Citation
Play days

Material Information

Title:
Play days
Creator:
Cassell & Company ( Publisher )
W.L. Mershon & Co ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
New York ;
London ;
Paris ;
Publisher:
Cassell & Company
Manufacturer:
W. L. Mershon & Co
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
162, [2] p. : ill. ; 24 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1888 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1888 ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1888 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1888
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
England -- London
France -- Paris
Australia -- Melbourne
United States -- New Jersey -- Rahway
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Publisher's advertisements precede and follow text and on endpapers.
General Note:
Contains prose and verse.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
fully illustrated.

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 (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026649575 ( ALEPH )
ALG4838 ( NOTIS )
70260863 ( OCLC )

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: al) Cassel Be Company’ Limired, 4A
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POLLY IU StRALED

CASSELL .& COMPANY, Limited

NEW YORK, LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE



COPYRIGHT,
1888,
By 0. M. DUNHAM.

AL Rights Reserved.

Press W. L. Mershon & Co,
Rahway, N. J.



A SWEET SURPRISE.

z ae would be Grandmother’s birthday.

Papa and mamma, and the uncles and aunts, and



the Peabody cousins, whose papa was rich and
gave them plenty of pocket money, all had beau-
tiful birthday gifts to present; but the Lane girls,
and Polly and Peggy and Tom Stirling, who were
‘visiting them, had nothing to give.

“Tt is such a shame!” said Polly. “We love
Grandmamma just as much as Dennis and Susie

E- aie Peabody do, but she won’t believe it when they
bring their pretty things to her, and we just come empty-handed.”

“ Grandmamma is not like that,” said Milly Lane; “she doesn’t think
people love her just because they give her things. But—I have an idea.”

Now Milly’s ideas were almost always good ones, so the other chil-
dren gathered eagerly around her, to hear what this one might be. And
when they had heard it, they declared that it was capital, exactly the
thing, and voted that they would carry it out.

So the next morning they got up very early—almost with the sun, but
not quite, since he had taken to particularly early rising these summer
days—and dressing very quickly, they slipped down stairs, and out of
the front door, into the garden.

In the great garden each of the girls had her own border, and these

were now full of the brightest and sweetest flowers. They seemed to

7



A SWEET SURPRISE.

have just waked up like the children, and were sparkling with diamond
dewdrops. ‘It is almost a pity to pick them,” said city-bred Polly
Stirling. .

. But as this was just what they had risen so early to do, no one agreed
with Polly, and in a.very short time the baskets which they had brought
_with them were full of roses, heliotrope, pansies, verbenas, sweet-peas,

mignonette—everything delicious that can be found in a country garden.

When they went over to Grandmamma’s house, everything was still;
only the front door stood open, and Hannah was brushing out the hall.
In crept the children, and very quietly they arranged their treasures,
filling all the vases, and the pretty dishes that Hannah brought them
from the cupboard. .

Then, as they heard movements upstairs, and a slow soft step in the
upper hall, they hid themselves in any hiding-place they could find, in
the corners, behind the curtains, behind the door, and waited for Grand-
mamma to come.

In a moment she was there, standing inthe doorway, so sweet and
beautiful with the soft puffs of white hair about her dear old face, and
exclaiming, “ Oh, how charming! Who are the fairies who have done this
lovely thing?”

Then out from their hiding-places sprang the children, crying, ‘‘“A
happy birthday, dear, dear Grandmamma; a happy birthday!” and kiss-
ing her again and again.

And none of the fine presents which she received that day pleased
Grandmamma more than the sweet surprise that her little people had

risen so early to prepare for her.

8











































































































































































































































































































































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A GOOD NAME.

—

E came near having a dreadful time the
other day at Lorry Lane’s, and the only reason
we didn’t was that Amy Storrs has such a good
name. I mean the kind of good name that it
tells about in the Bible, where it says that it is
better than rubies.

You see we were playing blindman’s buff,



and Amy was blinded. She was running about,
trying to oech us, and all of a sudden she ran up to Lorry and caught
him by the arms. Lorry stood still and hardly breathed, but Amy said
right off, “ Lorry! it’s Lorry!”

“ You peeked /” said Lorry, out rudely just like that. It sounded almost
as if he had struck her, and we were all quite shocked, for : you know it is
a dreadful cheating thing to peek.

As for Amy, she grew very red, and she pulled the handkerchief off
her eyes, and said, “ Why, Lorry, I never did; I wouldn’t do such a
thing!”

But Lorry said, ‘Oh, it is all very well for you to say you wouldn't,
but if you didn’t, how did you know me so quick, without moving your
hands?” .

“T smelled the jockey-club,” said Amy; and then we all laughed, for

Lorry is such a dandy, and always puts scent on his handkerchief.
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A GOOD NAME,

But he was very mad because we laughed, and he said, “I know you
peeked!”

Then Amy looked at us, and there were tears in her eyes. ‘‘ Girls,”
she said, “do you think that I would do such a mean thing?”

“No, indeed,” said Susy Brooke ; “no, indeed, we don’t. Why, Lorry,
she never will so much as open her book after the recitation bell has
rung.”

“And she won't listen when I want to prompt her in class,” said
naughty, good-natured Patty Scott; ‘“she’d rather miss first.”

«And she tells on herself whenever she does wrong,” said some one
else. .

« And she always gives the right report.”

« And is just as true as steel,” said Lorry’s cousin May ; “and as brave
as a lion, for all she’s such a gentle little thing. Why, Lorry, you must
remember how she got up before all the whole school and told how she
spilled the ink, when nobody need have known.”

I think Lorry began to be a little ashamed, because, aithough he never
tells lies, he isn’t always as particular about things as Amy is. And
pretty soon he said (and we all thought it was rather nice in him, because
boys do not like to beg people’s pardon): ‘Well, Amy, I guess you're
right, and I hope you'll not mind what [ said.”

« And you will believe me?” asked Amy, anxiously.

“T don’t see how I can help it when you’ve got such a good name,”
said Lorry ; and so everything was all right again.

And when I went home I looked up that text in the Bible, and made

up my mind to try and see if I too could not have a good name.
{2



LILY’S SECRET.



and she came into the dining-room where her mother and father and
aunts and uncles were sitting, and said to her little brother—

“Harry, we must try and help, or everything will be late for Christmas
Day.”

“What can we do?” inquired Harry, who was a fat little boy, and
never liked to be busy, except when he was playing. “The pudding’s
made, so it will be all right!”

“Qh, Harry, there are lots of other things besides pudding!” said
Lily, trying to look as big as her own mamma; “and I have something
to do in the drawing-room which is guzte a secret, so you must not come.”

If Lily had not said it was a secret, Harry would have sat where he
was, contented to eat his orange and watch the big people; but now he
thought he must find out what Lily was about.

So he crept along the passage, and saw Julia, the housemaid, carry a
wreath of holly and evergreens into the drawing-room, She did not
shut the door after her as Lily had done, so Harry was able to slip in

without being seen.
» 4¥3



LILY’S SECRET.

a

“Won't it be lovely, Miss Lily?” said Julia; “now you step up on
the chair, and I’ll hand you the wreath to fix up.”
“Oh, thank you, Julia! I do like reaching to the lamps so much, and

”

Harry won’t know



But just then a shadow on the wall caught Lily’s eye, and darting
round she saw her little brother watching her.

“You ave unfair, Harry!” she cried, “when I told you it was my
secret!” .

“Well, but, I hadn’t got another secret for myself—and you always
give me half of everything—won’t you share this too?” said Harry,
looking very guilty.

Lily loved her brother dearly, so she gave him a kiss and forgave him;
and laughed when she told her mother that he had begged for halfa
secret |

And the two children hung up their stockings that night, and got up
very early next day to wish each other a “ Merry Christmas ;” and their
papa and mamma and uncles and aunts had put so many presents in the
stockings that they looked even fatter than when the little legs were in
them.



asf RASSHOPPER, grasshopper, hopping so high,
Ey Pray, are you trying to hop to the sky?” -



“No, little maiden, I can’t hop so far—

I only just want to peep at a star.”

14



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A VERY QUEER DOCTOR.

UR poor dollies!” said Trudy,

‘“ Sea-air doesn’t agree with them,” said
Emily. ‘‘Here’s my dear Marie has lost her
leg since she came down; and your Louisa’s
eye is gone; and look at her complexion!”

Trudy and Emily were spending the sum-
‘mer at the Beach with their mamma. They

had left the city, very forlorn, white-faced little



maids, with plenty of malaria in their systems ;
they were now plump, rosy-cheeked girls, and the malaria was scattered
to the salt winds. .

But the dolls had not been so fortunate. Whether or not the sea-air
might have agreed with them if they had been left alone, I cannot say ;
but the heavy fogs and a mischievous boy and a frisky little dog had all
played with them, and they were looking very much the worse for a sum-
mer at the seaside.

Trudy and Emily were lamenting over their darlings. when Skipper
Jack came by. .

“O Skipper,” cried Trudy, “just look at our children! They were
such beauties when they came, and now they are nothing but wrecks.”

The skipper looked at the dolls and laughed. “They must go to the
doctor,” he said. ‘‘Come behind the old boat, and I'll introduce you to

a prime one.”
16.















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A VERY QUEER DOCTOR.

So Trudy and Emily and Marie and Louisa went with Skipper Jack to
the old boat, and there they saw a bench, and a coil of rope, and a paint-
pot or two, and some brushes, but “Where is the doctor?” asked Trudy
and Emily.

“At your sarvice, ma’am,” said Skipper Jack, seating himself on the
bench, and taking Louisa from her little mamma. “So you've brought
this fine young lady to be cured. Ahem! gen’al debility, causin’ weak
eyes and loss of good looks ; but we'll soon fix that.” And the skipper —
dipped one of his brushes in a paint-pot, and gave Louisa a pair of very
brilliant red cheeks. Then with paint from another pot he touched up
her eyes and eyebrows, and gave her back to Trudy, looking very fresh
and fine.

How clever Skipper Jack was! He took his big knife from one pocket
and a bit of white wood from another, and made a really beautiful new
leg for Marie, which he fastened on with some tiny pegs. And then,
seeing that Louisa had no left arm to speak of, he made one for her, with
a dear little hand, that filled Trudy and Emily with wonder and admiration.

“There, the young ladies are as good as new,” he said at last; “and
there’s somebody’s tea-bell a-ringing.”

“A great deal better than new,” cried Emily and Trudy. “O thank
you, Skipper Jack—thank you very much.”

«And we shall keep them always to remember you by,” said Trudy.

‘“Yes, and when we go back to the city we shall show them to all our
friends, and tell them what a clever doll doctor there is at seaside.” said
Emily. | -

“A pretty queer doctor!” said Skipper Jack.
18



THE WHISTLE.

#7” HAT is my master doing?” thought Trim,

As he watched him with eager eyes ;



A hole he makes here, and a hole he makes there,

As he snips it to just the right size.

At length it is finished; ’tis every way true,
He measures it over with care ;

To his mouth then he puts it and whistles so loud,
That it sure might be heard anywhere.

Such a queer little pipe to send forth such a sound!

Trim, astonished, continues to stare.

“] shall hear it,” thinks Trim, “ wheresoe’er I may be,
It will ring out over the plain.
When I’m after a hare in the Squire’s shady woods ...
It will make me come back again :
And when we are bringing the sheep to the fold

It will play out a lively strain.”

And Trim he looked up, and his master looked down,

“Well, Trim, my good fellow,” said he,
19



THE WHISTLE.

“ Do you like my new whistle? You'll soon learn its tune,

And hear it where’er you may be,

And no matter how far, back you'll come at its call,

For you're always obedient to me.

« Without you, old dog, I should often be dull,
For I’ve no one else with me to play,

And we've had merry times in the fields and the lanes,
On many a sunshiny day,

But you're apt, Master Trim, as you very well know,

‘Mongst the hares and the pheasants to stray.

* And as I don’t want my good Trim to be shot
By the keepers upon the look-out
For trespassing dogs, why this whistle I’ve made,
That you'll hear when you can’t hear me shout,

And whenever I blow it, then, Trim, you may know

There is certainly danger about.”





















































PUT YOURSELF IN HER PLACE,

AYBE you have sometimes played. “ Put
Yourself in Her Place.” Betty. Travers
used to play it very often ; poor lame Betty,
who had nothing to make the world bright
for her.

But although Betty was lame and poor
and sometimes lonely, she was a cheerful

and contented child. She never fretted





over her lot, and when she played “ Put



Yourself in Her Place,” there was no envy
in her heart. She enjoyed pretending, as she walked slowly along with
fer crutch, that she was one of the fine ladies in the carriages that rolled
by, or the rosy girl in the velvet jacket, going into the shop with her
mamma, or one of the merry group playing tennis on the lawn. She
entered into their pleasure, and made it her own, but was not unhappy
when she had to become lame Betty again and go home. |

But one wonderful day the play was to become real for a whole lovely
hour, whose memory would stay with her all her life.
She was walking up the village street, when she heard happy voices,

and saw, just within an iron gate, a merry party at tea. They were sit
22









































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PUT YOURSELF IN HER PLACE,

ting around a little table, and Betty stole close to the gate to look at
them. ‘“T'll play Iam that one!” she said.

She was half hidden by the shrubbery as she stood there, but sud-
denly a pair of bright eyes spied her and her crutch. It was a little boy,
who had once known what it was to be sick and lame himself. And
seeing Betty, he played at her own game, and put himself in her place.

“© Sister Lou,” he whispered; “there’s a poor girl out there, and
she’s lame, and she’s white, and oh! may I bring her in to have some
berries?”

Sister Lou turned and looked, and whispered yes, to her little brother.
So he ran out, and stood beside Betty before she knew that she had been
seen.

“Come in, and have some berries,” he said. “Sister Lou says so.
I’ve been lame myself, and I know how it feels. Come in with me.”

Betty was quite bewildered, and all the more when pretty Sister Lou
came to the gate and led her in. The little brother gave her his own
chair. Sister Lou poured out a great glass of rich milk for her. Another
sister heaped berries on her plate, and gave her bread and meat. She
was a little frightened, but very happy all the same; and when at last
the sun began to sink behind the trees, and the little brother piled her
hands with roses, and Sister Lou spoke a few sweet words to her as she
bade her good-bye, Betty's heart was full of joy.

There are so many poor and sick and sorry children, dear little ones ;,

cannot you sometimes put yourselves in their place?

24.



SYMPATHY.

SEYSIES, clasp her fondly, child, and kiss

Her gentle lips and tearful eyes ;



Nothing can charm away like this
The sorrow that within them lies.
How many a grief has been beguiled

By kisses from a loving child.

Strange to the little orphan’s heart
The formal ways, the measured rule,
And often as she sits apart
Her thoughts fly to the country school ;
Voices that from the playground rise

E’en now bring tender memories.

The old home-garden where she played,
The pigeons flying to her call,
The arbor by the ash-tree made,
How plainly can she see it all!
The orchard where, in childish glee,

She chased her sister merrily.
25



SYMPATHY.—TWO SAYINGS.

And then a shadow over all,
Voices all hushed, a darkened room,
A grave close by the chancel wall,
A loved name written on a tomb;
Widow and children say “ Farewell!”

And strangers in the rectory dwell.

No wonder that the tear-drops start,
Yet time shall soften sorrow’s sting
Sunshine shall cheer the poor sad heart,
And flowers shall bloom and birds shall sing,
And a child’s love its aid shall lend
The kisses of a little friend.



TWO SAYINGS.

AAVIRIARS have thorns,” as every one must know,



| Yet blackberries on bramble-bushes grow!
Small wonder then Jack hurts his hand and cries,

While Jill looks on with sympathizing eyes. —

“Tf you but kiss the place ‘twill make it well :”
Jill knows the saying, so she tries the spell.
Jack suffers it to be, and, strange to say,

The tears and pain alike soon pass away.
26





















































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NELLIE’S PRESENT.





FS AMMA is not well, and I’m all alone, and it's such a disa-
greeable day!” said little Nellie.

She had been creeping so very softly about the house ever
EFARE since she got up, for her mother was ill. Nurse and the other
servants were busy, and they seemed not so well able to get
on with their work now that the kind mistress of the house was unwell;
and as to Nellie herself, she looked and felt very miserable indeed. Her
doll Jay neglected, with its poor little nose buried on a sofa-cushion. It
was one of those very funny little Japanese dolls, which always look so
like real little babies; and it had the most forlorn way of throwing out
arms and legs, really looking as sad as Nellie herself.

How hot it was! no air came in at the dining-room window, where
Nellie was standing, and the pavement outside was baking in the sun.
And the little girl felt that no one could be so unhappy as she was.

And then when she was feeling very sorry for herself, she began to
think how much worse it was for her poor mamma, who was lying ill this
hot day, and wondered if she could do anything to make her feel better ;
and while she was thinking this her little blue eyes caught sight of what
made them look quite bright and happy. This was what you see in the
picture—a man holding three pots of flowers for sale, and beside him

walking a patient donkey, which was dragging a cart full of plants.
28



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NELLIE’S PRESENT.

«Oh, nurse, come and see this beautiful fuchsia!” called Nellie, as she
heard nurse’s footstep.

“Only a shilling, miss!” said the man, holding the flower towards her
over the area railings.

“T would like it for mamma,” said Nellie, earnestly ; “but I’ve only got
ninepence.””

Nurse did what Nellie begged her, and opened the hall door, and there
the man displayed all his best flowers ; some of these were ninepence, but
Nellie still looked at the fuchsia.

“Well, take it at ninepence, miss!” said the man; and then, with
tosy cheeks, Nellie received her treasure, and nurse went up with her to
her mother’s room.

Mamma smiled, and thanked her little girl with a kiss for her kind
thought of bringing her what made her room look so pleasant and
cheerful.

Nellie was allowed to sit a little while in the room, and when the doc-
tor came he admired her fuchsia, and asked if she might go back with
him in his carriage and spend the day with his little girl. This great treat
was allowed, and when Nellie went to bed that evening she could not
believe that it was only a few hours since she had been saying it was

“such a disagreeable day.”



30

Pa



A STRANGER GUEST.

i! ; \ HEN the Christmas Tree was all dressed, and
aN wee the last gift hung upon it, Uncle Ned came out





= folding-doors together behind him. The chil-
@ ¥ oye dren were playing in the dining-room and the
, a fm hall, trying to be patient, and to forget there ~

AC] js was yet a whole hour to wait before the candles
could be lighted. |
s «“ Come here, little people,” said Uncle Ned;
“come one and all; I have something to say to you.”

So all the boys and girls, little and big, came running into the parlor,
and clustered about Uncle Ned’s chair. Uncle Ned picked up Baby and
Bobby, and set one on either knee. ‘I have something to ask of you,
dear children,” he said.

“A great many years ago—some of you know how many—a little
Child came into the world. He was a little stranger Child ; there was no
place ready to receive Him, only a manger in a poor stable. Can yov
think who the stranger was?”

“T know,” said Bobby very softly ; and Lucy said, “It was the Lorp.”

_ © Yes,” said Uncle Ned, “ it was the Lorp Jesus who came to earth,
31



A STRANGER GUEST.

and found no place, no welcome from the world. And ever since, because
He came, His Birthday has been a glad and happy day, for His people
have given Him a place and welcome in their loving hearts.

“You are going to have a beautiful time presently ; would you not
like to do something for Him who gives you all your happiness and
joy?”

“Oh, yes!” said the children.

“Do you: not think it would be nice to find a little child who isa
stranger this happy Christmas Day, and bring him in, and give him a
share in your pleasure, for the sake of the dear stranger child JEsus?
Some little child who has no bright home, no loving friends, for whom
no Christmas gifts have been made ready ?”

“Qh, yes!” said the children again. And Sandy said, “There’s a
boy down at the corner who doesn’t belong to anybody. He just works
for Farmer Gray. He’s been there a week, and he’s such a little chap!”

“Well, will you go and get him?” asked Uncle Ned.

So Sandy, and Dick with him, ran off to find the little stranger child ;
and soon came back bringing him, a pale, sad- faced boy, with big eyes
that were shining now with wonder and shy pleasure.

By the time the candles were lighted, Nurse had washed in, and
combed his pretty hair, and dressed him in an old suit of Dick’s, and
had sent him down to join the others. And the children made him SO
welcome, and took such pains to give him the best place, and to find gifts
for him on the tree, and to show him how glad they were to have him
with them, that the very happiest heart in the whole room was the heart

of the little stranger guest.
a2







COUSIN MARY’S PLAY.

UT it is such a very wet day, Cousin Mary. What shal/ we
Z) do?” said little Marjory, sadly.

Cousin Mary thought for a minute, and then said—

“Call Rex, and we will go to the picture gallery, and I
will start you for some good races from one end to the-

other.”



So Marjory ran away to find her little brother; and they both were
delighted at the thought of warming themselves by a good play—and a
good play is better than a fire, as you all know.

There was plenty of room on the big staircase for Cousin Mary to walk
with a child on each side; and indeed there would have been room for
more people besides.

Three races down the long gallery sent the children back warm and
glowing to their cousin, who was standing in front of a picture.

“Rex, come here! I am going to dress you like this picture of one of
your uncles. He lived a ong time ago; and I forget how many ‘greats’
I should have to say if I told you exactly. how he is related to you.”

“JT should like to be dressed like that. What a splendid hat and
feather!” :

“Yes,” cried Marjory, “and there’s one just like it in a box in the west
reom. I tried it on one day.”

“ You!” said Rex; “why, it’s a boy’s hat!”

34









COUSIN MARY’S PLAY.

“But, Cousin Mary,” said Marjory, who was fond of beginning with
“buts,” “won't you dress me up too?”

“Yes, I will; and when I have finished, you shall go and see mamma
and old nurse.”

Old boxes and chests were turned out, and such funny clothes were in
them, that had been worn by ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and
little babies, ever so many years before; and they were not a bit like
what people wear now, as you will see by the picture.

“ Now, Marjory, that little girl in the picture is your great great-
grandmother,” said Cousin Mary.

“ But, cousin, she’s much too little to be a grandmamma,” objected
Marjory ; “she’s quite as small as I.”

“ All grandmammas have to be little children first,” said Cousin Mary,
laughing. ‘Now, you both look just like the pictures ; and I hear papa’s
voice in the hall, Let us surprise him.”

So Marjory and Rex marched down together. And papa was so
astonished that he hardly knew them. Mamma laughed at the quaint
little figures ; and nurse said—

“T must find some cake for the little lord and lady that have come to
pay us a visit.”

This, you see, ended the play very nicely.







THE LIONESS AND THE TERRIER.

=i HIS is our Gyp. Doesn’t he look as if some one had
bi , just said, “Rats”?

At least, that is the way he cocks his ear when we
say “Rats,” but he doesn’t generally look as sleepy as

he does in his picture. He looks here as if he were



saying, “ Oh, it’s all very well for you to say ‘Rats,’ but I ’spect you're
fooling me. I'll just wait until I hear ’em scratching.”

We are very fond of dogs, papa and all of us children; and we have
six—each of us owns one. And then every dog story we hear or read
anywhere we always remember to tell each other. In that way, you see,
we get to know a great many, and some of them are very curious. Shall
I tell you the last I read ?

