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The Baidwul Library
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THE FACE IN THE GLASS.
THE FACE 'IN THE GLASS ..... 7
FRANKFI'S SLED ............. 8
THE BATTLE................ 10
F.ATHER (S COMING ........... 12
THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS-TREE.. 14
THE FAIRY CAT............. 1 6
A DAY IN THE COUNTRY...... 18
LITTLE TROT............... 20
*p M INNIE. ................... 22
ANNIE'S RIDE ................ 24,
JOHNNY'S LESSON............ 27
WHO MADE THE FLOWERS ?... 29
NEDDY HARRIS.............. 3.1
LOST AND FOUND............... 33,
LITTLE MOTHER'. ............. 34
THE SQUIRREL HUNT......... 36
IN PAPA'S STUDY ............ 39
LITTLE MARY............... 40
MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE,.
MOLLY'S FUNNY SONG ........ 44,
DUTY FIRST ................ 47
THE MILKMAN'S DOGS. ........ 49
THE Cow ..............-...' 50
THE CHARITY THAT COVERETH 52
THE CROOKED WINDOW PANE. 53
BEAUTIFUL ROSES............ .54
A FAITHFUL SHEPHERD BOY.. 56
THE LITTLE GRAY HEN ...... 58
CAUGHT AT LAST............. 60
WHAT THE OAK TREE SAID TO
THE LITTLE CHILD ........ 62
BEST WAY TO BE HAPPY ..... 65
BIRDIE AND BABY ........... 66
EARLY TO BED. ............. 67
THE FARMERS PA.RRO. ...... 69
ANNA'S STAY AT THE SEASIDE. 70
CHRISTMAIA .......... ....... 73
LITTLE LOTTY. ............. 74
BE .A GOD GIL............ 76
How DOLLIE DEANE- SPOILED
HER CHRISTMAS .......... 78
THE JDRAY HORSE AND THE
RACER. ......... ......... 80
.HALF-PA.ST EIGHT, AND HALF-
PAST FOUR ................ 82
LACE-MAKING ............... 84
OUR "BossY"............... 86
'WHAT PAP.A TOLD ERMY..... 87'
HOUSEHOLD TRE.ASURES....... 90
TIRED OF READING........... 92
THE BRAVE COCK............ 94
A LIE STICKS ................ 96
OUR ROMEO................. 97
THE WINDMILL. ............. 99
A LITTLE ACT OF KINDNESS.. 1OO
THE SEA-SHORE ................ 102
WATER-LILIES ............... 104
MY SISTER ............ ... 1O6
PLENTY OF TIME ; OR, JOHNNY'S
FAULT .......... . ...... 108
THE OLD WELL............. 112
LITTLE SUNSHINE. ........... 114
VERY LITTLE ONES IN MISCHIEF 115
THE RIVER.................. 116
V. 9 3-
PINCHER AND I .............
JOHNNIE AND WILLIE. .......
WHAT THE SUNBEAM SAW.....
A WINTER SONG ..............
KISSING A SUNBEAM .........
WHICH WAS THE BETTER SPORT?
OUR LILY. .................
THE CHRISTMAS TREE. .......
LITTLE WHITE LILY .........
EFFIE'S DREAM .............
THE MAGPIE ................
THE CHICKENS. .............
THE PUMP BATH............
THE KITE ..................
POWER OF KINDNESS. ........
COMING FROM SCHOOL .........
ONLY A BUNCH OF FLOWERS..
THE LILY OF THE VALLEY, THE
DEWDROPS, AND THE SNOW.
THE WHITE MAGNOLIA .......
THE TIGER. ........ .......
SPRING HAS COME ...........
KATIE'S RIDE DOWN HILL...
BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES .....
THE FISHERMAN. ............
FEEDING THE DONKEYS .......
MY DEAR KITTY. ...........
NOT FAR AWAY ....... ......
JENNY'S CALL ...............
LITTLE SUNSHINE ............
HOW TO MAKE MOTHER HAPPY
MUFF AND HER PUPPIES ......
GOING TO SCHOOL........... I88'
THE WOODMEN. .............. 190
Now I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP 192
KISS OF'THE RAIN. ......... 192
MY YOUNG SOLDIER ......... 193
BY MY WINDOW................ 196
THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. ....... 1.98
OUR CHARLEY AND THE WATCH 200
EVENING HYMN ............. 202
THE CAT RABBIT............. 203
CHRISTMAS CAROL ........... 206
THE SWALLOW. ............. 208
A. LITTLE STORY ........ ... 2 10
SONG OF THE FAIRIES ........ 214
PLAYING PEDDLER ............ 216
KITTY'S TROUBLE............. 218
AN ALLEGORY................. 2 I
IN THE SPRING.............. 222
A PRAYER ANSWERED ........ 224
CONCEITED CARRY ............ 22 6
THOMAS HENRY. ............. 228
THE CONTRAST ................. 231
THE SHEEP. .............. .. 232
CLEAN LIPS ................ 234
THE ROBIN'S NEST...... ... 236
BROWNIE .................. 238
SEEING HIMSELF IN A LOOKING-
GLASS .... .......... .. . 240
AMY AND HER DOVES. ....... 242
ON A SUNDAY MORNING ...... 245
LIONS AND TIGERS ........... 246
FRED AND DOG STEPHEN ..... 248
SAMMY ...................... 250
THE ROOK.................. 252
Do AS YOU WOULD BE DONE
BY ...................... 254
THE FACE IN THE GLASS.
USH, my little darling,
'Twill never, never do,
For there's another baby
A-crying just like you.
See his cheeks so chubby,
And see his eyes so dim;
What 4o you thik's the matter,
Hally, my love, with him ?
I guess his ma's gone driving
In the pretty, pretty park;
I guess she's got old Jerry,
And won't be home till dark.
I guess she told his nursey
To carry him off up-stairs,
And tell him a little story
After he'd said his prayers.
A story of a bumble-bee
In a great red b yhock,
With a cap of black and yellow
As big as a piece of chalk,
A-swinging and a-sirging,
In a busy, buzzy way,
And a-saying every funny thing
That a bumble-bee can say.
A story of a kitten
That hadn't a thing to do
But to sit in a chimney-corner
And mew, and mew, and mew,
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Till somebody brought his dinner
In a little broken jug,
And gave him a kiss for Christmas
And the cutest kind of a hug.
A story of a squirrel,
With a great big bushy tail,
Hiding a hundred hickory-nuts
Under a broken rail;
A story- Oh, my Hally,
What are we going to do ?
For we've lost the naughty baby
That was crying just like you.
But ah, ha-ha! there's another
With laughter over his lips,
With eyes as sweet as the pansy
He holds in his finger-tips.
0-ho, ha-ha, my Hally I!
He's just the daintiest elf,
And I'll cuddle him up and carry him off,
For he's only just--yourself-!
'ANKY F'anky I come look! The ground is all covered
with sugar !" cried little Charley, as he toddled out of
bed and his eyes caught sight of the snow, which lay
white and clean upon the ground.
When they went to bed the night before, there had been no
sign of snow and everything was brown and bare. But in the
night the flakes had come softly down; now it was dazzling
white in the bright sunshine. No wonder Charley thought it was
sugar. Sugar and flour were the only white things he knew of.
You little goose, you!" cried Frank. But he hopped out
of bed in a hurry and bounded to the window; and there, in
spite of Jack Frost, the two little fellows stood in their long
night-gowns, pressing their noses flat against the panes, looking
out at the snow.
You goosey, you!" said Frank once more. It isn't sugar
at all. Don't you know better than that? It's snow! Hurrah!
there is Neddy Harris with his sled, drawing Mary and little
Will. Hurry, Charley, and I will give you a ride before bieak-
fast." Almost quicker than it takes to write it they were dressed
and out on Frankey's new sled.
I wonder why children love the snow so? I am sure I am
always sorry to see it, for it is so cold. It makes me draw
myself all up and wish I was a bear, or a woodchuck, or some
other animal which curls up in a warm nest and stays asleep
and snug until winter is over.
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N the garden a great game of soldiers had been going on.
Several little cousins had been going through their volun-
teer drill, under the command of Master Freddy, who,
with flag in hand, commanded with great judgment and de-
sision. They had marched up and down several times, frighten-
ing the chickens as they went; mamma and grandpa watched
them from the window, and cheered the little army as it passed.
Little Frank had especially won general applause by his skillful
management of the drum, when it came into the head of one of
the volunteers to propose that the army should be divided into
two, and that one part should attack the other. Accordingly
two parties were formed, each five men strong; and the attack
began under the command of the noble generals. It had pro-
ceeded for some time with much spirit and courage on both
sides, when suddenly one army which had been driven into a
comer made a desperate rally, and drove the opposing forces
quite to the opposite side of the battle-field. Now, the battle-
field in this instance being a garden, had a large flower-bed at
the end, towards which the repulsed army was driven; and
the pursuers, who were led by Master Frederick, drove them
through the bed, crushing all papa's flowers; whereupon the
light infantry began to cry, in which it was joined by the
general whose fierce fighting had caused the mischief, and who
was doubtful as to what his papa, the commander-in-chief,
might think of this particular movement; mamma hearing the
noise came out and wiped away the tears, promising to make
all right with papa.
MASTER FREDDY AT THE HEAD OF HIS ARMY.
FATHER IS COMING.
HE clock is on the stroke of six,
The father's work is done;
Sweep up the hearth and mend the fire,
And put the kettle on:
The wild night-wind is blowing cold,
'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold.
He's crossing o'er the wold apace,
He's stronger than the storm;
He does not feel the cold, not be,
His heart it is so warm:
For father's heart is stout and true
As ever human bosom knew.
He makes all toil, all hardship light;
Would all men were the same!
So ready to be pleased, so kind,
So very slow to blame!
Folks need not be unkind, austere;
For love hath readier will than fear.
Nay, do not close the shutters, child;
For far along the lane
The little window looks, and he
Can see it shining plain.
I've heard him say he loves to mark
The cheerful firelight through the dark.
