Joe's jack o'lantern

Material Information

Joe's jack o'lantern : and other stories
De Wolfe, Fiske & Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
De Wolfe, Fiske
Publication Date:
Physical Description:
[98] p. : ill. (some col.) ; 22 cm.


Subjects / Keywords:
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- 1885 ( rbgenr )
Juvenile literature ( rbgenr )
fiction ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )


Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

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:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections ( with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
022493649 ( ALEPH )
14379938 ( OCLC )
AHH2860 ( NOTIS )


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Full Text

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BThe Bldwrin M In

'/ Nuts and may, nuts and ma'y,
/, Here we come gathering
nuts and may,
On a cold and frosty morning.



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Copyright, iS82, 8SS3, 1884, 1885,



OH! mamma, mamma! come here quick said little Ned.
looking out of the window one dark night. "I see the funniest-
looking man! He has great holes where his eyes and nose and
mouth should be, and it is all light shining out of them. I guess
he has a fire inside of his head."
Don't you know what that is? asked his big brother Joe.
"That's a jack-o'-lantern. Harry Desmond has been to his
grandfather's in the country, and he gave him a pumpkin.
Harry cut holes for nose and monh and eyes, and put a candle
inside. He has lots of fun with it."
I wish our grandfather lived in the country, so we could get
a pumpkin."
"I'11 have a jack-o'-lantern, any way," said Joe.
For a little while Joe sat very still, thinking. Suddenly he
started up, went to the attic, and no more was seen of him till
nearly bedtime.


ILnen he came in and said, "Now, mamma, if you will give
me two cents to buy a candle with, I will show you as good a
jack-o'-lantern as ever was made."
In about ten minutes Joe opened the sitting-room door and
asked everybody to come into the hall. There sat Mr. Jack-
o'-lantern looking as bright and smiling as you please.

""','1,. ,1; 6 : 1 i' 1 .. l 1

Joe had taken an old cigar 1-box, and cut eyes and a nose and
a mouth in the bottom. Star.ding it on one end, he could open
the cover and set his candle inside. It made a very fine-looking
So you see, little city boys, even if you have n't a pumpkin,
you can have a jack-o'-lantern.
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ONE morning little Bel was sent by her mamma to the "button-
store," to match a spool of silk. She had often been trusted on
such errands, though only four years old; and very proud she
Used to feel as she trudged along, helping mamma."
"Be sure and get just that shade of blue, and come right back,
little daughter," said mamma, as she kissed her good-by. Yes,
ma'am," was the sturdy answer.
Now on the way to the "button-store" there was a fruit-
stand, and Bel often used to look at it with longing eyes. This
morning she saw something she had not seen for a long time, -
great. beautiful, red bananas! If Bel liked anything in this
world, it was a banana. She wondered how much they would


cost. Then she thought she would ask. "Five cents." Why,
she had just five cents in her fat fingers that very minute! Before
you could think, she had n't five cents at all, but had the banana
Do you think she went right home? Not she. She marched
straight to the
-hi, button-store, and
standing on tiptoe
reached her sample
i l above the counter,
saying, "My
mother wants a
spool of silk like
this." The lady
smiled down at the
mite, matched the
silk carefully, and
S' handed it to her.
Fank you,"
said Bel; she never
forgot her man-
But, little girl,"
called the lady,
"didn't your mam-
ma send any
money for the
silk ?"
"Yes 'm; but I
buyed a banana."
And before the
lady could stop
laughing, she was on the street, hurrying home.
If you will believe it, it was a long time before mamma could
convince her little girl that she had been naughty. Yes, though
she talked to her all the way to the button-store and back.


If bananas were not to be bought, why were they right out in
sight ? Had n't her mamma told her to match the silk ?
Papa thought it was a good thing for the world that Bel could
never become a business man. Mamma thinks she will never
make such a sharp bargain again, even though she should become
a business woman.
K. L. Sc

B 1t,

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ill, Jill- l ior~lP ~~ ~ l

:1Pii~iall.~-,.%sBI:hh~ R~n~~U?~W~il~llrR~ F ;TA;


MAC and Janet, Ted and Nell;
What a merry, sweet quartet
Which are fairer, can you tell, -
Eyes of blue, or eyes of jet?

Six and five, and three and two,
Are the ages of the set:
Mac so bright, and Jan so true,
Laughing Ted, and Nell the pet.

Soft azure eyes and hair of floss
Are beautiful to me; but yet
bo are brown curls with silken gloss,
And dark eyes in deep fringes set.

Mac, Nell; Ted, Jan: two dark, two fair,
Dear, dear! how puzzled one does get,
To know which is the sweeter pair,
Those with the blue eyes, or the jet.



&BE little head droops like a broken blossom
Beneath the pelting of a sudden rain;
With bitter sobbing heaves the baby bosom;
The sweet lips wear the quivering curve of pain.
What sorrow moves the childish heart, -so heavy
She thinks it never will be light again?

The violet eyes, all misty with their weeping,
Gaze dimly at an empty cage close by,
Between whose wires, while all the house was sleeping
The petted bird found narrow room to fly,
And left the little mistress who had loved him,
To seek with joyous wing his own free sky.

The day is fair, and from the leafy shadows
The wild birds' merry morning carols ring.
Not all the sunshine in a thousand meadows
To one small grieving heart can brightness bring.
Not all the music of the mighty forest
Is sweet as was the song her bird could sing.

But when another happy dawn is breaking,
Her grief shall vanish with the shadows gray;
And of the young heart's unaccustomed aching
No other sign, save this alone, shall stay;-
To-morrow's smiles shall owe a deeper sweetness
To all the tearful trouble of to-day.


r *"--ol



TROTTY kept house in the closet of her papa's library. She had
aii her dolls in there, and a little tin tea-set her uncle had given her.
The dolls were all of rubber, except one; this was of wood. It had
been sent to Trotty by an aunt who lived in Michigan, very near
a settlement of Chippewa Indians. The doll had been dressed by
an Indian woman, and its clothes were covered with beads. Trotty
called it her little Indian boy. She loved him very dearly, in spite
of the fact that she was obliged to whip him a dozen times a day.
But she loved Fanny, her big rubber doll, best of all. Fanny had
lost an arm, and there was a hole where her nose ought to have
been; but Trotty thought her beautiful, and always gave her the
best seat and the best bed in the baby-house.
One evening Trotty was watching her mother dress for a party.
"I can't find a pin anywhere," said Mrs. Ray. "It is strange
what becomes of them. I've bought paper after paper of them;
but can never find any when I dress."


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"Perhaps Fanny takes them," said Trotty. "She may have them
in her pin-box."
Mrs. Ray laughed. I think not," she said. "Fanny is too good
a child to take my pins."
But that night, when Mrs. Ray took Fanny out of Trotty's arms,

after the little girl was sound asleep, she thought the doll seemed
very heavy about the head. She looked, and found that the head
was full of pins. Trotty had dropped them in through the hole
where the nose ought to have been.
Was n't that a queer pin-box ?


"I KNOW a new bear-story,"
I said to the little folks,
Who surely as the twilight falls,
Begin to tease and coax.


' And did they live in the forest,
In a den all deep and dark ?
And were there three ? "-" Yes, three," I said,
But they lived in the park.

"Let's see Old Jack, the grizzly,
With great white claws, was there;
And a mother bear with thick brown coat
And Betty, the little bear !

"And Silver-Locks went strolling
One day, in that pretty wood,
With Ninny, the nurse, and all at once
They came where the bears' house stood.

"And without so much as knocking
To see who was at home,
She cried out in a happy voice,
'Old Grizzly, here I come!'

"And thereupon old Grizzly
Began to gaze about;
And the mother bear sniffed at the bars,
And the baby bear peeped out.

And they thought she must be a fairy,
Though, instead of a golden wand,
She carried a five-cent paper bag
Of peanuts in her hand.

"Old Grizzly his red mouth opened
As though they tasted good;
And the brown bear opened her red mouth
To catch one when she could;

And Betty, the greedy baby,
Followed the big bears' style,
And held her little fire-red mouth,
Wide open all the while.

"And Silver-Locks laughed delighted,
And thought it wondrous fun,
And fed them peanuts from the bag
Till she had n't another one.

"And is that all ? sighed Gold-Locks.
"Pshaw, is that all?" cried Ted.
"No one thing more! 'Tis quite, quite time
That little folks were in bed !"


HAVE you ever been down to Dolly-Town!
The sight will do you good.
There the dollies walk,
And the dollies talk,
And they ride about
In a grand turn-out,
With a coachman thin
Who is made of tin,
And a footman made of wood


There are very fine houses in Dolly-Town,
Red and green and blue;
And a doctor grand,
Who is at command,
Just to mend their toes
And their arms and nose,
"When they tumble down
And crack their crown.
His medicine is glue.

But the prettiest sight in Dolly-Town,-
That place of great renown, -
Is no dolly at all,
Though so neat and small.


If you've time to spare,
Go on tiptoe there;
See the wee, wee girl,
The rose, the pearl,
Who is Queen of Dolly-Town!

