Citation
Peeps of home, and homely joys, of youth, and age, of girls and boys

Material Information

Title:
Peeps of home, and homely joys, of youth, and age, of girls and boys
Creator:
Small, William, 1843-1929 ( Illustrator )
Paterson, Robert, fl. 1860-1899 ( Engraver )
Williamson ( Engraver )
Thomas Nelson & Sons ( Publisher )
Dalziel Brothers ( Engraver )
Place of Publication:
London ;
Edinburgh ;
New York ;
Publisher:
T. Nelson and Sons
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
64 p. : ill. ; 18 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1870 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1870 ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1870 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1870
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Scotland -- Edinburgh
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Poems and stories.
General Note:
Publisher's advertisements on back cover.
General Note:
Illustrations engraved by Dalziel, Paterson, and Williamson after W. Small.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026914975 ( ALEPH )
ALH6345 ( NOTIS )
57172625 ( OCLC )

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This item has the following downloads:


Full Text
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youth. and age, 7
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ELLEN AND HER MOTHER.

Page 7.

















LONDON:

a

PATERNOSTER ROW;

ELSON AND SONS,

T N

AND NEW YORK.

>

EDINBURGH ;

1870.












Pretace.



0





el{hyEEPS of home and homely joys,

agi g Of youth and age, of girls and boys:
g Lads and lasses of all ages,

Come and read these pleasant pages ;
Turn you o’er each pictured leaf,
Each tale of mirth, each note of grief:

Here are things to move your laughter,

If a tear or two come after,

For the matter varies much,—

Now on this, on that I touch,

But never wandering far away,

I work at home—at home I play.

Deign you then, for friendship’s sake,
In this Picture Book to take

Some peeps of home and homely joys,
Of youth and age, of girls and boys.



vi

PREFACE.

Here I show you darling baby,
Who so bright and beauteous may be ;
Grandmamma, with snow-white hairs,
Heedful still of children’s cares ;
Grandpapa, with presents laden,
For each happy youth and maiden ;
Boys and girls in merry mood,
Boys and girls with looks subdued,
Now gathered at their father’s knee,
Now romping wild in boisterous glee ;
And food you'll find for thoughtful mind,
And counsel, honest, true, and kind,
If you'll deign, for friendship’s sake,
In this Picture Book to take
Some peeps of home and homely joys,
' Of youth and age, of girls and boys!







PEEPS OF HOME.

0:





ELLEN AND HER MOTHER.

; Ce your ae a elders. Their advice
* will be for your benefit, and you will
also feel very happy in having obeyed those
whom it is your duty to obey. As it is your
duty, you should not expect to be rewarded:
we do not reward a soldier because he does not



run away from his post. It is his duty to stay
there, and that is enough.

Yet Ellen, like most good boys and girls,
has been rewarded by her mamma for an act
of obedience. And what do you think was the
reward? book. It is very sweet to be praised by those
we love, and Ellen preferred the kindly word



8 ELLEN AND HER MOTHER.

and the affectionate kiss even to her new book,
which, however, she liked very much, and
which, I hope, you will also like.

For the book which her mamma gave to
Ellen was her Grandfather Cheerful’s Picture-
Book. He had written it for her, and described
in it the ways of youth and age, and many
scenes of home and homely joys, from the ap-
pearance of baby to the last scene of all, in
such a manner as to instruct while it amused.
And he adorned it with pictures, that the mind
might learn something through the eye.

So pleased was Ellen with her book, that she
begged her grandfather to print it, pictures and
all. ‘Then,’ said she, “other children can
read it, and, perhaps, it will seem to them as
delightful as I have found it, and they may be
encouraged by its pages to love truth and
honour God.” Which, dear children, is just
the object of these

Peeps of home and homely joys,
Of youth and age; of girls and boys.



















BABY.

Was there ever anything or anybody like the
Baby? Is she not the darling of all eyes, the
object of all love, the prize, and the wonder,
and the blessing? Does not Frank want to
kiss her, and Edgar to feed her, and Emily to



10 BABY.

nurse her? And when you speak to her, is it
not delightful to see her laugh, her little plump
rosy face breaking out all over dimples, while
she crows and chuckles as if she knew it was
the finest thing in the world to be the baby ?
Whether she is resting in mamma’s arms, or
lying fast asleep on her snowy bed, or tumbling
about the floor like a great round ball, she is
still the messenger of peace to all the house-
hold. Who shall tell with how deep a love
papa and mamma cherish her? She is so
helpless, you know; so trusting, so unable to
do anything for herself; so innocent and fond ;
that it seems impossible to do otherwise than
love the baby! ‘

I declare her presence in the house is like
sunshine. It makes all things brighter. She
is one of God’s own blessings, a gift from some
purer and happier world. Watch her asleep,
and see the smile that hovers about her lips, as
if she were dreaming of the joys of heaven. -
Oh, fold her round with your love and ten-
derness, for as yet she knows nothing of care
or sorrow, and her little life is like the small
flame which a breath can extinguish !











4 Ih





Qadreisovy)
a

Ye oh
PLAYING WITH BABY.

Never was such a baby-girl

As Madge, with her crown of golden curl,
With her round, wide-open, and laughing eyes,
Blue as the bluest of summer skies!

With her cheeks where health serenely glows,
Red as the ripest summer rose !



12 PLAVING WITH BABY.

Madge sits enthroned in her nursery-chair ;

Like a queen, don’t you think, she is mounted
there ?

But Madge has no taste for queenly quiet,

Bustle she loves, and stir, and riot,—

To tumble, and roll, and waddle about,

With many a crow, and chuckle, and shout.

So Madge had a finger in each blue eye,

And was just on the point of a pitiful cry,

When good brother Frank fell down on his
knees—

He’d stand on his head “ Baby darling” to
please—

And puffed out his cheeks with queer grimaces,

And made the oddest of possible faces.

And Baby Madge was so charmed with the
sight

That she cried ‘‘ More, more,” and laughed out-
right,

While studious Fred bent a learned head

Over a lesson as yet unsaid,

And brother Frank invented grimaces,

And made the oddest of possible faces,

































































1 .
WV AMMEON SE

FANNING BABY.

Basy Mapas, you see, has grown tired at last
of fun and frolic, of Frank’s grimaces and queer
faces; so nurse has carried her off to sleep,
and there she lies on her little bed, while her



14 FANNING BABY.

sister Ellen patiently fans her. It is hot
summer weather, and the flies are very trouble-
some. ‘To prevent them from teazing baby,
and, at the same time, to keep her cool and
comfortable, Ellen contentedly sits at her weary
task. Ah, dear children, you little know how
much is done to promote your happiness, when
you are too young to think about it; too young
to value all the love, care, and tenderness be-
stowed upon you. If you knew how many
weary days and sleepless nights you have
caused in your infancy; how often you have
tried the patience and the temper of all your
friends; what tears have been shed over you;
what prayers have been offered in your behalf;
I think you would feel more grateful now, and
endeavour to repay so much trouble by a life
of obedience and goodness. It may seem a
small thing to fan away the flies from a sleeping
baby’s face, but that is only one among a
thousand little cares which babies, whether
sleeping or waking, stand in need of. Their
helplessness is such that without the hand of
love to support and guide them, they would
never grow to riper years.















































































































































































































































































































NAUGHTY MADGE!

Here is little Madge again! What has she
been doing? Some mischief, I fear, so that
her mother feels compelled to put her to bed
as a punishment for her naughtiness. Or,



16 NAUGHTY MADGE!

perhaps, it is bedtime, and Madge, though
thoroughly tired with a day’s romping, is, of
course, unwilling to give up. I wonder whether
she thinks to conquer mamma by her crying
and struggling. It is very unlikely that she
will succeed, and yet she will try, and try
again, for she longs to have her own way.
That is just the reason why so many persons
fail in life: they will not give heed to any
warning; they will have their own way. I
have heard of a person who was warned not
to ride along the sands at a certain part of
the coast, when the sea was coming in, as it
flowed rapidly over the sands, and rendered it
difficult to escape. But he would have his
own way, and one evening when the wind
was blowing heavily, the waters rushed in so
violently that they overtook the unfortunate
man and his horse, before they could get out of
reach, and both were drowned. Remember,
then, that it is as bad for boys and girls, for
men and women, to have their own way against
the advice of older and wiser people, as for
baby Madge; and, like baby Madge, they are
sure to repent with many tears.
(161)







(161)



WHUAMSON









SMALL

NELLY ASLEEP.

StumBer softly, little Nell,—
Loving eyes watch o’er thee :
Loving eyes which guard thee well
Hover round thee like a spell—

Slumber softly, little Nell,

No troubles loom before thee!
2



NELLY ASLEEP.

Slumber softly, darling child,—

Be thy dreams the brightest
Which e’er an infant’s sleep beguiled,
Soft, serene, and calm, and mild;
Slumber softly, darling child,

Hearts like thine are lightest !

Slumber softly, Nelly mine,
In the sunlit hours, love ;
For I know a Love Divine
Doth o’er thee, like a glory, shine,
And strew thy path, O Nelly mine,
With fair and fadeless flowers, love!

