Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Old Mother Hubbard
 House that Jack built
 Punch and Judy
 History of our pets
 Jack and the bean-stalk
 Little Totty
 Little dog Trusty
 Cherry orchard
 John Gilpin
 Sinbad the sailor
 Whittington and his cat
 History of Blue Beard
 Back Cover

Group Title: House that Jack built
Title: Aunt Mavor's picture story book
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00008504/00001
 Material Information
Title: Aunt Mavor's picture story book comprising: Old Mother Hubbard, House that Jack built, Punch and Judy, History of our pets, Jack and the bean stalk, Little Totty, Little dog Trusty, Cherry orchard, John Gilpin, Sinbad the sailor, Whittington and his cat, History of Blue Beard ; with ninty-six large coloured illustrations
Uniform Title: House that Jack built
Jack and the beanstalk
Alternate Title: Picture story book
Blue Beard
Physical Description: 1 v. (various paging) : ill. ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: G. Routledge & Co. ( Publisher )
Publisher: G. Routledge & Co.
Place of Publication: London
New York
Publication Date: 1857
Copyright Date: 1857
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Nursery rhymes -- 1857   ( rbgenr )
Children's stories -- 1857   ( lcsh )
Hand-colored illustrations -- 1857   ( local )
Bldn -- 1857
Genre: Nursery rhymes   ( rbgenr )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Hand-colored illustrations   ( local )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
General Note: Illustrations are hand-colored.
General Note: Pages are printed on one side of leaf only.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00008504
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA6768
notis - ALG2953
oclc - 39362002
alephbibnum - 002222707

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Title Page
        Title Page
    Old Mother Hubbard
        Page A-1
        Page A-2
        Page A-3
        Page A-4
        Page A-5
        Page A-6
        Page A-7
        Page A-8
    House that Jack built
        Page B-1
        Page B-2
        Page B-3
        Page B-4
        Page B-5
        Page B-6
        Page B-7
        Page B-8
    Punch and Judy
        Page C-1
        Page C-2
        Page C-3
        Page C-4
        Page C-5
        Page C-6
        Page C-7
        Page C-8
    History of our pets
        Page D-1
        Page D-2
        Page D-3
        Page D-4
        Page D-5
        Page D-6
        Page D-7
        Page D-8
    Jack and the bean-stalk
        Page E-1
        Page E-2
        Page E-3
        Page E-4
        Page E-5
        Page E-6
        Page E-7
        Page E-8
    Little Totty
        Page F-1
        Page F-2
        Page F-3
        Page F-4
        Page F-5
        Page F-6
        Page F-7
        Page F-8
    Little dog Trusty
        Page G-1
        Page G-2
        Page G-3
        Page G-4
        Page G-5
        Page G-6
        Page G-7
        Page G-8
    Cherry orchard
        Page H-1
        Page H-2
        Page H-3
        Page H-4
        Page H-5
        Page H-6
        Page H-7
        Page H-8
    John Gilpin
        Page I-1
        Page I-2
        Page I-3
        Page I-4
        Page I-5
        Page I-6
        Page I-7
        Page I-8
    Sinbad the sailor
        Page J-1
        Page J-2
        Page J-3
        Page J-4
        Page J-5
        Page J-6
        Page J-7
        Page J-8
    Whittington and his cat
        Page K-1
        Page K-2
        Page K-3
        Page K-4
        Page K-5
        Page K-6
        Page K-7
        Page K-8
    History of Blue Beard
        Page L-1
        Page L-2
        Page L-3
        Page L-4
        Page L-5
        Page L-6
        Page L-7
        Page L-8
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

The Raldmin L hnra
171 fT* ^"'*

-a- ~r. ~ Irr ,

7/ / /,~ Z











Old Moth-er Hub-bard
Went to the cup-board,
To get her poor Dog a bone;
But when she came there
The cup-board was bare,
And so the poor Dog had none.

She went to the Ba-ker's
To buy him some bread,
And when she came back
The poor Dog was dead.

She went to the Un-der-ta-ker's
To get him a cof-fin,
And when she came back
The Dog stood laugh-ing.

-" I

She took a clean dish
To get him some tripe,
And when she came back
He was smo-king a pipe.

She went to the Beer-shop
To fetch him some beer,
When she came back
The Dog sat on a chair.

She went to the Tav-ern
For white wine and red,
But when she came back
The Dog stood on his head.

She went to the Hat-ter's
To buy him a hat,
And when she came back
He was feed-ing the cat.

She went to the Bar-ber's
To buy him a wig,
And when she came back
He was dan-cing a jig.

She went to the Fruit-shop
To buy him some fruit,
When she came back
He was play-ing the flute.

She went to the Tai-lor's
To buy him a coat,
When she came back
He was ri-ding a goat.

She went to the Shoe-shop
To get him some shoes,
When she came back
He was read-ing the news.

She went to the Dra-per's
To get him some lin-en,
And when she came back
The Dog was spin-ning.

She went to the Ho-sier's
To buy him some hose,
And when she came back
He was dress-ed in his clothes.

The Dame made a curt-sey,
The Dog made a bow,
The Dame said, "Your ser-vant,"
The Dog said, "Bow-wow!"
This won-der-ful Dog
Was Dame Hub-bard's de-light;
He could sing, he could dance,
He could read, he could write.
She gave him rich dain-ties when-ever
he fed, [was dead.
And e-rect-ed a mon-u-ment when he

This is the house that Jack built.

I_ 1__ _ _

I M-i
; L-k~ ;4(k

This is the malt,
That lay in the house
that Jack built.

This is the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in Ihe house
that Jack built.


This is the cat,
That kill'd the rat,
That ae the malt,
That lay in the house that
Jack built,

This is the dog,
That worried the cat,
That kill'd the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that
Jack built.



This is the cow with the
crumpled horn,
That toss'd the dog,
That worried the cat,
That kill'd the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that
Jack built,

This is the maiden all forlorn,
That milk'd the cow with the
crumpled horn,
That toss'd the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that
Jack built.

_ _~_ __

/ ~

This is the man all tatter'd and torn,
That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn,
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,
That toss'd the dog,
That worried the cat,
That kill'd the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built;

- --~----------



LE~*~,~E~'~ Y.~~1F~Jt\~~p`:1

This is the priest all shaven and- shorn,
That married the man all tatter'd and torn,
That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn,
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,
That toss'd the dog,
That worried the cat,
That kill'd the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cock that crowd in the morn,
That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tatter'd and torn,
That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn,
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,
That toss'd the dog,
That worried the cat,
That kill'd the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the farmer who sow'd the corn,
That kept the cock that crowd in the morn,
That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tatter'd and torn,
That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn,
That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,
That toss'd the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.


AH! here is our friend Punch and his wife Ju-dy, gaz-ing with
ad-mi-ra-tion on their beau-ti-ful ba-by. Punch had just been
sing-ing his fa-vour-ite song of Doo-ty, doo-ty, doo-dle, dee-doo!
walk-ing a-bout and knock-ing his stick, when at last he call-ed
out, "Ju-dy! Ju-dy!" se-ve-ral times, and thump-ing on the
win-dow sill, as if to give more force to his de-mand. Pre-sent-ly,
Ju-dy pop-ped in. "Bring the ba-by," said Punch, in a tone
which sa-tis-fi-ed Ju-dy that he was in high good hu-mour. She
pop-ped out a-gain, and soon re-turn-ed with the pre-ci-ous ba-by.
"Oh, is-n't it a dar-ling!" said Punch, ca-ress-ing-ly. "It was a
dar-ling and a duck o' di-a-monds!" said Ju-dy, ad-dress-ing her-self
to the ba-by. I do de-clare, it is just like its mo-ther," said Punch,
" on-ly it is-n't quite so hand-some." Oh! you are a flat-ter-er,"
said Ju-dy; you know that e-ve-ry-bo-dy says it's the very i-mage
of its fa-ther." "Give it to me," said Punch, I'll nurse the lit-tle
dear while you get the din-ner rea-dy. There! go now; I know
how to manage. Do you think I can't nurse a baby? Hah, hah!"

1AA I~~"V"

Ju-dy did not half like giv-ing up the ba-by. Men are so clum-sy,"
she said. But Punch look-ed so coax-ing, and she was so pleas-ed with his
com-pli-ment, that she could not re-sist. Now mind and don't hurt it,
Punch," said she; "and, for your life, don't let it fall!" "Hah! hah!" said
Punch; I hurt a ba-by, in-deed! Doo-tydoo-ty, doo-dle, dee-doo! Doo-ty,
doo-ty, doo-ty, doo-ty!" and on he went march-ing a-bout the room,
dan-cing and hug-ging his ba-by in a style that would have fright-en-ed
Ju-dy, had she been pre-3ent. At last he gave it an un-luc-ky toss, and
be-fore he could catch it in his arms the poor ba-by came down head fore-most
on the floor, with a loud knock. Punch took it up, and cud-dled it; but the
ba-by did not move, nor cry; it was quite dead! Oh dear! oh dear!" said
Punch; "oh dear! oh dear 1 Ju-dy! Ju-dy! Doc-tor! Doc-tor !" he cri-ed,
at the top of his voice. In came Ju-dy, in great haste, and ran to the ba-by.
When she saw it was dead, she be-gan to cry and scream; then, shak-ing her
head at Punch,-"I told you so," she ex-claim-ed, "I knew you would!" and
she ran out of the room with the ba-by in her arms.

In she came, a mo-ment af-ter, with a stick, and laid it a-bout Punch's
head with such right good will that, af-ter dodg-ing for a-while to the right
and the left, he at last fell flat on the floor, where Ju-dy con-ti-nu-ed to beat
him till she was al-most tir-ed. Punch bore it all ve-ry pa-ti-ent-ly for a time;
at last he jump-ed up, and snatch-ing a-way the stick, he gave poor Ju-dy
such a ter-ri-ble beat-ing that at last she fell dead at his feet. Oh dear! oh
dear!" he said. "Oh! dear! oh! dear! I feel ve-ry ill. Doc-tor! Doc-tor!
Doc--tor, I shall die;" and he laid him-self down flat up-on the floor. In
came the Doc-tor, with a slow step and so-lemn air:-"What's the mat-ter,
Mr. Punch! Sit up, and let me feel your pulse, sir. Yes, you are ve-ry ill,
I see; I must send you a pill, sir." I shan't take it," says Punch. Oh! but
you must, sir! if you do not, you'll die!" "I don't care for that," said Punch,
"I shan't take it." "But I in-sist up-on it, sir; you must take it, Mr. Punch."
"But I wont take it, Mr. Doc-tor; you may take it your-self." And jump-
ing up, he seiz-ed his stick, and be-la-bour-ed the poor Doc-tor at such a rate
that he was ve-ry glad to es-cape with his life.

' "^'--

,. i

Doo-ty, doo-ty, doo-dle, dee-doo!" said Punch, as he mar-ched off
af-ter set-tling the Doc-tor. Pre-sent-ly, a great knock-ing at the door was
heard. Who's there?" said Punch. "It's me," said a gruff voice. "And
who are you?" said Punch. "O-pen the door, I tell you." "I shan't, I
tell you," said Punch. "Then I'll break it o-pen." And in-stant-ly the
door flew o-pen, and in walk-ed the 'Pa-dle of the Pa-risl! "Hol-loa!
old fel-low," said Punch; "who are you?" "I am the Bea-dle of the
Pa-rish." "And what do you want here?" said Punch. "I come to take
you to pri-son." "What for?" For kil-ling your wife, sir!" "I shan't go?"
" But you must." But I wont." I tell you, you must." I tell you, I
wont." But you shall," said the con-sta-ble, giy-ing him a blow with his
stick a-cross the head. But I shan't," said Punch, re-turn-ing the com-pli-
ment. You shall." I shan't." "You shall." "I shan't." And so they
went on, blow fol-low-ing blow in quick suc-ces-sion, till down went the poor
con-sta-ble at last, and Punch march-ed a-bout in tri-umph with his Doo-ty,
doo-ty, doo-dle, dee-doo!"

