Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Merry Christmas from Santa...
 Bobby and his pig Billy
 Little Bonnie's trial
 The lazy pelican and the saucy...
 Roger and the Christmas goose
 What the children found
 The tables turned
 Dancing crocodile
 Zip, the tame crane
 Mr. Opossum
 The opossum in the hen-house
 A ride on a calf
 Strange doings of elephants
 Our tramp
 Tom's wish - How to walk
 Madame Grunter and her family
 Tommy and the snake
 Underground homes
 Little Ned's holiday
 The old general
 Boys will be boys
 Thanksgiving at grandpa's
 Funny little children
 Denny O'Toole
 A Christmas carol - Brace up
 The first snow-storm
 Ship, ahoy!
 The disowned chicken
 On stilts
 Adele's fairy
 Our Welsh pointer
 A cat's sermon
 Polly White
 The hole in the closet
 Our king
 Glimpses of other lands
 Homeward bound
 Another kind of star
 The pearl shell
 The first fire
 The wolf child
 Among the red men
 Chasing the giraffe
 A night after coons
 How a tiger was killed
 Happy cat-land
 The hippopotamus
 Historical poem
 Hunting the lion
 A camel chase
 Which shall it be
 Bears in a melon patch
 List of Mayflower passengers
 Catching a devil fish
 Pussy's step-children
 Earth's toilet
 The empty cage
 Brother Don
 A visit to Santa Claus' shop
 The mice in a Robin's nest
 The fairy artist
 The cricket fiddler
 An hour of peace
 Story of Louis Napoleon
 The robin's song
 Tropical fruits
 The wise radi of Meshid
 Something about dwarfs
 About a queer man
 The lesson after recess
 Back Cover

Group Title: The children's carnival : including stories of travel, stories of adventure, stories of hunting, stories of all kinds for boys and girls ; with the choicest poems from the best of juvenile writers designed to instruct, please and amuse our lads and lasses ; with superb and appropriate illustrations adorning almost every page.
Title: The children's carnival
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00081202/00001
 Material Information
Title: The children's carnival including stories of travel, stories of adventure, stories of hunting, stories of all kinds for boys and girls ; with the choicest poems from the best of juvenile writers designed to instruct, please and amuse our lads and lasses ; with superb and appropriate illustrations adorning almost every page
Physical Description: 178 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Fowler, E. E
Millar, H. R ( Illustrator )
Juvenile Publishing Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Juvenile Publishing Company
Place of Publication: S.l.
Publication Date: c1891
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( 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
General Note: "Copyrighted by E.E. Fowler."
General Note: Illustrations by H. R. Millar.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00081202
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223107
notis - ALG3355
oclc - 51786777

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Merry Christmas from Santa Claus
        Page 3
    Bobby and his pig Billy
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Little Bonnie's trial
        Page 7
        Page 8
    The lazy pelican and the saucy cull
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Roger and the Christmas goose
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    What the children found
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
    The tables turned
        Page 21
    Dancing crocodile
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Zip, the tame crane
        Page 24
    Mr. Opossum
        Page 25
    The opossum in the hen-house
        Page 26
    A ride on a calf
        Page 27
    Strange doings of elephants
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Our tramp
        Page 32
    Tom's wish - How to walk
        Page 33
    Madame Grunter and her family
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    Tommy and the snake
        Page 39
    Underground homes
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    Little Ned's holiday
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    The old general
        Page 46
    Boys will be boys
        Page 47
    Thanksgiving at grandpa's
        Page 48
        Page 49
    Funny little children
        Page 50
    Denny O'Toole
        Page 51
    A Christmas carol - Brace up
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The first snow-storm
        Page 55
    Ship, ahoy!
        Page 56
        Page 57
    The disowned chicken
        Page 58
        Page 59
    On stilts
        Page 60
    Adele's fairy
        Page 61
    Our Welsh pointer
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
    A cat's sermon
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
    Polly White
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
    The hole in the closet
        Page 74
    Our king
        Page 75
        Page 76
    Glimpses of other lands
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
    Homeward bound
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    Another kind of star
        Page 106
    The pearl shell
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
    The first fire
        Page 110
        Page 111
    The wolf child
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
    Among the red men
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    Chasing the giraffe
        Page 119
        Page 120
    A night after coons
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    How a tiger was killed
        Page 125
        Page 126
    Happy cat-land
        Page 127
    The hippopotamus
        Page 128
        Page 129
    Historical poem
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
    Hunting the lion
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
    A camel chase
        Page 136
    Which shall it be
        Page 137
    Bears in a melon patch
        Page 138
        Page 139
    List of Mayflower passengers
        Page 140
    Catching a devil fish
        Page 141
    Pussy's step-children
        Page 142
    Earth's toilet
        Page 143
    The empty cage
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
    Brother Don
        Page 147
    A visit to Santa Claus' shop
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
    The mice in a Robin's nest
        Page 152
    The fairy artist
        Page 153
    The cricket fiddler
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
    An hour of peace
        Page 157
        Page 158
    Story of Louis Napoleon
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
    The robin's song
        Page 164
    Tropical fruits
        Page 165
    The wise radi of Meshid
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
    Something about dwarfs
        Page 173
    About a queer man
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
    The lesson after recess
        Page 177
        Page 178
    Back Cover
        Page 179
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


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Semrij (@hrpistmas from 5anta @laus

SWISH you all a merry Christmas,
S Said dear old Santa Claus.
And shaking the snow from his long white wniskers,
There followed a lengthy pause.
"I've come a long piece to see you,
And I reckon that now I'm here,
I'll make some little chaps chuckle,
And fill older hearts with cheer.

"For I have brought knick-knacks,
And I have brought candies,
With rattles for babies,
And kerchiefs for dandies.
And bracelets and rings and many nice things
For papas and mammas to-night.
A snare drum for Robbie; for Charlie a hobby,
And Jamie, I brought him a kite.

"For Jamie came out to old Santa Claus' stable,
And hitched up his reindeer and sleigh,
And since he's so manly, from such a nice family,
I'll try the dear boy to repay.
Your patience I'll worry, so now I must hurry,
And jog right along on the road,
For there are so many that haven't a penny,
I'll visit some poorer abode.

S'I'm getting so old and the weather's so cold,
Sometimes I get chilled to the bone.
Jack Frost nipped my toes and tickled my nose,
But let my warm heart quite alone.
Good Bye."

S- -- --- .-:--

URRAH! HURRAH! for Bobby and Billy," cried a crowd of little
boys and girls, as a boy riding on a pig came in sight.
The boy's name was Bobby and his pig he called Billy. He
lived in a small cottage near some thick woods. His mother, Mrs. Row-
ley, was very poor; and Bobby loved to work and help his poor mamma.
He gathered berries, nuts, ferns, mosses and evergreens, all in their season,
and sold them in the village.
The pig, Billy, an old farmer gave to him. Bobby had fed him and
cared for him until now he was a full-grown pig.
He had a ring inserted in his nose, and a bridle passed through the
ring. He used to ride him to the village.
Billy liked it, and would always stop and grunt and squeal when he
saw a market, hoping to get something to eat. He was very fond of fruit.
Bobby's bright face and merry laugh were always welcome.
Every one he asked would buy something of him. When his basket
was empty he would whistle a merry tune. Then he spent his money in
buying what his mother needed most.
Sometimes Billy was naughty, and would lie down in the road and re-
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Sometimes Billy was naughty, and wonld lie down in the road and re-

fuse to move; then Bobby would talk to him, and tell him that only good
pigs could have any apples.
Billy seemed to understand, for after a few grunts he would slowly
rise and jog along.
A kind friend built a nice little shed by Mrs. Rowley's cottage for
Billy, and Bobby would gather leaves and make him a warm bed, and
feed him with acorns.
The village children often carried nice things to Bobby. Then he
would make Billy dance for them, while he whistled Yankee-doodle.
Billy could sit up and beg like a dog. Many a game of hide-and-go
seek would Bobby and his little friends have with Billy in the woods
near Mrs. Rowley's cottage. Billy would run and hide behind a bush, and
when found he would squeal with delight.
The birds and the squirrels all loved Bobby and were not afraid of
When he gave a peculiar whistle they would gather around him to be
fed with crumbs. They were afraid of Billy. Once he killed Bobby's pet
squirrel, and ate him up.
Bobby cried hard and shut Billy up. He would not look at him for
two days. Mrs. Rowley told Bobby that pigs did not know any better, and
he ought to forgive Billy.
Then Bobby went to visit Billy. The pig was so glad to see his little
master that he ran squealing round and round him. -AUNT CARRIE.

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E is so clever!" said Roger.
S "And so handsome!" said Mysie.
b "And so brave," added Rachel; "he doesn't seem the least
bit frightened at anything or anybody."
This was what the children said about him. As for his
mother, old Darby, she told him every morning of his life that
he was the very finest puppy she had ever seen or was ever likely to
S see; and as for Bonnie himself-well, he quite agreed with them.
There was only one thing that disturbed his mind. That was
that Carlo, the big retriever, wagged his tail vigorously-when Bonnie
announced that he was clever, handsome, brave, and the finest puppy in the
whole world.
Bonnie felt very indignant with Carlo. What business had he to wag his
tail? did he not think so too?
Carlo evidently did not think so, for when asked this question he w;,._.d
his tail all the more, and only said-
"Prove that you are brave, Bonnie, and then I will believe that you are
handsome and clever."
"Very well," said Bonnie to himself, "I will prove it."
He said nothing to his mother; but one bright sunshiny morning, when the
coachman let Carlo out, small Bonnie crept out too.
He made his way across some fields, and at last came to a little stream.
He began to feel thirsty, and went down to the stream to drink. What was
his astonishment to see a very handsome puppy looking up at him!
What did it mean? Was this puppy trying to drink his water? He would
not allow that, and he barked and shook his head. The puppy only shook his
head in return. Bonnie quickly ran into the water to attack him, but the puppy
disappeared. He swam about for some time looking for him, and then decided
that he must have frightened him away.
Just as he was crawling on to the bank he saw Carlo bounding toward
him. Bonnie at once began to relate how he had seen a dog drinking his water,
and had fought him and frightened him away
"Which way did he go?" asked Carlo, beginning to wag his tail.
"Oh, I don't know," said Bonnie; "he was in the water when I first saw him."
Carlo ran down to the water, and told Bonnie to look into the stream.
Bonnie looked, and barked with astonishment, for there was the puppy

L~ittie 1onnie',5 qpricd.

"Now," said Carlo, "don't you understand? That is only your reflection in
the water. I don't call it very clever to fight your own reflection."
Poor Bonnie looked very disgusted; and then he walked along the stream
very soberly, trying to think what he could do. After a little time he came
to a place where a plank had been thrown over the stream. Bonnie decided
to go over this. He had reached the end of the plank when he saw five geese
coming down the path toward him, and before Bonnie reached the bank one of
them stepped on to the plank. His tail began to wag and he walked toward
the bird.
At first he thought he would run away home; his tail began to wag, and
turning round, he walked toward the bird.
He reached the middle of the plank, and stood facing it. The bird looked
at him for one moment, and then began making such a noise as Bonnie had
never heard before. He was too frightened to bark, or run away, or do any-
thing, so he stood quite still. The bird took another step toward him.
Bonnie turned his head away, and was just to run for his life, when he
caught sight of Carlo's tail. He only saw it for one second, but it was evidently
wagging hard.
Without stopping to think, Bonnie gave a big jump, a loud bark and shut
his eyes tight, so that he could not see what happened next.
What did happen? Why, he suddenly found himself in the cold water.
He was so frightened that he could not swim, and he felt so cold and stiff.
Next he heard Carlo's bark, and felt Carlo pulling him out of the water
on to the dry land. He was soon himself again, and then looked round.
There was the bridge with no geese on it, and there was Carlo.
"Whatever happened?" he asked at last. "What did that horrid bird do
to me? and where is it gone?"
"You frightened itaway," said Carlo; "but you frightened yourself quite as
much as the goose. I was watching you from behind a big bush. I thought
you were going to be a coward; but when you barked all the geese were fright-
ened and waddled off the plank. Then you tumbled into the water. What
were you doing?"
"My foot slipped," said Bonnie; "and to tell the truth, I was frightened."
"Well, it was very plucky of a little dog like you to attack those big birds.
Now come home; I think you have proved that you are brave."
Bonnie looked pleased, very pleased. Then he trotted home contentedly,
and though Carlo's tail never wagged once the whole of the way home, Bonnie's
own little tail wagged so much that it really is a wonder it did not come off.

