Front Cover
 Title Page
 The song of the spring rain
 Chippy top-knot
 The first gallop on Taffy
 Too many
 Billy's road
 Growing a name
 A May-day delusion
 "A little winged jewel"
 Losing an egg
 The wire house
 The great dragon-fly
 Katrina in the play
 Little Boy Blue
 How Wynan went deer-hunting
 My dandelion girl
 Captain Baby Belle
 Shells of Africa
 Driving the cows
 What was in Jennie's rubber
 Johnnie's bonfire
 The two pigs
 The little oriole thief
 Little Bettine: A swinging...
 The birthday boots
 At milking-time
 Painted apples
 The bumble bee
 Queen Bess
 The good-for-nothing
 Piggy at church
 The bobolink
 Every-day fairies
 Kitty's first school day
 The swallows
 Sprinkling the flowers
 How fruit is made
 Tricky Polly
 Saucy little sparrows!
 Pansy folk
 Myo's story about mice
 How Stewart earned the pony
 Florence May
 The little music-teacher
 Dilly Dally
 Bitter blueberries
 Noiseless spinning-wheel
 Queer shapes of flowers
 The nest of gold
 Sammy's "flying-horses"
 The farm breakfast
 How coal is made
 Little Hum
 August and its work
 Supper under the apple-tree
 Bob White
 How birds teach their little ones...
 Something which may lost
 Blue watermelons
 Boston express
 Going to the woods
 Roy's wish
 The white rat
 Buzz and Fuzz
 The prophet's namesake
 The fisher boy
 The children's party
 The mission of briars
 How Alec Fraser went shrimping
 The war of the katy-dids
 One old hen
 The young philosopher
 Back Cover

Group Title: Storyland : illustrated stories and poems for little people
Title: Storyland
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00081100/00001
 Material Information
Title: Storyland illustrated stories and poems for little people
Alternate Title: Story land
Physical Description: 159, 1 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Sully, George ( Publisher )
Publisher: George Sully
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: c1891
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1891   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1891   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1891
Genre: Children's poetry
Children's stories
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00081100
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002224942
notis - ALG5214
oclc - 54932478

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    The song of the spring rain
        Page 5
    Chippy top-knot
        Page 6
        Page 7
    The first gallop on Taffy
        Page 8
        Page 9
    Too many
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Billy's road
        Page 13
        Page 14
    Growing a name
        Page 15
        Page 16
    A May-day delusion
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
    "A little winged jewel"
        Page 20
    Losing an egg
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    The wire house
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    The great dragon-fly
        Page 27
    Katrina in the play
        Page 28
    Little Boy Blue
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    How Wynan went deer-hunting
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    My dandelion girl
        Page 36
        Page 37
    Captain Baby Belle
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Shells of Africa
        Page 40
        Page 41
    Driving the cows
        Page 42
        Page 43
    What was in Jennie's rubber
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
    Johnnie's bonfire
        Page 48
        Page 49
    The two pigs
        Page 50
        Page 51
    The little oriole thief
        Page 52
    Little Bettine: A swinging song
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The birthday boots
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
    At milking-time
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
    Painted apples
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    The bumble bee
        Page 64
    Queen Bess
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
    The good-for-nothing
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
    Piggy at church
        Page 71
        Page 72
    The bobolink
        Page 73
    Every-day fairies
        Page 74
    Kitty's first school day
        Page 75
        Page 76
    The swallows
        Page 77
    Sprinkling the flowers
        Page 78
        Page 79
    How fruit is made
        Page 80
    Tricky Polly
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    Saucy little sparrows!
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Pansy folk
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
    Myo's story about mice
        Page 92
        Page 93
    How Stewart earned the pony
        Page 94
        Page 95
    Florence May
        Page 96
        Page 97
    The little music-teacher
        Page 98
        Page 99
    Dilly Dally
        Page 100
        Page 101
    Bitter blueberries
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    Noiseless spinning-wheel
        Page 106
        Page 107
    Queer shapes of flowers
        Page 108
    The nest of gold
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
    Sammy's "flying-horses"
        Page 114
        Page 115
    The farm breakfast
        Page 116
        Page 117
    How coal is made
        Page 118
    Little Hum
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    August and its work
        Page 122
    Supper under the apple-tree
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
    Bob White
        Page 126
    How birds teach their little ones to fly
        Page 127
        Page 128
    Something which may lost
        Page 129
    Blue watermelons
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
    Boston express
        Page 134
        Page 135
    Going to the woods
        Page 136
        Page 137
    Roy's wish
        Page 138
        Page 139
    The white rat
        Page 140
        Page 141
    Buzz and Fuzz
        Page 142
        Page 143
    The prophet's namesake
        Page 144
        Page 145
    The fisher boy
        Page 146
        Page 147
    The children's party
        Page 148
        Page 149
    The mission of briars
        Page 150
    How Alec Fraser went shrimping
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
    The war of the katy-dids
        Page 154
        Page 155
    One old hen
        Page 156
        Page 157
    The young philosopher
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


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HERE I come! Here I come! And the grasses peep;
The little white daisies, too, wake from their sleep;

The soft pussy-willows, in velvet and fur,
By the brook-side are nodding and making a stir;

And the meadow-lark is singing a song full of cheer,
For his happiest time is the spring of the 'year.

He sings of the beautiful things we shall see:
Of bees, and of birds, and of blossoms to be;

Of nests in the meadows, of fruits by and by,
And long sunny days that so surely are nigh.

The crocus her sweetness begins to unfold;
The daffodil raises her banner of gold,

And the clovers are hasting to join the glad throng,
And keep to the tune of my pit-a-pat song.


S. BIDDY TOPI-KNOT had twelve fluffy, downy, little chicks.
Each one of the twelve had yellow feet and yellow bills,
and each one looked so much like the other eleven that
you could not tell one from the other.
Mother Biddy knew them apart. She took great care of them.
In-the daytime she scratched and found food for them, and at night
gathered them under her wing. Biddy's chicks were very good, and
only one gave her any trouble. This little
chick's naie r waas Chippy.
Chippy lid a bi noit mean to

'Biddy /. took
her brood
under a p the
fence and
into the
road to hunt for
bu s g s Chippy
was al- ways sure
to stray from the
others They all
liked to run off
and scratch i the dirt;
but when their moth-
er called A Cluck! cluck!
cluck! very, fast how
they would scamper, all but Chippy He was never in a hurry. In
vain Biddy scolded him. She told him that hawks were fond of
chickens, and were always ready to pounce upon stray ones; the
safe place was near his mother; still he did not heed her.


One fine day Mrs. Biddy took

her chickens down by the brook.
There were large stones in it, so
they easily crossed to the other
side. Then she led them along
the bank until they came to a
large field, into which Biddy
walked with them to hunt for
grasshoppers. But Chippy did
not follow. He liked better to
walk in the soft, warm sand by
the brook.

"I don't see what mother is in
such a hurry for; I'll just stay here
and play a little," said he. "I do
like to make tracks in the soft
sand. I don't care much for grass-
hoppers. I'm not afraid of hawks.
They could not catch me."
Chippy ran up and down by the
side of the brook and never once

~e -~-~r.



thought how far 'behind his mamma was leaving him. A hawk
pounced upon him, and would have carried him away to her nest in
the old oak tree had she not been frightened. By some chance
Chippy slipped from her claws and fell at the feet of little four-year-
old Hetty Sexton, who was picking daisies in the field. Very gently
she lifted Chippy, who was both humbled and lamed. She carried
him in her apron to show her mamma, "The dear, little, broken-
winged angel chickie, that fell from the sky."
In his new 'home Chippy was so kindly cared for that he was soon
able to run about and scratch with the other chicks. But he could
never fly, for the broken wing was not strong. Chippy, though he
never saw his mother again, did not forget the lesson he learned by
his disobedience.
E. A. P.


