Citation
Bright jewels for little people

Material Information

Title:
Bright jewels for little people
Creator:
Murdock, Mary
Elliott & Beezley (Firm) ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Chicago
Publisher:
Elliott & Beezley
Publication Date:
Copyright Date:
18891887
Language:
English
Physical Description:
246 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 24 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- 1889 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1889
Genre:
Juvenile literature ( rbgenr )
fiction ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Illinois -- Chicago
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Imprint also notes publisher's location in Philadelphia.
Statement of Responsibility:
edited by Mary Murdock.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
AHC2165 ( NOTIS )
020449720 ( AlephBibNum )
21586150 ( OCLC )

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BRIGHT JEWELS

FOR LITTLE PEOPLE ©

EDITED BY

MARY MURDOCK

ELLIOTT & BEEZLEY

CHICAGO AND PHILADELPHIA

1889,



COPYRIGHTED BY
L. T. PALMER.
1887.



THE TREASURE BOX.



The delightful day of days for us
children was at hand—the day with
the rejoicing sunshine and the stirring
grass, the bird-song and the laughing
ilacs. Every May all these felicities
haunted the old, old house in the coun-
try, where Grandmother lived; and
every May, we children, Clara, Charlie,
Norrie and Ralph, went to spend a
week with her.

O, I think there never was a Grand-
mother like ours. Our pranks made
her laugh till the tears came; and our
boisterous racing through sitting-room
and kitchen, including the tumbling up
and down the garret stairs, never seemed
to disturb her.

We had a choice of two or three
pleasant things: There was the Park,
and for vacation nothing could be more
crowded with delights for any one that
hadn’t a Grandmother. Then there
were the menageries— Well! those ani-
mals, and the wonderful stories told of
them by their keepers, had been a
round of pleasure, ever fresh and
exciting.

But the elephant might smoke a pipe
or dance a jig, and the goggle-eyed
parrot might put his book under his
wing, and trot off, saying,—“ I’m going
to Sunday-school;” or the monkeys
might perform on the banjoes, or play
base-ball by pitching the little monkeys
from one to the other. These things
were within every day’s possibility, but
we had tired of them.

We hesitated to go, only once, and
that for only half a day, when four

stylish invitations came from our dear
friends in Courtland avenue, request-
ing the pleasure of our company ata
birthday party. The affair was to be
attended with much elegance and for-
mality.

O, dear, it couldn’t be compared with
the fun at Grandmother’s house; with
herself and Betty, and old Towser and
the kittens, with the garret, the pea-
cock, and Old Dan’I, the horse!

To Grandmother's we would go, and
we went. Wasn’t she glad to see us?

My little room had around window
in it, and there was a pink flush on the
lace curtain in the morning, and I
looked, and a very old apple-tree had
stretched its mossy bough across since
last summer, and it was full of blossoms.
I suspect there was a robin’s nest some-
where in its green nooks, which should
be investigated further on.

The yellow butterflies, the blue sky,
the lazy stream that wound away under
the cedars and birches; the barn-yard,
—all things in this enchanted world
contributed their share of supreme
happiness, and we could think of but
one place that we had not visited, and
that was the garret.

Up the old stairs we raced, and as I
jumped upon its rough floor, I was
arrested in my frolic by the beautiful
pictures the windows at either end
revealed.

Out of that farther one could be seen
a grove of pine trees that were really
at quite a distance, and they seemed
to be so near; only a patch of buff sky

5



at one corner was seen, with a distant
spire, and a hint of clover fields on an
upland.

The Paths that ran between the trees
seemed unreal and mysterious. A dim
company of blue mountains took up
the other window; and from my place
on the floor I could see a large bird go
sailing down out of sight.

A play-house had been made for us
years ago, and every thing to which we

ad taken an especial fancy had been
put in here to adorn it. There were
oddly-figured matting on the floor,
brown, worm-eaten blinds, and yellow
Indian curtains on the half-moon
window.

A dresser was at the side whereon
we had placed every thing novel and
beautiful that we had collected in our
searches. A striped chintz-covered
rocking-chair ; a hobby-horse that had
lost his tail ; a music-box that could be
made to play by turning a handle, and
emitted sounds that only the pride of
ownership led any of us to endure.

But, perfect as was our satisfaction,
there were times when we longed to
investigate certain dark corners of the
garret, that were filled with rubbish
and discarded furniture that had up to
this time been too heavy for us to
move.

There was one place, withdrawn into
the shadows of the sloping roof, that
especially forced itself upon our atten-
tion.

We tip-toed round the great spinning-
wheel that stood guard over this fair
cavern ; but there was no place at whic
we could enter; we stood baffled, but
not in the least discouraged.

“T think, if that thing could be pulled
out, we could see what was behind it,”
said Charlie.

“Ha! ha! ha! That’s a brilliant
idea,” said Ralph. Then meditating a
moment, he said, with authority :

“The only thing to do is to quietly
move that old concern a little, every
once-in-a-while, and we can soon make
a place large enough to creep through.”

6

“Es, an’ me too!” said Norrie, with
enthusiasm, as she remembered with
pleasure her former style of locomotion.

We all “put our shoulders to the
wheel,” but, dear me, it wouldn’t
budge. With short breath and flushed
faces, we stood quite disappointed ; our
united strength went for so little.

We concluded it was best to give it
up for the present, as the supper bell
rung its welcome call.

ext afternoon we went about it in
good earnest, and the sun was two
ours high yet, when the spinning-
wheel had been pushed just enough to
allow us to squeeze in.

It Jooked dark and uncanny in there,
sure enough, but Charlie very bravely

ot himself in first, and in a moment

e had disappeared. What was our
surprise to hear him cry out and come
flying back, with white face, exclaiming:
“There’s an awful man in there! He
opened his jaws when he saw me!”

This startled us, and we fled, drag-
ging Charlie with us. We rallied on
the landing, however, and questioned
Charlie, sharply ; but he told the same
odd story, and nothing could induce
the frightened boy to go inagain. We
listened ; all was still. We went up
softly, and approached the place, by
easy stages. There was nothing to
terrify anyone. Charlie could always
tell big yarns.

Ralph and I were older and braver,
and we determined to go in. It wasa
pretty tough squeeze to get by the
spinning-wheel, and then a little dark
lane led away down into the shadow,
and right down at the end, wherea
beam of sunlight, that came through a
knot-hole, struck the beam, leered a
hideous face!

“Ralph,” I said faintly, “I must go
back.”

He caught hold of my dress, and the
blood flushed into his face, and he
stood, compelling metoremain. Itrem-
bled so that Icould hardly stand. That
one ray of sunshine cutting the gloom,
like a sword; that maniac face shining



in it; the shapes of lion’s claws and
birds’ beaks that became every mo-
“ment more distinct as I looked, could
not be endured another minute. But
Ralph pulled me along with him. I
still think he wanted company, and
was as much frightened as I.

“Don’t be a goose, Clara!” he said.
“Tt hasn’t moved a muscle since we’ve
been here. Hooray! Mr. Goblin, just
step down here, and be good company !”

“Dood tumpany!” screamed Norrie
on the outside.

Ralph dragged out a fishing-pole, and
gave the creature a poke. It aly, and he
ran and picked upa mask. Putting it
up to his face, he made a deep bow and
said: “At your service, lady.”

Nothing could keep the others out
now, and we all laughed together, long
and loud.

We looked, and wondered at every
thing inthe gloom. The sights were
most satisfactory though, where the ray
of light fell, and following it on its dusty
way down to the floor, it rested ona
queer-looking box, bound with tarnished
brass, on sides and corners. There was
something very fascinating in its ap-
pearance.

“ That we must take out and examine,”
said Ralph.

No sooner said than done; we pushed
it before us to our little play-house.

It was a most inviting box, for it
opened without any trouble, and what
did we not see in it?

Two great wax dolls lay on the top;
one dressed in crimson satin, the other
in blue, with real yellow hair and mov-
able eyes! These were lifted wut, and
below lay a world of treasures.

There were fairy books, with dimly

ilded leaves and painted pictures; a
ttle white stuffed rabbit, that Norrie
claimed as soon as she sawit; a “jack-
in-the-box,” that sprang out and laughed
in the most Iilarious manner; a chess-
board, with the red and white chess-
men, lying scattered about; a whole
china tea-set ornamented with little but-
terflies; acradle that had been trimmed

with ribbons that had been blue once,
but now were sadly faded; a Noah’s
ark, but a good many of the animals
were missing; a box with a toy parlor
set of furniture, some of which was
badly broken; a real little brass shovel
and tongs, and tiny bellows.

Ralph hunted out an old, well-
thumbed book, which proved to be
Robinson Crusoe. He turned to the
fly-leaf, and read: 7

“THIS Is MY BOOK.” This was fol-
lowed by a cabalistic sign, and then the
figure of a hunter was sketched, shoot-
ing an owl on a tree very close by.

his made much merriment. But
something having caught Ralph’s eye,
in the story, he sat down, and was so
absorbed in reading, that he wouldn’t
come down to his supper, till it became
so dark, that he could no longer see.

These play-things once belonged to
our aunts and uncles, and Grandma
said she had been looking for that box
for two or three years.

O, what an inexhaustible source of
delight it was! And what a gorgeous
play-house we made with all it con-
tained !

We went back home, in such a state
of unbounded cheerfulness, so greatly
refreshed in mind and body, that there
must have been hidden away in that
treasure box a sweet spirit of love,
that somehow stole into our hearts.





“COME, LITTLE BIRD!”

“Come, little bird, I have waited some
time,

Light on my hand, and I'll give you
a dime.

I have a cage that will keep you warm,

Free from danger, and safe from storm.”

“No, little lady, we cannot do that,
Not for a dime, nor a brand new hat.
We are so happy, and wild, and free,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’

“Fly, pretty bird, fly down, and take

Just a’crumb of my Christmas cake ;

Santa Claus brought it to me, you
know,

Over the snow. Over the snow.”

“Yes, we know of your home, so rare,

‘And stockings hung in the fire-light
there;

We peeped through the window-blinds
to see. |

Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’

“We were on the button-ball tree,
Closer than we were thought to be;
Soon you may have us in to tea,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’



SIRENA’S TROUBLE.

Adalina Patti was a doll of most
trying disposition. You couldn’t tell,
when she woke up, what distracting
thing she'd do first. I’ve known her,
when. seated at the breakfast table, in
her high chair, next to Sirena, her lit-
tle mamma, I have known her to jerk
suddenly forward, and plunge her face
right into a plate of buttered cakes and
syrup.

This necessitated the removing of
her from the table and a good deal of
cleansing and re-dressing on the part of
Bidelia, the hired girl.

8

She had movable eyes; they were
very lovely, but, if you'll believe it,
she'd screw them round, just to be con-
trary, so that she’d look cross-eyed for
hours together. No sweet persuasion
or threat of punishment could induce
her to look like a doll in her right mind.

This was not quite so ba
as the outlandish noises she made
when she didn’t want to say “mamma,”
which she could do very distinctly when
she first arrived, at Christmas.

But a crisis in her petulant obstinacy
came, when she wouldn’t sit still to
have her hair combed, and it looked
like a “hurrah’s nest,” her brother Bob
said. All her naughtiness came right
out then. She rolled one eye entirely
up in her head, and left it there, and
stared so wild with the other, that
Sirena gave her a pretty lively shake,

but she only dropped that eye and .

rolled up the other.

This made her little mamma pause
and meditate. She got provoked as
she looked at her, and then she gave
her a double shake; then that bad doll
rolled up both her eyes, and nothing
could induce her to get them down
again.

Oh, dear! How many dreadful things
she looked like. There was a vicious
parrot in the Park that made its eyes
ook just like Adalina’s did, just before
it stuck its head through the bars of its
cage to bite people. nd there wasa

though, -

,

stone lady, that was named “Ceres,” .

on one of the paths in the same park,
and she kept her eyes rolled up all the
time, greatly to the terror of Sirena
and Bidelia, who had to pass her in
coming home in the twilight. And
down street there was a tobacconist’s
sign that represented a fairy queen,
with butterfly wings, taking a pinch of
snuff; and the weather had taken all
the paint off her eyes and she looked
simply hideous; and Sirena grasped
Bidelia very tight, till they got round
the corner. Now here was her lovely
French doll looking like them and cut-
ting up worse. She’d go to mamma



ne ae








with this trouble as she did with all
others.

She put her doll down with her face
against the carpet, and taking hold of
her pink kid arm, dragged her, not
very gently, over the carpet to her
mother.

At that moment in bounced Rob,
who, immediately taking in the situa-
tion of affairs, exclaimed,—“ Oh, don’t
be so cruel to Adalina! Is she just
horrid? You know, Rena, that’s what
you are, sometimes, yourself. What's
the matter any way? What makes
you look so glum ?”

“This doll is acting dreadful; just
look at her eyes!’’ said Sirena.

“You can't tell any thing by any
one’s eyes, yours look like the 4th of
July, now, and you're a delightful lit-
tle girl, everybody says; you don’t
whack things round, and scream, when
the flowers bloom in the spring.”

He was to be repressed immediately.
Sirena looked at her mother.

“He wants to be funny, Sirena,”
said her mother, soothingly.

“Then he isn’t funny; he’s never
funny,” said Sirena, drawing herself up
with dignity.

“Totty Belmont says you're the teas-
enest, hatefulest boy. she knows! So
there,”’ remarked Sirena.

‘Oh, ho! I don’t wonder the doll
is scared. Why don’t you treat that
pretty creature with some considera-
tion? Dragging her over the carpet,
and spoiling her pretty dress! Now
you'll see, just as soon as she comes to
me, because I’m good-looking and nice,
she'll put her eyes down and smile at
me as lovely as ever.

He took the doll and jumped it up
and down in the air, dancing about and
singing, “ Tra-la.”’

s sure as the world! Down came
the eyes, and Adalina was her charm-
ing self again.

“Now you see,” said Rob, “if you
want people to be good to you and love
you, you must not be rude and illna-
tured yourself. This doll is French,

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and particular, and she just won’t look
at cross little girls; so there!” |
“TI think,” said her mamma, “that:
Sirena will not get so angry with her
doll again. She looks as if she were

ashamed of it now. However disagree-

able we may think people are, it’s.
best to watch ourselves, lest in finding
fault with them, we fall into the same
errors.

LADY VIOLET.

My little love, with soft, brown eyes,
Looks shyly back at me,

Beneath the drooping apple bough,
She thinks I do not see.

I cannot choose, I laugh with her,

I catch her merry glee ;

Or stay you near, or go you far,

Oh, little love, how sweet you are!

A hue, like light within a rose,

Is dimpling on her cheek,

It wins a grace, it deepens now
With every airy freak ;

A love-light in the rose like this,
Ah, you may vainly seek ;

It shines for me, no shadows mar,
Oh, little love, how fair you are!

My heart clings to her pretty words,
They will not be forgot ;

My happy brain will not discern,

If they be wise or not.

To ever be so charmed, so blessed,
Ah, this were happy lot.

My own, shine ever like a star
Upon my life, so true you are.

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A FISH STORY.

HOPE LEDYARD.

_ Six eager faces, all crowding around

to “see the picture!”’ Four of the faces
belong to girls—Edith and Mamie,
Birdie and Jeanie, while Al and Dick,
who are pretty big boys, “over ten,”
lean over the back of the chair.

“ FTe’s had a good catch,” says Al.

“ /Te’s not caught those,” says Dick,
while the girls look first at the picture
and then at the boys. “I guess that
fellow standing up in the boat is his
father. The men have caught the fish
and the boy takes them to sell. Why,
a fish as big as one of those fellows
could pull a boy right into the water,
easy!’

“My brother Dick kxows,” whispers
Jeanie, proudly. “He took me fishing
once and I caught two fish.”

The little girls look as if they could
hardly believe this, so Jeanie pulls
mamma’s arm and asks, “ Didn’t I catch
two fish last summer?”

“Indeed she did,’”’ says Dick, before
mamma has time to answer. “She
caught two sun-fish. -I never saw any
one do it better. Mother fried ’em for
her dinner, too.”

“My sister goes to a cooking school
and learns to bake fish,” says Edith,
“and she is teaching me at home. I
know the verse about cooking fish.”

We all begged Edith to say the
verse, so, after a little coaxing, she
repeated :

‘Our lesson is fish, and in every dish

We would like to meet our teacher’s
wish.

But many men have many minds,

There are many fishes of many kinds;

So we only learn to boil and bake,

To broil and fry, and make a fish-cake,

And trust this knowledge will carry us
through

When other fishes we have to ‘do.’”

Edith is a little orphan girl who lives
with her grandmother and sister Min-
nie. We are all so interested about
the cooking class, that she tells us
about how they learn to bake bread.

“T mixed the bread last Friday night
and made some biscuit in the morning,
and if I hadn’t forgotten the salt the
would have been splendid. I dont
remember all the verses about bread,
but one verse is:

‘Now you place it in the bread bowl,
A smooth and nice dough ball,

Last, a towel and a cover,
And at night that’s all.

But when morning calls the steeper
From her little bed,

She can make our breakfast biscuit
From that batch of bread.’”

_ “Well, it’s girls’ work to cook and
boys’ work to catch,” said Al, who was
getting tired of hearing verses.

“ Jeanie did some catching before she
was five years old, and you forget how
nicely papa cooked the breakfast when
you were camping out last summer.”

“T suppose his cooking, like Jeanie’s
fishing, was just an accident.”

“No, indeed! Good cooking has to
be learned,” I said, and this picture
makes me think of the first fish I had
to cook, and what a foolish girl I had.”

“Oh, mamma’s going to tell us a
story about when she was a girl,”
Jeanie exclaims. So all take seats—
Jeanie on my lap, the boys on the two
arms of my chair, and the three little
sisters on chairs or footstools.

Not about when I was a girl, but
about when I was a very young wife.

You boys know that { ad always
lived ina big house in the city, where
the servants did all the cooking and
such work, while I practiced music
or studied or visited my Sunday-school
scholars. I was just as fond of them
in those days as I am now. Well!

13



Your papa took me to a dear little
house, far, far away, near Lake George.
I had a very yeung girl to help me
about the house, who did not know
any thing about cooking. I thought I
knew a good deal, for I had learned to
bake bread, and roast meat and make a
cup of tea or coffee. I had just as
much fun keeping house in that little
cottage as Jeanie has playing house up
stairs. But one day papa went off in a
hurry and forgot to ask me what I
wanted for dinner. He was to bring a
gentleman home that day and I hoped

e would send me a good dinner.

About ten o’clock Annie, my little
servant, came to me and said, ‘Oh,
ma’am, the butcher’s here with a beau-
tiful fish the master has sent for the
meat.”

“A fish! Annie, do you know how
to cook fish?” I said.

“No, ma'am. Only it’s fried they
mostly has ’em.”

I went into the kitchen and there lay
a beautiful trout—too pretty to eat, it
seemed to me. Certainly too pretty to
be spoiled by careless cooking. So I
took my receipt book and after reading
carefully, I stuffed the pretty fish and
laid him in a pan all ready for the
oven, and told Annie to put it in at
eleven o'clock. .

I was pretty tired, so I lay down
for a little nap, and had just dropped
asleep when Annie came into the room,

wringing her hands and saying, “Oh,
ma'am! Oh, ma’am! What’ll I do in
the world?”

It seems that she had taken the fish
out of the safe and put it, pan and all,
on the table, and then, remembering I
had told her to sprinkle a little pepper
on it, she went to the closet tbr per
pepper-box, and when she came back,
the pan was empty!

“The cat stole it, Annie,” I said.

“Indade and she didn’t. The inno-
cent cratur was lyin’ on my bed and
the door shut.”

I tried to quiet the girl; but I told
her at last she could go home that

night, only she must dry her eyes and
run to the butcher’s for a steak, for the
master would be home with a strange
gentleman in half an hour. We man-
aged to get the steak cooked, and papa
tried to laugh Annie out of the notion
of a ghost stealing our beautiful fish,
but the girl would not smile and was
afraid to be left alone in the kitchen.
So after tea she packed up her things
and was to take the stage to the depot ;
for Annie lived a long way off.

Just before the stage came as I was
standing at the gate, my eyes full of
tears at losing my nice little servant all
on account of a fish, I saw the lady who
lived across the way open her gate and
come toward our house. I saw the
stage stop a few doors off as she came
to our gate and bowing to me said: :

“Excuse me, we are strangers, but
did you lose a fine trout to-day?”

She must have thought me mad, for
I .rushed into the house and called:
“Annie, Annie, I’ve found the fish!
Now put your things back in the bureau,
you silly girl.”

Then I went back and invited my
neighbor in, telling her about Annie’s
fright.

“Why, it was our Nero—our great
dog! Iwas away at my mother’s or I
would have brought it back, for I was.
sure it belonged to you. Nero must
have slipped in, nabbed the fish, and
brought it to our house. He laid it on
the kitchen floor, as if he had done
a very good deed, my girl tells me,
and she, foolish thing, thought he had
brought it from my mother’s, and.
cooked it.”

We had a hearty laugh at our stupid
servants, and were great friends from
that day, and I never see a picture of
fish for sale, but I think of my first
trout, which I prepared for dinner with
such care, but never tasted. Annie
never dared say “ghosts” after that,
and lived with us till Dick was three
years old. But there is papa, and these
ittle girls must have a piece of cake
and run home.



gai aI ae

PS Arete te GN
ee EN








JOHNNY’S GARDEN.



Johnny had a garden plot,
And set it all in order,

But iet it run to grass and weeds,
Which covered bed and border.

Two stalking sun-flowers reared their
heads,
So firmly were they rooted,
And Johnny, as he looked at them,
Was any thing but suited.

Two children small, looked up and said,
Oh, Mister, beg your pardon!
Or, if you will not answer that,

Say, sonny, where’s your garden?

“ What d’yecall those two large flowers ?
An’ what’ll ye take, an’ sell em?
You'd better put a ladder up,

So folks our size can smell ’em.

“We heard old Mrs. Grubber say,
‘That spot ye needn't covet ;
He’d better turn it into hay,

>9)

Or make a grass-plot of it.

But Johnny never answered back,
But went and dug it over,
And soon again, his sprouting seeds,

He plainly could discover.

He said, “I'll have a garden yet,
And make a little money;
I never liked those Podger twins,—

They try to be so funny.”

BOY BILLY AND THE
RABBIT.
Billy, boy! Billy, boy!
He was his mother’s joy,
But he couldn’t shoot an arrow worth a.
cent ;
And a rabbit almost laughed .
As she watched the flying shaft,
And the place upon the target where it.
went.

The rabbit passing by,
So very soft and sly,
Took Billy for a hunter gaily dressed ;
But when she came anear,
She said, “’Tis very clear
It’s safe enough to stay and take a
rest.”

Said the rabbit, “Billy, boy,
You never will annoy
Anybody, by your shooting at a mark ;
With an arrow and a bow,
I just would like to show,
I can reach the bull’s-eye nearer in the
dark.”

Just then an arrow flew,
That pierced it thro’ and thro’
Which made Miss Bunny start, and.
jump, sky high!
She cried, ‘‘Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
It’s safer in the rear;”’
And scampered off and never said,—
“Good-bye.”

You see the reason why,
"Tis always best to try,
Tho’ others laugh and slander all the
same ;
For be it late or soon,
They'll always change their tune,
When they see your arrow doesn’t miss.
its aim.



A CHRISTMAS STORY.



A long stretch of ocean beach—chil-
dren at play on the white sands—blue
dimpled waters sparkling in the early
morning sunlight, and dotted wit
snowy Sails, while a long line of dull
smoke against the horizon showed
where a great steamer with its freight
of living souls was going down to sea.
Men and boys are gathered in knots,
earnestly talking—fish-wives, with their
short, scarlet skirts, and kerchiefs tied
over their heads, are passing to and fro.
There seems to be an undercurrent of
excitement—what is it? Turning to

our left, in a wide cove or natural har-

or, can be seen a large vessel riding
at anchor, all equipped and manned,
ready to start on an ocean voyage; and
this is the cause of the unusual stir and
bustle in the quiet hamlet. Soon from
the straggling row of cottages come the
sailors, with their wives, and children
clinging to the mothers’ skirts. Slowly
they walk down to the shore, where
small boats are waiting to row them
over to the ship. Lingering as long as
they can, the time of parting comes,
and many a tearful farewell is spoken.
One fine fellow seemed very loth to
part with his wife, a pretty, red-cheeked
young woman ; but the men called him.
“‘ Aye, aye, mates,” he said; and witha
“‘good bye Tom,” “God bless you Mar-
gery,” and a tender kiss upon the face
of the sleeping babe in her arms, he
stepped into the boat, and was quickly
aboard the great vessel, which was soon
to bear him away from home and loved
ones. The little group on the beach
watched until the white sails were
filled, and like a huge bird with out-
spread wings she sailed away, and was
soon but a speck against the sky. The
women went sadly back to their onely
cottages, but the men remained to tal
over the event.

The summer passed quickly to the
waiting ones, for there were the fish to
be dried, and the little gardens to be

18

tended, as their winter’s store must not

fail, with good-man away. To Margery

the days did not pass unhappy, for she
took great pride and joy in her baby
boy. Stormy nights she never forgot
to set a lighted candle in the window;
it comforted her somehow, for although
the tiny blaze could not be seen out to
sea, yet she thought some poor, storm-
beaten wanderer on the rocky coast
might see the house-light, and know
that shelter was near. She often won-
dered, as she looked over the wide wild
ocean, where her sailor boy could be;
and she ever put up a prayer for his
safety. Well she knew the temptations
of a sailor, and she believed God would
keep him in the right way and bring
him back to her. But the long bitter
winter set in, and oh, the dreary, dreary
days that followed, for there is little of
interest going on ina fishing village.
They are mostly quiet, homely folk,
honest and hard-working. But as the
Christmas-tide drew near, each began
their simple preparations, as the men
were expected back atthattime. With
the rest, Margery made bright as hands
could makeit, herlittle house. Through
the day she stepped around at the duties
with a tender, happy light in her eyes;
baked the sweet seed-cakes, put them
away, got out the great pink corals—
Tom’s precious gift—and in the evening
when the wind blew, and the waves
dashed with a sullen roar against the
beach, she gathered her boy in her
arms and crooned qauint sailor ballads
to him, while listening, ever listening,
for a familiar step. Oh, a sailor’s wife
must be patient and brave. Often when
thousands of miles from home, our
sailor would, in his loneliness, be
tempted to fall in a snare; perhaps it
was ina foreign port, and his mates
grew boisterous over the wine-cup, or
it was on board the ship, and his watch
off—the jolly tars would say ,—‘“‘Come -
Tom, give us a hand at cards to-night.”
But the thought of his trusting wife,
her prayers, and their innocent child,
always restrained him. But at last











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they were homeward bound, and every
man’s heart leaped with joy, when the
thought of home and its loving wel-
come ; for they expected to be in haven
at the Christmas time. One wild night,
as Tom stood at the tiller, the snow
falling thick and fast, he heard the first
mate shout in quick alarm to the cap-
tain. Soon hoarse voices were giving
orders back and forth ; a severe gale was
upon them, and the danger was great,
but he stood at his post while the cord-
age above him creaked and strained and
the vessel rocked and groaned as though
in mortal gochey Every moment it
seemed ready to go to pieces. Tom
thought of his waiting ones, and gave
them up, for he felt no ship could live
in a sea like that.

All night the storm continued, but
calmed down with the dawn of day. Af-
ter clearing away the wreckage on deck,
for the storm had made havoc with the
rigging, and repairing the mishaps, they
found they were many miles out of their
course. Thankful they were that the
peril was past, but the men’s hearts
were heavy, for they feared there would
be no Christmas on shore for them.
But the captain cheered them, and re-
minded them that the “Sea Gull” was
a fast sailor.

All day the fishermen in groups





scanned the waste of waters—the “ Sea.
Gull” was due several days past, and
hearts were growing anxious, for there
had been mighty winds and terrible
storms of late. |

In her cottage, Margery was waiting
with ill-concealed impatience; twenty
times a day she would go to the window
and watch for a sail.

Christmas eve came, it seemed her
heart was bursting with suspense,
while, with her boy in her arms, she
made every thing ready ; the table was
Spies the fire blazed on the hearth,
the mistletoe hung over the door, when
she bethought her, “here, baby mine,
place a shining green cluster of holly
on the father’s ship,” and she held
the laughing babe up to a miniature
boat upon the mantel. As she did
so, a step was heard outside, the door
unlatched, and Margery was eee
in rough, blue-coated: arms. Tom had
come,—“ Merry Christmas, wife! merry
Christmas, little lad!” and a happier
family were never re-united.

There was great joy in the little ham-
let by the sea that night; and over all
shone the Star—the same heavenly ray
which guided the wise men across the
plains of Jericho, where lay the sleep-
ing Jesus, whose birth we love to
celebrate.













21



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STORY OF LAWRENCE
GRAY.



“Well, all right, don’t go,” said Hal-
sey Bonner. ‘ You're a pet lamb, that’s
what you are, and I always knew it.
If you had the pluck of a bull-frog,
you'd do as I want you.”

“T will do as you want me, but don’t
I tell you I’m afraid? Grandma will
find out I haven’t been to school, and
she’s so good to me,” said little Law-
rence Gray.

“Baa! baa!” said Halsey, derisively,
“you give me your skates and I'll hide
them in my overcoat pockets till to-
morrow, and we’ll skate down to the
Gypsy camp, and they’! let us race their

22

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ponies and they'll sell us some of
their things; they've got trick
toys, that Itmake a racket in school.
Bring a big lunch with you; tell
your Grandmother that you get
tremendous hungry these days,
and we'll have the biggest fun!”

This was said as the two koys
wended their way homeward after
school, and the prospective “fun”
was to be enjoyed on the morrow.

“All right,” said Lawrie, “if
you won't call me ‘pet lamb’ any
more, I’ll go.”

“Well, keep mum atout it,
and be sure to bring plenty of
doughboys along.” ‘These were
odd-looking, fried sweet-cakes,
that Lawrie’s Grandmother made,
because he liked them, and ce
found a ready acceptance wit
Halsey, although his father had a
hired cook, and Halsey had French
novelties to dine upon.

Lawrie rushed into his Grand-
mother’s sitting-room, as red-
cheeked and boisterous as ever,
and the old lady smiled pleasantly
at him, and when she saia,
Deary, there’s a big, red apple
on the mantel-shelf for you,” he
felt a pang, and something come
into his throat like a great lump.

But those feelings passed away im-.
mediately, and he began to think of
the good time he should have in the
company of that fearless companion
and jolly good fellow, Halsey.

The cakes that Halsey would surely
ask for were not so easily obtained.
If Lawrie should ask for more than his
usual ration, his Grandmother would
ask questions, and he would not be
able to stand that ordeal. He peeped
into the pantry, and there was a beau-
tiful platter full of them, and some
little, round mince pies, that were made
on purpose for Lawrie’s lunch, on an-
other.

“TI don’t think it would be very bad
to take a handkerchief full of ‘them
now, and by-and-by come and get some

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more. I must take enough, because
we're to be gone all day,” he thought.

He slyly carried them up to his room,
and hid them, and when _ bed-time
came, he kissed his Grandmother good-
night, but she seemed to hold him
closer to her than usual, and look at
him in a sweeter way. This he thought
of, afterward. The excitement of the
coming good time, and the fact that he
had never played truant before, pre-
vented him from falling immediately to
sleep, and the full moon had come up
above the woods and looked into his
window in a wide-awake way, and he
tossed about restlessly.

What should he do with the good
things he had secreted? He certainly
could not take them when he went to
school to-morrow, and there they were,
an unmistakable proof of ilfering
They must be got out of the house in
some way, he thought. If they were
only outside in some convenient place,
they could carry them off unobserved.
Betty, the house-girl, would get the
credit of taking them, and it didn’t
make much difference if she did, “She
is an awful sassy thing,” he said to
himself.

All sounds in the house had at last
subsided, and for some time he thought
and thought of what should be done.
He hit upon it at last. He would get
up and dress and take the cakes and

les in a basket and softly leave the

ouse, and deposit them under a lit-
tle, low bridge, that crossed a frozen
stream, a short distance down the road.
They would be perfectly safe there till
school time, and a turn of the road
effectually hid the bridge from his
home.

No sooner thought of, than he began
to put the scheme into operation. He
wrapped the cakes up in a towel, and

utting them in a basket, went noise-
essly down the carpeted staircase in
his stocking feet, carrying his shoes in
one hand. He turned the key softly in
the front door, and then returned to
~ the hat-rack for his overcoat and cap.

Do not think he did all this without,
a warning from conscience; no, he felt
an anxiety and fear that made him turn
back once and blush hotly; but then,
how could he boast of his courage to
Halsey, to-morrow. Then, again, if he
backed out now, there was Halsey’s
ridicule, which to Lawrie was simply
unbearable.

He went out into the road, and run-
ning swiftly in the direction of the
bridge, he turned as he reached the
bend and looked back at hishome. All
was quiet. Not the least fear that
he had been discovered. He turned
the bend, and, running down the bank,
stooped under and crept along a few
feet into the arch. He set the basket
in a safe place and turned to go out,
when he saw, between him and the
light, the figure of a rough-looking
man, stooping down and peering into
the arched opening.

Lawrence’s heart bounded in his
breast ; fear seized him in every fibre
of his body. .

“Bill,” said the figure, “you jest stop
the hole on t’other side, there’s game
here!” The man spoken to ran into
the meadow, and prevented any escape
in that direction.

The speaker crawled under the arch,
seized Lawrie, bound a handkerchief
over his mouth to stifle his cries, and,
throwing a coarse bag over his person,
pulled him along the road. The other
man assisted, and in this manner, half
dragged and half carried, Lawrie was
taken, he knew not whither. He at-
tempted once to cry out, but he was
struck smartly on the head with a whip,
and bade to “shut up!”

They now seemed to have entered
the wood, as they stumbled against
trees, and the going became difficult.
Lawrie was well nigh insensible from
exhaustion. After awhile they stopped,
and tumbling him into a wagon, they -
carried Lawrie many miles from his
home.

Lawrie had been kidnapped by the
Gypsies. They brought him to their

23



camp, and their women treated him not
vnkindly in their rough way; but hard
work and miserable privation were be-
fore him, without any hope of escape.
Preparations were evidently making for
a hurried departure, and after a consul-
tation, from which Lawrie could only
gather the words, “nobs” and “re-
ward, he surmised that he would be
detained a prisoner until a sufficient
sum of money should be obtained to
release him.

Oh, the bitterness of that wrong-
doing! Dear, dear Grandma; with her
tenderness and thoughtful care; she
knew not the fate of her little boy.

The Gypsies left that part of the
country, carrying Lawrie with them,
his skin stained, and with ragged gar-
ments scarcely keeping out the frost.
Here we will Sige him.

His Grandmother was crazed with
grief at his absence. Her love for the
ay son of her dead daughter could not
be for a moment forgotten. She deter-
mined to travel to every Gypsy camp
she could hear of. It was surmised
that Lawrie’s fate was somehow mixed
up with the visit of those people to the
neighborhood. .

e shut up her house, took her lit-
tle hoard of money from the savings
bank, and went out to wander the wide
world for Lawrie. She met most kind
and sympathetic people, who directed

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and comforted her. It availed nothing.
A year had passed and Grandmother
had, traveled through many States—
many children were brought t” her,
but none of them were sunny-t tired,
cheery, bright-eyed Lawrie.

She had reached the city of St. Louis,
and had called a street-car, upon a seat
of which she sat, listless, discouraged—
meditating a return to her old home.

A wild-eyed, starved-looking boy
jumped into the car, from, no one
knew whither, screaming, ‘“ Grand-
mother! Grandmother!” man entered quickly and was about
seizing him, when Grandmother stood
up, looked closely at him, and then,
sinking upon the boy: breast, sobbed,
ae my own Lawrie, I have found

ou!

The policeman looked incredulous;
and they both went with him to 2
neighboring station.

This was Lawrie, who had escaped
from his hideous servitude, and was
begging his way homeward. The kind
policemen interested themselves for the
old lady and the boy. A suit of nice
clothes was purchased, and Grandma’s
money was not all spent, and they sped
on their rejoicing way, to the pleasant
home in New England.

No one has felt more bitterly than
Lawrie, that “The way of the trans-
gressor is hard.”

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THE LITTLE ORPHANS.

“T wont! I wont have my hair
turled!” said George Washington Dan-
forth, as he ran away from Jenny, the



' nurse.

“T wont have my face washed, and I
wont be dressed for breakfast all day,”
" said Grace, and she climbed upon the
- lounge and curled her feet under her.
Now, this rebellion had been coming
- on for a week. Jenny, the nurse girl,
had petted and coaxed and made large
" promises of candy, and sights at show
- windows.

These enjoyments had satisfied only
for a day, and a frowsy head and a
- night-dress toilet, with bare feet, were
now to be tried, whatever the nurse
might say to the contrary.

This perplexed Jenny very much.
She knew, if she persisted in com-
pelling these thoughtless children to
submit, there would be jumping and
screaming and other naughty behavior.
So she sat down, and pretending to
cry, brought out her pocket handker-
chief and sobbed, as she thought, most
effectively.

It didn't do; George Washington put
both his little fat fists up to his eyes,
and imitated, as well as he could, the
heart-breaking sounds Jenny was mak-
ing, and then laughed till he couldn’t
stand up, at his own performance.

Grace liked the feeling of the soft
carpet under her bare feet, and went
through with a figure of the “ Buttercup
Dance,” much to her own satisfaction.

“Jenny, you can’t catch me!” said
Grace, racing round the nurse in funny
gymnastics.

“Qo tan’t tech me!” echoed George.
At that moment, mamma, passing the
door, could not understand what such a
noise meant, and came in.

Then Jenny related to her the exist-
ing state of things.

Mamma looked very serious, and
called George to her, and taking him
on her lap, sat down on the lounge be-
side Grace.

2

“Jenny,” she said, “I have some-
thing to tell the children, and you may
leave them with me.” |

“ Mamma, what are oo going to do?”
asked George. Grace said, “I’m going
to have bare feet all day, mamma!”

“T have a little story to tell you, and
then we will talk about that afterward,”
said her mamma.

The stories were pleasant to’ hear,
and no one could tell them like their
mother, so they became quiet instantly,
and she commenced:

“There were three little orphans,
whose names were Lena, Fritz and Bis-
marck. They were very poor and wan-
dered about, begging for a morsel to
eat, and many times, when nightfall
came, they didn’t know where they
should sleep.

“They tried to sing in front of peo-
ple’s houses, but no one cared to listen -
to their little weak voices, and they did
not make any thing in this way. They
went bare-footed all summer, and when
it became cold they still had no protec-
tion for their little blue feet. No one
knows, but such as these, how cold and
hard the stones are, and how these lit-
tle ones suffered.

“They could look into lovely homes,

and see children tucked away, warm

and snug in their pretty beds, while the
frosty wind blew around themselves,
and they huddled together in some half-
sheltered place, in an old barn, or in
some barrels or dry-goods boxes.

“They were glad to eat what little
boys and girls like you waste—the
crusts, the crumbs and the fragments
of nice breakfasts. How glad they
would have been to have had some
good person like Jenny to take care of
them. Oh, my little dears don’t know
how dreadful it is to trudge through
the cold and beg.

‘‘No one offered to do any thing for
them, and, worst of all, other children,
when they saw them coming, made fun
of them, of the queer-looking caps
Fritz and Bismarck wore, and of the
old-fashioned, ragged dress the little

25



Lena had on, and to amuse themselves
they would throw stones slyly at them,
so that the beggars had to go away as
quickly as they could. If there had
only been some kind Jenny to say to
them:

‘Here, dear little ones, come in to
this pleasant home. I have a beautiful,
warm room for you to be in, and when
you have bathed yourselves in this
warm, bright water, you shall have the
choicest breakfast I can make for you.’”

“Do you think these hardly-treated
little ones would have been as unruly
as you were this morning? Do you
think they would have been saucy and
obstinate ?”’

The children did not say any thing,
but were very still and looked serious.

“One night, it was late, and they
had not yet found a place to stay, and
they looked in the window and saw
Gracie playing with her doll, and Geor-
gie riding his hobby-horse, and he had
his hair combed and his white dress
and red sash on, and Gracie would sit
her doll down into its cushioned, easy
chair, and then take her seat at the
piano, and sing and play, and after
walking about and looking in for a lit-
tle while, they went away sorrowfully.

“They went till they reached a neg-
lected cottage, where two old people
lived, and they crept in between some
mossy boards and broken beams and
snuggled up next to the chimney where
it was warm, and this was like heaven
to these shivering, hungry little waifs.

“They came to our house the next
morning, and I opened the dining-room
window, and asked them to come in,
but they were not used to seeing me
here, and were very shy, and I could
not prevail upon them to accept my
hospitality. They had been ill-treated
so often that they mistrusted every-

body.

“TI gave them their breakfast and
they went away delighted. I invited
them to come to-day and I’m sure they
will come. I had intended that you
should see them this morning, but you

26

are not ready. Here it is eight o'clock,
and Georgie hasn’t his face washed nor
his hair combed; and you, Gracie, in
your night-dress yet, and both of you
saying, ‘I wont! I wont!’ to every
thing nurse Jenny asks you to do.

The children both jumped down, and
racing after Jenny screamed out:

“Jenny, Jenny! we’re good now, we
want to be dressed right away to go
down to see the poor little orphans.”

Georgie submitted, with great pa-
tience, to the curling Jenny gave his
hair. It went into such pretty waves,
that when it was done it made him look
once more like a good little boy, that
had been gentle and obedient.

Gracie preferred to have on her lilac-
colored dress, dotted with tiny pink
rose buds, and her sash on; her hair
fell down over her shoulders in thick,
flaxen tresses.

They went down stairs in a very or-
derly manner, one on each side of
Jenny. When their mother met them
in the dining-room, she was so much
pleased to see the change in their ap-
pearance, that she kissed them both.

She said, “I hear my little friends
out there now;” and they all went to
the window. There stood three little
sparrows on the snow, their little blue
feet looking cramped and frozen. The
smallest one was trying to flutter its
ragged wings and be very cheerful.
They looked up, and did not seem
the least bit frightened.

They chirruped a “good morning”
to the children. Their mother told
them to bring a plateful of food she
had prepared for them, and to feed it to
them out of their hands. The birds
hopped about upon the window sill,
and then, as if by magic, came two
snow-birds, that wanted the crumbs
that lay on the snow.

“These little birds have slept all
night over next to that warm chim-
ney, said mamma, pointing across the
lawn, at old Mr. Gleason’s Fouse, “and
they come every morning to our win-
dow. You must be up and dressed if





you want to be kind to them. They
are the little orphans that I meant, and
I saw the cruel boys shoot their mother
as she was feeding them; at that time
they could only just fly. They have
struggled bravely with their misfor-
tunes. Our Heavenly Father cares for
them and you.

“Would it not be a disgraceful thing
for you, if these little birds were found
to be more gentle, obedient and truth-
ful than you?» You who have so much,
and are so tenderly cared for?”

The children looked with grave inter-
est at the little pensioners, regarding
them in an entirely new light, and felt
a good deal ashamed, when they. found
they were surpassed in good behavior
by those little sparrows.

“See their brown caps! Those two
must be Fritz and Bismarck, and that
ragged gray one is Lena. Mamma,
before next winter, mayn’t we have a
pretty warm house built for the little

irds, in the old oak, at the corner of
the piazza? They wont be cold and
hungry any more,’ said Grace.

This was decided upon, and a refer-
. ence only to the forlorn little orphans
was enough to bring the children to
a proper regard for themselves and
their behavior.

They became great friends, and
George and Grace cultivated many
graces of character in tending them.

WHICH WOULD YOU BE?

BY HOPE LEDYARD.



Who do you think is the happiest
little girl in this picture ?

Blossom says the one with the para-
sol is the happiest, and, when we asked
her why, she says,—“ Cause she’s got
the best szzgs.”’

But ¢hzngs do not make people happy.
That little girl, whom Blossom thinks
is so happy, is little Laura Holley.
She has no brothers or sisters, and her

mother is not welland strong; so Laura
is often very lonely. Laura is looking
at Mary Simpson, and wishes she were
Mary!

Mary has a brother and sister (they
are just in front of her), and Laura has
seen the three children playing in the
fields or picking berries on the roadside ;
and they are always having a good
time. Laura has only just come to
live in the country, and she does not
know Mary yet, but as she walks behind
her, she is saying to herself: “How
happy she must be! I mean to ask
her to let me play with her.”

And what do you think Mary is say-
ing ?—“QOh, there’s that pretty little
girl just behind us. I do hope Tommy
will be good, and that Polly won’t talk.
I hope she'll sit by me, sol can find
out her name. If she'll let me, I'll
show her that big blackberry bush that .
no one has seen yet. How nice it must
be to have pretty dresses, and a par-
asol !” |

Mary and Laura did sit together, and
as soon as school was over they began
to talk. Mary offered to show Laura
the blackberry bush on the way home.
So they walked together, Tommy run-
ning ahead, and Polly hanging a little
behind, until Laura offered to lend her
her parasol, when Polly walked ahead
of all, very proud and happy.

“I’m. afraid she’ll spoil it,
Mary.

«6 oh, no, she wont,” said Laura;
“and anyhow, I don’t need a parasol
here. other says I’m to get as brown
as a berry.”

“There’s the bush,” said Mary.
“Come right on the fence, and we can
pick a few, and put them ina leaf for
your mother.”

Mary scrambled over the fence in a
second, and Polly threw. down the
parasol, and crept under, but Laura
stood still in the road.

“I'd spoil my clothes,” she said. “I
wish I was dressed like you!”

“And I was wishing I was dressed
like her!” thought Mary. “But I

27

9?

said



wont wish it any more. Poor little
thing!”

‘Wait a minute, and we'll bring you
some; we'll put plenty of leaves to-

ether. Oh, Tommy, can’t you get a

ig cabbage leaf?”

ommy was off in a minute, and
soon they were all sitting on a big flat
rock, eating blackberries; or rather,
Laura and Polly were eating, while
Mary looked on. .

“IT saw you riding out with your
mother, last Friday,’’ she said.

“And I saw you riding on a great
load of hay; oh, how I wished I were
having such fun,” said Laura.

“Isn't that queer!” thought Mary.
‘Maybe I do have the best time of the
two! That was my father’s load of
hay,” she said out loud, “and _ to-mor-
row we're to go out and turn hay for
him. If you Tike, you can come too.”

“Tl ask mother; I’m pretty sure I
can go. What do you do when you go
home to-night ?”’

“We all sit down under a big tree
and tell father and mother about the
lesson, and then we sing hymns. My
father can sing beautiful, and mother
tells us a story; and we have supper
under the tree.”

“We have cookies on Sunday,” said
the little one, but Mary turned red, and
said,—" Hush!”

“Oh, how’ nice it must be!” said
Laura. “My mother can’t sit up to
tea very often, and father is in the
city; so I eat supper all alone. The
on y pleasant thing I can do is to read,
and I get tired of reading sometimes.”

“We have Pilgrim’s Progress, and
three hymn-books,” said Mary, “and all
our Sunday-school papers.”

“There’s father,” said Tommy.

Laura looked up and down the road,
but Mary explained that Tommy had
heard his father’s whistle, with which
he called the children to meals. So
the new friends parted, promising to
meet together by eight o’clock in the
morning, if Mrs. Holley were willing.

Laura’s mother was quite willing that

her little daughter should go to the
fields ; so at eight o’clock, Mary found
her new friend waiting at the foot of
the lane.

“I’ve brought a picture-book for
Polly, and a nice story for us to read,”
said Laura; ‘and mother told the girl
to put up lots of lunch, so you needn’t
go home at noon, and we'll have a
picnic.”

“How did you carry the basket?”
asked Mary, as she tried to lift the
lunch basket.

“T didn’t. I brought my servant!
Here, Ponto, take it!”

At these words a great big dog ran
up (he had been chasing a little red
squirrel) and took the basket in his.
mouth. He was, as Tommy said, “as
big as a pony;”’ and was so gentle that.
even Polly was not afraid to pat him.

What a lovely day they had !

They worked hard at turning the hay,
and then had a long “noon-spell,” that
lasted till six o’clock at night.

Laura came back to her mother with
her face burned, and her hair all tossed.
by the wind. _

“Qh, mother,” she said, “just think!
That little girl I told you about was
wishing she was me, and I was almost
wishing | was her! But I guess we
wouldn't either of us change, after all.
If only you were well, and strong, mother
dear, I could have such happy times.”

“T hope you will have many happy
times any way, little daughter,” said
Mrs. Holley, “but almost everybody,
little and big, says: ‘if—only.’” It is
just as well, dear, that we cannot choose
for ourselves. Still, I do hope to get
stronger in this lovely country air.”

So the two little girls, whom you see
in the picture, became good friends and
had many happy times, but I do not
think Mary wishes to be Laura, or
Laura cares to be Mary.

There is something in the life
of every one, that we would not be
willing to take, even though many
things in the same life might be pleas-
ant to us.











Saadeh St




RAGE IER RY Sy ren








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Pr yng eee te en
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THE LESSON AFTER
RECESS.



A bright little urchin out west,
Thought going-to school was a pest.
He said, “I don’t care,

I just won’t stay there,
Tll have a good time like the rest.

He said, “I'll run off at recess,
‘They'll never once miss me, I guess;
A fellow can't stop
When he’s got a new top.
There'll just be one good scholar less.”

Now the “rest’’ was a crowd of rough
boys,
‘Who with rudeness
noise,
Made one afraid
To go where they played,
But their riotous play he enjoys.

aid waisentcr aad

So away from his lessons he ran,
This promising western young man,



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Bo Lap



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7 age My

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They pushed him down flat,
Tore the rim off his hat,
Said, “There’s nothing so healthy as
tan.”

And they did what was very much
worse ;
They stole his new knife and his purse.
They gave him a shake,
And they called him a “cake;”
Said, “ Next time, bub, come with your
nurse.”’

Near sundown this urchin was found .
Fast asleep on some very hard ground;
He looked tired and grieved ;
He’d been so deceived,
And quite ready for home, I’ll be
bound.

The primary teacher, Miss Small,
When she heard his sad fate, forgave all,
My teacher’s a daisy!
I'm through being lazy.”
He said, “School’s not bad after all.”

wer

































back attracted
his attention.
Looking at it
: closely, he found it was part
at of a letter written to a young man,
; apparently, like himself, disheartened
with his difficulties. ‘Go on, sir, go
on,’ was the counsel ; “the difficulties.
you meet will disappearas youadvance.””
This short sentence seemed to give
the student fresh courage. Following
out these simple words he applied him-
self with renewed energy to his studies}
and ultimately became one of the most
learned men of his day. D.

FALSE SHAME.

Do not be ashamed, my lad, if you
have a patch on your elbow. It is no
mark of disgrace. It speaks well for
your industrious mother. For our part,
we would rather see a dozen patches
on your clothes than to have you doa
bad or mean action, or to hear a pro-
fane or vulgar word proceed from your
lips. No good boy will shun you or
think less of you because you do not
dress as well as he does, and if any one ~
laugh at your appearance, never mind
it. Go right on doing your duty.

HELPFUL WORDS.

A great astronomer was, once in his
early days, working hard at mathematics,
and the difficulties he met with, made
him ready to give up the study in de-
spair. After listlessly looking out of
the window, he turned over the leaves
of his book, when the lining at the

32









~~ THE SNOW BIRDS.

When skies looked cold and winter boughs
Gave out a crackling sound,

Two little snow-birds chilled, with frost,
Had fallen to the ground.

When Nelly came along that way,
And saw them sitting there ;
She thought them dead, “But no,” she
said,
“They need a little care.” '
She warmed them with her hand, and
gave
__ Them dainty crumbs to eat,
And then they oped their pretty eyes,
_ And stood upon their feet.

And lcoked up sweetly in her face,
And chirped, as if to say,

‘“We thank you for your tenderness,’
And then they flew away.

Where they had gone so suddenly,
She looked above to see,

And there they sat, a row of them,
Upon the maple tree.

They chirped and twittered as they
looked,
As much as they could do,
As if to say ‘“ Sweet little girl,
We will remember you.”

And to a friendship very sweet,
Her acts of kindness led,

For often would they follow her, ‘
And fly above her head.

But how they could remember her,
She never understood,

But papa said, “I think ’tis by

That little scarlet hood.’’

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FIRESIDE.









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How THE Days Went at SeA-GuLL BEACH,

No school! And the beautiful sum-
mer days coming so early in the
morning, that none of us children ever
could get awake to see the sun rise, and
staying so long that we grew quite
tired of being happy; and some of us,
Gracie and Jimmie in particular, were
so little, that they couldn’t stay awake
through the whole of it, and went off
into a nap every day after dinner.

But this was in the city, and when we
arrived.at the beach we didn’t get tired
or cross the whole day long. There
were many children at the hotel, and
when we came, with our dolls and toy
boats, our fishing-tackle and spades,
and pails, we made a host of friend
immediately. ‘

Reginald and Willie, our older broth-
ers, did not always go with Gracie and
Jimmie and me, bout made the acquaint-
ance of the men that went out to sea
to fish for the great hotels; and they
went oftentimes with them, and we
used to enjoy seeing the little boats
launched; they almost stood on end
when they went over the breakers,

36

making us scream with excitement and
delight. And as the little fleet grew
less and less, and at last disappeared,
we girls thought it was a grand thing
to have such brave brothers.

I was the elder girl, being ten, and
Gracie seven. Our Gracie was a lovely
little sister; she had large blue eyes,
and wavy brown hair, and was very
gentle and obedient, and people called
her “ Pet,” almost as soon as they be-
cage acquainted with her.

other had blue flannel suits made
for us, and dressed in these, with
sailor hats that had little tapping rib-
bons at the sides, we scurried along
the beach, climbed the rocks, or waded
out into the salt water.

But we had on our very prettiest
dresses in the evening, for the chil-
dren were allowed to have the grand
parlor, and dance to the music of the
band until nine o’clock. This was a
privilege we older ones talked of con-
tinually, and looked forward to all day.
We were so dainty, genteel, and good-
mannered for an hour, that it impressed





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even ourselves ; and boys and girls be-
came models of gentleness and _ polite
behavior, and the effect of those de-
lightful evenings has given growth and
direction to many graces in our char-
acters.

But the little ones, like Gracie and
her friends, really couldn’t stand the
excitement, and rolled around in odd
corners on the floor, or sought the
grateful obscurity behind the sofas, to
indulge in naps, long before nine
o'clock. I found Gracie, in her pink
sik dress and violet slippers, lying
curled up under the table, with her
head on the back of Bosin, the great
Newfoundland dog that had stolen into
the parlor against rules.

Nelson Faber was a little boy, not
much older than Gracie, and they
seemed to enjoy each other’s society
very much. He too oftentimes suc-
cumbed to sleepiness when we wanted
him to do his sailor dance; but when
the morning came, they were as rosy-
cheeked and bright-eyed as ever, and














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DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF THE BAND.

trotted along the pleasant walks with
their hoops and pails, inseparable
friends. It was fortunate for Gracie, too,
that he preferred to play with her,
rather than to go off with the boys, for
one day after a boisterous night, the
sea came up higher on the beach than
we had ever before seen it ; and unsus-
pecting Gracie was caught by a wave
and thrown down, and as it retired it
seemed to drag her along with it; we
older ones lost our presence of mind
entirely, and screamed and cried, and
did nothing, but that heroic little fellow
ran into the boiling surf and caught her
dress, and with the dog’s assistance,
dragged her to a safe place. She said
he was, ‘‘ Very nice and dood.”

,One day, some of my girl compan-
ions. proposed to visit the rocks that
lay at the mouth of Green river, just
where it gently met the ocean. Right
there, no end of sea-weed and shells,
and things thrown up by the ocean,
could be found; and there were such
curious rocks, with nooks and basins,

37



where the water stayed in tiny pools,
and there we went fishing, and brought
lunch, setting it out on the most con-
venient flat rock we could find. I tell
you, cold chicken, pickles, cheese, and
sponge cake, with milk, tasted as they

“What’s the matter, Milly,” wecried.
“Are you hurt? What did you see?”
we breathlessly shouted.

“Oh! oh!” was all she could gasp,
pointing toa place she had just left.
We all scrambled out instantly, and





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































It was a comical sight to see us navi-
gating ourselves in procession through
that water, but it was a very ques-
tionable joke, when Milly Sayre
jumped and screamed, and ran likea
frantic creature from the pool, and up
the rocks.



nevcr did peered
before or over the
since, to rocks into
our party the water.
of hungry What
children. should we
We climb- see but a
ed and fell, little crea-
and laugh- ture, gro-
ed, and tesque and
chatted, hideous,
with the that made
salt breeze its way
lifting our round in
hair, and the water,
fanning with as-
our brown tounding
faces, and celerity,
going out throwing
far on the out legs
point, we or claws,
came upon or what-
a little ever they
shining were, from
lake, sur- every point
‘rounded by of its cir-
rocks, upon cumfer-
which we ence. Its
could _ sit, body was»
and dabble flat and
our feet in was agreen
the water. color above
It was no and pink
place more under, and
than a foot to add to
deep, and its alarm-
we decided ing appear-
to wade INSEPARABLE FRIENDS. ance, it
“round in it. looked at

us with two black eyes, in a very sinister
and uncanny manner. We Iooked at
each other with blanched faces and
speechless horror, and then kept asharp
lookout, lest it might take it into its
head (we couldn’t tell if it had any

| head, for the place where the eyes were,



‘WHAT MABEL DID.

ROE mee

Mabel broke a poppy up,
And threw the pieces on the
' water;
- .But.she did it all for fun,
~~. Mamma’s darling daughter.

Then she played that they were
boats
pang off, where toys . are
plenty |

Coming back with what she
wanted,

Pretty things, enough for
twenty.

Cats and donkeys, balls and
- — : tack m

nd a jumping} so jolly ;

And a pretty, gold-rimmed ea

set,
And a little coach for dolly.

‘““What are those things on the
stream ”
Said the cat-tails, quite un-
able
To make out, until they saw
By the brook-side, little Mabe

“Ah, we have it!” then they

said,—
"Tis a funny girl we know,
Broke a scarlet poppy up,
Just to see the pieces go.

When she gets a little older,
Mamma then will say to
Mabel,
“Put the scarlet poppies, dear,
In a vase, upon the table.”








did not seem different from any other
part of its body,) take it into its “in-
ternal consciousness, to crawl out on to
the rocks and chaseus. It got through
the water in a distracting manner,
which was really quite amusing after a
few moments, and from being horribly
frightened, we became interested when
we found it did not attempt the offen-
sive. We gave it some lunch and
called it “ Jack Deadeye,” and for the
whole afternoon he was the center of
attraction.

“Let us take him back with us,” I
proposed. “We can get him into a
pail, and then we can have him in some
pool nearer home, and see what he’ll
turn into. I don’t believe but what
he'll be something else in a few days.”

My knowledge of natural history had
always been lamentably meager, and
more than once I had brought the
laugh upon myself by my ignorance.
So I forbore to predict what would be
his ultimate form of beauty.

“A whale!” said Susie Champney.

“Oh, dear, no; whales don’t have’

legs and claws,” said Estella Bascom.
“It’s a tadpole.”

“You’re mistaken there,” said Ma-
mie Fitz Hugh; “tadpoles are just the
little jokers that do have tails, I’ve
seen hundreds of them, and this crea-
ture has no tail.”

Weall rushed again to the edge of the
rocks to lookat him, with added wonder.

“Well, we'll take that tad home on
a pole, any way,” said Nannie White,
who was the cutest girl to say things
in the whole crowd. She immediately
ran off to secure a piece of drift that
was tumbling about on the wet sand.
But how to get him into a pail was the
next problem. A committee of the
whole was called. I thought we could
obstruct his path by putting the mouth
of the pail in front of him, and then
when he sailed into it, we could in-
stantly pull him out. This was decided
upon; but how to get it down to him
without falling in? A bright idea struck
me. I whipped off my flannel sash, and

running it through the handle, dashed
it into the water; but that proceeding
only frightened him—we must move
more cautiously. We worked for an
hour and had him in twice, but were so
excited both times that he escaped.

First time, Totty Rainsford shouted,
“We've got him!” and immediately
rolled off the rocks, head first, into the
water. We were all so scared, with the
water splashing, and she screaming at
the top of her voice, “Save me! Save
me!” that Jack got away. She scram-
bled out pretty lively, and when we got
him in again, we were all seized with
another fit of laughing at Totty, who,
in her moist predicament, was jumping
round to dry herself, because she didn’t
want to go home, that he crawled out
as leisurely as possible. But we se-
cured him at last, safe in the pail; and
to prevent his crawling out, I clapped
my sailor hat over the top of it, and the
elastic kept it down tight. We put the
pole through the handle and Estelle
and myself took hold of the ends, and
we came near losing him every few
minutes, owing to the inequalities of
the ground. The pail would slide down
to either end, as the pole inclined, and
Estella would drop it and scream when
she saw the pail traveling noiselessly
toward her, and if it hadn’t been for
my happy thought of putting the hat
over him, he'd have got away to his
“happy hunting grounds,” or rather,
waters, in short order.

We arrived at the hotel at last, with
Jack all safe, and the rest of the girls
went to dress for dinner, and left me
to find the boys, to help me deposit
him in a secure place, for we were sure
we should very greatly astonish: the
boarders and achieve renown as having
discovered a new species of marine
beast.

The boys were in a perfect ecstacy
of curiosity to see what the girls had
caught. When I carefully took off the
hat, I found the water had all leaked
out, and his .monstership lay kicking
and crawling at the bottom.

)

4I



“Ho! ho! ho!” shouted Willie, “is
that what-cher call a curiosity ?”’

