Sunny corner

Material Information

Sunny corner
Berveiller, E ( Engraver )
Dodd, Mead & Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
New York
Dodd, Mead & Company
Publication Date:
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. ; 27 cm.


Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1886 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1886 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1886
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )


General Note:
Some illustrations engraved by Berveiller.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections ( with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026658767 ( ALEPH )
ALG5221 ( NOTIS )
67837451 ( OCLC )

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I come from haunts of coot and hern:
I make a sud-den sal-ly,
And spar-kle out a-mong the fern,
To bick-er down a val-ley.

I chat-ter o-ver sto-ny ways,
In lit-tle sharps and treb-les;
I bub-ble in-to ed-dy-ing bays,
I bab-ble on the peb-bles.

With man-y a curve my banks I fret,
By man-y a field and fal-low,


And man-y a fair-y fore-land set
With wil-low weed and mal-low,

I wind a-bout and in and out,
With here a blos-som sail-ing,
And here and there a lust-y trout,
And here and there a gray-ling.

And here and there a foam-y flake
Up-on me as I tray-el,
With man-y a sil-ver-y wa-ter-break
A-bove the gold-en grav-el.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
A-mong my skim-ming swal-lows,
I make the net-ted sun-beam dance
A-gainst my sand-y shal-lows.

I mur-mur un-der moon and stars,
In bram-bly wil-der-ness-es;
I lin-ger by my shin-gly bars;
I loi-ter round my cress-es.

And out a-gain I curve and flow,
To join the brim-ming riv-er;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for-ev-er.



In the old steep-roofed house in the cor-ner of the
mead-ow, where it. ran down to the road lived Mrs.
Lee. Some peo-ple called her the old wo-man who lived
in her shoe, be-cause she had so ma-ny chil-dren. No
mat-ter what the time of day might be, one al-ways saw
them a-bout the house. Some-times
they were peep-ing out of the win- -
dows, or, if it were sum-mer and
the hay was be-ing made, you >
might find them in the
mead-ow play-ing in it,
and try-ing to cov-er
one an-oth-er up on the
sly. And how
did it hap-pen y
that old Mrs.
so ma-
ny chil-
dren? '?
own as
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A J Ii~tl


per-haps you may have fan-cied. No, she kept a school.

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The chil-dren were near-ly all lit-tle tots. Clar-a Wood,
whom you see in the pic-ture, was the old-est, and the

wn, w.h

whom you see in the pjc-tur-e, was the old-est, and the


larg-est. In fact she felt her-self much too old to play
with the oth-ers, who were, as I have said, lit-tle tots.
They were all ver-y fond of Mrs. Lee, and loved to go
to school, for they had such good times. They stud-led
half an hour, and then they played half an hour; then
stud-y a-gain. The house was ver-y old, and it had queer
clos-ets high up on the walls, and queer cor-ners ev-e-ry-
where. Now and then they found that there was some-
thing ver-y good in the clos-ets in the shape of cook-ies.
Up stairs the at-tic had been fin-ished off as a play room.
When it was bright sum-mer weath-er they liked to be out

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Jil 'n, Jill,

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of doors bet-ter, but in win-ter and in rain-y weath-er, the
floor of the at-tic shook as they pranced about.
There were three things in the house that the chil-dren
were nev-er tired of see-ing. One was the dog Fluff, an-
oth-er the cat Muff, and the third a black boy, Cuff. His
real name was Cuf-fy, but it was much eas-i-er to speak of
Cuff, Fluff and Muff, and so he sel-dom went by his whole
name. Fluff and Muff played to-geth-er a great part of
the time, but the- cat could not un-der-stand some of the
dog's ways of play-ing, and looked at him with much as-
ton-ish-ment when he sat up at Cuff's bid-ding, and bal-
anced an ap-ple on his nose. This was one of the things
Cuff had taught Fluff, and he was ver-y proud of it; so
much so that it was not safe
to leave an-y ap-ples where
he \as. for he was sure to
seize olne m his mouth and
Srush off to Cuff to have
.',_1 -1, , him pu t him through his
"fa-vor-ite trick. Once
he ti:undll a bas-ket-ful
S.whic'h Mrs. Lee
lhad made read-y
to send to some
friends in
SIt was
7 fo r- t u-
S ",- nate that
S. --...C u f,-.f y
on him


soon af-ter he made his dis-cov-er-y, for he was tak-ing
them out one by one as fast as he could, tak-ing a bite now

and then to see if they tast-ed just right. He did not like
it at all when Cuff boxed his ears, and went and sulked in


the cor-ner un-til he was coaxed to come and have a good
play and to make friends once more.


Once ev-e-ry year in the month of June Mrs. Lee took
them all for a pic-nic if they had been ver-y good. And
as they all en-joyed the pic-nic ver-y much, you may be
sure that when the month of June came a-round there
were no such good chil-dren in the whole world. Ev-e-ry
one went, Cuff, Fluff and Muff, too. There was a grove
about a mile a-way from the school, and through it ran a
brook. Here the din-ner was spread on a white cloth on
the ground, and they all sat a-round it on the grass and
ate as only hun-gry peo-ple can. Af-ter din-ner was o-ver
they played in the brook, sail-ing chips and leaves, which
they called ships, down its smooth cur-rent, and watch-
ing them as they came to the lit-tle whirl-pools where
they were of-ten ship-wrecked.
Then they played games, such as hide and seek, and
found that the great trunks of trees made splen-did pla-ces
to hide be-hind. Fluff en-joyed this game ver-y much.
He ran and barked at the top of his lungs, un-til Muff
ac-tu-al-ly be-came fright-ened and crawled up a tree to a
limb high a-bove him, where she looked down much in-ter-
est-ed in his gam-bols. Mean-while Cuff put a-way the
dish-es in-to two big baskets, which he then car-ried home.
When they were tired of play-ing they broke up in-to
lit-tle groups and hunt-ed for flow-ers through the wood
and fields a-bout. There were plen-ty of these to be
found, and there was not one of them all who did not have
his or her hands full when they start-ed home-ward,
And they all a-greed that it was the best of fun to go to
Mrs. Lee's school.


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DOWN by the pier, when the sweet morn is blow-ing,
Slips from her moor-ings the fish-er's light bark;
Sends up her ring-ing sails while she is go-ing,
Spread on the skies like the wings of the Dark;

Treads very tim-id-ly; paus-es; grows bold-er;
Parts the soft waves like a tress from her brows;
Turns like a girl look-ing o-ver her should-er,
Poised in the dance, as she pass-es and bows.

There, while his slow net is swing-ing and sink-ing,-
There sits the fish-er, a bus-y man he;
There, too, his lit-tle son, look-ing and think-ing,
Dumb with the joy of his first day at sea.

He thinks there are flow-ers for his small hands to gath-er,
Down far be-low, if he on-ly could dive;
He thinks that the fish-es are friends of his fath-er,
And flock to his net like the bees to a hive.

He thinks that God made the salt wa-ter so bit-ter,
Lest folk should grow thirst-y, and drain the big cup;
He thinks that the foam makes a ter-ri ble lit-ter,
And wonders the mer-maids don't sweep it all up.


He thinks, if his fath-er were half a life young-er,
What fun they might have with the coils of that rope;
He thinks-just a lit-tle-of cold and of hun-ger,
And home-just a lit-tle-comes in-to his hope.