IVV 11'"1 1' j I .....r"' III') ])I .. 1*"'' IJ` - 1 ''j Ill- .111 '' l llll, 11 11

Then Mr. Mer-ri-man, the co-me-di-an, came in to see Punch,
and hear the news; and Punch told him, with great glee, how he
had set-tled the Bea-dle and the Doc-tor; but he was not quite so
gay when he came to poor Ju-dy and the ba-by. "I say, friend
Punch," says Mr. Mer-ri-man, you'll swing for this, I'm think-ing."
"No I shan't, Jack," said Punch. You will though, old fel-low,
take my word for it." And you take that," said Punch, aim-ing a
blow at Jack's head. But Jack bob-bed down and let the blow pass;
then look-ed up grin-ning at Punch, with his hands still stuck in
his poc-kets, as much as to say, "It's no use, old boy, you can't
hit me, cle-ver as you are." Punch tri-ed a-gain and a-gain, but
all in vain; Jack bob-bed and bob-bed so dex-te-rous-ly, that
Punch could not come near him. Then he po-ked at him with his
stick, but still to no pur-pose; Jack jump-ed a-side so nim-bly that
Punch only knocked himself and his stick against the wall.



At last, Mr. Mer-ri-man thought he would call in his dog.- "Toby!
To-by!" he cri-ed. To-by came trot-ting in. Oh! what a pret-ty dog!"
said Punch; "that's my dog." No it is-n't," said Jack; it's liy dog."
"I tell you it's my dog," said Punch. "What non-sense, Punch," says
Mer-ri-man; "see how he'll come to me:-To-by! To-by!" In-stant-ly
To-by went to his mas-ter. That's a good dog!" says Jack, pat-ting him.
"And see how he'll come to me, now," said Punch. To-by! To-by! come
a-long, To-by!" he said, put-ting out his hand. Bow wow!" said To-by,
snap-ping at him. Punch drew back, fright-en-ed, while Jack stood sha-king
his sides with laugh-ter. Poor To-by!" said Punch, going over to the dog,
and try-ing to coax him. To-by jump-ed up and caught him by the nose.
Punch roar-ed out "Mur-der! mur-der!" while Jack, snatch-ing his stick,
ithump-ed a-way at his head, grin-ning all the while. Punch was fair-ly
caught; but as Jack on-ly want-ed some fun, he did not hit too hard, and
when he thought he had giv-en him e-nough, he threw down his stick and
ran off.

Ljj .4. Vf

A' N _




P rr~

'4/1 ii


It [I IBl -


(III 1 I III l"_ldlll
As soon as Jack Mer-ri-man had gone out, Punch ma-na-ged to get his
nose a-way from,To-by, and'ran for his stick. "Now, Mas-ter To-by," he
said, as he en-ter-ed, "I'll teach you to bite peo-ple's noses!" But To-by
look-ed at him with-out mo-ving. Punch came near-er; To-by on-ly
growl-ed a lit-tle. Punch drew back, he had no fan-cy for an-o-ther bite; so
he be-gan to think it would be bet-ter to try and be friends with To-by.
Just then, Jack Mer-ri-man pop-ped in a-gain, and Punch knew bet-ter than
to strike'him in To-by's pre-sence, so he laid down his stick. "I told you,
Punch, he was my dog," said Jack, grin-ning. No, he's my dog, I tell
you," said the ob-sti-nate Punch. Jack went up and pat-ted To-by, who
wag-ged his tail and look-ed quite pleas-ed; but e-ve-ry time Punch ap-
proach-ed him he growl-ed, which made his mas-ter al-most die with
laugh-ter. At last Jack, lift-ing up the dog by his fore legs, said, "Come
a-long, To-by!" and was pre-pa-ring to car-ry him a-way, when Punch,
seiz-ing To-by's hind legs, cried out, He's my d g, he's my dog;" so they
pull-ed poor To-by back-wards and for-wards, rolnd and round, a-gain and
a-gain, till at last all three of them tum-bled out at the door, and roll-ed
down stairs.




"w a"


__ __t -- -7

But Punch was not to be let off as ea-si-ly as he thought, for kill-ing'his poor
wife. He had no soon-er re-co-ver-ed from his tum-ble, and was be-gin-ning to laugh
and to sing as u-su-al, when a fright-ful crea-ture en-ter-ed his room: "Hol-loa!"
said Punch, who on earth are you?" I'm Jack Ketch, come to hang you for the
mur-der of your wife." Then, take that," said Punch, pok-ing at him with his
stick, and tum-bling him o-ver. But it was no use; Jacy Ketch went a-way, and
Foon re-turn-ed with two o-ther men, and Punch was lok-ed up safe-ly in pri-son.
Then they brought out the gal-lows, and e-rect-ed it in front of the pri-son, and
Punch was led out to be hang-ed. Put your head in here," said Jack Ketch,
get-ting his rope in or-der. "Where?" said Punch. "Here," said Jack Ketch.
Punch stoop-ed his head, but took care to a-void the noose. "That wont do,"
said Jack Ketch; "more to the right." -Punch went just as far on the o-ther
side. Then he went too high, then too low, but he al-ways ma-na-ged to es-cape
the noose. "You stu-pid fel-low!" said Jack Ketch. Well, you show me how,"
said Punch, "I can't do it." Put your head in here, this way, you goose," said
the hang-man. When Punch saw Jack's head fair-ly in the noose, he nim-bly
pull-ed the rope tight a-bout his neck, and swung him off, shout-ing, Hur-rah!
hur-rah! Jack Ketch is dead; no more hang-ing! Hur-rah! hur-rah! Doo-ty,
doo-ty, doo-dle, dee-doo! Doo-ty, doo-ty, doo-ty, doo-ty! And so Punch tri-
umph-ed o-ver friends and foes, and still lives to a-muse us with his drol-le-ries.


.. .. -..

I T-

THIS is Pol-ly's own cat, Top-sy. She looks ve-ry
prim and quiet; but if you play with her, you will find she
is a ve-ry mer-ry lit-tle cat. She will jump up-on the ta-ble
at break-fast, and run off with Pol-ly's toast; and if
mam-ma be wri-ting a let-ter, Top-sy will steal soft-ly
a-long the arm of the so-fa, and rub her paw o-ver the
last word mam-ma has writ-ten, and make a great blot
in the let-ter. Some-times she will sit as still as a mouse
on Un-cle Tom's shoul-der while he is read-ing, and look
so grave-ly on the book that you might think she was
read-ing too: but she is not quite wise e-nough for that.

Car-lo is Har-ry's dog, and a ve-ry good dog he is.
If you were to throw a stone twen-ty times in-to the
foam-ing sea, Car-lo would plunge in, with-out a-ny fear,
and bring the ve-ry same stone out to you. And if
Har-ry lo-ses his ball a-mong the long grass, Car-lo brings
it in a mi-nute. And he can do bet-ter things than these,
for one day in win-ter, when the ri-ver was fro-zen, and
Har-ry was ska-ting on it ve-ry nice-ly, he came to a
place where the ice was thin, for a hole had been bro-ken
the day be-fore, and there had not been time for it to get
hard a-gain. Poor Har-ry broke through the ice and
sank down in the wa-ter; he would have been drown-ed,
but Car-lo di-ved down, and brought him out safe. No
won-der Car-lo is a pet.

v "
',- s



These pi-geons be-long to lit-tie Pol-ly. They have
a ve-ry pret-ty house to live in, and Pol-ly feeds them
e-ve-ry morn-ing with bar-ley or peas. When they see
her come with her lit-tle bas-ket, they all fly down from
the roof of the dove-cot, and will hop round her, perch
on her shoul-der, and eat from her hand. But if they
see Top-sy steal-ing un-der the trees, or Car-lo run-ning
o-ver the grass-plot, a-way they all fly. The pi-geons
trust Pol-ly, but they will not trust sly puss, nor rough
Car-lo. Pret-ty, shy pets are Pol-ly's pi-geons!

__~_~~~ _- ___(_13_Cl______ly__-~PT_~i-


Rab-bits are pret-ty mild crea-tures. S~ne-times, they
live on moors, where they hide in bur-rows, which are holes
in the ground, then they run a-bout the fields and eat the
green corn, and tur-nip tops, and some-times in win-ter
are ve-ry hun-gry. But Har-ry's tame rab-bits have a
warm house, and plen-ty of clean straw, and fresh food
e-ve-ry day, and are as well off as rab-bits can be that
are in pri-son. Har-ry goes in-to the fields to pick
clo-ver and rib grass for them, the gar-den-er gives him
let-tuce and cab-bage leaves; and he some-times gives
them dry corn, for he likes them to have a change
of food. The large, fine old rab-bit is call-ed Bun-ny.
She is a great pet.

You see here Pol-ly and her pet lamb. The mo-ther
died in the cold wet wea-ther in spring, and the poor
lit-tle lamb would have died too, but it was brought
in-to the house and gi-ven to Pol-ly, who fed it with
warm milk through the spout of her doll's tea-pot e-ve-ry
day, till it grew so big that she u-sed to bring it grass
to eat. Pol-ly call-ed her pet lamb Nan, and there
ne-ver was such a pet lamb. It fol-low-ed Pol-ly up
stairs to the nur-se-ry, and down to the school-room, and
round the fields when she walk-ed out; and Pol-ly said,
" If Nan did grow to be a great sheep, she should ne-ver
be kill-ed for nmut-ton."

This is the rough po-ny Pa-pa bought at the fair, as
a pre-sent for Har-ry, be-cause he was a good boy, and
al-ways did as he was bid, and tri-ed ti< learn all his
les-sons well. John will rub it down, and train it to be
gen-tle, and then Har-ry is to ride with Pa-pa e-ve-ry
day. He calls his po-ny Al-ma, be-cause he got it on
the ve-ry day when the great bat-tie of Al-ma was fought.
But Pa-pa says, If Po-ny Al-ma had been in that bat-tie,
he would not have been of a-ny use; he is no sol-dier's
horse, but a ve-ry nice home pet."



Here are a par-ty of charm-ing sing-ing Birds! There
is the Thrush, which o-pens his wide beak and sings so
loud that when he is shut up in a cage he makes too
much noise to be kept in the house. The Black-bird
has a sweet voice, but he is so ve-ry fond of hop-ping
a-bout in the gar-den, and peck-ing a ripe cher-ry for
his break-fast, that it would be a pi-ty to put him in a
cage. The Lark loves to rise to the sky when he sings
his morn-ing hymn, and would soon die if he were in
pri-son. But the lit-tie bright Gold-finch is ve-ry hap-py
in his cage, and Har-ry and Pol-ly say they will choose
the sweet sing-ing Gol-dy for their pet bird.



'------ -------------- --^-^I --- ^..._----- -1-
Lit-tle Pol-ly went e-ve-ry morn-ing to the Poul-try
yard to see the Poul-try wo-man feed the fowls. Her
mam-ma had gi-ven her a Cock and a Hep~, and a fine
brood of chick-ens, to be her own. She fe\ them her-self,
and they were al-ways rea-dy to come round her when
they heard her say, Chuck! chuck! Pol-ly was ne-ver
a-fraid of the fine, bold Cock, e-ven when he crow-ed so
loud you might have heard him a mile off. He was ve-ry
fierce if a-ny o-ther cock came near his fa-mi-ly, but he
was quite tame with Pol-ly, and bow-ed like a gen-tle-man
when she gave him his bar-ley.


AN i-dle, care-less boy was Jack, and though his fath-er was
dead, and his moth-er was ve-ry poor, he did not like to work,
so at last they had no mon-ey left to buy bread; they had
noth-ing but the cow. Then Jack's moth-er sent him to the
mar-ket to sell the cow. But as he went he met a n. n who
had some pret-ty beans in his hand, which he stop-ped, look
at The man said, Give me the ug-ly white cow, and you
shall have the beans." Thank you, sir," said Jack, and
ran home to show his moth-er how well he had sold the cow.
She was ve-ry an-gry, and threw the beans in-to the gar-den,
and sat down to cry, for she had no fire, nor bread.



Jack had to go to bed with-out sup-per; he woke late next
morn-ing, and thought his win-dow was dark, ari1 when he
look-ed out, he saw that all the beans had taken root in the
gar-den, and had grown up and twist-ed like a'lad-der, which
seem-ed to reach to the sky. Jack ran down to the gar-den,
and be-gan to climb, though his moth-er cri-ed out to him to
stop, and threw her shoes at him. He did not mind her at
all, but went on, and on, a-bove the houses, a-bove the trees,
a-bove the stee-ples, till he came to a strange land. Then
he got off the bean-stalk, to try and find a house where he
might beg a piece of bread.