“Qh, Flossie! you have been dread-
fully taken in,” said Regy.

“Oh, no,” I said, “it’s this wonder-
ful animal that’s been ‘taken in,’ and
he’s going to be kept in, too.”

I began to feel, though, that
there was a great laugh somewhere
in the future, and that it was com-
ing at our expense.

“Why, Flossie! it’s nothing but
a baby crab,” said Regy. “I can
get a peck of them in an hour, over
in the river.”

__I felt greatly chagrined, and
blushed with mortification. The
boys kept bursting out laughing

turn him on his back, all of which
caused me to scream every time, and
sent tremors all over me.

“What-cher goin’ to do with him?”
inquired Willie.

“T shall study his habitudes, and im-
prove my knowledge of the crustacea,”’










HOW MANY GIRLS DID IT TAKE TO LAND HIM?

every few minutes, asking such ques-
tions. as:

‘“‘How many girls did it take to land
him?” “Was he gamey, Flossie?”
“Did ye bait him with a clam-shell, or
an old boot? they’ll snap at 4 thing.”

“Oh! I’d given away my dinner to
have been there!’”’ and then Regy
would stir him up with a stick, and

42

said I, giving him a sentence directly
out of my text-book. “I shall look at
him every day.”

“Yes, aad he'll look at you every
night. I have read a book that told
about a traveler that offended a crab
once, and he informed the other crabs,
and they all made for him at night, and
twenty thousand of them came that



night and crept under his tent,
and sat there and looked at him.
And there he was in the middle
of them, and you know their
eyes are fastened in their heads
by a string, and they can throw
them out of their heads and
draw them back again; and, at
a signal, they all threw their
eyes at him. He was so horri-
fied that night, that he got insane
and had to be sent toa lunatic
asylum.”’

‘T’ve heard your stories before,
Regy, and I simply don’t credit
them. We girls are going to
hunt up a pond to put him in, «
where we can pet him, and edu-
cate him.

“You'd best hunt up a frying
pan to put him in; he’s
capital eating for breakfast,
well browned, with hard-
boiled eggs and _ parsley
round him,” said Reginak.

I told him if he couldn’t
do any better than to lhe
there and make an exhibi-
tion of his bad taste and
ignorance, he’d
better get up and
work off the fit.
I insisted upon
his helping me
to fill the pail
with salt water,
and hang him acai
upon the rocks 2%
until we could
make a future,
permanent dis-
posal of him.

That evening
our parlor man-
ners
were
some-
what



















































less decorous and elegant, owing to
the fact that Reginald and Willie had
been industriously circulating the epi-
sode of the morning, with such addi-
tions as they thought would add point
and piquancy, among the rest of the
boys, and there was no end of innu-
endo and witticism indulged in, that
caused the young gentlemen to retire
in groups and laugh; and we could
hear such remarks as, “Dick, there
was a whale hooked on this coast this
afternoon, did you know it?” Or, “I
think Jack Deadeye is the most comical
character in Pinafore, he’s so crabbed.”

The girls of our party stood it as they
best could; and in the morning we
stole out to look at our prize, after the
boys had gone off, but the tide had
swept Jack and the pail out to sea.

It was a long time before we heard
the last of it, however,



A

‘MAX AND BEPPO.
Down by the lake they trotted, .
All the summer day ;
Max and Beppo never plotted
Yet, to run away.
Two little donkey pets, Oh, I loved
them so!
When I was in Switzerland, just a year
ago,

How they liked bananas!
And our apples sweet ;
They had lovely manners,
Every thing they’d eat.

44

Then, I’d rub their furry ears, and
they’d shake their bells,

While old driver Raspar, funny stories
tells.

Max turns round and winks so pretty,
Little, sharp round eyes;
Beppo sings a jolly ditty,
Quite to our surprise.
Then we mount, and off we go, up and
down the mall,
Never do they careless trip, never make
a fall.

Once, a princess royal
Wanted little Max;
How to part those friends so loyal,
Her little brain she racks.
She would give her gold and silver, in
a little purse,
Then throw in for measure good, her
scolding English nurse!

Then she cried, and chattered
All her pretty French,
And her little feet she pattered,
On the rustic bench.
‘‘ My papa is king,” she said, “and I'd
have you know,
I shall have the donkey, and to prison
shall you go,”

How their tiny feet would scamper,
Up the valley blue,
Carrying each his generous hamper,
And his rider, too.
Sure of foot, they’d clamber round the
mountain spur
Where the foot-sore tourist scarcely
dared to stir.

In this bright, sunshiny weather,
I remember with a sigh,
We no more can play together,
Beppo, Max and 1
Never dearer friends exist, in this world
below,
Than I made in Switzerland, just a year
ago.












THE BIRDS’ ‘QM

CONCERT. %

;

MRS. L. L. SLOANAKER.



There’s going to be a concert
Out in the apple trees ;
When the air is warm and balmy,
And the floating summer breeze
Waft down the pale pink blossoms
Upon the soft green grass :—
A lovely place to sit and dream,
For each little lad and lass!

The concert will open early
When the sun lights up the skies :-—
You'll miss the opening anthem
If you let those sleepy eyes
Stay closed, and.do not hasten
Out ’neath the orchard trees,
Where the pink and snowy shower

Is caught in the morning breeze.









































arti











re







mu
a TitR

rat
Muti




Mi



The robins will swing in the branches,
And carol, and whistle and sing.
The thrush, who is coming to-morrow,
Will a charming solo bring.
The wrens will warble in chorus,
Rare music, so touching and sweet;
The orioles sent for their tickets,

And will surely give us a treat.

The concert will open at sun-rise,
All the June-time sweet and fair ;
There'll be a grand full chorus,

For a// the birds will be there.
The concert is free to the children,
And is held in the apple trees,
And the birds will sing in a chorus,

‘OQ come to our concert—please!





“WHERE’S SOPHIE?”
Sophie climbed the garden trellis,
Plucked the finest grapes in view;
How they shone with red and amber,
As the sun came glinting through.

She was taking painting lessons,
And she paused and gazed at them;
“Oh,” she said, “a pretty picture,
Grapes and green leaves on a stem.

“TI will leave them here, unbroken,
Close beside the garden walk;
Look!” she said, to Cousin Mary,
“Just anear this broken stalk.”

Off they went through pleasant path-
ways;
Staying longer than they knew,
By a russet, leaf-strewn border,
With its asters, pink and blue.

Then their friendly gossip over,
Homeward as they turned to go; -
“Oh, the grapes!” said Sophie, quickly,

“We must go for those, you know.”

When they reached the precious clus-
ter,
Five bold Sparrows pertly stood,
Pecking at the grapes beside them,
Chattering in a wanton mood.

“Look! Oh, look!” said cousin Mary,
“Sparrows at your luscious store!”
“Shoo!” said Sophie, “was there ever

Such a piece of work before?”

Filfering sparrows, you have taught me,
By this loss, a lesson true;

When a bunch of grapes I gather,
Just to keep them safe from you.

48

“TF I CAN, I WILL.”



I knew a boy who was preparing to
enter the junior class of the New York
University. He was studying trigo-
nometry, and I gave him three exam-
ples for his next lesson. The following
day he came into my room to demon-
strate his problems. Two of them he
understood; but the third—a very
difficult one—he had not performed.
I said to him,—“ Shall I help you?”

“No, sir! I can and will do it, if you
give me time.”

I said: “I will give you all the time
you wish.”

The next day he came into my room
to recite another lesson in the same
study.

“Well, Simon, have you worked that
example ?”’

“No, sir,” he answered; “but I can
and will do it, if you will give mea

little more time.”

“Certainly, you shall have all the
time you desire.”

I always like those boys who are de-
termined to do their own work, for they
make our best scholars, and men tco.
The third morning you should have
seen Simon enter my room. I knew
he had it, for his whole face told the
story of his success. Yes, he had it,

| notwithstanding it had cost him many

hours of severest mental lator. Not
only had he solved the problem, but,
what was of infinitely greater import-
ance to him, he had begun to develop
mathematical powers which, under the
inspiration of “I can and I will,” he
has continued to cultivate, until to-day
he is professor of mathematics in one
of our largest colleges, and one of the
ablest mathematicians of his years in
our country.

My young friends, let

your motto
ever be,—‘“ If I can, I will.’



Buen








a Mey



As I walked.
in my garden to-day,













I saw a family sweet.
\ a 7
Sag DIME Many wee faces looked up,
Nah

yr

yi

i

a
“4
\

) % Ke SN
\
ae

WY un
x. AW
»

NYY cn
Ne
NY yy f

\

\\ From their cool and shady retreat.

i

Some had blue eyes and golden

curls,

e Some dark eyes and raven locks,
SN

NN i Some were dressed in velvets so rare,
And some wore quaint, gay frocks.

I asked these babies so dear,

SSS
SSS

Le

~~

To com2 and live ever with me!

e3

<
S



= oe
4 WES



LITTLE ELSIE.

FAITH LATIMER.





“T don’t thee ath a Chineth baby
lookth any differenth from any other
folkth baby, do you, Perthy?”’

“That's what I am trying to find
out,” said Percy, whom his little sister
May called her “big brother;” for
only that morning she had said to her
mother,—“I will athk Perthy, he ith
tho big, he muth know every thing.”

Percy was as full of wonder as little
May over the baby sleeper. He wanted
to see the back of her head, but it
was resting on the soft pillow, and the
eyes were tightly closed. May stood
at the foot of the bed longing, and yet
afraid, to pull up the cover, and look at
the little feet. “Do you thpect she
wearth pink thatin thlipperth like thothe
in the glath cathe?” she said.

The voices did not waken the baby
even when Percy made May give a little
scream as he pulled her braided hair,
and carried off the ribbon, saying,—
“You've got a Chinese pig-tail anyway.”
Did you ever see a big brother do any
thing like that? Then Percy went out
and slammed the door, and left little
May thinking very hard, and the baby
asleep, after all that noise. What
was May thinking about? She had
heard mamma talk a great deal about
China, and had seen queer pictures of
eople with bald heads and a long
raid of hair hanging down behind, and
in the cabinet in the sitting-room was
a pair of tiny pink satin slippers, so
small that her little hand could just go
into one of them. Then she had a
Chinese doll with almost a bald head,
and the queerest shaped eyes ; and that
was why she and Percy wanted this baby
to wake up that they might see what
she looked like. That very morning
while the children were visiting their
randmother, a carriage came to their
house, bringing a little baby and its
mother; and by the time they got
home, the child was in May’s crib, fast

52

asleep, and the two mothers were talk.
ing together as they had not done for
years before. Baby Elsie was not
easily wakened, for she never had a
very quiet place to sleep in. She was
quite used to strange noises on ship.
board, creaking ropes and escaping
steam, loud voices giving orders to
sailors, sometimes roaring waters and
stormy winds. She had been man

nights in a railroad sleeping-car, and
she was not disturbed by the rush of
wheels, or the whistling of the locomo-
tive. Before that, she Tived part of her
little life on a boat in a narrow river,
and a few months in a crowded, noisy
house. Does it seem as if she had
been quite a traveler? She had just
come all the way from China—a land
on the other side of the round world—
and that was the reason that May
called her a Chinese baby. Percy and
May had never seen Elsie’s mother,
although she.was their own aunt, for
she and her husband had been more
than ten years missionaries in China,
and had come on a visit to America.
Don’t you think the two mothers, dear
sisters, who had been so long and se
far apart, had a great deal to say to
each other? Do you expect they
wanted Elsie to sleep quite as much as
her cousins wanted her to wake? She
was a good child, but she knew how to

‘cry, and after a few days Percy said,—

“‘She’s not so much after all, she can’t
talk and tell us any thing, and when she
cries, she boo-hoo’s just as you do, May.”
In a week, two more Chinese travel-
ers came; the baby’s father, and
another cousin, Knox, a boy nine years
old. Did you ever fire off a whole
ack of Chinese fire-crackers at a time?
hat was almost the way that questions
were asked by the two boys, back and
forth, so quick and fast that there was
hardly time to answer each one. The
boy from Shanghai found as many
things strange to him as the New
York boy would have seen in China.
Percy, and May, although she could
not understand half she heard, were full



of wonder as Knox told of living on a
boat in the river, of so many boats
around them, where people lived
crowded together as closely as houses
could be on land. He told of the
cities, of narrow, crooked streets, all the
way under awnings, to be shielded
from the hot sun ; of riding many miles
in a wheel-barrow, with a Chinaman to
push it along the road. They all
aughed when Percy said they called
their cousin Elsie ‘a Chinese baby ;”
and the grown folks helped to tell
about the black-eyed babies over there,
wrapped up in wadded comforts and
placed standing, a great, round roll, ina
tall basket, instead of a cradle. Percy
thought the best thing he heard was
of a boy in a royal family. He had to
be well taught, for he must be a wise
scholar in Chinese learning, but no one
dared to touch or hurt him; soa poor
boy of low rank was hired and kept in
the house to take all the whippings for
him ; and whenever the young prince
deserved correction, the bamboo rod
was well laid on the poor boy’s back.
What would you think of such a plan?
Elsie’s father and mother were goin
back to China, but they were not will-
ing that Knox should grow up there;
he must go to some good school and
stay in this country. Even little Elsie
they dared not trust out of their sight
among the Chinese.

And so for the love of the dear Mas-
ter, who said,—‘*Go and teach all
nations,’ they were willing to leave
father and mother, and home, loving
sister and friends, even their own young
children, for His sake.

Don’t you believe our heavenly Father
will watch over Knox and Elsie, and
make them grow up wise and true;
ready to go back to the land where the
were born, to carry on the good wor
their father and mother are doing in
that strange, far-off country?

Do you know of any ways in which
children at home can help such work
in China, or in other far-off foreign
lands? :

KITTY STRIKER

Little Kitty Striker saw
A handsome, fat, old goose
Out a-walking with her gosling.
And she said,—‘* Now what’s the use,
Of letting that old waddler have
Such a pretty thing as that?
I'll run right out and get it;
I'll go without my hat.”
Out she ran upon the dusty path,
On the grass, all wet with dew,
And the old goose turned round quickly,
She wished an interview.
And Kittv said,—“ Oh, open your mouth
As muca as ever you please ;
I’m going to take your gosling,
Because I love to tease
Such a cranky, impudent squawker as



ou.

Andshe laughed right out, and stooped

To take the toddling little thing,
When down upon her swooped,

The angry goose with hisses fierce,
And wildly flapping wing,

And gave her a nip that was no joke!
On the heel of her red stocking!

Miss Kitty screamed, but tightly held
The little yellow ball,

And you know she’d not the shadow of

rignt

To that goose’s gosling at all.

Then its mother made a terrible snap
At Kitty’s pretty blue dress!

And that thoughtless, mischievous little

irl,
Was’ pretty well frightened I guess.
For she jumped and screamed, danced
round like a top, :
And the goose’s eyes flashed red ;
And she struck her wings in Kitty’s

eyes,
And on her little brown head!
She dropped the gosling, and ran for
home,
Screaming, and crying,—“ Boo! hoo!
And learned a lesson she never forgot,
And it’s as wholesome for me and for

you,
That it’s best to be kind to our barn-
yard friends,
And let them have their fun too.

53



MAYING.

Phil says he thinks it is a great pity
when the May isn’t out till June, be-
cause you can’t go Maying if there
isn't any May, and it’s so stupid to go
Maying in June. Philis eleven months
and fourteen days younger than I am,
and his birthday is on the fourteenth of
February and mine is on the first of
March; so for fcurteen days we are the
same age, and when it’s Leap Year we
are the same age for fifteen days.

I don’t understand why it should be
a day more some years and not others,
but mother says we shall learn about it
by-and-by. Phil says he will like learn-
ing all that, but I don’t think I shall,
because IJ like playing better.

Phil and I have a Tittle dog of our
own, and he belongs between us. His
name is Dash. e came from the
Home for Lost Dogs, and we didn’t
know his name, so Phil and I sat on
the grass, and we called him by ever
name we could think of, until Phil
thought of Dash, and when Dash
heard that name he jumped up, and
ran to Phil, and licked his face. We
don't know what kind of dog he is, and
father called him a ‘terrier spaniel ;’
but he laughed as he said it, and so
we're not quite sure that he wasn’t in
fun. But it doesn’t matter what kind
of dog Dash is, because we are all fond
of him, and if you’re fond of any one
it doesn’t matter what they’re like, or
if they have a pretty name.

Dash goes out with us when we take
a walk, and I’m sure he knew yesterday
when we went out without leave, be-
cause we wanted to go Maying. There’s
a beautiful hedge full of May blossoms
down the lane and across the meadow,
and we did want some May very badly.
So Phil and I went without asking
m)‘hber, and Dash went with us.

We found the place quite easily, and
had pulled down several boughs of it,
when we heard a gruff voice calling to
us, and the farmer came up, asking what
we were doing to Azs hedge.

54



I said, ‘Please, we didn’t know it
was yours, and we want some May very
much, because to-morrow’s the first of
June, you know, and Phil says we can’t
go Maying then.”

The farmer didn’t say any thing until
he caught sight of Dash, and then he
called out, angrily,—“ If that dog gets
among my chickens, I shall have him
shot!”

We were so frightened at that, that
we ran away; and Dash ran too, as if
he understood what the farmer said.
We didn’t stop for any May blossoms.
though we had picked them, and we
did want them so, because of its being
the thirty-first of May.

Phil said the farmer was calling after
us, but we only ran the faster, for fear
he should shoot Dash. When we got
home, mother met us in the porch, and
asked where we had been; then we
told her all about the farmer, and how
we wanted to go Maving while we
could.

She laughed a little, but presently
she looked quite grave, and said,—“ I’m
very glad to find you have told me the
whole truth, because if you had not I
should still have known it. Farmer
Grey has been here, and he told me
about your having gone across his.
meadow that he is keeping for hay.
He has brought you all the May you
left behind, and he says you may have
some more if you want it, only you
must not walk through the long grass,
but go round the meadow by the little
side-path. He said he was afraid he had
frightened you, and he was sorry.”

Phil and I had a splendid Maying
after that. We made wreaths for our-
selves, and one for Dash, only we
couldn’t get him to wear his, which
was a pity.

But the best of all is that mother
says she can always trust us, because .
we told the truth at once; and Phil and
I think we would rather never go May
ing any more(though we like it so much)
than not tell herevery thing. I’m sure
it’s a very good plan, and we mean to



do it a/ways, even when we're quite |

grownup Mother laughs at that, and
says,—“ You will have your secrets
then ;” but Phil and I don’t think we
shall, because it couldn’t be a really
nice secret if we mightn’t tell mother.

>

GRACIE’S TEMPER.

“Once a gentle, snow-white birdie,
Came and built its nest,
In a spot you’d never dream of,—

In a baby’s breast.

Then how happy, gentle, loving,
Grew the baby, Grace;
All the smiles and all the dimples

Brightened in her face.

But a black and ugly raver.
Came one morn that way;
Came and drove the gentle birdie

From its nest away.

Ah! how frowning and unlovely
Was our Gracie then,
‘Until evening brought the white dove

To its nest again.

Children, this was Gracie’s raven,
This her gentle dove,—
In heart a naughty semper

Drove away the Jove.”

MONG
the pas-
sengers
on board
a river-
steam er
recently
was a
woman,

accom-

panied

by a bright-looking nurse-girl, and a

selt-willed boy, about three years old.

The boy aroused the indignation of
the passengers by his continued shrieks
and kicks and screams, and his vicious-
ness toward the patient nurse. He tore
her bonnet, scratched her hands, without
a word of remonstrance from the
mother.

Whenever the nurse showed any
firmness, the mother would chide her
sharply, and say,—‘ Let him have it,
Mary. Let him alone.”

Finally the mother composed herself
for a nap; and about the time the bo
had slapped the nurse for the fiftiet
time, a bee came sailing in and flew on
the window of the nurse’s seat. The
boy at once tried to catch it.

he nurse caught his hand, and said,
coaxingly :

“Harry mustn’t touch. It will bite
Harry.”

Harry screamed savagely, and began
to kick and pound the nurse.

The mother, without opening her
eyes or lifting her head, cried out,
S apy :

“Why will you tease that child so,
Mary? Let him have what he wants

at once.”

“ But, ma’am, it’s a—”

“ Let him have it, I say.”

Thus encouraged, Harry clutched at
the bee and caught it. The yell that
followed brought tears of joy to the
passengers.

The mother awoke again.

“Mary !”’ she cried, “let him have it.”

“ Mary turned in her seat, and said,
confusedly :--“ He’s got it, ma’am.”

55







THE SONG OF THE FIVE CHICKS.

Sang the first little chicken, Sang the fourth little chicken,
ith a queer little squirm, With a small sigh of grief,

“TI wish I could find “T wish I could find
A fat little worm.” A green little leaf.”
one the next little chicken, Sang the fifth little chicken,
ith an odd little shrug, ith a faint little moan,
“TI wish I could find “T wish I could find
A fat little slug.” A wee gravel stone.”
nae the third little chicken, ‘Now, see here,”’ said the mother,
ith a sharp little squeel, From the green garden patch,
“T wish I could find “If you want any breakfast,
Some nice yellow meal.” Just come here and scratch.”
:0:

A STRONG PULL,

| ‘ sh ge a
Three girls, Now we

With their curls, Can plainly see,
Three boys, That boys,

With their noisé, With their noise,
Are pulling to see, Are losing the game,

‘Which the stronger must be. And much cf their fame.








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a a er cE NE SERS



WINDSOR CASTLE.

This ancient and splendid pile is a fit-
ting residence for the sovereigns of
England. It impresses one with the
idea of supreme grandeur and formida-
ble strength, but it has reached its pres-
ent magnificence, by constant embel-
lishments and additions by successive
sovereigns.

It owes its origin to William the
Conqueror, that bold and progressive
Norman, who created here a fortified
hunting seat, where he and his brave
barons could enjoy themselves after
the “hunting of the deer” in the wild
glades of Windsor forest.

The castle stands upon a hill on the



bank of the river Thames, twenty-three

miles from London, with which it is con-
nected by railway. It is surrounded on
all sides, except the east, by a noble ter-
race above two thousand five hundred
feet in extent, faced by astrong rampart
of hewn stone, and having, at intervals,
easy slopes leading down to the park.

the terrace is a most delightful walk,
commanding charming views of the ex-
tensive domain and the surrounding
country. Everywhere are evidences of
royal expenditure, of watchful care and
tasteful ornamentation.

The park abounds in woodland scen-
ery of exquisite beauty, and it does
seem as if the “English sunshine” was
nowhere more satisfying or refreshing
than in these delightful avenues. The
deer roam at will, and streamlets trickle
and English violets and other wild flow-
ers blossom, the praises of whose deli-
cate perfumes and beauties have been
sung by Wordsworth and Keats.

There is a statel
long, bordered by double rows of trees,
which leads from the lodge to these
delightful precincts, and at the en-
trance stretch away in gorgeous array,
the Queen’s gardens, in which very
beautiful and rare productions of floral
culture find a congenial home.

The castle consists of two courts,
having a large, round tower between

60

walk, three miles |

them, and covers more than twelve
acres of land, being defended by bat-
teries and towers. The uppercourtisa
spacious quadrangle, having a round
tower on the west, the private apart-
ments of the sovereigns on the south
and east, the State apartments and St.
George’s Hall and the chapel royal on
the north.

The royal apartments are reached by
an imposing vestibule. The first room,
the Queen’s guard chamber, contains a
grand array of warlike implements, and
glittering weapons, and its walls are
rich in paintings.

The Queen’s presence chamber con-
tains the rarest furniture and hangings,
with an array of artistic works by the
most celebrated masters.

The ball-room is hung with tapestry,
representing the twelve months of the
year, and upon its ceiling is pictured
Charles II, giving freedom to England.
There is here an immense table of solid
silver.

In the Queen’s bed-chamber is the
State bed, said to have cost $70,000,
designed for Queen Charlotte. The
Queen’s dressing-room, hung with Brit-
ish tapestry, contains the closet in
which is deposited the banner of France.
The same closet contains the tea-equl-
page of Queen Anne.

Anelegant saloon is called the * Room
of Beauties,” and contains fourteen por-
traits of ladies who were “most fair” in
the court of Charles II. Their lovely
faces and rich apparel, quaint and oddly
fashioned, make a most delightful and
instructive study.

The audience chamber contains the
throne and is enriched with historical

aintings of events in the reign of

enry III. Another guard chamber
contains an immense collection of war-
like instruments, fancifully arranged,
and also the flag sent by the Duke of
Wellington in commemoration of th
battle of Waterloo. |

St. George’s Hall, which is one hun-
dred and eight feet long, is set apart for
the illustrious “Order of the Garter.”






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aes
BUS

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It is superbly decorated with allegorical
paintings. The chapel is a fine speci-
men of the florid Gothic. The roof is
elliptical and is composed of stone; the
whole ceiling is ornamented with em-
blazoned arms of many sovereigns and
knights of the Garter. The stalls of
the sovereigns and knights exhibit a
- profusion of rare carving. The chapel
is the burial place of many royal and
illustrious persons; Edward IV. Henry
IV, Henry VIII and Charles I having
been interred here.

THE LITTLE PRINCES.

‘Among the sad episodes in the illus-



trated history-of English sovereigns, ,

not one is more pathetic or impressive
than the story of the two little Princes,
sons of Edward IV. This King had an
ywmbitious and unscrupulous brother,
called Richard, Duke of Gloucester.

At the time of the King’s death, this
man was at the head of an army in
Scotland, which was entirely devoted to
him, and he felt strong and equal to
undertaking any bold and unlawful
measure to obtain the crown, which
rightfully belonged to Edward’s son,
the young Prince of Wales.

Upon receiving the news of his broth-
er’s death, Richard clothed himself and
his large retinue in deep mourning and
proceeded in great haste to London,
taking the oath of loyalty on the way,
and making many protestations of in-
terest and affection for the fatherless
boys.

he young Prince of Wales received
him with many expressions of regard
and respectful consideration, as befitted
a paternal uncle, and placed undoubted
faith in his suggestions; the Duke thus
found it an easy matter to direct his
movements, an
counselors and servants. Two ofthese,
who were favorite and loyal friends, he
caused to be seized on a frivolous accu-
sation, and they were taken to a dis-
tant castle as prisoners. Other meas-

the selection of his.

ures were taken to isolate him, and in
a few days the young King was com-
pletely in the hands of the terrible
Duke of Gloucester.

From one high-handed act of usurpa-
tion to another, assisted by unprinci-
pled, ambitious men, he proceeded, evi-
dently aiming to secure the crown for
his own head.

Under pretense of placing the Prince
in greater safety, and removing’ him
from persons who might influence him,
to the detriment of the peace and wel-
fare of the kingdom, he was conducted,
in great state, to the Tower; his uncle
assuming the office of Lord Protector
of the King. ©

Upon gaining the entire custody of
the royal lad, he sent a large number of
dignitaries to the royal mother, to per-
suade her to allow the other little bo
to be taken to the Tower to keep his
brother company. The Prince was al-
lowed to proceed thither, and Richard,
now having them both at his mercy, de-
termined upon their death.

The Governor of the Tower was, it
seems, a man of at least human feel-
ings, and when he was ordered b
Richard, “In some wise to put the chil-
dren to death,” utterly refused to per-
form so dangerous and horrible an act.

Richard then sent for the keys of the
Tower, to keep in his possession twen-
ty-four hours, and gave them, and the
command of the Tower for that time,
to Sir James Tyrrel, his master of horse.

This man procured two assassins,
who proceeded, at dead of night, to
the chamber of the sleeping Princes.
They lay in each other’s arms, as though
they had fallen asleep comforting one
another; and the assassins, falling
upon them with their ruffian strength,
smothered them with the bed-clothes,
“ Keeping the feather pillows hard upon
their mouths.”

When the deed was done, Tyrrel
stepped into the chamber, to take a
hasty view of the dead bodies, which .
were then, by his orders, buried at the
stair-foot, under a heap of stones.



Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had no
further obstacle in assuming the purple,
and was crowned King of England with
all pomp and ceremony, and known to
unenviable fame as Richard III.

This account has come down to us
with all the authority of historical
verity, and subsequent evidences of its
accuracy have been discovered. The
age was characterized by inhumanity of
the most barbarous kind, and this crime
was in keeping with it.

The English people in this nine-
teenth century rejoice in a sovereign
who is noble in the highest sense; be-
toved by her subjects, achieving for
herself the universal plaudit of a “most
humane and gracious lady.”

THE TOWER OF LONDON.

This ancient edifice is situated on
the north bank of the Thames, at the
extremity of the city of London.

The antiquity of the building has
been a subject of much inquiry, but
the present fortress is believed to have
been built by William the Conqueror,
and garrisoned with Normans to se-
cure the allegiance of his subjects; al-
though it appears that the Romans had
a fort on this spot, if a dim tradition
can be credited. The building is gov-
erned by the “Constable of the Tower,”
who, at coronations and other State cer-
emonies, has the custody of the regalia.

The principal entrance is on the west,
and consists of two gates, at which are
stationed guards. The keys are kept,
during the day, at the warder’s hall, but
deposited every night at the Gover-
nor’s house. Cannon are placed at in-
tervals around the great wall, and com-
mand every avenue leading to Tower
Hill.

On the south side is an arch, called
‘Traitors’ Gate,” through which State
prisoners were formerly brought from
theriver. Nearthe Traitors’ Gate is the
“Bloody Tower,” in which it is sup-
posed the two young Princes, Edward

V and his brother, were smothered by
order of Richard ITI.

In the south-west angle of the in-
closure were the royal apartments, for
the Tower was a palace for nearly five
hundred years, and only ceased to be
so on the accession of Elizabeth.

The principal buildings within the
walls are the church, the white tower,
the ordnance office, the jewel office,
the horse armory. The church is called
“St. Peter in Vincules,” and is re-
markable as the depository of the head-
less bodies of numerous illustrious per-
sonages who suffered either in the
Tower or on the hill. Among these
were Anna Boleyn, Thomas Crom-
well, Catharine Howard, the Duke of
Somerset and the Duke of Monmouth.

The jewel office is a strong, stone
room, in which are kept the crown
jewels, regalia, such as the golden orb,
the golden sceptre with the dove, St.
Edward’s staff, State salt-cellar, sword
of mercy, golden spurs, the golden
eagle and golden spoons, also the sil-
ver font used at the baptism of the
royal family, the State crown worn by
her Majesty in Parliament. A large
collection of ancient plate is also kept
here.

The horse armory is a brick building
east of the white tower, adorned with
suits of armor of almost every descrip-
tion; but the most striking are the offi.
gies of the English kings on horse-

ack, armed cap-a-pie. The line of
mounted celebrities commences with
William the Conqueror and ends with
George II. Several of the cuirasses
and helmets taken at Waterloo are kept
here. Inthe armory are also shown a
representation of Queen Elizabeth in
armor ; theaxe which severed the head of
Anna Boleyn, as well as that of the
Earl of Essex; the invincible banner
taken from the Spanish Armada, and the
wooden cannon used by Henry VIII at .
the siege of Boulogne.
__ Lhe Beauchamp Tower is noted for the
illustrious personages formerly confined
within its walls.



aes y

ee oe a A ate vat cor ee

i
!








MARY AND HER LAMB.

This* is the title of one of the most
familiar poems in the English language,
but few people know its history.

Most of our young readers will be
surprised to hear that the well-known
nursery song of “Mary had a Little
Lamb” is a true story, and that
“Mary” is still living, says-an ex-
change.

About seventy years ago she was a
little girl, the daughter of a farmer in
Worcester county, Mass. She was
very fond of going with her father to
the fields to see the sheep, and one day
they found a baby lamb, which was
thought to be dead.

Kind-hearted little Mary, however,
lifted it up in her arms, and as it
seemed to breathe she carried it home,
made it a warm bed near the stove,
and nursed it tenderly. Great was
her delight when, after weeks of care-
ful feeding and watching, her little pa-
tient began to grow well and strong,
and soon after it was able to run about.
It knew its young mistress perfectly,
always came at her call, and was happy
only when at her side.

ne day it followed her to the village
school, and not knowing what else to
do with it, she put it under her desk
and covered it with her shawl.

There it stayed until Mary was
called up to the teacher’s desk to
say her lesson, and then the lamb
walked quietly after her, and the other
children burst out laughing. So the
teacher had to shut the little girl’s
pet in the woodshed until school was
out. Soon after this, a young student,
named John Rollstone, wrote a little
poem about Mary and her lamb and
presented it to her. The lamb grew to
bea sheep and lived for many years,
and when at last it died Mary grieved
so much for it that her mother took
some of its wool, which was as “white
as snow,” and knitted a pair of stock-
ings for her, to wear in remembrance of
her darling.

Some years after the lamb’s death,
Mrs. Sarah Hall, a celebrated woman
who wrote books, composed some verses
about Mary’s lamb and added them to
those written by John Rollstone, mak-
ing the complete poem as we know it.
Mary took such good care of the stock-
ings made of her lamb’s fleece that
when she was a grown-up woman she
pave one of them toa church fair in

oston.

As soon as it became known that
the stocking was made from the fleece
of ‘Mary's little lamb,” every one
wanted a piece of it; so the stocking
was raveled out, and the yarn cut into
small pieces. Each piece was tied to
a card on which “Mary” wrote her full
name, and these cards sold so well that
they brought the large sum of $140 in
the Old South Church.—Our Sunday
Afternoon.

JAMIE’S GARDEN.

“T shall have the nicest kind of a gar-
den,” said Jamie, one morning. “I'm
going to make it in that pretty little
spot just over the bank. I mean to
have some flowers in pots and some in
beds just like the gardener; and then
you can have fresh ones every day,
mamma. I’m going right over there
now. :

Jamie started off bravely with his
spade on his shoulder; but when, after
an hour, mamma went to see how he
was getting on, she found him lying on
the grass, with the ground untouched.

‘Why, Jamie, where is your gar-
den?”

“TI was just lying here, and thinking
how nice it wil! look when it is all
done,” said Jamie.

Mamma shook her head. ‘But that
will not dig ground, nor make the flow-
ers grow, little boy. No good deed was
ever done by only lying still and think-
ing about it.”

67



———___—

pee was not
a very lively place for
any one except a cou-
ple of young colts,
and as many calves,
jumping around after
their mothers.

The bees seemed to be making a
good deal of fun for themselves, if
stinging us children amused them, and
buzzing into every peony bright flower,
so that no one could pick it with safety.

The crows, too, collected in great
gossiping parties, in the pines, over on
the shore of the pond, and they always
seemed to be congratulating themselves
over something immensely satisfactory.

But we children, especially the girls,
found it very dull after we had seen
the few sights of the farm. The boys
were trying to hunt and fish; but Lib
and I talked that over, and we came to
the conclusion, after much laughing
and many caustic remarks, that the
only amusement we had was, laughing
at their failures.

We communicated that fact to them,
but it didn’t seem to make any differ-
ence; off they went on the same fruit-
less hunt, and left us to do what we
might, to make ourselves happy.

68




The next day, Lib and Dora and I
told them we would go into the woods
with them and see what the charm was.
Lib was the eldest of us three, and had
read a great deal, and she said:

‘““May be we shall find the robbers’
cave, and if we say, ‘Open Sesame,’
the great stone doors will slowly swing
pen and we can go in where the
chains of flashing gems and the heaps
of golden coin are.’

“T think you'll get into places where
you can't get out; ‘open sesame’ will
never lift you out of a marsh hole,”
said William Pitt Gaylord, our eldest
brother.

“Mollie, you can find somebody to
have a talking match with, for there are
lots of chipmunks over in the grove,’
remarked Huet

“T’ve seen snakes in that very woods,
too,” and if you’d holler, Lib, at that
end of the pond, as you do at this end
of the tea-table, you wouldn’t catch
any fish,” said William. This caused
an uproarious laugh on the part of the

boys.

We listened quietly to their sarcastic
remarks, knowing they were prompted
by an Garesonabie desire to monopo-
lize the delights of the woods to them-
selves.

William Pitt remarked that “Girls
had no business to meddle with boys’
sports, and they'd come to grief if they
did; you’d see!”’

Next: morning the August haze lay
soft on the landscape, but in a short





time it went off, and Father, learning
that we girls were going to spend a
part of the day in the woods, quietly
told the boys that they must escort us
to the pleasantest place, and not wan-
der very far off. They pouted consid-
erably, and had a talk at the corner of
the barn; they then came back, smiling,
and apparently good-natured.

Our brothers did not intend to be
unkind, but they had the common fail-
ing of humanity—selfishness. But Lib
matched them in a dozen ways with her



good-humored retaliations ; and many a
tilt she had with William Pitt since we
had arrived at the farm. In the city she
was abreast of him in all his studies;
and I noticed that Lib could get out
her Latin, and write a composition
much faster than he, and often he had
been obliged to come to her for aid.
It nettled Lib not to be able to hunt
and fish. We two younger ones mod-
eled after her; she was the leader, and
when she said we would go with the
boys, we went.

“Hello Fred,” said Hugh, as a
neighboring boy, a city boarder, came
through the gate, attired in base-ball
cap and knickerbockers, “we can't go to
Duck Inlet to-day. Father says the
girls must have a good time, too, and
that we must devote one day to them,
at least.”

“All right,” said Fred, “can I go
with you? I'll go and get my bufterfl
net, and we can go over to Fern Hol-
low mill, the winter-greens and berries
are as thick there! Gracied you can
get a quart pail full in no time.
The mill-wheel' is a beautiful
sight,” said Fred, turning to
Lib, “and you can sketch it,
Miss Gaylord.”

Lib looked upon Fred with
a little more toleration, after
he had said “Miss Gaylord,”
and went and ordered an
additional ration to be put
into the lunch basket. e
were glad to have Fred along
with us, for he was very fun-
ny, and made jokes on every
thing.

Lib would allow no one to
carry the lunch basket but
herself, as she remarked, “It
is safer with me.”

We started, and were tempt-
ed to loiter at all the little
nooks on the leaf-shadowed
road, and investigate the
haunts of the curious dwel-
lers in the rocks and bush-
es, and especially were we
interested in the ducks on Fern Hol-
low creek. Dora insisted upon feed-
ing them a piece of bread. “Calamity,”
the dog, was along, of course, and as
he belonged to William Pitt, who called
him “Clam,” he was always in that
boy’s company. It was, “Love me,
love my dog,” with William; and as
he was a professional of some kind, he
was greatly prized by the boys.

We reached the woods and the old
mill early ; I think I never was in a
more delightful place. Every thing

69



seemed to grow here. Winter-greens, “This is certainly the fairies’ dining
with their crimson berries, shining in | hall,’ said Lib.

the moss, and blueberries, where the “T’ll tell you what,” said IJ, “this is
sun came; tall, white flowers that grew | not far from home, and we can bring
in clusters in the shade, sent their per- | things, and have a little parlor here. |
fume all about. Back of the mill, on | can make a couple of curtains out of
some sandy ledges, grew pennyroyal | that figured scrim, for windows, and
and spearmint ; that old square rug in the car-
















raspberries and riage-house will do for the floor.
blackberries You can bring your rocking-
grew every- chair, Lib, and Dora can bring
where her tea-set.

“Tl bring our Christmas and
____ Easter cards, and we can fasten
them all about, on the walls,” said
2 Lib, who had fallen in immedi-
tely with the plan.

“Tl bring Mrs. Snobley, and
— allher children, and the dining
— table,” said Dora.
= She had reference to her large































































































===" AOl], and a wkole dozen of little

= ones, that were always brought

= — forward in any play that Dora
— had taken a fancy to.

We were in such haste to

_— put our scheme into operation,

UY that we dispatched the lunch
in short order, and told the
| boys of our plan. They thought

it was capital. Any thing that
would release them, after they
had eaten all that was to be had,
would, of course, be received
with acclamation. They ac-
knowledged the same, in a very
neat speech, which Lib said,
“did very good for Hugh.”

She fell in immediately with
pine, right at the doorway. The our fun, and helped us to a num-
wild grape-vine and the woodbine ber of nice things, to furnish
had inclosed the space so com- our greenwood bower. We

letely, that Lib, who had thought- worked tremendously that after-
ully brought along a scissors to | noon, and after Betty had washed
cut off stubborn plants, could make | the dinner dishes, she helped us. Be-
two windows in the green wall; one | foresun-down every thing was complete.
looking into the woods, the other off | The boys, who had taken themselves a
at the distant pond. The grass was | mile away, to hunt, came round to visit
fine in here, and the sunbeams | uson their way home. They agreed
dropped down in little round spots, | that it was just perfect, and inquired if
on the pine needles that covered the | we hadn’t put in an elevator, to reach
floor. the second story, with numerous other

70





















































gather a
quantity for lunch,
and Lib and Dora
and I hunted fora
pleasant place to
set out our dainties.
We found it. A
natural bower, between four
trees; one being a giant of a



inquiries, intended to be funny; and
then asked where we kept our cran-
berry tarts.

“We're not going to allow any boys
in this play-house after to-day,” said T;
“your feet are muddy, and you're so big,
you fill it all up.”

Our visitor, Fred, looked at his feet,
and blushed. “Not after to-day? How
are you going to keep any one out?”
inquired William Pitt. 4

“We will draw this portiere across
the door-way, and no gentleman would
think of entering,”’ said Lib.

“No, they wouldn’t, sure enough,”
said Hugh. “How are you going to
prevent our looking in the windows?”

“Qnly rude boys would look in win-
dows,” said Fred, “and I don’t know
of any hereabouts.”’

They laughed at this, and Lib laughed
too, and made the sly remark, that
“Hunting on the duck-pond trans-
formed some people mighty soon.”

Fred said he'd try to be on his good
behavior if we’d let him make a formal
call on us the next afternoon. We
consentel to this; then they all said
they’d call.

The next day we busied ourselves in
preparing a spread of good things for
our reception, and Betty took it over,
and on returning, said every thing was
just -as we had left it. We dressed
ourselves up in our best, to receive the

entlemen, a little time after dinner.

he woods were never so lovely, we
thought, and to add to our personal
charms, we made wreaths and garlands
of ferns and wild-flowers to adorn our
persons and hats.

I had sauntered along considerably
in advance, and as I approached the
bower I was not a little surprised to
see from a distance that the door-cur-
tain was drawn half open. I stopped
to listen, but there was no sound, only
a wild bird piping its three little notes,
down by the mill. I cautiously went
up, and peeped into the little window,
and there stood a manontherug! He
seemed to be looking about. I think I

never was so frightened. Iran back,
and whispered to the rest the dreadful
state of things. They looked horror-
stricken. Lib changed color, but just
stood still. Then she said,—“ There’s
plenty of help over at the mil: ’

“Oh, let us go no nearer, but get
home as fast as we can,” I said.

Lib raised her hand in warning for us
to keep still, and we crept along, softly,
behind the bower ; and when we had got-
ten so far, we all turned around and ran
for dear life into the woods again.

“This is nonsense,” said Lib. “You
were mistaken, Molly, I’m sure.”

I said I'd go back with her, and she
could see for herself. We crept to the
back of the bower, and Lib leaned over
and looked in. Lib turned pale, caught
hold of my hand and Dora’s, and ran

uite a distance toward the mill.
hen she stopped, and said, as true as
she was alive, there wag a man in there;
he stood with a large stick resting on
his shoulder, upon which was slung a
bundle, tied up in a red handkerchief,
his cothing was ragged, and his hat
ila

was very dilapidated.
“Oh, Lib, I’m going to run for it,”
said I.

“Wait a minute,” said she. “I don’t
hear any noise. Let’s think; if we
didn’t have to go right in front of the
door, we could get to the mill.”

All this time we were edging our-
selves as far away from the dangerous

recincts as we conveniently could.

he stood again, perfectly still. “I
wont go another step,” she said. That
moment’s reflection had re-instated her
courage. ‘‘ He don’t come out ; I should
say that was making an informal call
when the ladies were out. He's a
beautiful-looking specimen anyway,”
said Lib, with fine irony; and as she
said this, she frowned, and put her
head back.

No sound was heard, and no demon-
strations from the interloper were made.
The sight of the mill-wagon, going
slowly down the road, gave us heart,
and Lib said:

71i



“T’ll go and order him out, be the
consequences what they may. Mollie,
oure good at screaming, you can
ring the miller here if we have to get
help.”

“Don't! Don’t! I would rather he
stole all our things ; let him have the
tarts and the cocoanut cake, and the
jam, and the pickles, and the cheese,
and the sandwiches! Let him have
them in welcome! I’m going to fly
home!”

“T want Mrs. Snobley!” sobbed
Dora.

Lib never said another word. She
walked up to the entrance, and pulled
aside the curtain, and there stood the
semblance of aman. In his extended
hand was a card, on which was very
badly printed :

“I'ma poor by,—I want a
home.”
“References exchanged.”

“LU scrape the mud off me
boots, tf yell let me in.”

Lib called, ‘Come here, Mollie, it’s
a trick of those boys.”

We went in, and there we found the
interloper to be a scarecrow from a
neighboring field, ingeniously arranged
So as to appear very human.

At that moment, a loud laugh above
our heads betrayed the presence of the
boys in the trees, who clambered down
with hilarious expedition, and fairly
rolled themselves upon the ground
with delight. They had seen all our
perturbation ; had heard my cowardly
cries and expressions ; Lib’s looking in
the window, and her fearful hesitation
and scamper behind the fairy bower!
The best thing to do was to laugh, and
that we did right heartily ; we girls, were
internally thankful that the intruder was
ne scarecrow after all.

e ordered the boys take their silly

joke out, and to come in like gentle-
men, and make a formal call, and
probably they would be invited to take
some refreshments.

This news caused them to work with
great alacrity. They were dressed up
too; Fred having chosen to wear his
school uniform, with a gorgeous crim-
son sash and his sword.

We were never so delighted with
any thing as with that afternoon’s ad-
venture. For hours we chatted and
laughed, and ate our refreshments,
until the western light began to take
on a ruddy hue, and we closed our little
bower and proceeded homeward.

What was our surprise, when we
reached there, to find that three young
friends from the city with their servant
had come to visit us. Merryvale was
not dull after that, I can assure you.



THE NEW SERVANT AT MERRYVALE.,.



Sees

ae








‘THE LION AT THE “Zoo.”

In the jungles, where the sun is so
fierce at noonday that the black na-
tives, themselves, cannot endure it, but
hide in huts and caverns and in the
shadows of rocks, dwelt this lion.

He did not mind heat, or storm, or
the tireless hunters. He was braver
and stronger than any other creature in
that tropical wilderness, and his ve
appearance and the sound of his terr1-
ble roar had sent many a band of hunt-
ers flying back to their safe retreats.

He prowled about the fountains at
night, and woe to any belated native or
domestic animal that happened to be
near; he would leap upon them, and
kill them with one blow of his huge
paw.

One day a bushman’ sighted a fine
deer, and incautiously separated him-
self from his companions; the ardor of
the pursuit led him into the pathless
wilderness, and farther and farther from
help, if he should need any.

Pausing a moment, he looked about
him; he could not believe his eyes!
He saw, not forty rods from him, this
creature, regarding him! intense ex-
citement flashing from his eyes, his tail
swaying from side to side, and striking
the ground with a heavy thud.

The bushman fled in wild terror, and
with a bound the lion began the chase.
No match, indeed, could any one man
hope to be for such an enemy—no out-
running this fleet patrol of the forest;
roaring and foaming he came up with
the doomed hunter and struck him
down and killed him.

The roaring over his success was
something too terrible to hear. The
other creatures of the forest fled to their
dens and coverts, and the arty of hunt-
ers, dimly locating the lion’s where-
abouts, betook themselves to other
grounds, not caring to encounter so
ormidable a foe. Little did they sus-
pect the fate of their comrade, and
they never knew of it until, a long time
afterward, they found the remains of

4



his hunting gear. The beast had torn
him to pieces and devoured him.

The devastations of this scourge of
the wilderness became so great in time,
that he depopulated whole villages, and
the superstitious natives, believing him
to be a demon, became so stricken with
fear that they would not attempt to
hunt him, and thus rid the forest of

Im. ,

Some agents of a business firm in
Holland, who negotiate for the pur-
chase of these ferocious wild animals
for menageries, secured, by promises
of great help and large reward, a band
of intrepid native hunters, to procure,
if it were within the range of possi-
bility, this famed lion, alive.



A BEAUTIFUL DEER.

White men joined inthe hunt. Brave
Englishmen and fearless Americans
attached themselves to the party, and
many were the hair-breadth escapes
and critical situations that crowded
upon their path.

On reaching the lion’s neighborhood,
they took counsel as to the best way
of coming upon him, not knowing just
where his lair might be; but soon |
they were guided to him by a distant
roaring. The advance hunters caught
their first glimpse of him before he was
aware of their presence. He had slain
his prey—the pretty creature lay near
the jungle lake, the sword grass and

" 75



the poisonous marsh flowers flaunting
their lush-growth all about. The ani-
mal’s smooth coat was brown and
glossy, and its little black hoofs shone

iH

a Se
euucasayyenqqoonsorenie hanes Ty

L n=,

HE WAS FINALLY CAGED.

bright in the sunshine. The lon re-
peated the same expressions of grati-
fied savagery he had indulged in when.
he had devoured the native. He strode
about, lashing his tail and roaring.

76



HI AAT A
NN

| Wl | i i i AM lt creature was
WT HUTA uit

Se
i

US NUAETOSTEAA AMO ALANO HUE 0099004yyyyuenanassoeonssENUMeoCCUUEnseeEAApL
oe |



The fearful cncountcr began! Many
of the natives were killed. One young
English nobleman was thought to hayc
received his death wound, when they

came to close

The

quarters.

| | i i}

overcome’ b y

Web numbers and
HH heroic bravery
at last. He

was maimed,
disabled and
secured, in the
deft and ex-
peditious way
they have
learned in deal-
ing with these
animals. He
was finall

caged, and the

rejoicings of
the natives
knew no

bounds; the
exploit was
celebrated
with feasting,
dancing and
wild obser-
vances, the
women and the
children join-
ing in the un-
couth = festivi-
ties.

He was re-
moved by his
foreign pur-
chasers, and
eventually se-
cured by a
City Park Com-
mission, and
was liberated
to walk about a
spacious cage, to delight the thou-
sands who visit the menagerie, that
affords so much instructive amuse-
ment. He usually lies down in onc
corner, and although he has lost much

ii



of his magnificent appearance, he
is still worthy to be called the “Forest
King.”

If you happen to be in his section
when he gets hungry and calls for his
dinner, you will be greatly astonished,
if not frightened, at the sound of his
voice. It is like nothing else in nature.
[t vibrates to the roof of the vast struc-
ture, and the windows rattle in their
frames. 2 tramps about and lashes
his tail against the bars and stamps his
feet, and his keeper hurries to throw
him his ration of raw meat. When he
is satisfied, he lies down and purs as
good-naturedly asa pussy cat, and looks
you in the eyes with an unwinking
stare.

You and I most earnestly hope that
he may never contrive to escape.



DISOBEYING MOTHER.

“T think, little goslings, you'd better
not go,
You're young, and the water is chilly,
you know;
But when you get strong,*
You can sail right along—
Go back in the sunshine, or walk ina
row.”
“No, no! we will go,” said those bold
little things,
Except one little dear, close to moth-
er’s warm wings.

Out went all the rest,
On the water with zest;
They said, “We will venture, whatever
it brings.”

Their mother looked out, so kind and
so true,
Adown where the rushes and lily-pads
grew;
They looked very gay,
As they paddled away,
With their bright, yellow backs, on the
water so blue.

“Come back!” cried their mother,
“come back to the land! a
I fear for my dear ones some evil is
planned.” ,
But they ventured beyond
The shore of the pond,
And laughed at her warnings, and
spurned her command.

Farewell, to the goslings! their troubles
are o’er; |
They were pelted with stones, by boys
on the shore.
Afar from the bank,
They struggled and sank,
Down deep in the water, to. come up no
more.

Oh, see what it cost them, to have their
own way ;
Their punishment came without stint
or delay ;
But the sweet one that stayed,
And its mother obeyed,
Lived long, and was happy for many a
day.
77



DISSOLVING COIN TRICK.
For this trick we require a small
tumbler made of thin glass, and a dime
or other small coin which has been
previously marked, so as to be readily
identified. The coin is dropped, in full
view of the audience, into the glass,
over which a handkerchief is thrown,
and all are placed on a table. The
performer then gives out a good-sized
table-knife and a plate of oranges. The
knife is examined, and an orange se-
lected. Returning to the tumbler, he
bids the coin to leave it and pass into
the orange. He removes the hand-
kerchief, and it is seen that the coin
has disappeared from the glass, and
on cutting open the orange it is found
in the center.

For this trick the young conjurer re-
quires first, a prepared tumbler ; second-
ly, atiny ball of wax. Just even with
the bottom of the tumbler is a small
slit, which any glass grinder will cut
for a few cents. When about to pour
water into the tumbler, it is held with
the hand encircling it, so that one
finger presses into and covers the slit-
After the water is emptied and the tum-
bler wiped dry, the coin is thrown in,
and then by slightly tilting the glass,
just as it is being covered with the
handkerchief, the coin will drop into
the hand. Before beginning the trick,
the performer lightly presses the tiny
ball of wax upon the lowest button of
his vest, so that he can get at it just
the minute he needs it. After the
knife has been examined, and whilst
going for the oranges, he picks the wax
off its resting-place, pressing it firmly
upon the center of the knife-blade, and

78

then, in turn, presses the marked coin
upon it, and lays the knife on a table
with the coin side down. In cutting
the orange, the pozmt of the knife is
used until a cut is made about half-way
down, and then, to finish, the blade is
drawn through, thus detaching the
coin, which will remain inside. Ags
some of the wax is likely to adhere to
the coin, the magician easily re-
moves it under pretense of wiping off

the orange juice—J///ustrated London
Paper.



THE FATE OF A FLEET.

Two bright boys forsook their toys,
And cracked some nuts in two;
And set them afloat, each little boat,

With its flag of red or blue.

“‘Let’s start a breeze,” said Fred, as he
shook
His kerchief to and fro;
He kept up the fun, till every one

Of his boats began to go.

Said Fred, “Let’s run along the bank,
And see which one will beat!”

And Harry went, on a good time bent,
And watched the tiny fleet.

But soon they met with a sad mishap,
And all the sport was done;
They sailed right into a flock of geese

And were floundered, every one.



pveemetanes










A SUMMER AT WILLOW-
SPRING.

The trunks were strapped on the
back of the. carriage; we children, with
Nurse, were bundled inside; the door
shut—the driver snapped his whip—
and without any time for last good-
byes, we were whirled away to the
station. How excited and glad we
were, for Papa and Mamma were to fol-
low us next day, and we left the
city far behind to spend the whole
beautiful summer at Willow-spring.
The very first day after our arrival, we
were out—Willie, my brother, Elsie, our
little four-year-old sister, and myself—
scouring the premises, and I guess
there was not a nook or corner we had
not visited by night. It was a rovely
place, with broad shady walks throug
which we raced, or Willie drove us as
two spirited young colts, for like most
boys he was rather masterful.

wish I could tell you of the grand
time we had that summer. We formed
the acquaintance of several little neigh-
bor children, who proved pleasant play-
mates, and together we would wander
through the cool leafy woods, or roam
the sunny meadows gathering sweet
wild strawberries and armsful of gold-
en-eyed daisies, and taking our treas-
ures home, would have a little treat on
the shady veranda, and garland our-
selves with long daisy chains, making
believe we were woodland fairies.
Once in a while the rabbits from the
near wood ran across the garden path,
timid and shy little creatures at first—
they grew quite tame from our feeding
—and Elsie dearly loved her bunnies,
as she called them.

Rapidly the days flew by, and the
time for our departure was at hand.
We felt sorry to leave, but Mamma, to
console us in part, planned a little out-
door feast for the day before our go-
ing, to which our little friends were all
invited, and a happy, merry band of
children played out under the trees,

and ate the goodies so generously pro-
vided. Just before breaking up, we all
joined in playing our favorite game of
“snap the whip,” and with screams
and laughter, one after another of the
weakest ones rolled over in the soft
grass. The last night at Willow-sprin
wound up with a grand frolic, in whic
all took part.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

Every little grape, dear, that clings unto
the vine,

Expects some day to ripen its little
drops of wine.

Every little girl, I think, expects in
time to be

Exactly like her own mamma—as sweet
and good as she.

Every little boy who has a pocket of
his own,

Expects to be the biggest man the
world has ever known. )

Every little lambkin, too, that frisks
upon the green,

Expects to be the finest sheep that
ever yet was seen.

Every little baby colt expects to bea
horse;

Every little puppy hopes to be a dog,
of course.

Every little kitten pet, so tender and
SO nice,

Expects to be a grown-up cat and live
on rats and mice.

Every little fluffy chick, in downy yel-
low dressed,

Expects some day to crow and strut or
cackle at his best.

Every little baby bird that peeps from
out its nest,

Expects some day to cross the sky from
glowing east to west.

Now every hope I’ve mentioned here
will bring its sure event,

Provided nothing happens, dear, to hin-
der or prevent.



Hh
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Nu inkende



A STUFFED JUMBO.

Yesterday, Alice met the stuffed | very much affected by the meeting.
Jumbo, her former mate. She walked | He was Jumbo’s old keeper.—/Hz-
slowly up to him, andthen stood forafew | mane Journal.
moments, evidently surveying him
with wonder. Then she swung
her trunk so as to reach Jumbos
mouth. She also touched his
trunk in a cautious manner, and
then turning her back upon him,
gave vent to a groan that made
the roof of the garden tremble.
William Newman, the elephant
trainer, Frank Hyatt, the super-
intendent, and “ Toddy” Hamil-
ton, talked to her in their usual
winning way, and she again faced
Jumbo. She fondled his trunk,
looked straight into his eyes, and
again she groaned, and then































walked away as though disgusted = YY y PY
with the old partner of her joys ah s oN

Z Soi i een: y
and sorrows. She went back to her quarters and continued to == |
mourn. Her keeper, Scott, was
appealed to by the spectators.
He was asked whether he be-
lieved that she recognized Jumbo,
and he replied in all serious-
ness, “Of course she did. She
told me so.” At another time he
said, “I can understand elephant
talk, and Alice told me_ she
recognized Jumbo.”’ Scott seemed

will

Sr)

SCENE AT AN ELEPHANT MARKET.





LOOK AT THE BABY.
This way and that way, one, two, three!
Come, if you want a dance to see;
With his chubby hands on his dress so

blue, |
See what a baby boy can do.

One foot up and one foot down;

See him try to smile and frown;

He would look better, I do declare,

With some more teeth and a little more
hair.

One, two, three, chick-a-dee-dee !
This I take the fact to be,

That there never was, on sea nor shore,
Such a queer little dance as this before!

POPPY, THE DOVE.

We had a dove once, one of the com-
mon wild sort. It was given to us
when quite young, and got so tame
that it was allowed to go free, just as
it liked, in and out of doors and all
about the house. We explained to our
twin cats, Darby and Joan, that it was
a ‘chicken,’ therefore they must not at-
tempt to catch it, as, although they

dearly loved to lunch off a fat sparrow,

or make a supper off a plump chaffinch,
it was quite sufficient for us to intro-
duce any bird to them as a chicken for
. them to respect its life and limbs.

Certainly Poppy, the dove, must, to
-say the least of it, have been very ‘try-
ing’ to the cats’ minds, as she had a
bold way of strutting around the cats
when they were sitting, calmly blink-
ing at her out of their big, yellow eyes,
as much as to say ‘Touch me if you
dare!” and one day, in a specially im-
pudent mood, she went so far as to
offer Darby the insult of a peck on the
nose. Darby’s look of offended dig-
nity was superb as she turned her bac
on the upstart bird.

84

Poppy made a most peculiar noise
when excited in any way, either vexed
or pleased. We could only compare it
to the twanging of an ill-strung guitar,
so she gained the nickname of “The
Old Guitar.”

After we had had hcr some time, a
hedgehog was brought in to us from
the fields. Well, I confess we were all

rather afraid of it, it had such a steal-

thy, creepy-crawly way of going about.
Sometimes, in the midst of our talk
and laughter, we would suddenly hear
the scrape, scrape of his spines along
the wainscot, and sce it sneaking round
the room; or we would be perfectly
silent, so that one would think the
slightest sound would have been heard,

1 then, lo! there he was, at our feet.

One night poor Poppy had been more
impudent and bold than ever, and we
had laughed heartily at her funny little
ways. Ihe hedgehog, too, was more
startling and ghostly than usual, so
that we had almost decided to send him
out again, when, soon after we had all
gone to bed, and the house was quiet,
my sister was roused by hearing the
Old Guitar twanging away in a most fu-
rious style. She listened for a few mo-
ments, thinking what a concert Poppy
was giving all to herself, and wonder-
ing if any thing ailed her; but know-
ing her general ability to take care of
herself, my sister, when the twangs got
fewer and fainter, concluded all was
right, and went to sleep.

Great was the grief and consterna-
tion in the house next morning when
the servant, on opening the shutters in
the dining-room, found it strewn with
Poppy’s feathers, and carefully tucked
under the fender were her dear little
feet and wings—not another vestige
of heranywhere! That dreadful hedge.
hog had killed and eaten her. The
pretty creature had, no doubt,: fought
hard for her life, and my sister always
regretted not having gone to ascertain.
the meaning of the unusual commotion
she heard—the poor dove’s dying cries
for help.



Baliga oan ogo
SP Bk RISA he:
LG Mee

BAe

tty 2

eRe








e

i

1 Le

”

It was a queer name for a little girl,
and it was not her real name—that was
Lizzie—but everybody called her “ But
then.”