He fan-cies the hours are be-gin-ning to lin-ger;
Then looks with a pang at the down-drop-ping light,
And touch-es the sail with his poor lit-tle fin-ger,
And thinks it won't do for a blank-et to-night.


The waves all a-round him grow black-er and vast-er;
He fears in his soul they are los-ing their way:
The dark-ness is hunt-ing him fast-er and fast-er;
And the man there sits watch-ing him, gloom-y and gray.

Oh! is it fath-er? Oh! where are they steer-ing?
The chang-es of twi-light are fa-tal and grim;
And what is the place they are rap-id-ly near-ing!
And whence are these phan-toms, so fu-ri-ous and dim?

He is tossed to the shore; in a mo-ment they grasp him,-,
One mo-ment of hor-ror that melts in-to bliss.
It is but the arms of his moth-er that clasp him:
His sobs and his laugh-ter are lost in her kiss.
Author of Poems Written for a Child.

Here is lit-tle Moll, the young house-keep-er. She is
peel-ing po-ta-toes for din-ner. Her fath-er will be at
home a few min-utes after twelve, and must not be kept
wait-ing, for he is a work-ing man and at- one o'clock the
bell at the fac-to-ry will ring, the great en-gine will start,
and all the ma-chin-e-ry will be in motion. Ev-e-ry man
must be at his post. Moll knows all this, and so her fath-
er's dinner is al-ways rea-dy for him.






Tom Long was a sail-or. Not a long-shore-sail-or,
ei-ther, who was a-way on a trip for on-ly a few weeks at
a time. No, when Tom's ship was towed down the riv-er
and out be-yond the har-bor mouth, his wife knew that she
would not see him a-gain for three years. For Tom was a
whal-er, and his bus-i-ness took him far in-to the Arc-tic
seas. Whal-ing ships start on their cruis-es full of emp-ty
casks, and they do not come home un-til they have caught
whales e-nough to fill these casks with oil. So, as I have
said, Tom was of-ten a-way three years at a time. The

_. _. - -.:--=- _


chil-dren did not fan-cy this at all, for in these long ab-
sen-ces they for-got al-most what he looked like, and each
time that he came back they had to make his ac-quaint-
ance all o-ver a-gain. Why the last time he was home
was the first he had seen of lit-tle Pol-ly, for she was born
just af-ter he sailed, and here she was, a bounc-ing girl
three years old.
When he was on land, though, they all thought it per-
fect-ly splen-did, for he would play with them all day long.
Be-sides Pol-ly, there were two old-er chil-dren, whose
pic-ture you can see if you will turn o-ver the leaf. Jack
liked to cop-y his pa-pa in ev-e-ry thing. He found an old
tar-pau'lin up in the at-tic, and this he wore all the time tied


down un-der his chin. He e-ven tried to roll in his walk,
as if he, too, had fol-lowed the sea all his life.
Lot-tie was his sis-ter and she was her moth-er's own
girl, for she was al-ways on the watch to see if she could.
not be of help in any way.

And so now you know the whole fam-i-ly, ex-cept the:
mam-ma, and she was kept so bus-y cook-ing and mend-ing-
and patch-ing for these three lit-tle folk that she had ver-y
lit-tle time to spend at leis-ure.
Tom had now been at sea near-ly three years, andc


they were look-ing for him to be home be-fore long.
But he did not come. The sum-mer wore a-way in-to au-
tumn; the au-tumn nights grew short-er, win-ter came,
but still noth-ing of Tom Long. The neigh-bors shook
their heads and be-gan to say that some-thing must have
hap-pened. And one day there came in-to port a ship

i .; 612 1
I j

that brought tid-ings that the May-flow-er in which he had
Sailed had been lost with all on board.
Sor-ry days these were for them all. Mrs. Long cried
bit-ter-ly, but there were three chil-dren to be fed, and she
did not have time to stop work-ing for an in-stant. Jack


found a place where he ran of er-rands, and ev-e-ry Sat-ur-
day night he brought home two dol-lars, but things went
ver-y hard-ly with them and times were ver-y dif-fer-ent
from the old hap-py days.
And so the months rolled by, un-til it was a year from
that dread-ful day when the bad news first reached them.
They were all sit-ting close to the fire, for it was ver-y cold.
Mrs. Long was just tell-ing them that it was time to go to
bed, when a knock came at the door. Jack o-pened it,
and there stood a big, beard-ed man. He gave one cry of
joy and sprang in-to his arms. It was his own pa-pa !
You can fan-cy how full of joy they all were. They sat
late o-ver the fire while he told them how he had float.ed.
for days on a great field of ice un-til he was tak-en off by
an-oth-er ship, and of how he had worked on the new
ves-sel, and had come home with a pock-et full of mon-ey.
It was a ver-y mer-ry Christ-mas they had that year, I can.
as-sure you.

Here is a pic-ture of a steep-le-chase. The high rail was
too much for the first horse, and he has fall-en and giv-en
his rid-er a bad fall. It looks as if he would be trod-den
down by the one who is just ris-ing to the fence. But I
think that he will no doubt es-cape, small as the chan-ces;


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ONE day poor Ned Green went home from school with
a dread-ful pain in his head. His throat was very sore,
and he felt as if he should burn up. Af-ter that, he was
in bed for sev-er-al weeks with a fever. He did not get
well quick-ly, but re-mained weak and ill for so long a time,
that the doc-tor said to his fa-ther one day,-
Mr. Green, your boy will nev-er get well if he stays
here. He is grow-ing weak-er in-stead of strong-er; and
you must take him on a jour-ney."
As soon as Ned heard that, he be-gan to feel bet-ter,
and bus-ied him-self in mak-ing all sorts of prep-a-ra-tions
for his trip. His fa-ther de-cid-ed to go to Mex-i-co in a
steam-er that sailed from New York. It was ver-y cold
when they left port; but Ned was so glad to be on a big
steam-er, that he did not care for the weath-er. He was
sur-prised to see how soon his o-ver-coat be-came too warm
for him.
At last, af-ter sail-ing for nine days, they reached Ve-ra
Cruz; and Ned was glad to take the cars for a change. It
was queer to ride al-ways up, up, up hill, as they did, till
they reached Bo-ca del Mon-te; and then down, down,
down a thou-sand feet, till they came to the cit-y of Mex-i-co.
The day af-ter they reached that place, Ned thought
that he would walk up and down in front of the ho-tel,
and a-muse him-self. All at once three men came near
him, all talk-ing rap-id-ly in Spanish. Two of them sat


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down on the ground; and one stood still, lis-ten-ing to
what they had to say. Ned felt a lit-tle a-fraid of them;
for they looked ver-y black and queer: so he ran up stairs
and asked his fa-ther to go down and walk with him.
"Oh!" said Mr. Green, "that man with the jug is a
wa-ter-car-ri-er. They do not get wa-ter as ea-si-ly as we
do at home. Here they have to buy all they want."
Buy it!" cried Ned in surprise; "that is fun-ny."
Yes," said Mr. Green: "their lakes here con-tain on-ly
brack-ish wa-ter: and all that they use has to be brought
from the dis-tant moun-tains. So, as they have not pipes
laid to their ver-y doors, as we have at home, wa-ter is.
brought in large quan-ti-ties to parts of the town; and
then it is car-ried a-bout in big jugs by people like those
queer men o-ver the way. Their jugs seem to be made of
stone; but near-ly al-ways they are made of skins."
"It is a queer sort of a place to live in," said Ned.
"It is ver-y well to travel in; but think of hav-ing to buy
the wa-ter one drinks!"
Ned grew strong-er so fast, that he was soon a-ble to go
home quite well. He nev-er for-got the queer-look-ing
wa-ter-car-ri-ers, but of-ten talked a-bout them.