^ he Onj elilan anb the 5auc\i @ull

I E D HERRINGS!" exclaimed Mary, after she had examined her
.;'-i l uncle's fishing-basket. "Why, I didn't know that people could
'" ". catch red herrings."
-.- V"Well, no; I suppose they can't," answered Captain Graham.
S"-The fact is, that though I spent several hours by the river, not
-'. : a single fish would bite, so I bought a dozen of these red rascals
on my way home, in order that you should not be disappointed.
"Now, if you had been living in Mexico instead of Old England, my repu-
tation as an angler might have been easily preserved," remarked the captain, as
he pushed his chair away from the tea-table.
"What do you mean?" shouted the children in chorus.
"When I said that I was thinking of a very impudent robbery which I saw
one afternoon during my last cruise in foreign parts. And if you are not too
tired I will tell you about it."
Came the reply in one voice: "Oh, do, please!"
"You'll find that this is a story of self-help, or rather of helping oneself.
We were lying becalmed in the Gulf of Mexico, and to while away the time I
went ashore early on a fine summer morning. The first thing that caught my
eye was a large number of very funny-looking birds called pelicans.
"Imagine a bird with a body as big as a swan's, enormous wings, low, stout
legs, webbed feet, and head which seems to be nearly all bill. The upper part
of the bill ends in a sharp hook, and the lower half has a strange bag, which is
a portion of the neck, and can be drawn up or extended, as the creature wills.
"Now the pelican is a bird of what you call 'regular habits.' It spends the
morning fishing, then it rests for several hours, during which it digests its food
and dresses its feathers, then the heat of the day being over, it goes a-fishing till
sunset, when it retires to roost. It is a curious thing that pelicans are rarely
seen in small flocks. As a rule they can be counted by the hundred, and even
by thousands. Try to picture a scene which I have often gazed on. You are
sailing on a lake, and right ahead of you there seem to be vast beds of water
lilies; or, if you are nearing the shore, you appear to be making for a huge
white chalk wall gleaming in the sun; or the banks look as if bordered by strange
trees covered with enormous white blossoms. Each picture vanishes, however
when you come to close quarters. The water-lilies, the wall, and the curious
trees are all white pelicans.
"As it fishes regularly twice a day the pelican is a skilled angler-a
good deal more successful than I ever shall be. The birds have two styles

9 ,





of fishing. Sometimes they wade in shallow water, or swim about duck-wise,
bobbing up and down like gigantic corks, and so catch their prey. At other
times they will take wing and fly above the water, keeping a sharp outlook
for victims. When these are espied, down they dart as straight as an arrow,
piercing the fish with their bill-hook or spear, and either eating them or throw-
ing them into their pouch. It is only the American pelican that dives, however.
"They keep on fishing until they have filled their bag. Then they all retire
to their home on some island or sandbank, where they feed together. Opening
the bill, a clever jerk shoots a fish out of the pouch down the bird's throat,
and so the process goes on until the bag is emptied. A whole line of big
clumsy birds thus dining together has, believe me, a most comical look.
"Like other birds-vultures, for instance-it is a greedy bird. But when it
has partaken freely it becomes heavy and dull; and in this condition the saucy
gulls play all sorts of tricks with it. I have seen a gull perch on a pelican's
head, wait till the bill was opened, and then catch the fish jerked out of the
pouch-but not for its consumption. Whether the pelican knows that it has
been cheated I cannot say. But there is no doubt that the gull knows that it
has cheated the pelican, for as it flies off with its stolen fish it utters a 'wild
scream of laughter, that only a schoolboy after a successful joke of a highly
practical kind could rival."
"But from what you have said, uncle, the pelican is a water bird; how
then does the Bible speak of the 'pelican of the wilderness?'"
"Well asked, Hugh, my boy. The bird haunts the Ioly Land, and David
must often have seen it. When, therefore, he spoke of it he alluded to the
pelican's habit of leaving the lake or river at night, and flying to the plain,
where the birds roost in a circle, with their heads outward, so that no jackal
or other foe could approach them unseen. Some of these treeless plains with
stunted grass and herbs probably struck the Psalmist as resembling a desert,
and so he sang of the pelican as if it frequented a wilderness. Assuming,
therefore, that he meant our pelican (which, as I have said, is found in Pales-
tine), I think this is a reasonable solution of your difficulty, Hugh.
"One word more, my dear children, and I have done. You will see
from what I have said that had I come home from an unsuccessful fishing
expedition in Mexico I might have helped myself, as the gulls do, to a con-
siderable quantity of fresh fishes."
"Ah, but, uncle, you mighn't have cheated us! At least, not with red


oger and the @hristmnas oose

N spite of the snow and his wet feet, in spite of the weight of the basket,
in spite of the fact that he was nearly frozen stiff with the cold, indeed,
in spite of many disagreeable and unpleasant things, Roger Falconer
was just about the happiest small boy in the whole world
As he trudged along with his basket on his arm he whistled merrily.
What did he care for wet or cold or snow? What did he care? Why, nothing
at all; he had forgotten all about them.
His thoughts were busily occupied with something else-something that
was in his pocket, something not very big, but very smooth and flat, and round
and bright-something that had a portrait of a lady on one side of it-a new
half-crown, in fact.
From time to time as he marched along ne turned the coin in his pocket,
and then gently patted the goose which was lying in his basket
Roger had very pleasant thoughts in connection with that goose, for it was
through it he was the happy possessor of the half-crown.
It happened in this way. Roger was spending the day before Christmas
Day in running errands for his uncle, who was a poulterer.
Early that afternoon a gentleman, followed by a little dog, had come into
the shop, and having bought the finest, fattest goose in the place, had asked for
it to be sent to his house immediately. In paying for the goose there was half-
a-crown change, and the gentleman had kindly given it as a Christmas box to
the boy who was to carry the basket.
That fortunate boy was Roger.
Roger set out merrily on his journey. He made up his mind that he would
go very quickly to the gentleman's house, and then on the way back spend his
It was all very well to make good resolutions, but by no means as easy to
keep them. For some time he tramped steadily on; but when he came to the
shop where he intended to spend his money he could not resist the temptation
of putting down his basket and looking in at the window.
Then in two seconds the goose and the basket were quite forgotten, and his
thoughts were far away.
He had a vague idea once that some boy's were shouting, but he paid no
attention and only pressed his face closer to the shop window.
Suddenly he felt something strike him in the middle of the back. It was
a snowball. Quickly picking up a handful of snow Roger looked round to
find out who had attacked him.

A short distance from him two boys were standing laughing. Roger threw
the snowball swiftly at one of them.
"Who are you throwing at?" shouted the boy.
"You!" answered Roger; "what did you mean by throwing at me when I
was not looking?
"I did it for your good. You seemed to have gone to sleep."
Without waiting to talk any more, Roger set to work to make himself a
pile of snowballs. The other boys did the same, and presently they were
throwing at one another.
All three boys worked until they were out of breath.
By that time Roger's indignation had quite subsided, and he decided to
make friends with his late opponents. He walked toward them, then all at
once stopped.
Quickly turning back he ran to his basket and looked into it. The other
parcels were there, but the goose was gone!
Roger could not believe his eyes. But it was too true; the fine, fat goose
had disappeared.
He gave a sharp cry of surprise and horror, and one of the boys thinking
he had been hurt in the fight, came running up to see what was the matter.
"The goose is gone," stammered Roger, "the goose I was taking to the
gentleman's house."
"Then the dog went off with it after all," said the boy.
"The dog went off with it! What dog? where did he go? tell me quickly,"
said Roger.
'The dog I called out to you about," said the boy. "When you were star-
ing in at the shop window just now I saw a dog walk up to your basket, and
take hold of something. I threw a snowball at you to attract your attention.
You fired back and I forgot all about the dog; but he has walked off wibh the
What was to be done? Although the boys hunted for some time, they
could not find the dog, and at last had to give up the search.
After some discussion they decided to go to the big house, and try to see
the gentleman. A little later, trembling and crying, the two boys were waiting
to see the gentleman. Mr. Hastings, who was at dinner. Roger got so fright-
ened at last that he tryed to persuade Archie not to wait any longer, but to slip
out and run home.
Archie was about to agree when the sitting-room door opened, and out
came Mr. Hastings, followed by a small dog.
Both boys rose as he came toward them, and Roger turned very pale.

Archie, however, got most excited at the sight of the dog, and began poking
and nudging Roger; but Roger was too much frightened to take any notice and
the dog only looked at the boys.
"Please, sir, I'm very sorry," said Roger, with a tear in his eye and a sob in
his voice, "but I've lost your goose. Here's the half-crown."
Mr. Hastings did not seem to understand, and Archie did not make matters
much clearer by saying excitedly-
"Yes, sir, but a dog took it, for I saw him."
"What have you done?" asked the gentleman. "What dog took what?"
"Please, sir," said Roger sorrowfully, "you know the goose you bought this
afternoon ?"
"Yes, that's all right enough."
"No, it isn't right," said Roger. "I've lost it."
"But the cook said," began Mr. Hastings, then he stopped, and, turning to
the servant behind him, said, "Go and tell the cook I want to speak to her."
Then, directly the cook appeared, Mr. Hastings asked her if the goose he
had bought in the afternoon had been sent home.
"Yes, sir, it came about half an hour ago," was the answer.
"What!" shouted both the boys.
"Boys, be quiet," said Mr. Hastings. "Who brought it?" he asked the cook.
"Well, sir, I thought you did. I found it lying at the top of the stairs, and,
to tell you the truth, I thought it was rather knocked about."
"Isn't it very queer?" demanded Roger eagerly.
"Would you mind fetching it," said Mr. Hastings, "and let us look if it
actually is the one I bought?"
"Certainly," said the cook. "I left it in the kitchen."
She turned to go, but suddenly stopped, for a mysterious noise was heard
as if something were tumbling downstairs. It proved to be something tumbling
up, for presently the dog appeared with the goose in his mouth. As soon as he
found that he was being watched he tried to get away and hide, but he was too
late-this time he was found out. After all, Archie was right, the dog was at
the bottom of it all. He had been with his master when the goose was pur-
chased, and when, on leaving the shop, Mr. Hastings had told him to go home,
he had followed Roger all the way. Then, when the basket had been put down,
he had helped himself to the goose, and carried it home. Evidently he thought
that his master had intended him to take charge of it.
The boys had a good laugh; and then, to Roger's delight, Mr. Hastings
said that though he had not earned it, he might keep the half-crown for all his

\ hat the @hil6ren f(ounb.

T WAS a bright summer morning, and Enid and Trevor Escombe, who
lived at the great White House yonder across the fields, had gone out
together for a country walk. They lived in London part of the year,
and always looked forward to the time when everything was packed
up and sent to the dear White House, and all the London smoke and
the pavements and chimneys were left behind.
Well, the children walked along together, making wonderful plans for their
pleasure, and talking a good deal about one of the gardeners, whom they al-
ways called Old Cherrystone. His real name was Cherry, but they liked best
to call him by this pet name of Old Cherrystone; and I do not think he would
have understood them if they,had said, "Good morning, Mr. Cherry." He was
very fond of them, and always enjoyed the summer quite as much as they did,
although they led him a dreadful life sometimes, and teased him so much that
he used to say he did not know often whether he were digging with a watering-
can or watering with a spade, he felt that confused! And sometimes he was
not sure of the difference between a turnip and a rose!
They were planning some mischievous tricks which they intended to play
upon this long-suffering individual and his cat Thomas,, who followed him about
just like a dog, and always came to his whistle. Thomas loved them almost as
much as Old Cherrystone loved them, and had many a gambol with them while
the gardener bent over his work. They were talking of pet animals when they
came to a field with some sheep in it, and some of the sheep ran away at their
approach, and others stared stupidly at them, after the usual manner of sheep.
They heard the cry of something in distress, and just as they were passing
a bush they saw the dearest little lamb lying by itself, quite deserted, aud evi-
dently in pain. It seemed to have hurt its foot. Enid and Trevor were much
disturbed. They knelt down, and stroked the poor little thing, and Enid said
that Trevor must run and fetch some one to help them nurse the lamb's
Off he started, and left her in charge. He met the miller, and the miller,
who was a merry body, said-
"Hi, little sir! why are you in such a hurry?"
But Trevor ran past him; and the next person he met was the baker, who
was carrying some tempting buns, and the baker said-
"Hi, Master Trevor! haven't you time for a bun?"
But Trevor ran on, and never stopped until he got to the White House,
and then he rushed straight up to the nursery, where he found Cleopatra,

Enid's favorite doll, sitting in the perambulator. Enid had taught him to be
very polite to Cleopatra, so he lifted her gently out of the perambulator, and
he said humbly-
"Dear Cleopatra, may I have the use of your carriage? There is a little
lamb lying ill, and I should like to bring it home in your carriage, if you do not
mind much. It's quite a pretty little lamb, Cleopatra."
Cleopatra looked rather sulky, but she was obliged to allow her perambu-
lator to be taken away, and Trevor ran with it back to the field, where he found
Enid still keeping faithful watch over the little lamb.
"I've brought Cleopatra's carriage for us to take the lamb home to Old
Cherrystone," he cried.
"What a capital idea!" said Enid. "Are you sure, though, that Cleopatra
did not mind? I should not like to hurt her feelings."
"Oh, she did not mind," replied Trevor. "I don't wish to exaggravate (he
meant exaggerate), but I do believe she whispered 'Yes.' "
"That's all right," said Enid. "Now we must lift the little lamb into the
perambulator, and then we will wheel it home to Old Cherrystone, and I daresay
he will be able to make it well again. Do you remember how he nursed
Thomas when his leg got caught in a trap ?"
So they lifted the lamb into Cleopatra's carriage, and there it stood wag-
ging its wee head. It had such funny big ears! Trevor stood near, holding
the handle of the perambulator. He looked rather proud of himself, as though
he had done quite a clever thing in fetching an ambulance-cart.
They wheeled it solemnly home, never for a moment thinking that the little
lamb belonged to any one else but them. The miller passed by them, and
"What a funny kind of doll!"
The miller was such a terrible tease!
And when it began to bleat he laughed and said-
"What a funny kind of voice for a doll to have!"
And then a farmer passed them, and said-
"What have we got here?"
"An invalid lamb," they replied. "Mr. Farmer, please not to keepus back,
as we are taking it home for Old Cherrystone to cure."
"Oh, I will cure it," he said good-naturedly, for he really knew all about
But they shook their heads, thinking, no doubt, that he was quite an ig-
norant person.
"You could not possibly be so clever as Old Cherrystone," they said.
0 0-2 17

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You can imagine that when Old Cherrystone saw the solemn procession
coming up the path which led to his little lodge he had a hearty good laugh,
and came out to greet his friends, and of course he was followed by the faithful
Thomas, who purred violently, and rubbed himself against Enid's boots. Old
Cherrystone took the little lamb in his arms, and gently felt the injured foot,
which he bound up.
Then he asked the children in which field they had found the lamb, and he
gathered from their answers that the little invalid probably belonged to Farmer
Garratt, who lived on the Marsh Farm. So he sent them off to tell him, that
in case he should be anxious about the fate of the lamb, it was all quite safe at
the lodge of the great White House.
He was a very tall man, very strong and broad. The children were rather
frightened of him at first, but he laughed kindly and patted them on the head.
"And I tell you what, my little dears," he said. "You shall have the crea-
ture to keep. I reckon you would make quite a pet of it."
"That we would!" they cried excitedly.
They thanked him, and started off to tell Old Cherrystone the good news.
"Fancy!" they cried; "Farmer Garratt has given us the lamb. We shall
be so fond of it, and we shall teach it ever so many lessons, and perhaps it will
become much more clever than Thomas."
"That is not possible!" laughed Old Cherrystone, stroking his cat.
"What shall we call it?" asked Trevor. "It must have a name."
"Oh, I know," said Enid thoughtfully. "We. will call it William Rufus.
Don't you remember we were reading about him yesterday? I hope that
Cleopatra wont be jealous of the new pet.
I do not know whether Cleopatra was particularly pleased when she saw
the new importation; but like all of us, she had to become accustomed to cir-
cumstances and in due time she drove out in her carriage, accompanied by
William Rufus, who trotted by her side, quite a faithful attendant.
That was rather a queer name to give the lamb, wasn't it? But Enid re-
membered too late that Rufus means red, and of course the lamb was not red!
Enid's mother and father, however, laughed when they heard of the name, and
would not have it altered; so Rufus remained Rufus. And as for Cherrystone's
cat Thomas, why, he seemed to take quite a fancy to the new-comer, and
played with him, and even allowed him to eat off his own particular plate.
And so there were five happy friends at the great White House-Enid and
Trevor and William Rufus and Thomas, and of course Old Cherrystone. You
see, I have left out Cleopatra, for her temper was not to be depended upon!