It is about a terrier, like Gyp, and so I like it; and anyway I should
think it very nice and interesting. |

There was a lioness in a show, and she was shut up in a cage, poor
thing! And one day she was taken sick.

Now there were a great many rats about the place, and when the
lioness was well, she rather liked to have them round, for it is very
monotonous for a wild beast to be shut up always, and the little things
amused her, running around.

But when she was sick, it was quite another thing, for then she had to
37



THE LIONESS AND THE TERRIER.

lie still, and the rats weren’t a bit afraid of her, but came right up and
nibbled her feet, and she wasn’t strong enough to shake them off, or get
rid of them.

So the keeper put a terrier in the cage. At first the lioness looked
very suspiciously at the little doggie; I suppose she thought it was only
something more come to annoy her.

But pretty soon a big rat came running across the cage, making for the
lioness’s toes. But before he could reach her, up jumped the terrier and
caught him by the back, and gave him just a gentle shake, and threw him
to the other end of the cage.

Pretty soon there came another, and the terrier treated it in just the
same way. By that time the lioness began to see what terriers were
made for, and you cannot think how grateful she was. She put her paw
gently on him, and drew him to her, and gave him just the tenderest pat,
as if to say, ‘ Thank you;” and when he grew sleepy, she made him sleep
beside her, and when he woke up, he went to work again to keep away
the rats.

The lioness was very sick. She did not live long, but as long as she
did live the terrier kept the rats away, and made her poor old life com-
fortable. And she did everything she could to show her gratitude, until
the very hour she died, when she turned her eyes the last thing toward

the terrier, as if to say good-bye.





iy
hee
te

i

Ae
i}
Gy

i
\\\





HUNTED DOWN.

N the distant homestead lights are shining ;

Welcome sweet awaits the sportsman

I

there ;

nT

Still he lingers on his way, repining,
For he has not found the wounded

hare.

And the timid creature, sorely stricken,

Wearied with long flight, lies down to
moan ;

Over her the drifts of storm-cloud thick-

en,



Wail of wind and helpless anguish blending,
And a leafless stalk for all her shield ;
Life like hers could have no sadder ending—

Life so glad in flowery wood and field!

Frisky friends, in safer haunts abiding,
For their playmate through long glades will peep,
Or, may be, will deem her snugly hiding
Where the beech-nuts lie in frosted heap.
40









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































HUNTED DOWN.—THE NEWS OF THE DAY.

Lit by moon-ray now, since clouds have parted,
On the ice her furry coat shows brown ;
From their elm the wakeful crows have darted,

And around the dying one swoop down.

In the homestead light, and warmth, and pleasure;
Only snow and horror where she lies!
Oh! the love which we yet scantly measure,

Surely will enfold her when she dies!

THE NEWS OF THE DAY.

SJL REE wise heads o’er a paper bend,



gi And each one tries to read the news == |
* Young Jack is staying with a friend,”

“Tom's father’s going for a cruise.”

So wag the little tongues, and we
Might think such gossip of the town
Scarce worthy print, did we not see

They read the paper upside down,

42



TOMMY’S DINNER.

T was Tommy’s dinner; and he was very glad that



at last it was out of the big pot and in his bowl,
ready to be eaten. At least, it would be ready as
soon as it got cool, but just now Tommy had to
. content himself with the nice smell; and with his
(i spoon in his hand he looked knowingly at his two

companions, who were quite as much pleased with
the smell as he was.

“We can’t have it yet, you see, Puss, so we must be patient. I must
eat the most, because it’s my dinner; but I'll try not to be hungry right
to the bottom of the bowl.”

This promise made Puss rub herself against her little master’s dinner-
table, and purr loudly; old Rover kept his eyes fixed on the steaming
bowl to see how Tommy would remember his promise; for being taller
than Puss, he had often had a chance of seeing basins cleared on that
little table, and this time he thought he would be ready to remind Tommy
if he saw any fear of being disappointed.

There was another watcher, too, but such a little one that the other
three never noticed it. This was the tabby kitten, which had just come
to the age when it thought meat smelt nice.

‘Dear me,” said Tommy, laughing, “how you do stare at me! and I
think I must stop now; so you just come to the door, and I'll tell how

this is to be divided.”
43



TOMMY’S DINNER.—THREE LITTLE SINGERS.

When Tommy got up, the dog and cat became very excited, and Rover
danced round while Puss rubbed his legs. Tommy threw his arm round
Rover’s neck, and was just raising Puss in his arms, when, crack! Start-
led heads all turned to find that Kitty had jumped on the table, tumbled
head and fore paws into the bowl, and then rolled with it to the floor,
where it broke, and the savory remains of Tommy’s dinner lay on the
clean stones!

With a spring anda growl Rover frightened the kitten from the spot,
and began licking up the spoil, without waiting to inquire how much
Tommy had meant for him; Puss, whose hunger was stronger than her
pride in her forward kitten, ran to get her share, and Rover was too old
a friend to quarrel with her—so they cleared the floor before Tommy’s
mother came in. Then the broken bowl was held up by Tommy, and his
mother scolded Rover and Puss, who looked to their master to explain
in English what they were only able to express by their eyes and tails.

“Jt was all the kitten’s fault, mother, and she doesn’t know any better ;
and, mother, couldn’t you spare a spoonful more for them all out of that
large pot? because, you see, the floor got some of this.”

And mother kissed the coaxing face, and then she served dinner for the

dog, the cat, and the kitten on a wooden plate.





oe

THREE LITTLE SINGERS.

HREE little maidens, so dainty and fair,

| Singing a song to the birds in the air.



Sing on, little maids, for indeed you sing well;
Yet the song of the birds you can never excel.
44



a
TH
On

iF
i
Hy
i
mK

i Ay
Hy i

ui i
een





































































































































































































































































A DOWNFALL. ‘



rx ae
"ae .
BOOKA, os under the wash-bench in the kitchen garden. It was rain-

g, and Gran’ther Wattles did not quite approve of the
iene for a shelter. “My good old father always

> taught us to go in when it rained,” he said.

ee And it isso much pleasanter to stay where one can see something
of the world,” said her vain sister, Browney.

By this Browney meant, “where the world can ‘see us,” for she was
very fond of admiration. She was proud of her feathers and of her gait,
and she could not bear to go into the quiet coop when it was not really
necessary. “If we. stay,” she thought, “the other fowls will be passing
this way, and I would like that silly little Miss Banty to see what a shine
I have to my feathers to-day.”

But she would not have said all this for the world; and if she had,
Gran’ther Wattles would have taken her down finely, I can assure you.
Gran'ther Wattles thought nobody had anything to be proud of who could
not crow, and he would have laughed well at Browney if he had known
she was vain of her feathers.

So they all stayed under the wash-bench, and looked out upon the
world,

It was raining very hard. The flowers in the borders were hanging
46



eS
SSS SS
Se

oe
aii ——
ce SSS ee

_ SSS
SSS
SS

———
— = ae

===













































































































































































































































































































































































































































A DOWNFALL.

their heads ; there were little pools in the walks, and little rivers running
down toward the gate. One old hen who had the rheumatism wished
‘she had gone into the coop before things got so wet; she said she did
not remember such a rain since she was young.

There was nothing to be seen on the road but the butcher’s cart driv-
ing slowly by. Gran’ther Wattles and his family did not care to see
the butcher’s cart; they always turned their backs upon it when it
passed.

Browney was beginning to think that she might as well have been in
the coop, when whom should she see making his way up the walk but
young Mr. Chanty Chanticleer, from a neighbor's yard.

“ How lucky,” she thought, “that Iam here! Mr. Chanticleer is quite
the gentleman ; old Gran’ther, and this pert Whitey, and all these stupid
hens would never know how to receive and entertain him. J will show
them how.”

So Browney looked over her shoulder to see that her feathers were
straight, and then stepped out from under the wash-bench in her most
elegant manner.

But we shall never know what impression she might have made on
Mr. Chanticleer, for, alas! at this moment the old water-butt suddenly
gave way, and a deluge of water came down on poor Browney’s back.
All her pretty mincing steps were spoiled, all her shining feathers were
ruffled, all her little vanities were put to the blush. I think if Browney
ever wishes to make a display again, she will take very great care not to

stand too near the old water-butt.
. 48



ALL IN A DREAM.

OU would not believe, would you, that
this little fellow, sleeping here so qui-
etly, could be Jack the Giant-Killer? Yet,
that is what Totty is, as he travels through
Dreamland, although old Trusty, watching
him so closely, never suspects it in the

least.



Mother has brought Totty with her to
the haya ie there is no one to leave him with at home, and has laid
him down on the sweet grass to take his morning nap. She has put the
umbrella over him, and bidden Trusty to “ watch,” and is raking away
with the other hay-makers, quite sure that her baby is safe. Little does
she dream of the wonderful things Totty is doing and seeing!

For Totty is in Dreamland, and there, you know, all sorts of strange
things happen that outside people know nothing about. He has planted
a bean beside his mother’s cottage, and is watching the great beanstalk
shoot up at the rate of about one hundred miles a minute.

He has long, golden curls, he thinks—because his memory is so small
that things get very much mixed in it; there are three bears near by, like
those Goldilocks knew, and Red-Riding-Hood’s grandmother is shaking
her stick at them to frighten them away.

And now Totty begins to climb the ladder that the beanstalk has made.
49



ALL IN A DREAM.

Up, up he goes, higher and higher. He wishes the neighbor’s little boys
could see him climb. .

By-and-by he reaches the top, and comes out on a great big hayfild,
where there are giants raking up the hay. His little heart begins to go
pit-a pat, but he tries to be brave, and goes on until he reaches the first
giant.

“Please, sir,” he says, “T am Jack the Giant-Killer;” and then it
seems to him that that was not just the right thing to say.

He is afraid the giant will be angry, and he is just going to run away,
when who should drive up but Cinderella with the fairy-godmother be-
side her!

The carriage stops, and Cinderella says, “Good-morning, little Totty ;
would you like to take a drive?” :

Totty thinks he would like it very much, and he is just going to step
into the big coach, when the clock strikes twelve, and behold! the coach,
and the fairy godmother, and the horses, and the coachman all vanish
away, and Cinderella stands beside him crying.

Then Totty throws his little arms around her,.and says, “Oh, don’t cry,
dear, dear Cinderella! I love you, if you are in rags.”

But Cinderella keeps on crying so very hard that Totty feels as if he
must cry too; and he is just going to begin when he feels something soft
upon his face, and opening his eyes, he sees Trusty trying to wake him
up, and his own mother standing near with his luncheon in her hand.
For the giants, and the beanstalk, and Cinderella have all been in a

dream.

50











































































































































































































































































































































LOTITYS: DOLL.

a LoTty had been busily thinking all din-
ner-time of what she should do with her
beautiful doll, the present of her grand-'
mamma.

Now perhaps you do not see much to




| think about, but Lotty believed in every

f=


eS
ene,

tee thing she played at with her doll being real.
” Sometimes dolly was to be good, and some-

| times (these were generally wet days, when



she herself was rather out of humour) dolly

4/| was to be very naughty, and to be punished



-as she deserved.



To-day Lotty decided that dolly should be ill, very ill; and so she re-
solved to treat her just as she had seen her mother treat little Willie when
he had been ill. Lotty did not need to paint her doll white, because
when she had once made up her mind that she was to be poorly, she was
able to believe that she was quite pale and ill-looking.

So in a quiet corner of the nursery she made up medicines of sugar
and water, which she shook well in small bottles, and gravely tasted be-
fore she gave a dose. Soon afterwards the other children came in, and
Lotty felt that the nursery was too noisy for her sick child ; so carefully

rolling a small blanket round dolly, she carried her away to an adjoining
92





















LOTTY’S DOLL.

room, where she seated herself by a large curtain just where the breeze
from the open window came gently in.

Willie ran out to play in the garden. He came beneath the window
several times. ‘ Do, Lotty, come and see my arrows. I can shoot them
right into the sky!”

At another time Lotty would have told Willie that this was not quite
true, but now she did not say a word. Again the little fellow called out—

“Flossie is calling us to play at ball in her garden ; leave that stupid
doll and have a good play.”

Stupid doll, indeed! Lotty looked fondly at her treasure, and felt very
sorry that any one should call such a poor sick child stupid. She won-
dered how Willie would have liked to be called names when he had
been ill.

Tea-time came, and mamma and nurse both called several times for
Lotty, but got no answer. At last, feeling vexed that the little girl did
not answer, they opened the door. What a grave, solemn face met them
as Lotty raised her little finger!

“Hush! dear mamma, please; she is having a beautiful sleep, and
when she wakes I'll get my tea.”

Mamma remembered so well how she had given orders that no one
should disturb er when she was nursing Willie, that she could not scold
the earnest little player ; and nurse said—

“ Dear little girl, she is just like her mother!”





THE PRETTY LADY.

OLLY and Edgar!” called mamma from
the window, and they threw down their
toys in the arbor where they were play-
ing, and ran a race up the garden walk
to see which would reach her first.

“Run up to nurse, dearies,” she said,
‘‘and ask her to smooth your hair, and
wash you, and put on your fresh aprons,

and then come down to me in the break-



fast-room.”

Up-stairs to the nursery went the children, and presently they came
down with clean faces and hands, and smooth hair, and fresh aprons, to
the breakfast-room where mamma was sitting, and with her such a pretty
lady. This lady was not pale and quiet like mamma, with a black dress,
and a white cap on her head; but she wore a beautiful pink dress with
worked flounces, and a white hat trimmed with soft white mull anda
curling feather, and her eyes were the brightest blue, and her cheeks
the softest pink, to match her dress, and her hair was all in little curls and
shone like gold. |

“ These are the children,” said mamma, when they came in; and Molly

and Edgar went up and put their hands into the stranger’s hands, while
25



THE PRETTY LADY.

she smiled at them, and said in the sweetest voice, “So these are my
little neighbors. I am very glad to see you, dears.”

Molly was shy after that, and as soon as the lady dropped her hands,
she stole behind her mother, and looked from behind her at the stranger.
But Edgar stood still at his mother’s side, looking straight into the lady’s
face.

“ Well, little man,” she said, “why do you look at me like that?”

“You are such a pretty lady,” said Edgar. But then, when mamma
and the pretty lady laughed, he felt quite ashamed, and turned and hid
his face in mamma’s dress, and she had to comfort him.

That was the first time Molly and Edgar saw this pretty lady; but a
very few weeks after that, they had grown to think that she belonged to
them almost as much as their own dear mamma, and to feel as though
they had known her all their lives.

She had come to live in the house next theirs, and very soon she’ had
a little gateway cut in the hedge between, and the children ran in and out
from one garden to the other, as though both were their own. Mornings,
before breakfast, they would run over there to give their pretty lady her
morning kiss, and every summer morning they would find her in her
garden among the flowers, and she would give them beautiful roses and
sweet peas and violets to put at mamma’s place at breakfast. She would
have picnics for them on the lawn, and take them to ride in her little
pony carriage; next to their own dear mamma the children loved her,
and very rich little children they were indeed, with such a mamma and

such a pretty lady.

56

ee











WHAT OLD DOBBIN THOUGHT OF IT.

ff ELL, this is certainly very odd! Here’s Master had me
| this ten months, and I've put my head in at this window
: every day since I came, and I haven’t seen anything like
this before.

“ Washing-day morning, too, and Mistress hasn’t even



put the clothes to soak; and what she and the children
are doing now is more than I can understand.

“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!’ I heard ’em calling this
morning. What's that, I’d like to know? And if Master didn’t bring a
tree into the house—he'll be bringing that great rock in front of the
blacksmith’s shop into my stall next !

“Just look now at Mistress and the children. See all those things
she’s hanging on that tree, and those red apples. I know something. bet-
ter to do with ¢hem, Mistress, I can tell you!

“It’s very queer; the children haven't half so much as usual to say to
me to-day. To be sure that was an uncommon good breakfast they gave
me, and Nelly did say ‘ Merry Christmas, old Dobbin!’ What zs Merry
Christmas, anyway ?

“Here comes Master, and what’s this he’s doing? Getting the pung
out at ¢hzs time! Why isn’t he at work, anyway? Going to harness
me up, is he? Well, I don’t mind that a bit. Sleighing’s good as can

be, anda fine bracing day. And look at Mistress and the children all
38





CAE 5 eg NF — t ey ~

SSL
0:



































5





WHAT OLD DOBBIN THOUGHT OF IT.

done up in their Sunday best! ‘Let’s give him an apple before we
start, says Franky. That’s right, my boy. Nothing better than an ap-
ple before a good run. ‘Let’s stick a sprig of holly behind his ears,’ says
Nelly. All right, Nelly, so long as it don’t scratch. ‘ Because it’s Christ-
mas, Franky and Nelly say together. They have sprigs of holly in
the front of their jackets, and Father has one on the lappet of his coat,
and Mother one where her shawl is pinned across.”

“No mistaking it’s Christmas,” says the father, as they get into the
old pung; and he touches Dobbin lightly with the whip, all the bells
jingling merrily.

The little sick girl in the big house across the way, who is lying in her

white bed and enjoying the pretty plant and the bird the Christmas

morning has brought to her, hears the bells and climbs up to the win- |

dow to see her neighbors as they drive away.

And as she looks she smiles. “ Why, even the horse keeps Christmas,”
she says, seeing the sprigs of holly behind his ears.

“ Well, whatever Christmas is,” Dobbin is thinking, “it must be a
good thing, anyway.”

And he does not change his mind, you may be sure, when he comes
home to a royal dinner, and later, looks through the window in the wall
again, and sees the little tree blazing with lights, and the father and
mother, and children all smiling round, and hears their merry voices, and
what he thinks the best of all, himself gets the biggest, and reddest, and

most delicious apple from off the Christmas-tree.

60





BEN’S TREASURE.

SCE
a

aeeiLL kinds of treasures the boats bring in when they come back



Zs from their long voyages, far away upon the seas. But the
4| very strangest and most wonderful treasure of all came home
= one day in Ben Blake’s boat, from the Newfoundland Banks.

The boats got in in a heavy rain, but every one was on the beach to
welcome them. Fathers and brothers had been too long from home not
to be met with greetings as soon as they came to land, in spite of wind
and weather; nor were the hardy islanders used to stay within doors for
every shower. |

So there they were on the beach, mothers and sisters and friends, and

as each boat came in, a shout of greeting went up from those on board
- and those on shore. .

Last of all came Ben Blake’s boat; and when it had been secured, and
Ben stepped to the long float, a host of hands were held out to him, for
Ben was a great favorite. But Ben’s arms were full, and he had no hand
to give in return. All the men and women pressed around to get a
glimpse of the bundle he carried, and there arose a great chorus of ques-
tions and exclamations when they discovered that it contained a baby;
a pretty little two-year-old child, that nestled down in Ben’s arms, and
smiled up in his face as if it were quite at home.

But Ben would answer no questions until he had taken his precious

‘treasure out of the rain, into a neighboring cottage, nor even then would
he speak until the baby was warm and dry, and had had a bowl of bread.

and milk set before it by the good housewife.
61



BEN’S TREASURE.

And then he told his story, the story of a wreck which he had wit-
nessed, but from which he could rescue nothing, until there came floating,
close to his boat, a spar, on which was lashed this little child. The baby was
sleeping, he said, and when he drew it into his boat, it opened its pretty
eyes, and smiled up in his face, as good and happy as they saw it now.

5o he had tended it, and cared for it, and watched over it, and now he
had brought it home to be taken care of always.

And because Ben had no home and wife of his own, but only a mother
who was too old and feeble to be burdened with the charge of the little
one, he said the island must adopt it, and all must help care for it.

Children were not few already in the island homes, but every one was
ready to make a place for this little stranger. Hearts were large, if
purses were light, among these simple folk, and there was plenty of room
in them for the pretty baby. And among all the little ones upon the
island, none were loved more dearly from this time, or tended more care-

fully, than the treasure Ben Blake brought from Newfoundland.











































































































FATHER’S RETURN.

HESE three little children live in a pleasant home,
and have a kind father and mother who love them
very dearly. Their house is cosy and comfortable, —
and there is a pretty garden about it, where Peter

and Dolly have each a flower-bed. Dolly and Peter



have plenty of playmates in the village school
where they are taught every day, and at home there is always little
Stephen, whg is the sweetest playmate of all.

You would think they would all be very happy, and so they would be
if it were not for one thing. Their father is a fisherman, and every year
he leaves them for the long season at the fishing-banks of Newfoundland.
They part with him early in the spring, and it is not until harvest-tim<
that they can look for his return.

So the winter months are the happiest of the year in William More-
ton’s home. Then the dear father is there, and every one, from the
mother to little Stephen, rejoices. He is so cheery and good, so heipiut
and strong ; Peter hopes that some day he may be like his father

The mother hopes so too, for she knows he could not take a oetter
model for honesty, and industry, and loving-kindness. But when Peter
says that he, too, will be a sailor like his father, then his mother says,
“No, oh no!” for she cannot bear to think that her boy should have to

meet all the dangers to which his father goes forth every spring.
64































































































































































































































































































































































































































K

‘ vi \\ \ ?
AL SEN
i x Ni |
| }
|

————























































































































































FATHER’S RETURN,

The children are so young that they often forget these dangers in their
work and their play, but when night comes and they stand beside their
mother to sing their evening hymn, their thoughts fly to the Newfound-
land Banks, and their song is a prayer from their very hearts for the

father there.
‘“ Guard the sailor tossing

On the dark blue sea,”

they sing, and think of father in his little boat.
Each year, while their father is gone, the children try to learn some-
thing new that may please him when he returns. When Peter was the

»

baby boy, his mother taught him to say “Papa” the first summer his
father was gone; and now this summer little Stephen has learned that
word and many another to surprise the father.

As for Peter, he is a great boy now, and he and Dolly have worked
hard in their gardens to make them bright and neat, and have been help-
ful to their mother, and have treasured in mother’s desk a pile of good
reports that they have brought home, week after week, from school.

They are watching every day for the boats to be in. At last word
comes that they are near. The house is ready, the children waiting; to-
night he will be here!

Hark! what step is that upon the walk? Mother and children run to
throw open the door; and there upon the stone he stands, the dear father!

come home in safety to them once more.





WICKED WILLIE.



5 PILLIE was a wicked boy,
Hf, | Snubbed his poor old mother ;
Vy Willie was a dreadful boy,
Quarrelled with his brother ;
Willie was a spiteful boy,
Often pinched his sister ;
Once he gave her such a blow,

Raised a great big blister!

Willie was a sulky boy,

Sadly plagued his cousins ;
Often broke folks’ window panes,
Throwing stones by dozens ;

Often worried little girls,
Bullied smaller boys ;

Often broke their biggest dolls,
Jumped upon their toys.

If he smelt a smoking tart,
Willie longed to steal it!
If he saw a pulpy peach,
Willie tried to peel it!
Could he reach a new plum-cake,
Greedy Willie picked it ;
If he spied a pot of jam,
Dirty Willie licked it.
67



WICKED WILLIE.

if he saw a poor old dog,
Wicked Willie whacked it ;

If it had a spot of white,
Silly Willie blacked it ;

If he saw a sleeping cat,
Horrid Willie kicked it;

If he caught a pretty moth,
Cruel Willie pricked it.

