Citation
Aunt Louisa's birthday gift

Material Information

Title:
Aunt Louisa's birthday gift comprising Country pets, Pussy's London life, Frisky the squirrel, Hector the dog
Added title page title:
Country pets
Added title page title:
Pussy's London life
Added title page title:
Frisky the squirrel
Added title page title:
Hector the dog
Creator:
Valentine, L ( Laura ), d. 1899
Frederick Warne and Co ( Publisher )
Kronheim & Co ( Printer of plates )
Scribner, Welford and Co ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London
New York
Publisher:
Frederick Warne and Co.
Scribner, Welford and Co.
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
[30] leaves, [24] leaves of plates : col. ill. ; 27 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Animals -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1865 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1865 ( lcsh )
Gold stamped cloth (Binding) -- 1865 ( local )
Bldn -- 1865
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Gold stamped cloth (Binding) ( local )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Blank leaves facing plates.
Statement of Responsibility:
with twenty-four pages of illustrations printed in colours by Kronheim.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026600920 ( ALEPH )
09957596 ( OCLC )
ALG2804 ( NOTIS )

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Full Text
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Country Pets. Frisky, the Squirrel.
Pussy’s London Life. Hector, the Dog.

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THE DONKEY.



HE Ass, or Donkey, as we sometimes call him, is a
very useful animal. He may be called the friend of
the poor man, as he helps him in his daily toil with equal
strength and patience, and is satisfied with little and cheap
food. Donkey. I think he may be called the child’s friend also,
for the little ones owe much pleasure to the gentle, sure-
footed beast, that carries them over the sands by the sea-
side, or along the pleasant breezy lanes, or across the
furze-covered common. Even baby may have a ride on
this quiet steed, and be carried in a cosy basket, nodding
his fat little head by the — of his bigger brothers and
sisters.

The Donkey has one fault: he is obstinate, and often
tries to get his own way. There are children who ought
to know better, who have the same fault. When they see
how disagreeable it is in a Donkey, we hope they will try
to be more docile and obedient themselves. The Donkey
is made obstinate, sometimes, by ill-treatment. Indeed,
all animals are affected by the temper of their owners.
The Ass or Dog of an ill-tempered man or boy, is almost
sure to grow like his master. So if you have a Donkey
of your own, take care to treat it kindly, and set it a good
example. In the East, Donkeys are much larger and
stronger than they are in England. They will gallop
along, and go great distances, and prove as useful—some-
times more useful—than Horses. You will see in the
Bible that they are spoken of as fit to be ridden by judges

and great men.
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THE DOG.



HO does not love the Dog? Every English boy

~ does, I am sure; and nearly every English girl.
Very many funny and pretty stories are told of Dogs. I
will tell you one that was, I know, quite true. A Skye
Terrier (you will see one with long shaggy hair in the
picture,) grew very fond of a merry baby-boy once, and
would always be in the nursery when he was bathed and
dressed. And when nurse was ready for them, he used to
bring her the little socks and shoes to put on; and baby
would crow, and laugh, and say, “Poor, poor,” and pat
Fido’s head with his tiny soft hand, and then Fido would
jump about and bark. At last poor baby was taken 1ll
and died, and was buried under the Maythorn in the old
churchyard. When Fido could not find his little play-
fellow he was very sad: he cried and howled, and would
not eat the first day, and the next morning no one could
find him in the house; but nurse, who walked to look at
poor baby’s grave that afternoon, found Fido lying on it
with the child’s little socks and shoes under his paws!
He had stolen them out of the nursery, and carried them
to the grave, where he was scratching and whining, in
hopes that baby would wake up and put them on! Nurse
had great trouble to coax him to go home with her, and
for a long time he would steal away to the grave, and cry
and whine there; so fondly he thought about his little

baby playfellow.
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THE HORSE.

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HE Horse is a noble creature, as intelligent and faith-

ful as the Dog, when well brought up. The Arabs
are the people who are kindest to their Horses: they
suffer the animal to live in the tent with their children,
and treat it as if it were quite one of the family. Thus
it grows up gentle and sensible, obeys its master, and
follows him about like a Dog.

Once an Arab chief was made prisoner by his enemies,
who tied his- hands and feet, and left him in a tent till
the next day, when, perhaps, they would have killed him.
But he heard his Horse whinny outside, and in the night
he rolled himself over and over on the ground, till he
oot to the curtain of the tent. He lifted it up, and saw
his good Horse standing close beside it. Directly the
steed saw that his master could not get up to mount him,
he took the chief’s sash in his mouth, and carrying him
thus, galloped away with him as fast nearly as the wind,
and never stopped till he fell down with his load at the
Arab’s own tent door. The poor Horse was so tired that
he died almost directly afterwards, but his master was
saved, and brought back to his wife and his little children.
Was not that a very clever and kind thing for a Horse
to do? |

The Horse has a very good memory. He soon finds
his way in a new place; he is also very obedient to his
master, and seems anxious to please and serve him.
How good it was of God to make Dogs and Horses, and
oive them to us to serve and love us! let us be very kind

to them, or He who made them will not be pleased.
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THE COW AND SHEEP.



_J OW meek and gentle the face of the Cow is! She is
the most good-tempered creature we know. I
cannot tell what children would do without her, for she
gives them the nice warm milk they drink for breakfast,
and of which the rice puddings and custards are made.
Cows are not so clever as Dogs and Horses, but they
learn to know and care for those that milk and feed them.
A Cow which had been long on board ship at sea, was
taken on shore at Portsmouth when the ship came home,
and put into a green field, where the sailors thought she ©
would enjoy quite a feast on the nice fresh grass and
cowslips. But after they left her she would not eat at all,
nor stay in the meadow. She ran down to the beach,
and stood there bellowing so loud and so long, that at last
they sent a boat for her, and took her on board again,
where she seemed quite happy. I think this will show
you that Cows really do learn to love those who treat
them well.

We have to thank the Sheep for our warm woollen
clothing, as well as for food. Itis one of the most useful
of animals. Lambs are. very pretty, playful little things.
They run and jump about in the green meadows, when
the spring comes, like a number of merry, happy little
children. ‘They are not very clever, but they can learn
to know the voice of their shepherd, which in Eastern
countries they follow, as he walks before the flock; but

they cannot be made to follow a stranger.
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THE POULTRY YARD.



A hg: Cock is a noble bird, very brave, and very kind. |
brave creatures generally are kind. When some
nice food is thrown down for the Poultry, or he finds a
fat worm which looks very good, he calls the Hens and |
his little children the Chickens, and lets them begin to
eat before he will touch any himself. Then he joins in
the feast, and enjoys it all the better because he is not
ereedy. The Hen is a very good mother. She takes
great care of her Chickens, and if she sees a Hawk high
up in the air, she calls them all under her wings, and
would be killed herself, before she would. let the cruel bird

hurt them.

Ducks are said to be greedy birds, Wa I think there
is a difference between their way of eating and a Fowls.
They look very pretty sailing on the coun

Ducklings are the prettiest little birds that can be
seen when first they come out of the shell—little golden
puffs of feathers.

When Ducks lay early in the year, and it is rather
cold, Mamma Duck strips off more of her feathers, to
make her nest nice and warm for the nestlings, than she
does when she lays later in the season. This shows a
_ degree of sense and reflection in the bird we could hardly
have expected.

If the eggs of a wild Duck are given to a tame Duck
to sit on, the young ones will not be tame like her own
nestlings, but will at once run away and hide themselves |
with wonderful cunning. But the pretty Ducks in this
picture are tame ones, like those you may feed at the farm.

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RABBITS AND PIGEONS.



meant are especially the pets of boys. It is a very
pretty sight to witness a number of wild Rabbits
come out and play on the grass in the moonlight, as we
have sometimes done. They are very much afraid of
Weasels; creatures which are their natural enemies. If
a Weasel follow a Rabbit who has young ones at home,
she will run in any other direction, and play all sorts of
cunning tricks to prevent him from finding her house or
burrow. [ancy rabbits are often very handsome.

- Pigeons are very pretty birds, very affectionate, and
easily tamed. They like companions. A gentleman once
had one Pigeon only: as it had no friends of its own race,
it became very fond of an old Barndoor Fowl, whose side
it seldom left. It would run about all day with him, and
roost by his side at night ; and the Cock never drove him
away, but seemed to be much attached to his Pigeon friend.