WHEN the wild winds of March
Sweep through each hol-low,
Bid-ding the sear, brown leaves
A-rise and fol-low,
Then on swift fly-ing wing
Comes the fleet swal-low,

High in the blue o'er-head,
Float-ing in air,
Skim-ming with rap-id wing
O'er mead-ows bare,
Dart-ing with hur-ried flight
Here Ev-e-ry-where.
R. M.


"HOLD her tight, Jack, while I set the trap a-gain. Is-n't
she a beau-ty? I should-n't won-der if we could get a dol-
lar for her." But, just as the words were out of his mouth,
the bird made a sud-den flap with her wings, and a-way
she flew; and so they nev-er saw the dol-lar.


"Now, Wil-lie," said Kate, "if you keep tast-ing that
sweet sir-up, you will not care for your lunch."-" Nev-
er you fear," said Wil-lie. "I am as hun-gry as a bear
now. Oh! don't I wish teach-er would get sick ev-e-ry
day, so that there would be no school!"



The night was dark, and all the house
In peace-ful slum-ber lay;



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The cats had gone to make a call
On friends a-cross the way.


When, from a cor-ner of the room
Where all could en-trance find,

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A band of cun-ning mice ap-peared,
With mis-chief in their mind.


All wear-ing masks as though to hide
Their feat-ures from a foe,
In sin-gle or-der one by one
They ven-tured from be-low.

By signs and whis-pers they ad-vanced,
As bur-glars move a-round,

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Pre-pared to turn and leave the place,
Up-on the slight-est sound.

As sol-diers must com-mand-ers have,
To lead them to the fray,
So one more dar-ing moved in front,
And point-ed out the way.


But bread and cheese were un-der keys,
And cake and pie the same.
A-lone a tal-low can-die stood
That scarce had felt the flame.

The hun-gry band here made a stand,
And soon to ac-tion flew,

A2L6 Coy

And from its sock-et ped-es-tal
The grace-ful col-umn drew.

On heads, and backs, and shoul-der blades,
Where best the bur-den lay,
With smil-ing face and rap-id pace
They bore the prize a-way.


And when at last the load was cast
Where all could form in shape,
And each one got a cer-tain spot
At which to sit and scrape,

Then kings a-rou"d their roy-al board,
Ar-rayed in jew-els bright,
With crowns of gold and wealth. un-told,
Might en-vy their de-light.
-Palmer Cox.


Lit-tle Meg was hav-ing a hard time, for her pa-pa had
bro-ken his leg and could not work, and it was win-ter.
She was his house-keep-er, and when he was well things
had gone on ver-y smooth-ly, for Meg was quite a skill-ful
cook, and her fath-er was a hand-y man and helped her
ver-y much. The days' did not seem long to her, for,
while he was at work, she was at school. Her moth-er
had died some years be-fore.
But since her fath-er had brok-en his leg they had seen
hard times, for he could not work and Meg had to stay
at home.with him all day, and she missed her school-
mates. And so one day when she chanced to look out of
the win-dow and saw a bird that seemed ver-y hun-gry and
cold, she said to her-self: "How nice it would be if I could
catch it. What a dear pet it would be."
She o-pened the door soft-ly and threw a crumb or two




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on the snow. The bird pecked at them, look-ing up at
her with its bright eyes and hopped near-er. "This is a
kind-faced girl," he said to him-self; "she will do me no
And so he hopped bold-ly in-to the room and flut-tered
up to the back of a chair. Meg put some crumbs on the
ta-ble and a lit-tle dish of wa-ter be-side them, and then sat
down by the fire. Bird-ie flew to the feast and ate and
drank as if it were a long time since he had had an-y food.
Then he flew up to the top of the tall clock, and put-ting
his head un-der his wing went fast a-sleep with-out more
He must be ver-y tired," said Meg's fa-ther. No
doubt he was glad e-nough to find a ref-uge with us. If
he had had to stay out all night he would prob-a-bly have
fro-zen to death."
Do you think," asked Meg, "that he will stay with us ?
Had I not bet-ter have a cage ? I could bor-row one from
one of my school-mates."
But her pa-pa thought that it would be bet-ter to let
bird-ie fly a-bout the room, or e-ven out of doors if he
felt so in-clined. It is so cold," he said, and there is so
much snow on the ground that he will be on-ly too glad to
get back."
And so it proved. The lit-tle vis-it-or had his break-
fast and flew out of the door. He found it very cold and
bleak there, and when Meg o-pened the door a-gain he
came flut-ter-ing in and took up his sta-tion on the top of
the clock.
You may be sure that she cared well for him, and he
grew ver-y tame. He would e-ven hop a-bout the bed
where her pa-pa lay, and at last grew so used to the ways



of the house that when he was out-side and..the door was
shut he would peck at the win-dow to be let in. When
win-ter slow-ly passed and spring came, Meg's pa-pa grew
much strong-er, so that he could go to his work. Meg
took his din-ner to him, and bird-ie al-ways went with her,
flut-ter-ing from tree to tree, and com-ing to light on her
fin-ger when he was called, and it was not un-til the
warm sum-mer breez-es came that he found the com-pa-ny
of his fel-lows too much for him, and so he failed to come
to Meg. But she is sure that when the snow comes a-gain
bird-ie will come back to her.


Do you ask what the birds say? The spar-row, the dove,
The lin-net and thrush say, I love and I love."
In the win-ter they're si-lent, the wind is so strong;
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves and blos-soms, and sun-ny warm weath-er,
And sing-ing and lov-ing all come back to-geth-er.
But the lark is so brim-ful of glad-ness and love,
The green fields be-low him, the blue sky a-bove,
That he sings, and he sings, and for ev-er sings he,
"I love my love, and my love loves me."




I DIS-RE-MEM-BER," said old Bill Mar-tin, tak-ing his
pipe slow-ly out of his mouth, in an-swer to my re-quest
that he would spin me a yarn, "wheth-er I ev-er told
you a-bout lit-tle Jack Fo'-cas'le."
"No! no!" I cried, "heave a-head!"
"Well," said Bill, "it was in fifty-six that my mate, Joe
Har-ris, and I were in Syd-ney. We had been a-shore a
fort-night, and our mon-ey was out, and we were cast-ing
a-bout for a ship. A-down a-mong the docks we strolled,
keep-ing a sharp look-out, for we had no mind to go to
sea in a rot-ten hulk. At last we saw a craft to our
mind, as fine a clip-per as ev-er I set eyes on, clean and
taut was ev-e-ry-thing a-bout her. The Fly-ing Scud was
the name on her bows. As we were stand-ing on the
pier look-ing at her, the mate spied us and came down
the gang-plank.
"'Look-ing for a berth, my lads?' he said. Well, the
end of it was that we a-greed to ship with him, and in
three hours we had dropped out in-to the stream, and
were on-ly wait-ing for the pas-sen-gers to come a-board
be-fore we put her head to the o-pen sea.
"Ver-y soon we saw them com-ing in the quar-ter boat
with the cap-tain. They were soon a-long-side, the tack-le
was made fast and the boat run up to her place in a hur-ry.
Then the cap-tain stepped a-board, walked aft and sa-lut-ed
the quar-ter deck, and giv-ing the or-der to the mate, 'All


hands make sail,' dis-ap-peared down the lad-der to his
"Joe and I stood by the boat to help the pas-sen-gers
out. It was short work, for there were on-ly three, a man

and his wife and their lit-tle boy. They were dark-haired
and talked some for-eign lin-go. The wo-man was pale
and fee-ble, and when the man spoke sud-den-ly had a
shririk-ing way, as if she had been harsh-ly treat-ed.