BERTIE OWEN was the son of an English squire. When he was
twelve years old a lovely little Welch pony appeared suddenly in
his father's stable. On a label round its neck was written, "I am
for Bertie."
Bertie did not stay to ask any questions, but on with a saddle and
bridle and off to the Common, all purple with heather, to try his new
pony's paces. So fast did she gallop and so happy was her young
master that on he rode, mile after mile, forgetting everything but
that the pony was his own, and he could do what he liked with her.
At last Taffy -that was the pony's name- thought she had
had enough. Watching her chance, she twisted suddenly and vio-
lently on one side, as Bertie was rising to jump a small ditch. cOff
came the young gentleman before he had time to recover himself.
Then wicked Taffy, with a parting flourish of her heels, scampered


away in the direction of home. Bertie picked himself up, feeling
very small, and made his way on foot to a tiny village close by.
As he passed the post-office a good thought came into his head.
He knew that his mamma was not strong and must not be frightened.

.-. - .-

a]e Wha.t would happen if she saw naugh-
ty Ta ly galloping back with an empty
So he went in and sent, off a tele-
Sgrain to his either to say that. he was
all j ig.lt,. and would be horne soon.
Whilst Tall was galloping along
,thte hard road this inessage had flashed
along the telegraph wires and had got
there first. Mamma was not a bit frightened therefore when the
pony, with empty saddle and streaming reins, galloped wildly up the
avenue. She nearly knocked over the little telegraph boy, who
had just delivered his message.

__________________~__~_________P_-____________.__________________._________^,-'''--' ..L'^'''

E wanted something for a pet;
SDick brought a kitten home to me,-
SSnow-white, a prettier little thing
\o I thought there could not be.
I fed it on the very best, -
Sweet yellow cream, and chicken breast;
New ribbons round its neck I tied,
And showed it to my guests with pride;
To meet them in the parlor kept,
She on a satin cushion slept.
We fondled her the long day through,
And waited on her slightest mew;
"And then," said Dick, "we may have rats,
And very useful things are cats."


My dearest friend sailed o'er the sea,
And, parting, wrote, Till I come back,
Say, will you kindly keep for me
My petted kitten, 'Jetty Black'?"
I gave her what was good to eat,--
A dish of milk, a plate of meat;
And, in my sitting-room, I spread
A bit of carpet for her bed;
But in my pretty parlor, "No;
I could not have two kittens go."
The other one soon found her out;
They both went frisking all about;
They tore the tidies from the chairs;
We stumbled o'er them down the stairs.
"Suppose," said Dick, we should have
We shall not really need two cats."

My nearest neighbor moved away;
Her yellow kitten stayed behind.
He came into my house, next day,
And seemed to ask a home to find.
A hungry creature must be fed, -
I gave to him a piece of bread;
I could not drive him quite
I let him in the kitchen stay;
"But in the other room, dear me !
So many kittens must not be."
The other two soon found him out;
The three went frolicking about;
The black one stole the white one's milk;



The white one tangled up my silk;
The yellow tipped the inkstand down,
And spilt it on my Sunday gown.
"We really need," said Dick, "some rats,
To occupy so many cats!"

"Mew !, mew! "- a sound outside the door.
Half-starved, and as a shadow thin,
Its gray fur dripping with the rain,
A kitten wanted to come in.
Unless a heart of stone had I,
How could I turn it out to die ?
And yet to feed it on, alone,
I found a single well-gnawed bone.
In a dark corner of the shed
Some straw, where lie could sleep, I spread;
"But in the house itself, 0 me!
I would not have four kittens go !"
The other three soon found him out;
They all went wandering about:
The shed cat in the parlor slept;
The white cat in the coal-bin crept;
The yellow kitten scratched and bit;
The black one had a frightful fit.
"Oh, give me peace! Oh, give me rats,
And let me rest," said Dick, "from cats 1"


BILLY was not a boy, but a pet goat, with a thousand cunning
ways. He followed the Laytor children everywhere, even to school.
When the scholars were called in he would lie down in the sun, or
crop the grass that grew in the yard. At the noon recess he came
to the children for his dinner. As he made no trouble, and was
very obedient, the teacher did not object to his coming.
The road to school lay across a rickety old bridge, that spanned
a narrow, rushing creek. One morning when they came to this
stream they found the old bridge torn up and some men working
at a new one. One of the new sleepers was already down. As
it made a very safe foot-bridge they started to walk across it,
thinking, of course, that Billy would follow them.
Before they were half way across they heard Billy's piteous
bleat behind them. There he stood, his fore feet on the sleeper,
while he looked doubtingly down at the swiftly rushing water.
He did not fear to walk the sleeper, for goats are very sure-footed
.animals; but he did fear very much the noisy waters below.
When the children reached the ground they called him anxiously
but he still kept up his pitiful baa-a and his steady gaze at the
water. Mamie took from her lunch-basket the tidbits of which

--- *'At.^ A'- :.-"


Billy was fond; but all in vain. He stood still and kept up his.
mournful bleating.
Then one of the men proposed to throw him in the water,
laughing at the children's screams, and declaring a "cold bath
would be good for him." But Clinton came dashing across the
sleeper, and, taking Billy by the collar, pushed him back on the
ground; then calling, "Come, Billy, he was off on a swift run
through the bushes.

l .. I

"I declare," said the man, "if that boy isn't making a path
for the goat through the grubs, clear round the creek."
Mamie went on alone, and when she was more than half-
way to school Clinton came through the oak bushes out upon
the road, with Billy at his heels.
The new sleepers were put down, but the .bridge was left
unfinished all summer. Clinton and Billy soon had quite a
road trodden around the creek, for the naughty goat would not
go alone. Teams passing this way also took this new path,
and people called it "Billy's road."

LITTLE Luke Hays came home from school one day very proud
of the fact that he could write his name. He
brought his slate to show his mother what.
round, clear letters he could make.
"Would you like to make your name t
grow, Luke?" asked his mother.
"I don't know how it could." said Luke.
"I never saw a name grow."
Then his mother took him out in the
garden, where a new, fresh bed of' l.ck, 1,.h
rich earth had been made. She '.a ve
him a stick with a sharp point
and told him to write his
name in large letters in
the middle of the bed. ,.
Luke did so, and
then his mother sowed J.." 'i
mignonette seed all
along the letters.


"Now," said she, "in a few weeks you will see your name growing
tall and sweet."
Luke went away the next day to visit his grandmother, and when
he came home again, three weeks later, he ran at once to the garden


to see if his name had grown. And there it was, "Luke Hays," in
pretty green letters, just as he had written it.
Luke was so pleased with it that after that he sowed his name
every spring in a different seed.



ONE winter night, when trees were bare,
And falling snow-flakes filled the air,

Our children asked us if we knew
Some pleasant thing for them to do.

The rattle-brain of all the fold
Was Dick, a sturdy four-year-old.

"Do sumfin," said Dick,
"That will make a noise;
For I'm drefful sick
Of my wooden toys."

The sticks upon the hearth had burned
Till they to glowing coals had turned.

"Be careful now and shake it well;
Give every grain a chance to swell."

A moment more, with snap and bang,
From popping corn, the fireside rang.



PT 4



Dick said it was fun
To hear the corn snap:
'Twas loud as a gun,
Or percussum-cap.

A May-day morning, bright and fair,
And sweetest odors fill the air.

Buds, changed to blooms in one short night,
Had robed the apple-trees in white.

Dick stood amazed
At this strange sight,
And upward gazed
With wild delight;

Then said, "As sure as I was born,
These trees is covered with popped corn."

We smile at fancies such as these,
And yet these sweet delusions please,

Though we have learned that blossoms fall,
And ofttimes yield no fruit at all.