11 r

V .: _



THE night before Christmas, Ned and Mamie hung up their stock
ings. Ned's was red, and Mamie's was blue. Ned's was the larger,
because he was two years the older; but Mamie said Santa C tue
could put some of her presents under her stocking.
They woke up very early on Christmas morning. The, ran
down-stairs, and there hung their stockings, so full that they were
running over. Right under the stockings lay a large package, done
up in paper and tied with a string. It was larger than Ned. They
could not think what it could be. Mamma said they wovld have to
open it and find out.
They thought they would see what was in their stockings first
but before they got half-way down to the foot they concluded they
could not wait, but must open the package right off.
Papa gave them his knife. Ned cut the string. Then Mamie
began to puil open the wrapper. There were several papers, for the
package was very long. Finally they got to the last one. Then
what a shout there was! for there lay Cousin Jack. He was red
in the face, from being covered up so and trying to keep from

How they did laugh, and what a merry time they had I Jack had
come the night before, after they had gone to bed. It wVss mamma
who thought of making a Christmas surprise out of him. She did
not wrap him up until just before Ned and Mamie got down, and
papa had watched to see that they did not get in until all was



OH, hush, my baby, hushaby I"
Croons Ethel, in the sunset glow.
Close to her dimpled shoulder pressed,
She soothes her dolly into rest,
Soft rocking to and fro.

The restless little feet are still;
Grave now, and sweet, the laughing eyes
All motherly in look and tone
She sits and rocks and sings alone,
While red the daylight dies.

"Oh, hushaby, my baby, hush!"
She draws a sleepy little sigh;
On Dolly's cheek of faded red
Low drops the sunny, tired head, -
"Oh, hush, oh, hushaby!"

The song is ended in a dream;
Across her face the sunbeams creep,
While Dolly's eyes wide open stare
The little mother, unaware,
Has sung herself to sleep I

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"" bTHAT'S a very short time for a
b ir thday tea-party, 'specially on a

"her little sister Mattie went at half-past
Marjorie, the six-year-old hostess, was
dressed, except her blue hair-ribbon, and
was delighted to see them.
The dolls were ready, too. Josephine, the
Paris beauty, wore cream-color and rose,
with her best jewelry; Hans and Gretchen, the German brother
and sister, wore funny peasant costumes; and old Ethel, dearest of
all, had on a clean pink calico wrapper. Even the Maltese kitten
had washed her face and breast and feet as white as snow.
By ten minutes past four the twelve little girls had come; and
what fun they were having! There were ninepins and parlor-
croquet, paints and puzzles, toy dishes and furniture, books and
balls, all arranged in the sitting-room and parlor, to play with.
Kitty opened the game of ninepins. She rolled the balls about
with her paws, and jumped after them. She knocked over the men


and boxed their ears till all the children declared there never, no,
never, was such a cunning kitten.
"Well, they played "drop
S' the hanldkerchiet," and "but-
;i, ton, button," and '" while the
,i*:', *- .""" .' tlirm d,," nnd poSt-oflice."
No:w Ruth w-ns a stranger
"to lloSt -of the cillden, and
th qietst one ot' all.
",W, Ihe l ere playing
lost-ate," s he was called
in to t1he 11:'l1,r,. and was to
Su'tles which onle sent for
her, O be "siattedl out."
But tle hIV little chldid was
afi'aid- ,She .toodl qullite ,till,
n,: da red1 nt s, eak a woIrd.
They all talked ti, hler at
on1e: V Who is it" Why
Don't JVu 11la "' Guess
qiiik," By and liv the
3bl1ue eves I.eglan to l:,ok
ShYiazv, and tithe ,luimp) cheeks
grew very red.

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~EBssIL L~r~~


"GGo o iviattie, dear," said thoughtful Hattie. "No fair! No fail
to tell!" shouted the children; but Hattie took Ruth's hand and led
her up to Mattie. Mattie kissed her first, and there was no dreadful
" spatting" at all; and nobody said again that it was n't fair. So
the sunshine came quickly back into Ruth's face, and the game went
merrily on.
Mamma made buttonhole bouquets of dainty blue forget-me-nots,
and pinned one on each little girl's dress.
By and by, when they were all very hungry, the dining-room
doors were thrown open and the children went in in pairs. The
long table looked very gay. The shutters were closed, and the gas
was lighted. How red the strawberries looked The tall dishes of
pop-corn and candy, and the baskets of frosted cookies and currant
cake seemed very tempting. A merrier group never gathered around
a tea-table; but every little head was bowed while papa asked God
to bless them.
There were many jokes and stories and conundrums. They all
laughed at Nell when she found a cracker pig on her plate. It was
very amusablee,' they thought.
But with all the chatter, the biscuit and lemonade and berries
disappeared before something happened that Marjorie herself did
not know about. What do you think it was Laura came walk-
ing in, with a beautiful birthday cake! She set it down in front
of Marjorie's plate, and the dear little girl just said, O-h !"
It was round, with white frosting trimmed with pink scallops,
and Marjorie's name and age in pink letters. Around the cake
were burning brightly six wax tapers above a wreath of smilax and
roses, one taper for each year of her life.
Then the ice-cream was served, and all the children ate till they
could eat no more.
Suppper was early, so there was time for one more game of
forfeits before the door-bell began to ring, and messengers came
for the little ladies. Every one said good-night with a happy
They did not look like the same children, with gossamers and
rubbers over their pretty white dresses and dainty slippers. The


grass was wet, but it was
"M not raining now.
"Oh, mamma!" said
Marjorie, "did n't we
have a lovely time ? It
was just heaps of fun!
And did n't we shout
like the iniquities ? You
had to blind your ears,
did n't you, mamma "


WHEN Johnny's mamma told him she was going to take him
with her to New York, he was a very happy little boy. He asked
a great many questions as to how they would go, and what he
would see in the great city,

Mamma told him about the great Sound steamer, and the cun"
tning little bed in which he would sleep on the passage. Then she
described Central Park, with its beautiful walks and driveL, and
the museum, and wild animals; she also spoke of the omnibuses
which ran up Broadway; but there was one curious thing she forgot


to say a word about. So when Johnny came out on Sixth Avenue,
and saw the cars on the elevated railway, the little boy was fright-
ened and clung to his mamma, exclaiming,-
0 mamma, mamma! see those cars way up in the air Suppose
they should fall down !"
But his mother took him into a store, and let him watch the little

00 _

trains pass _
to and fro -" .
for a while,
the railroad was strongly and safely built.
Then she proposed taking a ride on it. "k--.
At first Johnny objected; then he began '
thinking it must be fun to ride up so high. When he was once
seated in the cars, and gliding swiftly along above the street, he
clapped his hands with delight.
Every day after that Johnny wanted to ride on the elevated
railway, and did so several times. When he returned home, he


told papa all about it, add-
ing, -
And just think, papa,
we could peep right into
folkses' rooms upstairs, and
the horses were all under-
neath us; and it was so
jolly, I was n't frightened a

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A FAMILY of ten little pigs were suddenly left motherless. What
a misfortune!
Farmer Clough had raised a great many pigs, but lie wondered
what was to become of those wee grunters. Their mother would
lave known just what to do with them. The man almost wished
her babies had died with her.

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ht-ap and went to sleep. A pretty good beginning.
7i -- .

-feed them, he called, Piggy, piggy, piggy "
~= ~ ----:--.- "----__';

hup and went to sleep. A pretty good beginning.
When Farmer Clough went to tee barn with some warm milk to
tfeed them, he called, Piggy, piggy, piggy I"

The straw in the barrel began to move. The ten little fellows
came scampering out.
The pigs were so eager for milk that they tumbled over one
another. Each little pig said, "Awo-hoo, awo-hoo!" The farmer
thought that meant, Hurry up my dinner."
He placed the pan of milk on the floor. He tried to teach te
little things to drink. Every one seemed afraid it would not get
its share. They were piggish, you see.
Some fell head-foremost into the pan of milk. It was funny.
Their owner told them to behave themselves, but they did not
Soon they were running over his feet and crying for more.
He told them more at that time was not good for them; so they
crept back into the nest contented, and went to sleep again.
They grew fast, just like pigs. With their warm milk and their
fresh straw they fared well. By and by they outgrew their barrel
Farmer Clough said that every barrel of pork he ever had before
grew less and less till it was empty; but this one grew more and
more till it was more than full.

A uTTYerJ ort.

H J abe.ipykittie ufor lost,
j bunted beres aiPcltjiere,

(5durel y -swa5 lost -i9 Jrenipy,
I iYoui er could e su were.
pl, \ JI 4/Ajiii
oj-ni All' *(

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IT never would have happened if mother had not gone away, and
the twins had not been left by themselves because Hannah was
"preserving," and if that grindstone had not been left out in the
,t IP .' '" ; ,,-,.,, _, .

ITneerwol hvehapne i mthrha nt oe wa, n

yard. hdntbenlf y hmevs eas Hna a


But mother had gone, Hannah was busy, the grindstone was
there, and it did happen, -this naughty thing !
The twins were sitting on the doorstep, eating bread and "'serves"
that Hannah had given them. It was very warm and quiet, and
there was not a
thing to do. The
bees were busy
enough out there
in the clover;
but then they
were bees, and
did not know
any better fun
than to work all
It was Dell who
began it. She
always did begin
things, and Bell
had to follow.
SShe finished her
\ bread first, and
sat trying to
"1-*1 think of some-
thing to play.
Then she saw
that grindstone,
and said, "OBell,
let's grind !"
'- -~- Bell swallowed
./- -"-- ,. her last bite
quickly, and fol-
lowed Dell to the
Now they did not seem to remember that some one, mamma per-
haps, had said, "Never touch the grindstone, little girls." Bell did


begin to remember, when, suddenly, there was Dell turning that
lovely stone with both hands. Of course Bell had to get a knife
and hold it to grind.
They ground two knives, which they got from the kitchen wl en
Hannah's back was turned. Then they ground the hoe till it was
" awful sharp," and some of the points off the handsaw. Then Bell
said, "Let's grind our fingernails!" They turned the stone, and
held their fingers on it; and at first it felt funny and ticklish."
When they stopped, oh dear I the tips of every one of those poor
little fingers were sore indeed, for they had ground the skin right
off, and the blood came.
They ran crying to Hannah; and what do you think she did I
Why, she put a little poultice of bread and milk on every one of
those fingers and thumbs on each naughty hand.
The twins were so ashamed to have mamma see those hands,
when they had promised to be so good! When she came home at
night, two sorry little girls met her, with their hands behind their
backs; and when she asked "what was the matter with her birdies,"
they sorrowfully held up those ten o twenty little poultices.



