Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Our pony
 Dreaming and doing
 The blackberry frolic
 The queer things that happened...
 Rose's song
 Pitcher-plants and monkey-pots
 The six ducks
 The bunch of grapes
 A true story about a dog
 Under the cherry-tree
 Rambles in the woods
 What I saw at the seashore
 Blossom and I
 How Norman became an artist
 The boot-race
 The fishermen's children
 Young lazybones
 Back Cover

Title: Forget-me-not stories for young folks
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00081065/00001
 Material Information
Title: Forget-me-not stories for young folks
Physical Description: 41 p. : ill., music ; 23 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Syndicate Trading Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Syndicate Trading Company
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: c1891
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1891   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1891   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1891
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
General Note: Contains stories, poems and a song.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00081065
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223452
notis - ALG3701
oclc - 54641804

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Our pony
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Dreaming and doing
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
    The blackberry frolic
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
    The queer things that happened to Nelly
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Rose's song
        Page 17
    Pitcher-plants and monkey-pots
        Page 18
    The six ducks
        Page 19
        Page 20
    The bunch of grapes
        Page 21
        Page 22
    A true story about a dog
        Page 23
        Page 24
    Under the cherry-tree
        Page 25
        Page 26
    Rambles in the woods
        Page 27
    What I saw at the seashore
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
    Blossom and I
        Page 31
        Page 32
    How Norman became an artist
        Page 33
        Page 34
    The boot-race
        Page 35
    The fishermen's children
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Young lazybones
        Page 40
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




I'I~ .,r ~3

Forget-me-Not Stories


Young Folks



Copyright 1891 by


WE have a pony whose name is Duke. He was very
skittish when we first had him. There are four of us chil-
dren who ride him, Mamie, Winnie, Arthur, and myself.
We have another little sister, Florence; but she is not old
enough to ride, being only five years old.
Winnie is a nice little rider. Duke was Mamie's birth-
day present. We were all very much pleased when he
came. We danced round him, and clapped our hands.
Mamma wanted to surprise us: so, while we were at dinner,
she had the pony brought up and put in the barn.


After dinner we went out to play; and Winnie saw the
whip and the saddles, and then she suspected something.
So she began looking around in the stalls. There she found
the pony, and then came running in to mamma to ask if
it was really ours. Mamma said, Yes.
Then we were very much pleased, and said we would ride
him. Winnie rode him up to the house first; then Mamie
wanted to ride, so she got on the boys' saddle. Duke
would not stand still for her; and, when she got on, he went
galloping down to the barn. Her hat flew off, and she was
very much frightened. She kept calling out, Stop him! "
but he would not stop until he reached the barn. Duke
was frightened too, because we shouted at him.
Mamie is thirteen, but is more afraid to ride than Winnie,
who is only seven. Mamie asks if boys always ride better
than girls. I say, "No Look at Winnie." Once we tied
Duke to the swing; and then he got his nose pulled by get-
ting the rope twisted round it. Sometimes we have a good
frolic with him in the pasture. He never kicks us.
Mamie loves to feed Duke; but she wants Arthur to hold
him carefully by the bridle while she does it. As for Win-
nie, she loves to gallop over the hills and far away. Some-
times she lets me ride behind her. Duke seems to love the
bold Winnie, and will do whatever she tells him to. TILDE,.


AMY was a dear good girl in many things; but she had
one bad habit: she was too apt to waste time in dreaming
of doing, instead of doing.
In the village where she lived, Mr. Thornton kept a small
shop, where he sold fruit of all kinds, including berries in
their season.
One day he said to Amy, Would you like to make some
money ?"
Of course I would! said Amy; for my dear mother
often has to deprive herself of things she needs, so that she
may buy shoes or clothes for me."
Well, Amy, I noticed some fine ripe blackberries along
by the stone walls in Mr. Green's five-acre lot; and he said
that I or anybody else was welcome to them. Now, if you
will pick the ripest and best, I will pay you sixteen cents a
quart for them."
Amy was delighted at the thought, and ran home and
got her basket, and called her little dog Quilp, with the
intention of going at once to pick the blackberries.
Then she thought she would like to find out, with the aid
of her slate and pencil, how much money she should make,
if she were to pick five quarts. She found she should make
eighty cents, almost enough to buy a new calico dress.
But supposing I should pick a dozen quarts: how much
should I earn then? So she stopped and figured that out.
"Dear me It would come to a dollar and ninety-two
cents! "
Amy then wanted to know how much fifty, a hundred,
two hundred, quarts would give her; and then, how much
she should get if she were to put thirty-two dollars in the
savings bank, and receive six per cent interest on it.