And we'll do all that father likes:
His wishes are so few;
Would they were more, that every hour
Some wish of his I knew!
FATHER IS COMING.
I'm sure it makes a happy day
When I can please him any way.
I know he's coming by this sign,
That baby's almost wild;
See how he laughs, and crows, and stares,-
Heaven bless the merry child!
He's father's self in face and limb,
And father's heart is strong in him.
THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS-TREE.
Hark I hark! I hear his footsteps now;
He's through the garden-gate.
Run, little Bess, and ope the door,
And do not let him wait.
Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands,
For father on the threshold stands.
THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS-TREE.
Q EAR papa, will you tell us just one little story before
we go to bed ?" asked Alice. "Yes, please, please, do!"
echoed Nellie and Greta in one breath.
"Well, my darlings, I do not think I can refuse you, but
keep very quiet, and do not interrupt me once. Greta shall
sit on my lap, and Nellie and Alice stand beside me. There,
are you all fixed? Now for the story.
"Once there was a little girl named Blanche, who, with her
papa, used to feed a number of sparrows every morning with
crumbs. Very often with them came other feathered friends.
There were two blackbirds: one she called 'Jettie'-he was so
very black; the other she named 'Blackie'-not being so
"When Christmas-time arrived, a lady invited Blanche to
spend an afternoon with h6r children. For their amusement
a Christmas-tree had been provided, and very great was their
delight on seeing it, and receiving the various gifts that had
been prepared for them.
"Next morning, it being holiday-time, Blanche did not go to
school; but after breakfast went to play in the garden. Her
mamma observed her passing and re-passing the window, and
was much puzzled to think what her little girl was doing, her
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THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS-TREE.
pinafore filled with holly and arbutus branches, each with clus-
ters of beautiful berries.
"When her mamma asked her what she was about, she
looked very mysteriously, and whispered, 'Oh, mamma, guess !'
As her mamma could not guess, she told her she was preparing
"A beautiful tree it was,-a young fir, which had been planted
a year before in the lawn, and was now bright with holly, arbu-
tus, and thorn berries. Small pieces of bread were attached
by strong thread to the branches, and in addition tiny paper
baskets, filled with hemp-seed.
"Can any of you guess for whom the pretty fir-tree was
"Blanche shall tell you. 'I thought,' she said, 'as we chil-
dren had enjoyed our Christmas-tree, that my dear little birds
would like one too!'
"The birds had been accustomed to re-assemble at the early
dinner hour, and it was with no little curiosity that we all
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THE FAIR Y CAT.
gathered together at the dining-room window to watch the
arrival of Blanche's visitors.
"At the usual hour they came. Their ordinary fare of bread-
crumbs not being thrown to them, they began to hop about,
and quickly discovered the prepared treat. Shyly at first they
examined the novel tree, as if they could not quite understand
it. Soon, however, this feeling seemed to vanish, and to
Blanche's great delight one after another alighted on the tree,
showing their appreciation of the treat so kindly prepared for
them by making a hearty Christmas dinner.
The birds so enjoyed their Christmas-tree that they con-
tinued their visits for three days, until not a berry nor a crumb
of bread remained.
I hope, dear children, that you like this little story, and that
you too will remember the birds, and provide for them a Christ-
"Now, that is all; I hear mamma calling you, and it is time
for bed, kiss me good-night, my darlings, and remember always
that the same loving, watchful care is over you that marks each
little sparrow's fall."
THE FAIRY CAT.
HERE once lived a poor woman, who went into the wood
to gather sticks. As she returned laden with a heavy
bundle she saw a poor sick kitten under a hedge. It
moaned piteously, and the kind woman took it into her apron
to carry it home. Her little girl came out to meet her, and
when she saw something alive in her apron asked,-
Mother, what have you there ?"
She begged hard to be allowed to carry the kitten home, but
the woman was afraid she would hurt the little sick creature,
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THE FAIRY CAT.
and carried it home herself. When they had reached the
cottage she laid it on some clothes, and gave it some milk to
drink. The kitten recovered in a few days, and grew fat and
sleek. It loved the little girl very much, and, indeed, seemed
to fear nothing, but would lie quietly on the window-sill while
Fido barked, and Mary said she almost laughed at him for his
trouble. One morning she suddenly disappeared.
When the woman had used up all her sticks she went again
into the wood. As she returned laden with a bundle of sticks
a fine grand lady stood just in the place where the little kitten
She beckoned to the poor woman, and threw five knitting-
pins into her apron. The poor woman thought it rather a
useless gift, as she had plenty of knitting-pins at home; yet she
thanked her, and took them with her. Her little girl, too, didfnot
care much for the knitting-pins, for she had a set of her own.
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A DAY IN THE CO UNTR Y.
At night they were left on the table, but what was their
wonder the next morning when they beheld a pair of well-
knitted stockings lying by the side of the knitting-pinsI The
following evening they were left there again, and a second pair
lay on the table in the morning.
Then the truth dawned on the poor woman. The kitten
had been a kind fairy, who gave her these wonderful knitting-
pins as a reward for her kindness. Every night she put them
on the table, and every morning they had knitted a pair of
beautiful stockings. Soon she and the children were well pro-
vided. The rest of the stockings they sold, and the money
received for them supplied them with many comforts: neither
did they ever want food or clothing again.
This is only a fairy-story, but it may teach that our kind
actions often bring a reward when we least expect it.
A DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
HAT was a "golden day," as Aunt Edith says; a day full
of delight. We spent it in the country. What a happy
time was ours, sporting on the grass, gathering flowers,
running, swinging, and wandering in the woods!
There were eight of us: five city children and three who
lived in the country,--our cousins, with whom we had come to
spend the day.
I had passed days in the country before, and have spent many
in the country since, but no day is "golden" in my memory
like that one.
Shall I tell you why? I did not see it then, nor for many
years afterward; but it all came to me once, when I talked with
a child who returned from a picnic looking very unhappy.
THE DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
i I 4
"What is the trouble, dear ?" I asked.
"Oh," she replied, "so many of the children were cross, and
others wouldn't do anything if we didn't let them have their
"I'm sorry," I said.
"And so am I," she returned, artlessly; "for I haven't been
happy or good."
"Were you cross and selfish like the rest ?" I inquired.
A sigh came up from her heart.as she answered,-
"Maybe I was. When other children are cross and ugly, I
get so too. It seems as if I couldn't help it. And then I'm so
miserable! I wish I could always be with good' children, it
would be so nice."
And then it all came to me why that day in the country had
been a "golden day." From morning until evening I did not
hear a cross word nor see a wrong action. Oh, dear little ones,
is not love very sweet, and selfishness very bitter ?
ITTLE TROT'S real name was Tabitha Turner, but she
had been called Trot when she was quite a baby, and
now, though she was seven years old, her mother, school-
fellows, and friends still used the pet name.
Mrs. Turner was a laundress, and had to work hard to keep
a tidy home for Trot and herself, and to send the little girl to
school every day; but she did not mind hard work, and some-
how each morning brought fresh' strength and fresh courage,
and the struggle for the daily bread was made lighter by
thoughts of that kind, loving Father in heaven who is the God
of the fatherless and widow.
Little Trot was a merry child, as fond of a laugh or romp as
any one could be, but this did not prevent. her being gentle, as
well as useful too, in her own small way.
It was Trot who blew the fire to make it burn in the morn-
ing, and who washed and put the breakfast things away before
going to school. It was Trot who helped to fold the clothes for
the mangle. It was she who took care of the house when her
mother, with the great bundle on her head, took home the
week's wash. It was she who ran errands for Mrs. Turner
when school was over in the afternoon, and she it was again
who, before bedtime came, would bring her Testament, and,
sitting down by the side of her poor tired mother, would read to
her, in her simple childish way, of the loving deeds and sweet
kind words of the Saviour, who himself had lived among the
poor and the sorrowful, and was ready to pity and help them.
SAM going to tell you about a dear little
girl named Minnie; sometimes we
call her darling Minnie, or sweet Minnie,
and we have a great many pet names
which always make her look very happy,
for she knows how very dear she is to us,
and children, like grown folks, like to be
Now, this little girl has many pets. She
has a beautiful canary-bird that she calls
Cherry; he is very tame, and will sit on her
finger while she talks to him, and she
thinks the bird knows what she says, for he
will talk in his way, and they seem to
understand each other nicely.
She has a kitty, whose name is Beauty,
and she will carry that kitty all around out-
doors and talk to it, and the kitty keeps on
purring, and Minnie carries her till some-
thing else comes to her notice, then she
drops kitty, and away she goes.
MINNIE AND CHERRY HER PET CANARY.
OOK here, Charlie," said Mrs. Wilmot to a bright boy
of ten or eleven years, and she pointed to Mr. Arthur's
generous offer of a tool-chest premium; "isn't that worth
trying for ?"
Charlie's eyes ran down the page quickly, and sparkled with
"Oh, mother, you mean I may try, don't you? Indeed I
will, and I'll begin to-day, if you'll let me carry this over to
Fred Allston's and show it to his mother."
Permission was readily accorded, and in half an hour Charlie
"I've two'subscribers, mother," he shouted as he came up
the walk, seeing his mother's face at the window. She was
watching for him, he knew, and eager to hear of his success;
for however busy or tired she might be, she always sympa-
thized in what interested him. He came to her side and kissed
her as he went on talking:
"Mrs. Allston said yes right off, and there was another lady
staying with her, that has children at home, and she said, "Oh,
what a beauty! Jenny and Kitty will be perfectly charmed;'
and she and Mrs. Allston both paid me; see here." And Charlie
opened his little red pocket-book, and showed two crisp, new
one-dollar bills and two twenty-five-cent pieces.
It was not always so smooth sailing; some refused, and others
hesitated, but Mrs. Wilmot knew whee he would be most
likely to succeed, and Charlie profited by her advice. Patience
and effort were in time crowned with success.
"Will you write my letter, mother ?" he asked.
