Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Fridolin and Babeli: a Swiss...
 Meek-Eye; or the Ship of the Desert:...
 The Box of Bonbons: a French...
 Ivan's Dream: a Tale of Siberi...
 The Forest Festival: a Sketch of...
 The Lost Slipper: a Turkish...
 The Young Artist
 Second Part
 Madelaine Tube and Her Blind...
 The Boy and the Book
 Back Cover

Title: Stories of many lands
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00035168/00001
 Material Information
Title: Stories of many lands
Physical Description: 1 vol. (various pagings) : ill. (some col.) ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Greenwood, Grace, 1823-1904
Whymper, Elijah, fl. 1848-1863 ( Engraver )
Friston, David Henry ( Illustrator )
Groombridge and Sons ( Publisher )
Simson & Groombridge ( Printer )
Callander & Dixon ( Binder )
Publisher: Groombridge and Sons
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Simson and Groombridge
Publication Date: [1878?]
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1878   ( lcsh )
Callander & Dixon -- Binders' tickets (Binding) -- 1878   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1878
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Binders' tickets (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
England -- Hertford
England -- White Haven
Statement of Responsibility: by Sarah Wood and other authors ; illustrated.
General Note: Bound by Callander & Dixon, White Haven.
General Note: Illustrations engraved by E. Whimper after D. H. Friston.
General Note: Date of publication from inscription.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00035168
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002239977
notis - ALJ0515
oclc - 61463340

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page i
    Title Page
        Page ii
        Page iii
    Fridolin and Babeli: a Swiss Tale
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    Meek-Eye; or the Ship of the Desert: an Arabian Night's Adventure
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
    The Box of Bonbons: a French Tale
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    Ivan's Dream: a Tale of Siberia
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    The Forest Festival: a Sketch of German Life
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
    The Lost Slipper: a Turkish Tale
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
    The Young Artist
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
    Second Part
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    Madelaine Tube and Her Blind Brother
        Chapter I:The Broken Cup
            Page 1
            Page 2
            Page 3
            Page 4
            Page 5
        Chapter II: A Picture of Poverty
            Page 6
            Page 7
            Page 8
            Page 9
            Page 10
            Page 11
        Chapter III: Uneasiness
            Page 12
            Page 13
            Page 14
            Page 15
        Chapter IV: Christmas Gifts
            Page 16
            Page 17
        Chapter V: Happiness Destroyed
            Page 18
            Page 19
            Page 20
            Page 21
        Chapter VI: New Misfortunes
            Page 22
            Page 23
            Page 24
            Page 25
        Chapter VII: Trouble Increases
            Page 26
            Page 27
        Chapter VIII: The Sale
            Page 28
            Page 29
        Chapter IX: "When Distress is Greatest, Help is Nearest."
            Page 30
            Page 31
            Page 32
            Page 33
            Page 34
        Chapter X: The Wonders of the Eye
            Page 35
            Page 36
        Chapter XI: The Journey and the Baths
            Page 37
            Page 38
            Page 39
        Chapter XII: The Operation
            Page 40
            Page 41
            Page 42
        Chapter XIII: The Enjoyment of Sight
            Page 43
            Page 44
            Page 45
        Chapter XIV: Conclusion
            Page 46
            Page 47
            Page 48
    The Boy and the Book
        Part I: The Boy
            Page 1
            Page 2
            Page 3
            Page 4
            Page 5
            Page 6
            Page 7
            Page 8
            Page 9
            Page 10
            Page 11
            Page 12
            Page 13
            Page 14
            Page 15
            Page 16
            Page 17
            Page 18
            Page 19
            Page 20
        Part II: The Book
            Page 21
            Page 22
            Page 23
            Page 24
            Page 25
            Page 26
            Page 27
            Page 28
            Page 29
            Page 30
            Page 31
            Page 32
            Page 33
            Page 34
            Page 35
            Page 36
            Page 37
            Page 38
            Page 39
            Page 40
            Page 41
            Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Back Cover
        Cover 3
        Cover 4
Full Text

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IN one of the beautiful valleys of Switzerland, which lie
among the snow-covered Alps, stood the cottage of a poor
herdsman, named Ruprecht, whose chief wealth consisted
of a few cows and goats, a few acres of land, and a small
plot of garden-ground, in which grew a few vegetables and
1 A



fruit trees. He Ld no children of his own, but he had
taken to live with him, two orphans, the children of rela-
tives who had died so poor that they had not been able to
leave any provision for their support. Babeli, however,
was a stout girl of ten years old when she went to live
with Ruprecht: and, as he had lost his wife, she was able
to begin from the very first to take upon her the manage-
ment of his little household; and even Fridolin, her little
brother, who was some years younger, could soon do many
things to make himself useful; so that, although they were
very grateful to Ruprecht for giving them a home, they
never felt themselves a burthen to him; and as years
passed over, and they grew older and stronger, they were
able to assist him more and more.
It was Babeli who kept the cottage so nice and clean,
who lighted the stove and cooked all Ruprecht's meals, who
milked his cows and goats, and made the milk into butter
and cheese, and who at other times mended his clothes and
knitted his stockings. Babeli never thought of being idle
a minute; nor was Fridolin ever idle. He fetched water
for Babeli, and carried her pails. He took the cows to
water at the stream which ran through the valley, and
fetched them fodder. He went up into the pinewoods on
the mountain side, to pick up sticks and bring them home
in great faggots on his back, or he weeded and dug in the
little garden.
Most English children may know very well what
Ruprecht's cottage was like, when we say that it was just
such a one as they have seen little models of, brought by
travellers from Switzerland, and which are generally called


Swiss chalets.* It had the same sloping roof of wood,
which, projecting far from the walls, formed a shelter to a
kind of gallery or balcony which went round the house, and
had a flight of steps down to the ground outside. All the
dwelling-rooms of the house opened into this balcony, while
-what may be called the ground-floor, was given up to the
cows and dairy. The only difference between the look of
the real cottage and the toy model was, that it was all of
dark stained wood, whilst about it were a few more signs
of life; such as Babeli in the gallery hanging some things
to dry on the rails, or standing at the door knitting, and

^ ,- .- -.- ^- '.i- ". -- -- -

talking to Frodolin down below, with a pail of milk or
water on his head, or to Ruprecht with a truss of straw or

"* These cottages, however, are not called chilets in Switzerland;
the real chalets, as we shall presently see, being a very different
kind of thing.


A 2


hay on his back, while the cows stood about; here, and
there, and everywhere.
The cows lived in their stalls all the winter, munching
hay and beet-root, and for a few weeks in spring were
turned out into little paddocks that were Ruprecht's in the
valley; but when summer came, Ruprecht, like the other
herdsmen of the valley, went off with his cows up to the

.. ---_.

pastures which lay high up on the mountains, and there he
remained for the summer months, never once coming down
again; and busy all the while, making cheese with the
milk that his cows yielded, and living all the time in a little
hut-a real chdlet-just large enough to hold his tubs and
pans for his cheese-making, and for a fire lighted on the



ground, from which the smoke went out through a hole in
the roof. It was the great event of the year when the
'herdsmen of the valley, and all the cows, went up to the
mountain pastures, and it needed a great deal of prepara-
tion beforehand, to get together all that was wanted for the
summer cheese-making. Besides getting all the vessels in
good order, Babeli had to salt a supply of meat for Ruprecht,
and bake a coarse kind of bread, of which he took up as
he could, to last him for awhile; but afterwards he lived
almost entirely on milk and the cheese he made. Whilst
Ruprecht was away Babeli and Fridolin had little else than
the milk of the goats, and the vegetables, and fruit of the
little garden for their own support, except what money they
contrived to earn for themselves. But they got on very
well together, and liked very much these months that they
spent alone in the cottage.
SIt is nothing to say that Fridolin was as happy as the day
was long; for shut in as that valley was by very high
mountains, even in summer the sun rose later and set
sooner behind them than in other places, and so made the
day very short. If you had asked Fridolin why he was so
happy, he would have said it was because he had Babeli for
a sister, or because Ruprecht let them live with him, or
because "our valley was such a beautiful place. Fridolin
always called it "our valley;" and he was sure that there
could not be any valley in the world which was half so
grand and fine, or had so many things to boast of. Could
they not see the snow-white peak of the Jungfrau "* from

Or Maiden," one of the highest mountains of Switzerland.


every part of it; and were not its glaciers so celebrated,
that people from all parts of the world-from France
England, and America-came to see them ? And the streams
"which ran through the valley never overflowed their banks
in autumn, as they did in many other valleys, carrying
away cattle, and cottages, and people, and doing much
mischief; and then the cows of the valley were so fine
Ruprecht's especially; and what two beautiful calves they
had reared that year, which he himself had tended from
their birth? In this way Fridolin would talk to Babeli, as
he was chopping wood for the stove, and she stood by knit-
ting; but at times, when he was with other people, and got
into a talkative mood, it would be about Babeli that he had
most to say. Babl'," as he called her, was so very kind
and good. He was sure there could not be a better sister;
and she was so useful, too, to Ruprecht, and so good-
natured when Ruprecht was cross, or he himself trouble-
some. And then, did they not think that Babl' was very
pretty-prettier than almost any girl in the valley ? and if
those he talked to did not quite think this, it made no
matter to Fridolin, for he went on to say that he thought
so, and that when Babl' should go next summer to the
fete at Meyringen, he was sure there would not be a prettier
girl there.
The valley which Fridolin called our valley," lay, as we
have said, among high mountains, and the tops of these
were always covered with snow, both winter and summer.
It never melted away upon those high peaks, even though
the sun shone upon them till they glistened like silver, and
were too dazzling to look at at mid-day; while at sunrise


and sunset they would be tinged with so rosy a light that
they seemed on fire. There was melting going on, however,
up there, for the ice which lays among those mountains,
and fills up the hollows between them, all comes from the
melting of the snows on the highest peaks. and which,
freezing again, make those great masses of ice which are
called glaciers. And the glaciers, like frozen torrents, some-
times come down between two mountains, filling up the
great gorge between them, till they reach the very valley,
and end with a great steep cliff of ice, which you may
touch with one hand whilst you gather with the other a
delicate valley flower. In Fridolin's valley were two such
glaciers, and from beneath them gushed out the little
streams which watered the valley; and though Fridolin
had seen these glaciers ever since he could remember any-
thing, and did not find it so strange to see ice and snow in
summer time, yet he knew that they were wonderful
because so many people came from afar to see them.
The cottage of Ruprecht stood by the side of the sort of
pathway that led to the foot of one of the glaciers, and
when the regular guide was not at liberty, he went some-
times with parties of travellers to show them the way. He
enjoyed seeing how surprised they always looked at the
sight of the great mass of ice, and how delighted they were
to get into one of the hollows in the steep wall it formed,
which, when you are in them, seem like caverns of pale
green crystal. And he would make them observe that the
little stream that gushed out from beneath the ice, was the
same that they had crossed over at the bridge in the middle
of the valley; and would tell them how that very stream


flowed on, he had heard say, till it reached the River Aar,
and the Aar poured its waters into the Rhine, and the Rhine
fell into the sea.
Then Fridolin would pause in his talk to make the tra-
vellers listen to a loud thundering noise that was to be
heard, and which he told them was the falling of an ava-
lanche-or in other words, that a great mass of snow was
rolling down the mountains somewhere not very far off.
Sometimes the travellers were not content with seeing just
this lower end of the glacier, but would venture to scramble
upon its rugged surface, and climb upwards and make their
way to where it lay among the mountains like a great "sea
of ice," as it is sometimes called.
On such occasions Fridolin would only go with them
to help the real guide to carry things that the travellers
took with them; but if it happened that the guide could
not make all the party hear his stories, Fridolin was
always ready to repeat them. He liked nothing better than
to tell of how a traveller had once been lost down one
of the great cracks in the ice, and never heard of more;
how another had been drawn up out of the great ice-
chasm he had fallen into, by means of ropes; and, more
strange than all, how a guide who had fallen into one of
these great fissures, had found himself in a sort of ice
cavern, and had followed its windings until he escaped
out at the lower end of the glacier. Helping the guide on
these occasions, and being active and obliging to travellers,
usually gained for Fridolin two or three small pieces of
money, which he took home and carefully saved up, pro-
vided Babeli did not happen to want them for the house;


for Fridolin was a great saver, and for this reason,-
that he saw how Babeli
always spent all the money --.- ----
she earned in food, or in -----
some article of clothing that-- -
he or Ruprecht wanted;
and he felt that if ever
Babeli was to have the same -
sort of things in dress that .'
all the other girls in the .
valley had, they must be : .-
bought with money that he
had earned and saved.
Besides showing off the
glacier to travellers, Frido- -. -- -4i
lin often accompanied par-
ties of them who went over ?::-
the mountain pass at the
end of the valley, which I
led to another valley; and
he knew the way so well, .
that he could be trusted to
lead a mule on which some
timorous lady sat, while he .. -. -
carried at his back all kinds
of bags, and baskets, and
knapsacks, belonging to the
party. At such times, when
he found anyone who could
understand the strange sort



of German which he spoke, he would talk all the way he
went, so that the lady traveller, by the time she had got
over the mountain pass, knew as much about Ruprecht and
Babeli as he did himself. And when asked to sing he would
burst out into one of the many songs peculiar to Switzer-
land, which are sung by herdsmen when they assemble
their cows, called the "Rauz des Vaches." or "Kiih-reihen,"
in which, at the end of each verse, the voice makes a sort of
accompaniment, like the tone of a pipe, which is called
jodling. Fridolin could jodle famously, and when the
deeper voices of the other guides joined him, it made beau-
tiful music to the traveller's ear, up there in the pure air of
the mountain, as they all plodded along; and the sweet
sounds helped to shorten greatly the difficult and toilsome
It was once in the middle of summer, when Ruprecht
was up with the cows at the mountain pastures, that Babeli
thought she might venture to send Fridolin up to him with
some fresh bread and a basket of eggs, which she knew
would be particularly acceptable to Ruprecht, after being so
many weeks without tasting anything but milk and cheese.
Fridolin was to start early one morning with the first rays of
the sun, that peeped over the snowy ridge to the east. It
would be a long day's journey there and back, Babeli said,
but part of the way was by the mountain pass which Fridolin
knew so well; and she hoped he might fall in with a party
of travellers going over it into the neighboring valley, and
so have company and protection. She promised in case he
should not be home before dark, to keep a light burning at
the window, which he would be able to see at a great dis-