As he was look-ing round, he saw a pret-ty lit-tle fai-ry
com-ing with a long wand, who told him he must go straight
on till he came to a large house, where a fierce gi-ant liv-ed.
She said this gi-ant had kill-ed Jack's fath-er, and kept all
his mon-ey, and that Jack must be ve-ry brave, and must
kill the wick-ed gi-ant, and get all the mon-ey back for his
poor moth-er. Jack thought it would be hard to kill a
gi-ant, but he would try, so he went on till he met the
gi-ant's wife. He ask-ed for a bit of bread, and she gave
him some, for she was not a bad wo-man; and when she
heard the gi-ant com-ing, she hid Jack in the ov-en for fear
the gi-ant should eat him,

The gi-ant was ve-ry cross, he want-ed his sup-per, and
said he smelt fresh meat; but his wife said he smelt the
peo-ple who were shut up in the cel-lar to fat-ten. After he
had eat as much sup-per as would have ser-ved ten men, he
call-ed for his hen. Then a pret-ty lit-tle hen step-ped out
of a bas-ket, and ev-e-ry time the gi-ant said Lay," it laid
a gold-en egg. Jack thought this hen must have been his
fath-er's, and when the gi-ant was ti-red of see-ing the hen
lay gold-en eggs, and fell as-leep, he stole out of the ov-en,
took up the hen, and ran as fast as he could to the bean-
stalk. You may be sure he made haste to slide down, and
ve-ry glad his moth-er was to see him and the hen. Then
they sold the gold-en eggs, and bought many nice things
with the mon-ey.


But Jack said he must kill the gi-ant; so he stain-ed his
face with wal-nut juice, and put on oth-er clothes, and set
out up the bean-stalk again. He went to beg of the gi-ant's
wife, but she was a long time be-fore she would let him in.
At last she took him to the kit-chen, gave him some plum
tart and milk, and let him sleep in a clo-set where the pans
were kept. When the gi-ant came in, he said he smelt fresh
meat; but his wife said it was on-ly a dead horse, and she
gave him a large loaf and a whole cheese and a pail full of
beer for his sup-per. When he had done, he took out his
mon-ey bags, and count-ed his mon-ey till he fell as-leep.
Then Jack came out on tip-toe, lif-ted up the hea-vy bags,
and made haste to the bean-stalk, where he was glad to let
the bags slide down first, and then to slide af-ter them. Now
they were rich, for it was their own mon-ey, and tJack's
moth-er liv-ed like a la-dy.

--~i~-- ---=-~---C_

Still Jack did not for-get what the Fai-ry had told him to
do, so he climb-ed up the bean-stalk once more, and went
on to the house of the gi-ant. But he tri-ed a long time
be-fore the old wo-man would let him in, for she said her
hus-band had been rob-bed by beg-gar boys. But, in the
end, she gave him a cake, and, be-fore the gi-ant came in,
hid him in a copper, and set a round of beef on the ta-ble to
stop her hus-band from look-ing for fresh meat. He ate all
the beef, and drank so much rum that he could not stand,
but lay back, and call-ed for his harp. His wife brought
the harp, which was sil-ver, with gold-en strings, and when
the gi-ant said, Play," it play-ed the sweet-est mu-sic you
ever heard. Then Jack said, I will have the harp," and
as soon as the gi-ant began to snore, he took up the harp,
and ran off.

But the harp was a Fai-ry, and it call-ed out "Mas-ter!

Mas-ter!" till the gi-ant awoke, and ran af-ter the boy, but
for all his long strides, he was so drunk that Jack got to the
bean-stalk first, and you may be sure he was not long in
com-ing down. Then the gi-ant be-gan to come down af-ter
him, and when Jack's moth-er saw the wick-ed wretch, she

cried out for fear; but Jack said "Nev-er fear, moth-er, but
bring me an axe." His moth-er made great haste to bring
the axe; then Jack, who was now grown a stout lad, be-gan
to hew down the bean-stalk.

s~f~ii~ ~ ~4~-.
__ ~S~C-c~i-~

When the last bean-stalk was cut through, Jack and his
moth-er ran a good way off, and they saw the gi-ant fall down
from a great height to the ground, which* shook with his
weight, and when they went up they found he was quite
dead. Then the good Fai-ry came and touch-ed the bean-
stalk with her wand, and it was car-ried a-way by the wind,
which Jack's moth-er was very glad of. Then she gave them
all their rich-es that the gi-ant had sto-len, but Jack gave
the gi-ant's kind wife as much as she lik-ed, and he grew up
after this to be a ve-ry good boy, and was nev-er more i-dle
or care-less.


LIT-TLE Tot-ty was the sweet-est, ti-ny, fai-ry babe
you e-ver saw. She was on-ly an inch high; her cra-dle
was an al-mond shell, her bed was made of blue vi-o-lets,
and the co-ver was a rose leaf. All day long she sail-ed
a-bout, seat-ed on a tu-lip leaf, in a pret-ty chi-na bowl,
fill-ed with wa-ter, with flow-ers round the edge. She
sail-ed round and round, and kiss-ed all the flow-ers in
turn, which made them ve-ry glad, and they all held up
their bright heads when she came near to them. How
hap-py lit-tle Tot-ty was, and might have been al-ways
so, but for a vul-gar old Toad!

This fright-ful Toad had a cross, ug-ly dunce of a son,
who had on-ly one eye, and who ne-ver could be taught
to say any word, but Cro-ag! cro-ag! So his mo-ther
thought she would steal a-way lit-tle Tot-ty to play with
her stu-pid son, and per-haps he might learn to be-have
as well as she did. One night old Mo-ther Toad got
in-to the house by a bro-ken win-dow, took up Tot-ty in
her pret-ty lit-tle cra-die, and hop-ped off to the brook
in the gar-den. Then she call-ed her son, and said,
" See what a nice lit-tle girl I have brought to play with
you." But he on-ly said, Cro-ag! cro-ag!

So Tot-ty's little cra-dle was left a-mong the reeds
and grass that grew in the brook, and all the pret-ty
fish-es came round her, and put up their heads to look at
her, and to ask her what was the mat-ter, that she look-ed
so ve-ry sad. Then Tot-ty told the fish-es that she had
no one to play with but an ug-ly, stu-pid toad, who could
say no-thing but Cro-ag! cro-ag! and she did not like
to live with toads. The fish-es were sor-ry for her, and
they said, "Ne-ver mind, Tot-ty, we will help you,
when old Mo-ther Toad is out of the way."

- I


Now when night came, the toads hung Tot-ty's bed
to the broad leaf of a wa-ter li-ly, and the sly lit-tie
fish-es be-gan to bite and nib-ble the stalk of the Li-ly
with their sharp teeth, till they cut it through, and a-way
it float-ed down the wa-ter with Tot-ty, past towns, and
brid-ges, and woods; and the birds and* the bees were
glad to see the pret-ty la-dy, and fed her with ho-ney and
the dew of the rose. Then she sat a-mong the grass and
the flow-ers all day in the sweet sum-mer sun, and she
said, "How kind the fish-es were to get me a-way from
the ug-ly toads! I am so hap-py with the birds and
flow-ers !"

But the sum-mer days went a-way, and cold, cold
win-ter came. There were no flow-ers now to shel-ter
lit-tle Tot-ty, nor any ho-ney or sweet dew to feed on;
and she felt ve-ry cold on fros-ty nights, with on-ly a dry
rose leaf to co-ver her. So she crept un-der the dry
grass till she came to the door of a Field Mouse; and
she ask-ed the mas-ter to be so kind as to give her half a
bar-ley-corn to eat, for she was ve-ry hun-gry. The
Mouse was ve-ry rich, he had a cell full of corn; and he
was so po-lite as to ask Tot-ty to dine with him, and af-ter
din-ner he told her she might stay all the win-ter, and
be his ser-vant. Tot-ty said, "Thank you, sir;" for his
house was ve-ry warm in the cold wea-ther.

Now one day an old black Mole came to dine with
Mr. Mouse. He was ve-ry ug-ly, and al-most blind.
He did not like the sun, nor the flow-ers, nor the green
fields; and Tot-ty thought he was ve-ry stu-pid. Af-ter
din-ner, he asked her to sing; and when she sung "La-dy
bird, la-dy-bird, fly a-way home!" he was so pleas-ed,
that he made her a ve-ry low bow, and want-ed her to
go and live with him in his house un-der the ground.
Tot-ty said, "No," and was ve-ry much a-fraid; but
Mr. Mouse said, You are ve-ry kind, Mr. Mole: Tot-ty
will not leave me; but we will come and dine with you."

The road to Mr. Mole's house was all un-der the ground,
and as they went, Tot-ty saw a Swal-low ly-ing dead. Its
smooth wings were close to its side, and its feet were hid
in its fea-thers; and Tot-ty was sure the Swal-low had
died of cold. She could not help cry-ing, for she lov-ed
all birds; and she kiss-ed its shut eyes, and put her warm
cheek on its white breast. Then she heard its heart beat,
and she knew the Swal-low was not dead, but on-ly in its
win-ter sleep. So she came e-ve-ry day to wet its beak
with melt-ed snow, till the sun warm-ed the ground, and
the flow-ers lift-ed up their heads; and the Swal-low
woke, and be-gan to say, "Twit twit !"

Then, af-ter Tot-ty had said Good-bye to Mr. Mouse
and Mr. Mole, the Swal-low took her on its back, and
a-way they flew, o-ver woods, and hills, and seas, till they
came to a land of sun-shine and flow-ers, and birds as
bright and pret-ty as flow-ers; and there the Swal-low had
a nice nest a-mong the vine leaves that grew o-ver a tall
pil-lar. But Tot-ty did not stay in the Swal-low's nest;
for one day she saw a charm-ing lit-tle man, no big-ger
than her-self, come out of a sweet rose, which was his
house. Ile was ve-ry hand-some; he had sil-ver wings, and
a gold-en crown on his head. He was the King of the
Ro-ses, and he made Tot-ty his queen, and she liv-ed
with him in the rose; but she ne-ver for-got her friend
the Swal-low, and al-ways look-ed out of the rose when
she heard him twit-ter.


;U----~i=- ~-I---~~


:, c~
.G '
r.l. I'S

TRUS-TY was a pret-ty, play-ful lit-tle dog, and Frank and
Ro-bert were ve-ry fond of him. Frank and Ro-bert were two
lit-tle boys, a-bout eight years old. When-e-ver Frank did any-
thing wrong, he al-ways told his fa-ther and mo-ther of it, and
when he was ask-ed a-bout any-thing which he had done or said,
he al-ways told the truth, so that e-ve-ry one who knew him
be-liev-ed him; but no-bo-dy who knew his bro-ther Ro-bert, be-
liev-ed a word he said, be-cause he used to tell false-hoods; when
he did any-thing wrong, he ne-ver ran to his fa-ther and mo-ther
to tell them of it; but if ask-ed a-bout it, he de-ni-ed it, and said
he had not done the things which he had done. The rea-son that
Ro-bert did not tell the truth was be-cause he was afraid of
be-ing pu-nish-ed for his faults if he con-fess-ed them. He was a
cow-ard, and could not bear the least pain; but Frank was a
brave boy, and could bear to be pu-nish-ed for his lit-tle faults;
his mo-ther ne-ver pu-nish-ed him so much for such lit-tle faults
as she did Ro-bert for the false-hoods which he told and which
she found out af-ter-wards. I

One e-ven-ing these two lit-tle boys were play-ing to-ge-ther
in a room by them-selves ; their mo-ther was i-ron-ing in the room
next to them, and their fa-ther was out at work in the fields;
Trus-ty was ly-ing by the fire-side a-sleep, and there was a ba-sin
of milk on the floor, in-tend-ed for their sup-per.
"Come," said Ro-bert to Frank, "there's Trus-ty by the fire
a-sleep, let us go and wake him, and he will play with us."
Oh yes do let us," said Frank ; so they both ran to the hearth
to a-wa-ken the dog, and then they all three romp-ed to-ge-ther;
and Frank held up his hands and taught Trus-ty to jump, and
Ro-bert threw a ball a-bout and taught him to bring it to him.
As they were thus play-ing, they for-got the milk which was
stand-ing be-hind them, and by ac-ci-dent kick-ed the ba-sin
with their feet and threw it o-ver; the ba-sin broke, and all the
milk ran o-ver the hearth and about the floor. When they saw
this they were sor-ry and fright-en-ed, and did not know what to
do. They stood for some time look-ing at the bro-ken ba-sin with-
out speak-ing.