Slumber softly, Nelly dear,
Childhood’s joys are fleet, love !
A time will come for sigh and tear,
For keen regret and anxious fear :
O slumber softly, Nelly dear,
While sleep can be so sweet, love !









































































































































































ane
LEESWULL -





AAS

CARELESS FANNY,

Fanny has been told, I cannot say how many
times, not to meddle with the fire, but she is a
careless child, and sadly disobedient. Now
you see the consequence. She has been trying
to put some fresh coals on the fire. She could



20 CARELESS FANNY.

not lift the coal-scuttle, and she therefore filled
her apron, but it slipped out of her careless
fingers, and emptied all the black coals and
coal-dust on the drawing-room ¢arpet. Well
may she cry, for she has spoiled her apron and
injured the carpet; yet I fear she does not cry
because she is naughty, but because she will be
punished for her carelessness. It is a very
different thing being sorry for yourself, from
being sorry for your fawlt, The former is only
selfishness ; the latter is répentance.

If Fanny had contrived to put the coals on
the fire safely, her fault would have been as
great. She would still have disobeyed her
parents, and run the risk of setting her clothes
ina blaze. It was wise and kind of her parents
to forbid her playing with the fire, as it is
every year the cause of loss of life and serious
accidents. But whether their command was
wise or foolish, it was Fanny’s place to have
obeyed it. “Children, obey your parents,” says
the Bible, even as the world should obey the
great Parent of all mankind, the living God.







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VAIN LITTLE BESSY!

O Bessy, Bessy! who would have thought
you could be so foolish? Yet there you stand,
perched tiptoe upon a stool, that you may look
at yourself in the mirror, and admire all your
finery. What do you see in the glass? Round
cheeks, blue eyes, and a little fat nose; a lace



22 VAIN LITTLE BESSY!

collar, trim silk frock, and fine new petticoat!
Yes: but do you not also see the image of
your vanity and silly pride; of your selfishness
and conceit? It is right that -children should
keep themselves clean and neat, but to be vain
of a new frock or a handsome ribbon—which,
after all, you have not earned ;—or of a pretty
face and bright pair of eyes—which, as you
well know, you owe to God’s goodness and to
no merits of your own—is the meanest and
shabbiest thing possible. Vanity makes you a
nuisance to yourself and to all around you.
None can respect those girls or boys who think
themselves superior to every person they meet
with. What is there in fine clothes or in good
looks to fill you with vainglory? They will
soon pass away; but a generous temper, a
loving heart, a cultivated mind, will endure for
ever. Vanity leads to selfishness, and selfish-
ness to deceit; and so the wrong continues
increasing, just as a snowball grows larger and.
larger the further you roll it.
Boag

ree =e
a eS Se





































THE MONEY-BOX.

‘A PENNY saved is a penny gained.” ‘Take
care of the pence, and the pounds will take care
of themselves.” ‘‘Many a little makes a mickle.”’
These were among the wise sayings my grand-
mother used to repeat in my childish ears, in



24 THE MONE Y-BOX.

order that I might learn the importance of
taking care of my money. It is a bad thing to
be careless and wasteful in youth, for ill habits
grow upon us, and the wasteful girl will make
an extravagant woman. You should, therefore,
put by something every week—a penny, or
even a halfpenny—not for the sake of saving,
but in order to accustom yourself to prudent
habits. No one wants you to be mean or
shabby. If to throw away money is one great
vice, to love money is another; but there is a
wide difference between using and abusing it,
though that is just what people seem unable to
see. Tommy and Emma are carrying their
money-box into the parlour, to show their father
and mother how much they have saved. And
now, I think, she and her little brother are going
to give a trifle to some poor family, for by the
holly over the door you can see it is Christmas
time, when many poor people would have no
Christmas dinner but for the generous thought
of their richer neighbours. Ah, my dear little
boys and girls, there is no pleasure in life equal
to that of doing a good action.































































































































































































































FORBIDDEN THINGS.

Learn not to meddle with forbidden things.
Curiosity is a fault which often leads us into a
ditch, Little Anna has been warned against
prying into the contents of her mother’s cabinet,



26 FORBIDDEN THINGS.

where she keeps her jewels, private letters, and
many precious scraps and relics of the past.
But she has happened to find the drawers un-
locked, and has been unable to resist the
temptation of examining its contents. If one
of the servants had done so, Anna would have
been shocked, and yet the fault is equally great
whether committed by herself or another. Ah,
how much wiser and better we should be if we
only saw our own sins as clearly as we see the
sins of our brothers and sisters! You can tell
that Anna knows she is dog wrong from her
air of alarm, and her fear lest some person
should surprise her. It may well be that she
will break the pearl necklace which she is so
carelessly handling, and then, perhaps, to avoid
being found out, she will be tempted to invent
some falsehood. For one error leads to another.
Sin follows sin, as surely as thunder follows
lightning. And that is an additional reason
why we should pray, with all our heart and
soul, “Lead us not into temptation,” for we
know not when or how the temptation may
end.













INQUISITIVE MAGGIE.

Dip you ever hear of James Watt? He was
a wise Scotchman, who invented the steam-
engine, by which, now-a-days, we are able to
travel so swiftly on land and water, and to
accomplish so many wonderful works. It is



28 INQUISITIVE MAGGIE.

said that he was first induced to study the power
of steam by watching it raise the lid of a tea-
kettle that hissed and simmered on the fire.
I don’t think Maggie will be led to any such
discovery by her inquisitiveness about the tea-
pot on her grandmamma’s table. She is letting
the steam escape, which won’t do the tea any
good, just because she is one of those trouble-
some lasses who can leave nothing alone.
Maggie tries her grandmother’s patience sorely.
If the postman brings a letter, she wants to
look at it and zm it. She can’t see a pudding
at dinner-time, without a wish to dash her knife
in it, and cut it open. She handles everything;
opens all the cupboards; ‘“rummages” all the
drawers ; peeps into every book; runs at every
knock to see who is at the door. She is,
therefore, in continual trouble; for people do
not like inquisitive children, who are for ever
meddling with what does not concern them. It
is a very bad habit, this inquisitiveness, and if
not checked is certain to work a sad amount
of mischief.



thor









































































AT WORK

?

bring your needle here

)

Come, Effie

d

ad enou

And sit you at my side

Of play you

?

gh

ve surely h

?

game have tried

And every



30

AT WORK.

With battledore and shuttlecock,
With skipping rope and ball,

Now skimming o’er the garden-lawn,
Now romping in the hall.

But work is good and play is good,
And now that play has done,

I fain would have the patchwork sown,
So long ago begun.

Oh, think how swiftly pass the days,
How swiftly pass the years;
Before our task in life is o’er
Will come a time of tears.

Then every day some useful aim,
Seek, Effie, to fulfil,

And the more earnest is your work,—
The firmer is your will,—

_ The sweeter, too, will prove your play,—

Will prove each leisure hour ;—-
And tender graces, homely joys,
About your path will flower,













































































































THE PET CAT,

Aut children are fond of pets, though their
tastes are very different. Some love rabbits,
others dogs; some prefer birds, others pigeons;
but I think nearly all girls are very fond of
Pussy. Her fur is so sleek, her movements
are so graceful, she is so full of funny tricks,



32 THE PET CAT.

so easily taught to obey her mistress, that I
don’t wonder Pussy is such a favourite.

But Fanny’s cat, you see, has caused quite
an uproar. She has upset Edward’s box of
paints and basin of water. Edward, unfortu-
nately, is very passionate, and he immediately
sprang up to catch the offender; but Fanny,
taking her in her arms, ran off with all speed,
overthrowing the fire-screen as she passed, and
giving her mamma a disagreeable fright. The
fact is, Pussy had no business in the school-
room. Pets must be kept in their proper
places. It was very annoying for Edward to
have his work disturbed, though it was exceed-
ingly wrong of him to lose his temper about
it. A minute’s patience and he could have set
things to right, while Fanny, had he asked her,
would gladly have dismissed her pet cat from
the room where she had behaved so improperly.

This shows us how needful it is to keep
a watch on our tempers.. Many men and
women, as well as Edward, suffer themselves
to be vexed by nothing more important than a
pet cat !







































THE ROBIN REDBREAST,

Are you fond of birds, my dear child? But I
need not ask the question. The heart must be
cold and wicked, indeed, that can listen un-
moved to their sweet music. The eye must

be dull and dim that can watch without delight
(161) 3



34 ROBIN REDBREAST.

their happy nimble movements. I take it that
their song is the softest, merriest music in nature.

“ Sometimes in misty morning, and sometimes in the night,

The bird chants forth right merrily, because its heart is light.”
The joyous lark, the melodious nightingale, the
chirping sparrow, the tuneful blackbird, the
swift swallow,—I love them all, and am never
weary of watching them.