Quilp grew very impatient, but Amy did not heed his
barking; and, when she was at last ready to start, she found
it was so near to dinner-time that she must put off her enter-
prise till the afternoon.
As soon as dinner was over, she took her basket, and hur-
ried 'to the five-acre lot; but a whole troop of boys fri'io tlJ
public school were there before her. It *as Saturday after-
noon. School did not keep; and they were all out with their
Amy soon found that all the large ripe berries had been
gathered. Not enough to make up a single quart could she
find. The boys had swept the bushes clean. All Amy's
grand dreams of making a fortune by picking blackberries
were at an end. Slowly and sadly she made her way home,
recalling on the way the words of her teacher, who once said
to her, "One doer is better than a hundred dreamers."
-----0O o-----


BOBOLINK, Bobolink!
Are you tipsy with drink?
Or why do you swagger round so ?
You've a nest in the grass
Somewhere near where I pass,
And fear I'll molest it, I know.

Bobolink, Bobolink !
Do you think, do you think,
I'd trouble your dear little nest ?
Oh! I would not do that;
For I am not a cat :
So please let your mind be at rest.


ANNIE and her baby-brother went to ride with their papa
and mamma. They crossed the river on a long bridge; and
beyond it they sawhorses and cows feeding on the green
"What are all these heaps of dirt for? said Annie.
"We are just entering dog-town,' said her papa; and
those are the houses of the inhabitants. Do you see the
two little fellows sitting up on that mound ? "
Yes," said Annie; "but they look like little fat squirrels;
don't they, mamma ?"
Baby pointed his little chubby finger, and said, "Ish!"
"They are prairie-dogs," said mamma; "but are some-
times called the wish-ton-wish' and prairie marmot,' and
sometimes 'prairie marmot squirrel.' It is like the marmot
because it burrows in the ground, and like the squirrel
because it has cheek-pouches."
"Well, what do they call them dogs for ? said Annie.
"Let us stop and watch them," said her papa. "Hark!
do you hear them bark ?"
"Yes: it is a little squeaking bark," said Annie. "It
sounds like chip-chip-chip.' "
"Now see," said her papa, how funnily that little fellow
sits up, with his fore-paws hanging down, and watches us.'
Annie shook the whip; and the prairie-dog scampered into


-; --
~U~U~U~U~U~U~U~U~U.I;?-~;ii~~~T;:-T.' ~-~-`-'-~-~5-~4~Y


his hole. Up he popped his head again in a moment, and
jerked his short tail, and barked.
This seemed a signal for the whole town. On almost
every mound appeared two or three dogs; and they set up
such a barking and jerking of tails, that everybody in the
wagon laughed and shouted.
"Now we will ride up close to the mound," said papa, as
he started up old Fox, and sung a bit of the old song: -

"The prairie-dogs in dog-town
Will wag each little tail,
And think there's something coming
Riding on a rail."

There were several bushels of dirt in the mound. In
the centre of it was the hole, which was very large at the
entrance. The earth all around was worn very smooth and
Here the little dogs sit and bark and jerk, ready to dodge
into their hole in a moment. They all looked fat and
clumsy. Their color is reddish-brown. Owls and rattle-
snakes are often found living with them; but Annie did not
see any. MRS. 0. HoWARD.


WHY, where are you going, Nelly ? asked Martin Ray
of his sister, as, with a plate of pudding for him, she entered
his chamber where he was confined to his bed.
Poor Martin had broken his leg by a fall from a tree, and
he had to keep very still.
"We have made up a blackberry-party," said Nelly.
"The girls and boys are waiting for me at the door; and
I can only stop a minute to say that you must be good,
and not fret while I am away."
Don't be late in returning home," said Martin; "for
mother is going to take me down stairs for the first time, this
afternoon; and I want to see you before I go up to bed."
"All the sweetest berries I can find shall be saved for
you," said Nelly, as she tied the little scarf about her neck,
put on her hat, and kissed Martin for good-by.
Nelly's companions were waiting impatiently for her at


the door; and, when she came, they raised a shout of Here
she is! Then they set off, through a shady lane, on their
walk to Squire Atherton's woods, along the borders of
which the blackberries grew in great profusion.
Soon they came to a place where a brook crossed between
two fields, with such a narrow plank for a bridge that some
of the girls did not half like going over it; for the brook
seemed to be quite full and deep.
"What a fuss you girls make about trifles cried Rob-


ert Wood. "Who but a girl would think of being frightened
at a bridge like this ?"
"Stop that, Robert," said Harry Thorp. "I will help
them across in a way that will prevent all danger."
Harry plucked up a stout bulrush that grew near by, and
held it out over the plank to the girls to serve as a kind of
support for them to hold by. Susan Maples was the first to
lay hold of the thick end of the bulrush, by which Harry
led her across. Then the other girls followed; but, just as


Nelly got on, Robert Wood shook the plank, and tried to
scare her.
He did not succeed in this; for Nelly was thinking of her
dear brother at home with his broken leg, and she felt that
she would not be afraid of a much more dangerous crossing
than that over the plank.
After a walk of a mile, they came to the edge of the
wood. Jewels of jet! Look here cried Harry Thorp.
"See the bouncers Here's sweetness Here's blackness !
Here's richness!"