If his pony would not trot,
Angry Willie thrashed it ;

If he saw a clinging snail,
Thoughtless Willie smashed it ;

If he found a sparrow’s nest,
Unkind Willie hid it.

All the mischief ever done,

Folks knew Willie did it.

No one taught him how to skate,
Or to play at cricket ;

No one helped him if he stuck
In a prickly thicket.

Oh no! for the boys all said
Willie loved to tease them,

And that if he had the chance,

Willie would not please them.
68







A ea ers

AR NI

—————
a





WHAT GRETCHEN SAW.



SA o O you know what a beautiful thing you can see if you get up

early enough some pleasant morning ?

- It is only in the very early morning that you can see it ;
if you oversleep five minutes you will be too late. You
must be up with the birds, if you want to see what they see
every day.

Little Gretchen Miller saw it one morning for the first time in all her
life, and she thought it was well worth waking very early for.

It was Pussy who awoke her. There was no one else stirring in the
house, when Gretchen heard a gentle “ purr! purr!” close by her ear,
and felt a soft tap on her arm. Do you suppose Pussy was trying to
say, “Get up, little Gretchen, get up and look out of the window—quick,
before it is too late ?”

At any rate, Gretchen thought she said something like that, and she
jumped up, and put on some of her clothes in a great hurry, and ran to
the open window.

It was a clear summer morning. The plants on the window-seat were
full of blossoms. So were the trees in the orchard; and the lawn in front
of the house looked as if it were spread with a carpet of green velvet.
The air was soft and cool, and very, very sweet ; there was a faint twitter

to be heard from the waking birds.
7O



















































































WHAT GRETCHEN SAW,

And up above, the sky was covered with little fleecy clouds, that low
down in the east were tinged with pink. And as Gretchen looked, the
pink grew deeper and deeper, and spread and spread. One little cloud
after another caught the pretty color, and grew rosy and bright. A golden
light began to peep above the hills ; and then, slowly, there came up over
the highest hill-top, a wonderful great ball of fire.

Gretchen watched it as it rose and grew; what could it be, this won-
derful thing? Had it set the whole heavens on fire? for now the whole
sky was pink, and all about the great ball were flames of red and gold,
shooting out around and above it.

The birds, that had only been giving a sleepy twitter until now, sud-

_denly were wide awake, and poured forth such a chorus of glad song that
the whole world seemed to be full of music. The leaves on the trees
danced. The flowers held up their heads, and smiled at the brightness
above. The little dewdrops twinkled and sparkled like thousands of
jewels in the grass. Everything was glad.

As for Gretchen, she laughed aloud, just a little laugh of fetes
that came out from her very heart. It was such a beautiful world, and
she was in the very midst of it. She had never known before how beau-
tiful it was; just as you, little reader, do not know, and will never know

until you waken very early some summer morning, and see the sun rise.



F439, OBIN of the rosy breast,
Flap your pretty wings ;



Sound most sweet that I love best

Is when robin sings.

72



ONE MORNING.

SAH ENEVER Miss Nancy Bell went to church, the carriage

i] came to the door, with its span of horses, and the coachman



|) on the box ; and the maid helped Miss Nancy down the steps
of the house, and the footman followed with her Bible and
Prayer Book and Hymnal in his arms, and Miss Nancy took her seat,
and the footman climbed up by the coachman, and they drove away.

Now Miss Nancy believed in going to church every day in Lent, and
one morning she started as usual at nine o'clock. But just as she was
stepping into the carriage, who should rush up to her but little Cassie
Milburn, her hair flying and her bonnet falling off, and she threw her
arms round her, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, Miss Nancy! Miss Nancy!” she said, “won't you help me?
Mamma is all of a sudden so much worse; and papa went in town this
morning and does not know, and I don’t know how to tell him, or how to
get him back—unless, unless —”

« All right, Cassie,” interrupted Miss Nancy ; “1 know what you mean.
Get into the carriage, child; and you, John, drive Miss Milburn where
she tells you, and bring her father back with you. Is there anything
else I can do for you, dear?”

“Oh, nothing more, thank you, dear Miss Nancy,” cried Cassie; “ only
to get father home.”

‘Drive fast, John,” said Miss Nancy ; and off John drove, leaving Miss
73



ONE MORNING,

Nancy standing on the sidewalk, and the footman, with the books in his
arms, looking on open-eyed.

Miss Nancy stood still for a minute, thinking. She could not go to
church that morning, that was sure. But was it sure? Just then she
heard the bell of a little church near by, one she had passed often in her
carriage, but had never entered, because of that big church farther off to
which she always rode. “James,” she said—and James was so amazed
he could hardly believe his ears— James, I will walk to church to-day.”

This little church was very poor, and the clergyman, who every day
was visiting the sick and needy, had little to give them. That morning
he was feeling very sad about it, because he wanted money for them se
much, and he prayed in his heart, as he knelt in the church, that the good
God would incline some of His rich children to give of their abundance
to the poor.

Can you think how happy he was when service was over, and he
opened the poor-box at the door, as he did every day, to find five bright
beautiful gold pieces in it, more than he had ever found there before ?
And happier still he would have been had he known that this was only
the first of many times Miss Nancy’s kind hand would be stretched out to
aid him in this work.

And this is but one morning of dear Miss Nancy’s life, full of kind and

loving deeds, which we are sure must bring back many blessings to her.









UNCLE BEN’S RETURN.

= ON’T do that, children; don’t do that. Supposing Uncle
(CR Ben should come home and find you at it?”

The children’s mother often said this to them when they
were noisy, or quarrelsome, or disobedient. Uncle Ben
was a sailor, who was away on a long, long voyage, but
who might now arrive at any time.

Indeed, the mother and the children had been looking

for him for at least a month, and the children were beginning to be



tired of watching, and to think that he would never come.

They were not very quiet, peaceable children, and their gentle mother
did not find it easy to teach them to be obedient to her and kind to one
another. At first, they had listened to her when she had warned them
to be good lest Uncle Ben should come suddenly, and surprise them in
their naughtiness, but after they had waited for many days, this warning
began to lose its effect.

And so it came to pass, one evening, that Joe, and Stephen, and Delia
were quarreling in the kitchen over some game which they had been
playing there. Faces were flushed and angry; voices were raised high ;
the mother’s soft tones could hardly be heard.

“Gently, gently, my children,” she said. ‘What would your Uncle
Ben say if he were to come now !”

“Uncle Ben!” repeated Joe, rudely. ‘“‘ What nonsense about Uncle
76









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































UNCLE BEN’S RETURN.

Ben; I don’t believe he will ever come.” And then he turned upon
Stephen and Delia again. “It’s no such thing !” he cried. “ You
cheated! It was this way.”

Meanwhile some one was coming softly up to the kitchen window.
For, after all, the long voyage was over, and Uncle Ben was come at last.
He thought he would take one peep at his sister and her children before
they knew that he was there—the children whom he had left as little
ones about their father’s knee in the happy days before the dear father’s
death.

And looking in, this is what he saw: Three children disputing over
some game upon the table; one with his hand raised to strike, all with
flushed and angry faces. And he heard loud, rude words, and saw the
grieved look on the mother’s face as she tried in vain to bring back
peace.

Then before they had heard a sound of arrival in their tumult, Uncle
Ben stood in the midst of the troubled group. His face was stern and
sad, the happy moment to which they had all looked forward so long was
very different from what they had hoped.

Oh! how the children wished then that they had heeded their mother's
words, and always watching, had been always ready for this coming!

But Uncle Ben has come to stay, and it may be that with the help of
his strong authority, the gentle mother may in time be able to make her

little cottage what she longs to see it, the dwelling of peace.



73



BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES.

—\ UTTERCUPS and daisies,

g Oh, the pretty flowers, _
Coming ere the spring-time,
To tell of sunny hours ;
While the trees are leafless,

While the fields are bare,

Buttercups and daisies



Spring up here and there.

Ere the snowdrop peepeth,
Ere the crocus bold,
Ere the early primrose
Opes its paly gold,
Somewhere on the sunny bank
Buttercups are bright ;
Somewhere ’mong the frozen grass

Peeps the daisy white.

Little, hardy flowers,
Like to children poor,
Playing in their sturdy health
By their mother’s door ;

79





BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES—THE CUCKOO,

Purple with the north wind,
Yet alert and bold;

Fearing not, and caring not,
Though they be a-cold!

What to them is weather !
What are stormy showers!
Buttercups and daisies
Are these human flowers !
He who gave them hardships
And a life of care,
Gave them likewise hardy strength

And patient hearts to bear.



THE CUCKOO.
<
me
ia

MOI.




I hail the time of flowers,
} And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

Cuckoo! cuckoo !

The school-girl, wandering through the woods,
To pluck the primrose gay,

Starts, thy curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

Cuckoo! cuckoo!
80













































































































































ROLLO’S MONKEY BOOK,

¢OLLO’S papa had a great library in which were many
, learned and costly books. Some of these Rollo did not
%, care to touch, some of them he wanted very much to take,
but his papa would not let him; some his papa would’some-
times take from their shelves and show to him; and some, —

in one special little case of shelves, Rollo could take out



and look at and read whenever he pleased, for they were his very own.

Every birthday and Christmas morning he would run to those shelves,
and there he would be sure to find a new book; for of books his papa
was very fond, and he meant that Rollo should love them too.

These books were of different kinds; there was the Sunday shelf,
with Rollo’s Sunday reading on it; there was the story shelf, with Esop’s
Fables, and the Arabian Nights, and Hans Anderson, and Grimm’s
Household Tales, and all the pretty stories of Cinderella, and Puss in
Boots, and the White Cat, and Red-Riding-Hood, that children love so
well. There was the toy shelf, with the Boys’ Own Book, and others
telling how to play all sorts of games ; and then there were the shelves
of useful books, and among these last was one great favorite of Rollo’s—
The Monkey Book. |
- Last Christmas he had found it there, a good-sized book in a sober
brown cover, not very entertaining at first sight. But when Rollo opened

those brown covers, and saw the many pictures of all sorts of apes and
82 .







ROLLO’S MONKEY BOOK.

monkeys—some walking on their four great hands, some standing up-
right on two and clutching a great staff, some climbing trees, some throw-
ing cocoanuts at each other, some with. their little baby monkeys clinging
round their necks, and some asleep like this great creature in the picture,
—when he saw all these, Rollo was enchanted, and ran to thank his father
a dozen times.

“What a funny book!” do you say? “I don’t see what is useful
about it.”

Ah, you do not know. You should see Rollo curled up in the window-
seat poring over it; you should hear him answer his father when he ex-
amines him about the different monkeys, and where they live, and what —
they eat, and how their habits differ from each other.

« Where is my little monkey?” his mother sometimes asks when she
comes in, and his father thinks, when he sees that, of all his useful books,
this is the one that Rollo really loves, perhaps his son will become
a naturalist, finding his work and his pleasure in learning more and
more of the great animal world. And so he plans to give him other
books, about lions and deer, about elephants and camels, hoping that by-
and-by his little Rollo may make journeys in strange lands, and write
books himself about the wonders that he sees. |

‘But Rollo only sits in the window-seat and reads his monkey book,

and never thinks of this.







HOW TRAY RAN AWAY.

M, T is generally much better to stay in the place where you belong.
a Of course there are exceptions to this rule. America would never
have been discovered, if it had been always carried out, and then where
would you and I have been! But it is well to wait until you are quite
sure you are a Christopher Columbus before you start on a voyage of
discovery.

Once upon a time there was a young dog who had a comfortable home
with respectable parents; a good bone three times a day, with other
necessary articles of food, and even some luxuries. He had everything
that should make a good dog happy, but he was never contented.

When his mother asked him why, he had no answer ready but this:
«“T feel as if I must see the world.”

“Make a good use of the piece of the world you can see,” his mother
would say, wisely ; but young dogs, like young children, do not always
think highly of the wisdom of their elders.

And so one day, without a word to anybody, this young dog—Tray by
name—started out to discover the world. His way lay up a hill, and as
it wound up and up, he began to think it a little toilsome, and the sun a
little warm, and to wonder where he would be likely to find his dinner.

There seemed, indeed, to be no end to the hill, and as he went up it
grew rocky and barren and desolate. There were great bare rocks, and

now and then he passed a cave in them that had a deep and alarming
85



HOW TRAY RAN AWAY,

look. Tray did not like them; he remembered stories he had heard of
wolves and bears.

Still he went on, quite determined to be brave, when suddenly he
heard a voice above his head, and looking up, he saw a great creature,
dressed in feathers, staring at him with great round eyes.

Tray shook with fear. ‘I’m not doing any harm,” he gasped.

But the feathery creature only stared.

‘“‘l’m—I’m going to see the world,” faltered Tray.

Still the round eyes stared at him.

Tray began to remember all the naughty things he had ever done,
especially the times that he had disobeyed his mother. ‘“ Perhaps—per-
haps, I’ve seen about enough for once,” he said, in a very low tone.

“ Tu-whit! Tu-whit! Tu-whoo/” said the queer creature.

With that Tray, frightened almost to death, turned about, and ran
down the hill as fast as his trembling legs would take him, and never
stopped until he reached his mother’s side. ‘“ The world is full of dread-
ful things,” he cried; “I will never run away from home again.”

With that his mother boxed his ears; but she gave him two bones for
his supper, beside a particularly nice bit of meat that the cook had thrown

out to her.





poo.

THE HARVEST FIELD.
A.AIR waved the golden corn



In Canaan’s pleasant land,
When, full of joy, some shining morn

Went forth the reaper band.
86





















































































































AWKWARD BOB.

XOB GRAYSON is the most obliging and best-tempered and the

/ most awkward of boys. See him now, going at the fire-place,



head foremost, as though about to fling himself in; yet, if you were to
ask him what he might be doing, he would put his finger on his lip, and
say, “ Hush—sh,” in a loud whisper, and explain that he is just stealing
softly across the floor to put the tea-kettle on quietly, not to waken little
Ted. And more than likely, he will set the kettle down with a thump,
and half a dozen coals will fall out between the bars of the grate, and one
perhaps will roll across the floor and strike Ted’s hand, and wake him up.

That is the way it always is with Bob. Once he met old Mrs. Price
coming home with a basket of eggs, and begged to carry them for her,
and fell, and dropped the basket, and broke them all. Another time he
asked blind Mr. Andrews to let him take his kindling wood up stairs for
him, and then there was a great crash, and Bob and the kindling wood
went rolling down stairs together. And once he overtook lame Mr.
Phillips on the street, and offered him his arm; but he trod so on the old
man’s toes, and tripped so often over his crutch, that at last Mr. Phillips
said, “ Thank ye, thank ye, kindly, Bob, but seems to me I get on better
alone.”

No one ever is angry with Bob when he does all these awkward

things. His face is so smiling and pleasant when he offers to help, and
88

























































































































































































































































































































































































AWKWARD BOB.

so downcast and humble when he fails, that no one says anything more
severe than, “ Bob, Bob, what an awkward boy you are!”

Bob had heard this so often he had almost come to think he could
never be anything but awkward, when one day some one said the same
old words, “ How awkward you are!” and then added, “but why don’t
you try to improve?”

That set Bob to thinking, how could he improve? He asked his
teacher at the Sunday-school about it, and she gave him some easy rules
to follow, such as, “Look where you are walking,” and “ Hold fast what

”

you have to carry ;” and she told him to practise marching ten minutes
a day up and down his room, with his head up and his shoulders down,
and his toes turned out, and a stick for a gun in his arms, just like a soldier
on guard.

Bob has made a beginning. Every night after supper he gets out his
big stick, and gives a little stick to Ted, and with these over their shoul-
ders they march sometimes ten minutes, more often half an hour, about
the room. ‘For Ted likes it,” says Bob; “and I s’pose it’s good for
me.”

And not only in this but in other ways he is trying hard, so that by-
and-by he may get over his ungainly ways, and people will no longer call

him “ Awkward Bob.”



H, how nice! ten little mice
f} Learning their A BC!
Oh, what fun! see how they run



Surely they can’t fear me!
90



JUMBO’S PRIZE.

®i port on the coast of Africa, and before it had cast anchor in



the pretty harbor, the black people of the mainland were put-
4), ting off in boats, or swimming fearlessly out, some just to take
a good look at the strange ship and those on board ; others
with fruit and vegetables, and strings of shells, and odd
plants, and bits of sea-weed, for barter or sale.

The sailors soon made friends with some of the negroes, but one
among them was the special favorite. He was chief of the tribe, and the
most intelligent of them all, and the men before long used to have him
come on board, and would try to teach him a little English.

They gave him a sailor suit and a pair of stout shoes, and they hung a
blue ribbon around his neck with a bright brass medal attached. Jumbo
himself had rings in his ears of African gold, and when dressed up in this
style, he was a fine specimen of a black man.

In return for what the sailors gave him, he brought them fresh fruit
and vegetables every day, and choice fish, and curiosities of different
kinds to take home to their wives and sweethearts. He was interested
in everything in the ship, and pleased with all they gave him; but one
thing they had which he coveted most of all. This was a picture of Eng-

land’s great sailor, Horatio Nelson. It was not because it was of the
91



JUMBO’S PRIZE.—A MOTHER’S LULLABY,

great Admiral that Jumbo wanted this, but because the picture was so
gay and bright with such yellow hair and red cheeks, and blue eyes, such
a splendid red coat, such brilliant decorations, such a superb cocked hat.

Each day he brought something new to the ship, and offered it to the
happy possessor of this gorgeous picture, and each day honest Jack shook
his head ; he could not part with his dear Admiral.

But one morning Jumbo came smiling with delight. He had brought
something with him Jack could not withstand, and he opened his hand
and showed a ring and two long heavy earrings of ruddy gold; and, in-
deed, Jack could not resist those, and so at last Jumbo got the picture,
and itis in his hut to-day ; but the first thing Jack bought after he got

home to England was a new picture of his sailor hero.



A MOTHER’S LULLABY.

SoyITH crooning lullaby a proud hen tried
To sing to sleep a new-fledged bird ;



Alas! the youngster was quite deaf, and sighed

To think it could not hear a word.

Then, as to men, kind Science aid supplied ;
A speaking-trumpet lent its might;
And soon the song was so intensified

The fledgling started with affright.
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LET US REJOICE,

A SONG FOR THE NEW YEAR,



Es. let us raise
aah A song of praise,
On this bright morn of gladness ;
And joy’s soft ray
Shall chase away
Each look and thought of sadness.
Rejoice! rejoice !
Our hearts are free from anxious care,
Pleasures spring round us everywhere,
And richest gifts we freely share :

Let us rejoice!

Our sky is blue,
Our friends are true,

And all is bright before us ;
Hope’s gentle star
Beams from afar,

In mildest radiance o’er us;
And gay the strain

That we with grateful hearts would sing 3

For lovely as the flowers of spring
94







































































LET US REJOICE.

Are thoughts which days like this should bring :

Let us rejoice !

Sweet is the chime
Which tells that time
Is softly from us stealing ;
And yet it may
Wake by its lay
Some pure and hallowed feeling;
So this glad hour
Should whisper of a Friend on high,
That gracious Friend for ever nigh,
Who bids us on His love rely:

Let us rejoice !

Our youthful hours,
Our ardent powers,
Each gem from life’s deep ocean ;
Our precious health,
Our home’s sweet wealth,
We ought with glad devotion,
To yield to Him ;
For He has died our love to win,
Has ransomed us from death and sin,
And to our hearts would fain come in:

Let us rejoice!
96



THE GOOD GYPSIES,

OPSY strayed away from home the other.
day, and might have come to harm, if
Gypsies’ hearts were as hard as some people
suppose them to be.

She slipped out of the house when Nurse’s
back was turned, and marched off down the
road, her hair all wild, and her little cape and
hat flying in the wind.

Popsy knew this was very wrong. She
knew that she was never to leave the garden
without Nurse, and never then unless she

was clean and tidy ; but this was one of her



naughty days, and she would not try to remember what mamma wished
her to do.

So she walked a little bit up the road, and then turned off into the
grassy fields, and trotted along until at last she came to a great open
place, all surrounded by trees.

And there, in this open place, she saw a great many interesting things.
There was a fire burning, with a kettle hanging over it; there was a very
strange wagon and a kind of a tent; there were horses and mules feed-

ing on the grass; there were dark, oddly-dressed men and women about;
97



THE GOOD GYPSIES.

most interesting of all, there were half a dozen children, and a little baby
to be seen.

The people were so different from any she had ever seen, that Popsy
was half afraid ; but she was so curious that she walked straight on down
to the camp.

Now if these people, who were Gypsies, had been bad at heart, some-
thing very sad might have happened to our naughty Popsy. They might
have stolen her pretty locket, and the little ring she wore; or much
worse, they might have hidden her in the camp-wagon, and carried her
away with them that night.

But their hearts were not bad, and what really happened was this.
When the children spied Popsy, they cried out in surprise, and called the
others to look at the little “Missy.” And the woman with the baby
called her to her, and said, “ Little girl, how came you here?”

“T came by myself,” said Popsy. ‘I’ve runned away.” .

«Then you must run back again,” said the woman, and she called to
one of the men. “Jack,” she said, “this little girl has run away from
home. This is no place for the likes o’ her. Her poor mother will be
worrying ; take her home.”

Popsy did not like to be sent back like this, but she did not dare say
anything, when Jack took her hand, and bade her come with him. And
so it came to pass that almost before she had been missed, naughty Popsy

was at home again—thanks to the good Gypsies.

98





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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: al) Cassel Be Company’ Limired, 4A
GOPYRIGHT 188 BY O.M. DUNHAM. - New YORK, LONDON; Paris &MelBouRNe. 3 i




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POLLY IU StRALED

CASSELL .& COMPANY, Limited

NEW YORK, LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE
COPYRIGHT,
1888,
By 0. M. DUNHAM.

AL Rights Reserved.

Press W. L. Mershon & Co,
Rahway, N. J.
A SWEET SURPRISE.

z ae would be Grandmother’s birthday.

Papa and mamma, and the uncles and aunts, and



the Peabody cousins, whose papa was rich and
gave them plenty of pocket money, all had beau-
tiful birthday gifts to present; but the Lane girls,
and Polly and Peggy and Tom Stirling, who were
‘visiting them, had nothing to give.

“Tt is such a shame!” said Polly. “We love
Grandmamma just as much as Dennis and Susie

E- aie Peabody do, but she won’t believe it when they
bring their pretty things to her, and we just come empty-handed.”

“ Grandmamma is not like that,” said Milly Lane; “she doesn’t think
people love her just because they give her things. But—I have an idea.”

Now Milly’s ideas were almost always good ones, so the other chil-
dren gathered eagerly around her, to hear what this one might be. And
when they had heard it, they declared that it was capital, exactly the
thing, and voted that they would carry it out.