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OVER'S BARK, so fierce and loud,
S Scares the noisy, cackling crowd.
'' Silly geese, how fast they run!
Gallant Rover thinks it fun:
Down the road and up the hill
Keeps the chase up with a will.

Suddenly, with rage possessed,
One goose, bolder than the rest,
Turns, and with an angry cry
Puts to flight the enemy:
Up the hill and down the hill
Chases Rover with a will!

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_ip, the (fame erane,
I!P, the tame crane had a pair of long and nimble legs. Sometimes
he used to race in the garden with Uncle Will. The crane would
-' take long, funny leaps, flap his wings and scream with delight.
He came from the South, and wore a light blue jacket of feathers,
When he first came the hens ran around him, and cackled in chorus at
the top of their voices. At last, Zeke, the rooster, popped up, and tried to
spur him. But he could not reach. Zip's legs were too long. Zip looked to
see how high the rooster could hop, then darted his sharp bill at him. Zeke
did not try to hop at Zip again. He hobbled to his roost, and left a handful of
feathers behind, saying some very loud rooster words. When a boy came into
the yard Zip would run with all his might and drive him out. When he struck
a boy, he did not ask the boy to yell. But the boy always yelled.
One day Uncle Will heard a duet in the garden. First Zip sang. Then
the boy sang. Zip sang as if he liked it. The boy sang as if he were sad.
Uncle Will opened the gate, and there, in the corner, stood the tailor's boy with
a coat. He wanted to leave the coat, but the crane would not let him. Zip
kept dancing about, and pecking at the poor little fellow. The boy held out the
coat and let Zip bite thst. Uncle Will soon put an end to Zip's fun. The next
time the boy brought a coat he threw it over the fence and ran away.


- 2 I


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(he )possum in the -cn- jouLse

GEORGE, the circus is coming, the handbills are all up, and
such pictures of horses, and lions and tigers, and everything."
Ned jumped about for joy, until George said,
"But how are you going, Ned? We have no money, and
papap said we could not go this month, if he gave us a gun.
"The new gun, so he did," said Ned, sadly. "But they would let us in at
"I will tell you," said George: "Let us sell our white leghorns to mamma.
She wants them, and the money will take us both to the circus."
This was settled, and at dinner mamma said: "Put them up in the hen-
house to-night, and tomorrow I will look at them and we will fix the price."
The boys went to bed early that night, but had not gone to sleep when
Melissa, the little servant-girl, rushed in with a light in her hand.
"0, git up, boys, git up, sompen's in de hen-house, killing' all de fowls."
They huddled on their clothes as fast as they could, and ran after Melissa,
who held the light while they armed themselves with sticks.
There was a great stir in the hen-house, fowls were cackling and screaming
with fright, and a curious snapping sound came from one corner. When the
light fell there they saw a rough, hairy little animal, with small bright eyes like
a pig, and a long smooth tail. But, worst of all, one of the beautiful white leg-
horns lay before it, mangled and bleeding. The horrid creature was tearing its
soft body, and would hardly stop eating when the children attacked him.
At last Melissa caught up a stick, and killed the little beast with a quick
blow. She held it up in triumph by its long tail. It looked very much like a
little pig, and had five fingers, like toes, on each foot.
"'Tis a 'possum," said Melissa, "I's right glad I kill it, cos now 'tis mine."
"You are welcome to it," said Ned, half crying. "What shall we do now
our pretty leghorn rooster is dead? We can't go to the circus."
Next morning they told their tale at the breakfast-table.
"Never mind," said their father. "I think you may go after all, as I owe
you something for killing the opossum. He would have destroyed the rest of
the fowls."
"Yes, but papa, Melissa killed it, we only struck at it."
"Well, I think I must treat the whole party as they all did their best."
The boys and Melissa went to the circus, and enjoyed all they saw, and.
Melissa had a fine opossum stew into the bargain.

R ide on a (alf

I HE calf on which Billy Jones rode had no legs, yet Billy had a fine ride
and I do not think Billy cares to take another of the same kind. You
know a female whale is called a cow and the baby whale a calf.
A whale-ship was on the coast of South America trying to catch a cow-
whale. The men had thrown a sharp iron into her, and that made her afraid
they might hurt her baby. The men were in a boat. The whale swam and hit
the side of the boat, and all the men were thrown into the water.
Billy could not swim. The others tried to pick him up, but as they had
to take care of themselves, poor Billy was having a hard time trying to keep
his head above the water.
Billy was almost ready to sink. He was afraid he should never see his
home and his mother again. Just then he felt something at his feet. He did
not know what it could be, but soon he was carried out of the water, seated on
the back of the calf. The baby whale had come up in just the right place. She
gave him a free ride, this way, and that, as if it was only fun for both.
Billy had lost his cap, and his clothes were very wet. The men took him
off as soon as they could, and let the calf go to her mother.

ptmir nge @oinqg of elephant .

''.'( VE you ever been at the Zoological Gardens in London, or to any
S exhibition where elephants are to be found, and watched the clever
-- way in which they look after the buns and biscuits which the little folk
delight to give them?
Sometimes it will happen that a biscuit which has been thrown to them
will fall short of its mark, and remain in a position where neither the elephant
nor the visitor can get it. What does Mr. Elephant do? Leave it alone? By
no means. He puts out his trunk and whisks the biscuit along the floor to the
little folk who are watching him, so that they may throw it back to him. Or
else he blows it so hard that it
hits the opposite wall and re- --
bounds within his reach.
Well, you know how saga- .
cious elephants are, but I was -.
reading a story the other day
which will amuse you very much, -'
There were once two ele- -
phants with their keepers who i
found themselves at a wall to- .t;
gether. One was a big fellow,
the other much smaller. The
latter had been furnished by his -
keeper with a pail to let down
for water. Not so the big one; so watching his opportunity he snatched the
pail from his smaller companion. Thereupon the elephants quarreled fiercely
with each other. The little one, though he had not openly resisted the uncalled-
for assault, had evidently felt keenly the insult; for very quietly and cautiously
he drew back a few paces, and then rushing suddenly at his adversary with all
his might, pitched him headlong into the well. The big elephant might have
had a bad time of it, but fortunately a number of faggots were at hand, which
were thrown down to him. These he carefully arranged, and stepping on them
came safely to the top, having profited, let us hope, by the lesson.
In India, Burmah, Ceylon, and other places the elephant is exceedingly
useful in moving and stacking logs, some of which weigh no less than two tons
each. The driver, sitting on the elephant's back, quite at his ease, and often
indulging in his favorite pipe, indicates to the animal the piece of wood he

wishes seized. This he does either by speaking, by pressing his feet on the
beast's neck, or by mearIs of the goad; and the elephant then lifts the required
log on his tusks, and holding it firm by means of its proboscis, transports it to
any place desired.
They will go on for hours without needing any attention, placing log after
log in its proper place. When the stack has reached to such a height that they
are no longer able to lift the wood to the top, they are taught to place two pieces
against the stack in a slanting position, and up these they roll the huge trees
and lodge them safely on the top.
Before Jumbo had attained such fame, there was another elephant named
Chuny, which created a
t-: ---. -- great stir in England,
S- both on account of his
size, his gentleness, and
:, :- -- sagacity. In 1810 Chuny
Sz.-.. -'- .: ":' was purchased in order
S to take his part in a the-
-" .- atrical performance, and
_: _.- _. .. _-1 ., *s.. on one occasion during a

-a bridge; on coming to
,; -- the place, however, he
Refused to go over the
slightly built structure,
i and though the keeper
-i beat him unmercifully
with the goad, he stood
stock still.
One of the proprietors of the establishment, Mr. Young, happened at this
moment to come forward, and seeing the state of things, ordered the keeper
immediately to stop beating the poor animal, and as he did not desist at once,
seized him sharply by the wrist to enforce his command. Whilst the keeper
was angrily protesting against this proceeding, Captain Hay, who had brought
over the elephant, came on the stage and asked the cause of the commotion.
Before any one could answer, Chuny walked up to the Captain, and taking his
hand with his proboscis laid it on the wounded place, at the same time looking
appealingly and affectionately at him. Everybody was greatly touched, and
one of those who had ordered the elephant to be beaten ran out and bought
some apples, which he brought back and offered to Chuny.

The animal, however, took them only to crush them beneath his feet, and
throw the remains from him in scorn. Mr. Young had also gone out for the
same purpose, and on his return with some fruit, the elephant ate every morsel,
and afterward twined his trunk gently round Mr. Young, as if to express his
thanks to him for his kindness.
Elephants are good and honest workers, and stay at their task in the
absence of their keeper, yet they are fond of ease, and as soon as work is
finished, they take their pleasure in their own fashion, strolling away to the
green herbage and browsing leisurely amongst it to their heart's content, or
reclining lazily on their side. When it is very hot they like the shade, and
know very well how to make the
most of any shelter that is at -- -_-
hand. An elephant was observed,
one sultry day in New York, to
take up a quantity of new mown -
hay with his trunk and layit care- --
fully upon his back.
This he continued to do until '
he had completely thatched him- ',
self, and thus formed a splendid ''
protection from thesun.
Elephants, as you know, are 1.
harnessed w;th howdahs when -, ,
they are used in tiger hunting, on-
state occasions, or to carry per-
sons on their backs. They will assist their keepers and others to mount by
putting out one leg and raising it up till it enables them to climb on their back.
Although elephants are so docile and gentle that the little Indian children
(and for that matter the little English girls and boys too) do not fear to feed
them, or tremble when their enormous trunks are raised aloft, yet they are very
dangerous when provoked. One day some persons were out elephant-hunting,
when they suddenly came upon an animal before they were quite prepared for
it, and at once turned and ran away. The elephant gave chase immediately,
and nearly killed a man who was unable to reach a tree in time. This gentle-
man had a wonderful escape. The elephant lowered his head to charge at him,
when by just catching hold of his companions, who were now seated in the
boughs of a tree, he was able. to gain a secure place among the branches. The
elephant then endeavored to pull down the tree by winding his trunk around it
and tugging at it with all his force. This being unavailing, he fetched some

planks and piled them in a heap; but fortunately they were still out of his reach.
Yet though fierce and dangerous when provoked, how gentle can the ele-
phant be.
When during the epidemic at Laknaor the Nabob fled from the town, and
rode down the road covered with sick and diseased, careless whether any were

----*^--*-2_. _. .. ,

..- lz: r.

trodden on or not, his elephant, more pitiful than its master, picked its steps
carefully along, so as to trample on no one.
Now I think after you have read these true stories, for they are all quite
true, you will think the great unwieldy creature worthy to be loved as much as
the horse, the dog, and other animals of which children are so fond,

,. ... .u .am.p.

LL of you people who like to be told
Of beings heroic, or daring, or bold,
S; Here is a tale of a dear little scamp,
Known in our household as Fulton, the Tramp.

-- W hy? well, he's tramping from morning till
Up-stairs and down-stairs, to left and to right,
You'd think him a soldier patroling a camp,
And always on duty, this dear little tramp.

Tired? no, never. He'll climb and he'll fall,
Raid through the dining-room, march through the hall;
Mount up the stair with his stampety-stamp,
Like a patent machine with a vulvular tramp.

At six in the morning he's out of his crib,
And tramping by contract, now this is no fib;
At six in the night by the light of the lamp,
He's still on the go, so we call him the tramp.

He's brave as he's bonny. His merry black eyes
Just twinkle a moment with tears when he cries;
I really think neither colic nor cramp
Could ruffle his terriper, this jolly wee tramp.

But then he's a thief; for he enters our hearts,
Steals love and steals kisses, then slyly departs.
So we'll lock him up close where he cannot decamp,
And keep him forever, our darling, the tramp.

tom'ss (Jih.

WISH I could always, always play
Every minute of every day,
Just as long as I ever shall live,"
SCried little Tom Temple one day. "I'd give
SMy dollar bill and my old dog Turk,
If I never again should have to work.'

"Ho, ho, ha, ha," laughed Tom's grandpapa,
"I can fix that, sir, with your good mamma:
Give me the dog and your dollar bill,
And I pledge you my word you may have your will-
No more work, but just play, play, play,
Every minute of every day."

"I guess, mamma," said our Tom that night,
"That just all play isn't-well, not quite
So very nice as I thought it would be,
Because-because-well, don't you see,
You work and I ought to help some too,
Because-to show how much I love you."

Row to \ oalk.

SOLD up your head, my little man:
Throw back your shoulders, if you can,
And give your lungs full room to play.
Toe out, not in, like a circus clown:
Just let your arms hang loosely down,
And walk as though you knew the way.
-P, T.

0 0-3

l acame @punter and Re afmily.

T WAS a merry careless life they led. Had they but known it, no family
of pigs in all the world ought to have been so happy-so happy as
Madame Grunter and her youngsters.
I have called her Madame Grunter because she was a French pig.
Far away in the heart of Normandy, among the oak woods, rose a solitary
tower. It was all that was left of a once great castle. But Time had dealt
hardly with it. The walls were in ruins, their mossy fragments built up into
boundaries between orchard and field; while cow-sheds, barns, and such-like
modern farm-buildings leant around the massive foot of La Tour de Blaye.
Where once had strode proud knights in armor, and tramped the iron heels of
soldiers, sleek Norman cows and dappled pigs grazed and wandered peacefully.
The pigs had decidedly the best of it. The cows were sent out in charge
of Babette, Mere Michaud's daughter, and not allowed to wander far. On fete
days they were even tethered to posts in a most undignified manner, that Babette
might be free to amuse herself. But the pigs roamed much as they pleased.
Happy pigs!
SEarly on summer mornings Babette let Madame Grunter and her family
out of the yard where they passed the night. They were free to scamper about
among the oak woods and the fields, wherever they pleased. True that, per-
haps, they lacked the ample satisfying feed of meal which their brothers across
the sea were indulged with. But a dinner of herbs and liberty is better than
plenty and a prison. Who so keen as Snorter, Madame Grunter's eldest son,
in rooting out with his sharp nose truffles, and other delicious roots in the forest?
How clever was the old sow in leading the party to the shady depths where the
acorns and beech-nuts fell fastest and thickest. They were a happy family.
SIt was a thousand pities they did not continue so. Some people never
know when they are well off. Discontent began to rear its ugly snarling head
among Madame Grunter's family.
I think it was Snorter who began it-Snorter, who was old enough to know
better; for he was nearly a year older than the other four. But one morning
Snorter had seen Mere Michaud's neighbor drive past to market with his pig in
the cart behind him, under a net. Snorter began to grumble, and to ask why
he was not taken to market.
"It's very dull being always kept in the forest with the old lady and the
little ones," he grunted.
Bad example is very catching. Ringtail commenced to grumble because
the mushrooms were over, and the truffles getting harder to find.