And, true enough, there they were. Never were high-
bush blackberries finer or riper; but the largest and ripest
seemed always the hardest to get at. The boys cut hooked .
sticks, with which they pulled down the branches; and their
mouths were soon black with the juice of the berries. Then
the girls began filling their baskets.
The sun was low in the west when Nelly remembered
her promise to Martin, and said, Now for home to which
the rest cried, Agreed! "


But the girls had not gone far before they began eating
the berries from their baskets, and offering them to one
another, all but Nelly Ray. She did not eat any of her
blackberries, nor did she give any away; and yet she had
the best'basketful of all.
She had, besides, a branch of a bush, with berries on it.
which she was carrying very carefully; so that she kept a
few steps behind the other girls.
When Nelly reached home, she looked in at the open
door, and saw Martin down stairs for the first time since his
accident. He was wrapped in shawls; and Nelly said, as she
put the full basket on his knees, and waved the branch be-
fore his eyes, "Why, brother, they have wrapped you up
so, and your face is so pale, that you look like a girl."
"Looks are nothing: behavior is all," said Martin, laugh-
ing. Why, Nelly, what a splendid feast we shall have!
What big ones Thank you, dear, dear sister."
As she heard those words, and saw his pleased looks,
Nelly felt she was well repaid for all her trouble. ,A FAT.


ELLY BURTON had been weeding in the gar-
den nearly all the summer forenoon; and she
was quite tired out. Oh, if I could only be
dressed up in fine clothes, and not have to
work thought she.
No sooner had the thought passed through her mind, than,
as she looked down on the closely-mown grass by the edge
of the pond, she saw the queerest sight that child ever
A carriage, the body of which was made of the half of a
large walnut-shell, brightly gilt, was moving along, dragged
by six beetles with backs glistening with all the colors of
the rainbow.
Seated in the carriage, and carrying a wand, was a young
lady not larger than a child's little finger, but so beautiful
that no humming-bird could equal her in beauty. She had
the bluest of blue eyes, and yellow crinkled hair that shone
like gold.
She stopped her team of beetles, and, standing upright,
said to Nelly, Listen to me. My name is Pitpat; and I am
a fairy. I see how tired you are with work. Your father,
though a good man, is a blacksmith; and there is often a
smirch on his face when he stoops to kiss you. Your mother
wears calico dresses, and doesn't fix her hair with false
braids and waterfalls. Would you not like to be the daugh-
ter of a king and queen, and live in a palace ? "
Oh, yes, you beautiful Pitpat! I would like that ever so
much! exclaimed Nelly. Then I should be a princess,
and have nothing to do but amuse myself all day."



"Take the end of my wand, and touch your eyes with it,"
said the little fairy.
Nelly obeyed; and in a moment, before she could wink,
she found herself in a beautiful room, with mirrors reaching
from the ceiling to the floor. By these she saw that she
was no longer clad in an old dingy dress, nor were her feet
bare; but she had on a beautiful skirt of light-blue velvet,
and a bodice of the most costly lace, trimmed with ribbons;
while diamonds were in her hair, and a pair of gold slippers
on her feet.
Servants were in attendance on her, one of whom said,
"May it please your Highness, his Majesty, your royal
father, is coming." Nelly's heart fluttered. The door opened,
and, preceded by two or three lackeys, a pompous old gen-
tleman entered, clad in rich -robes, a golden crown on his
head, and no smirch on his face.
But, dear me, instead of catching her up in his arms, and
calling her his own precious little Nelly, his Majesty simply
gave her his hand to kiss, and passed on.
The queen followed in his steps. Her hair was done up
in a tower of top-knots and waterfalls; and there was drapery
enough on the back of her dress to astonish an upholsterer.
Instead of calling Nelly "her darling," as Nelly's first
mother used to do, the queen merely said, as she swept by,
"Where are your manners, child?" for you must know
that poor Nelly had forgotten to courtesy.
Nelly put her face in her hands, and began to cry. Oh,
you cruel Pitpat! said she, "why did you tempt me ? Oh!
give me back my own dear mother in her calico dress, my
own dear father with the smirch on his face, my doll Angel-
ica, my black-and-white kitten Dainty, and my own dear,
dear home beside the lovely pond, where the air is so sweet
and the bushes are so green."