My grandchildren here have made a pet of
a tame robin,—a bird which everybody loves.
As surely as the morning comes, comes Mr.
Redbreast, knocking with his bill at the parlour
window until some one opens it, and then
hopping around the room on the look-out for
crumbs of bread. He knows he is safe; Charles,
Frank, and Eliza would not have him injured
or frightened on any account, and he repays
their protection by his perfect confidence. Love,
you see, makes love. ‘Trust your fellows, and
they will trust you. So the robin is a daily
visitor. He takes his breakfast, chirps about
the room, and then, when weary of in-door life,
flies out to the leafless trees,—perhaps to look
for other birds, and make known to them how
well he is treated.











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THE CRIPPLE.

AtrreD SEyMourn was knocked down by a
runaway horse, and received so severe an
injury in his legs that he is likely to be a
cripple for months. It is a great affliction for
him. I never knew any lad so fond of the
bright things of nature; of the leafy trees, and



36 THE CRIPPLE.

the lofty hills; of the glittering stars, and the
sweet fragrant flowers. He would walk miles
to find out a new fern or to see a rare plant,
and now he is confined to his sofa,—poor
lad!—and all he sees of the beautiful earth
is the garden from his window. But he
knows it is wrong to repine. It is God’s will;
and are there not thousands whose sufferings
are greater than his? He does not lie and
murmur, and waste his hours in useless regret,
but he teaches his sister Florence, and his
younger brother William, and finds it a de-
lightful occupation. In return for his great
kindness they bring him blossoms from the
wayside, and bright green leaves, sprigs of ivy,
and clumps of soft green moss. With these
he amuses himself greatly, for he finds some-
thing new to look at and admire in them every
day. That is the way to bear our trials,
reader; bravely, heartily, with trust in God,
and submission to His will, Our poor cripple
is happier than many robust, vigorous youths,
because he is still doing something to help
others, and spend his time usefully: in a word,
he is doing his duty.





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WILD FLOWERS.

In the calm and pleasant valley

Where the violets love to hide ;
"Neath the old oak’s leafy shadows

Where they sweep the green hill-side ;
By the margin of the streamlet

As it trails across the lea,



38

WILD FLOWERS.

On the surface of the woodland pool
That shines so fair to see

Bloom the flowers, the wild wild-flowers,

The darlings of the Hours!

Oh, I love them for their sweetness,
For each rare and tender grace,

For the sunny joy they shed about
Each quaint secluded place ;

The wild rose and the woodbine,—
Forget-me-not so true,—

The mallows with their glowing tints,—
The speedwell’s eye of blue ;—

Oh, the flowers, the wild wild-flowers,

Sweet darlings of the Hours !

In the calm and pleasant valley
Where the violets love to hide ;
"Neath the old oak’s leafy shadows
Where they sweep the green hill-side,
They speak to me like voices, —
Yes, like voices from above,—
And they bid me praise the God that made
Such bright things for our love ;---
Oh, the flowers, the wild wild-flowers,
Sweet darlings of the Hours!













HARVEST-TIME.

Epwarp and Clara stand at the garden-gate
to watch the busy reapers plying their sharp
sickles, and cutting down the ripe brown wheat.
Well may they be pleased at such a pleasant
sight. I know of none more beautiful, or which
should fill the heart with greater thankfulness



40 HARVEST-TIME.

to Him who has made all things. I love to
see the light wind sweep over the nodding
corn, and stir it into waves; for it is a goodly
thing,—a field full of ripened plenty,—and
one to make the eyes fill with happy tears.
- Consider of how much value to man is wheat!
Thence comes the flour which makes our bread.
And well has bread been called the staff of life ;
there is nothing can fully supply its place.
Now, whether bread shall be within the reach
of the poor depends upon the price of wheat,
and the price of wheat depends upon the good-
ness or badness of the harvest. When the
crops are plentiful, and flour is cheap, bread
also is cheap, and hundreds of mouths are
filled with it which otherwise would lack a
meal. Therefore am I thankful when I see a
fine corn-field; the ears full and ripe, the stalks
strong and vigorous; for I am then sure that
God will bless us with a good harvest, that
bread will be cheap, and the poor be fed.
Shine forth, O autumn sun, and ripen the
much prized wheat, so that men may acknow-
ledge the mercy of the Lord










WF, =

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THE POEM.

Do you like poetry? Do you know what
poetry is? Well, there are two kinds of
poetry, the unwritten and the written. If you
are a happy child, you will find the unwritten
poetry everywhere ;—in the bright face of the



42 THE POEM.

sunny sky; in the snowy clouds; in the soft, pale
moonlight; in the great, wide, ever-sounding sea;
in the silvery stream; in the glowing, blushing
flowers. This I should call God’s poetry; and
it is the grandest, the most beautiful, the most
lasting. But there is also man’s poetry: when
he expresses a good thought, a sweet fancy, a
sublime or tender feeling in verse, and in lan-
guage suitable to the music of his ideas. Do
you quite understand me? Perhaps not, but you
will do so when you grow older. Poetry has
always been pleasing to man; and you will
find some of the oldest, as well as the most
splendid, poetry in the world, in the Bible.

Here are Edwin and Frances in the garden,
resting in the shadow of a fine old tree, and
Frances listening eagerly, while Edwin reads
and explains some favourite poem. They could
have chosen no better amusement. A good
poem does the heart good; for, as a wise man,
himself a great poet, has said, “it gives you
the habit of wishing to discover the good and
the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds
you.” And it will dwell in your memory for
years, a blessing and a consolation.










i |









ee
PENITENT AGNES.

Wuen we have done wrong, our conscience—
our inner feeling—tells us of it; and then, in-
stead of seeking to stifle the still, small voice of
the heart, it is well for us to repent. Whether
it be our parents, our relatives, friends or neigh-



44 PENITENT AGNES.

bours, whom we have wronged, it is needful
we should at once betake ourselves to them,
and show in what we have offended. But it
is not enough to be sorry for evil done. Repent-
ance means something more; namely, that we
will not do that evil again. You see that
Agnes, who has sinned, has gone to her mother
and expressed her repentance. What would you
think of that repentance if she went and did
wrong again immediately? You would say
there was no truth or reality in it; and yet,
that is what our repentance too often means.
We are sorry for the time; we ease ourselves
by a few words; but we do not understand
that something more is required. So if we sin
against our Maker,—and every untruth we
utter, every little deceit, every angry passion
is a sin against Him,—our repentance is not
sufficient, unless it means that untruths, and
deceit, and anger shall be avoided in the future.
It is well to be sorry for our fault; it is better
to resolve that we will not err again. And by
God’s help we may make our repentance
sincere,



























4
fy

iy
J

MY







THE PUPIL IN THE KITCHEN,

Ir is a great pleasure to be able to read and
write. Reading and writing are the keys that
open to us the treasures of many glorious
palaces and ‘kings’ houses.” The former
brings us acquainted with the thoughts of



46 THE PUPIL IN THE KITCHEN.

others; the latter enables us to record and
express our own. Not to be able to read is
to go through the world with one’s eyes shut,
learning nothing, knowing nothing, hoping
nothing, fearing nothing. But reading makes
the poor rich, the sorrowful happy, the dull
gay, the idle industrious ; cheers, helps, blesses,
and encourages; so that I know not what sort
of life they must lead who do not possess so
precious a gift. It is, therefore, very good of
Miss Margaret to spend an hour daily in the
kitchen, teaching little Jane to read and write
after her day’s work is done. Jane, you must
know, 1s motherless, and her father unhappily
spends almost all his wages in the beer shop,
so that she has never had a teacher or been
to school. She would have had to go begging
from door to door had not Margaret’s mother
taken her into her family, as a help to the
elder servants. And now Margaret teaches
her to read and write; and teaches her, too,
all about the power of God, the love of Christ,
the mission of the gospel. I think her toil will
not be without reward.









THE BUTTERFLY.

Wuite Frank and Ellen are amusing them-
selves in the arbour, a butterfly has alighted
on Ellen’s finger, and both brother and sister
have a good opportunity of admiring its ex-
quisite wings. The butterfly is truly a radiant
insect, and seems a thing of grace and beauty.



48 THE BUTTERFLY.

Light, airy, joyous, it sports in the sunshine,
wantons on the flower, and trips from bloom to
bloom, gay as the brilliant morn, and cheerful
as the splendour of heaven. It is unable to
live without light and heat. On a chill or
cloudy day it droops and pines, and, closing its
wings, rests like a sickly thing upon some
hidden flower; but as soon as the cloud dis-
perses, and the sun again pours forth its
bountiful rays, it springs into active life, and
airily dances through the air, or hovers about
some fragrant blossom.

The butterfly requires no other food than
the honeyed juices distilled from flowers, the
sweets of ripe fruit, or the sugary substance
on the leaves of vegetables. The skies are its
proper habitation, the air its proper element;
it hardly seems to belong to earth. ‘There is
nothing in the animal creation so beautiful or
splendid as many kinds of these insects; they
serve to banish solitude from our walls, and to
fill up our idle moments with the most pleasing
fancies. Who can look upon them without prais-
ing the Almighty Wisdom and Power that gave
so many delicate charms to these little insects ?

































BY THE FIRESIDE.