Speckly and Dapply fought among themselves, squeaking and squabbling
for sheer lack of something better to do.
"My dear children, this will never do! Think of the poor pigs in other
countries, prisoners in styes, or hunted to death with spears in India, or wander-
ing, homeless and starving, in Eastern cities. You ought to be thankful to be
at this nice farm in the forest!"
Happily, something occurred just then to divert their attention. A stranger
came to lodge at La Tour de Blaye. He was an artist, and he brought strange
packages with him. He unfurled a great white umbrella in the enclosed field,
under the tower, set up an easel, and sat down upon a stool.
"Whatever can he be after?" inquired the little pigs in chorus.
Just then Babette came and shut the yard door, and they saw no more.
How all the piggies did long to get inside that field where the strange man sat
painting! They grumbled more than ever. You might have heard them grunt-
ing and snarling ever so far off.
One day, however, a most pleasant surprise happened. Instead of being
driven into the forest one morning as usual, Babette opened the door in the wall
which led into the painter's field. Madame Grunter was at first so amazed that
she did not like to enter; but the little ones-were not so shy. They scampered
in at once, a flock of curly tails and flapping ears.
But they were none the wiser about the artist. The latter drove them
away from his easel. They had to content themselves with feeding about under
La Tour de Blaye and the trees which grew beyond it. This was just what he
wanted. He was painting a picture of La Tour, and he had noticed Madame
Grunter's pretty speckly family feeding in the woods. He thought they would
do capitally for the foreground of his picture, where he wanted a little life. So
he persuaded Babette to let them sit to him, as it were.
At first the pigs liked the change. But after a while they began to sigh for
the shady depths of the forests. The field seemed small and monotonous.
The painter never let them get a peep of what he was doing, and they began to
grumble worse than ever.
However, an unexpected chance came. The artist went into the farm to
fetch something one morning, and left his canvas on the easel, unmindful of the
Grunter family, who were taking a nap in the shade. No sooner, however, was
his back turned than they saw their chance. Even Madame Grunter forgot that
she had preached against idle curiosity, and came waddling up behind as fast as
her old legs could carry her.
When she beheld the picture she was struck dumb with delight. Then a
broad grin of pleasure overspread her good-natured face.

"My dear children!" she grunted, "it's a most perfect portrait! Ringtail,
it's the very image of you, looking up at me so saucily!"
"And you, mamma dear, so like you-so stately and dignified!"
"What a clever artist!" put in Speckly. "But I wish, though, he had left
out the ugly old tower in the corner! It's very uninteresting."
"I tell you what," squeaked Ringtail; "let's rub it out! It will improve the
picture so."
And he seized the brush in his mouth, while Speckly picked up the maul-
stick which they had .seen the artist use to rest his hand on. Blackamoor took
the stool in his mouth, and they were all about to set to work, when-
Dapply tripped up over the edge of the long maul-stick, and catching his
heels in tl e legs of the stool, kicked it over, upsetting the palette and the
paints, and knocking against Ringtail, sent the end of the brush in the latter's
mouth right through the picture.
At the very height of the catastrophe Snorter came up from a far corner
with a run; and when Babette, attracted by the squealing, looked in through
the door in the wall, she beheld the easel and umbrella on the ground, and the
artist's implements scattered in every direction. She shrieked for him, and he
came running. Together they chased the pigs out of the field with many blows
and scoldings.
Never again did the artist invite Madame Grunter and her family to come
and sit for their portraits. He had had quite enough of such models! The
picture was so spoilt it had almost to be re-painted. When it was finished it
was not La Tour de Blaye that was omitted, as Ringtail had suggested, but the
pigs themselves. Instead, in the foreground, was painted Babette with her
And the pigs? They got back again into the forest, and then some great
changes took place in their former uneventful lives.
Snorter did go to market one day in a netting behind Mere Michaud, like
the neighbor's pig he had so envied. His small brothers and sisters anxiously
awaited his return to hear of the wonders he had seen in the world. But he
never came back to tell of them, and they might have been waiting till now but
for something mysterious that happened.
Early one morning there was a tremendous squealing in the shed. Later
in the day a pig, very white and still, might have been seen hanging by its heels
in the larder. Ringtail did not go into the forest that morning.
The artist got roast pork for dinner on the following Sunday, and I think
he chuckled as he carved it.



(Fommj anc the (nake.
ID YOU ever see a squirrel's nest,'built in a high tree? A large
rough nest, made of sticks and leaves, with shells of nuts and
acorns, and all sorts of things inside that have been bitten through
by little sharp teeth?
There was one of these little nests in a tall pine on the creek
S side, near a log-cabin, where a little black boy lived. He had
watched the squirrels a long time, and wanted to take out the
little ones when they were big enough for him to raise them. Little Tommy
was always hunting for nests of birds and squirrels, or any other nests he could
He never wore any shoes or hat, and his clothes were very ragged, but he
could climb any tree, clinging on with hands and knees.
One day Alfred, a white boy of about his age, showed him a silver quarter.
"I will give you this," he said, "if you will bring me a live squirrel for
a pet."
"Yes, I will," said Tommy. "I know a nest up de pine tree on de creek
side. I will take the old one out by her neck, and bring you a young quirl."
Tom could not say "squirrel," so he called it "quirl," and he did not talk
as little boys and girls ought to talk. He said "de" instead of "the," and a
great many other wrong words.
He climbed up the tall straight tree. When he reached the branch where
the nest was, he swung himself up, and leaned over to see whether the old
squirrel was there. He knew how the sharp teeth could bite. Though his
hands were hard and rough he would not put them into the nest without look-
ing. What do you think his eager black eyes saw instead of the soft young
squirrels ?
A long black snake raised its head and glided out of the nest. Tommy
did not wait to look again, but slid down the tree so fast that he nearly slid
to the ground. He was so frightened that he lay quite still for several
When ne looked up he saw that the snake had only stretched itself out
on the branch, and did not want to move either. Tommy ran away as fast
he could and told his father what he had seen.
I am afraid Alfred will never get his pet squirrel, for Tommy says he
will not climb another tree to look for one. He did not know before that
snakes swallow squirrels when they can find them.

(d underground Momes.
HERE are plenty of underground homes about the world,
.- J and I have seen all sorts of them in my travels, from
the little burrows of the Samoiedes under the snow, in
the far north of Russia, to the holes in which the Arabs
shelter themselves from the burning sun on the border
Sof the African desert. But perhaps the queerest
underground house that I ever saw was one that I fell
Sin with upon the Tartar steppes (plains), half-way
across Central Asia.
Strange places they are, those Eastern steppes; and traveling over them
is just like one of those unpleasant dreams in which you seem to be always
flying along at full speed, without ever getting a bit nearer to the place where
you are going. Day after day it is the same great waste of sand all around
you, the same hot sun glaring down upon it, the same little tufts of prickly
brush here and there, the same bright, cloudless, burning sky, the same silence,
and loneliness, and emptiness, as of some uninhabited world. There is nothing
for you to do but to lie back in the straw that fills your wagon, and watch your
sturdy little Tartar horses jogging on, on, on, over the endless level, and your
driver blinking his eyes in the blazing sunshine like an owl in the daylight.
And, all the while, the hot prickly sand keeps getting into your hair, and into
your eyes, and all over your skin, in a very uncomfortable way; and drink as
often you may, you seem to be always thirsty.
Once in a while, perhaps you pass a stray camel, which turns its long neck
to stare at you as if wondering what you can be doing there; or else you come
upon a Tartar tent, with three or four square, narrow-eyed, bullet-headed, sal-
low men, in greasy sheepskins, lounging in front of it; and you pull up and,
shout for fresh horses, and take a long draught of milk out of a wooden bowl,
and are off again in the silence and loneliness of the desert.
Well, after about a week of this kind of work my wagon comes to a sudden
halt one morning about sunrise. Why we halt I cannot make out at first; for
there is neither post-house nor hut to be seen-not even a tent-and we seem
to be standing right out in the middle of the desert, with no sign of any one
ever having been there before, except a great litter of trampled straw on the
ground. But before I can say anything, a man's face suddenly pops up through
the earth-a broad, heavy, sunburned face, with a thick yellow beard, little
twinkling gray eyes, and a nose as a flat as if somebody had sat down upon in.
Then follows a pair of broad shoulders, cased in a soiled linen frock. Next

comes a huge barrel of a body, ending in red goatskin pants and higi boots
drawn up to the knee; and before me stands a big, jolly-looking Russian, nod-
,ding to me as familiarly as if he had known me all his life.
"Good morning, brother," say I, holding out my hand to him.
"Good morning, father. Do you want horses?"
"Yes, as quick as possible."
"All right-I'll send after them at once-Meesha!" (Michael.)
I Turn round, and see at my elbow, as if he had risen through the earth too,
a tall, gaunt, black-eyed Kieghiz, who is helping my driver to unharness the
horses. In a moment he is astride of one of them, and goes off into infinite
space, whirling his short arkan (lasso) round his head.
I shrug my shoulders, knowing by sad experience that this means a delay
of two or three hours at least. In these savage wastes, no such things as a
stable is to be found; and the horses which are to draw me to the end of the
next stage, are probably grazing out on the open plain, ten or twelve
miles off!
The postmaster seems to guess my thoughts, and his big mouth widens
into a knowing grin.
"What's to be done, father? we can't manage things out here upon the
steppes as they do in Peter (St. Petersburg), you know. Better come down and
have a glass of tea with me-it'll freshen you up a bit."
So saying, he pops down again into the earth as suddenly as he popped
up; and I, diving after him, find myself in a dark, narrow passage, sloping
steeply downward, and so low that I have to bend almost double in order
to enter it. This tunnel ends in a small square room delightfully cool and
shady after the blistering glare outside. Indeed, the change is so sudden that
at first I can hardly make out where I am; but after a minute or two my
eyes get used to the half-light, and this it what I see:
In the farther corner is a huge stove faced with glazed tiles, and with the
usual "bed-place" on the top of it. The earthen floor is littered with various
articles, including a hatchet, a coil of rope, two or three harness straps, and
a heavy quilt, which, with its countless squares of patch-work, looks very
much like a colored map of the United States. Underneath a kind of sky-
light in the roof stand a battered stool and a rough deal table, on which are
an inkstand, a much blotted register, and huge boiler-like samovar (tea-urn)
which one meets in every Russian village from Poland to Kamschatka. On
the wall above is the rough portrait of some Russian saint, with a tiny lamp
burning before it, and a huge black roach taking a leisurely stroll around its
gilt frame. On the other wall hang a sheepskin frock and a printed list of

the regulations of the Russian post-service through Central Asia; and the
picture is completed by one of those immense iron-clamped chests that swarm
in the great bazaars of Kief and Moscow, painted with broad stripes of ver-
million; for the Russian is mightily fond of gay colors, and his very word
for "beautiful" (prekrasni) means literally "bright red."
The tea-urn is soon heated, and with a few handfuls of camp-biscuits
from my store chest we make a very tolerable breakfast; for the tea has kept
its flavor despite a journey of several thousand miles on camel back, done
up in "bricks" weighing four or five pounds a piece.
"Don't you find it cold here in winter, my friend?" ask I, refilling my
tumbler for the third time.
"Cold, father? not a bit!" answers the Russian, with a sturdy laugh.
"When the fr6st comes, I just light my stove-stuff a bundle of straw into the
passage, to keep the wind out-and there I am, as snug as a bear in a hollow
tree!" -DAVID KER.

,'I, "- =
m A'

ITLE Ncd was
S -i =ri r- id boy,
tt1i-uh L 11 netimes
I inclined tC I' m I' lievous.
-I--I nevr u- -d :l vi .rds, and
-: .- -- ... --- .- tl ,; 1h- i n>v'r told rn-...r, t!,-n three
~I --
-. .. _- v;---- r,'T .:,n st,_,lt e in h-i I l ,:-.
.- -- H- a u tr d went
Sto a si-~all Ied schuul-hua,u. The
teacher's name was Miss Brown, and most of the scholars loved her.
One winter morning, the teacher said to them, "So many are absent to-day
on account of the deep snow that I shall dismiss you till to-morrow."

L&MIC n~eb,3 Roribly.

So Miss Brown and the two little girls that had come went home, but nearly
all of the boys staid in the school-yard. Little Ned was among the rest.
"Now how shall we have some fun?" said one.
"Make a fort," said a warlike little fellow.
"Build a snow-man," said a young inventor.
"Let's roll a big ball as round as the earth," shouted a boy who had just
got into geography.
And the last they decided to do. The sun had made the snow just fit to
be rolled into a ball, and the little fellows went to work.
They rolled and they rolled, until a great portion of the snow around the
school house had been gathered up by the great ball.
Then it became very hard work to move it, and the boys rested.
"What shall we do with it now?" asked one.
And then it was that Ned spoke words that were very, very wrong.
"Let's roll it up against the school-house door," he said, "and when the
teacher comes to-morrow she cannot get in."
Some of the boys did not want to do this at first; but Ned, who acted as
leader, told them there would be no harm in it, and they did it.
It took quite a while to get the great ball upon the one great step in front
of the door; but at last it was done. The door was almost hidden from view
by the round mass of snow. Then all the boys went home.
The next morning Miss Brown was greatly surprised when she went to the
school-house and saw what had been done. How was she to get in and
teach school that day?
There was but one scholar with her, and this one sne sent to the nearest
house to get a man to come with a shovel. The man came, and after a while
shovelled the ball away, though it had frozen quite hard on the doorstep.
When the boys went to school that morning they expected to hear the
teacher scold, but she said nothing. In the afternoon Miss Brown found this
note on one of the boys' desks:
"I gess she wunt find out who dun it. NED."
Then the teacher called little Ned to her and said, "Did you help place the
large snowball on the doorstep, Edward?
Little Ned was much scared and replied, "N-n-no, ma'am." (Wrong story
No. i.)
"Do you know any one that helped?"
"N-n-no." (Wrong story No. 2.)
"And you didn't see who did it?"
"No-I was at home." (Wrong story No. 3.)