Take the end of my wand again, and touch your eyes
with it," said the voice of Pitpat. And there on the carpet,
in her little gilded carriage, stood the fairy once more with
her wand held out. Nelly seized it eagerly, and touched
her eyes.
"Why, Dainty, what are you about ? said Nelly, as she
felt the kitten's head against her arm; and then, opening
her eyes, she started to find herself in the old wood-shed,
seated with her back against the door, Angelica in her lap,
and the soft breeze from the pond fanning her cheek and
bosom. She looked at her feet. Ah! the golden slippers
had disappeared. "Dear me! I must have been dream-
ing," said Nelly. I FAY.


So it's hush-a-by, baby,
Hush-a-by now,
Mamma's gone to buy something good;
And she will not forget
Her own darling pet,
But will buy her a bonny blue hood:
Yes, she'll buy her a bonny blue hood.
Oh! she will not forget
Her own baby pet,
But will buy her a bonny blue hood.
Then it's crow away, baby,
Crow away, sweet,
Papa he is coming to-night;
And he'll bring home a kiss,
Like this and like this,
For his sweet little Minnie so bright,
For his dear little Minnie so bright.
Oh he's many a kiss,
Like this and like this,
For his sweet little Minnie to-night.


PITCHER-PLANTS are so called, because, at
the end of the leaves, the midrib which runs
through them is formed into a cup shape; and
in some it looks very like a pitcher or water-
jug. You will understand this better if you
look at the drawing.
There are various kinds of pitcher-plants. Some are
shorter and broader than others; but they are all green like
true leaves, and hold water as securely as a jug or glass.
They grow in Borneo and Sumatra, hot islands in the East.
The one shown in the drawing grows in Ceylon.
Some grow in America; but they are altogether different
from those in Borneo and Ceylon. One beautiful little
pitcher-plant grows in Australia: but this is also very dif-
ferent from all the rest; for the pitchers, instead of being at
the end of the leaves, are clustered round the bottom of the
plant, close to the ground;
All these pitcher-plants, though very beautiful to look at,
are very cruel enemies to insects: for the pitchers nearly
always have water in them; and flies and small insects are
constantly falling into them, and getting drowned.
Monkey-pots are hard, woody fruits; some as large and
round as a cannon-ball, and some shaped like a bowl. They
grow on large trees in Brazil and other parts of South
America; and the natives take out the seeds, and use the
fruits for holding water, or to wash themselves in.
They are called monkey-pots because monkeys are very
fond of the seeds. Some of the seeds are so good, that they
are collected, and sent to London and other places, where
they are sold in the markets. The Brazil-nut is one of
them. J. j.


IN the pond near Emily's house six tame ducks used to
have a fine time swimming about, except in winter, when
the pond was frozen. Emily had a name for each one of
them. They used to run to her when she called; for they
knew she loved them all, and would treat them well.
Among these six happy ducks there was a white one
that was at one time of his life a wild duck. Emily named
him Albus; for albus is Latin for white. I will tell you how
Albus happened to become tamed.



He was once on his way to the South with a large flock
of his wild companions, when, as they were alighting near
a creek, Albus was shot in the wing by Dick Barker, a
sportsman who was out gunning. Dick ran with his dog
Spot to pick up the poor wounded bird; but Albus was not
so much hurt that he could not fly a little.
He flew and flew till he came to Emily's little garden;
and then he fell at her feet, faint, but not dead, as if plead-
ing for protection. Emily took him up in her arms, though
she soiled her apron with blood in so doing. Dick and Spot
came up; and Dick said roughly, Give me up that duck."
The duck has flown to my feet for protection; and I
would be shot myself before I would betray him and give
him up," said Emily. "I shall keep him, and heal his
Mr. Dick Barker scolded wildly; but it was of no use.
He had to go off duckless. As for Albus, he soon grew well
under Emily's tender care; but his wing was not as strong
as it used to be: so he concluded he would become a tame
bird, and not try to fly off again with his wild companions.
He had a happy home, a kind mistress, and pleasant duck
acquaintances. So, like a good sensible waddler, he was
content. EMILY CARTER.



"I AM thinking what I shall do with this beautiful bunch
of grapes," said Reka Lane as she sat on the bench near
the arbor. Her real name was Rebecca; but they called
her, for shortness, Reka.
"I know what I should do with it," said little Matilda,
who had been wading in the brook, and was without shoes
and stockings. "I should divide it among the present com-
"Good for Matty!" exclaimed brother Henry. The
best use you can put grapes to is to eat them before they
spoil. Come, Reka, divide, divide."
I am not sure that I shall do that," said Reka.