Some Pigeons will carry letters from one place to
another. Once when a town was shut in with enemies,
and the people could not get out to ask for help, they
sent letters to call their friends to their assistance under
the wing of one of these birds, and so obtained aid by

means of a Pigeon postman!
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“To say a word or two, my child,
Before we part, I come;

Words which, perhaps, may cross your mind

When you are far from home.

“ Grilda,”—the mother raised her paw,—
“Grilda, attend to me;

Remember that where’er you go,
You must obedient be.

“T pray you neer again to take
A scrap that’s not your own,
Although it may be nothing more

Than just a chicken-bone.

“And recollect that Pussy-cats
Quite idle should not be;

The pleasant task of catching mice
Is given you and me.

“Try and think less about your looks,—
You re but a kitten small;

Surely in such a little thing
Should be no pride at all.

“And now, my daughter, fare thee well;
Attend to what I’ve said ;”

And then the mother rubb’d her cheek
Against her kitten’s head.

I can’t be certain that the tears
In Grilda’s eyes arose;

But, walking round her parent’s sides,
She purr’d and rubb’d her nose.

She really meant to try and mind
All that her mother said ;

But like a corn-sieve full of holes
Was Lady Grilda’s head:

The words went in at one white ear,
But not, alas! to stay;

For at the other out they slipp’d,
And vanish’d quite away.

Her future mistress, when in town,
Lived in Throckmorton Square ;

And very shortly afterwards
Grilda was taken there.

This town house, in her country eyes,
Seemed fitted for a queen;

Such grandeur and such elegance
She never yet had seen.

And in her silly little heart
The foolish Pussy thought,

“This seems the proper place for me

To which I now am brought.



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“A Londoner I am become,
There ’s something grand in that;
I’m very glad I’ve ceased to be
A simple country cat,

“Such vulgar work I need not do
As running after mice;

Poor mother might, at all events,

Have spared me that advice.”

But one thing Grilda much disliked
In this her London home, ©

That not beyond the garden gate
Was she allowed to roam.

Perhaps, too, if the truth were known,
She rather long’d to go,

Her graceful form and snow-white coat
The London cats to show.

She almost hoped that as she pass'‘d
They ’d all turn round and stare,

And wonder who that kitten was
With such a noble air.

Within an empty attic room,
In which she used to play,
A window opening on the roof
Was left unclosed one day.

Grilda had very often thought
‘T would be delightful fun

To find some way of slipping out,
And take a pleasant run,

Now was the moment for escape!
But first of all with care

She wash'd her face, arrang’d her tail,
And smooth’d her silken hair.

That she was doing very wrong
This naughty Pussy knew;
Yet, springing on the window-sill,
She through the op’ning flew.

‘Tl’ was very pleasant for a time
To play and run about;

But soon she felt it dull, and wished
Some kitten would come out.

And then she found with great dismay
Her coat was getting soiled,

And feared that, ere ’t was even seen,
Her beauty would be spoiled.

From such a black and dirty place
She saw ’t was time to go;

So softly creeping down the wall,
She gain’d the street below.



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She’d wander’d from the square, In miserable plight,
And reach’d a street which proved to be} The owner came to close the door

A busy thoroughfare, — And lock it for the night.

She stood bewilder’d with the noise, | Set free next day, misfortune still

Not knowing where to fly, Appear’d to be her fate :

When suddenly a savage dog A milkman chanced to leave his pail

Came running briskly by. Outside an iron gate;

He stopp’d, for on a flight of steps The pail was nearly full of milk,

The trembling cat he spied Thus early in the day,
Then darting up, with grinning teeth And there it stood, a tempting sight, = = |
~ To seize her neck he tried. Hixactly in her way. |
Never was cat more nearly caught.— 'T was more than kitten could resist,

The dog had touched her tail, So scrambling up the side,

When Grilda sprang, with bristling hair, | To reach the white delicious food

Upon an iron rail, Poor starving Grilda tried.
He hoped to reach her as she clung, The milkman saw her, and his lungs

And leap’d with all his might ; _ Sent forth so loud a yell,
But giving one more desperate bound, That overbalancing herself,

She vanish’d from his sight. Into the pail she fell!
In vain he hunted up and down, As quickly out she came again,

And scented all around, Dragged by the angry man;
For Puss was safely hid inside And, smarting from his cuffs and blows,

A coal-shed underground. All dripping, off she ran.





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Alas, poor Pussy! every hope
Of admiration o'er,

She only long’d to find her way
Back to her home once more.

But she, like others I have known,
The lesson had to learn,x—

Though easy ‘tis to go astray,
‘Tis harder to return.

At length she saw what seem’d to her
A quiet little place

Beside a post, where she might creep
To wash her sides and face.

Yet even here poor Grilda found
She could not safely stay ;

Some schoolboys passing by the spot
Soon pelted her away.

~ Another little wanderer

Was pacing up the street,
Like Grilda, scarcely knowing where
To turn her weary feet.

'T was Madge Dunlee, a begear-girl,
Sent forth to beg her bread ;

A child of want and woe was she,
Untaught, uncloth’d, unted.

No food that day had touch’d her lips,
Yet all had pass’d her by ;

No one had seen her outstretch’d hand,
Or listen’d to her cry.

And thus she linger’d on her way,
Till coming to a shop,

The fragrant scent of new-baked bread
Caused hungry Madge to stop.

She knew, poor child! those loaves and buns
Had not been baked for her, |

Yet from the pleasant sight and smell
She did not care to stir.

She gazed so long, they came at last
To order her away }

The baker said ’t was not the place
For beggar-girls to stay.

A woman passing from the shop
Possess’d a kindly heart ;

She broke a penny roll in two,
And gave the child a part,

But just as Madge began to eat,
Came Grilda to her side,

And plain as starving Pussy could
To beg a morsel tried.



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“There’s not enough,’ thought Madge,
“T’m sure,
For Pussy and for me};
But yet how very weak and faint
The poor thing seems to be!

“There, take a bit; I know so well
How bad it feels to want;

Though as to giving any more,
No, Puss, indeed I can't.”

But as she sat upon a step,
Hating her bit of bread,

Puss mew’d and touch’d her with her paw,
Imploring to be fed.

Her constant cries and eager looks
Went straight to Madge’s heart:
Of every piece of roll she ate
She gave the cat a part.

This little scene by chance took place
Close to Throckmorton Square,
And Grilda’s mistress from her house

Observ'd the hungry pair.

She noticed how the beggar-child
Her scanty meal had shared, —

And how, though wanting food herself,
For Pussy she had cared.

She sent to bid her come within
Her hospitable door,

And gave her such a meal as Madge
Had never seen before.

Once more in safety, Grilda learn’d
A lesson from that day:

That ‘tis not well for little ones
Always to have their way.

| Her goodness to the stranger cat

For Madge vast changes wrought ;
The lady placed her in a school,
And had her clothed and taught.

And thus we see what great events
From trifling things may spring ;
So let us kindness try to show
To evry living thing,





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“FRISKY” THE SQUIRREL.

C. E. BOWEN,

AUTHOR OF “THE ROBIN’S CHRISTMAS EVE.”

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NE day a wounded squirrel lay
Half dead upon the ground ;
A keeper passing with his gun,
The little creature found.

Young Archie Gray of Fawley Hall
Was also in the wood,
And bege’d that he might take it
home
To save it, if he could.

The keeper shook his head in doubt ;
“Twas too far gone,” he said.

He fear’d that ere the morning came,
The squirrel would be dead.

But care and skill will wonders work ;
And I am glad to tell,

That very soon through Archie’s care
It grew quite strong and well.

Ere long the merry little thing
Was sociable and tame,

And being very frolicsome,
“Frisky” became its name.

He’d spring and gambol round the
room,
Performing antics droll;
Or climb and gravely take his seat
Upon the curtain pole.

When, wearied out with all his play,
He felt inclined to sleep,

He’d gently steal to Archie’s side,
Then in his pocket creep.

And there curl’d up so warm and
snug,
He put himself to bed;
His nose tuck’d in between his paws,
His tail wound round his head.



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Summer and Autumn pass’d away ;
Frisky was six months old ;
When suddenly a frost set in;
The air grew keen and cold.

