Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 A kind visit
 Learning to read
 Feeding the swans
 The four little ones on the...
 Lily and her flowers
 The flax spinner
 The Hudson
 Going to bed
 Children in the Swiss valleys
 A young artist
 A fairy's palace
 Santa Claus
 Our Dotty
 Little Harry Gwynne
 Eruption of Mount Vesuvius
 A poor old crow
 Dirty hands
 Looking at the fire
 What the birdies say at Christ...
 What the birdies do in summer
 Annie's music
 A sea-horse, or "hippocampus"
 "Where, oh, where are the...
 Two little friends
 Donald and the bird's nest
 Washed ashore
 The playthings
 The bee in the water bottle
 A butterfly in the garden
 Back Cover

Group Title: Washed ashore : and other stories for the little ones.
Title: Washed ashore
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00081260/00001
 Material Information
Title: Washed ashore and other stories for the little ones
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. ; 18 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Cassell & Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Cassell & Company
Place of Publication: New York ;
London ;
Paris ;
Publication Date: c1888
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 -- 1888   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1888   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1888
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
England -- London
France -- Paris
Australia -- Melbourne
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00081260
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002239483
notis - ALJ0013
oclc - 53368074

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    A kind visit
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Learning to read
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
    Feeding the swans
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    The four little ones on the terrace
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
    Lily and her flowers
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
    The flax spinner
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    The Hudson
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
    Going to bed
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
    Children in the Swiss valleys
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    A young artist
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    A fairy's palace
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    Santa Claus
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
    Our Dotty
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    Little Harry Gwynne
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    Eruption of Mount Vesuvius
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
    A poor old crow
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
    Dirty hands
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
    Looking at the fire
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    What the birdies say at Christmas-time
        Page 75
    What the birdies do in summer
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
    Annie's music
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    A sea-horse, or "hippocampus"
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    "Where, oh, where are the fairies?"
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Two little friends
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    Donald and the bird's nest
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
    Washed ashore
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
    The playthings
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
    The bee in the water bottle
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    A butterfly in the garden
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



~i ~-vt

~i~ ~i~p
~e e

- j1 ?t2-Z.






By 0. M. DUNHAM.

RNEST PERCIVAL had been sick for
some time, when Minnie Thompson
4 came to see him. Ernest was one of
Sthe best boys in the school, and a great
favorite with all the well disposed boys and
girls Minnie's mother had often called to see
Ernest, and to know if she could do any thing
for his mother. When any one is sick, there
is so much to be done besides looking after
the meals and other matters, that a little help
now and then is wanted, and should be offered.
Ernest is much better, and able to be in
another room, but he cannot bear much light.
He is very glad to see his old friend Minnie,
and she seems pleased to find he is so much
better. Ernest asked her to come again soon,
for it, cheers him up a little to see a bright,
happy face, and to hear kind and loving
words. He is very fond of his mother, and so
he ought to be; but when we are in the house
a long time, and sick as well, a kind visit
from a friend is a thing to be thankful for.
We get tired of looking at the things in the


room, the pictures on the walls, and the voice
of Dick, the canary, down stairs. We must
not read long at a time, so we do not know
what to do. Then we are pleased to hear a
rap at the door, and know that some one is
coming that we are always glad to see. Some
people stay too long and talk too loud. A
friend of mine, while sick, was visited by
another friend, who was as kind as he could
be, but nervous, and while sitting in the room,
would jump up suddenly, and rush to the sick
man if he only moved in bed, would ask him
what he wanted, give him his medicine, and
with a jump and a start, would rush across
the room as if he was on springs. I was not
at all surprised when the sick one asked his
wife not to let "that dreadful man come
again." When people are sick, every one in
the room should move about quietly, and not
bother those who are ill by asking them every
few minutes what they would like to eat. If
they-are asleep, let them sleep. Do not wa te
them to give medicine, for sleep is better and
will do them more good. Nothing is so un-
pleasant to any one who is sick, as a quick


step, a loud whisper, or the slamming of a
door. Some dear little girls make splendid
nurses, for they are so quiet and thoughtful.
Boys can do a little that way, but they wear
such thick shoes. Flowers sent every day
are a great treasure, and highly prized; not
too many, but just enough to fill a small vase.
When there are too many, they take up too
much room on the table. Sick people are
soon tired; they can't read much or talk much.
but they are seldom tired of looking at the
bright and beautiful flowers. They can ad-
mire the colors and shape of a rose, and while
they enjoy its fragrance, can think of that
wonderful Being who has covered our earth
with so much that is "'pleasant to the eye and
good for food." A few kind and thoughtful
ladies started, not very long ago, a society
called "The New York Flower Charity."
Flowers and fruit are sent addressed to the N.
Y. F. M., 239 Fourth Avenue, on Mondays
and Thursdays, when they are distributed to
the sick poor, in hospitals and their own homes.
More than 50,000 bouquets of flowers were
distributed last year by this society.