So the next morning they got up very early—almost with the sun, but
not quite, since he had taken to particularly early rising these summer
days—and dressing very quickly, they slipped down stairs, and out of
the front door, into the garden.

In the great garden each of the girls had her own border, and these

were now full of the brightest and sweetest flowers. They seemed to

7
A SWEET SURPRISE.

have just waked up like the children, and were sparkling with diamond
dewdrops. ‘It is almost a pity to pick them,” said city-bred Polly
Stirling. .

. But as this was just what they had risen so early to do, no one agreed
with Polly, and in a.very short time the baskets which they had brought
_with them were full of roses, heliotrope, pansies, verbenas, sweet-peas,

mignonette—everything delicious that can be found in a country garden.

When they went over to Grandmamma’s house, everything was still;
only the front door stood open, and Hannah was brushing out the hall.
In crept the children, and very quietly they arranged their treasures,
filling all the vases, and the pretty dishes that Hannah brought them
from the cupboard. .

Then, as they heard movements upstairs, and a slow soft step in the
upper hall, they hid themselves in any hiding-place they could find, in
the corners, behind the curtains, behind the door, and waited for Grand-
mamma to come.

In a moment she was there, standing inthe doorway, so sweet and
beautiful with the soft puffs of white hair about her dear old face, and
exclaiming, “ Oh, how charming! Who are the fairies who have done this
lovely thing?”

Then out from their hiding-places sprang the children, crying, ‘‘“A
happy birthday, dear, dear Grandmamma; a happy birthday!” and kiss-
ing her again and again.

And none of the fine presents which she received that day pleased
Grandmamma more than the sweet surprise that her little people had

risen so early to prepare for her.

8








































































































































































































































































































































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A GOOD NAME.

—

E came near having a dreadful time the
other day at Lorry Lane’s, and the only reason
we didn’t was that Amy Storrs has such a good
name. I mean the kind of good name that it
tells about in the Bible, where it says that it is
better than rubies.

You see we were playing blindman’s buff,



and Amy was blinded. She was running about,
trying to oech us, and all of a sudden she ran up to Lorry and caught
him by the arms. Lorry stood still and hardly breathed, but Amy said
right off, “ Lorry! it’s Lorry!”

“ You peeked /” said Lorry, out rudely just like that. It sounded almost
as if he had struck her, and we were all quite shocked, for : you know it is
a dreadful cheating thing to peek.

As for Amy, she grew very red, and she pulled the handkerchief off
her eyes, and said, “ Why, Lorry, I never did; I wouldn’t do such a
thing!”

But Lorry said, ‘Oh, it is all very well for you to say you wouldn't,
but if you didn’t, how did you know me so quick, without moving your
hands?” .

“T smelled the jockey-club,” said Amy; and then we all laughed, for

Lorry is such a dandy, and always puts scent on his handkerchief.
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A GOOD NAME,

But he was very mad because we laughed, and he said, “I know you
peeked!”

Then Amy looked at us, and there were tears in her eyes. ‘‘ Girls,”
she said, “do you think that I would do such a mean thing?”

“No, indeed,” said Susy Brooke ; “no, indeed, we don’t. Why, Lorry,
she never will so much as open her book after the recitation bell has
rung.”

“And she won't listen when I want to prompt her in class,” said
naughty, good-natured Patty Scott; ‘“she’d rather miss first.”

«And she tells on herself whenever she does wrong,” said some one
else. .

« And she always gives the right report.”

« And is just as true as steel,” said Lorry’s cousin May ; “and as brave
as a lion, for all she’s such a gentle little thing. Why, Lorry, you must
remember how she got up before all the whole school and told how she
spilled the ink, when nobody need have known.”

I think Lorry began to be a little ashamed, because, aithough he never
tells lies, he isn’t always as particular about things as Amy is. And
pretty soon he said (and we all thought it was rather nice in him, because
boys do not like to beg people’s pardon): ‘Well, Amy, I guess you're
right, and I hope you'll not mind what [ said.”

« And you will believe me?” asked Amy, anxiously.

“T don’t see how I can help it when you’ve got such a good name,”
said Lorry ; and so everything was all right again.

And when I went home I looked up that text in the Bible, and made

up my mind to try and see if I too could not have a good name.
{2
LILY’S SECRET.



and she came into the dining-room where her mother and father and
aunts and uncles were sitting, and said to her little brother—

“Harry, we must try and help, or everything will be late for Christmas
Day.”

“What can we do?” inquired Harry, who was a fat little boy, and
never liked to be busy, except when he was playing. “The pudding’s
made, so it will be all right!”

“Qh, Harry, there are lots of other things besides pudding!” said
Lily, trying to look as big as her own mamma; “and I have something
to do in the drawing-room which is guzte a secret, so you must not come.”

If Lily had not said it was a secret, Harry would have sat where he
was, contented to eat his orange and watch the big people; but now he
thought he must find out what Lily was about.

So he crept along the passage, and saw Julia, the housemaid, carry a
wreath of holly and evergreens into the drawing-room, She did not
shut the door after her as Lily had done, so Harry was able to slip in

without being seen.
» 4¥3
LILY’S SECRET.

a

“Won't it be lovely, Miss Lily?” said Julia; “now you step up on
the chair, and I’ll hand you the wreath to fix up.”
“Oh, thank you, Julia! I do like reaching to the lamps so much, and

”

Harry won’t know



But just then a shadow on the wall caught Lily’s eye, and darting
round she saw her little brother watching her.

“You ave unfair, Harry!” she cried, “when I told you it was my
secret!” .

“Well, but, I hadn’t got another secret for myself—and you always
give me half of everything—won’t you share this too?” said Harry,
looking very guilty.

Lily loved her brother dearly, so she gave him a kiss and forgave him;
and laughed when she told her mother that he had begged for halfa
secret |

And the two children hung up their stockings that night, and got up
very early next day to wish each other a “ Merry Christmas ;” and their
papa and mamma and uncles and aunts had put so many presents in the
stockings that they looked even fatter than when the little legs were in
them.



asf RASSHOPPER, grasshopper, hopping so high,
Ey Pray, are you trying to hop to the sky?” -



“No, little maiden, I can’t hop so far—

I only just want to peep at a star.”

14
i
| :

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A VERY QUEER DOCTOR.

UR poor dollies!” said Trudy,

‘“ Sea-air doesn’t agree with them,” said
Emily. ‘‘Here’s my dear Marie has lost her
leg since she came down; and your Louisa’s
eye is gone; and look at her complexion!”

Trudy and Emily were spending the sum-
‘mer at the Beach with their mamma. They

had left the city, very forlorn, white-faced little



maids, with plenty of malaria in their systems ;
they were now plump, rosy-cheeked girls, and the malaria was scattered
to the salt winds. .

But the dolls had not been so fortunate. Whether or not the sea-air
might have agreed with them if they had been left alone, I cannot say ;
but the heavy fogs and a mischievous boy and a frisky little dog had all
played with them, and they were looking very much the worse for a sum-
mer at the seaside.

Trudy and Emily were lamenting over their darlings. when Skipper
Jack came by. .

“O Skipper,” cried Trudy, “just look at our children! They were
such beauties when they came, and now they are nothing but wrecks.”

The skipper looked at the dolls and laughed. “They must go to the
doctor,” he said. ‘‘Come behind the old boat, and I'll introduce you to

a prime one.”
16.









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A VERY QUEER DOCTOR.

So Trudy and Emily and Marie and Louisa went with Skipper Jack to
the old boat, and there they saw a bench, and a coil of rope, and a paint-
pot or two, and some brushes, but “Where is the doctor?” asked Trudy
and Emily.

“At your sarvice, ma’am,” said Skipper Jack, seating himself on the
bench, and taking Louisa from her little mamma. “So you've brought
this fine young lady to be cured. Ahem! gen’al debility, causin’ weak
eyes and loss of good looks ; but we'll soon fix that.” And the skipper —
dipped one of his brushes in a paint-pot, and gave Louisa a pair of very
brilliant red cheeks. Then with paint from another pot he touched up
her eyes and eyebrows, and gave her back to Trudy, looking very fresh
and fine.

How clever Skipper Jack was! He took his big knife from one pocket
and a bit of white wood from another, and made a really beautiful new
leg for Marie, which he fastened on with some tiny pegs. And then,
seeing that Louisa had no left arm to speak of, he made one for her, with
a dear little hand, that filled Trudy and Emily with wonder and admiration.

“There, the young ladies are as good as new,” he said at last; “and
there’s somebody’s tea-bell a-ringing.”

“A great deal better than new,” cried Emily and Trudy. “O thank
you, Skipper Jack—thank you very much.”

«And we shall keep them always to remember you by,” said Trudy.

‘“Yes, and when we go back to the city we shall show them to all our
friends, and tell them what a clever doll doctor there is at seaside.” said
Emily. | -

“A pretty queer doctor!” said Skipper Jack.
18
THE WHISTLE.

#7” HAT is my master doing?” thought Trim,

As he watched him with eager eyes ;



A hole he makes here, and a hole he makes there,

As he snips it to just the right size.

At length it is finished; ’tis every way true,
He measures it over with care ;

To his mouth then he puts it and whistles so loud,
That it sure might be heard anywhere.

Such a queer little pipe to send forth such a sound!

Trim, astonished, continues to stare.

“] shall hear it,” thinks Trim, “ wheresoe’er I may be,
It will ring out over the plain.
When I’m after a hare in the Squire’s shady woods ...
It will make me come back again :
And when we are bringing the sheep to the fold

It will play out a lively strain.”

And Trim he looked up, and his master looked down,

“Well, Trim, my good fellow,” said he,
19
THE WHISTLE.

“ Do you like my new whistle? You'll soon learn its tune,

And hear it where’er you may be,

And no matter how far, back you'll come at its call,

For you're always obedient to me.

« Without you, old dog, I should often be dull,
For I’ve no one else with me to play,

And we've had merry times in the fields and the lanes,
On many a sunshiny day,

But you're apt, Master Trim, as you very well know,

‘Mongst the hares and the pheasants to stray.

* And as I don’t want my good Trim to be shot
By the keepers upon the look-out
For trespassing dogs, why this whistle I’ve made,
That you'll hear when you can’t hear me shout,

And whenever I blow it, then, Trim, you may know

There is certainly danger about.”















































PUT YOURSELF IN HER PLACE,

AYBE you have sometimes played. “ Put
Yourself in Her Place.” Betty. Travers
used to play it very often ; poor lame Betty,
who had nothing to make the world bright
for her.

But although Betty was lame and poor
and sometimes lonely, she was a cheerful

and contented child. She never fretted





over her lot, and when she played “ Put



Yourself in Her Place,” there was no envy
in her heart. She enjoyed pretending, as she walked slowly along with
fer crutch, that she was one of the fine ladies in the carriages that rolled
by, or the rosy girl in the velvet jacket, going into the shop with her
mamma, or one of the merry group playing tennis on the lawn. She
entered into their pleasure, and made it her own, but was not unhappy
when she had to become lame Betty again and go home. |

But one wonderful day the play was to become real for a whole lovely
hour, whose memory would stay with her all her life.
She was walking up the village street, when she heard happy voices,

and saw, just within an iron gate, a merry party at tea. They were sit
22






































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|








PUT YOURSELF IN HER PLACE,

ting around a little table, and Betty stole close to the gate to look at
them. ‘“T'll play Iam that one!” she said.

She was half hidden by the shrubbery as she stood there, but sud-
denly a pair of bright eyes spied her and her crutch. It was a little boy,
who had once known what it was to be sick and lame himself. And
seeing Betty, he played at her own game, and put himself in her place.

“© Sister Lou,” he whispered; “there’s a poor girl out there, and
she’s lame, and she’s white, and oh! may I bring her in to have some
berries?”

Sister Lou turned and looked, and whispered yes, to her little brother.
So he ran out, and stood beside Betty before she knew that she had been
seen.

“Come in, and have some berries,” he said. “Sister Lou says so.
I’ve been lame myself, and I know how it feels. Come in with me.”

Betty was quite bewildered, and all the more when pretty Sister Lou
came to the gate and led her in. The little brother gave her his own
chair. Sister Lou poured out a great glass of rich milk for her. Another
sister heaped berries on her plate, and gave her bread and meat. She
was a little frightened, but very happy all the same; and when at last
the sun began to sink behind the trees, and the little brother piled her
hands with roses, and Sister Lou spoke a few sweet words to her as she
bade her good-bye, Betty's heart was full of joy.

There are so many poor and sick and sorry children, dear little ones ;,

cannot you sometimes put yourselves in their place?

24.
SYMPATHY.

SEYSIES, clasp her fondly, child, and kiss

Her gentle lips and tearful eyes ;



Nothing can charm away like this
The sorrow that within them lies.
How many a grief has been beguiled

By kisses from a loving child.

Strange to the little orphan’s heart
The formal ways, the measured rule,
And often as she sits apart
Her thoughts fly to the country school ;
Voices that from the playground rise

E’en now bring tender memories.

The old home-garden where she played,
The pigeons flying to her call,
The arbor by the ash-tree made,
How plainly can she see it all!
The orchard where, in childish glee,

She chased her sister merrily.
25
SYMPATHY.—TWO SAYINGS.

And then a shadow over all,
Voices all hushed, a darkened room,
A grave close by the chancel wall,
A loved name written on a tomb;
Widow and children say “ Farewell!”

And strangers in the rectory dwell.

No wonder that the tear-drops start,
Yet time shall soften sorrow’s sting
Sunshine shall cheer the poor sad heart,
And flowers shall bloom and birds shall sing,
And a child’s love its aid shall lend
The kisses of a little friend.



TWO SAYINGS.

AAVIRIARS have thorns,” as every one must know,



| Yet blackberries on bramble-bushes grow!
Small wonder then Jack hurts his hand and cries,

While Jill looks on with sympathizing eyes. —

“Tf you but kiss the place ‘twill make it well :”
Jill knows the saying, so she tries the spell.
Jack suffers it to be, and, strange to say,

The tears and pain alike soon pass away.
26


















































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NELLIE’S PRESENT.





FS AMMA is not well, and I’m all alone, and it's such a disa-
greeable day!” said little Nellie.

She had been creeping so very softly about the house ever
EFARE since she got up, for her mother was ill. Nurse and the other
servants were busy, and they seemed not so well able to get
on with their work now that the kind mistress of the house was unwell;
and as to Nellie herself, she looked and felt very miserable indeed. Her
doll Jay neglected, with its poor little nose buried on a sofa-cushion. It
was one of those very funny little Japanese dolls, which always look so
like real little babies; and it had the most forlorn way of throwing out
arms and legs, really looking as sad as Nellie herself.

How hot it was! no air came in at the dining-room window, where
Nellie was standing, and the pavement outside was baking in the sun.
And the little girl felt that no one could be so unhappy as she was.

And then when she was feeling very sorry for herself, she began to
think how much worse it was for her poor mamma, who was lying ill this
hot day, and wondered if she could do anything to make her feel better ;
and while she was thinking this her little blue eyes caught sight of what
made them look quite bright and happy. This was what you see in the
picture—a man holding three pots of flowers for sale, and beside him

walking a patient donkey, which was dragging a cart full of plants.
28
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NELLIE’S PRESENT.

«Oh, nurse, come and see this beautiful fuchsia!” called Nellie, as she
heard nurse’s footstep.

“Only a shilling, miss!” said the man, holding the flower towards her
over the area railings.

“T would like it for mamma,” said Nellie, earnestly ; “but I’ve only got
ninepence.””

Nurse did what Nellie begged her, and opened the hall door, and there
the man displayed all his best flowers ; some of these were ninepence, but
Nellie still looked at the fuchsia.

“Well, take it at ninepence, miss!” said the man; and then, with
tosy cheeks, Nellie received her treasure, and nurse went up with her to
her mother’s room.

Mamma smiled, and thanked her little girl with a kiss for her kind
thought of bringing her what made her room look so pleasant and
cheerful.

Nellie was allowed to sit a little while in the room, and when the doc-
tor came he admired her fuchsia, and asked if she might go back with
him in his carriage and spend the day with his little girl. This great treat
was allowed, and when Nellie went to bed that evening she could not
believe that it was only a few hours since she had been saying it was

“such a disagreeable day.”



30

Pa
A STRANGER GUEST.

i! ; \ HEN the Christmas Tree was all dressed, and
aN wee the last gift hung upon it, Uncle Ned came out





= folding-doors together behind him. The chil-
@ ¥ oye dren were playing in the dining-room and the
, a fm hall, trying to be patient, and to forget there ~

AC] js was yet a whole hour to wait before the candles
could be lighted. |
s «“ Come here, little people,” said Uncle Ned;
“come one and all; I have something to say to you.”

So all the boys and girls, little and big, came running into the parlor,
and clustered about Uncle Ned’s chair. Uncle Ned picked up Baby and
Bobby, and set one on either knee. ‘I have something to ask of you,
dear children,” he said.

“A great many years ago—some of you know how many—a little
Child came into the world. He was a little stranger Child ; there was no
place ready to receive Him, only a manger in a poor stable. Can yov
think who the stranger was?”

“T know,” said Bobby very softly ; and Lucy said, “It was the Lorp.”

_ © Yes,” said Uncle Ned, “ it was the Lorp Jesus who came to earth,
31
A STRANGER GUEST.

and found no place, no welcome from the world. And ever since, because
He came, His Birthday has been a glad and happy day, for His people
have given Him a place and welcome in their loving hearts.

“You are going to have a beautiful time presently ; would you not
like to do something for Him who gives you all your happiness and
joy?”

“Oh, yes!” said the children.

“Do you: not think it would be nice to find a little child who isa
stranger this happy Christmas Day, and bring him in, and give him a
share in your pleasure, for the sake of the dear stranger child JEsus?
Some little child who has no bright home, no loving friends, for whom
no Christmas gifts have been made ready ?”

“Qh, yes!” said the children again. And Sandy said, “There’s a
boy down at the corner who doesn’t belong to anybody. He just works
for Farmer Gray. He’s been there a week, and he’s such a little chap!”

“Well, will you go and get him?” asked Uncle Ned.

So Sandy, and Dick with him, ran off to find the little stranger child ;
and soon came back bringing him, a pale, sad- faced boy, with big eyes
that were shining now with wonder and shy pleasure.

By the time the candles were lighted, Nurse had washed in, and
combed his pretty hair, and dressed him in an old suit of Dick’s, and
had sent him down to join the others. And the children made him SO
welcome, and took such pains to give him the best place, and to find gifts
for him on the tree, and to show him how glad they were to have him
with them, that the very happiest heart in the whole room was the heart

of the little stranger guest.
a2

COUSIN MARY’S PLAY.

UT it is such a very wet day, Cousin Mary. What shal/ we
Z) do?” said little Marjory, sadly.

Cousin Mary thought for a minute, and then said—

“Call Rex, and we will go to the picture gallery, and I
will start you for some good races from one end to the-

other.”



So Marjory ran away to find her little brother; and they both were
delighted at the thought of warming themselves by a good play—and a
good play is better than a fire, as you all know.

There was plenty of room on the big staircase for Cousin Mary to walk
with a child on each side; and indeed there would have been room for
more people besides.

Three races down the long gallery sent the children back warm and
glowing to their cousin, who was standing in front of a picture.

“Rex, come here! I am going to dress you like this picture of one of
your uncles. He lived a ong time ago; and I forget how many ‘greats’
I should have to say if I told you exactly. how he is related to you.”

“JT should like to be dressed like that. What a splendid hat and
feather!” :

“Yes,” cried Marjory, “and there’s one just like it in a box in the west
reom. I tried it on one day.”

“ You!” said Rex; “why, it’s a boy’s hat!”

34



COUSIN MARY’S PLAY.

“But, Cousin Mary,” said Marjory, who was fond of beginning with
“buts,” “won't you dress me up too?”

“Yes, I will; and when I have finished, you shall go and see mamma
and old nurse.”

Old boxes and chests were turned out, and such funny clothes were in
them, that had been worn by ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and
little babies, ever so many years before; and they were not a bit like
what people wear now, as you will see by the picture.

“ Now, Marjory, that little girl in the picture is your great great-
grandmother,” said Cousin Mary.

“ But, cousin, she’s much too little to be a grandmamma,” objected
Marjory ; “she’s quite as small as I.”

“ All grandmammas have to be little children first,” said Cousin Mary,
laughing. ‘Now, you both look just like the pictures ; and I hear papa’s
voice in the hall, Let us surprise him.”

So Marjory and Rex marched down together. And papa was so
astonished that he hardly knew them. Mamma laughed at the quaint
little figures ; and nurse said—

“T must find some cake for the little lord and lady that have come to
pay us a visit.”

This, you see, ended the play very nicely.




THE LIONESS AND THE TERRIER.

=i HIS is our Gyp. Doesn’t he look as if some one had
bi , just said, “Rats”?

At least, that is the way he cocks his ear when we
say “Rats,” but he doesn’t generally look as sleepy as

he does in his picture. He looks here as if he were



saying, “ Oh, it’s all very well for you to say ‘Rats,’ but I ’spect you're
fooling me. I'll just wait until I hear ’em scratching.”

We are very fond of dogs, papa and all of us children; and we have
six—each of us owns one. And then every dog story we hear or read
anywhere we always remember to tell each other. In that way, you see,
we get to know a great many, and some of them are very curious. Shall
I tell you the last I read ?

It is about a terrier, like Gyp, and so I like it; and anyway I should
think it very nice and interesting. |

There was a lioness in a show, and she was shut up in a cage, poor
thing! And one day she was taken sick.

Now there were a great many rats about the place, and when the
lioness was well, she rather liked to have them round, for it is very
monotonous for a wild beast to be shut up always, and the little things
amused her, running around.

But when she was sick, it was quite another thing, for then she had to
37
THE LIONESS AND THE TERRIER.

lie still, and the rats weren’t a bit afraid of her, but came right up and
nibbled her feet, and she wasn’t strong enough to shake them off, or get
rid of them.

So the keeper put a terrier in the cage. At first the lioness looked
very suspiciously at the little doggie; I suppose she thought it was only
something more come to annoy her.

But pretty soon a big rat came running across the cage, making for the
lioness’s toes. But before he could reach her, up jumped the terrier and
caught him by the back, and gave him just a gentle shake, and threw him
to the other end of the cage.

Pretty soon there came another, and the terrier treated it in just the
same way. By that time the lioness began to see what terriers were
made for, and you cannot think how grateful she was. She put her paw
gently on him, and drew him to her, and gave him just the tenderest pat,
as if to say, ‘ Thank you;” and when he grew sleepy, she made him sleep
beside her, and when he woke up, he went to work again to keep away
the rats.

The lioness was very sick. She did not live long, but as long as she
did live the terrier kept the rats away, and made her poor old life com-
fortable. And she did everything she could to show her gratitude, until
the very hour she died, when she turned her eyes the last thing toward

the terrier, as if to say good-bye.


iy
hee
te

i

Ae
i}
Gy

i
\\\


HUNTED DOWN.

N the distant homestead lights are shining ;

Welcome sweet awaits the sportsman

I

there ;

nT

Still he lingers on his way, repining,
For he has not found the wounded

hare.