"' I am a-fraid she will nev-er see dry land a-gain,' said
Joe to me that ev-en-ing, as we lay out on the bow-sprit
to furl the jib, as it had come on to blow, 'she's very thin
and pale to my think-ing, and that hus-band of hers is a
bad lot. But the lad's a fine one. Did you see him
put his arms a-round my neck when I took him out of
the boat?'
"Day af-ter day went by as days do at sea, one much
like an-oth-er. The la-dy pas-sen-ger grew whit-er each
day, and so no one was sur-prised when one morn-ing word
was passed that she was dead. We bur-ied her at sea the
next ev-en-ing, and three days af-ter were at the Cape.
"Here, as we should have to lie off for some hours,
the pas-sen-ger went a-shore in the boat with the mate.
The day crept slowly on, and at last it was dusk. A
good wind was blow-ing and the skip-per was all im-
pa-tience to -be off, but the mate's boat had not yet
come back. We fired a gun to hur-ry it, and at last it
came, but the pas-sen-ger was not there. He had not
come, the mate said, though he had wait-ed for him till
the last min-ute. The cap-tain shook his head, 'I half
feared it this morn-ing,' he said. We men all knew
what he meant. The boy's fa-ther had run a-way and
left him in the hands of strang-ers.
"How it came a-bout I do not know, but in a lit-tle
while the lad spent all his time with us for-ward. Ev-
e-ry one liked him, and the men would whit-tle out
toys for him, or sing him songs at an-y time. We dubbed
him Jack Fo'-cas'le, for we could nev-er get the swing of his
real name.
"At last the long cruise was at end. The hands a-loft
were furl-ing the main-sail for the last time, for the tug


was a-long-side that was to take us up the bay. The
cap-tain was looking o-ver the side when Joe and I went
up to him.
'Well, my men,' said he, for he was a pleas-ant spok-en
man, 'what is it?'

"'It's a-bout the lit-tle lad, sir,' said I, 'what's to come
o' him?'
"' I'm sure I don't know,' said the cap-tain. I've been
wor-ry-ing o-ver it ev-er since we left the Cape.'


'We're both a bit old-ish men, sir,' said I, 'and hav-
ing no fam-i-lies, and not car-ing to spend mon-ey as young
men do, Jo and I thought we might cast a-bout to pay
for the lad's school-ing and board till he come of age to
help his-self, if so be it was a-gree-a-ble to you.'
"Well, the end of it was that he thought well of it,
and that was the way Joe and I came to have the
young-ster be-tween us."
"And what became of him ?"
"Why! bless you! he's growed up, and mate of the
Hec-tor. It's he that pays for me, for, one way and an-
oth-er, I nev-er laid up, and when I was thrown on my
beam ends I don't know what I should ha' done with-
out him."
"And Joe?"
Poor old Joe, he died two years af-ter we took Jack;
the fe-ver car-ried him off on the Af-ri-can coast. He was
a good ship-mate, a good ship-mate." And the old man
light-ed his pipe, for it had gone out.

THIS ea-gle swooped down and car-ried off the lynx in
his tal-ons. Per-haps he took it for a rab-bit, and was
think-ing how good a rab-bit din-ner would be. If so his
dream did not last long, for be-fore they reached the tree-
tops the lynx had him by the throat.




<1 ^



Down on the shore; on the sun-ny shore!
Where the salt smell cheers the land;
Where the tide moves bright un-der bound-less light,
And the surge on the glit-ter-ing strand;
Where the chil-dren wade in the shal-low pools,
Or run from the froth in play;
Where the swift lit-tle boats with milk-white wings
Are cross-ing the sap-phire bay,
And the ship in full sail, with a for-tun-ate gale,
Holds proud-ly on her way,
While the nets are, spread on the grass to dry,
And a-sleep, hard by, the fish-er-men lie,
Un-der the tent of the warm blue sky-
With the hush-ing wave on its gold-en floor
To sing their lull-a-by.

Down on the shore, on the storm-y shore!
Be-set by a growl-ing sea,
Whose mad waves leap on the rock-y steep
Like wolves up a trav-el-er's tree.
Where the foam flies wide, and an an-gry blast
Blows the cur-lew off, with a screech;


Where the brown sea-wrack,
torn up by its roots,
Is flung out of fish-ers' reach.
Where the tall ship rolls on
the hid-den shoals,
And scat-ters her planks on
the beach,

-- -------- -- --
: i- = = --- -. -_--~= _.-:------a-. }

------ : __- "- ..--



Where slate and straw through the vil-lage spin
And a cot-tage fronts the fierc-est din
With a sail-or's wife sit-ting sad with-in
Hark-en-ing the wind and wa-ters' roar,
Till at last her tears be-gin.

There was once a cat, I think her name was Ta-bi-tha,
who had a great fan-cy for birds. She did not care for a
nice plump mouse for lunch half so much as she did for a
bird., and she was so suc-cess-ful a bird-catch-er that her
mis-tress be-gan to fear that there would be no birds a-bout
the house at all. But one day pus-sy, who had caught so
man-y birds, was caught her-self by Tow-ser. Tow-ser
was chained fast to his ken-nel, and watched the cat ver-y
close-ly as she came near-er and near-er with her eyes
fixed on a bird so in-tent-ly that she did not see him at all.
Then, just as she was go-ing to spring on the bird, he
made a jump, and for sev-er-al days af-ter-ward she was so
stiff that she did not care to hunt at all.





"WHERE do all the cher-ries go?" asked pa-pa.
"I think the rob-ins must take," said May.
A-bout an hour af-ter, pa-pa chanced to look out of his
win-dow, and up at the tree; but not a bird was in sight.
Then he looked down on the ground, un-der the tree, and
there he saw lit-tle May sit-ting down with her lap full of
cher-ries, which she was drop-ping, one by one, in-to her
broth-er Rob's mouth. "Ha, ha!" laughed pa-pa, "May
was right. There is the Rob-in that eats the cher-ries."