PA, A was on the back porch smoking a cigar Little John was
playing near by with a pretty wind-wheel papa had made for him.
Across the way two children were holding a yellow-and-white kitten
by the tail. Kitty struggled to get away. By and by she did get
away, and ran to Johnnie's papa, who stroked her gently, saying,
Poor kitty poor kitty Johnnie gave her a saucer of milk, and
she ran up and down the piazza for a bit of beef tied to a string.
She lay down to rest after she had swallowed the meat and part of
the string, which mamma had to pull out of her throat.
She is such a homely cat, I don't want her here," said mamma.
"* She is a beauty," replied papa. "Let her stay."
"She is Tabby Wilson," said John. Nobody could tell why our
six-year-old called the new cat Tabby Wilson," but she Voes by
that name. Tabby Wilson said John's house was good enough for
her to live in, so she thought she would stay.
When Tabby Wilson had been with John a few days, in walked
a dirty little black-and-white kitten. She was very thin and sick-
looking, and Tabby Wilson flew at her, growling and spitting, with
her paw raised to strike her.
Let Josey Brooks alone, Tabby Wilson! screamed John, taking
up the poor little kitten and stroking her.
"I shall not," mewed Tabby Wilson, and she flew at her. But
John took the new kitten into the kitchen and gave her some milk.
So Josey Brooks and Tabby Wilson became our cats.
After a while Tab and Jo became quite good friends and played
together. John harnessed them to a pasteboard box. Get up," he
cried. I shall not," spit Tabby. "Nor I, either," growled Josey.
They ran under a chair and crouched close together.
"They won't drive, mamma," whined little John, coming close to
"They are ungrateful quadrupeds, then," said mamma.
"Quadrupeds, mamma. What are they ? asked John, stopping
his whining at once.
How many feet has Tabby Wilson ? asked mamma.


John seized Tabby
and counted, "One, two,
three, four."
"Very well," said
mamma; "if she has
four feet she is a quad-
"And is Josey Brooks
a quadruped too "
"Count her feet and
"Yes, she has four; so
she is a quadruped. But
what am I, mamma ? I-
have but two feet."
"You are a biped,
dear; so is papa."
John threw himself on -
the floor and kicked his 1 I-.
heels into the air, holding
Tabby Wilson and sing- -
ing, My kitty is a quad-
ruped, quadruped, quad-
ruped; but I am a biped,
biped, biped, biped."


BOWSER is only a horse; but he knows how to behave when he
wears his Sunday suit. That is more than some children know.
There are little ones who make mud-pies when they have on their
best clothes. Bowser never does.
Bowser drags a cart on week-days; on Sunday he goes to church
with a buggy. When John pts the heavy harness upon Bowser,

the horse goes to the cart and backs in. When he is dressed in the
nice buggy-harness, he steps off proudly and gets into the shafts of
the buggy. He does this all alone. He never makes a mistake.
One day Bowser had a set of new shoes. When the blacksmith
put them on, he drove a nail into one of Bowser's feet. John did
not notice it till they were almost home. When he saw that Bowser
limped a little, he said, "I must lead the poor fellow back, when
I get him out of the cart."
They reached home, and John took off Bowser's harness. As soon
as he was free, the horse turned about and trotted off. When John
called him, he did not mind. He went straight back to the black-
"Hello, Bowser cried the blacksmith.
The poor horse said nothing, but he walked up to the man and
held out his aching foot.
Then the blacksmith put the shoe on all right; and he patted
Bowser kindly; and said, "You know a great deal, for a horse."


"WHERE did you come from ? I did n't know
They had a baby in there;
Well! what pretty blue eyes you have,
And nice little curls of hair!

4 --:-1-----=-=: ._

 Il '

"One, two, three, four four little teeth;
I have as many as you.
Do you ever try a wee little bite
And make people say, 'Oh! oh I' 9

"'How did you get that scratch like mine--
Have you a pussy cat ?
Did you pull her tail? I did Oo-oo!
But you need n't cry for that.

"Do you knock over the little stand
And laugh to see how it goes ?
Can you pull off your stockings and shoes
And find some dear little toes?

"I took three little steps alone I
Can you go as far as that ?
Have you a papa? What does he say
When you sit on his shiny hat ?

"Does ever your mamma snatch you up,
And kiss you, and kiss, and kiss,
And say, There's nothing in all the world
So bonny and sweet as this'

"I'< wish you'd come here and play with me;
I can't hold on any more -
I wonder if he went down so hard,
When he sat back on the floor."


ONE evening when Mr. Forrest came home from his office he
brought a small wooden box.
Guess what is in it, Charlie," he said to his little boy. It is
something alive."
Charlie guessed it was a rabbit, a bird, and a squirrel, but his
father said "No," to all three.


It was a little white mouse. Charlie had never seen one before.
He fed it with bread, and it soon grew very tame, and would eat
from his hand. He often took it out walking in his pocket. He
called it Fanny, and grew very fond of it.
One night after Charlie had gone to bed Mr. and Mrs. Forrest
were sitting down-stairs. They were both reading, and it was
very still. Suddenly Mrs. Forrest heard a little thump in the hall.
She ran out, and there lay 'the little white mouse with its neck
broken. It had come out of its box and had fallen over the
Charlie buried Fanny under a rose-bush in his mother's garden,
and planted a verbena on the little grave. His father offered to
buy him another mouse; but Charlie said he could never love
another mouse as he had loved Fanny.

I i


ETHEL, Lyman, and Douglas went into the country, one summer,
with their auntie. She had a very large garden full of beautiful
"Oh!" they cried, when they saw it, "if we could only have a
garden! "
"You may have gardens," said their auntie, "if you will take
care of them, and not let the weeds grow."
They promised that they would, and she gave them three little


plots of ground, side by side. Then she told them they must hoe
or spade them up.
They said they could not, because they had no tools. So she
took them to the store, and bought them each a hoe, a rake, a spade,
and a fork.
They worked hard for a day or two, and got the ground very
nice and fine. Their auntie was pleased, and said they might
choose what flowers they would have.
Douglas said he wanted corn-flowers, because he remembered the

-2 'B' s " -.

story about the little boy and girl who took the corn-flowers to
the King. Ethel said she should prefer scarlet geraniums, for
her mamma wore them when she went to see the President.
But Lyman thought they ought to be alike, and so the others
Auntie gave them each two choice roses, a heliotrope, plenty of
geraniums, pinks, lantanas, corn-flowers, and many others that.
they fancied.
The little gardens looked lovely when the plants were all set out,


and the seeds began to come up. But the weeds came up also, ana
the children were puzzled to know the weeds from the flowers.
Auntie showed them, and they worked faithfully until, one morn-
ing, Lyman went out and found an army of worms eating up his
roses. He picked off a few, but more came; and the weeds were so
thick he grew quite discouraged.
"I'll have a weed and worm garden," said he; "it's so much
Very well," replied auntie. "Do you think weeds and worms
would make a nice bouquet for mamma's birthday?"
He hung his head and looked as though he didn't care. After
that the worms and the weeds had it all their own way.
The very last of August came, and papa said the children must
be at home on the 5th of September to celebrate mamma's birth-
day. Then Lyman felt very badly; for while Ethel and Douglas
had lovely flowers to carry her, he had scarcely a single blossom fit
to offer.
The gardener pitied him so much that he said he would give the
little boy a bouquet from his greenhouse. But auntie would not
allow it. She said he must learn not to be so lazy again. And
Lyman says himself that when he has another garden it shall grow
something besides weeds and worms.


Two little friends trot side by side
Over the meadow green and wide;
On, and on, to the pasture gate,
Where Flossy and Bossy stand and wait.
Two little friends: one wears a hat,
Its broad brim hiding his cheeks so fat;
His eyes are blue, and his hair is gold,
And he's mamma's little man, five years old.


The other, -only a dog is he,
But honest and trusty as dogs should be
Without him, Johnny could never go
After the "great, big cows," you know.
On, and on, o'er the fields so wide,
Johnny and Rover, side by side,
Hasten on to the pasture gate,
Where Flossy and Bossy stand and wait

And now the pasture is reached at last,
"And i-'- Rover barks loud and fast;
But Johnny mamma's scared little man -
Goes scampering off as fast as he can.
For the cows are big, and Johnny's afraid;
And Rover can drive them without his aid.
And that's always the way that Rover and he,
Together, go after the cows, you see

THEY were sitting before the open fire, in the twilight, telling fairy-
stories. Frank had just brought in an armful of locust-wood and laid
it upon the hearth. Suddenly puss, who had been sleeping upon the
rug, waked, and climbed on the locust-wood and listened.
"She hears a mouse in the wainscot," they said. "Hush!" All
were silent. Presently puss returned to the rug, and made believe
go to sleep. But she could have had only a cat-nap before she was
scampering over the wood-pile again. A beautiful blue-and-black
butterfly flew up into the warm firelight, as if he had mistaken it
for summer weather.
I call that a fairy-story," said the children.
Puss had heard the butterfly break the chrysalis.