You may see that papa has returned from his
day’s toil, and while his wife is making tea,
he has a chat and a game with the children.
Ah, how happy he feels, surrounded by all
whom he loves! I am sure that he would not

change places with any monarch on his throne.
(161) 4



50 BY THE FIRESIDE.

Affection can convert the lowliest hut into a
palace; love can gild its walls with doubly
refined gold, and fill it with a light that never
dies away. It is a good thing for the young
to be brought up in a happy home. Its in-
fluence will be with you for good in after-years,
wherever your lot may chance to fall. A kind
father, kind yet firm; a gentle, tender mother ;
fond brothers and sisters; these are blessings
for which you can never thank God enough.
If you have these, it matters little whether your
home be in town or country, in a close dark
street or a splendid square. Home will be for
you the best and brightest place which earth
affords ; a foretaste and picture, as it were, of
that Eternal Home where we shall mingle in
sweet companionship with saints and angels!

Home! home! be it ever so homely,
In all the wide world no place is so blest :
Home! home! be it ever so homely,
I fly to it still like a dove to its nest.
Where the fond glance of love is a welcome to all,
Where the songs of the children all tenderly rise,
Where some light ever breaks through the dreariest cloud,
And hope ever shines in Affection’s fond eyes.
Home! home! be it ever so homely,
In all the wide world no place is so blest :
Home! home! be it ever so homely,
I fly to it still like a dove to its nest.





x a =! ———

i |!













OUR OLD NURSE.

Sue must be seventy years old, I think; the
good old woman who nursed Miss Eleanor and
Miss Agnes when they were babies. And
now they are young ladies; Eleanor is nineteen
and Agnes seventeen,—seventeen years since



52 OUR OLD NURSE.

she was cradled to sleep in the arms of Nurse
Simpson. ‘They have been brought up to
respect her, as, indeed, her truth and faithful-
ness and affection have well deserved; and they
cheer her declining days by daily visits, bringing
her some little gift, or amusing her with tales
of their younger sisters. Sometimes they sit
and read to her, and very proud is she of
the visits of her “ young ladies.” She looks
forward to them eagerly, and feels very sad
when any accident prevents them from making
their usual call. I am sure that Eleanor and
Agnes are good and gentle at heart, from the
attention they pay to their aged nurse. Gray
hairs are venerable, and should always com-
mand our reverence. Think what trials she
has witnessed, what sorrows, what pain and
suffering! And now she trembles on the
brink of the grave, and soon her place will
know her no more. Happy for her that she
is cheered and supported, not only by the
affection of her daughter and the esteem of her
young ladies, but by her faith in the goodness
and mercy of God through Jesus Christ our
Lord.

































THE YOUNG ARTIST.

Epwarp has gained the prize for drawing
at Dr. Teachem’s academy. The holidays
have begun, and he has brought his case of
sketches for his cousin Jessie to examine
them. They are so faithful and so full of
spirit that she cannot but praise them, and



54 THE YOUNG ARTIST.

she will not fail to reward the young artist for
his labour.

How do you think Edward secured the prize?
He had to contend with some older boys, but
while these did their day’s work as a task, and
cared about nothing but getting it done with all
possible quickness, Edward applied himself to
it with the utmost patience. Whatever he did,
he did thoroughly. Ifa line was not straight
he rubbed it out, and tried again. Ifa second
attempt proved no better, he tried a third.
This is the secret of doing things well—doing
them slowly, and doing them over and over
again until they are done right. If you have
a lesson to learn, do not give it up until you
are sure you know it, and know it thoroughly.
It is a mean and pitiful thing to be beaten,
when a little industry is all that we require to
make us successful. You will never be a good
man or woman if you believe in such a word as
fail. Edward won his prize, because he had
made up his mind that nothing should dis-

courage him.







GRANDPAPA.

Granppapa has returned from a long journey,
and all the children are eager to welcome him
home. Little Frank has placed himself on his
knee; George is nestling under his arm; and
William would fain kiss him under the mistletoe,
but he is checked by steadier Charles, who



56 GRANDPAPA.

probably thinks his brother a little too hasty.
Nelly quietly seats herself in her accustomed
chair, and waits her turn. She knows that
grandpapa’s love is as great for one as for
another—that he has no favourites; or, rather,
that all are favourites alike. It is very pleasant
to see youth and old age together on such
pleasant terms; youth treating gray hairs with
the reverence due to them; old age winning
the love and regard of the young by patience,
a firm but gentle manner, and a generous,
thoughtful mind. Just think how many years
of trial and anxiety have passed over grand-
papa’s head. See how his brow is wrinkled
with suffering and toil. I cannot believe that
you would be unwilling to make him happy
now in his few days of rest. He takes pleasure
in your merry voices, your joyous laughter, your
light movements; and he is ever contriving some
new way of amusing you, and of displaying his
true affection. Will you not do your utmost,
in return, to show your gratitude? Remember
that youth is never so graceful as when paying
due respect to old age.



ZED





























































READING TO GRANDMOTHER,

Is there a fairer sight in the world than youth
waiting in love and patience on old age? Ah,
gray hairs should always be a sign to demand
our tenderest affection, and it should be our
study to smooth the downward path of the aged
by all the fond attentions in our power. Spent



53 READING TO GRANDMOTHER.

with the battle of life, and standing on the
threshold of the future, they need our love, our
help, our affection. Their sight is dim, and we
must be their eyes. ‘Their limbs fail them, and
we must be their support. When they were
hale and vigorous they did much for ws. In
truth, what we are, or shall be, we owe to
them; and who will grudge to grandpapa or
grandmamma a few acts of kindness in their
declining days? I always judge a boy or girl’s
character by the way in which they treat the
aged. I know that if they behave to them with
indifference or contempt, they will never in
their own old age be worthy of our respect.
When I see little Bessy staying at home on a fine
summer afternoon—though all her comrades
“are away to the brook-side and the flowery
meadow—in order to read to grandmamma, I
feel assured that Bessy will grow up a noble,
generous, loving woman. Yes; and I feel
assured that God will bless a heart so tender
and a mind so pure.







aS

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—~





READING TO GRANDFATHER,

Come, little Effie, and read to me,

Under the shade of the greenwood tree!

My eyes were once as bright as thine,

Where the rays of youth and gladness shine ;

But now they are dim with the clouds of years,

And dark with the mist of gathering tears—
Come, little Effie, and read to me!



60 READING TO GRANDFATHER.

What shall you read, you ask, to me,
Under the shade of the greenwood tree ?
I care not what be my darling’s choice,
So long as I hear her soft, sweet voice,
Which for me has a sound like a stream in June,
Singing all day a merry tune !—
Come, little Effie, and read to me!

The ‘ Book of books” you may read to me,

Under the shade of the greenwood tree ;

Of the love divine of Him who died

On Calvary’s mount,—bound,—crucified,—

And wounded sore,—for the love of man ;

And all to work out God’s wondrous plan !-—
Come, little Effie, and read to me!

Or a hero’s life you may read to me,

Under the shade of the greenwood tree,—

Or pleasant tales of tree and brook,—

Or a page from your Children’s Picture Book :

And grandpapa’s love and his fervent prayers

Shall repay little Effie’s thoughtful cares ;—
So come, my darling, and read to me!

A
v

























FEB Ga



THE SICK BOY.

On returning from a pleasant walk, mamma
finds her young son George seated in a chair
by the fireside, and evidently very unwell. She
quickly throws aside her bonnet, and kneeling
by him, rests his head against her bosom, and
soothes and comforts him. His head aches, he



62 THE SICK BOY.

says, and he feels exceedingly sick. I fear
that George has been doing wrong, and that
his illuess arises partly from his knowledge
that he deserves punishment. Not long ago I
saw him at his mother’s store-cupboard, where
the preserves and jellies are kept; and I fear
he has been not only a glutton, but a thief. A
thief, you say? Yes; for George has no more
right than any other person to meddle with his
parents’ property. It is stealing; and he knows
it was stealing. He watched until everybody,
as he thought, was out of the way; though if I
had not seen him, there was One whose all-
seeing eye was upon his movements. Had he
felt he was doing rightly, he would not have
cared who was looking. So you see he was
at once a coward, a thief, and a glutton.
Mamma allows him as much jelly and preserve
as is really good for him, and his greediness
will be punished by a severe sickness. Ah,
dear children, never do anything of which you
feel ashamed. It cannot be right, if you are
unwilling that every eye should see you. It
is only sin that loves dark, crooked, and silent
ways.





























































































LAST SCENE OF ALL.

Cuarutié has been taking a last farewell of his
dear grandfather, who, bent with years and the
toil of life, now lies upon his death-bed, and
will soon pass away into a brighter world.
The poor boy is very fond of his good grand-
father, and he weeps bitterly at the thought



64 LAST SCENE OF ALL.

that he shall never again hear his voice, never
again feel his kindly embrace. He turns to his
sister for comfort; and what, think you, does
Ellen tell him? That in heaven all who love
the Lord Jesus will be reunited, and then
a happiness will be theirs which no tongue
can describe. She points out to him how
calmly his grandfather waits the approach of
death, supported by his trust in Christ, which
had enabled him to lead a holy and useful life.