And the timid creature, sorely stricken,

Wearied with long flight, lies down to
moan ;

Over her the drifts of storm-cloud thick-

en,



Wail of wind and helpless anguish blending,
And a leafless stalk for all her shield ;
Life like hers could have no sadder ending—

Life so glad in flowery wood and field!

Frisky friends, in safer haunts abiding,
For their playmate through long glades will peep,
Or, may be, will deem her snugly hiding
Where the beech-nuts lie in frosted heap.
40



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































HUNTED DOWN.—THE NEWS OF THE DAY.

Lit by moon-ray now, since clouds have parted,
On the ice her furry coat shows brown ;
From their elm the wakeful crows have darted,

And around the dying one swoop down.

In the homestead light, and warmth, and pleasure;
Only snow and horror where she lies!
Oh! the love which we yet scantly measure,

Surely will enfold her when she dies!

THE NEWS OF THE DAY.

SJL REE wise heads o’er a paper bend,



gi And each one tries to read the news == |
* Young Jack is staying with a friend,”

“Tom's father’s going for a cruise.”

So wag the little tongues, and we
Might think such gossip of the town
Scarce worthy print, did we not see

They read the paper upside down,

42
TOMMY’S DINNER.

T was Tommy’s dinner; and he was very glad that



at last it was out of the big pot and in his bowl,
ready to be eaten. At least, it would be ready as
soon as it got cool, but just now Tommy had to
. content himself with the nice smell; and with his
(i spoon in his hand he looked knowingly at his two

companions, who were quite as much pleased with
the smell as he was.

“We can’t have it yet, you see, Puss, so we must be patient. I must
eat the most, because it’s my dinner; but I'll try not to be hungry right
to the bottom of the bowl.”

This promise made Puss rub herself against her little master’s dinner-
table, and purr loudly; old Rover kept his eyes fixed on the steaming
bowl to see how Tommy would remember his promise; for being taller
than Puss, he had often had a chance of seeing basins cleared on that
little table, and this time he thought he would be ready to remind Tommy
if he saw any fear of being disappointed.

There was another watcher, too, but such a little one that the other
three never noticed it. This was the tabby kitten, which had just come
to the age when it thought meat smelt nice.

‘Dear me,” said Tommy, laughing, “how you do stare at me! and I
think I must stop now; so you just come to the door, and I'll tell how

this is to be divided.”
43
TOMMY’S DINNER.—THREE LITTLE SINGERS.

When Tommy got up, the dog and cat became very excited, and Rover
danced round while Puss rubbed his legs. Tommy threw his arm round
Rover’s neck, and was just raising Puss in his arms, when, crack! Start-
led heads all turned to find that Kitty had jumped on the table, tumbled
head and fore paws into the bowl, and then rolled with it to the floor,
where it broke, and the savory remains of Tommy’s dinner lay on the
clean stones!

With a spring anda growl Rover frightened the kitten from the spot,
and began licking up the spoil, without waiting to inquire how much
Tommy had meant for him; Puss, whose hunger was stronger than her
pride in her forward kitten, ran to get her share, and Rover was too old
a friend to quarrel with her—so they cleared the floor before Tommy’s
mother came in. Then the broken bowl was held up by Tommy, and his
mother scolded Rover and Puss, who looked to their master to explain
in English what they were only able to express by their eyes and tails.

“Jt was all the kitten’s fault, mother, and she doesn’t know any better ;
and, mother, couldn’t you spare a spoonful more for them all out of that
large pot? because, you see, the floor got some of this.”

And mother kissed the coaxing face, and then she served dinner for the

dog, the cat, and the kitten on a wooden plate.





oe

THREE LITTLE SINGERS.

HREE little maidens, so dainty and fair,

| Singing a song to the birds in the air.



Sing on, little maids, for indeed you sing well;
Yet the song of the birds you can never excel.
44
a
TH
On

iF
i
Hy
i
mK

i Ay
Hy i

ui i
een


































































































































































































































































A DOWNFALL. ‘



rx ae
"ae .
BOOKA, os under the wash-bench in the kitchen garden. It was rain-

g, and Gran’ther Wattles did not quite approve of the
iene for a shelter. “My good old father always

> taught us to go in when it rained,” he said.

ee And it isso much pleasanter to stay where one can see something
of the world,” said her vain sister, Browney.

By this Browney meant, “where the world can ‘see us,” for she was
very fond of admiration. She was proud of her feathers and of her gait,
and she could not bear to go into the quiet coop when it was not really
necessary. “If we. stay,” she thought, “the other fowls will be passing
this way, and I would like that silly little Miss Banty to see what a shine
I have to my feathers to-day.”

But she would not have said all this for the world; and if she had,
Gran’ther Wattles would have taken her down finely, I can assure you.
Gran'ther Wattles thought nobody had anything to be proud of who could
not crow, and he would have laughed well at Browney if he had known
she was vain of her feathers.

So they all stayed under the wash-bench, and looked out upon the
world,

It was raining very hard. The flowers in the borders were hanging
46
eS
SSS SS
Se

oe
aii ——
ce SSS ee

_ SSS
SSS
SS

———
— = ae

===










































































































































































































































































































































































































































A DOWNFALL.

their heads ; there were little pools in the walks, and little rivers running
down toward the gate. One old hen who had the rheumatism wished
‘she had gone into the coop before things got so wet; she said she did
not remember such a rain since she was young.

There was nothing to be seen on the road but the butcher’s cart driv-
ing slowly by. Gran’ther Wattles and his family did not care to see
the butcher’s cart; they always turned their backs upon it when it
passed.

Browney was beginning to think that she might as well have been in
the coop, when whom should she see making his way up the walk but
young Mr. Chanty Chanticleer, from a neighbor's yard.

“ How lucky,” she thought, “that Iam here! Mr. Chanticleer is quite
the gentleman ; old Gran’ther, and this pert Whitey, and all these stupid
hens would never know how to receive and entertain him. J will show
them how.”

So Browney looked over her shoulder to see that her feathers were
straight, and then stepped out from under the wash-bench in her most
elegant manner.

But we shall never know what impression she might have made on
Mr. Chanticleer, for, alas! at this moment the old water-butt suddenly
gave way, and a deluge of water came down on poor Browney’s back.
All her pretty mincing steps were spoiled, all her shining feathers were
ruffled, all her little vanities were put to the blush. I think if Browney
ever wishes to make a display again, she will take very great care not to

stand too near the old water-butt.
. 48
ALL IN A DREAM.

OU would not believe, would you, that
this little fellow, sleeping here so qui-
etly, could be Jack the Giant-Killer? Yet,
that is what Totty is, as he travels through
Dreamland, although old Trusty, watching
him so closely, never suspects it in the

least.



Mother has brought Totty with her to
the haya ie there is no one to leave him with at home, and has laid
him down on the sweet grass to take his morning nap. She has put the
umbrella over him, and bidden Trusty to “ watch,” and is raking away
with the other hay-makers, quite sure that her baby is safe. Little does
she dream of the wonderful things Totty is doing and seeing!

For Totty is in Dreamland, and there, you know, all sorts of strange
things happen that outside people know nothing about. He has planted
a bean beside his mother’s cottage, and is watching the great beanstalk
shoot up at the rate of about one hundred miles a minute.

He has long, golden curls, he thinks—because his memory is so small
that things get very much mixed in it; there are three bears near by, like
those Goldilocks knew, and Red-Riding-Hood’s grandmother is shaking
her stick at them to frighten them away.

And now Totty begins to climb the ladder that the beanstalk has made.
49
ALL IN A DREAM.

Up, up he goes, higher and higher. He wishes the neighbor’s little boys
could see him climb. .

By-and-by he reaches the top, and comes out on a great big hayfild,
where there are giants raking up the hay. His little heart begins to go
pit-a pat, but he tries to be brave, and goes on until he reaches the first
giant.

“Please, sir,” he says, “T am Jack the Giant-Killer;” and then it
seems to him that that was not just the right thing to say.

He is afraid the giant will be angry, and he is just going to run away,
when who should drive up but Cinderella with the fairy-godmother be-
side her!

The carriage stops, and Cinderella says, “Good-morning, little Totty ;
would you like to take a drive?” :

Totty thinks he would like it very much, and he is just going to step
into the big coach, when the clock strikes twelve, and behold! the coach,
and the fairy godmother, and the horses, and the coachman all vanish
away, and Cinderella stands beside him crying.

Then Totty throws his little arms around her,.and says, “Oh, don’t cry,
dear, dear Cinderella! I love you, if you are in rags.”

But Cinderella keeps on crying so very hard that Totty feels as if he
must cry too; and he is just going to begin when he feels something soft
upon his face, and opening his eyes, he sees Trusty trying to wake him
up, and his own mother standing near with his luncheon in her hand.
For the giants, and the beanstalk, and Cinderella have all been in a

dream.

50





































































































































































































































































































































LOTITYS: DOLL.

a LoTty had been busily thinking all din-
ner-time of what she should do with her
beautiful doll, the present of her grand-'
mamma.

Now perhaps you do not see much to




| think about, but Lotty believed in every

f=


eS
ene,

tee thing she played at with her doll being real.
” Sometimes dolly was to be good, and some-

| times (these were generally wet days, when



she herself was rather out of humour) dolly

4/| was to be very naughty, and to be punished



-as she deserved.



To-day Lotty decided that dolly should be ill, very ill; and so she re-
solved to treat her just as she had seen her mother treat little Willie when
he had been ill. Lotty did not need to paint her doll white, because
when she had once made up her mind that she was to be poorly, she was
able to believe that she was quite pale and ill-looking.

So in a quiet corner of the nursery she made up medicines of sugar
and water, which she shook well in small bottles, and gravely tasted be-
fore she gave a dose. Soon afterwards the other children came in, and
Lotty felt that the nursery was too noisy for her sick child ; so carefully

rolling a small blanket round dolly, she carried her away to an adjoining
92















LOTTY’S DOLL.

room, where she seated herself by a large curtain just where the breeze
from the open window came gently in.

Willie ran out to play in the garden. He came beneath the window
several times. ‘ Do, Lotty, come and see my arrows. I can shoot them
right into the sky!”

At another time Lotty would have told Willie that this was not quite
true, but now she did not say a word. Again the little fellow called out—

“Flossie is calling us to play at ball in her garden ; leave that stupid
doll and have a good play.”

Stupid doll, indeed! Lotty looked fondly at her treasure, and felt very
sorry that any one should call such a poor sick child stupid. She won-
dered how Willie would have liked to be called names when he had
been ill.

Tea-time came, and mamma and nurse both called several times for
Lotty, but got no answer. At last, feeling vexed that the little girl did
not answer, they opened the door. What a grave, solemn face met them
as Lotty raised her little finger!

“Hush! dear mamma, please; she is having a beautiful sleep, and
when she wakes I'll get my tea.”

Mamma remembered so well how she had given orders that no one
should disturb er when she was nursing Willie, that she could not scold
the earnest little player ; and nurse said—

“ Dear little girl, she is just like her mother!”


THE PRETTY LADY.

OLLY and Edgar!” called mamma from
the window, and they threw down their
toys in the arbor where they were play-
ing, and ran a race up the garden walk
to see which would reach her first.

“Run up to nurse, dearies,” she said,
‘‘and ask her to smooth your hair, and
wash you, and put on your fresh aprons,

and then come down to me in the break-



fast-room.”

Up-stairs to the nursery went the children, and presently they came
down with clean faces and hands, and smooth hair, and fresh aprons, to
the breakfast-room where mamma was sitting, and with her such a pretty
lady. This lady was not pale and quiet like mamma, with a black dress,
and a white cap on her head; but she wore a beautiful pink dress with
worked flounces, and a white hat trimmed with soft white mull anda
curling feather, and her eyes were the brightest blue, and her cheeks
the softest pink, to match her dress, and her hair was all in little curls and
shone like gold. |

“ These are the children,” said mamma, when they came in; and Molly

and Edgar went up and put their hands into the stranger’s hands, while
25
THE PRETTY LADY.

she smiled at them, and said in the sweetest voice, “So these are my
little neighbors. I am very glad to see you, dears.”

Molly was shy after that, and as soon as the lady dropped her hands,
she stole behind her mother, and looked from behind her at the stranger.
But Edgar stood still at his mother’s side, looking straight into the lady’s
face.

“ Well, little man,” she said, “why do you look at me like that?”

“You are such a pretty lady,” said Edgar. But then, when mamma
and the pretty lady laughed, he felt quite ashamed, and turned and hid
his face in mamma’s dress, and she had to comfort him.

That was the first time Molly and Edgar saw this pretty lady; but a
very few weeks after that, they had grown to think that she belonged to
them almost as much as their own dear mamma, and to feel as though
they had known her all their lives.

She had come to live in the house next theirs, and very soon she’ had
a little gateway cut in the hedge between, and the children ran in and out
from one garden to the other, as though both were their own. Mornings,
before breakfast, they would run over there to give their pretty lady her
morning kiss, and every summer morning they would find her in her
garden among the flowers, and she would give them beautiful roses and
sweet peas and violets to put at mamma’s place at breakfast. She would
have picnics for them on the lawn, and take them to ride in her little
pony carriage; next to their own dear mamma the children loved her,
and very rich little children they were indeed, with such a mamma and

such a pretty lady.

56

ee





WHAT OLD DOBBIN THOUGHT OF IT.

ff ELL, this is certainly very odd! Here’s Master had me
| this ten months, and I've put my head in at this window
: every day since I came, and I haven’t seen anything like
this before.

“ Washing-day morning, too, and Mistress hasn’t even



put the clothes to soak; and what she and the children
are doing now is more than I can understand.

“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!’ I heard ’em calling this
morning. What's that, I’d like to know? And if Master didn’t bring a
tree into the house—he'll be bringing that great rock in front of the
blacksmith’s shop into my stall next !

“Just look now at Mistress and the children. See all those things
she’s hanging on that tree, and those red apples. I know something. bet-
ter to do with ¢hem, Mistress, I can tell you!

“It’s very queer; the children haven't half so much as usual to say to
me to-day. To be sure that was an uncommon good breakfast they gave
me, and Nelly did say ‘ Merry Christmas, old Dobbin!’ What zs Merry
Christmas, anyway ?

“Here comes Master, and what’s this he’s doing? Getting the pung
out at ¢hzs time! Why isn’t he at work, anyway? Going to harness
me up, is he? Well, I don’t mind that a bit. Sleighing’s good as can

be, anda fine bracing day. And look at Mistress and the children all
38


CAE 5 eg NF — t ey ~

SSL
0:



































5


WHAT OLD DOBBIN THOUGHT OF IT.

done up in their Sunday best! ‘Let’s give him an apple before we
start, says Franky. That’s right, my boy. Nothing better than an ap-
ple before a good run. ‘Let’s stick a sprig of holly behind his ears,’ says
Nelly. All right, Nelly, so long as it don’t scratch. ‘ Because it’s Christ-
mas, Franky and Nelly say together. They have sprigs of holly in
the front of their jackets, and Father has one on the lappet of his coat,
and Mother one where her shawl is pinned across.”

“No mistaking it’s Christmas,” says the father, as they get into the
old pung; and he touches Dobbin lightly with the whip, all the bells
jingling merrily.

The little sick girl in the big house across the way, who is lying in her

white bed and enjoying the pretty plant and the bird the Christmas

morning has brought to her, hears the bells and climbs up to the win- |

dow to see her neighbors as they drive away.

And as she looks she smiles. “ Why, even the horse keeps Christmas,”
she says, seeing the sprigs of holly behind his ears.

“ Well, whatever Christmas is,” Dobbin is thinking, “it must be a
good thing, anyway.”

And he does not change his mind, you may be sure, when he comes
home to a royal dinner, and later, looks through the window in the wall
again, and sees the little tree blazing with lights, and the father and
mother, and children all smiling round, and hears their merry voices, and
what he thinks the best of all, himself gets the biggest, and reddest, and

most delicious apple from off the Christmas-tree.

60


BEN’S TREASURE.

SCE
a

aeeiLL kinds of treasures the boats bring in when they come back



Zs from their long voyages, far away upon the seas. But the
4| very strangest and most wonderful treasure of all came home
= one day in Ben Blake’s boat, from the Newfoundland Banks.

The boats got in in a heavy rain, but every one was on the beach to
welcome them. Fathers and brothers had been too long from home not
to be met with greetings as soon as they came to land, in spite of wind
and weather; nor were the hardy islanders used to stay within doors for
every shower. |

So there they were on the beach, mothers and sisters and friends, and

as each boat came in, a shout of greeting went up from those on board
- and those on shore. .

Last of all came Ben Blake’s boat; and when it had been secured, and
Ben stepped to the long float, a host of hands were held out to him, for
Ben was a great favorite. But Ben’s arms were full, and he had no hand
to give in return. All the men and women pressed around to get a
glimpse of the bundle he carried, and there arose a great chorus of ques-
tions and exclamations when they discovered that it contained a baby;
a pretty little two-year-old child, that nestled down in Ben’s arms, and
smiled up in his face as if it were quite at home.

But Ben would answer no questions until he had taken his precious

‘treasure out of the rain, into a neighboring cottage, nor even then would
he speak until the baby was warm and dry, and had had a bowl of bread.

and milk set before it by the good housewife.
61
BEN’S TREASURE.

And then he told his story, the story of a wreck which he had wit-
nessed, but from which he could rescue nothing, until there came floating,
close to his boat, a spar, on which was lashed this little child. The baby was
sleeping, he said, and when he drew it into his boat, it opened its pretty
eyes, and smiled up in his face, as good and happy as they saw it now.

5o he had tended it, and cared for it, and watched over it, and now he
had brought it home to be taken care of always.

And because Ben had no home and wife of his own, but only a mother
who was too old and feeble to be burdened with the charge of the little
one, he said the island must adopt it, and all must help care for it.

Children were not few already in the island homes, but every one was
ready to make a place for this little stranger. Hearts were large, if
purses were light, among these simple folk, and there was plenty of room
in them for the pretty baby. And among all the little ones upon the
island, none were loved more dearly from this time, or tended more care-

fully, than the treasure Ben Blake brought from Newfoundland.





































































































FATHER’S RETURN.

HESE three little children live in a pleasant home,
and have a kind father and mother who love them
very dearly. Their house is cosy and comfortable, —
and there is a pretty garden about it, where Peter

and Dolly have each a flower-bed. Dolly and Peter



have plenty of playmates in the village school
where they are taught every day, and at home there is always little
Stephen, whg is the sweetest playmate of all.

You would think they would all be very happy, and so they would be
if it were not for one thing. Their father is a fisherman, and every year
he leaves them for the long season at the fishing-banks of Newfoundland.
They part with him early in the spring, and it is not until harvest-tim<
that they can look for his return.

So the winter months are the happiest of the year in William More-
ton’s home. Then the dear father is there, and every one, from the
mother to little Stephen, rejoices. He is so cheery and good, so heipiut
and strong ; Peter hopes that some day he may be like his father

The mother hopes so too, for she knows he could not take a oetter
model for honesty, and industry, and loving-kindness. But when Peter
says that he, too, will be a sailor like his father, then his mother says,
“No, oh no!” for she cannot bear to think that her boy should have to

meet all the dangers to which his father goes forth every spring.
64




























































































































































































































































































































































































































K

‘ vi \\ \ ?
AL SEN
i x Ni |
| }
|

————




















































































































































FATHER’S RETURN,

The children are so young that they often forget these dangers in their
work and their play, but when night comes and they stand beside their
mother to sing their evening hymn, their thoughts fly to the Newfound-
land Banks, and their song is a prayer from their very hearts for the

father there.
‘“ Guard the sailor tossing

On the dark blue sea,”

they sing, and think of father in his little boat.
Each year, while their father is gone, the children try to learn some-
thing new that may please him when he returns. When Peter was the

»

baby boy, his mother taught him to say “Papa” the first summer his
father was gone; and now this summer little Stephen has learned that
word and many another to surprise the father.

As for Peter, he is a great boy now, and he and Dolly have worked
hard in their gardens to make them bright and neat, and have been help-
ful to their mother, and have treasured in mother’s desk a pile of good
reports that they have brought home, week after week, from school.

They are watching every day for the boats to be in. At last word
comes that they are near. The house is ready, the children waiting; to-
night he will be here!

Hark! what step is that upon the walk? Mother and children run to
throw open the door; and there upon the stone he stands, the dear father!

come home in safety to them once more.


WICKED WILLIE.



5 PILLIE was a wicked boy,
Hf, | Snubbed his poor old mother ;
Vy Willie was a dreadful boy,
Quarrelled with his brother ;
Willie was a spiteful boy,
Often pinched his sister ;
Once he gave her such a blow,

Raised a great big blister!

Willie was a sulky boy,

Sadly plagued his cousins ;
Often broke folks’ window panes,
Throwing stones by dozens ;

Often worried little girls,
Bullied smaller boys ;

Often broke their biggest dolls,
Jumped upon their toys.

If he smelt a smoking tart,
Willie longed to steal it!
If he saw a pulpy peach,
Willie tried to peel it!
Could he reach a new plum-cake,
Greedy Willie picked it ;
If he spied a pot of jam,
Dirty Willie licked it.
67
WICKED WILLIE.

if he saw a poor old dog,
Wicked Willie whacked it ;

If it had a spot of white,
Silly Willie blacked it ;

If he saw a sleeping cat,
Horrid Willie kicked it;

If he caught a pretty moth,
Cruel Willie pricked it.

If his pony would not trot,
Angry Willie thrashed it ;

If he saw a clinging snail,
Thoughtless Willie smashed it ;

If he found a sparrow’s nest,
Unkind Willie hid it.

All the mischief ever done,

Folks knew Willie did it.

No one taught him how to skate,
Or to play at cricket ;

No one helped him if he stuck
In a prickly thicket.

Oh no! for the boys all said
Willie loved to tease them,

And that if he had the chance,

Willie would not please them.
68




A ea ers

AR NI

—————
a


WHAT GRETCHEN SAW.



SA o O you know what a beautiful thing you can see if you get up

early enough some pleasant morning ?

- It is only in the very early morning that you can see it ;
if you oversleep five minutes you will be too late. You
must be up with the birds, if you want to see what they see
every day.

Little Gretchen Miller saw it one morning for the first time in all her
life, and she thought it was well worth waking very early for.

It was Pussy who awoke her. There was no one else stirring in the
house, when Gretchen heard a gentle “ purr! purr!” close by her ear,
and felt a soft tap on her arm. Do you suppose Pussy was trying to
say, “Get up, little Gretchen, get up and look out of the window—quick,
before it is too late ?”

At any rate, Gretchen thought she said something like that, and she
jumped up, and put on some of her clothes in a great hurry, and ran to
the open window.

It was a clear summer morning. The plants on the window-seat were
full of blossoms. So were the trees in the orchard; and the lawn in front
of the house looked as if it were spread with a carpet of green velvet.
The air was soft and cool, and very, very sweet ; there was a faint twitter

to be heard from the waking birds.
7O













































































WHAT GRETCHEN SAW,

And up above, the sky was covered with little fleecy clouds, that low
down in the east were tinged with pink. And as Gretchen looked, the
pink grew deeper and deeper, and spread and spread. One little cloud
after another caught the pretty color, and grew rosy and bright. A golden
light began to peep above the hills ; and then, slowly, there came up over
the highest hill-top, a wonderful great ball of fire.