At last Ro-bert said, "So we shall
to-night;" and he sigh-ed.
-"No milk for sup-per! Why not?"
more milk in the house ?"
"Yes; but we shall have none of it,
last Mon-day, when we threw down the

have no milk for sup-per

said Frank; "is there no

for don't you re-mem-ber
milk, my mo-ther said we

were ve-ry care-less, and that the next time we did so, we should
have no more; and this is the next time, so we shall have no milk
for sup-per to-night."
"Well, then," said Frank, "we must do with-out it, that's all;
we will take more care an-o-ther time; there's no great harm
done; come, let's run and tell mo-ther; you know she al-ways bid
us tell her di-rect-ly when we broke any-thing; so come a-long,"
said he, tak-ing hold of his bro-ther's hand.
"I will come pre-sent-ly," said Ro-bert; "don't be in such a
hurry, Frank, can't you stay a mi-nute?"

Frank stay-ed a lit-tle while, and then said, "Come now, Ro-bert,
come at once." But Ro-bert an-swer-ed, pull-ing his bro-ther a-way
from the door which he had reach-ed, Stay a lit-tle lon-ger, I
dare not go yet, I am a-fraid."
"But the lon-ger he stay-ed the more un-will-ing he was to
go; at last he cri-ed, I won't go at all; can't you go by your-self,
Frank ?"
"Yes!" said Frank, "I'm not a-fraid to go by my-self, I only
wait-ed for you out of good na-ture, be-cause I thought you'd like
to tell the truth too."
"Yes, so I will; I mean to tell the truth when I'm ask-ed, but
I need not go now, when I don't choose it; and why need you go
ei-ther. Can't you wait here? sure-ly my mo-ther can see the milk
when she comes in."
Frank said no more; but as his bro-ther would not come, he
went with-out him. Not find-ing his mo-ther in the next room, he
thought she must be in the gar-den, so he' went there.

Now, whilst Frank was gone, Ro-bert was think-ing of what
ex-cu-ses to make to his mo-ther, and he said to him-self, "If
Frank and I were both to say we did not up-set the ba-sin, she
would be-lieve us. I wish Frank hadn't gone to tell her."
Just as he had said this, he heard his mo-ther com-ing down
stairs. Oh oh !" thought he, "my mo-ther was not in the gar-
den, and Frank can't have met her. So now I may say what I
When his mo-ther came in-to the room, and saw the mis-chief
that was done, she cri-ed, "What a piece of work is here! who
did this, Ro-bert ?"
"I don't know, mo-ther," said Ro-bert, in a very low voice.
"You don't know, Ro-bert? tell me the truth; I shan't be an-gry,
child. You will only lose your milk at sup-per; and as for the
ba-sin, I would ra-ther have you break all the ba-sins in the house
than tell me one false-hood. So I ask you, Ro-bert, did you break
the ba-sin?"

"No, mo-ther !" said Ro-bert, blush-ing.
"Then where's Frank; did he do it ?"-" No, mo-ther !"
Then how was the ba-sin thrown down ? did the dog do it ?"-
"Yes," said this wick-ed boy.
"Trus-ty! Trus-ty!" said the mo-ther, turn ing round; Trus-ty
jump-ed up and came to her. "Fie! fie! Trus-ty!" she said,
point-ing to the milk. "Get me a switch out of the gar-den, Ro-bert;
Trus-ty must be beat for this."
Ro-bert ran for the switch, and in the gar-den he met his bro-
ther, and told him all he had said, beg-ging him to say the same
as he had done.
"No I will not tell a false-hood," said Frank; "Trus-ty did
not throw down the milk, and he shan't be beat."
They both ran to the house; Ro-bert got there first, and lock-ed
the door, that Frank might not come in; then he gave the switch
to his mo-ther. Poor Trus-ty look-ed up as it was lift-ed o-ver his
head, but he could not speak to tell the truth.

Just as the blow was fall-ing, Frank's voice was heard at the
win-dow. "Stop! stop! mo-ther," he cri-ed, as loud as he could
call; "Trus-ty did not do it, Ro-bert and I did it, but don't beat
"Let us in," cri-ed an-o-ther voice, which Ro-bert knew
to be his fa-ther's, and he turn-ed as pale as ash-es, for his fa-ther
al-ways whip-ped him when he caught him in a false-hood.
"What's all this?" cri-ed the fa-ther when the door was o-pen-ed
to him. The mo-ther told him all that had hap-pen-ed.
"Where's the switch with which you were go-ing to beat
Trus-ty?" said the fa-ther.
Then Ro-bert, who saw what was com-ing, fell up-on his knees,
and cri-ed for mer-cy, say-ing, "For-give me this time, and I will
ne-ver tell a false-hood a-gain."
But his fa-ther said, "I will whip you now, and then I hope
you will not." So Ro-bert was whip-ped till he cri-ed so loud with
pain that the whole neigh-bour-hood could hear him.

"There !" said his fa-ther, when he had done, "now go to bed,
and let that be a les-son to you." Then turn-ing to Frank, he said,
"Come here, and shake hands with me, Frank; you will have no milk
for sup-per, but that does not sig-ni-fy; you have told the truth,
and e-ve-ry one is pleas-ed with you. And now I will give you
the lit-tle dog Trus-ty to be your own. You shall feed him, and
take care of him, and he shall be your own dog. You have sa-ved
him a beat-ing, and I'll an-swer for it you'll be a good mas-ter to
him. Trus-ty, Trus-ty, come here."
Trus-ty came; then Frank's fa-ther took off Trus-ty's col-lar,
and said, "To-mor-row I'll go to the bra-zi-er's and get a new
col-lar for your dog, and he shall al-ways be called after you,
Frank! And, wife, when-e-ver any of the neigh-bours' chil-dren
ask you why Trus-ty is to be call-ed Frank, tell them this sto-ry of
our two boys, and let them know the dif-fer-ence be-tween a li-ar
and a boy of truth.

.. ,- j l'- -- .-
..... _
.+' +- < L :, '. ' ; ,, ,.+ "" ,

MA-RI-AN-NE was a lit-tle girl a-bout eight years old: she was re-
mark-a-bly good tem-per-ed, kind, and o-be-di-ent, and could bear to be dis-
ap-point-ed, or con-tra-dict-ed, or blam-ed, with-out be-com-ing sul-len, or
an-gry, or peev-ish. She had a cou-sin a year young-er than her-self, who
was na-med Ow-en, a cross ill-tem-per-ed boy, who was al-ways cry-ing or
pout-ing a-bout some tri-fle or o-ther, or quar-rel-ling with his com-pa-ni-ons,
and trv-i in to force them to yield to his hu-mours.
One fine sum-mer's e-ven-ing, the cou-sins with their lit-tle friends set
out to go to school, which was a-bout a mile from their home. Ma-ri-an-ne
and most of the o-ther chil-dren li-ked to go by the lane, be-cause they could
ga-ther the pret-ty flow-ers which grew on the banks and in the hed-ges, but
Ow-en pre-fer-red the high-road, be-cause he could see the carts, and the
car-ria-ges, and the horse-men that oc-ca-si-on-al-ly pass-ed, and this time he
in-sist-ed that they should go by the road. But we have been by the road
for se-ve-ral days to please you," said Ma-ri-an-ne, and now we want to go
by the lane to ga-ther some flow-ers for our Dame." "I don't care for that,"
said Ow-en; you must go my way, Ma-ri-an-ne." Oh! you should not say
must," said Ma-ri-an-ne, in a gen-tle tone.


: II

j,-r _F~7~1

;Fi-C -r

"No, in-deed," cri-ed one of her com-pa-ni-ons, "'nor yet look so cross;
that's not the way to make us do what he wants; be-sides, he ne-ver does any-
thing we want." Ow-en now grew quite an-gry. Then Ma-ri-an-ne said to
the o-thers, Let us do what he asks this once; we can go by the road, and
come back by the lane in the cool of the e-ven-ing." To please Ma-ri-an-ne
they all a-greed to this. Still Ow-en was not sa-tis-fi-ed, but walk-ed on
kick-ing up the dust with his feet, say-ing, I'm sure it's much plea-siln-tr1
here than in the lane, is it not, Ma-ri-an-ne ?" Ma-ri-an-ne could not say
what she did not think, so Ow-en went on kick-ing up the dust more and
more. Do not make such a dust, dear Ow-en," said she at last; see how
you have co-ver-ed my shoes and clean stock-ings." Then say it is plea-
sant-er here than in the lane." "I can-not say that, be-cause I do not think
so, Ow-en." Then I'll make you think so, and say so, too," said this per-
verse lit-tle boy. You are not ta-king the right way to do that," said
Ma-ri-an-ne; "I can-not think this dust plea-sant."

______ _~___ _~1__~1 ~

" L9~3I~~~

Ow-en still per-sist-ing, his com-pa-ni-ons went o-ver to the o-ther side
of the road, but which-e-ver way they went, he fol-low-ed them. At length
com-ing to a turn-pike gate, on one side of which was a turn-stile, they all
pass-ed through whilst Ow-en was emp-ty-ing his shoes of dust. On look-ing
up, he saw that they were all hold-ing the turn-stile to pre-vent his com-ing
through. "Let me through! let me through!" he cri-ed; I must and will
come through."
No! no! Mas-ter Ow-en," said they, not un-til you pro-mise to make
no more dust." Owen strug-gled with all his might, but he soon found out
that ten were strong-er than one, and be-gan to cry and roar; but no one
ex-cept the turn-pike man was with-in hear-ing, and he on-ly laugh-ed at him.
Af-ter ma-ny fruit-less ef-forts, Ow-en at last left the stile and turn-ed home-
wards. "Where are you go-ing?" said Ma-ri-an-ne; "you will be late at
school if you go by the lane now." "I know that, and I shall tell our Dame
you would not let me through the turn-stile." And we shall tell her the
rea-son why," said the others.



SI 11 ,1 i

I z 7 __

He had gone some dis-tance when he saw Ma-ri-an-ne run-ning af-ter him.
"Oh! come back, dear Ow-en," she said, "there is an old wo-man be-yond the
turn-pike, who has such beau-ti-ful ripe red cher-ries to sell." She spoke so
good-hu-mour-ed-ly that Ow-en could not be sul-len any long-er. Ripe red
cher-ries!" he cri-ed; "let us make haste then." As he ap-proach-ed the turn-
pike, the o-ther chil-dren ran back, and a-gain held it a-gainst him. Pro-
mise that you wont kick up the dust," they cri-ed. Well! well! I do pro-
mise," said Ow-en, af-ter some lit-tle he-si-ta-tion. So they let him through,
for Ow-en, though an ill-hu-mour-ed boy, al-ways kept his word. The cher-
ries were tied in bunch-es to a long stick, and all the chil-dren held out their
half-pence for a bunch. There are e-le-ven of you," said the old wo-man,
"and there are just e-le-ven bunch-es on this stick," and she put the stick in-to
Ma-ri-an-ne's hand. Ma-ri-an-ne be-gan to un-tie and dis-tri-bute the bunch-es
to the ea-ger lit-tle crowd which press-ed a-round her. Ow-en re-ceiv-ed his
bunch first; but he was dis-sa-tis-fi-ed with it, for two of the cher-ries were
not quite as good as the rest, and he in-sist-ed on hav-ing an-o-ther bunch.
Ma-ri-an-ne of-fer-ed to give him two of her best in ex-change, but the o-ther
chil-dren would not suf-fer her to be so im-po-sed upon. This so ir-ri-ta-ted
Ow-en, that he snatch-ed the stick from them, threw it on the ground in a
fu-ry, and tram-pled all the cher-ries un-der his feet.


When his com-pa-ni-ons saw the ground stain-ed with the juice of their
cher-ries, they were both sor-ry and an-gry. They had no more half-pence,
and the old wo-man could not af-ford to give her cher-ries for no-thing.
When they ar-ri-ved at the school-house they found the Dame read-ing a
print-ed pa-per, and she told them that which-e-ver of them should say his
les-son best, should have the plea-sure of read-ing a-loud the good news
which this pa-per con-tain-ed. Ow-en, who was very quick in learn-ing, said
his les-son the best, and he read the pa-per as fol-lows: "On Thurs-day
e-ven-ing next, the Cher-ry Or-chard will be o-pen-ed; all who have tick-ets
will be let in from six to eight o'clock. Price of Tick-ets six-pence." Now
all the chil-dren wish-ed very much to go, but they had spent their last half-
pence on the cher-ries which Ow-en had tram-pled in the dust. So they
ask-ed their Dame what they could do to earn six-pence a-piece, and she told
them they might per-haps earn it by plait-ing straw, as she had taught them.
They all de-si-red to be set to work im-me-di-ate-ly. None of them, how-e-ver,
were will-ing to work with Ow-en, as they were a-fraid he should quar-rel
with them.