E VERY body would like to be able
to read, but every body is not
willing to learn. Those who do not
care to know much think it is a bother, and
they will be able to get along very well
without reading. This is a very great mis-
take, for we are thought nothing of by other
people, and we can't think much of our-
selves, if we live in this world without read-
ing, when we have had so many opportunities
for learning. I know very well that some
little folks are a long time before they know
all the letters in the alphabet, and those who
learn the quickest are not always the best
scholars. Slow and steady wins the race."
Many begin well, but soon lag behind ; while
some who do not make any show at starting,
learn a little at a time, and what they do
learn they remember. It is far better to be
slow and steady, than to be so quick to learn
and so quick to forget. But some boys and
girls can do more than others. The great
and good Dr. Isaac Watts, who wrote so


many hymns and songs for children, and a
large number of psalms and hymns for older
people, was, as a child, fond of study. How
old he was when able to read I know not,
but he was only four when he was taught
Latin in the free grammar school of South-
ampton, England. (Boys went to school
early in those days.) When he was eight
he composed some pieces to please his
mother. His father was angry with him for
making so many verses, when he said:
Oh, father, do some pity take,
And I will no more verses make."
He was only fifteen when one of his
hymns was sung in the church where his
family attended. But he was a good scholar,
and he must have been a very pleasant com-
panion, for we are told that he went to pay
a visit to his friends, Sir Thomas and Lady
Abney, and this visit lasted exactly thirty-
six years. That was a long visit, but it was
a pleasant one. I knew a little boy who
lived in London, who began to learn Latin
when he was only six. When he was eight,


he stayed at my house for some days,
and we had many a game of chess. I
thought I could play, but Master Jamie was
the best player, for a little fellow, that I ever
knew. But some dull boys make wise men.
Alfred the Great, a king's son, could not
read till he was twelve years old, when he was
taught "hunting, building and psalmody."
I must tell you that Alfred lived more
than a thousand years ago. He soon made
up for lost time by writing in a book, which
he always had with him, whatever he heard
that was worth remembering. When this
book was full he got another, and in this
way obtained much information. There
were no printed books in those early days,
so Alfred did the best thing he could do,
when he made books for himself. This was
useful to him when he became king; but it
is well to remember that he only wrote
what was worth/ thinking about, and if we
adopt the same plan, we must write only
what may be of some use to us, for it often
happens that we hear what is not worth


HILDREN like to feed the birds,
and the larger the birds are the
better they like it. They are fond
of Dick, the canary, and the hens
in the yard, but they like best to feed the
swimming birds, which move so gracefully
on the lake or river. The ducks claim a
great deal of attention, but the swans are the
favorites. They are so large and white,
they have such splendid necks, and swim
along as if they knew how to behave in the
presence of company. There is a great deal
of pleasure in sitting by the banks of a river
on a summer's day and watch the swans as
they come proudly along. They certainly
are beautiful creatures, and usually very
quiet and peaceable. But if we think that a
swan has not courage enough to defend itself
when attacked, we make a great mistake, for
a female swan has been known to break a
man's leg with one blow of her wing. This
man was trying to steal one of the swan's
young ones. When excited or angry they


are very strong. If two male swans begin
to fight, they will seldom give up the con-
test till one is killed. Black swans from
New Holland are getting common ir, Eng-
land, but the common red-billed swan is the
most elegant in form and the one most
prized. They do not dive, or care much
about eating fish, as they prefer the seeds
and roots of water plants, which they easily
reach by means of their long necks. When
they want to move faster than usual, they
stretch out their wings, and move swiftly
along like a ship with all its sails set. A
swan will measure, when full grown, upwards
of five feet, and weigh about twenty pounds.
Some will live as long as a man; one was
known to be a hundred years old. Few
people see a swan die, for some quiet spot is
chosen as their last resting place. There is
no bird which looks so miserable and out of
place on land, and none which looks so
graceful and so much at home on the water.
God made the swallow as well as the swan;
but the former was made to fly, the latter
to swim. A swallow can fly for miles with-