WHAT a bit of a bird! you say. And so it is, the smallest bird Gc
ever made, and very beautiful, too! You never see the humming
bird sitting upon a branch like other birds. He is always on th
wing, when not on his nest. His wings are never still, but always
quivering, and when he puts his long bill into a flower to get hi
food he poisess himself in the air so gracefully, upheld by these tin;
fluttering wings. How quickly he goes from flower to flower, sud
denly darting, instead of flying'!
The nest of the humming-bird is a very wonderful piece of work, ol
a cup shape, and the smallest ever made by a bird, softly lined inside
with down and spiders' webs, and so neatly done. The outside is gen
erally covered with pretty moss, gathered from the trees or fences,
and so nearly the color of the bark that one must look very sharply
to find it. He is a dainty builder, and must have a dainty house.
The humming-bird has more variety of color than any other bird
that lives, and upon his breast the feathers are beautifully shaded.
Even the "bird of paradise" cannot rival this charming little


HARRY -and Lewie had leave to harness old Charley one bright
sT:rm' day, and drive off by themselves to hunt birds' eggs for their
:I;!lection and have a good time generally.
The two cousins were very proud of their collection; they had
already learned to know the nests and the habits of most birds of
their part of the country.

They had a rule between them never to take an egg without leav-
ing others in the nest; so that parent birds did not often know that
they had been robbed.


The boys kept their eyes open as they drove along, and by and by
Harry espied a crow's nest, up a tall pine tree. It was not a very

easy tree to climb; but the nest was a great temptation, and so up
Lewie went.
"Hollo, Hal!" he called down; "birds all hatched but one!"


Well, that egg wouldn't hatch then, most likely; fetch it down "
Down came Lewie with the'egg, which was then carefully placed
in a fold of the buffalo-robe for safety.
The boys had not needed the robe, for the sun was quite hot; but
it was to serve a purpose now.
They drove on, enjoying themselves as boys know how to do, when
after some time Lewie exclaimed, "Hark! what's that?"
"I'm sure I don't know! answered. Harry, much surprised, as he
heard a feeble sound at their feet.
They unfolded the robe, and, behold, they had lost their egg! The
heat of the sun on the warm robe had finished the hatching, and
there they had a forlorn little crow. How he did cry !
"What shall we do with it? asked Harry, when they had done -
laughing, for this was a funny way to lose an egg.
Let's raise it, and have it for a pet cried Lewie. Frank Burr
had a tame crow, and it was the funniest thing !"
"All right! and the boys drove home with their foundling.
They made the poor thing a warm nest, and then set about feeding
It ought to have worms to eat, I suppose," said Harry; "I'll go
and get one."
He did so; but he forgot to chew it for his nestling, as the mother-
bird would have done, and the attempt to swallow it whole was too
much for the poor little crow,- it gasped and died.
So the boys had neither egg nor pet from the crow's nest.



E would have liked a house,
And yet he hadn't any,
But always lived poor little mouse! -
In nook and chink and cranny.

Scurried from cranny to chink,
And hid in crevice or hole,
And what he had to eat and drink
I'm sorry to tell he stole!

One day, as, hungry and cold,
He searched the cupboard through
For a bit of meat or bread, behold,
He found there something new, -

A little house of wire,
With a woven wire dome,
A king of mice, even, might desire
So beautiful a home. -

--4;rl~ l~-- lr-


And, oh! such a whiff of cheese
As came through the lattice door
In all those barren premises
No mouse had smelt before!

He crawled upon the peak,
And the skylight window tried,
And, after many an anxious squeak,
At last he got inside.

And there was the cheese, ah me!
Toasted a lovely brown;
And at once, so nearly starved was he,
He gobbled it all down.

Nibbled up every crumb;,
And then he suddenly thought
He ought to have given -his brothers
Indeed, indeed he ought !

He would hurry and tell them so;
But the door was locked he found,
And all that was left him was to go,
Terrified, round and round!


His pretty wire house ,
Was a wicked trap ah, well!
What ,then became of the little mouse
I do not like to tell!


K +.



HERE is a little creature that comes whirring along with
flashy green and glittering wings, and so swift of flight that
nothing can escape him. Most insects heed the
birds; but the dragon-fly does not, for
even the swallow cannot catch
him. His wings sound.like the un-
furling of a small silken flag, he goes
so fast!
Look at him when you see him! He
cannot sting you! Don't be afraid. He may
breathe as if he were fright ened, but that is not
so. If you should give him a spider, or a beetle,
he would munch it down before your very eyes;
but not before he has removed the hard wing-
cases. He will eat as long as you supply him
too. Thirty or forty flies are nothing for a single
When tired off he goes to some branch, or twig, sits
there a moment, shakes and -plumes his pretty wings, as
if to see if they are in order; then he is away to
find other victims, just as if he had been fasting
for a week !
The first years of the dragon-fly's life were
passed under water, where he was Ljust as busy
in chasing the insects to be found there as since
he got his wings!



KATRINA is not .a little girl, as you may think from her name.
Instead she is a beautiful speckled hen.
She has a great many gifts and graces, besides the very useful
accomplishment of laying eggs.
She is quite particular about her surroundings, and insists upon
having a nest of her very- own, that no other hen in the. flock is
allowed to use. She likes best to come into the house, and the chil-
dren have placed a nice little box behind the stove for a nest.
When Katrina wishes to be let in she pecks at the kitchen door, and
it is opened for her.


She looks around at first to see if all is right, and then hops on
the nest, where she sings to herself in a satisfied way.
One holiday the children arranged to play "Jack and the Bean-
But they must have the giant's hen that laid the golden egg.
So, when all was ready, little Isabelle carried Katrina in her arms,
and stood her down on the stage.
She looked around at the audience in a dignified manner, and then
walked to the nest, and settled herself serenely.
In a few minutes she flew off with a triumphant cackle, and, lo, a
beautiful golden egg was left in the nest!
The play was so great a success that they had it repeated, and
Katrina acted her part just as well the second time, and seemed to
enjoy it as much as the children. Don't you think Katrina is quite
a wonderful little hen ?


DowN in the meadow the cows are calling,
The robin's sweet song comes home from afar,
And the apple blooms softly are falling;
Little Boy Blue; how-sleepy you are!

Over the hills gray shadows are creeping,
Swift to her nest the mother-bird flies;
Little Boy Blue, in my fond arms sleeping,
Cradled and soothed with tender lullabies.



Little Boy Blue, when the months
you number
Shall grow into years in your
'life's young day,
You will scorn your sweet baby-
hood's slumber,
And boyhood's wild sports will
lure you away.
On your sweet lips I will press
softest kisses;
For still you are mine, though
years swiftly glide.
Little Boy Blue, the world never
One from its ranks, -oh, then,
stay at my side!





THE Adirondack region about the lodge where Wynan was staying
abounded in deer. His papa was anxious to shoot one, and arrange-
ments were made for camping out a few miles away, near a lake
where the deer were known to feed.
Wynan's brother Harry and uncle Jack were to be of the party,
and Wynan begged so hard to be allowed to go, too, that consent was
finally given. They arrived at the camping-place late in the after-
noon. After pitching their tent and eating supper they sat around
the bright pine fire, while the guide told stories. Wynan himself
took a little nap on his papa's knee, in anticipation of his promised
evening on the lake.
At nine o'clock they started,-papa, Wynan, and the guide,-after
first smearing their faces and hands with a preparation of tar to pro-
tect them from, the black flies, which were very troublesome. Wynan
thought it fine fun as he set off in the boat; but the guide did not
fancy taking out a little boy on a deer-hunt, for he was afraid that he
would talk or make some noise, and thus spoil the sport. Wynan,
however, made all sorts of fair promises, and truly nobody could have
been stiller than he.
The guide paddled slowly along near the shore, and a lantern, with
a birch-bark reflector, high up in the bow of the boat, sent its light


Ir ahead over the water. In this way the persons in the boat could
ot be seen by the deer, who came down at night to feed upon the
rass that grew in the water at the margin of the lake. The animals
)uld see only the bright light, and it seemed to dazzle them.
Papa's gun was in position, underneath the light, when, suddenly,
Tynan saw distinctly a deer, a short distance away, standing quite

,till. Wynan was so excited that before he knew it he jerked papa's
arm, causing the gun to go off before papa had intended it should.
There was a sharp report, and then a great object leaped into the
boat, or tried to, nearly upsetting it. The deer had been wounded by
the shot, and had jumped, he knew not where; but, as it chanced,
to the very arms of his enemies. The guide put an end to the
animal's life, and they started back to the camp.
The next day Wynan ate venison steak for breakfast; and wasn't
amma astonished when told that Wynan had helped to shoot a deer!
The antlers, which were fine ones, Wynan carried home with him.