And these were the three wrong stories that Ned placed against his name.
But he was found out at last, as all naughty boys will be. He was pun-
ished for helping place the great snow-ball against the door, and for the three
wrong stories. And little Ned stayed in at recess for the rest of the term.

----- u6-e

(he (ld generall .

UR peacock lived to be twenty-nine
years old. We called him "The old
_--_ an General." A general is an officer in
\ an army. Officers wear very fine cloth-
S .'ing, called their uniform. The peacock
had very showy and elegant feathers.
/" Imagine a bird having one or two hun-
dred splendid feathers, some of them
1 three or four feet long. Was not that a
S' : nice "uniform" for any bird?
Si' The old General had a very stately
S '-walk. He walked like a soldier. Soldiers
S' are drilled to have a nice regular step.
I The General had a fine military gait, and
no one had to teach him. I should like
Sto see a sergeant drilling peacocks. It
-. '. as a good sight to see the old General
-' .-arching and counter-marching.

wa h/ -_,_l l. -, I.
way he strutted. When :-. p .: ..
shows himself off, he is a
grand sight. He has the '
power of making all his -
longest and finest feath- N
ers stand out like a fan.
Think of the loveliest fan- -
you have ever seen, and '. '
then imagine it much. '
lovelier, with rich colors, ,.. : "" "'

idea of the old General--
when he was in full dress uniform and on dress parade.

Mrs. General was plain, but very domestic, and brought the children up
well and carefully. There were several young people in the General's family.
I never heard of any disputing among them. I think they must have had good
parents and very nice bringing up. They looked as much like their parents as
any children I ever saw. The girls grew up exactly like their mother; and the
boys exactly like the General. I scarcely could tell mother from daughter.
And, as to the old General, one of his sons grew up to be so very much like him,
that if the General had not been a little wounded and showed it a little in his
walk, I never could have told father from son or son from father.
One day the old General died. We were all very sorry. It was like losing
a favorite cat or dog. Poor old General! He would have been thirty years of
age if he had lived just one year more.

AN any one explain why it is that every boy seems to have an inborn
instinct that he belongs to the stronger sex, and indignantly resents
j'---,j being mistaken for a girl, long before his mamma thinks he is old
enough for short hair and his first pantaloons?
When Roy was three years old his uncle took him out for a walk, and the
shrewd youngster choose a route toward a favorite candy shop a short distance
from home, in which his uncle soon found himself awaiting Roy's selection from
the sweets temptingly displayed on the counters.
A little girl was also waiting to be served, and, as Roy seemed slow in mak-
ing his choice, the proprietor turned to the little miss, and asked her what she
wanted. With a politeness which some of her elders might well imitate when
shopping, she replied:
"I'll wait until the other little girl is waited upon."
Roy's face flushed, and, climbing down from the stool on which he was
perched, he started on a run toward home.
Rushing into the house, he ran to his mother, and in tones of mingled
grief and indignation, demanded:
"Mamma, be I a boy or girl?"
"Why, Roy! You're a boy, of course."
"Well, then," with a supreme expression of disgust, "what has I dot on
pettitoats for?"
Roy was shortly after promoted to jackets and trousers; and the trial of
being mistaken for a girl no longer troubled him.-Selcected,

"hankgiving at grandpa's .

HERE we live, it snowed from morning till night on the day
before Thanksgiving. Papa and John, our hired man, got
the double sleigh down from the loft, where it had been
resting all summer. I don't think it was tired, but it rested
all the same.
Old Kate and Charley were harnessed, and they were
as frisky as young lambs. They seemed to know it was
Thanksgiving, and were as happy as the children. We were all wrapped up in
thick warm clothes, and packed in the sleigh. Large at it was, we filled it
quite full.
We all went to church first. Do you know what Thanksgiving means?
The good people who first came to make their homes in New England set apart
a day and called it by this name. In the autumn, after the corn had been gath-
ered, the apples picked, and the vegetables put in the cellar, they felt very
thankful to God for these things. They fixed a time to meet in the churches
to give thanks to God.. They gave thanks in prayers, in hymns, and in ser-
mons. They had a good dinner on that day, and were as happy as they
could be. The children and the children's children went home to spend the
day. It was the home festival.
People do not go to church so much as they did, but it is still the home
festival. We went to church: and after that we all had a long sleigh-ride to
Grandpa's. Uncle George and Aunt Lucy were there, and cousins were almost
as plenty as the snow-flakes the day before.
We played "blind man's buff" before dinner. We laughed and screamed,
and rolled and tumbled on the floor. Grandpa and Grandma sat laughing at
us, as happy as we were.
The great event of the day was the dinner. Grandpa sat at the head of
the table in his arm chair. Some of the children thought he never would get
his knife sharp enough to carve the turkey. Flora, the maid, brought it in, and
all the little ones screamed when she put it on the table. It was a very large
turkey, and was nicely browned. We never saw anything that looked so
The turkey tasted as good as it looked. For ten minutes the children did
not scream or laugh out loud.. I suppose their mouths were too full. Then we
had to eat plum pudding and four kinds of pies. We did not feel so much like
it as we did. I am afraid we ate all we could rather than all we needed.
After dinner Grandma told us about her little ones. We all wanted to

: r

~~I~~j' ~~~
il # 'YV~

C C-4 49

know where they were now. Grandma laughed and pointed to Uncle George,
Papa, and Aunt Lucy. We could hardly believe they were ever little things
like us. Then Grandpa' told us how he killed a great bear near the old house
ever so many years before.
Uncle George showed us how to play "London Bridge." Some of us were
parts of the bridge and some of us went under it. After that we played "snap
apple." Aunt Lucy tied an apple by the string to the ceiling, and we bit at it.
Every time we bit the apple flew away from us. It was great fun.
After supper the great "day was over" with the little ones. We could not
keep our eyes open, and some of us slept all the way home in that double sleigh.
I know I dreamed about that long table at dinner, and thought we were
playing "snap-apple" with the big roast turkey.
That Thanksgiving was many, many years ago, and some of those mites
of little ones that played "London Bridge" are grandmas and grandpas now.

funnj Little children .
SHAVE a young dog which has not been named, but which we call "the
puppy." One of my little neighbors, a boy of five summers, always
speaks of him as the poppy-dog. The other day, while I was plant-
ing poppy seeds in my flower bed, this youngster came behind me with the
question, "What are you doing, Miss Julie?"
"Planting poppies, dear," answered I.
"Oh, Miss Julie, what lots of little poppy-dogs you'll have, wont you?"
We have an incubator, also a small colored boy to run errands, wash
dishes, etc.
On the arrival of the former, the little darky was very curious to know all
about it. He examined the article thoroughly, andthen asked, "Say, Miss Julie,
what fur dat 'ar ting?"
"That's for hatching chickens, James," I explained.
"Fur to hetch chickens? Whar you put de eggs?"
"Inside," I answered, "and the lamp underneath and the water make the
necessary heat and moisture."
He looked quizzically at it for an instant, and then asked, "'Miss Julie,
whar you put de hen?"

@ennj & qDfoole.

'AVE you seen Denny,
My dear children all?
With lips like a rose,
And head like a ball,
With eyes like the sky,
When they sparkled in school!
O, a prince among boys
Is Denny O'Toole.

His hat is in tatters,
But his young heart is sound,
And his shoes, though his best,
Let his toes on the ground.
But who cares for tatters?
He keeps every rule,
And is kind to the smallest,
Our Denny O'Toole.

Then cheer for young Denny,
And cheer, too, for all
Who are honest and true,
Who defend weak and small:
Cheer on and cheer ever,
At home or at school,
Each manly young hero
Like Denny O'Toole.

E'RE little lads and lassies gay,
Pray to our song give ear;
We've come a long and snowy way
To sing of Christmas cheer.

There's no day half so dear and glad
Alike to young and old;
We pray that no one may be sad,
Nor lack for want of gold.

That each may have a merry heart
To greet this merry day,
And pass a happy greeting on
To all who come their way.

For Christmas is no time for woe,
'Tis a day for joy and cheer;
It comes with wreathing greens and snow
To round the happy year.

&PQae ()p.

E brave, little man,
And laugh if you can:
'Tis hard to endure,
But crying wont cure:
Nor plasters, nor pills
Can heal all life's ills:
While pluck will do more
Than groans by the score.
Brace up, little man,
And laugh if you can.
-J. J

~~9r ':

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hpfe Pftirpt (novw-p5torm.

HE sheep hurry home,
The cows gladly stay
Shut up in their stable
To munch the dry hay.

How fast the flakes fall
On the left and the right;
The trees are soon covered,
The fences are white.

But Herbert and John
And Charlie and Joe
Run hither and thither,
And laugh at the snow.

They are so happy
That winter's begun;
They like the rough weather,
The sports and the fun.

Their sleds are in order,
New-painted and bright;
No wonder the owners
Are wild with delight.

Tomorrow the hills
All over the town
Will be lively with coasters
That race'up and down.

0, how fast the flakes fall
From morning till night,
The ground is deep-covered,
The whole earth is white.
-M. E. N. H.

Dhip, \ho\j!

N ,-
* 1):*'-
-, .---
~ _________________________

-. I .

r-tlHI -, A ihu i \lihat ship's that?"

SK "hitic rIt L,, I:i nd?"
_' .-' -- "' ,*\ herev,-r she ple,.!-_,-:."
,. -. _. _,d l/r: -'- ':.idc :i- J '
: *- iTl.. K m. .t P,': rtLL etl."
L....k at t'. Ship, children. You do not
Si. -e T. ,- shl is. in the picture. She
,I',-- _,-,-a 1n...r 1.:,,, -, ::.t.: llv lil:e- the ships you are
I L L -- r' -tl .'i d t_: sc,-in.: lLt tor all that she is
i I1 i 'p c.t the lin_. all ii:.nr ied and equipped
S. -cind ire:' dv t,-r a- ti':,n.
S Sle i- i tll-!t inrd tri'iio vessel, and sails,
}., 1' I taik- it f -r ri.lint. -d. ,under the orders of
tli he Ki .:.f P.-:.rtLi;4': :it I 1st, :I-. i always
: : cl led :. P-',rtfl ; i -: n-- \ ry trim
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concerned. If you should try to hold her in your hand, however, you would
very quickly find out one reason for her being called a man-of-war, though
perhaps it is not the reason generally given.

You see all those delicate curling threads and tendrils that hang from the
beautiful shell-shaped bubble which floats so lightly on the water? They are
the crew of the good ship Physalie.
Instead of being different parts of one creature they are themselves crea-
tures, distinct and separate, and yet all living together in such perfect harmony
and peace that they seem to belong to one body.
Each member of the crew has his place and his work. Some spend their
time in catching food, and eating it, without, I am sorry to say, offering any to
the others, some of whom are busy making buds, out of which in due time will
come new ship's crews; while others again, with long, streaming tenacles, some-
times thirty feet long, carry the tiny vessel through the water.
And now, how does this crew fight? Where are their muskets, their cut-
lasses? Where are the ship's guns? They don't seem to have any weapons
at all. No; the truth is, they have no weapons, because they have no need of
any. They can fight a creature a hundred times as big as themselves and their
ship put together, and come off victorious, with flying colors. I will tell you a
story which a gentleman told me once, about his meeting a Portuguese man-of-
war; then you will understand all about it.
He was living at the time on one of the islands in the West Indies, and
used to go in bathing every morning. One morning he had been swimming
about for nearly an hour in the clear warm water, watching all the strange and
beautiful creatures which were also taking a morning swim, and thinking how
pleasant it must be to be a fish. At last he floated on his back, and let a great,
curling, white-crested wave carry him to the shore. Now, this same fleet was
bringing a whole fleet of "galleys," as the natives call the Physalie, in from the
open sea, and just as Mr. La Blond touched the shore one of the galleys touched
his arm, and instantly grappled it, flinging round his shoulder its beautiful
streamers of crimson, pink, and pale blue. He felt a thousand sharp, darting
pains, so intense that he grew dizzy.' Exerting all his strength, he tore the Phy-
salie off and flung it into the sea; but some of the thread-like tendrils remained
glued to his arm, and he nearly fainted away with the pain. He managed to
get some oil, and swallowed some, and rubbed his arm with the rest; but it was
some hours before the pain left him, and he was not well until the next day.
So you see the tiny man-of-war is not so innocent as it looks; and if it can
so powerfully affect a man, just think what a hard time the little fishes must
have when they meet a fleet, or even a single vessel. They just curl up their
little tails and die in despair, and the heartless crew of the galley make a meal
,of them.

Fhe @isoowned @hieken.

H' EN Dame Partlet had sat on her nest of eggs a fortnight, she became
weary of such a still life. It was dull to sit day after day in the old
Sbarn without any company. She heard the other hens talking out-
side in the sun over the merits of beetles and angle-worms.
What a nice long run they had, too, behind the barn, among the wild rose
bushes, all in bloom just then. Surely it was too much to expect of any bird
that she should sit in the shadow all the bright summer day, and perhaps not
hatch a single chick after all,
It was quite different with the robin up in the apple-tree. She had had
such a gay time building her nest to begin with. She sat where the sun could
reach her. She could look out on her neighbors while her mate brought her
daily bread and whiled away the hours with song.
So Dame Partlet stepped down from her nest, and left the warm white
eggs. Farmer Burke, observing that she had left her task, put some of the eggs
under an old Dorking, who had just begun to sit. She was more surprised than
pleased, at the end of a week, to hear a little piping voice in the nest.
"Here I was in for a good three week's rest, out of the way of the noisy
flock," perhaps she thought, "and now there's a chick out already. I've never
brought off less than five, and I shall sit till my time is out, in spite of this early
And when the Dorking strolled off to roll in the sand, to stretch her legs
and to pick up a luncheon, Farmer Burke took the little chicken away. The
old hen went back to her nest. "I must have been dreaming," she thought, as

she settled herself on the eggs. "No chicken ever hatches under three weeks."
But what was to be done with the little chicken? Her own giddy mother
refused to receive'the charge: she was out among the rose-bushes basking in
the sun, pluming her feathers, and regaling herself upon the banquet that
Sir Black Cochin-China unearthed for her.
Who, then would cover the chicken at night? who scratch for it by day?
Who would protect it from cats, and hawks and weasels? Must she shift for
herself? The old bantam was small, but her heart was large. She felt for
chickens; perhaps she remembered when she was young herself, and liked to
creep under the wing. Just then she saw with regret that her own brood had
outgrown her.
Some of them were larger than herself already, they could scratch for
themselves now. They no longer obeyed her call; one or two had even begun
to crow feebly, and they all went to roost at night without heeding her anxious
"cluck." She followed where they led now, but they went too fast and far
for her.
She wished they had not grown so fast. They no longer needed her care,
and she felt useless and idle.
One day she discovered the chicken trying to keep itself warm in the sun.
She took it under her care without ado; here was some one who needed her.
Happy moment.