Mas-ter Ted was a farm-er boy. He had a farm and
stock all of his own, too, for his fa-ther had giv-en him a
field and one an-i-mal of ev-e-ry kind that was on the farm.
So Mas-ter Ted had a pig of his own, and a lamb, and a
calf, and a colt. He did not take much pleas-ure as yet
in his an-i-mals. It was good fun now and then to watch


his lit-tle pig pick
up the ear of corn
which he had. flung
him and run off
with it, fol-lowed
by all pig-gy's
broth-ers and sis-
ters. And, some- --
times, when his fa-
ther went to fod-
der the sheep in
win-ter Ted went
with him, his feet crunch-ing the crisp snow un-der them.
The sheep were al-ways wait-ing, and al-ways hun-gry,
and in their haste to get their sup-per they would get in
his fa-ther's way. Each sheep had a thick, warm jack-et
of wool, and slept in the o-pen field all night, but the colt
and the calf would have fared bad-ly had they not had a
warm sta-ble to shield them from the win-try blasts.,
Ted liked all
of his an-i-mals a.
lit-tle, but there
was one that he
loved that I have
not told you of.
This was his dog
Growl-er. I do
J- not know how,
he came to have
such a cross-
sound-ing name,
for he was a dog


who nev-er growled. He was much too good-na-tured
to do such a thing. He spent his whole day in play,
chas-ing the birds that came down to the yard in search of
wa-ter, and bark-ing half his time for sheer light-ness of
heart. Ted and he were great friends. Growl-er knew a

great man-y things. He would go and bring the cows,
and when they did not go fast e-nough to suit his taste he
would seize the end of their tails to make them break in-to
an un-gain-ly trot. He would gath-er the sheep to-geth-er
when in the ear-ly summer they were tak-en to the brook


to be washed, as clev-er-ly as if he were a shep-herd dog
that had been trained to the work. But the fun-ni-est
thing he could do was to play see-saw^with his young mas-
ter. He would get on his end of the cross-bar and there

sit with the ut-most grav-i-ty watch-ing his mas-ter while
they went up and down. Once, though, while he was
see-saw-ing a rab-bit ap-peared in the dis-tance, and down
jumped Growl-er and off he went in pur-suit at the top of
his speed, while the fright-ened rab-bit fled like the wind


be-fore him. Ted has two sis-ters. Madge is a wide-a-
wake las-sie, but Pol-ly, the ba-by, is a sleep-y lit-tle thing.
Ted thinks she sleeps al-to-geth-er too much, but mam-ma
does not, and when Pol-ly wakes she picks her up, and
sings the song that you can read on the op-po-site page
un-til she drops off to sleep once more. Ted him-self, for



all his bright eyes, is a sleep-y boy e-nough at times. I
have seen him so drow-sy that he did not e-ven know that
his pa-pa had car-ried him up stairs and un-dressed and
put him to bed, and when he a-woke next morn-ing had
not the slight-est i-dea how he came to be where he was.



Lit-tle streams are light and shad-ow;
Flow-ing through the pas-ture mead-ow,
Flow-ing by the green way-side,
Through the for-est dim and wide,
Through the ham-let still and small-
By the cot-tage, by the hall,
By the ruined ab-bey still,
Turn-ing here and there a mill,
Bear-ing trib-ute to the riv-er-
Lit-tle streams, I love you ev-er.

Sum-mer mu-sic is their flow-ing-
Flow-er-ing plants are in them grow-ing;
Hap-py life is in them all,
Crea-tures in-no-cent and small.
Lit-tle birds come down to drink,
Fear-less of their leaf-y brink;
No-ble trees be-hind them grow,
Gloom-ing them with branch-es low;
And be-tween, the sun-shine, glanc-ing-
In their lit-tle waves is danc-ing.

Down in val-leys green and low-ly,
Mur-mur-ing not and glid-ing slow-ly;
Up in moun-tain hol-lows wild,
Fret-ting like a peev-ish child;


Run-ningwest, or run-
ning east,
Do-ing good to man
and beast-
Al-ways giv-ing, wea-
ry nev-er,
Lit-tle streams, I love
you ev-er.



The Frost looked forth one still, clear night,
And whis-pered, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the val-ley and o-ver the height
In si-lence I'll take my way.
I will not go like that blus-ter-ing train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bus-tie and noise in vain-
But I'll be as bus-y as they."
Then he flew to the mount-ain and pow-dered its crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
In di-a-mond beads; and o-ver the breast
Of the quiv-er-ing lake he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The down-ward point of man-y a spear
That he hung on its mar-gin, far and near,
Where a rock could reach its head.
He went to the win-dow of those who slept,
And o-ver each pane like a fai-ry crept;
Wher-ev-er he breathed, wher-ev-er he stept,
By the light of the moon were seen
Most beau-ti-ful things: there were flow-ers and trees;
There were bev-ies of birds and swarms of bees;
There were cit-ies with tem-ples and tow-ers; and these
All pic-tured in sil-ver sheen.
But he did one thing that was hard-ly fair-
He peeped in the cup-board, and find-ing there


.. .

That albhad for-got-ten

"Now, just to set them

I'll bite this bas-ket of

"This cost-ly pitch-er
I'll burst in three
And the glass of wa-ter

Shall thickc' to tell,
.. __---~-



( Ho, sail-or of the sea!
How's my boy-my boy?"
" What's your boy's name, good wife,
And in what ship sailed he?"

" My boy John-
He that went to sea-
What care I for the ship, sail-or?
My boy's my boy to me.

( You come back from sea,
And not know my John?
I might as well have asked some lands-man,
Yon-der down in the town.
There's not an ass in all the par-ish
But knows my John.

" How's my boy-my boy?
And un-less you let me know,
I'll swear you are no sail-or,
Blue jack-et or no,-
Brass but-tons or no, sail-or,
An-chor and crown or no,-
Sure his ship was the 'Jol-ly Brit-on'"-
" Speak low, wo-man, speak low !"



" And why should I speak low, sail-or,
A-bout my own boy John?
If I were loud as I am proud
I'd sing him o-ver the town!
Why should I speak low, sail-or?"
" That good ship went down."

' How's my boy-my boy?
What care I for the ship, sail-or?
I was nev-er a-board her,
Be she a-float or be she a-ground,
Sink-ing or swim-ming, I'll be bound
Her own-ers can af-ford her!
I say, how's my John?"
' Ev-e-ry man on board went down,
Ev-e-ry man a-board her."

' How's my boy-my boy?
What care I for the men, sail-or?
I'm not their moth-er-
How's my boy-my boy!
Tell me of him and no oth-er!
How's my boy-my boy?"


Down by the wharves there was great con-fu-sion. The
streets were blocked with drays la-den with heav-y ca-ses.
On the piers men were bus-y un-loading oth-er drays, and
long files of stal-wart fel-lows, each with his truck, seized

li --

on the bales and bar-rels as fast as un-load-ed, and hur-ried
them up the gang-planks of the steam-ers that were
moored a-long-side. When you looked to-ward the bay
the masts of the ves-sels seemed like a for-est, so thick-ly
were the ships stowed to-geth-er.
In-to the midst of this con-fu-sion there came all at once
a car-riage driv-en rap-id-ly.