"No, dear," she answered; "you had better do it yourself,
but I will see that it is all right."
Charlie may, when lie becomes a man, engage in large com-
mercial enterprises and bear great responsibilities, but he never
will feel more important and business-like than he did in writ-
ing and addressing that letter, inclosing the money and sealing
the precious document.
In a very short time the much-desired box came by express,
in perfect order, and a treasure to make a boy's heart glad.
Charlie's eyes shone, and his kind mother easily excused the
wild whoop that rang through the house, and the Indian dance
that shook the floor.
I am glad to say that Charlie was not selfish in his pleasure.
His first use of his new treasure was in making a set of nice
little silk-winders for his mother, which pleased her very much.
After a little practice he made some pretty picture-frames for
his sister Mary and a doll's chair for little Annie, while for any
small job of hammering about the house he was always ready.
A pretty box, too, for stamps, stood on his father's writing-
table, which was not there before the tool-box came.
Winter, with its coasts and sleigh-rides and long evenings,
passed, and spring's fresh beauty clothed the earth. The chil-
dren had enjoyed their vacation very much, playing out-doors
most of the time, till little Annie hurt her foot badly. It healed
nicely, however, and the pain soon left it, but the doctor said
she must not walk for two or three weeks.
This was a sore disappointment to the little girl, for she
dearly loved to go to school. Her teacher was a very kind,
pleasant lady, and Annie belonged to a class of little girls about
her own age, who went only for part of the forenoon; they had
a nice play at recess, and were dismissed directly afterward.
Annie's baby-carriage had long ago been discarded and given
away; her father did not keep a horse, and there seemed to be
no way of getting her to school.
A day or two before the term opened, Charlie found Annie
crying; and finding out what the matter was, he ran up garret,
and after some rummaging he came down, bringing a good-
sized clean box.
"Mother," said he, "may I have this?"
"Yes," she answered, supposing he wanted to keep some of
his "traps," as he would say, in it.
Charlie took it into the woodshed, and except the sound of
sawing and hammering, nothing further was heard of it till
the morning school was to begin.
About half-past eight, as Mary was getting her books to-
gether, and Annie sat watching her with a very sober face, a
noise outside the window drew their attention. There was a
clatter of feet and a rolling of wheels and a loud "Whoa!"
Mary opened the door, and there stood Charlie, holding the
tongue of a little wagon. It was a very plain one, to be sure;
the wheels were only round wooden blocks, and it had no paint
or polish about it, but it was strong and light, the fruit of
loving toil, and answered its purpose well, as we shall see.
"Want to ride to school, Annie ?" asked Charlie, in a bright,
cheery way. "Here's a conveyance for lame ladies;" and
touching his cap to his mother, whose laughing eyes told that
she had been in the secret, he added, "I've just set up business,
ma'am; can you give me a passenger ? I hope I shall meet
Annie's delight shone in her face and rippled in her bird-like
voice, while her mother put on her hood and sack and lifted
her into the wagon, with a loving kiss.
"But how will she get home?" asked Mary, thoughtfully,
though as much pleased as her sister.
"Oh, I've arranged all that," replied Charlie; "I'm coming
home with her at recess. I shall have time enough to get back
to school before the bell rings."
Charlie kept his word, and every day for nearly two weeks
drew Annie to and from school till she was quite well and able
to walk. Of course, this involved some self-denial on his part,
for he enjoyed the usual play at recess with other boys as well
as any of them. But he felt more than repaid when he saw
his little sister so grateful and happy.
OHNNY BLAIR thought it fine sport, but not so the
chickens, when his cornstalk came thrashing about their
sides and over their heads. He didn't feel the hurt. It was
all the same to him whether the cornstalk hit the rooster or the tub.
Off flew the scared chickens at Johnny's attack, and then he
hid himself behind the fence and waited until hunger drew
them back. But only a -few grains did he let them eat before
he was down on them, striking right and left with his cornstalk,
and hurting and frightening them again.
How he laughed to see them scamper away! Oh, it was fine
fun for the cruel boy. But just as he had enticed them back
for the third time and was raising his stick, the tables were
turned, and instead of the hens getting hurt and frightened,
Johnny's shoulders felt the sudden smart of a birch rod vigor-
ously laid on.
"How do you like that, sir ?" asked a rough voice, as Johnny
jumped about and writhed with pain. "Chickens have feelings
as well as boys," said the farmer, who, hearing the cries of his
fowls, had come round to see what troubled them. "I hope you
will remember that."
Johnny slunk away, feeling rather badly in mind as well as
body. He knew that it was wrong to hurt dumb creatures, but,
like too many little boys, he was cruel towards the weak and
helpless. To be caught in his evil sport and get his back well
striped was anything but pleasant; and he went off towards his
home saying to himself as he went along, "He'd no right to
strike me. I'm not his boy; and I'll tell father, so I will."
Just then he saw his father at work in a field, and, clamber-
ing over the fence, he ran towards him; but stopped after going
a few paces. There were two sides to the story he was going to
tell him, and, after looking at both sides for a little while, he
thought it best to keep it all to himself. So he sat down on the
grass. He didn't sit there long, for his angry feelings made
him restless, but got up and went out of the field into the road.
Then he saw a dog that ran up to him, wagging his tail. What
did Johnny do? Pat the dog on the head ? No, he was in an
ill humor, and gave him a kick, at which the dog sprang upon
him and bit his hand until the blood came. He was frightened
at this, and thought, as he walked homeward, that in the future
it would be better to treat poor dumb creatures with kindness.
WHO MADE THE FLOWERS?
WHO MADE THE FLOWERS?
SAMMA, who made the pretty flowers
That blossom everywhere?
The daisies and forget-me-nots,
And violets so fair ?
Who made the golden buttercups,
That in the meadows grow ?
WHO MADE THE FLOWERS?
The bright-eyed little innocence,
And lilies white as snow?
Who made the wild red columbines,
And filled each tiny cup
With honey, which the little bees
So daintily sip up?
Who made the fragrant clover-fields,
That drink the summer showers ?
It must have taken very long -
To make so many flowers.
Mamma, who keeps the flowers alive,
And clothes them every day.?
Who watches over them by night,
To keep all harm away ?
'Tis God, my child, who formed the flowers
So exquisitely fair,
And they, with all his hand hath made,
His kind protection share.
He formed each leaf and opening bud,
With skill so nice and true;
He gave to some a golden tint,
To some a violet hue.
He shields the tender flowers by night,
And cares for them by day;
He giveth to each different plant
Its beautiful array.
He sends the soft refreshing rain,
The gentle summer showers,
-C I -
NEDD Y HARRIS.
And light, and air, and falling dew,
He giveth to the flowers.
'Tis the same God who formed the flowers
Makes my sweet child his care;
Then daily raise thine infant heart
To him in grateful prayer.
4 E'VE had a good time, Tony, old fellow! haven't we?"
said Neddy Harris, who was beginning 0 feel tired
with his half-day's ramble in the woods and fields.
And as he said this he sat down on a hill-side that overlooked
- l I -l
a pleasant valley, and from which he could see the clusters of
elms and maples that stood around his home.
Tony replied to his young master by a short bark and a
knowing twist of his waggish little head, which was as near as
he could come to saying, "A first-rate time, Master Neddy!"
And then he seated himself also, and took a survey of the
country spread out beneath them. He looked very wise and
very sharp, as though he had charge of everything, and was on
the watch to see that nothing went wrong.. What kind of
fancies played through his doggish brain I cannot tell, but I
think they had something to do with the supper that awaited
his arrival home.
A grand good time 1" added the boy, as his tired limbs felt
the comfort of a soft resting-place on the green turf. And
now," he continued, "as father says we should always do, I'll
just go back and think over what I've done this holiday
afternoon, and if I forgot myself in anything, and went wrong, it
will be best for me to know it, so that I can do better next time."
So Neddy turned his thoughts backward, and read out of the
book of his memory what had been written down there by an
invisible pen during the past few hours. Now, this book of
memory is a very wonderful book. Did .youever think of it?
Every instant of time in which we are awake, and often when
asleep, an invisible penman is writing in it every one of our
thoughts and actions, good or bad, and we have no power to
blot out the writing.
"I'm sorry about that poor squirrel," said Neddy. "He
never did me any harm. What a beautiful little creature he
was, with his bright black eyes and shiny skin!"
And the boy's face grew sad, as well it might, for he had
pelted this squirrel with stones from tree to tree, and at last
knocked him to the ground, when Tony, with one grip of his
sharp teeth, made an end of him.
LOST AND FO UND.
"I don't blame Tony," said the boy. He's only a dog, and
doesn't know any better. But it was so cruel in me! Now,
if I live a hundred years, I'll never harm another squirrel.
God made these frisky little fellows, and they've just as much
right to live as I have."
Neddy felt better about the squirrel after this good resolution,
which he meant to keep.
LOST AND FOUND.
FRIEND of mine while traveling in Germany heard
this story, which I shall tell you.
Little Fritz, the only child of a peasant, wandered
away from his home one day with nothing on but his in-door
clothing, and his head covered only with his long bright curls.
It was some time before he was missed. Mamma thought he
was with auntie, and auntie was quite sure that he was with
mamma. But when mamma and auntie met, they found to
their great dismay that the dear little boy was missing.
All over the house they searched, among neighboring houses
and through the whole street, but in vain. Then the neighbors
came, and all the night that followed they searched everywhere
for the missing child. The mother, as she walked the house
nearly frantic with grief, pictured to herself her baby-boy lying
upon the ground crying bitterly for mamma. Ah me! They
were heart-breaking visions that came to the minds of both
parents through those long, dark hours! It was a night never
to be forgotten; a night remembered afterwards with shuddering
In the morning they brought tidings to the parents that a
man living a'few miles out of the city had found the little boy
the afternoon before wandering near a railroad station, and fear-
ing that some harm might befall him he had taken him to his
own home, warmed and fed him, and laid him tenderly to sleep
in his own bed.