tance; and she begged him to be very careful at the part
of the road where avalanches so often fall. "Now don't
sing or whistle, Fridl'," said she, "when you go by that part,
for you know even that will sometimes move the air and
shake down a mass of snow. And don't stay too long up at
the chAlet, for fear a storm should come on, or that you
should lose your way in a mist after night-fall." Then she
gave him a thousand charges about the bread; how he was
to eat only the half loaf she gave him for his own dinner,
with some milk that Ruprecht would give him; and to be
sure not to break the eggs, but to set them down as gently
as possible when he wanted to rest. Fridolin promised to
obey all these instructions, and then taking a good stout
stick, he slung upon it first the bag of bread, so that it
might rest upon his back, and then the basket of eggs,
which, fastened to the end of the stick,'would be safe from
jolts or knocks.
The mists lay thick in the valley, and there were only a
few streaks of red over the eastern mountains, which showed
where the sun would rise, when Fridolin started on his
journey, bidding good-bye to Babeli as she stood in the bal-
cony to see him off. He had many meadows to cross first
of all, and only when he entered the pine wood which lay
at the foot of the mountains did the pathway begin to
ascend. But the dark shade of the wood was soon ex-
changed for broad day on the mountain side; and the great
ball of'the sun was by that time risen up from behind the
high ridge above him, and the mists were rolling away. He
looked back to admire the rosy light that was now tinging
the snowy peaks to the west; and after a while could dis-


tinguish Ruprecht's cottage in the valley, with its wreath of
blue smoke curling up from the chimney. "Ah!" said he,
now I know that Babl' is lighting the fire in the stove to
boil the water for scalding the milk pails, and while it boils
she will sit and knit;-Oh, no, I forgot,-she will be feeding

the calves and' goats. What a long day she will have all
alone, for I shall certainly not be back till night-fall; and if
Babl' should begin to scold at my being so late, I shall give
her a bunch of the Alpine rose which I mean to find, and



tell her all about Ruprecht and the cows, and then she will
forget to be angry." Then Fridolin in the merriment of his
heart sang out loudly in the morning air his favourite "Call
of the Cows," and at the end of each verse he jodled out his
"yo-e-ho! yo-e-ho!" and the mountains echoed it back
again, as if other voices were joining in chorus. But there
was no one up there to sing with him, or even to hear him,
-unless it were a young chamois, who stood poised for an
instant on a pinnacle of rock, his head thrown up, and his
eyes glancing round to see who was coming, and who then
bounded away across to some neighboring peak, or down
some deep and dangerous ravine, where Fridolin could not
follow him even with his eyes.
The sun was already high above the mountains before
Fridolin reached the little hut or ChAlet where Ruprecht'
was busy with his cheese-making, and where, on all the
heights around, the cattle were grazing on the fine short
grass which clothed the mountains beneath where they
began to be covered with snow. Ruprecht was glad to
see him, and glad to get his eggs and fresh bread, and to
hear all that Fridolin could tell him of what was going on
at home. The other herdsmen, too, who lived in the same
valley, came around him eager to make enquiries about
what was going on in their cottages, and Fridolin had
messages to give them from their wives and families. Then
he had to see all the cheese they had made, and their stock
of curd for making more, and to hear from them many tales
about the terrible storms they had had up there that sum-
mer; storms of thunder and lightning, hail and snow, and
the sad history of a cow killed by lightning, and of another


buried in the snow of an avalanche, so that they had to
dig her out. Fridolin could not see all Ruprecht's cows
till they were summoned together for the afternoon's milking;
so he waited till then, when the herdsmen, blowing loud
blasts upon their long horns, the cows came crowding up
from all the green slopes around them, eager to be relieved
of their milk-the cow of each herd who bore a bell leading
the way, and the others submissively following. There, for
instance, were to be seen all the cows of Ruprecht's little
herd following old Lisi, who always bore the bell and led
the rest: the dun, the brindled, the red, the black cow,
-ah! how well did Fridolin know them all! And he
helped to milk them, and lingered talking to them, and
patting them, long after Ruprecht had warned him that he
ought to be setting off to return home.
But he started at last, bearing many a message from the
herdsmen to their friends in the valley; and with his basket
and wallet now empty, and the road descending all the way
home, he did not doubt that he would soon be there. He
had not gone far before he fell in with a party of travellers,
who were crossing over the mountain pass, and intended to
spend the night at the inn in Fridolin's valley. Some were
on mules, and some of them walked, and of these there were
two or three who were glad to be relieved of things which
they carried, when Fridolin came up and offered his services.
One gentleman .gave him his telescope to carry, another
filled his empty basket with stones that he had been collect-
ing, and a young lady who rode a mule, gladly gave him
her parasol to take care of, which she no longer wanted,
now that the sun was setting. Fridolin was of use to the


L'6 'I.

<* I




- -- _g


party too in another way, as they journeyed down the
mountain. The sky became suddenly overcast, and a cold
wind arose, driving before it a heavy black cloud, which,
when it reached them, brought thick snow, blinding their
eyes, and preventing them from seeing their way. That
way was a rocky footpath, on one side of which the mountain
descended in a steep precipice, that turned the head giddy
to look down; and as they hurried along, even the sure-
footed mules would now and then slip and stumble over the
great slabs of stone that formed part of the path. The
storm increased, and the snow came thicker and thicker,
and drifted in such high ridges, that the walkers sank into
"them up to their knees, and they feared to be quite over-
whelmed. Then Fridolin pointed out to the guide a little
ruined chdlet, that he observed as he passed that morning,
and this being but a few yards out of their road, and under
the shelter of a rock, they all hurried to it, and the whole
party crowding into the miserable little hut, they felt that
even the few beams and rafters that still held together,
would save them from the violence of the storm. Its walls
were all blackened with the fires that had burned in it a
preceding summer, and it contained nothing but a little
straw and the dried moss which had been a herdsman's bed-
Of this straw, however, and the remains of its broken door,
Fridolin and the guide contrived to make a fire, and the
tired and half-frozen young lady of the party was thankful
to lie near it on the bed of moss, and get rested and warmed.
In less than half an hour the storm had passed off as
quickly as it came on. The sky was again of a deep blue
above their heads, and the sunshine burst out bright and


glowing. Then the party all started again on their down-
ward journey, the snow lying however so thick upon their
path, that it was difficult to get on. The mule which the
young lady rode stumbled so frequently, that Fridolin could
quiet her fears only by walking close to its head while he

held its bridle. The delay of the storm, and the difficulty
of getting down the steep and snow-covered path, made it
thus very late before they left the mountain side. The
mists of twilight gathered around them, and the last red
streaks of the setting sun fading suddenly away, it became




dark enough to make the stars their guide, until one by one
the cottages in the valley began to show their twinkling
"That's Babl's candle out there to the left," exclaimed
Fridolin. That's our Babeli's light I know."
And the young lady to whom he pointed it out, as she
paused for a moment on her mule, knew well by that time
who Babeli was, and knew, too, that the bunch of "Alpine
rose," or dwarf rhododendron, which Fridolin had stuck in
his hat, was for her.
At the foot of the mountain the path divided, and that
which led to Fridolin's home turning off from the one which
led to the village inn, he gave up all the things which he
carried, and got thanks and money in return, for he was
now no longer wanted. It was then that one of the travel-
lers, the father of the young lady, discovered that he had a
loss. A pocket-book, which had been in the pocket of his
great coat, and which he had carried over his arm part of
the way, was gone. It was too late to go back; and as the
snow might have covered it, there was little chance that
they should find it, even if they did so. The guide, how-
ever, promised to look for it the next time he went over the
pass, and so did Fridolin; and whoever should find it was
to keep it safely for the traveller, who said he should cer-
tainly come again to the valley the next summer.
When all this was settled, Fridolin bade them good night,
and hastened across the valley, home to Babeli, who was
almost tired of watching and waiting for him, and had
begun to fear that he was lost in the storm which she had
observed to have gathered on the mountains that afternoon.


When she saw Fridolin, however, come skipping in so merry
and well, with such a good account of his journey to give,
and such pleasant tales to tell of all the adventures he had
had with the party of travellers-to say nothing of the
handful of batien* he had got to add to his savings-she
said she thought she should always be more trustful in
future, and not get such dreadful things into her head as
she had done that day about storms and avalanches.
Not many weeks after this Ruprecht and the cows came
down from the mountain again, with a fine stock of cheeses
that he had made up at the chAlet. Fridolin went up there
again, to assist in bringing them down, together with all the
utensils that had been used. As the guide had never found
the traveller's pocket-book, Fridolin went out of his way a
little to look for it in the little ruined chalet where they
had all taken shelter during the snow-storm; and there,
among the dried moss and fern on which the young lady
had lain, he found the brown leather pocket-book, which
had no doubt fallen out of the coat which her father, as
Fridolin well remembered, had spread over her to keep her
warm. Fridolin was overjoyed to be the finder of it, and
thoughtt with what pleasure he should see the kind gentle-
man and his pretty daughter again the next summer; and
promised himself that he would indeed take good care of it
till that time. He took it home and showed it to Babeli
with great delight, and told her where he meant to keep
it;-behind a certain rafter that was at the head of his bed,
where the roof sloped up over it. Nowhere could it be

A small coin of Switzerland.


B 2


safer, and it was there, too, that he always kept his bag of
savings. Babeli and he opened the book that they might
dry its contents at the stove, for it had got wet with some
melted snow which had fallen on it through the openings in
the wall of the hut. It was full of papers; some that
looked like paper money, and others that were covered with
figures and strange marks and lines, which Fridolin thought
must be the measurements that the gentleman had been
taking of the heights of the mountains, and the weight of
the air. He seemed, as Fridolin said, to be a very learned
gentleman, and no wonder that they should find from the
writing in the book that he was called a Doctor, and lived
at Berne; for Babeli knew that many learned people lived
in that city.
When the summer was quite past, fewer and fewer
travellers came to the valley; and as autumn also drew
to a close, Babeli was very busy making preparations for
winter. She and Fridolin cut up and salted all the
cabbages that grew in their little garden, and shredded the
beans too, and packed them into barrels with layers of salt,
and she laid in her stock of yarn for winter knitting;
whilst Fridolin and Ruprecht were for a long time busy
getting in their winter stock of fire-wood. The days grew
shorter and shorter, and it became so cold that the stove
was obliged to be kept constantly lighted, and the cows
never left their stalls. Winter set in with great severity.
The clouds hung heavy over the mountains, and even in the
valley the snow lay thick upon the ground. Then during
the long evenings, while Ruprecht slept by the side of
the stove, and Babeli knitted, Fridolin pursued his most


favourite occupation, which like that of many inhabitants
of the Swiss valleys, was carving in wood,-cutting toys
and figures out of the wood of the birch, and such other
trees as were white and close-grained. Fridolin was looked
upon as a very skilful carver for his age, and his winter
carvings began now to fetch a good price, when he sold
them in the spring to the people who came about to the
different cottages to collect them for sale in the towns. He
could carve cows especially very cleverly, and goats, and
chamois, and even began to make likenesses of Ruprecht
and Babeli in figures of not more than three inches high.
Ruprecht, with all his cheese-making utensils on his back,
as he came down from the chalet, or Babeli with her milk-
pails; but there was nothing he liked to carve so much as
the graceful chamois, and his eye was quick in imitating all
their postures and movements. For hours together would
Fridolin sit chipping and cutting by Babeli's side, and as he
carved would he always talk-
Look Babl' only just see what a beautiful bit of wood
this is. There is not a single stain or streak of colour in it,
and the grain is so close and fine. I mean to make some-
thing very pretty with this." And then after a little
chipping and cutting, Now Babl', can you guess what this
is to be? A goat? No!-a chamois. Don't you see? Here
will be the head, and there the back, and this part the rock
on which he stands. I mean it to be as like a real chamois
as I can make it, and I shall get a bit of real horn for its
horns, and make its eyes black and shining, and arch its
neck, and put its four feet close together, just as they stand
on a little point of rock. How much do you think they


will give me for him when he is finished, Babl'? I want to
make a great deal of money by my carvings next spring.-
I know what for."
To buy a new jacket, I hope, Fridl', you want one sadly."
"No, not for a jacket," said Fridolin, looking very
"Well then, a new hat; it is quite time you had a new
hat, Fridl', for Sundays and fete days."
Ah! but I don't care about a new hat yet, but I'm not
going to tell you, Babl', what it is I mean to buy; so don't
you try to find out. I mean to save up every batz I can,
till I have got enough in time for the fete next summer at
Meyringen. I know you mean to go to the fete next sum-
mer, Babl', for I heard you say so, and all the girls will
wear their gold ear-rings, and-there now! I have told
you, Babl', after all, -what I mean to buy with my
Babeli shook her head. She advised Fridolin to think of
no such thing as buying ear-rings for her, as she could do
without them very well, and he wanted so many other
things himself, now that he was getting such a great boy.
But Fridolin also shook his head, and did not mean to
be put off his long-planned intention. He only cut and
chipped the more eagerly;-now rounding out the chamois'
back, and then shaping out gradually the neck and head,
and working most carefully at the legs, so as to leave them
slender, and yet firm and gracefully poised. His chamois
turned out at last a great beauty, and altogether much more
finished and well formed than any he had made the pre-
ceding year. Fridolin was anxious to improve in his