“My real name is prettier, but then,
I hke the other pretty well,” she said,
nodding her short, brown curls merrily.
And that sentence shows just how she
came by her name.

If Willie complained that it was a



Rea

“Bur “BEN.”

miserable, rainy day, and they couldn’t
play out of doors, Lizzie” assented
brightly,—

“Yes; but then, it is a real nice day
to fix our scrap-books.”’

When Kate fretted because they had
so far to walk to school, her little sis-
ter reminded her,—

“But then, tt’s all the way through the
woods, you know, and that’s ever so

87



much nicer than walking on pavements
in a town.”

When even patient Aunt Barbara
pined a little because the rooms in the
new house were so few and small com-
pared with their old home, a rosy face
was quietly lifted to hers with the sug-
gestion,—

“But then, little rooms are the best
to cuddle all up together in, don’t you
think, Auntie?”

“Better call her ‘Little But Then,’
and have done with it,” declared Bob,
Lalf-vexed, half-laughing. “No matter
how bad any thing is, she is always
ready with her ‘but then,’ and some
kind of consolation on the end of it.”

And so, though no one really in-
tended it, the new name began. There
were a good many things that the
children missed in their new home.
Money could have bought them even

there; but if the money had not gone
first, their father would scarcely have
thought it necessary to leave his old

home. They had done what was best
under the circumstances; still the boys
felt rather inclined to grumble about it
one winter morning when they were
starting off to the village on an errand.

“Just look at all the snow going to
waste, without our having a chance to
enjoy it,” said Will; ‘and the ice too—
all because we couldn’t bring our sleds
with us when we moved.”

“But then, you might make one your-
self, you know. It wouldn’t be quite so
pretty, but it would be just as good,”’
suggested Little But Then.

“Exactly what I mean to do as soon
as I get money enough to buy two or
three boards; but I haven’t even that
yet, and the winter is nearly half gone.”

“Tf we only had a sled to-day, Sis
could ride, and we could go on the
river,’ said Bob. “It’s just as near
that way, and we could go faster.”

“It isa pity,” admitted the little girl.
“But then, I've thought of something
—that old chair in the shed! If we
turned it down, its back would be al-
most like runners, and so—”

88

“Hurrah! that’s the very thing!”
interrupted the boys; and the old chair
was dragged out in a twinkling, and
carried down to the river. Then away
went the merry party, laughing and
shouting, on the smooth road between
the snowy hills, while Gyp followed,
frisking and barking, and seeming to
enjoy the fun as much as any of them.

‘‘Now we'll draw our sled up here,
close under the bank, where nobody
will see it, and leave it while we go up
to the store,” said Bob, when they had
reached the village.

Their errand was soon done, and the
children ready to return; but as they
set forth Will pointed to a dark spot a
little way out on the ice.

“What is that? It looks like a great
bundle of clothes.”

It was a bundle that moved and
moaned as they drew near, and proved
to be a girl, a little bigger than Lizzie.
She looked up when they questioned
her, though her face was pale with |
pain.

“T slipped and fell on the ice,” she
explained, “and I’m afraid I’ve broken
my leg, for it is all twisted under me,
and I can’t move it or get up. _[livein
the village. That’s my father’s carpen-
ter shop where you see the sign. I
could see it all the time, and yet I was
afraid ’d freeze here before any one
saw me. Oh dear! it doesn’t seem as
if I could lie here while you go for my
father.”’

“Why, you needn't,” began Bob;
but the girl shook her,head.

“T can’t walk a step, and you two are
not strong enough to carry me all the
way. You'd let me fall, or you'd have
to keep stopping to rest; and puttin
me down and taking me up again woul
almost kill me.”’

“Qh, but we'll only lift you iftto the
chair, just as carefully as we can, then
we can carry you easy enough,” said

ill.

And in that way the poor girl was
borne safely home; and the children
lingered long enough to bring the sur-



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**BUT THEN, IT’S ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS, YOU ath

geon and hear his verdict, that “ Young
bones don’t mind much being, broken,
and she will soon be about again, as
well as ever.’

“But I don’t see how you. happened
to have a chair so handy,” said her
father to the boys.

And when they ex- |

plained that they were using it fora
sled, he said, with a significant nod of
his head, —"Your sled, was it? Well,
I shall be surprised if my shop does
not turn you out a better slea than
that, just by way of thanks for your
kindness.”

é 89



“But then, wasn't it good that it was
only the old chair that we had to-day ?”
asked Little But Then, as she told
the story to Aunt Barbara at home.
“Oh Auntie, had the nicest kind of a

time!”

‘I believe you had,” answered Aunt
Barbara, smiling; ‘‘for a brave, sunny

spirit, that never frets over what it has
not, but always makes the best of what
it has where it is, is sure to havea good
time. It dogs not need to wait for it to
come—it has a factory for making it.”
a = i il
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oe

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/ ll



—The following is an Arabic proverb
taken from the mouth of an Oriental:
“Men are four. 1. He who knows not,
and knows not he knows ro‘. He is
a fool; shun him. 2. He who knows
not, and knows he knows not. He is
simple; teach him. 3. He who knows,
and knows not he knows. Heis asleep;
wake him. 4. He who knows, and
knows he knows. He is wise; follow
him.”

go

WHAT THE SNAIL SAID,

“You little chicks, tho’ you peck at
my dress,
I will not get angry at that ;
I know you would gobble me up if you
could,

As quick as a worm or a gnat.”’

“Say, little snail, you had better go on,
They may try the same trick upon
you.”
‘No, no,” said the snail, with his hard
coat of maul,

“T don't care a rush if they do.

“Little girl, there’s no harm to cause
me alarm,
I'll sit here and watch them a spell,
But as soon as they pounce, I’ll cheat
them at once,

By getting right into my shell.”

‘But listen, wise snail, the old hen in
the coop
‘Has her eye very closely on you;
And if she gets out, it may put you
about,
Now mind, what I tell you is true.”

‘But dear little girl, she is fast in her
house ;
No, no, she can’t touch me, no, no.
But if that respectable fowl should get
out,
Oho!” said the snail, “Oha!”’



A CHANCE WORD.

Ralph and Lily had one game of
which they never tired, and that was
“horses.” It was really a convenient
game, for it could be played on wet or

ne days, in the nursery or on the
road. Perhaps it was best fun on the
road, ‘like real horses ;” but I am not
sure, for it was very delightful to sit on
the nursery table, with the box of bricks
for a coachman’s seat, and from that
elevated position to drive the spirited
four horses represented by the four
chairs, to which the reins would be
fastened.

One day—a fine day—the two chil-
dren were playing at their usual game
on the turnpike road, and waiting for
nurse, who had gone into a cottage
near by to speak to the washerwoman.
Nurse was a long time, and Ralph, who
was horse, was quite out of breath with
his long trot on the hard road. Lil
touched him up with the whip, but all
to no avail—he could run no more.

“T’ve no breath left,” said the poor
horse, sinking down exhausted on a
heap of stones. |

Lily put down the whip and patted
his head to encourage him. ‘Soh! soh!”’
she said, in as good an imitation as she
could manage of the way the groom
spoke to their father’s horse; “you are
quite done, I see. You must rest, and
have a handful of oats,” and she dived
into her pocket and produced a bit of bis-
cuit, which the horse ate with great sat-
isfaction, and soon professed himself
ready to goonagain. “Ah!” said Lily,
sagely, ‘I knew you'd be all right soon;
there’s nothing like food and kindness
for horses when they’re tired.”

A tinker, with a cart and a poor, ill-
fed beast harnessed to it, happened to
be passing, and heard the little girl’s
words. e stared after her, for she
seemed very small to speak so wisely,
and the tinker did not, of course, know
that she was only repeating what she
had heard her father say.

“Well, I’m dazed!” exclaimed the

tinker, looking after the children;
“wherever did little Missy learn that?”

He said no more then; but Lily’s
words stuck to him, and his poor horse
had reason to bless Lily for them, for
from that day forward he got, not only
more food, but more kindness and
fewér blows, and so he became a better
horse, and the tinker the better man in
consequence.

A LITTLE DANCE.

Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!

To dress ourselves up, as Grandma has
done.

See how we

o! See how we go!
Forward and

ack, heel and toe.

Lighter than down, our feet come down

Mind all your steps, and hold out your
gown ;

Faster than that, whatever may hap,

Cherry.red waist and blue speckled cap.

Hi! Master John! Ho! Master John!
Don’t go to sleep, while the music goes

on;
Faster than that! Faster than that!
Hold up your head, and flourish your
hat!

How she trips it along, that bright little
maid,

With her dainty blue skirt and spotted
brocade;

And that one in yellow, who wears the
red rose

How she keeps her mouth shut and
turns out her toes.

How they do spin! when they truly
begin ; .

Each dancer as airy and bright asadoll;

While the music complete, keeps time
to their feet,

With its fiddle-dee-diddle and tol-de-
rol-ol ! :

Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!

To dance, when every duty is done;

Forward and back, or all in a ring,
A quick little dance is a very gay thing.

Ol



ROUGH, THE TERRIER.

IT have a dear little Scotch terrier
called Rough. He is everybody’s pet
as well as mine, he is so layfal and
gentle; but his one great fault is curi-
osity, and it was indulging this that
nearly cost Rough his life.

In the town in which we at that time
lived, there were a number of religious
meetings being held, and whether it
was the crowds of people or the singing
that attracted Rough I do not know,
but certainly he was always most de-
sirous of being present. hen I went
myself I always took him, for he be-
haved like a gentleman, and never
annoyed any one; but one night I was
prevented going, and when bed-time
came Rough could not befound. I did
not feel greatly alarmed, hoping he
would turn up next morning; but for
three days nothing could be heard of
him, except a friend told me he had
seen him among the crowd at the Hall
on the night I could not go. Nothing
more was heard of Rough, and I mourned
over my lost pet for a whole year.

ee

We lived about thirty miles from
London, and I had to pay a visit toa
friend there, and before { left to return
home again she sail we might go and
see the Home for Lost Dogs, as it is
considered quite an interesting sight.
So the last day of my visit we set off,
and, after seeing the establishment, we
were just leaving, when the aitendant
said there was a cage of dogs that were
doomed to die, as they had been there
a long time, and no owners had turned
up forthem ; would we like to see them?
So we rather reluctantly went to see
the sad sight, and, to my unbounded
astonishment and delight, Rough was
the first one I cast my eyes on; and,
oh, the welcome he gave me! licking
my hand and looking in my face, as
much as to say,— Take me from this
dreadful place.” The attendant could
not but see that the dog was mine, and
after a little delay, Rough was restored
to me, and he and I have never been
parted for a single day since this pain-
ful experience.



THE WHITE LILY.

A little girl said

To a Lily one day,—
“Qh, please tell me wh

You wear white alway’ ?”

The little maiden held her ear
Quite near the Lily’s heart

And listened, while her fingers pressed
The petals wide apart.

She thought she heard the Lily say,—
“An Angel came one Easter-day
And kissed me, that is why.
And since that day I can but wear
The lovely garment white and fair,
She brought me from the sky.”



92






















KITTIE’S PIE.

a

She caught her apron full of

snow,
This little girl so spry ;

And went and packed it on a

plate,

To make a frosted pie.

She put it in the oven then,

And when she thought ’twas

done
She lifted out an empty plate,

And that’s what made the fun.

To go and do tha



She was too old by half.
She said, “I wont tell brother
Fred,

*

*Twould only make him laugh.”






LEAVES, AND WHAT THEY ARE GOOD FOR.

Leaves are so common, and we have
so many of them everywhere, that we
never think how beautiful they are.
You cannot find any two alike, any
more than you can find two people.
They are of every variety of form and
size, from an arrow’s head to a violin.

The edges of some leaves are notched
like the teeth of a saw, others are
scolloped, while some are perfectly

lain. Some are very small, others so
arge that you might almost sit under
their shade. They are arranged ver
differently on their stems, in small
clusters, or in greater numbers of small
leaves.

Did you ever look at the small ribs
in a leaf, that spread out from the
larger rib running up and down the
middle?

These are to make it strong, just as
the ribs of an umbrella hold that out
and strengthen it. Then look at the
delicate network between these ribs.
Some do not have these branching
ribs, because the leaf is strong enough
without them.

Now what makes them so strong?
Every thing in a plant or tree is made
from sap, and this sap in the leaves
makes the ribs firm, and if they have
no sap, they wilt. This always hap-
pens when you break off a leaf from its
stem. But take that leaf, and put it in
water, and it soon revives, and will
keep fresh for quite along time. Do
you know why? Because the water
goes up the little pipes in the stem,
. and takes the place of what has gone

|

out of its pores, or the little holes out
of which the watery part of the sap es-
caped.

A great deal of the water in the air
in summer comes from the leaves of
the trees and plants, because it goes up
swiftly from the earth into the plants,
and they breathe out moisture into the
air, allthetime. This moisture is what
makes the air soft in hot days; and
when you think how many millions of
leaves there are, you see how much
good they can do.

But leaves can do something more
than give out moisture to the dry air.
They give beautiful shade to all the
animals that live out of doors, as well
as to man; they shield the fruits from
the broiling sun.as they ripen; but the
greatest use of all is to keep the plants
alive and make them grow. Leaves
are really the lungs of the plant or
tree; just as much to them as our
lungs are to us, but they are not used
in the same way. We use the air, and
make it bad; and this bad air the
leaves take in, because it does them
good; and in exchange, they give us
good air, and all summer long this ex-
change is going on. And in winter,
when the leaves are off the trees and
plants, the bad air goes off to southern
countries where they are still growing
—for you know the wind is a great
messenger—ind back comes a fresh’
supply of good air to us in exchange.
Isn't this wonderful? We can never
doubt the power of God, when we see
what marvelous things He can do.





TWO RUNAWAYS.

Bess was the only one at all to blame;
and if you had once looked into her
blue eyes, or felt her chubby little arms
around your neck, you never could have
found it in your heart to scold her.
As for Prince, you can see by the way
he holds his head that he is really proud
_ of his part in the story. This is the
way it happened. Bess was spending
a week with Grandma, because some-
body’s baby, in the very next house to
where Bess lived, had the scarlet fever,
so they sent her away to be out of
danger. She was as happy asa bird for
three days, trotting after the chickens,
poking grass through the fence to the
white calf, feeding the lame duck with
her bread and butter, and sailing pea-
pod boats in the trough where they
watered the horses. Wherever Bess
went, Prince followed. You might have
thought he understood every word when
Grandma said, “Now, Prince, you must
take care of Bess; I’d sooner trust you
than most nurse girls,” he looked up in
Grandma’s face with his soft, beautiful
eyes, swung his great plume of a tail,
and whined a little as if he were just

oing to speak, but from that moment
fre seemed to feel that Bess was his
special charge.

The fourth day was washing day, and
to make matters worse, Grandma had
a bushel of strawberries to can. A
bushel of ripe, red, delicious berries,
and only one pair of fingers to pick off
the troublesome stems. Bess helped,
of course, till her little red mouth, that
gaped like a robin’s, would not open for
another one, and then Grandma carried
her away to the bed-room for her morn-
ing nap. There she lay on the pillow
watching a spider weave a lace curtain
behind the morning-glory vines, and
though she was not very sleepy, she
would never have thought of getting
up if some one had not come in and left
the door open. Some one was Sophy,
who tip-toed to the closet, got Grand-
ma’s bonnet and parasol, and tip-toed

96



‘Step, but he got up, stretc

out again, forgetting to shut the
door.

‘Did you notice if Bess was asleep?”
asked Grandma.

“Very near it,” said Sophy, “she lies
there sucking her thumb as contented
as an angel.’

““She’s safe for two hours then, and
when she wakes you can give her her
dinner. It’s too bad about the ber.
ries, but sick folks are of more conse-
quence than strawberries,” and away
went Grandma to see what was the mat-
ter with poor old Mrs. Dawson.

“T’ll just do those berries myself,”
said Sophy, and went to work so busily
that she. quite forgot Bess, and did not
hear a sound when the little lady took
her thumb out of her mouth, slid down
from the bed, and walked out of the
front door. Prince was lying on the

hed himself,
walked slowly behind Bess to the gate,
and stood patiently by her while she
looked up and down the road. There
was not very much to look at, but pres-
ently a lovely butterfly came flutter-
ing over the wall, sailed about a great
thicket of May weed, and then settled
down upon a purple thistle, waving its
wings slowly as if it were half asleep in
the sunshine.
- “Oh,” said Bess, her eyes dancing
with delight as she saw it, but before
she reached the thistle the butterfly
finished its dream and went on. It was
not in any haste; it stopped here and
there fora sip of honey, it dropped
down on a spot of wet sand, it went
from side to side of the road, and still
Bess followed, and Prince kept close
beside her. By-and-by the butterfly
went over a fence into a field, and Bess,
with a little bit of disappointment in
her heart, pressed her face against the
rails and looked in. It seemed to bea
field of lovely red roses; thousands and
thousands of them; not growing on
high bushes, but one low mass of round,
bobbing flowers and dark green leaves.
Bess thought she could get through
the fence, so she squeezed her fat lit-














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BRIGHT JEWELS

FOR LITTLE PEOPLE ©

EDITED BY

MARY MURDOCK

ELLIOTT & BEEZLEY

CHICAGO AND PHILADELPHIA

1889,
COPYRIGHTED BY
L. T. PALMER.
1887.
THE TREASURE BOX.



The delightful day of days for us
children was at hand—the day with
the rejoicing sunshine and the stirring
grass, the bird-song and the laughing
ilacs. Every May all these felicities
haunted the old, old house in the coun-
try, where Grandmother lived; and
every May, we children, Clara, Charlie,
Norrie and Ralph, went to spend a
week with her.

O, I think there never was a Grand-
mother like ours. Our pranks made
her laugh till the tears came; and our
boisterous racing through sitting-room
and kitchen, including the tumbling up
and down the garret stairs, never seemed
to disturb her.

We had a choice of two or three
pleasant things: There was the Park,
and for vacation nothing could be more
crowded with delights for any one that
hadn’t a Grandmother. Then there
were the menageries— Well! those ani-
mals, and the wonderful stories told of
them by their keepers, had been a
round of pleasure, ever fresh and
exciting.

But the elephant might smoke a pipe
or dance a jig, and the goggle-eyed
parrot might put his book under his
wing, and trot off, saying,—“ I’m going
to Sunday-school;” or the monkeys
might perform on the banjoes, or play
base-ball by pitching the little monkeys
from one to the other. These things
were within every day’s possibility, but
we had tired of them.

We hesitated to go, only once, and
that for only half a day, when four

stylish invitations came from our dear
friends in Courtland avenue, request-
ing the pleasure of our company ata
birthday party. The affair was to be
attended with much elegance and for-
mality.

O, dear, it couldn’t be compared with
the fun at Grandmother’s house; with
herself and Betty, and old Towser and
the kittens, with the garret, the pea-
cock, and Old Dan’I, the horse!

To Grandmother's we would go, and
we went. Wasn’t she glad to see us?

My little room had around window
in it, and there was a pink flush on the
lace curtain in the morning, and I
looked, and a very old apple-tree had
stretched its mossy bough across since
last summer, and it was full of blossoms.
I suspect there was a robin’s nest some-
where in its green nooks, which should
be investigated further on.

The yellow butterflies, the blue sky,
the lazy stream that wound away under
the cedars and birches; the barn-yard,
—all things in this enchanted world
contributed their share of supreme
happiness, and we could think of but
one place that we had not visited, and
that was the garret.

Up the old stairs we raced, and as I
jumped upon its rough floor, I was
arrested in my frolic by the beautiful
pictures the windows at either end
revealed.

Out of that farther one could be seen
a grove of pine trees that were really
at quite a distance, and they seemed
to be so near; only a patch of buff sky

5
at one corner was seen, with a distant
spire, and a hint of clover fields on an
upland.

The Paths that ran between the trees
seemed unreal and mysterious. A dim
company of blue mountains took up
the other window; and from my place
on the floor I could see a large bird go
sailing down out of sight.

A play-house had been made for us
years ago, and every thing to which we

ad taken an especial fancy had been
put in here to adorn it. There were
oddly-figured matting on the floor,
brown, worm-eaten blinds, and yellow
Indian curtains on the half-moon
window.

A dresser was at the side whereon
we had placed every thing novel and
beautiful that we had collected in our
searches. A striped chintz-covered
rocking-chair ; a hobby-horse that had
lost his tail ; a music-box that could be
made to play by turning a handle, and
emitted sounds that only the pride of
ownership led any of us to endure.

But, perfect as was our satisfaction,
there were times when we longed to
investigate certain dark corners of the
garret, that were filled with rubbish
and discarded furniture that had up to
this time been too heavy for us to
move.

There was one place, withdrawn into
the shadows of the sloping roof, that
especially forced itself upon our atten-
tion.

We tip-toed round the great spinning-
wheel that stood guard over this fair
cavern ; but there was no place at whic
we could enter; we stood baffled, but
not in the least discouraged.

“T think, if that thing could be pulled
out, we could see what was behind it,”
said Charlie.

“Ha! ha! ha! That’s a brilliant
idea,” said Ralph. Then meditating a
moment, he said, with authority :

“The only thing to do is to quietly
move that old concern a little, every
once-in-a-while, and we can soon make
a place large enough to creep through.”

6

“Es, an’ me too!” said Norrie, with
enthusiasm, as she remembered with
pleasure her former style of locomotion.

We all “put our shoulders to the
wheel,” but, dear me, it wouldn’t
budge. With short breath and flushed
faces, we stood quite disappointed ; our
united strength went for so little.

We concluded it was best to give it
up for the present, as the supper bell
rung its welcome call.

ext afternoon we went about it in
good earnest, and the sun was two
ours high yet, when the spinning-
wheel had been pushed just enough to
allow us to squeeze in.

It Jooked dark and uncanny in there,
sure enough, but Charlie very bravely

ot himself in first, and in a moment

e had disappeared. What was our
surprise to hear him cry out and come
flying back, with white face, exclaiming:
“There’s an awful man in there! He
opened his jaws when he saw me!”

This startled us, and we fled, drag-
ging Charlie with us. We rallied on
the landing, however, and questioned
Charlie, sharply ; but he told the same
odd story, and nothing could induce
the frightened boy to go inagain. We
listened ; all was still. We went up
softly, and approached the place, by
easy stages. There was nothing to
terrify anyone. Charlie could always
tell big yarns.

Ralph and I were older and braver,
and we determined to go in. It wasa
pretty tough squeeze to get by the
spinning-wheel, and then a little dark
lane led away down into the shadow,
and right down at the end, wherea
beam of sunlight, that came through a
knot-hole, struck the beam, leered a
hideous face!

“Ralph,” I said faintly, “I must go
back.”

He caught hold of my dress, and the
blood flushed into his face, and he
stood, compelling metoremain. Itrem-
bled so that Icould hardly stand. That
one ray of sunshine cutting the gloom,
like a sword; that maniac face shining
in it; the shapes of lion’s claws and
birds’ beaks that became every mo-
“ment more distinct as I looked, could
not be endured another minute. But
Ralph pulled me along with him. I
still think he wanted company, and
was as much frightened as I.

“Don’t be a goose, Clara!” he said.
“Tt hasn’t moved a muscle since we’ve
been here. Hooray! Mr. Goblin, just
step down here, and be good company !”

“Dood tumpany!” screamed Norrie
on the outside.

Ralph dragged out a fishing-pole, and
gave the creature a poke. It aly, and he
ran and picked upa mask. Putting it
up to his face, he made a deep bow and
said: “At your service, lady.”

Nothing could keep the others out
now, and we all laughed together, long
and loud.

We looked, and wondered at every
thing inthe gloom. The sights were
most satisfactory though, where the ray
of light fell, and following it on its dusty
way down to the floor, it rested ona
queer-looking box, bound with tarnished
brass, on sides and corners. There was
something very fascinating in its ap-
pearance.

“ That we must take out and examine,”
said Ralph.

No sooner said than done; we pushed
it before us to our little play-house.

It was a most inviting box, for it
opened without any trouble, and what
did we not see in it?

Two great wax dolls lay on the top;
one dressed in crimson satin, the other
in blue, with real yellow hair and mov-
able eyes! These were lifted wut, and
below lay a world of treasures.

There were fairy books, with dimly

ilded leaves and painted pictures; a
ttle white stuffed rabbit, that Norrie
claimed as soon as she sawit; a “jack-
in-the-box,” that sprang out and laughed
in the most Iilarious manner; a chess-
board, with the red and white chess-
men, lying scattered about; a whole
china tea-set ornamented with little but-
terflies; acradle that had been trimmed

with ribbons that had been blue once,
but now were sadly faded; a Noah’s
ark, but a good many of the animals
were missing; a box with a toy parlor
set of furniture, some of which was
badly broken; a real little brass shovel
and tongs, and tiny bellows.

Ralph hunted out an old, well-
thumbed book, which proved to be
Robinson Crusoe. He turned to the
fly-leaf, and read: 7

“THIS Is MY BOOK.” This was fol-
lowed by a cabalistic sign, and then the
figure of a hunter was sketched, shoot-
ing an owl on a tree very close by.

his made much merriment. But
something having caught Ralph’s eye,
in the story, he sat down, and was so
absorbed in reading, that he wouldn’t
come down to his supper, till it became
so dark, that he could no longer see.

These play-things once belonged to
our aunts and uncles, and Grandma
said she had been looking for that box
for two or three years.

O, what an inexhaustible source of
delight it was! And what a gorgeous
play-house we made with all it con-
tained !

We went back home, in such a state
of unbounded cheerfulness, so greatly
refreshed in mind and body, that there
must have been hidden away in that
treasure box a sweet spirit of love,
that somehow stole into our hearts.


“COME, LITTLE BIRD!”

“Come, little bird, I have waited some
time,

Light on my hand, and I'll give you
a dime.

I have a cage that will keep you warm,

Free from danger, and safe from storm.”

“No, little lady, we cannot do that,
Not for a dime, nor a brand new hat.
We are so happy, and wild, and free,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’

“Fly, pretty bird, fly down, and take

Just a’crumb of my Christmas cake ;

Santa Claus brought it to me, you
know,

Over the snow. Over the snow.”

“Yes, we know of your home, so rare,

‘And stockings hung in the fire-light
there;

We peeped through the window-blinds
to see. |

Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’

“We were on the button-ball tree,
Closer than we were thought to be;
Soon you may have us in to tea,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’



SIRENA’S TROUBLE.

Adalina Patti was a doll of most
trying disposition. You couldn’t tell,
when she woke up, what distracting
thing she'd do first. I’ve known her,
when. seated at the breakfast table, in
her high chair, next to Sirena, her lit-
tle mamma, I have known her to jerk
suddenly forward, and plunge her face
right into a plate of buttered cakes and
syrup.

This necessitated the removing of
her from the table and a good deal of
cleansing and re-dressing on the part of
Bidelia, the hired girl.

8

She had movable eyes; they were
very lovely, but, if you'll believe it,
she'd screw them round, just to be con-
trary, so that she’d look cross-eyed for
hours together. No sweet persuasion
or threat of punishment could induce
her to look like a doll in her right mind.

This was not quite so ba
as the outlandish noises she made
when she didn’t want to say “mamma,”
which she could do very distinctly when
she first arrived, at Christmas.

But a crisis in her petulant obstinacy
came, when she wouldn’t sit still to
have her hair combed, and it looked
like a “hurrah’s nest,” her brother Bob
said. All her naughtiness came right
out then. She rolled one eye entirely
up in her head, and left it there, and
stared so wild with the other, that
Sirena gave her a pretty lively shake,

but she only dropped that eye and .

rolled up the other.

This made her little mamma pause
and meditate. She got provoked as
she looked at her, and then she gave
her a double shake; then that bad doll
rolled up both her eyes, and nothing
could induce her to get them down
again.

Oh, dear! How many dreadful things
she looked like. There was a vicious
parrot in the Park that made its eyes
ook just like Adalina’s did, just before
it stuck its head through the bars of its
cage to bite people. nd there wasa

though, -

,

stone lady, that was named “Ceres,” .

on one of the paths in the same park,
and she kept her eyes rolled up all the
time, greatly to the terror of Sirena
and Bidelia, who had to pass her in
coming home in the twilight. And
down street there was a tobacconist’s
sign that represented a fairy queen,
with butterfly wings, taking a pinch of
snuff; and the weather had taken all
the paint off her eyes and she looked
simply hideous; and Sirena grasped
Bidelia very tight, till they got round
the corner. Now here was her lovely
French doll looking like them and cut-
ting up worse. She’d go to mamma
ne ae


with this trouble as she did with all
others.

She put her doll down with her face
against the carpet, and taking hold of
her pink kid arm, dragged her, not
very gently, over the carpet to her
mother.

At that moment in bounced Rob,
who, immediately taking in the situa-
tion of affairs, exclaimed,—“ Oh, don’t
be so cruel to Adalina! Is she just
horrid? You know, Rena, that’s what
you are, sometimes, yourself. What's
the matter any way? What makes
you look so glum ?”

“This doll is acting dreadful; just
look at her eyes!’’ said Sirena.

“You can't tell any thing by any
one’s eyes, yours look like the 4th of
July, now, and you're a delightful lit-
tle girl, everybody says; you don’t
whack things round, and scream, when
the flowers bloom in the spring.”

He was to be repressed immediately.
Sirena looked at her mother.

“He wants to be funny, Sirena,”
said her mother, soothingly.

“Then he isn’t funny; he’s never
funny,” said Sirena, drawing herself up
with dignity.

“Totty Belmont says you're the teas-
enest, hatefulest boy. she knows! So
there,”’ remarked Sirena.

‘Oh, ho! I don’t wonder the doll
is scared. Why don’t you treat that
pretty creature with some considera-
tion? Dragging her over the carpet,
and spoiling her pretty dress! Now
you'll see, just as soon as she comes to
me, because I’m good-looking and nice,
she'll put her eyes down and smile at
me as lovely as ever.

He took the doll and jumped it up
and down in the air, dancing about and
singing, “ Tra-la.”’

s sure as the world! Down came
the eyes, and Adalina was her charm-
ing self again.

“Now you see,” said Rob, “if you
want people to be good to you and love
you, you must not be rude and illna-
tured yourself. This doll is French,

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and particular, and she just won’t look
at cross little girls; so there!” |
“TI think,” said her mamma, “that:
Sirena will not get so angry with her
doll again. She looks as if she were

ashamed of it now. However disagree-

able we may think people are, it’s.
best to watch ourselves, lest in finding
fault with them, we fall into the same
errors.

LADY VIOLET.

My little love, with soft, brown eyes,
Looks shyly back at me,

Beneath the drooping apple bough,
She thinks I do not see.

I cannot choose, I laugh with her,

I catch her merry glee ;

Or stay you near, or go you far,

Oh, little love, how sweet you are!

A hue, like light within a rose,

Is dimpling on her cheek,

It wins a grace, it deepens now
With every airy freak ;

A love-light in the rose like this,
Ah, you may vainly seek ;

It shines for me, no shadows mar,
Oh, little love, how fair you are!

My heart clings to her pretty words,
They will not be forgot ;

My happy brain will not discern,

If they be wise or not.

To ever be so charmed, so blessed,
Ah, this were happy lot.

My own, shine ever like a star
Upon my life, so true you are.

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A FISH STORY.

HOPE LEDYARD.

_ Six eager faces, all crowding around

to “see the picture!”’ Four of the faces
belong to girls—Edith and Mamie,
Birdie and Jeanie, while Al and Dick,
who are pretty big boys, “over ten,”
lean over the back of the chair.

“ FTe’s had a good catch,” says Al.

“ /Te’s not caught those,” says Dick,
while the girls look first at the picture
and then at the boys. “I guess that
fellow standing up in the boat is his
father. The men have caught the fish
and the boy takes them to sell. Why,
a fish as big as one of those fellows
could pull a boy right into the water,
easy!’

“My brother Dick kxows,” whispers
Jeanie, proudly. “He took me fishing
once and I caught two fish.”

The little girls look as if they could
hardly believe this, so Jeanie pulls
mamma’s arm and asks, “ Didn’t I catch
two fish last summer?”

“Indeed she did,’”’ says Dick, before
mamma has time to answer. “She
caught two sun-fish. -I never saw any
one do it better. Mother fried ’em for
her dinner, too.”

“My sister goes to a cooking school
and learns to bake fish,” says Edith,
“and she is teaching me at home. I
know the verse about cooking fish.”

We all begged Edith to say the
verse, so, after a little coaxing, she
repeated :

‘Our lesson is fish, and in every dish

We would like to meet our teacher’s
wish.

But many men have many minds,

There are many fishes of many kinds;

So we only learn to boil and bake,

To broil and fry, and make a fish-cake,

And trust this knowledge will carry us
through

When other fishes we have to ‘do.’”

Edith is a little orphan girl who lives
with her grandmother and sister Min-
nie. We are all so interested about
the cooking class, that she tells us
about how they learn to bake bread.

“T mixed the bread last Friday night
and made some biscuit in the morning,
and if I hadn’t forgotten the salt the
would have been splendid. I dont
remember all the verses about bread,
but one verse is:

‘Now you place it in the bread bowl,
A smooth and nice dough ball,

Last, a towel and a cover,
And at night that’s all.

But when morning calls the steeper
From her little bed,

She can make our breakfast biscuit
From that batch of bread.’”

_ “Well, it’s girls’ work to cook and
boys’ work to catch,” said Al, who was
getting tired of hearing verses.

“ Jeanie did some catching before she
was five years old, and you forget how
nicely papa cooked the breakfast when
you were camping out last summer.”

“T suppose his cooking, like Jeanie’s
fishing, was just an accident.”

“No, indeed! Good cooking has to
be learned,” I said, and this picture
makes me think of the first fish I had
to cook, and what a foolish girl I had.”

“Oh, mamma’s going to tell us a
story about when she was a girl,”
Jeanie exclaims. So all take seats—
Jeanie on my lap, the boys on the two
arms of my chair, and the three little
sisters on chairs or footstools.

Not about when I was a girl, but
about when I was a very young wife.

You boys know that { ad always
lived ina big house in the city, where
the servants did all the cooking and
such work, while I practiced music
or studied or visited my Sunday-school
scholars. I was just as fond of them
in those days as I am now. Well!

13
Your papa took me to a dear little
house, far, far away, near Lake George.
I had a very yeung girl to help me
about the house, who did not know
any thing about cooking. I thought I
knew a good deal, for I had learned to
bake bread, and roast meat and make a
cup of tea or coffee. I had just as
much fun keeping house in that little
cottage as Jeanie has playing house up
stairs. But one day papa went off in a
hurry and forgot to ask me what I
wanted for dinner. He was to bring a
gentleman home that day and I hoped

e would send me a good dinner.

About ten o’clock Annie, my little
servant, came to me and said, ‘Oh,
ma’am, the butcher’s here with a beau-
tiful fish the master has sent for the
meat.”

“A fish! Annie, do you know how
to cook fish?” I said.

“No, ma'am. Only it’s fried they
mostly has ’em.”

I went into the kitchen and there lay
a beautiful trout—too pretty to eat, it
seemed to me. Certainly too pretty to
be spoiled by careless cooking. So I
took my receipt book and after reading
carefully, I stuffed the pretty fish and
laid him in a pan all ready for the
oven, and told Annie to put it in at
eleven o'clock. .

I was pretty tired, so I lay down
for a little nap, and had just dropped
asleep when Annie came into the room,

wringing her hands and saying, “Oh,
ma'am! Oh, ma’am! What’ll I do in
the world?”

It seems that she had taken the fish
out of the safe and put it, pan and all,
on the table, and then, remembering I
had told her to sprinkle a little pepper
on it, she went to the closet tbr per
pepper-box, and when she came back,
the pan was empty!

“The cat stole it, Annie,” I said.

“Indade and she didn’t. The inno-
cent cratur was lyin’ on my bed and
the door shut.”

I tried to quiet the girl; but I told
her at last she could go home that

night, only she must dry her eyes and
run to the butcher’s for a steak, for the
master would be home with a strange
gentleman in half an hour. We man-
aged to get the steak cooked, and papa
tried to laugh Annie out of the notion
of a ghost stealing our beautiful fish,
but the girl would not smile and was
afraid to be left alone in the kitchen.
So after tea she packed up her things
and was to take the stage to the depot ;
for Annie lived a long way off.

Just before the stage came as I was
standing at the gate, my eyes full of
tears at losing my nice little servant all
on account of a fish, I saw the lady who
lived across the way open her gate and
come toward our house. I saw the
stage stop a few doors off as she came
to our gate and bowing to me said: :

“Excuse me, we are strangers, but
did you lose a fine trout to-day?”

She must have thought me mad, for
I .rushed into the house and called:
“Annie, Annie, I’ve found the fish!
Now put your things back in the bureau,
you silly girl.”

Then I went back and invited my
neighbor in, telling her about Annie’s
fright.

“Why, it was our Nero—our great
dog! Iwas away at my mother’s or I
would have brought it back, for I was.
sure it belonged to you. Nero must
have slipped in, nabbed the fish, and
brought it to our house. He laid it on
the kitchen floor, as if he had done
a very good deed, my girl tells me,
and she, foolish thing, thought he had
brought it from my mother’s, and.
cooked it.”

We had a hearty laugh at our stupid
servants, and were great friends from
that day, and I never see a picture of
fish for sale, but I think of my first
trout, which I prepared for dinner with
such care, but never tasted. Annie
never dared say “ghosts” after that,
and lived with us till Dick was three
years old. But there is papa, and these
ittle girls must have a piece of cake
and run home.
gai aI ae

PS Arete te GN
ee EN


JOHNNY’S GARDEN.



Johnny had a garden plot,
And set it all in order,

But iet it run to grass and weeds,
Which covered bed and border.

Two stalking sun-flowers reared their
heads,
So firmly were they rooted,
And Johnny, as he looked at them,
Was any thing but suited.

Two children small, looked up and said,
Oh, Mister, beg your pardon!
Or, if you will not answer that,

Say, sonny, where’s your garden?

“ What d’yecall those two large flowers ?
An’ what’ll ye take, an’ sell em?
You'd better put a ladder up,

So folks our size can smell ’em.

“We heard old Mrs. Grubber say,
‘That spot ye needn't covet ;
He’d better turn it into hay,

>9)

Or make a grass-plot of it.

But Johnny never answered back,
But went and dug it over,
And soon again, his sprouting seeds,

He plainly could discover.

He said, “I'll have a garden yet,
And make a little money;
I never liked those Podger twins,—

They try to be so funny.”

BOY BILLY AND THE
RABBIT.
Billy, boy! Billy, boy!
He was his mother’s joy,
But he couldn’t shoot an arrow worth a.
cent ;
And a rabbit almost laughed .
As she watched the flying shaft,
And the place upon the target where it.
went.

The rabbit passing by,
So very soft and sly,
Took Billy for a hunter gaily dressed ;
But when she came anear,
She said, “’Tis very clear
It’s safe enough to stay and take a
rest.”

Said the rabbit, “Billy, boy,
You never will annoy
Anybody, by your shooting at a mark ;
With an arrow and a bow,
I just would like to show,
I can reach the bull’s-eye nearer in the
dark.”

Just then an arrow flew,
That pierced it thro’ and thro’
Which made Miss Bunny start, and.
jump, sky high!
She cried, ‘‘Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
It’s safer in the rear;”’
And scampered off and never said,—
“Good-bye.”

You see the reason why,
"Tis always best to try,
Tho’ others laugh and slander all the
same ;
For be it late or soon,
They'll always change their tune,
When they see your arrow doesn’t miss.
its aim.
A CHRISTMAS STORY.



A long stretch of ocean beach—chil-
dren at play on the white sands—blue
dimpled waters sparkling in the early
morning sunlight, and dotted wit
snowy Sails, while a long line of dull
smoke against the horizon showed
where a great steamer with its freight
of living souls was going down to sea.
Men and boys are gathered in knots,
earnestly talking—fish-wives, with their
short, scarlet skirts, and kerchiefs tied
over their heads, are passing to and fro.
There seems to be an undercurrent of
excitement—what is it? Turning to

our left, in a wide cove or natural har-

or, can be seen a large vessel riding
at anchor, all equipped and manned,
ready to start on an ocean voyage; and
this is the cause of the unusual stir and
bustle in the quiet hamlet. Soon from
the straggling row of cottages come the
sailors, with their wives, and children
clinging to the mothers’ skirts. Slowly
they walk down to the shore, where
small boats are waiting to row them
over to the ship. Lingering as long as
they can, the time of parting comes,
and many a tearful farewell is spoken.
One fine fellow seemed very loth to
part with his wife, a pretty, red-cheeked
young woman ; but the men called him.
“‘ Aye, aye, mates,” he said; and witha
“‘good bye Tom,” “God bless you Mar-
gery,” and a tender kiss upon the face
of the sleeping babe in her arms, he
stepped into the boat, and was quickly
aboard the great vessel, which was soon
to bear him away from home and loved
ones. The little group on the beach
watched until the white sails were
filled, and like a huge bird with out-
spread wings she sailed away, and was
soon but a speck against the sky. The
women went sadly back to their onely
cottages, but the men remained to tal
over the event.

The summer passed quickly to the
waiting ones, for there were the fish to
be dried, and the little gardens to be

18

tended, as their winter’s store must not

fail, with good-man away. To Margery

the days did not pass unhappy, for she
took great pride and joy in her baby
boy. Stormy nights she never forgot
to set a lighted candle in the window;
it comforted her somehow, for although
the tiny blaze could not be seen out to
sea, yet she thought some poor, storm-
beaten wanderer on the rocky coast
might see the house-light, and know
that shelter was near. She often won-
dered, as she looked over the wide wild
ocean, where her sailor boy could be;
and she ever put up a prayer for his
safety. Well she knew the temptations
of a sailor, and she believed God would
keep him in the right way and bring
him back to her. But the long bitter
winter set in, and oh, the dreary, dreary
days that followed, for there is little of
interest going on ina fishing village.
They are mostly quiet, homely folk,
honest and hard-working. But as the
Christmas-tide drew near, each began
their simple preparations, as the men
were expected back atthattime. With
the rest, Margery made bright as hands
could makeit, herlittle house. Through
the day she stepped around at the duties
with a tender, happy light in her eyes;
baked the sweet seed-cakes, put them
away, got out the great pink corals—
Tom’s precious gift—and in the evening
when the wind blew, and the waves
dashed with a sullen roar against the
beach, she gathered her boy in her
arms and crooned qauint sailor ballads
to him, while listening, ever listening,
for a familiar step. Oh, a sailor’s wife
must be patient and brave. Often when
thousands of miles from home, our
sailor would, in his loneliness, be
tempted to fall in a snare; perhaps it
was ina foreign port, and his mates
grew boisterous over the wine-cup, or
it was on board the ship, and his watch
off—the jolly tars would say ,—‘“‘Come -
Tom, give us a hand at cards to-night.”
But the thought of his trusting wife,
her prayers, and their innocent child,
always restrained him. But at last








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they were homeward bound, and every
man’s heart leaped with joy, when the
thought of home and its loving wel-
come ; for they expected to be in haven
at the Christmas time. One wild night,
as Tom stood at the tiller, the snow
falling thick and fast, he heard the first
mate shout in quick alarm to the cap-
tain. Soon hoarse voices were giving
orders back and forth ; a severe gale was
upon them, and the danger was great,
but he stood at his post while the cord-
age above him creaked and strained and
the vessel rocked and groaned as though
in mortal gochey Every moment it
seemed ready to go to pieces. Tom
thought of his waiting ones, and gave
them up, for he felt no ship could live
in a sea like that.

All night the storm continued, but
calmed down with the dawn of day. Af-
ter clearing away the wreckage on deck,
for the storm had made havoc with the
rigging, and repairing the mishaps, they
found they were many miles out of their
course. Thankful they were that the
peril was past, but the men’s hearts
were heavy, for they feared there would
be no Christmas on shore for them.
But the captain cheered them, and re-
minded them that the “Sea Gull” was
a fast sailor.

All day the fishermen in groups





scanned the waste of waters—the “ Sea.
Gull” was due several days past, and
hearts were growing anxious, for there
had been mighty winds and terrible
storms of late. |

In her cottage, Margery was waiting
with ill-concealed impatience; twenty
times a day she would go to the window
and watch for a sail.

Christmas eve came, it seemed her
heart was bursting with suspense,
while, with her boy in her arms, she
made every thing ready ; the table was
Spies the fire blazed on the hearth,
the mistletoe hung over the door, when
she bethought her, “here, baby mine,
place a shining green cluster of holly
on the father’s ship,” and she held
the laughing babe up to a miniature
boat upon the mantel. As she did
so, a step was heard outside, the door
unlatched, and Margery was eee
in rough, blue-coated: arms. Tom had
come,—“ Merry Christmas, wife! merry
Christmas, little lad!” and a happier
family were never re-united.

There was great joy in the little ham-
let by the sea that night; and over all
shone the Star—the same heavenly ray
which guided the wise men across the
plains of Jericho, where lay the sleep-
ing Jesus, whose birth we love to
celebrate.













21
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STORY OF LAWRENCE
GRAY.



“Well, all right, don’t go,” said Hal-
sey Bonner. ‘ You're a pet lamb, that’s
what you are, and I always knew it.
If you had the pluck of a bull-frog,
you'd do as I want you.”

“T will do as you want me, but don’t
I tell you I’m afraid? Grandma will
find out I haven’t been to school, and
she’s so good to me,” said little Law-
rence Gray.

“Baa! baa!” said Halsey, derisively,
“you give me your skates and I'll hide
them in my overcoat pockets till to-
morrow, and we’ll skate down to the
Gypsy camp, and they’! let us race their

22

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ponies and they'll sell us some of
their things; they've got trick
toys, that Itmake a racket in school.
Bring a big lunch with you; tell
your Grandmother that you get
tremendous hungry these days,
and we'll have the biggest fun!”

This was said as the two koys
wended their way homeward after
school, and the prospective “fun”
was to be enjoyed on the morrow.

“All right,” said Lawrie, “if
you won't call me ‘pet lamb’ any
more, I’ll go.”

“Well, keep mum atout it,
and be sure to bring plenty of
doughboys along.” ‘These were
odd-looking, fried sweet-cakes,
that Lawrie’s Grandmother made,
because he liked them, and ce
found a ready acceptance wit
Halsey, although his father had a
hired cook, and Halsey had French
novelties to dine upon.

Lawrie rushed into his Grand-
mother’s sitting-room, as red-
cheeked and boisterous as ever,
and the old lady smiled pleasantly
at him, and when she saia,
Deary, there’s a big, red apple
on the mantel-shelf for you,” he
felt a pang, and something come
into his throat like a great lump.

But those feelings passed away im-.
mediately, and he began to think of
the good time he should have in the
company of that fearless companion
and jolly good fellow, Halsey.

The cakes that Halsey would surely
ask for were not so easily obtained.
If Lawrie should ask for more than his
usual ration, his Grandmother would
ask questions, and he would not be
able to stand that ordeal. He peeped
into the pantry, and there was a beau-
tiful platter full of them, and some
little, round mince pies, that were made
on purpose for Lawrie’s lunch, on an-
other.

“TI don’t think it would be very bad
to take a handkerchief full of ‘them
now, and by-and-by come and get some

i

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[

Hf
it"
more. I must take enough, because
we're to be gone all day,” he thought.

He slyly carried them up to his room,
and hid them, and when _ bed-time
came, he kissed his Grandmother good-
night, but she seemed to hold him
closer to her than usual, and look at
him in a sweeter way. This he thought
of, afterward. The excitement of the
coming good time, and the fact that he
had never played truant before, pre-
vented him from falling immediately to
sleep, and the full moon had come up
above the woods and looked into his
window in a wide-awake way, and he
tossed about restlessly.

What should he do with the good
things he had secreted? He certainly
could not take them when he went to
school to-morrow, and there they were,
an unmistakable proof of ilfering
They must be got out of the house in
some way, he thought. If they were
only outside in some convenient place,
they could carry them off unobserved.
Betty, the house-girl, would get the
credit of taking them, and it didn’t
make much difference if she did, “She
is an awful sassy thing,” he said to
himself.

All sounds in the house had at last
subsided, and for some time he thought
and thought of what should be done.
He hit upon it at last. He would get
up and dress and take the cakes and

les in a basket and softly leave the

ouse, and deposit them under a lit-
tle, low bridge, that crossed a frozen
stream, a short distance down the road.
They would be perfectly safe there till
school time, and a turn of the road
effectually hid the bridge from his
home.

No sooner thought of, than he began
to put the scheme into operation. He
wrapped the cakes up in a towel, and

utting them in a basket, went noise-
essly down the carpeted staircase in
his stocking feet, carrying his shoes in
one hand. He turned the key softly in
the front door, and then returned to
~ the hat-rack for his overcoat and cap.

Do not think he did all this without,
a warning from conscience; no, he felt
an anxiety and fear that made him turn
back once and blush hotly; but then,
how could he boast of his courage to
Halsey, to-morrow. Then, again, if he
backed out now, there was Halsey’s
ridicule, which to Lawrie was simply
unbearable.

He went out into the road, and run-
ning swiftly in the direction of the
bridge, he turned as he reached the
bend and looked back at hishome. All
was quiet. Not the least fear that
he had been discovered. He turned
the bend, and, running down the bank,
stooped under and crept along a few
feet into the arch. He set the basket
in a safe place and turned to go out,
when he saw, between him and the
light, the figure of a rough-looking
man, stooping down and peering into
the arched opening.

Lawrence’s heart bounded in his
breast ; fear seized him in every fibre
of his body. .

“Bill,” said the figure, “you jest stop
the hole on t’other side, there’s game
here!” The man spoken to ran into
the meadow, and prevented any escape
in that direction.

The speaker crawled under the arch,
seized Lawrie, bound a handkerchief
over his mouth to stifle his cries, and,
throwing a coarse bag over his person,
pulled him along the road. The other
man assisted, and in this manner, half
dragged and half carried, Lawrie was
taken, he knew not whither. He at-
tempted once to cry out, but he was
struck smartly on the head with a whip,
and bade to “shut up!”

They now seemed to have entered
the wood, as they stumbled against
trees, and the going became difficult.
Lawrie was well nigh insensible from
exhaustion. After awhile they stopped,
and tumbling him into a wagon, they -
carried Lawrie many miles from his
home.

Lawrie had been kidnapped by the
Gypsies. They brought him to their

23
camp, and their women treated him not
vnkindly in their rough way; but hard
work and miserable privation were be-
fore him, without any hope of escape.
Preparations were evidently making for
a hurried departure, and after a consul-
tation, from which Lawrie could only
gather the words, “nobs” and “re-
ward, he surmised that he would be
detained a prisoner until a sufficient
sum of money should be obtained to
release him.

Oh, the bitterness of that wrong-
doing! Dear, dear Grandma; with her
tenderness and thoughtful care; she
knew not the fate of her little boy.

The Gypsies left that part of the
country, carrying Lawrie with them,
his skin stained, and with ragged gar-
ments scarcely keeping out the frost.
Here we will Sige him.

His Grandmother was crazed with
grief at his absence. Her love for the
ay son of her dead daughter could not
be for a moment forgotten. She deter-
mined to travel to every Gypsy camp
she could hear of. It was surmised
that Lawrie’s fate was somehow mixed
up with the visit of those people to the
neighborhood. .

e shut up her house, took her lit-
tle hoard of money from the savings
bank, and went out to wander the wide
world for Lawrie. She met most kind
and sympathetic people, who directed

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and comforted her. It availed nothing.
A year had passed and Grandmother
had, traveled through many States—
many children were brought t” her,
but none of them were sunny-t tired,
cheery, bright-eyed Lawrie.

She had reached the city of St. Louis,
and had called a street-car, upon a seat
of which she sat, listless, discouraged—
meditating a return to her old home.

A wild-eyed, starved-looking boy
jumped into the car, from, no one
knew whither, screaming, ‘“ Grand-
mother! Grandmother!” man entered quickly and was about
seizing him, when Grandmother stood
up, looked closely at him, and then,
sinking upon the boy: breast, sobbed,
ae my own Lawrie, I have found

ou!

The policeman looked incredulous;
and they both went with him to 2
neighboring station.

This was Lawrie, who had escaped
from his hideous servitude, and was
begging his way homeward. The kind
policemen interested themselves for the
old lady and the boy. A suit of nice
clothes was purchased, and Grandma’s
money was not all spent, and they sped
on their rejoicing way, to the pleasant
home in New England.

No one has felt more bitterly than
Lawrie, that “The way of the trans-
gressor is hard.”

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THE LITTLE ORPHANS.

“T wont! I wont have my hair
turled!” said George Washington Dan-
forth, as he ran away from Jenny, the



' nurse.

“T wont have my face washed, and I
wont be dressed for breakfast all day,”
" said Grace, and she climbed upon the
- lounge and curled her feet under her.
Now, this rebellion had been coming
- on for a week. Jenny, the nurse girl,
had petted and coaxed and made large
" promises of candy, and sights at show
- windows.

These enjoyments had satisfied only
for a day, and a frowsy head and a
- night-dress toilet, with bare feet, were
now to be tried, whatever the nurse
might say to the contrary.

This perplexed Jenny very much.
She knew, if she persisted in com-
pelling these thoughtless children to
submit, there would be jumping and
screaming and other naughty behavior.
So she sat down, and pretending to
cry, brought out her pocket handker-
chief and sobbed, as she thought, most
effectively.

It didn't do; George Washington put
both his little fat fists up to his eyes,
and imitated, as well as he could, the
heart-breaking sounds Jenny was mak-
ing, and then laughed till he couldn’t
stand up, at his own performance.

Grace liked the feeling of the soft
carpet under her bare feet, and went
through with a figure of the “ Buttercup
Dance,” much to her own satisfaction.

“Jenny, you can’t catch me!” said
Grace, racing round the nurse in funny
gymnastics.

“Qo tan’t tech me!” echoed George.
At that moment, mamma, passing the
door, could not understand what such a
noise meant, and came in.

Then Jenny related to her the exist-
ing state of things.

Mamma looked very serious, and
called George to her, and taking him
on her lap, sat down on the lounge be-
side Grace.

2

“Jenny,” she said, “I have some-
thing to tell the children, and you may
leave them with me.” |

“ Mamma, what are oo going to do?”
asked George. Grace said, “I’m going
to have bare feet all day, mamma!”

“T have a little story to tell you, and
then we will talk about that afterward,”
said her mamma.

The stories were pleasant to’ hear,
and no one could tell them like their
mother, so they became quiet instantly,
and she commenced:

“There were three little orphans,
whose names were Lena, Fritz and Bis-
marck. They were very poor and wan-
dered about, begging for a morsel to
eat, and many times, when nightfall
came, they didn’t know where they
should sleep.

“They tried to sing in front of peo-
ple’s houses, but no one cared to listen -
to their little weak voices, and they did
not make any thing in this way. They
went bare-footed all summer, and when
it became cold they still had no protec-
tion for their little blue feet. No one
knows, but such as these, how cold and
hard the stones are, and how these lit-
tle ones suffered.

“They could look into lovely homes,

and see children tucked away, warm

and snug in their pretty beds, while the
frosty wind blew around themselves,
and they huddled together in some half-
sheltered place, in an old barn, or in
some barrels or dry-goods boxes.

“They were glad to eat what little
boys and girls like you waste—the
crusts, the crumbs and the fragments
of nice breakfasts. How glad they
would have been to have had some
good person like Jenny to take care of
them. Oh, my little dears don’t know
how dreadful it is to trudge through
the cold and beg.

‘‘No one offered to do any thing for
them, and, worst of all, other children,
when they saw them coming, made fun
of them, of the queer-looking caps
Fritz and Bismarck wore, and of the
old-fashioned, ragged dress the little

25
Lena had on, and to amuse themselves
they would throw stones slyly at them,
so that the beggars had to go away as
quickly as they could. If there had
only been some kind Jenny to say to
them:

‘Here, dear little ones, come in to
this pleasant home. I have a beautiful,
warm room for you to be in, and when
you have bathed yourselves in this
warm, bright water, you shall have the
choicest breakfast I can make for you.’”

“Do you think these hardly-treated
little ones would have been as unruly
as you were this morning? Do you
think they would have been saucy and
obstinate ?”’

The children did not say any thing,
but were very still and looked serious.

“One night, it was late, and they
had not yet found a place to stay, and
they looked in the window and saw
Gracie playing with her doll, and Geor-
gie riding his hobby-horse, and he had
his hair combed and his white dress
and red sash on, and Gracie would sit
her doll down into its cushioned, easy
chair, and then take her seat at the
piano, and sing and play, and after
walking about and looking in for a lit-
tle while, they went away sorrowfully.

“They went till they reached a neg-
lected cottage, where two old people
lived, and they crept in between some
mossy boards and broken beams and
snuggled up next to the chimney where
it was warm, and this was like heaven
to these shivering, hungry little waifs.

“They came to our house the next
morning, and I opened the dining-room
window, and asked them to come in,
but they were not used to seeing me
here, and were very shy, and I could
not prevail upon them to accept my
hospitality. They had been ill-treated
so often that they mistrusted every-

body.

“TI gave them their breakfast and
they went away delighted. I invited
them to come to-day and I’m sure they
will come. I had intended that you
should see them this morning, but you

26

are not ready. Here it is eight o'clock,
and Georgie hasn’t his face washed nor
his hair combed; and you, Gracie, in
your night-dress yet, and both of you
saying, ‘I wont! I wont!’ to every
thing nurse Jenny asks you to do.

The children both jumped down, and
racing after Jenny screamed out:

“Jenny, Jenny! we’re good now, we
want to be dressed right away to go
down to see the poor little orphans.”

Georgie submitted, with great pa-
tience, to the curling Jenny gave his
hair. It went into such pretty waves,
that when it was done it made him look
once more like a good little boy, that
had been gentle and obedient.

Gracie preferred to have on her lilac-
colored dress, dotted with tiny pink
rose buds, and her sash on; her hair
fell down over her shoulders in thick,
flaxen tresses.

They went down stairs in a very or-
derly manner, one on each side of
Jenny. When their mother met them
in the dining-room, she was so much
pleased to see the change in their ap-
pearance, that she kissed them both.

She said, “I hear my little friends
out there now;” and they all went to
the window. There stood three little
sparrows on the snow, their little blue
feet looking cramped and frozen. The
smallest one was trying to flutter its
ragged wings and be very cheerful.
They looked up, and did not seem
the least bit frightened.

They chirruped a “good morning”
to the children. Their mother told
them to bring a plateful of food she
had prepared for them, and to feed it to
them out of their hands. The birds
hopped about upon the window sill,
and then, as if by magic, came two
snow-birds, that wanted the crumbs
that lay on the snow.

“These little birds have slept all
night over next to that warm chim-
ney, said mamma, pointing across the
lawn, at old Mr. Gleason’s Fouse, “and
they come every morning to our win-
dow. You must be up and dressed if


you want to be kind to them. They
are the little orphans that I meant, and
I saw the cruel boys shoot their mother
as she was feeding them; at that time
they could only just fly. They have
struggled bravely with their misfor-
tunes. Our Heavenly Father cares for
them and you.

“Would it not be a disgraceful thing
for you, if these little birds were found
to be more gentle, obedient and truth-
ful than you?» You who have so much,
and are so tenderly cared for?”

The children looked with grave inter-
est at the little pensioners, regarding
them in an entirely new light, and felt
a good deal ashamed, when they. found
they were surpassed in good behavior
by those little sparrows.

“See their brown caps! Those two
must be Fritz and Bismarck, and that
ragged gray one is Lena. Mamma,
before next winter, mayn’t we have a
pretty warm house built for the little

irds, in the old oak, at the corner of
the piazza? They wont be cold and
hungry any more,’ said Grace.

This was decided upon, and a refer-
. ence only to the forlorn little orphans
was enough to bring the children to
a proper regard for themselves and
their behavior.

They became great friends, and
George and Grace cultivated many
graces of character in tending them.

WHICH WOULD YOU BE?

BY HOPE LEDYARD.



Who do you think is the happiest
little girl in this picture ?

Blossom says the one with the para-
sol is the happiest, and, when we asked
her why, she says,—“ Cause she’s got
the best szzgs.”’

But ¢hzngs do not make people happy.
That little girl, whom Blossom thinks
is so happy, is little Laura Holley.
She has no brothers or sisters, and her

mother is not welland strong; so Laura
is often very lonely. Laura is looking
at Mary Simpson, and wishes she were
Mary!

Mary has a brother and sister (they
are just in front of her), and Laura has
seen the three children playing in the
fields or picking berries on the roadside ;
and they are always having a good
time. Laura has only just come to
live in the country, and she does not
know Mary yet, but as she walks behind
her, she is saying to herself: “How
happy she must be! I mean to ask
her to let me play with her.”

And what do you think Mary is say-
ing ?—“QOh, there’s that pretty little
girl just behind us. I do hope Tommy
will be good, and that Polly won’t talk.
I hope she'll sit by me, sol can find
out her name. If she'll let me, I'll
show her that big blackberry bush that .
no one has seen yet. How nice it must
be to have pretty dresses, and a par-
asol !” |

Mary and Laura did sit together, and
as soon as school was over they began
to talk. Mary offered to show Laura
the blackberry bush on the way home.
So they walked together, Tommy run-
ning ahead, and Polly hanging a little
behind, until Laura offered to lend her
her parasol, when Polly walked ahead
of all, very proud and happy.

“I’m. afraid she’ll spoil it,
Mary.

«6 oh, no, she wont,” said Laura;
“and anyhow, I don’t need a parasol
here. other says I’m to get as brown
as a berry.”

“There’s the bush,” said Mary.
“Come right on the fence, and we can
pick a few, and put them ina leaf for
your mother.”