It made its way down a pier at the end of which a large
steam-er was moored. A great bell was clang-ing, and
just as they drew up to the gang-plank it stopped. "Cast
off a-stern," they heard a gruff voice call out.
"Hur-ry, chil-dren," said a gen-tle-man, jump-ing out.
"We have not a mo-ment to lose. Run right on board.
Here, Jack, take this bag with you. Now then, mam-ma,"
he add-ed, as he helped a la-dy out, "we shall have to be
quick, for the men stand read-y to pull in the gang-plank."


was with-drawn. The gruff voice o-ver-head shouted
"Cast off for-ward!" then a bell rang, the great wheels
--_=-_ _ -~ --=__ __- _- --, _-_ ._._~-
....,-- --=-L-- -.- -_ .

be-gan to splash, and they slowly moved out in-to the


"That was a close shave," said Jack to his pa-pa.
"Three min-utes more and we should have been left.
Wouldn't that have been aw-ful ?"
His pa-pa laughed. I sup-pose you would not have
liked it at all," he said. But come, let us take all our
pack-a-ges and bags to our state-rooms, and then we can
go on the up-per deck and see the bay as we sail out."
Jack picked up a bag, and he and Flor-ence and their
mam-ma fol-lowed af-ter. It did not take them long to
stow a-way their lug-gage, and they were soon on deck
watch-ing the ships they passed.

Some were at an-chor. Oth-ers were just reach-ing port,
and their storm-beat-en sides showed what hard weath-er
they had had. Flor-ence thought the sail-ors would be
ver-y hap-py to be on dry land once more.
Their own good craft went stead-i-ly on, and soon was.
at the har-bor mouth and had passed the light-house at its.
extreme end, and was out at sea. It was much rough-er now,


and soon Flor-ence and her mam-ma said that they would
go to their room and go to bed. Jack did not at all like
the pitch-ing of the ves-sel, but it would nev-er do for him
to ac-knowl-edge it, so he said noth-ing. But all the same
he was very glad when at nine o'-clock his pa-pa ,said that
they too had bet-ter turn in.

The next thing he knew was when he o-pened his eyes
the next morn-ing. The sun was shin-ing bright-ly, and
there was no more of that hor-rid pitch-ing. His pa-pa
was near-ly dressed and said:
Well, my boy, we're near-ly at ourjour-ney's end. We
shall be at the land-ing in half an hour. I shall be out of
your way in a few mo-ments, and then you can get up."
Jack sat up on his berth and looked out. They were in
a large bay with nu-mer-ous vil-lag-es a-round its shores.
A great man-y peo-ple from the cit-y came to them to
spend the sum-mer, and there were boys and girls there
with-out num-ber.


Jack saw three of them in a boat a-lone. They seemed
ver-y small to be out by them-selves, he thought, but the
next moment he saw that a large boat with two or three
men was close at hand in case any thing should hap-pen.

An hour la-ter the chil-dren were in their own cot-tage,
and in ten min-utes Jack had hunt-ed up his old friend
Hal, who lived next door, and the boys were deep in plans
of what they should do dur-ing the sum-mer. Hal had a
sis-ter Ma-bel, who was as great a friend of Flor-ence's as
Jack was of his own.


-." --- -

Now be-gan three months of hap-pi-ness. The cot-tage
where the chil-dren lived was close by the shore, and in
front of it was a beau-ti-ful sand-y beach. Here they
played by the hour. Some-times they built great for-
tress-es in the sand, with ram-parts and a moat about it,
and then the tide would come and fill the moat and its.
waves would bat-ter down the walls and lev-el all smooth.
Some-times they took off their shoes and stock-ings and
wad-ed in the cool wa-ter, and once Jack, who had left his
on the beach while he played a-bout, for-got that the tide
was com-ing in, and was just in time to catch his two shoes,
which were jaun-ti-ly sail-ing out to sea. Then they took
a bath in the surf near-ly ev-e-ry day, and when the wa-ter
was not ver-y rough they had swim-ming les-sons from an
old fish-er-man. Old Ben was a great friend of all the
chil-dren, and they liked to go to his house, which was full
of strange shells and oth-er tro-phies of the sea.


One morn-ing when their pa-pas came back from a vis-it
to town they brought Flor-ence and Ma-bel each a boat.
The boats had two masts each, and were rigged with sails,
and when they were put in-to the wa-ter and the helm
lashed fast would lay a very straight course. The girls
us-u-al-ly had a long, light string made fast to them, but
one day they heard a friend call-ing them, and turn-ing
a-round to see what was want-ed, dropped their strings.
The boats made off with all speed, and when their mis-
tress-es turned a-bout were in deep wa-ter far be-yond their
reach. If it had not been for old Ben, who jumped in-to
his row boat and went in pur-suit, I fear they would have
nev-er seen them a-gain.
You may im-ag-ine that all these young folk were sor-ry
e-nough when with the au-tumn came the time when they
should have to go back to school. They did not like it at
all, but there was no help for them.

------ -. .



"CAW, caw, caw," said a voice close to me. I looked
out of my win-dow and saw -just what you see in the
pic-ture-a large old tree full of nests, while great
birds were fly-ing a-bout in the branch-es. Glos-sy black
fel-lows they were: so I knew they must be rooks,
though I had nev-er seen one be-fore. I was stay-ing
at a friend's house in Eng-land; and my room was so
high a-bove the ground that I could see them plain-ly.
Bus-y e-nough they were. It was just the time of the
year when they build their nests; and ev-e-ry one was.
hard at work. First one, then an-oth-er, would come with
a great twig in his beak, which he would work in-to the
fast grow-ing nest; and then a-way he would go for a
fresh sup-ply. I used to watch them by the hour; and
one day, when I was ill and could not leave my room I
saw some-thing ver-y strange, which I will tell you.
An old pair of rooks had built their nest and had, I
sup-pose, gone off for a day's pleas-ure be-fore set-tling
down to the work of rais-ing a young brood. Now, on a
tree close at hand were a coup-le of young birds who
had i-dled a-way their time, and had their home not more
than half done. No soon-er had the old birds gone than
this oth-er pair came o-ver to their nest and began to
steal the twigs of which it was built. So hard did they
work that by night their own was done;' but they left the
one from which they had stol-en in a sor-ry plight.



-"li " "'':I

I, -.-
4 k,,, , ,,

4- -%' N"1
IA r.0

5 iT7

iI IT1'11 X v '

Zrs .


A-bout sun-set the two old birds came home af-ter
their hol-i-day. When they saw how their nest had
been treat-ed, they sat on the tree and caw-cawed till
the whole col-o-ny of rooks came a-bout them, and sat
a-round to lis-ten to the sto-ry of their wrongs. All at
once the birds rose up, and, fly-ing to the tree where
the nest was, fell up-on it with their beaks and tore it
to pie-ces. Then they all went qui-et-ly to sleep for
the night.
Rooks al-ways like to live near hous-es, and grow to
be ver-y tame. I of-ten saw them in the fields, where
they would fol-low close be-hind the plow, thrust-ing their
long beaks in-to the loose earth to drag out a fat grub,
which they would swal-low in a hur-ry.
They thrust their beaks in-to the ground in search of
worms so of-ten and so deep that they wear off all their
feath-ers up to their eyes. This gives them a ver-y wise
look; and they go a-bout like bald-head-ed old gen-tle-men.
If you are a la-zy lit-tle boy or girl, you would not like
them; for they are up and a-bout ver-y ear-ly in the
morn-ing; and no one can sleep when they hear their
"Caw, caw, caw."


HUR-RAH! school is o-ver at last. It end-ed two days
a-go, and al-rea-dy the chil-dren are back at the sea-shore.
"Two long months and no les-sons," said Jack; "is-n't it
splen-did. I'm go-ing in bath-ing; come on, Tom!"