MY master, one day, a week ago, went away on a long trip. He
sent me to the country to wait until he returned. I love the country,
for I can run around and chase rabbits and birds. But the country

is lonesome now, for the leaves are all off the trees and my master's
family have all gone to the city. Even the kittens are away.
My master gave me in charge of Lewis, the colored farmer, and told
him to take care of me. Lewis has got five little children, and they
love pug dogs. Anyhow they love me. The first night I arrived here
I sat in the middle of the floor, and tears came into my eyes, for I did
not know where I was going to sleep.
Then the children began to gather around me, and they saw me
crying. One of them picked me up in her arms, and said, "Don't
cry, Scampy; you shall sleep with me." So she took me upstairs
and put me in the big bed. All the others got in the bed, too. I was
in the middle. It must have looked funny to see the five little black



hbvds, ana my white head and black nose peeping out over the
blankets. We always sleep that way now.


JUMBO is Millie Kingman's cat. He was unusually bright and
playful when he was young. He caught a mouse before anybody sup
posed he was old enough to think of such a thing. His mother, Mrs.
Tabby Gray, was very proud of his forwardness. So was Millie, and
he was praised on all sides for his good conduct. By-and-by he began
to climb trees to hunt birds. The robins that had their nests near the
house were afraid every day that he would catch their little ones.
His mother did not reprove him for this, for she liked the taste of a
bird herself. But when she saw him stealing through the grass, ready
to pounce upon Madam Topknot's chickens, she growled at him and
boxed his ears severely. Mrs. Tabby was old and wise, and she knew
cats that killed chickens were hated and despised, and always came
to some bad end. So she watched Jumbo very closely. One day,
when she was asleep, he stole slyly after the chickens and caught one,
thinking nobody saw him. But Madam Topknot saw him. DBfore


he could run away she sprang upon his back. She held him fast with
her strong claws, and pecked him cruelly.
Jumbo had to let the chicken go. He struggled and howled till
Millie heard him, and came and rescued him. It made her cry to see
how his fur was pulled out and his flesh torn. She nursed him faith
fully for several days, and rubbed cream on his wounds. Whenever


she did this his mother would lick it off very carefully. Tabby got
the most of the cream, but the licking was good for Jumbo, and he was
soon well again. He carried the marks of Madam Topknot's punish'
ment all his life. The new fur that grew over the places where she
had scratched him was always white, and showed plainly on his dark-
brown coat.
Madam Topknot made a lasting impression upon his memory, too,
so that he never afterwards wanted to go near any of the hens or


to a new home. The old home, where Jamie was born, was just in
the edge of the woods. Jamie had played in and out among the
trees ever since he could walk alono.
Now Jamie's father was going to keep the store, up by the Green,
and a small house near the store was to be their home. Jamie's
mother was sorry to leave the old home: she and sister Katy wiped
their eyes often on the moving-e hd pyedt Jamie thought it wes
great fun to move, and he was full of gle.
Father went up to the new house on that day, to get it ready.
Then a man came with an ox-cart to take the beds and chairs and
ill the other things.
When the load was piled on, mother and Katy set out to walk
through the woods, by a short path, to the new house. They had a
corn-basket between them, the cups and glass things were in the
basket Mother called, Con.. JTamie, you can go with us!"
Oh, no," said Jamie, "1 must -- after the cart, and take care of
the things "
His mother laughed. She sala, it is a long way round by the
road; you will be tired !"
"Best let him go," said the man who drove the team; we need
him to look after the load "
So the oxen started off at a slow pace, and Jamie followed the
heart His mother's brass kettle hung out at the back of the load,


from the end of the mop-stick. The kettle kept swinging as the cart
jogged on. Jamie watched it all the time lest it should fall off.
He stubbed his toe and fell down twice, because he was looking
up at the cart; but he did not cry; he was a man that day! At
last the man who drove saw that the small man was tired. So he
said, "See here, youngster; can't you sit up on this feather-bed,
and see that the oxen keep the road ?"
There was a soft nest, just big enough for Jamie, between two

-. ... ..

chairs. The man lifted him up there; it was a nice place. In five
minutes Jamie was sound asleep.
When they came to the new house the man lifted him down, and
said, "Here's the young man who took care of the load !"
Jamie had had such a good nap that he was all ready to help put
the new house in order.



~iLI~ AP

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dhl. v JM 11



I! iu I 'I ---~X



IT was not in the morning, with Rover, or in the afternoon, with
mer dollies, but one summer night, when every one was sound asleep,
even herself.
It was a long time ago, and Emmy is now a woman. In those days
there were not so many tramps to break in and steal, away back in
the country where she lived, as there are now. Scarcely a door was
ever locked at night.
The houses all had great fireplaces in them, large enough for a good.
sized boy or girl to walk right into. They had big brick ovens, in
which the mothers cooked all the pies and bread.
It was a waim night. The moonlight came so brightly into the
small kitchen that the great, round heads of the brass andirons shone
like little moons.
Emmy's mother had been spinning hard all day. She slept so
soundly that, she did not hear her little girl go out. But when she
did wake from Emmy's tilting the tongs, very likely- there stood
a small figure, all in white, away back in the chimney-corner.
It was Emmy, with her clothes all rolled up, and wrapped nicely in a
little bundle, under her arm, sound asleep.
Her hair was all wet with dew; so were her feet and night-dress.
The door was open, and how long she had been wandering about by
herself out of doors cannot be told.
Her mother put on a dry night-dress, and carried her to bed, and
Emmy knew nothing at all about it.




M RS. JENKS was not a picture-making child.
It was not till she had grown up, and mar-
ried, and had a little child of her own, that she
began to paint pictures. This little son, indeed,
S, had m uch to do w ith her become ing a painter of
B As a child, Mrs. Jenks was musical rather than
S," artistic. Her earliest remembrance runs back to a
i': day, forty-odd years ago, when she sat on her
mother's knee and sang the soprano of a song, to
MRS. JENKS, FROM THE her mother's alto, for a neighbor. She was only
GENGIGL. four then, but she remembers how the neighbor
exclaimed, Why, she can carry a tune just as well as anybody!"
Even more remarkable than her musical gift was her memory. If a
poem of six or eight four-line verses were read to her twice, she could
then repeat it from beginning to end.


Phoebe Pickering Hoyt was born in 1847, in the old sea city of
Portsmouth, N. H. When Phoebe was sixteen the family removed to
Boston. She drew a little then, as most school-girls do.
She had no thought however of becoming an artist.
Mr. Jenks, though an active business man, had artis-
tic tastes, and drew and painted at home, for his own
pleasure. His artist friends were often at the house.
SSo it happened that one day, when some one brought
Mrs. Jenks a beautiful bouquet, she was moved to paint
it. Taking the brushes and colors at hand, she worked
away for a couple of days, and so successfully that a
"S,IO (IRS. French painter who chanced in assured her he could
PICTURE). not have done better himself "
Stimulated by this, and encouraged on by her husband and his artist
friends, Mrs. Jenks now began to
study the art of painting. For a .IM
year or so she worked hard in the
studio of a friend in the old Studio
Building close by Boston Common.
She had no regular master, but one
and another of that friendly colony
of artists would drop in, and their
free criticisms and suggestions ....
helped her.
It was now that her little son
of three opened the way to her
first achievement as a painter of
child-life. The little fellow was
quite remarkable as a model, being
able to take any attitude, and as-
sume any expression, desired. One
day he caught up his long golden
curls with a big high comb, and so
stood, with a smile on his face, SPRINGTIME.
while his mother painted the picture called "Mama's Comb."
This was the first picture Mrs. Jenks exhibited, and it sold, for a


hundred and twenty-five dollars, as soon as shown. It was of course
but the work of a beginner, yet, in spite of the masterly canvases of
later years, with all their praises
and their dozen times larger
prices, Mrs. Jenks declares the
delight of that first success has
W never been equalled. "I hadn't
any feet that day," she said to me,
4 1" I fairly flew."
During the next few years, the
4 little son, who had thus opened
Sthe door to her success, posed for
a charming series of child pict-
ures. Sometimes he was a boy,
sometimes a little girl, as in the
picture called "Dolly's Dress,"
where he wears a girl's gown and
sits in a little chair sewing.
But soon Mrs. Jenks found her
CHARLES P. SEARLE. especial field, in the painting of
portraits; and though she has
painted men, and many women, the larger part of her work, in the
twenty years since she first painted her little
"boy, has been the portraiture of children.
Occasionally she has painted "pictures,"
in distinction from portraits, but almost .
always a child has been the essential part of
the painting-as in the exquisite picture B
called Springtime," a lovely girl with soft
flowing hair, in white and pink, with a back-
ground of apple-trees in bloom.
Mrs. Jenks has a genuine love for children,
and she and her little "sitters are usually
" great friends." One little girl cried because MASTER MACOMBER.
she could not continue to come to the studio after her portrait was
completed; but one of the boys preferred to play outside, and grew