Mary scrambled over the fence in a
second, and Polly threw. down the
parasol, and crept under, but Laura
stood still in the road.

“I'd spoil my clothes,” she said. “I
wish I was dressed like you!”

“And I was wishing I was dressed
like her!” thought Mary. “But I

27

9?

said
wont wish it any more. Poor little
thing!”

‘Wait a minute, and we'll bring you
some; we'll put plenty of leaves to-

ether. Oh, Tommy, can’t you get a

ig cabbage leaf?”

ommy was off in a minute, and
soon they were all sitting on a big flat
rock, eating blackberries; or rather,
Laura and Polly were eating, while
Mary looked on. .

“IT saw you riding out with your
mother, last Friday,’’ she said.

“And I saw you riding on a great
load of hay; oh, how I wished I were
having such fun,” said Laura.

“Isn't that queer!” thought Mary.
‘Maybe I do have the best time of the
two! That was my father’s load of
hay,” she said out loud, “and _ to-mor-
row we're to go out and turn hay for
him. If you Tike, you can come too.”

“Tl ask mother; I’m pretty sure I
can go. What do you do when you go
home to-night ?”’

“We all sit down under a big tree
and tell father and mother about the
lesson, and then we sing hymns. My
father can sing beautiful, and mother
tells us a story; and we have supper
under the tree.”

“We have cookies on Sunday,” said
the little one, but Mary turned red, and
said,—" Hush!”

“Oh, how’ nice it must be!” said
Laura. “My mother can’t sit up to
tea very often, and father is in the
city; so I eat supper all alone. The
on y pleasant thing I can do is to read,
and I get tired of reading sometimes.”

“We have Pilgrim’s Progress, and
three hymn-books,” said Mary, “and all
our Sunday-school papers.”

“There’s father,” said Tommy.

Laura looked up and down the road,
but Mary explained that Tommy had
heard his father’s whistle, with which
he called the children to meals. So
the new friends parted, promising to
meet together by eight o’clock in the
morning, if Mrs. Holley were willing.

Laura’s mother was quite willing that

her little daughter should go to the
fields ; so at eight o’clock, Mary found
her new friend waiting at the foot of
the lane.

“I’ve brought a picture-book for
Polly, and a nice story for us to read,”
said Laura; ‘and mother told the girl
to put up lots of lunch, so you needn’t
go home at noon, and we'll have a
picnic.”

“How did you carry the basket?”
asked Mary, as she tried to lift the
lunch basket.

“T didn’t. I brought my servant!
Here, Ponto, take it!”

At these words a great big dog ran
up (he had been chasing a little red
squirrel) and took the basket in his.
mouth. He was, as Tommy said, “as
big as a pony;”’ and was so gentle that.
even Polly was not afraid to pat him.

What a lovely day they had !

They worked hard at turning the hay,
and then had a long “noon-spell,” that
lasted till six o’clock at night.

Laura came back to her mother with
her face burned, and her hair all tossed.
by the wind. _

“Qh, mother,” she said, “just think!
That little girl I told you about was
wishing she was me, and I was almost
wishing | was her! But I guess we
wouldn't either of us change, after all.
If only you were well, and strong, mother
dear, I could have such happy times.”

“T hope you will have many happy
times any way, little daughter,” said
Mrs. Holley, “but almost everybody,
little and big, says: ‘if—only.’” It is
just as well, dear, that we cannot choose
for ourselves. Still, I do hope to get
stronger in this lovely country air.”

So the two little girls, whom you see
in the picture, became good friends and
had many happy times, but I do not
think Mary wishes to be Laura, or
Laura cares to be Mary.

There is something in the life
of every one, that we would not be
willing to take, even though many
things in the same life might be pleas-
ant to us.








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THE LESSON AFTER
RECESS.



A bright little urchin out west,
Thought going-to school was a pest.
He said, “I don’t care,

I just won’t stay there,
Tll have a good time like the rest.

He said, “I'll run off at recess,
‘They'll never once miss me, I guess;
A fellow can't stop
When he’s got a new top.
There'll just be one good scholar less.”

Now the “rest’’ was a crowd of rough
boys,
‘Who with rudeness
noise,
Made one afraid
To go where they played,
But their riotous play he enjoys.

aid waisentcr aad

So away from his lessons he ran,
This promising western young man,



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They pushed him down flat,
Tore the rim off his hat,
Said, “There’s nothing so healthy as
tan.”

And they did what was very much
worse ;
They stole his new knife and his purse.
They gave him a shake,
And they called him a “cake;”
Said, “ Next time, bub, come with your
nurse.”’

Near sundown this urchin was found .
Fast asleep on some very hard ground;
He looked tired and grieved ;
He’d been so deceived,
And quite ready for home, I’ll be
bound.

The primary teacher, Miss Small,
When she heard his sad fate, forgave all,
My teacher’s a daisy!
I'm through being lazy.”
He said, “School’s not bad after all.”

wer






























back attracted
his attention.
Looking at it
: closely, he found it was part
at of a letter written to a young man,
; apparently, like himself, disheartened
with his difficulties. ‘Go on, sir, go
on,’ was the counsel ; “the difficulties.
you meet will disappearas youadvance.””
This short sentence seemed to give
the student fresh courage. Following
out these simple words he applied him-
self with renewed energy to his studies}
and ultimately became one of the most
learned men of his day. D.

FALSE SHAME.

Do not be ashamed, my lad, if you
have a patch on your elbow. It is no
mark of disgrace. It speaks well for
your industrious mother. For our part,
we would rather see a dozen patches
on your clothes than to have you doa
bad or mean action, or to hear a pro-
fane or vulgar word proceed from your
lips. No good boy will shun you or
think less of you because you do not
dress as well as he does, and if any one ~
laugh at your appearance, never mind
it. Go right on doing your duty.

HELPFUL WORDS.

A great astronomer was, once in his
early days, working hard at mathematics,
and the difficulties he met with, made
him ready to give up the study in de-
spair. After listlessly looking out of
the window, he turned over the leaves
of his book, when the lining at the

32






~~ THE SNOW BIRDS.

When skies looked cold and winter boughs
Gave out a crackling sound,

Two little snow-birds chilled, with frost,
Had fallen to the ground.

When Nelly came along that way,
And saw them sitting there ;
She thought them dead, “But no,” she
said,
“They need a little care.” '
She warmed them with her hand, and
gave
__ Them dainty crumbs to eat,
And then they oped their pretty eyes,
_ And stood upon their feet.

And lcoked up sweetly in her face,
And chirped, as if to say,

‘“We thank you for your tenderness,’
And then they flew away.

Where they had gone so suddenly,
She looked above to see,

And there they sat, a row of them,
Upon the maple tree.

They chirped and twittered as they
looked,
As much as they could do,
As if to say ‘“ Sweet little girl,
We will remember you.”

And to a friendship very sweet,
Her acts of kindness led,

For often would they follow her, ‘
And fly above her head.

But how they could remember her,
She never understood,

But papa said, “I think ’tis by

That little scarlet hood.’’

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How THE Days Went at SeA-GuLL BEACH,

No school! And the beautiful sum-
mer days coming so early in the
morning, that none of us children ever
could get awake to see the sun rise, and
staying so long that we grew quite
tired of being happy; and some of us,
Gracie and Jimmie in particular, were
so little, that they couldn’t stay awake
through the whole of it, and went off
into a nap every day after dinner.

But this was in the city, and when we
arrived.at the beach we didn’t get tired
or cross the whole day long. There
were many children at the hotel, and
when we came, with our dolls and toy
boats, our fishing-tackle and spades,
and pails, we made a host of friend
immediately. ‘

Reginald and Willie, our older broth-
ers, did not always go with Gracie and
Jimmie and me, bout made the acquaint-
ance of the men that went out to sea
to fish for the great hotels; and they
went oftentimes with them, and we
used to enjoy seeing the little boats
launched; they almost stood on end
when they went over the breakers,

36

making us scream with excitement and
delight. And as the little fleet grew
less and less, and at last disappeared,
we girls thought it was a grand thing
to have such brave brothers.

I was the elder girl, being ten, and
Gracie seven. Our Gracie was a lovely
little sister; she had large blue eyes,
and wavy brown hair, and was very
gentle and obedient, and people called
her “ Pet,” almost as soon as they be-
cage acquainted with her.

other had blue flannel suits made
for us, and dressed in these, with
sailor hats that had little tapping rib-
bons at the sides, we scurried along
the beach, climbed the rocks, or waded
out into the salt water.

But we had on our very prettiest
dresses in the evening, for the chil-
dren were allowed to have the grand
parlor, and dance to the music of the
band until nine o’clock. This was a
privilege we older ones talked of con-
tinually, and looked forward to all day.
We were so dainty, genteel, and good-
mannered for an hour, that it impressed


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even ourselves ; and boys and girls be-
came models of gentleness and _ polite
behavior, and the effect of those de-
lightful evenings has given growth and
direction to many graces in our char-
acters.

But the little ones, like Gracie and
her friends, really couldn’t stand the
excitement, and rolled around in odd
corners on the floor, or sought the
grateful obscurity behind the sofas, to
indulge in naps, long before nine
o'clock. I found Gracie, in her pink
sik dress and violet slippers, lying
curled up under the table, with her
head on the back of Bosin, the great
Newfoundland dog that had stolen into
the parlor against rules.

Nelson Faber was a little boy, not
much older than Gracie, and they
seemed to enjoy each other’s society
very much. He too oftentimes suc-
cumbed to sleepiness when we wanted
him to do his sailor dance; but when
the morning came, they were as rosy-
cheeked and bright-eyed as ever, and














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DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF THE BAND.

trotted along the pleasant walks with
their hoops and pails, inseparable
friends. It was fortunate for Gracie, too,
that he preferred to play with her,
rather than to go off with the boys, for
one day after a boisterous night, the
sea came up higher on the beach than
we had ever before seen it ; and unsus-
pecting Gracie was caught by a wave
and thrown down, and as it retired it
seemed to drag her along with it; we
older ones lost our presence of mind
entirely, and screamed and cried, and
did nothing, but that heroic little fellow
ran into the boiling surf and caught her
dress, and with the dog’s assistance,
dragged her to a safe place. She said
he was, ‘‘ Very nice and dood.”

,One day, some of my girl compan-
ions. proposed to visit the rocks that
lay at the mouth of Green river, just
where it gently met the ocean. Right
there, no end of sea-weed and shells,
and things thrown up by the ocean,
could be found; and there were such
curious rocks, with nooks and basins,

37
where the water stayed in tiny pools,
and there we went fishing, and brought
lunch, setting it out on the most con-
venient flat rock we could find. I tell
you, cold chicken, pickles, cheese, and
sponge cake, with milk, tasted as they

“What’s the matter, Milly,” wecried.
“Are you hurt? What did you see?”
we breathlessly shouted.

“Oh! oh!” was all she could gasp,
pointing toa place she had just left.
We all scrambled out instantly, and





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































It was a comical sight to see us navi-
gating ourselves in procession through
that water, but it was a very ques-
tionable joke, when Milly Sayre
jumped and screamed, and ran likea
frantic creature from the pool, and up
the rocks.



nevcr did peered
before or over the
since, to rocks into
our party the water.
of hungry What
children. should we
We climb- see but a
ed and fell, little crea-
and laugh- ture, gro-
ed, and tesque and
chatted, hideous,
with the that made
salt breeze its way
lifting our round in
hair, and the water,
fanning with as-
our brown tounding
faces, and celerity,
going out throwing
far on the out legs
point, we or claws,
came upon or what-
a little ever they
shining were, from
lake, sur- every point
‘rounded by of its cir-
rocks, upon cumfer-
which we ence. Its
could _ sit, body was»
and dabble flat and
our feet in was agreen
the water. color above
It was no and pink
place more under, and
than a foot to add to
deep, and its alarm-
we decided ing appear-
to wade INSEPARABLE FRIENDS. ance, it
“round in it. looked at

us with two black eyes, in a very sinister
and uncanny manner. We Iooked at
each other with blanched faces and
speechless horror, and then kept asharp
lookout, lest it might take it into its
head (we couldn’t tell if it had any

| head, for the place where the eyes were,
‘WHAT MABEL DID.

ROE mee

Mabel broke a poppy up,
And threw the pieces on the
' water;
- .But.she did it all for fun,
~~. Mamma’s darling daughter.

Then she played that they were
boats
pang off, where toys . are
plenty |

Coming back with what she
wanted,

Pretty things, enough for
twenty.

Cats and donkeys, balls and
- — : tack m

nd a jumping} so jolly ;

And a pretty, gold-rimmed ea

set,
And a little coach for dolly.

‘““What are those things on the
stream ”
Said the cat-tails, quite un-
able
To make out, until they saw
By the brook-side, little Mabe

“Ah, we have it!” then they

said,—
"Tis a funny girl we know,
Broke a scarlet poppy up,
Just to see the pieces go.

When she gets a little older,
Mamma then will say to
Mabel,
“Put the scarlet poppies, dear,
In a vase, upon the table.”


did not seem different from any other
part of its body,) take it into its “in-
ternal consciousness, to crawl out on to
the rocks and chaseus. It got through
the water in a distracting manner,
which was really quite amusing after a
few moments, and from being horribly
frightened, we became interested when
we found it did not attempt the offen-
sive. We gave it some lunch and
called it “ Jack Deadeye,” and for the
whole afternoon he was the center of
attraction.

“Let us take him back with us,” I
proposed. “We can get him into a
pail, and then we can have him in some
pool nearer home, and see what he’ll
turn into. I don’t believe but what
he'll be something else in a few days.”

My knowledge of natural history had
always been lamentably meager, and
more than once I had brought the
laugh upon myself by my ignorance.
So I forbore to predict what would be
his ultimate form of beauty.

“A whale!” said Susie Champney.

“Oh, dear, no; whales don’t have’

legs and claws,” said Estella Bascom.
“It’s a tadpole.”

“You’re mistaken there,” said Ma-
mie Fitz Hugh; “tadpoles are just the
little jokers that do have tails, I’ve
seen hundreds of them, and this crea-
ture has no tail.”

Weall rushed again to the edge of the
rocks to lookat him, with added wonder.

“Well, we'll take that tad home on
a pole, any way,” said Nannie White,
who was the cutest girl to say things
in the whole crowd. She immediately
ran off to secure a piece of drift that
was tumbling about on the wet sand.
But how to get him into a pail was the
next problem. A committee of the
whole was called. I thought we could
obstruct his path by putting the mouth
of the pail in front of him, and then
when he sailed into it, we could in-
stantly pull him out. This was decided
upon; but how to get it down to him
without falling in? A bright idea struck
me. I whipped off my flannel sash, and

running it through the handle, dashed
it into the water; but that proceeding
only frightened him—we must move
more cautiously. We worked for an
hour and had him in twice, but were so
excited both times that he escaped.

First time, Totty Rainsford shouted,
“We've got him!” and immediately
rolled off the rocks, head first, into the
water. We were all so scared, with the
water splashing, and she screaming at
the top of her voice, “Save me! Save
me!” that Jack got away. She scram-
bled out pretty lively, and when we got
him in again, we were all seized with
another fit of laughing at Totty, who,
in her moist predicament, was jumping
round to dry herself, because she didn’t
want to go home, that he crawled out
as leisurely as possible. But we se-
cured him at last, safe in the pail; and
to prevent his crawling out, I clapped
my sailor hat over the top of it, and the
elastic kept it down tight. We put the
pole through the handle and Estelle
and myself took hold of the ends, and
we came near losing him every few
minutes, owing to the inequalities of
the ground. The pail would slide down
to either end, as the pole inclined, and
Estella would drop it and scream when
she saw the pail traveling noiselessly
toward her, and if it hadn’t been for
my happy thought of putting the hat
over him, he'd have got away to his
“happy hunting grounds,” or rather,
waters, in short order.

We arrived at the hotel at last, with
Jack all safe, and the rest of the girls
went to dress for dinner, and left me
to find the boys, to help me deposit
him in a secure place, for we were sure
we should very greatly astonish: the
boarders and achieve renown as having
discovered a new species of marine
beast.

The boys were in a perfect ecstacy
of curiosity to see what the girls had
caught. When I carefully took off the
hat, I found the water had all leaked
out, and his .monstership lay kicking
and crawling at the bottom.

)

4I
“Ho! ho! ho!” shouted Willie, “is
that what-cher call a curiosity ?”’

“Qh, Flossie! you have been dread-
fully taken in,” said Regy.

“Oh, no,” I said, “it’s this wonder-
ful animal that’s been ‘taken in,’ and
he’s going to be kept in, too.”

I began to feel, though, that
there was a great laugh somewhere
in the future, and that it was com-
ing at our expense.

“Why, Flossie! it’s nothing but
a baby crab,” said Regy. “I can
get a peck of them in an hour, over
in the river.”

__I felt greatly chagrined, and
blushed with mortification. The
boys kept bursting out laughing

turn him on his back, all of which
caused me to scream every time, and
sent tremors all over me.

“What-cher goin’ to do with him?”
inquired Willie.

“T shall study his habitudes, and im-
prove my knowledge of the crustacea,”’










HOW MANY GIRLS DID IT TAKE TO LAND HIM?

every few minutes, asking such ques-
tions. as:

‘“‘How many girls did it take to land
him?” “Was he gamey, Flossie?”
“Did ye bait him with a clam-shell, or
an old boot? they’ll snap at 4 thing.”

“Oh! I’d given away my dinner to
have been there!’”’ and then Regy
would stir him up with a stick, and

42

said I, giving him a sentence directly
out of my text-book. “I shall look at
him every day.”

“Yes, aad he'll look at you every
night. I have read a book that told
about a traveler that offended a crab
once, and he informed the other crabs,
and they all made for him at night, and
twenty thousand of them came that
night and crept under his tent,
and sat there and looked at him.
And there he was in the middle
of them, and you know their
eyes are fastened in their heads
by a string, and they can throw
them out of their heads and
draw them back again; and, at
a signal, they all threw their
eyes at him. He was so horri-
fied that night, that he got insane
and had to be sent toa lunatic
asylum.”’

‘T’ve heard your stories before,
Regy, and I simply don’t credit
them. We girls are going to
hunt up a pond to put him in, «
where we can pet him, and edu-
cate him.

“You'd best hunt up a frying
pan to put him in; he’s
capital eating for breakfast,
well browned, with hard-
boiled eggs and _ parsley
round him,” said Reginak.

I told him if he couldn’t
do any better than to lhe
there and make an exhibi-
tion of his bad taste and
ignorance, he’d
better get up and
work off the fit.
I insisted upon
his helping me
to fill the pail
with salt water,
and hang him acai
upon the rocks 2%
until we could
make a future,
permanent dis-
posal of him.

That evening
our parlor man-
ners
were
some-
what
















































less decorous and elegant, owing to
the fact that Reginald and Willie had
been industriously circulating the epi-
sode of the morning, with such addi-
tions as they thought would add point
and piquancy, among the rest of the
boys, and there was no end of innu-
endo and witticism indulged in, that
caused the young gentlemen to retire
in groups and laugh; and we could
hear such remarks as, “Dick, there
was a whale hooked on this coast this
afternoon, did you know it?” Or, “I
think Jack Deadeye is the most comical
character in Pinafore, he’s so crabbed.”

The girls of our party stood it as they
best could; and in the morning we
stole out to look at our prize, after the
boys had gone off, but the tide had
swept Jack and the pail out to sea.

It was a long time before we heard
the last of it, however,



A

‘MAX AND BEPPO.
Down by the lake they trotted, .
All the summer day ;
Max and Beppo never plotted
Yet, to run away.
Two little donkey pets, Oh, I loved
them so!
When I was in Switzerland, just a year
ago,

How they liked bananas!
And our apples sweet ;
They had lovely manners,
Every thing they’d eat.

44

Then, I’d rub their furry ears, and
they’d shake their bells,

While old driver Raspar, funny stories
tells.

Max turns round and winks so pretty,
Little, sharp round eyes;
Beppo sings a jolly ditty,
Quite to our surprise.
Then we mount, and off we go, up and
down the mall,
Never do they careless trip, never make
a fall.

Once, a princess royal
Wanted little Max;
How to part those friends so loyal,
Her little brain she racks.
She would give her gold and silver, in
a little purse,
Then throw in for measure good, her
scolding English nurse!

Then she cried, and chattered
All her pretty French,
And her little feet she pattered,
On the rustic bench.
‘‘ My papa is king,” she said, “and I'd
have you know,
I shall have the donkey, and to prison
shall you go,”

How their tiny feet would scamper,
Up the valley blue,
Carrying each his generous hamper,
And his rider, too.
Sure of foot, they’d clamber round the
mountain spur
Where the foot-sore tourist scarcely
dared to stir.

In this bright, sunshiny weather,
I remember with a sigh,
We no more can play together,
Beppo, Max and 1
Never dearer friends exist, in this world
below,
Than I made in Switzerland, just a year
ago.



THE BIRDS’ ‘QM

CONCERT. %

;

MRS. L. L. SLOANAKER.



There’s going to be a concert
Out in the apple trees ;
When the air is warm and balmy,
And the floating summer breeze
Waft down the pale pink blossoms
Upon the soft green grass :—
A lovely place to sit and dream,
For each little lad and lass!

The concert will open early
When the sun lights up the skies :-—
You'll miss the opening anthem
If you let those sleepy eyes
Stay closed, and.do not hasten
Out ’neath the orchard trees,
Where the pink and snowy shower

Is caught in the morning breeze.









































arti











re







mu
a TitR

rat
Muti




Mi



The robins will swing in the branches,
And carol, and whistle and sing.
The thrush, who is coming to-morrow,
Will a charming solo bring.
The wrens will warble in chorus,
Rare music, so touching and sweet;
The orioles sent for their tickets,

And will surely give us a treat.

The concert will open at sun-rise,
All the June-time sweet and fair ;
There'll be a grand full chorus,

For a// the birds will be there.
The concert is free to the children,
And is held in the apple trees,
And the birds will sing in a chorus,

‘OQ come to our concert—please!


“WHERE’S SOPHIE?”
Sophie climbed the garden trellis,
Plucked the finest grapes in view;
How they shone with red and amber,
As the sun came glinting through.

She was taking painting lessons,
And she paused and gazed at them;
“Oh,” she said, “a pretty picture,
Grapes and green leaves on a stem.

“TI will leave them here, unbroken,
Close beside the garden walk;
Look!” she said, to Cousin Mary,
“Just anear this broken stalk.”

Off they went through pleasant path-
ways;
Staying longer than they knew,
By a russet, leaf-strewn border,
With its asters, pink and blue.

Then their friendly gossip over,
Homeward as they turned to go; -
“Oh, the grapes!” said Sophie, quickly,

“We must go for those, you know.”

When they reached the precious clus-
ter,
Five bold Sparrows pertly stood,
Pecking at the grapes beside them,
Chattering in a wanton mood.

“Look! Oh, look!” said cousin Mary,
“Sparrows at your luscious store!”
“Shoo!” said Sophie, “was there ever

Such a piece of work before?”

Filfering sparrows, you have taught me,
By this loss, a lesson true;

When a bunch of grapes I gather,
Just to keep them safe from you.

48

“TF I CAN, I WILL.”



I knew a boy who was preparing to
enter the junior class of the New York
University. He was studying trigo-
nometry, and I gave him three exam-
ples for his next lesson. The following
day he came into my room to demon-
strate his problems. Two of them he
understood; but the third—a very
difficult one—he had not performed.
I said to him,—“ Shall I help you?”

“No, sir! I can and will do it, if you
give me time.”

I said: “I will give you all the time
you wish.”

The next day he came into my room
to recite another lesson in the same
study.

“Well, Simon, have you worked that
example ?”’

“No, sir,” he answered; “but I can
and will do it, if you will give mea

little more time.”

“Certainly, you shall have all the
time you desire.”

I always like those boys who are de-
termined to do their own work, for they
make our best scholars, and men tco.
The third morning you should have
seen Simon enter my room. I knew
he had it, for his whole face told the
story of his success. Yes, he had it,

| notwithstanding it had cost him many

hours of severest mental lator. Not
only had he solved the problem, but,
what was of infinitely greater import-
ance to him, he had begun to develop
mathematical powers which, under the
inspiration of “I can and I will,” he
has continued to cultivate, until to-day
he is professor of mathematics in one
of our largest colleges, and one of the
ablest mathematicians of his years in
our country.

My young friends, let

your motto
ever be,—‘“ If I can, I will.’
Buen


a Mey



As I walked.
in my garden to-day,













I saw a family sweet.
\ a 7
Sag DIME Many wee faces looked up,
Nah

yr

yi

i

a
“4
\

) % Ke SN
\
ae

WY un
x. AW
»

NYY cn
Ne
NY yy f

\

\\ From their cool and shady retreat.

i

Some had blue eyes and golden

curls,

e Some dark eyes and raven locks,
SN

NN i Some were dressed in velvets so rare,
And some wore quaint, gay frocks.

I asked these babies so dear,

SSS
SSS

Le

~~

To com2 and live ever with me!

e3

<
S



= oe
4 WES
LITTLE ELSIE.

FAITH LATIMER.





“T don’t thee ath a Chineth baby
lookth any differenth from any other
folkth baby, do you, Perthy?”’

“That's what I am trying to find
out,” said Percy, whom his little sister
May called her “big brother;” for
only that morning she had said to her
mother,—“I will athk Perthy, he ith
tho big, he muth know every thing.”

Percy was as full of wonder as little
May over the baby sleeper. He wanted
to see the back of her head, but it
was resting on the soft pillow, and the
eyes were tightly closed. May stood
at the foot of the bed longing, and yet
afraid, to pull up the cover, and look at
the little feet. “Do you thpect she
wearth pink thatin thlipperth like thothe
in the glath cathe?” she said.

The voices did not waken the baby
even when Percy made May give a little
scream as he pulled her braided hair,
and carried off the ribbon, saying,—
“You've got a Chinese pig-tail anyway.”
Did you ever see a big brother do any
thing like that? Then Percy went out
and slammed the door, and left little
May thinking very hard, and the baby
asleep, after all that noise. What
was May thinking about? She had
heard mamma talk a great deal about
China, and had seen queer pictures of
eople with bald heads and a long
raid of hair hanging down behind, and
in the cabinet in the sitting-room was
a pair of tiny pink satin slippers, so
small that her little hand could just go
into one of them. Then she had a
Chinese doll with almost a bald head,
and the queerest shaped eyes ; and that
was why she and Percy wanted this baby
to wake up that they might see what
she looked like. That very morning
while the children were visiting their
randmother, a carriage came to their
house, bringing a little baby and its
mother; and by the time they got
home, the child was in May’s crib, fast

52

asleep, and the two mothers were talk.
ing together as they had not done for
years before. Baby Elsie was not
easily wakened, for she never had a
very quiet place to sleep in. She was
quite used to strange noises on ship.
board, creaking ropes and escaping
steam, loud voices giving orders to
sailors, sometimes roaring waters and
stormy winds. She had been man

nights in a railroad sleeping-car, and
she was not disturbed by the rush of
wheels, or the whistling of the locomo-
tive. Before that, she Tived part of her
little life on a boat in a narrow river,
and a few months in a crowded, noisy
house. Does it seem as if she had
been quite a traveler? She had just
come all the way from China—a land
on the other side of the round world—
and that was the reason that May
called her a Chinese baby. Percy and
May had never seen Elsie’s mother,
although she.was their own aunt, for
she and her husband had been more
than ten years missionaries in China,
and had come on a visit to America.
Don’t you think the two mothers, dear
sisters, who had been so long and se
far apart, had a great deal to say to
each other? Do you expect they
wanted Elsie to sleep quite as much as
her cousins wanted her to wake? She
was a good child, but she knew how to

‘cry, and after a few days Percy said,—

“‘She’s not so much after all, she can’t
talk and tell us any thing, and when she
cries, she boo-hoo’s just as you do, May.”
In a week, two more Chinese travel-
ers came; the baby’s father, and
another cousin, Knox, a boy nine years
old. Did you ever fire off a whole
ack of Chinese fire-crackers at a time?
hat was almost the way that questions
were asked by the two boys, back and
forth, so quick and fast that there was
hardly time to answer each one. The
boy from Shanghai found as many
things strange to him as the New
York boy would have seen in China.
Percy, and May, although she could
not understand half she heard, were full
of wonder as Knox told of living on a
boat in the river, of so many boats
around them, where people lived
crowded together as closely as houses
could be on land. He told of the
cities, of narrow, crooked streets, all the
way under awnings, to be shielded
from the hot sun ; of riding many miles
in a wheel-barrow, with a Chinaman to
push it along the road. They all
aughed when Percy said they called
their cousin Elsie ‘a Chinese baby ;”
and the grown folks helped to tell
about the black-eyed babies over there,
wrapped up in wadded comforts and
placed standing, a great, round roll, ina
tall basket, instead of a cradle. Percy
thought the best thing he heard was
of a boy in a royal family. He had to
be well taught, for he must be a wise
scholar in Chinese learning, but no one
dared to touch or hurt him; soa poor
boy of low rank was hired and kept in
the house to take all the whippings for
him ; and whenever the young prince
deserved correction, the bamboo rod
was well laid on the poor boy’s back.
What would you think of such a plan?
Elsie’s father and mother were goin
back to China, but they were not will-
ing that Knox should grow up there;
he must go to some good school and
stay in this country. Even little Elsie
they dared not trust out of their sight
among the Chinese.

And so for the love of the dear Mas-
ter, who said,—‘*Go and teach all
nations,’ they were willing to leave
father and mother, and home, loving
sister and friends, even their own young
children, for His sake.

Don’t you believe our heavenly Father
will watch over Knox and Elsie, and
make them grow up wise and true;
ready to go back to the land where the
were born, to carry on the good wor
their father and mother are doing in
that strange, far-off country?

Do you know of any ways in which
children at home can help such work
in China, or in other far-off foreign
lands? :

KITTY STRIKER

Little Kitty Striker saw
A handsome, fat, old goose
Out a-walking with her gosling.
And she said,—‘* Now what’s the use,
Of letting that old waddler have
Such a pretty thing as that?
I'll run right out and get it;
I'll go without my hat.”
Out she ran upon the dusty path,
On the grass, all wet with dew,
And the old goose turned round quickly,
She wished an interview.
And Kittv said,—“ Oh, open your mouth
As muca as ever you please ;
I’m going to take your gosling,
Because I love to tease
Such a cranky, impudent squawker as



ou.

Andshe laughed right out, and stooped

To take the toddling little thing,
When down upon her swooped,

The angry goose with hisses fierce,
And wildly flapping wing,

And gave her a nip that was no joke!
On the heel of her red stocking!

Miss Kitty screamed, but tightly held
The little yellow ball,

And you know she’d not the shadow of

rignt

To that goose’s gosling at all.

Then its mother made a terrible snap
At Kitty’s pretty blue dress!

And that thoughtless, mischievous little

irl,
Was’ pretty well frightened I guess.
For she jumped and screamed, danced
round like a top, :
And the goose’s eyes flashed red ;
And she struck her wings in Kitty’s

eyes,
And on her little brown head!
She dropped the gosling, and ran for
home,
Screaming, and crying,—“ Boo! hoo!
And learned a lesson she never forgot,
And it’s as wholesome for me and for

you,
That it’s best to be kind to our barn-
yard friends,
And let them have their fun too.

53
MAYING.

Phil says he thinks it is a great pity
when the May isn’t out till June, be-
cause you can’t go Maying if there
isn't any May, and it’s so stupid to go
Maying in June. Philis eleven months
and fourteen days younger than I am,
and his birthday is on the fourteenth of
February and mine is on the first of
March; so for fcurteen days we are the
same age, and when it’s Leap Year we
are the same age for fifteen days.

I don’t understand why it should be
a day more some years and not others,
but mother says we shall learn about it
by-and-by. Phil says he will like learn-
ing all that, but I don’t think I shall,
because IJ like playing better.

Phil and I have a Tittle dog of our
own, and he belongs between us. His
name is Dash. e came from the
Home for Lost Dogs, and we didn’t
know his name, so Phil and I sat on
the grass, and we called him by ever
name we could think of, until Phil
thought of Dash, and when Dash
heard that name he jumped up, and
ran to Phil, and licked his face. We
don't know what kind of dog he is, and
father called him a ‘terrier spaniel ;’
but he laughed as he said it, and so
we're not quite sure that he wasn’t in
fun. But it doesn’t matter what kind
of dog Dash is, because we are all fond
of him, and if you’re fond of any one
it doesn’t matter what they’re like, or
if they have a pretty name.

Dash goes out with us when we take
a walk, and I’m sure he knew yesterday
when we went out without leave, be-
cause we wanted to go Maying. There’s
a beautiful hedge full of May blossoms
down the lane and across the meadow,
and we did want some May very badly.
So Phil and I went without asking
m)‘hber, and Dash went with us.

We found the place quite easily, and
had pulled down several boughs of it,
when we heard a gruff voice calling to
us, and the farmer came up, asking what
we were doing to Azs hedge.

54



I said, ‘Please, we didn’t know it
was yours, and we want some May very
much, because to-morrow’s the first of
June, you know, and Phil says we can’t
go Maying then.”

The farmer didn’t say any thing until
he caught sight of Dash, and then he
called out, angrily,—“ If that dog gets
among my chickens, I shall have him
shot!”

We were so frightened at that, that
we ran away; and Dash ran too, as if
he understood what the farmer said.
We didn’t stop for any May blossoms.
though we had picked them, and we
did want them so, because of its being
the thirty-first of May.

Phil said the farmer was calling after
us, but we only ran the faster, for fear
he should shoot Dash. When we got
home, mother met us in the porch, and
asked where we had been; then we
told her all about the farmer, and how
we wanted to go Maving while we
could.

She laughed a little, but presently
she looked quite grave, and said,—“ I’m
very glad to find you have told me the
whole truth, because if you had not I
should still have known it. Farmer
Grey has been here, and he told me
about your having gone across his.
meadow that he is keeping for hay.
He has brought you all the May you
left behind, and he says you may have
some more if you want it, only you
must not walk through the long grass,
but go round the meadow by the little
side-path. He said he was afraid he had
frightened you, and he was sorry.”

Phil and I had a splendid Maying
after that. We made wreaths for our-
selves, and one for Dash, only we
couldn’t get him to wear his, which
was a pity.

But the best of all is that mother
says she can always trust us, because .
we told the truth at once; and Phil and
I think we would rather never go May
ing any more(though we like it so much)
than not tell herevery thing. I’m sure
it’s a very good plan, and we mean to
do it a/ways, even when we're quite |

grownup Mother laughs at that, and
says,—“ You will have your secrets
then ;” but Phil and I don’t think we
shall, because it couldn’t be a really
nice secret if we mightn’t tell mother.

>

GRACIE’S TEMPER.

“Once a gentle, snow-white birdie,
Came and built its nest,
In a spot you’d never dream of,—

In a baby’s breast.

Then how happy, gentle, loving,
Grew the baby, Grace;
All the smiles and all the dimples

Brightened in her face.

But a black and ugly raver.
Came one morn that way;
Came and drove the gentle birdie

From its nest away.

Ah! how frowning and unlovely
Was our Gracie then,
‘Until evening brought the white dove

To its nest again.

Children, this was Gracie’s raven,
This her gentle dove,—
In heart a naughty semper

Drove away the Jove.”

MONG
the pas-
sengers
on board
a river-
steam er
recently
was a
woman,

accom-

panied

by a bright-looking nurse-girl, and a

selt-willed boy, about three years old.

The boy aroused the indignation of
the passengers by his continued shrieks
and kicks and screams, and his vicious-
ness toward the patient nurse. He tore
her bonnet, scratched her hands, without
a word of remonstrance from the
mother.

Whenever the nurse showed any
firmness, the mother would chide her
sharply, and say,—‘ Let him have it,
Mary. Let him alone.”

Finally the mother composed herself
for a nap; and about the time the bo
had slapped the nurse for the fiftiet
time, a bee came sailing in and flew on
the window of the nurse’s seat. The
boy at once tried to catch it.

he nurse caught his hand, and said,
coaxingly :

“Harry mustn’t touch. It will bite
Harry.”

Harry screamed savagely, and began
to kick and pound the nurse.

The mother, without opening her
eyes or lifting her head, cried out,
S apy :

“Why will you tease that child so,
Mary? Let him have what he wants

at once.”

“ But, ma’am, it’s a—”

“ Let him have it, I say.”

Thus encouraged, Harry clutched at
the bee and caught it. The yell that
followed brought tears of joy to the
passengers.

The mother awoke again.

“Mary !”’ she cried, “let him have it.”

“ Mary turned in her seat, and said,
confusedly :--“ He’s got it, ma’am.”

55




THE SONG OF THE FIVE CHICKS.

Sang the first little chicken, Sang the fourth little chicken,
ith a queer little squirm, With a small sigh of grief,

“TI wish I could find “T wish I could find
A fat little worm.” A green little leaf.”
one the next little chicken, Sang the fifth little chicken,
ith an odd little shrug, ith a faint little moan,
“TI wish I could find “T wish I could find
A fat little slug.” A wee gravel stone.”
nae the third little chicken, ‘Now, see here,”’ said the mother,
ith a sharp little squeel, From the green garden patch,
“T wish I could find “If you want any breakfast,
Some nice yellow meal.” Just come here and scratch.”
:0:

A STRONG PULL,

| ‘ sh ge a
Three girls, Now we

With their curls, Can plainly see,
Three boys, That boys,

With their noisé, With their noise,
Are pulling to see, Are losing the game,

‘Which the stronger must be. And much cf their fame.


a
3
rt
g
:
FS

iacssenoee ek
Sito te
i featrtne

Bab exer

rach ge’ firey J gc
Re eae aly aah)

Bean cned
icine ecieartet eA S
mea Eat,
Seaman eyate
Ee Ainge

Seve

Kiera
es

ere.
Pe ten eRe



Pars ao doin neh

RAE ad at nein ee


























































a a er cE NE SERS
WINDSOR CASTLE.

This ancient and splendid pile is a fit-
ting residence for the sovereigns of
England. It impresses one with the
idea of supreme grandeur and formida-
ble strength, but it has reached its pres-
ent magnificence, by constant embel-
lishments and additions by successive
sovereigns.

It owes its origin to William the
Conqueror, that bold and progressive
Norman, who created here a fortified
hunting seat, where he and his brave
barons could enjoy themselves after
the “hunting of the deer” in the wild
glades of Windsor forest.

The castle stands upon a hill on the



bank of the river Thames, twenty-three

miles from London, with which it is con-
nected by railway. It is surrounded on
all sides, except the east, by a noble ter-
race above two thousand five hundred
feet in extent, faced by astrong rampart
of hewn stone, and having, at intervals,
easy slopes leading down to the park.

the terrace is a most delightful walk,
commanding charming views of the ex-
tensive domain and the surrounding
country. Everywhere are evidences of
royal expenditure, of watchful care and
tasteful ornamentation.

The park abounds in woodland scen-
ery of exquisite beauty, and it does
seem as if the “English sunshine” was
nowhere more satisfying or refreshing
than in these delightful avenues. The
deer roam at will, and streamlets trickle
and English violets and other wild flow-
ers blossom, the praises of whose deli-
cate perfumes and beauties have been
sung by Wordsworth and Keats.

There is a statel
long, bordered by double rows of trees,
which leads from the lodge to these
delightful precincts, and at the en-
trance stretch away in gorgeous array,
the Queen’s gardens, in which very
beautiful and rare productions of floral
culture find a congenial home.

The castle consists of two courts,
having a large, round tower between

60

walk, three miles |

them, and covers more than twelve
acres of land, being defended by bat-
teries and towers. The uppercourtisa
spacious quadrangle, having a round
tower on the west, the private apart-
ments of the sovereigns on the south
and east, the State apartments and St.
George’s Hall and the chapel royal on
the north.

The royal apartments are reached by
an imposing vestibule. The first room,
the Queen’s guard chamber, contains a
grand array of warlike implements, and
glittering weapons, and its walls are
rich in paintings.

The Queen’s presence chamber con-
tains the rarest furniture and hangings,
with an array of artistic works by the
most celebrated masters.

The ball-room is hung with tapestry,
representing the twelve months of the
year, and upon its ceiling is pictured
Charles II, giving freedom to England.
There is here an immense table of solid
silver.

In the Queen’s bed-chamber is the
State bed, said to have cost $70,000,
designed for Queen Charlotte. The
Queen’s dressing-room, hung with Brit-
ish tapestry, contains the closet in
which is deposited the banner of France.
The same closet contains the tea-equl-
page of Queen Anne.

Anelegant saloon is called the * Room
of Beauties,” and contains fourteen por-
traits of ladies who were “most fair” in
the court of Charles II. Their lovely
faces and rich apparel, quaint and oddly
fashioned, make a most delightful and
instructive study.

The audience chamber contains the
throne and is enriched with historical

aintings of events in the reign of

enry III. Another guard chamber
contains an immense collection of war-
like instruments, fancifully arranged,
and also the flag sent by the Duke of
Wellington in commemoration of th
battle of Waterloo. |

St. George’s Hall, which is one hun-
dred and eight feet long, is set apart for
the illustrious “Order of the Garter.”
ue varus ca
eae gra 3
a ro

es
ad
ae

ie °
aes
BUS

reed
ake
oN


It is superbly decorated with allegorical
paintings. The chapel is a fine speci-
men of the florid Gothic. The roof is
elliptical and is composed of stone; the
whole ceiling is ornamented with em-
blazoned arms of many sovereigns and
knights of the Garter. The stalls of
the sovereigns and knights exhibit a
- profusion of rare carving. The chapel
is the burial place of many royal and
illustrious persons; Edward IV. Henry
IV, Henry VIII and Charles I having
been interred here.

THE LITTLE PRINCES.

‘Among the sad episodes in the illus-



trated history-of English sovereigns, ,

not one is more pathetic or impressive
than the story of the two little Princes,
sons of Edward IV. This King had an
ywmbitious and unscrupulous brother,
called Richard, Duke of Gloucester.

At the time of the King’s death, this
man was at the head of an army in
Scotland, which was entirely devoted to
him, and he felt strong and equal to
undertaking any bold and unlawful
measure to obtain the crown, which
rightfully belonged to Edward’s son,
the young Prince of Wales.

Upon receiving the news of his broth-
er’s death, Richard clothed himself and
his large retinue in deep mourning and
proceeded in great haste to London,
taking the oath of loyalty on the way,
and making many protestations of in-
terest and affection for the fatherless
boys.

he young Prince of Wales received
him with many expressions of regard
and respectful consideration, as befitted
a paternal uncle, and placed undoubted
faith in his suggestions; the Duke thus
found it an easy matter to direct his
movements, an
counselors and servants. Two ofthese,
who were favorite and loyal friends, he
caused to be seized on a frivolous accu-
sation, and they were taken to a dis-
tant castle as prisoners. Other meas-

the selection of his.

ures were taken to isolate him, and in
a few days the young King was com-
pletely in the hands of the terrible
Duke of Gloucester.

From one high-handed act of usurpa-
tion to another, assisted by unprinci-
pled, ambitious men, he proceeded, evi-
dently aiming to secure the crown for
his own head.

Under pretense of placing the Prince
in greater safety, and removing’ him
from persons who might influence him,
to the detriment of the peace and wel-
fare of the kingdom, he was conducted,
in great state, to the Tower; his uncle
assuming the office of Lord Protector
of the King. ©

Upon gaining the entire custody of
the royal lad, he sent a large number of
dignitaries to the royal mother, to per-
suade her to allow the other little bo
to be taken to the Tower to keep his
brother company. The Prince was al-
lowed to proceed thither, and Richard,
now having them both at his mercy, de-
termined upon their death.

The Governor of the Tower was, it
seems, a man of at least human feel-
ings, and when he was ordered b
Richard, “In some wise to put the chil-
dren to death,” utterly refused to per-
form so dangerous and horrible an act.

Richard then sent for the keys of the
Tower, to keep in his possession twen-
ty-four hours, and gave them, and the
command of the Tower for that time,
to Sir James Tyrrel, his master of horse.

This man procured two assassins,
who proceeded, at dead of night, to
the chamber of the sleeping Princes.
They lay in each other’s arms, as though
they had fallen asleep comforting one
another; and the assassins, falling
upon them with their ruffian strength,
smothered them with the bed-clothes,
“ Keeping the feather pillows hard upon
their mouths.”

When the deed was done, Tyrrel
stepped into the chamber, to take a
hasty view of the dead bodies, which .
were then, by his orders, buried at the
stair-foot, under a heap of stones.
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had no
further obstacle in assuming the purple,
and was crowned King of England with
all pomp and ceremony, and known to
unenviable fame as Richard III.

This account has come down to us
with all the authority of historical
verity, and subsequent evidences of its
accuracy have been discovered. The
age was characterized by inhumanity of
the most barbarous kind, and this crime
was in keeping with it.

The English people in this nine-
teenth century rejoice in a sovereign
who is noble in the highest sense; be-
toved by her subjects, achieving for
herself the universal plaudit of a “most
humane and gracious lady.”

THE TOWER OF LONDON.

This ancient edifice is situated on
the north bank of the Thames, at the
extremity of the city of London.

The antiquity of the building has
been a subject of much inquiry, but
the present fortress is believed to have
been built by William the Conqueror,
and garrisoned with Normans to se-
cure the allegiance of his subjects; al-
though it appears that the Romans had
a fort on this spot, if a dim tradition
can be credited. The building is gov-
erned by the “Constable of the Tower,”
who, at coronations and other State cer-
emonies, has the custody of the regalia.

The principal entrance is on the west,
and consists of two gates, at which are
stationed guards. The keys are kept,
during the day, at the warder’s hall, but
deposited every night at the Gover-
nor’s house. Cannon are placed at in-
tervals around the great wall, and com-
mand every avenue leading to Tower
Hill.

On the south side is an arch, called
‘Traitors’ Gate,” through which State
prisoners were formerly brought from
theriver. Nearthe Traitors’ Gate is the
“Bloody Tower,” in which it is sup-
posed the two young Princes, Edward

V and his brother, were smothered by
order of Richard ITI.

In the south-west angle of the in-
closure were the royal apartments, for
the Tower was a palace for nearly five
hundred years, and only ceased to be
so on the accession of Elizabeth.

The principal buildings within the
walls are the church, the white tower,
the ordnance office, the jewel office,
the horse armory. The church is called
“St. Peter in Vincules,” and is re-
markable as the depository of the head-
less bodies of numerous illustrious per-
sonages who suffered either in the
Tower or on the hill. Among these
were Anna Boleyn, Thomas Crom-
well, Catharine Howard, the Duke of
Somerset and the Duke of Monmouth.

The jewel office is a strong, stone
room, in which are kept the crown
jewels, regalia, such as the golden orb,
the golden sceptre with the dove, St.
Edward’s staff, State salt-cellar, sword
of mercy, golden spurs, the golden
eagle and golden spoons, also the sil-
ver font used at the baptism of the
royal family, the State crown worn by
her Majesty in Parliament. A large
collection of ancient plate is also kept
here.

The horse armory is a brick building
east of the white tower, adorned with
suits of armor of almost every descrip-
tion; but the most striking are the offi.
gies of the English kings on horse-

ack, armed cap-a-pie. The line of
mounted celebrities commences with
William the Conqueror and ends with
George II. Several of the cuirasses
and helmets taken at Waterloo are kept
here. Inthe armory are also shown a
representation of Queen Elizabeth in
armor ; theaxe which severed the head of
Anna Boleyn, as well as that of the
Earl of Essex; the invincible banner
taken from the Spanish Armada, and the
wooden cannon used by Henry VIII at .
the siege of Boulogne.
__ Lhe Beauchamp Tower is noted for the
illustrious personages formerly confined
within its walls.
aes y

ee oe a A ate vat cor ee

i
!


MARY AND HER LAMB.

This* is the title of one of the most
familiar poems in the English language,
but few people know its history.

Most of our young readers will be
surprised to hear that the well-known
nursery song of “Mary had a Little
Lamb” is a true story, and that
“Mary” is still living, says-an ex-
change.

About seventy years ago she was a
little girl, the daughter of a farmer in
Worcester county, Mass. She was
very fond of going with her father to
the fields to see the sheep, and one day
they found a baby lamb, which was
thought to be dead.

Kind-hearted little Mary, however,
lifted it up in her arms, and as it
seemed to breathe she carried it home,
made it a warm bed near the stove,
and nursed it tenderly. Great was
her delight when, after weeks of care-
ful feeding and watching, her little pa-
tient began to grow well and strong,
and soon after it was able to run about.
It knew its young mistress perfectly,
always came at her call, and was happy
only when at her side.

ne day it followed her to the village
school, and not knowing what else to
do with it, she put it under her desk
and covered it with her shawl.

There it stayed until Mary was
called up to the teacher’s desk to
say her lesson, and then the lamb
walked quietly after her, and the other
children burst out laughing. So the
teacher had to shut the little girl’s
pet in the woodshed until school was
out. Soon after this, a young student,
named John Rollstone, wrote a little
poem about Mary and her lamb and
presented it to her. The lamb grew to
bea sheep and lived for many years,
and when at last it died Mary grieved
so much for it that her mother took
some of its wool, which was as “white
as snow,” and knitted a pair of stock-
ings for her, to wear in remembrance of
her darling.

Some years after the lamb’s death,
Mrs. Sarah Hall, a celebrated woman
who wrote books, composed some verses
about Mary’s lamb and added them to
those written by John Rollstone, mak-
ing the complete poem as we know it.
Mary took such good care of the stock-
ings made of her lamb’s fleece that
when she was a grown-up woman she
pave one of them toa church fair in

oston.

As soon as it became known that
the stocking was made from the fleece
of ‘Mary's little lamb,” every one
wanted a piece of it; so the stocking
was raveled out, and the yarn cut into
small pieces. Each piece was tied to
a card on which “Mary” wrote her full
name, and these cards sold so well that
they brought the large sum of $140 in
the Old South Church.—Our Sunday
Afternoon.

JAMIE’S GARDEN.

“T shall have the nicest kind of a gar-
den,” said Jamie, one morning. “I'm
going to make it in that pretty little
spot just over the bank. I mean to
have some flowers in pots and some in
beds just like the gardener; and then
you can have fresh ones every day,
mamma. I’m going right over there
now. :

Jamie started off bravely with his
spade on his shoulder; but when, after
an hour, mamma went to see how he
was getting on, she found him lying on
the grass, with the ground untouched.

‘Why, Jamie, where is your gar-
den?”

“TI was just lying here, and thinking
how nice it wil! look when it is all
done,” said Jamie.

Mamma shook her head. ‘But that
will not dig ground, nor make the flow-
ers grow, little boy. No good deed was
ever done by only lying still and think-
ing about it.”

67
———___—

pee was not
a very lively place for
any one except a cou-
ple of young colts,
and as many calves,
jumping around after
their mothers.

The bees seemed to be making a
good deal of fun for themselves, if
stinging us children amused them, and
buzzing into every peony bright flower,
so that no one could pick it with safety.

The crows, too, collected in great
gossiping parties, in the pines, over on
the shore of the pond, and they always
seemed to be congratulating themselves
over something immensely satisfactory.

But we children, especially the girls,
found it very dull after we had seen
the few sights of the farm. The boys
were trying to hunt and fish; but Lib
and I talked that over, and we came to
the conclusion, after much laughing
and many caustic remarks, that the
only amusement we had was, laughing
at their failures.

We communicated that fact to them,
but it didn’t seem to make any differ-
ence; off they went on the same fruit-
less hunt, and left us to do what we
might, to make ourselves happy.

68




The next day, Lib and Dora and I
told them we would go into the woods
with them and see what the charm was.
Lib was the eldest of us three, and had
read a great deal, and she said:

‘““May be we shall find the robbers’
cave, and if we say, ‘Open Sesame,’
the great stone doors will slowly swing
pen and we can go in where the
chains of flashing gems and the heaps
of golden coin are.’

“T think you'll get into places where
you can't get out; ‘open sesame’ will
never lift you out of a marsh hole,”
said William Pitt Gaylord, our eldest
brother.

“Mollie, you can find somebody to
have a talking match with, for there are
lots of chipmunks over in the grove,’
remarked Huet

“T’ve seen snakes in that very woods,
too,” and if you’d holler, Lib, at that
end of the pond, as you do at this end
of the tea-table, you wouldn’t catch
any fish,” said William. This caused
an uproarious laugh on the part of the

boys.

We listened quietly to their sarcastic
remarks, knowing they were prompted
by an Garesonabie desire to monopo-
lize the delights of the woods to them-
selves.

William Pitt remarked that “Girls
had no business to meddle with boys’
sports, and they'd come to grief if they
did; you’d see!”’

Next: morning the August haze lay
soft on the landscape, but in a short


time it went off, and Father, learning
that we girls were going to spend a
part of the day in the woods, quietly
told the boys that they must escort us
to the pleasantest place, and not wan-
der very far off. They pouted consid-
erably, and had a talk at the corner of
the barn; they then came back, smiling,
and apparently good-natured.

Our brothers did not intend to be
unkind, but they had the common fail-
ing of humanity—selfishness. But Lib
matched them in a dozen ways with her



good-humored retaliations ; and many a
tilt she had with William Pitt since we
had arrived at the farm. In the city she
was abreast of him in all his studies;
and I noticed that Lib could get out
her Latin, and write a composition
much faster than he, and often he had
been obliged to come to her for aid.
It nettled Lib not to be able to hunt
and fish. We two younger ones mod-
eled after her; she was the leader, and
when she said we would go with the
boys, we went.

“Hello Fred,” said Hugh, as a
neighboring boy, a city boarder, came
through the gate, attired in base-ball
cap and knickerbockers, “we can't go to
Duck Inlet to-day. Father says the
girls must have a good time, too, and
that we must devote one day to them,
at least.”

“All right,” said Fred, “can I go
with you? I'll go and get my bufterfl
net, and we can go over to Fern Hol-
low mill, the winter-greens and berries
are as thick there! Gracied you can
get a quart pail full in no time.
The mill-wheel' is a beautiful
sight,” said Fred, turning to
Lib, “and you can sketch it,
Miss Gaylord.”

Lib looked upon Fred with
a little more toleration, after
he had said “Miss Gaylord,”
and went and ordered an
additional ration to be put
into the lunch basket. e
were glad to have Fred along
with us, for he was very fun-
ny, and made jokes on every
thing.

Lib would allow no one to
carry the lunch basket but
herself, as she remarked, “It
is safer with me.”

We started, and were tempt-
ed to loiter at all the little
nooks on the leaf-shadowed
road, and investigate the
haunts of the curious dwel-
lers in the rocks and bush-
es, and especially were we
interested in the ducks on Fern Hol-
low creek. Dora insisted upon feed-
ing them a piece of bread. “Calamity,”
the dog, was along, of course, and as
he belonged to William Pitt, who called
him “Clam,” he was always in that
boy’s company. It was, “Love me,
love my dog,” with William; and as
he was a professional of some kind, he
was greatly prized by the boys.

We reached the woods and the old
mill early ; I think I never was in a
more delightful place. Every thing

69
seemed to grow here. Winter-greens, “This is certainly the fairies’ dining
with their crimson berries, shining in | hall,’ said Lib.

the moss, and blueberries, where the “T’ll tell you what,” said IJ, “this is
sun came; tall, white flowers that grew | not far from home, and we can bring
in clusters in the shade, sent their per- | things, and have a little parlor here. |
fume all about. Back of the mill, on | can make a couple of curtains out of
some sandy ledges, grew pennyroyal | that figured scrim, for windows, and
and spearmint ; that old square rug in the car-
















raspberries and riage-house will do for the floor.
blackberries You can bring your rocking-
grew every- chair, Lib, and Dora can bring
where her tea-set.

“Tl bring our Christmas and
____ Easter cards, and we can fasten
them all about, on the walls,” said
2 Lib, who had fallen in immedi-
tely with the plan.

“Tl bring Mrs. Snobley, and
— allher children, and the dining
— table,” said Dora.
= She had reference to her large































































































===" AOl], and a wkole dozen of little

= ones, that were always brought

= — forward in any play that Dora
— had taken a fancy to.

We were in such haste to

_— put our scheme into operation,

UY that we dispatched the lunch
in short order, and told the
| boys of our plan. They thought

it was capital. Any thing that
would release them, after they
had eaten all that was to be had,
would, of course, be received
with acclamation. They ac-
knowledged the same, in a very
neat speech, which Lib said,
“did very good for Hugh.”

She fell in immediately with
pine, right at the doorway. The our fun, and helped us to a num-
wild grape-vine and the woodbine ber of nice things, to furnish
had inclosed the space so com- our greenwood bower. We

letely, that Lib, who had thought- worked tremendously that after-
ully brought along a scissors to | noon, and after Betty had washed
cut off stubborn plants, could make | the dinner dishes, she helped us. Be-
two windows in the green wall; one | foresun-down every thing was complete.
looking into the woods, the other off | The boys, who had taken themselves a
at the distant pond. The grass was | mile away, to hunt, came round to visit
fine in here, and the sunbeams | uson their way home. They agreed
dropped down in little round spots, | that it was just perfect, and inquired if
on the pine needles that covered the | we hadn’t put in an elevator, to reach
floor. the second story, with numerous other

70





















































gather a
quantity for lunch,
and Lib and Dora
and I hunted fora
pleasant place to
set out our dainties.
We found it. A
natural bower, between four
trees; one being a giant of a
inquiries, intended to be funny; and
then asked where we kept our cran-
berry tarts.

“We're not going to allow any boys
in this play-house after to-day,” said T;
“your feet are muddy, and you're so big,
you fill it all up.”

Our visitor, Fred, looked at his feet,
and blushed. “Not after to-day? How
are you going to keep any one out?”
inquired William Pitt. 4

“We will draw this portiere across
the door-way, and no gentleman would
think of entering,”’ said Lib.

“No, they wouldn’t, sure enough,”
said Hugh. “How are you going to
prevent our looking in the windows?”

“Qnly rude boys would look in win-
dows,” said Fred, “and I don’t know
of any hereabouts.”’

They laughed at this, and Lib laughed
too, and made the sly remark, that
“Hunting on the duck-pond trans-
formed some people mighty soon.”

Fred said he'd try to be on his good
behavior if we’d let him make a formal
call on us the next afternoon. We
consentel to this; then they all said
they’d call.

The next day we busied ourselves in
preparing a spread of good things for
our reception, and Betty took it over,
and on returning, said every thing was
just -as we had left it. We dressed
ourselves up in our best, to receive the

entlemen, a little time after dinner.

he woods were never so lovely, we
thought, and to add to our personal
charms, we made wreaths and garlands
of ferns and wild-flowers to adorn our
persons and hats.

I had sauntered along considerably
in advance, and as I approached the
bower I was not a little surprised to
see from a distance that the door-cur-
tain was drawn half open. I stopped
to listen, but there was no sound, only
a wild bird piping its three little notes,
down by the mill. I cautiously went
up, and peeped into the little window,
and there stood a manontherug! He
seemed to be looking about. I think I

never was so frightened. Iran back,
and whispered to the rest the dreadful
state of things. They looked horror-
stricken. Lib changed color, but just
stood still. Then she said,—“ There’s
plenty of help over at the mil: ’

“Oh, let us go no nearer, but get
home as fast as we can,” I said.

Lib raised her hand in warning for us
to keep still, and we crept along, softly,
behind the bower ; and when we had got-
ten so far, we all turned around and ran
for dear life into the woods again.

“This is nonsense,” said Lib. “You
were mistaken, Molly, I’m sure.”

I said I'd go back with her, and she
could see for herself. We crept to the
back of the bower, and Lib leaned over
and looked in. Lib turned pale, caught
hold of my hand and Dora’s, and ran

uite a distance toward the mill.
hen she stopped, and said, as true as
she was alive, there wag a man in there;
he stood with a large stick resting on
his shoulder, upon which was slung a
bundle, tied up in a red handkerchief,
his cothing was ragged, and his hat
ila

was very dilapidated.
“Oh, Lib, I’m going to run for it,”
said I.

“Wait a minute,” said she. “I don’t
hear any noise. Let’s think; if we
didn’t have to go right in front of the
door, we could get to the mill.”

All this time we were edging our-
selves as far away from the dangerous

recincts as we conveniently could.

he stood again, perfectly still. “I
wont go another step,” she said. That
moment’s reflection had re-instated her
courage. ‘‘ He don’t come out ; I should
say that was making an informal call
when the ladies were out. He's a
beautiful-looking specimen anyway,”
said Lib, with fine irony; and as she
said this, she frowned, and put her
head back.

No sound was heard, and no demon-
strations from the interloper were made.
The sight of the mill-wagon, going
slowly down the road, gave us heart,
and Lib said:

71i
“T’ll go and order him out, be the
consequences what they may. Mollie,
oure good at screaming, you can
ring the miller here if we have to get
help.”

“Don't! Don’t! I would rather he
stole all our things ; let him have the
tarts and the cocoanut cake, and the
jam, and the pickles, and the cheese,
and the sandwiches! Let him have
them in welcome! I’m going to fly
home!”

“T want Mrs. Snobley!” sobbed
Dora.

Lib never said another word. She
walked up to the entrance, and pulled
aside the curtain, and there stood the
semblance of aman. In his extended
hand was a card, on which was very
badly printed :

“I'ma poor by,—I want a
home.”
“References exchanged.”

“LU scrape the mud off me
boots, tf yell let me in.”

Lib called, ‘Come here, Mollie, it’s
a trick of those boys.”

We went in, and there we found the
interloper to be a scarecrow from a
neighboring field, ingeniously arranged
So as to appear very human.