(n 'tilt .
J'M as tall as Goliath,
Whom young David slew:
And my spear is as heavy,
And dangerous too.

I'm ready for battle,
So bring on your boys:
Let all the drums rattle,
Hurrah for a noise!

~. I


Adele'& fPairPj.

NCE upon a time a little French girl, whose name was Adele,
sat on the porch steps with her elbows on her knees, and
her chin resting in her hands.
She was idle, not because there was nothing to do, for
there lay her bag full of books, and she ought to have been
getting her lessons ready for the morrow, instead o{ dream-
Suddenly a funny little woman with bright, shining eyes, rosy
cheeks and pretty white hair, and a basket on her arm, stopped before her.
Adele was afraid, but the pretty woman smiled and said: "My dear, I am
Mrs. Always B. Content, and live in Sunshine Terrace; sometimes I'm called
Always Busy, or the good fairy that multiplies things. How can I help you
to smooth out the frowns and puckers that are spoiling your pretty face ?"
The little girl told her that she was just wishing that she didn't have to go
to school and study those tiresome lessons; she wanted to take long walks
and play in the fields where the flowers grow.
"I never have anything like other girls. Estelle has a lovely string of
beads," she continued. The fairy lifted the cover off her basket, and said:
"You shall have six times as many as Estelle; pick them out, my dear."
Oh, how beautiful! there they lay on pink cotton, ever so many strings
of lovely pearl beads,-just what she wanted.
The little girl reached out her hand, hesitated, then began to cry because
she did not know how many to take. She must take six times as many; no
more; no less.
"Since you do not know how many you want," said the fairy, "I will go
away and come in the spring time, and perhaps your good friends, the books,
yonder, will help you to become one of my family, then you will count your
blessings, and not your trials. By forgetting ourselves we increase our own
happiness, and that of every one around us.
"Don't loiter by the way to and from school. Don't dawdle in the morn-
ing when you are dressing. Learn to do everything quickly and well. I
know somebody who sits on the floor with one shoe in her hand, dreaming
away-consequently has to be called many times to breakfast."
While Mrs. Always Busy talked, Adele's face turned crimson.
"How did this fairy know she did all that?"
The truth is, there are many little maids like Adele. Are you?

,%,- %rVur WiNkh F)oinfer.
HEN we lived in Wales we had a dog named Carlo. He was
a pointer. These hunting dogs are called pointers because,
b when they see a bird, rabbit or hare, they stand quite still,
S-i< and hold up one of their forepaws. This is to show their
kA. master where the game is; and they never move until he
U comes to get it.
We three girls each had a pony (Welsh) of our own to ride.
SMy pony's name was "Kitty." She was of a beautiful brown color,
with long brown tail and mane. Carlo liked a gallop over the hills
just as well as we did; and so he generally went with us.
One morning in summer Kitty and Carlo and I started off to go to a
village five miles from our house. There are plenty of rivers and stone
bridges among the mountains in Wales, and there were three or four we had
to cross before we got to the village. Of course Kitty and I went over the
bridge; but Carlo used to run down the steep bank, and wade and splash
about amongst the rocks in the cold water. After Kitty and I crossed the last
bridge, I missed Carlo. I stopped, looked back, and called "Carlo! Carlo!
Come, Carlo!" but Carlo didn't come. Kitty pricked up her ears, and seemed
to wonder as much as I did what had become of the dog. Then we hunted
in the bushes each side of the road, thinking that he might have found a bird
or a hare, and I called "Carlo!" until I was hoarse.
At last I turned back and rode to the bridge. I never heard of a dog
drowning himself; but I didn't know what might have happened, so Kitty
and I scrambled down the bank into the river. I looked under the stone
arch; and there standing on a rock, with the water rushing around him, was
Carlo. I called to him, "0 Carlo! what are you doing in the river?" But he
never moved; there he stood holding up his foot, and staring into the water.
What do you think that foolish dog was doing? Why he was pointing
at a fish! In the clear water close to the rock was a beautiful speckled trout!
I suspect they were both so surprised that they couldn't move. They seemed
to be "pointing" at each other. And not till Kitty scared Mr. Trout by
splashing into his shady pool did he dart into his home under the rock.
Then the spell was broken, and Carlo dashed up the bank after me. He
didn't point any more that day. I had good fun telling the folks at home
about it. After that when we would say, "0 Carlo, you silly dog, to point at
a fish!" he would jump around us, and bark, and wag his tail, as much as to
say, "But it was good fun, after all."

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HE winter twilight in the sky
Pales all its red and gold,
And still the children linger there
Ruddy with cold.

Down the long hill the flying sleds
Speed black against the snow,
Although that means a journey back
Both long and slow.

Like swallows on the wing they come,
Swift sweeping to the plain,
To crawl more like a line of ants
Upward again.

The glistening track is icy smooth
The dark has come too soon;
And, lo, just peeping from the east,
Behold the moon!

Must they go home? Indeed they must;
They hear their father's call;
Not willing yet to leave their sport
Nor tired at all.

They know the kettle on the hob
Is singing cosily,
Ready, as soon as they come in,
To make the tea.

An hour later the white hill
Lies in the chill moonlight,
Hushed, lonely, with not anywhere
A child in sight.

0 0-5

T (af (5ermon.

.i HEARD a sermon the other
1 'night,
.' As I lay on my rug,
Tucked up snug.
'Twas after supper, in the firelight,
And all the family, young and old,
As many as the cozy room would hold,
Listened to the mother reading.

'Twas a Pansy book, I heard 'm say,
A Christmas sermon too,
So what could I do
But prick up my ears just where I lay,
For I thought it would tell of turkey
With maybe some cheese and good fat
That's my idea of the season.

Instead, I stared and rubbed my eyes!
Well, I do declare,
I guess you'll stare
When I tell you the reason of my sur-
A boy was the preacher, 'n' he stood in
a chair,
An' hollered at folks below him there,
That beautiful Christmas morning.

'Twas all about poor folks' stockings
'n' that;
With all of my might
I listened tight,
But never a word I caught of a cat.
Never a word of their sufferings sore,

As they wander homeless from door to
In the chill and dreary evening.

'N' he preached about giving-and be-
They put in their toys,
Those girls and boys,
Those Christmas toys as precious as
I declare, I winked, two tears to hide,
Then I opened my green eyes very wide
As if I had been dreaming.

That night when the house was very
I'd eaten two mice
An' a great Lig slice
Of bread and butter I found on the sill
Of the nursery window; when suddenly
An idea struck me quite forcibly
About that Christmas sermon.

"I'll give you a sermon, too," I cried;
My two gray paws
With their ten claws,
I waved in the air so far and wide.
"As soon as I find a pulpit nice,
I'll stand up in it and give a slice
Of my mind in eloquent sermon.

"As I never 've done anything in that
I said, reflecting,
My plan inspecting

(II .:-

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With a bit of sound sense not seldom
"I'll practice just what words to say,
For it must be hard to talk that way,
In a very special sermon.

"I know a pulpit nice and old,
I'm sure 'twill fit,
I've been in it,
The other night when I was cold.
It's James the coachman's shoe, you
Down in the cellar; and now I'll go
To practice o'er my sermon."

The pulpit stood invitingly,
Its strings untied
Wherein to glide,
And Puss hopped in and purred in glee.
"Mew; now let's see, where is my text?
And what in the world can I say next?
It's very hard, is preaching.

"Dear children-mew; be merciful,
We pray to you,
With piteous mew,
And make a cat's life beautiful
By little deeds of kindness shown,
Not only to your very own,
But to the homeless cat.

"Don't tie those dreadful old tin pails,
Like clanking chain
A fearful train,
To our soft fluffy little tails.
Oh, suffering agony and fright,

We blindly rush from left to right,
Till death ends misery.

"Don't go away in summer time,
And shut the house
On cat and mouse,
To search for cool, refreshing clime.
Poor Puss will wander o'er the place,
Seeking some friendly, pitiful face,
But never finding one.

"Don't hoot her off from rug to step,
With dreadful yells
And ringing bells,
And chased by boys and big dog Bep,
Just for the fun of seeing her fright,
And having the other boys think
you're bright;
She's such small game, is pussy.

"Be merciful-I think 'tis writ
In an old book,
If you will look,
Something like this you'll find in it:
'The merciful man to his beast
Is merciful'-so it was, at least,
When I heard grandma reading.

"That's all; I hear a sly old mouse,
So church is out,
I must be about
My business of guarding this house.
Rush! snap! I see I haven't lost my
By turning preacher for an hour;
Oh, juicy mouse, tid-bit!"




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F)oll\ whitee .

., A True Story.

,,.- AM going to tell you a little story, and it is just as true as it
can be. It is about a hen.
S,| There were twenty hens in Mr. Penny's yard, and some
were white, some were black, and some were gray. This one
"l- was white and her name was Polly.
One day Mrs. Penny said to the girl in the kitchen, "Nancy,
you may put those duck's eggs under Polly White and cover her
up with a basket."
Polly was very young, and had never sat on any eggs before. She thought
it would be good fun: but when the basket was put over her she felt as if she
should fly: it was not nice to be shut up in the dark. And then she did get so
tired. It takes only three weeks to hatch chickens, but it took four weeks
before Polly's ducklings came out of the shell.
And when they came out how funny they looked. They were very- large
and yellow, with round bills and very queer feet, and when they tried to walk
they waddled. Polly had never seen any ducklings before, and I suppose she
thought these creatures were chickens. They did not look like other chickens,
to be sure, but she thought they were all the nicer for that.
Mamie Penny came out laughing, and set a pan of corn-meal dough near
the back door. Polly was very hungry, but she would not touch one mouthful
till she had called her little ones to breakfast. There were twelve of them and
they dipped in their round bills like spoons.
After breakfast they rolled up their eyes, and what do you suppose they
were thinking about? They were thinking how much they wanted to swim.
Wasn't it strange? They had never seen any water: they had only seen the
blue pump in the yard. But they made up their little minds that they would
go and find some water.
Now there was a pond behind the barn not very far off. No one told them
it was there but they ran that way as fast as they could waddle.
Their mother ran after and tried to stop them, but the moment those duck-
lings saw the water they jumped right in.
Poor Polly, how frightened she was. How she flapped her wings and
clucked. She thought they were crazy, and she was- sure they would drown.
But no, they struck out their little feet, and began to swim. It was a
pretty sight. They held up their heads and looked very gay.

-- ---=; _

-rOs, WAS _- --- _)F- Ii- m-



:- ------- ;

Polly did not know what to think of this, but when she found it did not
hurt them at all she was very proud, and liked it as well as they did. After
this, they came to the pond every day, and she came with them. She thought
there was never such a bright family as hers. They were brighter than their
mother: and Polly was ashamed because she could not swim.
Well, the next summer came, and Polly sat on some hen's eggs, just as the
other hens did, and of course she hatched chickens instead of ducklings. She
took them down to the pond the very first thing. Wasn't it queer that she
should remember about that?
But they would not go into the water. She clucked and scolded and al-
most pushed them in, but it was of no use: they couldn't swim and they
wouldn't try. Polly was very angry. Such bad chickens. Why they were
worse than none, she thought, and she would not be their mother another
You will laugh, but Polly turned and went home. The chickens followed
but she drove them back. They peeped, and she pecked them with her bill.
They were hungry but she gave them no dinner or supper.
When night came she would not take them under her wing, but went
to roost with some other hens on a pole in the barn. The poor little chickens
felt very sorry, but she never, never forgave them for not learning to swim,
and so they had to grow up without any mother.
Don't you think this is a droll story? And wasn't Polly very bright for
a hen with a head not as big as a walnut? SOPHIE MAY.

I f' -

'. '-'-I-


(ihe -ole in the @loet.
A Story by Mrs. Mouse.

-U-- "--"',;'- .:} ,~~-Y home is under the floor of the garret in
S' .the old wooden house. I live with Mr.
''i Mouse and my five children in a snug
corner behind a big beam. I have a good many
--* i brothers and sisters and cousins who live close
by me.
We do not stay under the floor among the
dusty beams and boards all the time. No, indeed. Every night when the
house is still we travel about and enjoy ourselves.
There are plenty of holes in the floor where we get through, and we find a
great deal in the garret that is useful to us, We can get all the paper and rags
we need to make beds of, and we can get things to eat too.
When the weather is bad the boys and girls come into the garret to play.
They bring bread and butter and doughnuts with them, and leave crumbs for
us to pick up. We like boys and girls because they are always eating and leav-
ing crumbs.
Sometimes we find our way into other rooms besides the garret, for the
house is quite old, and it is full of wide cracks. Last spring I got into the
closet where Madam Wood keeps the victuals. I fared like.a queen for a whole
month, and kept Mr.
Mouse and the children ,_
supplied with the very- -
best dainties. 0, what .
nice bits of cheese I -
found, and frosted cake : ": .. -
and mince pie. -- -
Once as I was tray- ---- -
eling around the house
I happened to get near this closet, and I smelt something sweet and spicy. So
I searched all about, and at last I found a little hole away up by the highest
shelf where I could get through. Mr. Mouse tried to follow me, but he was so
large that he could not get through the hole. So he stayed on the other side
and I carried good things for him to eat. We went night after night in this
way and feasted. Mr. Mouse would caution me every time not to eat too
much. He was afraid I might grow so fat that I should not be able to get

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through the hole. So he ate all the richest
pieces himself.
After a while Madam Wood took down a
pie from one of the upper shelves, and saw that
it was badly gnawed. She knew that I had
done it, and she set a trap to catch me that very
But I did not mind the trap at all. I knew
it would be foolish to try to get a scrap of cheese

out of that box. I could find something else and I kept on going just the same.
I told Mr. Mouse about the trap, and he charged me never to go near it.
He said it would be dreadful if anything should happen to me, and he should
be left with five young children on his hands. So I was careful to do as he
ordered me.
Then Madam Wood concluded that I was too wise to be caught in her trap,
and she looked and looked all around the closet to see the place I got in.
At last she spied the little hole by the highest shelf, and she set to work to

stop it up so that I could not get in again.
She filled it full of broken glass, and then
fastened a piece of tin over it. She nailed
it down very strong. I'knew just what she
did, because I was listening the whole time.
I am afraid it will be a good while before I
shall have another such chance to feast on
nice things. But I know I am in a safer
place in the garret than I was in the closet,
even if I cannot get so much to eat. And


I .h l k'e' looki. r'd'
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I shall keep looking around and

smelling at the cracks, and perhaps I may have good luck once more.
-M. E. N. II.

up lPing.