When the mother saw the man coming she bounded from the
house, her loving arms outstretched, and clasped to her breast
the little wanderer.
When money was offered to the kind man, he shook his
head. "No," said he, "I have children, and if they are ever
lost or in trouble, I shall want some one to be kind to them.
No money !" And he walked away, bearing the blessing of the
SARK how the wind blows, Effie,
Father is coming to-night.
On your wicker chair sit, dearie,
Now that the fire burns bright.
All the long day I've been toiling,
Washing and cleaning away,
Brushing the bars till they glisten,
While you were prattling at play.
Hark how the kettle is singing,
Singing with pussy in time,
While the sweet bells of the steeple
Ring out their musical chime.
Father is coming, my birdie;
You he will take on his knee,
Then, with a kiss on my forehead,
Whisper a blessing for me.
LITTLE FRITZ'S MOTHER GOING OUT TO MEET HIM.
THE SQUIRREL HUNT.
Ah! if our mother could only
Take the sad look from his brow,
Which has been there since she left him!
Mother, oh, where are you now ?
Can you look down on your darling,
Striving to fill up your place,
Eager, and anxious, and willing,
Weary for want of your face ?
There, darling Effie, I will not
Sadden your bright little brow;
See, dear, the supper for father:
Fathier will shortly come now.
Bring his red slippers and warm them,
While I make toast for his tea;
There is his step on the threshold,-
Meet him, my darling, with glee.
Show him your loving face, Effie,
Smile all the care from his brow,
Maybe from some far-off region
Mother is watching us now.
THE SQUIRREL HUNT.
SGRAY squirrel was busy one pleasant autumn day in
gathering nuts and storing them up for winter in the
hollow of an old tree. A farmer was chopling wood
not far off, and his axe rang loudly through the forest, but this
sound did not trouble our squirrel, for he had heard it often
before and knew that it meant no harm for him. 4
HUNTING THE SQUIRREL.
- r I-
THE SQUIRREL HUNT.
But there came other sounds on the air-children's voices
and the barking of a dog. At this the squirrel started in
alarm. The children saw him and gave a loud shout, and the
two dogs that were with them went tearing after the frightened
animal, making the woods ring with their fierce yelpings.
The dogs were so close upon the poor squirrel when he saw
them that escape seemed almost impossible. But close by there
lay a hollow log, and into this he darted just as one of the dogs
was about seizing him.
We've got you now, old fellow!" cried the children as the
dogs sprang into the hollow of the tree to seize the squirrel.
But squirrel was not so easily caught. He was smaller than
the dogs, and could go in a great deal farther to keep out of
their reach. The dogs barked and yelped and growled, but it
was of no use. Squirrel was safe from their teeth. He had
been in that log many a time before and knew just how to get
out of it at the other end. He had whisked through like a
flash, and was springing up into the, tree at the very moment
when the dogs were looking for him in the dark hollow of the
The farmer cut away with his axe, but when he had laid the
log open from end to end no squirrel was to be found.
You are glad squirrel got away. I can see it, children, in
the gladness that beams from your eyes.
WHEN we begin to count over our own goodness, and admire
it, and contrast it with our neighbors', thinking how much
better we are than they, then, in angels' eyes, our good deeds
are like tarnished gold and frost-bitten flowers.
IN PAPA'S STUDY.
IN PAPA'S STUDY.
OGUES I you are there, are you, peeping again?
SHow do you think I am going to write ?
u For just as soon as I take up my pen,
Down you come stealing, be it morning or night.
Creeping on tiptoe, you think I can't hear you;
Fingers on lips, not a word do you say.
Scamper away, you rogues, quickly I I fear you
Will find papa's study a bad place to play.
You won't ? Then come in, with your laughter and noise
Why should we work when there's play to be done ?
Leave then behind you your books and your toys,
For we know the way to have glorious fun.
~'1 .1 -
LITTLE MA1 '.
Romping and frolicking, oh, it is splendid!
Chairs tumbled down in a terrible plight,
Books scattered, papers dropped; when it is ended,
I shall be glad if my inkstand's all right.
Now I have got you, my girlie, I'll hold youi
Prisoner of war-not a word shall you p -k ;
Close to my bos:om my arms shall enftold you,.
Anwl press your soft face to my rough bear h--d cheek.
What ? o you cowards you two must surrender,
And creep to my arms to be kissed o'er and o'er;
Never was captor so loving and tender,
Never were captives so willing before.
EAR little Mary, with eyes so blue,
What has Santa Claus brought for you?
He has brought me a cup and a curly sheep,
And a cradle where dolly may go to sleep.
But best of all is this funny box,
That,winds with a key just like the clocks.
And when you've wound the spring up tight,
The monkey dances with all his might.
And Fido barks and the puppies play:
We're all very happy this Christmas-day.
WHAT SANTA CLAUS BROUGHT TO MARY.
MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE COUNTRY.
4 HEN I was a little girl, years and years, ago, I lived in
the city. My home was a brick house three stories
high, with white marble steps and close white shutters
to.the windows of the first story. In front of the house was a
brick pavement, and two beautiful maple-trees shaded both
house and pavement.
At the back of the house was a tiny yard about as large as a
good-sized bedroom, with a brick-paved path all around a little
grass-plot the size of a counterpane in the centre.
And that back yard, with its grass-plot, vines, and flower-
pots, was all I knew of flower-gardens and fields, and that
shaded street gave me almost my only idea of a grove.
One summer mamma's health was very poor, and the doctor
said she must go to the country for a few months. It was of
course understood if she went I must go, as I was an only
child. So papa engaged board for us at a farm-house not so
far from the city but that he could spend Sunday with us.
I think that was the happiest summer I ever passed.
Mamma seemed to enjoy herself, too, and her health improved
I got many a ride in the cart or wagon with the farmer,
whom I learned to respect very much in spite of his working-
I used to sit by the hour under the willow down in the
meadow, fishing in the clear stream that ran dancing along its
banks, fringed with rushes and forget-me-nots.
But of all these pleasures I think I enjoyed apple-gathering
as much as anything. I would go out with the two young ladies
of the family, and we would find in the orchard a ladder and
HOW WE GATHERED APPLES.
MOLLY'S FUNNY .SONG.
baskets all ready for our use; one of us would mount the
ladder, and sometimes climb up into the tree itself, and hand
down the fruit to the two below, who would place it carefully
in the baskets.
It was mounting the ladder and climbing the trees that
made this work so enjoyable to me. I soon learned to do it
readily; I was so much smaller and lighter than the others that
I could venture farther out on the limbs to reach the fruit, besides
my short skirts being less likely to get entangled in the branches.
It soon became a settled thing that I should do the climbing.
I have spent my summers in the country ever since. Now
I am a grown woman and have a home of my own, which is,
of course, in the country, and I live in it in the winter as well
as in the summer. To be sure, it is sometimes cold and bluster-
ing here in the winter, but then it cannot be much better in the
city at the same time, and it is so often damp, sloppy, and
disagreeable there. Besides, there are no birds in the city in
the winter, while here the snow-birds and chippys and robins
and blue-birds and cedar-birds keep us almost as lively during
the winter as in the summer.
Yes, I think I like the country best.
MOLLY'S FUNNY SONG.
H, queer little stitches,
You surely are witches,
To bother me so!
I'm trying to plant you:
Do stay where I want you,
All straight in a row.
- 'I I-
MOLLY'S FUNNY SONG.
Now keep close together I
I never know whether
You'll do as I say.
Why can't you be smaller ?
You really grow taller,
Try hard as I may!
There! now my thread's knotted,
My finger is dotted
With sharp needle-pricks I
I mean to stop trying;
1 cannot help crying;
Oh, dear, what a fix!
- z -
MOLLY'S FUNNY SONG.
Yes, yes, little stitches,
I know you are witches,-
I'm sure of it now,-
Because you don't bother
Grown people like mother
When they try to sew.
You love to bewilder
Us poor little "childer"
(As Bridget would say),
By jumping and dancing,
And leaping and prancing,
And losing your way.
Hear the bees in the clover I
Sewing "over and over"
They don't understand.
I wish I was out there,
And playing about there
In that great heap of sand I!
The afternoon's going;
I must do my sewing
Before I can play.
Now behave, little stitches,
Like good-natured witches,
The rest of the day.
I'd almost forgotten
About waxing my cotton,
As good sewers do;
And-oh, what a memory !-
Here is my emery
To help coax it through.
if p -
I'm so nicely provided,
I've really decided
To finish the things.
There's nothing like trying;
My needle is flying
As if it had wings.
There, good-by, little stitches!
You obstinate witches,
You're punished, you know.
You've been very ugly,
But now you sit snugly
Along in a row.
e HE summer noonday sun shone broadly and brightly over
the hay-fields. The birds sang in the trees; the rabbits
ran in and out of the hollows; the insects hummed
overhead; the merry little brook went tumbling along; and the
fish came leaping out every now and then, their silver sides
flashing in the warm light.
In the hay-fields the mowers were busy, and borne on the
gentle wind, softened to a musical murmur, came the voices of
the men and the sharpening of their scythes.
Ben and his little cousins Jenny and Jake were as happy and
light-hearted this bright summer's day as any three children
could possibly be.
They were in the middle of an exciting game, when Ben
heard his mother calling him, and ran to the house to see what
Ben dear," she said, it is your father's dinner-time, and I
have made him some stew. He is working in Farmer Rix's
hay-field, and I should be glad if you would take him his
dinner. Here it is, in this little pail. Be careful not to spill
any of it, my boy, for it is not often that I can afford to buy
Ben took the pail and started back, but on his way met some
boys;'setting the pot down in a corner of the fence, he began to
play with them.
It was a good two hours before he remembered the errand on
which he had been sent. The game had been so new and so
full of fun that the thought of his poor father working in the
hot sun had quite escaped his memory.
"Oh dear me!" he cried suddenly, "how stupid I've been!
I don't know what father will say at being kept waiting so long,
and the broth is all cold."