WITH hands too small to hold
All her sweet eyes could see
Of April's early gold,
er frock uplifted she
In many a filmy fold,
And then like a white bee
She hither, thither sped,
The sunlight on her head
Gilding each fine-spun thread
Yellow as dandelions.

She could not bear to pass
One single flower by,
Each disk, so like bright brass,
Was lovely to her eye,
Strewn on the carpet grass
As thick as they could lie.
But, ah, her tears fell down,
When the lap of her white gown
Got stains of green and brown ,
From her dear dandelions.

; J


THERE she goes! Hooray!
The wind is in the play, and gaily blows the little sail-boat
Blossom out upon the lake.
Baby Belle sits in the boat, and shouts "Gi' up! gi' up, B'os-
som!" Isn't she a brave little captain of four years?
But old Bruno on the wharf is not happy. .Baby Belle is hay.
ing all the fun, and he runs about crying, Wow-wow Wow-wow!"
very sadly.
And now brother Bob comes racing down the bank.
"Stop her! stop her!" he cries.
Careless boy! He was going to take Baby Belle out sailing.
He thought he left the Blossom safely tied, while he ran back to
the house.
This was a mistake. The saucy wind began to tease the Blos
som. Then the little boat pulled at the rope, and it untied.
So here was Captain Baby Belle going to sea all by herself,
She liked, it, for she did not know the danger. She clapped her
hands, and shouted: "Here's me, Bobby! Gi' up! gi' up, B'os-
som "
"Go fetch her, Bruno Go fetch her! cried Bobby.
The great dog barked gruffly, as if to say Ay, ay, sir !" and
leaped into the lake.
"Good boy! Swim hard! Go fetch her!" Baby Belle laughed
when she saw the dog coming: B'uno come too !" she called.


So the Blossom sailed away, and Bruno paddled after. The
wind stopped teasing the boat for a minute, and the dog swam up
and caught the dragging rope.
"Good boy, Bruno! come on! Come on, sir!" cried Bobby.
How the great dog did tug and pant. And Captain Baby Belle
enjoyed it, and promised Bruno a cooky when they got home.

At last they came to shore, and brother Bob jumped on board.
He patted Bruno, and tossed him a cooky. Then he gave Baby
Belle a hug of joy, and said :-
"Well, I'll never be so careless again. This time I'll go cap-
tain, Baby Belle; and you may go mate. Now three cheers for
the tug-boat Bruno!"

'i-' .

FAR away from here, on the wild west coast of Africa, the sea-shore
shines white like silver. When you stoop down and take up a hand-
ful of the shining sand you find it is just little shells, ever so many, it
would be impossible to count them. Many of them are broken into
tiny bits of pearl that have been washed clean and smooth by the
great waves breaking upon .them day and night. That is why they
glisten so brightly when the sun shines upon them.
I am going to tell you about the shell called the cowry, which the
black people of Africa use for money. It is a beautiful little shell,
covered with shining enamel, with yellow rings upon it. The young
negro girls sometimes wear them round their neck on a string.
When they want to buy anything they have only to undo their neck-
lace and slip off one or two of the shells. Now, you would like to
know how much they are worth. I will tell you.
If a cent could be cut up into thirty-six pieces, one piece would be
worth one cowry. One cent is worth thirty-six cowries. But these
shells are not. to be picked up easily on the shore. They have to be
searched for on reefs, and under rocks at low water. When these
cowries have the real live shell-fiship them they move about a great
deal from place to place.


Then there is the cone shell, smaller still and
habit warm and shallow pools inside coral reefs.

prettier. These in-
The spout shell is

very curiously shaped and curly-looking. Then there is the large
one called the hungry shell, because it has such a big, open mouth,
and is so very greedy, eating all day among the sea-weeds and sea-
grasses that grow in the clefts of the rocks.
If you take these large shells and hold them up to your ear, and
listen, you can here a gentle, rushing sound, that is called the sound
of the sea. It is just like the little waves in the distance breaking
upon the shore. However long the shells have been away from their
homes they, never forget it. Even if you have had them in your
house for years you can' always hear them singing the song of their
sea-homes if you will only hold them up and listen for it.
A poet once wrote a verse about it in honor of a beautiful young
girl whom he knew. The words are so pretty that I will tell them
to you:-

"Her mouth is sweet, about her lips
A song forever dwells,
Like the sweet music of the sea
Upon the lips of shells."

Do not forget when you go to the beach in the summer months to
look for the large shells. Hold them up to your ear, and listen for
the music of the sea.


IN the morning, fresh and dewy.
When old Nature's children wake,
My two boys the lumbering cattle
To the distant. pasture take.


Splashing through the laughing
Trooping up the other side,
So my happy, brown-faced laddies
Drive them to their pasture

And when shades of evening gather,
Just before the moon will come,
My two laughing, happy laddies
Go to bring the cattle home.

Up the dewy, dusky meadows,
Through the daisies and the grass,
Where the bobolinks are hidden,
Lingering, whistling, slow tt-:-y pass. .j

And my little farmer, Freddie,
And my little artist, Lou,
Call: Co'e boss, co'e boss,
co'e bossie! "
Standing in the grass and dew.


Soft the bells sound o'er the
meadows, i
Tinkling, as the slow cows roam
Here and there along the roadside,
As my laddies drive them home.

--I j

Ci r 1



I" V


ONE night last summer Jennie left her rubbers on the door-stone.
It had been a wet day, and she had been very uneasy in the house.
Her mamma had put on her little water-proof coat and rubbers and
bade her run out with the ducks and goslings. That just suited
Jennie. She paddled in the duck-pond, swung on the gate in the
very hardest shower, and ran races with Carlo over the muddy road.
She did not come in till Mary blew the trumpet for. supper. Then
she was as "hungry as a bear." Jennie was always hungry. That
was why she forgot her rubbers.
The next morning, even before the dew was off the grass, Mary
called Jennie to help pick the peas for dinner. But Jennie could not
get one of her rubbers on. She pulled and twisted it and got very
red in the face. It would not go on, not even when she stamped it
hard on the door-stone.
Oh, dear me, Mary, do you s'pose it's .cause my foot grew so in the
night?" Jennie looked so pleased that Mary'had not the heart to
dispute it, for the little girl was anxious to grow very fast indeed.
Jennie thought she would take off her shoes and only wear the
rubbers. In popped the little black-stockinged foot, but out it came
quicker than it went in, and Jennie hopped right up and down and
"Oo-o-o-o-ee There's something in there, Mary Her great
black eyes flashed open wider than ever. "I felt it against my toe.
It's soft and it wiggled. Oh, I do believe it's a mouse! Get Boxer,
Mary, quick!"

B '--, '


Boxer was the black cat.
But just then the rubber wriggled, the hump went down out of the

toe, and the next moment out hopped a good-sized toad, and sat on
the door-stone and panted.
How Mary laughed and Jennie shouted!
And I've been squeezing the poor thing almost to death. No


wonder he's out of breath. I do believe the silly thing hopped in my
shoe last night to get in out of the rain."

Jennie took the toad and carried it to her flower-bed. She put it
under a big hollyhock to help her keep the worms and bugs off the


c:-:z -

'TwAs a group of merry children,
And, the marshes going by,
One boy shouted: "See the cat-tails!
See the cat-tails, nice and high!"
Then a wee tot, from the city,
Said, with brimming eyes of blue:
"What a shame it was to drown them!
Did they drown the kittens too?"