At that moment, a loud laugh above
our heads betrayed the presence of the
boys in the trees, who clambered down
with hilarious expedition, and fairly
rolled themselves upon the ground
with delight. They had seen all our
perturbation ; had heard my cowardly
cries and expressions ; Lib’s looking in
the window, and her fearful hesitation
and scamper behind the fairy bower!
The best thing to do was to laugh, and
that we did right heartily ; we girls, were
internally thankful that the intruder was
ne scarecrow after all.

e ordered the boys take their silly

joke out, and to come in like gentle-
men, and make a formal call, and
probably they would be invited to take
some refreshments.

This news caused them to work with
great alacrity. They were dressed up
too; Fred having chosen to wear his
school uniform, with a gorgeous crim-
son sash and his sword.

We were never so delighted with
any thing as with that afternoon’s ad-
venture. For hours we chatted and
laughed, and ate our refreshments,
until the western light began to take
on a ruddy hue, and we closed our little
bower and proceeded homeward.

What was our surprise, when we
reached there, to find that three young
friends from the city with their servant
had come to visit us. Merryvale was
not dull after that, I can assure you.



THE NEW SERVANT AT MERRYVALE.,.
Sees

ae


‘THE LION AT THE “Zoo.”

In the jungles, where the sun is so
fierce at noonday that the black na-
tives, themselves, cannot endure it, but
hide in huts and caverns and in the
shadows of rocks, dwelt this lion.

He did not mind heat, or storm, or
the tireless hunters. He was braver
and stronger than any other creature in
that tropical wilderness, and his ve
appearance and the sound of his terr1-
ble roar had sent many a band of hunt-
ers flying back to their safe retreats.

He prowled about the fountains at
night, and woe to any belated native or
domestic animal that happened to be
near; he would leap upon them, and
kill them with one blow of his huge
paw.

One day a bushman’ sighted a fine
deer, and incautiously separated him-
self from his companions; the ardor of
the pursuit led him into the pathless
wilderness, and farther and farther from
help, if he should need any.

Pausing a moment, he looked about
him; he could not believe his eyes!
He saw, not forty rods from him, this
creature, regarding him! intense ex-
citement flashing from his eyes, his tail
swaying from side to side, and striking
the ground with a heavy thud.

The bushman fled in wild terror, and
with a bound the lion began the chase.
No match, indeed, could any one man
hope to be for such an enemy—no out-
running this fleet patrol of the forest;
roaring and foaming he came up with
the doomed hunter and struck him
down and killed him.

The roaring over his success was
something too terrible to hear. The
other creatures of the forest fled to their
dens and coverts, and the arty of hunt-
ers, dimly locating the lion’s where-
abouts, betook themselves to other
grounds, not caring to encounter so
ormidable a foe. Little did they sus-
pect the fate of their comrade, and
they never knew of it until, a long time
afterward, they found the remains of

4



his hunting gear. The beast had torn
him to pieces and devoured him.

The devastations of this scourge of
the wilderness became so great in time,
that he depopulated whole villages, and
the superstitious natives, believing him
to be a demon, became so stricken with
fear that they would not attempt to
hunt him, and thus rid the forest of

Im. ,

Some agents of a business firm in
Holland, who negotiate for the pur-
chase of these ferocious wild animals
for menageries, secured, by promises
of great help and large reward, a band
of intrepid native hunters, to procure,
if it were within the range of possi-
bility, this famed lion, alive.



A BEAUTIFUL DEER.

White men joined inthe hunt. Brave
Englishmen and fearless Americans
attached themselves to the party, and
many were the hair-breadth escapes
and critical situations that crowded
upon their path.

On reaching the lion’s neighborhood,
they took counsel as to the best way
of coming upon him, not knowing just
where his lair might be; but soon |
they were guided to him by a distant
roaring. The advance hunters caught
their first glimpse of him before he was
aware of their presence. He had slain
his prey—the pretty creature lay near
the jungle lake, the sword grass and

" 75
the poisonous marsh flowers flaunting
their lush-growth all about. The ani-
mal’s smooth coat was brown and
glossy, and its little black hoofs shone

iH

a Se
euucasayyenqqoonsorenie hanes Ty

L n=,

HE WAS FINALLY CAGED.

bright in the sunshine. The lon re-
peated the same expressions of grati-
fied savagery he had indulged in when.
he had devoured the native. He strode
about, lashing his tail and roaring.

76



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The fearful cncountcr began! Many
of the natives were killed. One young
English nobleman was thought to hayc
received his death wound, when they

came to close

The

quarters.

| | i i}

overcome’ b y

Web numbers and
HH heroic bravery
at last. He

was maimed,
disabled and
secured, in the
deft and ex-
peditious way
they have
learned in deal-
ing with these
animals. He
was finall

caged, and the

rejoicings of
the natives
knew no

bounds; the
exploit was
celebrated
with feasting,
dancing and
wild obser-
vances, the
women and the
children join-
ing in the un-
couth = festivi-
ties.

He was re-
moved by his
foreign pur-
chasers, and
eventually se-
cured by a
City Park Com-
mission, and
was liberated
to walk about a
spacious cage, to delight the thou-
sands who visit the menagerie, that
affords so much instructive amuse-
ment. He usually lies down in onc
corner, and although he has lost much

ii
of his magnificent appearance, he
is still worthy to be called the “Forest
King.”

If you happen to be in his section
when he gets hungry and calls for his
dinner, you will be greatly astonished,
if not frightened, at the sound of his
voice. It is like nothing else in nature.
[t vibrates to the roof of the vast struc-
ture, and the windows rattle in their
frames. 2 tramps about and lashes
his tail against the bars and stamps his
feet, and his keeper hurries to throw
him his ration of raw meat. When he
is satisfied, he lies down and purs as
good-naturedly asa pussy cat, and looks
you in the eyes with an unwinking
stare.

You and I most earnestly hope that
he may never contrive to escape.



DISOBEYING MOTHER.

“T think, little goslings, you'd better
not go,
You're young, and the water is chilly,
you know;
But when you get strong,*
You can sail right along—
Go back in the sunshine, or walk ina
row.”
“No, no! we will go,” said those bold
little things,
Except one little dear, close to moth-
er’s warm wings.

Out went all the rest,
On the water with zest;
They said, “We will venture, whatever
it brings.”

Their mother looked out, so kind and
so true,
Adown where the rushes and lily-pads
grew;
They looked very gay,
As they paddled away,
With their bright, yellow backs, on the
water so blue.

“Come back!” cried their mother,
“come back to the land! a
I fear for my dear ones some evil is
planned.” ,
But they ventured beyond
The shore of the pond,
And laughed at her warnings, and
spurned her command.

Farewell, to the goslings! their troubles
are o’er; |
They were pelted with stones, by boys
on the shore.
Afar from the bank,
They struggled and sank,
Down deep in the water, to. come up no
more.

Oh, see what it cost them, to have their
own way ;
Their punishment came without stint
or delay ;
But the sweet one that stayed,
And its mother obeyed,
Lived long, and was happy for many a
day.
77
DISSOLVING COIN TRICK.
For this trick we require a small
tumbler made of thin glass, and a dime
or other small coin which has been
previously marked, so as to be readily
identified. The coin is dropped, in full
view of the audience, into the glass,
over which a handkerchief is thrown,
and all are placed on a table. The
performer then gives out a good-sized
table-knife and a plate of oranges. The
knife is examined, and an orange se-
lected. Returning to the tumbler, he
bids the coin to leave it and pass into
the orange. He removes the hand-
kerchief, and it is seen that the coin
has disappeared from the glass, and
on cutting open the orange it is found
in the center.

For this trick the young conjurer re-
quires first, a prepared tumbler ; second-
ly, atiny ball of wax. Just even with
the bottom of the tumbler is a small
slit, which any glass grinder will cut
for a few cents. When about to pour
water into the tumbler, it is held with
the hand encircling it, so that one
finger presses into and covers the slit-
After the water is emptied and the tum-
bler wiped dry, the coin is thrown in,
and then by slightly tilting the glass,
just as it is being covered with the
handkerchief, the coin will drop into
the hand. Before beginning the trick,
the performer lightly presses the tiny
ball of wax upon the lowest button of
his vest, so that he can get at it just
the minute he needs it. After the
knife has been examined, and whilst
going for the oranges, he picks the wax
off its resting-place, pressing it firmly
upon the center of the knife-blade, and

78

then, in turn, presses the marked coin
upon it, and lays the knife on a table
with the coin side down. In cutting
the orange, the pozmt of the knife is
used until a cut is made about half-way
down, and then, to finish, the blade is
drawn through, thus detaching the
coin, which will remain inside. Ags
some of the wax is likely to adhere to
the coin, the magician easily re-
moves it under pretense of wiping off

the orange juice—J///ustrated London
Paper.



THE FATE OF A FLEET.

Two bright boys forsook their toys,
And cracked some nuts in two;
And set them afloat, each little boat,

With its flag of red or blue.

“‘Let’s start a breeze,” said Fred, as he
shook
His kerchief to and fro;
He kept up the fun, till every one

Of his boats began to go.

Said Fred, “Let’s run along the bank,
And see which one will beat!”

And Harry went, on a good time bent,
And watched the tiny fleet.

But soon they met with a sad mishap,
And all the sport was done;
They sailed right into a flock of geese

And were floundered, every one.
pveemetanes




A SUMMER AT WILLOW-
SPRING.

The trunks were strapped on the
back of the. carriage; we children, with
Nurse, were bundled inside; the door
shut—the driver snapped his whip—
and without any time for last good-
byes, we were whirled away to the
station. How excited and glad we
were, for Papa and Mamma were to fol-
low us next day, and we left the
city far behind to spend the whole
beautiful summer at Willow-spring.
The very first day after our arrival, we
were out—Willie, my brother, Elsie, our
little four-year-old sister, and myself—
scouring the premises, and I guess
there was not a nook or corner we had
not visited by night. It was a rovely
place, with broad shady walks throug
which we raced, or Willie drove us as
two spirited young colts, for like most
boys he was rather masterful.

wish I could tell you of the grand
time we had that summer. We formed
the acquaintance of several little neigh-
bor children, who proved pleasant play-
mates, and together we would wander
through the cool leafy woods, or roam
the sunny meadows gathering sweet
wild strawberries and armsful of gold-
en-eyed daisies, and taking our treas-
ures home, would have a little treat on
the shady veranda, and garland our-
selves with long daisy chains, making
believe we were woodland fairies.
Once in a while the rabbits from the
near wood ran across the garden path,
timid and shy little creatures at first—
they grew quite tame from our feeding
—and Elsie dearly loved her bunnies,
as she called them.

Rapidly the days flew by, and the
time for our departure was at hand.
We felt sorry to leave, but Mamma, to
console us in part, planned a little out-
door feast for the day before our go-
ing, to which our little friends were all
invited, and a happy, merry band of
children played out under the trees,

and ate the goodies so generously pro-
vided. Just before breaking up, we all
joined in playing our favorite game of
“snap the whip,” and with screams
and laughter, one after another of the
weakest ones rolled over in the soft
grass. The last night at Willow-sprin
wound up with a grand frolic, in whic
all took part.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

Every little grape, dear, that clings unto
the vine,

Expects some day to ripen its little
drops of wine.

Every little girl, I think, expects in
time to be

Exactly like her own mamma—as sweet
and good as she.

Every little boy who has a pocket of
his own,

Expects to be the biggest man the
world has ever known. )

Every little lambkin, too, that frisks
upon the green,

Expects to be the finest sheep that
ever yet was seen.

Every little baby colt expects to bea
horse;

Every little puppy hopes to be a dog,
of course.

Every little kitten pet, so tender and
SO nice,

Expects to be a grown-up cat and live
on rats and mice.

Every little fluffy chick, in downy yel-
low dressed,

Expects some day to crow and strut or
cackle at his best.

Every little baby bird that peeps from
out its nest,

Expects some day to cross the sky from
glowing east to west.

Now every hope I’ve mentioned here
will bring its sure event,

Provided nothing happens, dear, to hin-
der or prevent.
Hh
mice






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Joey’ helps himsel] fo more than k
Nu inkende
A STUFFED JUMBO.

Yesterday, Alice met the stuffed | very much affected by the meeting.
Jumbo, her former mate. She walked | He was Jumbo’s old keeper.—/Hz-
slowly up to him, andthen stood forafew | mane Journal.
moments, evidently surveying him
with wonder. Then she swung
her trunk so as to reach Jumbos
mouth. She also touched his
trunk in a cautious manner, and
then turning her back upon him,
gave vent to a groan that made
the roof of the garden tremble.
William Newman, the elephant
trainer, Frank Hyatt, the super-
intendent, and “ Toddy” Hamil-
ton, talked to her in their usual
winning way, and she again faced
Jumbo. She fondled his trunk,
looked straight into his eyes, and
again she groaned, and then































walked away as though disgusted = YY y PY
with the old partner of her joys ah s oN

Z Soi i een: y
and sorrows. She went back to her quarters and continued to == |
mourn. Her keeper, Scott, was
appealed to by the spectators.
He was asked whether he be-
lieved that she recognized Jumbo,
and he replied in all serious-
ness, “Of course she did. She
told me so.” At another time he
said, “I can understand elephant
talk, and Alice told me_ she
recognized Jumbo.”’ Scott seemed

will

Sr)

SCENE AT AN ELEPHANT MARKET.


LOOK AT THE BABY.
This way and that way, one, two, three!
Come, if you want a dance to see;
With his chubby hands on his dress so

blue, |
See what a baby boy can do.

One foot up and one foot down;

See him try to smile and frown;

He would look better, I do declare,

With some more teeth and a little more
hair.

One, two, three, chick-a-dee-dee !
This I take the fact to be,

That there never was, on sea nor shore,
Such a queer little dance as this before!

POPPY, THE DOVE.

We had a dove once, one of the com-
mon wild sort. It was given to us
when quite young, and got so tame
that it was allowed to go free, just as
it liked, in and out of doors and all
about the house. We explained to our
twin cats, Darby and Joan, that it was
a ‘chicken,’ therefore they must not at-
tempt to catch it, as, although they

dearly loved to lunch off a fat sparrow,

or make a supper off a plump chaffinch,
it was quite sufficient for us to intro-
duce any bird to them as a chicken for
. them to respect its life and limbs.

Certainly Poppy, the dove, must, to
-say the least of it, have been very ‘try-
ing’ to the cats’ minds, as she had a
bold way of strutting around the cats
when they were sitting, calmly blink-
ing at her out of their big, yellow eyes,
as much as to say ‘Touch me if you
dare!” and one day, in a specially im-
pudent mood, she went so far as to
offer Darby the insult of a peck on the
nose. Darby’s look of offended dig-
nity was superb as she turned her bac
on the upstart bird.

84

Poppy made a most peculiar noise
when excited in any way, either vexed
or pleased. We could only compare it
to the twanging of an ill-strung guitar,
so she gained the nickname of “The
Old Guitar.”

After we had had hcr some time, a
hedgehog was brought in to us from
the fields. Well, I confess we were all

rather afraid of it, it had such a steal-

thy, creepy-crawly way of going about.
Sometimes, in the midst of our talk
and laughter, we would suddenly hear
the scrape, scrape of his spines along
the wainscot, and sce it sneaking round
the room; or we would be perfectly
silent, so that one would think the
slightest sound would have been heard,

1 then, lo! there he was, at our feet.

One night poor Poppy had been more
impudent and bold than ever, and we
had laughed heartily at her funny little
ways. Ihe hedgehog, too, was more
startling and ghostly than usual, so
that we had almost decided to send him
out again, when, soon after we had all
gone to bed, and the house was quiet,
my sister was roused by hearing the
Old Guitar twanging away in a most fu-
rious style. She listened for a few mo-
ments, thinking what a concert Poppy
was giving all to herself, and wonder-
ing if any thing ailed her; but know-
ing her general ability to take care of
herself, my sister, when the twangs got
fewer and fainter, concluded all was
right, and went to sleep.

Great was the grief and consterna-
tion in the house next morning when
the servant, on opening the shutters in
the dining-room, found it strewn with
Poppy’s feathers, and carefully tucked
under the fender were her dear little
feet and wings—not another vestige
of heranywhere! That dreadful hedge.
hog had killed and eaten her. The
pretty creature had, no doubt,: fought
hard for her life, and my sister always
regretted not having gone to ascertain.
the meaning of the unusual commotion
she heard—the poor dove’s dying cries
for help.
Baliga oan ogo
SP Bk RISA he:
LG Mee

BAe

tty 2

eRe


e

i

1 Le

”

It was a queer name for a little girl,
and it was not her real name—that was
Lizzie—but everybody called her “ But
then.”

“My real name is prettier, but then,
I hke the other pretty well,” she said,
nodding her short, brown curls merrily.
And that sentence shows just how she
came by her name.

If Willie complained that it was a



Rea

“Bur “BEN.”

miserable, rainy day, and they couldn’t
play out of doors, Lizzie” assented
brightly,—

“Yes; but then, it is a real nice day
to fix our scrap-books.”’

When Kate fretted because they had
so far to walk to school, her little sis-
ter reminded her,—

“But then, tt’s all the way through the
woods, you know, and that’s ever so

87
much nicer than walking on pavements
in a town.”

When even patient Aunt Barbara
pined a little because the rooms in the
new house were so few and small com-
pared with their old home, a rosy face
was quietly lifted to hers with the sug-
gestion,—

“But then, little rooms are the best
to cuddle all up together in, don’t you
think, Auntie?”

“Better call her ‘Little But Then,’
and have done with it,” declared Bob,
Lalf-vexed, half-laughing. “No matter
how bad any thing is, she is always
ready with her ‘but then,’ and some
kind of consolation on the end of it.”

And so, though no one really in-
tended it, the new name began. There
were a good many things that the
children missed in their new home.
Money could have bought them even

there; but if the money had not gone
first, their father would scarcely have
thought it necessary to leave his old

home. They had done what was best
under the circumstances; still the boys
felt rather inclined to grumble about it
one winter morning when they were
starting off to the village on an errand.

“Just look at all the snow going to
waste, without our having a chance to
enjoy it,” said Will; ‘and the ice too—
all because we couldn’t bring our sleds
with us when we moved.”

“But then, you might make one your-
self, you know. It wouldn’t be quite so
pretty, but it would be just as good,”’
suggested Little But Then.

“Exactly what I mean to do as soon
as I get money enough to buy two or
three boards; but I haven’t even that
yet, and the winter is nearly half gone.”

“Tf we only had a sled to-day, Sis
could ride, and we could go on the
river,’ said Bob. “It’s just as near
that way, and we could go faster.”

“It isa pity,” admitted the little girl.
“But then, I've thought of something
—that old chair in the shed! If we
turned it down, its back would be al-
most like runners, and so—”

88

“Hurrah! that’s the very thing!”
interrupted the boys; and the old chair
was dragged out in a twinkling, and
carried down to the river. Then away
went the merry party, laughing and
shouting, on the smooth road between
the snowy hills, while Gyp followed,
frisking and barking, and seeming to
enjoy the fun as much as any of them.

‘‘Now we'll draw our sled up here,
close under the bank, where nobody
will see it, and leave it while we go up
to the store,” said Bob, when they had
reached the village.

Their errand was soon done, and the
children ready to return; but as they
set forth Will pointed to a dark spot a
little way out on the ice.

“What is that? It looks like a great
bundle of clothes.”

It was a bundle that moved and
moaned as they drew near, and proved
to be a girl, a little bigger than Lizzie.
She looked up when they questioned
her, though her face was pale with |
pain.

“T slipped and fell on the ice,” she
explained, “and I’m afraid I’ve broken
my leg, for it is all twisted under me,
and I can’t move it or get up. _[livein
the village. That’s my father’s carpen-
ter shop where you see the sign. I
could see it all the time, and yet I was
afraid ’d freeze here before any one
saw me. Oh dear! it doesn’t seem as
if I could lie here while you go for my
father.”’

“Why, you needn't,” began Bob;
but the girl shook her,head.

“T can’t walk a step, and you two are
not strong enough to carry me all the
way. You'd let me fall, or you'd have
to keep stopping to rest; and puttin
me down and taking me up again woul
almost kill me.”’

“Qh, but we'll only lift you iftto the
chair, just as carefully as we can, then
we can carry you easy enough,” said

ill.

And in that way the poor girl was
borne safely home; and the children
lingered long enough to bring the sur-
er

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**BUT THEN, IT’S ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS, YOU ath

geon and hear his verdict, that “ Young
bones don’t mind much being, broken,
and she will soon be about again, as
well as ever.’

“But I don’t see how you. happened
to have a chair so handy,” said her
father to the boys.

And when they ex- |

plained that they were using it fora
sled, he said, with a significant nod of
his head, —"Your sled, was it? Well,
I shall be surprised if my shop does
not turn you out a better slea than
that, just by way of thanks for your
kindness.”

é 89
“But then, wasn't it good that it was
only the old chair that we had to-day ?”
asked Little But Then, as she told
the story to Aunt Barbara at home.
“Oh Auntie, had the nicest kind of a

time!”

‘I believe you had,” answered Aunt
Barbara, smiling; ‘‘for a brave, sunny

spirit, that never frets over what it has
not, but always makes the best of what
it has where it is, is sure to havea good
time. It dogs not need to wait for it to
come—it has a factory for making it.”
a = i il
\ ===,

ay
= Is

i

|

H













oe

Ce
Ci aw

feel
/ ll



—The following is an Arabic proverb
taken from the mouth of an Oriental:
“Men are four. 1. He who knows not,
and knows not he knows ro‘. He is
a fool; shun him. 2. He who knows
not, and knows he knows not. He is
simple; teach him. 3. He who knows,
and knows not he knows. Heis asleep;
wake him. 4. He who knows, and
knows he knows. He is wise; follow
him.”

go

WHAT THE SNAIL SAID,

“You little chicks, tho’ you peck at
my dress,
I will not get angry at that ;
I know you would gobble me up if you
could,

As quick as a worm or a gnat.”’

“Say, little snail, you had better go on,
They may try the same trick upon
you.”
‘No, no,” said the snail, with his hard
coat of maul,

“T don't care a rush if they do.

“Little girl, there’s no harm to cause
me alarm,
I'll sit here and watch them a spell,
But as soon as they pounce, I’ll cheat
them at once,

By getting right into my shell.”

‘But listen, wise snail, the old hen in
the coop
‘Has her eye very closely on you;
And if she gets out, it may put you
about,
Now mind, what I tell you is true.”

‘But dear little girl, she is fast in her
house ;
No, no, she can’t touch me, no, no.
But if that respectable fowl should get
out,
Oho!” said the snail, “Oha!”’
A CHANCE WORD.

Ralph and Lily had one game of
which they never tired, and that was
“horses.” It was really a convenient
game, for it could be played on wet or

ne days, in the nursery or on the
road. Perhaps it was best fun on the
road, ‘like real horses ;” but I am not
sure, for it was very delightful to sit on
the nursery table, with the box of bricks
for a coachman’s seat, and from that
elevated position to drive the spirited
four horses represented by the four
chairs, to which the reins would be
fastened.

One day—a fine day—the two chil-
dren were playing at their usual game
on the turnpike road, and waiting for
nurse, who had gone into a cottage
near by to speak to the washerwoman.
Nurse was a long time, and Ralph, who
was horse, was quite out of breath with
his long trot on the hard road. Lil
touched him up with the whip, but all
to no avail—he could run no more.

“T’ve no breath left,” said the poor
horse, sinking down exhausted on a
heap of stones. |

Lily put down the whip and patted
his head to encourage him. ‘Soh! soh!”’
she said, in as good an imitation as she
could manage of the way the groom
spoke to their father’s horse; “you are
quite done, I see. You must rest, and
have a handful of oats,” and she dived
into her pocket and produced a bit of bis-
cuit, which the horse ate with great sat-
isfaction, and soon professed himself
ready to goonagain. “Ah!” said Lily,
sagely, ‘I knew you'd be all right soon;
there’s nothing like food and kindness
for horses when they’re tired.”

A tinker, with a cart and a poor, ill-
fed beast harnessed to it, happened to
be passing, and heard the little girl’s
words. e stared after her, for she
seemed very small to speak so wisely,
and the tinker did not, of course, know
that she was only repeating what she
had heard her father say.

“Well, I’m dazed!” exclaimed the

tinker, looking after the children;
“wherever did little Missy learn that?”

He said no more then; but Lily’s
words stuck to him, and his poor horse
had reason to bless Lily for them, for
from that day forward he got, not only
more food, but more kindness and
fewér blows, and so he became a better
horse, and the tinker the better man in
consequence.

A LITTLE DANCE.

Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!

To dress ourselves up, as Grandma has
done.

See how we

o! See how we go!
Forward and

ack, heel and toe.

Lighter than down, our feet come down

Mind all your steps, and hold out your
gown ;

Faster than that, whatever may hap,

Cherry.red waist and blue speckled cap.

Hi! Master John! Ho! Master John!
Don’t go to sleep, while the music goes

on;
Faster than that! Faster than that!
Hold up your head, and flourish your
hat!

How she trips it along, that bright little
maid,

With her dainty blue skirt and spotted
brocade;

And that one in yellow, who wears the
red rose

How she keeps her mouth shut and
turns out her toes.

How they do spin! when they truly
begin ; .

Each dancer as airy and bright asadoll;

While the music complete, keeps time
to their feet,

With its fiddle-dee-diddle and tol-de-
rol-ol ! :

Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!

To dance, when every duty is done;

Forward and back, or all in a ring,
A quick little dance is a very gay thing.

Ol
ROUGH, THE TERRIER.

IT have a dear little Scotch terrier
called Rough. He is everybody’s pet
as well as mine, he is so layfal and
gentle; but his one great fault is curi-
osity, and it was indulging this that
nearly cost Rough his life.

In the town in which we at that time
lived, there were a number of religious
meetings being held, and whether it
was the crowds of people or the singing
that attracted Rough I do not know,
but certainly he was always most de-
sirous of being present. hen I went
myself I always took him, for he be-
haved like a gentleman, and never
annoyed any one; but one night I was
prevented going, and when bed-time
came Rough could not befound. I did
not feel greatly alarmed, hoping he
would turn up next morning; but for
three days nothing could be heard of
him, except a friend told me he had
seen him among the crowd at the Hall
on the night I could not go. Nothing
more was heard of Rough, and I mourned
over my lost pet for a whole year.

ee

We lived about thirty miles from
London, and I had to pay a visit toa
friend there, and before { left to return
home again she sail we might go and
see the Home for Lost Dogs, as it is
considered quite an interesting sight.
So the last day of my visit we set off,
and, after seeing the establishment, we
were just leaving, when the aitendant
said there was a cage of dogs that were
doomed to die, as they had been there
a long time, and no owners had turned
up forthem ; would we like to see them?
So we rather reluctantly went to see
the sad sight, and, to my unbounded
astonishment and delight, Rough was
the first one I cast my eyes on; and,
oh, the welcome he gave me! licking
my hand and looking in my face, as
much as to say,— Take me from this
dreadful place.” The attendant could
not but see that the dog was mine, and
after a little delay, Rough was restored
to me, and he and I have never been
parted for a single day since this pain-
ful experience.



THE WHITE LILY.

A little girl said

To a Lily one day,—
“Qh, please tell me wh

You wear white alway’ ?”

The little maiden held her ear
Quite near the Lily’s heart

And listened, while her fingers pressed
The petals wide apart.

She thought she heard the Lily say,—
“An Angel came one Easter-day
And kissed me, that is why.
And since that day I can but wear
The lovely garment white and fair,
She brought me from the sky.”



92



















KITTIE’S PIE.

a

She caught her apron full of

snow,
This little girl so spry ;

And went and packed it on a

plate,

To make a frosted pie.

She put it in the oven then,

And when she thought ’twas

done
She lifted out an empty plate,

And that’s what made the fun.

To go and do tha



She was too old by half.
She said, “I wont tell brother
Fred,

*

*Twould only make him laugh.”
LEAVES, AND WHAT THEY ARE GOOD FOR.

Leaves are so common, and we have
so many of them everywhere, that we
never think how beautiful they are.
You cannot find any two alike, any
more than you can find two people.
They are of every variety of form and
size, from an arrow’s head to a violin.

The edges of some leaves are notched
like the teeth of a saw, others are
scolloped, while some are perfectly

lain. Some are very small, others so
arge that you might almost sit under
their shade. They are arranged ver
differently on their stems, in small
clusters, or in greater numbers of small
leaves.

Did you ever look at the small ribs
in a leaf, that spread out from the
larger rib running up and down the
middle?

These are to make it strong, just as
the ribs of an umbrella hold that out
and strengthen it. Then look at the
delicate network between these ribs.
Some do not have these branching
ribs, because the leaf is strong enough
without them.

Now what makes them so strong?
Every thing in a plant or tree is made
from sap, and this sap in the leaves
makes the ribs firm, and if they have
no sap, they wilt. This always hap-
pens when you break off a leaf from its
stem. But take that leaf, and put it in
water, and it soon revives, and will
keep fresh for quite along time. Do
you know why? Because the water
goes up the little pipes in the stem,
. and takes the place of what has gone

|

out of its pores, or the little holes out
of which the watery part of the sap es-
caped.

A great deal of the water in the air
in summer comes from the leaves of
the trees and plants, because it goes up
swiftly from the earth into the plants,
and they breathe out moisture into the
air, allthetime. This moisture is what
makes the air soft in hot days; and
when you think how many millions of
leaves there are, you see how much
good they can do.

But leaves can do something more
than give out moisture to the dry air.
They give beautiful shade to all the
animals that live out of doors, as well
as to man; they shield the fruits from
the broiling sun.as they ripen; but the
greatest use of all is to keep the plants
alive and make them grow. Leaves
are really the lungs of the plant or
tree; just as much to them as our
lungs are to us, but they are not used
in the same way. We use the air, and
make it bad; and this bad air the
leaves take in, because it does them
good; and in exchange, they give us
good air, and all summer long this ex-
change is going on. And in winter,
when the leaves are off the trees and
plants, the bad air goes off to southern
countries where they are still growing
—for you know the wind is a great
messenger—ind back comes a fresh’
supply of good air to us in exchange.
Isn't this wonderful? We can never
doubt the power of God, when we see
what marvelous things He can do.


TWO RUNAWAYS.

Bess was the only one at all to blame;
and if you had once looked into her
blue eyes, or felt her chubby little arms
around your neck, you never could have
found it in your heart to scold her.
As for Prince, you can see by the way
he holds his head that he is really proud
_ of his part in the story. This is the
way it happened. Bess was spending
a week with Grandma, because some-
body’s baby, in the very next house to
where Bess lived, had the scarlet fever,
so they sent her away to be out of
danger. She was as happy asa bird for
three days, trotting after the chickens,
poking grass through the fence to the
white calf, feeding the lame duck with
her bread and butter, and sailing pea-
pod boats in the trough where they
watered the horses. Wherever Bess
went, Prince followed. You might have
thought he understood every word when
Grandma said, “Now, Prince, you must
take care of Bess; I’d sooner trust you
than most nurse girls,” he looked up in
Grandma’s face with his soft, beautiful
eyes, swung his great plume of a tail,
and whined a little as if he were just

oing to speak, but from that moment
fre seemed to feel that Bess was his
special charge.

The fourth day was washing day, and
to make matters worse, Grandma had
a bushel of strawberries to can. A
bushel of ripe, red, delicious berries,
and only one pair of fingers to pick off
the troublesome stems. Bess helped,
of course, till her little red mouth, that
gaped like a robin’s, would not open for
another one, and then Grandma carried
her away to the bed-room for her morn-
ing nap. There she lay on the pillow
watching a spider weave a lace curtain
behind the morning-glory vines, and
though she was not very sleepy, she
would never have thought of getting
up if some one had not come in and left
the door open. Some one was Sophy,
who tip-toed to the closet, got Grand-
ma’s bonnet and parasol, and tip-toed

96



‘Step, but he got up, stretc

out again, forgetting to shut the
door.

‘Did you notice if Bess was asleep?”
asked Grandma.

“Very near it,” said Sophy, “she lies
there sucking her thumb as contented
as an angel.’

““She’s safe for two hours then, and
when she wakes you can give her her
dinner. It’s too bad about the ber.
ries, but sick folks are of more conse-
quence than strawberries,” and away
went Grandma to see what was the mat-
ter with poor old Mrs. Dawson.

“T’ll just do those berries myself,”
said Sophy, and went to work so busily
that she. quite forgot Bess, and did not
hear a sound when the little lady took
her thumb out of her mouth, slid down
from the bed, and walked out of the
front door. Prince was lying on the

hed himself,
walked slowly behind Bess to the gate,
and stood patiently by her while she
looked up and down the road. There
was not very much to look at, but pres-
ently a lovely butterfly came flutter-
ing over the wall, sailed about a great
thicket of May weed, and then settled
down upon a purple thistle, waving its
wings slowly as if it were half asleep in
the sunshine.
- “Oh,” said Bess, her eyes dancing
with delight as she saw it, but before
she reached the thistle the butterfly
finished its dream and went on. It was
not in any haste; it stopped here and
there fora sip of honey, it dropped
down on a spot of wet sand, it went
from side to side of the road, and still
Bess followed, and Prince kept close
beside her. By-and-by the butterfly
went over a fence into a field, and Bess,
with a little bit of disappointment in
her heart, pressed her face against the
rails and looked in. It seemed to bea
field of lovely red roses; thousands and
thousands of them; not growing on
high bushes, but one low mass of round,
bobbing flowers and dark green leaves.
Bess thought she could get through
the fence, so she squeezed her fat lit-





tle body between the lower rails, and
began to squirm and wriggle.. Prince
had been uneasy before, But now he
thought it was time to protest; he
whined, gave short yelps, jumped about,
and even caught his little mistress by
ner dress, but she worked .her wa
through, and rolled at last into the bed
of red clover, hot, tired, but triumphant.
How sweet the blossoms were, and not
a thorn to scratch the soft fingers that
picked them so eagerly till both hands
were overflowing. And there was the
butterfly, going on now as if he had
business to attend to, faster and faster,
and away up into sunshine. |

Bess began to be very thirsty, and
_ wished she had some cool, sweet milk.

Her ees ached, too, and seemed to get
tangle
when she came to a snug little hollow,
with a crooked old apple-tree leaning
over it, she sat down to rest. Prince
sat down beside her. Perhaps he was
anxious,. but I am inclined to believe
he thought out-doors much better than

in, and it was not many minutes until |
the two were fast asleep. They slept f

two hours—at least Bess did, and there
is no guessing how much longer her
nap might have lasted, had not Prince
heard the dinner horn which Soph

blew to call the men from the field.
He pricked up his ears, and moved a
little; he touched the warm hand with
his cold nose, and even ventured to
lick it softly. Then he lay very pa-
tiently, until a squeaky old chaise came
lumbering down the hili, the rickety
old top going “a-crec, a-cree, a-cree,”
with every step of the steady, gray
horse. This was too much for Prince;
up he came, his splendid head in the
air, his nose pointed straight at the
bars, while his quick, short barks said,
“See here!” as plain as vo could say
it. Grandma understood him, too, and
stopped old Bali, and looked into the
Clover field. Yes, there was Prince, and
there was a tumbied little heap, slowly
getting up on to some fat legs that were
still half asleep—could that be Bess?

5

up in the clover, and presently,”

‘“My goodness, child, how did you
get here,” asked Grandma, as she lifted

er over the fence; and Bess really
couldn’t tell.

Old Mrs. Dawson wasn’t so. very
sick after all, and so Grandma hurried
back to finish her strawberries ; and
the first that Sophy knew of what
might have happened to Bess, was
when she came riding home in the
creaky old chaise, with Prince trotting
proudly behind.

“She’s about starved, the blessed
little soul,” said Grandma.”’ Give her
bread and milk, in the best china
bowl; there’s no telling what might
have become of her if the Lord hadn’t
taken care of her—yes and you too, »
Prince ; you helped, and you’re a good,
faithful fellow.”

And Prince certainly looked as if he
understood.

EMILY H. MILLER,







x
aie .
a ees

MY SHIP.

Now, little ship, go out to sea,

And bring good fortune back to me;
But don't, like papa’s “ ship,” I pray,
Be gone forever and a day. .

He’s always saying what he’ll do,
When zs ship comes to land;
But somehow it has never come,
Why, I don’t understand.

99
GOOD

“Good night!” said the plow to the
weary old horse,
And Dobbin responded, “Good
night.”
When, with Tom on his back, to the
farm-house he turned,
With a feeling of quiet delight.

“Good night!” said the ox, with a
comical bow,
As he turned from the heavy old cart,
Which laughed till it shook a round
wheel from its side,
Then creaked out, “Good night from

my heart.”

“Good night!” said the hen, when her
supper was done,
To Fanny, who stood in the door;
“Good night!” answered Benny,
“come back in the morn,
And you and your chicks shall have

more.”

‘Quack, quack!” said the duck, “I
wish you all well,
Though I cannot tell what is polite ;”
“The will for the deed,” answered
Bennie, the brave,
“Good night, madame Ducky, good
night.”

NIGHT.

The geese were parading the beautiful
green,
But the goslings were wearied out.
quite ;
So shutting their peepers, from under
the wing
They murmured a sleepy “Good

night.”’

N&8w the shades of evening were gath-
ering apace,
And fading the last gleam of light,
So to father and mocher, both Fanny
and Ben

Gave a kiss and a hearty “Good

night.”


LULLABY.

Because the little lambs have gone














To sleep so long ago,
And every little bird has flown
\ Safe to its nest, you know;
> Q Should not my little lambkin hie
To the sweet land of
Lullaby !

ld ti

we
\\4

1 Abu

Because the merry day is gone,
And twilight shadows fall,
And the bright sun has said good night,
To lambs, and birds, and all ;—
Should not my birdie seek his nest,
And thro’ the night-time sweetly rest,
Lullaby!
THE LEGEND OF THE
FUCHSIA.

“Oh, Aunt Nana, where did you get
that lovely cluster of Fuchsias?”

“The gardener cut it for me a few
moments ago; is it not graceful, with
its glossy green leaves, and creamy
buds?”

“Yes, and I wonder, Auntie, where
it got its crimson heart in such strange
contrast to the waxen white petals,”
said thoughtful Helen.

“ Well, if you wish, I will tell you the
Legend of the Fuchsia, but, of course,
you know there is not a word of truth
in it, only it is rather interesting.”

“Qh, tell us! tell us!” and the
three children promptly settled at her
feet in listening attitude, for Aunt
Nana’s stories held a peculiar charm
for them.

“Well, once upon a time—to begin
in the genuine, story fashion—there
lived a beautiful young Princess, in a
castle upon the banks of a gentle, flow-
ing river. She was very lovely; with
long, golden hair, eyes blue as forget-
me-nots, and milk-white skin; but she
seldom wore silken and velvet gowns
to show off her wonderful beauty, be-
cause her brothers, who were very wild
young Princes, spent all the gold their
father, the King, could exact from the
subjects of his small Dominion. Often
she would deck her arms and neck with
garlands of flowers, and wonder how
she would look if they were sparkling
jewels—foolish little, Princess.

“One day a great giant rode along,
and, seeing the flower-wreathed maiden
gazing at herself in the clear water of
the river, instantly fell in love with
her. Knocking at the castle gate he
demanded an audience with the King,
asking his daughter in marriage. He
was very rich and owned vast estates.

“The King sent for the Princess, who,
in spite of the ugliness, and immense
size of her lover, thought it a grand
thing to have all the finery she wanted,

102

consented, and the great fellow car.
ried her off to his grim castle, miles
away.

“ He gave her velvet and ermine
robes, and rare gems, more than she
could wear, and placed in her tiny pink
ears, rings, the shape of a delicate, bell-
like flower, made of costly pearl, and
told her there would be strange doings
sometimes at the castle, and if ever
she listened or tried to find out any
thing, the heart of the jeweled flower
which she wore in her ears would turn
blood-red, and he would sever her head
from her body with his sword. The
frightened Princess promised to obey
in all things.

“But her rich surroundings grew
wearisome after awhile, and one night,
tired of strumming the golden strings
of her harp, she wandered through the
dimly-lighted halls, trying to amuse
herself with the quaint old portraits
and armor on the walls, when in pass-
ing a door, she heard loud voices and
laughter. Forgetful of every thing,
she gathered her gleaming white satin
robes about her, and softly stole to the
crack in the door, to look and listen.

“No one ever knew what she saw, for
instantly the door swung open, and the
giant, in great fury, rushed out, caught
the unhappy little Princess in his rude
arms, and turning her to a mirror which
ran from ceiling to floor, she saw, with
horror, that the heart of the pearly blos-
soms in her ears was blood-red. With
one stroke of his sword, the wicked old
giant cut the golden head from the
white shoulders.

“Her friends buried the poor Prin-
cess on the banks of the river, by her
old home, and planted on her grave the
fuchsia, which, till then, had always a
pure white flower. When, lo! the next
time they visited the lowly mound, they
found, to their amazement, that the
center of the bell-like blossom was scar-
let, and ever since it has had a purple
or red color.” |

‘Poor Princess!” sighed the chil-
dren.
a
y SF
——F

Va

WAY Zz aN

4

\G
\ iW IN \


Woodcroft to be sold!—like a knell
of doom the words fell on our ears—it
could not be! Our dear old home, the
only one we children had ever known,
to be taken from us. We sat in the
bright little sitting-room, blankly look-
ing at one another, in dumb astonish-
ment. Louise, who was always the
thoughtful one, soon roused herself
from the stupor which seemed to have
come upon us all, and going over to the
lounge, began comforting —as best she
could, poor child—our gentle little
mother, upon whom this blow had fallen
most heavily. Presently she sat up,
and in trembling tones told us, as we
clustered at her knee, the particulars
of our misfortune.

There were three of us—Louise, Cal
and I, who rejoiced in the quaint
cognomen of Pen, named for a rich,

104



i,
giv

WOODCROFT.

eccentric, old aunt, who had never left
me any money because she never died.

“Now, Marmo, out with all the’
trouble and let us share it,” said mat-
ter-of-fact Cal. And then she told
how, after papa’s sudden death a year
before, she had discovered a mortgage
to be on the place, small, but now due
and no money to meet it; the creditor
was pressing, and the home to be sold.
We felt sad, but cheered her up, and
talked over ways and means as never
before.

‘““Even though he consents to re-
new it, where would the yearly interest
money come from,” she wailed.

We urged her to lie down and rest,
and, following Cal’s beckoning finger,
tip-toed out of the room.

‘Now, girls,” said she, “ something's
got to be done, and we've got to do it.”





SS a = =
3S = — % tS ae SS rae
SS ——S SO a

SV on
‘A TRIBUTE TO YOUR GENIUS, LOU,” SAID I. LIKE THE FAMOUS ARTIST



OF OLD, WHO PAINTED CHERRIES SO NATURALLY, THE BIRDS

FLEW DOWN AND PECKED AT THE CANVAS.”

107
One thing after another was proposed
and rejected; we knew, if the home
were sold, after the demands were met,
there would be but a mere pittance left
for four females to live on. Finally I
broke in:

“Girls, my brain is not usually fertile,

but a thought has been growing—we are
all well educated, but teaching is out of
the question, the supply is greater than
the demand, but Lou, here, is skilled
with pencil and brush, and Cal has a
genius for contrivance; now why could
you not paint and decorate some of the
dainty trifles you often make as gifts,
and sel//them. / always did havea no-
tion for cookery, which I shall proceed
to put in practice, dismissing the ser-
vants.” Having delivered this little
speech, I paused, breathless.
' Cal clapped her hands, and Lou’s
brown eyes glowed. “Pen, you little
duck,” and Cal pounced on me in an
excess of Joy.

‘But, ’ faltered Lou, “the mortgage.”

“T thought of that too—our lady-like
Louse shall go to that crusty old cred-
itor, and beg him to renew it, and with
what you girls earn and what we save
from the rent of the farm land (for we
must live econ omically) we will pay him
the interest promptly.” I will add, that
she did that very thing, and completel
won over the hard-hearted fellow wit
her sweet, earnest manner.

So to work we went, and the sitting-
room was converted into a studio, lit-
tered with papers, books, gay ribbons
and glue-pots. But some exquisite cre-
ations came out of that chaos. I had
visited the aforesaid Aunt Pen the pre-
vious winter, in New York city, and
at the American Specialty House had
been enchanted with the many novel
and beautiful pieces of decorated work.
All would be entirely new in ¢hzs part
of the world, and our idea was, to take
orders from the near towns for their
Holiday trade. It was now only Ma
and we would have plenty of time. Cal,
who, with her brusque, honest ways, de-
termined face, and curly, short hair, was

108

our man of business, took samples of
our work in to the various towns, re-
ceiving large orders in almost every
instance.

Happy and busy as bees we worked,
and began to feel quite important, as
the pile grew high, of white boxes, filled
with delicate satin souvenirs for wed-
ding and birthdays, Christmas tokens of
lovely design, little poems with dainty
painted covers, blotters and thought
books, beautifully decorated, all of
which found ready sale. The little
mother’s sad eyes began to brighten,
and Cal would say:

“Marmo, we can take care of you al-
most as good as sons, can’t we?”

“God bless my daughters,” would be
the reply.

Louise had established her studio
under the old apple-tree one warm
June day, and, running out to call her
to lunch, I found she had gone down in
the garden, but I saw the cutest, pret-
tiest sight! I beckoned her to come
softly. There, on her sketch-book,
opened against the tree, and on which
was a_ half-finished painting of birds,
hopped around two brown sparrows,
peeping and twittering as contentedly
as possible. It was too cunning! as
though they had recognized their por-
traits and felt at home.

“A tribute’ to your genius, Lou,”
said I. Like the famous artist of old,
who painted cherries so naturally, the
birds flew down and pecked at the can-
vas.

“TI fear I shall have to dispel the illu-
sion, dear. I guess they were more
eager to pick up some cake crumbs I
left than to admire my work.”

Readers, you will be glad to know
that the girls’ work continued success-
ful, and that the “crusty old creditor”
turned out a good friend, from sheer
admiration of their pluck and courage.


r Gg? iS
ee

Sa ee Oe


ADAM AND EVE.

Adam and Eve are my two pet doves,
They live in a cot in the maple tree,

They coo and coo as other doves do,
And I know they are fond of me.

Eve is a dear little milk-white dove,
Her eyes and feet are of coral red.
She wears a quill of gray in her wing,

And a smal! white cap on her head.

Adam is bold, and he struts about,

In coat and vest of chocolate brown;
Eve is as sweet as a dove can be,

And Adam will sometimes frown.

Adam and Eve are my two fond doves,
Their cottage stands in the maple
tree,
They coo and coo, as other doves do,
And often take lunch with me.
Mrs. S. J. BRIGHAM.

SWINGING SONG.

Swinging! Swinging!
Up where the bees and the butterflies
are,
Winging! Winging!

Their flights mong the blossoms that
shine near and far.

Ringing, Ringing,
Song of the blue-bird and kotolink’s
call,
Singing, Singing,
Up in this beautiful world are they all!

Clinging, clinging,
In this green shadow, the clematis
swings.
Bringing, bringing,
Hints of strange odors, and dim wood-

land things.

Flinging, flinging,
The snow-ball, its white, pretty blossoms
on me,
Springing, springing,
The damask rose climbs to the lattice

to see!

Backward my hair is floating and

swaying, |
Here o’er the garden-walk softly I

sing ;

Far more delightful, than wearily stray-
ing,

Is it to dream here, while gently I
swing.

111
CAMP TRIO.



A. DEG. H.

Hurrah! Hurrah! only two days
more to vacation, and then !——

If the crowning whistle, and ener-

etic dang with which the strapped
Books came down, were any indication
of what was coming after the “then!”
it must be something unusual. Ani so
it was—for Ned, Tom and Con, who
were the greatest of chums, as well as
the noisiest, merriest boys in Curry-
ville Academy—were to go into camp
for the next two weeks, by way of
spending part of their vacation. They
could hardly wait for school to close,
and over the pages of Greenleaf danced,
those last two days, unknown quanti-
ties of fishing tackle, tents, and the
regular regalia of a camping out-fit.
They talked of it by day and dreamed
of it by night.

At last the great day dawned —
dawned upon three of the most gro-
tesque-looking specimens of boyhood,
arrayed in the oldest and worst fit-
ting clothes they could find; for, as
they said, in the most expressive boy
language—“We are in for a rattlin’
good time, and don’t want to be togged
out. They and their effects were taken
by wagon over to the Lake Shore, about
four miles distant, to establish their
camp under the shadow of old Rumble
Sides, a lofty crag or boulder.

Boys, I wish you could have seen
them that night, in their little wood-
land home; really, it was quite at-
tractive. They worked like beavers all
day—cutting away the brush, driving
stakes to tie down the little white
tent, digging a trench all around in
case of rain, and building a fire-place
of stone, with a tall, forked stick on
which to hang the kettle. A long board,
under the shady trees, served as table.

Too tired to make a fire that night,
they ate a cold lunch, and threw them-
selves on their bed—which was a blan-

ket thrown over pine boughs—untied
the tent flaps to let in air, and slept a
happy, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, early, they were
up, and, after taking a cold plunge in
the lake, built a brisk fire, boiled cof.
fee, and roasted potatoes for breakfast.
They then bailed out the punt, which
was their only sailing craft, and put off
for an all-day's fishing excursion. Sev-
eral days, with fine weather, passed,
and the boys declared they were hav-
ing a royal time, and that camping was
the only life to lead

They had much difficulty to settle
upon a name, but finally decided that
‘‘Camp Trio”? was most appropriate.

One night they were suddenly awak-
ened by a deep, roaring sound; the
wind blew fiercely, it rained hard, but
the noise was not of thunder, it seemed
almost human; nearer and nearer it
came! The three lads sat up in the
semi-darkness, and peered at each other
with scared faces.

“It’s Old Rumble broke loose and
coming down on us,” said Con, in a
ghostly whisper. “Hush!” and the
trio clutched in a cold shiver, as a
crackling of twigs was heard outside,
a heavy tread, a long, low moan, a hor-
rible silence.

“Tt was the Leviathan, I guess,” said
Tom, with a ghastly attempt at smil-
ing, as the early morning light stole
through the flaps. At length they
moved their stiffened limbs and peeped
out. Oh, how it did pour! No fire, no
fishing, no any thing to-day. Pretty ©
soon a shout from Ned, who had been
cautiotisly prowling around to find the
cause of their late fright.

“Qh, boys, it’s too rich! Why, it was
Potter’s old cow, down here last night,
bawling for her calf that was after our
towels, as usual—look here!” and he
held up three or four dingy, chewed-
looking articles, which had hung ona
tree to dry, and might have been tow-
els once. The boys broke into a hearty
laugh at their own expense. The day
was very long and dull, and the next,
stories and jokes fell flat, cold victuals
didn't relish, they began to feel quite
blue. The third. day Farmer Potter
appeared upon the scene.

‘What on airth ye doin’ here; tres-
passin’ on other folks’grounds? Mebby
ye don’t know it’s agin the law!”

The boys felt a trifle uneasy, but an-
swered him politely.

“Hevin’ fun, be ye! Wall, I’ll vow,
settin’ in the wet, eatin’ cold rations,
haint my idee of fun.” And away he
stalked.

The boys looked at each other.

“TI say, fellers,’”’ said Con, “a piece of
pie and a hunk of fresh bread wouldn't
go bad—eh?”’

The two answered with a hungry
look.

“But let’s tough it out over Sunday,
or they'll all laugh at us.” And sothey
did ; but it was the longest, dreariest
Sabbath they ever spent.

“I'd rather learn ten chapters in
Chronicles,” Tom affirmed, “than put
in another such a Sunday.”

They had, in the main, a jolly time,
but the ending was not as brilfiant as
they had looked for. They never re-
gretted going, but the next year took
a larger party, and went for a shorter
time.



THE SENTIMENTAL FOX.

“Oh, beautiful wild duck, it pains me

to see,
You flying aloft in that gone sort of
way, :
Sweet one, fare you well. I could shed
many tears,

But my deepest emotions I never
betray,

“T’ve always admired you, wonderful

ird,
By the light of the sun and the rays
of the moon ;

|

|

I tell you ’tis more than a fox can en-
dure
To know that you take your depart-
ure so soon,

“T snatched a few feathers, in memory
of you;
I desired a whole wing, but you baf-
fled my plan ;
Oh, what a memento to hang in my den!
And in very hot weather to use as a
fan.

“Descend, O, thou beautiful creature,
to earth!
There’s nothing I would not perform
for your sake;
If once in awhile I could see you down
here,
I’d never get tired of the shores of
this lake!”

“Cheer up, Mr. Fox,” said the duck,
flying higher,
“The parting of such friends is some-
times a boon ;
When they get far away, and have
time to reflect,
They see that it came not a moment
too soon.

“You wanted a wild wing to fan your-
self with ;
You see if I granted that favor to

ou,
‘Twould have left me but one, which is
hardly enough,
As I find it convenient, just now, to
have two.”

Then she faded away, a dark speck on
the sky.
“That’s a very shrewd bird,’ said
the fox in dismay ! 4
“T shall have to look round for my din-
ner, again,
And I fancy it will not be wild duck
to-day.”
A FUNNY HORSE.

Knock! Knock! Knock!
before this block
More than half an hour, I should say;

I’ve been

I am standing in the sun, while Miss
Lucy lingers on,
Talking of the fashions of the day.

It is a trick you know, she taught me
long ago,
But now I am 1n earnest, not in play;
And the world is very wide, to a horse
that isn’t tied,
I've a mind to go and ask the price of
hay

There’s a nail in my shoe that needs
fixing too,
And I want a drink more than'I can
say ;
How I could run, with my dandy har-
ness on!
But it’s such a mean thing to run

away.

Rap! Tap! Tap! That’s enough to
break a nap—
There she comes, and is laughing at
the way
I brought her to the door, when she
wouldn’t come before,
That’s a trick worth playing any day.
114

MRS. GIMSON’S SUMMER
BOARDERS.



It was recess at the school-house at
the cross roads, and three country girls
gathered round a companion, whose
unhappy face showed that something
had gone wrong.

“Is this your last day at school,
Lucindy?” asked Carrie Hess, a girl
of fifteen, and the eldest of the three
sisters.

“Yes, this is my last day, thanks to
the summer boarders. I can’t bear to
think of them. I hate them!”

“Will you have to work harder than
you do now?” asked Freda, who was
next younger to Carrie.

‘“‘T don't mind the work so much as I
do their impudent airs, and _ their
stuck-up ways. I wont be ordered
around, and if Auntie thinks I’m going
to be a black slave, she'll find she’s
mistaken.”

Lucindy’s face flushed, and she ap-
peared to be greatly in earnest.

“I'd be glad to have them come to
our house, they have such nice clothes,”
siid Lena, the youngest and most mis-
chievous.

“Yes, it’s very nice, I must say, to
go around in old duds, and have a girl
that’s not a whit better in any way
than you, only she’s been to a city
school and has a rich father, turn up her
nose at you, and perha s make fun of
you, with her white dresses and her
silk dresses, and her gaiter boots.”

“Can't we come to your house any
more? Can’t we come to play?” asked
Carrie.

_ “Qh, can’t we come ?”’ saidthe other
two, almost in a breath.

“No, Auntie told me this morning,
that I must tell you and the rest of the
girls, that it wouldn’t be convenient to

ave you come, as you have done; you
are not stylish enough for Miss Hattie
Randolph to associate with, I suppose.”

The girls looked real] disappointed.

Lucindy was a great favorite, and a


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leader, fearless and successful in all es-
capades that required originality and
coolness, and her company would be
sorely missed. “Her aunt had indulged
her in all the dress and amusement she
could afford, and her confpanions had
always been welcome to visit at the
house, but now there was a necessity
for her services, and play could not be
indulged in so often for the rest of the
summer, as the household needed the
avails, if not the presence of summer
boarders.

_“Ts she older than we?” asked Car-
rie.

“No, but she’s lived all her life in
the city, and feels above everybody.
She and her brother and her mother
will just take possession of our piazza
and door-yard, and our swing; and I
can wash dishes, and sit on the back
door-step, and never see a girl from
one month’s end to another. Here
Lucindy burst out crying.

*“Tt’s too bad,” said Carrie.

The little Lena, ever fertile in inven-
tion, crept near, and putting her arms
around Lucindy’s neck, whispered :

‘We'll come to see you on the sly,
and we can go down in the fields and
have fun, when your Auntie goes out
for an afternoon.”

“JT wish you would,” said Lucindy.
“And I'll bring down some cake and
pickles, and some honey, and we'll
have a pic-nic in spite of Mrs. Ran-
dolph!”

This was a solution of the unhappy
problem, and it seemed to throw a ray
of sunlight slantwise into the gloomy
picture of the coming summer.

The progress of the afternoon at
the school-house was not marked by
any unusual occurrence, and at the
close, the little company of schoolmates
proceeded together, until they came
to the road leading to Lucindy’s home.
Here they parted, with many profes-
sions of everlasting friendship; Lu-
cindy, walking backwards, watched her
companions until the turn in the road
hid them from view.

Then she sat down upon a bank by
the roadside under an old tree. Throw-
ing her slate and books down on the
grass, she snatched a few daisies that
grew near, and thought of many things
of a disquieting nature, pulling the flow-
ers to pieces.

“T feel mad enough to run away!”
she thought. “I could earn my living
easy enough in the city, and not have
to work so hard either. Miss Hunter
can’t teach me any thing more. I’ve
learned all she knows. It’s just too
bad not to be able to get more educa-
tion. Tl just take my own way, if
Auntie crowds me too much _ I don’t
care if she don’t like it. If my father
and mother were alive, she wouldn’t
be my boss. I can get on in another
place with what I know about a good
many things. . .

“But oh, that girl that’s coming has
so much better times than I. Those
lovely city schools! no one can help
learning there, they take such pains
with you.”

She looked down the road upon which
the slanting red light of the declining
sun was shining, and there she sawa
cloud of dust. This road was not a
great thoroughfare, and she knew that
was the stage, and it probably would
bring the undesired summer guests.

She shrank visibly back into the
shadow of the tree as it came on, and
smoothed out her faded calico dress and

ulled her sun-bonnet farther over her
ace.

The coach came rolling past, and a
girl in the back seat directed the atten-
tion of a fashionably-dressed lady to
herself, she thought, and laughed as
though immensely pleased, at the same
time pointing at her. A little boy,
who sat in the front seat with the
driver, and who was playing upon a
harmonica, stopped, and looking in her
direction, laughed too.

“It’s my outlandish sun-bonnet
they're making fun of,” she thought.
“T suppose this is the beginning of
it.”

[17
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N OLD TREE.

SHE SAT DOWN ON A BANK BY THE ROADSIDE UNDER A
Now this ungentle girl was mistaken
in her surmise, as she was about many
things that caused her unhappiness.
What the people in the stage were
really interested and amused with were
a couple of lambs in the field Back of
Lucindy, and their playful gyrations
were a novel sight to them, and they
had come for the very purpose of being
pleased with country sights and exper-
ences. lLucindy felt sure these were
the summer boarders, and, taking a
short cut across the fields, arrived at her
aunt’s just as the guests were alighting.

Lucindy stood at the back corner of
the house, and heard the sprightly talk
of Mrs. Randolph and the merry laugh
of the daughter, as her aunt bade them
welcome, and she knew they were being
conducted to the upper rooms that had
been prepared with such thoughtful ref-
erence to their comfort.

Her aunt came down very soon, and
seeing Lucindy, bade her wash her
hands and smooth her hair, and put on
a white apron, and prepare to get ready
the tea, This duty Lucindy had always
done, and a little curiosity, mingled
with her other feelings, came to her, as
to how the boarders would like her
aunt’s puffy biscuit, and if the cold
custard and raspberry jam wouldn’t be
to their taste. If coffee and fricaseed
chicken would not be just the thing
after an all-day ride, and remarked to
herself: “If they don’t like such fare,
let them go where they'll get better.”’

The tea passed off with great good
feeling; the new people making a most
favorable impression upon her aunt, and
impressing Lucindy with the discovery
that polite manners were a recommend
to strangers, for her aunt made gratified
remarks from time to time as she came
into the kitchen. Lucindy would not
wait upon the table the first evening, a
convenient head-ache being the excuse.

Mrs. Gimson was a most kindly dis-
posed person, and endeavored, in every
way, to make the time pass pleasantly
to her guests; but all she could say in
~ their favor did nothing toward dispos-

ing the mind of her niece to regard
them with any toleration. She per-
formed the household duties that fell
to her with a stolid indifference, or with
an openly expressed reluctance, and
her aunt bore all kindly, explaining and
smoothing away what she could, prom-
ising Lucindy that she should havea
nice present of money when the guests
departed. .
attie Randolph had not taken any
notice of her, never really having seen
her, for Lucindy had positively refused
to wait upon the table; and had kept
herself in the back-ground, thus mak-
ing her life at home more of a disci-
pane than was necessary. She envied
attie’s graceful ways and refined con-
versation; and her apparel was a reve-
lation, not of beauty, but of another
source of jealous envy to the country
girl,for in putting the guests’ rooms
in order, she examined, critically, the
pretty things in the wardrobe.

The city people found so much to
interest them in the beauties of the
surrounding neighborhood, that they
were out nearly all the time, and when
the evening came, Mrs. Randolph, with
her son and daughter, made a pleasant
addition to Mrs. Gimson’s parlors, with
heir graceful talk, and numberless re-
sources of entertainment.

Lucindy, observant and sullen, kept
herself informed of all their movements,
and was continually having the blush
brought to her cheek and the bitter-
ness of comparison to her heart, as she
noted the wide difference there was be-
tween herself and them. It never once
occurred to this foolish girl, that this
difference was growing more and more
every day, by the fostering of pride and
an ignorant stubbornness, which pre-
vented her, utterly, from ever cultivat-
ing their envied characteristics.