The old folks shivring, drew their
chairs,
Close to the warm fireside ;
The young ones hasten’d to the
ponds,
Rejoiced to skate and slide.

And many gather’d on the banks
The pleasant sight to see,

Of skaters gliding o’er the ice
So quick and merrily.

Now Archie thought that he should
like
To try and learn to skate,
Though quite aware that many falls
At first would be his fate.

He knew a pond near Carlton wood,
About a mile from home ;
And there he thought he’d go, be-
cause
No other boys would come.

His mother warn’d him to be sure
And leave before ’twas dark ;

And not to take the public road,
But go across the park.

Protected well against the cold,
Young Archie walk’d away ;

‘Whilst in the pocket of his coat
The little squirrel lay.

As soon as Archie tried his skates,
He got a desp’rate fall—

A. fate awaiting ev'ry one
Who cannot skate at all!

Poor Frisky getting bump’d and
thump’d,
Squeak’d out with fright and pain,
And Archie thought it would not do
To serve him thus again :

So slipping off his over-coat,
In which the squirrel lay,

He placed it gently on the ground,
Supposing he would stay.

Frisky more frighten’d far than hurt,
Lay curl’d up like a ball,
Indulging in a fit of sulks,
Because he’d had a fall.

Then Archie hasten’d back to skate,
And in his heart was glad

No one was standing by to see
The tumbles that he had.

But as he wisely persever’d,
He grew expert at last ;

And ‘twas with much regret he found
His time of leave was past.

To fetch the squirrel and his coat
Was now the boy’s first care ;

Imagine then his great dismay
To find he was not there!



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He search’d about, but not a trace
Of Frisky could he see;

Except some nut-shells he had left
Beneath a neighb’ring tree.

At home, he always used to come
In answer to his name;

But now, though Archie loudly calld,
No little Frisky came.

Yet all this time upon a gate
Which led within the wood,
Scarcely a stone’s throw from the
pond,
A little figure stood.

‘Twas Frisky, brandishing his tail
And looking round with glee ;

Most likely thinking to himself,
“How sweet is liberty !”

But suddenly whilst there he sat,
He caught his master’s eyes;

Who, shouting joyfully, ran off,
Hoping to seize his prize.

“No, no,” thought Frisky, “free I am,
And free I mean to be !”

So, Just as Archie reach’d the gate,
He sprang upon a tree.

Over the gate with lightning speed
His eager master flew,

No farther could he follow him,
The cunning squirrel knew.

So, climbing to an upper branch,
He sat there quite at ease,

Seeming as if he thought it fun
His master thus to tease.

For as poor Archie stood below,
In very mournful case,
The rogue threw down some wither’d
leaves
Upon his upturn’d face!

And then from tree to tree he sprang,
Thinking it famous fun

To keep his master going too
As fast as he could run.

The wood was getting very dark,
For now ’twas nearly night ;
No longer could poor Archie keep

The squirrel in his sight.

His heart was sad and sorrowful,
He felt all hope was o’er ;

Frisky, too charm’d with liberty,
Would come again no more!

Another trouble now arose,
He found he’d lost his way;

And fear’d that in the lonely wood
He all night long must stay.

Fill’d with alarm, the boy began
Most bitterly to cry;

He dreaded lest perhaps with cold
And hunger he should die.



——o
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APruilicias did Co.,
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Two long hours pass’d, yet there he
was
Still toiling to and fro;
As far as ever from the point
To which he ought to go.

His teeth were chatt’ring with the
cold,
His fingers numb’d by frost;
And dreadful stories fill’d his mind
Of people who'd been lost.

At length he sunk upon the ground,
Completely wearied out ;
His limbs felt stiff, his strength was
gone
From wandering about.

Now very soon the moon arose,
With soft and silwry light ;

And full of comfort to the boy
Was such a cheering sight.

He found that close beside him stood
A large old hollow tree ;

And thought that if he crept inside,
Much warmer he would be.

Some of the bark had crumbled off,
Leaving an opening wide ;

And, putting in his hand, he found
A. heap of leaves inside. |

‘These, being very soft and dry,
Would serve him for a bed;
But Archie would not go to rest

Before his prayers were said.

How thankfully he call’d to mind
That God could hear a prayer,
Offer’d from church, or house, or
wood,
For God is evrywhere !

He knelt with boyish confidence,
Protection to implore ;

And when he rose, no longer felt
As lonely as before.

Then through the opning I have
nam’d
Within the tree he crept,
And soon upon his leafy bed
He comfortably slept.

At home, his absence after dark
Had caused intense alarm,

Lest some occurrence unforeseen,
Had brought the boy to harm.

And anxiously they sallied forth,
And sought him all around ;
But long in vain, no trace of him

Could anywhere be found.

At length his father in the search
The hollow tree espied ;

He held his lantern to the hole,
And threw its light inside.

A joyful sight it must have been,
His truant boy to see,
Unburt and safe, and slumbring
sound
Within the shelt’ring tree.



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“ Archie, my lad!” the father cried,
“You've found a cosy place

In which to sleep, whilst giving me
A very anxious chase!

“Wake up! wake up! and let us
haste
To calm your mother’s fear ;
And tell me, as we walk along,
What can have brought you here !”

Archie arous’d, was quite perplex’d
To think where he could be ;

He wonder’d much to find himself
Inside a hollow tree! |

But as his memory recall’d
All that had lately pass’d,
‘Thankful indeed was he to know
That help had come at last.

And then he told them how hed
tried.
To follow Frisky’s flight ;
And wandering on, had been at iength
O’ertaken by the night.

*Tis scarcely needful here to tell
How great his mother’s Joy,

When safe and sound within her arms
She found her missing boy.

‘Welcome to Archie’s dazzled eyes
The cheerful room and light,
And not less welcome, we suspect,

His supper was to-night.

But more than ever now he miss’‘d
His merry little pet ;

He thought of all his winning ways
And antics with regret.

They both had liv’d so happily,
Companions day by day ;

He felt as though a friend he lov’d
Were taken quite away.

All of a sudden Archie starts,
Then gives a joyous shout ;

No wonder ! From his coat behold,
The squirrel has sprung out!

Yes! there hed been, he never
thought
Of running quite away ;
Though he had teased his master
thus,
It all had been in play.

High ona branch he kept a watch
On Archie down below ;
And saw him when the moon ap-
pear’d
Within the old tree go.

All fun was over now; he knew
“Twas time to be in bed;

And found it very cold to sit
Upon a bough instead.

At length he thought he’d scramble
down,
Within the tree to peep ;
Where, as the reader is aware,
Archie was fast asleep.







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At once the cunning fellow saw
The best thing he could do,

Would be, to creep within the hole,
And go to sleep there too!

He movd so very noiselessly,
No sound had Archie heard ;
Though Frisky slid inside his coat,
He neither woke nor stirr’d.

So all this time, whilst he suppos’d
His little pet had fled,

There he was lying, warm and snug,
Within his usual bed.

And now he made him understand
By signs which Archie knew,

That, having fasted like himself,
He wanted supper too.

He stretch’d his limbs, and wash’d
his face,
As soon as he’d been fed,
Then he and Archie, both tired out,
Were glad to go to bed.

"Tis said, as Frisky older grew,
He learnt to mend his ways,

And never after this event
Play’d truant all his days.

I’ve finished now, my little friends,
The tale I had to tell,

And, hoping you have been amused,
I bid you all farewell.





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— _—-

HECTOR, THE DOG.



HECTOR THE DOG.

ne

Man loves the dog, the dog loves man:
The dog is trusty, strong, and brave,
And God has on the dog bestowed
The power and will man’s life to save.

And often has the tale been told,
How, borne along in eager strife,
While struggling hard to rescue man,
The noble dog has lost his life.

a _-~-~
‘a little inn of Martigny “Come, friend, give up thy toilsome walk,
Had but few guests on Christmas And spend thy Christmas with us
Hive, here,”
For men at home made festive cheer, The landlord spoke with kindly voice,
And cared not household joys to leave. Himself a well-train’d mountaineer.
But near the door a trav'ller stood, “Nay, press me not,” the man replied ;

Who with his host had earnest talk, “T must get home by Christmas Day.
With knapsack girt and staff in hand, | “The mountain-pass I know right well,
All ready for a mountain walk, Its hoary peaks and boulders gray.