II' =-~--~'-E~sr-~L;~~,~;_~_~=_r~---~--

IC~-~i-i3ll~- __

Then I'll work by my-self," said Ow-en, "and I dare say I shall have
fi-nish-ed be-fore any of you."
Af-ter they had been at work all the rest of that e-ven-ing and the whole
of the next day, Ow-en went to cor-pare his work with theirs, and was
as-ton-ish-ed to find how much more they had done than he had, and he
ask-ed them how this could hap-pen, since he was a quick-er work-er than
any of them. It is be-cause we have all been help-ing one an-o-ther," they
re-plied; and in truth they had, for they had work-ed in com-mon, each one
do-ing on-ly one thing, and that the thing which he could do best, and by
this means they had got on ve-ry fast. He stood be-hind Ma-ri-an-ne in a
me-lan-cho-ly pos-ture, won-der-ing to see how ra-pid-ly and mer-ri-ly they all
work-ed. At last he said, "I'm sure I shall ne-ver earn six-pence by my-self
be-fore Thurs-day; I am ve-ry sor-ry I was so ill-na-tur-ed a-bout the cher-ries;
I will ne-ver be cross any more."

Do you hear that?" said Ma-ri-an-ne to her com-pa-ni-ons; he is now
sor-ry for what he has done." Oh yes, we hear," an-swer-ed Cy-mon; "but
how can we be sure that he will do as he says?" "Well, let's try him," said
Ma-ri-an-ne; "let him come and work with us." "No! no!" cri-ed ma-ny
voi-ces, "he will on-ly quar-rel with us." So in spite of his cou-sin's en-trea-ties,
Ow-en was o-bli-ged to work on by him-self. At length Thurs-day came,
and the old Dame mea-sur-ed and ex-am-in-ed the work, and gave to each of
her lit-tle work-peo-ple the six-pence which he or she had earn-ed. Ow-en,
how-e-ver, had not near-ly fi-nish-ed. "Poor Ow-en I" whis-per-ed Ma-ri-an-ne
to her com-pa-ni-ons, "see how me-lan-cho-ly he looks sit-ting there a-lone;
he will not be near-ly rea-dy; he can-not go with us." He should not have
tram-pled on our cher-ries, and then we might have help-ed him," said
Cy-mon. Newver mind, let us help him for all that; he is sor-ry for it now.
Come, let us help him, and then we shall all be hap-py a-gain." "Be-fore
we of-fer to help him, let us try whe-ther he is in-cli-ned to be good-na-tu-red
now," said Cy-mon.

._00I 71%.



*l 'I.... ?
* V.-

Then, go-ing to Ow-en, he said, You will not have done in time to go
with us, Ow-en." No! in-deed," said Ow-en; I may as well give it up.
It is my own fault, I know." Well, then, as you can-not go your-self, you
will not want your pret-ty lit-tle bas-ket; will you lend it to us to hold our
cher-ries?" "Oh, yes! with plea-sure," said Ow-en, jump-ing up to fetch
it. "Now he is good-na-tu-red, I'm sure," said Ma-ri-an-ne. "Your plait-ing
is not as good as ours," con-ti-nu-ed Cy-mon; look how un-e-ven it is." It
is ra-ther un-e-ven," said Ow-en. Cy-mon be-gan to un-twist some of it, and
Ow-en bore e-ven this trial of his pa-ti-ence with good tem-per. Oh! you
are pull-ing it all to pieces, Cy-mon," said Ma-ri-an-ne; "this is not fair."
" Yes, it is," said Cy-mon, for I have on-ly un-done an inch, and now I
will do as ma-ny inch-es for Ow-en as he plea-ses, for I see that he is good-
hu-mour-ed." Then they all set briskly to work and help-ed Ow-en, and
they got done in time, and Ow-en went with them to the Cher-ry Or-chard,
where they spent the e-ven-ing ve-ry hap-pi-ly. And as Ow-en was sit-ting
un-der a tree eat-ing the ripe cher-ries, he said to them:-" Thank you for
help-ing me; I should not have been here now, if you had not been so kind
to me; I hope I shall ne-ver be cross to any of you a-gain; if I e-ver feel
in-cli-ned to be so, I will think of your good-na-ture to me, and of THE

16~1~.1~~? Ir 0\I9


IN days not ve-ry long a-go, there liv-ed in the fa-mous ci-ty of Lon-don a
man na-med John Gil-pin, a lin-en-dra-per by trade, and a cap-tain of mi-li-tia
One e-ven-ing, Mis-tress Gil-pin said to her hus-band, "'Tis now full twen-ty
years since we've been mar-ried, John, and yet we have ne-ver had a sin-gle
ho-li-day. To-mor-row is our wed-ding day; let us take a chaise and pair, and
go to the Bell at Ed-mon-ton. My sis-ter and her child, I and the three chil-
dren, will fill the chaise, and you can fol-low us on horse-back."
"It shall be done," said John, "and my good friend the Ca-len-drer will lend
us his horse to go." Oh! that will do nice-ly," said his wife, and, as wine
is dear, we'll take our own."
John Gil-pin kiss-ed his lov-ing wife, pleas-ed to see that though on plea-sure
bent, she still had a fru-gal mind. The morn-ing came; the chaise was brought;
but not, how-e-ver, to the door; for, lest folks should say she was proud, Mis-
tress Gil-pin had or-der-ed it to stand full three doors off. There all got in,
six pre-ci-ous souls, all in the high-est glee, and ful-ly pre-par-ed to dash through
thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, ne-ver were folks so glad;
the stones rat-tied un-der-neath till you would have thought Cheap-side was
mad. Gil-pin was soon mount-ed, and pre-par-ing to fol-low them, when turn-ing
his head, he saw three cus-tom-ers en-ter his shop. He did not like the loss of
time, but still less did he like the loss of pence; so down he got a-gain. The
cus-tom-ers were long in pleas-ing them-selves, and when at last they were
serv-ed, Bet-ty the maid, came scream-ing down stairs, "The wine is left
be-hind." "Good lack!" said John; "how-e-ver, bring it here, and bring al-so
my lea-thern belt, in which I car-ry my trus-ty sword on field-days." Mis-tress
Gil-pin, care-ful soul, had put the wine, for great-er se-cu-ri-ty, in two stone
bot-tles. John pass-ed the belt through the han-dles, slung one on each side of
him, to keep his ba-lance true, and then threw o-ver his shoul-ders his long red
cloak, well brush-ed and neat. And now be-hold him once more mount-ed on
his nim-ble steed, pac-ing slow-ly and cau-ti-ous-ly o-ver the city stones.

But soon find-ing a smooth-er road, the spi-rit-ed horse be-gan to trot,
and pre-sent-ly, in spite of all John could do, the trot quick-en-ed in-to a
gal-lop; this grew fast-er and fast-er, till Gil-pin, to keep his seat, was o-bli-ged
to stoop down and grasp the mane with both his hands, and all his might; but
the horse, not be-ing u-sed to such a style of hand-ling, on-ly went the fast-er,
won-der-ing, no doubt, what sort of a crea-ture he had up-on his back. A-way
they rat-tied, neck or no-thing; a-way went hat and wig; the wind blew, the
cloak float-ed be-hind like a long gay stream-er, dis-play-ing the stone bot-tles
dan-gling at his side, un-til at last, both loop and but-ton fail-ing, it flew right
a-way. Then the dogs bark-ed, the chil-dren scream-ed, all the win-dows flew
up, and e-ve-ry one cried "Well done!" as loud as he could bawl. On still
went Gil-pin-who but he? His fame spread. "He car-ries weight," they said,
"he rides a race, 'tis for a thou-sand pounds!" Such was the cry; and as fast
as he drew near, the turn-pike men in a trice flung their gates wide open
to him.

Thus they went on, till at last, while John was bend-ing his body very low,
the bot-tles got jerk-ed be-hind, and dash-ing a-gainst each o-ther, were shat-
ter-ed at a blow. There was a sad sight! All the wine ran down in-to the
road, co-ver-ing the horse's flanks in its pas-sage, until they smok-ed as if they
had been bast-ed. Still John seem-ed to car-ry weight, for the necks of the
bot-tles be-ing fas-ten-ed to his belt, con-ti-nu-ed to dan-gle at his side. And thus
he went play-ing these un-will-ing gam-bols all through mer-ry Is-ling-ton, un-til
he reach-ed the Wash of Ed-mon-ton. In-to this the horse im-me-di-ate-ly
plun-ged, dash-ing the wa-ter on each side in a cloud of spray, just like a maid
trund-ling her mop, or a wild goose at play.

From the bal-co-ny of the Bell, his lov-ing wife be-held her hus-band, and
won-der-ed to see him ride in such a style. Stop! stop! John Gil-pin, here's
the house," she said. "Stop! stop!" they all shout-ed, "the din-ner is wait-ing,
and we are ti-red." "So am I," said Gil-pin. But though his mas-ter was ti-red,
the horse was not a whit so, nor at all in-clin-ed to tar-ry at the fa-mous Bell
at Ed-mon-ton, for his own-er had a house some ten miles off, at Ware. So
a-way he flew, like an ar-row from the bow of a strong arch-er, and a-way
up-on his back went Gil-pin too, out of breath, and sore a-gainst his will. Nor
'did they halt un-til, at last, the horse stood still at the door of his mas-ter the

The Ca-len-drer, a-maz-ed to see his wor-thy neigh-bour in such a wo-ful
plight, laid down his pipe, ran to the gate, and thus ac-cost-ed him.
What news! what news! John Gil-pin. Come, tell me quick-ly. How is
it that you are bare-head-ed, or what brings you here at all?" Now Gil-pin
lov-ed a time-ly joke, and, not-with-stand-ing his sor-ry trim, he thus mer-ri-ly
an-swer-ed his as-to-nish-ed friend.
"Why, I came be-cause your horse would come, and if I don't mis-take,
my hat and wig will soon be here, for they are both up-on the road."
Very glad to find him in such a mer-ry mood, the Ca-len-drer hur-ri-ed
back in-to his house, and soon came forth bear-ing in his hand a flow-ing wig,
and a hat not much the worse for wear. He too lov-ed a joke, and hold-ing
these up to John, My head is twice as big as yours," he said, "they there-fore
needs must fit."

F; :L---WZ;;:

-_ I

-,,. __f^
'-' --I' "

"Let me scrape the dirt from your face, and stop and have some din-ner, for
you may well be hungry after such a ride."
"But," said John, "this is my wed-ding day, and all the world would stare,
if my wife should dine at Ed-mon-ton, and I should dine at Ware. Then turn-ing
to his horse, he said, You came here for your own plea-sure, you shall now
go back for mine;" but while he spoke, an ass close by set up such a hi-de-ous
bray-ing, that the horse start-ed and snort-ed as if he had heard a li-on roar,
and im-mesdi-ate-ly gallop-ed off with all his might, just as he had pre-vi-ous-ly
A-way then a-gain went Gil-pin, and a-way once more went hat and wig;
this time, too, they went fast-er than be-fore, as both were much too big.

---~. ^I-----~--------------~ -?

Mean-while the wor-thy Mis-tress Gil-pin, when she saw her good spouse
post-ing on in-to the coun-try, took out half a crown, and show-ing it to the lad
who had driv-en them to the Bell, she said, This shall be yours when you
bring me back my hus-band safe and well." The youth rode off, and soon met
Gil-pin re-turn-ing at full speed. He tried to stop him by catch-ing at his horse's
rein, but fail-ed, and on-ly fright-en-ed the horse still more, and made him
run still fast-er. So on went Gil-pin, and af-ter him the post-boy, as fast as he
could ride.
Pre-sent-ly they met six gen-tle-men on the road; see-ing Gil-pin fly-ing
at this fu-ri-ous rate, with the post-boy scam-per-ing in the rear, they shouted
vo-ci-fe-rous-ly, A high-way-man! a high-way-man! stop thief! stop thief!" and
every one who pass-ed join-ed in the pur-suit and cry.
A-gain the turn-pike gates flew o-pen, the toll-men think-ing, as be-fore,
that Gil-pin rode a race, And so in truth he did, and won it too, for he got
first to town, and ne-ver stop-ped un-til he a-light-ed at his own shop door.
And thus end-ed this fa-mous ride; and thus did Gil-pin spend his
twen-ti-eth wed-ding day.