If you feel temptation at your side, pray
to be delivered from it, strive against it, and
think of the last scene of all; then carry your
thoughts forward to the world beyond, where
“the wicked cease from troubling, and the
weary are at rest’’—-where God’s good and
faithful servants dwell with Him for ever!

Dear young reader, never forget that the
blessed Saviour, besides dying for our sins, left
us an example that we should follow his
steps. Look to Him, then, put your trust in

Him, give yourself to Him ;—then, come life,
come death, you may be sure all will be well
with you at last.







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Full Text
a howl | joys,
youth. and age, 7
ils § ind Bys. |

iy

a




;















































ELLEN AND HER MOTHER.

Page 7.














LONDON:

a

PATERNOSTER ROW;

ELSON AND SONS,

T N

AND NEW YORK.

>

EDINBURGH ;

1870.






Pretace.



0





el{hyEEPS of home and homely joys,

agi g Of youth and age, of girls and boys:
g Lads and lasses of all ages,

Come and read these pleasant pages ;
Turn you o’er each pictured leaf,
Each tale of mirth, each note of grief:

Here are things to move your laughter,

If a tear or two come after,

For the matter varies much,—

Now on this, on that I touch,

But never wandering far away,

I work at home—at home I play.

Deign you then, for friendship’s sake,
In this Picture Book to take

Some peeps of home and homely joys,
Of youth and age, of girls and boys.
vi

PREFACE.

Here I show you darling baby,
Who so bright and beauteous may be ;
Grandmamma, with snow-white hairs,
Heedful still of children’s cares ;
Grandpapa, with presents laden,
For each happy youth and maiden ;
Boys and girls in merry mood,
Boys and girls with looks subdued,
Now gathered at their father’s knee,
Now romping wild in boisterous glee ;
And food you'll find for thoughtful mind,
And counsel, honest, true, and kind,
If you'll deign, for friendship’s sake,
In this Picture Book to take
Some peeps of home and homely joys,
' Of youth and age, of girls and boys!




PEEPS OF HOME.

0:





ELLEN AND HER MOTHER.

; Ce your ae a elders. Their advice
* will be for your benefit, and you will
also feel very happy in having obeyed those
whom it is your duty to obey. As it is your
duty, you should not expect to be rewarded:
we do not reward a soldier because he does not



run away from his post. It is his duty to stay
there, and that is enough.

Yet Ellen, like most good boys and girls,
has been rewarded by her mamma for an act
of obedience. And what do you think was the
reward? book. It is very sweet to be praised by those
we love, and Ellen preferred the kindly word
8 ELLEN AND HER MOTHER.

and the affectionate kiss even to her new book,
which, however, she liked very much, and
which, I hope, you will also like.

For the book which her mamma gave to
Ellen was her Grandfather Cheerful’s Picture-
Book. He had written it for her, and described
in it the ways of youth and age, and many
scenes of home and homely joys, from the ap-
pearance of baby to the last scene of all, in
such a manner as to instruct while it amused.
And he adorned it with pictures, that the mind
might learn something through the eye.

So pleased was Ellen with her book, that she
begged her grandfather to print it, pictures and
all. ‘Then,’ said she, “other children can
read it, and, perhaps, it will seem to them as
delightful as I have found it, and they may be
encouraged by its pages to love truth and
honour God.” Which, dear children, is just
the object of these

Peeps of home and homely joys,
Of youth and age; of girls and boys.
















BABY.

Was there ever anything or anybody like the
Baby? Is she not the darling of all eyes, the
object of all love, the prize, and the wonder,
and the blessing? Does not Frank want to
kiss her, and Edgar to feed her, and Emily to
10 BABY.

nurse her? And when you speak to her, is it
not delightful to see her laugh, her little plump
rosy face breaking out all over dimples, while
she crows and chuckles as if she knew it was
the finest thing in the world to be the baby ?
Whether she is resting in mamma’s arms, or
lying fast asleep on her snowy bed, or tumbling
about the floor like a great round ball, she is
still the messenger of peace to all the house-
hold. Who shall tell with how deep a love
papa and mamma cherish her? She is so
helpless, you know; so trusting, so unable to
do anything for herself; so innocent and fond ;
that it seems impossible to do otherwise than
love the baby! ‘

I declare her presence in the house is like
sunshine. It makes all things brighter. She
is one of God’s own blessings, a gift from some
purer and happier world. Watch her asleep,
and see the smile that hovers about her lips, as
if she were dreaming of the joys of heaven. -
Oh, fold her round with your love and ten-
derness, for as yet she knows nothing of care
or sorrow, and her little life is like the small
flame which a breath can extinguish !








4 Ih





Qadreisovy)
a

Ye oh
PLAYING WITH BABY.

Never was such a baby-girl

As Madge, with her crown of golden curl,
With her round, wide-open, and laughing eyes,
Blue as the bluest of summer skies!

With her cheeks where health serenely glows,
Red as the ripest summer rose !
12 PLAVING WITH BABY.

Madge sits enthroned in her nursery-chair ;

Like a queen, don’t you think, she is mounted
there ?

But Madge has no taste for queenly quiet,

Bustle she loves, and stir, and riot,—

To tumble, and roll, and waddle about,

With many a crow, and chuckle, and shout.

So Madge had a finger in each blue eye,

And was just on the point of a pitiful cry,

When good brother Frank fell down on his
knees—

He’d stand on his head “ Baby darling” to
please—

And puffed out his cheeks with queer grimaces,

And made the oddest of possible faces.

And Baby Madge was so charmed with the
sight

That she cried ‘‘ More, more,” and laughed out-
right,

While studious Fred bent a learned head

Over a lesson as yet unsaid,

And brother Frank invented grimaces,

And made the oddest of possible faces,






























































1 .
WV AMMEON SE

FANNING BABY.

Basy Mapas, you see, has grown tired at last
of fun and frolic, of Frank’s grimaces and queer
faces; so nurse has carried her off to sleep,
and there she lies on her little bed, while her
14 FANNING BABY.

sister Ellen patiently fans her. It is hot
summer weather, and the flies are very trouble-
some. ‘To prevent them from teazing baby,
and, at the same time, to keep her cool and
comfortable, Ellen contentedly sits at her weary
task. Ah, dear children, you little know how
much is done to promote your happiness, when
you are too young to think about it; too young
to value all the love, care, and tenderness be-
stowed upon you. If you knew how many
weary days and sleepless nights you have
caused in your infancy; how often you have
tried the patience and the temper of all your
friends; what tears have been shed over you;
what prayers have been offered in your behalf;
I think you would feel more grateful now, and
endeavour to repay so much trouble by a life
of obedience and goodness. It may seem a
small thing to fan away the flies from a sleeping
baby’s face, but that is only one among a
thousand little cares which babies, whether
sleeping or waking, stand in need of. Their
helplessness is such that without the hand of
love to support and guide them, they would
never grow to riper years.












































































































































































































































































































NAUGHTY MADGE!

Here is little Madge again! What has she
been doing? Some mischief, I fear, so that
her mother feels compelled to put her to bed
as a punishment for her naughtiness. Or,
16 NAUGHTY MADGE!

perhaps, it is bedtime, and Madge, though
thoroughly tired with a day’s romping, is, of
course, unwilling to give up. I wonder whether
she thinks to conquer mamma by her crying
and struggling. It is very unlikely that she
will succeed, and yet she will try, and try
again, for she longs to have her own way.
That is just the reason why so many persons
fail in life: they will not give heed to any
warning; they will have their own way. I
have heard of a person who was warned not
to ride along the sands at a certain part of
the coast, when the sea was coming in, as it
flowed rapidly over the sands, and rendered it
difficult to escape. But he would have his
own way, and one evening when the wind
was blowing heavily, the waters rushed in so
violently that they overtook the unfortunate
man and his horse, before they could get out of
reach, and both were drowned. Remember,
then, that it is as bad for boys and girls, for
men and women, to have their own way against
the advice of older and wiser people, as for
baby Madge; and, like baby Madge, they are
sure to repent with many tears.
(161)




(161)



WHUAMSON









SMALL

NELLY ASLEEP.

StumBer softly, little Nell,—
Loving eyes watch o’er thee :
Loving eyes which guard thee well
Hover round thee like a spell—

Slumber softly, little Nell,

No troubles loom before thee!
2
NELLY ASLEEP.

Slumber softly, darling child,—

Be thy dreams the brightest
Which e’er an infant’s sleep beguiled,
Soft, serene, and calm, and mild;
Slumber softly, darling child,

Hearts like thine are lightest !

Slumber softly, Nelly mine,
In the sunlit hours, love ;
For I know a Love Divine
Doth o’er thee, like a glory, shine,
And strew thy path, O Nelly mine,
With fair and fadeless flowers, love!