-4-~- --
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HERE is a scene that the farm-er boy knows well. What
fun to go with the men when the wood is cut! Not a
sound can be heard but the sharp blows of the ax-es, and,
af-ter a lit-tle, the crash of some fall-ing tree. When he is
tired of watch-ing the chips fly, he wan-ders one side and

sets a trap, hop-ing that to-mor-row he may find a wild
rab-bit in it. Noon comes on soon, and he sits on a log
with the men and shares their meal. And when he is
tired of it all he mounts the load of wood and rides home
in tri-umph, and falls fast a-sleep be-fore the fire.



LA-ZY TOM they called him. And, in fact, if you had
seen him stretched out at length, or lean-ing up a-gainst
some old crate, half a-sleep, in the sun, you might have
thought him a la-zy fel-low. But the skip-per of "The
Sau-cy Sal-ly" knew that no man could haul in the fish
as fast as Tom; and that, when a gale was blow-ing, no
man was as stead-y at the helm: and so it was: that "The
Sau-cy Sal-ly" never went to the Banks with-out him.
The good boat was now on her way home, filled with
bar-rels of fish. All day she had been sail-ing slow-ly
but stead-i-ly on, un-til the skip-per said that soon he
thought they ought to see the white stee-ple of Riv-er-
mouth. La-zy Tom was curled up, half a-sleep, in the
sun, but now and then look-ing out sharp-ly to catch the
first glimpse of his moth-er's white cot-tage down by the
beach. All at once he raised him-self on his el-bow, and,
put-ting his hand o-ver his eyes, gazed a-way off a-cross
the wa-ter. Then he called a-toud, "Put her head two
pints to the star-board, Cap'en: there's a boat a-float, and
what looks like a child in it."
That morn-ing, lit-tle May, with her broth-ers and nurse,
had gone down to the beach from the very same cot-tage
where Tom's moth-er lived, and to which they had come
ev-e-ry sum-mer, to get brown and heart-y, af-ter the long


months in the cit-y. Rob and Jack were bus-y build-ing
hous-es in the sand, and nurse was talk-ing to a friend:
so May thought that she would climb in-to one of the
small boats that lay a-long the shore. When she was
once in, she thought what a nice crib it would make.
"I'll play that I am go-ing to take a nap," she said. But
she had no soon-er lain down than she be-gan to nod,
and in three min-utes was fast a-sleep. The sun was
warm, and May was ver-y tired; and so she did not hear
nurse call, as she ran here and there look-ing for her.
The old man who had charge of the boats went a-way
down the beach to help nurse in her search.
Then it was that the boat, which was not made fast,
took it in-to its wick-ed head that it would go to sea: so,
while all were look-ing for May, off it glid-ed, till it
reached a cur-rent that car-ried it far out on the o-cean.
It was three hours lat-er, at least, when May a-woke. At
first she thought that she was ly-ing in her crib at home,
and called out, "I are a-wake, nurse: come and dress me."
Then, as she looked a-bout, she saw that she was in a
strange place. Up she sprang, and looked a-round her:
noth-ing but wa-ter, wa-ter. Where was she? Then she
called; but there was no an-swer. She was so hun-gry!
Then she ran to the stern of the boat; but her mo-tions
made if rock so, that she was a-fraid it would up-set. So
she did what any lit-tle girl would have done: she sat
down, and.put her face in her lap, and cried and sobbed
for a long time.
All at once she heard a splash-ing noise, and she
looked up. There was a great boat, with sails flap-ping,
close to her; while a gruff but kind voice called, "Hey!
my heart-ie: this is a long way out at sea for so small a



sail-or." And a pair of great brown arms picked her up
ten-der-ly, and lift-ed her up to the deck.
"Why, it's our lit-tle May!" said Tom as soon as the
sail-or set her down. "Don't you know me, May!"
Poor lit-tle May was so glad to see him! She clung to
him, and begged him to take her to her mam-ma.
Two hours af-ter, "The Sau-cy Sally" was sail-ing a-long
the beach, close to the white cot-tage on her way to her
moor-ings. "Now, Tom," said the skip-per, "you stand
in the bow, and hold May up high; and you men all shout
when we sail by the house." Such a shout as went up!
Mam-ma rushed to the door; and there, still at sea, but
.safe and well, she saw lit-tle May held fast in Tom's arms,
and kiss-ing her hand to her.




RUSH-ING and swirl-ing, the lit-tle brook

An-swers the voice of the sum-mer rain,

Leaps to its feet from each moun-tain nook,

Wild with pas-sion and big with pain.

On as it rush-es its down-ward course

Hear it mut-ter in ac-cents hoarse:--

Ho! rough banks, that ob-struct my flight,

Off, or be should-ered out of my way.

Ho! i-die peb-bles, get ye all hence,

Out of my path, 'tis no time for play."

Short is its rage as the sum-mer show-er,

Soon it is sing-ing a qui-et lay,

Stop-ping to play with each bend-ing flow-er,

Gurgl-ing o-ver each sto-ny way.

List-en, and hear the soft re-frain

Sung o'er the shal-lows a-gain and a-gain:-

Hey, drows-y blos-soms that o'er me swing,

Nod-ding your heads in the noon-tide heat,

Blink-ing your eyes while my song I sing,

Fold up your pet-als in slum-ber sweet."


On it rip-ples o'er lev-els of sand,
Here an ed-dy, and there a pool,
Mir-ror-ing fa-ces of cows, that stand
Up to their knees in its wa-ters cool,
Till, through a tan-gle of bush and brake,
End-ing its course in some plac-id lake.
Hey! lil-y pads that I flow a-mong
Spread-ing your leaves to the sun's strong heat,
Ris-ing and fall-ing each rip-pie up-on,
Drink of my wa-ters so cool and sweet."


HERE is a Ger-man pic-ture. Gretch-en and Ru-dolph
are on their way to school. As they pass their neigh-
bor's house they say good morn-ing to Hans. But why
does the young rogue stand so close to the side of the
house. A-ha! he has a snow-ball in his hand, he means
mis-chief, and see! his cous-in Franz is com-ing a-round
the cor-ner, where he has hid-den him-self, and he too,
is mak-ing a snow-ball. Gretch-en looks ve-ry de-mure,
but I fan-cy she has a shrewd i-de-a of what they are
a-bout, and that she and Ru-dolph will soon take to their
heels down the road, and get out of reach be-fore the boys
can hit them.
Have a care, Hans, for Gretch-en may not be so read-y
to show you how to do your sums if you are rude to her.


...;M M

. .