THERE once liv-ed in the ci-ty of Bag-dad, a ve-ry rich mer-chant whose
name was Sin-bad. He had made so ma-ny long voy-a-ges, and had met with so
ma-ny won-der-ful and un-heard of ad-ven-tures, that he was call-ed Sin-bad the
Sail-or. In his youth he was gay and thought-less, and soon spent the great-est
part of the wealth which his fa-ther had left him. He then be-gan to re-gret his
fol-ly, and with the re-main-der of his mo-ney pur-cha-sed some goods, and went
on board a ves-sel bound for the In-dies, for the pur-pose of trad-ing. They had
been at sea ma-ny days when they were sud-den-ly be-calm-ed in front of a small low
is-land, which look-ed like a beau-ti-ful green mea-dow, and Sin-bad, with o-thers of
the pas-sen-gers and crew, went on shore to a-muse them-selves. Whilst they were
all en-joy-ing their din-ner, they felt a sud-den shock, and saw the whole is-land
trem-ble. Some ran to the boats, some leap-ed in-to the sea, but Sin-bad was left
be-hind. Pre-sent-ly the whole is-land rose high-er and high-er, 'and at last it was
seen to be no-thing but the back of a mon-strous whale of pro-di-gi-ous size.
It had been a-sleep on the sur-face of the wa-ters, but the fire they made in cook-ing
their din-ner rous-ed him up, and now lash-ing the o-cean with his tail, he plung-ed
in-to the deep. Sin-bad was near-ly drown-ed, but he at last clung to a piece of
float-ing wood, and was car-ri-ed by the cur-rent to a real is-land, where he met
with peo-ple who treat-ed him kind-ly, and af-ter a va-ri-e-ty of ad-ven-tures, he
reach-ed home con-si-de-ra-bly rich-er than when be set out.


~--c `c
-_ -----I


.- -.


Sin-bad did not re-main long at home, but, pro-vid-ing him-self with mer-

chan-dise as be-fore, he a-gain set out on an-o-ther voy-age. One day they cast

an-chor in front of a beau-ti-ful lit-tle is-land, quite un-in-ha-bi-ted, though

co-ver-ed with a great va-ri-e-ty of fruit trees. Here ma-ny of the crew went on

shore, and a-mus-ed them-selves in va-ri-ous ways. Sin-bad sat down in a

plea-sant and shel-ter-ed spot near a pret-ty ri-vu-let, spread out his pro-vi-si-ons

and his wine, and en-joy-ed a re-past which was quite de-light-ful af-ter the

con-fine-ment and same-ness of the voy-age. He soon fell a-sleep, and on a-wak-ing,

found to his hor-ror that the ves-sel was far out at sea, and he him-self left

a-lone on the is-land. He climb-ed a high tree to look a-bout him. On one side

there was no-thing but the o-cean and the sky, but on the land side he saw in

the dis-tance some-thing white and shin-ing. He took his pro-vi-si-ons and went

to-wards it. As he ap-proach-ed, he per-ceiv-ed it to be an im-mense white ball,

and when he came close to it he found it soft and e-las-tic to the touch. It was

quite smooth all o-ver, and seem-ed to be a-bout fif-ty paces in cir-cum-fe-rence.



r- --.

- -
~t---- -_.-~

-L~- ----



"---- ~-" "-2.

---- ~-\ _4 --


_~~~- ---

While Sin-bad was ex-a-min-ing this strange ob-ject, the air be-came sud-den-ly
dark-en-ed, and look-ing up he saw a bird of a pro-di-gi-ous size fly-ing to-wards him.
This was the ce-le-bra-ted bird call-ed the Roc, which re-sem-bles an ea-gle, but is of
im-mense size; it came to sit up-on its egg, which was the white ball which Sin-bad
had been look-ing at. As it ap-proach-ed, Sin-bad crept near the egg, and while the
bird was sit-ting, he un-roll-ed his tur-ban, and fas-ten-ed him-self by it to the mon-strous
claw of the crea-ture. At day-break the roc flew a-way, car-ry-ing Sin-bad up in-to
the clouds, so high that he could hard-ly see the earth; and then it dash-ed down with
such ra-pi-di-ty that he al-most lost his sen-ses. As soon as they reach-ed the ground,
how-e-ver, Sin-bad loos-en-ed his tur-ban, and the roc, seiz-ing a ser-pent of im-mense
length, flew a-way. Sin-bad now found him-self in a deep val-ley with steep sides of
vast height. This val-ley was strewn all o-ver with di-a-monds of ex-tra-or-di-na-ry
size and beau-ty; but of what use were these to poor Sin-bad, con-fin-ed in a place from
which es-cape seem-ed im-pos-si-ble? Here he pass-ed a day and night, be-wail-ing
his fate. The next morn-ing he was a-wak-en-ed from his sleep by the noise of some-
thing heavy tum-bling near him. It was a large piece of raw flesh. Im-me-di-ate-ly
af-ter-wards, se-ve-ral o-thers came roll-ing down the rocks. This was a con-tri-vance
for ob-tain-ing the di-a-monds. These pieces of flesh are seiz-ed by the ea-gles and
car-ri-ed to their young. The mer-chants then run to the nests, and fright-en-ing off
the ea-gles, are sure to find some of the di-a-monds stick-ing to the meat. Sin-bad
re-mem-ber-ed all this. He col-lect-ed as ma-ny beau-ti-ful di-a-monds as he could car-ry,
tied one of the larg-est pieces of meat to his bo-dy, and lay down. When the ea-gles
came, his piece was car-ri-ed off with the rest, and he with it t then the mer-chants
came and of course set him free, and thus he es-cap-ed from the valley of di-a-monds,
and at last reach-ed home im-paense-ly rich. 3

z=z=' --

After a time, Sin-bad set out again on an-o-ther voy-age, and a tem-pest drove
them to an is-land, where a great num-ber of lit-tle hair-y sa-va-ges on-ly two
feet high seiz-ed on them, and car-ri-ed them to a place where a mon-strous gi-ant
had his pa-lace. This gi-ant was black, fright-ful-ly ug-ly, and as tall as a large
palm-tree. He had on-ly one eye, which was plac-ed in the mid-dle of his fore-head.
When he came home he saw the par-ty which the dwarfs had brought, and ex-a-min-ed
them one by one, and as the cap-tain was the fat-test, he chose him first. He ran
a spit through his bo-dy, made up a large fire and roast-ed him be-fore it. Then
he eat him for his sup-per, and when he had done he lay down to sleep, and snor-ed
as loud as thun-der. In the morn-ing he went a-way, and did not re-turn till night,
when he cook-ed an-o-ther of the par-ty as be-fore. All this went on for se-ve-ral
days; at last Sin-bad con-tri-ved a plan of es-cape. They made a num-ber of
rafts in a re-tir-ed bay; then when the gi-ant was snor-ing as u-su-al, Sin-bad and nine
of his com-pa-ni-ons, each took a spit, and heat-ing the point red hot in the fire, they
drove them all right in-to the mon-ster's eye, and blind-ed him. He roar-ed with
pain, but as he could not see, they read-i-ly es-cap-ed from him, and ran to their rafts.
In the morn-ing they went on board and push-ed off, but just then they saw the
gi-ant com-ing to-wards them, lean-ing on two o-ther gi-ants near-ly as tall as him-self,
while se-ve-ral more walk-ed be-fore them. When the gi-ants saw them em-bark-ing,
they ran to the shore, and took up great pieces of rock to throw at them. They
e-ven went up to their mid-dies in wa-ter, and threw so far, and with such good
aim, that they sunk all the rafts ex-cept the one which car-ri-ed Sin-bad and
two com-pa-ni-ons, who row-ed so hard that they were soon out of reach of
the stones.

Af-ter es-cap-ing from the gi-ants, Sin-bad and his com-pa-ni-ons were
car-ri-ed by the cur-rent to an is-land where they found some ex-cel-lent fruits.
To-wards e-ven-ing they lay down to sleep on the sea-shore, but were soon
a-wak-en-ed by the noise made by the scales of an im-mense ser-pent. Be-fore
they could get out of reach it had seiz-ed one of them, and soon swal-low-ed him
up. Sin-bad and the o-ther ran a-way as fast as the dark-ness would per-mit.
The next night they slept in a ve-ry lof-ty tree, but the ser-pent came and rais-ed
it-self up so high, that it seiz-ed the re-main-ing com-pa-ni-on, who hap-pen-ed
to be a lit-tle low-er than Sin-bad. It then went a-way sa-tis-fi-ed for that turn.
The fol-low-ing day Sin-bad col-lect-ed a quan-ti-ty of brush-wood and furze, and
form-ed it in-to a large cir-cle round the tree, and co-ver-ed it in at the top, and
in the e-ven-ing he crept in-to it. The ser-pent came and tri-ed ve-ry hard all
night long to get at him, but it could not break through the cir-cle. In the
morn-ing it went a-way, and Sin-bad had the good for-tune to see a ves-sel near the
is-land. He made signs to it, and was tak-en on board, and so es-cap-ed this
great dan-ger.

:: ir'

--_ ......_ _-

F~ --

,_ _-- -_ = ----75 _

In an-o-ther of his voy-a-ges Sin-bad and his par-ty land-ed on a de-sert is-land,
where they found the egg of an-o-ther roc. It con-tain-ed a young one near-ly
hatch-ced. Much a-gainst the wish-es of Sin-bad, the mer-chants broke the egg
with hatch-ets, cut out the young bird piece by piece, roast-ed it, and eat it. They
had hard-ly fin-ish-ed when two im-mense clouds ap-pear-ed in the sky, a great way
off. The cap-tain, who knew that they were the fa-ther and mo-ther of the young
roc, ad-vis-ed them to get on board as fast as they could, which they did. When the'
two rocs came up, and saw what was done, they ut-ter-ed the most fright-ful screams;
then they both flew back the way they came, and were soon out of sight. In the
mean-time the cap-tain put to sea as fast as pos-si-ble, but it was of no use, the birds
pre-sent-ly re-turn-ed, each with an e-nor-mous frag-ment of rock in its claws.
They ho-ver-ed o-ver the ship, and one of them let the stone it car-ri-ed fall with
such a per-feet aim, that it would have in-stant-ly sunk it, had not the pi-lot skil-
ful-ly turn-ed the ves-sel. But the in-stant af-ter, the o-ther roe let his piece fall, and
it struck the ves-sel right in the mid-die, and dash-ed it to pieces. All the crew
and pas-sen-gers were ei-ther crush-ed or drown-ed, ex-cept Sin-bad, who clung to a
piece of the wreck, and was car-ri-ed by the winds and cur-rent to an-o-ther is-land.
Here he re-main-ed a con-si-der-able time, but at last he was tak-en on board a ves-sel
that was pass-ing, and once more got safe home.

But Sin-bad could ne-ver rest long at home; he long-ed for ac-tion and ad-ven-
ture, so he soon set out on an-o-ther voy-age. Af-ter be-ing a con-si-der-able time
at sea, his ves-sel was wreck-ed at the mouth of a most ex-tra-or-di-na-ry ri-ver.
This ri-ver, in-stead of flow-ing in-to the sea, like all o-ther ri-vers, flow-ed from
the sea in-to the coun-try, and yet it was not form-ed of salt wa-ter, but of fresh
wa-ter. It ran from the sea down into a vast ca-vern at the foot of a lof-ty moun-
tain. The roof and sides of this ca-vern were form-ed of ru-bies, crys-tals, and
o-ther pre-ci-ous stones; but the whole coast was en-tire-ly bar-ren, and all Sin-bad's
com-pa-ni-ons died one by one, till he was left quite a-lone. As his pro-vi-si-ons
were near-ly con-sum-ed, he thought he might as well be kill-ed in try-ing to make
his es-cape, as be starv-ed to death where he was. He there-fore made a raft,
load-ed it with pre-ci-ous stones from the ca-vern, and em-bark-ed on this sub-ter-ra-
ne-an ri-ver. He was car-ri-ed on by the cur-rent in com-plete dark-ness for
se-ve-ral days, guid-ing his raft as well as he could with his two pad-dies. At last all
his pro-vi-si-ons were eat-en, and he laid down and fell a-sleep. When he a-woke
he found him-self in the midst of a beau-ti-ful coun-try, with a crowd of na-tives
a-round him. They treat-ed him with the great-est kind-ness, and took him to their
king, who was de-light-ed with his ad-ven-tures, and at last sent him home load-ed
with pre-sents, be-sides all the pre-ci-ous stones he had got in the cave.