carving, for he knew that the men who collect these wood
carvings at the cottages, to take to sell again in the towns
and great hotels, where travellers see and buy them, are
ready to give much more money for those which are skil-
fully carved and like nature, than the little rough things cut
by children and unpractised hands. And when the winter
came to a close, Fridolin had a fine stock of chamois, and
goats, and cows, and Babelis, and Ruprechts, that he hoped
to sell them for quite enough to buy the golden ear-rings
with, and moreover that he should be able to get them
ready in time for the fete at Meyringen. All that spring
he kept this purpose in his mind, but as the fete did not
take place till summer-time, he was not in a hurry to dis-
pose of his carvings, but waited until a good occasion
offered for selling them.
Spring was a happy and beautiful time in Fridolin's
valley. The snow melted suddenly from off the low mea-
dows, and left the grass which it had covered so long, of
the brightest green; and thousands of wild flowers sprung
up and opened out their delicate blossoms. The trees
seemed only to make, a show of buds before they burst
into leaf, and people had scarcely time to find out that
spring had come, before summer was there too. Ruprecht
had already begun to talk of the time for taking his cows
up to the mountain pastures again, and Fridolin had that
very morning looked at the gaily-coloured almanack, that
hung upon the cottage wall, to see how many weeks there
were before the midsummer fete at Meyringen; when there
came one day a pedlar to the door, with a large case at his
back, in which he had all sorts of trinkets that had been


made at Basle and Geneva, and other towns in Switzerland,
and which he was going over the mountains with to sell in
Now it so happened that Babeli was busy milking her
cows, and Ruprecht was from home, so that there was no
one but Fridolin to whom the pedlar could show his wares,
and he had hardly got a glimpse of all the fine gold rings
and brooches that. the case contained, before he ran off and
fetched all his best carvings, and offered them in exchange

for a pair of gold ear-rings. There was a pair of exactly
the size and shape he wanted for Babeli, and moreover of
the very same coloured gold as the little cross she wore
round her neck, which had been her mother's. They were'
so exactly what he wanted, that Fridolin was ready to give
all his carvings, and all his savings, for them without any
bargaining, so anxious was he to make sure of them, and
especially to get safe possession of them before Babeli had


finished her milking, or she might try to prevent him from
buying them.
The pedlar shook his head, however, at what Frjdolin
offered. He had not room enough in his case, he said, for
all the wood carvings, and should not perhaps find a sale
for them in Italy, and Fridolin's savings in money were not
nearly enough. Poor Fridolin was sadly disappointed. He
could not make up his mind to let the pedlar shut up his
pack again, as he was now about to do, and carry off the
beautiful ear-rings, on which he had so set his heart. He
begged him to wait for him only just two minutes, and then
ran away into the house. He came back again almost in
less time than the two minutes he begged for, breathless,
and with his face all flushed with eagerness. He brought
with him a piece of paper money, which he showed to the
pedlar, and asked if that would not make his money enough
for the ear-rings. The man looked at the paper attentively,
and then said it would. He gave the golden ear-rings to
Fridolin; put up the money in his leather money-bag;
packed up his case, and slinging it on his back, was gone
and out of sight, round a turn in the road, all before
Babeli had come from the back of the house, with her pails
of milk.
Fridolin waited until nearer the time of the fete at
Meyringen, before he gave to Babeli -the beautiful gold
ear-rings that he had bought for her. He kept them hid
in his hiding-place over his bed, until he could not have
patience to wait any longer, so much did he long to see
Babeli's surprise and pleasure. And she was indeed very
surprised and pleased with them, and did not scold Fridolin


so very much for having spent all his money upon them
She could not help thinking with pleasure of being able to
wear ear-rings like all the other girls on the day of the f6te,
and of the pride she should have in telling them all that
Fridl' had bought them for her. Only "Fridl', dear, how
could you ever have contrived to save enough for such a
beautiful pair? Or was it that your chamois and cows
have fetched such a good price?"
Babeli was to know nothing about it, Fridolin said; and
he stopped her questions by making her put on her ear-
rings, and then look at herself in the little looking-glass
that hung between the windows.
And when the long-looked-for day came, Babeli went
with a number of the young people of the valley over the
mountains to the fete at Meyringen. She wore her ear-
rings and her golden cross, and her little black boddice
fitted nicely to her figure, and was gaily embroidered with
silver and coloured beads upon the stomacher. Her glossy
hair was plaited into two long tresses, which hung down
behind, while a little cap of black lace stood out like wings
on each side of her head. Others besides Fridolin thought
that there was no prettier or more good-tempered looking
girl than Babeli in all the gay crowd of young people that
joined in the sports and dances at Meyringen. But Fridolin
was not there to see her. Ruprecht was at that time up at
the chAlet with the cows, and Fridolin was obliged to stay
at home to take care of the house.
Babeli and her young companions had started much
before day-break for their long journey over the mountains,
and would not be home till the moon lighted them over the'
pass back again. 26


Fridolin was not dull, however, that long summer day,
thinking as he did so much of Babeli, and looking forward
to her return, when he should have to hear so much of the
doings at Meyringen, and find out that Babeli had been
more sought for in the, dances than any of the other young
girls; and hear how this one and that one had admired her
ear-rings, and envied her for having so good a brother. He
knew he should hear all this from some one, even if Babeli
did not tell it all to him.
Evening came. Sunset and twilight passed away. The
stars came out, and the moon arose. Fridolin had at last
become tired of watching and waiting, when he heard the
distant voices of the party from the fete coming across the
valley. The noise came nearer and nearer, and then the
sound of voices grew less, for first one party and then
another parted from the others to go to their different
homes. Fridolin stood out on the balcony watching for the
first sight of Babeli; and at last she came. He knew her
step inan instant as she came along; and as she passed
now into the shadow of a tree, and now where the moon-
light fell bright upon the path, he could get a glimpse of
her well-known figure. But how slowly she came along,
and how tired she must be not to quicken her steps as she
got so near home. Fridolin went down the flight of steps
that led from the balcony to meet her.
"Babeli passed her brother without a word or sign of
recognition or greeting, and slowly and heavily mounted
the steps, and entered the house. Fridolin followed her,
saying all the time, "Why, Babl', how late you are!" and
"How tired you most be!" and "Why don't you speak,



Babl'i" exclaimed he at length, quite impatiently; but
when he came to the cottage door, and saw Babeli sink on
a seat, and cover her face with her hands, he stood still in
terrible astonishment and alarm. Never in his life had he
been so frightened.
"Oh, Fridl', Fridl'!" at last cried Babeli, bursting into
tears, and wringing her hands, what have you done, Fridl'!
Oh, Fridl'! what could make you do such a thing? Never,
oh never in all my life did I ever spend such a day as this."
Then suddenly checking her lamentations, she unclasped
with trembling hands the gold ear-rings out of her ears,
and throwing them down on the table, she said, "Take
them away, Fridl', and out of my sight, for never will I
wear them again. They were bought with money not your
own, Fridl',-you know they were, and I will have none of
them. I have been punished enough already for wearing
them, by hearing my brother-my own dear Frid'--called
a thief."
Fridolin-the once merry and light-hearted Fridolin-
stood struck with sorrow and dismay. He had nothing to
say, so he did not speak. He saw, he knew now that Babeli
said so, that he had indeed been a thief. Yes! he had
taken money that was not his own, and that he had pro-
mised to take care of; and the pleasure of giving to Babeli
those beautiful ear-rings was paid for with this terrible
sorrow and sense of shame.
After a time, when Babeli saw how sorrow-stricken and
filled with' despair her brother was, as he stood before her
pale, speechless, and motionless, her old feelings of love and
kindness towards him returned. She felt such pity for his


shame and sorrow, and when she remembered, too, that his
fault had arisen from his great desire to give her pleasure,
her heart could feel nothing towards him but love and
And yet she told him how wrong he had been to let him-
self be led into temptation. The very thing he prayed in
his prayers against every night. She pointed out to him
how certain such actions are of being sources of sorrow,
and how God wills it, that wrong-doing should always come
to light. She told him how people had been surprised
at first to see her beautiful ear-rings, and how they had
wondered at Fridolin having been able to buy them., Then
how some one had hinted at his having found some
traveller's money, and the history had come out of the
pocket-book which he had found in the autumn of the past
year, which had been made known by the guide, who was
vexed at not having found it himself. How the pedlar to
whom he had given the piece of paper-money, had changed
it before he left the valley, and told some one who had
given it to him, so that it had got round how the ear-rings
had been bought; and there had been whisperings about
them, and pointing at them-and the day at Meyringen,
that she had expected to be such a happy one-oh! how
miserable a one it had been to her. Never, never should
she forget it all as long as ever she lived, and never could
she and Fridolin hold up their heads in the valley again for
the rest of their lives !
Fridolin had been, as we have seen, a very happy boy all
his life,-gay, light-hearted, and often merry, but if, instead,
he had had a little sorrow every day of his previous life, it


would not all put together make up the amount of grief
that he felt now. From this time all seemed changed. He
could think of nothing that gave him pleasure, and he could
look at nothing that did not remind him of his shame. He
shunned the sight of everybody, and even to see Babeli was
not the joy and comfort it had always been to him, for her
sorrowful face was for ever a reproach to him. At first he
dreaded that each day might bring the traveller to the
valley, to whom the pocket-book belonged; and then when
he did not some, he began to fear that he would not come
at all, and to think it would be better to have to give it to
him, and confess that he had taken money from it, and so
get punished, and taken to prison. He could no longer
venture to go with parties to the glacier, or over the pass
with them to carry their things, for he did not know that
others might not tell them that he was not to be trusted, so
that he earned no money to replace what he had takert; and
such of his wood carvings as he had left, he had no courage
to offer to any one for sale.
At last his life became so miserable to him that he could
bear it no longer. He determined to go to Berne, to take
the pocket-book to its owner, if he could only find him out.
He said he would confess to the gentleman all about the
ear-rings, and ask him to take them instead of the money;
or if he would not do this, he would give him such of his
wood carvings as he had left, and offer to work for him in
any way that he was able, until he had made up the missing
sum. Babeli did not oppose him in his plan, for she
thought it was the best thing he could do. She gave him,
too, a nice pair of stockings of her own knitting, and a


small cheese which she had made of the milk from a goat
"which Ruprecht had given her; and she took from her
neck, and tied round Fridolin's, the little gold cross she
had worn since the day her mother died. Of all these
things the owner of the pocket-book could take what he
pleased in the place of the paper note, whose value, she
had reason to fear, was much greater than the ear-rings.
She then packed up for Fridolin a little supply of food,
which, with his other treasures, she put in a wallet which
he hung over his shoulder, and she put into his pocket the
few batzen that she possessed to help him on his way. It
was not so very far to Berne but that Fridolin might easily
walk the distance in a few days, and she knew that he
would think nothing of sleeping at night in some shed or
barn by the road side, now that the nights were so short
and warm. Then giving him her blessing, she saw him
depart with a lightened heart, and when he had gone, went
among her neighbours in the valley again, and told them of
Fridolin's departure, and what he meant to do, and held up
her head again, and went about her daily, task with a more
cheerful spirit, her heart being full of hope again for
Fridolin and herself.
We need not relate all that befel Fridolin from the time
he left home, until, foot-sore and weary, he reached the city
of Berne. We could not-if we would-tell all that he felt
at leaving Babeli for the first time in his life; nor when,
for the first time he left the valley in which he was born,
and beyond whose mountain boundaries he had never before
passed. As long as he could look back and see the snow-
covered peak of the Maiden," it seemed, however, as if


he had not quite lost sight of home, for he knew that
perhaps Babeli would be looking up at it just then, as well
as himself; and though his way led from among the moun-
tains, and came amongst land that was covered with fields
of corn, and hemp, and potatoes, and beet-root, yet there
was always behind him the range of mountains among
which lay his native valley, and even from the walls of
Berne he could see their white summits.
Fridolin reached this (as it seemed to him) great city on
a Sunday, and when the inhabitants were at church; and,
as the streets were all deserted, he thought he would go to
the church and wait till the people came out, so that he
'might have a chance of seeing the gentleman to whom the
pocket-book belonged, and whom he was sure he should be
able to recognize, especially if he should have his daughter
with him, whose kind smile he so. particularly well remem-
bered. In the city of Berne, the people have among them
as many Catholics as Protestants; in order to accommodate
both, the old cathedral is divided, so that each may have
their religious services in it; and Fridolin, peeping in at
one door, saw the Roman Catholic altar, with its candle-
sticks, and crucifix, and pictures, and images; and smelt
the smell of incense, which told him that mass had just
been performed there: and then going round to the other
door, he found in that half of the church, a Lutheran p.1t..'
up in the pulpit, in his black gown and little,black cap,
preaching a sermon. The congregation sat listening atten-
tively, the men on one side and the women on the other;
then at the conclusion of the discourse a hymn was sung,
and the blessing given by the pastor, and when all was over