UT one year old-yet knows full
He's of the royal race of man;
And all admiring womanhood
Obeys him since his life began.

Imperiously he rules; but who
His lisped commands could take
Not when his dimpled majesty
Subdues us with an offered kiss.

. i n .

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Ilimpses of ( her anN.

"The Netherzlands."

OW we are in the Netherlands, a low, flat country, whose level
S surface and rich soil almost remind one of our western prairies.
Indeed, so low and so flat is it that the people have built walls
or dykes to keep out the waves when the tide flows in. Not a
hill or dale breaks its surface. Well tilled fields, green pastures,
waving meadows, prosperous cities, thriving hamlets, and pleas-
ant homes, are found where once was naught but a vast morass.
Great wind-mills pumped out the water after the dykes were built and re-
claimed the land. Its people are simple, cleanly, honest, industrious-what
more can be said in their praise-yet it has a history all boys and girls should
Here are found a people who cut the dykes and let the sea flow in and
destroy their homes when threatened by Spanish invasion; here Lawrence
Coster hit upon the idea of tying letters cut in wood into one block, and founded
the art of printing; here sailed the Puritans when English oppression forced
them to seek a home in foreign lands; here England obtained one of its best and
bravest kings; here honesty, frugality, and industry made a people the bankers
of the world; and here have been fought battles which have changed the course
of empires. Canals wind here and there with white-winged ships floating lazily
on their quiet depths in summer, with merry, steel-shod boys and girls gliding
gracefully and rapidly over their frozen surface in the winter time. Patient
men toil all the day in the fields, their heavy wooden shoes beating the soil with
a dull monotonous sound as they plod along. Tender-eyed women, with snowy
kerchiefs wound around their heads, till the gardens and scrub the kitchen floors to
snowy whiteness. Sturdy, rosy-cheeked maidens driving dogs to market with
loads of vegetables, butter and cheese. Chubby babes at play upon the floor,
the grass, the pavement; babies everywhere, Quaint old cities with narrow
streets. Houses whose foundations have settled until the tops approach each
other in friendly confidence. Markets with strange wares for sale, anchors,
stoves, vegetables, fruits, eatables, clothing. Venders sitting quietly by waiting
for purchasers. Surely in such a land as this our boys and girls can find much
to interest and amuse.
Only two stories of this land can we tell the readers of "THE CARNIVAL"
Lawrence Coster lived in the sleepy old town of Harlem. One day he

took his children into the country to hear the birds sing, to sit beneath the
trees, and to breathe the fresh air. While the children are at play an idea
comes to him. Why not carve the letters of the alphabet on separate blocks,
ink them, and then stamp any word in the language? He goes home, pre-
pares his blocks, ties them with a string and prints a pamphlet. Heretofore
books have been written with a pen. How slow! Men have spent a lifetime
in writing one book, aye, have begun when young, have toiled early and late,
and have died with the work unfinished.
The Egyptians and Chinese have carved letters on blocks, have printed
from blocks, but this quiet Dutchman from Harlem is the first to tie letters into
words andprint from tlem.
His success is so great that he employs John Guttenberg to help him.
Coster dies but his secret lives in the breast of the sturdy man who has helped
him. And what shall come of this? With printed books comes knowledge.
Men begin to read. Then to think, and with thinking comes liberty with its
priceless heritage. Almost five hundred years have passed since Lawrence
Coster carved his children's names on the tree near Harlem, but his idea is
growing yet. What shall come of it?
Of all the people in Europe none are more peaceful than the Dutch.
Philip of Spain is their king. He taxes them heavily; he takes their property;
he throws them into prison. Men are burned at the stake. Thousands are put
to death, are thrust into jail, are driven into exile. Then the people rebel.
Philip calls them "beggars;" they accept the term and choose for their leader
William, "The Silent Man." He gives his time, his money, his energy to their
cause; he is defeated in battle again and again; his wealth is gone; he has not
the price of a breakfast, yet he gathers another army to drive the Spaniards out.
In 1574 the Spaniards besiege Leyden, and Philip, feasting and drinking in
his palace in Spain, offers pardon to the people if they will surrender. But the
brave Hollanders say: "We have committed no crime, we want no pardon. As
long as life lasts we will fight for our liberty." Philip orders his officers to level
Leyden to the ground. The Spaniards hold all the forts and redoubts. They
pitch their tents on every side. The people of Leyden can send messages to
their friends on the outside only by means of pigeons. They are starving.
Half a pound of meat and half a pound of bread apiece is all they have left.
This the aldermen weigh out to each person. The Burgomasters say: "We will
pay a bounty for the head of every Spaniard." Every citizen is a soldier. Now
and then a man steals out and kills a Spaniard, cuts off his head, and brings it
in and sticks it upon a pole on the walls so the Spaniards may see it. Cruel
days are those. Philip says: "Starve the beggars into submission." "The

Silent Man" cannot drive off the invaders, but there is one course left. He can
cut the dykes and drown out the hated Spaniards. "Let it be done," say the
people, "we can pump the water out again. Better a drowned land than a
lost land." "Cut the sluices," is the order of "The Silent Man." The dykes
are cut. Men must leave their homes. They take their cattle, their pigs, their
goats, their goods, and hasten to Amsterdam. The water rises slowly but
steadily. The Spaniards are wonder-struck. A fleet of two hundred armed
ships loaded with food is coming to the rescue. The people are jubilant. The
Spaniards are filled with terror. The fleet comes on, now but five miles away.
Then the water falls and the ships are stranded in the mud. The Spaniards
laugh; the people are starving by thousands, yet they will not yield. Bread,
there is none. Dogs, cats, rats are eaten, only a few cows are left. One is
killed and every part eaten. They boil the hide, the horns, the intestines and
make a soup. They eat the leaves from the trees, the grass from the streets.
"Give up the city," cry a few faint-hearted ones. But brave Peter Vander
Werff, the burgomaster, says: "Never. Take my sword, plunge it into my
body, divide my flesh among you, but God help me, I will never surrender."
Brave man. Night comes. The city can hold out no longer. The wind turns,
the waves roll in, the ships are afloat, when the morning dawns they are close
upon the town. The Spaniards are panic-stricken. They fly along the dyke.
The people harpoon them, and drive them into the sea.
Night comes again. The waves roll higher. Crash! sounds the falling
wall. The people stand aghast, for now the Spaniards can enter the town.
Morning comes but the Spaniards are gone. They fled at midnight frightened
by the falling wall. The ships sail in. The sailors toss meat and bread to the
starving people, who eat like famished wolves.
After they have eaten they enter their churches and fall upon their knees,
and give thanks to God who has saved them from the cruel soldiers of Philip.

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glimpses of their r Lanks.

ND here we are in sunny France, a land of war and strife, the home
of some of the best and some of the worst of mankind. But
4 how restful to the eye are the broad meadows of Normandy
after a stormy trip across the sea.
SHere are the peasants toiling in the fields and even the chil-
-"' dren must do what they can. We see the little girl in the picture
watching the sheep. Her patient face tells a sad tale of want and
poverty; but little of joy and pleasure are known to her, her only
amusement being tolisten to the legends her elders tell her. Two of them
are so good we repeat them for the readers of "THE CHILDREN'S CARNIVAL."
The first is the story of the

When St. Peter and St. John were visiting the poor in Brittany they
stopped one day to rest at a farm house among the trees, where they met a
little old woman who kindly brought them a pitcher of cool water.
After the saints had drunk, the old woman told them the story of her hard
life. She had seen better days, she said; her husband had once owned a cow,
but he had lost it, and he now was only a laborer on the place.
"Let me take the stick in your hand," said St. Peter.
The saint struck the stick on the ground, and up came a fine cow with
udders full of milk.
"Holy Virgin!" said she, "what made that cow come up from the ground?'
"The grace of God," said St. Peter.
When the saints had gone, the old woman wondered whether, if she were
to strike with the stick on the ground, another would appear.
She struck the ground as she had seen St. Peter do, when up came an
enormous wolf and killed the cow.
The old woman ran after the saints and told her alarming story.
"You should have been content," said St. Peter, "with the cow that the
Lord gave you. It shall be restored you."
She turned back and found the cow at the door lowing to be milked.
The other is the story of

St. Christopher was a ferry-man, who dwelt in Brittany.
S0-6 81

One day the Lord came and wished to cross the river with the twelve
St. Christopher, instead of using a ferry boat, carried the travelers across
the river on his broad shoulders.
When he had thus taken over the Lord and his Apostles, he claimed his
'What will you have?" asked the Lord.
"Ask for Paradise," said St. Peter.
"No," said Christopher; "I ask that whatsoever I may desire may at all
times be put into my sack."
"You shall have your wish; but never desire money."
One day the Evil One came to St. Christopher and tempted him to wish
for money.
They fell to fighting, and the fight lasted two whole days; but, just as the
Evil One seemed about to overcome the saint, the latter said:-
"In the name of the Lord, get into my sack."
In a moment the Evil One was in the sack, and St. Christopher tied the
string, and took him to a blacksmith, and requested the use of a hammer.
Then St. Christopher and the smith hammered the Evil One as thin as a
"I own I am beaten," said a voice from the sack. "Now let me out."
"On one condition," said the saint.
"Name it."
"That you will never trouble me again."
"I promise."
The ferry-man now began to lead a life of charity. He never thought of
himself, but lived wholly for others; and everyone loved him, and all that
were in distreL3 came to him for comfort.
One day he died, full of years, and, taking with him his wonderful sack,
he started for the gates of Paradise.
St. Peter opened the gate. But when he saw that the new-comer was
St. Christopher, who had slighted his counsel, he refused to admit him.
Hardly knowing what he did, the saint went down the mountain, until he
came to the gate of the region where bad souls dwell.
A youth at the gate said to him,-"Come in."
The gate opened, and the Evil One saw him.
"Shut the gate!-shut the gate!" said the Evil One to the youth.
Far away the Holy City lay in all its beauty, and up the hill again with a
heavy heart went St. Christopher.

"If I could only get my sack inside the gate I could wish myself into it;
and once inside the gate I would never be turned out."
He came up to the gate again, and called for St. Peter.
The saint opened,the gate a little.
"I pray you in charity," said St. Christopher, "let me listen to the music."
The gate was set a little more ajar. Immediately St. Christopher threw
his sack within; he wished, and in a moment he was in the sack himself,-and
he has remained in the region of light, music, flowers, and happiness ever since.

( he @hilpren in the trees.

The sweetest sounds in the city wide
Are those when the children shout and call
In the hollow streets at eventide,
When the mellow western shadows fall;
They run and they jump,
They tumble and bump,
In the sounding streets in the evening time.

Many a time I have tripped over Tot,
And broken my shins over Jacks and Jims;
But I went on my way and heeded it not,
For the laugh of a child is the sweetest of hymns.
They scream and they shout,
And they scamper about,
In the joyous streets in the evening time.

But growlers that growl and bachelors old,
Cry out at the game and object to the din;
They snarl and complain, they croak and they scold,
At the child who plays in the streets-it's a sin.
Let them tumble and leap,
Like wee, wee sheep,
In the sounding streets of the evening time.


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@limpses of O(ther and .