When he got to where his father was at work, he saw him
standing by the fence, talking to his mother; both looked
anxious, but brightened up when they saw Ben.
His father after waiting some time for his dinner had gone
home, and there heard that Ben had started so long before with
the dinner they feared he had got lost or hurt in some way, and
his mother had come back to help find him.
Mrs. Brown felt very sad when she heard the truth, but
thought that Ben's sorrow was punishment enough. Ben
resolved then and there that he would always make duty come
We are happy to say that Ben kept his resolution, and
through life he found that the happiest as well as the safest
motto was, Duty first."
THE MILKMAN'S DOGS.
THE MILKMAN'S DOGS.
SERE we have a picture of two dogs that belong to a
milkman, who lives in the suburbs of London. He
has trained them to draw the little cart in which the
cans are placed. Early in the morning they come out of their
kennels and stand patiently at the door waiting to be har-
nessed. As soon as the cart is loaded and the man ready, off
they start, always stopping at the right places, and giving a
short, sharp bark, to show that they are there, standing quietly
until the customers are served. These dogs are great favorites
along the route, and get many a nice piece of meat from the
rosy-cheeked housemaids. They seem to enjoy their work,
and when it is over lie down most contentedly, and, I have no
doubt, feel as we all do after having well performed a duty.
-, U -
b HE.cattle are grouped round the shadowing trees,
T' escape from the flies, that love to tease;
As, swinging their tails, they stand or lie
Under the branches, so sleepily.
But one pretty cow-she stands alone,
So patient and gentle, as still as a stone;
And, though she is milked, she is never afraid,
For well she knows Gretchen, the milking maid.
In the light summer breeze the tree-top is rocking,
And Gretchen not idle keeps knitting her stocking,
Providing thus early to keep warm her feet
In winter's cold season of frost and of sleet.
Come, let us walk down in that meadow fair,
Where starry daisies and buttercups are;
And Gretchen will give, all so friendly and free,
A nice cup of milk to you and to me.
ONE morning little Dora was busy at the ironing-table
smoothing the towels and stockings.
Isn't it hard work for the little arms ?" I asked.
A look of sunshine came into her face as she glanced towards
her mother, who was rocking the baby.
"It isn't hard work when I do it for mamma," she said,
How true it is that love makes labor sweet!
4 GRETCHEN AND HER COW.
THE CHARITY THAT COVERETH.
4EAR MOSS," said the old Thatch, "I
am so worn, so patched, so ragged;
really I am quite unsightly. I wish you
would come and cheer me up a little; you
will hide all my infirmities and defects, and
through your loving sympathy no finger of
contempt or dislike will be pointed at me."
"I come," said the Moss; and it crept up
and around, and in and out, till every flaw
was hidden, and all was smooth and fair.
Presently the sun shone out, and old Thatch
looked glorious in the golden rays.
"How beautiful the thatch looks !" cried
"How beautiful the thatch looks l" cried
"Ah!" cried the old Thatch, "rather let
them say how beautiful is the loving Moss,
that spends itself in covering all my faults,
keeping the knowledge of them all to her-
self, and by her own grace making my age
and poverty wear the garb of youth and
THE CROOKED WINDOW PANE
THE CROOKED WINDOW PANE.
t ITTLE EDDIE was playing at the window, when all at
onee he looked very much puzzled, and turning to his
mother, who sat beside him, said,-
"Oh, mamma, I did not know that there was a hollow in our
Are you quite sure that there is one there, Eddie ?" asked
his mother. "I think you must have made a mistake."
"Yes, there is one there," said Eddie, and a big crooked
tree, too. I can see them just as plain as can be. Come and
see for yourself, mamma."
His mother went to the window and looked out, and sure
enough there were the hollow and the crooked tree. Eddie
greatly wondered why he had never seen these before. His
mother told him to look through another pane and see how
things appeared. He did so, but could see no hollow, or crooked
tree either. The yard was level and the trees all straight.
His mother explained matters to him just the best she could.
She told him that there were wrinkles and flaws in the pane he
BEA DUTIFUL ROSES.
looked through at first, and these made the objects in the yard
After all these things were made plain to Eddie, his mother
taught a very tine lesson. She said,-
"There are some little boys and girls who have cro,,oked eyes.
I don't, mean that they are cross-eyed, ,but that they are cro1.s
and hateful, and this makes them think that evervlybody else is
out of sorts. At other times they are pleasant a;td happy, and
then they think that every body is pleasant and happy, too.
Now, Eddie, if you want 'other people to alpear ugly, he
lh.tefiul and n T1 LI-s Vourself. If you want others to appear to
look through smiling eyes, look through smiling eyes yourself;
iad i'f you want others to be kind to yu.ii, you mlct be kind
to them. 'Do to other- as ',you would have others do to you.' "
OOD-MORNING, little darling;
Pray have you come to-day
For flowers all fresh and beautiful,
To make a garland gay ?"
"Yes, John; will you please give me
Some roses not quite blown ?
Dear pa is going to make me
A pretty birthday crown."
"A crown, my little darling ?
That soon will fade away:
One that will never wither
I hope you'll wear some day."
ASKING FOR THE ROSES.
A FAITHFUL SHEPHERD BOY.
. ERHARDT was a German shepherd boy, and a noble
fellow he was too, although he was very poor.
One day while he was watching his flock, which was
feeding in the valley on the borders of a forest, a traveler came
out of the forest and asked,-
How far is it to the nearest village?"
"Six miles, sir," replied the boy; "but the road is only a
sheep-track, and very easily missed."
The traveler glanced at the crooked track and said, "My lad,
I am hungry, tired, and thirsty. I have lost my companions
and missed my way. Leave your sheep and show me the road.
I will pay you well."
I cannot leave my sheep, sir," rejoined Gerhardt. They
would stray into the forest and be eaten by wolves, or stolen by
"Well, what of that ?" queried the traveler. "They are
not your sheep. The loss of one or more would not be much
to your master, and I'll give you more money than you have
earned in a whole year."
"I cannot go, sir," rejoined Gerhardt very firmly. "My
master pays me for my time, and he trusts me with his sheep.
If I were to sell my time, which does not belong to me, and
the sheep should get lost, it would be the same as if I stole
Well," said the traveler, will you trust your sheep with
me while you go to the village and get some food and drink,
and a guide ? I will take good care of them for you."
The boy shook his head. The sheep," he said, do not
know your voice, and-- Gerhardt stopped speaking.
- I I-
A FAITHFUL SHEPHERD BOY.
"And what? Can't you trust me? Do I look like a
dishonest man ?" asked the traveler, angrily.
"Sir," said the boy, "you tried to make me false to my
trust, and wanted me to break my word to my master. How
do I know you would keep your word to me?"
The traveler laughed, for he felt that the boy had fairly
Gerhardt now offered the contents of his scrip to the hungry
man, who, coarse as it was, ate it greedily. Presently his
attendants came up, and then Gerhardt, to his surprise, found
that the traveler was the grand duke, who owned all the coun-
try around. The duke was so pleased at the boy's honesty
that he sent for him shortly after and had him educated. In
after-years Gerhardt became a very rich and powerful man,
but he remained honest and true to his dying day.
THE LITTLE GRAY HEN.
QNE beautiful spring day, when the magnolias and azalias
were in bloom, we went out to Greenwood Cemetery, in
i Brooklyn; and on our way saw a little, gray, trim-
looking hen walking slowly beside the road, lifting her yellow
ti.et so high and leisurely that they lay awhile at every step
hidden among the feathers.
She was clucking and talking, as hens talk, to her brood of-
not chickens, as one would think they ought to have been, led
round and talked to by a little gray hen, but they were long-
necked, web-footed yellow and white goslings.
Looking on, we said the hen was a goose in one sense, if she
wasn't in every.
She scratched, looking for food. And if she found worm or
insect, she called her brood, and they came running with tlteir
clumsy legs. We wondered she did not know they were not
chickens when she saw them running.
I do not know how she found it out at last, nor when. But
she found it out some time, some way, for we went out again
late in the season, when the flaming salvias and chrysanthe-
mums had succeeded the early magnolias, and the tender green
of spring had ripened into the crimson and purple and gold of
autumn, and we saw the same little gray hen out in the frosty
She laid her feet up against her feathers this time, too; but
not this time because she felt so proud and nice (or so we
believed), but because she was cold.
The goslings, grown up now into white-necked geese, made
a great show. The gray hen was but a little creature beside
them. Or she wasn't exactly beside them. She was up by
THE LITTLE GRAY HEN.
the fence, and looked lonely enough, while they were at the
roadside, where water was standing in little pools.
They seemed to have forgotten that she had so faithfully led
them about, had given up nearly all the seeds and worms to
them, had run after every dog and goat that came near,
hovering over them at night, and on stormy days taking upon
her own back the whole drenching.
Of course we could not find out how she felt about it.
"Perhaps she had no feeling," we said. "Perhaps hens
never do have, although they seem to have if anything threatens
But we thought she looked grave, and pitied her.
We said,-" Biddy, faithful old Biddy, you shall have some-
thing warm at Christmas; they shall be killed and eaten.
Hang up your stocking as the children do, good Biddy-only
you haven't a stocking to your feet, you poor thing I and never
will have if it is ever so cold."
When, lo! as we condoled, the creature lifted her wings in
the lively way hens have of doing it when they feel nicely
about the sunshine or anything, laid them down again on her
sides, looked up brightly towards the clear sky; then, stepping
as if she were a queen, and a contented one, too, she walked
slowly on around the corner of the garden, towards the house,
giving not one look-probably giving no thought-to the group
of white-necked, water-loving geese at the roadside.
So we knew she was a wise, contented hen, that needed
neither our gifts nor our pity.
We learned a lesson from her content. And, by that time,
we were where the clipped hedgerows lined our way, and the
beautiful gate of Greenwood displayed itself before us.
-I I -
CAUGHT AT LAST!