“Nay, stay to-night; the way is long; | “Ten years ago I left my home
Dark clouds are flitting o’er the sky; My fortune in the world to seek :
A storm is brewing, trust my word,— It seems to me a long, long time
i hear the raven’s warning cry. Since last I saw these mountains bleak.



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“T promised them that, come what might, |
I would be home on Christmas Day ;
So farewell; may Gop’s blessing be
With me along my toilsome way.”

In the fast-fading evening light
He then pursued his lonely road,
Onward and upward through the snow,
Leaving behind him man’s abode.

Above him rose the snowy peaks,
Still glowing white against the sky,
And many a crevasse, deep and wide,
Around his path he could descry.

Upward and onward still he toil’d,
His heart was beating loud and fast:
He’d reach’d his own dear fatherland,
Danger and toil were well-nigh past.

He long’d to hear his father’s voice,

His mother’s kiss once more to feel,
And in the quiet restful home

With them once more in prayer to kneel.

He long’d to spread before their gaze
The honest gains of many a year,

Harn'd with hard toil for those he lov’d,
And guarded with a jealous care.

His father with his silver hair,
His mother with her kind blue eyes,
His sisters, little playmates once,—
Would he their faces recognize?

Colder and colder blew the wind,
It whistled up the mountain-pass ;
The blinding snow-storm flew betore ;
The ice was slippery as glass.

Onward he went, but cautiously :
“Surely I have not miss’d my way!
The night grows dark, ’t is piercing cold:
Can I hold on till dawn of day?”

And still he battled with the storm,
That every moment fiercer grew,

And stronger came the dreadful thought
That he the way no longer knew.

And now his strength is ebbing fast ;
His head is sinking on his breast.
Oh! could he in that fearful storm
But find some shelter, gain some rest!

Happy for him that at that time,
Alone upon the mountain-side,

He knew that to his Father's love
His life or death he might confide.



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The eddying snow-wreath whirl'd around,
Snow hid the path, snow fill’d the air,
He fell unconscious to the ground,
The object of a Father's care.

Above the smooth white-sheeted snow
The convent-walls rose dark and high,
And bright the clear, cold stars look’d
down
From out the wind-swept winter sky.

The stately shadows, broad and dark,
Lay stretch’d along the mountain-side,

And through the narrow windows gleam’d
The blazing logs of Christmas-tide.

It was the holy Christmas Eve,

When joy in Christian homes should be,
And in this lonely monast’ry

Was friendly talk and quiet glee.

And truly none deserved it more
Than these lone men of lowly mind,
Who, in their Master’s steps to tread,
Had left the pleasant world behind.

That was a scene for painter's art,
Those men so calm, so free from strife,
Who bore upon each rugged face
The impress of a noble life,

Nor men alone composed the group :

Four dogs, of pure St. Bernard blood,
Or slept unconscious on the hearth,
Or by their masters proudly stood;

Calm, lofty, steadfast, great, and strong,
A picture of the mountains round ;
Both dogs and masters in one tie
Of kindly brotherhood fast bound.

What was their life? had selfish aim
Knticed them to this lonely spot,
Life's toil and burden to escape,
Its battle-field to enter not ?

No, surely; not in sinful ease
The daily lite of each was spent,
But to fight hand in hand with Death
Hach nerve was strain’d, each pow’
was bent.

For here, amongst the snow and ice,
The everlasting winter cold,

Full many a weary traveller
Had died unknown since days of old.

' And so to seek and save the lost

These men and dogs were living here:
Bravely they daily risk’d their lives,
Nor eer gave way to thought of fear.





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Vespers are over. In the hall
Themonksare gather’d round the board
To celebrate the joyful feast
With the best cheer their stores afford.

The noble dogs are feasting now,

Fed with kind hands and loving care, |

For if they share their masters’ toils
Their joys and feasts they also share,

“ Brethren and friends,” the Prior said,
“The night grows wild, the storm gets
hi¢h,
The dogs are restless; some must go,
If help is needed. to be nigh.

“This night we'll sing our hymn to Gop

With shepherds and the angelic host; -

But you will praise whilst yet you serve,
And by the serving praise Him most.”

So, taking hatchets, torches, ropes,
The monks and dogs together went:

They make towards the mountain-pass,
And soon the dog's are on a scent,

Smelling and sniffing through the storm,
Their noble heads bent to the snow,

Close follow'd by the stalwart monks,
They bravely up the mountain go,

“Full sure, I guess,” said Brother Ralph,
“Some traveller is out to-night,
And sure I am that for his life
With storm and snow he’ll haveto fight,

“And if but once he miss the path
Hard by the precipice which winds,
A fearful sight ’t will be for him
The mangled traveller that finds.

“But, see, the dogs are on the track ;
See how with one consent they go;
They ’ve turn’d the point, they ’re out of
sight :
And, hark! that baying down below!”

The monks rush on with breathless speed,
_ All on the strain, no word they say ;
But as they breast the storm-blasts’ rage,
With silent earnestness they pray.

They turn the point, and down below
The eager, striving dogs they see,

All on a narrow ledge that hangs
Projecting o’er the icy sea.

There ’s one way down, but e’en in light,
When all is calm, on summer's day,
While in pursuit of mountain goat,
The hunter dreads that dizzy way.





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The brothers pause, and peering down,
Hach grasps the other as he stands ;

The noble hounds will do till death
What their life-saving law commands.

First one and then the other down
That fearful steep, with shuddering
cry,
They creep, they cringe, they bound, they
roll,
And now on snow-slip swiftly fly,

The snow-slip takes a happy turn,
And lands them on the icy sea,

And sharp glad barkings upward send
The tidings of their victory.

And thanks to Gop! the storm is past,
The gentle moon gives out her light
To guide their footsteps down each steep,
And aid their swing from height to

height.

They reach at length the sea of ice,
Three dogs come bounding to their
side :
The fourth, brave Hector, where was he
Hurl’d by the avalanche’s slide?

Anxious and eager rush the dogs
To where a face of hopeful glow
And firm resolve, in death-like swoon,
Peers upward from the open’d snow.

What dogs could do these dog's have done;
Man’s skill and care must do the rest;

And sooner far than could be thought
Their efforts with success were blest.

But other cares await them now:
No sooner had they shown the man,
Then, darting off with eager haste,
The hounds to farther distance ran.

Hector they seek with whine and cries;

_ They scratch the appalling mound of

Snow, |
Which, loosen’d from the mountain-side,
Had swept them with it down below.

Vain work for dogs! vain work for men!
Thousands of tons of ice and snow,
Heap'd up in one vast funeral pile,
Poor Hector holds entombed below.

Alas! poor Hector! Gone for him
Those scampers on the mountain’s side,

Where to lead men from height to height
Still upward, was his joy and pride,





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Gone the sweet smell of pine-clad hill,
The bright blue sky, the sunny slope,
The torrent’s roar, the eagle's cry,
The foes with which he used to cope.

For winter oft would send the wolf

_ To prowl among the flocks below,
And oft the bear would seek the herds

That shudder'd on their path of snow.

Then mighty courage filled the heart
Of Hector, bravest of the brave,
And forth he rushed with eager haste
The trembling flocks and herds to save.

But now no more: his work is done;
The dog has met a hero’s end!

With deep-drawn sigh the brethren mourn

Their mute companion and their friend.

_ Then on with heavy hearts and slow

They bear with toil the rescued man,
Mounting still upward to the height
From whence their steep descent began.

And slow, and hanging low their heads.

_ As if oppress’d by sense of shame

Mingled with grief, the noble hounds
In silence to the convent came.

There watchful care attends the couch
Where rests the traveller return’d,
And swift feet carry to his home
Good news from one they might have
mourn’d,

But as each Christmas-tide return’d,
And still he toil’d in life’s rough way,

With thankful praise he join’d in thought
Hector, the dog, and Christmas Day.







——
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DAY GIFT.

COMPRISING



Biht

Country Pets. Frisky, the Squirrel.
Pussy’s London Life. Hector, the Dog.

WITH

eayvVUNTY-PQUR PAGES OF ILLUSTRATIONS,

Printed im Colours by Rronbherm.

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LONDON :

FREDERICK WARNE AND OO.
BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
NEW YORK: SCRIBNER, WELFORD AND CO,
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THE DONKEY.