Gretchen watched it as it rose and grew; what could it be, this won-
derful thing? Had it set the whole heavens on fire? for now the whole
sky was pink, and all about the great ball were flames of red and gold,
shooting out around and above it.

The birds, that had only been giving a sleepy twitter until now, sud-

_denly were wide awake, and poured forth such a chorus of glad song that
the whole world seemed to be full of music. The leaves on the trees
danced. The flowers held up their heads, and smiled at the brightness
above. The little dewdrops twinkled and sparkled like thousands of
jewels in the grass. Everything was glad.

As for Gretchen, she laughed aloud, just a little laugh of fetes
that came out from her very heart. It was such a beautiful world, and
she was in the very midst of it. She had never known before how beau-
tiful it was; just as you, little reader, do not know, and will never know

until you waken very early some summer morning, and see the sun rise.



F439, OBIN of the rosy breast,
Flap your pretty wings ;



Sound most sweet that I love best

Is when robin sings.

72
ONE MORNING.

SAH ENEVER Miss Nancy Bell went to church, the carriage

i] came to the door, with its span of horses, and the coachman



|) on the box ; and the maid helped Miss Nancy down the steps
of the house, and the footman followed with her Bible and
Prayer Book and Hymnal in his arms, and Miss Nancy took her seat,
and the footman climbed up by the coachman, and they drove away.

Now Miss Nancy believed in going to church every day in Lent, and
one morning she started as usual at nine o'clock. But just as she was
stepping into the carriage, who should rush up to her but little Cassie
Milburn, her hair flying and her bonnet falling off, and she threw her
arms round her, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, Miss Nancy! Miss Nancy!” she said, “won't you help me?
Mamma is all of a sudden so much worse; and papa went in town this
morning and does not know, and I don’t know how to tell him, or how to
get him back—unless, unless —”

« All right, Cassie,” interrupted Miss Nancy ; “1 know what you mean.
Get into the carriage, child; and you, John, drive Miss Milburn where
she tells you, and bring her father back with you. Is there anything
else I can do for you, dear?”

“Oh, nothing more, thank you, dear Miss Nancy,” cried Cassie; “ only
to get father home.”

‘Drive fast, John,” said Miss Nancy ; and off John drove, leaving Miss
73
ONE MORNING,

Nancy standing on the sidewalk, and the footman, with the books in his
arms, looking on open-eyed.

Miss Nancy stood still for a minute, thinking. She could not go to
church that morning, that was sure. But was it sure? Just then she
heard the bell of a little church near by, one she had passed often in her
carriage, but had never entered, because of that big church farther off to
which she always rode. “James,” she said—and James was so amazed
he could hardly believe his ears— James, I will walk to church to-day.”

This little church was very poor, and the clergyman, who every day
was visiting the sick and needy, had little to give them. That morning
he was feeling very sad about it, because he wanted money for them se
much, and he prayed in his heart, as he knelt in the church, that the good
God would incline some of His rich children to give of their abundance
to the poor.

Can you think how happy he was when service was over, and he
opened the poor-box at the door, as he did every day, to find five bright
beautiful gold pieces in it, more than he had ever found there before ?
And happier still he would have been had he known that this was only
the first of many times Miss Nancy’s kind hand would be stretched out to
aid him in this work.

And this is but one morning of dear Miss Nancy’s life, full of kind and

loving deeds, which we are sure must bring back many blessings to her.



UNCLE BEN’S RETURN.

= ON’T do that, children; don’t do that. Supposing Uncle
(CR Ben should come home and find you at it?”

The children’s mother often said this to them when they
were noisy, or quarrelsome, or disobedient. Uncle Ben
was a sailor, who was away on a long, long voyage, but
who might now arrive at any time.

Indeed, the mother and the children had been looking

for him for at least a month, and the children were beginning to be



tired of watching, and to think that he would never come.

They were not very quiet, peaceable children, and their gentle mother
did not find it easy to teach them to be obedient to her and kind to one
another. At first, they had listened to her when she had warned them
to be good lest Uncle Ben should come suddenly, and surprise them in
their naughtiness, but after they had waited for many days, this warning
began to lose its effect.

And so it came to pass, one evening, that Joe, and Stephen, and Delia
were quarreling in the kitchen over some game which they had been
playing there. Faces were flushed and angry; voices were raised high ;
the mother’s soft tones could hardly be heard.

“Gently, gently, my children,” she said. ‘What would your Uncle
Ben say if he were to come now !”

“Uncle Ben!” repeated Joe, rudely. ‘“‘ What nonsense about Uncle
76



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































UNCLE BEN’S RETURN.

Ben; I don’t believe he will ever come.” And then he turned upon
Stephen and Delia again. “It’s no such thing !” he cried. “ You
cheated! It was this way.”

Meanwhile some one was coming softly up to the kitchen window.
For, after all, the long voyage was over, and Uncle Ben was come at last.
He thought he would take one peep at his sister and her children before
they knew that he was there—the children whom he had left as little
ones about their father’s knee in the happy days before the dear father’s
death.

And looking in, this is what he saw: Three children disputing over
some game upon the table; one with his hand raised to strike, all with
flushed and angry faces. And he heard loud, rude words, and saw the
grieved look on the mother’s face as she tried in vain to bring back
peace.

Then before they had heard a sound of arrival in their tumult, Uncle
Ben stood in the midst of the troubled group. His face was stern and
sad, the happy moment to which they had all looked forward so long was
very different from what they had hoped.

Oh! how the children wished then that they had heeded their mother's
words, and always watching, had been always ready for this coming!

But Uncle Ben has come to stay, and it may be that with the help of
his strong authority, the gentle mother may in time be able to make her

little cottage what she longs to see it, the dwelling of peace.



73
BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES.

—\ UTTERCUPS and daisies,

g Oh, the pretty flowers, _
Coming ere the spring-time,
To tell of sunny hours ;
While the trees are leafless,

While the fields are bare,

Buttercups and daisies



Spring up here and there.

Ere the snowdrop peepeth,
Ere the crocus bold,
Ere the early primrose
Opes its paly gold,
Somewhere on the sunny bank
Buttercups are bright ;
Somewhere ’mong the frozen grass

Peeps the daisy white.

Little, hardy flowers,
Like to children poor,
Playing in their sturdy health
By their mother’s door ;

79


BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES—THE CUCKOO,

Purple with the north wind,
Yet alert and bold;

Fearing not, and caring not,
Though they be a-cold!

What to them is weather !
What are stormy showers!
Buttercups and daisies
Are these human flowers !
He who gave them hardships
And a life of care,
Gave them likewise hardy strength

And patient hearts to bear.



THE CUCKOO.
<
me
ia

MOI.




I hail the time of flowers,
} And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

Cuckoo! cuckoo !

The school-girl, wandering through the woods,
To pluck the primrose gay,

Starts, thy curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

Cuckoo! cuckoo!
80







































































































































ROLLO’S MONKEY BOOK,

¢OLLO’S papa had a great library in which were many
, learned and costly books. Some of these Rollo did not
%, care to touch, some of them he wanted very much to take,
but his papa would not let him; some his papa would’some-
times take from their shelves and show to him; and some, —

in one special little case of shelves, Rollo could take out



and look at and read whenever he pleased, for they were his very own.

Every birthday and Christmas morning he would run to those shelves,
and there he would be sure to find a new book; for of books his papa
was very fond, and he meant that Rollo should love them too.

These books were of different kinds; there was the Sunday shelf,
with Rollo’s Sunday reading on it; there was the story shelf, with Esop’s
Fables, and the Arabian Nights, and Hans Anderson, and Grimm’s
Household Tales, and all the pretty stories of Cinderella, and Puss in
Boots, and the White Cat, and Red-Riding-Hood, that children love so
well. There was the toy shelf, with the Boys’ Own Book, and others
telling how to play all sorts of games ; and then there were the shelves
of useful books, and among these last was one great favorite of Rollo’s—
The Monkey Book. |
- Last Christmas he had found it there, a good-sized book in a sober
brown cover, not very entertaining at first sight. But when Rollo opened

those brown covers, and saw the many pictures of all sorts of apes and
82 .

ROLLO’S MONKEY BOOK.

monkeys—some walking on their four great hands, some standing up-
right on two and clutching a great staff, some climbing trees, some throw-
ing cocoanuts at each other, some with. their little baby monkeys clinging
round their necks, and some asleep like this great creature in the picture,
—when he saw all these, Rollo was enchanted, and ran to thank his father
a dozen times.

“What a funny book!” do you say? “I don’t see what is useful
about it.”

Ah, you do not know. You should see Rollo curled up in the window-
seat poring over it; you should hear him answer his father when he ex-
amines him about the different monkeys, and where they live, and what —
they eat, and how their habits differ from each other.

« Where is my little monkey?” his mother sometimes asks when she
comes in, and his father thinks, when he sees that, of all his useful books,
this is the one that Rollo really loves, perhaps his son will become
a naturalist, finding his work and his pleasure in learning more and
more of the great animal world. And so he plans to give him other
books, about lions and deer, about elephants and camels, hoping that by-
and-by his little Rollo may make journeys in strange lands, and write
books himself about the wonders that he sees. |

‘But Rollo only sits in the window-seat and reads his monkey book,

and never thinks of this.




HOW TRAY RAN AWAY.

M, T is generally much better to stay in the place where you belong.
a Of course there are exceptions to this rule. America would never
have been discovered, if it had been always carried out, and then where
would you and I have been! But it is well to wait until you are quite
sure you are a Christopher Columbus before you start on a voyage of
discovery.

Once upon a time there was a young dog who had a comfortable home
with respectable parents; a good bone three times a day, with other
necessary articles of food, and even some luxuries. He had everything
that should make a good dog happy, but he was never contented.

When his mother asked him why, he had no answer ready but this:
«“T feel as if I must see the world.”

“Make a good use of the piece of the world you can see,” his mother
would say, wisely ; but young dogs, like young children, do not always
think highly of the wisdom of their elders.

And so one day, without a word to anybody, this young dog—Tray by
name—started out to discover the world. His way lay up a hill, and as
it wound up and up, he began to think it a little toilsome, and the sun a
little warm, and to wonder where he would be likely to find his dinner.

There seemed, indeed, to be no end to the hill, and as he went up it
grew rocky and barren and desolate. There were great bare rocks, and

now and then he passed a cave in them that had a deep and alarming
85
HOW TRAY RAN AWAY,

look. Tray did not like them; he remembered stories he had heard of
wolves and bears.

Still he went on, quite determined to be brave, when suddenly he
heard a voice above his head, and looking up, he saw a great creature,
dressed in feathers, staring at him with great round eyes.

Tray shook with fear. ‘I’m not doing any harm,” he gasped.

But the feathery creature only stared.

‘“‘l’m—I’m going to see the world,” faltered Tray.

Still the round eyes stared at him.

Tray began to remember all the naughty things he had ever done,
especially the times that he had disobeyed his mother. ‘“ Perhaps—per-
haps, I’ve seen about enough for once,” he said, in a very low tone.

“ Tu-whit! Tu-whit! Tu-whoo/” said the queer creature.

With that Tray, frightened almost to death, turned about, and ran
down the hill as fast as his trembling legs would take him, and never
stopped until he reached his mother’s side. ‘“ The world is full of dread-
ful things,” he cried; “I will never run away from home again.”

With that his mother boxed his ears; but she gave him two bones for
his supper, beside a particularly nice bit of meat that the cook had thrown

out to her.





poo.

THE HARVEST FIELD.
A.AIR waved the golden corn



In Canaan’s pleasant land,
When, full of joy, some shining morn

Went forth the reaper band.
86















































































































AWKWARD BOB.

XOB GRAYSON is the most obliging and best-tempered and the

/ most awkward of boys. See him now, going at the fire-place,



head foremost, as though about to fling himself in; yet, if you were to
ask him what he might be doing, he would put his finger on his lip, and
say, “ Hush—sh,” in a loud whisper, and explain that he is just stealing
softly across the floor to put the tea-kettle on quietly, not to waken little
Ted. And more than likely, he will set the kettle down with a thump,
and half a dozen coals will fall out between the bars of the grate, and one
perhaps will roll across the floor and strike Ted’s hand, and wake him up.

That is the way it always is with Bob. Once he met old Mrs. Price
coming home with a basket of eggs, and begged to carry them for her,
and fell, and dropped the basket, and broke them all. Another time he
asked blind Mr. Andrews to let him take his kindling wood up stairs for
him, and then there was a great crash, and Bob and the kindling wood
went rolling down stairs together. And once he overtook lame Mr.
Phillips on the street, and offered him his arm; but he trod so on the old
man’s toes, and tripped so often over his crutch, that at last Mr. Phillips
said, “ Thank ye, thank ye, kindly, Bob, but seems to me I get on better
alone.”

No one ever is angry with Bob when he does all these awkward

things. His face is so smiling and pleasant when he offers to help, and
88



















































































































































































































































































































































































AWKWARD BOB.

so downcast and humble when he fails, that no one says anything more
severe than, “ Bob, Bob, what an awkward boy you are!”

Bob had heard this so often he had almost come to think he could
never be anything but awkward, when one day some one said the same
old words, “ How awkward you are!” and then added, “but why don’t
you try to improve?”

That set Bob to thinking, how could he improve? He asked his
teacher at the Sunday-school about it, and she gave him some easy rules
to follow, such as, “Look where you are walking,” and “ Hold fast what

”

you have to carry ;” and she told him to practise marching ten minutes
a day up and down his room, with his head up and his shoulders down,
and his toes turned out, and a stick for a gun in his arms, just like a soldier
on guard.

Bob has made a beginning. Every night after supper he gets out his
big stick, and gives a little stick to Ted, and with these over their shoul-
ders they march sometimes ten minutes, more often half an hour, about
the room. ‘For Ted likes it,” says Bob; “and I s’pose it’s good for
me.”

And not only in this but in other ways he is trying hard, so that by-
and-by he may get over his ungainly ways, and people will no longer call

him “ Awkward Bob.”



H, how nice! ten little mice
f} Learning their A BC!
Oh, what fun! see how they run



Surely they can’t fear me!
90
JUMBO’S PRIZE.

®i port on the coast of Africa, and before it had cast anchor in



the pretty harbor, the black people of the mainland were put-
4), ting off in boats, or swimming fearlessly out, some just to take
a good look at the strange ship and those on board ; others
with fruit and vegetables, and strings of shells, and odd
plants, and bits of sea-weed, for barter or sale.

The sailors soon made friends with some of the negroes, but one
among them was the special favorite. He was chief of the tribe, and the
most intelligent of them all, and the men before long used to have him
come on board, and would try to teach him a little English.

They gave him a sailor suit and a pair of stout shoes, and they hung a
blue ribbon around his neck with a bright brass medal attached. Jumbo
himself had rings in his ears of African gold, and when dressed up in this
style, he was a fine specimen of a black man.

In return for what the sailors gave him, he brought them fresh fruit
and vegetables every day, and choice fish, and curiosities of different
kinds to take home to their wives and sweethearts. He was interested
in everything in the ship, and pleased with all they gave him; but one
thing they had which he coveted most of all. This was a picture of Eng-

land’s great sailor, Horatio Nelson. It was not because it was of the
91
JUMBO’S PRIZE.—A MOTHER’S LULLABY,

great Admiral that Jumbo wanted this, but because the picture was so
gay and bright with such yellow hair and red cheeks, and blue eyes, such
a splendid red coat, such brilliant decorations, such a superb cocked hat.

Each day he brought something new to the ship, and offered it to the
happy possessor of this gorgeous picture, and each day honest Jack shook
his head ; he could not part with his dear Admiral.

But one morning Jumbo came smiling with delight. He had brought
something with him Jack could not withstand, and he opened his hand
and showed a ring and two long heavy earrings of ruddy gold; and, in-
deed, Jack could not resist those, and so at last Jumbo got the picture,
and itis in his hut to-day ; but the first thing Jack bought after he got

home to England was a new picture of his sailor hero.



A MOTHER’S LULLABY.

SoyITH crooning lullaby a proud hen tried
To sing to sleep a new-fledged bird ;



Alas! the youngster was quite deaf, and sighed

To think it could not hear a word.

Then, as to men, kind Science aid supplied ;
A speaking-trumpet lent its might;
And soon the song was so intensified

The fledgling started with affright.
92



























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































LET US REJOICE,

A SONG FOR THE NEW YEAR,



Es. let us raise
aah A song of praise,
On this bright morn of gladness ;
And joy’s soft ray
Shall chase away
Each look and thought of sadness.
Rejoice! rejoice !
Our hearts are free from anxious care,
Pleasures spring round us everywhere,
And richest gifts we freely share :

Let us rejoice!

Our sky is blue,
Our friends are true,

And all is bright before us ;
Hope’s gentle star
Beams from afar,

In mildest radiance o’er us;
And gay the strain

That we with grateful hearts would sing 3

For lovely as the flowers of spring
94

































































LET US REJOICE.

Are thoughts which days like this should bring :

Let us rejoice !

Sweet is the chime
Which tells that time
Is softly from us stealing ;
And yet it may
Wake by its lay
Some pure and hallowed feeling;
So this glad hour
Should whisper of a Friend on high,
That gracious Friend for ever nigh,
Who bids us on His love rely:

Let us rejoice !

Our youthful hours,
Our ardent powers,
Each gem from life’s deep ocean ;
Our precious health,
Our home’s sweet wealth,
We ought with glad devotion,
To yield to Him ;
For He has died our love to win,
Has ransomed us from death and sin,
And to our hearts would fain come in:

Let us rejoice!
96
THE GOOD GYPSIES,

OPSY strayed away from home the other.
day, and might have come to harm, if
Gypsies’ hearts were as hard as some people
suppose them to be.

She slipped out of the house when Nurse’s
back was turned, and marched off down the
road, her hair all wild, and her little cape and
hat flying in the wind.

Popsy knew this was very wrong. She
knew that she was never to leave the garden
without Nurse, and never then unless she

was clean and tidy ; but this was one of her



naughty days, and she would not try to remember what mamma wished
her to do.

So she walked a little bit up the road, and then turned off into the
grassy fields, and trotted along until at last she came to a great open
place, all surrounded by trees.

And there, in this open place, she saw a great many interesting things.
There was a fire burning, with a kettle hanging over it; there was a very
strange wagon and a kind of a tent; there were horses and mules feed-

ing on the grass; there were dark, oddly-dressed men and women about;
97
THE GOOD GYPSIES.

most interesting of all, there were half a dozen children, and a little baby
to be seen.

The people were so different from any she had ever seen, that Popsy
was half afraid ; but she was so curious that she walked straight on down
to the camp.

Now if these people, who were Gypsies, had been bad at heart, some-
thing very sad might have happened to our naughty Popsy. They might
have stolen her pretty locket, and the little ring she wore; or much
worse, they might have hidden her in the camp-wagon, and carried her
away with them that night.

But their hearts were not bad, and what really happened was this.
When the children spied Popsy, they cried out in surprise, and called the
others to look at the little “Missy.” And the woman with the baby
called her to her, and said, “ Little girl, how came you here?”

“T came by myself,” said Popsy. ‘I’ve runned away.” .

«Then you must run back again,” said the woman, and she called to
one of the men. “Jack,” she said, “this little girl has run away from
home. This is no place for the likes o’ her. Her poor mother will be
worrying ; take her home.”

Popsy did not like to be sent back like this, but she did not dare say
anything, when Jack took her hand, and bade her come with him. And
so it came to pass that almost before she had been missed, naughty Popsy

was at home again—thanks to the good Gypsies.

98


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































I
Bi i |

DA

|

}
ai










SUCH A SAILOR.

) ¢ HAT I want,” said Jerry, “is a boat with a sail.”

“But we wart our own sail-boat,” said one fisherman.
« You can go out with us, if you like,” said another.
“No, I prefer to sail myself,” said Jerry, grandly.
Then, as they had no more suggestions to offer, the

fishermen turned away. Jerry stood, looking thought-



'

fully at the row-boat before him. “ Old tub!” he said; and then, after
a moment, ‘I really believe I could do something with her!”

He ran up to the house for hammer and nails, and coming back, threw
off his coat, and began patching up the small boat here and there. But
what he really wanted to do was beyond his powers, so he made friends
with the carpenter, who fitted up the boat with a mast and sail.

“You'll be upset, certain sure,” said one of the fishermen, when the
work was done.

« As if I couldn’t sail a small boat like that!” replied Jerry, scornfully.

So the fishermen stood on the beach to see him set sail, and waved
their hands to him, as he went off bravely toward the setting sun.

But when the sun was set the wind began to rise. It whistled about
the small sail, roared around Jerry’s ears, and presently, “ crack! crack!
crack!” went the canvas.

Then the boat began to ship seas. It was not stout enough to stand
100



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SUCH A SAILOR.

the storm that had come up so suddenly, and Jerry found himself, all at
once, a wreck, out in the lonely darkness.

“Tf I] had only minded my mother!” he thought, just as a great many
small boys think when they get into trouble because of their disobedience.
Jerry remembered now how she had told him, when he came to the sea-
shore, never to go out in a sail-boat alone.

Jerry had plenty of time to think of all this, as he floated about on a
bit of his wreck, drifting, although he did not know it, toward the shore.
If he had known it, he might have been happier; but I am not sure he
would have been so wise as he was when the clouds broke, and the
moon came out, and showed him the beach, and the boats, and the fisher-
men getting ready their nets, close at hand.

They spied him as he came washing up, helpless and unhappy, not a
dozen rods away. “Ho, ho!” they cried; “here comes the young
sailor!”

« What's become of my boat?” demanded one.

“Next time you'll not be so anxious to sail yourself, I’m a-thinking!”
laughed another.

Jerry thought they were all very unkind, but he was too weary and mis-
erable to make reply. He went, stiff and dripping, up to the house, and
was only too glad to stay in bed three whole days, and drink ginger-tea.
_ And never again, that summer at least, did he scorn a row-boat, or pro-

pose to go out sailing alone.


WHAT BECAME OF THE PENNY.

ITTLE MADELEINE lives in a narrow street behind the
great cathedral. Every day when she is going to school the
bells are ringing for service, and though she cannot then go
in and join in all the people’s prayers, she slips in each

morning by herself for a minute, and kneels at the back of



the church, and prays the good God to keep her through

the day.

But at night, when she is coming home from school, and the bells are
ringing again for evening prayer, then Madeleine can go into the cathe-
dral, and join with all the others there in singing the praises and praying
the prayers that go up to Heaven every morning and evening from the
holy place.

But there is one thing she cannot do, and about which she often
grieves. She sees men and women and children, as they come in or
go out, stop at the poor-box by the door, and drop some money in. It
is for the poor, she knows, and often and often she wishes that she might
have money too, to drop into the box ; but though her home is neat and
nice, and she is comfortably clothed, yet there is never any money to
spare, and Madeleine cannot remember when she has had a penny of her
own, with which to do exactly as she would like.