GRANDMA was very sick, and mamma could not leave her for a
moment. Papa had gone a few miles away for a nurse, so there
was no one to get Johnnie and Eddie ready for Sunday school.
Oh, dear," sighed Johnnie, I'm so tired keeping still! Let us
go down on the big rock, and read."
What do you want of matches if you are only going to read?"
inquired Eddie, seeing Johnnie reach up to the match-safe.
"Oh, there might be a total eclipse of the sun, you know; then
we should have to strike a light."
This seemed satisfactory to Eddie, and he put on his hat.
They went across the pasture, over an old bridge, to a grove,
and were at the big rock. That rock had long been a family fa-


There was an opening in the rock, which was filled with dried
grass, dead leaves, and moss. It was just the place for a bonfire,
Johnnie thought, as. he looked over his book. A small fire could
surely do no harm, and he and Eddie could warm their hands,
for the September air was chilly indeed. He sent Eddie to fetch
some dry sticks and bark from the woods near by, and soon a
bright blaze was leaping and dancing above the rocks. Johnnie
watched it rather anxiously, and was glad enough to see it die
down at last, and soon go out, as he supposed.
He returned to the house, but he felt all the while as if some
dreadful thing was about to happen.
Pretty soon he saw the minister, who lived next door, running
across the lots with a pail in each hand. His father was just re-
turning home with the nurse for grandma. He dashed up to the
oate, and left both the nurse and old Kate in the road. Seizing
a pail he darted down the pasture. Johnnie thought of his bon-
fire in an instant. Sure enough it had started up again, and was
running as fast as it could towards the large wood-lot his father
prized so much.
That evening when the fire had been really put out, and noth-
ing serious had come of it, Johnnie told his papa how sorry he
was, and promised never to play with fire again.

+ .,



WHEN Madge was seven years old and Edith five they went to the
country to spend the summer on their Grandpa Mason's farm. Hav-
ing lived in the city all their lives they were very happy to be able to
run in the fields, pick wild-flowers, and ride in the hay-cart. They
had such big appetites that grandma declared they would eat her out
of house and home.
But they were very good little girls, and tried so hard not to give
their grandma any trouble that one day Grandpa Mason made each
of them a present of a little white pig.
The little girls had never before had any pets, and they became


very fond of the pigs. One was named Snowball and the other
Frisky, and they soon learned to come when the children called them.
They were good little pigs, and very tame, and did not make a fuss
when they were washed. They had to be washed very often, for they
were fond of lying in mud-puddles, and playing in the farm-yard
with their dirty little brothers, and they didn't mind being scolded.
But the little girls loved them, dirty or clean, and were sorry to
leave them in September, when they went back to the city. They
did not forget them, and when summer came again, and they went to
the farm in June, they asked for Frisky and Snowball before they
had even taken off their hats.
"They're alive, and will be glad to see you, I haven't a doubt,"
said grandpa. "Come out to the
"Th_ ,:larling little things!
said M.Li t.. --I wonilel it' teir-
will knuow u.-- -

But it was the little girls who didn't know the pigs, for Snowball
and Frisky had grown into big hogs, and grandpa had them in a pen,
fattening them to kill in the fall.
How he did laugh when he saw how surprised and sorry Madge



and Edith were! But after a while he took them into the loft of the
barn, and showed them two flying-squirrels in a tin cage.
Here are some new pets," he said; "you will like these as well
as the pigs."
But it was a long time before the little girls ceased to mourn over
the loss of Frisky and Snowball.


her window, knitting a very
pretty blue-silk sock for her
little grand-daughter Mar-
garet. Somebody called
her away for a moment,
when a saucy little oriole,
called "Baltimore," flew up
to her basket upon the win-
dow-sill. The bird had just
nested, and' helped herself
to a skein of the silk which
she was about to join on
to her work. She quickly
made off with it to her un-
finished nest in the apple-
tree near by.
But the silk would not
do as the oriole wanted at
all. It would get caught in


the branches, and in spite of
all the bird's efforts got ter-
ribly tangled. 'She tugged
and tugged, but to no pur-
pose. At last she had to
content herself with a few
loose threads, leaving a
good many strings, here
and there, fluttering in the
These strings made her
very angry; for weeks after,
as she passed to and fro,
she always stopped, and
gave the threads a spiteful
jerk, as much as to say, O, you li;terl'ul
yarn! you've given me heaps ,o trouble.
I wish I'd never stolen you. I'd be better
off, I know."


SWINGING, swinging, little Bettine,
Prettiest lassie that ever was seen;
Swinging, swinging,
Up where the long, lithe branches blow,
Down where the white, swaying lilies grow;
Swinging, swinging, little Bettine,
Under the larches cool and green.

Swinging, swinging, little Bettine,
Blossom-crowned, like a summer queen;
Swinging, swinging,

". -7- '

.i X .
--*--^-.,- -

.-,:.I ; /I
-I. '

-- '- I.~ I-

Up where the robin hides his nest,
Down where the brown bee keeps her quest;
Swinging, swinging, little Bettine,
Under the larches cool and green.




IT was almost Jo-Jo's birthday.
He was neither very old nor very big,
in the world he wanted a pair of boots.
His brother Hal was grown up and in
was a shame for Jo-Jo __
to wear knee-pants and-
shoes when he so much
wished to be a young
So it was planned in.,
secret that on his birth-
day Jo-Jo should have
his first pair of boots.
They were bought. .-
It seemed as if you
could fairly see the..
noise in them they
were so stout in the
sole, and so heavy and
sturdy in the uppers. .
"I think you will
have to put a weather-
strip round the edges,"
said Hal to his mother
the night before, when
they were looking them
over, and saying what 75
a big boy Jo-Jo had
grown to be; "there'll
be no living in the
house with him for the

but more than anything

college, and he said it


His mother smiled.
I think we'll set them outside his door and
let him find them first thing in the morning,"
said she.
"Just let me put a motto on the bottom of
one," cried Hal; "it will be a good way to
convey a moral."
It was a fine surface to write on, the smooth,
polished leather, and Hal printed with ink, in
good, plain letters upon one, -
and upon the other,
He looked his work over
"\ !', think of Jo-Jo's running


about with letters always under his feet, when he did so hate to
First thing upon coming out of his room in the morning, Jo-Jo
found the boots. He was too delighted to think of stopping up-
stairs to put them on, but ran down into the general sitting-room,
where the family were waiting for breakfast.
His face was covered with smiles, and he swung the boots round
his head at the risk of breaking every trinket in the room.
"Hi-oh !" he cried; "boots boots!"
"Try them on," said his mother, "and see if they are as nice
as you think."
Jo-Jo burst half-a-dozen buttons off his shoes in his haste to make
the change. He put his foot eagerly in at the top, and pressed it
down to the ankle, but it would go no further.
He tugged and pulled, got red in the face, and finally lost his tem-
Hal came forward to see. The boots were, indeed, altogether too
small. The shoe man had evidently given the wrong number.
"I can change them for a larger size," said Jo-Jo, unwilling to give
them up.
Just then he caught sight of Hal's writing.
Who did it ?" he cried.
Hal owned he did it as a sort of joke.
Then Jo-Jo, who had been on the verge of crying, laughed aloud.
I think the joke is on you this time, Mister Hal," he shouted.
And it was. The ink had soaked into the leather, so that the
boots were too soiled to return.
"I'll have them to pay for, sure enough," said Hal, willing to turn
Jo-Jo's attention in any way from his disappointment.
This pair having failed, they persuaded Jo-Jo to wait one more
year, when he should choose his own boots, and have them fitted
before they were taken home.
C. D. B.



WHITEFOOT, Lightfoot,
Set back your right foot,
Chewing, and waiting the maid with the pail;
Horns in the sunshine,
Hoofs in the clover,
Gentle cow, stand and be milked by the rail.

Fairy Carrie
And little boy Harry
Have come to the meadow along with me.
"Whip-poor-Will! Poor Will!"
Hear a complaining
Out of the dusk gathered ander the tree.

Closing, dozing,
Field flowers reposing
Fade as the sun goes to far-away lands;
Strawberries scarlet
Mix with green grasses,
Hide more and more from the search of
small hands.



Glancing, dancing,
Fire-flies romancing,
Light, tiny lamps in the dewy-damp vines;
Frogs are a-crooning;
Forth hops a rabbit;
High flies the night-hawk that peeps while he dines.