HE Ass, or Donkey, as we sometimes call him, is a
very useful animal. He may be called the friend of
the poor man, as he helps him in his daily toil with equal
strength and patience, and is satisfied with little and cheap
food. Donkey. I think he may be called the child’s friend also,
for the little ones owe much pleasure to the gentle, sure-
footed beast, that carries them over the sands by the sea-
side, or along the pleasant breezy lanes, or across the
furze-covered common. Even baby may have a ride on
this quiet steed, and be carried in a cosy basket, nodding
his fat little head by the — of his bigger brothers and
sisters.

The Donkey has one fault: he is obstinate, and often
tries to get his own way. There are children who ought
to know better, who have the same fault. When they see
how disagreeable it is in a Donkey, we hope they will try
to be more docile and obedient themselves. The Donkey
is made obstinate, sometimes, by ill-treatment. Indeed,
all animals are affected by the temper of their owners.
The Ass or Dog of an ill-tempered man or boy, is almost
sure to grow like his master. So if you have a Donkey
of your own, take care to treat it kindly, and set it a good
example. In the East, Donkeys are much larger and
stronger than they are in England. They will gallop
along, and go great distances, and prove as useful—some-
times more useful—than Horses. You will see in the
Bible that they are spoken of as fit to be ridden by judges

and great men.
1


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THE DOG.



HO does not love the Dog? Every English boy

~ does, I am sure; and nearly every English girl.
Very many funny and pretty stories are told of Dogs. I
will tell you one that was, I know, quite true. A Skye
Terrier (you will see one with long shaggy hair in the
picture,) grew very fond of a merry baby-boy once, and
would always be in the nursery when he was bathed and
dressed. And when nurse was ready for them, he used to
bring her the little socks and shoes to put on; and baby
would crow, and laugh, and say, “Poor, poor,” and pat
Fido’s head with his tiny soft hand, and then Fido would
jump about and bark. At last poor baby was taken 1ll
and died, and was buried under the Maythorn in the old
churchyard. When Fido could not find his little play-
fellow he was very sad: he cried and howled, and would
not eat the first day, and the next morning no one could
find him in the house; but nurse, who walked to look at
poor baby’s grave that afternoon, found Fido lying on it
with the child’s little socks and shoes under his paws!
He had stolen them out of the nursery, and carried them
to the grave, where he was scratching and whining, in
hopes that baby would wake up and put them on! Nurse
had great trouble to coax him to go home with her, and
for a long time he would steal away to the grave, and cry
and whine there; so fondly he thought about his little

baby playfellow.
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THE HORSE.

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HE Horse is a noble creature, as intelligent and faith-

ful as the Dog, when well brought up. The Arabs
are the people who are kindest to their Horses: they
suffer the animal to live in the tent with their children,
and treat it as if it were quite one of the family. Thus
it grows up gentle and sensible, obeys its master, and
follows him about like a Dog.

Once an Arab chief was made prisoner by his enemies,
who tied his- hands and feet, and left him in a tent till
the next day, when, perhaps, they would have killed him.
But he heard his Horse whinny outside, and in the night
he rolled himself over and over on the ground, till he
oot to the curtain of the tent. He lifted it up, and saw
his good Horse standing close beside it. Directly the
steed saw that his master could not get up to mount him,
he took the chief’s sash in his mouth, and carrying him
thus, galloped away with him as fast nearly as the wind,
and never stopped till he fell down with his load at the
Arab’s own tent door. The poor Horse was so tired that
he died almost directly afterwards, but his master was
saved, and brought back to his wife and his little children.
Was not that a very clever and kind thing for a Horse
to do? |

The Horse has a very good memory. He soon finds
his way in a new place; he is also very obedient to his
master, and seems anxious to please and serve him.
How good it was of God to make Dogs and Horses, and
oive them to us to serve and love us! let us be very kind

to them, or He who made them will not be pleased.
3


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London.


THE COW AND SHEEP.



_J OW meek and gentle the face of the Cow is! She is
the most good-tempered creature we know. I
cannot tell what children would do without her, for she
gives them the nice warm milk they drink for breakfast,
and of which the rice puddings and custards are made.
Cows are not so clever as Dogs and Horses, but they
learn to know and care for those that milk and feed them.
A Cow which had been long on board ship at sea, was
taken on shore at Portsmouth when the ship came home,
and put into a green field, where the sailors thought she ©
would enjoy quite a feast on the nice fresh grass and
cowslips. But after they left her she would not eat at all,
nor stay in the meadow. She ran down to the beach,
and stood there bellowing so loud and so long, that at last
they sent a boat for her, and took her on board again,
where she seemed quite happy. I think this will show
you that Cows really do learn to love those who treat
them well.

We have to thank the Sheep for our warm woollen
clothing, as well as for food. Itis one of the most useful
of animals. Lambs are. very pretty, playful little things.
They run and jump about in the green meadows, when
the spring comes, like a number of merry, happy little
children. ‘They are not very clever, but they can learn
to know the voice of their shepherd, which in Eastern
countries they follow, as he walks before the flock; but

they cannot be made to follow a stranger.
| . A,


THE POULTRY YARD.



A hg: Cock is a noble bird, very brave, and very kind. |
brave creatures generally are kind. When some
nice food is thrown down for the Poultry, or he finds a
fat worm which looks very good, he calls the Hens and |
his little children the Chickens, and lets them begin to
eat before he will touch any himself. Then he joins in
the feast, and enjoys it all the better because he is not
ereedy. The Hen is a very good mother. She takes
great care of her Chickens, and if she sees a Hawk high
up in the air, she calls them all under her wings, and
would be killed herself, before she would. let the cruel bird

hurt them.

Ducks are said to be greedy birds, Wa I think there
is a difference between their way of eating and a Fowls.
They look very pretty sailing on the coun

Ducklings are the prettiest little birds that can be
seen when first they come out of the shell—little golden
puffs of feathers.

When Ducks lay early in the year, and it is rather
cold, Mamma Duck strips off more of her feathers, to
make her nest nice and warm for the nestlings, than she
does when she lays later in the season. This shows a
_ degree of sense and reflection in the bird we could hardly
have expected.

If the eggs of a wild Duck are given to a tame Duck
to sit on, the young ones will not be tame like her own
nestlings, but will at once run away and hide themselves |
with wonderful cunning. But the pretty Ducks in this
picture are tame ones, like those you may feed at the farm.

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RABBITS AND PIGEONS.



meant are especially the pets of boys. It is a very
pretty sight to witness a number of wild Rabbits
come out and play on the grass in the moonlight, as we
have sometimes done. They are very much afraid of
Weasels; creatures which are their natural enemies. If
a Weasel follow a Rabbit who has young ones at home,
she will run in any other direction, and play all sorts of
cunning tricks to prevent him from finding her house or
burrow. [ancy rabbits are often very handsome.

- Pigeons are very pretty birds, very affectionate, and
easily tamed. They like companions. A gentleman once
had one Pigeon only: as it had no friends of its own race,
it became very fond of an old Barndoor Fowl, whose side
it seldom left. It would run about all day with him, and
roost by his side at night ; and the Cock never drove him
away, but seemed to be much attached to his Pigeon friend.

Some Pigeons will carry letters from one place to
another. Once when a town was shut in with enemies,
and the people could not get out to ask for help, they
sent letters to call their friends to their assistance under
the wing of one of these birds, and so obtained aid by

means of a Pigeon postman!
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PUSSY’S LONDON

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“To say a word or two, my child,
Before we part, I come;

Words which, perhaps, may cross your mind

When you are far from home.

“ Grilda,”—the mother raised her paw,—
“Grilda, attend to me;

Remember that where’er you go,
You must obedient be.

“T pray you neer again to take
A scrap that’s not your own,
Although it may be nothing more

Than just a chicken-bone.

“And recollect that Pussy-cats
Quite idle should not be;

The pleasant task of catching mice
Is given you and me.

“Try and think less about your looks,—
You re but a kitten small;

Surely in such a little thing
Should be no pride at all.

“And now, my daughter, fare thee well;
Attend to what I’ve said ;”

And then the mother rubb’d her cheek
Against her kitten’s head.

I can’t be certain that the tears
In Grilda’s eyes arose;

But, walking round her parent’s sides,
She purr’d and rubb’d her nose.