It was a long time since she had
seen any of her playmates from the
school, but by an ingenious contrivance,
that had been thought out by Lucindy,
a tin box had been inserted into an old
tree in a fence corner, about midway

119


MISS HATTIE RANDOLPH,
between her home and the school-house,
and in this they deposited their notes
to each other.

This was a solace to Lucindy, as all
the happenings at the school could be
reported, and many a mis-spelled, soiled
missive found its way to the eager
hands of the absent one. Not less in-
teresting was the news as to the doings
of the boarders. Nothing, however
trivial, that happened not to accord
with Lucindy’s notions was overlooked
in her setting forth of grievances, and
she found ready sympathizers in the
Hess girls. Carrie Hess stood under
the old tree, one lovely morning, over-
staying her time in doing so, as the
warning bell had rung at the school-
house, reading a note she had taken
from the tree post-office. Among other
things, it communicated the welcome
news, that herself and sisters might
come to the pretty knoll behind the
house that afternoon, and that Lucindy
would take the occasion to make a
holiday for herself, as her aunt was
going, after dinner, to look up fresh
butter and eggs, and would be gone
until near tea time.

Mrs. Randolph had hired a team, and
with her family would be gone the
same length of time, fora ride.

Carrie took a race to school, very
much elated at the prospect of enjoy-
ing Lucindy’s company once more.
Recess came, and after eating their
very generous lunch, they prepared to
quietly put a considerable distance be-
tween themselves and the precincts
over which Miss Hunter’s authority
extended. They were “skipping,” as
they termed it, and as their parents
would not know of it, they reveled in
theforbiddenfreedom. They proceeded
over fences and across stubble fields,
and soon reached the coveted meeting-
place. A wide-spreading tree, with a
wreath of apples upon it, just turning
to a ruddy hue, was almost completely
surrounded at its trunk with hazel
bushes, but on one side they did not
grow; this was away from the house,

and toward the wheat field. It was a
natural bower, and into this they crept
to await the coming of Lucindy.

They were not kept long in suspense,
and when she appeared what a hugging
and kissing were gone through with!

‘‘Have your boarders gone for their
ride?” asked Carrie.

“Yes, and I thought they’d never
get off. Old Mrs. Randolph fusses so,
you'd think she was going toa party
every time she goes to ride. I wonder
who she expects to see on a country
road?”

“Sure enough. How was the girl
dressed, Lu?”

“Qh, she had on a light check silk,
and a lovely brown jockey, trimmed
with pink satin ribbon rosettes and
long ends at the back, and a lovely,
wide collar.”

“Don’t you like her better than her
mother ?”’ asked Lena.

“Well, she doesn’t put on as many
airs as her mother, and she’s acted, two
or three times, as if she were going to
speak to me, but I managed not to let
her. I don’t want her acquaintance.
I don’t want any of her coming down
to me!”

“T suppose they have nice things,
that they’ve brought with them, in their
rooms,” said Carrie.

‘““Yes, Mrs. Randolph has an elegant
blue satin pin-cushion, with morning-

lories and apple-blossoms painted on
it, and a dressing-case with white ivory
combs and brushes, and they do your
hair up lovely, for I fixed mine in her
room yesterday withthem. This caused
much merriment.

Lucindy proceeded to take from her
pocket a pack of children’s cards, illu-
minated with gaily-dressed ladies and
gentlemen, and queer-looking figures of
all kinds. These caused a sensation;
they looked incredulously at Lucindy,
as she said:

“These are the things that make
them laugh evenings. If we knew how
to play them, we could have some of
their kind of fun.”

I2I
They passed them to one another
and examined them. They threw them
aside presently, and returned to the
subject of never-failing interest—the
wardrobe of the boarders.

Carrie and Lena intimated more than
once, that if they could only see some-
thing that city people really considered

Lucindy had no scruples whatever in
procuring so coveted a pleasure for her
dear friends. She ran back to the
house and up into Mrs. Randolph’s
room. She fumbled over the dresses,
and thinking it was as well to take out
two or three, that they might feast
their eyes upon a variety, she piled









GREICHEN TRAILING THE BEAUTIFUL

elegant, they would be satisfied, and for-
ever indebted to Lucindy for the sight.

“Oh, dear, if that will please you so
much,” said Lucindy, entirely willing
to gratify them, “I'll go and get one

of Mrs. Randolph’s prettiest dresses
and show you. It wont take me a
minute.”

“Oh, do, Lucindy! we’re just crazy
to see it! She'll never know it,” said
Carrie, with eagerness.

122





a rs,





























MULL OVERSKiIR? GN THE GROUND.

two silk dresses and an India mull upon
her arm, and hurried out.

They dragged considerably upon the
dusty path, but this was not noticed, and
the wild delight of the girls, when they
really had them in their hands, amply re-
paid Lucindy for any risk, she thought.

They fingered them over, the bead
embroideries and lace trimmings, and
examined the fashion of each with un-
tiring interest.


ROSA’S DANDELION.



A little girl was one round,

As she had nothing else to do;

And saw a plant with yellow flowers,
And fuzzy balls of silver hue.

“Tl pluck one of those round, white globes,”
She said, “I’m learning something more ;
Two kinds of flowers upon one plant
K ; Are what : never saw. before.”
















She plucked the airy, fragile eon

hen all its light seeds danced away,
“Well! well!” she said, “that blossom is
A perfect wonder, I must say.”





eT

Then spoke a fresh flower from its stalk,
“Those are the seeds, so quick that flew,
And each one has a lesson for
A curious little girl like you.



» “ From out the heart of many a flower,
They fly away, in seeming niirth,
And root and blossom anywhere,
And brighten all the summer earth.

“Then like a flower be pure and sweet, fi
And all your thoughts shall be as seed,
And turn to light and hope and bloom,

; j Like this fair, simple, meadow weed.”
‘ ‘f
iy

a

orem erncinnsitnn Creteviroes saree
“Let's put them on!” said Carrie,
“‘and see how we would look in them.”

“We'll look sweetly stylish,” said
Freda.

‘Oh, do let us, Lucindy! Mrs. Ran-
dolph wont be back until evening.
It'll be such fun!” insisted Carrie.

“All right, let us; I don’t care how
much fun we have with them, the more
the better,’ returned Lucindy. No
sooner said than done; over their clo-
thing they stretched the dresses, and
jerked and settled them into the proper
set. Shouts of laughter greeted every
ridiculous pose and awkward stumble,
and certainly nothing could be more
provocative of merriment than their
appearance. They trailed the dresses
over the stubble in mock dignity; they
improvised a dance, and went throug
all the grotesque changes they could
invent. Their comments and jokes
were most spicy and personal, and in
all Lucindy led.

After a good time enjoyed in this
way, the fun lost its point and novelty,
and they threw the dresses in a heap
on the grass, and sat and chatted over
the gossip connected with the school
at the cross roads. The afternoon was
wearing on, and Lucindy thought it time
to produce her good things, and tak-
ing up the dresses, ran along to the
house.

In getting through the bars she
dropped the mull overskirt and did not
perceive her loss. Gretchen saw it,
and running after, brought it back.
Lucindy hung the dresses up in their
places, certainly not improved by the
airing they had had; but chancing to
look out of an upper window, she was
horrified to see down the road the
identical team that Mrs. Randolph had
hired, and as true as the world, they
were coming home!

She rushed down, and abandoning
the lunch, ran as fast as she could to
the field, and as she approached, this
was the sight that met her gaze:

Gretchen was strutting about with a
‘dock leaf held over her head for a para-

sol, and trailing the beautiful mull
overskirt on the ground, endeavoring
to realize the feelings of a fine lady in
a trailed dress.

“Gretchen! Gretchen!’ screamed
Lucindy,asloudlyas shedared. ‘Hide
it! hide it! Mrs. Randolph has come
home!”’

Carrie jumped, and lifting Gretchen
from it, secured the skirt, and Lucindy
grasped it and rolled it in a small ball
and hid it in the hazel bushes. Then
they held a hurried consultation, and
decided it was best for Lucindy to go
back immediately; but, as it was now
impossible to restore the skirt to its ”
place in the wardrobe, they urged her
to put it in some unfrequented spot,
until a favorable opportunity came to
get it back. Lucindy now feared her
aunt would arrive without warning, and,
although loth to part without the long
anticipated treat, they walked quickly
down the path by the fence toward the
road.

“‘What on the face of the earth will
I ever do with this thing?” whispered
Lucindy, for the first time betraying
fear. “I can’t get it back to-night,
that’s as plain as the nose on your face.
Oh, grief! she may inquire after it as
soon as I goin! It'll be just like my
luck for her to want to wear it to-night.
Maybe she expects some one to spend
the evening with them, and that’s what
brought them back so early. Let me
see—Auntie will find it if I put it any-
where about the house or barn; I must
not be found out in this, because if I
am, Auntie wont give me the present
she promised. Tl] tell you, Carrie, you
take it and put it down the hole in the
tree, under the tin box. No one has
ever found out that place; it will
be safe there until I go for it to-mor-
row.

This was immediately decided upon,
and the girls went sulkily home. The
skirt was forced down into the tree,
and the tin box placed on top, and they
trudged slowly homeward.

As Lucindy approached the house,

125
she began to see more and more the
serious dilemma in which she was
placed, and her face hardened visibly
as she thought.

“T’ll deny the whole thing if I’m cor-
nered; perhaps Mrs. Randolph will
live through the disappointment of not
wearing her dress for once. I have to
live all the time without such dresses.”

Just then she heard her aunt calling
her, and she knew that some unlooked-
for occasion had brought them home
before evening.

“Lucindy, we must hurry up the
tea; the folks are going to spend the
evening at Judge Brander’s. Theteam
is waiting to take them there. Mrs.
Randolph saw me in the village, and
told me.”

Lucindy did not answer, but went in
and about herdutiesas usual. Presently
Mrs. Randolph called for Mrs. Gimson
to come up stairs, as she wished to
speak to her. Lucindy felt that now
the discovery had been made, and
strengthening her purpose, to deny all,
worked on, quietly waiting for devel-
opments. .

In a few moments, her aunt came
down in great excitement, and told her
that someone had been in the house,
while they were away, and had stolen
Mrs. Randolph’s elegant India mull
overskirt, and had almost ruined her
other dresses, as the trimmings were
broken and destroyed, and some of
them were gone entirely.

“It must have been when I went for
water; I noticed that there were two
tramps going down the road, a man and
woman.”

“Oh, Lucindy, you should have
locked the door!”

“Why, aunt, I never lock the doors
when I go after water. I suppose
you'll put the blame of it on me!”
Here Lucindy began tocry. “I think
you are a very strange woman to leave
no one but a girl alone in a house, with
such valuable things ; it’sa wonder the
robbers didn’t kill me; my coming in
frightened them away. I’ve no doubt

they thought it was the hired man,”
Lucindy continued to cry.

Mrs. Gimson never suspected her
niece of such systematic deception.
The well was a short distance from the
house, and that accounted for the fact
that nothing else was missing, as the
had not had time, and also that the
other dresses had been rudely dragged
to get them down.

She believed Lucindy’s story. Mrs.
Randolph could not account for the
plight in which she found her clothing,
and bewailed her loss, as being particu-
larly annoying at this juncture.

Nothing more was said, and, after tak-
ing tea, they started for the Judges, leav-
ing Mrs. Gimson in a greatly perturbed
state of mind. She knew that this un-
fortunate thing would get. abroad and
discourage patrons. Desirable board-
ers would avoid her house in future.

Lucindy, never uttering a comfort-
ing word to her aunt, went up to her
room with an air of injured innocence
that hurt her aunt quite as much as
any thing she had undergone. During
the early part of the evening a violent
thunder storm came up, and Mrs.
Randolph did not return. The next
morning it still rained, and there was
no excuse for Lucindy’s going out,
and the dress could not be secured.
Mrs. Randolph returned at noon, and
informed Mrs. Gimson that she had
been invited to visit, for the rest of the
summer, at Judge Brander’s, and would
leave Mrs. Gimson’s the next day.

Just as soon as Lucindy could be
spared, she ran down to the tree post-
office, put a note into the tin box, and
returned. This, Carrie Hess got assoon
as recess came, and the scheme worked
out successfully, as the event proved.

Barry, Hattie’s brother, was stand-
ing by the shrubbery gate, when a lit-
tle barefoot boy sidled up, and attracted
his attention by his curious behavior—
he finally spoke:

“T say, them Hitalyans stuffed yer
mother's clothes inter a tree down here;
I found it this mornin’,”
‘“‘What do you mean?” asked Barry,
not fully understanding the boy.

“That ere tree, don’t yer see?” and
the boy pointed to the girls’ post-office,
that stood out oy down the road.

“Ts it there now?” asked Barry.

“7 do’no, I seed it there this mornin’,”’



the rain had soaked it and the decayed
wood had stained it.

“Yes, I think it must have been those
tramps,” said Mrs. Randolph. “They
hid it there, expecting to come for the
rest of it the next day. They’ll be dis-
appointed. I'll be gone.”

A LITTLE BARE-FOOT BOY SIDLED UP AND ATTRACTED HIS
ATTENTION.

“Wait till I go and tell my mother,”
said Barry, and he ran into the
house.

Ina moment Mrs. Randolph and Mrs.
Gimson were at the gate, but the boy
had disappeared. “Go down, Barry,
and see if what he says is true,” said
his mother. He ran off, and returning
after a little time, brought the over-
skirt, rolled up in a soiled bundle, as

The boy was Carrie Hess’s brother,
and the ruse had worked; entirely turn-
ing off all suspicion from Lucindy.
Mrs. Gimson lost her summer boat
ers and Lucindy returned to school.
This unprincipled girl, however, learned
the hard lesson, in her after life, that
ingratitude to benefactors, and unfaith-
fulness to trust, meet a sure retribution,
even if they appear to succeed.
LIVINGSTONE ANEC-
DOTES.

[From Dr. Livingstone’s Journal.)



The entire absence of shops obliged
us to make ever thing we needed from
the raw materials. If you want bricks
to build a house, you must proceed to
the field, cut down a tree, and saw it
into planks to make the brick-moulds.
The people cannot assist you much, for
though willing to labor for wages, the
Bakwains have a curious inability to
make things square. As with all Be-
chuanas, their own dwellings are round.
I erected three large houses at differ-
ent times, and every brick and _ stick
had to be put square by my own hand.
A house of decent dimensions, costing
an immense amount of manual labor,
is necessary to secure the respect of
the natives.

Bread is often baked in an extempore
oven, constructed by scooping out a
large hole in an ant hil, and using a
slab of stone for a door. Another plan
is to make a good fire on the ground,
and, when it is thoroughly heated, to

lace the dough in a short-handled
rying-pan, or simply on the hot ashes.
A metal pot is then put over it, and a
small fire is kindled on the top.

We made our own candles, and soap
was prepared from the ashes of the
plant sa/sola, or else from wood-ashes,
which in Africa contain so little alkaline
matter, that the boiling of successive
lyes has to be continued for a month or
six weeks before the fat is sponified.
There was not much hardship being de-
pendent on our own ingenuity, and
married life is all the sweeter when so
many comforts emanate directly from
the thrifty housewife’s hands.

COOLNESS IN PERSONAL PERIL.

Although Livingstone was a man of
peace, anda preacher of peace, he could
‘show fight, ’ and resist imposition and
wrong, with ready courage and fearless
decision. On one occasion, a chief

128

surrounded his encampment, with the
evident purpose of intimidation and
plunder. On some trifling pretext he
demanded compensation for alleged in.
sult to one of his people, saying he
must have an ox, or a gun, or a man to
be taken as a slave. The unreasonable
demand was refused ; but as the people
were armed, the doctor, after parleying,
offered one of his shirts. The youn
Chiboque warriors were dissatisfied,
and began shouting and_ brandishing
their swords. To try to appease them,
a bunch of beads and a large piece of
cloth wereadded. “The more] yielded,”
says the doctor, “the more un-
reasonable they became, and at every
fresh demand a shout was raised, and
a rush made around us with brandished
weapons. One young man even made
a charge at my head from behind; but
I quickly brought round the muzzle of
my gun to his mouth, and he retreated,
I telt anxious to avoid the effusion of
blood ; and, therefore, though sure of
being able with my Makololos to drive
off twice the number of my assailants,
I strove to avoid actual collision. The
chiefand his counselors having accepted
my invitation to be seated in front
of me, my men quietly surrounded
them, and made them feel they had
placed themselves in a trap, and that
they had no chance of escaping the
spears of the Makololos. I then said
that as every thing had failed to satisfy
them, it was evident that they wanted
to fight, and if so, they must begin
first, and bear their guilt before God.
I then sat silent for some time. It
was certainly very trying, because I
knew that the Chiboque would aim at
the white man first; but I was careful
not to appear flurried, and having four
barrels ready for instant action, looked
uietly at the savage scene around.
he chief and his counselors, seeing
themselves in greater danger than
was, and influenced, perhaps, by the
air of cool preparation which my men
displayed, at last put the matter before
us in this way: “You say you are
oni
Pigs ee 5


friendly; but how can we know it ex-
cept you give us some of your food,
and you take some of ours? If you give
us an Ox, we will give you whatever you
wish, and then we shall be friends.’
In accordance with the entreaties of my
men, I gave an ox, and being asked what
I should like in return, I mentioned
food as the thing we most needed. In
the evening the chief sent some meal
and part of our own ox, with an apology
that he had no fowls and very little
food of other kinds. It was impossible
not to laugh at the coolness of these
generous creatures. I was truly thank-
ful, however, that we had so far gained
our point as to be allowed to pass on
without having shed human blood.”

THE BOBOLINK’S NEST.



Bobolink, Bobolink, tell me why
You hide your nest in the grass so high.
Is it because you are very shy?

Over the meadow for days you sung,

And said so much in an unknown tongue

To your mate, who on the tall grass
swung.

And I watched you, Bobolink, and I
know

You live where the deep red clovers
blow.

Sometimes to your nest I softly go.

But Bobolink, you can trust me well,

[ promise you I will never tell

Where you and your little birdlings
dwell.

But listen, Bobolink, some fine day,
The man with the scythe will come this
way.
But sing in the meadow while you may.
MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.

BESSIE’S TREASURES.

I’ve written all my treasures down,
I have such lots and lots of things:
A kitten and a little dog,
A bird that sings ;
More picture-books than I can count,
And dolls—oh, twenty-five, I guess,
Of china, paper, wood, and wax—
Such fun to dress ;
A trunk just full of other toys,
A lovely ruby ring to wear,
A sewing-basket all my own,
A little chair,
A writing-desk ;—I guess that’s all,
I cannot think of any other,
Except—lI really did forget
My baby brother !

A FEW LITTLE

bIAXIMS.

Never put off any thing until to-mor-
row. To-morrow 1s the destroyer of
all good intentions. To-morrow always
flies before us, and never comes to us.
To-morrow deceives by quieting the
conscience of the idle. ‘To-morrow!’
is the favorite cry of the spirit of evil,
who laughs at our: good intentions.

To act without thought is to start
upon a journey without preparation.

The happiness of the rich does not
consist in the goods they possess, but
in the good they are able to do.

We must never think a duty too lit-
tle to be faithfully done. |

Let us be very indulgent toward
the faults of. others, very stern toward
vur own.

131
PLANTS THAT EAT.



These plants are so constructed as | shop is shaped after the manner of a
to attract insects, capture them in | house, with the entrance projecting a
various ways, and feed little over the rim. Half-
upon them. Perhaps the WW way round the brim of the
best known of the group is cavity therearean immense
Venus’ Fly-Trap. The number of honey glands,
leaves vary from one to six which the influence of the
inches long, and at the ex- sun brings into active oper-
tremities are placed two ‘ ation. This sweet acts as
blades, orclaspers. Onthe a lure to passing insects,
inner walls of these clasp- and they are sure to alight
ers are placed six irritable on the outside edge and
hairs; the slightest touch tap the nectar.
from an insect on any one They, however, remain
of which is sufficient to there but a brief period, as
bring the two blades to- there is something more
gether with such rapidity substantial inside the cavity
as to preclude any possi- xeaves o: 7HE in the shape of an intoxi-
oy of the fly escaping. FLY-TRAP OPENED Bm catin liquid, which is

This plant readily dis-axp crosen. ’ oS distilled by theplant. The
criminates between animal Sse way down to this _bever-
and other matter; thus, if age is straight, as the en-
a small stone or piece of wood be | trance is paved with innumerable fine
dropped into the trap, it will instantly | hairs, all pointing to the bottom, and
close, but as soon as it has found out | should the fly walk crooked its feet be-
its mistake—and it only takes a few | come entangled in them.
minutes— it begins to unfold its trap, When the fly has had its first sip, it

y and the piece of | does not stop and fly right out. as it
wood or stone falls | could do,
out. On the other | but it in-
hand, should a piece | dulges un-
of beef or a bluebot- | tilit comes
tle fly be | staggering
placed init, | up and
it will re- | reaches











































on Wy, A main firmly | that por-
oh \)/ (F closed until | tion where
Zig, ak HW i, v iz ] = 1
Fo % "i pe , all the mat the hairs |p
A Doo Nae S ter is ab- | begin; here | "
CA al | Fant. “ 1 |
s yy 7, . iF um R ag ain \\; sorbed its pro- NM M fi
, Yj Wi ree Nee wee’ through the | gress out- _\ a a
i//; yi ) 1, ee leaf. Itwill | ward is SW SW
eee uta fF then unfold | stopped, S/
“males itself, andis | owing to ”X
AUSTRALIAN PITCHER PLANT. ready foran- | the PoIntS AMERICAN SIDE-SADDLE FLOWER.

other meal. of the hairs
Another species is called the Vege- | being placed against it. The fly
table Whiskey Shop, as it captures its | is now in a pitiable plight; it at-
victims by intoxication. The entire | tempts to use its wings, but in doing

132
so only hasten its
destruction. It in-
evitably gets im-
mersed in the liquid,
and dies drunk.

Australian Pitcher
Plant is a beautiful
little object. Its
pitchers are at the bottom of the prin-
cipal stem of the plant.

One species distils an intoxicant of
its own; but owing to its small orifice,
it excludes the majority of insects, and
admits but a select few. The individ-
ual pitchers somewhat resemble an
inverted parrot’s bill, with a narrow
leaf-like expansion running along the
top. The color is light green, beauti-
fully shaded with crimson. The inside
of the pitcher is divided into three
parts: The first, nearest the entrance,
'S studded with minute honey glands,
and Is called the attractive surface ; a
little farther down the inside, very



WV

SAP
Ww YA

S
e




THE PITCHER-PLANT OF
MADAGASCAR,

minute hairs are situated with
their extremities all pointing to
the other chamber. This is the
conducting surface.

Lastly, the small hairs give
place to the longer ones, amid
which are placed secreting pores,
which give forth the intoxicating
nectar. This is termed the de-
tentive surface. When the
pitcher has caught a sufficient
number of insects, the nectar
gives place to a substance which
enables the plant more readily to di-
gest its food.

Another variety is the Mosguzto
Catcher. It grows about one foot high,
and the leaves, after reaching a certain
height, divide into long, narrow spathes,
covered with hairs, each coated with a
bright gummy substance. This, during
sunshine, gives to the plant a most
magnificent appearance. Ifa plant be
placed in a room where mosquitoes
abound, all the troublesome pests will
in a brief period be in its steady em-
brace.

It is most interesting to watch the
method by which it secures its prey.

oo
smmediately the fly alights on the leaf,
it may be that only one of its six legs
stick to the sweet, viscid substance at
the extremity of the hairs ; but in strug-
gling to free itself, it invariably touches
» with its legs or wings the contiguous
hairs, and is immediately fixed.
These little hairs meantime are not
idle; they slowly but surely curl round

and draw their victim into the very cen-

ter of the leaf, thus bringing it into
contact with the very short hairs, which
are placed there in order to facilitate
the process of sucking the life-blood
from the body.

THE CUCKOO CLOCK.

The clock is Swiss,
And a curious thing it is, |
Set like a flower against the wall,
With a face of walnut brown
Twelve white eyes always staring out,

And long weights hanging down.

But there is more
At the top is a little close-shut door.
And when ’tis time for the hour-stroke,
And at the half-stroke too,
It opens wide of its own accord,

And, hark,—“ Cuckoo, cuckoo !”’

What do you see?
“Why, with a trip and a.courtesy, ..
As if to say,—“ Good day, good day,”

Out steps a tiny bird!
And though no soul were near to hear

He'd pipe that same blithe word.

Through all the night,
Through dawn’s pale flush, and noon’s
full light,
And even at twilight, when the dusk
Hides all the room from view,

Out of his little cabinet

He calls,—“ Cuckoo, cuckoo!”

Though but a toy,
Yet might the giddiest girl or boy
Learn three most pleasant truths from
it: |
How patiently to wait,
How to give greeting graciously,

And never be too late.

"Tis sweet to hear,
Though oft repeated, a word of cheer;
So this little comrade on the wall,
This bird that never flew,
Is an hourly comfort, with his call,

“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!”

Mrs. CLARA Dory BATEs.
DINGFORD’S BABY.

That little brother of Hettie Ding-

ford was the funniest baby on the
coast; and there were a good many of
them, right around the river mouth.

Flora thought so too, or rather she
looked upon him in the light of a
puppy, as she had just raised a small
family herself, and the baby had asso-
ciated so much with the little dogs, that
she thought she owned him too. She
seemed to regard him as her especial
charge, and used to rush between
him and cattle on the roads, and bark
away strollers from the door-yard;
but she seemed to love it most on
the beach.

Whenever she thought of it, she
would leave the other children, in
whose charge the baby had been placed,
and rush up to the little one, and lick its
face all over, and bark with a very
funny sound. The baby would pick up
a handful of gravel and throw it at the
dog, but it never hit him, and then they
would both laugh together.

One afternoon, Tony Dingford said
he was going a crabbing, and then
Hetty
baby all wanted to go and see him off.
Janey took a lovely little boat, that
had heen made for her by her uncle,
and Polly took her spade and pail to
dig for shells. Hetty took the baby,
and she had to carry him every step of
the way, and she was only eight years
old; he was a year and a half old and
couldn’t walk very Steady, but he could
creep. Oh, how he could get over the
ground! He could go sidewise and
backwards, like a crab, Tony said. He
thought he could talk, too, and sucha
lot of curious sounds as he used to
make. He looked very odd, winking
his eyes and sticking his tongue be-
tween his four little teeth, and he was
up to all sorts of tricks.

After awhile they came to the beach,
right opposite the light-house—a most
delightful spot, and Hetty proceeded

and Polly and Janey and the

to deposit the baby on the ground,
when he came to the conclusion that
he didn’t want to be put there, and he
caught hold of her curly locks and held
on for dear life, and screamed like a
sea-gull.

This made Hetty cry out, but noth-
ing could induce that baby to let go,
until a pail with some shells changed
the current of his thoughts. Hett
jumped away, and ran with the chil-
dren, a few steps, to see Tony’s boat.

He threw in his basket and crabbing
net and then, getting in himself, he
pulled out into the bay. The children
wandered along, watching Tony as he
grew a lessening speck out in the sun-
shine. It was such fun to jump on
the stones, over the water; the shells
looked more beautiful here, because
they were wet.

hey staid longer than they thought,
and on going back, they found the pail
and the shells, but no baby! They
called, they looked about, but the baby
was gone! Every one of them cried
bitter tears; they searched behind
rocks and under bushes; his little pink,
spotted cap could not be seen, but the
marks of his hands and feet showed
plainly in the sand, and they led down
to the water!

“Oh, baby,” said Hetty in her agony,
“you may pull out all my hair, if vou
like—where are you?

“Qo may whack my boat all to pieces,
baby—come back to Janey!” said her
sister. No sound answered, and the
gulls sailed over them, and the blue
waters lapped the stones. The tide
was rising, as it was past the middle
of the afternoon. Nothing was to be
done, but to carry the dreadful news to
mother.

As the children approached the
cottage, they saw their father return-
ing with the dog, Flora, and as the fa-
ther caught sight of them he saw that
something had happened. Hetty ap-
proached, and, with heart-broken sobs,
told her story. The mother cried and
wrung her hands.

135
“Husband, he’s drowned! he’s
drowned!” she cried. The father
brushed his hand roughly across his
eyes, for the tears would come; and
the dog staring from one to the other,
looked painfully alert and interested.

“Tll go to the beach and search all
night ; maybe he'll be washed up at the
bend,” he said.

‘Father,’ said the weeping wife,
*“maybe he has not been drowned ; oh,
let us hope he has not! Let us take
Flora; perhaps she will find the baby.”

The father looked at the dog, which
seemed to understand every word, and
went into the house and picked upa
little Indian moccasin that the child
had worn, and calling Flora, gave it to
her. She looked at it, smelled of it,
and.throwing her nose into the air,
rushed toward the beach.

The short, sharp barks of the dog
guided them to the different spots to
which the child had crept. But he
was not found. The dog bounded
away again, this time in the direction
of some holes that had been worn in
the face of the rocks by the tides. The
water was fast coming up to them, and
they would be entirely filled before the
tide turned. The despairing mother
was about returning with her children
when the father caught a distant sound,
a joyful barking that Flora always
made when she had been successful in a
‘hunt. He bounded over the rocks that
were bathed in the red light of the
setting sun. He found Flora barking
and wagging her tail, at the mouth of
the first little cavern; he stooped and
looked in, and there on the white sand
lay the baby, asleep. Its little cap was
gone, and its dress torn and soiled with
seaweed.

The father reached for his little
treasure, and hugged him to his heart.
The baby laughed, and made most fran-
tic efforts to talk, and immediately
twisted both hands tight in his father’s
hair. This was the baby’s way, you
know, when he wanted to be carried.
You would have cried for joy, to have

136

seen the baby’s mother when she
snatched him from his father and cov-
ered him with kisses, and the little girls
clinging to their mother, trying to get
a look at him.

They went home very happy, to find
Tony with his basket full of crabs, and
when he heard the story, he said,—
“Flora shall have a new brass collar,
if I have to earn it for her.” There was
one little girl that learned a serious
lesson. Hetty says,—“I never will
neglect my duty again.”





A BED-TIME STORY



Mamma dear, tell us a pretty story ;
tell us of what you and papa saw when
you were traveling; and my sturdy
Harold, and his wee baby sister, tired
with their play, sank at my feet at the
close of the long summer day. Kiss-
ing the hot up-turned faces, and lifting
the little one to my lap, I began an oft
repeated simple tale of how papa and I,
while in Switzerland, drove, one even-
ing, from the village where we were
stopping, way out in the country, over
green wooden bridges and _ sparkling
streams, past dazzling white villas,
through shady lanes bordered by high,
thorny hedges; where it was so life-
less and still, the sound of our shaggy
pony’s hoofs could hardly be heard.

Coming to a low, brown, thatched
cottage, the door stood open, and we
drove slowly ; inside could be seen the
table, spread with its frugal repast of
oaten cakes and milk; a high, old-fash-
loned dresser, with its curious jugs of
blue delf; a distaff, with the flax still
attached, and on the broad door-step
sat the prettiest little blue-eyed maiden,
wearing a quaint white cap over her
yellow locks, a striped kirtle and black
Waist over a snowy blouse. Like a
picture she sat, eating her oat-cake,
while tame gray and white doves circled
about her or lit on the stones, hoping
togetacrumb. Farther on, we stopped






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A pretty sight it was too—the great
wooden table, loaded with the fresh
greens and reds of the vegetables, and
at one end, guarded by a tall pewter
flagon, polished till it glowed like silver ;
an old oaken cabinet on the wall, bear-

140





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ing glittering decanters and brass €
dle sticks ; the chattering little maiden,
and over all, the golden rays of fading

sun-light stealing through the deep

tiny-paned windows. We—ah, my dar-
lings are asleep.
: eae
Shine
peri e:




THe DoLu’s MISHAP.

There was a little girl, Then further down the street,

Oh, how she could laugh and shout | ang ghe stopped the little carriage

ing!
and sing! with a jerk ;
What happened her one day,
‘“My doll is gone; Oh! Oh!

But her head was in a whirl, She saw her loss complete,
I will tell you right away, |
{

For she would not keep her mind on I am sorry I did so,

any thing. I wish I'd kept my mind upon my work.”

She dressed ner doll with pride, Then she hurried back to look,

And took her out to ride,
And she hunted every nook,
And the wheel came off the carriage on
th And she staid and searched from half-
e way,
And naught she knew about past three till four,

Her dolly falling out ; Then she gave up in despair ;
She was looking at some nanny goats That doll with flaxen hair

at play. Was never seen or heard of any more.



143
THE SWEET-GRASS HOUSE,

MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.



Two little mice went out one day
Among the scented clover ;
They wandered up and down the lane,
They roamed the meadow over.
“Qh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mouse,

“T wish I had a little house!”

Said Mr. Mouse,—* I know a place
Where nice sweet grass is growing ;
Where corn-flowers blue, and buttercups
And poppies red, are blowing.”
“Qh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mouse,

“We'll build us there a house.”

So, of some sweet and tender grass
They built their house together;
And had a happy time, through all
The pleasant summer weather.
“ Oh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mouse,

“Who ever had so nice a house? ”
y if gan: so clothe [AN

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A NEGRO MELODIST.

It has often been remarked that in
the bird world the rule is for the males
to have the brilliant plumage, with all

7

the beautiful
colors and for
the females
to be the
dowdy ones—
a rule which
would entail
a revolution
in fashions,
startlmg and
ludicrous, if
it were to be
introduced
for variety
among our
own kin =
Again, gaily-
irceied te S
have the least
pleasing song
—the scream-
ing jay bear-
ing an unfa-
vorable com-
parison with
the thrush—
and the mod-
estly-attired nightingale having fur-
nished, in all ages, a brilliant example
of virtue unadorned. The nightingale,
however, leaving before the climate has
become objectionable, we must praise
its musical accomplishments rather as
being those of a distinguished guest, or
foreign prima donna, than of an indi-
genous artist. But we have another
bird who zs always here, facing winter’s
blasts in addition to summer’s_ bloom,
who in voice stands unrivaled ; nocom-
petitor approaching any where near
him for fluency, richness, and liquid
melody of song—to wit, the blackbird.
This negro melodist seldom spares
his lungs at all until winter is far ad-
vanced into its New Year months;
and even amid the bitter mornings of
January, his rich, unfaltering notes can
sometimes be heard. His coat is a
glossy black, always cleanly brushed,
and in the case of one family, some-
times called the ‘ Red-wing,” with a
gorgeous scarlet lapel on either side.








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CHRISTMAS AT HOMESDALE.

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down in great crystal heaps, whitening | and the sharp wind whirled the flakes
trees and fences, as though it never | in my eyes till I could hardly see, but
would stop. My brothers Bob and | it set my blood tingling; with splendid
Will were whistling gaily and stepping | health and good spirits, it was sport to
around in high glee, for, wasn’t this | brave the storm, and to-morrow was to
glorious Christmas weather ? Papaand | be Christmas! "At six o’clock prompt
mamma lived with our grandparents, in | we heard the tingling of sleigh-bells,
the old homestead, where we children | and all bounded into the hall, throwing
were born and brought up; and this | wide openthedoor. Such ereeting and
evening, the brothers and sisters, with | kissing, and hugging you never saw;
their families, were coming from the | norsuchamultitudeof children. Uncle
city to spend Christmas at the old | John, who had just returned from Japan,
place; and we were counting upon a | said it was past belief, that all these
grand, good time. Once moreI tripped | were his nephews and nieces.

through the pretty rooms, and surveyed After tea, we all gathered around the
the wide hall, wah its blazing logs in | bright fire, in the old hall, and told
the fire- place, to see that every thing | stories, and cracked jokes till after
was all right ; there was not a bunchof | eleven; then papa said, we had better
holly to be re-adjusted, or a wreath out | retire, ‘because Kriss Kringle would
of place. Papa had pronounced the | soon be driving over the tops of the
decorations perfect, and as I danced | houses, with his eight tiny rein-
down the polished floor and peered out | deers, and if he saw any little folks up,
of the front door, a fresh gust of wind | would not come down the chimney, and
blew in my face, and I cried, —“ Mamma, | what a sad sight would be fifteen or
may I go out for a little run? the boys twenty empty stockings, in the morn-
are busy with their snow-man, and t ing. “Come, manikins, scamper!”
company will not be here until a said Uncle John, and as we were kissing
Receiving permission, I wrapped up | good-night, cousin Bessie, who is the
warm, and with an umbrella over my | sweetest little darling just four years
head, started for a brisk walk. Wasn't ! old, lisped from her mamma’s ‘arms

148

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wnere she sat cuddled up, looking with
sleepy blue eyes in the fire: “Oh, I do
wis’ all ’ittle boys an’ dirls had Zo¢s of
sings in their stockings, to-mollow!”
We older ones felt reproached ; in our
fullness of joy, had we forgotten the
homeless poor, who to-morrow would
knowno Christmas ; ah, how many times
we had seen the wretched little waifs,
shivering in ragged rows, in front of
gay, tempting shop-windows, longingly

eeping inside. e could but echo
ecsie’s wish, and add,—‘‘God help
them.”

No sleep the next morning; before
day-light little white robed figures could
be seen tip-toeing from room to room,
arms filled with presents, and drag-
ging corpulent stockings. And later,
the house resounded with merry greet-
ings and the shouts of happy children.
Dinner over—during which repast any
amount of turkey and plum-pudding
had been stored away in capacious little
stomachs, the young people repaired to
the great upper hall, where, they in-
formed the folks, they must not come
till bidden. Some wonderful doings
were evidently to take place. Readers,
I wish you had been mice, in a corner,

150

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and seen the funny things which
transpired. At one end of the hall was
a dais, or raised platform, such as is
often seen in old houses; in front of
this, for a curtain, was strung a blue
and white counterpane, from behind
which, occasionally a wild pirate’s head
emerged, with inconsistent knicker-
bocker legs,—the make-up not being
completed—a mysterious sweeping of
trailing robes, and loud stage-whispers
gave one an idea that charades of
theatricals were to be the order of the
evening. After prolonged waiting, the
audience were summoned. I am sorry
I cannot enter into the details of the
plays, but they were really quite good
for impromptu efforts. There was a
little monotony about the scenery to be
sure (Bob having borrowed the one
stage scene the village show-room af-
forded) and a hitch now and then in the
curtain, showing the company’s heels
in flight, after an act ; and then Romeo
may have used a trifle too much burnt
cork, but on the whole, the acting was
creditable. What brought down the
house, however, were the tableau, from
babes in the woods, acted by Master
Ted and wee Bessie. Their ‘costumes
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UNCLE BROUGHT,

THAT

SCREEN

JAPANESE

THE
were very pretty and appropriate, and
the chubby faces, so sweet and innocent,
(See frontispiece.)one did not wonder
the wicked ruffian's heart failed him.
The performance wound up with a
grand chorus,—‘“ The Three Little
aids,” and elegant scenery formed by
the beautifully-embroidered and painted
Japanese screen Uncle had brought
mamma, and which we had guiltily
purloined for our play. But she for-
gave us when she saw how successfully
produced was our fimale. The young
actors and prima-donnas were heartily
congratulated upon their talents, and
all were invited down to a “bountiful
collation,” as the papers say, feeling
that it had been the most delightful
Christmas they had ever spent.

A. DsG. H.

THE FIRE IN THE AUS-
TRALIAN BUSH.

BY REV. EDWARD A, RAND.

“Whoa!”
It was Carl Mason who thus cried to
' his horse. Away off in the Australian
bush, he desired to halt and look about
him, and find out at that point what
kind of a country he was in, and if any
of his master’s sheep were there. He
was an American boy, who had come
to Australia in one of the vessels in-
terested in the trade between that
country and America. On board this
ship was a gentleman who had largely
invested in the wool business, and
wished, among other places, to visit a
Queensland sheep-run, of which he was
art owner. Carl had been granted
is discharge from the vessel, and had
accompanied the wool-merchant up
into the Australian bush. He next
obtained a chance to try his hand at
sheep-raising on this same far-reaching
run. His engagement, though, was

152

conditional; if his work were satisfactor
he might have a permanent situation,
As he halted off in the lonely country,
and turned round on his horse’s back?
he said to himself:

“ Now, if I could stay here always, |
could get rich. But there is Benson!”

Benson Loring was a second boy on |
the sheep-run. e was also on trial.
It would be Benson or Carl that would
have a long, steady job, and which of
the two?

“T would like to stay,” thought Carl,
glancing across the country..

What a lovely land it was! Aus-
tralians know the territory away from
the towns as the “bush”, and it is bush
indeed in parts. Vast forests stretc
far away, the tree-trunks succeeding
one another like the ranks of count-
less armies. In many places there is,
in these forests, an absence of under-
growth. The ground is thatched with °

rass on which the sheep can feed.

ther pastures are destitute of trees.
The only covering of the grass is the
wide, limitless sky. Here the sheep
may browse for miles and not come to
the shelter of a tree. On the lonely,
rough bushland Carl was now looking.

“Tt looks like Australia,” he added,
‘‘and I don’t see any of master’s sheep.”

But what did he see, at his right? It
was a dark, low object, moving slowly’
over the ground. :

“Benson!” he said; “I don’t like
him.”

The two boys were not congenial.
They had differed that very morning
when discussing this subject—honesty.
Carl had been trained to keep his word
scrupulously, to hate deception in every
form. He was an orphan. He had
been early thrown upon the world. His
parents had lived long enough, though,
to teach him to hate dishonesty. Ben-_
son had said that morning :

““When it comes to choosing between
my interests and those of the man
work for, I shall choose my own, thoug
I have to lie for it.’”’

“T don’t think, in matters of right
and wrong, we are to look at our own
interests at all,” replied Carl.

‘“‘Nonsense!” said Benson. “They
say charity begins at home, and you
may say that about lots of things.
When I've got to choose between the
home of another and my home, I shan’t
stop long to think of the other man’s
home.”

“Right is right,” said Carl,

“Nonsense!” said Benson again, and
when a person has no good argument
to offer, “nonsense” is a very conven-
rent word.

As Carl, seated on his horse, Jooked
over toward this low, dark object, sup-
posed to be Benson, he recalled the
above conversation. This dark object
soon disappeared. Carl also went away,
_ purposing, in another part of the bush
to hunt up the sheep of his master, Mr.
Robert Edmonds.

“Ah!” said Carl, a half-hour later,
“there are the sheep, and I will pull
up by that stream and have my din-
ner.

It was an easy matter to kindle a fire,
make a pot of tea, and toast the bread
he had brought in his lunch-basket.
While he contentedly ate his lunch,
the sheep contentedly browsed amid
the grass near the banks of the stream.
There, by the water, green patches
could be found, while away from the
stream the herbage was fast drying and
withering, so long had the country been
without rain.

Carl extinguished, as he thought,
every trace of his fire, mounted his
horse and rode off to hunt up another
section of his master’s great flock. He
soon reached the great forest, and as
it was free from all underbrush, he
could easily ride beneath the spread-
ing branches. For about ten minutes
he penetrated the forest, and not see-
ing any. sheep, he slowly retraced his
way. He madea very leisurely retreat,
and by the time he was in the open
country again half an hour had elapsed.
But what was it he saw in the neigh-
borhood of his late camp-fire !

“Smoke!” he said, excitedly, and
then he drove his horse madly onward.
Yes, a threatening cloud was hang-
ing above the spot where he had had
such a contented meal. It was any-
thing but a scene now to inspire one
with contentment! Under that long,
low, threatening cloud of smoke was a
scarlet line of fire! How it sharpened
as Carl rode toward it! The wind, too,
had freshened. As the flames rose and
fluttered in the wind, they flared like
the banners of an evil host advancing
to some work of destruction.

“Ho!” shouted a voice.

It was Benson.

“Pitch in, Carl!” he cried. “This
fire is making headway. Grass is like
tinder.”

What if the flames should get past
the boys, ravage across the bush in
every direction, reach the long wool-
sheds and level them, burning, too, the
fences that enclose the sheep-run and
—Car] did not dare to think any longer.
In every possible way, the boys fought
the fire. They would run ahead, ignite
untouched patches of grass, and watch-
ing and beating down the flames in the
rear, let in front the fire conquer fire.
They were so busy that they did not
observe the arrival of a third party, and
Benson called out to Carl:

“ How did this fire start?”

“TIt—” Carl hesitated. Undoubt-
edly it originated in his noon-camp, he
thought. Should he confess?

“You needn’t own up if you don’t
want to, do you say? I cannot let you
tell a lie,” said Benson, sneering.
“You must not tell it to Edmonds. Be
a good boy.”

“No, I wont tell a lie.
came from my camp-fire.”’

“Your chance’s gone for employ-
ment,” said Benson.

“Can’t help it. Shan’t put the fire
out with a lie.”

But who was the new arrival work-
ing in the rear of the boys? They
chanced to turn, and there was the
owner of the sheep-run.

I suppose it

153
“He heard every word,” thought
Carl. “Iam a hopeless case.”

There was nothing said by Mr. Ed-
monds, but he gave his attention to the
fire, determinedly fighting it until it
sullenly sank lower and lower, and all
along the red line of attack went out.

of good deed done!’’ said Benson,
complacently.

“Well, yes;"’ replied Mr. Edmonds.
“‘Qne good deed done, the fire is out.”

Was any thing else done that was not

ood? Benson shrugged his shoul-

ers and looked uneasy.

‘“‘How did the fire start, boys? It’s
a terrible thing, you know, if fire gets
under way on a sheep-run,”’ said “Mr.
Edmonds.

Benson turned pale.

‘“T was under the bank of the stream,
and, looking over the brow of the bank,
I saw you set the fire, Benson. You
knew only one boy could remain in my
employ, and why you set it, too, where
Carl had his lunch, you know well
enough. Carl, I like your honesty.
You may stay with me.”

And—Benson? That day he sneaked
away~from the sheep-run to try his
hand at wrong-doing elsewhere in the
bush.— The [nterior.

WHY DOES COAL BURN?

Now that winter has come, and col-
lecting out-of-doors will be confined
mostly to snow-balls, perhaps you will
be glad to turn your attention to some
things in the house which you would
hardly think of looking at in the pleas-
ant summer time.

Suppose you make the coal-hod your
first field for investigation. You know
that coal is dug out of the ground, that
it is taken from mines like many other
minerals. But most minerals will not
burn, and why should this? Let us

154

compare it with something else that
will burn, and see what resemblances
we can find.

You will select charcoal, I am sure,
as being the most like mineral, coal or
any thing that will burn. Charcoal,
you will probably know, is charred wood,
wood that has been partly burned in a
pit orsmothered place. Ifyou examine
pieces of this, you will see the woody
structure quite plainly. The grain of
the wood shows in every piece, and
traces of bark may sometimes be found.

Is there any thing like this in your
coal? Choose a piece of soft coal,
sometimes called bituminous coal, for
comparison. It is black, and soils the
fingers like charcoal, but still it seems
much harder and heavier than that. If
the dust is carefully brushed off, you
will see that certain sides of your
specimens are quite hard and shiny and
clean; but you will also observe that
there are two opposite sides which look
much more like the charcoal. They
are soft, appearing very dirty when
rubbed, have no lustre, and, when you
examine them closely, you will ‘see
patches which show the grain and form
of wood. Ifyou are fortunate, you may
even find delicate impressions of leaves
or ferns.

These woody patches will cut and
flake up with a knife exactly as charcoal
does. Now split your piece of coal into
thinner pieces, making the break paral-
lel with the dull surfaces—it splits most
easily in this way—and you will find
that every new surface thus exposed
has the same resemblance to charcoal
as those you have been examining.
This will convince you that the char-
coal structure goes all the way through
the piece. In fact, your coal is a kind
of natural charcoal, and as you will
readily guess by this time, was once
wood.

Something more, however, has hap-
pened to it than to ordinary charcoal.
Besides being wood that” has been
partly decayed, which means the same
thing, the weight of the rocks that






CHANGEFUL LIT-
TLE Hetty,
SEE WHAT SHE
IS AT;
NEVER STAYS AT





JUST SO WITH HER
DRESSES,

TURNS FROM

BUFF TO



CHANGEFUL HETTY.








GREEN }
ONE THING THEN AGAIN TO
LONG, CRIMSON,




WHAT DOES
HETTY MEAN?

TURNS FROM
THIS TO THAT.







THEN SHE WRITES
A WORD OR
TWO

OF HER COPY
FAIR;

THEN SHE BLOTS
AND GIVES IT
UP

THEN SHE
COMBS HER
HAIR.













NOW SHE TRIES TO
SEWABIT, ¢
THREADS . @&
HER NEEDLE,
THEN
STUDIES FOR A
LITTLE WHILE
THEN IS OFF
AGAIN.















Spates
~ rr ROSES









| ' HETTY, WITH YOUR FOLDED
TAKES HER SLATE TO CIPHER, HANDS,
DOES NOT MAKE IT OUT, MAMMA SAYS TO You,—
SAYS THAT EVERY THING GOES “TAKE LESS WORK AND DO IT
WRONG; WELL, ;

THEN BEGINS TO POUT. THat’s ee wie tee




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were on top of it when it was in the
ground have made it hard and solid,
and much heavier than’ common char-
coal. In short, it has been changed
into a mineral, has become mineralized.
Soft coal has been only imperfect]
mineralized, so that in it we find muc
that still looks like charcoal; while
hard coal, or anthracite, which has been
more thoroughly changed, shows hardly
a trace of woody structure. It is hard
and brilliant on all sides.

It will not seem strange that coal
should burn when you know that it was
once wood, and you will see that the
reason why it burns so much more
slowly than wood is because it is so
much more compact.

THE RUSSIAN EXILES.



I have a little boy who, whenever I

am telling him a story, asks, “Mamma,
is it ¢rue?”’ So I will answer your un-
asked question—this is a ¢rve story.
The wedding bells rang out merrily,
and the gay procession of guests moved
slowly to the sound of sweet music,
from the little rustic church, toward the
home of Olga Hurtz, who that morn
had wedded Leon Von Bayley, the suc-
cessful young surgeon of Odessa, a
large town near Moscow.
easting and dancing continued for
several days, as is the custom in Rus-
sia, and then the fair Olga laid aside
her wedding veil and silver crown, and

assumed the more modest coif of white, —

with a simple myrtle wreath—for she
was still a bride.

In their charming home, their cup of
happiness seemed full. But you know
that northern country is disturbed by
great political troubles ; the people are
aroused and in arms against their ruler,
and the head that wears the golden
crown of Russia never knows peaceful
rest. The life of the Czar is in con-
Stant danger, and any one who is under

the séightest suspicion is immediately
thrown into prison, and often without
trial sent to Siberia—zthat word which
makes the stoutest heart quiver.

About a month after his marriage,
one night, suddenly, without warning,
Leon was torn from his beautiful bride
and lovely home, and put under arrest
as a Socialist. In vain he protested
his innocence, and all efforts of his de-
voted wife to clear him were fruit-
less; he was doomed to banishment,
with no chance of defending himself.
He started on his terrible journey, in
mid-winter, of 4,000 miles, to Irkoutsk,
and when he reached there, fate de-
creed that he should be sent still fur-
ther on, 2,000 miles, to a frozen soli-
tude, almost within hailing distance
of the Polar Sea.

The heart-broken, but loyal wife, re-
ceived permission to follow her exile
husband, and frail and delicate as she
was, undertook the long distance
through bitter winter weather, over the
pitiless white plains and dreary steppes.
After three months of horrible suffer.
ing, she reached Irkoutsk, fondly hoping
there to meet Leon. Alas! it was a
cruel disappointment; as we know he
had been removed. The shock was.
too great; and” the fair young Olga
died of a broken heart. Many months
later the sad news came to the poor
exile, which whitened his dark hair at
the age of twenty-seven. Finally Leon,
with four other exiles, planned an es-
cape by way of Behrings Straits to
Alaska; but was missed, pursued b
Cossacks, and returned to endure still
greater hardships.

Boys and girls, I know your hearts
are beating with pain and sympathy at
this pathetic little tale. But do you
ever stop to ¢hznk what a privilege and
blessing it is to live in this grand free
country of America, with its laws of

| justice and right ?

Every one of you should take great
pride in our noble, beautiful land.

A. De G. H.
SE ees
Nada Se
aay

Pe

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ses

ee

Ry

w=


WHAT MOTHER

“Just look! Papa Top-knot, when one
gets a crumb,

Up go all the heads, and they all must
have some.

They keep me quite busy from morning
till night,

But their bright little ways are a con-
stant delight.

“They move their soft wings and they
open their bright eyes,

_ They charm me with loving and tender
surprise.

Then they all settle down with a satis-
fied peep,

And the first thing you know, they are
all fast asleep.

“They hear Papa singing, for only to-
day

They looked up inquiringly, as much as
to say,—

‘Oh, how we would like to join in, if
we could;

Go on, Papa Top-knot, that sounds
pretty good.’

“Little Freddie and May, some tricks
came to try,

They whistled and called, and the birds
would reply.

They said,—‘ That’s a bird’s nest, and
no April fool,

We would just like to carry that cage
off to school!’

CANARY SAID.

“Sing on, Papa Top-knot, that song
takes my heart

Right into the summer, all joking apart

When our cage hangs aloft near the
green window vine,

And we see passing wings in the gar-
den a-shine.”

‘In this home we have surely more
safety and
Than if we were living abroad in the

trees, °
In winter, the parlor, with fire-light
aglow,

In summer, the lattice with roses in
blow.”

“T have envied the robins, that fly to
the ground,

But their peace is destroyed by the
cats prowling around,

And lately I’ve heard of a young mother
sparrow,

That went for a crumb, and was killed
by an arrow.”

“ Indeed, we have cvery thing here that
we need,

Ripe berries and green leaves, and water
and seed,

And plenty of sunshine and Freddie
and May,

To look in quite often and bid us, ‘good
day.’”

161
CONSEQUENCES: A
PARABLE.

The baby held it in his hand,
An acorn green and small,

He toyed with it, he tossed it high,
And then he let it fall!

He sought for it, and sorely wept,
Or did his mother know
(Though sweet she kissed and clasped
her boy)
What loss had grieved him so.

Then he was borne to other lands,
And there he grew to man,
And wrought his best, and did his
most,
And lived as heroes can.

But in old age it came to pass
He trod Fis native shore,

Yet did not know the pleasant fields
Where he had played before

Beneath a spreading oak he sat,
A wearied man and old,

And said,—‘I feel a strange content
My inmost heart enfold.

“As if some sweet old secret wish
Was secretly fulfilled,

As if I traced the plan of life
Which God Himself has willed!

“Oh, bonnie tree. which shelters me,
Where summer sunbeams glow,
I’ve surely seen thee in my dreams !—

Why do I love thee so’”’

ISABELLA FyvigE Mayo.





COMFORTABLE MRS.
CROOK.

BY RUTH LAMB.





If Mrs. Jemima Crook happened to
be in a very good temper, when taking
a cup of tea with some old acquaint-
ance, she would sometimes allude to
her private affairs in these words: “I
don’t deny it; Crook has left me com-

162

fortable.”’ This was not much to tell,
for Mrs. Crook was not given to confi-
dences, and a frequent remark of hers
was: “I know my own business, and
that is enough for me. I don’t see that
I have any call to fill other people’s
minds and mouths with what does not
concern them.”

Seeing, however, that Mrs. Crook’s
own mind and heart were entirely filled
by Mrs. Crook herself, it was, perhaps,
as well that she should not occupy too
much of the attention and affection of
her neighbors.

It is a poor, narrow heart, and a small
mind, that find self enough to fill them;
but these sorts are not unknown, and
Mrs. Crook was a sample of such.

When she spoke of having been left
“comfortable” by her deceased _part-
ner, there was a look of triumph and
satisfaction on her face, and a “No-
thanks-to-any-of-you”’ kind of tone in
her voice, that must have jarred on the
ear of a listener.

No one ever saw a tear in Mrs. Crook’s
eye, or heard an expression of regret
for the loss of “Crook” himself. He
had been dead and out of sight and mind
almost these ten years past. He was
merely remembered as having done his
duty in leaving his widow “comfort-
able.”” People were left to speculate as
they chose about the amount repre-
sented by the expression. It would
not have been good for the marf or
woman who had ventured to ask a di-
rect question on the subject, but every-
body agreed that Mrs. Crook must have
something handsome. Surely “com-
fortable”” means free from care, both
as régards to-day and to-morrow: not
only enough, but a little more, or else
anxiety might step in and spoil com-
fort. If Mrs. Crook had more than
enough, she took care not to give of
her abundance. Neither man, woman
nor child was ever the better for the
surplus, if such there were. One of
her favorite expressions was, “I don’t
care for much neighboring; I prefer
keeping myself to myself.”
‘“And you keep every thing else to
yourself,” muttered one who had vainly
tried to enlist her sympathy for another
who was in sickness and trouble.

Mrs. Crook had a pretty garden, well-
stocked with flowers, according to the
season. She was fond of working in
it, and might be seen there daily, with
her sun-bonnet on, snipping, tying and
tending her plants.

Children do so love flowers, and,
thank God, those who live in country

laces have grand gardens to roam in,
ree to all, and planted by His own
loving hand. But in town it is differ-
ent, and Mrs. Crook lived just out-
side one; far enough away from its
smoke to allow of successful garden-
ing, not too far to prevent little feet
from wandering thither from narrow
courts and alleys, to breathe a purer
air, and gaze, with longing eyes, at the
fair blossoms. It always irritated Mrs.
Crook to see these dirty, unkempt little
creatures clustering around her gate,
or peeping through her hedge.

“What do you want here?” she
would ask, sharply. ‘Get away with

ou, or I will send for a policeman.
ou are peeping about to see if you
can pick up something; I know you
are. Be off, without any more telling!”

The light of pleasure called into the
young eyes by the sight of the flowers
would fade away, and the hopeful look
leave the dirty faces, as Mrs. Crook’s
harsh words fell on the children’s ears.
But as they turned away with unwill-
ing, lingering steps, heads would be
stretched, and a wistful, longing gaze
cast upon the coveted flowers, until
they were quite lost to sight.

There was a tradition amongst the
youngsters that a very small child had
once called, through the bars of the

ate: “P’ease, Missis, do give me a
ower.” Also that something in the
baby voice had so far moved Mrs. Je-
mima Crook, that she had stooped to
select one or two of the least faded
roses among all those just snipped
from the bushes, and giventhem to the

daring little blue eyes outside, with
this injunction, however :

‘Mind you never come here asking
for flowers any more.”

This report was long current among
the inhabitants of a city court, but it
needs confirmation.

Mrs. Crook objected to borrowers
also, and perhaps she was not so much
to be blamed for that. Most of us
who possess bookshelves, and once de-
lighted in seeing them well filled, look
sorrowfully at gaps made by borrow-
ers who have failed to return our treas-
ures. But domestic emergencies oc-
cur even in the best regulated families,
and neighborly help may be impera-
tively required. It may be a matter of
Christian duty and privilege too, to
lend both our goods and our personal
aid. Mrs. Crook did not think so.
Lending formed no part of her creed.
If other people believed in it, and liked
their household goods to travel up and
down the neighborhood, that was their
look-out, not hers.

“T never borrow, so why should I
lend?” asked Mrs. Crook. “ Besides,
I am particular about my things. My
pans are kept as bright and clean as
new ones, and if my servant put them
on the shelves, as some people’s ser-
vants replace theirs after using, she
would not be here long. No, thank

ou. When I begin to borrow, I will
egin to lend, but not until then.”

Mrs. Crook’s sentiments were so well
known that, even in a case of sickness,
when a few spoonfuls of mustard were
needed for immediate use in poultices,
the messenger on the way to borrow it,
passed her door rather than risk a re-
fusal, whereby more time might be lost
than by going farther in the first in-
stance.

Many were the invitations Mrs. Crook
received to take part in the work of dif-
ferent societies. One lady asked her
to join the Dorcas meeting.

“You can sew so beautifully,” she
said, ‘“You would be a great acquisi-
tion to our little gathering.

163
The compliment touched a tender
point. Mrs. Crook was proud of her
needlework, but to dedicate such skill
in sewing to making under-clothing for
the poorest of the poor: The idea was
monstrous !

Mrs. Crook answered civilly, that she
could not undertake to go backwards
and forwards to a room half a mile off.
It would be a waste of time. Besides,
though it was probably not the case in
that particular meeting, she had heard
that there was often a great deal of
gossip going on at such places. The
visitor was determined not to be of-
fended, and she replied, gently, that
there was no chance of gossip, for, af-
ter a certain time had been given to
the actual business of the meeting,
such as planning, cutting out, and ap-
portioning work, one of the ladies read,
whilst the rest sewed. ‘But,’ she
added, “if you are willing to help us a
little, and object to joining the meet-
ing at the room, perhaps you would
let me brin you something to be made
at home. or ere is always work for
every willing hand.”

Then Mrs. Crook drew herself up and
said she did not feel inclined to take in
sewing. She had her own to do, and
did it without requiring assistance, and
she thought it was better to teach the
lower classes to depend upon them-
selves than to go about pampering poor
people and encouraging idleness, as
many persons were so fond of doing now-
a-days. No doubt they thought they
were doing good, but, for her part, she be-
lieved that in many cases they did harm.

The visitor could have told tales of
worn-out toilers, laboring almost night
and day to win bread for their children,
but unable to find either material for a
garment or time to make it. She could
have pleaded for the widow and the or-
phan, if there had seemed any feelings
to touch, any heart to stir. But Mrs.
Crook’s hard words and looks repelled
her, and she went her way, after a mere
“Good-morning. I am sorry you can-
not see your way to help us.

164

No chance of widows weeping for the
loss of Mrs. Crook, or telling of her
almsdeeds and good works, or showing
the coats and garments made for them
by her active fingers!