But one happy day it happened that the teacher at school asked Made
103
WHAT BECAME OF THE PENNY.

leine to go for her quite to the other end of the town, and take a pack-
age to acertain shop. “And as the way is long,” the teacher said, “and
the package large and cumbersome, here is a penny, my good child, to
repay you for your trouble.”

Madeleine’s heart leaped for joy. Here was a penny at last of her
very own, with which she might do as she pleased. She forgot the bun-
dle was large and heavy, and the way was long; she hurried fast as she
could, and fairly ran in coming back.

But when she reached the cathedral the service was over, and the peo-
ple were gone. So alone, as in the morning, Madeleine slipped in, and
kneeled down, and said a little prayer; and then, all smiles, and with a
happy heart, she lifted up her hand and dropped her precious penny in
the box. |

‘‘T wonder where it will go?” she said, softly, as it fell; ‘‘I would like
to see who gets my penny.”

‘“And so, dear child, you will,” said a kind voice by her side. It was
the grayhaired clergyman who spoke. “Some day, please God, you
will look on Him to whom your penny goes, for the loving heart that
giveth to the poor, gives even unto Him.”

Ah, how gladly then did the little Madeleine go home, with a heart
full of joy and holy awe that it had been permitted her to give her pens

ny to the Lord!





























































































































































































































































































































































A GREAT SECRPFT,

NEVER meant to tell. This was how it came about. Last

Ye Thursday I was sitting on the window-seat behind the curtains,

when Brother Fred and Tom Tracy came into the room. They

were talking about a great beautiful dog over in Bexford, and Fred said,

“ We will go Monday and buy him. I’m so afraid Jim Leggett will find

out and get ahead of us. But I don’t see how he can hear of it, and
Monday’s the first day I can go.”

Of course Y never meant to tell, but Saturday Milly Leggett came for
me to go with her to walk; and when we got into Tompkins’ Grove, we
sat down to talk over things, and the first thing Milly said was, “ Do you
know, Esther, Brother Jim’s going to buy a dog?”

And before I thought, I said, “ What, that beautiful great dog over in
Bexford ?”

And she said, “I don’t know where it is. He went to Duptown last
week ; perhaps it’s there. Anyway, when it comes, he’s promised me to
teach it all kinds of tricks, and to carry my lunch-basket to school, and to
meet me when I go home, and to do all sorts of lovely things. Don’t
you wish your brother had a dog ?”

And then, do you know? before I thought again, I told her that
Brother Fred was going to have a dog, and that he would be bigger and
more beautiful than her brother’s, and learn a great many more tricks.

Milly did not like that very well, and pretty soon she said she thought
106

A GREAT SECRET.

she would go home, and I went too, feeling a little troubled. “Don’t tell
about Fred’s dog,” I said, when I left her at her gate, but I do not think
she heard, she was running so fast up the path. _

Monday Brother Fred and Tom Tracy went to Bexford. I watched
them go, half hoping, half fearing ; and when they came back without any
dog, my heart sank.

Mother went down to the gate to meet them, and I heard her say,
“Well, boys, where is this wonderful dog?”

I did not know what to do when I saw Fred’s face, and heard him say,
«That Jim Leggett was ahead of us somehow, and had bought him an
hour before. How he ever heard of him passes me!”

Oh, can you think how miserable I felt, how miserable ] feel? How I
wish I had never heard about the dog! How I wish I had never told
Milly Leggett about him! Do you think, now it’s done and can’t be
helped, that I must tell Fred?

tO 0 or
a
eS)
use,

Hii E are not weeds, we are flowers of the sea,






cf Ui} For lovely and bright, and gay tinted are we,
6)K 5)

v3
aos



And quite independent of sunshine or showers ;

Then call us not weeds, we are ocean’s gay flowers.

Not nursed like the plants of a summer parterre,
Where gales are but sighs of an evening air,
Our exquisite, fragile, and delicate forms

Are nursed by the ocean and rocked by the storms.
108
THE LITTLE SINGERS.

a Tis very hard to be sick and lame,
and to have to lie on one’s couch all
day, and never to walk even across.
the room ; but there are some things
that come to such a life, that make
even it pleasant.

That is what Lucy Danvers, the
Rector’s daughter, thought, as she lay

on the lounge by her window Christ-
mas morning, and heard the children

singing by the gate.
It was n’ne o’clock, for Mrs. Ferrars

had said, “ Now, children, you must.



not go early ; Miss Lucy does not rest

RPO bg ae

ton ) well nights, and her morning’s sleep.
is best of all. Don’t let your singing wake her. Wait till she has waked.
herself, and had her breakfast, and sing your carol then, as you are on
your way to chucch.”

So as Miss Lucy lay there, all sweet and fresh, and nicely settled for
the day, with a bunch of Christmas roses by her side, she smiled to hear

the sweet words coming over the snow—

‘God rest ye, all good Christians ; upon this blessed morn

The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born :
109
THE LITTLE SINGERS.

Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away ;

For Jesus Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas Day.”

Miss Lucy drew back the curtain and looked out. At the gate stood
Margie and Dick, and Hester and Teddy Ferrars. Behind stretched the
field, white with snow, and beyond it the church spire pointed up to heaven.

Miss Lucy looked and smiled. Then she tapped on the window, and
beckoned the children up the path. Good Nurse Bennett met them at
the door, and took them up the stairs. Very softly they followed her
into Miss Lucy’s room. Miss Lucy held out her hands to them as they
came in. “Thank you so much, dear children,” she said, “for remem-
bering me with your carol. You have helped make my Christmas
morning very bright.”

Then from her bunch of Christmas roses she took one for each of them.
“You shall carry them to church,” she said. ‘“ You will like that, will
you not? And even Teddy can remember who is the Rose of Sharon.”

Then she kissed them, and wished them a Merry Christmas, and told
them they must hurry off to church; and she lay and watched them as
they went, with a smile upon her face.

All the rest of the day Miss Lucy lay there on her couch alone, for her
father was busy in church, and with his people, and soon the pain came,
so that she could not bear even Nurse Bennett in the room; but in the
worst pain she would whisper to herself, ‘« But all our sorrows He doth
heal,” and even sometimes smile again.

Dear children who read this, is there any sad face you know, to which

you could bring a happy smile, if you should try, on Christmas Day?
110

















































































































































































































































































































IN THE PARK.

AST year mamma took me with her to England to visit
Uncle Clifton. We got there in October, and Lu and
Percival were at school. Uncle Clifton said he was afraid
I would be lonely with no young people to play with, but

it seemed to me I never could be lonely there. Such a



beautiful house, with its great halls, its statuary and paint-
ings, the library full of books, the drawing-rooms full of ornaments ; it
was like being in a museum all the time!

And then outside was the terrace, where the peacocks walked; and
below, the gardens bright with flowers ; and then beyond, reaching far
away, my dear, dear park.

Of all the beautiful memories I have of England and my happy visit
there, none are brighter than of the lovely park. I shut my eyes, and
I see it just as it looked to me that first. morning of my visit, when,
after breakfast, Uncle Clifton held out his hand to me, and said, “ Now,
Bertha, we will go and see the park.” There are the great tall trees, and
the long slopes of rich green grass. There are the tiny streams and the
deep, quiet pools. There are the cattle grazing, and hardly lifting their
sleek heads as we go by; there are the deer lying in the shade. For
the first time I hear an English thrush; for the first time I see what an

English park is like.
112







































































































































IN THE PARK.

After that first morning not a day passed but I went into the park.
I saw the autumn flowers bloom there, and fade away ; I saw the leaves
turn yellow, and then brown and dead, and fall from the trees; I saw
the cold winter sun shine between the bare boughs upon the grass; I
saw the cold rains fall on it; I saw the snow come and cover it for a
little while, and the ice form on the pond. And whether green and
fresh, or brown and dead, I loved the park. :

The creatures there came to know me. The cattle would let me
come up and stroke their heads, and would eat from out my hand. So
would the pretty, timid deer. Often, in the sunny days of the early
fall, I would take my book, and sitting under some old oak, would read
for hours, and looking up, would find a pet fawn drawing shyly near,
to crouch beside me, half loving, half fearful. Then I would lay down
my book to smooth its long ears, and stroke its graceful neck, and hold
its head between my hands, and look into its quiet, soft eyes. And
I would draw out from my pocket some favorite dainty to feed it
with. .

Do you wonder that those were happy days? Do you wonder that
when I look back to my visit in England I think with so muck pleasure

of that beautiful old park ?



JOW happy are the golden days,




When every glad to-morrow
Brings hours of peace and joyous lays

To hearts that know no sorrow.
114






HAPPY CHILDHOOD.

JAPPY children, bright and gay,

No sad thoughts disturb your play;
Dressing up with flowers fair,
Ragged frocks and tumbled hair ;
Laughing, shouting, in your glee;

How could princes happier be ?

Knowing naught of want or dread,

Heavy heart or aching head ;

Content with clothing thin and bare,
Content with hard and scanty fare.
Learn a lesson as you look,

Little ones who read this book ;
Learn to know, whate’er your state,
God himself has fixed your fate ;

He will send you what is best,

Toil and woe, or peace and rest ;

And should murmuring thoughts arise,

When this picture meets your eyes
115
HAPPY CHILDHOOD.

Think how bright your happier lot,
Clothed and fed as these are not ;
Cheery rooms with books and toys,
Friends and playmates, countless joys};
And when kneeling down to pray,

Humbly, earnestly then say :

“ Father, let me be content

With the blessings Thou hast sent ;
Cheerfully accept Thy will,
Whether it be good or ill.”

Thus as bright as sunny ray
Cheering e’en the darkest day ;
Little ones can all become

Blessings in the poorest home.

: EE haw! three blind mice



Holding a piece of thread ;
When in pops the cat,
With her paw pit-a-pat,

Knocks off each little head.
116
ys
ea whit
Ltn

i a

BY aii

eH



AKIN
vale he ANY
ale AY
SUES WANS

! ea
FORGIVING.

LITTLE girl was saying her prayers at her
mother’s knee one evening.

“ Our Father Who art in Heaven,” she
began ; and went on with the prayer that our
Blessed Lord taught His disciples, until she
‘came to these words: “ Forgive us our tres-
passes, as we forgive those who trespass
against us.” Here she stopped.

“Go on, my dear,” said her mother, softly,

and began repeating the words, thinking her



little daughter might have forgotten them.

But the little girl said, ‘“‘ Please, mamma, need I say this prayer to-
night? Ido not want to say it to-night.”

“Not want to say your prayers!” said her mother in surprise.

“Not this one,” said her little girl; and when her mother asked her
why, she whispered, “Because I do not want to forgive Jamie. He
broke my best cup, and he laughed, mamma, when I cried, and said I
was a baby. I will not forgive him.”

Then mamma looked very grave. ‘‘My darling,” she said, “ think of
all the naughty things you have done to-day; do not you want to be

forgiven?”
118























































































































































































































































































































































































FORGIVING.

“Yes, mamma,” said the little girl; “but not that way—not if ] must
forgive Jamie.”

“T thought you loved Jamie,” said mamma, sadly ; but she did not urge
her little daughter any more. She let her creep into her bed, and kissed.
her silently, and left her alone.

All alone in the dark, the little girl began to think. You know how
the thoughts come to you, when you are lying in your quiet room, almost
as if they were alive. So they came to this little girl. She remembered.
how she had spoken crossly to her sister in the morning; and she won-
dered if her sister had forgiven her. She remembered how she had diso-
beyed mamma, and yet mamma had kissed her tenderly to-night.

And then she recalled other things—naughty little thoughts and
words, of which mamma knew nothing—and remembered Who only
could forgive those.

And when she began to think how good Jamie often was to her, how
he had given her his favorite marble only the day before, how he always
shared his candies and nuts with her, and how she was not always as kind
to him as she ougnt to be, her heart was softened.

Could she not forgive him? Must she not try?

It was dark, and our little girl did “ not like the dark,” but she slipped:
out of bed, and kneeled, and very softly repeated her prayer. And when
she climbed back into bed, it was not five minutes before she had fallen.
asleep, quite happy now that she could pray to be forgiven as she for-

gave Jamie.

120


OUR HOLIDAY.

E had been hard at work all winter,
studying Arithmetic and Geography,
and Spelling and Grammar, and learning to
write and cipher, and we were pretty well
tired out. Papa said we hadn’t a drop of red
blood in our veins, and that what we needed
was good country air, good country milk, and
a little wholesome ignorance.
So the books and slates were shut up in a

closet, and our trunks and bags were packed,
and off we started to make a long visit in the

country.



It wasn’t to be a yisit exactly. We were
to go to papa’s cousin’s parish; but papa’s cousin was in lodgings, and
he had taken rooms for us in a house next door. .

He met us at the train, Cousin Ralph, and the minute we had seen
him smile we weren't a bit afraid. And when he had introduced us to
Mrs. Briggs, where we were to stay, we weren't a bit homesick.

We never shall forget that summer, not if we live to be one hundred!
We rode, we walked, we went fishing with Cousin Ralph, we made hay,
and rode on the hay-cart with Farmer Briggs. And we had such deli-
cious things to eat! We think ‘of them often when we can get only city

vegetables and city milk and butter.
121
OUR HOLIDAY,

And we only got into mischief once all that summer! I think it was
because everything was so free and comfortable, and there weren’t any
rules that we couldn’t see the sense of. At any rate, the only time that
we got into trouble was when we borrowed the donkey without Farmer
Briggs knowing it.

We couldn’t find the farmer to ask him, and so we borrowed old Flips
without asking. We were gone all day, and when we got back there
was a great to-do. The farmer had wanted the donkey, and the donkey
was nowhere to be found. We were pretty near being sent home that
time, but Mrs. Briggs and Cousin Ralph interceded for us, and we were
so dreadfully sorry, that Farmer Briggs forgave us. We really were
sorry, and we tried in so many ways to show it, that I am sure the
farmer believed us, if he did declare that boys are nuisances.

After that we tried very hard to be thoughtful and not get into mis-
chief; and we succeeded so well that when it came time for us to go
home, the farmer seemed almost as sorry as Mrs. Briggs herself.

And Cousin Ralph said it was a good thing to be able to carry home

not only rosy cheeks and sound health, but a good conscience as well.

aS the evening shades descended,



Low and loud and sweetly blended,
Low at times and loud at times,
And changing like a poet’s rhymes,

Rang the beautiful wild chimes.
122

















































































































































































































































































































































































































FARMER BRENT.





‘OMETIMES I wonder, when I look at Farmex Brent, how
Se

ve Up early, and to bed late ; doing all sorts of work upon >

he can always seem so happy, working so hard as he does.



the farm and about the house ; his hands rough, and his




* shoulders bent with toil, and yet always with a bright face and
pleasant smile.

Certainly his home cannot be very cheerful, with his old paralytic father
sitting always in the corner, and his aunt bustling about the house, order-
ing him around, and scolding him as though he were a little child.

But I have never heard him answer back; I have never seen him
other than patient with all her whims. And as to his father—how tender
and loving he is with him! how hard he tries to please him, and how many
times each day he brings something in to him from the field, or the barn,
or the farm-yard, that he thinks may amuse the old man.

“Father was so fond of the creatures,” I’ve heard him say. ‘It was
he taught me about all sorts of farm-work. He would give me pets,
sometimes a lame chicken, sometimes a young pig, sometimes a calf, and
so I learned how to take care of them all. He taught me the different
kinds of -grains, and how to plant, and dig, and hoe, and how to trim
trees in the plantation, and how to drain ponds, and how to turn the

water into meadows. And he showed me how to study the clouds, and
124

FARMER BRENT,

the sky, and tell when fair weather or foul might come. Oh, I owe every~
thing to my dear father.”

« And Aunty,” he would go on, “she’s been a mother to me, the only
mother I’ve ever known; keeping the house clean, and me mended up,
and father tidy, and getting us many a good meal, even when crops
failed, and times were hard, and there was little in the larder.”

Do you wonder, then, when Farmer Brent sees only the bright side of
his life indoors, that outdoors he looks so happy and contented ?

He loves every beast and fowl upon the place. They are all his friends.
Every morning, he rises to find the day beautiful, for the sun will be good
for the hay, and the rain for the young vegetables. He plows up his
hilly pasture land, pleased at every step to see the soil his plow turns
up so black and rich, to see the bright flowers on their tall stalks cut and
lying at his feet, to see his stout old horses doing their work so well, to
see the broad blue sky lying soft upon the hill-top, to see the old farm-
house below him when he reaches the hill-top himself. For all these
things he loves, Farmer Brent thanks God every day. No wonder he is
happy, and his eye is bright, and his smile glad, with such a grateful heart.

ean LLO! here we go!
i The children that live in a shoe!



We scramble and crawl,
And quarrel and squall,

Till mother can’t tell what to do!
126
BLIND JOHNNY.

aq] OOR Johnny is blind ; he never has seen

Bey

The beautiful world with its carpets of green ;



He never has seen the daisy so bright,

Nor watched it fold up, quite sleepy, at night.

And the bright yellow buttercups—Johnny can’t know
How pretty they look in the fields, as they grow.
He never can see the beautiful flowers,

How they smile and look sweetest just after the showers,

He never can see the bright morning sun
Starting up from his sleep, like a giant to run
His long and hard journey to east and far west,

Then shining “ Good-night,” and sinking to rest.

And, saddest of all, poor Johnny can’t see
His dearest papa, as he sits on his knee.
Nor e’er can behold his mother’s sweet face,

Or the love that beams there as she meets his embrace.

127
BLIND JOHNNY.

Poor Johnny! To him we will always be kind ;
To our hearts shall be nearest the boy that is blind.
We will strive by our love to make up for each loss;

And Johnny shall smile while he carries the cross.







IM Ag

|) PRESERTS

ced

FI) BAZAAR
i















some anecdotes of dogs in the Avenzng Post, and it
does not tell of a single one that has as much sense
asmy Jip. I havea great mind to write about him.”

“Why not, dear? I really think he deserves to
be in print.”

Susie ran up to her room, and taking a large
sheet of paper from her pretty writing-desk, began:

“My Dear Mr. Post—You think that you know
some smart dogs, but none of them can hold a candle to mine. I
really must tell you about him. His name is Jip, after Dora’s pet, in
David Copperfield, and his hair is as soft as mamma's seal-skin sacque,
and his eyes are like diamonds—only I never saw any black ones.

“In the evening, when he is on the rug before the fire, if I say, ‘Warm
your hands, Jip,’ he'll hold out frst one paw and then the other, in the
most comical way. To see him play hide-and-seek is too funny for any-
thing. I take a ball and hide it. While I am searching for a good
place, Jip will put his head in a corner, in the folds of Aunt Carrie’s dress,
until he hears me say ‘ready,’ and then he’ll begin to hunt; smelling
around, and now and then looking at me to see if he is ‘burning.’ If
129
JIP.

he finds the ball, I give him a penny, and what do you think he does
with it? Goes to the baker’s and buys him a roll.

“T know you won't believe what I am going to tell you, but I cross
my heart to it. The other day a beggar woman came to the door, and
when Jip saw us giving her money and things, he trotted up stairs and
came back with the last penny which he had earned, and offered it to
her. I nearly died laughing at Jip’s charity.

‘But you should see him play the wolf in Red Riding-Hood. Fan-
nie Morson, my dearest friend, and I, taught him. Her doll is the
grandmother, and mine Red Riding-Hood. We dress Jip in the gown
and cap, and he makes believe he is asleep when Red Riding-Hood
comes in, just as well as an actor. But the little scamp has got so fond
of my doll’s carriage, that he deliberately throws her out of it to take a
nap on her soft pillow.

“T could tell you many more of Jip’s tricks, but fear to make my
letter too long. Please, Mr. Post, don’t throw it in your trash-basket.
Vd like so to tell Fannie Morson that I’d had a piece printed in the
papers, because her compositions are always better than mine, and she’s

always a little stuck-up about it.
“ SUSIE.”

“Mr. Post” did publish Susie’s letter, and Jip became a very distin-
guished dog in his own country.




a

i

































Sa


































































































































A QUIET TALK WITH THE LOOKING-GLASS.



C¢ F a glass could really speak, what strange things it would say, and
ox

OC oe
se say to Agnes, “Aggie, you are a good girl, but you really do

most likely some things we should not care to hear. It might

spend much of your time in looking at me;” or to Robert, ‘‘ Bob, there
is no occasion for you to go rushing all over the house in such haste, and
then go to school without once looking at me: why, your hair looks
exactly as if it had not been brushed for a week.”

What the glass would say to sister Angelina, when she is getting ready
to go to Mrs. David Dorlinda’s party, I am almost afraid to say; but if |
the glass could speak it might make your sister angry, at being talked
to in that manner. The glass would tell the baby and the French
nurse, that they looked as if they expected company, and were both
ready to receive any number of visitors.

But suppose a well-behaved, respectable looking-glass could tell you
its own history, all about its birth and its growth, its travels in other
lands, the people it has met with, and the treatment it has received,
what a strange tale it would be! Of course this glass would begin by
saying, ‘ Once upon a time there was no glass, but I remember my
great-great-grandmother telling us how it was that the glass family

came to be born, and as near as I can recollect, this is what she said:
132
Pa SG LYE, a
es DIP RS
eee 35
on


A QUIET TALK WITH THE LOOKING-GLASS.

«Some sailors, during a storm, were driven on shore on the banks of
the river Belus, in Syria. They had to stay there some time, and
cooked their food with the Kali plant, found close by. The shore was
very sandy, and one day the sailors made so large a fire, which was so

hot, that it melted the sand and the Kali together; when coo/, it was

found to be glass.’” Since that time, glass has been made of all colors,

shapes, and sizes. Now we have glass bottles, ships, and mugs. Glass
windows, and spectacles to look through; looking-glasses to look at,
glass stools for the legs of the piano to stand on, and glass chairs for
people to sit on; for glass furniture has been made and used.

Windows were in the olden time made of rushes, or of oiled paper and
linen, but that day has passed away, and we have windows of glass,
beautifully stained for our churches and clear for our houses.

It is no more strange than true, that glass is made by melting ina
furnace soda, sand, and flint.

Looking-glasses have to be rolled very smooth, and the back of the

glass coated with quicksilver.
—_————_a 0-40

TOs 1:

HERE was a little lady loved

_So much the smell of roses;



They might be white, they might be red,
But, smelling them, she wished, she said,

She had a thousand noses !
134
WONDERING PUSSY.




BN A

Cyn, where is my kitten, my little gray kitten ?
I’ve hunted the house all around;

I’ve looked in the cradle, and under the table,

But nowhere can kitty be found.

Tve hunted the clover and flower beds over;
I peeped in the old wooden spout ;
I went to the wood-pile, and stayed there a good while,

But never my kitty came out.

I’ve been in the attic and made a great racket ;
I peeped into little Dick’s bed;
I’ve looked in the stable, as much as I’m able;

I hunted the wood-house and shed.

I called little Rover, to hunt the field over,
And help find my kitty for me ;

No dog could be kinder, but he couldn’t find her—
Oh, where can my poor kitty be?