Slumber softly, Nelly dear,
Childhood’s joys are fleet, love !
A time will come for sigh and tear,
For keen regret and anxious fear :
O slumber softly, Nelly dear,
While sleep can be so sweet, love !






































































































































































ane
LEESWULL -





AAS

CARELESS FANNY,

Fanny has been told, I cannot say how many
times, not to meddle with the fire, but she is a
careless child, and sadly disobedient. Now
you see the consequence. She has been trying
to put some fresh coals on the fire. She could
20 CARELESS FANNY.

not lift the coal-scuttle, and she therefore filled
her apron, but it slipped out of her careless
fingers, and emptied all the black coals and
coal-dust on the drawing-room ¢arpet. Well
may she cry, for she has spoiled her apron and
injured the carpet; yet I fear she does not cry
because she is naughty, but because she will be
punished for her carelessness. It is a very
different thing being sorry for yourself, from
being sorry for your fawlt, The former is only
selfishness ; the latter is répentance.

If Fanny had contrived to put the coals on
the fire safely, her fault would have been as
great. She would still have disobeyed her
parents, and run the risk of setting her clothes
ina blaze. It was wise and kind of her parents
to forbid her playing with the fire, as it is
every year the cause of loss of life and serious
accidents. But whether their command was
wise or foolish, it was Fanny’s place to have
obeyed it. “Children, obey your parents,” says
the Bible, even as the world should obey the
great Parent of all mankind, the living God.




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VAIN LITTLE BESSY!

O Bessy, Bessy! who would have thought
you could be so foolish? Yet there you stand,
perched tiptoe upon a stool, that you may look
at yourself in the mirror, and admire all your
finery. What do you see in the glass? Round
cheeks, blue eyes, and a little fat nose; a lace
22 VAIN LITTLE BESSY!

collar, trim silk frock, and fine new petticoat!
Yes: but do you not also see the image of
your vanity and silly pride; of your selfishness
and conceit? It is right that -children should
keep themselves clean and neat, but to be vain
of a new frock or a handsome ribbon—which,
after all, you have not earned ;—or of a pretty
face and bright pair of eyes—which, as you
well know, you owe to God’s goodness and to
no merits of your own—is the meanest and
shabbiest thing possible. Vanity makes you a
nuisance to yourself and to all around you.
None can respect those girls or boys who think
themselves superior to every person they meet
with. What is there in fine clothes or in good
looks to fill you with vainglory? They will
soon pass away; but a generous temper, a
loving heart, a cultivated mind, will endure for
ever. Vanity leads to selfishness, and selfish-
ness to deceit; and so the wrong continues
increasing, just as a snowball grows larger and.
larger the further you roll it.
Boag

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a eS Se


































THE MONEY-BOX.

‘A PENNY saved is a penny gained.” ‘Take
care of the pence, and the pounds will take care
of themselves.” ‘‘Many a little makes a mickle.”’
These were among the wise sayings my grand-
mother used to repeat in my childish ears, in
24 THE MONE Y-BOX.

order that I might learn the importance of
taking care of my money. It is a bad thing to
be careless and wasteful in youth, for ill habits
grow upon us, and the wasteful girl will make
an extravagant woman. You should, therefore,
put by something every week—a penny, or
even a halfpenny—not for the sake of saving,
but in order to accustom yourself to prudent
habits. No one wants you to be mean or
shabby. If to throw away money is one great
vice, to love money is another; but there is a
wide difference between using and abusing it,
though that is just what people seem unable to
see. Tommy and Emma are carrying their
money-box into the parlour, to show their father
and mother how much they have saved. And
now, I think, she and her little brother are going
to give a trifle to some poor family, for by the
holly over the door you can see it is Christmas
time, when many poor people would have no
Christmas dinner but for the generous thought
of their richer neighbours. Ah, my dear little
boys and girls, there is no pleasure in life equal
to that of doing a good action.




























































































































































































































FORBIDDEN THINGS.

Learn not to meddle with forbidden things.
Curiosity is a fault which often leads us into a
ditch, Little Anna has been warned against
prying into the contents of her mother’s cabinet,
26 FORBIDDEN THINGS.

where she keeps her jewels, private letters, and
many precious scraps and relics of the past.
But she has happened to find the drawers un-
locked, and has been unable to resist the
temptation of examining its contents. If one
of the servants had done so, Anna would have
been shocked, and yet the fault is equally great
whether committed by herself or another. Ah,
how much wiser and better we should be if we
only saw our own sins as clearly as we see the
sins of our brothers and sisters! You can tell
that Anna knows she is dog wrong from her
air of alarm, and her fear lest some person
should surprise her. It may well be that she
will break the pearl necklace which she is so
carelessly handling, and then, perhaps, to avoid
being found out, she will be tempted to invent
some falsehood. For one error leads to another.
Sin follows sin, as surely as thunder follows
lightning. And that is an additional reason
why we should pray, with all our heart and
soul, “Lead us not into temptation,” for we
know not when or how the temptation may
end.










INQUISITIVE MAGGIE.

Dip you ever hear of James Watt? He was
a wise Scotchman, who invented the steam-
engine, by which, now-a-days, we are able to
travel so swiftly on land and water, and to
accomplish so many wonderful works. It is
28 INQUISITIVE MAGGIE.

said that he was first induced to study the power
of steam by watching it raise the lid of a tea-
kettle that hissed and simmered on the fire.
I don’t think Maggie will be led to any such
discovery by her inquisitiveness about the tea-
pot on her grandmamma’s table. She is letting
the steam escape, which won’t do the tea any
good, just because she is one of those trouble-
some lasses who can leave nothing alone.
Maggie tries her grandmother’s patience sorely.
If the postman brings a letter, she wants to
look at it and zm it. She can’t see a pudding
at dinner-time, without a wish to dash her knife
in it, and cut it open. She handles everything;
opens all the cupboards; ‘“rummages” all the
drawers ; peeps into every book; runs at every
knock to see who is at the door. She is,
therefore, in continual trouble; for people do
not like inquisitive children, who are for ever
meddling with what does not concern them. It
is a very bad habit, this inquisitiveness, and if
not checked is certain to work a sad amount
of mischief.



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AT WORK

?

bring your needle here

)

Come, Effie

d

ad enou

And sit you at my side

Of play you

?

gh

ve surely h

?

game have tried

And every
30

AT WORK.

With battledore and shuttlecock,
With skipping rope and ball,

Now skimming o’er the garden-lawn,
Now romping in the hall.

But work is good and play is good,
And now that play has done,

I fain would have the patchwork sown,
So long ago begun.

Oh, think how swiftly pass the days,
How swiftly pass the years;
Before our task in life is o’er
Will come a time of tears.

Then every day some useful aim,
Seek, Effie, to fulfil,

And the more earnest is your work,—
The firmer is your will,—

_ The sweeter, too, will prove your play,—

Will prove each leisure hour ;—-
And tender graces, homely joys,
About your path will flower,










































































































THE PET CAT,

Aut children are fond of pets, though their
tastes are very different. Some love rabbits,
others dogs; some prefer birds, others pigeons;
but I think nearly all girls are very fond of
Pussy. Her fur is so sleek, her movements
are so graceful, she is so full of funny tricks,
32 THE PET CAT.

so easily taught to obey her mistress, that I
don’t wonder Pussy is such a favourite.

But Fanny’s cat, you see, has caused quite
an uproar. She has upset Edward’s box of
paints and basin of water. Edward, unfortu-
nately, is very passionate, and he immediately
sprang up to catch the offender; but Fanny,
taking her in her arms, ran off with all speed,
overthrowing the fire-screen as she passed, and
giving her mamma a disagreeable fright. The
fact is, Pussy had no business in the school-
room. Pets must be kept in their proper
places. It was very annoying for Edward to
have his work disturbed, though it was exceed-
ingly wrong of him to lose his temper about
it. A minute’s patience and he could have set
things to right, while Fanny, had he asked her,
would gladly have dismissed her pet cat from
the room where she had behaved so improperly.

This shows us how needful it is to keep
a watch on our tempers.. Many men and
women, as well as Edward, suffer themselves
to be vexed by nothing more important than a
pet cat !




































THE ROBIN REDBREAST,

Are you fond of birds, my dear child? But I
need not ask the question. The heart must be
cold and wicked, indeed, that can listen un-
moved to their sweet music. The eye must

be dull and dim that can watch without delight
(161) 3
34 ROBIN REDBREAST.

their happy nimble movements. I take it that
their song is the softest, merriest music in nature.

“ Sometimes in misty morning, and sometimes in the night,

The bird chants forth right merrily, because its heart is light.”
The joyous lark, the melodious nightingale, the
chirping sparrow, the tuneful blackbird, the
swift swallow,—I love them all, and am never
weary of watching them.

My grandchildren here have made a pet of
a tame robin,—a bird which everybody loves.
As surely as the morning comes, comes Mr.
Redbreast, knocking with his bill at the parlour
window until some one opens it, and then
hopping around the room on the look-out for
crumbs of bread. He knows he is safe; Charles,
Frank, and Eliza would not have him injured
or frightened on any account, and he repays
their protection by his perfect confidence. Love,
you see, makes love. ‘Trust your fellows, and
they will trust you. So the robin is a daily
visitor. He takes his breakfast, chirps about
the room, and then, when weary of in-door life,
flies out to the leafless trees,—perhaps to look
for other birds, and make known to them how
well he is treated.








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Mies
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THE CRIPPLE.