Look at that queer dog said Matty. "He has crept
under the shawl on the ground, and looks like a head with
no body to it."
That shawl was left there the other day by old Mrs.
Merton," said Reka. "The dog is her son's terrier; and his
name is Beauty."
"He is any thing but a beauty," said Matty. "I think
him the ugliest dog I ever saw."
"I suppose they call him Beauty to make up for the bad
word he gets from every one as being ugly," said Reka.
" He is a good dog, nevertheless; and he knows that shawl
belongs to his mistress. Don't you, Beauty ? "
Here Beauty tore out from under the shawl, and began
barking in a very intelligent manner.
Now I will tell you what we will do," said Reka. "Put
on your shoes and stockings, Matty, and we will all go and
call on Mrs. Merton, who is ill; and we'll take back her
shawl, and give her this beautiful bunch of grapes."
"Bow, wow, wow! cried Beauty, jumping up, and try-
ing to lick Reka's face.
When the children left Mrs. Merton's, after they had pre-
sented the grapes, Henry Lane made this remark, "I'll
tell you what it is, girls, to see that old lady so pleased
by our attention gave me more pleasure than a big feast on
grapes, ice-creams, and sponge-cake, with lemonade thrown


I AM a middle-aged gentleman who is blessed with only
one child, a little girl now nearly ;ix years old. Her name
is Fanny; and her cousin Gracie, who is about the same
age, lives with us.
Both of these little girls are very fond of having me tell
them stories; and I have often told them about a dog I once
had. They liked this story so much, that they made me
promise I would send it to be printed, so that a great
many little girls and boys might hear it also. This is the
story: -
When I was a little boy, not more than eight years old, my mother con-
sented to my having a dog which a friend offered to give me. He was a
little pup then, not more than five weeks old. I fed him on milk for
a while, and he grew very fast. I named him Casar.
When he got to be six months old, he became very mischievous. Things
were constantly being missed from the house. Handkerchiefs, slippers,
shoes, towels, aprons, and napkins disappeared; and no one could tell what


became of them. One day Caesar was seen going into the garden with a
slipper in his mouth; and I followed him to a far-off corner where stood
a large currant-bush.
I looked under the bush, and saw Caesar digging a hole, into which he
put the slipper, and then covered it up with earth. Upon digging under
this bush, I found all the things that had been missed.
A neighbor's dog, called "Dr. Wiseman," was Casar's particular
friend. One day we heard a loud scratching at the front-door; and, when
we opened it, in walked Caesar and Dr. Wiseman. Caesar took the
Doctor by the ear, and led him up to each of the family, just as if he were
introducing him, and then led him into the garden, and treated him to a
Although Caesar did many naughty things, we all loved him; for he
was quite affectionate as well as intelligent: but our neighbors complained
of him because he chased their chickens, bit their pigs, and scared their
horses. A farmer who came to our house one day with a load of potatoes
took a great fancy to him. He wanted him for a watch-dog on his farm,
which was only four miles from our house.
As he promised to treat him kindly, my mother thought it was best to
let him have the dog; and I finally consented, although I believe I cried
a good deal about it.
So Caesar was put into the farmer's wagon, much against his will; and
off he went into the country. About three months afterwards, when there
was a foot of snow on the ground, there came a great scratching at the front-
door of our house, early in the morning, before I was up; and, when the
servant opened the door, in bounded Caesar with a rope around his neck,
and a large chunk of wood fastened to the other end of it.
He ran by the servant, and up the stairs, with the piece of wood going
bump, bump, all the way, dashed into my room, jumped right up on my
bed, and began licking my face.
I was very glad to see my dog again. He staid with us several days;
and, when the farmer came for him, he lay down on the floor, closed his.
eyes, and pretended to be dead; but the farmer took him back to the farm
in his wagon.
About a year and a half after that, when I came home for a vacation, we
all went up to the farm, hoping to see Caesar; but we never saw him again.
The farmer had shot him, because he killed the chickens, and chased the
sheep, and would not mind any thing that was said to him. Thus you
see, children, that Caesar came to a bad end, although he had every
advantage of good society in his early youth.
C. R. W.