Sin-bad's last ad-ven-ture was as fol-lows:-His ves-sel was at-tack-ed by
pi-rates, and all the crew and pas-sen-gers were sold as slaves. Sin-bad was bought by
an i-vo-ry mer-chant, who em-ploy-ed him to shoot e-le-phants. He went in-to the
fo-rest with a bow and ar-rows, climb-ed up a tree, and when any e-le-phants came by he
shot at them, and he ge-ne-ral-ly ma-na-ged to kill one e-ve-ry day. This con-tin-u-ed
for two months. At last the e-le-phants got tir-ed of this sport; so one morn-ing
an im-mense troop of them came right up to the tree where Sin-bad was con-ceal-ed,
and sur-round-ed it, with their trunks ex-tend-ed and their eyes fix-ed on the poor
hun-ter. Then the larg-est a-mongst them twist-ed his trunk round the tree, shook
it, and tore it up by the roots. Sin-bad fell on the ground, but in-stead of kill-ing
him, the e-le-phant took him up with his trunk and plac-ed him on his shoul-ders.
He then march-ed off, fol-low-ed by all the o-thers. At last he stop-ped, plac-ed
Sin-bad on the ground, and then went qui-et-ly a-way with his whole troop. When
Sin-bad look-ed a-round, he found him-self on a small hill en-tire-ly co-ver-ed with
bones and tusks of e-le-phants. He now un-der-stood that these wise beasts wish-ed
him to take what he want-ed from this re-po-si-tory of the dead, in-stead of kill-ing the
Iiv-ing, and of course he com-pli-ed with their wish-es. By this dis-co-ve-ry he not
on-ly en-rich-ed his mas-ter and him-self, but the whole coun-try also. His mas-ter
gave him his li-ber-ty, and he re-turn-ed home, and pass-ed the rest of his days in
tran-quil-li-ty and hap-pi-ness, spend-ing his im-mense wealth in a wor-thy and
ge-ne-rous man-ner.

_,., .,


WHIT-TING-TON was a poor lit-tle boy, who nev-er knew his
pa-rents. He was left an out-cast with-out a-ny friends, and was
brought up by the pa-rish. In the work-house the nurse treat-ed
him ve-ry cru-el-ly, so that when he was se-ven years old he ran
a-way, and wan-der-ed a-bout the coun-try for ma-ny years, liv-ing
up-on cha-ri-ty, or what he could earn by such work as a lit-tle boy
might be fit for. At last he grew up in-to a stur-dy youth, and when
he was four-teen years of age, he de-ter-min-ed to go to Lon-don;
for he felt sure of ma-king his for-tune there, as he had of-ten heard
that the streets were pa-ved with gold. Lon-don, how-e-ver, was a
great way off, and he did not know how to reach it; but at last he
thought he would fol-low the Car-rier, who be-ing a good na-tu-red
fel-low al-low-ed him to walk a-long with him. Whit-ting-ton
en-dea-vour-ed to make him-self as use-ful as he could in at-tend-ing
to the horses, and at night the Car-rier gave him his sup-per for his
ser-vi-ces; and in this man-ner they reach-ed Lon-don, af-ter a jour-
ney of se-ve-ral days.


I~eIM -C

Poor Whit-ting-ton soon-found out that the streets of Lon-don
were not pa-ved with gold. And as for ma-king his for-tune, he
seem-ed far-ther from it than e-ver. His friend the Car-rier, in part-
ing from him, had giv-en him a groat and some good ad-vice. It
was all he could do for him; and Whit-ting-ton was ve-ry grate-ful
for it. But you may ea-si-ly sup-pose that four pence did not go far,
how-e-ver pru-dent he might be. He wan-der-ed a-bout for many
days, till he be-came weak and worn by hun-ger and ex-po-sure. At
last he stood be-fore a house in Lead-en-hall Street, and look-ing
pi-te-ous-ly in-to the kitch-en, im-plo-red the Cook to give him
some-thing to eat; but she was a cross, ill-na-tu-red crea-ture, and
on-ly told him to be off, or she would go up and give him some-thing
he would not like. Poor Whit-ting-ton was so ex-haust-ed that he
sank down on the door step. Just then Mr. Fitz-war-ren, the mas-ter
of the house, came to the door, and as-ked what he wan-ted there.
Whit-ting-ton told his sad sto-ry, in so art-less a man-ner that Mr.
Fitz-war-ren was mov-ed to com-pas-sion, and or-der-ed him to be
tak-en in-to the house, and some food to be giv-en to him.


The Cook was not ve-ry well pleas-ed at this change in af-fairs,
but did not dare to dis-o-bey her mas-ter; so for once poor
Whit-ting-ton got a good din-ner, and rest for his wea-ry limbs, for
Mr. Fitz-war-ren had di-rect-ed that he should not be sent a-way
un-til he had con-si-der-ed what could be done for him. It was
soon set-tled that he should re-main in the house; and he was
pla-ced un-der the Cook, to go of er-rands or do any rough work
which she might re-quire. He was now out of the reach of want,
but he had any-thing but an ea-sy life of it; for the Cook still con-
ti-nu-ed to per-se-cute him as much as e-ver she da-red: she was
al-ways scold-ing him, and some-times e-ven struck him with
any-thing that came in her way. Whit-ting-ton, how-e-ver, had a
pro-tec-tor in the house, who would ne-ver al-low him to be ill u-sed
when she knew of it. This was Miss Al-ide, Mr. Fitz-war-ren's
daugh-ter. She in-sist-ed that he should be pro-per-ly treat-ed, and
had al-ways a good word for him when the Cook came to com-plain
of him, as ve-ry of-ten hap-pen-ed.

Whit-ting-ton slept in a gar-ret at the top of the house, and would have
been ve-ry hap-py there had it not been for the num-ber of rats and mice with
which the place was in-fest-ed. One day a gen-tle-man who din-ed with his
mas-ter, gave him a pen-ny for clean-ing his shoes, and hap-pen-ing to be out
the same day, he met an old wo-man car-ry-ing a cat in her arms. This was
just the thing he wan-ted, so he coax-ed and bar-gain-ed un-til he got the cat
for his pen-ny, which was all the mo-ney he had in the world. Puss was
tak-en home, shut up in an old box du-ring the day, for fear of the Cook,
and let out at night: she soon clear-ed the gar-ret of the rats and mice.
Mr. Fitz-war-ren was a mer-chant ; when-e-ver he sent off a ship with
a car-go, he us-ed to call his whole house-hold to-ge-ther, and make them all
ven-ture some-thing on the voy-age, if it were e-ver so lit-tle. What each
sent was sold for the be-ne-fit of the send-er, and with-out du-ties or charges
of any kind. He was now fit-ting out a ves-sel, and all had con-tri-bu-ted,
ex-cept poor Whit-ting-ton, who, when press-ed to send some-thing, said he had
no-thing in the world that he could call his own but his cat. Send her, by
all means, my lad," said his kind mas-ter, and may the ven-ture prove for-
tu-nate to you." E-ve-ry-bo-dy laugh-ed at Whit-ting-ton's grand spe-cu-la-tion,
and the Cook teas-ed him un-mer-ci-ful-ly; but good Miss Al-ice gave him
mo-ney to buy a-no-ther cat, that he might not be a-gain tor-ment-ed with the
rats and mice.

Whit-ting-ton's trou-bles seem-ed to go on in-creas-ing: the Cook
got harsh-er and harsh-er e-ve-ry day, and be-sides was per-pe-tu-
al-ly jeer-ing him a-bout the splen-did car-go he had sent to fo-reign
parts. Whit-ting-ton had too much spi-rit and good feel-ing to be
tell-ing tales or com-plain-ing to his mas-ter, and yet ra-ther than
en-dure any lon-ger the per-se-cu-tions of this wo-man, he de-ter-
min-ed to run a-way. So one fine morn-ing, it was All-hal-lows day,
he got up ve-ry ear-ly, and left the house with-out mak-ing any noise.
He walk-ed on ra-pid-ly till he reach-ed Hol-lo-way; there, lay-ing
his stick and lit-tle bun-dle on the ground, he sat down up-on a
stone to con-si-der what course he should take. Just then Bow-bell
be-gan to chime, and while he was lis-ten-ing and mus-ing, it
seem-ed to him that the bells sang dis-tinct-ly these words:-
"Turn a-gain, Whit-ting-ton,
Lord May-or of Lon-don."
He lis-ten-ed and lis-ten-ed, a-gain and a-gain: he heard these words
re-peat-ed three se-ve-ral times. "Lord May-or of Lon-don !" he
said, I would put up with a great deal to be Lord May-or of Lon-
don; at a-ny rate, I'll go back and try my luck once more, in spite of
the Cook." So, quick-ly re-trac-ing his steps, he got home be-fore
the fa-mi-ly was stir-ring, and reach-ed his gar-ret un-per-ceiv-ed.

In the mean-time, Mr. Fitz-war-ren's ship pur-su-ed its way, un-til meet-ing
with con-tra-ry winds it was driv-en on the coast of Bar-ba-ry, a coun-try
in-ha-bi-ted by the Moors, who at that time were but lit-tle known to the
Eng-lish. Here the ship's com-pa-ny were ex-treme-ly well re-ceiv-ed, and the
King e-ven con-des-cen-ded to send for the Fac-tor to the pa-lace, where he
en-ter-tain-ed him in a splen-did and gra-ci-ous man-ner. But just as they
were go-ing to sit down to din-ner, a pro-di-gi-ous num-ber of rats and mice ran
in from all sides, and, quite re-gard-less of the com-pa-ny, be-gan to de-vour
e-ve-ry-thing be-fore them. The Fac-tor was thun-der-struck; but the King
told him, that the coun-try was o-ver-run with these ver-min, and that there
was no means of get-ting free from them. Why," said the Fac-tor, I have a
lit-tle a-ni-mal on board which would clear your pa-lace of them in a few days."
The King said that for such an a-ni-mal he would load their ship with gold.
Whit-ting-ton's cat was there-fore sent for, and an-o-ther din-ner brought on.
The rats came troop-ing in as be-fore; but Puss sprang at them with such fu-ry,
that the room was clear-ed in an in-stant, to the great de-light and as-to-nish-
ment of the King, the Queen, and the whole Court. The bar-gain was soon
made, and a few days af-ter-wards, the ship set sail with a va-lu-a-ble car-go,
and a mag-ni-fi-cent cas-ket of jew-els which the King sent on board as the
price of the cat.

~_I~ _ __XII ~I_ ~~ _

The ship reach-ed Eng-land in safe-ty and e-ve-ry one was
as-to-nish-ed at Whit-ting-ton's good for-tune. It was a long time
be-fore they could make him be-lieve that they were not laugh-ing
at him as u-su-al; but he found at last that all was real, and that
now he was a far rich-er man than his mas-ter. In his gra-ti-tude he
would have giv-en e-ve-ry-thing to Mr. Fitz-war-ren, but this wor-
thy man would take no-thing; so all Whit-ting-ton could do was to
make va-lu-a-ble pre-sents to his fel-low ser-vants, not ex-cept-ing
the cross Cook, who was now glad to make all sorts of a-po-lo-gies
for her con-duct. Whit-ting-ton con-duct-ed him-self with such
pro-pri-e-ty, that Mr. Fitz-war-ren kept him in his house, treat-ed
him as a friend, and ve-ry soon took him in-to part-ner-ship in his
bu-si-ness. Dress-ed as a gen-tle-man, and in-de-pen-dent in his
mind, Whit-ting-ton soon look-ed and felt quite an-o-ther per-son.
In-deed, e-ve-ry one thought him a hand-some and a-gree-a-ble young
man. You may be sure that no-thing was too good in his eyes for
his friend Miss Al-ice, and she felt his kind-ness and at-ten-tions so
much, that she could not help re-turn-ing his af-fec-tion; so be-fore
long Mr. Fitz-war-ren ac-cept-ed him as a son-in-law, and the mar-ri-
age was ce-le-bra-ted with great splen-dour, the Lord May-or and all
the Ci-ty dig-ni-ta-ries be-ing pre-sent at the wed-ding.