Sthe people poured out of the church past the young peasant
Sboy, who stood at the door looking so earnestly in their
faces, that they wondered what he could be wanting.
Fridolin could, however, nowhere see the face he looked
for; or was it that he was dazzled and confused by the
quickly-passing crowd? It might be, thought he, that
people wore such a different dress when' they went to
church in towns to what they crossed the mountains in,
that prevented him knowing the traveller again; so he
'waited until the minister himself came out, and then took
courage to go up to him and ask if he knew the gentleman
he was in search of, and whose name he showed to him
written in the pocket-book.
Luckily for Fridolin, the pastor knew him very well,
and promised to take him to his house, only he said he
must first go home to hear a class of children say their
catechism, whom, he expected, would be waiting for him.
So Fridolin went to his house, and sat by and waited whilst
he taught a number of children, explaining their catechism
to them, and hearing them read the scriptures. As Fridolin
listened to all this, he thought, that perhaps, had he been
so taught his duty to God, he should not have broken one
of His commandments; and he tried to fix in his mind
many kind and earnest words of exhortation that the pastor
spoke. It so happened that he talked to the children about
the commandment-" Thou shalt not steal;" and he told
them how sacred in their eyes the property of others should
be, and what sorrow and shame were sure to follow a dis-
honest act. "Ah," said Fridolin to himself, "I could tell
them better than the pastor all about that;" and he felt





sure that nothing should tempt him again as long as he
lived, to take what did not belong to him. But he was so
tired just then with his long walk, and the day was so
warm, that when the pastor went to another subject with
his class, Fridolin's thoughts grew confused, and his head
nodded; and presently he fell fast asleep in his chair. He
dreamed that he was with Babeli, and that she was churn-
ing and the butter would not come, and that somehow or
other it was his fault, and yet that he could not help it.
"Indeed I cannot help it, Babl'," said he, as the pastor
shook him by the shoulder, and told him he must wake up
and eat the dinner that was set before him, and that then
he would take him to the gentleman whom he wanted to
Refreshed and strengthened, Fridolin was then taken by
the good pastor through the handsome streets of the city of
Berne, and left at the door of the house where his errand
was to be performed. Fridolin was left to tell his own
story, and though his heart beat, and his cheeks flushed at
the thought of the confession he had to make, yet he felt
glad, too, that the moment had come for making amends
for his fault, in the only way in his power. He was shewn
into a room, where he had some time to wait for the coming
of the "Doctor," as the servant who opened the door for
him called her master; so Fridolin took his little pack from
his back, and opened it out, laying its contents on the table.
There was the brown leather pocket-book, (still somewhat
stained and discoloured with the melted snow of the chalet,)
the gold ear-rings, Babeli's stockings and goat's milk cheese,
and the few wood carvings that he had left, and which he



hoped would be looked upon as of some value, though they
were not his very best.
It surprised the Doctor not a little, we may be sure, when
he came out to speak to the little peasant boy from the
mountains, who, his servant said, was waiting to see him,
to perceive all these things spread out on the table side by
side. He quickly recognized his own pocket-book, but it
required a very long story from Fridolin to explain what
the rest of the things were for. After a little while he even
remembered Fridolin himself, and called to mind the
assistance he had given him and his daughter the day they
had been caught in a snow-storm on the mountain pass'
and he greeted him with pleasure, as he looked on him as
an honest boy come all that way to restore his long-lost
property. Ah, how doubly hard did this mistake of his,
make it for Fridolin to tell his tale !
But the history of the golden ear-rings was at last related
with tearful downcast eyes and burning blushes on his
cheeks; and he ended by entreating the Doctor to take any
or all of the things he had brought, in exchange for the
money which was gone from the pocket-book. As the
gentleman listened his face became grave, and as, in con-
cluding, Fridolin ventured one glance up at him, he saw
that the friendly smiles were gone, and that his eyes were
looking down upon him searchingly and reprovingly. But
there was kindness in the tone of his voice, as he then
expressed his regret at what he heard. The gentleman said
that he had always thought that the people who lived
among the Swiss mountains were remarkable for their
honesty, and that they had a character for it all over the
35 c 2


world. He had never doubted but that, if his pocket-book
were found, it would be brought to him with all its con-
tents; but he did not say this to Fridolin without owning
that his temptation had been great, seeing how eager he
was to give pleasure to Babeli; but that now he was sure
he would never make the mistake again, of supposing that
anything could please her so much as his honesty and truth.
Ah, if the gentleman Doctor had only seen how Babl'
cried, and how she pulled the ear-rings from her ears, when
she knew how he had come by them, he might indeed be
sure of that," exclaimed Fridolin, dashing the tears from
his own eyes with the back of his hand.
The.good Doctor was willing to take Fridolin's chamois
and goats, and Babeli's stockings and cheese, in exchange
for the paper money which was gone from his book, but
when he proposed that Fridolin should take back the ear-
rings to Babeli, and consider them as the reward which he
had always intended to give to the finder of the book,
Fridolin would by no means consent to the arrange-
Babl' will never put those ear-fings in her ears again, I
know," said he, "and no one in the valley would ever
believe that I came rightly by them."
It would have been difficult for the Doctor and Fridolin
to have settled this matter, perhaps, if it had not been for
his daughter's assistance, who came in and heard the history
of the ear-rings. She said that nothing should she like so
well as to wear those ear-rings herself, in remembrance of
a kind and honest girl like Babeli; and she would send
instead to Babeli a pair of her own, which she might put in



her ears and shew to the whole valley as tokens that her
brother had amended his fault.
This made Fridolin quite contented and happy, and he
was still more pleased when the Doctor gave him a written
paper to say that he had received back his pocket-book and
the value of its contents, which paper Fridolin could, if he


liked, fasten against the wall of Ruprecht's cottage, or keep
in his pocket to shew to people if it were needed in proof
of his honesty. With this and the gold ear-rings for Babeli,
together with many good wishes and kind advice from the
Doctor and his daughter, Fridolin left the city of Berne the
next day, and began his journey back to his native valley.
Joyfully he trudged along, getting nearer and nearer at


every step to his beloved mountains; joyous his songs as he
came in sight of the snowy peak of the "Maiden;" but
happiest of all was he when he found himself once more at
home again with Babeli, his shame and sorrow gone, and
his good character restored to him for life.






A GREAT part of Asia and Africa is composed of vast
plains of sand, upon which no grass grows, through which
no rivers run, and which, for the most part, are as level as
a large sea unruffled by waves-a sea of sand. As far as
the eye can reach, nothing is to be seen but sand. Moun-
tains, it is true, may on one side rise up in the distance,
and make an uneven line for the eye to rest on in that
direction, but on the other sides all will be fiat, and smooth,


and straight, and the blue sky will seem as if it sank down
to meet the yellow sand. All is sand, sand, sand; and
when the hot mid-day sun pours its scorching beams down
upon it, it seems to glare and dazzle under the eye of the
traveller, so that it is as if another hot sun were beneath as
well as above; and he turns dizzy and would fain shut his
eyes, but that his eyeballs seem to burn his eyelids, as he
closes them for a moment.
But if the great desert is like a sea, happily for the poor
traveller there are islands in it. Here and there upon the
vast barren plain, are to be found patches of verdure-
green grass, shrubs, and trees, growing around a small pool
of water or bubbling spring; and here the tired and
exhausted wayfarer can find shade and rest, and slake his
burning thirst, and sleep for awhile sheltered from the sun
by the large leaves of the palms or plantains, which stretch
over his head like parasols.
And then, how does the
traveller cross these sandy
plains? Not in wheeled car-
'C' riages, on horseback, nor in
railway trains, but on the
S backs of tall, long-necked,
hump-backed camels. Seated
Between the neck and the
hump of these creatures, and
with his baggage packed be-
hind him, he is carried swiftly
and safely across great tracks of the desert-the camel
never fainting or flagging beneath his load-going without



food or water for days together, and ever obeying faith-
fully the voice of his master, as he bids him go faster or
slower, kneel down or rise up again. If a desert is like
a sea, and the verdant spots upon it are like islands, so is
the camel like a ship, which can transport the traveller
from one part to another quickly and safely; and thus.
it has often been called the "Ship of the Desert."
But even with his faithful camel the merchant does not
dare to cross the desert alone. The difficulty of keeping in
the right track, and the fear of roving parties of wild Arabs,
who are the robbers of the desert, cause a great number of
travellers to cross the desert in company, so as to protect
each other; and they take with them camel-drivers and
guides, who know the way, and who look after the beasts
when they encamp at night, and light the fires, and fill the
water-skins when they come to a spring: and the merchants
and travellers, camels and camel-drivers, as they journey
together in a large party, are called a Caravan.
Hassan was a camel-driver, who dwelt at Gaza, and it
was his business to go with Caravans backwards and
forwards across the desert to Suez, to take care of the
camels of travelling merchants who took bales of merchan-
dise, which were to be sent by vessels from Suez down the
Red Sea, and then across the Arabian Sea to India. Or he
came back with other merchants bringing merchandise
which had been landed at Suez from the East, and was
brought to Gaza to be shipped to Europe. The home of
Hassan was at Gaza, however, and there he had a wife and
one young son, called Ali.
Hassan had been at one time absent for many weeks,


when his wife received from him a message, brought by
another camel-driver, who returned with a Caravan from
Suez. It said:-" Send the boy with the camel to Suez,
with the next Caravan that starts from Gaza. I have some
merchandise to bring home, and will await at Suez till he
And All's mother understood the message, and prepared
to obey. She.grieved at the thought of sending her young
son away, to go so far off for the first time, but she said to
herself that Ali was now quite old enough to be helping his
father, and immediately set about doing what was necessary
'for his journey. She got out the housings for the camel,
and looked to the water-skins, to see that they did not leak;
and she mended a rent in Ali's tunic, and bought him a new
pair of slippers; in fact, did all that was needed to make
him quite ready the moment it was made known to her that
a Caravan was about to start. As for Ali, he was delighted
to think that he was to go to his father, and that at last the
day was come, when he too was to be a camel-driver, and to
take a journey with the dear old camel which he was so
fond of-to ride on its back across the desert, and to lie
down by its side when they rested at night-all this was
delightful, and he had no fears about the matter.
Now the camel which Hassan possessed, and of which
Ali was so fond, had been bought with the savingsof many
a year's hard service, and formed the sole riches of the
family. It almost, indeed, caused Hassan to be looked
upon as quite a wealthy man by his fellow camel-drivers,
and Ali, besides having a great love for the animal itself,
was proud of his father being a camel-owner. He fed the


camel every day himself, and though he was indeed a great
creature by the side of the young boy, yet he would obey
the voice of Ali, and come and go at his bidding, and lie
down and rise up just as he wanted. Ali used to fancy the
camel knew his step when he approached him, and that he
would look in his face with a look of love and recognition
with his soft brown eyes. He called his camel by an
Arabian word which meant Meek-eye," and it was a very
good name for the creature.
At last there was a Caravan about to start for Suez,
which Ali could join. It was not to be a very large one,
as there would not be more than nine or ten camels, but
the track between Gaza and Suez was now pretty well
known, and the fear of the Arabs lessened by the route
being, so much frequented. The party of merchants
assembled near the gates of the city, where were some
wells, at which the water-skins could be filled, and thither
Ali's mother and other women followed to bid farewell to
the camel-drivers who were to accompany the Caravan.
There was a great bustle just at the last, and much talking,
and Ali was so busy with his water-skins and his sack of
corn for the camel, and wallet of food for himself,-arrang-
ing it all on Meek-eye's back,-that it spared him the pain
of bidding his mother good-bye. The Caravan started.
The camels which were to lead the way had round their
necks jingling bells, which the others hearing, followed
without other guidance. The very sound of those bells
put spirit into Ali's heart. He looked round and saw his
mother standing on a mound near the city gate. He took
his cap off and waved it round his head, and his mother


took off the linen cloth which she wore over her head
and waved it also: and thus they parted. Tramp, tramp,
tramp, went the camels, their soft spongy feet scarcely
making a noise as they trod the ground. Jingle, jingle,
jingle, went the bells on the necks of the camels. The
merchants talked to each other, and shouted to their atten-
dants. The camel-drivers laughed, and.talked to each
The city of Gaza was not quite out of sight, nor had
they got quite to what might be called the beginning of the
desert, before Ali began to feel rather lonely and sad. No
one talked to him, and he was the only boy in the Caravan.
But All had a stout heart, and tried not to care. He could
at any rate talk to Meek-eye; arid this he did, patting the
creature's back, and telling him how soon they would both
see his father.
The sun rose higher and higher, and it grew hotter and
hotter. The morning breeze died away, and the noon was *
close and sultry. The sand glowed like fire. There was
nothing to be seen but sand and sky-sky and sand. Yes,
there was Meek-eye's long neck and small head going up
and down, as it moved with the creature's tread. Ali fixed
his eyes upon it, and the.motion seemed to lull and soothe
him; he almost slept.
Then came the mid-day halt at one of the places well
known to the drivers, where shade and water could be had.
The water-skins were not to be touched that day, for at
this place a little streamlet gushed from a rock, and
supplied sufficient for the men, while the camels needed
no water for many a day. Hunger and thirst satisfied, and

" *1


a short rest taken, the kneeling camels were made to rise,
*the riders first placing themselves on their backs, and
the Caravan moved on. At night the whole party en-
camped again for rest, the camels lying down while fires
were lighted, and meats an'd drinks were cooked, and
pipes were smoked. Ali
slept with his head on
the neck of Meek-eye,
which served him for a
Many days were thus
passed, and Ali became
accustomed to the life,
and liked it as well as
he had expected. No
Arabs were met with or
even seen in the distance,
aid no one felt afraid of
their party not being
able to contend with them
if they did; but a danger of the desert, worse than a
party of Arabs, came upon them. There arose one day at
noon one of those terrible scorching winds which do such
mischief sometimes to the traveller and his camel. It tame
raising up the loose sand, and sweeping it on like a cloud
before it-a hot stifling wind, which took away the breath,
and filled the mouth and nostrils with sand, and blinded
the eyes. There was nothing to be done but for the men to
throw themselves off the camels, and lie down with their
faces to the earth, while the camels, of their own accord,



did the same. And the scorching wind and cloud of sand
passed over them, and after awhile they were able to rise
up again and continue their journey.
But it happened that the sand so blown before the wind
was scattered in such a manner over the beaten track which
the Caravan was following, that all trace of their route was
lost. The camel-drivers who led the way stood still, and
owned that they did not know which way to turn, for the
track was lost. The sun, quite overhead just then, was no
guide. No distant rock or palm tree was to be seen; and
no one could say which was the south, towards which their
faces ought to be turned. Many attempts were made to
find the right path again in vain. They were like ships
without compasses or rudders. They wandered on, losing
themselves more and more, now turning to the right, and
now to the left, and sometimes when they had gone some
distance in one direction, retracing their steps again. At
last the sun began to decline, so that they were able, at all
events, to find the west; and what was their dismay to find
that they had been wandering away to the' east, instead of
going southward. The Caravan made a halt, and after
consulting together, it was determined now to journey
towards the setting sun, in hopes of coming again into the
right track.
Night came on again, however, and.they had not found
it; nor had they reached any place where they could fill
again their water-skins, which were now empty. Once or
twice some one of the party fancied that he saw in the
distance the top of a palm tree, on the summit of one of
those rocks, amongst which sprWgs are sometimes found;