Whitefoot, Lightfoot,
Have now your right foot,
Full to the brim is my pail with white foam;
Looks the round moon so,
Over the hill yonder, -
Guess there, too, a milkmaid's on her way home.

Fairy Carrie
And little man Harry
Skip from the field, but look back through the bars;
Sings lone whippoorwill;
Folds her. limbs Whitefoot;
Shine in the pasture-brook two early stars.



TED made a surprise for his Aunt Winnie's birthday. It was a
grand surprise, but it took a long time to make it. 'Aunt Winnie's
birthday was the last of August, and Ted began making the surprise
early in July.


Ted thought he never could wait so long. I am sure he could not
if his mamma had not known it, too. He had her to talk it over with.
They often went to look at it, and see how it was getting along.

% T

You could never guess what the surprise was, so I must tell you.
It was an apple. Just an apple is not much, you think. But let me
tell you the rest. This was a large red apple, and on one side was a
large white W; the first letter of Aunt Winnie's name.


This is the way Ted made the surprise apple. Before the fruit
began to turn red his mamma cut a nice, large W out of paper and
pasted it on the apple for him. She left it hanging on the tree. It
grew large and red, but where the paper letter was the skin stayed
white. When the apple was ripe Ted pulled it. He washed the
paper letter off, and there was a lovely W on the apple. His mamma
laid it away until Aunt Winnie's birthday. At last the day came.
After breakfast Ted brought in his surprise. His mother had taught
him a pretty little speech to make, but he was in such a hurry he
forgot almost all of it.
This is what he said: Auntie, I wish you many happy 'turns, an'
isn't this nice ? It's a s'prise." '
Aunt Winnie thought the apple very nice. She had never seen
one like it before.
"Dear me!" she said. "Do your trees grow apples with letters
on them ? Oh, no, it surely did not come there all by itself. I guess
you must have helped it grow there."
Then Ted told her how they had made the letter grow there.
It is too pretty an apple to eat," said Aunt Winnie. I must
keep it a long time." She took one of her paint-brushes and gave
the apple two coats of varnish.
"The varnish will keep the apple from decaying," she explained to
When it was dry she tied a long, narrow blue ribbon to the stem
of the apple, aud hung it up on the chandelier. Every one who
came in said, "How pretty!" then when they saw the letter they
said. "How queer !" Aunt 'Yinnie would explain to then how the
letter came there.

THIS busy fellow goes humming from flower to flower, .:
poking his head into one, and then into another, and some-
times the flower is so large that it hides him all out of -ight lt
He stops his buzzing while he is getting his meal. Some
flowers are so small that he can't get his head in at all to reach
the honey, but he won't give it up., So he pushes and pushes
until he splits it quite open. I am sorry to say that the bum-
ble-bee spoils a great many flowers in this way.
Sometimes he gets the honey fromthe outside, just at the bottom
of the cup of the flower. It is a very funny sight to see two bumble-
bees on -one stalk, one visiting the inside of all of them, while the
other takes the outside.
Another curious thing, too, is, that if they begin with a certain kind
of flower they will go to no other for thbir honey on that trip out.
If they start again they may try something else.

711 lqv
rrl_100 7


The bumble-bee does not make the same pretty comb, nor the good
honey that the honey-bee does, who always gathers as much as he
can carry to use in the hive.
You have eaten their beautiful white comb, which is often made of
the little white clover you tread under foot in your summer walks.
Even the honey-bee can make better honey from some flowers than
others; but it is all good enough, we think.


SHE'S a beauty, so she is,-
'Tis a fact no one denies,-
With her rosy-red cheeks,
And her beaming hazel eyes.
She is pretty and she's sweet,
From her dainty, dancing feet
To the curl on her forehead that lies.

She's a little elfin queen;
She's a charming princess,
In a blue-ribboned cap
And a Mother Hubbard dress.
When I met her in the lane,
And begged to know her name
She said her father called her Queen Bess.


"Of what country, then ?" said I,
Expecting on my part,
From the moss at her feet,
To see fairy people start.
But she lifted her sweet eyes,
And said, with grave surprise,
"I'm the Queen of my papa's heart."


S-~-- c7 -


THERE was once a lad who really hated
Whatever he had to do,
So, idle-hearted, away he started
To roam the wide world through.
With hands in his pockets, whistle, whistle,
He strolled through field and town,
And was sometimes fed on good white bread
And sometimes fed on brown.

The wood-thrush when she saw him coming
Straightway became distressed,
Fearing that he in the white-thorn tree
Would find her hidden nest.
The little red squirrel whisked and scampered
Up in the topmost limb;
And the crow when he saw called out, "Caw! caw!
I'll keep my eye on him! "


The bees worked blithely about the clover;
And on their way to school
Went children, singing, and gaily bringing
Of flowers their hands full.
Creatures active, busy, and happy
He saw at every hand;
And he was the only idle and lonely
One in all the land.

He mused: "Why should the thrush and squirrel
Dread even a sight of me ?
And why does the crow gaze at me so
From the top of his high tree ?
Though of work I tired, and it was hateful,
Yet this is quite as bad;
For no one cares where goes, how fares,
A good-for-nothing lad! "

-- -4
_________________ -



ARLIE FOSTER is a country boy, who has a great niany pets. Early
one morning in spring Arlie's papa
brought in a tiny pink pig, nearly
chilled and starved to death. "Arlie,
this little fellow is yours, if you can
raise him," said Mr. Foster.
Arlie wrapped piggy in soft wool, /'
fed him with warm milk from a bot-
tie, and laid him near the stove.
Piggy grew fast. Arlie fed him with
clean food, and kept him clean by
scrubbing him with soap and a brush.
He looked very different from the "
common pigs.
He trotted after Arlie, and wanted /
to be in the house. He had to be
kept in the orchard, where he could
have all the apples he wanted to (
eat. Arlie could go there to play
with Piggy.
One Sunday morning Arlie's mam-
ma dressed him in a new brown
linen suit. He ran into the garden
to get a few flowers for an old friend
of mamma's. He forgot to close the
gate between the orchard and garden when he came out. Arlie
walked to church with papa and mamma. When all was very
still, save the sound of the minister's voice, Arlie heard the
pattering of little hoofs up the. bare aisle. Piggy appeared, with
his familiar grunt. Worst of all he went nosing about until he
found Arlie. Then he contentedly nestled at his feet, giving
piggish squeaks of delight because he had found his master.
Poor Arlie was ashamed. His face grew red and all the little


boys laughed. Mamma told him to take Piggy home. Arlie
thought everybody was looking at him, but Piggy followed quietly.

\ I

When they reached home Arlie lay down upon the grass under the
shade of a tree and cried, not minding Piggy's coaxing to have his
back scratched.
After a while he dried his eyes and said, "Piggy, it wasn't your
fault that you didn't know pigs don't go to church or stay in
houses. I didn't think about latching the gate. I didn't like you
one bit when you made me feel so ashamed, but I don't feel that
way now. You'll never get out again, for I'll see after the gate."


THERE is no bird that enjoys more than the
bobolink, his song is so sweet and so lively. It
is a real rollicking, dancing tune. He begins a
song on a tree, and then flies, singing, as if he j '
said Oh, be joyful!" to everybody, until he
drops down into his nest in the grass, or lights a
on some tall reed near it.
And how nit.ely he dresses too!-just '..- '
like an old lady, in black -atin ,nil white
cap, with nice-fittinig kid gloves.
You must not. go too) near the bobo- *
link's nest. He does not. like to -
have it known where it. is. and
will never tell you the secret hid- "
ing-place by going to it when J /, '
you are near. Mr. Bobolink
sings to himself, no doubt, rI -. ,
all the while: -
"Nobody knows but miy wit fe
and I
Where our\nest and nest-
lings lie -
Chee, chee. chee !"
How plain ML s. Bobo-
link is in her drab-,ol-
ored dress, while he is
dres ed up so
fine, and -..Iq
how silent! I1 V, ;,
But he is
m e r r y W Ki
enough for
two, as if his heart was too full of joy to hold it.