She really meant to try and mind
All that her mother said ;

But like a corn-sieve full of holes
Was Lady Grilda’s head:

The words went in at one white ear,
But not, alas! to stay;

For at the other out they slipp’d,
And vanish’d quite away.

Her future mistress, when in town,
Lived in Throckmorton Square ;

And very shortly afterwards
Grilda was taken there.

This town house, in her country eyes,
Seemed fitted for a queen;

Such grandeur and such elegance
She never yet had seen.

And in her silly little heart
The foolish Pussy thought,

“This seems the proper place for me

To which I now am brought.
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“A Londoner I am become,
There ’s something grand in that;
I’m very glad I’ve ceased to be
A simple country cat,

“Such vulgar work I need not do
As running after mice;

Poor mother might, at all events,

Have spared me that advice.”

But one thing Grilda much disliked
In this her London home, ©

That not beyond the garden gate
Was she allowed to roam.

Perhaps, too, if the truth were known,
She rather long’d to go,

Her graceful form and snow-white coat
The London cats to show.

She almost hoped that as she pass'‘d
They ’d all turn round and stare,

And wonder who that kitten was
With such a noble air.

Within an empty attic room,
In which she used to play,
A window opening on the roof
Was left unclosed one day.

Grilda had very often thought
‘T would be delightful fun

To find some way of slipping out,
And take a pleasant run,

Now was the moment for escape!
But first of all with care

She wash'd her face, arrang’d her tail,
And smooth’d her silken hair.

That she was doing very wrong
This naughty Pussy knew;
Yet, springing on the window-sill,
She through the op’ning flew.

‘Tl’ was very pleasant for a time
To play and run about;

But soon she felt it dull, and wished
Some kitten would come out.

And then she found with great dismay
Her coat was getting soiled,

And feared that, ere ’t was even seen,
Her beauty would be spoiled.

From such a black and dirty place
She saw ’t was time to go;

So softly creeping down the wall,
She gain’d the street below.
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Having from roof to roof skipp’d on, Whilst here she crouch’d behind some coal









She’d wander’d from the square, In miserable plight,
And reach’d a street which proved to be} The owner came to close the door

A busy thoroughfare, — And lock it for the night.

She stood bewilder’d with the noise, | Set free next day, misfortune still

Not knowing where to fly, Appear’d to be her fate :

When suddenly a savage dog A milkman chanced to leave his pail

Came running briskly by. Outside an iron gate;

He stopp’d, for on a flight of steps The pail was nearly full of milk,

The trembling cat he spied Thus early in the day,
Then darting up, with grinning teeth And there it stood, a tempting sight, = = |
~ To seize her neck he tried. Hixactly in her way. |
Never was cat more nearly caught.— 'T was more than kitten could resist,

The dog had touched her tail, So scrambling up the side,

When Grilda sprang, with bristling hair, | To reach the white delicious food

Upon an iron rail, Poor starving Grilda tried.
He hoped to reach her as she clung, The milkman saw her, and his lungs

And leap’d with all his might ; _ Sent forth so loud a yell,
But giving one more desperate bound, That overbalancing herself,

She vanish’d from his sight. Into the pail she fell!
In vain he hunted up and down, As quickly out she came again,

And scented all around, Dragged by the angry man;
For Puss was safely hid inside And, smarting from his cuffs and blows,

A coal-shed underground. All dripping, off she ran.


London.

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Alas, poor Pussy! every hope
Of admiration o'er,

She only long’d to find her way
Back to her home once more.

But she, like others I have known,
The lesson had to learn,x—

Though easy ‘tis to go astray,
‘Tis harder to return.

At length she saw what seem’d to her
A quiet little place

Beside a post, where she might creep
To wash her sides and face.

Yet even here poor Grilda found
She could not safely stay ;

Some schoolboys passing by the spot
Soon pelted her away.

~ Another little wanderer

Was pacing up the street,
Like Grilda, scarcely knowing where
To turn her weary feet.

'T was Madge Dunlee, a begear-girl,
Sent forth to beg her bread ;

A child of want and woe was she,
Untaught, uncloth’d, unted.

No food that day had touch’d her lips,
Yet all had pass’d her by ;

No one had seen her outstretch’d hand,
Or listen’d to her cry.

And thus she linger’d on her way,
Till coming to a shop,

The fragrant scent of new-baked bread
Caused hungry Madge to stop.

She knew, poor child! those loaves and buns
Had not been baked for her, |

Yet from the pleasant sight and smell
She did not care to stir.

She gazed so long, they came at last
To order her away }

The baker said ’t was not the place
For beggar-girls to stay.

A woman passing from the shop
Possess’d a kindly heart ;

She broke a penny roll in two,
And gave the child a part,

But just as Madge began to eat,
Came Grilda to her side,

And plain as starving Pussy could
To beg a morsel tried.
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“There’s not enough,’ thought Madge,
“T’m sure,
For Pussy and for me};
But yet how very weak and faint
The poor thing seems to be!

“There, take a bit; I know so well
How bad it feels to want;

Though as to giving any more,
No, Puss, indeed I can't.”

But as she sat upon a step,
Hating her bit of bread,

Puss mew’d and touch’d her with her paw,
Imploring to be fed.

Her constant cries and eager looks
Went straight to Madge’s heart:
Of every piece of roll she ate
She gave the cat a part.

This little scene by chance took place
Close to Throckmorton Square,
And Grilda’s mistress from her house

Observ'd the hungry pair.

She noticed how the beggar-child
Her scanty meal had shared, —

And how, though wanting food herself,
For Pussy she had cared.

She sent to bid her come within
Her hospitable door,

And gave her such a meal as Madge
Had never seen before.

Once more in safety, Grilda learn’d
A lesson from that day:

That ‘tis not well for little ones
Always to have their way.

| Her goodness to the stranger cat

For Madge vast changes wrought ;
The lady placed her in a school,
And had her clothed and taught.

And thus we see what great events
From trifling things may spring ;
So let us kindness try to show
To evry living thing,


Loudon,

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FRISKY, THE SQUIRREL.



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“FRISKY” THE SQUIRREL.

C. E. BOWEN,

AUTHOR OF “THE ROBIN’S CHRISTMAS EVE.”

Rese tS

NE day a wounded squirrel lay
Half dead upon the ground ;
A keeper passing with his gun,
The little creature found.

Young Archie Gray of Fawley Hall
Was also in the wood,
And bege’d that he might take it
home
To save it, if he could.

The keeper shook his head in doubt ;
“Twas too far gone,” he said.

He fear’d that ere the morning came,
The squirrel would be dead.

But care and skill will wonders work ;
And I am glad to tell,

That very soon through Archie’s care
It grew quite strong and well.

Ere long the merry little thing
Was sociable and tame,

And being very frolicsome,
“Frisky” became its name.

He’d spring and gambol round the
room,
Performing antics droll;
Or climb and gravely take his seat
Upon the curtain pole.

When, wearied out with all his play,
He felt inclined to sleep,

He’d gently steal to Archie’s side,
Then in his pocket creep.

And there curl’d up so warm and
snug,
He put himself to bed;
His nose tuck’d in between his paws,
His tail wound round his head.
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Summer and Autumn pass’d away ;
Frisky was six months old ;
When suddenly a frost set in;
The air grew keen and cold.

The old folks shivring, drew their
chairs,
Close to the warm fireside ;
The young ones hasten’d to the
ponds,
Rejoiced to skate and slide.

And many gather’d on the banks
The pleasant sight to see,

Of skaters gliding o’er the ice
So quick and merrily.

Now Archie thought that he should
like
To try and learn to skate,
Though quite aware that many falls
At first would be his fate.

He knew a pond near Carlton wood,
About a mile from home ;
And there he thought he’d go, be-
cause
No other boys would come.

His mother warn’d him to be sure
And leave before ’twas dark ;

And not to take the public road,
But go across the park.

Protected well against the cold,
Young Archie walk’d away ;

‘Whilst in the pocket of his coat
The little squirrel lay.

As soon as Archie tried his skates,
He got a desp’rate fall—

A. fate awaiting ev'ry one
Who cannot skate at all!

Poor Frisky getting bump’d and
thump’d,
Squeak’d out with fright and pain,
And Archie thought it would not do
To serve him thus again :

So slipping off his over-coat,
In which the squirrel lay,

He placed it gently on the ground,
Supposing he would stay.

