


angel band, and at this time the guide of the in-
fant girl, was welcomed back to his place among
the bright beings of Heaven.
She whom he had watched on earth stood also
in Heaven. Her earthly life was over, and her
new existence had commenced among the years of


OOK, Mother! What a pretty
I wish it was my own;
How I should like to take a
In her, to worlds unknown.

"HIer sails are spread, a right good breeze
Is speeding her away;
I wonder where ? to Indian seas,
Do tell me, mother, pray

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