It was the same when some adven-
turous collector called upon Mrs. Crook
to solicit a subscription. She had al-
ways something to say against the ob-
ject for which money was asked. If it
were for the sufferers by an accident in
a coal mine or for the unemployed at a
time of trade depression:

“Why don’t they insure their lives
like their betters? Why don’t they
save something, when they are getting
good wages? I am not going to en-
courage the thriftless, or help those
who might help themselves, if they
would think beforehand.”

At length every one gave up trying
to enlist her services, or to obtain con-
tributions from her, for the support of
any good cause. And Mrs. Crook be-
stowed all her thoughts, her affections,
her time and her means, on the onl
person she thought worthy of them all
—namely, Mrs. Crook herself.

AN EVENING SONG.

BY COUSIN ANNIE,

Twilight dews are gath’ring,
The bright day’s done;

Upon thy downy couch
Rest, little one.

Each tiny bird’s hieing
Home to its nest ;

Each flower-head’s nodding
Upon its breast.

Be still now, little heart,
Until the morrow

Brings again its share
Of joy and sorrow.

May angels round thy couch
Be ever nigh,

And over thy slumbers chant
Their lullaby.
ee eT SP PSS S -S PEETAS RRSERRERTERineer =eaeceete (SP 5g nr,

THE BABIES ARE COMING TO TOWN;

SOME WITH BLUE EYES, AND SOME WITH BROWN ;



SOME WITIL A LAUGIL AND SOME WITII A CRY,

ROcCK-A-BYE BABY BYE.


Miss MABEL’S Pony.

This horse was called Brownie, because
he was brown ;

He would trot and would gallop, from
country to town ;

‘When Miss Mabel was ready, he tossed
his dark mane,

And away, like the wind, over valley

and plain!

By hedges and ditches, and over the
hil,

And down by the water, and past the
old mill,

He would go, without urging, for many
a mile;

But Miss Mabel would carry the whip,
just for style.

He never got angry at what people
said,

And put back his ears, and threw up
his head ;

And never shied off when he was afraid,

But hurried right on, and when stopped,

there he stayed. .
166 7



When Miss Mabel got home, she’d go,
right away,

And take off her hat, with its feathers
SO gay ;

And bring out an apple, for Brownie
to eat,

And look in his eyes with a smile very

sweet.

But Trusty and Gyp, two dogs of her
own,

When the horse had an apple, they
wanted a bone;

But Miss Mabel said, “No,” with a sly
little shrug,

It is harder to trot than to sleep onarug.

For dogs that are fed upon this thing
and that,

Will get very lazy, and grow very fat ;

She said, “Run away, since you both
have been fed,

And take a good run on the roadway

| instead.”





















































































1

ARA AND
THE
ANIMAL BOOK.

CL



Clara was a little western girl. She
had lived in San Francisco until she
was nine years old, when her dear
mamma and papa brought her east to
live with Aunt Mary and Cousin Char-
lie, and they were growing very fond of
her indeed, for she was so swect and
kind and always obedient.

One day she was sitting out under the
blossoming trees on the old Worden
seat, her book lying, unread, in her lap,
and her eyes having a dreamy, far-
away look in them, when, from the
balcony overhead, sounded a_ piping
little voice:

8
















“Clara, Tousin Clara! has oo dot
my Animal book?” and a small, rosy-
cheeked boy came running to her, rub-
bing his sleepy, dark eyes.

‘“Why, Charlie, have you finished
your nap so soon? yes here is your
Animal book, and what shall I tead
about ?”’

“Oh, about the deers, wiz their dreat
big horns, and—and—every sin,’ and
he nestled close, satisfied he would
hear all he wished. So she read a short
sketch of the deer, its haunts and habits,
when he interrupted:

“Has 00 ever see a deer—a real Live
one?” and his black eyes opened wide.

‘Oh, yes; and when we were com-
ing east, across the plains, whenever
the train drew near a wooded stream,
often the screaming whistle would star-
tle a herd of deer from their covert,
and they would rush up through the
trees, antlers erect, and sleek brown
bodies quivering with alarm, and fol-
lowed by the soft-eyed, gentle fawn.
It was quite a pretty picture.

“Tell me more; what tind of a city
did 00 live in?”



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“A very beautiful city, Charlie. You
should see our noble bay, with the
great ships riding at anchor; our fine
parks and stately buildings. Then if
you should go down in Market street,
where most of the business is done,
you would see some funny sights. All
kinds of people are there—Ranchmen,
Indians, Spaniards, English, Ameri-
cans and lots of queer little Chinamen,
and they have small, dark shops full of
curious things, and besides spread their
wares on the walk.

After telling about the orange groves
and vineyards, the lovely flowers, es-
pecially the fuchsia, which winds its
branches like a vine over the porches,
often reaching the upper story of a
house, Charlie thought it must be a
wonderful country, and expressed his
intention of /évzvez in California when
he became a man,

—In a Chinese village during a time of
drought a missionary saw a row of idols
put in the hottest and dustiest part of
the road. He inquired the reason and
the natives answered: “We prayed
our gods to send us rain, and they wont,
so we ve put them out to see how they
like the heat and dryness.”

THE UNSOCIABLE DUCKS.

Three meadow birds went out in great
clee,
All in the sunshiny weather ;
Down by the pond, with the reeds
waving free,
Where the ducks were all standing

together.

“Good day Mrs. Duck,” said the three
meadow birds, |
“From all the news we can gather,
You're a very good friend, of very few
words.”’

Then one flew away with a feather.

“Quack!” said the duck, ‘That
feather is mine, )
I see through your ways altogether ;
You want our feathers, your own nests
to line,

Ail in the bright summer weather.”

“What shall we use?” Said the three
meadow birds,
““There’s no good in moss. or in
heather.”’
““We don’t care a straw,” said the old
blue drake,
“Tf you line all your nests with sole

leather.”’

“Quack! Quack! Quack! You must
think we are slack !
You talk too polite altogether ;
We've had quite enough of your high-
flown stuff,
And we know, you are birds of a

feather.

173


= We | (0) hi vue OWL,

‘umber On

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NS wn

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Z YY

OLIVE A. WADSWORTH.

oey was a country boy,
ae. help and mother: joy ;
In the morning he rose early,—
That’s what made his hair so curly;
Early went to bed at night,—
That's what made his eyes so bright;
Ruddy as a red-cheeked apple ;
Playful as his pony, Dapple ;
Even the nature of the rose
Wasn't quite as sweet as Joe’s,

As Se

(6
ts

Charley was a city boy,

Father's pet and mother’s joy ;

Always lay in bed till late;

That’s what made his hair so straight ;
Late he sat up every night,—

That’s what made his cheeks so white ;
Always had whate’er he wanted,

He but asked, and mother granted ;
Cakes and comfits made him snarly,
Sweets but soured this poor Charley.

.

f

4 dias

Charley, dressed quite like a beau,
Went, one day, to visit Joe.

“Come,” said Joey, “let’s go walking ;
As we wander, we'll be talking;

And, besides,there’s something growing
In the garden, worth your knowing.”
“Ha!” said Charley, “I’m your guest ;
Therefore I must have the best.

All the zznzer part I choose,

And the outer you can use.”

Joey gave a little laugh;
‘“‘Let’s,” said he, “go half and half.”

“No, you don’t!” was Charley’s answer, | On the tree a peach of gold,
“T look out for number one, sir ” All without, fair, ripe and yellow,
But when they arrived, behold, Fragrant, juicy, tempting, mellow,
Sw ea

2S

Ana, within, a gnarly stone.
“There,” said Joey, “that’s your own ;
As you choose, by right of guest,
Keep your choice—I’1] eat the rest.”

Charley looked as black as thunder,

Scarce could keep his temper under.

“?Twas too bad, I think,” said Joe;

“Through the cornfield let us go,

Something there, perhaps we’ll see

That will suit you to a T.”

“Yes,” said Charles, with accent nip-
ping,

“Twice you will not catch me tripping ;

Since I lost the fruit before,

You now owe me ten times more.

Now the ozzer part I choose,

And the zzmer you can use.”

Joey gave another laugh:

“Better call it half and half.”

“No, indeed!” was Charley’s answer,
“‘T look out for number one, sir!
Well I know what I’m about,—

For you, what’s in; for me what’s out!”
On Da went, and on a slope

Lay a luscious cantaloupe,

Rich and rare, with all the rays
From the August suns that blaze;
Quite wzthznx its sweets you find,
And w¢thout the rugged rind,

Charley gazed in blank despair,
Deeply vexed and shamed his air.
“Well,” said Joey, “since you would
Choose the bad and leave the

good ;
Since you claimed the outer :

art,

And disdained the juicy

heart,—
Yours the rind, and mine the rest ;
But as you're my friend and guest, |
Charley, man, cheer up and laugh,



And we'll share it half and half;
Looking out for number one *
Doesn't always bring the fun.”
*

‘at his feet.

EARTHEN VESSELS.

Spring time had come, with its blos-
soms and birds; and Mrs. Rossiter
threw up the sash of the east window,
and pushed open the blinds, and drew
a.long deep breath of morning air, and
morning sunshine.

“T think, Bridget,” she said, “that
we might venture to bring the house-

lants out-doors- to-day. There can
hardly be another frost, this year.”’

“Oh! may I help?” asked little
Charley, “ rll be very careful.”

“On that condition, that you be very
careful, you may bring the little ones,’
answered his mother.

‘The work progressed safely and
rapidly for awhile. Geraniums, roses,
fuchsias, heliotropes, and so follow-
ing, came forth in profusion, many in
bloom, and were placed in rows along

thé garden borders, ready to be trans-

ferred to the beds, forthe summer. At
last the little ones were all brought b
Charley, and only larger ones remained.
_ “Tl carry just this one big one,”
he said to himself: “I’m stronger
than mother thinks I am.” But the
po full of earth, was heavier than Char-
ey had thought it, and before he
reached the place to set it down it had
grown very heavy indeed ; and, glad to
get it out of his aching arms as quickly
as possible, he placed it on the curbso
suddenly, that with a loud crash it
parted in the middle and lay in pieces
Grancing quickly at his
mother and seeing in her face impend-
ing reproach, he forestalled it by ex-
claiming :
— “Well,

that pot broke itself very

‘easily. What's it made of, any how?”

The mother couldn’t help but smile

‘at this attempted shifting of the blame

to the pot, but she answered, in a mo-
ment, gravely :

“The pot, Charley, was made of clay;
the same weak material from which
little boys are made; who, when they
forget to obey their mothers, are as

176

likely to meet disaster as the earthen

Charley did’nt care just then to dis-
cuss disobedient boys, so he turned at
once to the subject of the pot.

“Made of clay,” he exclaimed, “well,
I’d like to see a man make a thing like

that of clay.”

“And so would I,” said sister Mary,
who, from an upper window, had lis-
tened to the conversation.

“And so you shall, if I have no fur-
ther reminders of this sort, that m
children are made of the same unreli-
able material.”

That afternoon, the three, started
for the pottery works. Mr. Sands, the

roprietor, kindly received them, and
Fully explained all his processes. First
he pointed out what seemed to Charley
a heap of dry hard common dirt ; tak-
ing a little piece of this he dipped it
into a basin of water and then squeez-
ing and pressing it in his hand it soon
became soft, and plastic, so that it
could be wrought to any shape. He
then led the party to another room
where a young man was engaged in
thus softening large masses. He would
first crumble the hard earth into fine
pieces ; then wet and pack it together
into a “loaf,’’ so Charley called it, and
then raising it over his head throw it
again with all his might upon the table
before him until it became soft and
smooth through all its bulk. This, Mr.
Sands said, was called “ wedging the
clay,” and that it was now ready for
“throwing” into shape.

“Will 1t come into shape if you just
throw it?” said Charley.

Mr. Sands laughed heartily at this,
and answered, “come and see;” and
taking up one of the softened “loaves,”
to use Charley’s word for them, he led
the way to the next room. The young
man who had been “wedging ’ now
followed and placed himself at a large
wheel which was connected by a strap
or belt with a table at which Mr. Sands
seated himself.

Upon the table was another little
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HOW POTS AND PANS ARE MADE.
table, round and low, and upon this
Mr. Sands placed his “loaf.” Then
the young man began to turn the
wheel and the loaf began to spin round
very rapidly. Mr. Sands next pressed
his finger right through the middle of
the clay, so forming the hole which we
always see at the bottom of flower-
pots. Then, as it spun round, he
worked the clay gradually upwards and
sloped it outwards, using both hands,
and holding the edges with his fingers
and thumbs.

Before Charley could express his sur-
prise, the little roll of clay was changed
into a flower-pot. With a square iron
tool called a 726 it was smoothed out-
side, and then the pot was lifted on a
board. One after another followed till
a long row was ready and they were
carried off to be dried.

‘How do you know when to leave
off stretching it?’’ asked Mary of the
potter. |

He laughed, and pointed to a small
iron gauge on the table. As soon as
the pot reached this he knew he must
leave off stretching it out. This iron
is of course put higher or lower ac-
cording to the size required.

“ Now I’ll make you a pitcher, mis-
sie,’ said the good-natured man, and
with the same kind of clay, just round-
ing it a bit and giving a cunning little
pinch to form the spout, he made quite
a pretty jug.

; “ Where's the handle ?” asked Char-
e

x Oh, that can’t go on yet, sir! We
must wait till the jug is dry, for we
could not press it tight enough to make
it stick.”

Bread-pans and washing-pans are
made in exactly the same way as flower-
pots, being moulded by the hand into
different forms. When the pots and
pans leave the potter’s wheel they are
taken, as we saw, to dry, and great care
Is required to keep them at a certain
heat, for if the frost gets to them now
they crack and are useless.

“ Here’s a comical little pot!” ex-

178

claimed Charley, holding up a wee one,

“We call them Jong Zoms,’’ said Mr.
Sands. “They are mostly used by nur-
sery-gardeners, because they take so
little room.”’

“How long do they take to dry?”
asked Mary, looking longingly at her
little jug.

“About a day; so we will leave your
jug with the others, and go to the kiln
to see how they will be burnt to-mor-
row.”

The kiln was round, with a big door-
way, called a wicket.

The pots and pans are put inside,
great care being taken that they should
not touch each other, or they would
stick like loaves of bread. Pans are
first glazed with a mixture of blue or
red lead. The fire is burning below,
and there are holes to allow the flames
to pass upwards amongst the pottery.
When the kiln is full the wicket is
bricked up and daubed over with road-
mud.

“Fancy using such dirty stuff !”’ said
Mary.

“The manure in it makes it stick,
just as hair does in mortar. Clay would
crack with the heat. So you see, dear,
there’s nothing so dirty or so common
that it may not be of some use in the
world.”

‘‘How do you know when they are
cooked enough?” asked Charley.

“T’ll show you,” said Mr. Sands, and
he immediately led us to a small door,
which opened some way up the kiln.

“This is called the crown,” said Mr.
Sands.

It was a flat surface, with four holes
which showed the red heat below, and
looked like little volcanoes in a good
temper.

“Do you see those iron rods hanging
like walking-sticks in the furnace?”
asked our guide. “Well, those are
called ¢rza/s, and at the end of each is
a lump of clay and glaze. If the glaze
is burnt enough we suppose that the
whole batch is done, but we sometimes
make a mistake and spoil a lot.”
SOME, ee
Stipes
te tale
f my . ¥
fer KOS ie :

THE WISE SPIDER.

‘Why do you weave that cruel net,
Oh, spider, tell me why?
And make it all so fair and fine,
To catch a little fly.”

‘Dear child, I hate in this my work,
To be misunderstood;
You see it is the idle flies

That keep my business good.”

“They dance around, from this to that,
And sip what sweets they can,
And tease you sometimes, till, you know,
You have to use a fan.














| -- You do not see industrious ants
scat Imprisoned where I lurk,
| Nor do I catch the honey bees,
nae They are too hard at work.

"Tis for the foolish, idlers all,
Temptation’s snare is spread,.
So dress your doll, or learn -your

task,
And I will weave my thread.


“ What is done next?” asked Char-
ley.
xi If they are properly burnt, they are
allowed to cool gradually, and are then
ready for sale.”

By this time all were pretty well
tired, and so they said good morning to
Mr. Sands and went home.

“Mother,” said Charley, as they sat
down to dinner, “I shall ask how it’s
done oftener than ever, now, for I like
going over factories. What's tobe the
next one, I wonder.”

“ Bread,” exclaimed Mary, as she cut
a big slice for herself. ‘Shall it be
bread, mother?”

“ Yes, if you like, but I propose we
go to see the flour made first. So the

next place we explore will be a flour-
mill.”’ E. M. W

BIRDIE’S BREAKFAST.

MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.



Take your breakfast, little birdie,—
Cracker-crumbs, and seeds so yellow,
Bits of sponge-cake, sweet and mellow;
Come quite near me;
Do not fear me.
I can hear your happy twitter,
Although winter winds are bitter;
Take your breakfast, little birdie.

Come! Oh, come and tell me birdie!
All night long the snow was falling;
Long ago, I heard you calling;

Tell me, dearie,

Are you weary?
Can you sleep, when winds are blowing?
Frosts are biting, clouds are snowing?
Come! Oh, come and tell me, birdie!

Take your food, and trust me, birdie ;
Daily food the Father giveth;
Bread to every thing that liveth.
Come quite near me;
Do not fear me.
Come each day, and bring your fellow,
For your bread, so sweet and mellow;
Take your food, and trust me, birdie.

A BATTLE.

ee

Do you like accounts of battles?
Here is one for you. I shall have to
tell of a well-disciplined army, and some
hard fighting, as well as of a victory.

The scene is a quiet country district,
with fields and hedge-rows, not looking
a bit like war and bloodshed, and the
time is a summer afternoon, hot, for it
is July, and a haze is over the moun-
tains, which rise a little way behind,
as silent witnesses of the fray. The
sun begins to decline, and as the air
grows cooler the army has orders to
start. -There is a short delay of prep-
arations, and then the warriors pour
forth ; not in confusion, but in a com-
pact, unbroken column, each keeping to
the ranks in perfect order, and never di-
verging from them. At first the army
follows the high road, but ere long
it passes through an opening in the
hedge, and crosses the field on the
other side. Still the soldiers march on,
never hindered, never straggling out of
place. It must have been a clever com-
mander-in-chief to have trainéd them
into such admirable obedience.

Presently a fortress rises before them
—that is the object of their expedition;
rather, it is something within the cita-
del that they are sent to get, and have
it they wz//, Not without a struggle,
though, for the enemy is on guard, and
when he sees the hostile army ap-
proaching, he sallies out to battle. He
has no idea of surrendering without a
fight for it.

The invaders gather up their forces
and charge bravely up the hill, and in
an instant, hand to hand, or something
very like it, the foes are locked together
in desperate conflict. Neither have
they any guns, but they carry sharp
weapons with them, and soon the field
is strewn with the dead and dying.

The fight thickens—the issue is
doubtful, but not long—the defenders
are routed, and the assailants press for-
ward to the citadel. Most skillful are

181
they, fér with neither cannon nor bat-
tering-rams they speedily make a breach
in the walls, and in they rush, pouring
through the street and anes of the de-
voted city. Yet they do not destroy it
—they do not kill the inhabitants—
they do not even stay within the walls
so hardly won. In avery short space
of time they return as they came, save
that each bears a portion of the spoil
for which they came. They form in
order once again, they march in line,
they regain their own quarters, but
each one carrying—would you believe
it ?>—a young slave.

Yes, the army did not care to con-
quer the strange city; the expedition
was organized solely and entirely that
they might steal the young and bring
them up in their own colony as slaves.
For, through the long influence of evil
habits, the race to which these war-
riors belong have lost their natural
powers, and so have now to be waited

182





Ome
5 =
JO a0
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A toa

on, fed, and altogether taken care of by
its slaves. With food before them they
would starve unless the slaves put it
into their mouths.

If they want to change their abode,
the slaves must make the new habita-
tion ready, and then carry their mas-
ters on their backs to reach it. If the
children have to be taken care of, the
slaves must be the nurses. In fact,
fighting is the one single thing they
can do, and that, as we have seen, they
do well. As the supply of slaves is
necessary to their existence, every now
and then they have to go and help
themselves in the way we have just
seen them do; and though the idea of
slavery is abhorrent to every mind, we
must allow that they are brave soldiers,
and under excellent discipline.

Now, can you tell me who the sol-
diers are? Go back to your history sto-
ries and think. Some old Roman race,
perhaps, or the early inhabitants of
Britain, when people knew no better?
Or some tribe of savages in America,
or the South Sea islands at the present
time? Nay, you must guess again, or
shall I tell you? Yes, you give it up.
Well, then, it is a people “not strong;”
small and insignificant, yet wise, for
this is what the Bible says, “Go to the
ANT, consider her ways and be wise.”
—Prov. vi: 10.

This race of warriors is none other
than the slave-keeping ant, (Polyergus
vufescens). I do not think you would
meet with it in our woods, but in Switz-
erland and other countries it is common.
Huber, who wrote so much about bees
and ants, first witnessed an attack near
Geneva. I should tell you that the

oung which they carry off are the
arva or young grubs, which, trans-
ferred to the nests of the conquerors,
soon become ants, and live the rest of
their lives in serving them, and wait-
ing on them, as slaves or servants would
their masters.

How extraordinary! Do they pine
for their own kind? Are they happy
in their bondage? We do not know,
but as far as we can judge they ren-
der a willing and cheerful service, for-
getting themselves in what they do for
others. Then, of course, they are happy ;
we need not repeat the question; we
are only lost in wonder at this strange
and interesting page in Nature’s book.

M. K. M.

GRACE DARLING, THE
HEROINE.

I presume most of you have heard of
Grace Darling, the brave girl who lived
with her father and mother at Long-
stone light-house. On the 6th of Sep-
tember, 1838, there was a terrible storm,

and W. Darling, knowing well that
there would be many wrecks, and much
sorrow on the sea that dark, tempest-
uous night, waited for daybreak; and
when at last it came, he went to look
out. About a mile away he saw a ship
in great distress, but the storm was so
awful he had hardly courage to venture
through it for their relief. His daugh-
ter Grace, who was watching the wreck
through a glass, could no longer bear
to see the poor fellows clinging to the
piece of wreck which remained on the
rocks where it had been broken, and
make no effort to help them. She
knew they must be lost. So she im-
plored her father to launch the life- |
boat and let her go with him to the res-
cue. He consented, and father and
daughter, she taking the oars while he
steered, went pulling away for the
wreck ; and I can fancy how the poor
fellows watched the life-boat like a
speck on the waters, counting each
minute as it neared them, then fearing,
as it seemed to be almost lost amid the
mountains of hissing and boiling waves,
lest it should never come to them at
all. But at last they are alongside; the
sufferers hesitate not a moment, but
jump for the life-boat, and so nine pre-
cious lives were saved from a watery
grave. .

Every one sang the praises of brave
Grace Darling. A sum of $3,500 was
presented to her as a testimonial, and
she was invited to dine with the Duke
of Northumberland. She died at the
early age of twenty-seven, of consump-
tion.

Now, my readers cannot all be Grace
Darling, but they can come to the help
of the perishing ; those that are weary
and ready to die. They can all do
something, by working, by little efforts
of self-denial, and by praying for those
who are in danger of being lost; and
then one day they will hear those won-
derful words, “Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto the least of these, ye have
done it unto me.” A _ testimonial
worth having indeed!

183






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BONEY.

Boney was not a thin cat by any
means, as his name would suggest.
He was very stout for his age; this
could be explained by the fact that
he had always looked out for number
one, and had managed to secure a great
many nice things to eat in the course
of his short life.

His coat, which was striped, gray and
black, had an infinite number of shades
in it and was so beautiful, that more
than one lady wanted to buy him.

Boney was not his whole name. A
lovely romance could be written, I’ve
no doubt, out of the adventures of this
cat, before Fannie found him, one cold
morning, in the summer-house. He
was covered with dust and leaves, and
moaning piteously. Fannie said,—
‘Pussy, pussy,” to him; and he tried
to get up and come to her, but he
couldn’t make any progress, and John
Henry came up at that moment, and
taking up the cat by the back of the
neck, looked at it critically, and said,—
“That cat ain’t a-going to die—he’ll
come out all right in a few days; he’s
been pelted with stones by those chil-
dren that live at the cross-roads, I
think.”

Fannie followed her brother into the
house with the cat, and he gaveit some
warm milk, and Fannie covered it up,
snug, by the kitchen stove.

It was surprising how soon that
pussy got well; and John Henry chose
to call him Boneset. The name took
in the household, and though Fannie
called him “ Boney,’’ Boneset was his
realname. John Henry bought hima
collar, and Fannie would tie a beauti-
ful scarlet ribbon on this, and away
they'd go together, down the road to
the village post-office. He’d look very
sharply at the meadow-birds flitting
over the stone fences, and the yellow
butterflies on the tall mullen stalks, as
as if he would say,—‘ I'll get you any
of those you'd hke to have, my dear
mistress.’



But Fannie would say, “ Don’t think
of it, Boney; I would like to have
them, but it would be wicked to catch
them you know.” Pussey did not want
to give up the sport of hunting them,
however, and Fannie would have to
take him right up, and carry him until
they had passed them.

He had such lovely coaxing ways ;
he knew to a minute when it was lunch
time, and he had his in the kitchen,
but he would steal up into the dining-
room, and pass round softly to Fannie's
place, and pop up into her lap—or, if
she were standing up, he’d get upon the
table and rub his furry cheek against
her shoulder, and shut one eye.

Then Fannie would turn round, and
his comical appearance, sitting there
with his httle pink tongue sticking out
between his lips, would make Fannie
just jump up and down with laughing,

Ot course, he wanted some of Fan-
nie’s lunch, and he always got it, and
this was the way he managed to get so
fat and sleek.

One unfortunate time, Fannie was
very sick ; the room was darkened, and
the doctor came. All the pets were
not allowed to come near the room.

It was, oh, so lonesome for Boney.
No one petted him like his little mis-
tress, and they didn't put up with his
tricks, or laugh at his funny pranks.

The time went by heavily enough, he
had not had on any of his ribbons, and
he would go and stay away from home
for days together, and when he came
home just before dark, he had a wild
look, as if he had been in rough com-
pany.

On a lovely morning in June, Fannie
was carried down stairs, to sit in the
bay window, in the sunshine, and the
ivy hung down its fresh, green leaves.

Boney saw her the first thing. His
delight knew no bounds; he rubbed his
back against her chair, turned his head
around in her robe as it lay on the car-
pet, and jumped into her lap! And

annie smoothed his back with her
little thin hand.

187
After a time he went away, and no-
body thought any thing about him, till
dinner-time, when, what should they
see coming up the piazza steps, but
Boney, with a bobolink in his mouth!
He walked right up to Fannie, and laid
it down at her feet, and looked up at
his little mistress, with such asatisfied,
happy expression on his face, as if he
would say,—‘ There, that’s the best I
could do, and you are welcome to it.”

Fannie. understood his good inten-
tions, and laughed heartily, and that
was the beginning of her recovery.

Pretty soon, she was able to go out
again, and she and Boney had the
best of times that summer.

CATCHING SNOW FLAKES.

BY MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.

Down from the sky, one winter day,
The snow-flakes tumbled and whirled

in play.
P White as a lily,
Light as a feather,
_Some so chill
' Were clinging together.
Falling so softly on things below,
Covering all with beautiful snow.

Drifting about with the winds at play,
Hiding in hollows along the way,
White as a lily,
Light as a feather,
Coming so stilly
In cold winter weather.
Touching so lightly the snow-bird’s
wing,
Silently covering every thing.

Every flake is a falling star,
Gently falling, who knows how far?
White as a lily,
Light as a feather,
Hosts so stilly
Are falling together.
Every star that comes fluttering down,
Falls, I know, from the Frost King’s
crown.

â„¢

A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY,

Jocko was hardly more than a bab
monkey, but he was so full of mischief
that he often made his mother very
sad. Jocko’s father used to get angry
with him ; sometimes he used to give
Jocko a good spanking ; only he hadn't
a slipperas the father of little boys have!
Jocko’s father and mother used to try
to teach him that it was very bad man-
ners to snatch any thing from the vis.
itors who came up tothe cage. That
was a very hard lesson for Jocko to
learn. One day he snatched a pair of
spectacles from an old lady, who was
looking into the cage and laughing;
the old lady screamed with fright.
Jocko tried to put the spectacles on
himself ; but the keeper made him give
them up. When the old lady got her
glasses again, she didn’t care to look at
the monkeys any more.

Another day Jocko was taken very
sick ; he laid down in one corner of the
cage, and could not be made to move.
His mother thought he was going to
die, and she was quite sure that some
of his monkey cousins had hurt him.
‘* Not so,” chattered Jocko’s father, “I
found some pieces of gloves among the
hay; I think the bad fellow has
snatched them from somebody, and
partly eaten them.”

“‘ Dear, dear,’’ chattered mother mon-
key, “I think you are right.” When
she turned Jocko over, he was so afraid
of being punished, that he pretended
to be fast asleep; but he heard all that
his father and mother had said, and
knew that they guessed right.

“They’re just like boys,” said George
Bliss one day, as he stood looking at
the monkeys in Central park. George
is a boy, and he ought to know. But
there is a great difference after all.
Boys can learn, better than monkeys,
not to get into mischief, and bother
their parents, and other people who
come where they are. Some boys do
not behave better than monkeys.
,
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A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY.
THE AFRICAN SLAVE
BOY.

There are few who have not heard
or read of the great traveler, Sir Samuel
Baker, who found his way into the heart
of Africa, and whose brave wife accom-
panied him in all his perilous journeys.

he natives, when they found how kind
he was, and how interested in trying to
help them, called him the Great White
Man.

One day, after traveling a long dis-
tance, Sir Samuel and Lady Baker were
sitting, in the cool of. the evening, in
front of their tent, enjoying a cup of
tea in their English fashion, when a
little black boy suddenly ran into the
courtyard, and throwing himself at

Lady Baker’s feet raised his hands to-
ward her, and gazed imploringly into
her face.

The English lady thought that the
little lad was hungry, and hastened to
offer him food; but he refused to eat,
and began, with sobs and tears, to tell
his tale. He was not hungry, but he
wanted to stay with the white lady and
be her slave.

In broken accents he related how
cruelly he had been treated by the mas-
ter, who stole him from his parents
when he was quite a little boy; how he
made him earn money for him, and
beat him because he was too small to
undertake the tasks which were set
him. He told how he and some other
boys had crept out of the slave-hut at
night and found their way to English
Mission House, because they had heard
of the white people, who were kind to
the blacks.

Then little Saat, for that was his
name, made Lady Baker understand
how much he loved the white people,
and how he wished to be her little
slave. She told him kindly that she
needed no slave-boy, and that he must
.go back to his rightful master. But lit-
tle Saat said, ‘“‘No, he had no master ;”
and explained that the Missionaries had

190

taught him a great deal, and then sent
him, with some other lads, to Egypt, to
help in the Mission work.

nfortunately, his companions had
soon forgotten the good things they
had been taught, and behaved so badly
that the Missionaries in Egypt refused
to keep them, and turned them out, to
find their way back as best they might
to their own people; but Saat had no
people of his own, and he never rested
until he succeeded in finding the Great
White Man of whom he had heard so
much.

Lady Baker’s kind heart was touched.
She determined to keep the little black
boy and train him to be her own at-
tendant. He accompanied the travel-
ers upon their wonderful journey to the

Source of the Nile, and his attachment

to his mistress was very touching.





CLIMBING.

The ivy, while climbing, preserves
its pointed leaf, but when it has reached
the top of its support it spreads out
into a bushy head and produces only
rounded and unshapely leaves.

The ivy, climbing upward on the tower,
In vigorous life its shapely tendrils
weaves,
But, resting on the summit, forms a
bower,
And sleeps, a tangled mass of shape-
less leaves.

So we, while striving, climb the up-
ward way,
And shape by enterprise our inner
lives ;
But when, on some low rest we idly
stay,
Our purpose, losing point no longer
strives.
ELLIOT STOCK.











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5 PAR Neg s F ‘ ’ :
ON TRIAL.

Little Hal Keys was pretty sure to
throw a stone at every pussy cat he
saw, and so all the cats around used to
have a great deal to say about him as
they sat together on the back fences,
or when they had a party in the big
barn. At last the cats determined to
do something about it, and so they



kind to me from the time I was a little
kitten, I will be his lawyer, and try to
get his punishment made as light as I
can.

Twelve cats had to be found who
could say that they were not quite sure
that Hal was such a bad boy as he
seemed to be. They were stay-at-home
cats,who did not know what was going
on outside of the comfortable houses

said: “We will have him up for trial | where they lived. These twelve cats





































































































DOLLY VARDEN ACCUSING JACK WITH CRUELTY.

before Judge Thomas White.” Hewas
the wisest and oldest of all the cats in
town, and wore spectacles that made
him look even wiser than he was.
Eleven of the most learned cats said
they would be lawyers, and get other
cats to be witnesses, to tell what Hal
had done, and try to get him punished.
One of the eleven said: ‘“ For the sake

of Hal’s mother, who has always been
9

|

were to be the jury, and it was their
duty to hear all that the lawyers and
the witnesses had to say about Hal’s
doings, and then to tell whether or not
they thought he ought to be punished.
At last the day of the trial came;
Judge Thomas White sat down in his
big chair and took his pen; the law-
yers took their places; the twelve jur
cats were brought in, and put ina hig

193
box, so they could not jump out and
run away. Hal was brought in and
put in the prisoner’s box, as they call
it ; and Christopher Gray, his mother’s
old cat, took his place beside Hal.
Three cats, called “reporters,’’ came
in with pockets full of paper and pen-
cils, to write down all that is said; to
print in the newspapers, for all cats in
the world to read.

The first witness to tell all the bad
she knew about Hal was his sister
Alice’s little Dolly Varden. How
saucy she looked, with the blue ribbon
tied around her neck, as she sat on the
witness stand telling how Hal chased
her from cellar to garret; and stepped
on her tail; and gave her saucer of
milk to the dog Jack whenever he got
a chance. “Cruel, cruel boy,” said
Dolly Varden, “he teases his sister al-
most as much as he teases me.”

Hal trembled from head to foot when
he heard what Dolly Varden said, for
he knew it all was true, and he was
much afraid that a very hard punish-
ment would be given to him. Then
the old black cat, on whom Hal had
thrown a dipper of hot water, was
called to the witness stand. Poor old
thing! the hot water had taken the
fur off his back. Then came another
cat, limping up to the witness stand,
whose leg had been broken by a stone
which Hal had thrown. There wereso
many witnesses that it wouid make m
story too long to tell about them ail.
All that Christopher Gray could say in
Hal’s favor was: “He has a_ good
mother.”

“The more shame for him,” said
one of the lawyers.

When the jury had heard all that was
to be said, they went out of the room
together; in five minutes they came
back; all agreed that Hal should be
punished. Then Judge Thomas White,
in his most solemn tone, said : “Albert
Keys, you are found guilty of great
cruelty to good cats everywhere. I
must, therefore, pronounce sentence
upon you. You must go with us to

194

Cat town for two days and one night.”

There were tears in Hal's eyes, but
the Judge had no pity on him, and he
called in some of the strongest cats to
take him. Oh! what a long, hard way
it was; over fences, under houses, and
through the barns. It was hard work
for Hal to keep up with them, but they
made him. What atime he had after
he got to Cat town. All of the cats
gathered around him, and howled at
him, and scratched his face and hands,
and made him wish he was any place
but there. At last when he was set
free, he never could have found his
way home, if pretty little Dolly Var-
den had not forgiven him, and shown
him the way back.

Hal was never known after that to
throw a stone at a cat, or to treat one
badly in any way.

.

TWO LITTLE GIRLS.

ec rceemee

They don’t know much, these little girls,
I'll tell you why ’tis so,

They played away their time at school,
And let their lessons go.

One took a slate to cipher,
And all went very well,

Until she came to four times eight,
And that she could not tell.

The other would make pictures,
In her copy book at school,
Of boys and girls and donkeys,
Which was against the rule.

But nothing good could come of it,
And this is what befel ;

She tried to write to papa,
And found she could not spell.

The teacher said, “Of all sad things,
I would not be a dunce,

But would learn to write and cipher,
And begin the work at once.”
SHE HAD

They took the littie London giri, from
out the city street,

To where the grass was growing green,
the birds were singing sweet ;

And every thing along the road, so filled
her with surprise,

The look of wonder fixed itself, within
her violet eyes.

The breezes ran to welcome her; they
kissed her on each cheek,

And tried in every way they could, their
ecstacy to speak,

Inviting her to romp with them, and
tumbling up her curls,

Expecting she would laugh or scold,
like other little girls.

But she didn’t—no she didn’t ; for this
crippled little child

itad lived within a dingy court, where
sunshine never smiled;

And for weary, weary days and months,
the little one had lain

Confined within a narrow room, and on
a couch of pain.

The out-door world was strange to her
—the broad expanse of sky,

she soft, green grass, the pretty flow-
ers, the stream that trickled by;

Sut all at once she saw a sight, that
made her hold her breath,

and shake ana tremble as it she were
frightened near to death.

NEVER SEEN A TREE,

Oh, jike some horrid monster, of which
the child had dreamed,

With nodding head, and waving arms,
the angry creature seemed ;

It threatened her, it mocked at her, with
gestures and grimace

That made her shrink with terror, from
its serpent-like embrace.

They kissed the trembling little one;
they held her in their arms,

And tried in every way they could to
quiet her alarms,

And said, “Oh, what a foolish little girl
you are, to be |

So nervous and so terrified, at nothing
but a tree!”

They made her go up close to it, and
put her arms around

The trunk, and see how firmly it was
fastened in the ground;

They told her all about the roots, that
clung down deeper yet,

And spoke of other curious things, she
never would forget.

Oh, I have heard of many, very many
girls and boys

Who have to do without the sight, of
pretty books and toys—

Who have never seen the ocean; but
the saddest thought to me

Fs that any where there lives a child,
who never saw a tree.

195
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POTTING. OUT

Charles Dickens, for that is the
name of the gentleman you see sitting
by the table, wrote many books and
stories. Some of his stories are about
little children for grown folks to read,
and others are for the children them-
selves. Mr. Dickens had a pet cat,
that was always inhis library. Strange
to say, it had no name. That was no
matter, because the cat could not hear.
He was deaf. But he liked very much
to be petted, and plainly showed some-
times that he was not pleased to have



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his master do any thing else. One even-
ing, when Mr. Dickens was sitting at
the table reading, his candle suddenly
He did not know why it
should have done so, but he got up
and lighted it.
began to get dark again, and he looked
up quickly at the candle, and saw puss
just raising his paw to put it out.
“What did he do?” He gave the cat
a loving little pat and went on with
hisreading. Whatasly cat was that to
find a way to make his master notice him.

went out.

In a few moments it


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DAVY’S GIRL.



ALEX. DUKE BAILIE.



She was only five years old, hardly
that, but a stout, healthy little creature,
fuil of love and fun, but often hard to
manage.

Maggie, was her name, but she would
call herself nothing but “ Davy’s girl.”

Davy, her brother, a brave, good boy,
about fifteen years of age, was all she
had to cling to, and she was his onl
treasure. ‘They were orphans; their
father had been drowned, with many
other poor fishermen, when Maggie
was a wee baby, and the mother, soon
after, died, from worry and hard work.

So these two were all alone in the
world, .but they did not feel lonely, for
each one was all the world to the other.

They lived with an old fisherman
and his wife, on the shores of the ocean,
in New Jersey; and in the inlets and
about outside, Davy used to go with the
men, in the boats, and help them fish;
sometimes he would work in-shore, for
the truck farmers; sometimes help to
gather the salt hay from the marshes.
He would work hard at any thing so as
to make money to keep his little sister
comfortable and to give her all it was
well for her to have.

In winter he would tramp through
cold and snow and storms, several miles,
to the little town where the school was,
and so, every year, he gained a few
weeks of instruction.

The people among whom these or-
phans lived were rough, but kind-
hearted, and Davy always had enough
work to enable him to earn money suf-
ficient to keep Maggie and himself in
the simple way in which every body
about them lived.

Whenever he had an idle half-day,
or even a few hours, he would take the
little girl and his books, and go down
to the shore, and getting into one of
the boats always to be found drawn up
on the sand, he would study hard to

learn, for he was anxious to get on in
the world, not only for his own, but his
sister's sake, and Maggie would take
one of the books, and open it, and run
her little fat finger over the page, and
move her lips, and make believe that
she, too, was studying her lessons and
she would keep still as a little mouse,
until, after a few minutes of nodding,
her eyes would close, then her head
would drop on Davy’s knee, and she
would be off—sound asleep, until it
was time for him to go.

It happened, one afternoon, as Davy,
with Maggie, was going to the boat,
which was his favorite place of study, a
farmer drove along and asked him if he
could not go and help with some work.

They were very near home yet, and
when Davy said, “ Maggie, will you run
right home?” she answered, “’Es ;”
so the brother saw her start off towards
the house, which was in sight, then
jumped in beside the farmer, and they
drove off.

It was several hours before the boy re-
turned. He went directly home, and as
soon as he entered, called, “ Maggie!”

“Maggie aint here,” said Mrs. Baker,
who was busy cleaning up the floor,
‘“‘she hasn’t been here since you took
her out with you.”

If ever there was a frightened boy,
it was Davy, then. He knew how care-
less his little sister was, and how she
loved to go down and splash in the
water, and play around the deep pools.
He could look, from the door, all along
the beach and out on the sea, and there
was no sign of his little girl. Mrs.
Baker was frightened, too, when he
told her all. They ran to the few
houses about, and while some of the
children had seen Maggie, it was hours
before ; since then she had disappeared
entirely.

It was a terrible blow to the poor
boy, and he blamed himself as he
thought that perhaps his dear little sis-
ter was dead under the great waves,
or her body was being washed away far
beyond his reach He ran up and

199
down, everywhere calling her name |

as loudly as he could, but no answer
came.

Almost blind, with the tears in his
eyes, he stood still for a moment to
think, when he caught sight of a little
paper book. He knew it at once; he

ad made it for Maggie so that she
would not soil or tear his own. Ina
moment he was running as fast as his
feet would carry himto the boat on
the sand, a considerable distance off ;
quickly he reached it, and climbed up
the side. No Maggie yet.

The great sail lay in a heap before
him; he walked around it, and there,
all curled up, fast asleep, was his run-
away girl.

How his heart did jump for joy as he
picked her up, and kissed and petted

er.

|

But Maggie cried, and said he hurt her,

Then he found that in climbing into
the boat to “study her lessons,” she
had sprained her ankle, and she had
been very miserable all by herself, and
cried and called for him until she fell
asleep.

The books, all but one, were lying on
the other side of the boat, on the sand.
Davy never minded them, precious as
they were to him, but taking his little
sister on his strong back, he carried
her home, her arms about his neck and
her cheek close to his; and Maggie had
to stay in the house, with her foot band-
aged, fora week. But Davy never for-
got that fright nor left her to herself
again until she was much older; and
the little girl never thought of disobey-
ing his orders after that. They had
both learned a hard lesson,

:0:——.

EARLY TRA,



Five little pussies
Sitting down to tea;

Pretty little pussies,
Happy as can be!

Three little pussies,
All in a row,

Ranged on the table,
Two down below.

Five little pussies,
Dressed all in silk,

Waiting for the sugar,
Waiting for the milk.

Dear little pussies,
If you would thrive,
breakfast at nine o'clock,
Take tea at five.
TIME ENOUGH.

Two little rabbits out in the sun;

One gathered food, the other had none.

“Time enough yet,” his constant re-
frain ;

“ Summer is still just on the wane.”

Listen, my child, while I tell you his
fate:

He roused him at last, but he roused
him too late.

Down fell the snow from a pitiless
cloud,

And gave little rabbit a spotless
white shroud.

Two little boys in a school-room were
placed ;

One always perfect, the other dis-
graced.

“Time enough yet for my learning,”
he said ;

“T will climb by-and-by, from the foot to
the head.”

Listen, my darling—their locks are
turned gray ;

One, as a governor, sitteth to-day.

The other, a pauper, looks out at the
door

O: the alms-house, and idies his days
as of yore.

Two kinds of people we meet every
day ;

One is at work, the other at play,

Living uncared for, dying unknown.—

The busiest hive hath ever a drone.

Tell me, my child, if the rabbits have
taught,

The lesson I longed to impart in your
thought.

Answer me this, and my story is
done,

Which of the two will you be, little
one ?

THE MOUSE WEDDING.

Dick Sly was the smartest mouse in
Mousetown. He knew any kind of a
new trap that was set to catch him, and
he always warned the rest. The houses
in Mousetown are called “holes,” you
know. Next to the hole where Dick
lived with his parents was the hole
where pretty Nan Spry lived. She
could run faster than any mouse in
Mousetown; even Dick could not
catch her, if she tried to run away
trom him. At last it was told in Mouse-
town that Dick and Nan were to be
married, and every body said, “ What a
grand pair they'll make.”” Judge Mouse,
who married them, put on his best
gold spectacles, and they were married
on a big wedding cake, which some
folks call a “cheese.” Every one in
Mousetown had a bit of it, and de-
clared it to be the best wedding cake
they had ever eaten.

20I
JENNIE HERE-LAM.

BY ALEX. DUKE BAILIE.

Jennie Barton was her real name, but
the hearty, ready and willing answer,
‘“‘ Here-I-am,” she always gave to every
call, at home, at school, or from her
young friends, gained her the title at
the head of this little story.

Her mother was a widow who had
to work hard for her living. They
lived in a little cottage not far from the
village where I was stopping for the
summer. I had taken along walk on
that road one afternoon, for the first
time, and on my return was tired and
thirsty. I stopped at the little house
and asked for a drink of water. It
was cheerfully and politely given me,
and when invited inside to rest for a
time, the front room looked so cool,
and neat and pleasant, that I gladly
accepted.

Mrs. Barton only was at home, and I
was soon acquainted and in conversa-
tion with the kindly lady.

“You have avery nice little home
here, madam,”’ I said.

“Yes,” she replied with a slight sigh,
“and I am very thankful I have it. Mr.
Barton was unfortunate, just before his
death, and the means he had gathered
OY a long life of hard work was nearly
all lost, but this cottage was left to us,
and while we have a good roof over our
heads, and health to work, I do not
fear that we shall come to want.”’

“You have some one in your family
then to help you,” I said.

“Only my Jennie,” was the answer,
“but she is worth more to me than
three of such children as most peo-
ple have. I am sure I don’t know
why I should be so blessed in my child,
but I can never be sufficiently thank-
ful that she is the comfort and help she
has ever been to me.

“She is old beyond her years in care
and usefulness, no work seems hard or
unwelcome to her if it is to aid me,

202

and yet she is as bright and happy, and
enjoys her play as much as any little
girl I ever saw. Though I am poor,
and work hard, yet I have many, many
blessings to be thankful for, but my
Jennie is far above all others. I never
have to call her twice, never have to
ask her to doany thing her eyes can see
must be done, and no matter where she
is it seems that I have only to call,
‘Jennie!’ and I hear the answer—’”

“Here I am!”

It was aclear, sweet young voice, that
called the reply from the outside. I
was sitting near the open door, and
looked through it into the road. It
was near sunset of a beautiful evening,
the sky was all in a bright glow of
color, the tops of the villas and village
houses beyond could be seen just over
the rise of meadow land.

My eyes fell upon a little girl, about
ten years of age, standing in the green-
bordered path leading up to the house.
A very bright picture she made there,
her neat, if rough blue dress, clean
white apron, red stockings and stout
shoes, showed that she lacked no
mother-care. From under a coarse
straw hat came tumbling a mass of nut-
brown curls all about her forehead and
neck. Her face was flushed with
health, her big brown eyes sparkling
with good humor and pleasure. Upon
her head she balanced a load of some-
thing, tied up in a bright red cloth,
that would have made many children
pout or cry to have had to carry on
such a warm day. But Jennie stood
there with both hands raised, her eyes,
lips, her whole figure a perfect pic-
ture of happy greeting to her home
and pleasure that she could give pleas-
ure to the mother she loved.

When she saw me, and in obedience
to her mother’s call, ske entered the
house, placed her bundle on the floor,
and then I could judge how heavy
it was,—and came and shook hands
with me like a little lady.

‘‘T asked her what was her name.”

“Jennie Here-I-am,”’ she replied,

and then as she laughed, said, “that
is, what every body calls me, and it seems
almost as though it was my name,
but mother is Mrs. Barton.”

“And how did you happen to get
such a queer name?” IJ asked.

“Oh!” she answered bashfully, “it’s
just a saying I have when any one
calls me, and I like to have people
call me and ask me to help or to do
any thing for them, and so I got that
queer name.”

I talked long with Jennie and her
mother, not only then, but often after-
wards, and found that their cheerful-
ness under privation and toil, their
earnest faith in all things being ordered
for the best, and their earnest desire
to help any and all in every way in
their power, was the true ‘secret of
their content and unvarying happi-
ness. Imade up my mind that Jennie’s
“‘Here-I-am,” in answer to each call
had the true ring of a Christian sol-
dier’s brave response; I found that I,
even though I was older than either,
and thought I knew more than both,
could learn from that little child and
her toiling parent, and I believe that
Iam doing my duty to my neighbors
better to-day because I always have
in my mind, in answer to a call for
aid, the cheering response of Jennie,
“ Here-I-am !”

DOUBLE “E” AND
DOUBLE “0.”



A little boy was learning to spell and
read at the same time, and his text-
book was a First Reader. His chief
stumbling stone was a double letter.
When he came to the word “feel,” in-
stead of spelling it ‘“ f-double-e-l, feel,”
he would say, “f-e-e-l, feel,” repeating
the double letter twice. It took weeks
to teach him to say double e or double oa,

when he found them together, but he
learned at last.

One day, toward the close of a vaca-
tion, during which he had grown rusty,
he was brought out before a company
of ladies and gentlemen, to read any
piece they might select in his First
Reader. His mother watched him with
trembling anxiety, but he appeared to
feel himself equal to the occasion.
A young lady among the company se-
lected a little poem which began with
this line:

“Up, up, Lucy, the sun is in the sky.”

The little fellow took his place in the
centre of the parlor floor, made a bow,
and read the first line as follows:
“Double up, Lucy, the sun is in the

k 9

He never finished the recitation,
every body laughed so much.

LEONARD'S APRIL FOOL.

The trouble is, there is no fun about
April Fool, now-a-days,” Leonard Wells
said, with a long face. ‘You can’t
find any body to fool—the folks all
know you are trying to, and they keep
watch of you all the time; and when
you are in real earnest they think you
are fooling. I wish I could think of
something that nobody ever did.”

His brother Willis was taking a walk
up and down his room with an open
book in his hand. “I might help you
in that,” he said. “I think I could
put you in the way of doing something
that you never thought of before.”

Leonard looked interested. His stu-
dent brother had very little time to
spend in fun, but he was pretty sharp.

“What could I do?” Leonard asked.

“Old Grandmother Bates _ isn’t
troubled with April jokes very often—
at least of a kind that surprise her. I
see she has a whole cord of wood in
her yard ; how would it do to put it
somewhere else, and make her think it
was stolen?”

“T think it would be too horrid
mean!” Leonard said, his handsome
face flushing. ‘She is old and lame.
I'll go without fun before I get it in
any such hateful way.”

“T wouldn't,” his brother said. “I’d
do it. Let me tell you how nicely you
could plan it.”
So he drew a chair and sat down to

explain his plan. As Leonard listened
his lip curled Jess scornfully. This
didn’t sound quite so mean as he had
thought it would; and it would cer-
tainly be something new.

“There would be a good deal of work
about it, I guess,” he said at last.

“Not so very much for half a dozen
strong fellows, with a whole afternoon
and a moonlight evening before them.
I shouldn’t wonder if mother would
help you about that April fooling.”

The’ result of this talk was that
mother was very busy in the kitchen
next day, making cakes and biscuits,
and Leonard went to Grandmother
Bates’ house right after breakfast, and
presented his mother’s compliments,
and invited her to tea that afternoon.

No sooner was she safely seated in
his mother’s parlor than Leonard had
a company of sturdy boys, each shoul-
dering a horse and saw. What fun
they had! It was so nice to beat work
all together, and to be ina hurry ; for
the work must all be done before Mr.
Wells’ horse and wagon brought grand-
mother home, or the fun would be lost.

Saw! saw! saw! for two good hours,
and split! split! split! for two hours
more, then it was supper-time. Away
they went to Mr. Wells’ to supper!
Such a splendid supper as Leonard's
mother had set out in the dining-room!
How they ate, and talked, and laughed,
and then rushed back to that wood-pile.
Before nine o’clock the little wood-
shed, that had been quite empty, was
piled to the top with nicely split wood.

There was a great placard of white

paper tacked toa pole, and set up where
the wood-pile lay that afternoon, and on
the paper, in large letters, were the
words:

“APRIL FOOL!”

Over this they giggled. In the early
dawn of the next morning Grand-
mother Bates opened her side door,
and limped out to pick up a little stick
or two from the unsawed pile. Asshe
went she said :

‘T must try to find somebody to saw
and split my wood to-day; thenI must
contrive to pile it up myself, little by
little. JI wish it didn’t cost as much to
have wood sawed and split as it did to
buy it in the first place.” You see
Grandmother Bates was poor.

If Leonard had heard her groan when
she reached the place where the wood
ought to be, and saw nothing but the
pole with its flapping sign, I don’t
know but he would have thought it
too bad after all! She stood there in
the cold for some minutes, looking
around, wondering where the cruel
beings, who had played the fool to her,
could have put her wood, and whether
she would ever find it all, and how
much it would cost her.

Then she turned and went slowly
back to the house; and because she
wasn’t thinking what she was about,
she turned to the little empty wood-
shed and went in. What was that?
A great pile of beautifully split wood,
another flapping sign saying:

“APRIL FOOL!”

I can’t tell you how she looked when
she saw this, but the boys all knew,
for they were hiding just where they
could get a full view, and they chuckled
so loud that they almost betrayed them-
selves when they saw her face.

“It was the first real jolly April Fool
I ever had!” Leonard said gratefully,
to his student brother that evening.

“Tam glad that you enjoyed it,” the
brother said. Then he went on with
his Greek lesson.

MISS BEAUTY PIGEON,

MRS. JEAN A. WARD.

There were a great many of the
Pigeon family lived on the old Wood-
side Place in Virginia. Their great-
great-grandfathers and grandmothers
had lived there long years before them
and they had fine houses and plenty
to eat and an elegant country to roam
about in.

So these Pigeons were generally a
very well-contented and a well-behaved
flock. They did not pretend to be of
the first family of Pigeons or to be
very stylish, but they were nice com-
fortable, home-bodies that it was ver
pleasant to have around and the Wood-
side Place would not have seemed nat-
ural without them.

But somehow, a few seasons’ ago,
Mother Pigeon, one morning,
when she looked into her nest at the
funny little chick pigeons that had just
peeped through their shells, found
one that seeme in some way to be
different from the rest. She did not
know just what the difference was, but
it seemed to be there.

So she waited to see what she should
see, and as the young ones grew she
found out that among her blue-black
and white and speckled youngsters
there was a Beauty. Such a thing had
never been heard of before among the
Woodside Pigeon family, but there
she was, and the bright colors of her
feathers, such as were never seen on
pigeon before, grew brighter each day,
and the other pigeons would come and
walk around her, and people would
stand and look at and talk about her
day after day, and evening after eve-
ning.

As Beauty Pigeon grew older she
could not help noticing the attention
she attracted and gradually she began
to like, and then to look for it, and to
keep herself apart from the rest of the
flock so that she could easily be seen.

Still she did not understand it entirely
until one day, flying about the Wood-
side Mansion, her wings carried her
through a great open window and she
found herself in a large, finely-fur-
nished room. She had never seen any
thing like this before, and hopped
around and on every thing, examining
all with great curiosity. At last she
took a little fly, and lighted upon a
dressing-bureau, from the uprights of
which swung a large mirror, and in its
bright surface she saw reflected all the
beautiful colors of her breast, and wing
and tail feathers.

She stood there a long, long time,
and puffed and swelled and strutted
and admired herself, and thought how
very much more elegant she was than
all the rest of her family or any pigeon
she ever saw. |

When at last she heard some one
coming and flew away through the win-
dow to the cot again, the home she
once thought so comfortable seemed
shabby, and old and dirty, and no place
for such a beauty as she, and her
mother and family looked shabby and
common in her eyes, and she treated
them very badly.

After that, at every chance, she
would be in the room and before the
looking glass again, just lost in admira-
tion of herself. er mother soon
found out what she was doing and gave
her a kind talking to, telling her that
the fine, bright feathers she was so
proud of, were not of her own making,
and that while she might be glad to
have them it was a sin that would be
sure to cause her trouble if she in-
dulged in so much vanity over them.

But Miss Beauty would not listen to
her good mother, and continued to
visit the glass, though she was often
driven away, and would have nothing
to do with her family.

At last, the lady of the house, who
grew tired of having her dressing-
bureau all littered by a pigeon, made
up her mind she would stand it no
longer, and gave orders to a servant,

209
who, one morning, when all the other
pigeons were picking up the nice clean
corn and oats that were thrown out for
them, took a gun and stood on the
outside of the house, just below the
window of the lady’s room.

Miss Beauty Pigeon had been so
anxious to admire herself that she was
willing to risk losing her breakfast for
a look at herself in the glass, so she
flew through the window and took her
usual place. She had not been there
long before the maid came in with a
broom and made a sweep at her.

Away flew Miss Beauty, but just as
she reached the outside air, “Bang!”
went the gun, and down tumbled the
poor pigeon—dead! with her fine feath-
ers all blown away, and her bright breast
all torn open with a great charge of
shot.

The family were very sorry for her,
even though she had not treated them
well, and poor Mother Pigeon said to
the rest of her flock: ‘You see, my
dears, that beauty is a snare, and van-
ity is sure to lead to destruction.

Can any of the boys or girls who
read this see the moral there is in it ?

CHARLES GEORGE GOR-
DON.

BY CHARLES WOOD.

No more heroic figure than that of
General Gordon has appeared in this
century. He was the incarnation of
the three qualities that are said to
make the hero—ideality, magnanimity,
courage. He was original and unique,
but all that made him admirable is
within the common reach. Every one
may have a high ideal, and following it,
become magnanimous and courageous.
Charles George Gordon was born at
Woolwich, the great arsenal town of
England, Jan. 28, 1833. His father was
a soldier, and the boy was educated

210

in the Royal Military Academy at
Taunton. His name was first heard b

the English public in 1855, the “ black
winter, as it was called, of the Cri-
mean war. At the close of the cam-
paign he was awarded the Legien of
Honor, a rare distinction for a_ subal-
tern, as he then was. When he was
twenty-six he went out to join the En-
glish forces in China, and was present
at the capture of Pekin and saw that
unpardonable act of English vandalism
—the sacking and burning of the royal
palace at Yuen—Min Yuen. Four
years later he was asked, by the Chi-
nese Government, to command an army
for the subduing of certain rebels called
Taipings. Then began the greatest
work of his life. e made an army,
and with it conquered armies incredibly
outnumbering his own. He compelled
fortified cities to surrender without a
blow. When he sailed away from
China, in 1865, he left behind him a
vast empire in peace, and he carried
with him every honor, and all the grat-
itude possible for orientals to give.
The next six years he lived at Graves-
end, directing the improvement of the
defences of the Thames. No city mis-
sionary could have done more for the
poor than he, and he was as happy as
he was helpful. In 1874 he went to
the Soudan. The Egyptian authorities
wanted this peace-maker of China to
bring the unruly tribes of the South
into subjection. In five years he put
an end, for the time, to the slave trade,
expelled corrupt officials, redressed the
wrongs of the degraded and enslaved
felhaheen, and returned to Cairo the
best loved and best hated of govern-
ment officials. Passing over the varied,
but comparatively unimportant events
of his life for the next few years, we
come to Jan. 18, 1884. On the evening
of that day he accepted the mission
of the English government of directing
the Egyptian population in evacuating
the Soudan. Another revolt had broken
out in the province of which Gordon
had been Governor General. A relig-


CHARLES GEORGE GORDON,

.

211
ious fanatic had proclaimed himself
El Mahdi, or the prophet. Egyptian
armies sent against him had been licked
up like pools of water under the hot
Southern sun. The English govern-
ment, whose vassal the Khedive is,
had at last concluded to remove the sol-
diers, officials, traders. and leave the
country to itself, and Gordon was
thought to be the only man who could
accomplish such a delicate and danger-
ous task. He flashed across the conti-
nent and over the Mediterranean to
Alexandria, Cairo, Assouan, Korosko,
and then on a swift dromedary over the
desert 240 miles to Abou Hamed. On
Tuesday, Feb. 18, he entered Khartoum
asadeliverer. England breathed freely.
He released prisoners unjustly confined,
burned in the market square the cruel
whips, and records of oppressive taxes
unpaid, and the work he was sent to do

20:

A BEAUTIFUL



seemed sure of accomplishment. Al-
most a year passed, and Gordon was
still in Khartoum, the lines of the false
prophet drawing tighter around the
doomed city ; then, while a great En-
glish army was hurrying to his rescue,
came the news of a catastrophe that
made the civilized world shudder with
grief and horror. Khartoum was be-
trayed, and Gordon, the lion-hearted
hero, cut down in the streets by trai-
tors, in sight of his own palace. It
was his only failure—no, it was his
grandest success. He did more by his
death than by: his life. He has held
before the world a glowing, unselfish
Christian character. He has changed
the world’s conception of the hero, from
Alexander and Czsar and Napoleon, to
the self-sacrificing soldier who willingly
gave his life for the distressed and the
helpless.