I PLANTED in my garden a tender little flower
So frail that you would wonder if its life could last an hour,
But while I watched and waited, in hope and then in fear,
It lifted up its pretty head, for welcome help was near.
A million little fairies came gliding from the sky,
And hovered gently over it as hours hurried by;
They brought a million diamonds and flung them, in a shower
Of fullest, sweet refreshing, on my drooping little flower.
And when their cares were ended, behold! -a million more,
As loving and as sprightly as those which came before.
They carried spells of magic, for every tiny hand
Was shedding forth the lustre of a shining golden wand.
Who knew what next was needed ? another host began
Its little share of duty; they carried each a fan.
Caressingly and lightly they waved them to and fro
Till all the air was whispering with zephyrs soft and low.
They call it rain, and sunshine, and gentle winds that blow,--
Such names are well enough for common uses; but I know
They are millions upon millions of willing little fays
That dear old Mother Nature sends to bless the summer days.



LITTLE Kitty Clover started up
in bed just as the sun came peep-
ing in the window. A very sweet
little Kitty she was, with her blue
eyes and her dimples, for the
angel had kissed 'Kitty Clover
three times.
The old clock on the stairs was
ticking away for dear life. But
to-day it was not saying tic, tic, .--
tic; no, indeed, the old clock -" -
had a new tune this morning: :.=- C -L_ ,.
"Kitty is five years old! Kitty -
is going to school !" over and
over again.
The little girl jumped out of bed and had her shoes and stockings
on before Aunt Dinah came in. "Laws-a-mercy said Aunt Dinah;
"but my chile is a smart chile. If she larn to read fast as she put on
dem shoes and stockins she'll make smart work in de school-room."
"I guess I will, aunty," said Kitty, "for I intend to try."
Kitty's mamma had a pretty satchel all ready, and Kitty placed
her brand-new primer in it, and off she started, out the back gate and
down the lane. As she passed the barn-yard she heard the hens
cackling, loudly, "Kitty is going to school! Kitty is going to school!"
Down at the end of the lane was a large bush of hawthorn.
A little bird sat on one of the boughs, singing sweetly, "Good-morn-
ing, Kitty! Are you the little girl that is going to school ?"
A squirrel ran along the fence and perched himself on one of the
"Oh what a little girl this is to be going to school," he chirruped.
The teacher was very much pleased to see Kitty Clover, and she
asked one of the larger girls if Kitty were coming all the time.


"No'm; just till she gets tired."
"Does peoples ever get tired coming to school ?" asked Kitty; and
they all laughed.
She said a long lesson in her primer, read the line of "two
times two," and did a "sum." But she could not help thinking
of the squirrel and the bird, the chickens and the old clock on the
By and by she rose very quietly and took up her hat and her
satchel; she walked up to the teacher, and said in a pitched little
voice, "Good-evening, Miss Mary! I guess I have to go home now."


The scholars all laughed again, and one girl called out over her
geography: -
"Does peoples ever get tired coming to school?"
But she was a very bad girl, and so Kitty Clover didn't mind her.


LITTLE Teddy above the lake
Saw the swallows skimming,
Their white breasts beaming, glancing and gleaming,
And while he was watching their fly-catching,
He cried, Oh, see Oh, see the birds, -
The little birds in swimming!"
C. D. B.



"MAMMA," said Har.
ry, may I water 'your
flowers this evening
when you are gone
-.3; away ?"
"Yes," -said his
mother, "if you
will be very careful
not to step on the
I will," said Harry.
.. -Be sure you give
t hein plenty, dear, for
the ground is very dry.
Do it at seven o'clock."
l amma went away,
aind Harry wished the
afternoon would be gone,
fo ri he was very anxious
to wa after the flowers. He
thou-hit it very nice to hold
the little red sprinkler and
.1 watch the fine spray as it
wnllt down upon mamma's
1i'pretty garden pets.
He always noticed that
their little faces of blue and pink and purple and white seemed
brighter after it; and sometimes fancied they smiled up at him
as if they wanted to say thank you.
As it grew later the sky became dark and looked like rain.
Harry looked up at the clouds, and hoped it would not rain
before seven o'clock.


But it was sprinkling when he filled his watering-pot at the
fountain and began his work. He hurried with all his might,
hoping to finish before it rained hard.
But before he was half done big drops came down. Then
the girl came to the door and called: -
"Master Harry, come in out of the rain this minute!"
0 Sarah," he said, "do get me an umbrella and let me
water the flowers."
But she only laughed, and he went in with a very woe-begone
face and was put to bed. He soon forgot his trouble in a nap
which lasted till morning. Then he ran to mamma's room.
"0 mamma," he said, "I didn't get all the flowers watered.
It rained, and Sarah made me come in."
"Why, dear," she said, laughing, "there was no need of
watering when it rained."
"Dear me! I never thought of that," said Harry.
He looked out of the window and saw the raindrops shining
like diamonds in the sunshine. Every tree and bush and flower
looked bright and fresh and sweet.
"Mamma," he said, "do you think God has a great big
sprinkler to water with?"
"No, I think not," said his mother.
"Anyway, I think he sprinkles better than I can," said Harry.
"Yes, I think so, too," said his mother.


SWHEN a flower wilts and drops
there is always something left on
the end of the stem. This something holds the seeds, and is called
the "seed-holder." If you look at a rose-bush when the leaves
are all gone you will find a thick, round knob, which grows larger
and larger, and after a while changes from green to red. If you
should break it open you would find it full of seeds. Now, this is
not fruit. You could not eat it, for it would not taste good at all.
But if you should look at the place where the pear-blossom has
fallen, though it looks very much like the rose at the end of the
stem, you would find that the seeds were a very small part of that,
though it has a great many, and the "holder" grows much faster
too, because it is made to be eaten.
So with the berries we like so much. When the flowers drop
a small, round part is left, that grows and ripens, changing to dark
blue or red as it does so. The strawberries have their seeds upon
the outside, which adds very much to their beauty.
Some "seed-holders" are very large, like the squash or water-
melon, and have hundreds of seeds. These are made to be eaten, or
they would not have such large holders.
How different the fruit is from the flower! and, yet they are both
made from the very same thing,--the wonderful sap, that comes up
from the ground into all the stems and branches of the shrub and tree.


LAST winter, when little boys and girls in the North were shut in-
doors by snow and ice, Willie March was having a delightful time on
a large cotton plantation in Florida. Willie was a Vermont boy, and
everything there seemed very strange to him: But the strangest of
all was the large number of little negroes he saw. Some of them

I -

were -o black. and
oine sou couic-al, that
he found hims-elt' al-
wav ys au h i nC at
Among the numbiler
was a little 2i irl nil :--dl
Polly. She was very


* ~


mischievous, and was always playing tricks. Uer mother would
say, Dat chile am de berry imp ob mischuf. It was bawn in her,
and what am ebber to be dun wid her I don't know."
One day Polly was sent to the pasture for the cows. After a long
while the cows came home; but Polly was not to be found. They
called and looked for her; but in vain. Her mother was a very ex-
citable woman, and, fearing Polly was lost in the dense forest adjoin-
ing the pasture, wrung her hands and cried and moaned in the most
distressing manner. Every one around sympathized with her.
Night was fast approaching, and whatever search was made must
be speedily done. The owner of the plantation blew a loud horn,
which called the workmen to the yard. He told them of Polly being
lost, and started them in search of her. Just at that moment he
heard a funny noise above him, and, in the branches of a large apple-
tree sat Polly, almost bursting with laughter. You may be sure every
one was surprised. And surely no one's feelings ever changed so
quickly as did Polly's mother's. A minute before she was making
the wildest demonstrations of grief; but the instant she saw Polly
her feelings changed to anger, and well I guess I will not tell
you what a severe whipping the little darkey got in consequence.
But the punishment did not stop her mischief; for, as her mother
said, it was born in her, and she could not help it.

SpA'ro fQUJ$

Plump \s 4tey
fugolnm ct\ t
P)g enou for
fie youv ee
-\ow youA pvec
<$uess no one
oUJ to be poll
Tessie 8. tClure.