but no, it had afterwards turned out to be but a little
cloud upon the horizon, or the traveller's own daz-
zled eye-sight, which had misled him: and night came
without their having fallen into the old track again,
or supplied themselves with water to cool their
parched lips, and quench their burning thirst. Another
day without water, and what would become of them
Poor Ali suffered, like the rest, from terrible thirst, and
was full of sorrow at the thought that his father would be
expecting him at Suez. He drained the last drop of water
from his leather bottle, and thought of the morrow with
fear; but he was so tired with his long day's journey, that
when the Caravan halted for the night, and all the other
camels laid down, he was glad to get off poor Meek-eye, and
lie down by his side and close his weary eyes in sleep. Ali
slept; but before the night was over he woke again. He
heard voices talking near him. He listened,-for it was
the voices of one of the merchants and of the principal
camel-driver or guide. He was telling him, that if they did
not find water very soon the next day, that a camel must be
killed for the sake of the water contained in its stomach.
This is what is often done in cases of great need in the
desert, the stomach of the camel being so constructed as to
hold a great quantity of water in large cavities or cells; so
that rather than that the men of a Caravan should die of
thirst, it is customary to kill a camel, and get out the water
contained in its stomach. Ali was ,therefore not surprised
to hear such a thing proposed; but what was his dis-
tress and alarm, when, listening a little longer, he heard


the same merchant propose that it -should be "the boy's
camel" that should be killed! The merchant said that the
other camels were of too good a race, and of too much
value; while, as to this young boy, what business had he
to have a camel of his own, and if it were killed what
would matter his complaints? It would be better far,
they said, for him to lose his camel than to die, like the
rest, of thirst. And so it was decided that Meek-eye
should be killed, unless water were soon found the next
Ali slept no more. His heart was full of grief; but his
grief was mixed with courage and resolution. He said to
himself that Meek-eye should not thus die; his father had
trusted him to bring the camel to him, and.what would he
say if he should arrive at Suez without him? He would
run the risk of finding his way alone. He would leave
the Caravan that very night. Anything that could happen
to him would be better than staying to see Meek-eye
killed. He could lie down and die by its side if God so
willed, but he could not see it killed, nor even save his
own life with the water from its stomach. Anything but
And presently, when all was silent again, and the
merchant and camel-driver had left off talking, and com-
posed themselves to sleep, Ali arose, and quietly and gently
patting the neck of Meek-eye, made it awaken up. He
placed his now empty wallet and water-skins again on its
back, and seating himself on it, made signs for the creature
to rise, and then suddenly started off.
There were those in the Caravan who heard a noise just


then, and half awakened from their sleep. They raised
their headA and looked around, or muttered in their sleep,
or began just then to dream that they heard the distant.
tramp of a camel; but none awakened sufficiently to find
out that the boy, All, and his camel were gone, so that he
got away without being pursued or stopped, and was thus
left to find his way to Suez as best he could.
Tramp,.tramp, tramp, went Meek-eye over the soft sand.
The night was cool and refreshing, and Ali felt stronger and
braver with every tramp. The stars were twinkling brightly
overhead in the deep blue sky, and they were his only
guides. He knew the one which was always in the north,
and the one which was in the west after the sun had sank,
and which was so bright and large, and had not yet set.
He must keep that star to his right, and then he should be
sure to be going towards the south.
Tramp, tramp, tramp !
What if a party of wild Arabs-should come upon him, or
a hungry jackal pounce upon him and Meek-eye? Ali
hoped for the best, and thus journeyed-on till daylight
began to dawn. He lost sight of the bright star in the
west, but a faint gleam of light in the east made as good
a guide for him till the sun had quite arisen. The great
fiery ball came up on the edge of the desert to the left, and
rose higher and higher. It grew hotter and hotter. Faint,
weary, and with a burning thirst, Ali could scarcely hold
himself on to Meek-eye's back. He sometimes felt as if he
must die-lie down and die with Meek-eye by his side, and
let the hot wind blow the loose sand over them, to hide
them for ever, and make a tomb for them. But then again




he thought oa his mother at Gaza, and of his father at Suez,
and roused up his fainting spirits;' and he took courage
again, and bore up bravely, and said to himself that he
must not die, nor let Meek-eye die, but find some pool of
water or spring, or get into the right track, or meet with
another Caravan which might have water left-one of these
happy things he must hope to do.
. The sun was getting very high, and its rays were as hot
as ever, when Ali, in gazing round him, fancied he saw at a
great distance something like a small speck upon the edge
of the desert, which, small as it was, might, when he got
near it, prove to be a rock or palm tree. The object did
not move, and did not fade away, so that he pressed forward
to it, hoping more and more at every step that Meek-eye
took-and then after a while not hoping but feeling happy
and sure that what he saw was a tall palm tree rising up
from amongst some surrounding rocks. It seemed as if
Meek-eye saw it also, and was cheered by the sight, for he
pricked -up his ears and quickened his steps, so that it was
not long before Ali found himself at one of those pleasant
islands of verdure which are 'so mercifully scattered about
the desert. He threw himself from the camel's back, and
hunted out the pool of water that he knew he should find
in the midst of the cluster of reeds and rushes which grew
there. And then he dipped in his water-skin, and drank;
while Meek-eye, doubling up his long legs beneath him and
lying down, stretched out his long neck down into the
'water, and greedily sucked up great draughts of it. Ah!
how refreshing and delightful to both of them was the cool
water; and when they had quenched their thirst, how sweet


was the sleep which soon crept over them as they lay down
in the shade of the great palm tree and overhanging rocks.
Ali dreamed that he had got to Suez, and had met his
father, and when he awoke it seemed as if all the dangers
of his journey were over. Refreshed and rested by the
water and sleep, Ali was able also to satisfy his hunger on a
bunch of ripe dates from the palm tree, while Meek-eye
browsed upon the grass and leaves around.
But Ali, while eating his dates, noticed that around the
palm tree were strewn the stones of dates which other
travellers had eaten, and he observed too that the grass at
the side of the pool had been recently trampled down, and
the rushes bent and broken so as to shew very plainly that
a Caravan had not long ago been halting there. Then came
the thought to Ali that he would start directly, and try to
overtake the Caravan, if he could only make himself quite
sure first of all that it was not the same one which he had
left in the night, and to which the merchant belonged who
had planned the death of Meek-eye. He looked carefully
around to see if he could discover any signs by which he
could make certain of this. He found out the place where
a fire had been lighted by the travellers, and where they
had cooked some food. He found the ashes still warm,
and in examining the spot very carefully, he saw that
among other traces left of a repast were some drops of
oil spilled on the ground. Now he knew well that in
the Caravan with which he had travelled from Gaza, the
oil which the merchants had provided for their journey
had been all used up many days before, so it cduld not be
the same.
51 D 2


He therefore quickly prepared to follow it, first hunting
out the traces of the camels' footsteps as they had left the
resting-place, and gone southwards, and then briskly, and
with recovered strength, Ali and Meek-eye now travelled
on again. Ali kept to the track most carefully. He took
care also to keep the sinking sun to his right hand, and
when it had quite set, he observed again where the large
bright star was that had guided him before. Just before
nightfall, however, he was greatly tempted to turn aside out
of the track that he was following, for he thought he saw
water in the distance-something like a lake or pool of
water gleamed silver-bright afar off, and he would have
hastened to it for a draught for himself and Meek-eye, had
he not remembered that his father had often spoken of such
appearances misleading the traveller in the desert, so that
it was better for him not to turn aside and run the risk of
losing his way. He therefore turned away his eyes from
the tempting sight, and said to himself that it was only
mist or fog, and that he must not let it cheat and mislead
him, so on he still went.
Tramp, tramp, tramp !
What joy for Ali, when often the darkness had closed
around him, and only a faint light came from the stais, and
that he had travelled on tired and faint with hunger for.
many a mile, that at last a real light in the distance showed
where a Caravan was halting for the night. He could have
no fears of that being anything but the fire lighted by some
travellers, round which they were now sitting and lying,
whilst their attendants cooked their supper. How joyful
would it be, to be again amongst such a party, and get a


bowl of rice and a drink of water, and feel that he had
nothing to do but join in the train the next morning if it
should prove that they were going to Suez. And Ali now
came up to them, and joined them without fear, for against
the deep blue sky he could see the yet darker forms of the
camels as they were stretched at ease or slept, and perceived
that there were more of them than there had been in the
Caravan which he had left. He alighted therefore from
Meek-eye, and leading it by the bridle advanced towards a
group of camel-drivers, who were sitting in a circle, and
resting themselves. He told them his story, and asked
permission to join the party, and begged a little rice, for
which he was ready to pay with the piece of money that his
mother had sewed into the lining of his tunic. Ali was
kindly received, and was allowed to mix in the merry group
of camel-drivers, and partake of their supper. The men
listened with interest to his tale, and admired the courage
with which he had endeavoured to save his favourite camel.
There were those among them, too, who had been at Gaza,
and thought they knew his father, and talked kindly and
pleasantly with Ali; so that with a heart quite cheered by
his good luck, and with both hunger and thirst satisfied,
Ali soon slept soundly by the side of Meek-eye, upon whose
long neck his head as usual rested for a pillow. But he
slept to wake again.
In the midst of a pleasant dream, Ali was suddenly
aroused that night by the sound of tinkling bells and the
tramp of camels, and on waking up and looking around
him, he saw that another Caravan had arrived, which had
come from the south. Camels with merchandise, and tra-


vellers and camel-drivers, were crowding up, preparing also
to rest and settle there for the night, and glad to find ready-
lighted fires for their cooking, and companions to talk with.
The camels had each their portion of hay and corn given to
them, and then lay down to rest. The merchants lighted
their pipes, and sat down to wait until their supper was
brought to them by their attendants, and a party of camel-
drivers drew round the fire, near which Ali had been
sleeping. They raked up its ashes again, and put on fresh
fuel; and they prepared the pot to boil their rice.
What voice was that which roused Ali, as he was begin-
ning to sink again into a doze? It was not the dream about
his home come back again; no, he was too much awake for
that He listened,-he started to his feet,-he looked
about him, and waited for a flash of flame from the fire to
fall on the faces of the camel-drivers who stood around it.
It came; the flame flickering up at first, and then, all at
once, blazing out. It flashed upon the face of the camel-
driver who stood stooping over it, and it lighted up the face
of Ali's father!
The father had waited at Suez many days wondering why
Ali did not come with the camel, and then, thinking there
had been some mistake, he had determined at last to return
home with the Caravan which was starting for Gaza. We
need hardly describe the joy of both father and son at thus
meeting each other in the middle of the desert, nor the
pleasure with which the father listened to the history of all
the fears and dangers to which his young son had been
exposed. He was thankful that he had escaped those
dangers, and glad, too, that their precious Meek-eye had


been saved; but above all he was pleased at the courage
and resolution that Ali had shewn.
There was no camel-driver in the whole Caravan so
happy as Hassan, when, the next morning, he continued
his journey to Gaza, in company with Meek-eye and his
beloved son.





IT was the last day of the year when little Clementine
de Vaucourt went with her Bonne to take a walk round
what is called the Palais Royal, in Paris, in order to spend
a five-franc piece, which her grandmamma had given her,
at one of the smart shops there. She was rather puzzled
how to spend it, for she had nearly everything that it was
possible for a little girl of ten years old to have already, and
the next day being New-year's Day, she knew that all kinds
of presents were coming to her from her friends and rela-
tions; more, perhaps, than she would quite know what to

--lF-4 .--T-.
-Fi-- _



do with. However the fancy had come into Clementine's
head that she would spend her money, and no one thought
for an instant of opposing her wishes. Even when they
were very foolish and unreasonable, nobody about her
ever attempted such a thing. They used to say that
Clementine must be made happy, and did not try to make
her so by gratifying those only of her wishes which were
good, nor by helping her to form such. To be sure she did
not see very much of either her papa or mamma, for they
were a great deal from home, and when she did, there were
generally visitors with them, and Clementine was taken
into the salon in full dress, and was looked at and talked
about just as if she were a sort of live doll; so that on such
occasions the thoughts and feelings that were in the heart
and mind of this little girl, were not much noticed even by
her papa and mamma. Clementine spent most of her time
with the person who was called her
Bonne-not quite a nurse, and cer- .-
tainly not her governess, because she
was not well educated; but little -
French children have generally such
a person to go about with them, and
take care of them. \
The Boine, and all the rest of the /
household, however, always did what- -.L
ever Mademoiselle Clementine liked,
let it be ever so unreasonable, and
took care never to do what she dis-
liked. Clementine was very capricious with these likings
and dislikings. A little opposition only made her the more
57 ,


determined. If Clementine, for instance, took a fancy to,
put on blue slippers .when she dressed for the salon, and
her Bonne suggested that pink ones would be better, it
seemed always to make Clementine all the more deter-
mined .to put on none but blue. Or if she took a fancy
to eating preserved pine, and her mamma should recom-
mend her to take some candied citron instead, it had the
effect of making Clementine fancy that her very happiness
for the whole day depended on her getting a slice of the
preserved pine : and so it was with everything.
On the day we speak of, Clementine, with her five-franc
piece in the palm of her hand, walked about the Palais
Royal, and looked at all the gay shops there, and had a
good deal of difficulty, as we have said, in making up her
mind what to buy with her money. The shops which most
attracted her notice were those in which bonbons were sold,
and these were now crowded with every variety of beautiful
bonbons it was possible to conceive, all ready for New-year's
Day, when people in Paris go about to see one another,
and make each other presents; and these presents are more
often bonbons than anything else. Clementine had been
round the Palais Royal once, and not made up her mind,
when all at once she saw in one of the windows a box of
bonbons, which she thought the very prettiest she had ever
seen in her life. It was a box covered with white satin, and
on the top was a wreath of roses and forget-me-nots, most
delicately and beautifully made; while inside, it was filled
with very delicious-looking Pralies.* Now there were
plenty of other very pretty boxes of bonbons even in the
A kind of sweetmeat made of chocolate.