funnily indignant, and said, I don't think much of you for a portrait
painter, if you can't paint me without my staying here !"
The children are generally very good and very willing sitters, but
Mrs. Jenks recalls two exceptions, one boy and one girl, who were so
obstinate and so disobliging that she had to ask
them to do just the opposite of what she really de-
sired. If she wished them to look toward her, she
had to ask them to look away across the studio -
whereupon they would face her squarely.
For a portrait head, or head and shoulders, Mrs.
Jenks has five to ten sittings," and the time of
S... l painting averages about three weeks; for a full-
LTTLE MIs HAYUEN. length portrait the time may run to a couple of
months, with ten to fifteen sittings. She always paints the entire
figure from life.
And here that remarkable memory, which in childhood was a matter
for wonderment, is of great practical value for after painting from a
sitter in the morning, and the sitter has gone, the form, color, ex-
pression, all remain vivid in her memory, so that she can actually go
on painting through the afternoon as if the sitter were before her.
The children of Mrs. Jenks' pictures are always in easy natural
attitudes, and yet they are very varied in pose and treatment. One
of her happiest arrangements is a group of three heads, three brothers
- the little sons of Mr. Mellen C. Pierce of Bangor- two dimpled
and smiling, one sober and shy. Mrs. Jenks does not usually exhibit
her portraits in public, but this was shown at the National Academy.
Her charming Little Miss Searle," of Boston, is painted as if just
in from a winter walk on the Public Garden -in yellow-brown fur-
edged cloak, big brown hat with pale blue ribbons, and with her shin-
ing yellow hair in pretty disarray.
"Master Macomber" wears a picturesque Rubens costume of tan
silk brocade, slashed with yellow-red velvet, and a broad yellow-red hat.
"Master Bramen is painted full length, in a ruffled white blouse
and a suit of gray yelvet. He stands boldly against a white stuccoed
wall, both hands holding a cane behind him, and with a lordly air of
being quite able to face the whole world.


The dark-haired little daughter of Mrs. Charles Hayden, of Boston,
would have been labelled in Sir Joshua's day as "Innocence."
Among Mrs. Jenks latest and most successful portraits is that of
"Master Appleton Lawrence," who is said to closely resemble his emi-
nent father and a noble little fellow he is.
Mrs. Jenks is now at the maturity of her powers, and has earned
an enviable fame by the conscientious use of her talents. Some
twenty-five of her canvases
were recently gathered
at the St. Botolph Club
for a special exhibition, -
and the crowd was so great
in the gallery that numbers
had to wait outside for a
chance to enter- "just "
because they were pictures
of children, and everybody
likes children," was Mrs.
Jenks' modest comment.
Personally, Mrs. Jenks
is a large vigorous figure,
"dark-haired, with a fresh
glow in her face. The
charcoal portrait of Mrs.
Jenks by Mr. Gaugengigl
is faithful to the original.
Her manner is singularly
frank and sincere.
And this sincerity dis-
tinguishes her art. She MASTER APPLETON LAWRENCE.
endeavors to paint the
real child, at its best, and she always discovers that "best," in pose, in
contour, in color, in character, and expression.
"Indeed," she said to me with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, they
are always more beautiful than I can paint them I "
C. P Stuart.

(The story that Mrs. Fremont told the Young Inventor.)*

H OW could I think? Only ten, and too happy, too healthy, too
sure of admiring love from my father and more restrained
judicious love, though as sure, from my mother, I took no thought -
I just lived -lived through and through from the crown of my busy
head to the sole of my hurrying feet. And I was a popular" child
at home and abroad, and servants and friends all had a pleased look
and pleasant word for me.
And yet I was heedless." I did get into lots of mischief. After
I gave myself croup chasing the calf round and round in a wet pasture
I "thought" for a little while, but soon nearly killed myself following
a kitten through a window to the steep roof of a two-story wing; the
shingles were slippery from summer heat and I clutched in vain as I
slipped faster and faster until I brought up, holding on to the rain
gutter-where I hung until a ladder helped me down sobbing into the
care of our dignified old butler Uncle Ralph."
But the worst piece of heedlessness was what I told my boy always
to comfort him for smashing my china.
There had been a big dinner party at our house and the many
beautiful fine things, too valued for everyday use, were put in a room
off the dining-room for careful washing up before being laid by under
glass. Our English nurse, Emily, and pretty gay Marguerite the
French nurse, were trusted to do this. And my mother drove off for
a morning of visits leaving us in our own part of the house where I
ought to have staid with the others we were six; and as the baby
must not be wakened, its nurse kept us too quiet for my explosive
I knew both Emily and Marguerite loved to be read to, and though
I was but ten my father had taken much time and trouble to teach me
how to read aloud agreeably. Soon I was reading a gay story to the
two women and as its fun progressed I quitted my chair and sat on the
table between them; on the edge of the table which was piled up
with fine glass and china.
See Mrs. Fremont's storyvin January LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN.


This table was a very large old mahogany affair of bygone fashion
with two deep mahogany leaves which had folding props to support
them. In time these props had worked loose in the joints and become
unreliable; so it was only used as a side table for the dessert, and the
leaves kept folded down.
Now, the table had both its leaves fully opened and on it were
the cedar tubs of hot water and piles of soft towels, and lots of fine
I was a big healthy fidget, and in the excitement of the story I
must have twisted and turned from one to another as I read and so
churned loose the weak props when, CRASH! down came table,
china, hot water and my bewildered self.
When my mother returned she was really sorry.
The beautiful olc china and fine English cut-glass had been brought
over to Virginia by my great-grandmother and had generations of feel-
ing and family association to make of them what no money could ever
I was awfully sorry to have grieved my mother. My father had
just left for Washington, as we were in St. Louis for that winter. He
would have accepted my grief as enough lesson ;" but relations"
-that cold family judgment seat- thought I should be "made to
remember" this calamity.
Did you ever have a pet dog who had to be punished for killing
chickens by tying the dead thing around his neck? do you remember
his sadness, his shame ?
So I felt, when I was condemned to eat from partly broken plates
and drink from cups without handles until meals became depressing
and unbearable.
It may have been for only a short time but it seemed forever, to
me, and I certainly never forgot it.
Jessie Benton Fremont.


TF you knock at a certain door in the
,, Sherwood Studios, New York, you
will presently hear a light step, the door
will open, and you will be ushered in by
p a lady, very slight in figure, with a green
parrot perched on her shoulder.
As you follow along the dim passage,
the green parrot will very likely call out,
Si Hurry up, hurry up!"
S When Polly has been gently rebuked
for this innocent lack of courtesy, she
cuddles up close to her mistress' cheek,
-. --- and

then, having passed by a vast wil c
"pathetic painting, of Wayfar-
ers," sitting by a roadside in the
twilight, you come out into a
flood of light, falling through the
high studio window.
All about are pictures, in
frames and out, quaint high-
backed chairs, carved chests, dra-
peries, the bric-a-brac that artists
love; and in the air is the faint
odor of pigments, oils, varnishes.
On an easel, the paint still
moist, is the portrait of a New
York lady of position. At one IIISCHIEF."
York lady of position. At one (Fist picture, exhibited at Royal Academy.)
side, in curious contrast, is a large canvas with life-size figures, called
"Down Piccadilly." This vigorous realistic picture, a company of Lon-


don flower-women returning .in an omnibus from Covent Garden
Market, was first shown at the Royal Academy some years ago, before
the painter came to America -for Miss
Brooks is an English lady.
Maria Brooks was born at Staines, near
London. When a little girl of six she began
to draw, copying the pictures she liked in
books and papers. At ten she had drawing
lessons from a governess; and when she was
twelve she studied
S with the painter King
for half a year.
S". All this however
A8-L : was merely for her
"CONVALESCENT." own amusement. She
had no thought of
making art a profession. Her father was a
man of means, and, like most in those days,
did not believe in a woman's working, or hav-
ing a business or profession of any kind. In
fact he presently thought she knew quite
enough of painting,
and so further study
Swas given up.
A few years later,
desiring for chari,
4. _table work more
money than her allowance supplied, she
again took up her brush, for the making
"* A_ of illuminated texts," which were then
greatly in vogue. She now went for a time
to the famous South Kensington art schools.
Six months after, her father met with finan-
PORTRAIT OF AN ENGLISH CHILD. cial reverses, and then it was that Maria
Brooks, to whom painting had hitherto been but a pastime, decided to
make it a profession.


She was now a girlishly slender young woman, but with a very
big will, and she went to work in tremendous earnest. Within a few
months she had won a gold medal which, in all the history of the
South Kensington schools, had only once before been awarded to a
woman. This medal was
given for vase designs,
with decorations in colors.
The first year she
earned three free scholar-
ships. Her attainments
in perspective were the
highest in the school rec-
ords. Daring the five
years she spent at Ken-
sington she took nine a .
medals, two gold, one sil-
ver, six bronze. The .
gold medal each time se- -
cured to her a first "Alex-
andra Scholarship," with
its hundred dollars in
money. The Alexandra
Scholarshipswere founded
by the beautiful Princess i
of Wales, who raised the '
money therefore by an ,-
exhibition of her jewels. " .'..
While completing her
last year at Kensinton "BASHFUL."
last year at Kensington, (By permission of the owner, ir. Wm. T. Evans.)
Maria Brooks entered the
schools of the Royal Academy, and within a year six of her paintings
were hung in the annual Royal Academy exhibition. She had taken
up the painting of portraits, especially of children, having no less than
nine commissions during her first year at the Academy. The third
year she exhibited her first picture, Miss Mischief," a not-very-
n;ai hty-looking girl breaking off clusters of apple blossoms. This