. _ES, here lie is. Here is the mouse that has been making
) himself so much at home in the storeroom. He had a
hole in one corner, and took good care never to come
out of it when old Muff, the cat, was around; for he was a sly
But last night he saw a nice bit of cheese inside of something
that looked very much like a wire dish-cover. "That cheese
smells good," thought he: "I will taste of it. I am a judge of
So he crept in through a little round hole that seemed to have
been made on purpose for him, and nibbled away with a good
relish. All of a sudden, he heard a noise that startled him.
"I must be off!" thought he. Off he darted; but, dear me!
he couldn't find his way out. The little door through which he
came was fast closed. He tried to squeeze through the wires;
he tried to gnaw them: but it was of no use. He was barred
in on all sides.
Then it flashed across him, "This is not a dish-cover at all.
I ought to have known better than to come in here. This is a
trap; and I am caught at last." Of course, the poor little mouse
must have felt sad enough then. There was some cheese left;
but he had no appetite for it. He sat trembling in the middle
of the cage. He was not a bit hurt; but he was dreadfully
Well, the first person that came to him was our Mary, with
baby in her arms ready for a bath; she sat him on the floor,
gave him his horse, and told him to watch mousey until she
I hope he won't put his finger near the cage: don't you? the
mouse might bite him.
- i me
MARY AND THE LITTLE MOUSE.
WHAT THE OAK-TREE SAID TO THE LITTLE
@W WAS once an acorn green
Lying in my cradle-bed,
Peeping through the leafy screen
To watch the sunbeams overhead.
Idly swaying all day long
In the green and golden light,
Listening to the bluebird's song,
Watching for his sudden flight.
Just below me lay a pool
Within the moss-grown root's embrace,
With trembling shadows gray and cool
Upon her dimpled face.
And woodland creatures gathered there
For shelter from the noontide heat,
The dappled fawn, the timid hare,-
'Twas Nature's own retreat.
The bright-eyed squirrel loved to view
Her image in the glassy lake,
The oriole her plumage knew,
And paused a second glance to take.
E'en the sweet woodbine from her bower
Leaned o'er the marge her wreath to twine.
And shook4the dewdrops in a shower
From flow'ret, leaf, and vine.
THE OAK THAT GREW FROM THE ACORN.
II'HAT THE OAK-TREE SAID.
By night the fairies came and danced
In moonlit circles on the grass,
While glow-worms shone and meteors glanced,
Until the magic hour should pass.
Thus fled my youth, until one day
I fell into the mouldering earth;
In dull obstruction there I lay,
And bade farewell to joy and mirth.
But soon I felt my pulses move
Responsive to a higher life;
Within my heart a germ of love
Whispered of days with glory rife.
And so I grew a mighty tree,
And for a century have stood
Upon the very spot you see,
But where is now the wood ?
With hoary locks alone I stand,
And sigh for all the "loved and lost,"
The monarch of a barren land,
By storm and tempest tossed.
0 days of youth! my pearly crown*
I'd gladly give, if I might be
An acorn in an acorn cup-
A little child like thee.
THE BEST WAY TO BE HAPPY.
THE BEST WAY TO BE HAPPY.
THINK I should like to be happy to-day,
If I could but tell which was the easiest way;
But then, I don't know any pretty new play:
And as to the old ones,-why, which is the best ?
There's fine blindman's-buff, hide-and-seek, and the rest;
Or, pretending it's tea-time, when dollies are dressed!
But no-let me see ? now I've thought of a way,
Which would make me quite happy at work or at play;
I'll try to be good, if I can, the whole day,-
Without any fretting or crying: oh, no,
That makes me unhappy wherever I go,
And 't would be a pity to spoil the day so.
BIRDIE AND BABY.
j HAT does little birdie say,
In her nest at peep of day ?
"Let me fly," says little birdie,
"Mother, let me fly away."
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger."
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.
What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day ?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away."
"Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,
Baby, too, shall fly away."
EARLY TO BED.
EARLY TO BED.
diON'T say early to bed."
"Why not, Georgie ?"
"Oh, 'cause it's so nice to
sit up; I like it."
"And you like sugar-plums, and
would eat a pound a day if I'd let
you, Georgie. They're so nice!
But that would do you a great deal of harm. It would so
disturb the healthy action of your stomach that it could not
rightly digest your food, and so you would grow weak and
sickly, and have a miserable time of it. Let me read you
something about the good sleep does little boys and girls:
EARLY TO BED.
"Many children, instead of being plump and fresh as a
peach, are as withered and wrinkled as last year's apples, be-
cause they do not sleep enough. Some physicians think that
the bones grow only during sleep. This I cannot say, certainly,
but I do know that those little folks who sit up late at nights
are usually nervous, weak, small, sickly.
"The reason you need more sleep than your parents is because
you have to grow and they do not. They can use up the food
they eat in thinking, talking, and walking, while you should
save some of yours for growing. You ought to sleep a great
deal; if you do not, you will in activity consume all you eat,
and have none, or not enough, to grow with.
"Very few smart children excel, or even equal, other people
when they grow up. Why is this ? Because their heads, if
not their bodies, are kept too busy, so that they cannot sleep,
rest, and grow strong in body and brain. Now, when your
mother says, Susie, or Georgie, or whatever your name may be,
it is time to go to bed, do not worry her by begging to sit up
'just a little longer,' but hurry off to your chamber, remember-
ing that you have a great deal of sleeping and growing to do to
make you a healthy, happy, useful man or woman.
"There, now, Georgie dear! If you want to be a healthy,
happy, and useful man go early to bed, and get all the good out
of sleep it is possible for you to obtain."
"I guess I'll go," said Georgie, who was pretty tired, for he
was a busy little fellow, and played hard all day.
So off he went, and by the time his head touched its pillow,
he was in the land of dreams.
CHARITY is never lost; it may be of no service to those it is
bestowed upon, yet it ever does a work of beauty and grace
upon the heart of the giver.
THE FARMER'S PARROT.
4 NE beautiful spring a farmer, after working busily for
several weeks, succeeded in planting one of the largest
fields in corn; but the neighboring crows committed sad
havoc with it. The farmer, however, not being willing that the
germs of a future crop should be destroyed by either fair or
foul means, determined to drive the bold marauders to their
nests. Accordingly, he loaded his rusty gun, with the inten-
tion of giving them upon their next visit a warm reception.
Now the farmer had a parrot, as talkative and mischievous
as those birds usually are; and being very tame it was allowed
its freedom to come and go at pleasure. Pretty Poll" being
a lover of company, without much caring whether good or bad,
hopped over all obstructions, and was soon engaged in the
farmer-like occupation of raising corn.
The farmer with his gun sallied forth. Reaching his corn-
field he saw at a glance (though he overlooked the parrot) the
state of affairs. Leveling his gun, he fired, and with the
report was heard the death-scream of three crows, and an
agonizing shriek from poor Poll.
On looking among the murdered crows, great was the farmer's
surprise to see stretched upon the ground his mischievous parrot,
with feathers sadly ruffled and a broken leg.
You foolish bird," cried the farmer, "this comes of keeping
On carrying it to the house, the children, seeing its wounded
What did it, papa,-what hurt our pretty Poll ?"
Bad company-bad company I" answered the parrot m a
"Ay, that it was," said the farmer. Poll was with those
ANNA'S 6T7A Y AT THE SEASIDE.
wicked crows when I fired, and received a shot intended tbr
them. Remember the parrot's late, children, and beware of
With tliese words, the farmner turned round, and with the
aid of his wife bandaged the broken leg, and in a few weeks
the parrot was as lively as ever, but never forgot its adventure
in the corn-field; and if ever the farmer's children engaged in
play with quarrelsome companions, it invariably dispersed them
with its cry, Bad company-bad company !"
ANNA'S .STAY AT THE SEASIDE.
NNA GRAY'S health was so poor one summer that the
doctor said nothing but a few weeks at the seaside would
do her any good. So her father, Mr. Gray, found a
quiet place down by the sea, where he engaged board for Anna
and her mother. Anna was at first much pleased with the ex-
citement of traveling, but she was tired before she reached hei
journey's end, and her head ached from the jar and noise of
the cars. She was very glad to go to bed as soon as she had
eaten her supper, without taking even a look at the ocean.
But the next morning she went out with her mamma on the
sand. When she first caught sight of the immense stretch of
water, she felt very frightened. It seemed as if the-great waves
would roll right upon her and crush her. But she soon found
that after they had broken in a long white line of surf near the
shore, they came creeping harmlessly in until they at last
gently lapped the sand at her feet. Then she took off her shoes
and stockings and stood in the sand and let the water come up
around her feet. Sometimes, when a bigger wave than usual
came in, she would have to scamper to get out of its way.
________ I c AVAl
THE POOR MOTHER WATCHING FOR HEIR LOST BABY.
AWA , DEL
- P U -
ANNA'S STAY AT THE SEASIDE.
One day while Anna and her mother were walking on the
beach, they saw a young woman leaning against a rock looking
far, far out to sea; her face had such a wild, troubled look on it
that Mrs. Gray asked some one what great sorrow she had
passed through. And this is the sad story that little Anna
listened to on the sand that bright summer morning. Several
weeks before, the woman had been walking on the beach with
her only child, a little girl about four years of age, who was
barefooted and would run close to the water to feel the warm
waves kiss her little brown feet. One moment more, and a great
wave has borne the child far out to sea. She gives one stifled
scream, and the mother turns in time to see the little form
she loves so dearly tossed hither and thither on the crested
waves. In her frenzy she rushes up and down, screaming for
help. It soon comes, but is too late; all efforts, even to recover
the lifeless baby, are fruitless. And every day the mother
stands as you see her in the picture, watching for one glimpse
of the baby buried in the pitiless ocean.
Little Anna's eyes were filled with tears, and she felt very
sorry for the woman who had lost her little girl. And when
the roses came back to her cheeks, and she went home again,
she told her papa all about it.
COME look in my eyes, little children,
And tell me, through all the long day
Have you thought of the Father above us,
Who guarded from evil your way ?
He heareth the cry of the sparrow,
And careth for great and for small;
In life and in death, little children,
His love is the truest of all.