"Now is the time to pick the cherries! shouted Charles
as he came running in from the garden one July afternoon.
"Are they quite ripe ? said his mother.
"Ripe ? I should think so. Just look at them!" an-
swered Charles, pointing to the trees.
0 mamma! said Mary, the birds are getting them
all. We must have them picked at once."
Never fear, little girl," said her mother. "There will
be enough for the birds and ourselves and our neighbors
too. But it really is time to begin to pick them. So,


Charles, get a basket, and we will all go out under the
So out they all went,- Charles and Mary and Ellen
and Julia and Ruth; and mamma followed with the baby.
"I told the gardener to bring a ladder," said mamma.
"He will be here in a moment, Charles. You can't pick
cherries without a ladder, you know."
Of course," said that saucy boy. "Nobody can pick
cherries without a ladder." And with that he gave a spring,
and in about half a minute had climbed up into the tree.
Now, girls, hold your aprons," said he. And down came
a shower of the delicious fruit.
Then what a glorious scramble those little girls had!
How they laughed and jumped and knocked heads together
in picking up the cherries! They ate as many as they
wanted; and still Charles kept throwing down more.
Have you had enough ? said he. So have I. Now
it's time to think about filling the basket. Ah! here comes
the ladder at last, with a man under it. UncLE SAM.



RACHEL has been used to a life in the city, but she is
now on a visit to her uncle's in the country; and she has
fine times rambling through the woods and fields.
Her cousin Paul takes her to pick berries, and tells her
the names of the things she sees. Smell of these leaves,"
Paul will say, breaking a twig from a shrub, somewhat like
a huckleberry-bush, and crushing the leaves in his hand.
" This is the bayberry-shrub. How fragrant the leaves are !
It bears a berry with a gray wax-like coating; and in Nova
Scotia this wax is much used instead of tallow, or mixed
with tallow, to make candles."
But what is this little red berry on the ground ? asked
Rachel once when they were on one of their rambles. It
has a dark glossy leaf; and I like the taste and the smell
of it very much."
"That is the checkerberry," said Paul. "Some people
call it the boxberry; and some call it wintergreen. It has a
flavor like that of the black birch. It is used to scent soap,
and sometimes to flavor candy. It is an evergreen plant."
What do you mean by an evergreen ? asked Rachel.
"I mean, it is green the whole year round: it does not
dry up and fall off, like the leaves of the strawberry-plant,"
said Paul.
What other sweet-smelling plants are there about
here ?" asked Rachel.
"Did you ever taste the bark of the sassafras-tree ?"
asked Paul. "If not, here is one and I will break off a twig
for you to chew. The color of the inner bark, near the root,
is red, like cinnamon. A beer is made from it; and it is also
used in soaps."


"I like the odor of it very much," said Rachel.
"Here is a black-birch tree," cried Paul. Some people
call it the sweet-birch. I will cut off a piece of the bark
for you to taste."
".Why, it tastes like checkerberry-leaves," said Rachel.
"Yes," replied Paul. It is a beautiful tree,'and is good
for fuel. But here is a white-birch. See how white the bark
is It grows on poor land, and is a very pretty tree when
well taken care of."
Here there was the sound of a horn; and Rachel asked,
"What is the meaning of that sound ?"
"It means that we must run home to dinner," said Paul.
"So give me your hand, Cousin Rachel. You need not be
afraid of snakes. There are none here that can do any
harm. Come, we will make a short cut through the grove
to the house." UNCLE CHARLES.


LAST summer I went to spend a few weeks at a quiet
little island on the New-England coast. Every morning I
used to go to the beach, and sit on the sands, and watch the
blue sea with its sparkling waves, and listen to the surf
breaking in white foam all along the shore.
On pleasant days the beach was lively with bathers, shout-
ing and laughing as they plunged into the cool waves; and


little boys and girls playing in the clean sand, digging with
their shovels, and loading and unloading their wagons, or
picking up shells and sea-mosses to carry home.
On the brightest days of all, I noticed a pale-faced lady
who came to sit a while in the sunshine, propped up with
shawls and pillows. She always brought with her a little
sky-terrier, of which she seemed as fond as if it had been a
real baby.
After a while, I got acquainted with the invalid lady, and
found that her name was Miss Dean, and that her dog
was named Skye. He was a shaggy-looking little creature;
but he had very bright eyes, and he knew almost as much
as the children who played with him. He was very fond of
his mistress,,and very thoughtful of her comfort.
Let me tell you one thing about him that made me think
so. Skye slept in the room with his mistress, on a soft
cushion, with a little blanket spread over him; and in the
morning, when he woke, if she was still asleep, he never
disturbed her. He just sat up on his cushion as still as he
could be, and watched her till she woke. As soon as she
opened her eyes, he gave a little bark, for "good-morning,"
and sprang up on her bed, to be loved and petted.
Well, Skye was a good little dog; and we all learned to
love him; and none of us would have hurt him for the world.
But one day, as we were walking up from the beach, ladies
and gentlemen and children and all, Skye ran down a lane,
out of sight; and a thoughtless, wicked boy, who had a stone
in his hand, and wanted to hit something with it, threw it
with all his might at poor Skye, and broke one of his legs.
Skye cried out with the pain; and we all hurried back to
see what was the matter. There we found him, whining
and howling, and trying to limp along on -three legs; and we
just caught sight of the bad boy, running away far down