same shop window, but Clementine took a fancy to that
one, and therefore she must have it, although it would cost
all her money. She thought, however, that she remembered
seeing a box somewhat like it at the other side of the Palais
Royal; so she told her Bonne that she would just take one
look at this other box before she quite decided. They
accordingly went round to the arcade at the other side of
the great square of the Palais Royal, and found that this
box which Clementine had first seen, was, as she had
suspected, not nearly so pretty as the one that she had
set her heart on. The roses on the lid were quite coarsely
made, and the forget-me-nots of quite a dingy blue com-
pared to it. So back they went to the shop where the most
beautiful box was to be had.
Alas! it was gone! And who could wonder, seeing what
numbers of people were clustering round the shop window,
and going-in and out to make their purchases? How was
it likely that such a lovely box of Pralines should be left
long unsold?
Clementine stood in silent dismay. Then all at once a
sudden thought struck her. Perhaps therq would be
another box of the kind inside the shop not yet sold?-
thus thinking, she pulled the hand of her Bonne, and they
went in and asked.
The smart young lady who stood behind the counter,
when she heard what was wanted, lifted up her hands in
vexation, and exclaimed several times, "Que c'est mal-
heureux! Que c'est facheux!"-" How unfortunate is is !
How sad it is !" and then explained that the box Clemen-
tine so admired had been the very last of the kind that they


had in their stock. The design was, as she said, so very
elegant, that no wonder they were all disposed of.
Clementine stood ready to cry. Almost for the first time
in her life she was going to be disappointed in not getting
the thing she wanted to have, and instead of making up
her mind to forget the beautiful box she could not have,
and take something else-the wanting grew only still more
strong. It was in vain that the polite shop-woman and her
Bonne pointed out to her first one pretty box, and then
another; such as would have easily satisfied other people
to take instead, but not Clementine. All her happiness
depended on getting that particular box that she had
admired so very much, and it seemed to her as if wanting
to have it had made it hers, and that it was the greatest
possible injustice to her that any one else should have
carried it off.
What was to be done?
"Come, Mademoiselle Clementine," said her Bonne at
last, as you cannot make up you mind to buy one of these
pretty things, we had better go away."
But Clementine did not move.
A happy thought seemed all at once to strike the shop-
woman.. She remembered on a sudden that she knew who
it was that had bought the very box which Clementine had
seen. Yes she knew the name of the lady, and where
she lived; and she had no doubt that she would be so
obliging as to take another box instead, if the young lady
chose to go to. her house, and ask her. She lived not far
off, at such a number, and on such a storey, in Rue St.
Honor, and was moreover "the most obliging person in
the world." 60



Clementine was delighted. She would go to the lady's
house, and ask her to give up the box-it would be hers
after all!
At number so and so, Rue St. Ionor6, up two pairs of
stairs, therefore Clementine and her Bonne were shown
into a very nice salon, where the obliging lady sat at work.
There was an empty chair opposite to her, and before it an
embroidery frame, at which some one had just been working.
Of course it took a little while to make the lady understand
what the little girl and her Bonne had come to her for; but
when it was all explained, she also lifted up her hands in
dismay. It was quite true that she had purchased, only
half an hour ago, the very box which Clementine described,
with the garland of roses and forget-me-nots on the lid.
"It was a most charming box, certainly," said she, and
she had brought it home, and given it to her daughter
Eugenie as her New-year's present. But Eugenie, the
moment she saw it, had thought how very much she should
like to give it to her friend Louise de Beauvan, as there was
no chance of her getting the cushion she was embroidering
for her finished in time. Eugenie had put on her bonnet,
and set off to give the box to Louise at once, because she
"was going to spend the day, to-morrow, at Versailles, "and
before this time," concluded the lady, "she will have
parted with it."
Bless me, how unfortunate !" exclaimed the Bonne; but
Clementine did not speak. She stood the picture of vexa-
tion and disappointment, and even when the lady got up
to shew her daughter's embroidery, that was to have been
finished that day, if Eugenie had not most unfortunately


got inflammation in her eyes the last week, Clementine
could not take any interest in seeing the beautiful cushion
cover, she felt so very unhappy at the loss of the box.
Dear me," at last exclaimed the lady, turning to the
Bonne, if the young lady has so set her heart upon having
this box, I really should not wonder after all if Louise de
Beauvan would not give it up to her. Louise is so very
good-natured, and you know, much as she loves my daughter,
she has plenty of keepsakes from her already, and would
not care, perhaps, to part with this little New-year's gift.
I can answer for my Eugenie not being at all offended, for
she likes nothing so much herself as obliging others. You
can but ask," said she, "at all events;" and she took the
trouble to write down the name and address of her daughter's
"The box will be mine, after all," said Clementine to
herself. "I thought so. I always get whatever I want;"
and then remembering good manners, she thanked the
lady very prettily, and making her very gracefully the last
new curtsey she had learned from her dancing mistress,
Clementine and her Bonne withdrew.
As it was now nearly Clementine's dinner-hour, and as
she was very hungry, she consented to go home before
paying her visit to Mademoiselle Louise de Beauvan, who
lived quite on the other side of Paris. Clementine, how-
ever, had no intention of giving up her pursuit of the pretty
box, and as soon as dinner was over, she begged her Bonne
to put on her cloak to accompany her.
They had not any difficulty in finding out Mademoiselle
Louise, and the Bonne made the best she could of the


singular request that she should give up to this little
stranger the beautiful box of bonbons, which her friend
Mademoiselle Eugenie had made her a present of that
morning. Clementine however thought that her Bonne
wasted over the affair an unnecessary number of excuses
and apologies, and that it would have been quite sufficient
to say that Mademoiselle Clementine de Vaucourt wanted
it. Nothing could exceed the politeness and kindness of
Mademoiselle Louise; but it must be owned that she
looked rather perplexed and embarrassed at the request.
She blushed and hesitated, and then at last she explained
that most unfortunately she had given away the box
already! It was not, as she said, that she did not admire
it exceedingly; on the contrary, she did not know when she
had seen such a lovely bonbonniere; and it was not that she
did not value extremely every little token that she received
of her dear friend's affection; but after Eugenie had left
her that morning, it had occurred to her what a very
valuable present such a pretty box would be to an old
friend of hers, who had formerly been her governess, and
to whom she was much indebted, and who being in poor
circumstances, supported herself and her sick husband by
making just such boxes as these for the bonbon shops.
Such a beautiful and novel design would, she thought, be
quite a little fortune to her, so she had taken it to her, and
poor Madame Deville had been quite delighted with it, and
so grateful for being remembered. "I am sorry for the
young lady's disappointment," added Mademoiselle Louise,
"but I hope poor Madame Deville will make a good deal of
money by the pattern."


Perhaps however, a little to Mademoiselle Louise's asto-
nishment, Clementine did not look quite so disappointed as
might be expected. She was in fact thinking to herself
that the case was by no means hopeless, and that she had
only to persevere in her pursuit of it, and the box would be
hers. The Bonne was about to thank the young lady, and
take her leave, and was renewing her apologies for the
intrusion, when Clementine asked Mademoiselle Louise to
give her the address of Madame Deville, a request which
was complied with most cheerfully, for she thought to her-
self that she was perhaps sending her poor friend a good
customer, who would give her an order for a'box after the
pattern of the one she had just given her. But this was
not exactly the intention of Clementine. She meant, on
the contrary, to have that particular box, and no other.
Up four pairs of stairs in an old and gloomy house in a
back street, Clementine and her Bonne found out at last
poor Madame Deville. The room was scantily and poorly
furnished, but it was neat and clean, and what little furni-
ture there was in it was tastefully arranged. At a table
covered with pasteboard, coloured paper, gold and silver
medallions, silk and satin, and artificial flowers, sat Madame
Deville busy at work making all kinds of pretty bonbon-
nieres and nick-nacks. Clementine's eye glanced among
them, but nowhere saw what she had come for. She then,
partly by herself and partly assisted by her Bonne, began
the explanation about what they were in search of; ending
by asking Madame Deville to be so good as to sell it to her,
and as she spoke laying her five-franc piece upon the table.
This time, however, Clementine was woefully disappointed,


when, with many regrets and apologies, Madame Deville an-
nounced that she had not the box in question to dispose of.
The fact was this: her dear, kind, good Mademoiselle
Louise, had brought the box to her, begging her to make
use of it as a pattern, or do with it whatever she pleased;
and so it happened that she had had an order for bonbon
boxes to send home to a shop that very morning, and as she
had not been able to finish as many of them as were wanted
-not enough indeed to bring her sufficient to pay her week's
rent with-she had thought herself quite justified in sending
it with the rest of the boxes she had made herself, and was
to have a rood price for it, especially as it was already filled
with Pralines. But," added Madame Deville, I am sure
I have a box very nearly as pretty that I have just finished,
if Mademoiselle would like to become a purchaser." And
as she spoke she placed before Clementine a very pretty
pink box, covered with silver medallions, which, at any
other time, Clementine would have certainly admired.
She turned, however, with indifference from it. Where
was the shop, she asked rather imperiously of poor Madame
Deville, where the box had been sent. Could she not buy
it there?
"Oh, certainly, if Mademoiselle pleases," said poor
Madame Deville, looking rather mortified, or if she would
only wait a few days, I am sure I could make her one
exactly similar." But Clementine had no intention of
waiting. She thanked Madame Deville, however, for her
offer; and her Bonne, having made herself sure of knowing
the right shop to apply at, they took their leave.
"A white box with wreath of roses and forget-me-nots,




sent from Madame Deville," said the shopwoman at the
bonbon shop to which they had been directed. Dear me'
I am afraid it is sold. Annette! Cecile !" cried she to some
young people at the back of the shop, "was not that box of
Pralines, with the roses and forget-me-nots on it, bought
by old Monsieur Lambertin for his little god-daughter?"
Yes, this very box had been sent off only half an hour
ago, directed to Mademoiselle Delphine Leroy, at Madame
Grosjean's Pensionnat. Now this was really most pro-
voking; but as to giving up the search after the box,
Clementine was as ill disposed as ever, especially as
Madame Grosjean's establishment lay in their way home,
and both she and her Bonne knew the house very well.
Clementine had often looked at the great gates which shut
in all the young girls who lived there; and more than once,
when she had been particularly unruly, there had been let
fall a threat on the part of her mamma, that she must
sooner or later be sent to Madame Grosjean's school; which
Clementine dreaded extremely. She rather liked, however,
the idea of paying a visit to the house, in order to inquire
if Mademoiselle Delphine would-part with her box, and she
thought with pleasure of satisfying her curiosity as to what
was behind the great gates, of which only just a little crack
was ever opened to let some one out or in.
Accordingly the great bell by the side of the gates was
rung, and the portress came, and they were admitted. The
Bonne knew well that in such a visit they must ask to see
Madame Grosjean herself, and obtain permission from her
to see Mademoiselle Delphine. So they were shewn up the
great flight of stairs, and down a long corridor, to where sat


Madame Grosjean in her little salon. To Clementine's

surprise, the sounds of merry laughter were heard as they

passed along, and through an open door she got a glimpse

6 E-



E 2


of a party of little girls of her own age, playing at battle-
dore and shuttlecock, whilst others appeared very busy and
happy as they sat at work around a table. The windows of
the corridor looked, too, into a pleasant garden, so that
after all Madame Grosjean's Pensionnat was not such a
gloomy place,as it had appeared from the street.
When Clementine and her Bonue were shewn into the
presence of the stately Madame Grosjean, the announce-
ment of their errand became a more difficult affair than
they had ever found it yet, and Clementine, shrinking
behind her Bonne, left her to make the preparatory ex-
planation. Evidently Madame Grosjean thought it rather
an extraordinary demand. She was not in the habit of
seeing little girls so determined in carrying out a foolish
fancy; and besides this, she had no notion of little
Delphine being induced to sell her present from her god-
father, which had just given her so much pleasure. She
said that they were perhaps not aware that little Delphine
was a great invalid-very lame-in fact never moved from
her sofa. She was an orphan, too, and had no friends who
looked after her but this kind god-father of hers, Monsieur
Lambertin. The little, attentions he paid her were of course
more valuable to Delphine than they were to most other
children, and she knew that Delphine prized his presents
very much.
After a little more talk, however, seeing that Clementine
did not appear disposed to take her leave, Madame Grosjean
said that after all, this was a matter in which she should be
quite ready to leave Delphine to make what decision she
chose, and that, if they pleased, she would shew them into


the room where Delphine was, after first preparing her for
their visit.
Madame Grosjean passed into the next room, and after a
few minutes' interval, during which little Delphine was
told what the strangers had come about, Clementine and
her Bonne were ushered into the room where she,lay on her
sofa. She looked very delicate and sickly, but there was a
flush on her cheeks that made her dark eyes seem very
bright. The flush had been left there ever since the receipt
of her beautiful present from her kind god-father, and now
she was quite in a state of bustle and excitement about the
box and its contents. There it was before her, the very
same box that Clementine had so admired in the window
of the shop in the Palais Royal, and she thought it as
pretty as ever. But Delphine had emptied it of the Pra-
lines which had been packed so neatly into it, and was
busily engaged in dividing them out into little heaps on the
table, and each little heap she was folding up into paper,
and then writing a name on each little parcel.
She told Clementine at once that she could not oblige
her by parting with the box, which she was sorry for, but
the fact was-and little Delphine talked very fast as she
told all this-she had been so delighted that morning by
her god-father remembering her, that at first she 'thought
she would keep the box he sent her as long as she lived in
remembrance of him, and make the Pralines last out till
next New-year's Day; but on second thoughts she had felt
how glad she should be to divide the Pralines amongst the
little ones among her schoolfellows, who had not gone home
for the holidays. "You know," said she, "they are all so

; 6)


kind to me; and it is so very seldom that I have anything
to give them. See! I have divided them equally, after just
keeping a few for myself, so that I might be able to tell my
god-father how they taste; and I have written the girls'
names upon each little packet, and mean to get Made-
moiselle Sophie, the teacher, to put these little packets into
their shoes at their bed-sides to-night after they are all
asleep, and they will all be so surprised to find them there
in the morning."
Clementine smiled at this, for she knew that her own
shoes would be filled with toys and sweetmeats that night,
just in the same way; and her mind was greatly relieved
by hearing Delphine talk only about the Pralines, the box
being what she wanted, for it would be easy enough to get
Pralines to fill it with again, and she said so to Delphine.
Oh, but the box-yes, I have not told you what I am
going to do with the box. I certainly meant to keep it
myself at first; I meant to look upon it as quite a keepsake
from my dear god-father-but then you see, Mademoiselle
Sophie, my teacher, has been so very kind to me ever since
I came here, and I do so long to make her a present. I
began to embroider her a little collar a few weeks ago-see,
here it is-but I work so slow, and I am so often in pain,
that I have not been able to finish it; and even if I had, it
would have been a very shabby present. But this box !
If you had seen how much Mademoiselle Sophie admired
it just now, and said it was the very prettiest she had ever
seen; it made me quite decide to give it to her, and I am
sure Monsieur Lambertin will not be offended, he is so
very kind.