- 1 1- ^ - 11 11111 111
AIN the Christmas holidays have come,
We soon will hear the trumpet and the drum;
We'll hear the merry shout of girls and boys
Rejoicing o'er their gifts of books and toys.
Old Santa Claus comes by at dead of night,
And down the chimney creeps-a funny sight I
- I I.-
- I 3-
He filk the stockings full of books and toys,
But puts in whips for naughty girls and boys.
One Christmas-eve the moon shone clear and bright;
I thought I'd keep awake and watch all night,
But it was silent all around and stilled,
Yet in the morn I found my stockings filled.
I wonder where that queer old fellow lives,
And where he gets all the fine things he gives ?
Some children think he's one thing, some another,
But I suspect he's only father and mother.
OTTY is the German nickname for Charlotte. The
little Lotty that I mean is the daughter of a German
shoemaker. Her father is only a journeyman, and
works very hard to earn a little money. Her mother has sev-
eral children younger than Lotty, and one of them is a baby.
Lotty does most of the housework, and helps with the cooking.
When her mother goes out to milk the cows for a neighbor,
she leaves Lotty to take care of the children. To-day she is
ironing, in a little back-room, and we must listen while she is
talking to herself.
"There, now," says Lotty, "I think that neckerchief will do.
Father will look very nice in it, when he sits in church to-
morrow. 'I love to do anything to please father: it makes him
smile so, and smooths the wrinkles out of his forehead, just as
this iron smooths the muslin.
"I wonder what makes father look so sad. Perhaps it is be-
LOTTIE'S MOTHER GOING OUT TO MILK THE COWS.
BE A GOOD GIBL.
cause he is so poor. Oh! I do wish I was older, so that I could
earn something for father and mother I! But, patience, patience,
time flies very fast. Mother is sad, too, and the tears came
into her eyes when she was talking about paying the rent. But
they both seem glad when they look at us; that is because they
love us. I wish the crease would come out of that apron.
Well! my iron is cold. I'll put it down and take another.
"There, mother is back. I hear her singing. What hymn
is it? Oh! now I know,-' Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to
thy bosom fly.' I think it is mother's darling, darling hymn.
Mine is,-'The Lord my pasture shall prepare.' I am glad
that I went to Sunday-school, if it was only to learn that hymn.
Next Sunday the teacher will tell me something new, I know,
for he always says something we like to hear, and that does
us good, too. And he is so kind to teach us good.
"Now my ironing is all done, and after I have fed the
chicks, I will learn a new hymn, and some verses for next
BE A GOOD GIRL.
E a good girl, Dolly! Don't do anything naughty while
And Katy shook her finger at Dolly as she opened
the door to leave the room.
And what do you think was in Katy's mind when she said
this ? She had been playing with her Dolly for a good while,
when all at once she thought of the basket filled with cake she
had seen that morning in her mamma's closet, and as soon as
she thought of the cake she began to want a piece.
But mamma had told her never to go to this closet to help
herself; so she tried not to think about the cake, but still the
KATY GOING TO THE CLOSET.
HO l' DOLLIE DEANE SPOILED HER CHRIST.MAS.
thought would come. At last she said to herself, I'll just get
a tiny little piece,"-as if it wasn't as wrong to take a little
piece as a big one.
So oA' Katy started, charging her Dolly to be a good girl.
As she opened the closet door she thought she heard her
mother's voice. She stopped to listen. "Be a good girl, Katy I"
It seemed as if the words were spoken aloud, so distinct didl
they seem to her. Don't do anything naughty while I'm
gone." Just what she had said to Dolly.
Katy stood wondering; then she said softly to herself, I
guess it's one of the angels mamma told me about. I was
going to be naughty, but I won't."
And the little girl went back to her Dolly, and kissed it
fondly, saying, as she danced about the room, "Dear Dolly was
a good little girl and didn't do anything naughty while its
mamma was gone !"
HOW DOLLIE DEANE SPOILED HER CHRISTMAS.
e OLLIE was sitting in the bay-window, in the dusk, all
cuddled up, with her pet kitten in her arms.
"To-morrow night, Pussy," said she, "I am going to
hang up my stocking right close by the sitting-room grate, and
old Kriss Kringle will fill it up full of beautiful presents. He
isn't a real Kriss Kringle, you know,-it's only papa and
mamma,-but I like to pretend it is an old fellow in furs and a
sleigh and all. Oh; dear, I wonder what I'll get, anyhow !"
Just then Dollie caught a glimpse of her papa standing in
the hall with his arms filled with bundles, and she heard her
mamma say in a whisper, "Put them in the lower bureau
drawer, where Dollie won't find them."
11HO0W DOLLIE DEANE SPOILED HER CHRISTMAS.
Here Dollie leaned forward and began to feel a keen interest
in the bundles and packages she was not to "find."
"In the lower bureau drawer," she repeated to herself; "guess
I will find 'em."
Then Something whispered to her," But, Dollie, that would be a
kind of stealing to gofind what mamma wishes to hide from you."
"No 't won't, neither," answered Dollie's self. "I'm just
going right up-stairs to see, now;" and letting Pussy fall out of
her arms in her haste, she went up-stairs softly, and saw through
the crack of the door her papa busily opening parcel after par-
cel, and putting their contents in the lower bureau drawer.
Dollie waited until he had finished, then she hid herself be-
hind the door as he passed her on his way down-stairs.
Very softly crept little Dollie into her mamma's room then.
Very cautiously she opened the lower drawer, and her eyes
danced with delight over what she saw there. A beautiful
Grande Duchesse doll, in pink satin; a little silver tea-set,
like mamma's real one; a little blue locket and gold chain; a
scarlet fan with a bird on it; a set of story-books, and great
papers full of candies.
Dollie took out the doll and examined it all over, opened the
locket and saw her mamma's and papa's picture, fanned herself
with the fan, peeped into the story-books, and ate several
of the candies before she heard the tea-bell ring and papa ask
where his "Dollie Dumpling" was.
Somehow supper didn't taste good to Dollie; she was very
quiet, too, and papa wondered what was the matter with his
chatterbox. Mamma thought she looked feverish, and asked
if her head ached. Dollie said, "No, she was only sleepy,"
but down in her heart Something was saying all the while,
"What a wicked, naughty, little girl you are to have stolen a
sight of the pretty presents your papa and mamma meant to
surprise you with!"
THE DRA Y HORSE AND THE RACER.
Christmas morning came, and when Dollie ran down-stairs
into the sitting-room where her two long, scarlet stockings hung
up by the grate, her papa and maumma thought she did not. look
as surprised and delighted over her presents as they expected
"What is it, Dollie? Are your presents not what you
wanted ?" asked mamma.
"But what? You don't look happy and pleased over them."
Then Dollie burst into tears, and between sobs and sniftles
confessed how she had spoiled her Christmas by anticipating its
pleasures in stealing a look at the happiness in store for her.
"I thought it would be so nice to know everything,-and now I
don't feel so happy," sobbed Dollie.
"Ah, Dollie," answered her mamma, "even grown people are
like you, sometimes. They want to look ahead and see what is
to be, when, if they would only wait and trust to the good
Father, everything would be all right in good time. If bless-
ings are ahead, we will enjoy them in due time. If sorrow, we
will feel it soon enough."
Dollie thought her mamma was right, and she determined she
would never spoil another Christmas by peeping in the lower
drawer to discover the presents her papa and mamma would
give to her in due time!
THE DRAY HORSE AND THE RACER.
HAT a dull life yours is!" said a racer to a dray horse.
"Dull enough," said the dray horse.
S "You must feel uncommonly stupid."
"Stupid enough," said the dray horse.
THE DRAY HORSE AND THE RACER.
"Up and down, up and down, with great heavy loads all
day. No wonder your head hangs down. Why, you're just
a piece of machinery, and no better."
The dray horse didn't answer, but continued doing his work;
but the racer, who was tethered near, repeated his remarks
every time he came within hearing.
"I'm afraid I've offended you," said the racer.
"Oh no," answered the dray horse; "but my quiet life has
this advantage in it-it gives me time to think before I speak."
"And have you been thinking while I have been talking?"
"Yes," answered the dray horse, "and I'll tell you what I've
been thinking: you're a very fine fellow, and I'm contemptible
in your sight, but I know which of us would be the most
missed. Depend on this: if I and my breed were to go away,
and no other substitutes could be found, folks would do without
racing, and take you and your breed into our places."
- I I. ~
-~ I -
HALF-PAST EIGHT, AND HALF-PAST FOUR.
,AHALF-PAST eight, half-past eight.!
School-bell's ringing-don't be late
Get your books, and pens, and papers;
Don't be cutting truant capers.
Half-past eight., half-past eight!
School-bell's ringing-don't be late I
Half-past eight, half-past eight!
Who is he for whom we wait ?
Lazy Jack !-why, this is folly I
Why d'ye look so melancholy ?
Don't hang back-march out straight,
School-bell's ringing-school won't wait!
Half-past four, half-past four!
Bell is ringing-school is o'er!
Master Jack is blithe and ready:
Needn't hurry, Jack-march steady.
See the rogue, he runs about;
He's the very first boy out.
Half-past four, half-past four I
Bell is ringing-school is o'er.
- U -
H see, mamma !" cried little Ellen; what a pretty pik-ture
this is! Here is a woman looking at a chicken which
somebody is holding in at a window. Poor chicken!
I wonder if he is alive! It must hurt him to hang his head
down like that. I wonder if she is going to cook him for dinner!
Mamma looked at the picture, but did not attempt to reply
to the string of exclamations the little girl poured out. Ellen
'-See, mamma! what is the woman doing? She looks as if
she was holding a pin-cushion in her lap and was sticking pins
"So she is, my dear," Ellen's mother remarked. But that
is not all she is doing. There is a cluster of bobbins hanging
down one side of the cushion which are wound with threads,
and these threads she weaves around the pins in such a manner
as to make lace. They do not make it in the United States.