out stopping to rest, and with its mouth
wide open will catch the insects and get a
hasty dinner without losing any time. The
swan is in no hurry, but glides along
calmly and slowly to its resting place. Wild
swans are met with in almost every country
in Europe. In very cold weather they seek
a change of climate, but with the return of
warm weather will come back to their old
homes. Should the winter be a mild one,
swans have no trouble to find a new home,
but are content to abide in some sheltered
spot. How is it that they can tell what kind
of a winter it is going to be? We are often
deceived. "Old Probabilities" is sometimes
wrong in the reports about the weather, and
yet we find a bird has an amount of reason
or instinct which we have not. I do not
say they have more sense than we have, but
God gives them a certain kind of reason so
that they can provide for their own safety.
Horses will find their way home in a snow
storm when a man cannot. They know the
road, although it is covered with snow, and
the trees look so different in a snow storm.


NOW makes work for many boys,
Iand the very little ones like to
have something to do with snow.
It is so white, so clean, so soft, but
will melt very soon when it gets a little
warm. Snow is very cold to our hands, but
it keeps the ground warm, and is better for
the crops than when we have a great deal
of ice and no snow. Our friends on the ter-
race have managed to make a pretty big
snow-ball, so large that the youngest cannot
see over it, although they try hard to do so.
In some countries they do not have any
snow, and great is the surprise of the people
who live there when they come to another
country and see the snow. Two little girls
went from India to England, in the Winter
time, and nothing seemed to please them so
much as to stand at the window and look at
the snow. In Canton, China, some snow fell,
and the Chinese could not think whatever
it could be; they talked over the matter a


long while, and at last decided it was falling
cotton. We know all about snow here, for
we see a great deal of it. We know what
sleds are, and what sleigh rides are; but in
some parts of England, there are many chil-
dren who never saw a sled or heard the
sleigh bells. Of course, they have heard
about them and read about them; but, if
they do not have any snow, how can they
use a sled, or have a sleigh ride? I do not
say that they do not have any snow in Eng-
land, for in the north of England some falls,
although not very deep, while in the south
they seldom see it. There are Winters in
America which are very mild, compared to
others, and then the boys are cross, if not
mad. It does seem very absurd to find fault
with the weather, for it cannot do us any
good. We cannot alter it, or cause the
wind to blow from any quarter of the globe
we choose. God will send us snow or rain,
just as He sees fit, and if it pleases Him, it
ought to please us. I know very well that
boys and girls like to have plenty of sleigh-
ing and skating in Winter time, and if they


do not, they are inclined to say pretty much
the same as our friend Sammy said to Ned *

The weather is all a sad mistake,
Said Sammy to Ned, one day;
For how can a fellow use a skate,
With ice all melted away?

How can he ride on a sled down hill,
Or have a match at ball,
When the grass is dead, and brown, and bare,
And the snow-flakes never fall ?

Our skates and sleds are useless now,
Our bells are sound asleep;
Our mittens warm are flung aside,
And we walk in mud knee deep.

Call back your subjects, every one,
Thou mighty Winter king,
And let us boys enjoy the fun,
Before it is too late;
We'll shout your praises while we slide,
And sing them while we skate.


could talk, they would tell you that
they loved Lily, because she took
( such care of them, and gave them
w` water whenever they were thirsty.
Some girls don't care a bit for flowers; "they
may die, for all they care." Then how care-
lessly they handle them! They are just about
as awkward with a bunch of flowers as a man
is when he is carrying a baby, and trying to
make people think he can do it as well as
his wife. Watch these girls when they try
to make a bouquet. The yellow flowers get
in one place, the red in another, and in a
corner would be a lot of leaves, wondering
what they were put there for. Now, if Lily
had the same thing to do, she would arrange
them so nicely, placing the red in contrast
with the green, the yellow with the violet,
and every flower where it would look
brightest and best. Any one on coming into
the room, and seeing Lily's flowers in a vase,
could tell that a young lady lived in that


house. Boys can't arrange flowers, not a bit.
I do love little girls who like flowers, and I
think those who do not love flowers must
be-well, I won't say what I think they must
be. Every flower is very beautiful, but we
may prefer one more than another. Some-
body says that a fairy, who wanted to be
changed into a flower, went into a garden
to see which looked the best, but talked
so loud about them that the flowers heard
what she said. Be a rose," said the rose.
" I am the queen of the garden. Look at my
color and my shape. Oh, be a rose. "
Be a lily," said the lily. "The rose is a
beauty, and she knows it, too," said the lily
in a whisper; "but she has insects. Be a
Be a dahlia," said the dahlia. The lily is
well enough, but the snails are so fond of
her leaves. Look at my velvet face. Oh,
be a dahlia."
Be a convolvulus," said a purple and
crimson one, that was climbing up some lat-
tice work. The dahlia is as stiff as a stick."
The fairy could not make up her mind