Frisky more frighten’d far than hurt,
Lay curl’d up like a ball,
Indulging in a fit of sulks,
Because he’d had a fall.

Then Archie hasten’d back to skate,
And in his heart was glad

No one was standing by to see
The tumbles that he had.

But as he wisely persever’d,
He grew expert at last ;

And ‘twas with much regret he found
His time of leave was past.

To fetch the squirrel and his coat
Was now the boy’s first care ;

Imagine then his great dismay
To find he was not there!
Lvnden

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He search’d about, but not a trace
Of Frisky could he see;

Except some nut-shells he had left
Beneath a neighb’ring tree.

At home, he always used to come
In answer to his name;

But now, though Archie loudly calld,
No little Frisky came.

Yet all this time upon a gate
Which led within the wood,
Scarcely a stone’s throw from the
pond,
A little figure stood.

‘Twas Frisky, brandishing his tail
And looking round with glee ;

Most likely thinking to himself,
“How sweet is liberty !”

But suddenly whilst there he sat,
He caught his master’s eyes;

Who, shouting joyfully, ran off,
Hoping to seize his prize.

“No, no,” thought Frisky, “free I am,
And free I mean to be !”

So, Just as Archie reach’d the gate,
He sprang upon a tree.

Over the gate with lightning speed
His eager master flew,

No farther could he follow him,
The cunning squirrel knew.

So, climbing to an upper branch,
He sat there quite at ease,

Seeming as if he thought it fun
His master thus to tease.

For as poor Archie stood below,
In very mournful case,
The rogue threw down some wither’d
leaves
Upon his upturn’d face!

And then from tree to tree he sprang,
Thinking it famous fun

To keep his master going too
As fast as he could run.

The wood was getting very dark,
For now ’twas nearly night ;
No longer could poor Archie keep

The squirrel in his sight.

His heart was sad and sorrowful,
He felt all hope was o’er ;

Frisky, too charm’d with liberty,
Would come again no more!

Another trouble now arose,
He found he’d lost his way;

And fear’d that in the lonely wood
He all night long must stay.

Fill’d with alarm, the boy began
Most bitterly to cry;

He dreaded lest perhaps with cold
And hunger he should die.
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MA

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APruilicias did Co.,
Lvundon.


Two long hours pass’d, yet there he
was
Still toiling to and fro;
As far as ever from the point
To which he ought to go.

His teeth were chatt’ring with the
cold,
His fingers numb’d by frost;
And dreadful stories fill’d his mind
Of people who'd been lost.

At length he sunk upon the ground,
Completely wearied out ;
His limbs felt stiff, his strength was
gone
From wandering about.

Now very soon the moon arose,
With soft and silwry light ;

And full of comfort to the boy
Was such a cheering sight.

He found that close beside him stood
A large old hollow tree ;

And thought that if he crept inside,
Much warmer he would be.

Some of the bark had crumbled off,
Leaving an opening wide ;

And, putting in his hand, he found
A. heap of leaves inside. |

‘These, being very soft and dry,
Would serve him for a bed;
But Archie would not go to rest

Before his prayers were said.

How thankfully he call’d to mind
That God could hear a prayer,
Offer’d from church, or house, or
wood,
For God is evrywhere !

He knelt with boyish confidence,
Protection to implore ;

And when he rose, no longer felt
As lonely as before.

Then through the opning I have
nam’d
Within the tree he crept,
And soon upon his leafy bed
He comfortably slept.

At home, his absence after dark
Had caused intense alarm,

Lest some occurrence unforeseen,
Had brought the boy to harm.

And anxiously they sallied forth,
And sought him all around ;
But long in vain, no trace of him

Could anywhere be found.

At length his father in the search
The hollow tree espied ;

He held his lantern to the hole,
And threw its light inside.

A joyful sight it must have been,
His truant boy to see,
Unburt and safe, and slumbring
sound
Within the shelt’ring tree.
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“ Archie, my lad!” the father cried,
“You've found a cosy place

In which to sleep, whilst giving me
A very anxious chase!

“Wake up! wake up! and let us
haste
To calm your mother’s fear ;
And tell me, as we walk along,
What can have brought you here !”

Archie arous’d, was quite perplex’d
To think where he could be ;

He wonder’d much to find himself
Inside a hollow tree! |

But as his memory recall’d
All that had lately pass’d,
‘Thankful indeed was he to know
That help had come at last.

And then he told them how hed
tried.
To follow Frisky’s flight ;
And wandering on, had been at iength
O’ertaken by the night.

*Tis scarcely needful here to tell
How great his mother’s Joy,

When safe and sound within her arms
She found her missing boy.

‘Welcome to Archie’s dazzled eyes
The cheerful room and light,
And not less welcome, we suspect,

His supper was to-night.

But more than ever now he miss’‘d
His merry little pet ;

He thought of all his winning ways
And antics with regret.

They both had liv’d so happily,
Companions day by day ;

He felt as though a friend he lov’d
Were taken quite away.

All of a sudden Archie starts,
Then gives a joyous shout ;

No wonder ! From his coat behold,
The squirrel has sprung out!

Yes! there hed been, he never
thought
Of running quite away ;
Though he had teased his master
thus,
It all had been in play.

High ona branch he kept a watch
On Archie down below ;
And saw him when the moon ap-
pear’d
Within the old tree go.

All fun was over now; he knew
“Twas time to be in bed;

And found it very cold to sit
Upon a bough instead.

At length he thought he’d scramble
down,
Within the tree to peep ;
Where, as the reader is aware,
Archie was fast asleep.




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At once the cunning fellow saw
The best thing he could do,

Would be, to creep within the hole,
And go to sleep there too!

He movd so very noiselessly,
No sound had Archie heard ;
Though Frisky slid inside his coat,
He neither woke nor stirr’d.

So all this time, whilst he suppos’d
His little pet had fled,

There he was lying, warm and snug,
Within his usual bed.

And now he made him understand
By signs which Archie knew,

That, having fasted like himself,
He wanted supper too.

He stretch’d his limbs, and wash’d
his face,
As soon as he’d been fed,
Then he and Archie, both tired out,
Were glad to go to bed.

"Tis said, as Frisky older grew,
He learnt to mend his ways,

And never after this event
Play’d truant all his days.

I’ve finished now, my little friends,
The tale I had to tell,

And, hoping you have been amused,
I bid you all farewell.


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HECTOR, THE DOG.
HECTOR THE DOG.

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Man loves the dog, the dog loves man:
The dog is trusty, strong, and brave,
And God has on the dog bestowed
The power and will man’s life to save.

And often has the tale been told,
How, borne along in eager strife,
While struggling hard to rescue man,
The noble dog has lost his life.

a _-~-~
‘a little inn of Martigny “Come, friend, give up thy toilsome walk,
Had but few guests on Christmas And spend thy Christmas with us
Hive, here,”
For men at home made festive cheer, The landlord spoke with kindly voice,
And cared not household joys to leave. Himself a well-train’d mountaineer.
But near the door a trav'ller stood, “Nay, press me not,” the man replied ;

Who with his host had earnest talk, “T must get home by Christmas Day.
With knapsack girt and staff in hand, | “The mountain-pass I know right well,
All ready for a mountain walk, Its hoary peaks and boulders gray.

“Nay, stay to-night; the way is long; | “Ten years ago I left my home
Dark clouds are flitting o’er the sky; My fortune in the world to seek :
A storm is brewing, trust my word,— It seems to me a long, long time
i hear the raven’s warning cry. Since last I saw these mountains bleak.
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“T promised them that, come what might, |
I would be home on Christmas Day ;
So farewell; may Gop’s blessing be
With me along my toilsome way.”

In the fast-fading evening light
He then pursued his lonely road,
Onward and upward through the snow,
Leaving behind him man’s abode.

Above him rose the snowy peaks,
Still glowing white against the sky,
And many a crevasse, deep and wide,
Around his path he could descry.

Upward and onward still he toil’d,
His heart was beating loud and fast:
He’d reach’d his own dear fatherland,
Danger and toil were well-nigh past.

He long’d to hear his father’s voice,

His mother’s kiss once more to feel,
And in the quiet restful home

With them once more in prayer to kneel.