first picture sold for four hundred dollars, and one exhibited the fol-
lowing year brought one thousand.
During the five years at the Kensington
"schools, Maria Brooks worked incessantly, not
allowing herself so much as a single holiday
throughout the entire period. She worked to
win- and won.
At the Royal Academy Miss Brooks came
under the influence of Millais. Indeed, a num-
ber of her pictures of this time, including
"Miss Mischief and the the charming Con-
valescent," were painted from Millais' models.
This use of the same model, quite as much as
any .similarity in composition and treatment,
may account for the fact that more than once
pictures by Miss Brooks on the Academy
walls were taken for paintings by Millais.
"1READY FOR A BOWL." Ten years ago, after many successes
in London, Miss
Brooks, at the invitation of a gentleman
of Montreal who owned some of her :: ?
pictures, came to Canada to paint a
number of portraits. Fresh commissions

and then she concluded to return to
England by way of New York.
Strange to say, though she reached
"New York duly on her return trip, she
never took passage to England; she is
still in New York and all because of a
picture of a child. This picture-child, in
black hat and cloak, fur-trimmed, against
a yellow background, holding a hoop, DUMSY."
"Ready for a Bowl," is in her studio
to-day. It is not a boy or a girl, and yet, queerly, it is both -for it
was at first a study from an English boy, but the face not being quite


pretty enough for a salable picture, Miss Brooks painted out the boy's
face and painted in the face and hair of a girl; otherwise the figure
was unchanged.
This boy-girl picture was so praised on being shown, and Miss
Brooks was so urged to remain in New York, that she finally decided
to do so primarily to paint
portraits-and after so long a
residence we may now regard
her as an American artist. Her
sitters have included such distin-
guished men as Dr. Huntington
of Grace Church and Dr. Morgan
Dix, as well as ladies of promi-
Most interesting however of
Miss Brooks' American work is a
remarkable series of thirty or
forty pictures, which have given
her a distinct place among paint-
ers of child-life. These paint-
ings might well be called the
"Dodo pictures, since all have
been painted from one little girl-
model whose pet name is Dodo.
The first of these charming pict-
ure-girls was painted when Dodo
was only three and a half, the DISAPPOINTED.
others during the years while
she has been growing up to seven. In some she wears her own simple
every-day gowns, in others she is dressed quaintly, richly, or pictur-
esquely and each picture tells a childish story, or expresses some
childish mood.
Dodo enters into these make-believe doings with spirit and great
enjoyment, and is as delighted at finding a picture," as she calls the
discovery of a happy pose or pictorial composition, as the artist her-
self, Sometimes though she has a fit of the naughties," and the


black sheep gets on her back," as English nurses say. Once, when
the black sheep would not be called off, she was sent to sit back-to in
a corner, and the little bowed figure was so quaint that Miss Brooks
seized her pencil to sketch it. Dodo's quick ears caught the move-
ment, and the next minute she was shaking with suppressed laugh-
ter, and presently called out,
"You've found another pict-
Iure, haven't you ?" That was
the origin of "In the Dumps,"
or Dumpsy as Dodo called it.
Some days too Miss Brooks
gives little bribes of one to five
cents to keep Dodo good, and
demands forfeits of a penny
each time she is bad. Dodo
usually sit for two hours at
a time, and the pictures have
taken from five to forty sittings
In one of the later Dodo
pictures, called "Hard Times,"
the child wears a gown that
appeared in one of the earliest
of the series, and which now
shows the letting down of tucks
"" -_L__ to keep up with the growing
"MAKING FRIENDS." girl and the final breaking out
of elbows. In another, with a
sombre background, she is lying full length on a pile of rugs and pil-
lows, clad in vivid scarlet. In one painting she is Disappointed," in
another she is "Bashful." In Pink Slippers she is masquerading
in a big hat and a gorgeous old-time dress, which have evidently
come from a great oak chest behind her. She smiles roguishly as she
lifts her gown to show her slippers.
Making Friends is a painting which Miss Brooks sent to the
World's Fair, but which has never returned to her. It is a picture of


Dodo and Polly, the parrot climbing up her arm, while Dodo watches
the bird half shyly. Polly's favorite perch, however, is her mistress'
shoulder, where she always sits when Miss Brooks is painting. Polly
has only one rival in the studio a yellow canary, named Sunday,
as Robinson Crusoe named his man Friday because she first appeared
on that day of the week.
A few of the Dodo pictures have become popular through engrav-
ings; several are in the galleries of collectors, such as Mr. Evans-of
New York; and one, An Easter Lily," owned by Mr. Hearn of New
York, hangs in the rooms of the Lotos Club.
C. P. Stuart.


MY grandma has a good old cat,
With little kittens four;
And one is white, and one is black,
And one is spotted sides and back,
And one is yellow: Uncle Jack,
Come and see them on the floor!

For Grandma says that I'm to have
The one I like the best;
And oh, it does so puzzle me,
When all the pretty four I see,
To choose which kitten mine shall be-
Choose one and leave the rest!

Well, all are beauties; still I know
I'll choose this yellow one :
I always do love yellow things;
The dandelions April brings,
The butterflies on golden wings
Like sparks blown off the sun.


Ah, no! the white one is the one,
As white as whitest snow;
Its dainty fur so soft and fine,
Its winking eyes that shine and shine;
I choose the white one to be mine,
I do admire it so !
But here's this velvet-black one, now,
So sleek and bright, like jet;
I'm sure that I'd be proud to own
This blackest kitty ever known;
Yes this one I will choose alone,
Yes, this must be my pet!
But wait, oh, wait! The tortoise-shell--
How could I pass it by ?
So splendidly it is arrayed,
In spots of many a varied shade;
Ah, surely now my choice is made,
The tortoise-shell say I!
And yet and yet how can I choose I
Just see them chase that ball!
When black and white and yellow play
With tortoise-shell, this cunning way-
Oh, grandma dear, I wish you'd say
That I may have them all!
Elizabeth C. Bellamy.





T HE Snarlies got into a little girl's hair,
They said, Let us make us a little nest there I
Mrs. Brush came along, and she said, 0, no !
You don't belong here, and away you must go;
This little girl's hair was not meant to look so."



The Snarlies determined that there they
would stay.
They wanted to sleep, and they wanted
to play. I ,
So they said, Mrs. Brush, you are not
Doing right;
If you don't'go away, we will tie you up
To stay in this hair is our greatest
delight." MR. COMB AND
So then Mrs. Brush sent for good Mr. Comb,
And asked him to help send the Snarlies all home.
And together they drove every Snarly away,
And told them in some other place they must stay.
Then wasn't that little girl happy and gay !
Charlotte E. Leavitt Slocum.

(When Grandfather's Grandfather Was a Boy.)

BY the time Thomas Jefferson was president, the United States
owned all the land from the Atlantic to the Pacific. More and
more people kept coming across the sea from Europe, because they
thought it a fine thing to live in a free country where men could have
the say as to how they should live and who should be their rulers;
and so, to make room for its ever increasing inhabitants, the United
States kept on growing.
It grew by the cities along the sea-coast getting larger and the
towns and villages and farms becoming more numerous; it grew by
people leaving their homes in the East and going West to make new
homes for themselves; it grew because men began to think out how to


do things better than their fathers had done them, and to invent and
make things that should help them do their work in the quickest and
best way.
When your grandfather's grandfather was a boy, there was a man
named Eli Whitney, who made violins when he was a boy in his Mas-
sachusetts home, and worked his way through Yale College by mak-
ing violins and canes and mending broken-down clocks and machinery.
He went South to teach school, and when he saw how much time and
money were wasted in picking the seeds out of the cotton the South
was trying to raise he thought he could make something to do this
work. And he did. He invented a machine that would pick the cot-
ton clean and make it all ready to be turned into cloth, and save the
labor of forty men. This was called Whitney's cotton gin," and it
was so valuable that it made America the greatest cotton-raising
country in the world.
About the same time there was a portrait painter who had been
brought up as a boy on a farm in
Pennslvania, who believed he could
make a boat go by steam. His name
". was Robert Fulton. He kept on try-
i -!L: j!-- ing; did not give up when he failed;
at last succeeded; and when your grand-
father's grandfather was a boy of about
-fifteen he heard with much wonder how
Robert Fulton had made a steamboat
_K ___`E and sailed it from New York to Albany.
"People laughed at the idea even then,
and declared no one would dare to travel
in such risky things. But to-day we know how wrong they were, and
how right Robert Fulton was; for now, thanks to Fulton, we can steam
across the three thousand miles of sea between here and England in
less than six days. It used to take as many weeks to make the
voyage across the Atlantic when your grandfather's grandfather
was a boy.
There were many other things that were thought out, or invented,


when your grandfather's grandfather was a small boy, that you would
think it was not possible for men to do without. When he was a boy,
the first spelling-book and the first geography had just been written
in America; the first brooms were made, the first city directory put
together, the first fire insurance company formed, the first iron
plough made, the first water carried in pipes under the city streets
and into the houses -and all these things were done by Americans
who were trying to do more and better than their fathers had
And before he grew to be a big boy other valuable things were
done. The first pins, the first pianos and the first carriages were made
in America; the first savings bank was founded, the first gas was made
for lighting streets and
houses; the first canal
was dug, the first fire-
bricks were made, the w
first numbering of houses
in city streets was done
the first paper from straw
and hay was made, the
first steam printing was
attempted, the first sew-
ing silk was made, the
was formed, the first
steam railroad was built, the first telescope was constructed, and the
first axes and the first table knives were made steel knives with
forks of two tines.
I do not mean to say that Americans first invented all these things.
Some of them had been known or tried in Europe before. But they
were all either invented or made for the first time in America by
Americans at the time of which I am writing.
I need not tell you that because of these time and labor saving
inventions, and because of other inventions that have come later-
such as the telegraph, the sewing machine, the telephone, the electric


light, the electric motor and other great improvements and discoveries
- the United States of America has grown rich and strong and great
and powerful. To-day we lead the world in the ways of doing things,
of saving time, of shortening distance and of making hard work
And all these things were either begun, or thought of, or studied
into, or carried out, for the first time in America, when we were a
young nation, trying to get a foothold in the big, busy, bustling world,
in the days when your grandfather's grandfather was a boy.
Elbridge 8. Brooks.