AtrreD SEyMourn was knocked down by a
runaway horse, and received so severe an
injury in his legs that he is likely to be a
cripple for months. It is a great affliction for
him. I never knew any lad so fond of the
bright things of nature; of the leafy trees, and
36 THE CRIPPLE.

the lofty hills; of the glittering stars, and the
sweet fragrant flowers. He would walk miles
to find out a new fern or to see a rare plant,
and now he is confined to his sofa,—poor
lad!—and all he sees of the beautiful earth
is the garden from his window. But he
knows it is wrong to repine. It is God’s will;
and are there not thousands whose sufferings
are greater than his? He does not lie and
murmur, and waste his hours in useless regret,
but he teaches his sister Florence, and his
younger brother William, and finds it a de-
lightful occupation. In return for his great
kindness they bring him blossoms from the
wayside, and bright green leaves, sprigs of ivy,
and clumps of soft green moss. With these
he amuses himself greatly, for he finds some-
thing new to look at and admire in them every
day. That is the way to bear our trials,
reader; bravely, heartily, with trust in God,
and submission to His will, Our poor cripple
is happier than many robust, vigorous youths,
because he is still doing something to help
others, and spend his time usefully: in a word,
he is doing his duty.


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WILD FLOWERS.

In the calm and pleasant valley

Where the violets love to hide ;
"Neath the old oak’s leafy shadows

Where they sweep the green hill-side ;
By the margin of the streamlet

As it trails across the lea,
38

WILD FLOWERS.

On the surface of the woodland pool
That shines so fair to see

Bloom the flowers, the wild wild-flowers,

The darlings of the Hours!

Oh, I love them for their sweetness,
For each rare and tender grace,

For the sunny joy they shed about
Each quaint secluded place ;

The wild rose and the woodbine,—
Forget-me-not so true,—

The mallows with their glowing tints,—
The speedwell’s eye of blue ;—

Oh, the flowers, the wild wild-flowers,

Sweet darlings of the Hours !

In the calm and pleasant valley
Where the violets love to hide ;
"Neath the old oak’s leafy shadows
Where they sweep the green hill-side,
They speak to me like voices, —
Yes, like voices from above,—
And they bid me praise the God that made
Such bright things for our love ;---
Oh, the flowers, the wild wild-flowers,
Sweet darlings of the Hours!










HARVEST-TIME.

Epwarp and Clara stand at the garden-gate
to watch the busy reapers plying their sharp
sickles, and cutting down the ripe brown wheat.
Well may they be pleased at such a pleasant
sight. I know of none more beautiful, or which
should fill the heart with greater thankfulness
40 HARVEST-TIME.

to Him who has made all things. I love to
see the light wind sweep over the nodding
corn, and stir it into waves; for it is a goodly
thing,—a field full of ripened plenty,—and
one to make the eyes fill with happy tears.
- Consider of how much value to man is wheat!
Thence comes the flour which makes our bread.
And well has bread been called the staff of life ;
there is nothing can fully supply its place.
Now, whether bread shall be within the reach
of the poor depends upon the price of wheat,
and the price of wheat depends upon the good-
ness or badness of the harvest. When the
crops are plentiful, and flour is cheap, bread
also is cheap, and hundreds of mouths are
filled with it which otherwise would lack a
meal. Therefore am I thankful when I see a
fine corn-field; the ears full and ripe, the stalks
strong and vigorous; for I am then sure that
God will bless us with a good harvest, that
bread will be cheap, and the poor be fed.
Shine forth, O autumn sun, and ripen the
much prized wheat, so that men may acknow-
ledge the mercy of the Lord







WF, =

US&R eZ

THE POEM.

Do you like poetry? Do you know what
poetry is? Well, there are two kinds of
poetry, the unwritten and the written. If you
are a happy child, you will find the unwritten
poetry everywhere ;—in the bright face of the
42 THE POEM.

sunny sky; in the snowy clouds; in the soft, pale
moonlight; in the great, wide, ever-sounding sea;
in the silvery stream; in the glowing, blushing
flowers. This I should call God’s poetry; and
it is the grandest, the most beautiful, the most
lasting. But there is also man’s poetry: when
he expresses a good thought, a sweet fancy, a
sublime or tender feeling in verse, and in lan-
guage suitable to the music of his ideas. Do
you quite understand me? Perhaps not, but you
will do so when you grow older. Poetry has
always been pleasing to man; and you will
find some of the oldest, as well as the most
splendid, poetry in the world, in the Bible.

Here are Edwin and Frances in the garden,
resting in the shadow of a fine old tree, and
Frances listening eagerly, while Edwin reads
and explains some favourite poem. They could
have chosen no better amusement. A good
poem does the heart good; for, as a wise man,
himself a great poet, has said, “it gives you
the habit of wishing to discover the good and
the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds
you.” And it will dwell in your memory for
years, a blessing and a consolation.







i |









ee
PENITENT AGNES.

Wuen we have done wrong, our conscience—
our inner feeling—tells us of it; and then, in-
stead of seeking to stifle the still, small voice of
the heart, it is well for us to repent. Whether
it be our parents, our relatives, friends or neigh-
44 PENITENT AGNES.

bours, whom we have wronged, it is needful
we should at once betake ourselves to them,
and show in what we have offended. But it
is not enough to be sorry for evil done. Repent-
ance means something more; namely, that we
will not do that evil again. You see that
Agnes, who has sinned, has gone to her mother
and expressed her repentance. What would you
think of that repentance if she went and did
wrong again immediately? You would say
there was no truth or reality in it; and yet,
that is what our repentance too often means.
We are sorry for the time; we ease ourselves
by a few words; but we do not understand
that something more is required. So if we sin
against our Maker,—and every untruth we
utter, every little deceit, every angry passion
is a sin against Him,—our repentance is not
sufficient, unless it means that untruths, and
deceit, and anger shall be avoided in the future.
It is well to be sorry for our fault; it is better
to resolve that we will not err again. And by
God’s help we may make our repentance
sincere,
























4
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THE PUPIL IN THE KITCHEN,

Ir is a great pleasure to be able to read and
write. Reading and writing are the keys that
open to us the treasures of many glorious
palaces and ‘kings’ houses.” The former
brings us acquainted with the thoughts of
46 THE PUPIL IN THE KITCHEN.

others; the latter enables us to record and
express our own. Not to be able to read is
to go through the world with one’s eyes shut,
learning nothing, knowing nothing, hoping
nothing, fearing nothing. But reading makes
the poor rich, the sorrowful happy, the dull
gay, the idle industrious ; cheers, helps, blesses,
and encourages; so that I know not what sort
of life they must lead who do not possess so
precious a gift. It is, therefore, very good of
Miss Margaret to spend an hour daily in the
kitchen, teaching little Jane to read and write
after her day’s work is done. Jane, you must
know, 1s motherless, and her father unhappily
spends almost all his wages in the beer shop,
so that she has never had a teacher or been
to school. She would have had to go begging
from door to door had not Margaret’s mother
taken her into her family, as a help to the
elder servants. And now Margaret teaches
her to read and write; and teaches her, too,
all about the power of God, the love of Christ,
the mission of the gospel. I think her toil will
not be without reward.






THE BUTTERFLY.

Wuite Frank and Ellen are amusing them-
selves in the arbour, a butterfly has alighted
on Ellen’s finger, and both brother and sister
have a good opportunity of admiring its ex-
quisite wings. The butterfly is truly a radiant
insect, and seems a thing of grace and beauty.
48 THE BUTTERFLY.

Light, airy, joyous, it sports in the sunshine,
wantons on the flower, and trips from bloom to
bloom, gay as the brilliant morn, and cheerful
as the splendour of heaven. It is unable to
live without light and heat. On a chill or
cloudy day it droops and pines, and, closing its
wings, rests like a sickly thing upon some
hidden flower; but as soon as the cloud dis-
perses, and the sun again pours forth its
bountiful rays, it springs into active life, and
airily dances through the air, or hovers about
some fragrant blossom.

The butterfly requires no other food than
the honeyed juices distilled from flowers, the
sweets of ripe fruit, or the sugary substance
on the leaves of vegetables. The skies are its
proper habitation, the air its proper element;
it hardly seems to belong to earth. ‘There is
nothing in the animal creation so beautiful or
splendid as many kinds of these insects; they
serve to banish solitude from our walls, and to
fill up our idle moments with the most pleasing
fancies. Who can look upon them without prais-
ing the Almighty Wisdom and Power that gave
so many delicate charms to these little insects ?






























BY THE FIRESIDE.

You may see that papa has returned from his
day’s toil, and while his wife is making tea,
he has a chat and a game with the children.
Ah, how happy he feels, surrounded by all
whom he loves! I am sure that he would not

change places with any monarch on his throne.
(161) 4
50 BY THE FIRESIDE.

Affection can convert the lowliest hut into a
palace; love can gild its walls with doubly
refined gold, and fill it with a light that never
dies away. It is a good thing for the young
to be brought up in a happy home. Its in-
fluence will be with you for good in after-years,
wherever your lot may chance to fall. A kind
father, kind yet firm; a gentle, tender mother ;
fond brothers and sisters; these are blessings
for which you can never thank God enough.
If you have these, it matters little whether your
home be in town or country, in a close dark
street or a splendid square. Home will be for
you the best and brightest place which earth
affords ; a foretaste and picture, as it were, of
that Eternal Home where we shall mingle in
sweet companionship with saints and angels!