He long’d to spread before their gaze
The honest gains of many a year,

Harn'd with hard toil for those he lov’d,
And guarded with a jealous care.

His father with his silver hair,
His mother with her kind blue eyes,
His sisters, little playmates once,—
Would he their faces recognize?

Colder and colder blew the wind,
It whistled up the mountain-pass ;
The blinding snow-storm flew betore ;
The ice was slippery as glass.

Onward he went, but cautiously :
“Surely I have not miss’d my way!
The night grows dark, ’t is piercing cold:
Can I hold on till dawn of day?”

And still he battled with the storm,
That every moment fiercer grew,

And stronger came the dreadful thought
That he the way no longer knew.

And now his strength is ebbing fast ;
His head is sinking on his breast.
Oh! could he in that fearful storm
But find some shelter, gain some rest!

Happy for him that at that time,
Alone upon the mountain-side,

He knew that to his Father's love
His life or death he might confide.
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The eddying snow-wreath whirl'd around,
Snow hid the path, snow fill’d the air,
He fell unconscious to the ground,
The object of a Father's care.

Above the smooth white-sheeted snow
The convent-walls rose dark and high,
And bright the clear, cold stars look’d
down
From out the wind-swept winter sky.

The stately shadows, broad and dark,
Lay stretch’d along the mountain-side,

And through the narrow windows gleam’d
The blazing logs of Christmas-tide.

It was the holy Christmas Eve,

When joy in Christian homes should be,
And in this lonely monast’ry

Was friendly talk and quiet glee.

And truly none deserved it more
Than these lone men of lowly mind,
Who, in their Master’s steps to tread,
Had left the pleasant world behind.

That was a scene for painter's art,
Those men so calm, so free from strife,
Who bore upon each rugged face
The impress of a noble life,

Nor men alone composed the group :

Four dogs, of pure St. Bernard blood,
Or slept unconscious on the hearth,
Or by their masters proudly stood;

Calm, lofty, steadfast, great, and strong,
A picture of the mountains round ;
Both dogs and masters in one tie
Of kindly brotherhood fast bound.

What was their life? had selfish aim
Knticed them to this lonely spot,
Life's toil and burden to escape,
Its battle-field to enter not ?

No, surely; not in sinful ease
The daily lite of each was spent,
But to fight hand in hand with Death
Hach nerve was strain’d, each pow’
was bent.

For here, amongst the snow and ice,
The everlasting winter cold,

Full many a weary traveller
Had died unknown since days of old.

' And so to seek and save the lost

These men and dogs were living here:
Bravely they daily risk’d their lives,
Nor eer gave way to thought of fear.


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Vespers are over. In the hall
Themonksare gather’d round the board
To celebrate the joyful feast
With the best cheer their stores afford.

The noble dogs are feasting now,

Fed with kind hands and loving care, |

For if they share their masters’ toils
Their joys and feasts they also share,

“ Brethren and friends,” the Prior said,
“The night grows wild, the storm gets
hi¢h,
The dogs are restless; some must go,
If help is needed. to be nigh.

“This night we'll sing our hymn to Gop

With shepherds and the angelic host; -

But you will praise whilst yet you serve,
And by the serving praise Him most.”

So, taking hatchets, torches, ropes,
The monks and dogs together went:

They make towards the mountain-pass,
And soon the dog's are on a scent,

Smelling and sniffing through the storm,
Their noble heads bent to the snow,

Close follow'd by the stalwart monks,
They bravely up the mountain go,

“Full sure, I guess,” said Brother Ralph,
“Some traveller is out to-night,
And sure I am that for his life
With storm and snow he’ll haveto fight,

“And if but once he miss the path
Hard by the precipice which winds,
A fearful sight ’t will be for him
The mangled traveller that finds.

“But, see, the dogs are on the track ;
See how with one consent they go;
They ’ve turn’d the point, they ’re out of
sight :
And, hark! that baying down below!”

The monks rush on with breathless speed,
_ All on the strain, no word they say ;
But as they breast the storm-blasts’ rage,
With silent earnestness they pray.

They turn the point, and down below
The eager, striving dogs they see,

All on a narrow ledge that hangs
Projecting o’er the icy sea.

There ’s one way down, but e’en in light,
When all is calm, on summer's day,
While in pursuit of mountain goat,
The hunter dreads that dizzy way.


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The brothers pause, and peering down,
Hach grasps the other as he stands ;

The noble hounds will do till death
What their life-saving law commands.

First one and then the other down
That fearful steep, with shuddering
cry,
They creep, they cringe, they bound, they
roll,
And now on snow-slip swiftly fly,

The snow-slip takes a happy turn,
And lands them on the icy sea,

And sharp glad barkings upward send
The tidings of their victory.

And thanks to Gop! the storm is past,
The gentle moon gives out her light
To guide their footsteps down each steep,
And aid their swing from height to

height.

They reach at length the sea of ice,
Three dogs come bounding to their
side :
The fourth, brave Hector, where was he
Hurl’d by the avalanche’s slide?

Anxious and eager rush the dogs
To where a face of hopeful glow
And firm resolve, in death-like swoon,
Peers upward from the open’d snow.

What dogs could do these dog's have done;
Man’s skill and care must do the rest;

And sooner far than could be thought
Their efforts with success were blest.

But other cares await them now:
No sooner had they shown the man,
Then, darting off with eager haste,
The hounds to farther distance ran.

Hector they seek with whine and cries;

_ They scratch the appalling mound of

Snow, |
Which, loosen’d from the mountain-side,
Had swept them with it down below.

Vain work for dogs! vain work for men!
Thousands of tons of ice and snow,
Heap'd up in one vast funeral pile,
Poor Hector holds entombed below.

Alas! poor Hector! Gone for him
Those scampers on the mountain’s side,

Where to lead men from height to height
Still upward, was his joy and pride,


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Gone the sweet smell of pine-clad hill,
The bright blue sky, the sunny slope,
The torrent’s roar, the eagle's cry,
The foes with which he used to cope.

For winter oft would send the wolf

_ To prowl among the flocks below,
And oft the bear would seek the herds

That shudder'd on their path of snow.

Then mighty courage filled the heart
Of Hector, bravest of the brave,
And forth he rushed with eager haste
The trembling flocks and herds to save.

But now no more: his work is done;
The dog has met a hero’s end!

With deep-drawn sigh the brethren mourn

Their mute companion and their friend.

_ Then on with heavy hearts and slow

They bear with toil the rescued man,
Mounting still upward to the height
From whence their steep descent began.

And slow, and hanging low their heads.

_ As if oppress’d by sense of shame

Mingled with grief, the noble hounds
In silence to the convent came.

There watchful care attends the couch
Where rests the traveller return’d,
And swift feet carry to his home
Good news from one they might have
mourn’d,

But as each Christmas-tide return’d,
And still he toil’d in life’s rough way,

With thankful praise he join’d in thought
Hector, the dog, and Christmas Day.




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xml record header identifier oai:www.uflib.ufl.edu.ufdc:UF0001486100001datestamp 2009-01-12setSpec [UFDC_OAI_SET]metadata oai_dc:dc xmlns:oai_dc http:www.openarchives.orgOAI2.0oai_dc xmlns:dc http:purl.orgdcelements1.1 xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.openarchives.orgOAI2.0oai_dc.xsd dc:title Aunt Louisa's birthday giftCountry petsPussy's London lifeFrisky the squirrelHector the dogdc:creator Valentine, L ( Laura ), d. 1899Kronheim & Co ( Printer of plates )dc:subject Animals -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )Children's poetry ( lcsh )Children's stories -- 1865 ( lcsh )Children's poetry -- 1865 ( lcsh )Gold stamped cloth (Binding) -- 1865 ( local )Bldn -- 1865dc:description b Statement of Responsibility with twenty-four pages of illustrations printed in colours by Kronheim.Blank leaves facing plates.dc:publisher Frederick Warne and Co.Scribner, Welford and Co.dc:date ca. 1865?dc:type Bookdc:format 30 leaves, 24 leaves of plates : col. ill. ; 27 cm.dc:identifier http://www.uflib.ufl.edu/ufdc/?b=UF00014861&v=00001002222558 (aleph)AAB1213 (ltqf)ALG2804 (notis)09957596 (oclc)dc:source University of Floridadc:language Englishdc:coverage England -- LondonUnited States -- New York -- New York