N -T HANK you, dear old fir-tree,
For giving me cool shade;
Thank you, little bayberry bush,
For the perfume you have made;
Thank you, pretty bunch-berries -
So gay your shining red;
S Thank you, you velvet mosses,
For the carpet you have spread.

O, tall slim stalk of golden-rod
Like a lovely candle-stick
With your yellow lights a-burning
Where the firs are dark and thick -
You too I thank ; and the asters
Frilled with purple silk;
"And the berries that I carry home
To eat with bread-and-milk !
.Mary F. Butts.

(Reproduced in black.and-white, about one fourth size, by permission of L. Prang & Co.)


"PAINTING and patriotism are not so often
S associated but that it is interesting to know
"that Robert Emmet, the Irish patriot, was also
an artist.
Robert Emmet was born in 1778, at the time
of our American Revolution. He must have been
a bright boy, for at fifteen he entered Trinity
% College, Dublin. The poet Tom Moore was a
HEAD OF CHILD. fellow student. The young Emmet, however -
(From a pastel.) stimulated perhaps by the independence recently
"won by Americans joined the United Irishmen, and soon after, in
1802, was over in Europe trying to interest Napoleon in the Irish


cause. The next year, having spent his fortune in arming his com-
patriots, he planned the capture of Dublin Castle, and along with it
the viceroy, the English governor of Ireland. The plot failed, but
Emmet escaped.
The young patriot, however, had a sweetheart Sarah Curran,
daughter of Curran the great Irish orator. For a farewell interview
with her, Emmet came
"down from his hiding-
place in the mountains,
was captured, tried, and
the very next day hanged
in Dublin. The tragedy
thus begun reached its
end not long after, in
the death of the broken-
hearted Sarah Curran in
Sicily. It inspired a fa-
"mous poem of Moore's:

"She is far from the land where
her young hero sleeps."

Half a century after
Robert Emmet was ex-
ecuted in Dublin, his
great-grand-niece, Rosina
Emmet, to-day a painter
of charming children, was
born in New York Dec.
13, 1854.
Emmet family, in the SHERWOOD, JR.
(From photograph by Miss Lydia Emmet.)
years between Robert and
Rosina, were artists of remarkable talent; and Rosina's own mother was
a painter, a pupil of Daniel Huntington, President of the National
It is not strange, therefore, that Rosina and her twin brother, the


first born of a family of ten, should have been artistic children. In
those early days, the brother seemed the more gifted of the two, and
his drawings were much admired. He did not pursue the study of
art, however; and, as in the Reynolds family, it was the less preco-
cious child who later attained eminence as an artist.
The little Rosina's school-life was especially happy. She went to
day-school at a beautiful place called
the Priory. This was a large stone
house built by an English clergyman,
in old English style, set in enchanting
woods and gardens, and filled with rare
furniture, and armor, and pictures,
which its owners had collected in Venice
j "and London and brought over to this
At the Priory school, along with
O her text-book studies, Rosina had les-
sons in water-color painting, after the
A PORTRAIT. fashion of those days. She was draw-
(From oilpainting ooned by Lyman Josephs, Eq ) ing too from life, with her little broth-
ers and sisters as models. This was doubtless the beginning of that
intimate and sympathetic knowledge of child-life which gives enduring
charm to her mature work.
In 1877, when twenty-two, Miss Emmet spent a winter in England;
and while there she took up painting on china, chiefly as a pastime.
On her return, the New York Society of Decorative Art was starting.
She sent her china there, and found ready sale for all she could do.
About this time Miss Emmet painted many portrait heads on china,
and had more orders, at a hundred dollars each, than she could
Two years after her" return from England, Miss Emmet gave up
china painting entirely, and commenced the study of art seriously for
the first time. She now entered the studio of Win. M. Chase, and
began at once to paint in oils, without the usual preliminary training
in drawing.
Miss Emmet studied with Mr. Chase two years, and it was while


there that she suddenly found herself famous, and her name a house-
hold word in America and England.
A few years before, in 1875, Mr. Louis Prang had brought out the
first American Christmas cards. Their cordial, reception in England
was followed by an amazing popularity here, till Mr. Prang became to
the children a sort of new and American St. Nicholas.
In 1880, to secure from able artists the best designs for Christmas
cards, Mr. Prang held the first of his famous prize competitions; and
the highest prize, one thousand dollars, was awarded to Rosina
This success gave her the sudden fame just mentioned. The prize
card was the talk of the day,
and for some time the fortunate
designer could not so much as
make a purchase in a dry-goods
store, and give her address for
its delivery, without the clerks
exclaiming, "0, you are the
Prize-Christmas-Card-Lady !"
In the central panel of this
celebrated card, a group of
white-robed choir-boys stand
against a gold background,
"singing "In excelsis gloria."
Around this panel is a border
of passion flowers, with a back-
ground of the shepherds and PICTUR FROM PRTTY GGY."
angels and starry skies of the (Reproduced in black-and-white, one fourth size, by permission
first Christmas night in Judea. of Dodd, Mead & Co.)
Though sold at the then unprecedented price of a dollar, so great was
the demand for this card that editions amounting to ten thousand
copies were soon exhausted. It has now, for ten years or more, been
"out of print."
That same year Miss Emmet brought out Pretty Peggy." The
water-color drawings for this book were made at odd minutes, and in
the evenings, to amuse her little sisters, to whom the book was dedi-


cated-and also to preserve two old ballads, "Pretty Peggy" and
"Pray, Papa, which had been sung by her grandfather and handed
down as literary heirlooms in the family. Pretty Peggy," with Kate
Greenaway's Under the Window," may be said to have led the
modern procession of artistic "color books."
In 1884, Miss Emmet went to Paris, and studied drawing for six
months at Julien's, the art school where most American art students
go, sooner or later.
Soon after this Miss Emmet was married, to Mr. Arthur Murray
Sherwood; and new duties arose
Sin the way of further study and
Travel, and very much limited
o i.. the quantity of her work. Nev-
ef'o -un ertheless the quality of her
-. painting has steadily advanced,
fn aand her more important pictures
of child-life have been painted
since her marriage -pictures
which have given her a dis-
tinguished place among Ameri-
can artists.
Something of Mrs. Sher-
wood's personality is shown by
.I the accompanying portrait (in
"fancy dress), which is the first
she has ever given for publica-
N tion. It is from an amateur
BLOWING BUBBLES. photograph made in 1889 by
(From a water-color.) her sister, Miss Lydia Emmet,
who is herself an artist of recognized talent. The child perched on
the flower-urn is Mrs. Sherwood's little son, Arthur Murray, Jr.
Mrs. Sherwood has worked successfully in oils, and in pastel, but
finds a more natural expression in water-colors, and the larger part of
her later work has been in that medium. She has also made many draw-
ings m black-and-white for the children's magazines, and also for older
publications, her most recent work in this line being the illustrations


THE SISTERS. (From a water-color.)

for an entertaining book of the present season called "Out of Town,"
The picture printed as frontispiece to this number of the magazine,
and which may be called First Steps," shows Mrs. Sherwood's power
to express the timidity of a little child and the encouraging care and


help of the mother. It also shows the large free way in which she
paints. In "Blowing Bubbles," a picture notable for light and sun-
shine, the little boy in blue apron and big straw hat and the little girl
in white, who are having so good a time, are two of Mrs. Sherwood's
own children. The pastel head also shows a little daughter, in pink
against a green background. The child reclining on a cushion is from
a portrait in oils, owned by Lyman Josephs, Esq., of Newport, R. I.
The Sisters" rep-
resents Mrs. Sherwood's
latest work; it was shown
at the exhibitions in New
York and Boston this
V season, and was regarded
as one of the notable
Swater-colors of the year.
SL It is an indoor subject,
Sforich and warm in color-
h aing -the older girl in
black, the younger in
white muslin, the seat
of red silk, the dark
background a greenish
brown. A Boston critic
IN THE HAMMOCK. said: It is one of the
(From a water-color.)
most beautiful works in
the exhibition, unquestionably; a beautiful drawing, beautiful con-
trasts of color, beautiful character; altogether a most excellent picture."
Mrs. Sherwood is a member of the Society of American Artists,
also of the New York Water Color Club.
In 1877, in London, she received a medal for heads painted on
china. In 1889, a silver medal for painting was awarded her in Paris.
She also received a medal for work shown in the art department of the
World's Fair at Chicago, in 1893.
That delightful water-color, In the Hammock where doll and
child are both so very sound asleep -was exhibited in the Woman's
Building at the World's Fair. 7. P. Stuart,

WE can make no mistake, though you bluster
and blow,
For we've been to the spots where the violets

And the tiny green leaves are just shovwi..
their heads,
Where the sunbeams have played on their
soft mossy beds;

And the catkins are out in their velvety
The brave little darlings care not for you



Blow away! blow away! you only blow gold;
And while you are waiting to storm and to scold,

The daffodils gather and deck themselves fine,
For they know when you come it is surely a sign

That the winter is gone, and the bluebird is near.
Blow away! blow away! 't is a sound full of cheer.

And so we forgive you your boisterous ways,
Because you bring news of the sweet summer days.