Home! home! be it ever so homely,
In all the wide world no place is so blest :
Home! home! be it ever so homely,
I fly to it still like a dove to its nest.
Where the fond glance of love is a welcome to all,
Where the songs of the children all tenderly rise,
Where some light ever breaks through the dreariest cloud,
And hope ever shines in Affection’s fond eyes.
Home! home! be it ever so homely,
In all the wide world no place is so blest :
Home! home! be it ever so homely,
I fly to it still like a dove to its nest.


x a =! ———

i |!













OUR OLD NURSE.

Sue must be seventy years old, I think; the
good old woman who nursed Miss Eleanor and
Miss Agnes when they were babies. And
now they are young ladies; Eleanor is nineteen
and Agnes seventeen,—seventeen years since
52 OUR OLD NURSE.

she was cradled to sleep in the arms of Nurse
Simpson. ‘They have been brought up to
respect her, as, indeed, her truth and faithful-
ness and affection have well deserved; and they
cheer her declining days by daily visits, bringing
her some little gift, or amusing her with tales
of their younger sisters. Sometimes they sit
and read to her, and very proud is she of
the visits of her “ young ladies.” She looks
forward to them eagerly, and feels very sad
when any accident prevents them from making
their usual call. I am sure that Eleanor and
Agnes are good and gentle at heart, from the
attention they pay to their aged nurse. Gray
hairs are venerable, and should always com-
mand our reverence. Think what trials she
has witnessed, what sorrows, what pain and
suffering! And now she trembles on the
brink of the grave, and soon her place will
know her no more. Happy for her that she
is cheered and supported, not only by the
affection of her daughter and the esteem of her
young ladies, but by her faith in the goodness
and mercy of God through Jesus Christ our
Lord.






























THE YOUNG ARTIST.

Epwarp has gained the prize for drawing
at Dr. Teachem’s academy. The holidays
have begun, and he has brought his case of
sketches for his cousin Jessie to examine
them. They are so faithful and so full of
spirit that she cannot but praise them, and
54 THE YOUNG ARTIST.

she will not fail to reward the young artist for
his labour.

How do you think Edward secured the prize?
He had to contend with some older boys, but
while these did their day’s work as a task, and
cared about nothing but getting it done with all
possible quickness, Edward applied himself to
it with the utmost patience. Whatever he did,
he did thoroughly. Ifa line was not straight
he rubbed it out, and tried again. Ifa second
attempt proved no better, he tried a third.
This is the secret of doing things well—doing
them slowly, and doing them over and over
again until they are done right. If you have
a lesson to learn, do not give it up until you
are sure you know it, and know it thoroughly.
It is a mean and pitiful thing to be beaten,
when a little industry is all that we require to
make us successful. You will never be a good
man or woman if you believe in such a word as
fail. Edward won his prize, because he had
made up his mind that nothing should dis-

courage him.




GRANDPAPA.

Granppapa has returned from a long journey,
and all the children are eager to welcome him
home. Little Frank has placed himself on his
knee; George is nestling under his arm; and
William would fain kiss him under the mistletoe,
but he is checked by steadier Charles, who
56 GRANDPAPA.

probably thinks his brother a little too hasty.
Nelly quietly seats herself in her accustomed
chair, and waits her turn. She knows that
grandpapa’s love is as great for one as for
another—that he has no favourites; or, rather,
that all are favourites alike. It is very pleasant
to see youth and old age together on such
pleasant terms; youth treating gray hairs with
the reverence due to them; old age winning
the love and regard of the young by patience,
a firm but gentle manner, and a generous,
thoughtful mind. Just think how many years
of trial and anxiety have passed over grand-
papa’s head. See how his brow is wrinkled
with suffering and toil. I cannot believe that
you would be unwilling to make him happy
now in his few days of rest. He takes pleasure
in your merry voices, your joyous laughter, your
light movements; and he is ever contriving some
new way of amusing you, and of displaying his
true affection. Will you not do your utmost,
in return, to show your gratitude? Remember
that youth is never so graceful as when paying
due respect to old age.
ZED





























































READING TO GRANDMOTHER,

Is there a fairer sight in the world than youth
waiting in love and patience on old age? Ah,
gray hairs should always be a sign to demand
our tenderest affection, and it should be our
study to smooth the downward path of the aged
by all the fond attentions in our power. Spent
53 READING TO GRANDMOTHER.

with the battle of life, and standing on the
threshold of the future, they need our love, our
help, our affection. Their sight is dim, and we
must be their eyes. ‘Their limbs fail them, and
we must be their support. When they were
hale and vigorous they did much for ws. In
truth, what we are, or shall be, we owe to
them; and who will grudge to grandpapa or
grandmamma a few acts of kindness in their
declining days? I always judge a boy or girl’s
character by the way in which they treat the
aged. I know that if they behave to them with
indifference or contempt, they will never in
their own old age be worthy of our respect.
When I see little Bessy staying at home on a fine
summer afternoon—though all her comrades
“are away to the brook-side and the flowery
meadow—in order to read to grandmamma, I
feel assured that Bessy will grow up a noble,
generous, loving woman. Yes; and I feel
assured that God will bless a heart so tender
and a mind so pure.




aS

= WN
—~





READING TO GRANDFATHER,

Come, little Effie, and read to me,

Under the shade of the greenwood tree!

My eyes were once as bright as thine,

Where the rays of youth and gladness shine ;

But now they are dim with the clouds of years,

And dark with the mist of gathering tears—
Come, little Effie, and read to me!
60 READING TO GRANDFATHER.

What shall you read, you ask, to me,
Under the shade of the greenwood tree ?
I care not what be my darling’s choice,
So long as I hear her soft, sweet voice,
Which for me has a sound like a stream in June,
Singing all day a merry tune !—
Come, little Effie, and read to me!

The ‘ Book of books” you may read to me,

Under the shade of the greenwood tree ;

Of the love divine of Him who died

On Calvary’s mount,—bound,—crucified,—

And wounded sore,—for the love of man ;

And all to work out God’s wondrous plan !-—
Come, little Effie, and read to me!

Or a hero’s life you may read to me,

Under the shade of the greenwood tree,—

Or pleasant tales of tree and brook,—

Or a page from your Children’s Picture Book :

And grandpapa’s love and his fervent prayers

Shall repay little Effie’s thoughtful cares ;—
So come, my darling, and read to me!

A
v






















FEB Ga



THE SICK BOY.

On returning from a pleasant walk, mamma
finds her young son George seated in a chair
by the fireside, and evidently very unwell. She
quickly throws aside her bonnet, and kneeling
by him, rests his head against her bosom, and
soothes and comforts him. His head aches, he
62 THE SICK BOY.

says, and he feels exceedingly sick. I fear
that George has been doing wrong, and that
his illuess arises partly from his knowledge
that he deserves punishment. Not long ago I
saw him at his mother’s store-cupboard, where
the preserves and jellies are kept; and I fear
he has been not only a glutton, but a thief. A
thief, you say? Yes; for George has no more
right than any other person to meddle with his
parents’ property. It is stealing; and he knows
it was stealing. He watched until everybody,
as he thought, was out of the way; though if I
had not seen him, there was One whose all-
seeing eye was upon his movements. Had he
felt he was doing rightly, he would not have
cared who was looking. So you see he was
at once a coward, a thief, and a glutton.
Mamma allows him as much jelly and preserve
as is really good for him, and his greediness
will be punished by a severe sickness. Ah,
dear children, never do anything of which you
feel ashamed. It cannot be right, if you are
unwilling that every eye should see you. It
is only sin that loves dark, crooked, and silent
ways.


























































































LAST SCENE OF ALL.

Cuarutié has been taking a last farewell of his
dear grandfather, who, bent with years and the
toil of life, now lies upon his death-bed, and
will soon pass away into a brighter world.
The poor boy is very fond of his good grand-
father, and he weeps bitterly at the thought
64 LAST SCENE OF ALL.

that he shall never again hear his voice, never
again feel his kindly embrace. He turns to his
sister for comfort; and what, think you, does
Ellen tell him? That in heaven all who love
the Lord Jesus will be reunited, and then
a happiness will be theirs which no tongue
can describe. She points out to him how
calmly his grandfather waits the approach of
death, supported by his trust in Christ, which
had enabled him to lead a holy and useful life.

If you feel temptation at your side, pray
to be delivered from it, strive against it, and
think of the last scene of all; then carry your
thoughts forward to the world beyond, where
“the wicked cease from troubling, and the
weary are at rest’’—-where God’s good and
faithful servants dwell with Him for ever!

Dear young reader, never forget that the
blessed Saviour, besides dying for our sins, left
us an example that we should follow his
steps. Look to Him, then, put your trust in

Him, give yourself to Him ;—then, come life,
come death, you may be sure all will be well
with you at last.




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