"But look," said Clementine, I am quite ready to give
you five francs for the box, even without the Pralines, and
it only cost that at first. So if you have five francs, you
can easily spend them upon a present for Mademoiselle
As this thought came into Clementine's head, and she
spoke it, she really fancied that the matter was at last
settled for ever. Delphine did pause a little, too, before
she replied. Never in her life had she possessed so much
money as five francs at one time. The very spending of
them for Mademoiselle Sophie would be a great pleasure,
and she could perhaps get her something much more useful
than the box: but though these thoughts passed quickly
through her mind as she paused, others succeeded them,
and she replied in quite a firm and decided tone of voice,
that she was very much obliged to the young lady, and that
it was certainly a very liberal offer on her part to be ready
to give so much for the empty box: but that, though she
did not mind giving away her god-father's present to Made-
moiselle Sophie, to whom she was so much obliged, yet that
she could not consent to sell it; and she gently pushed back
to Clementine the five-franc piece that she had laid on the
Now if it had been her mamma, or her papa, or her
Bonne, or any of the servants at home, who had refused one
of her requests in this way, Clementine would have-we
will not say what she would have done-but there was
something so firm and so resolute about little Delphine's
manner, that Clementine never thought for an instant of
attempting to overcome her scruples. Perhaps all at once



the sense of this little lame girl's generosity with her only
New-year's present, and her nice feeling of delicacy in
resisting the temptation to sell it, struck upon Clementine's
mind. Perhaps it had occurred to her just then to contrast
the kindness that had been shewn by all the different
possessors of this box, with her own selfish eagerness tc
make it her own. We do not undertake to say exactly how
it was with Clementine's thoughts and feelings, but she took
up her money again without another word of remonstrance,
and offering her hand to Delphine, thanked her, and wished
her good-bye.
Clementine, as she left the room, turned round however
with a sort of longing, lingering look towards Delphine, and
the table before her sofa.
"A h!" said the Bonne to herself, "she is taking a last
look at the beautiful box;" but she was quite wrong, for
Clementine was, on the contrary, saying to herself, "How
I should like to stay with Delphine, and help her to do up
those packets of Prclines; and how I should like to be by,
when she gives the box to Mademoiselle Sophie."
The Bonne made another mistake about Clementine's
thoughts that afternoon. At the end of the street in which
was Madame Grosjean's Pensionnat, was a shop full of
pretty toys and nick-nacks of every description, and after
having had a good look in at the window, Clementine
pulled her Bonne by the hand, and said she wanted to go in.
"To spend your five-franc piece after all in something
that you will like quite as well as that box, I dare say,"
said the Bonne.
Clementine looked at a number of pretty things; and


after a little difficulty in making a choice among so many,
she selected at last an exceedingly pretty case, containing
scissors, thimble, stiletto, etc., such as are very useful to
those who embroider; and when it was neatly folded up by
the shop-woman, she asked her to direct it to "Made-
moiselle Delphine Leroy."
"Bless me!" said the Bonne to herself, "what is Made-
moiselle Clementine about?"
Clementine did not say; but begged her Bon'ne to
accompany her back to Madame Grosjean's house. Once
again the great bell was rung, and the great gates were
opened by the portress. She needed only to open them the
least little bit in the world, for Clementine and her Bonne
were not coming in. Clementine only gave in a small
packet, and asked the portress to be so very good as to give
it to Mademoiselle Sophie, the teacher, and ask her to put
it that night in one of the slippers of Mademoiselle Del-
phine, so that she might find it there the next morning,
when she got up. The portress smiled, and undertook the
commission with the greatest pleasure; and Clementine,
with a heart more full of satisfaction and content than
perhaps she had ever felt before in her whole life, returned
home from the unsuccessful pursuit of the beautiful bonbon
The next morning Clementine's shoes were full of pretty
presents, and amongst them a box of bonbons almost as
pretty even to her fancy as the one she did not buy the
day before; but whilst she looked at them with great
delight, and shewed them to her Bonne, she kept saying,
"I wonder whether Delphine has found out her present



yet! I wonder whether she will ever find out who sent it
to her! I hope she likes it as much as I did !"
In the course of the year which that New-year's Day
began, it was noticed by all who knew Clementine, that she
was altogether very much improved from what she had
been the year before-more kind, more good-tempered, and
more reasonable. Some persons thought it might be from
spending so much of her time at Madame Grosjean's, with
her little friend, Delphine Leroy; but certain it was that
Clementine was become much more loveable, and therefore
more loved, and the self-will she used formerly to display,
was now changed into good-will towards all around her





IVAN and his father and mother were exiled from Poland,
and lived in Siberia. At the other side of the great Ural
Mountains, which separate Asia from the north of Europe,
on the banks of the River Oby, stood their dwelling. It
was little more than a peasant's hut, and yet it contained
all that was necessary for their comfort, and even some
luxuries which they had been permitted to bring with them
from Europe-such as books, the father's violin and the
mother's guitar, a warm carpet or two, and a sofa with
cushions-things which it would have been difficult enough
to find in any of the peasants' huts around them. Ivan
knew, however, that when he was very young he had lived
in a very different sort of house, full of spacious apartments,


with beautiful furniture, and had been waited on by servants
and attendants of all kinds. He had a faint recollection,
too, of the long and fatiguing journey which he and his
father and mother had made when they came to Siberia.
He remembered that his parents had been strictly guarded
by uncivil officers, who never lost sight of them for a single
moment; and that it was only when they had got fairly
into Asia, thousands of miles from their home, that any
degree of liberty had been allowed them.
It had been explained to Ivan, then, by his father, that
he was sent away from his native country and friends,
because he was suspected of doing something unfavourable
to the government of Russia, to which Poland now belonged;
and he knew that grief at leaving their country was the
reason why his mother shed so many tears during the
journey, and that his father was so silent and gloomy. But
if it saddened his spirits then, there were no such causes to
make him dull now that they had been several years in
Siberia. His father and mother had not only become some-
what reconciled to their lot, but were at all events anxious
that the childhood of their little son should be happy, so
that he scarcely ever saw his mother in tears, and his father
only spoke of his unhappy country, or lamented over his
exile from it, when Ivan was not by; and he did all in his
power to entertain his little boy, and supply the place to
him of young companions. He took Ivan with him as
often as he could when he went to fish or catch ducks in
the river, or to shoot in the forest near which their cottage
stood. He gave him rides in a sledge over the smooth
snow, and made him a tiny pair of skates, and taught him


to skate. He told him stories as they sat by the stove at
night, and played the merriest tunes he could think of on
his violin, and made Ivan dance to them with his mother
on the cottage floor.
Ivan had almost forgotten Poland and their beautiful
house in Warsaw-forgotten that there could have been for
him a pleasanter or happier life than the one he led in
Siberia. He had become so accustomed to the climate, and
so familiar with all the changes of the season in that very
northern part of the world, that it was quite as puzzling to
him to understand how it could be different in southern
countries, as for us to picture to ourselves how in those
regions they have scarcely any day at all in winter, and
scarcely any night in summer. For two or three weeks
indeed in the middle of winter the sun only just appeared
for an hour or two above the horizon in the south, whilst in
the middle of summer it only dipped down below the
horizon in the north for an hour or two at midnight. He
had so often seen the beautiful shooting lights and colours
of the Aurora Borealis, which is such a common sight in
those latitudes, that he had ceased to wonder at it, and no
one now thought of awakening him up from his sleep to
show it him. Many other things, too, had Ivan become
much more familiar with than even his father and mother,
because not remembering the ways of his native country,
he never thought of comparing them with what went on
around him. He learned sooner than they did the names
of all the birds and animals peculiar to the country, the
times of their appearing and disappearing, and the best
ways of taking them; and, above all, he knew better than


they all about the Ostiaks, or native inhabitants of the
country, who lived in tents or moveable huts, and went
about in large parties or tribes, something in the same way
as our Gipsies.
It was Katrina, the old servant, who waited on them, and
cooked for them, from whom Ivan learned all these things.
Katrina was herself more than half an Ostiak, and could
tell Ivan all that went on among these people, and could
interpret their language to him whenever they met with
any. He liked to hear from her all about their herds of
reindeer, which form their riches, in the same way as cows
and horses, sheep and pigs, are the wealth of the farmers
and peasants of other countries. She told him how their
clothes and bedding were almost entirely made of the skin
of the animal, the utensils in their huts of its horns, while
they lived on its flesh, and the cheese they made from its
Fine stories used Katrina to tell of some of these people
being so rich as to be owners of as many as four or five
hundred reindeer, which they fed with neither grass, nor
hay, nor corn, but only turned them out to browze on a
particular kind of moss or lichen, which they find in the
forests, after first scraping away the snow from above it
with their hoofs and shovel-shaped horns. She told of the
wonderful distances these creatures will travel without
stopping or resting, and how they can bear anything but
heat; so that, when summer comes, which, short as it is, is
yet very warm, they are sent by their owners, under the
charge of a herdsman, to the Ural Mountains, where the
snow never melts the whole year round. Ivan, who knew


that his father had once been rich, used to make him smile
sometimes by asking him how many reindeer he had had in
his own country, and at other times he would feel almost
jealous in hearing from Katrina how many more skins and
furs some of the Ostiak women had in their tents than his
mother possessed. Katrina estimated everybody's impor-
tance and wealth by their furs and reindeer, and she thought
a ride in a sledge drawn by a horse nothing to be compared
to a sledge drawn by three reindeer; and, as for silks and
satins, there was the fur of the black fox, and a particular
kind of squirrel skin, that she thought far finer things, and
which were really more valuable, since a small skin of the
former would fetch roubles enough to buy a silk gown at
the fairs of Tobolsk or Beresov.
Some things, to be sure, that Katrina told about the
Ostiaks, were not quite so pleasant to hear of; such, for
instance, as their love for all kinds of greasy food, and their
way of eating always with their fingers; nor could Ivan
ever reconcile himself to their love for raw fish. Even
Katrina was one day found eating a raw fish out of the
basketful her master had just caught in the river, and no
one could persuade her that they were nicer when cooked.
Parties of Ostiaks would often come to the door of their
cottage to sell skins, and if women were amongst them they
had generally babies strapped to their backs, wrapped up
in a kind of cradle of birch bark. His mother always won
their hearts by looking at these babies, and by giving a
string of glass beads or a cross of shining metal to be worn
round their throats. She got capital bargains of furs in
return, and sometimes little presents of horn spoons, or



slippers made of reindeer's skin. Ivan became so accus-
tomed to the curious costume of the Ostiaks, that he never
thought of being afraid of them; indeed he fancied he
should like nothing better than to go and live among them
in one of their settlements, and see all their doings for him-
self, better than Katrina could tell him. There were not
always Ostiaks living within reach of them, however, as
they seldom staid long in one place; and in summer time
especially, when Ivan could best go about, they were
generally absent selling their skins and furs at distant fairs.
But summer time, even in Siberia, was a very pleasant
season to Ivan. After snow had lain on the ground for
nine months, and no foliage been visible all that time but
that of the dark and gloomy pines and firs, a sudden thaw
would come on, the snow disappear, and .the ice of the
rivers break up, and trees and shrubs burst their buds.
Then came forth the leaves of the delicate birch and grace-
ful larch, while even pines and firs would put forth shoots
of bright and tender green. There were flowers then, too,
for Ivan to seek for with his mother in the forest, and soon
after, ripe berries of several kinds to gather, and thousands
of insects to observe, which were awakened from the torpor
of winter. Large flights and flocks of birds came up from
the south, filling the air with their various cries and songs,
some taking up their abode in the trees of the forest, and
others in the reeds and rushes of the river banks. Wild
ducks and geese, cormorants, snipes, and quails, all of which
made the people very busy in catching and shooting them,
as during the summer visit of these birds, they take care to
lay up a large provision of them ready for winter. Then,


too, Ivan's mother could accompany him and his father in
their long walks and fishing excursions on the river. The
nets that she had made during the winter, of reindeer's
sinews, after the pattern of those made by the Ostiaks,
were brought into use in drawing many a fine salmon,
which had come up the river from the Arctic Ocean, to lay
its spawn in fresh water, and could be used also in snaring
the young ducks which nestled among the sedges of the
river bank.
It was at the close of such a summer, which had been a
particularly happy one to Ivan, for no other reason, perhaps,
than because it was the last, and therefore he was older,
and more brave and skilful, and more of a companion to
his father, that the news arrived at the cottage one day, and
was given by Katrina to Ivan, of the arrival of a large party
of Ostiaks in the neighbourhood, who had pitched their
tents, and made their arrangements to stay for the winter
at a place not more than ten miles from where their cottage
stood. Ivan was delighted to hear this, and reminding his
father of his promise to take him to see the Ostiaks in their
huts, it was settled that they would certainly go as soon as
the snow had fallen thick enough, and frozen hard enough
to bear their sledge.
After this there was little else talked of every evening by
Ivan and his father than this expedition to see the Ostiaks.
His mother had her preparations to make for it, as Ivan
and his father would be for so many hours exposed to the
cold, and, besides a little store of provision, would require
several extra garments of fur; such as a sort of hood of fur
to put over their cloth caps, just such as the Ostiaks them-




selves wear; and Ivan's pelisse was to be fresh lined with
the warmest and softest fur.
It was only the end of September when the winter quite
set in, and a short excursion one day in the sledge proved
that the journey to the Ostiak settlement might well be
attempted the very next day; and as all things were ready
for it, there was only the packing up of the provisions, and
the looking together of all their various wraps to be done.
This, and the selection of a few presents for the Ostiaks,
and making a list of the skins his mother and Katrina
wanted them to purchase, gave Ivan, if not much to do, at
all events a great deal to talk about, so that it was later
than usual when he went to his little bed in the corner of
the inner room which was occupied by his mother and
father; and when once in bed not even the prospect of the
next day's doings prevented him falling very soon into a
deep sleep.