The woman whom you see in the picture lives in Belgium, in
Europe. In that country, and in some parts of France and
Germany, many of the poorer people earn a living at lace-
"Can they work fast ?"
An accomplished lace-maker will make her hands fly as
fast as though she were playing the piano, always using the
right bobbin, no matter how many of them there may be. In
making the pattern of a piece of nice lace, from two hundred
to eight hundred bobbins are sometimes used."
Ellen thought she should never see a piece of nice lace with-
out thinking of these wonderful lace-makers, who produce such
delicate work and yet are paid so little for it, and while she was
thus thinking over the matter mamma went quietly on with her
THE LACE MAKER LOOKING AT THE CHICKEN.
-4 I' S
- P Un
H, I love our pretty "Bossy,"
Patient cow she is, and mild;
Standing in the barn-yard musing,
Never is she cross or wild.
Oh, I love our pretty Bossy,"
Standing in the winter's sun,
Chewing still her cud so slowly,
Rolling it beneath her tongue.
Oh, I love to feed our "Bossy,"
For I give her salt and hay;
She repays me for my kindness,
Milk she gives me every day.
And I would not hurt our Bossy,"
She is always kind to me,
And I know that I'm the gainer
If I kind and gentle be.
For the God who made our Bossy"
Loves to see His children mild,
And I'm sure He never loveth
Any cross or cruel child.
For He made both me and Bossy,"
And He heeds the sparrow's fall;
Let us never hurt His creatures,
For His eye is over all.
WHAT PAPA TOLD ERMY.
WHAT PAPA TOLD ERMY.
( ANY a time I have heard poor little pale-faced city
boys sigh and wish they lived in the country, where
they could breathe the fresh air and scamper merrily
over the green fields, instead of being cooped up between high
brick walls and compelled to play in the hot and dusty streets.
And just as often I have heard round-faced little country boys
with cheeks so red that the very birds would almost b fooled
into thinking they were great, round, red peaches growlhg on
purpose for them to peck at, get fretful and cross just because
they couldn't live in the great city, where they imagined every
pleasure clustered and every desire was gratified.
I suppose no little boy, and I fear I must include many of
- a a -
WHAT PAPA TOLD ERMY.
the grown folks, was ever quite satisfied with his own lot in
life; and as the feeling is perfectly natural, we will not quarrel
City boys would soon get tired of the quiet country and the
green fields, and long to get back to their tops and marbles in
the dusty streets, and it would not be very long before the rosy
cheeks of the country boy would get pale, and he would give
anything in the great, noisy city to get back to the babbling
brooks and the green meadows, the gray squirrels and birds'
nests that can only be found in the country. I know, because
I was once a country boy, and after I went to the city to live
many were the nights on which I cried myself to sleep and
wanted to go home.
I want to tell you about a Lion I had when I lived in the
He was a great, shaggy beast, with curly black hair,-and a
long tail that nearly touched the ground, and a pair of eyes
terrible to look at when he was angry, but that wasn't very
often, for he really was the kindest and most loving Lion you
ever saw,-not a fierce wild beast from the jungle, but only a
splendid Newfoundland dog. No wonder I never was afraid
of him, because we were good friends and playmates. Why, 1
could ride on his back just as though he were a horse, and we
would lie down on the grass together when we were tired, and
he would put his paws over my neck and hug me, and kiss me
too, sometimes, when I wasn't watching, as well as any dog
could do. And I could put my hand in his mouth, and feel
his sha white teeth, and then he would shut his jaws and pre-
tend tKite me, but only in fun; and when I pretended to be
afraid and ran away from him, he would scamper after me as
nimble as a squirrel, and throw me down and roll over and
over, Ke barking and I shouting and laughing, as happy as we
- & I -
WHAT PAPA TOLD ERMY.
Once Lion got into trouble, and met with an accident that
was funny enough to me, but poor Lion couldn't see "where the
laugh came in."
We were out in the apple-orchard, and busy enough looking
for eggs, for our hens were great "gad-abouts," and would run
away from the chicken-yard and lay their eggs in all sorts of
places, but Lion and I knew pretty well "all their tricks and
their manners," and generally found out where Mrs. Cackle and
Mrs. Cluck had hidden them. So, while we were keeping a
sharp lookout for eggs, I spied a queer-looking thing up an
apple-tree that looked like a bunch of old newspapers all matted
together. Lion saw it and began to bark, and I got a pole and
began to punch at it, when down it came right at Lion's feet.
How he did pounce on it! And how quickly he let go again!
And the next moment he was making a "bee-line" for the
house, running like a race-horse and howling at every jump.
I laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks, and wondered
what was the matter with the dog; but pretty soon I found out.
Something struck me in the mouth, and in just two seconds I
was making a bee-line for my mother, crying as loudly as Lion
was howling. Do you want to know what was the matter ?
Well, I had torn down a hornet's nest, that was all, and both
Lion and I got pretty well stung for our pains! As the Irish-
man said, "The hornet is a mighty purty bird, but he has a
very hot fut!" I soon got over the pain, after I had been
pretty well pickled and rubbed down in salt, but Lion rolled
over in the grass a thousand times, and finally ran into the
goose-pond, and stayed there nearly all day. For two or three
days afterward he looked very sheepish, and seemed to hang
his head and look sorry whenever any of us said "hornets!"
But it was many a day before he would follow me into the
Y heart is filled with gladness
When I behold how fair,
How bright are rich men's children,
With their thick golden haiir!
For I know 'mid countless treasure,
Gleaned from the east and west,
These living, loving, human things,
Are still the rich man's best.
But my heart o'erfloweth to mine eyes
And a prayer is on my tongue,
When I see the poor man's children,
The toiling and the young.
My heart o'erfloweth to mine eyes,
When I see the poor man stand,
After his daily work is done,
With children by the hand;
And this, he kisses tenderly;
And that, sweet names doth call;
For I know he has no treasure
Like these dear children small.
Oh, children young, I bless ye;
Ye keep such love alive I
And the home can ne'er be desolate
Where love has room to thrive!
Oh, precious household treasures,
Life's sweetest, holiest claim;
The Saviour blessed ye while on earth,
I bless ye in his name.
THE POOR MAN AND HIS FAMILY AFTER HIS DAILY
WORK IS DONE.
-I U -
TIRED OF READING.
WENTY pages more," said Adelaide White, turning to
the back of the book to see how many leaves remained.
Then she gaped, stretched herself wearily, and looked
out of the window for a minute or two. After this she bent
down over her book again and went on reading. Her mother,
who sat sewing in the room, noticed this.
"Haven't you read long enough, daughter ?" she asked.
"I'm 'most through. There are oply twenty pages left,"
But if you are tired of reading, why not stop ?"
"Oh, I'm bound to finish the book now," said Adelaide.
"I have set myself so many pages to read every day, and must
go through to make up the number."
"What have you been reading about for the last ten or fifteen
minutes ?" asked Mrs. White.
Adelaide turned back the leaves of her book, and began
running her eyes over the pages.
Shut your book and tell me," said her mother.
Adelaide closed her book and tried to remember, but was able
to give only a very confused idea of what she had been reading.
Why do you read ?" inquired her mother.
Adelaide was silent.
You read to know, do you not ?"
Not to see how many pages you can go over in a given
time. One page a day, if remembered, is better than a hundred
if forgotten. Put away your book, dear, and go out into the
Adelaide shut her book and ran out into the garden, where
she spent half an hour. Then she came back with glowing
cheeks and a mind fresh and cheerful.
-I I -
THE CARELESS READER TIRED OF READING.
- U w -
THE BRAVE COCK.
,HE cock that belonged to Patty and Susan was, indeed, a
very wonderful bird. I will tell you how brave he was.
G At one side of the mill there was a barn, and some-
times, when it was rainy, the children were sent to play there.
One day, when Patty, Susan, and Harry were amusing them-
selves in it, swinging and making nests in the straw, Patty said
she wotld sing a song, so she fetched a book, and sang, "Little
Bo Peep," and "Jack and Jill," and "Sing a Song of Sixpence."
Just as she finished, she heard a loud, piercing cry. The
youngsters rushed to the window to see what was the matter,
and saw poor Mr. Cock standing in the middle of the barn-
yard screaming with fear, while he stared at a far-away black
spot in the air. The ducks and chickens ran hither and
thither. Nearer, nearer it came-a cruel, sharp-beaked hawk.
It hovered now right over the frightened group. The brave
cock flapped his wings, and tried to frighten the enemy by his
screams. The hawk hovered some time, and, perhaps not being
hungry, or not caring to meet so angry a foe, presently flew
away, and left him rejoicing. Then the children ran to their
mother and told her all about the wicked hawk, and how brave
the cock had been. I really think Patty would have hugged
him if she could. Then they got some barley from their
mother and fed all the chickens, who pecked away as if they
had eaten nothing for days. Certainly the fowls ought to have
said Thank you." Perhaps they did.
THE BRAVE COCK.
A LIE STICKS.
c LITTLE newsboy, to sell his papers, told a lie. The
matter came up for conversation in a class in Sunday-
"Would you tell a lie for three cents ?" asked a teacher of
one of her boys.
No, ma'am," answered Dick very promptly.
"For ten cents ?"
"No, ma'am ?"
"For a dollar ?"
"For a hundred dollars ?"
"For a thousand dollars ?"
Dick was staggered. A thousand dollars looked like such a
very big sum. Oh, what lots of things he could buy with a
thousand dollars! While he was thinking about it, and trying
to make up his mind whether it would pay to tell a lie for a
thousand dollars, a boy behind him cried out,-
Why not ?" asked the teacher.
Now mark this boy's answer, and don't forget it.
Because, ma'am," said he, the lie sticks. When the thou-
sand dollars are all gone, and the good things bought with
them are all gone too, the lie is there all the same."
This we should never forget, the lie sticks." And it is this
that makes the punishment of lying so great, even when we
repent of the sin and get it pardoned. It is still true that
the lie sticks," and the sad and sorrowful recollection of it
will be our punishment.