the lane. Miss Dean picked up her poor little darling, and
carried him home.
Now, it happened that
there was a very skilful sur-
geon staying at the hotel,
who had come down to the
Island for a short vacation.
Miss Dean sent for him,
and begged him to set poor
"'uV Skye's broken leg. He was
a kind-hearted man, and
could not refuse to, use his
skill to relieve the dumb
S little sufferer.
just So Miss Dean took Skye
on her lap, and stroked him
: gently, and talked lovingly
to him, calling him Poor
doggy!" and "Dear Skye," while the doctor made the
splints, and pressed the broken bones back into their place.
Then the doctor sent for some plaster of Paris, and made a
soft mortar of it, and put it all around the mended leg, and
let it harden into a little case, so that the bones would have
to stay just as he put them till they grew together again.
All the time the doctor was doing this, Skye kept as still
as a mouse; but, when it was all done, the little creature
laid his head on Miss Dean's shoulder, and cried great tears,
just like a child. Miss Dean had to cry, too, at the help-
lessness of her poor dumb darling.
For a good many weeks, Skye could only hobble about on
three legs, and had to keep still on his cushion, or lie on his
mistress' lap, most of the time; but he was very patient.
And at last, when the good doctor said it would do to re-


move the plaster and the splints, we did so; and Skye ran
around the room as well and lively as ever. Wasn't he
glad to have his liberty again! muz.muz.


I WILL tell you a true story about my sister and me. I am
five years old, and Fanny (papa calls her Blossom) is three.
We are in Germany now, but our home is in America;
and, when I go out to play with the boys here, they call me
America." We came over the ocean in a big ship. Papa
and mamma were seasick; but Fanny and I were not, and
we liked to live on the water.
When mamma packed our ,1.
trunks, I wanted her to put ._
in my little pails and wheel-
barrow; and she said there
,wasn't room,but thatwe could
bring as many nice picture-
books as we pleased. So we
brought all we had.
We have used them so
much, that papa says they
will not last long; but I
don't want to put them away on a shelf to be kept nice. I
like to have them every day; and so does Fanny.


When we were coming on the steamer, Fanny used to sit
in the captain's lap, and tell him the stories.
Our auntie sends us a new book every year. One was

lost, and we were very sorry; for we can't read other picture-
books so well. Fanny always has a volume to take to bed
with her; and in the morning, when I wake up, I hear her
talking to the boys and girls in the pictures, c.


THE landscape-painter sat on a camp-stool with an um-
brella over his head. His palette and his box of paints
were on the ground by his side. He was there to draw a
picture of the village of F--
Hardly had he begun his crayon outline when he heard a
boy's voice behind him. May I look on, sir ?" said the
boy. "Yes, look as much as you please, but don't talk,"
said the painter without turning his head.


11 AN-1 1,


The boy had a basket strapped to his back, and stood
looking intently, with both hands resting on his knees. His
name was Norman Blake. Other boys, and a young woman,
soon came up, and joined him as spectators.
Norman studied every movement of the painter's hand;
and, when he got home, he took a piece of charcoal, and
tried to draw a picture on the wall. Rather a rough picture
it was, but pretty good for a first attempt.
The next day Norman went again, and looked on while
the painter sketched. "You've got that line wrong," cried
Norman all at once, forgetting that the painter had told
him not to talk.
"What do you know about it, you young vagabond ?"
cried the painter angrily. "Out of this Run, scamper,
and don't show your rogue's face here again! But stop.
Before you go, come here, and point out what struck you
as wrong."
Norman pointed to a certain line which made the village
church seem a little out of its right place in the picture.
The landscape-painter seized him by the ear, and said, You
little scamp, how did you find that out ? You are right,
sir! But what business have you to criticise my picture ?
I am hesitating whether to thrash you, or to make a painter
of you."
"Make a painter of me, by all means;" said Norman,
laughing; for he saw that the honest painter was only half
in earnest.
Well, the end of it was, that Norman accompanied the
painter to the city, and began to study drawing and paint-
ing. He succeeded so well, that, after he had been studying
six years, he one day brought to his friend the painter the
sketch which we have had copied above.
"Do you remember that ? asked Norman.


Of course I do! said the painter. "It represents our
first meeting. Little did I think that the young vagabond
with the basket on his back would one day beat me in
sketching." ALFRED SELWN.