I saw a boy trundle away a small bundle,
And drop it down into the brook.
Could that be my kitty, so cunning and pretty?
I think I willrun there and look:
135
WONDERING PUSSY.

For there is no knowing what people are throwing,
When things are tied up in a sack;

Whatever they carry, not long do they tarry,
And always they come empty back!

Oh! there is my rover, coming out of the clover ;
Silly puss you are to roam;
I'll take you up at once, you stupid little dunce,

‘In my mouth, and carry you home.






Ky N ' tf
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iv)
Mg Ay hi} HM
aN
Hi

“al
\ iN ,
NY

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AN



TN
ANNA
BUILDING A FORT.



, ae OWN on the sea-shore three little brothers and their sis-
7 (ter were playing. They had dug holes in the sand, they
had picked up shells, and had watched the ships and the
fishing-boats, and now they wanted something fresh to do.

“Tet us build a fort,’ said Ambrose, the eldest of
them ; ‘‘then I will be king over it, and Nigel shall be an
enemy coming to take it from me.”

Nigel, who was sitting on the edge of a boat lying upon the beach,
waved his cap, and shouted that it would be good fun. And Gyp;a
sturdy little girl with large blue eyes, brought a load of sand in her
pinafore, whilst Walter patted it down, to make it as hard as he could.

“There must be a tower in the middle,” said Ambrose, ‘and a flag
on the top of it.”

“But we have not got a flag,” said Walter.

“T have a long stick,” said Ambrose, ‘and I can tie Gyp’s blue hand-
kerchief to it; that will make a splendid flag.”

“And if I can carry it off,” shouted Nigel, “I shall be king of the
fort.”

Then he ran to help with the building, so that it might be sooner
finished.

At last the fort was built; and there was the tower, with the flag

138














Se ww RN ee
WN
: AS 5 : , SS
SS SSN vas
= : oS Ws.
LR Aa hercons t,


BUILDING A FORT.

upon it, and a wall all round. And outside stood Ambrose and Walter
and Gyp, whilst Nigel was trying to dart in between them, and seize
the flag.

It was a long time before he could manage to do so; but Walter
having turned away his head for a moment to look at a pretty sailing-
boat quite near to the shore, Nigel slipped past, and mounted the
tower.

“Tam king now!” said he, waving the flag.

So Ambrose was the enemy, and Nigel was king; then Walter; and
last of all Gyp said she wanted to be king of the fort.

“ But girls can’t be kings,” said Ambrose.

Gyp does not care; she will be king, and have the flag.

And so Gyp was put into the fort ; and instead of leaving the flag on
the tower she held it fast in her hands, and when Walter was making
his way to her, she ran away, so that he should not take it.

Walter hastened after Gyp, who had made her way to Nurse, who
was sitting on the steps of a bathing-house.

And Nurse told the children they must stay with her, and watch the
tide coming in.

And the great waves came rolling along, and swept away the walls of

the fort, and then the tower, until at last there was nothing of it left.



140
RAGGED BOB.

=i, caught, are you, ragged Bob! and a good tweak I hope

you'll get! I see she has you fast by the ear, and a wild

Poe{| bird's beak is pretty sharp and strong, let me tell you!



She seems to know you dare not leave go for fear of fall-
ing off the high branch. Did you think you would steal the fledgelings.
she has taken so much trouble to rear? Ah, Bob, Bob, ’tis a great
pity that you cannot find something better to do than go birds’-nesting
all day! Your jacket might be in better condition, and your hair not
quite so much like a broom in fits.

Tweak, little mother! Hold him fast while we read him a lecture—
while we tell him how dear to your little beating heart are those three
open-mouthed ugly little mites, some day to grow so beautiful, and to
fill the world with song, whose cry is ever “More, more!” How aff
day long you fly here and there, finding food your darlings like.

“T don’t want to hurt the little things, only to keep them,” cries Bob,
with tears of pain in his eyes, and his ear getting redder and redder.

Not hurt them, my fine fellow? Why, what else can you do when
you get them into your hot hands or your dirty pocket? Are you likely
to go catching worms and insects for them all day long? Can you
spread out soft warm wings to protect them from the cold? Can you
hush them to sleep with a hymn they understand? No, you will handle
141
RAGGED BOB.

and hurt them, in ignorance, if not in unkindness, and soon their little
heads will droop, their loud chirp will change to a cry of “Gone!
gone!” and they will all be dead by to-morrow, most likely. Fie upon
you! surely there are plenty of ways of amusing yourself besides birds’-
nesting—such cruel, cruel fun, and such very poor fun, after all, if you
come to think about it. For you are big and strong, and Dickie is so

little and weak, and will break her heart if you carry off her



Slip! rumble! tumble! My lecture is cut short, for Bob has slipped
off his perch, and is rubbing his red ear. He has had enough birds’-

nesting for one day.

BO-PEEP’S DREAMS.

.
)

PITTLE Bo-peep,

So fast asleep ;



Now tell me, Bo-peep, whether
All songs by day
You sing and you say

In dreams are not mixed together ?

Little Bo-peep,
Your dreams won’t keep

In order, but never you mind them;
Wake in the light, |
And they'll all come right,

And as they should be you'll find them.
142
Aan
NECA SaaS
AW

AWA: ee


OUT IN THE FIELDS WITH BABY.

VERYBODY is afraid of catching a fever,
and will not, if they can help it, go into |
any place where a fever is; and I have
known and read of people who are afraid
of the “ Hay Fever,” a fever of a curious
kind, which only a very few people catch.
The smell of new-mown hay so affects the |
head, that they have to leave their plea-

sant homes in the country, and go right



away till after all the hay has been made
and stacked in the barn-yard. I think there is no danger of my catching
it, for I have been out in the hay-fields for hours, and only sorry that
I could not stop longer to smell the new hay.

That lady and gentleman in the picture, who you can see are baby’s
mamma and papa, are not at all afraid of the hay fever, for every
spring, Mr. and Mrs. Bell, who live in the city, leave their house in the
charge of the servants, and go miles away to see the brother of Mr.
Bell, who has a large farm in a very pleasant part of the country. They
stop out in the pure air as much as they can, for their own sakes, and
for baby’s sake; they like to sit on the new-mown hay, and to feel that
they are far away from city sounds and city smells. It does not matter
144









OUT IN THE FIELDS WITH BABY. —

a bit where good fathers and mothers live, they are all fond of baby.
They will sit up night after night to watch baby when sick, and seem
as if they were never tired in doing anything to make the little tiny
baby well and strong.

Years ago, though, babies in large cities were not taken as much care
of as they are now: I mean the babies who belonged to the poor women
who had to go washing all day far away from home. Now there are
baby schools or homes, where, for a very small amount of money, the
little ones are fed and watched over till night. .

Did you ever think how many babies are born every year in large
cities? In the city of London, in England, there are as many babies
born every year, as there are persons living in the city of Newark, New
Jersey. If every man, woman, and child in Newark was a baby, of
course there would be a city of babies. Well, if there was, there would
only be as many, after all, as are born every year in the city of London.
All these babies have to be taken care of in one way or the other, and
1 am afraid they do not all get as much love and care as the baby who
belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Bell.

Babies will not cry unless they are hungry or in pain; and when you
hear your dear little baby brother or sister cry, you just go and tell

mamma, and not Bridget.





GRIMALKIN’S FEAST.



“A(OW for anap!” Grimalkin said—

“ At least, the thought passed
through her head,

As from her plate she turned aside,

With sumptuous dinner satisfied,

And slowly climbed the kitchen stair,

To seek the old ancestral chair.

She found it; and, at ease reclined,

To meditation gave her mind,

Which soon for sleep prepared the way.

It was a brilliant summer day ;

The sunbeams through the window

strayed
As if themselves in search of shade:

147
GRIMALKIN’S FEAST.



And not a breath the curtains

stirred,
In sweet contentment pussy

purred,

Till, fast in deeper slumbers
caught,

Her dreams intenser pleasure

brought.

She sat upon a velvet throne,

And all she saw she called her
own.

She mewed, and lo! a thousand
mice

Came running round her in a

trice.

She mewed again: to left, to
right

They wheeled, obedient in de-
light ; |

And then, ’mid feathered ban-
ners high,

There came in sight a partridge

pie,

Upborne with solemn step and

slow

By stately rats—-a_ dainty
show;

Upstanding all, with neckties
white,

In stainless vest and dress-coat

tight—


GRIMALKIN’S FEAST.



But hark! a burst of glorious song

Sweeps through the palace courts
along ;

The startled bearers pause: a crash,

A thousand squeaks, a_ general

smash !

The dream had vanished, but the
strain

‘ose thrilling to the skies again:

Was ever minstrelsy so sweet ?

Grimalkin started to her feet.

Perplexed, entranced, she looked
around

For spectacles, could they be found;

149

She could not trust her ears, her
eyes,

In this glad instant of surprise;

Then to the open casement went,

To give her wonder wider vent.

The mystery at a glance she saw,
And raised in ecstasy her paw
As if to hush all other sound:

Then swift leapt forth with noise-

less bound.


GRIMALKIN’S FEAST.



A cage was fastened to the wall

‘Beneath the branching creepers
tall ;

And there, embowered in leafy
shade,

A little bird sweet music made.

Ah! little in our sunniest hours

Wit we how near the danger
lowers ;

Ah! little care we then to know

That close at hand may be our
foe!

From bough to bough Grimal-
kin sprang, —

While still the gladsome echoes

rang ;
150



Then clutched the cage, and
open tore

With crafty claws the half-hinged
door.

One moment, and the song was
hushed,

The little songster cruelly
crushed ;

Another, and a step was heard
Fast running as to save the bird;

Grimalkin dropped her prey, and
fled—

Too late, too late, the bird was
dead !

Whatever may your love engage,
Be careful where you hang your
cage!


PLORRIE DOCTORED IN THE BLACKSMITH’S
SHOP.



? 'N every city there are plenty of doctors—Doc-
tors of Laws, Doctors of Divinity, and Doc-
tors of Medicine. Some of the doctors of
medicine know a great deal about our bodies,
and some do not. Thereis Dr. Curem, who

can tell what is the matter with us almost as

soon as he comes into the room. He looks
at the tongue, feels the pulse, asks one or
two questions, says good-by, and is off to
see somebody else. But if Dr. Curem is
out, and Dr. Patchem comes, we do not like it very much.

He stays so long; and wants to know what we have been eating,
drinking, and doing every day for a week or more. Dr. Curem, when
we saw him, looked like a doctor, but Dr. Patchem did not, although he
was not dressed like the doctor who is binding up Florrie’s cut finger ;
for he knows more about joining two pieces of iron together, than he
does about wounds on little girls’ hands.

Florrie and Mr. Ironmonger, the blacksmith, were neighbors, and she
often ran in to have a chat with him when he was not very busy. One

afternoon she took up a chisel to look at which was lying on the bench.

151
FLORRIE DOCTORED IN THE BLACKSMITH’S SHOP.

While there it did no harm, but in Florrie’s hands it did, for it cut her
finger.

She did not have to go very far for the doctor, as he was close by.
A piece of rag was soon found, Miss Florrie was perched up on the
bench, and her finger bound up, perhaps not quite as neatly as Dr.
Curem would have done it, but the good blacksmith did it as well as
he could. A blacksmith’s shop is a rare place for the boys, who like to
stop at the door as they go home from school, or peep in at the window,
and see the hot iron hammered into all kinds of shapes. They like it
best, though, when the iron is red hot, and the sparks are flying all over
the blacksmith, like the fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Every boy in the town knows Mr. Ironmonger, for he mends their
iron hoops, puts new ones on the mothers’ washtubs, mends the locks
of the doors, or the hinges of the barn. He can take two pieces of iron,
make them both red hot, and weld or hammer them together so close
and tight that you hardly see where they are joined. The boys not
only liked to see him at work, but also to talk with him, for he had a
kind word or a piece of advice always ready.

Using bad words, or telling lies, or talking scandal, he says, is like
“playing with edged tools,” although they may not cut the finger ; but
they do more harm, not only to ourselves, but to other people as well.
A cut finger may be bound up, and in a few days it is well again with-
out leaving a scar, while bad words make a terrible stain upon our

character, not easily rubbed out.











THE TWIN BROTHER AND SISTER AT THE
FARM.



< ANY little people think that everybody is happy at the
: farm, that no sorrow enters there; and in the farm are
no sighs or tears. * Now this is all wrong, for there is
trouble in a farm as well as trouble in a city. The
farmer may not be in such a hurry, or be obliged to
move as quick as his brother, the merchant in the city,
who may have a bale of cotton, or a case of perishable
goods in to-day which he wants to sell to-morrow, while the farmer has
to plow, to sow, and to wait along time before he can reap, and be
repaid for his time and the money he has spent.

But it is true that there is more real enjoyment at the farm than at
the store, and particularly when the farmer is a patient and contented
man, who does what he can for himself, and does not complain about
the weather God sends him.

Such a farmer was good Mr. Harwood, the father of Jack and Gill,
the twin brother and sister. These two were like a pair of doves,
unhappy when apart. If you saw Jack, you might be certain that Gill
was not far off. It is said that twins are more fond of each other than
brothers and sisters who are not twins.

Whether this is so or not I will not say, but those two little ones,
154

THE TWIN BROTHER AND SISTER AT THE FARM.

sitting on the grass so close together, look as if they loved each other
very much indeed. Perhaps twins may think alike as well as look
alike ; we cannot see their thoughts, as we can their faces, or we might
know more about them. Yet some of us have seen twins who were so
much alike that one was often taken for the other.

My father knew two ladies who were twins, who not only looked
alike, but thought alike ; what one wanted to do the other wanted to
do, what one did the other did ; and they were so much alike in face,
in form, and in height, that one hada piece of scarlet ribbon tied on
her arm to distinguish her from her sister.

A young lady, a twin sister, often came to see my mother. The
young lady’s name was Emma Hutton. Her twin sister lived with an
aunt, some miles from our house, and was not known to my brothers or
myself. It so happened that my brother and this lady met in the street,
when he offered his hand, saying, ‘‘ How do you do, Miss Hutton?”

She did not shake hands, but replied, “I am quite well, sir, I thank
you; but you are a stranger to me.”

‘“‘ Nonsense,” said my brother; ‘“‘you are Miss Hutton.”

It turned out that he was speaking to Emma Hutton’s twin sister.
Of course they both laughed and parted good friends, but this shows

how people may be mistaken when twins are in the way.


A SUMMER MORNING.

@IERRE has never been in the country before. I think that is




_ the reason he is up so early this morning, for at home in the

city, he is never up before seven, and now it is only half-past



five, and here he is down by the brook, dressed in his sailor's suit, all
ready for a long day of fun.

He has just come from the little white house under the hill, There is
a big hill right behind it, and there is a row of big hills in a long sweep-
ing line before it ; and when he opened the front door this morning and
ran out, what do you think was the first thing he saw? Why, a great
golden ball just peeping up between two of the highest hills, and all the
hills were covered with a golden mist, and all the meadows were spar-
kling with the dew. “Oh, how pretty! how pretty!” cried Pierre, who
had never seen a country sunrise before.

And then he ran across the road, and crept under the bars into Far-
mer Lane’s field, and there, just beyond the row of trees and bushes
that fringe its bank, he found the brook.

It was not quite so light as in the open space before the house, for
the trees cast their soft shade on the water; but the little sunbeams fell
between the branches here and there, and how the water sparkled when
they fell, and how it rippled over the stones, and how the leaves rustled
in the breeze, and how the birds sang that happy summer morning!

157
A SUMMER MORNING.

And the little city boy, standing there beside the brook, looked around
him and saw that no one else was there, and fancied it was all for him.

Oho, little Pierre! Kneel down on the bank, and look into the clear
water and see the minnows darting to and fro. Do you think they are
not having a happy time this morning, too? See that big frog sitting
on the stone, and blinking at you out of his great round eyes. Hear
that robin chirping to her little ones, over there above your head. And,
see there, behind you is Farmer Lane’s man bringing the cows and
horses down to pasture and to take their first drink of water from the
brook.

“Well, well, young un,” he says, “ before me to-day, are you? Fine
mornin’, ain’t it now, for the cows and birds, and such like, and for you
and me?”

And Pierre smiles and blushes to think he should have been so silly
as to fancy that such a beautiful day as this could have been made only

for Azn.

LUFF and Puss are always foes ;

He is honest, as she knows—



Would not steal the smallest bone,

Only wants what is his own.

But on the table, on the chair,
Pussy’s ever here or there,
Watching with her eyes so green,

Thieving where she is not seen.
158
-HOW JOHNNY ‘DEAN TUMBLED INTO THE
WATER.

Z)HLIS little boy’s name is Johnny Dean, and in the picture you
see what happened to him one day.
Johnny lived with his father and mother in a wee bit of a

cottage on the edge of the town. He had no brothers or



sisters, and there were no little boys or girls living in the
house near him ; so when Johnny wanted to play, he could find no one
to play with him but Rover, a great big dog that belonged to Captain
Green, whose house was up the street a little way.

Rover was fond of Johnny, and Johnny was fond of Rover, and these
two playmates used to spend many happy days together, running up
and down the sidewalk where Johnny’s mother could watch them from
the window, or racing about Captain Green’s garden, where Mrs. Green
often nodded good-naturedly to them, and sometimes called them in to
give Johnny a cake, or an apple, and Rover a bit of meat.

But on this day that the picture tells you about, while Johnny’s
mother thought her little boy was racing with Rover in Mrs. Green’s
garden, and Mrs. Green supposed of course that Johnny was safely at
home with his mother, Johnny had wandered away with Rover; first all
the way along Broad Street, and then down Fern Lane, and so off to

159
HOW JOHNNY DEAN TUMBLED INTO THE WATER.

he very brink of the river, where he had never been in all his life
sefore,

Then this little boy—you can see in the picture that he is very little,
>t more than five years old—strayed along by the water until, all at
ace, a breeze that had been blowing softly all the time, suddenly blew
ery hard indeed, and over into the water went Johnny’s straw hat, and
ll Johnny’s long, curly hair blew right into his eyes.

What did Johnny do then, do you suppose, but stoop over as quick
$ quick could be to catch the hat; but, instead of catching it, over he
vent into the water too. |

And then this good dog, Rover, without waiting one single minute,
umped right straight in after him, and seizing tight hold of his apron,
s you see, pulled him out, and set him up on the bank again before
ohnny had a chance to be at all hurt, only very much frightened, and
ery wet indeed.

Rover looked at him very pitifully when he saw how wet and fright-
xed he was, and then, all at once, he began to run back and forth, and
ien Johnny ran too, and so Rover led the way home just as fast as
iey both could go, until they reached the little cottage, where Johnny’s

other sat sewing at the window, never guessing what had happened,
hen Johnny rushed in, crying out—

‘“Mamma, mamma, I fell into the river, and Rover pulled me out,
id I have lost my hat—I have lost my hat !”

You may guess how glad his mother was to see him safe and sound,
id how everybody patted Rover, and praised him for being such a

‘od dog. But the hat—oh, that was never seen again.

160



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































PUSSY’S RETURN.

sa]UR poor old Tom, a tabby cat,



Was given by a friend,

Who, living many miles away,
Puss in a bag did send.

We coaxed and fed that tabby Tom,
But still he pined away—

Still missed the dear old home he loved,
And little Mary’s play.

One day they heard a mewing
Outside the cottage door,

And Mary cried, “I know ’tis Tom—
He has returned once more!”

The poor old cat, for he it was,
All frightened, wet, and sore,

Had trotted over field and fen

To reach his house once more.



162


SNe Noe

Chea GEa



MPERIAL GRANUM, W. C. Wu, M. D., in the New England Medical Monthly, January, 1888—‘ In

‘ the delicate conditions of the stomach, when every thing else has been rejected I have saved many
ae ; lives by giving Inerrtat Granum. I consider this as one of the very best foods the physician can
Be, find to assist him in carrying through his patient to recovery; and I haye found it of inestimable value in
Ki the later stages of Phthisis, Gastritis, Gastric Catarrh, Dyspepsia and Dysentery. It requires little effort of
Is : the stomach to digest, and I haye never known it to be rejected if properly prepared, given in small
quantities and at frequent intervals. The great care used in its manufacture will iead the physician to

expect the same product all the time, and we can assure him that he will never be disappointed, as we
| have fully tested it in our extended experience.” ; \

We speak from experience when we say that the Imprrran Granum is both safe and nuiritious. It
has been on the market for many years, and the largely increasing sales show that many others have found
like results attending its use—The Christian Union, N. Y.

As @ Medicinal Food Imprriat Granum, which is simply a solid extract from very superior growths of
wheat, is unexcelled. It is easy of digestion, is not constipating, and is to-day the Stanparp Diereria
Heiss preparation for invalids, for the aged, ant for the very young.—North American Journal of Homeopathy,
N. Y., Dec., ’87. ;

InprriaL GRanum has now been before the public for many years, and is generally admitted to be a
a standard preparation. There can be no doubt that this is due to its uniformly superior quality, and the
| : ‘successful results obtained with it in all cases where an artificial food is required.— Popular Science News,
- Boston, February, 188. :

: ; “IMPERIAL GRANUM.—A neighbor's child being very low, reduced, in fact, to a mere baby skeleton
from want of nourishment, as nothing could be found which the child could retain, at the urgent request of
friends the parents were induced to try ImpERIAL GRANUM, which proved such a benefit to the child it

; ‘grew and thrived beyond all comprehension. At the same time I had a child sick with cholera infantum ;
Baca on being presented with a box of Granwm, with the high recommend from this neighbor, used it and
s A continued its use to raise the child on, and I firmly believe this had all to do in saving the former child’s
life and the greater part in restoring my own child to health. A. C. G.”—Leonard’s Illustrated Medicat
Journal, Detroit, Mich., Oct. 81. :

P. VArnuM Mort, M. D., Boston, Mass., in the Microcosm, New York, February, 1886.—There are
numerous Foods that are much vaunted, and all have their adherents. The ‘IMPERIAL GRANUM,’ in my
hands, seems to be all that is claimed for it, and experience has brought me to rely on its use where its
special properties are indicated. In infantile diseases it has proved very efficacious, and I always direct its
use when 2, child is being weaned.” ; :

The lives of untold thousands of infants have been saved by ImprRian GRANuM, and careful mothers
ee ara loud in their praises of this well known food, and pharmacists con safely recommend it.— Proceedings
ri Ttinois Pharmaceutal Association, 1887. ;

That standard preparation for Infants and Invalids, ‘Impurran GRANUM,” is steadily moving forward
2s the years roll by, winning hosts of friends wherever its merits become: known. We have been familiar
with it for many years, having known several instances where babies have been brought up entirely on it,
whose healthy condition is the best possible recommendation of its practical benefits, The Cottage Hearth,
Boston, Mass. ; ;

“On some other Planet there may be a better Dietetic Preparation than IMPERIAL GRANDUM, but not on

i ‘this."—The American Analyst, New York,









SOLD BY DRUGGISTS. JOHN CARLE & SONS, New York.








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