IN one of the sun-ny Rhine ham-lets, a-bout ten years
a-go, there lived two young men, Fritz and Hans. They
were vine dress-ers, and each owned a lit-tle plot of ground
on the hill-side, where the sun came warm-ly down, turn-
ing the great bunch-es of grapes in-to pur-ple clus-ters in
the early days of au-tumn. They had been firm friends
from boy-hood, and now that they were men, it was not
like-ly their friend-ship would grow less, for Hans had
asked Li-sa, Fritz's sis-ter, to be his wife. The com-ing
spring they were to have been mar-ried, when all at once
war broke out. The two young men were or-dered to join
a reg-i-ment of cav-al-ry that was form-ing in their dis-trict,
and spring found them, in-stead of at the wed-ding, in
camp and ex-posed to all the dan-gers of war.
Side by side they rode through man-y a bat-tie, and not
a wound thus far had ei-ther had. But this was not al-
ways to be.
One day they were re-turn-ing to camp from some scout-
ing ser-vice. Their way lay through a thick wood, when
all at once the crack of a doz-en ri-fles was heard, and a
band of the en-e-my were seen close at hand in pur-suit.
Hans and his horse went down un-der the fire, and Fritz's
first glance told him that the horse would nev-er rise a-gain,
and that his friend was bad-ly wound-ed. The foe was
close at hand, but he did not hes-i-tate a mo-ment. He
leaped down, and rais-ing his wound-ed com-rade, placed
him on his own horse, and'urged him for-ward. Their
pro-gress was slow, for Hans was ver-y faint, and could
hard-ly sit on his sad-die, but Fritz was so sure a shot, that


the foe did not dare to come near, and their balls missed
him. And so at last they reached the camp.
Hans was sent home, and, though his wound was se-ri-
ous, he grew well fast un-der Li-sa's care. Just as he was

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a-ble to go back to his reg-i-ment, peace was de-clared, and
Fritz came home. He had a cor-po-ral's stripes on his
arm, for his brave deed had be-come known.
And then the long de-ferred wed-ding came off at last.



Two hun-dred years a-go there lived a lit-tle girl named
Sa-rah Row-land-son. She had no such pleas-ant home
as most of the lit-tle girls who read this; for in those days
there were no great cit-ies, and no pret-ty vil-la-ges where
the white hous-es peep out from be-hind green ap-ple-
trees. Here and there, in the midst of the great for-
ests that spread o-ver all the land, there was a cleared
space; and for-ty or fif-ty cab-ins would be found built
close to-geth-er, so as to give help to one an-oth-er should
the dread-ed In-di-ans come upon them.
It was in such a place as this that Sa-rah lived. Her
father was min-is-ter, and preached to the har-dy men
and wo-men who were try-ing to make a home in this
new land; and here his lit-tle daugh-ter had been born,
and had lived till she was six years old.
But now a great trou-ble was at hand. The In-di-ans
were on the war-path; and all knew that, if they should
at-tack the place, noth-ing could save it. So Sa-rah's fa-
ther was sent to Bos-ton to ask for help. But, a-las it
was too late. At sun-rise one day, the wild war-whoop
was" heard; and a thou-sand In-di-ans fell up-on the town.
Fast and thick came the fi-er-y ar-rows, and soon Mrs.
Row-land-son's house was in a blaze. Poor lit-tle Sa-rah
had been wound-ed; and, as her moth-er car-ried her in
her arms out of the burn-ing house, they were seized by
the In-di-ans and made pris-on-ers. A sad fate was be-



fore them. In the midst of their cap-tors, who rode on
the hors-es they had stol-en, Mrs. Row-land-son, with her
lit-tle girl in her arms, tramped o-ver the snow-y ground
day af-ter-day. The child was in a wild fe-ver from her
wound; and both were near-ly dead from hun-ger, since
for three days they had noth-ing but a lit-tle wa-ter. ,At
night the In-di-ans made a fire; and the poor cap-tives
lay down be-side it, to sleep on the cold snow, with no
blank-ets or cov-er o-ver them.
What would some of my read-ers, who are snug-ly
tucked up in a pleas-ant nurs-e-ry bed when they have
a cold, have done if theirs had been the fate of lit-tle
Sa-rah ?-no kind nurse to tell them sto-ries, or bring
them toys to play with, but on-ly a dread-ful pain, which
ev-e-ry step on-ward made worse; no cool drinks, or lit-tle
pleas-ant sur-pri-ses from pa-pa, but on-ly the cold snow
to lie on, and the drear-y for-est for miles a-round. The
poor child bore brave-ly up for six days; but then her
weak frame could stand no morel and in the night, in
her mam-ma's arms, and with her mam-ma's kiss on her
lips, she died. Her poor, trou-bled life was o-ver.
Sad and heav-y was the heart of the mo-ther as she
left her lit-tle daugh-ter and marched on with her cap-tors;
and man-y a time did she long for the sound of a voice
that she would nev-er hear a-gain. Two long months
she was car-ried here and there by the In-di-ans,-now
for days with-out food, and now near-ly per-ish-ing with
cold. At last she was ran-somed, and once more was
with her hus-band, and her long tri-als were at an end.



SHOCK of hair,
Bare feet,
At the cross-ing
Of the street.

Rag-ged trou-sers,
Coat all go-ing,
Strings for but-
Past all sewing.

Rag-ged hat
In his hands,
Smile on face,
Here he stands.

"Where's your
fa-ther ? "
Don't know."
"Moth-er dead?"
Long a-go."

Where's your home !' Please, your hon-or,
Have-n't any. Give me a pen-ny ?"



FLOS-SIE'S mam-ma want-ed her to go to Aunt Kates
house to take a note. The lit-tle girl was rock-ing her
dolls to sleep, and did not want to move; but she re-mem-
bered how of-ten mam-ma had giv-en up her pleas-ure to
a-muse her: so off went Flos-sie, her mind made up to be
as quick as she could, so that mam-ma should not have to
wait long for an an-swer.
As she was run-ning through the field, on her way back
from Aunt Kate's, she saw some one walk-ing be-fore her.
It was her grown-up sis-ter Net-tie.
"Why, Net-tie, what have you there?" said Flos-sie as
she ran up to her sis-ter. She was all out of breath from
such ex-er-cise.
"Look!" said Net-tie, bend-ing down to her. "I found
this poor lit-tle bird ly-ing ,on the ground. Its leg is
Oh, how dread-ful!" said Flos-sie. "But pa-pa will
mend it, you know; for he is a doc-tor."
So he did; and Net-tie and Flos-sie nursed the poor
lit-tle pa-tient till he grew quite strong and well. Then
they took him out to the ap-ple tree, and set him up-on
a bough. Bird-ie burst out in-to the sweet-est song you
ev-er heard, which meant, "Thank you for all your kind-
ness to me. Oh, I am so hap-py to be out in the bright
sun-shine a-gain! Good-bye!" and off he flew, up, up,
up, till he was quite out of sight.
"Good-bye!" said Flos-sie.



MAG-GIE SMITH'S fa-ther made up his mind that he
would go to the Far West to live. So he bought six
hors-es and two carts, and off they start-ed a-cross the
prai-rie. When e-ven-ing came, they stopped in some
pleas-ant place. Mr. Smith took the hors-es out of the

carts, and made them fast, so that they could get plen-ty
of grass, but could not stray a-way. Then he put up the
tent while Mag-gie and her moth-er made the fire and
cooked the sup-per. Af-ter they had eat-en it, Mr. Smith
would take his trust-y rifle and lie down on the grass
till mid-night, keep-ing a sharp look-out for In-di-ans.


At mid-night Mag-gie's big broth-er John would take his
place, and Mr. Smith would sleep till morn-ing.
At last, af-ter go-ing man-y hun-dred miles, they came
to a rv-er down which they would have to float for a
long dis-tance. Here was a small town; and Mr. Smith
sold his hors-es and bought two boats. On these they

put all their goods, and a-way they went. One day, in
go-ing down some rap-ids, one boat up-set; and Mr.
Smith and John were thrown in-to the wa-ter, and would
have been drowned if it had not been for some men on
shore who came to their help. At last they reached the
spot where they were to live; and ver-y glad Mag-gie and
her moth-er were to have their jour-ney come to an end.




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