It was morning; and Ivan and his father had started in
their sledge, though only a grey twilight would show them,
the way they were to go-grey dusky twilight, which was
darker and thicker as it were with a mist that filled the air.
The tramp of the horse over the hard snow was the only
sound they could hear as their sledge glided along over its
smooth surface, upon which not even a pebble lay to give a
jog or jolt to their carriage. As the first part of their way
lay through the forest which they knew so well, they could
go on and on even through the mist without stopping or
turning, the great black trunks of the trees on each side
shewing Ivan's father how to keep the path. Then out of





the forest they glided on upon the frozen 'surface of the
river-less smooth than the snow-covered ground, because
the river in freezing had drifted up in ridges and furrows
of ice, and though the snow lay over this, yet the sledge got
jogs and jolts enough. But Ivan lay snug and safe beneath
the great bear skin, which was spread over him, and only
just one of his eyes need peep out of the fur hood, which,
close drawn over his face, kept his ears so warm from the
cold morning air, which seemed to whistle as they shot
through it. It seemed to Ivan as if they must have flown
along the river, for they came so soon up to the Ostiak
settlement upon its banks, with its huts or rather tents of
thick cloth stretched upon poles, just as Katrina had
described-the curious little huts, with fires on the ground
in the centre, with the smoke going out through a hole at
the top-the sort of flap of reindeer skin that was drawn
over the entrance to serve as a door-the family within,
men, women, and children, all like mere bundles of fur,
seated round the fire, and poking their fingers into the pot
or kettle, and pulling out pieces of reindeer flesh. Others
devouring raw fish, entrails and all. Others munching
lumps of reindeer-milk cheese ;-they all seemed at dinner,
while babies in their little cradles of bark, were hung' up to
the poles of the tents like so many baskets or brown-paper
parcels. Then they went to see the herds of reindeer, who
at the call of one of the rich Ostiaks, who owned so many,
came crowding up at his call. The Ostiak caught some of
them to shew how skilfully he could throw his long leather
thong or lasso, with its loop at the end, which catching the
horns of two or three reindeer, brought them captive to
their master. 84


Then a sledge was got out, and prepared for a journey;-
not such a snug sort of carriage as the one Ivan and his
father had just alighted from, but a mere frame of wood,
into which a reindeer was quickly harnessed. A brace over
its neck and a leather girdle round its body, and the reins
fastened to the horns ; this was all the harness it required


----i- s~r w -- ;1.

so that it was soon ready for Ivan to have his first drive in
a reindeer sledge. He had no objection to going with the
Ostiak without his father, just to satisfy his curiosity; and
so wrapped up in a large bear-skin, he was seated on the
sledge, and the Ostiak taking the reins in one hand, and a


'1 i ,,'1


kind of pole in the other, off they started. It was not
riding, it was more like flying, and Ivan well nigh lost his
breath. Up hill, down valley, over the smooth plain, or
across the frozen lake-it was all the same to the reindeer.
Crack, crack, went its joints as they ran along, for it was
neither a trot nor a gallop, but a fleet run; its light hoofs
scarce making a trace on the hard snow as it flew over it.
The driver did not pull up his reins when he wanted to
slacken its speed, for it would not have obeyed him if he
had, as it flew onward, turning neither to the right nor left,
and it seemed to Ivan as if it would have gone on for ever,
if the Ostiak had not suddenly plunged his pole deep into
the snow. Then with a shock the reindeer pulled up, and
the sledge seemed to spin round, and Ivan would have been
thrown out of it to a great distance if he had not held very
fast to its frame. The reindeer was then loosed from its
harness, and turned out to browze, its reins being left on its
horns, however, and fastened to the pole stuck in the snow,
for fear it should stray too far away. What was there for
it to eat? Nothing but snow and the hard bark of the few
pine trees that were scattered about here and there, for
they were at the beginning of a forest.
Perhaps the reindeer only licked the snow to refresh
itself? and yet it must be hungry. But the creature did
not lick the snow here and there and anywhere, but only
just at one particular spot, after putting its nose down as if
to smell what lay beneath it; and then got at the food it
sought after licking and scraping, now with its hoofs and
now with its newly-sprouted horns; for the reindeer sheds
its horns and gets fresh ones every year, which, when they


are new, serve well for shovelling away the snow, in order
that the animals may get at their beloved moss beneath.
And when the reindeer had eaten enough, it was harnessed
to the sledge again, and off they all set again, and left that
forest soon behind them. Up hill, down valley, across lake
-on they went!
Ivan began to be afraid that they would never turn round
again. He expressed his fears to the Ostiak perhaps, for to
his surprise, his companion said they were going over the
Ural Mountains-going to Russia, and that then Ivan could
present a petition to the Emperor of Russia, to ask that his
father might be set at liberty, and allowed to return to
Poland. Ivan was delighted to hear this, and had no sort
of objection, and would have been willing to go on and on
for many a day, if getting his father's liberty was to be
gained byit. And the reindeer, instead of slackening in its
speed, only ran the faster; but every time they came to a
forest the driver thrust his long pole into the ground, and
they came to a sudden stoppage, in order that the deer
might scrape away the snow and satisfy its hunger. In one
of these stoppings Ivan was told by the Ostiak that if he
was hungry himself, he had better go into the forest to see
if he could find some berries to eat; and as Ivan was very
hungry after his long ride, he did this, and soon wandered
away to a great distance from the Ostiak and the sledge.
He found berries of several kinds, and ate them, but they
did not seem to satisfy his hunger very much, so he kept
going on farther and farther into the forest in search of more.
He had proceeded thus a great distance, when he thought
he heard the sound of a child crying, and it occurred to him


that it might be some little Ostiak baby, that had been
hung to a branch of a tree and forgotten, and which he had
just come in time to save. He followed the sound, passing
through tangled bushes and thorny brambles, when to his
surprise he came to the hollow trunk of a tree, in which,
instead of a baby, were three little bear's cubs! The cry
they made was just like that of a human being, so no
wonder that he was mistaken. He stooped down, and took
one of the cubs in his arms, when to his horror and astonish-
ment, what should come trotting up but an enormous grisly
she-bear, the mother of the cubs, who saluted him with a
most terrific growl.
In his alarm Ivan dropped the cub, but luckily remem-
bered just in time not to run away. He had heard that if
you do not run away from it, a bear will not attack you,
and so he stood quite still, the growl of the bear gradually
sinking down into a long grunt,
':.'-- :'- as she stooped and licked her
little ones. Then Ivan remem-
bered having heard from Katrina
S that the Ostiaks can tame a bear
/ by dancing before it, and that the
Sbear will end by imitating the
dancing of the men. He ac-
cordingly began to caper and
dance before it as nimbly as he
could, doing all the steps his mother had taught him-
now a polka, then a mazurka, and then the twirl of a
waltz; while it seemed to him as if his father's violin
were sounding in his ear, and played the very tunes he



had danced to so often. What was his delight, when
all at once the bear raised herself on her hind legs and began
to dance too! Now on this .leg, and now on that, and then
turning and twisting round and round. All at once she
stopped and stood still, resting on her hind legs, and
stretching out one of her shaggy paws to Ivan, who falling
on his knees before her, took hold of the paw and kissed it re-
spectfully. It was not a bear at all, but the Emperor of Rus-
sia! and Ivan was presenting a petition to him for his father's
liberty. "Pardon! Pardon !" exclaimed he, my father !"

Ivan awoke;-it had been all a dream! By his bed-side
stood his dear mother with a lamp in her hand, and she
shook him as she awakened him saying, "Ivan, my boy, it
is time for you to get up and dress, ready to go with your
father to see the Ostiaks and reindeer. The sledge will
soon be at the door."



t-~t --

^^^-;:^^,^;^^ :" .'^-
^--^ ^p^7--, ^~~. -**^ -? ; *: : %



FRANKFORT, on the River Maine, is a large and pleasant
city in the centre of Germany, full of handsome streets and.
fine houses, and surrounded by public walks and gardens,
in which, all through the spring, summer, and autumn,
there is a gay succession of flowering-plants and shrubs,
and such delightful shady nooks and avenues to sit and
walk in, that people do not care so much about having


gardens to their own houses as we do in England. At first
sight one would think that in Frankfort everybody was
rich, and lived in a very large house; but this is not the
case, since in this, as in most German towns, several families
occupy the same house. Instead of people with moderate
fortunes having a small house to themselves, they have
one flat or storey of a very large house, consisting generally
of six or seven large airy rooms opening one into the other,
and communicating with a great staircase, which, leading
to the top of the house, is made use of in common by the
inhabitants of the different floors. There is nothing uncom-
fortable in this way of living, but it is, on the contrary,
pleasant not to have so many stairs to go up and down as
we have in England; and there is less bustle and ringing of
bells, for everybody and everything is near at hand*and
within call or reach. Then the rooms themselves are gene-
rally very handsome and tastefully decorated, and the style
of the furniture more elegant than in the houses of persons
of the same rank in England. They are not, it is true,
covered with rich carpets, and hung with heavy damask
curtains, but the floors are of polished wood, and if the eye
is in search of bright colours and patterns, they will be found
on the walls and ceilings, which are often painted with
graceful designs of flowers and foliage. One large and
handsome rug will perhaps be placed before the sofa at the
end of the room, and the windows hung only with elegant
muslin draperies; but in summer-time this helps to keep
the rooms more airy and cool than ours, which the great
door-like windows secure as well. What however in German
sitting-rooms is most remarkable, is the manner in which


they are ornamented very often with living plants and
flowers. In some rooms ivy and other climbing plants will
be trained round the window-frames and doors; whilst
ornamented flower-vases are suspended in each window,
and from the centre of the ceiling, from which hang long
leafy trails and tendrils. A flower-loving lady win have
the writing-table in the corner of her drawing-room so
surrounded with climbing and creeping plants, that she
sits there as if in a bower, and from the absence of dusty
carpets, or the smoke from coal fires, these plants are as
healthy as if in a greenhouse. And round the walls of
such apartments as happen to belong to persons of taste,
you will see nice pictures and prints, and here and there
about the room casts, in bronze or plaster, of some of the
celebrated statues, by German sculptors, which serve to
remind you that Germany is a country remarkable for its
works of art. We do not forget either that Germany is a
musical country, for there will be sure to be a piano in some
corner of the room, on which it is quite as likely the gentle-
man plays as the ladies of the family; and perhaps on some
table a "Zither," or kind of lute, on which both gentlemen
and ladies play the national airs of Tyrol and Bavaria with
very pretty effect.
But we will not give any further description of German
dwellings, but proceed to tell something of the lives of some
children who lived in one of these houses. It does not
always happen in Germany that people living in the
different storeys of a house, know anything about each
other; and it can very well occur that families may live for
years under the same roof without ever making acquain-


tance with each other. In this case, however, the children
belonging to the different storeys of a nice house, which
looked on to the public promenades of Frankfort, knew
each other very well, and often met together. A family of
the name of Sternberg lived on the first floor, of which the
children were two girls and a boy,-Ida, Bertha, and Max
Sternberg were their names. On the next floor lived
Malvina and Roderich Willmar, with their parents; and on
the third or upper floor lived a little girl called Elma Weber,
with an aunt, who was a great invalid.
Max Sternberg and Roderich Willmar went to the same
school each day, and were only to be seen when they came
home in the evenings, and on half-holidays; but none of
the girls went to school. At certain hours masters and
.-mistresses came to give them lessons, and at others they
went to attend classes at the houses of their teachers.
Some of these lessons Malvina and Elma came down to
take with the Sternbergs, and others they took in the same
teacher's house, so that the girls often met together during
the day; and when lessons were over, would often have a
play together in the little garden in which the house stood,
or take a country walk together. But they really were very
busy, and had a great deal to prepare for all their masters
and mistresses. Very early in the mornings of summer the
girls would go with their nurse to the swimming school at
the side of the Maine, and there, dressed in a particular
costume for the purpose, would learn, first with bladders,
and afterwards without, to swim like so many fishes. The
boys went to their swimming school also, and were excellent
divers. After breakfast, perhaps, there would be a singing



class to attend, and the little girls would first sing together
all kinds of exercises for the voice, and then pretty choruses
and part songs; or at other times they would have to sing
at sight some little air, which was written in chalk on a
great board; or each pupil brought with her a little slip of
music paper, on which she had arranged a certain number
of notes in a certain manner, so as to make a tune; and
this they called composing, and were very proud if their
tunes sounded prettily, when they were sung by themselves
or others. Then as the clock struck to let them know that
the hour was over, (for all lessons in Germany occupy an
hour,) and being dismissed by the singing mistress, the
little girls would tie on their bonnets, and put on their
little mantles, and go off to a drawing lesson it may be,
where besides drawing from copies, they would have casts
in chalk to draw from, and all kinds of natural objects, such
as leaves, and flowers, and fruit to copy, and put into pretty
groups together. And the drawing hour over, there would
perhaps be some Monsieur this or Mademoiselle that to
return home to, who, in ten minutes' time, would be in
attendance to give them a French lesson. The Sternbergs,
Willmars, and Elma Weber would then walk together home
through the promenades, as the public gardens are called,
chatting merrily about their past drawing lesson, or com-
paring notes about the French lesson to come. Their
French composition? Ah, that was always such a difficulty,
and it was so seldom that any of them got trse-bien written
at the end of it; and the French verses of poetry they had
to learn and to pronounce correctly-that was still worse;
for lips and tongues which have always spoken German,

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