FTER our visit with French children we hasten at once by the
-t :' ;,., slowest of trains to Madrid, the capital of Spain. The city
S-i' l disappoints us. The streets are wide and clean, but it is
built in the midst of a barren plain, and there are no pleas-
"- ant suburbs, as is the case with most of our own cities. The
S.. .'.' '. Monzanares river runs through it, and such a river! We can
i'1 .:r ,'"'^ ~hardly get a cupful of water from it. The Spanish boys joke
SJ'r, -l about the river and advise their elders to sell the bridges and
buy some water. It is said that a traveler while in Madrid
-'': became very thirsty, but on being handed a glass of water
/.~l -: id, "Take it to the river. It needs it more than I do." But we
are hungry and seek a restaurant. On entering we take off our
hats, and, bowing low, say in the best Spanish we can muster, "Give us some
dinner at once." While the waiter, a comical fellow with a great mustache and.
carrying a guitar, is getting our dinner we look around. A tall Spaniard enters,
sits down at a table and orders some sugar, which he puts in a tumbler of water
and sips with seeming relish. Nine others, cloaked and silent, enter, sit oppo-
site and watch him drink. Some play dominoes, all smoke, but some of them
sit in silence. Not a very lively sight, is it?
But here is our Spanish dinner.
Onion soup, a stew easier eaten than named, a meat omelette, stewed
partridges. We wash them down with agraz, a delicious lemonade, and michie
michi or half-and-half, as the Spaniards seldom drink wine. The dinner tastes
of oil, garlic and pepper, but we are hungry and enjoy the meal.
By hurrying we can get to the Plaza de Foros in time to see a bull fight,
the national pastime. The ring is in a large round building, much like a circus
tent. Thousands of people are there, the men in round felt hats, embroidered
jackets and bright red sashes; the women are deeply veiled, but their fans of
silk, satin or paper are most beautiful. Soon we hear a knocking. The people
are tired of waiting and are kicking the wooden seats. The trumpet sounds
and a man rides in to ask permission to begin. The president throws him a key
adorned with ribbons, which he tries to catch in his hat, but fails and retires
amidst the laughter of the crowd.
The trumpets sound again and the doors are opened. In ride the lancers
on horses lean, gaunt and lame. Then come the ckulos, whose duty it is to

madden the bull with their pranks; after them the banderilleros, who dart sharp
arrows into the bull's neck; and these are followed by the macadores, who will
end the poor brute's torment with their long, sharp swords. Lastly come the
mules decked with little flags and bells to drag away the bulls that may be
killed. After the parade the mules pass out and a fiery black bull enters. He
has been roused to anger by the goad and dashes madly around the ring. The
chulos approach waving their cloaks and using all their arts to annoy him. The
bull charges' first at one and then at another, but they leap lightly aside.
While this is passing the lancers follow behind and prick him with their
sharp spears. The bull turns and before the nearest lancer can escape thrusts
his long horn into the horse's side and dashes horse and rider to the ground.
The horse struggles on, but the bull attacks him again, and this time the poor
beast falls to rise no more. Mad with fury the bull rushes upon the others and
soon has gored four horses and seriously wounded one rider, who is borne out of
the ring, the people shouting "Bravo, Toro."
The trumpets sound again and the banderilleros enter carrying two short
darts adorned with colored paper. The bull rushes at them, but they jump
nimbly aside and fix their darts in his neck as he dashes past. Some of these
darts have crackers attached, which go off, rousing the bull to greater fury. A
single blast of the trumpet and the gaily dressed matadore enters. He is the hero
of many fights and is greeted with loud shouts. He carries on his arm a red
cloak and in his hand a long sharp sword. He waves his hat three times as a
sign of death and bravely walks toward the bull, still being worried by his
tormentors. As soon as the bull sees the red cloak he dashes furiously at it.
The matadore dodges him skillfully. Again and again the bull returns to the
attack, but each time fails to reach his light-footed foe. As the bull comes
again the matadore throws the cloak over his horns. The people rise in expec-
tation, for the final moment has come. As the bull tries to escape from the
cloak the matadore plunges his sword to the hilt in the back of the poor animal,
which, vomiting blood, falls to the ground dead.
The trumpet sounds, the mules enter and the carcass is dragged away.
The matadore bows to the cheering audience and retires. We have seen
enough, and we depart filled with horror at the cruel,custom we have seen.


(limpses of therer @ands.

ROM Spain to Italy is such a short journey that we have not
had time to forget the horrid sights of the bull fight ere we
-Y' find ourselves in the city of Genoa, where over four hundred
years ago lived a boy, the son of a humble wool-spinner, who
-1 spent his time in study and in later life discovered the land we
love so much.
'. This evening we will go to the Theatre of the Puppets where
the acting is done by little figures about three feet high and the
speaking by people hidden behind the scenes. They play a drama
of three acts and the tiny figures are very much in earnest. After the drama
comes the ballet with a delightful fairy scene. In the distance is a little lake
with a tiny canoe. The fairies rush and twist themselves into all sorts of shapes,
but the fairy queen and a mortal who has strayed into fairyland dance most
Then the scene changes to the fairy's home, the rosebuds open showing
the little children within, the cherubs come down from the clouds, and as
the whole is splendidly illumined by the electric light, how the children around
us clap their hands and shout for joy.
Bed and breakfast and we are out in the busy streets next day near the
wharf. The streets are so narrow that people in the upper stories can almost
shake hands from opposite windows. But what a motley crowd upon the street.
Priests and monks walking about. Genoese women with white cloaks fastened
at the back with gold or silver arrows, and with the prettiest head-dress we
have ever seen; galley slaves with chains upon their legs, dressed in the coarse
prison garb mending the roads; fishermen in red caps eating great strings of
maccaroni, barbers shaving customers under awnings and upon the sidewalks,
women washing their clothes, and lustily beating them with sticks of wood as if
guilty of some terrible crime; sailors from every clime, street musicians making
the day hideous, hucksters crying their wares; all conspire to make a most
amusing scene from which we are loth to part.
But we must on to Pisa where we visit the leaning tower. As we stand
beneath it we are frightened lest it fall upon us. But it has stood for ages, and
will stand for ages to come. There is a peal of bells inside, the largest one
weighing six tons on the upper side to balance the tower as far as possible. We
climb the winding staircase and feel insecure when we reach the top. But what

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a view greets us. By our side winds the Arno, a silver thread upon the land-
scape; in front of us is the sea dancing in the sunlight, back of us the Appenines
rise in grandeur, their snow-capped tops looking down upon us, while close at
hand lies the Campo Santo cemetery. Fifty ship-loads of earth have been
brought from the Holy Land so that its people may repose in sacred soil. The
cloisters surrounding it have many famous frescoes upon their walls. One is
the "Triumph of Death," in which the souls as they come from the dead are
seized by good or evil spirits. Yonder fresco represents "The Last Judgment."
This one, "The Torments of Hell." We shudder as we gaze upon it.
But time is short, and we must on to Rome with its famous churches, its
wonderful picture galleries and its interesting relics freighted with the history
of its mighty past. A tour around the city and we bring up at the Coliseum.
Ruin that it is, we stand with uncovered heads in its mighty vastness. Built in
the first century of the Christians era it bids fair to endure as long as time shall
last. Eighty-seven thousand people could find seats within it. How vast it is,
and yet, for four hundred years it has been the quarry from whence Rome has
obtained stone for her churches and her public buildings. Tier upon tier of seats
still remain though but one-third of the original building is left. In the old time
these seats were covered with white and colored marble, the whole building
splendid with ornaments of amber, ivory and gold, while over all was stretched
a vast expanse of richly painted canvass to keep out the rays of the burning
Italian sun.
Yonder cross marks the arena in which the old Roman sports took place.
Upon its vast expanse chariot races have drawn the Romans there to witness
the most exciting sport the world has ever known; contests between wild beasts
and between armed gladiators have dyed it red with blood; groups of faithful
Christians have been torn to pieces by hungry tigers and lions amidst the shouts
of the Roman people.
As we gaze we can almost see the mighty theatre with its seats filled with
eagei spectators, hear the roars of wild beasts, the cries of dying men and see
the crimson stains that marked a Roman festival. How fortunate the Coliseum
is but a ruin and can never more witness such sights as these.


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(limpses of lther Lands.

HE story is told of Ulysses that after an absence of twenty
years he was borne across the seas and while asleep placed
upon the shores of his native land.
So let us pass over our trip from Italy and fancy that by
some magic we have been borne across the seas and awake in
A strange cry of "Iola gola" rouses us and we rush to the
window to see a milk cart such as we left at home, and at once
conclude that "gola" must be the Greek word for milk. We eat our breakfast
of coffee, rolls and wild honey and start at once to see the city. The stone
houses and well paved streets in the new part of the city reminds us of Chi-
cago or New York, but the people and the street traffic are not the same. We
meet donkey after donkey-some loaded with great panniers of fruit and vege-
tables, others with eggs, butter and poultry, while some bear loads of brush-
wood so large that they are almost covered up, their heads and feet alone in
sight. Part of the donkeys and their drivers stop in front of the houses, and
the housewives supply themselves for the day, while the rest go on to the gen-
eral market with their wares. As we pass on we notice that many of the
stores are quite like those we left at home; one window has what we think
is a dead animal, lying on its back with feet in the air. What is our surprise
to find that it is the skin of an animal filled with lard. As the lard is sold the
skin is opened and turned back. One thinks of the goat skins of Bible times.
We enter the market and take a hungry look at the profusion of fruits
figs, dates, raisins, olives, oranges and lemons, and all so cheap. We buy a
half-pound of figs and cannot believe it when the merchant tells us the price is
two cents.
We wish to take a trip into the country, and as there is no other way we must
go on horseback. We find a man who hires horses, and we bargain for three
horses and a guide. The man gave us "earnest money," to be kept until the
journey was over to assure us that he would do as he agreed. Getting fairly
out of the city the good roads gave place to bridle paths, and these over the
mountains are rough and dangerous. The Greeks very aptly call them the
"bad stairs."
At night we stopped at a small village. There was no hotel but several
Greeks gathered around, and kindly invited us to go home with them. We

accepted the invitation from a priest as we wanted good company. They could
give us no supper but we had our own food with us, and with a little goat's milk
which we bought we got along very well. As we sat around the hearth we told
the priest we were from America, where it is six o'clock in the morning when it
is noon in Greece. "How can that be?" said the priest. We tried to explain to
him, but when we told him the earth was round he shook his head and said,
"Why then do the people not fall off?"
When bed-time came we were given the middle of the floor for our bed-
room. The people are very poor and very ignorant, as you may know. We
spent some time on our journey and enjoyed the changing scenes far more
than we can tell. The snow-capped mountains, the groves of figs and olives,
the growing fields of cotton, the old, old ruins and the numberless Greek boys
and girls staring at us with mingled fear and curiosity can never be forgotten.
Greece has a richer history than any other land, and the readers of THE
CARNIVAL will do well to study it.
One evening as we were sitting in our room our guide, Ali Bedair, told us
of the Battle of Marathon in a way so quaint we tell it here.
Thought has wings. Let us fly back to the Athens of years ago, a city of
temples, statues, palaces, gardens. The city is a camp. Tents are everywhere.
The soldiers are putting on their armor, the grooms are saddling the restive
horses, the captains are shouting their commands. The soldiers come out. The
morning sun glistens on their armor of polished brass. They look more like
gods than men. Messengers come running in-"The Great King" has landed.
"Where?"-"At Marathon." Solemn and grand is the march from Athens to
Marathon. "They will never return again," wail the women. "Battles are won
by valor, not numbers," say the sages. "If we are defeated, Athens is lost," is
repeated everywhere. "0, Athens, thy life is in the heroes, thy hope in their
spears. May the gods fight with our heroes to-day," is the prayer of all.
The Greeks are few, ten thousand. The Persians are many, one hundred
thousand. The Greeks are drawn up into solid compact columns. The Per-
sians are spread out and cover an immense field.
The Persians are drawn up in battle array. Its warriors are from every
nation which Persia rules. It is a splendid sight with its glistening shields, its
golden chariots, its fiery horses richly decked. The Persian King does not
dream of defeat.
There are solemn ceremonies in the Greek camp; a sacrifice is offered,
addresses are made, songs arise, songs to the gods for the liberties of Greece.
A great shout goes up-"Miltiades, Athens!" and the Greeks rush down the
mountain side with fierce cries, dealing death and ruin everywhere. The Per-

sians move slowly backward. "One Greek, ten Persians," cries the leader. "'Tis
enough," answer the men and they sweep on. The Persians fly, leaving six
thousand slain. Messengers carry the news to Athens. There are thanksgiv-
ings in the temples; Greece is free.

(liimpses of other Lancs


hills and gquietreen waving palm-trees afford the sea, a line of low sand-e of
Egypt, the seat of our oldest civilization, the land of the Pyra-
n t mids and of the Sphinxes, the home of Moses and of Joseph,
the scene of the labors and death of St. Mark, the Apostle.
The steamer drops anchor in the harbor of Alexandria and the customs officers
inspect our baggage and passports, and pronounce them all right. An Arab with
yards of cloth around his head offers to take us on shore for four dollars, but
drops his price to sixty cents. He lands us at the wharf, and we escape the
horde of porters, dragomans and beggars and take an omnibus for the hotel.
A bath and a lunch, and we are on the street, for time is short. Dragomans dog
our steps to show us the town. Boys urge us to ride their donkeys. Shop-
keepers tempt us to buy wares, and on every side old Arabs sit cross-legged on
the ground, smoke their old pipes, and hold out their hand for backsheesh, or
money. The women we meet are veiled except the eyes. Some carry trays,
baskets or water-jugs on their heads, others carry children astride their shoul-
ders. They wear long cotton sacks of an indigo color, and have golden orna-
ments attached to a band around the head. The men wear camel's-hair shirts
which serve for coat and cloak.
Passing out of the business portion, we find mud hovels for homes, a hole
in the roof for the chimney, another in the wall for a window, the ground is the
floor. Men, women, naked children, dogs, goats, pigs and chickens live to-
gether. We have seen enough and take the first train for Cairo. The cars are
hot and stuffy. The ties are of iron, for there is no wood. We pass through
Arab villages where men, women and children lounge around the doors. Filth
and poverty are on every side. Though it is January, clover is in bloom. We




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see a camel and donkey yoked to a branch of a tree for a plough, merely scratch-
ing the soil. Buffaloes harnessed to great sweeps travel all day in a circle,
turning creaking wheels to raise water from the creeks to overflow the wheat
fields. We pass trains of camels and of donkeys winding along narrow paths,
carrying great bags of cotton. We see women mixing cut straw and mud,
moulding them into bricks and drying them in the sun, just as the children of
Israel did so long ago.
We reach Cairo, and get lost in its crooked, winding streets. The houses
are of stone, the second story jutting over the first, the third over the second,
the fourth over the third, until at the top there is but a small opening through
which the sun can shine.
The first story is divided into little closet-like rooms, not over six feet
square, which serve for stores. Shoemakers, blacksmiths, tailors and wood-
carvers sit in niches in the walls, working at their several trades.
Now we pass a gray-bearded man writing a letter for a lady who has not
acquired the art of writing. Across the street sits a follower of the prophet,
his legs crossed, rocking backward and forward, saying his prayers in a mono-
tonous sing-song tone. Passing along in the early morn, we meet a procession
of twenty women whose business it is to lament the dead. One older than the
rest leads off with a screech, and the others join her. The noise is hideous.
After an outburst of grief, they laugh and chat awhile and then begin their
wailing again. Out of the city, into the country we pass men and women cut-
ting clover with a small knife. We meet women going to market, a jar of but-
ter on their heads, a basket of eggs in one hand, live chickens in the other.
Some have walked ten miles. Men are plowing with a donkey yoked to a cow
for a team. Ahead of us are the Pyramids, their massive forms and smooth
sides standing out in bold relief and silently proclaiming the history of ages.
We wonder why and how they were built. We pay an old Arab sheik fifty
cents each, and selecting a couple of guides from the crowds gathered around,
ascend the Pyramids. We view the scenery at our leisure and descend. A
quiet trip back to the city, and we are glad to seek our rooms and get a good
night's rest before leaving this historic ground. We want to remain, but our
time is short, and if we want to see our own dear land at the appointed time,
we must bid good-bye to Egypt.

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