"I HEARD Uncle Joe say that a horse is worth twice as much after
it's broke as it was before.
I don't see, myself, how that can be; but Uncle Joe says so, and
when he says it's so, it's so.
"I'm glad it's so.


"Uncle Joe gave me a horse. Not a really, sure enough horse,
you know, made of hair, and bones, and things, but a rocking-horse.
And he's a beauty, I tell you, with a saddle and bridle, and painted
Rocking-horses are the best kind to have, for they don't have to
eat, and they never run away.
Mamma told me not to ride my horse very hard. But I did.


"I rode like sixty, and he tumbled over in front. And when he
tumbled I tumbled too.
"I went over his head on to my head, and there was a great big
bump on my forehead, and one of my teeth was gone. and my face
was cut. But that wasn't the worst of it.

"My horse's head was broke right square off. My head'll get
well, I know; but his won't.
Now, I wonder what Uncle Joe'll say ? I wonder if he'll say my
horse is worth twice as much as it, was when it wasn't broke ? I'm
going to tell him I'll trade even with him for a new one, for I don't
want to make a cent out of him.
"I like horses best before they're broke."

WHEN I was a little girl my mother used to tie one of her
aprons around my neck and set me to churning. I thought it
quite a task to move the dasher up and down steadily, so as not
to spatter the milk, and long enough to bring the butter; and I


HI used to watch eagerly
for the gathering of the
ing1 golden specks around
the dasher where it
passed through the cov-
er. Then after the but-
ter was gathered in
large lumps, by a dex-
trous twist of the dash-
er, and ladled out into
the bowl, a drink of
fresh buttermilk re-
warded me for all my
toil. When I was a
little older, father
bought a patent churn,
which was a square
-- box with a paddle-
_-__ wheel inside, which was
Sturned by a crank.
Not long ago I saw a dog churn-
ing. He stood in a frame and "kept
going all the time and never got anywhere," as the little girl
said; but he moved the wheels that turned the dasher in the churn.
Sometimes calves, cows, horses, or sheep are trained to churn in this
way. I know a farmer who has dammed a little stream and put
under the fall a little water-
wheel that does the churn-
I have read of savages
who put milk in a leather .
bag and bury it, and when -
they take it up, after -some /1
hours, they find the butter
has come. I do not know -
that this is true. I have -"- -


also read that in the wilds of Tartary they take the bag of milk
with them for a ride on horseback, and when they get home the
churning is done.
I once sent some milk to a friend in a glass fruit-jar. The roads
were rough, and there was a nice lump of butter on top of the milk
when the can was opened.
This summer three little boys were permitted by a dairyman to
"strip the cows after each milking. They put the milk in pans in
the spring-house, and skimmed it regularly. When they thought they
had enough cream they churned it in a bowl with a wooden spoon.
When the butter came they worked it and weighed it and found
there was six ounces. They sold it to the farmer's wife for six
cents. Then they divided the money amongst them and felt so rich
they retired from business.

I FREIGHT my swan with pansies,
And a motley crowd they make,
As I set them afloat, in their royal boat,
On the fern-fringed, mimic lake.

There are stately lords and ladies,
And maidens with yellow hair,
And a monk in a cowl, with a bit of a scowl
And a discontented air.


.. -- = -

", -, --

And one is a king in purple,
With a splendid crown of gold;
And his lovely queen, with her graceful mien,
Is a lady rare to behold.

And near them stands my darling,
With the hair of wondrous hue;
And her great dark eyes, in their glad surprise,
Look up at me, brave and true.

There are nuns in blackest of bonnets,
And knights, stern-visaged all;
And blue-eyed girls, with tawny curls,
Fit for a duchess' ball.


But, alas! when next I see them
A rueful sight they make,
Though still afloat, in their royal boat,
On the fern-fringed, mimic lake.

The: king looks old and jaded;
He has lost his golden crown;

And his lovely queen, so grieved, I ween,
Stands with her head bent down.

They hide their sorrowful faces,
That company, once so bright,
And none looked fair but my darling there,
And a handsome, dark-browed knight.

- ( 05^ ^

MY mamma don't like mice. She says she is not afraid of
them; but once, when we found one in the house, she jumped
on a chair and poked at it with the mop while I chased it
everywhere. She happened to hit it. Then she said she killed
it, and didn't give me any of the glory.
I think mice are real pretty, but I don't like to board with
them and eat at the second table. Neither does mamma.
One day when she went to the cupboard she found that a
mouse had been shut up in it. He had tried to gnaw his way
out, but had not succeeded. "He must be in the cupboard,"
said mamma. So we moved all the dishes;, but we did not find
him. On the bottom shelf was a box, with some of my things
in it. It had no cover, and mamma was sure the mouse was
in there.
I took out my ball, and some nails, and so,'me books and some
pencils, and a tin bank, and some pieces of glass, and a ball of
string, and a bird's nest, but could not find the mouse.
"Did you look in the bird's nest?" asked mamma. I looked,
and there was the mouse curled up in a tiny little ball, his
bright eyes peeping at me so timid and cunning. He was a
funny four-legged bird, but he did not sing.. You may think

'12~ c


mice cannot sing; but they can. I have heard them. Once I
was visiting a house that was a watering-place ii the summer.
But in the winter it was not a hotel, and the folks had their
kitchen in the office. They kept their cakes and pies in the
glass cigar show-case on the counter. The mice used to run
inside of the counter; we
could hear them scamper-
ing there almost any time
of day. Sometimes they
would' get together and
have a concert. Rose and
I used to put our ears to
Sthe counter and listen to

91 d,

them. It was as nice as the opera.. They sang all those quirks
and shakes as the big lady singer does. When we clapped our
hands to applaud them they would run away.
One night a mouse got upon mamma's pillow and nibbled at
her hair, and waked her up. She says she don't like mice as
hair-dressers. I never tried them, so I don't know.



STEWART'S father bought a new horse. It was a very nice
little animal, small enough to be called a pony. Stewart thought

he should like it for his own; and I suspect that is what his
father bought it for, though he did not tell him so.
"Please, papa, may I have him for mine?" asked Stewart.
What do you want him for? What would you do with him ?"
replied his father.
"I would ride him every day," said he.
"Well," said his father, if you will mount him without any
help you may have him."


Then Stewart felt pretty sure of his pony, for he thought
there would be no difficulty in getting on his back. So he led
him up to a box, and stepping upon that he expected to strad-
dle the pony at once. But the pony did not care to have a
boy on his back, and stepped away beyond his reach. He tried
it again with the same result. Then again and again; but pony
kept stepping away.
A new idea came into Stewart's mind. He ran for a pan of
oats, and set it on the ground. Pony seemed glad of the oats,
and put down his head to eat. Then Stewart caught hold of
his mane and threw one leg over pony's neck, thinking he
would climb up that way. Pony was not used to .having a boy
on his neck, and threw up his head suddenly, lifting Stewart
into the air, and almost throwing him to the ground. But he
clung to the mane. He was now on Pony's neck and facing
the wrong way; but he soon clambered back to the right place
and turned around.
His father and mother stood by watching these proceedings,
and had to acknowledge that he had won the pony fairly. So
Stewart won the pony, and rides him every day.
Perhaps other boys can learn from this, if they do not suc-
ceed in doing a thing in one way, to try another, and persevere
until they succeed.
N. T. B.

TELL me, I pray,
Where is Florence May?-
Up in the garret, choking the parrot,
Down in the basement, half out the casement,


Drenched at the faucet, or running away!
Under the currant-bush fast asleep,
O'er her white bonnet the black ants creep,
Her warm baby-kitten asleep in her pocket;
Were she awake I am sure she would rock it,
And scold it for being so naughty all day.


Tell me, I pray,
What is Florence May?-
A wee bit of gladness to chase away sadness,
But changing her mood like an April day.
The sunshine that's in her bright, glad eyes
After a brief, but hot tempest of tears
Teaches the wrong of brooding so long
Over my insignificant fears; -
A little lay preacher, to be my teacher,
A questioner who can but make one wise.


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