Whit-ting-ton had a long, a hap-py, and a pros-per-ous life; he was so
pru-dent and suc-cess-ful in all his en-ter-pri-ses, that he be-came at last the
rich-est mer-chant of his time, and was three times Lord May-or of Lon-don.
On the last oc-ca-si-on, he en-ter-tain-ed Hen-ry the Fifth and his Queen, at
Guild-hall, in a most splen-did man-ner, and re-ceiv-ed from the King the
ho-nour of Knight-hood. It was af-ter the con-quest of France, and the King
had been o-bli-ged to con-tract many debts for car-ry-ing on the war, and for
these he had giv-en his bonds. These bonds Whit-ting-ton had bought up to
the a-mount of sixty thou-sand pounds, and on the pre-sent oc-ca-si-on while the
King was ad-mi-ring the fire which had been made in the room, and which was
form-ed of pre-ci-ous woods, mix-ed with cin-na-mon and o-ther spi-ces, Whit-
ting-ton took out the King's bonds, threw them in-to the fire and burnt them;
thus at his own ex-pense free-ing the King from his debts. All were a-ma-zed,
and the King ex-claim-ed, "Nev-er prince had such a sub-ject;" to which
Whit-ting-ton cour-te-ous-ly re-pli-ed, Ne-ver sub-ject had such a prince."
Af-ter liv-ing hap-pi-ly with his be-lov-ed A-lice for ma-ny years, Whit-ting-ton
di-ed at last, ho-nour-ed and re-gret-ted by all. He left large sums to va-ri-ous
cha-ri-ties, and found-ed, a-mong o-ther public works, the pri-son of New-gate,
and you may be quite sure that he was nev-er with-out A FA-VOUR-ITE CAT.


ONCE up-on a time there was a ve-ry rich man, who li-ved in a mag-ni-fi-cent
cas-tle with wide do-mains. He had great quan-ti-ties of gold and sil-ver, and
pre-ci-ous stones and mo-ney; but he was hid-e-ous-ly ug-ly, and what made him
pe-cu-li-ar-ly dis-a-gree-a-ble, was that he had an e-nor-mous blue beard, which
look-ed so strange and fright-ful, that the la-dies one and all de-cla-red they
ne-ver could think of mar-ry-ing such a man. And yet for all this, Blue-Beard
had al-rea-dy been mar-ried six times, and al-ways to young and beau-ti-ful wo-men,
so that he must have pos-sess-ed the se-cret of re-con-ci-ling the la-dies e-ven to a
blue beard. As all his wives were dead, he wish-ed to mar-ry a-gain, and tur-ned
his thoughts to the fa-mi-ly of a la-dy in his neigh-bour-hood, who had two beau-ti-
ful daugh-ters. But nei-ther of the young la-dies would con-sent to mar-ry a man
with a blue beard, more es-pe-ci-al-ly as his for-mer wives had all dis-ap-pear-ed
in a mys-te-ri-ous man-ner. Blue-Beard, how-e-ver, in-vi-ted the fa-mi-ly to his
cas-tle, with se-ve-ral o-ther friends and neigh-bours, and en-ter-tain-ed them all
for a week in so mag-ni-fi-cent a man-ner that e-ve-ry one wE.s charm-ed with
him. He paid par-ti-cu-lar at-ten-tion to the young-er of the two daugh-ters,
show-ed her all the cu-ri-o-si-ties of the cas-tle, and all the beau-ties of his grounds,
and was so kind and gra-ci-ous, that she soon be-gan to think his beard was not
so ve-ry blue, af-ter all, and that he was any-thing but a dis-a-gree-a-ble man.
In fact, be-fore the week was en-ded she had con-sent-ed to be-come his wife.

_ __ I_
____ ____ _

The mar-ri-age took place shiort-ly af-ter-wards; and, for a time,
they liv-ed ve-ry hap-pi-ly. They had just been mar-ri-ed one
month when Blue-Beard said to his wife one morn-ing, that ur-gent
bu-si-ness call-ed him a-way from home, and that he must be
ab-sent a-bout six weeks. He said he ho-ped she would make
her-self hap-py in the mean-time, and in-vite her friends to see
her; and he gave her the keys of all the cas-tle, of the rooms in
which he kept his trea-sures, and of the chests which con-tain-ed
his mo-ney and jew-els. "You may ex-a-mine e-ve-ry-thing," he
said, ex-cept one clo-set, which I call the blue cham-ber; it is at
the end of the gal-le-ry on the ground floor. I have par-ti-cu-lar
rea-sons for not wish-ing this room to be seen; and if you dis-o-bey
me you will in-cur my high-est dis-plea-:ure. This key o-pens the
pas-sage lead-ing to the cham-ber, and this lit-tle key o-pens the
cham-ber it-self. I leave them with. you, to prove to you that I
have e-ve-ry con-fi-dence in your dis-cre-tion."


The name of the wife was Fa-ti-ma, and her sis-ter's name was Anne. Anne
was then stay-ing with Fa-ti-ma at the cas-tle, and they thought it would be
plea-sant to have their two bro-thers there al-so, to keep them com-pa-ny while
Blue-Beard was a-way. So they sent for them, and they pro-mi-sed to come the
next day. In the mean-time, the sis-ters a-mu-sed them-selves in go-ing o-ver
the cas-tle, and look-ing at e-ve-ry-thing they had not seen be-fore. But Fa-ti-ma
was con-stant-ly think-ing of the blue cham-ber, and won-der-ing what it could
con-tain, and why her hus-band did not wish her to see it; and at last her cu-ri-o-
si-ty was so great that she could not re-sist it. Her sis-ter re-mind-ed her of her
pro-mise, and of her bus-band's an-ger; but no-thing would do, see it she must.
When they o-pen-ed the door lead-ing from the great gal-le-ry, they saw be-fore
them a nar-row, dark pas-sage with no light in it but what came from the o-pen
door, and this was just suf-fi-ci-ent to show them the co-set at the end. They
did not at all like this dis-mal look-ing place, still Fa-ti-ma would go on. She
reach-ed the clo-set, and with a trem-bling hand put the lit-tle key in-to the lock,
turn-ed it, and push-ed o-pen the door. In her a-gi-ta-tion the key fell up-on
the floor.

At first they could see no-thing, for the room was quite dark;
so they o-pen-ed one of the shut-ters to let in the light, and what
was their hor-ror when they saw the floor all co-ver-ed with
clot-ted blood, and se-ve-ral dead bo-dies ly-ing a-gainst the walls !
These were Blue-Beard's for-mer wives, who had dis-ap-pear-ed,
no one knew how, but who, it was now plain, had been bar-ba-
rous-ly mur-der-ed by their cru-el hus-band. With a shriek of
ter-ror they ran out of the cham-ber, and reach-ed the gal-le-ry;
but then they thought of the key and of the o-pen win-dow, and
a still great-er ter-ror for-ced them back. They there-fore once
more en-ter-ed that hor-rid cham-ber, pick-ed up the key, clo-sed
the shut-ter, lock-ed the door, and re-ti-red to their own room.

Af-ter re-co-ver-ing a lit-tle from their fright, they look-ed at the key, and
found a spot of blood upon it. This they care-ful-ly wash-ed off, but there still
re-main-ed a stain. They then took sand and rub-bed the part, and, as they
fan-ci-ed, got it quite bright a-gain; but, to their as-to-nish-ment, the stain had
re-ap-pear-ed on the o-ther side of the key! They rub-bed a-gain, but all in
vain ; as fast as they clear-ed it from one spot it re-ap-pear-ed on an-o-ther ; for,
you must know, that the key was a fai-ry key. At last they were for-ced to give
up in des-pair. The next morn-ing, to their great sur-prise and a-larm, Blue-Beard
sud-den-ly re-turn-ed, say-ing that he had re-ceiv-ed let-ters on the road, in-form-
ing him that the bu-si-ness he went a-bout had been set-tied to his sa-tis-fac-tion.
Short-ly af-ter-wards he ask-ed for his keys, and Fa-ti-ma went to fetch them.
On her re-turn, he was walk-ing in the gar-den, and she pre-sent-ed them to him
with a trem-bling hand. "I do not see here the key of the blue cham-ber," he
said, stern-ly. "I sup-pose I must have left it in my room," fal-ter-ed Fa-ti-ma.
" Bring it, then, im-me-di-ate-ly," said her hus-band, walk-ing in-to the cas-tle.

She saw that it was in vain for her to at-tempt any fur-ther ex-
cu-ses or de-lay, so she brought down the fa-tal key. There is blood
up-on this key," said Blue-Beard, as soon as he look-ed at it. How
did it come there ?" Fa-ti-ma, trem-bling and con-fu-sed, said she
did not know. "You do know, ma-dam," said he, fierce-ly, and I
know too; you have o-pen-ed the blue cham-ber, a-gainst my
or-ders. I hope you were pleas-ed with what you saw there; in
an-o-ther mo-ment you will be there a-gain !" He seiz-ed her by
the hair, and drag-ged her a-long the ground; she shriek-ed, and
im-plo-red his for-give-ness in the most pi-te-ous tones, but no-
thing would move his stony heart. At last she en-treat-ed him
to grant her a few mi-nutes to say her pray-ers, and speak to her
sis-ter. "I give you one quar-ter of an hour," he said, "but not
a mo-ment lon-ger."

She flew to her room, told her sis-ter what had happened, beg-ged her to run
to the top of the tow-er and see if her bro-thers were com-ing. If you see them,"
she said, wave your hand-ker-chief, and make signs to them to has-ten." Pre-
sent-ly she call-ed out, Sis-ter Anne! Sis-ter Anne! Do you see any-one
com-ing?" "I see no-thing," said Anne, "but the sc'ri-L1-ing. sun and the
wa-ving grass." A few mi-nutes la-ter she a-gain call-ed out, "Anne! Sis-ter
Anne! Do you see any one com-ing?" I only see," re-pli-ed Anne, a great dust
which ad-van-ces in this di-rec-tion." Oh! is it my bro-thers ?" "Alas! no," said
Anne, I now see it is on-ly a flock of sheep!" Blue-Beard stood in the hall
be-low, with his drawn sci-mi-tar in his hand. The time is up," he cri-ed at
last, Come down!" I am com-ing," said Fa-ti-ma. A-gain she call-ed to
her sis-ter, Sis-ter Anne! Sis-ter Anne! Do you see any one com-ing?" I
see two horse-men com-ing, but they are a great way off." God be prai-sed,"
said Fa-ti-ma, they are my bro-thers." Then Blue-Beard once more cri-ed
out, in a voice of thun-der that made the whole cas-tle ring, Come down! or I
will fetch you." Fa-ti-ma de-scend-ed slow-ly, and threw her-self at her hus-band's
feet. Oh! mer-cy !" she cri-ed, on-ly for a lit-tle while." It is of no use)"
he said, you must die!"


A-gain he seiz-ed her by the hair, and rais-ed his arm to strike;
but just at that mo-ment the horn at the gate blew such a tre-
men-dous blast that he al-most leap-ed from the ground with the
start, and fling-ing Fa-ti-ma a-side, he rush-ed out to see who the
in-tru-der might be. The gate o-pen-ed, and two horse-men rode
in-to the court, and at once leap-ed from their hor-ses. They were
the bro-thers. Blue-Beard pre-pa-red to de-fend him-self; but
what could he do a-gainst two men fight-ing in such a cause? He
was al-most im-me-di-ate-ly slain. As he left no heirs, Fa-ti-ma
in-he-rit-ed all his wealth. She sha-red it li-be-ral-ly with her
bro-thers, her sis-ter, and her mo-ther, and made pre-sents to all
her o-ther friends. Af-ter a time she mar-ri-ed a-gain, and liv-ed
ve-ry hap-pi-ly. But she ne-ver for-got the blue cham-ber or the
fai-ry key; nor did she e-ver break-a pro-mise or give way to an
im-pro-per cu-ri-o-si-ty.

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