ARTHUR was four years old, and he had come up from the city, with
his mamma, to spend a few weeks at a pleasant farm-house.
After supper, on this first night in the country, Arthur sat close to
his mamma on the piazza steps. Pretty soon the sun went away, the
air began to grow cool, and then mamma said, "It is time to go to
Arthur scowled, and did not stir. He knew that it was his bed-
time; but he felt that it was a great deal pleasanter to sit there, with
so many people around, talking and laughing, than to go up-stairs
to bed in a strange room, even if mamma were within call. No, he
made up his mind that he would not go just yet. So when mamma
held out her hand, and said, Come, Arthur!" he scowled harder
than before, and said, I don't want to; it is too early !"
Just then Philo, a boy who lived at the farm-house, and who was
more than three times as old as Arthur, came out of the door.
See here," said he; if you will go to bed like a good boy, I will
take you to ride to-morrow morning with my team."
Oh, have you a span of ponies asked Arthur, the scowl all

"No, not ponies," said Philo, laughing.
"Are they big horses said Arthur, a little disappointed.
"They are not horses at all," answered Philo. You will fiid
out what they are to-morrow morning; it is -eI.h a team as you
never rode after."
Perhaps they are dogs," said Arthur.
Philo shook his head.
'r reindeers, like those of Santa Claus," suggested mamma.

"No," said Philo.
"Tell me !" urged Arthu
But Philo only laughed, saying, You had better go to bed now;
your mamma is waiting, and if you will get up early I will give you
a ride before breakfast."
So Arthur went up-stairs, wondering what kind of a. team Philo's
could be.
The next morning Arthur thought mamma was a long time but-
toning his clothes; but it really took but a few minutes, and then

he ran down-stairs, in search of Philo. He found him waiting at the
door, and Arthur opened his eyes in wonder when he saw Philo's
team. There were two pretty calves, yoked together, in front of a
light, two-wheeled cart, and Philo was holding a whip instead of
reins. When he saw Arthur, he jumped out, and in a minute more
the two boys were sitting in the funny little carriage, and the well-
trained calves were trotting down the road at a quick pace.
Arthur thought he had never had so nice a ride before. When
they reached home, Philo made the calves go through some very
odd tricks, in which he had trained them. Arthur had many other
rides after the gentle creatures, and when he returned to the city he
had a great deal to tell his little friends about Philo and his funny


FIRST comes General Charlie, so gallant and gay,
In jacket of scarlet and trousers of gray;
With fierce nodding plumes and loud clanking sword, -
A sight to strike fear to the enemy's horde.
Then comes Captain Josie, so dashing and bold,
In blue soldier's coat and epaulets gold;
With weapon in hand and fire in his eye,
He looks ready to fight for his country or die.
Then Brigadier Artie, so sullen and grand,
With good bow and arrow tight held in his hand;
A knife in his belt and sword in its sheath, -
Our brigadier truly is armed to the teeth.
Now Lieutenant Allen, with soldierly tread,
And paper cocked-hat on his haughty young head.
Then follows the sergeant. I 'm really afraid
This army is all of officers made,-
But one little private, who, gun on his arm,
"Looks ready to fly at the faintest alarm.


Freddy, the flag-bearer, follows in haste,
A gay silken scarf knotted tight round his waist;
While the colors we honor, the red, white and blue, -
From the end of his staff flutter gayly in view.
Small drummer-boy Glen closes up in the rear
With a rub-a-dub-dub most inspiring to hear.

/- f: .... : f.)

the general. "On,
men, to the fight I
If our blood should be spilt, it will be in the right!"

Our country, our homes, and our hearts to defend."




A GREAT many years ago there lived a very rich King. But he
wanted all the time to be getting richer. It took him many weeks
just to count his gold pieces. No matter how much he had, he
wanted more.
One day, when he was counting his gold and looking very sad,
a. stranger appeared before him. Why do you look so sad I"
asked the stranger. The King answered, Oh, if I could only turn
everything I touch to gold !"
Now the stranger had a wonderful power which he could give the
King. So lie said, "From to-morrow, everything you touch shall
become gold."
That night the King could hardly sleep for joy. In the morning
lie raised his purple robe to place it on his shoulders. Instantly
every thread was a golden thread. He sat down to fasten his
sandals. In a twinkling the chair in which lie sat became golden.
His sandals, too, the instant he touched them, changed to pure
When lie went for his morning walk, every flower became a


golden flower. The path, and even the grass that he trod on,
became gold.
But even a King will get hungry. So Midas went back to the
palace .for his breakfast. He asked for water. A glass was given
him; the moment he put it to his lips, it turned to gold. The poor
King could not drink gold. All the money in the world could not
buy him a drink of water.
He sat down to eat. But every mouthful became gold the
moment he put it to his lips. So he could eat nothing. With all
his gold, he would yet have to starve to death.
Then the stranger again appeared. The King, with tears in his
eyes, begged him to take away the touch that turned everything to
"Are you not happy, King Midas asked the stranger.
"' I am most miserable," groaned the King. "I beg you take
away this hateful touch."
Then the stranger told the King to bathe in a stream near by, and
the golden touch would leave him.
Midas lost no time in obeying. The water washed away the
golden touch. He was a happier King then than he had been

"^- '


Isa. -.


I 1

el No CP



\. I~Xr lll dilliiII ll l~lmL~-~'i IIII I IC, ~ ^Alf,~



STEPS she out into the sunshine,
Wafting back a kiss to me:
Eyes demure and dimples hidden,
Wayward smiles that dance unbidden
Through her dear new dignity.

Very proud of her attainments;
All absorbed in "two times two;*
"A B C" already scorning;
On her bonny brow, the morning
Of a wisdom sweet and true.

Not from books alone, my Ethel,
Are you learning hour by hour.
Every breeze about you blowing
Bears a lesson worth your knowing.
Every bright-eyed bud and flower,

Flying cloud and April sunshine,
Birds that sing and bees that hum,
Each is bringing you its treasure,
Knowledge new, and good and pleasure-
Stores for happy years to come.

Slowly out of sight she passes?
Smiling back a blithe good-by.
All the round world, onward turning,
Help her in her happy learning,
While the busy moments fly I



THE dollies were all up in arms,
And this was the reason why:
A Japanese dolly,
So plump and so jolly,
In the play-house they happened to spy.
"Oh, dear!
Such a fright!" said they; "how came she here?"

Miss China cried, What a queer dress!"
What ftnny eyes sneered Miss Rag.
She has n't a curl
On her head, like a girl,
Nor a feature of which she can brag."
"That's so,"
Laughed Miss Wax; "we must snub her, you know!.

"How awkward she is!" said Miss French;
"Her speech, too, is most absurd.
She is quite out of place
Among dollies of grace;
And her ears are like wings of a bird,
Just as if they'd fly off with her head!"

Just then little Alma popped in.
"Fie, dollies! for shame! she cried.
"Your manners are bad,
They make me feel sad;
Have I taught you to act so?" she sighed,
"Be kind,
Though her ways are not just to your mind I!

The dollies all looked quite ashamed;
This lesson they never forgot:
That kindness is best;
And now their odd guest
Is the happiest doll of the lot.
Though small,
She has never been homesick at all. GEORGE COOPER.

B I i 1

-~~F hi.hF

__ APS~



SUNO is a red setter
dog. She belongs to
a regiment of British
soldiers, the brave
Gordon Highlanders.
This regiment went
to Egypt to fight
against the Arabs,
and took Juno with
One day there was
a great battle at a
olace called Tel-el-
Kebir. The HIigh-
landers were ordered
.to charge nl)on the
enemy. The Arabs
were hidden behliind
great banks of earth,
vwtiting for the attack.
r1Then the drums
beat and the trumpets
blew. The High-
landers came up on
a run. But ahead of
them was brave Juno.
/ ,She leaped over the
banks of earth, bark-
ing with all her might.
This frightened the ignorant Arabs, for they had been told that
the Highlanders had fierce bloodhounds with them. The Arabs
thought Juno must be one of these fearful beasts. They began
running away as fast as they could. This was fine play for Juno.


She raced after them, snapping at their heels and barking with de.
light; and the more she yelped, the faster did the Arabs scamper.
The Highlanders did not have much fighting to do that day.
The poor Arabs ran themselves quite out of breath. They never
stopped till they were miles away, in a safe place. How proud the
soldiers were of Juno I

said s_- ought to have had a medal too, as well as the men. The
X.. 3


her regiment, and all the people praised and petted her.

said she ought to have had a medal too, as well as the men. The
playful dog Ireally scared the enemy more than the soliers did;
and besides, she did not hurt any of the poor Arabir
~5 j rK\V II\I\,:1"-, 1" ~l

Words by M. E. N. HATHEWAY. Music by T. CBAMPTON.

A 1leett o. h -

1. Fly a way, lit tie birds! 'Tis your sea son to go; The Win ter is
a11 2. The leaves haveturn'd red On the bush es and trees, And fall from the
3. So now, lit tie birds, You must hast en a way To the South, where the


corn ing, With cold winds and snow; The flowers have all gone From the mead-ows a -
branch-es In ev' ry light breeze; The moth lies a sleep In the bed he has
sun-shine And blos soms will stay; But re turn with the Spring, When the weath er is

round, To live in their seeds And their roots un der ground.
spun; The bee stays at home, With his hon-ey'd work done.
fair, And sing your sweet songs In the warm pleas-ant air. PI

/I / "--= --"H
P ,d _ ''- . _

i ti.

4~ .1

-S. .