. /



THERE were three children on the beach looking out to
see the boats of the fishermen sail off to the fishing-grounds.
Little Joe Bourne and his sister Susan stood side by side,
watching their father's boat. Rachel, who was with them,
was not their sister, but an orphan-child, whose grandfather,
Mr. Harrison, was in one of the boats.
It was a windy day in November. The waves broke with
a great noise on the shingly beach. Soon the wind rose
higher : the sea rose too, and the rain fell fast. The chil-
dren walked back to the village; and there the old men said,
shaking their heads, "We shall have a storm."
That night, all the boats came safely back into the harbor,
excepting the boat in which Rachel's grandfather had sailed.
It was, a long, sad night for poor Rachel. The next day
and the next passed by; and no grandfather came back to
take care of her, and find her in food and clothes, and
carry her in his strong arms when she was tired out with


Susan and Joe in their own house felt sad for the little
orphan. One day their mother went to market. Baby was
in the cradle, and Susan was rocking it, whilst Joe was cut-
ting out a boat with an old jack-knife. The kettle on the
stove began to sing; and Susan and Joe began to talk.
"Poor Rachel will have to be sent to the workhouse
now," said Joe.
I hope not," said Susan. I hope father will give her
a home in our own house."
"Why, he says he can hardly earn enough to feed his
own family," said Joe.
But can't we do something to help him ? asked Susan.
"I know of nothing children like us can do," said Joe.
When their mother came home, Susan begged so earnestly
to have Rachel come and stay with them, that Mrs. Bourne
at last replied, Well, we will take her in for a week or two,
and see; but mind, Susan, you must try and earn a little
money somehow. You will now have less time to play on
the sands, remember."


S I ..


;-- .. .-- .

.-'. .....-. ---_ .- ,-

So Susan went and found Rachel, and brought her home
to live with them all. The poor little orphan was a bright,
joyous child. She had a strange hope that she should see
her grandfather again; that he was not lost; for he had told
her many stories of his escape from great dangers at,sea.
"Why, grandfather was on a wreck once a whole week,"
said Rachel: he was cast away once on an island where
he had to live on clams a long while before he was rescued.
I think we shall hear from him soon."
One day Joe caught a fine basket of perch from the rocks,
and went round to try and sell them. But all the folks in the
village told him they could get as many fish as they wanted
without buying them. So Joe walked off to a town four
miles away from the sea, and there he sold his fish.
He told a kind blind lady, to whom he sold some, that his
sister wanted to get work, so that she could help a poor little
orphan-girl. The kind lady sent Susan half a dozen hand-
kerchiefs to hem; and the next morning Susan rose early,
and sewed by candle-light, while the other children were in
bed and asleep.


For three years the poor Bourne family gave Rachel a
nice happy home in their little house; and they would have
kept her longer, but one day, while the children were all
playing on the beach, they heard a great shouting, and ran
to see what it was about.
It was all in honor of Grandfather Harrison. He had
come back, as Rachel had always said he would. He had
been picked tp at sea in his sinking boat by a ship bound
for Australia. The old man was carried to that far country.
He went to the mines, and helped some men dig gold. He
made a good deal of money, thinking it would be a good
thing if he could only be rich enough to send his dear little
grand-daughter to school.
But Rachel was not, the only one who was benefited by
his good fortune. The Bournes shared in it. Joe and Susan,
and all the rest of the children, were sent to school also; and
they studied with a will. It was always a happy thought
to Rachel that the great kindness, of these good people did
not miss its reward even in this life. IDA FAY.

Music by T. CRAMPTON.
Cheerfully. mf

S----- ----- --- -- -- ---,- -r- -- --4._. --- -M-

1. Young Lazybones is smooth and sleek,YoungLazyboues is fat; His eye sitsdrowsing

in--- h-i- -ce-A m L -oE p -- i
-q._ -^-. -- ._.--^. ---- -__q_--^-.-_-,.---

in his cheek,And many a day has sat. Young La-zy-bones he keeps his state All
zrFFJ ==w7T1--r

-,- --' .- -,- _-,- ---- ---- --_- -_- _-- --
-9- -9._9-
in his.ea sy chair, And tho' the time is get-tinglate, He does not seem to care.

S_- --* I -. Id d J [- I t

2. Then little Maggie sings to him,
And plays upon the harp;
While rapid Robert, keen and slim,
Cries, "Lazybones, look sharp! "
And Lucy tickles with her wand,
This sleepy, lazy boy;
And one and all with tricks and jokes
In teasing him take joy.

3. But Lazybones must take'his nap
Before he goes to bed:
He does not move his weary limbs
Or lift his heavy head.
And though a dozen brewers' drays
SShould rumble o'er the stones,
Not all the noise that they can make
Would rouse Young Lazybones.

-- -e -;II-.


* v>- r

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