FATHER.



‘Tell your mother you’ve been very
good boys to-day,” said a school-teacher
to two little new scholars.

“Qh,” replied Tommy, “we hasn’t
any mother !”

“Who takes care of you?” she
asked. .

“Father does. We've got a BEAUTI-
FUL FATHER. You ought to see him!”

“Who takes all the care of you when
he is at work?”

“He takes all the care before he
goes off in the morning, and after he
comes back at night. He’s a house-
painter, but there isn’t any work this
winter, so he’s doing laborin’ till spring
comes. He leaves us a warm break-
fast when he goes off, and we have
bread and milk for dinner, and a good
supper when he comes home, when he
tells us stories, and plays on the fife,
and cuts out beautiful things for us
with his jack-knife. You ought to see
our father and our home, they are both
so beautiful.”

212

Before long the teacher did see that
home and that father. The room was
a poor attic, graced with cheap pic-
tures, autumn leaves, and other little
trifles that cost nothing. The father,
who, was at the time preparing the
evening meal for the motherless boys,
was, at first glance, only a rough, be.
grimmed laborer ; but before the stran-
ger had been in the place ten minutes
the room became a palace, and the man
a magician.

His children had no idea they were

oor, nor were they so with such a
ero as this to fight their battles for
them. He was preaching to all about
him more effectually than was many a
man in sacerdotal robes in a costly
temple. He was rearing his boys to
put their shoulder to the burdens of
life, rather than become burdens to
others in the days that are coming.

He was, as his children had said, “a
beautiful father” in the highest sense
of the word.
WHAT

Seems to me I must be growing big | break open my

very fast. I don’t believe I could get
back into that little house if I should
try. Idon’t want to go back, either.
I had to work too
hard to get out
the first time.
There was no
door, so I had to
break the house
all in pieces with
my little beak. I
couldn’t stand
up, you know,
when I was in-
side. I got very
tired sitting on
my little legs. I
wonder how I
knew enough te

CHICKY



THINKS,

heuse?
it was

little

Nobody ever told me_ that

prettier in the garden than in my
house.

"Tis rather cold out here. I
never was cold
before ; seems to
me some little
chick has carried
off a part of my
house. If I see
him, with it, Til
tell him he’s a
thief. Oh, dear,
dear! something
is scratching my
back. May beit’s
the little thief !
I wish I could
look and see who
it 1S.

STOP-A-WHILKE.,

There is growing in Africa a thorn
called “ Stop-a-while.” Ifa person once
gets caught in it, it 1s with difficulty he
escapes with his clothes on his back,
and without being greatly torn,
for every attempt to loosen one part of
his dress only hooks more firmly an-
other part. The man who gets caught
by this thorn is in a pitiable plight ere
he gets loose. You would not like—

would you, boys? to be caught in this
thorn. And yet many, I fear, are being
caught in a worse thorn than Stop-
a-while.” Where do you spend your
evenings? At home, I do hope, study-
ing your lesson and attending to moth-
ers words; for if you have formed a
habit of spending them on the streets
with bad boys, you are caught in a
thorn far worse.

213
ONLY NOW AND THEN.

Think it no excuse, boys,
Merging into men,
That you do a wrong act
“Only now and then.”

Better to be careful
As you go along,
If you would be manly,

Capable and strong.

Many a wretched sot, boys,
That one daily mects

Drinking from the beer-kegs,
Living in the streets,

Or at best, in quarters
Worse than any pen,

Once was dressed in broadcloth,

Drinking now and then.

When you have a habit
That is wrong, you know,

Knock it off at once, lads,
With a sudden blow.

Think it no excuse, boys,
Merging into men,

That you do a wrong act

“ Only now and then.”

214

A SERPENT AMONG THE
BOOKS.

One day, a gentleman in India went
into his library and took down a_ book
from the shelves. As he did so, he
felt a slight pain in his finger, like the
prick of a pin. He thought that a pin
had been stuck, by some careless per-
son, in the cover of the book. But soon
his finger began to swell, then his arm,
and then his whole body, and in a few
days he died. It was not a pin among
the books, but a small and deadly ser-
pent.

There are many serpents among the

‘books now-a-days ; they nestle in the

foliage of some of our most fascinating
literature ; they coil around the flowers
whose perfume intoxicates the senses.
People read and are charmed by the
plot of the story, and the skill with
which the characters are sculptured or
grouped, by the gorgeousness of the
wood-painting, and hardly feel the pin-
prick of the evil that is insinuated.
But it stings and poisons.

Let us watch against the serpents
and read only that which 1s healthy,
instructive and profitable.

“LITTLE MOTHER.”

BY JULIA HUNT MOREHOUSE,

It was Judge Bellow’s big, fine house,
that stood on the corner by the park.
Every body knew that, but every body
did zo¢ know that the one little girl
who lived in that house was restless
and unhappy and often cross.

‘“Why do you roam about so, Nell ?
Why don’t you settle down to some-
thing ?”” her mother asked, one bright,
spring day.

“Qh, I am sick of every thing. I
have read all my books, and I hate my

iano. The croquet isn’t up, and there
1s nobody to play with me, if it was.”

“Why dont you find some kind of
work to do?”

“That is just the trouble. There’s
nothing that needs to be done; ser-
vants for every thing ; and what does
crocheting amount to, and plastering
some little daubs of paint on some
plush! Why, I believe that little Dutch
girl that sells things out of her big
basket, on our corner, every morning,
is a good deal happier than I am. I
mean to ask her some time what makes

er SO.

* * *
* % *

A few weeks more and the hot sum-
mer came on, and Nell missed the little
Dutch girl on the corner. It really
worried her that the bright, womanly
face did not come any more, but she
supposed she had moved to a better
stand or perhaps left the city.

One morning Nell took a walk with
her teacher; a long walk, for they
found themselves outside the city,
where there were open fields and every
house had green grass and trees close
around it.

‘“* What a little, Ztt/e house! That
one with the woodbine all over it—and
I do believe—yes, it really zs my little
Dutch girl scrubbing the steps,” and
away she bounded and was soon beside
the little worker.

‘“Oh! I’m so glad to find you again!
Why don’t you come to our corner any
more?”

“Baby’s been sick a long, good
time,’ explained Lena, wiping her hands
on her apron. “Wont you ladies please
to walk in, if you please, ma’am ?”

It was a queer little figure that
showed them into the cool, clean room ;
short and broad and dumpy. Her
shoes were coarse, her dress of faded

Io

come home any more.”

black, with a white kerchief at the
neck, so like an old woman. Her face
too, was short and broad ; her nose was.
very short and her eyes very narrow.
So you see she was not pretty, but her
face was all love and sunshine. She
sat down on a low stool and took up
the baby in such a dear, motherly way,
smoothing its hair and dress and kiss-
ing it softly.

“You don’t mean that you live here
all alone?” asked Nell.

“Oh, no; there is Hans and baby
and me, and there is old Mrs. Price in
the other part.” |

“ But your father and mother?”

“ Mother died a year ago.. Oh, she
was one such good mother, but baby
came in her place. Baby looks like
mother, and now I have to be her little
mother, you see,’’ and she set the little
dumpling out upon her knee, with such
pride and tenderness.

“And your father?”

The little Dutch girl dropped her
head and answered very low, “ Father
has been gone a long time. They sa
he is shut up somewhere. He don’t

“Oh, how very dreadful! I don’t
see where you get money to buy things
with.”

“Hans is fifteen and works in a
shop. He gets some money, and he
will get a good deal, by-and-by. The
rest / get from the flowers. You see
I raise them myself, mostly.”

“ But do you get enough for clothes
and playthings, and do you always
have enough to eat?” persisted Nell.

“f don’t have any clothes. I make
over mother’s. e have Kitty for
playthings. Enough to eat? Baby
always has enough, don’t she, lovie ?”’
cuddling her up close.

A new world was opening up to Nell.

‘Excuse me, but don’t you have any
pleasure trips, or birthday parties, or
Christmas ?”

“No; I don’t just know what those
things are, but we have nice beef and
apples for dinner on Christmas.”

215
“And are you always happy as you
seem—really happy ?”’

The “little mother” opened her
eyes wide in wonder. “Why, of course.

hat else should we be? Mother al-
ways told us it was wicked to be cross,
and that we must not fret much, even
over her going away to heaven.”

Nell did some hard thinking on her
way home, and being a sensible little
girl, she made up her mind that one
way to be happy is to be dusy, and not
only busy, but useful, and she set about
the new way in earnest.

She learned that it is possible to be
unselfish and happy axzy where; she in
her wealthy home, and the “little
mother” in her one room, with her
baby and her flowers.

LITTLE SCATTER.

MRS. JEANE A. WARD.

She was her mother’s darling, and
a very good little girl in most things.
With her yellow hair, big blue eyes
and rosy cheeks; in the pretty blue
dress and red sash; nice little slip-
pers on her plump feet, she made the
whole house lively and bright, and
sometimes she made plenty of work
for every one in it, too, for she was a
terrible Nelly to scatter playthings.
The dolly would be on the chair, her
torn picture-books over the floor, her
ball kicking about: everywhere, and
her blocks any where.

What could mother do with such a

irl? When she would talk to her,

elly would promise not to do so
any more, and would pick up the dolly
and the pictures, and the ball and the
blocks, and her other toys, and take
them to her own corner play-house and
fix them all in order, and be real good
for a little while.

But the ‘real good’ would last only

216

a little while and then out all woula
come again, and Little Scatter would
have them around just as before.

That is the way she came to be given
that name, and she was old enough to
know she well deserved it, and to be
ashamed of it; yet she could not
break off the bad habit.

She had a kind, good mother, who
saw that she would have to, in some
way, cure her little daughter of such
slovenly habits or else she would gtow °
up to be a very careless, untidy woman,
and the mother was wise enough to
know that it is more easy to correct
such matters when children are young
than when they grow older.

She did not want to punish Nelly
severely, and so, whenever Little Scat-
ter had gotten all her toys over the
floor, tables, sofa and chairs, mamma
would call her and say :

“Now, Nelly, every thing you have
is lying about, it is time for my Little
Scatter to get gathered in close ;” and
then Miss Nelly would have to go
close to the wall and be shut in by a
chair and stand there until mamma’s
watch said half an hour had _ passed.
This was very hard on a little girl that
loved to run around so much as Nelly
did, and though she knew she deserved
all the punishment, yet she used to beg
rery hard and promise, but she always
had to stay the full time; then she
would come out, get her mamma’s kiss
and forgiveness, pick up her toys and
be happy.

It did not take many such punish-
ments before Nelly began to think
before she acted so carelessly, and in
a short time she was almost as neat
about such matters as she was sweet
and good in every thing else. If ever
there were a few of her things lying
about, mamma had only to call her
‘Little Scatter,’ to make her remem-
ber, and so hard did she try to correct
herself of this bad habit that in a few
months she and those about her almost
forgot that she had ever been known
by such an untidy name.


SOS

Fes Wh wi wanica,
os te ne





aot t

Tay aOR

; id cri
i sephaicce Fa sae
atlas eo
AES = Ai
ONLY A BOY.

Only a boy with his noise and fun,
The veriest mystery under the sun;
As brimful of mischief and wit and
glee,
As ever a human frame can be,
And as hard to manage as — what! ah
me !
Tis hard to tell,
Yet we love him well.

Only a boy with his fearful tread,
Who cannot be driven, must be led!
Who troubles the neighbors’ dogs and
cats,
And tears more clothes and spoils
more hats,
Loses more kites and tops and bats
Than would stock a store
For a week or more.

Only a boy with his wild, strange ways,
With his idle hours or his busy days,
With his queer remarks and his odd
replies,
Sometimes
wise,
Often brilliant for one of his size,
As a meteor hurled
From the planet world.

foolish and sometimes

Only a boy, who may be a man
If nature goes on with her first great
plan—
If intemperance or some fatal snare,
Conspires not to rob us of this our heir,
Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our
care,
Our torment, our joy!

“Only a boy!”

BIRD NEEDLEWORK.

MAY R. BALDWIN.

There is aclass of workers in India
who have always held to needlework,
useful and ornamental, through the
changes of the long years, and have
never had the help of machines.

These workers are ‘Tailor Birds.”
Specimens of their handiwork have ex-
cited the admiration of many travelers
in the country where they are found.

Their needlework is seen in the con-
struction of their nests, which vary in
size and appearance.

The beak of the bird answers for a
needle; and for thread—and this is the
wonderful thing about the sewing—
they use the silken spiders’ webs.
These threads are made secure by fas-
tening them with silken buttons, made
by twisting the ends. Think of that!
spiders’ webs for thread! How mar-
velous would the work of the fair ladies
all over the land seem, if the door
screens and the window hangings and
the dresses and the laces were deco-
rated with designs worked with spi-
der’s web thread!

Sometimes, it is true, these birds use
the silk from cocoons for their work;
and even such common material as bits
of thread and wool are used. One
traveler states that he has seen a bird
watch a native tailor as he sewed under
a covered veranda; and, when he had
left his work for a while, the watchful
bird flew to the place, gathered some
of the threads quickly, and then flew
away with his unlawful prize to use it
in sewing together the leaves for his
nest.

Imagine one of these bird homes.
Could any thing be more fairy-like?
The leaves are joined, of course, to the
tree by their own natural fastenings.
But who taught the first bird home-
maker how to bring the leaves together?
And who gave the first lessons in sew-
ing? And how did it come to choose
its delicate spider web thread and twist
it into strength, and fasten it with
silken buttons?

The great art leader, John Ruskin,
who has written so many books to
teach people that all beautiful things
have their use, and that things that are
not truthful can never be beautiful,
would say, I think, that the workman-
ship upon the tailor bird’s nest exactly
fitted his idea of the “true and the
beautiful,” because there is no orna-
ment which has not its use. The silk
buttons are not placed there for show ;
they fasten the silken lacing.

We could not say as much for many
a fine lady’s dress, where dozens of
buttons that fasten nothing are seen.

HE WAS A GENTLEMAN.

Some amusing stories are tcid of the
wit and wisdom of London school chil-
dren. A class of boys in a Board
School was being examined orally in
Scripture. The history of Moses had
been for some time a special study, and
one of the examiners asked,—-* What
would you say of the general character
of Moses ?”

“He was meek,” said one boy.

‘“ Brave,’’ said another.

‘“ Learned,” added a third boy.

“‘ Please, sir,’”’ piped forth a pale-faced,
neatly-dressed lad; “he was a gentle-
man !”

“A gentleman!” asked the examiner.
“ How do you make that out?”

The boy promptly replied, in the
same thin, nervous voice,—‘ Please,
sir, when the daughters of Jethro went
to the well to draw water, the shepherds
came and drove them away } and Moses
helped the daughters of Jethro, and
said to the shepherds,—‘ Ladies first,
please, gentlemen.’ ”’

TIME FOR BED.

Ding-dong! ding-dong!
The bells are ringing for bed, Johnnie—
The bells are ringing for bed.
I see them swing,
I hear them ring,
And I see you nod your head.

The bells are ringing for bed, Johnnie—
They are ringing soft and slow;
And while they ring,
And while they swing,
It’s off to bed we’ll go.

THE VALUE OF A GOOD
NAME.



Samuel Appleton, a distinguished
Boston merchant, was once sued for a
note, found among the papers of a de-
ceased merchant tailor, and signed with
his name. The handwriting was ex-
actly like his own, but he declared it to
be a forgery, albeit his own brother
said he could not positively say it was
not Mr. Appleton’s writing, though he
believed it could not be genuine. The
Judge was against Mr. Appleton, but
the jury found a verdict in his favor,
because they were confident that noth-
ing could induce him to dispute the
payment of a note unless certain that
he did not owe it. Some years later
Mr. Appleton discovered proof that the
actual signer of the note was a ship-
master of the same name, who had been
dead many years. Thus, the finding of
the jury was justified. It was based on
his good reputation, and it illustrates
the truth of the proverb, which says:
“A good name is rather to be chosen
than great riches.”” The root of Mr.
Appleton’s good name was his good
conduct. e was honest and honor-
able in all things.
eangeee
are


SULKY ARCHIE.

BY C. MANNERS SMITH.

“Tt must be nice to be a sailor, and I
wish I was one. Every thing goes
wrong and mother is al-
ways scolding me, and
father is never done
growling; I am getting
tired of it.”

The speaker was a
little, round-cheeked lad,
of about nine years of age.
He was standing, with
a tall, fair-haired girl,
evidently his sister, on
the edge of the river
Wyncombe. He was not
a lively boy. He was
one of those thoughtful,
gloomy little boys who
are always dreaming; al-
ways thinking and
imagining some fancied
injury from either father
or mother.

Archie Phillips was
the little boy’s name,
and he and his sister
had got a holiday and
were watching a party of
older children from the
Wynne High School,
who had come down to
the river to spend the
afternoon. There was
Algernon Wright witha
large model yacht, and
Willie Schofield, the
Mayor’s son, with a new
silver-mounted fishing
rod. They were all as
happy and full of frolic -
as all boys in the spring-time of life
ought to be. Little Archie was, how-
ever, of a morose temperament, and
did not share in any of the amusements.

The village of Wynne is a fishing vil-
lage, and is approached from the sea by



The town is built on the slopes of the
hills reaching down to the water’s edge,
and the river Wynne empties itself
into the sea near by. |

It is, indeed, a pleasant place. At
the time of this story all the boys of
Wynne, young and old, were crazy after

‘\ He wiv ;
NY sy
So
mia

inn

“NOBODY CARES,”

maritime pursuits and sports. They
spent the bulk of their holiday time
either in sailing about the bay, or in
fishing, bathing, or holding model yacht
races in the cove.

“Why don’t I have a yacht in the

a beautiful cove on the Cornish coast. ; place of a silly ball? Why don’t I have

223
boys to play with instead of Lucy and
Gyp? What do girls or dogs know
about a top or a cat hunt? [m dis-
gusted! Il go for a sailor! I'll run
away ; there!”’

The girl took no notice of this dis-
course. It was no new thing for her
to hear grumbling from her brother, and
she was accustomed to bear it without
murmur or dissent. Presently she ran
away, along the river bank, with her
doll, to a shady place, where she knew
the sun was not strong, and where some
rushes overhung the path. There she
could put her doll to sleep. It was no
use asking Archie to join her. He was
too old and too much of a man to enter
into any such stupidity.

Presently Archie sat down in the
shade, on the balustrades of the church-
yard and watched the glee of the High-
Schoolboys with a sulky envy.

It was a glorious summer afternoon.
The sky overhead was one vast, in-
verted field of blue, without a single
speck of cloud. The hot sun was beat-
ing down almost perpendicularly, and
the rays penetrated the leaves, shed-
ding a lattice-work pattern on the
ground.

“I know Ben Huntly, the boat-builder,
will tell me how to goto sea. He has
been a sailor himself, and I know he
will tell me all about it. Nobody cares;
well, mother might, perhaps, a bit, but
then, I don’t know.”

Then he paused in his musings and
thought of all the injustice done to him
by his mother. He thought, like all
gloom , wretched little boys, of all that
was ill. He didn’t for one moment re-
member, how, that very morning, the
self-same, unjust mother, after packing
up his little lunch-basket, had put her
arms round his neck, and a little red-
cheeked apple in his pocket, and told
him to keep away from the river. Oh,
no, he seemed to have quite forgotten
all that.

Then the sun went behind a cloud
and Archie felt the cool wind, which
blew from the cove, on his cheek, so he

224

jumped down from his musing place
and sped away as fast as his legs would
carry him toward the house of the
boat-builder. He ran across the green,
down the grassy slopes and across a
stretch of shingly beach, to the cottage
of his friend.

Ben Huntly, the boat-builder, was a

ood-hearted fellow, and was extremely
ond of all the children of the village.
He had that method possessed by few
people of searching into the heart of
a child and arguing with him in a
manner suitable for a child’s under-
standing.

Archie had often sought Ben’s coun-
sel when things seemed to go wrong,
and it was seldom that the boat-builder
had failed to convince the boy, even to
his satisfaction, that he was wrong.

It was an off day for the boat-builder.
He was sitting, smoking his pipe, in
the cottage porch, and reading a well-
thumbed copy of ‘‘Gray’s Master Mari-
ner.” He welcomed Archie with a se.
cret delight, for he knew, by his little
friend’s face, that he was brooding over
some fancied injury, and it gave the
boat-builder pleasure to talk his little
friend out of his troubles.

“Well, Archie, what’s new in the
wind,” said Ben, as he greeted the
boy with a grasp of the hand. “It

%

seemsalmost an age since I sawyou, my °
”?

boy.

Little Archie sat down on a large
stone bench in the porch, and told Ben
his story. His mother had been vexed
with him that morning. She had asked
him to call at the rectory with a mes-
sage for Doctor Hart, and he wanted to
cut grass at the time, and objected.
His mother did not scold him, oh, no,
Ben, she sent Carrie, who willingly
took the message, and his father had
called him a name. Then, again, he

had no toys like other boys. Some had

a pony; he couldn’t have one. His
father always answered his request for
a pony with the reply that he couldn’t
afford one just then and he would see
about it some day. If Ben would only


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‘*AND DISCUSSED LITTLE ARCHIE’S PURPOSED FLIGHT.”’

225
tell him how to go to sea he would cer-
tainly run away the next day.

Now, Ben knew the character of lit-
tle Archie better, perhaps, than his own
mother did; so, when he had given the

to the lad’s questions. He told little
Archie how, early one stormy morning,
he had been awakened from his bed in
the cottage by the sound of guns away
at sea, how he had descended to the

little boy a draught of cool milk from | beach with a lot of the villagers, to find

the cottage kitchen, Ben lit his pipe
afresh, and took down an old telescope,
a relic of his sea-faring days, from the
wall. The young man and the boy then
strolled across a Tow, level tract of sand,
toa grassy hillock, formed by the cur-
rent of the Wyncombe. ere they
sat down in the fast waning twilight,
and discussed |
little Archie’s
purposed flight.
“Yes, Archie,”
said Ben, “a sail-
ors life is well
enough, if you
don’t mind hard























the waves beating mercilessly over a
great, broken ship. He told how they
had all stood, in the leaden morning,
stricken with dread at the sight of the
disaster they were all powerless to pre-
vent; leaning hard against the wind,
their breath and vision often failing
as the sleet and spray rushed at them

from the great
mountain of
foaming sea

which kept break-
ing on the rocks
in the cove. He
told farther, how,
before all their





















beds and harder
words. If you
can eat salty
meat and mouldy
bread it’s a fine
life, Archie.
There is no life
Id like better if
they’d give you
fresher water and
not quite so
many cruel blows,
But, if you’ve
made up your
mind, Archie, and
think you can
go to bed nights
in a rolling, tossing sea, with the wind
howling and the rain pouring, and your
mother thousands of miles away, look-
ing at your little empty bed, I should
think very seriously about it. Archie
looked thoughtful, as the gloom deep-
ened on his face, and silence fell on the
pair for atime. ~

Suddenly Ben spied a French frigate
looming against the darkening sky and
showed it to Archie through the tele-
scope. He explained all the parts of
the ship and dwelt long in his answers



































226

















ARCHIE THINKING OF BEN’S STORY.















eyes, the vessel
had given one
great heave back-
wards and sank
beneath the
waves forever;
how they could
faintly hear the
heart-rending
screams of wo-
men and children
above the storm
as the great waste
Ue § =Of waters covered
AWM RAAT :

Waning the struggling
vessel. e told

Archie that, on

the following cvening, while he was
mending a boat down the bay, he came
across something lying amongst a
mass of sea-weed, and on turning it
over had found it to be the dead body
of a sailor—a fair, curly-headed youth.
“He was clad,” said Ben, “in a pair
of linen trowsers and a sea shirt, and
the weeds and sand were all tangled in
his hair. I raised him up from the
beach and a small bundle fell out of his
bosom. I laid him in my boat and
went for Doctor Hart. It was the talk


















of the village for days. Dr. Hart found
the bundle to contain a packet of let-
ters written in a feeble hand and signed
by the dead sailor's mother. hey
were loving letters of expected joy at
her boy’s return.”

Ben would have gone on with the
story, but he was attracted by the ap-
pearance of Archie. The little lad was
sitting, with his pale face turned up to
Ben, and with two great tears, as large
as horse beans, in the corners of his
eyes. On meeting Ben’s gaze he broke
down thoroughly and burst into a flood
of tears, throwing his arms round the
honest boat-builder’s neck, sobbing on
his breast.

“Qh, Ben, I don’t want to leave
mother; I am _ a wicked boy. If she
were to die, Ben, what should I do?
Do you think she is alive now, Ben?
I don’t want to go away, Ben.”

The boat-builder soothed the little
lad and smiled at the success of his pur-
pose to divert the boy’s mind.

It was now nearly night, and time
for Archie to go home, so Ben took
him on his shoulders and carried him to
Mr. Archer’s house, where the family
were ail waiting supper for the little
boy.

Archie ran to his mother as soon as
he got in and kissed her over and over
again. He told her his little story,
making the good woman's heart over-
flow with love for her little son.

Ben stayed to supper with the family
that night, and all was bright and happy
as the merry party sat round the board
laughing and joking to their heart’s
content.

* * * * * *

Archie is a young man now, and has
outgrown his gloomy, brooding dispo-
sition. He is a clerk in the office of a
rich corn merchant in Oxbridge, the
nearest market to Wynne, and shows
every tendency to become a successful
and respected business man.

Occasionally, when things do not hap-
pen to his satisfaction, and he feels the
old spirit of discontent rising, he checks

it by reflecting on his early unhappt-
ness. If his mother or father are harsh
or angry with him, or if Mr. Gayton,
his employer, speaks quickly or loudly
to him, he stifles any tendency to sulk
and become angry by thinking of Ben
Huntly and the story of the wreck.

A WISH FOR WINGS.



O dear little birdie, how nice it must
be
To be able to fly
Far away to the sky,
Or to sit on the toss-away top of a
tree.

I wish you would lend me your wings
for a day.
I have two little feet
That can run on the street,
One step at a time, but I can’t fly
away.

I would fly to the woods if I only had
wings ;
Over house-top and tree,
Like a bird or a bee,
And sit by the side of the thrush while
she sings.

I would count the blue eggs in her
snug little nest ;
I would stay all day long,
To hear her sweet song,
And bring home a feather of gold from
Fer breast.

Mrs. S. J. BRIGHAM.
227
Ere RT ee ca



PLDoLe,

“ Flossie, dear, do not drum onthe
piano so—it drives me almost dis-
tracted. Mamma’s head is aching
badly ;”” and Mrs. Ashton pressed her
hands to her throbbing temples. Peni-
tent Flossie stopped her drumming,
and ran to the lounge. ‘“ Well, mam-
ma, Ido not know what to do. I’ve
played with my dollie, and sewed all
my patch-work. I’m so tired. I do
wish I might go out. “ My child, you
know that is impossible in this storm,
besides, mamma wants you;” and here
Mrs. A. buried her aching head in the
pillow, unable to speak. In a moment
all Flossie’s pettishness was gone, and
a wish came into her sympathetic little

228



heart that she might relieve poor, sick
mamma. She looked around the un-
tidy room. Nurse had taken baby
down stairs ; the floor was strewn with
his playthings, and general disorder
prevailed. Tip-toeing softly about, she
gathered up the little traps, set the
chairs in place, piled the books and
papers neatly on the table, and brushed
up the hearth, bravely forbearing to
poke the glowing coals—a child’s temp-
tation—but strictly forbidden in her
home. Then pouring out some water
in a pretty china bowl, and adding a
few drops of cologne, with a very wise
air, she sat by mamma’s side, and dip-
ping her fingers in the cooling water,
gently passed them back and forth over
the hot forehead. She soon had the
satisfaction of hearing her breathe ina
refreshing sleep. Then quietly draw-
ing her chair to the window, took her
black pussy-cat on her lap and sat
watching the snow-flakes chasing
down, tipping every thing with soft,
downy puffs. Then the sleighs dashed
by so merrily—the jingling made her
think of the glad Choc: sO near
at hand. “I must really make up my
mind what presents I mean to give
every body,” said the little woman to
herself. Straightway she put downthe
names and gifts. It took a long time
and a great deal of profound thinking,
and before she knew it she was nod-
ding and smiling, reveling in bright
dreams of Christmas bells and Christ-
mas trees. A soft kiss awoke her, and
she found it had grown dark. The
lamp was lighted, and mamma was tell-
ing papa what a good, quiet girl she
had been, and how much better she
felt. It may seem asmall thing simply
to “keep qutet,” but for a lively, healthy
little girl, itis a great restraint. But
Flossie felt well repaid for her self-
sacrifice,

DO YOUR BEST.



The great secret of success in any
enterprise, lies in the thoroughness of
the work performed. It matters little
whether the work be of hand or brain ;
if it is well done it seldom fails in its
object. If it is done in a heedless,
siovenly manner, only a change of cir-
cumstances can render it successful,
and that success reflects less credit on
the doer than on the favorable circum-
stances which render it possible. If a
man be a common laborer, he can gain
such respect by doing his work so well
that his labor will be sought for and he
will be honored for his fidelity. Such
men will not be long out of employ-
ment, even in hard times, while those
who are known to perform their work
wich the least possible trouble to them-
selves, or unskillfully, will always be
complaining of the hard times.

f you are a maid in the kitchen, do
your work so well that you will be in-
valuable in a household. A faithful
servant is a friend, and will be so con-
sidered by those who do their work
well.

Whatever your station in life, aim to
do your best, and you can but honor
the station youoccupy. Think no work
degrading which is well done, and
a work degrading which is half

one.

HURTFUL READING.

A bad book, magazine, or newspaper
is as dangerous to your child as a vi-
cious companion, and will as surely cor-
rupt his morals and lead him away from
the paths of safety. Every parent
should set this thought clearly before
his mind and ponder it well. Look to
what your childen read, and especially
to the kind of papers that get into
their hands, for there are now published
scores of weekly papers, with attract-
ive and sensuous illustrations, that are
as hurtful to young and innocent souls
as poison to a healthful body. Many
of these papers have attained large cir-
culations, and are sowing broadcast the
seeds of vice and crime. Trenching
on the very borders of indecency, they
corrupt the morals, taint the imagina-
tion, and allure the weak and unguarded
from the paths of innocence. The dan-
ger to young persons from this cause
was never so great as it is at this time,
and every father and mother should be
on guard against an enemy that is sure
to meet their child.

Look to it, then, that your children
are kept free as possible from this
taint. Never bring into your house a
a paper or periodical that is not strictly
pure ; watch carefully lest any such get
into the hands of your growing-up
boys. Buy your boys a “Treasure
Box” every year.





TT

SHE SUNG IT.

She was asked to sing “Home, Sweet
Home,” and she did it up after this
style:

‘Mid play sure, sand pal aces, though
heam a Rome,

Be it averse, oh, wum bull, there, snow
play sly comb,

Harm from thesk eyeseem stew wal-
low a sheer,

Witch seek the whirl
twitched swear.”



discern et

229
WAIF’S ROMANCE.

Several years ago the beautiful
Shenandoah valley in West Virginia
was the scene of a great freshet. The
river overflowed its banks, and the
usually placid stream became a mighty
torrent, rushing along with frightful
velocity, carrying away houses, barns
and cattle. Buildings were washed
from their foundations by the resistless
current, and sent whirling down the
stream with the terrified occupants
clinging to the roofs. They had not
had timely warning, and many perished,
while whole flocks of sheep, and hun-
dreds of cows, horses and oxen were
drowned. The writer visited the val-
ley several years afterward, and could
see articles of clothing and even furni-
ture still lodged in the branches of
trees, where they had been caught and
lodged by the receding waters, twenty
feet from the ground.

During this visit a most interesting

story was told of a poor little kitten.

who lost home and friends, and was
carried by the surging flood far away
to- find a new home and a genuine
lover. It is a true romance of the
flood, and it has never been told in
print sofar. Forall gentle lovers of ani-
mals, this beautiful romance of Woggy
and Waif is given to the world.

In this beautiful valley there lived
a lovely family, consisting of father,
mother and two children. Edwin was
a tall and manly lad of sixteen, and
Florence was one year younger. They
were children of refined and cultivated
parents, and the members of this little
home circle displayed such charming
affection and thoughtfulness in their in-
tercourse with each other, that it was
beautiful to behold. Edwin was pas-
sionately fond of out-of-door sports,
and Florence had a deep love for all
that was beautiful and interesting in
nature.’ She loved animals, birds and
flowers, and it was her delight to ram-
ble with her brother through the

230

woods, gathering the modest wild flow-
ers, or the delicate maiden hair ferns.
She took great delight in pets of all
kinds, and had numerous rabbits, birds
and squirrels that her brother had trap-
ped ; she made them all love her; even |
the tiniest bird or animal can appre-
clate tenderness and kindness; and
Florence’s pure little heart was over-
flowing with love and kindness toward
all God’s dumb creatures.

The constant companion of the
brother and sister in their rambles
was a very frolicsome and handsome
dog, which was so remarkable for
sagacity and intelligence, that he
was known through all the country
side; he was devoted to his young
mistress, and, though he was not
a very large animal; he had enough
of the Shepherd’s breed in him to
make him very fierce and courage-
ous in her defense whenever she
seemed to need it.

At the time of the great freshet, a
homeless family, whose house had been
swept away by the flood, had been har-
bored at Florence’s home. Her
time and mind was fully occupied by
her additional home duties, which to
her gentle nature, were labors of love,
even if the overflowed valley had pre-
sented her accustomed excursions ;
but not so with Woggy, he had no
duties to keep him, and no wet ground
or body of water could keep him from
taking his usual runs about the coun-
try. For several days after the great
flood, he was noticed to leave the house
regularly in the morning and not re-
turn until evening. This was some-
thing unusual; generally his runs were
finished in one or two hours; but when
he was observed one day to také in his
mouth the best part of his breakfast
and trot off with it; Edwin’s curiosity
was excited, and he resolved to unravel
the mystery of Woggy’s regular ab-
sences ; he followed his tracks over the
wet ground for nearly two miles, until
he came to a good sized pond left by
the receeding waters in a hollow near

the river. The first thing that at-
tracted his attention was a partially
submerged fir tree near the center of
the ford, and lodged against it was a
chicken coop. Were there chickens
in it, do you ask? No; if there had
been when the angry waves picked it
up there were none now, but instead,
the sweetest little £ztten you ever saw ;
and crouched down on the trunk of the
tree, with his aristocratic paws resting
on the end of the coop, was the myste-
rious Woggy, gravely contemplating the
kitten, as it minced at the food the gen-
erous dog had brought it. How proud
Edwin felt of Woggy as he looked and
understood the scene. How Woggy,
in his solitary rambles, must have dis-
covered the forlorn kitten, who had

been suddenly torn from her home, far
up the valley perhaps, and borne, half.

drowned and thoroughly frightened,
on the rushing torrent, until her box,
in which the rising waters had found
her taking her afternoon nap, had
lodged against the tree. Edwin wanted
to rescue her, and take her home.
This was his first impulse, but how?
The pond was wide and deep, and he
had no boat, nor any other means of
reaching her; so he decided to wait
until the water got lower, until he
could devise some plan. He returned
home in great amazement, and told the
story of Woggy’s wonderful doings.
Florence was all excitement and sym-
pathy ina moment, and wanted to go
at once but could not. But what a
delicious hugging and petting Woggy

ot when he returned home that night.

hen Edwin found them, the kitten
was smuggled up as close to her brute
protector as the slats would allow;
she would put her tongue through and
lick his paws, which process seemed _to
give him the liveliest satisfaction. Ed-
win whistled to him to come home
with him, but he only wagged his
bushy tail and looked at his frail charge
as much as to say, “I cant go just:
now.” Just think of the idea of pro-
tection entering the head of a dog!

but it did. Some animals seem almost
to reason. We all know a perfect hor-
ror of water all cats have, the will not
g° into water voluntarily. This poor
ittle thing, surrounded by water, must
have died of starvation had not kind-
hearted Woggy found and cared for
her.

The next day, Edwin, provided with
a long board and other means of rescu-
ing the distressed stranger, started for
the pond. Just as he left the house,
with Florence calling out from the
porch some parting injunctions of care-
fulness, what was their astonishment
to see Woggy coming along the road
with the kitten in his mouth; the sa-
gacious dog had evidently thought that
his keepless little charge needed more
care than he could give her, and
brought her unharmed to his mistress.
When he had deposited the kitten at
her feet, he looked up in her eyes as
though he wanted to tell her some-
thing, and he really looked as if he
could almost talk. When Florence
took up the pretty thing she exclaimed,
“You poor little waif! Where did you
come from?” The little waif could
not tell, but looked as if she wanted to.
She was pure white in color, with a
water-stained ribbon and tiny silver
bell around her neck. Edwin said she
should be called Waif, and Waif she
was ever after called in that house.

“MAY I GO WITH YOU?”

eS

“May I go with you, Auntie?”

“No, Jo, Ido not wish for any com-
pany this morning; here’s a kiss, and
you may feed my poodle if you like.”
So saying, Aunt Millie, who was spend-
ing her vacation at the farm, tied on her
garden hat, and sallied forth for a walk,
leaving behind her a very disappointed
little swain, for Jo generally accompa-
nied her in her rambles, and he and
Aunt Millie were sworn allies. Lately
she had run off several times without | see if the first strawberries were ripen-
him, and he certainly felt quite disconso- | ing, as he intended them for mamma’s
late to-day. But he could not doubt | birthday.
her love and goodness, so he whistled Threading his way carefully through
away his blues. the tall grass and nodding daisies, he
suddenly came “upon
the queerest looking
“machine’—as_ he
called it—in front of
which sat Auntie.

“Why, Jo!”

“Aunt Millie, what
are you doing?” as he
caught sight of a pho-
tograph of himself, and
a large copy on the
easel.

“T am crayoning—
and’’ (this last a trifle
averse) “I kad in-
tended it as a surprise
for mamma, to-mor-
row.”

The big blue eyes
raised to hers had a
suspicion of tears in
them—she bent down
quickly and gathered
the little fellow in her
arms.

“ Never mind, pet! I
was a bit vexed, that
fy) you had discovered my
> secret.”

Maer | “Is it a secret?” in
an awed tone; “well,
Pll £eep it.”

“Do you think you
really can, Jo?”

“Ves,” hesaid ; “and
you can keep my straw-
berries,” forgetting he
had told her a dozen
times before.

“Well, Ill trust
you.”

Would you_ believe
it, the child ad keep

Jo was only five years old, and it is | his word, although burning many
no wonder he soon forgot his griev- | times to tell; and he succeeded in sur-
ances. About lunch-time he thought | prising Aunt Millie, as much as he did
he would go down in the meadow, to | mamma.

4
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hd,

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Giayy





AUTUMN LEAVES, AND
WHAT KATIE DID.

ALEX DUKE BAILIE.

“Oh, Bessie! I’ve such an idea, such
a good one, and so sure, you can’t think
how it came either, if you guessed and
tried for a week!”

“Child, you are always having ideas,
but they amount to nothing; you have
enough to do at home, without con-
tinually fretting your head about what
you cannot carry out.”

“But, Bessie, this is just splendid,
and it came to me all of a sudden, and
I’m sure as sure can be that it is a real
good idea. Now wont you listen!”

“T suppose I must, if I want any
peace ; but I’m very tired, so if it is

ike your latest—to catch fish and sell

them in the town, or to have your curls
cut off and let some city hair-dresser
pay you for them—there will be no use
to tell it to me.”

“Tain’t neither, Bessie dear, its a
real clever idea, and I know you wont
say ‘no’ to it. I was looking over
some of the old picture papers this
morning, and I found a funny picture
of a gentleman that had gone fishing
with, oh! the greatest lot of lines, and
a fine rod, and a basket swung at his
back, and he looked ever so nice; but
he hadn’t caught any thing and he was
ashamed to go back to the city withan
empty basket ; and then there was an-
other picture where he was buying a
great string of fish from a bare-footed

ittle country boy, that had caught
them all, and had only a rough old
pole and an old line on it.”

“So it zs the fishing idea again,”
said Bessie, ‘“‘ but the present variation
does not improve on the last.”

“No, it just aint the fishing idea
any more; its this: you know all the
excursion parties that come up here,
are coming all the time now; well, the
ladies all gather autumn leaves, lots
~ and lots, Fandsful and handsful of

them. But they get tired of carrying
so many after a while, and by the time
they get ready to go back to the cars,
their Teaves are thown away and they
are empty-handed. Now, just listen!
If I go to work and pick out the very
prettiest leaves and do them up in the
very sweetest bunches, and tie them so
they are easy to carry, and meet them
when they are starting home, I’m suve
they will buy them, just like the gen-
tleman did the fish from that boy.
Now, ain’t that a veal good idea?”

“T believe there is something in it,
Katie,” answered the eldest sister.

“T knew you would,” cried Katie,
joyously, “and may I try it?”

“Tf you will be very careful and not
talk too much to the people you know
nothing of, I have no objections; it
can do no harm, at all events,” and
poor, tired Bessie sighed as she looked
at her bright young sister and thought
of the time when she too was young
and full of hope and gay spirits.

There was quite a family of these
Wilsons in the little house at the foot
of the mountains, in Pennsylvania.
The widowed mother, sickly and al-
most blind; Bessie, a young lady, the
eldest daughter, aged twenty-three,
who taught avery large school for very
small pay; then Katie not quite
twelve, and Robbie, the baby, the pet,
the boy, who was only five.

Three years before, their father had
been living, and they enjoyed all that
wealth could bring them. Suddenly
he sickened and died, and then came
the dreadful knowledge that he left
nothing for his family; he was deeply
in debt to his partner, with whom he
had worked a large coal-mine, and this
Mr. Moore was what all people called
a “hard man,” he was old and crabbed,
and always wanted and would have
every cent coming to him. Bessie
was to have been married to his son,
Philip, but when poverty came to her,
the old man refused to let Philip see
her more, and the girl was too proud
to go into a family where she was not

237
wanted, and, beside, she had her poor
mother, who had given up and failed
fast after her misfortunes, she had her
to look after. So Bessie taught school;
Katie attended to the little home into
which they had moved from the great
house on the hill, a noble little house-
keeper she was ; Robbie did about as
he pleased and was well content with
life, except when neat Katie would
seize him and wash his face with plenty
of soap in his eyes, and comb his tan-
gled curls with a comb that “allus
pulled,” as he cried.

It was hard for them to pay the rent,
to get food and the many delicacies
Mrs. Wilson had always been used to,
and now needed more than ever. Bes-
sie’s small wages from her school were
taken, every cent, for these, and Katie
was continually bothering her young
head with “ideas” as to how she could
make money to help them all. The
autumn leaves were the latest, and it
really did seem as though there were
something in it.

The next day was Saturday, Bessie
was free from school duties, and so her
little sister had more time at her dis-
posal. Friday evening she and Rob-

ie gathered a great quantity of bright-
colored leaves; the next morning,
bright and early, they were out again ;
the little back porch was filled with
them.

With her own natural good taste,
aided by Bessie’s more cultivated judg-
ment, they made up many neat, beauti-
ful bunches of those bright-colored
droppings from the forest trees. These
she placed in a large but pretty basket
that once had been sent, filled with
rare fruit, to Bessie, from Philip, and
the older girl sighed when she gave
it to her sister.

Then Katie started, leaving Robbie
behind crying, and with a trembling
heart and a big lump in her throat, but
bravely as a little soldier, she made
her way to the path by which the ex-
cursion parties would have to return to
the cars. Soon they began to come

238

along, all tired, trying to be merry
ladies and gentlemen.

Katie stood with her basket on her
arm. She did not know how pretty
she looked, with her brown curls float-
ing out from beneath her big sun-bon-
net, her pure white apron, her dark
dress which Bessie had made from one
of her own, with delicate bits of lace at
the wrists, a bright bit of ribbon about
her throat and a plain little breast-pin
clasping it. Her big black eyes looked
longingly at the passers-by, her red
lips tried, many times, to utter some
words that would help her sell her
wares, but she could not speak, she
could only hold up her hand and /ook
her wants.

“What lovely leaves!” cried a young
lady, “these of mine seem all faded by
the carrying, and I’m tired of the great
load anyhow,” and she threw away a
great lot tied round with her handker-
chief, and hastened toward the little
merchant.

“What a pretty girl,” said the young
man with her.

“How much are these?” inquired
the lady.

Bessie had not thought of what she
would ask for her bunches, and now,
between pleasure and fright, she could
not think of any price to put upon
them.

“Whatever you please, Miss,” she
faintly murmured.

“Flow lovely they are,” said the
lady, and taking three bunches, she
gave two tothe young man with her, tell-
ing him: “Harry, you must carry
these, and pay the child,” the third
one she kept in her own hand.

The gentleman put his hand in his
pocket, drew it out, and dropped into
Katie’s basket a silver dollar.

The tears almost blinded the little
girl—tears of joy over her first success
—she could hardly see what the coin
was, but when she picked it up she
managed to stammer that she “had no
change.”

“Don’t want any, little one,” said
the young man pleasantly, “the sight
of you is worth all the money and
more.” Then the couple hurried
away. —

But their stopping had attracted
many more, and a dozen bought of
Katie, and, though few were as gener-
ous as her first customers, she soon
disposed of most of her stock at ten
cents a bunch, having gained courage
to fix and state her price. Quite a
number gave her more than that sum,
and she began to feel a very rich little
girl, indeed.

More than half her stock was sold,
when an old gentleman and a young
lady came along. The lady, as usual,
was the first to admire the bright
bunches, she took two, the old gentle-
man giving Katie fifty cents and tell-
ing her that “was right.” He seemed
a cross old man, but still spoke pleas-
antly.
“What's your name, child?” he
asked.

“ Katie Wilson, sir,” replied the lit-
tle girl, faintly.

“Um! um! Come along Helen,”
said he, hastily, and hurried away.

These were the last of the excursion
parties, except an elderly lady having
in charge a dozen children, all dressed
alike; little ones from a soldiers’ or-
phan school, for whom some kind per-
son had provided a day’s pleasure.
They were tired and worn out with
romping, and dragged along slowly ;
they looked at Katie’s bright face and
longingly at the pretty leaves in her
basket. The girl’s heart was touched ;
timidly she held out a bunch to a little
boy who half stopped in front of her,
he took it eagerly; in a moment the
otners were about her. By good for-
tune, she had enough to give one to
each and an extra bunch to the lady.

With the thanks of these poor chil-
dren in her heart, anempty basket anda
happy jingle in her pocket she ran
nearly all the way home, burst in on
Bessie, put her arms about her neck
and sobbed for happiness.

II

When the elder sister at last suc-
ceeded in calming her, she told the
whole story of her afternoon’s work.

Together they counted the money—
three dollars and cighty-five cents—
just think of it! .

If ever there was a happy, excited
little girl, it was Katie that night. She
could not sleep or eat. When she sad
to go to bed, she lay awake long, long
hours, thinking how she would buy
back the big house, how mother should
have doctors and every thing she
needed, how Bessie should stop teach-
ing and have a horse and little carriage,
and pretty dresses, and a piano, like
she used to, and how Robbie should go
to school and college and grow up to
be a great man and finally be Presi-
dent. She never thought of herself,
except that she was to co all this, and
when she fell asleep she dreamed the
whole thing over again, and that it had

‘turned out just as she planned.

All through the excursion season
Katie sold her leaves, and though she
never made as much as on the first
day, yet when people stopped coming
she had over one hundred dollars in
Bessie’s hands, all made by herself, all
made by being up early and attending
to her household duties and working
hard so as to have her bunches ready
by the time that visitors were return-
ing to the train.

She was brave, and true, and unsel-
fish, and her reward was great.

It was one chill November evening,
toward Thanksgiving day, that she
and Robbie had wandered out among
the mountain paths; the little fellow
was wild as a colt and ran here and
there until it was all Katie could do to
keep track of him. Finally she caught
him; both were tired out, and when
she looked around, to her great terror,
she could not make out just where they
were. They wandered along and at last
came to a road, but she did not know
which way to go. Robbie was cross
and sleepy; she could not carry the
heavy boy, and he would lay down;

239
at last she let him rest. He dropped
by a fallen log and in a moment was
asleep. She covered him with a little
cloth cape she wore, and sat down be-
side him; her eyes were heavy, she
nodded, and very soon was as sound as

e.

Along the road came a thin, old, but
active man; he stepped out firmly and
aided his steps with a stout cane. It
was after dusk of the evening. He
spied something, in the gloom, on the
other side of the road, something un-
usual; he crossed over; it was a little
girl leaning against a big, fallen tree
and a small boy stretched on the
ground beside it; both were fast
asleep. He touched the girl’s shoulder ;
she sprang up. “Oh!” she gasped,
“don’t hurt Robbie! We weren't doing
any harm, indeed we weren't.”

“What are you doing here any how?”
he inquired.

“Tt was Robbie, ne, it was me, he
was so sleepy and so was I,and we
were just resting until we could start
and try to find home again.”

“Um! so you're lost, are you ?”’

“No, sir, i guess not, only—only we
don’t know the way.”

“Well, I should say that’s pretty
near being lost. Where do you live?
What's your name?”

_ We live in the old Mill cottage,
and my name’s Katie Wilson, and
Robbie's is Robert T. Wilson.

“Um! um! Yes; well, I know where
you live; come along, I'll put you right.
Come! wake up here, young man!”
and he gently poked Robbie with his
cane. But Robbie was sleepy and cross,
and cried and kicked, and it wasall Katie

coiid do to get him on his feet and,

moving. Then as they went slowly
on, she holding her brother’s hand, her
own in fhat of the stranger, he asked
her: Weren’t you frightened to be out
al] alone?”

“Why, no, sir,’ she answered, “I
was frightened for mother and Bessie
being worried, but not for us; I just
said my prayers and covered Robbie,

240

and then I fell asleep and didn’t know
any thing until you woke me up.”

“Um! said your prayers, did you!”
and the old man stopped and [looked
at her.

“* See here, Katie!” he said, in a
very gentle voice, “say your prayers
forms, I'd like to hear them.” pe

The child looked at him in astonish-
ment and trouble. Could it be that
the gentleman could not say his
prayers for himself, that he did not
pray himself! “Oh, sir!” she said,
with choking voice and tears in her
eyes, “I cant say them to you, only to
Bessie or mother: It’s just God bless
mother, and Bessie and Robbie and me,
and take care of us in the night and
day, and—and that’s all, sir.”

“Well, never mind now, little Katie,
come along, we must get Robbie home
to the mother and Bessie soon, or
they'll think the bears have eaten you
both,” and the old man’s voice was
still more gentle, and he hurried as
fast as the little ones could go. He
knew the roads well, and in half an
hour they were on a path that the chil-
dren were well acquainted with, and -
near home.

There was a cry of joy, and Bessie
sprang upon the little ones at a bend
in the road and gathered them in her
arms, and kissed and scolded and pet-
ted them, all at the same time.

The old gentleman hurried away as
soon as he saw they were safe; but he
did not go far; he stepped back in the
dark and heard Katie tell the tale of
adventure and take all the blame her-
self, and excuse Robbie, and talk about
the kind gentleman who had found
them and brought them home, and
wonder where he had gone so quickly
before she had time to thank him. He
followed them at a distance; he saw

.them enter their home, and he watched

outside until the lamp was lighted in
the little sitting-room; then he came
near the window and looked in; he
watched while the sick, half-blind
mother cried over her children; he saw
pale, sweet-faced Bessie comforting all;
he stood there an hour without notic-
ing the cold and wind that grew about
him. He saw brave, hard-working
Bessie, and true Katie, and the little
boy, and the mother of all, kneel at
their chairs, and he thought he could
hear the prayers of thanks that came

THE SPINNING LESSON.

MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.

You will not mind, if I sit me down

from the hearts of all and the lips of | And watch you spin, in your velvet

the older sister, and he felt drops upon
his cheek, not rain, but tears—tears. It
had been many years since his eyes
had been wet with tears, but they
were there and they softened the heart
of “hard old man” Moore, and he
turned away at last with a strange reso-
lution in his mind.

Three days after he was in the sit-
ting-room of that cottage; with him
was his son Philip, by Philip’s side was
Bessie, looking ever so much younger
and prettier, and so, so happy, and
standing by the side of “ hard old man”
Moore was little Katie, wondering to
see such an old man wipe the tears
from his eyes, wondering at the way
in which he held one arm close around
her, and wondering still more why he
should keep saying, all the time, “ You
did it, little Katie, you did it all.”

The Wilsons are comfortable and
happy now. Bessie is Mrs. Philip
Moore; the mother has doctors and
luxuries ; Robbie is at school and learn-
ing fast; Katie, our Katie, is learning
fast also, but she is still the same
Katie as of old; she did not have to
sell bunches of leaves another season;
but there are always great bouquets
of the beauties in the house, and old
Mr. Moore, “hard ”’ no longer, calls her
nothing but his little “Autumn Leaf.”



|

ee

gown?
You need not fear,
You can trust me here.
I think I can learn to spin, if I
Could watch you work. Will you let me

try?

You spin and weave, but I cannot see
Just how ’tis done, and it puzzles me.

For you have no loom

In your little room. .
No silken skein, no spinning-wheel,
No bobbin and no winding reel.

«
Please tell me what you use instead?
And where do you hide your shining
thread,
As soft as silk
And as white as milk?

I think, Mrs. Spider, it must be

A secret, or you would answer me.

241


WINDOW GARDENING,



Many a home, now dark and cheer-
less, et be made bright and cheery by
a few plants in the window, or bunches
of ferns and bright autumn leaves,
fastened on the wall, or on the pictures.

Homes cannot be made too bright
and home-like for the husband and the
children; and these little things cost
little or nothing, and add much to the
general appearance.

A novel and pretty window ornament
can bg made in this way: Take a white
sponge of large size, and sow it full of

rice, oats and wheat. Then place it, for
a week or ten days, in a shallow dish,
in which a little water is constantly
kept, and as the sponge will aise
the moisture, the seeds will begin to
sprout before many days. When this
has fairly taken place, the sponge may
be suspended by means of cords from
a hook in the top of the window where
a little sun will enter. It will thus be-
come a mass of green, and ‘can be kept
wet by merely immersing it in a bowl
of water,

“CHEER UP*®



BY ANNA ELIZABETH C. KELLY.



“Oh, it is too bad; too bad! that
mother should be so troubled for the
want of a little money,” said Mabel.

“Cheer up! Cheer up!” rang out
a voice close at hand, “pretty Poll;
cheer up!” anda bright green parrot
with a yellow breast began to beat
against the bars of his cage as if he
would like to get out.

“That isa good omen, Polly,” said
Mabel, as she rose and opened the
door of the cage, “but itis not Poll
who ought to ‘cheer up’ but I, you

242

pretty bird.’ Poll hopped out and
perched upon her finger and looked
so knowingly at her, that it almost
broke down the resolution she had
formed. Mabel was accustomed to take
Poll out and talk to her, and brother
Ben, who was an amateur photographer,
had taken a picture of the pretty pair,
so Polly was already immortalized.
“Poor Ben! Poor Ben!” said Polly.
“¢On Linden when the sun was low’—
ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Poor Ben! Poor
Ben!” laughed and shouted Polly.

“Poor Ben, indeed!” said Mabel,
“though the Ben you first heard about
was another Ben, and used to break
down with his recitation and be laughed
at. I wonder where he is now, and
whether he is dead, my brave soldier
uncle! If he were alive, and should
come back, what would he think to
find another Polly just like the one he
left behind, who has learned some of the
things his Polly used to say. Mamma
says your predecessor died of old age,
Polly; I wonder if that will be your
destiny. I shall never know; for I am
going to sell you to the lady up at the
hotel, who saw you hanging outside,
and wanted you for her little girl. She
said she would give me five dollars, and
when I refused she offered me ten. I
could not let you go, Polly, but now I
must. I must say ‘good-bye’ to you
now, Poll; for I shall never take you
out of the cage again.”

“Cheer up! cheer up!”” sang Polly,
as Mabel put her back, and closing the
cage, left the room. _

The boys were leaving the sitting-
room when she went down stairs, and
as Ben passed her, she said, “Do not
go to bed till I come up again. I want
to speak to you. Wait in my room.”

Mrs. Ross was getting ready to go up
to her room when Mabel entered.

“Are you going up, mamma?”’ said
she, “I will not keep you long; but I
want to tell you, that I think I knowa
way for youto get some money. I wish
to keep it a secret for the present ; but
I think I can safely promise you some.
The last thing before I came down,
Polly called, ‘cheer up, cheer up,’ and
it is a good omen; so I say the same to
you, mamma.”

“You are a good girl, Mabel, but I
am afraid you are too sanguine. How
can you hope to succeed where I have
failed?”

' Vou will believe me when you see
the money, shall you not, mamma?”

“There would not be much merit in
that, dear, but I will ¢vws¢ you, and
whatever happens I will believe you

did what you thought was right, and
that God does every thing for the best.”

“Thank you,mamma. Good night,
and pleasant dreams.”

“Good night, dear.”

Mabel went softly up stairs. “Ben,”
said she, when she reached her room,
but Ben had fallen asleep, and she had
to shake him up.

“What kept you?” said Ben, in a
sleepy tone. *

“Why, I was not long, Ben. Do ©
you know the name of that little girl
who took such a fancy to Polly?”

“Yes,” said Ben. “It is Eva Granby.
What do you want to know for?”

“TI shall tell you sometime; you are
too sleepy to talk to-night, so I shall
let you go. Good night, Ben.”

“Good night,” said Ben, not sorry to
be dismissed. '

Mabel lay awake sometime. She was
sorry to part with her parrot, but after
all it was only a bird. Mamma and Ben
and Walt and dear little Joe should
not suffer that she might keep it.

She could hear the music, from the
great hotel on the hill, borne on the
breeze, and that, with the happy frame
of mind produced by the approval of
her conscience, soon had the effect of
sending her into a sound sleep, from
which she awoke in the morning, re-
freshed and quite happy. She went
about her accustomed duties with a
light heart and singing like a lark.
Mrs. Ross wondered, to hear her; what
could be the source of her high spirits.

She was on the alert for a chance to
put her plan into execution, and when
she found her mother occupied over
the details of the breakfast table, she
went up to her room, and covering the
parrot’s cage and herself witha Tight
water-proof cloak, which the chill of
of the May morning seemed to war-
rant; she went out of the house and
through the back gate, and took the
road to the hotel.

Mrs. Granby had just risen, and was
delighted that Mabel had come to
terms after all, as her little daughter

245
had been longing for the parrot con-
tinually. Mabel told her story and
Mrs. Granby was deeply affected. She
promptly agreed to Mabel’s condition,
to sell her the bird back again, if she
could get together ten dollars of her
own to redeem it, and gave Mabel her
address in New York.

Mabel was at home again just as the
boys were getting their breakfast, and
Wondering what had become of her.
She said she had been taking a walk for
her health and refused to gratify them
further.

Soon they were through and went
out, and when she saw little Joe in the
swing, and Ben and Walt sitting on
the bench of Walt’s making, under the
apple-tree, and knew by their gestures
they were discussing Perry’s colt—she
drew from her pocket the crisp, bright,
ten-dollar bill, and laid it beside her
mother’s plate. Her mother’s fervent
“Thank God,” amply rewarded her for
the loss of her parrot.

‘But, Mabel,” began Mrs. Ross—

“‘Now, mamma,” interrupted Mabel,
“you know you promised to trust me.

ou will soon know all about it.”

Mabel went to school that day with
a happy heart.

That evening a portly, middle-aged
gentleman stood at the gate, and as she
ooked up, he said:

“Can you tell me if this is Mrs.
Ross’s ?”’ ;

“Yes, sir,’ said Mabel, wondering
who he could be. As she turned and
faced him, he caught his breath quickly,
and exclaimed:

“ Alice!”

Mabel’s heart gave a great bound.

‘That is mamma’s name, mine is
Mabel.”

“Lead me to her,” he said, hoarsely.

Mabel quickly ran before him into
the house exclaiming:

“Oh, mamma! I think it is Uncle
Ben.”

Mrs. Ross would have fallen had she
not been caught by the strong arms of
the stalwart brother whom she had not

246

seen for twenty years. And then it all
came out. Mabel’s secret was a secret
no longer.

Captain Ben Grayson, old soldier,
and retired ranch owner, had come
back after twenty years of life in the
west to hunt for his sister, his only
known relative, whom he had last seen
when she was a girl like Mabel. He
had been told a Miss Grayson had died
from the ravages of an epidemic that
swept through the school she had been
placed at ; and so, when the war ended,
he went out west instead of returning
to New York as he should have done
but for that false report. But he had
lately heard, from an old school-friend,
he had come across, that she was living,
had married, and become a widow, and
that was all the information he could

et.

° By the simplest chance he had
stopped at Fairmount. Shortly after
rising that morning, he was startled by
a parrot hung outside the window of the
room next to his, calling out,—“ Cheer
up! cheerup!” and shortly after,—“ ‘On
Linden when the sun was low,’ ha!
ha! ha! ha! ha! Poor Ben!”

“Well,” said Uncle Ben, “you can
imagine the effect. I knew my parrot
could not be living yet; but I thought
to myself, ¢zat parrot must have learned
from my old one or from you, Alice,
and I hastened to make the acquaint-
ance of my next-door neighbor, and so
L have found you.”

And Mabel bought her parrot back
again, which was now doubly dear, as it
had been the means of finding Uncle
Ben. And quiet brother Ben was made
happy by an artist’s outfit, and had the
satisfaction of doing Mabel and the
parrot in colors, as he had long age
done them with the camera.

When the last gift had been given,
the boys, with one accord, threw up
their hats and cried,—“ Hurrah, for Un-
cle Ben!”

As for Mrs. Ross, her measure of
happiness was full; she had her long-
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