what to do. An iris whispered to her that
a convolvulus would soon fade.
"Be a pansy," at last cried out a little
blossom perched upon a wall. Look up
here, fairy; I am not troubled with blight or
snails, and nobody calls me stiff."
"No," said the fairy, "you are only a
Don't believe it," said the pansy. Ask
my cousins Excelsior and the Emperor of
Russia, in that pansy bed, if we are only
But you have no name," said the fairy.
Haven't I, though ?" said the pansy. Go
to a poor man's garden, and ask him my
name; he will tell you it is heart's-ease; and
where can you find a better name than that?
Wherever I go I flourish. If the gardener
seeds me, pots me, and pets me, I come out
all velvet and gold; and if on a wall, I do
my best. Be a pansy."
Well, really," said the fairy, I think I


HILDREN now don't know very
much about spinning; they do not
see the old-fashioned spinning-
wheel in the house, like that Polly
is busy with; but if grandmothers are well,
and you see them now and then, just ask
them to tell you all about spinning. In the
good old times that we read about, a great
many articles were made at home. Sheets,
towels, and stockings were not bought ready-
made, as they are now. Farmers went to
market in a suit of "Homespun," (cloth
made at home). I dare say the clothes did
not fit quite so nicely as those made by the
tailor; but like the towels, sheets, and stock-
ings, they were stronger, and lasted much
longer. To do all this, the mothers and
daughters wanted a spinning-wheel, for
spinning wool, cotton, or flax into threads.
There are a great many trees and plants
grown in this world of ours, and all of them
are useful; but some appear to be of more
use than others. A palm or date tree is one


of this kind, as every part is of value. If
you were to see a flax plant growing, with
its very pretty blue flower, you would
scarcely believe that that single, slender
stalk should have a skin, or fibrous part,
which can be separated and spun into threads
as fine as silk. This plant is valuable not
only for the fibres, but for its seeds. Dick,
the canary, likes to eat flaxseed; but it is
often called by another name, "linseed,"
from "lint" and "seed." We can buy lin-
seed oil, linseed cake, and linseed meal, and
make linseed tea; but if we were to ask for
flax oil, or flax meal, we might have some
trouble to get it. Paper is made from the
fibre of flax, and there is no plant which does
not produce food, so useful to men and
women, as the flax plant. It looks, while
growing, very much like any other plant;
but will, by some changes, grow into a linen
pocket handkerchief. If you were to plant
flaxseed, and expect these handkerchiefs to
grow upon the plant, all white and ironed
smooth, you would be mistaken. Linen
thread, used for making the finest lace, as


well as the very coarsest sail cloth, is made
from flax. Nearly every thing useful which
God gives us is old. Air, water, light, and
heat, are all very old. Flax is old, for Solo-
mon bought "linen yarn" in Egypt, thou-
sands of years ago, and it has been found out
that the cloth in which the mummies," (or
preserved dead bodies) of Egypt, were wrap-
ped in, was linen, made from flax. Another
wonderful thing about this flax, I must tell
you of. In Ireland the fibre is wanted to
make linen, and if the plants have been sown
very thick, they will yield a very fine fibre,
but not so much seed; whereas in India they
do not want the fibre, because they have so
much cotton, and we find that the fibre is
worthless; but the seeds yield more oil than
those of flax grown in Europe. "Such a
mite as I can do no good," some boys and
girls say, when they are asked to be of some
use in the world. They forget that grains
of sand are very small, but a good many of
them, when piled up in a heap, help to keep
the great sea in its place. The flax is a
small plant, but a .,,ry useful one.

SFINE large ship is "The Hudson,"
which sails between New York and
London; and a noble river is the River Hud-
son, discovered and named by that daring
English sailor, Henry Hudson, nearly three
hundred years ago. The first time I went
on board "The Hudson," in 1864, she had,
as part of her cargo, thousands of bushels of
pea-nuts, which came from Africa to Lon-
don, and there put on board The Hudson"
for the boys and girls of America. All the
pea-nuts which we see are not grown in Af-
rica, for a large number are now grown in
the South. If you have never been on board
ship, you cannot think how much room there
is down below in the hold, where they stow
the cargo; thousands of packages are there
stowed away, and they seem to have room
for thousands more. A good many boys
think it must be just splendid to go on board
some large ship, and go to all parts of the
world. And so it is; but there are dark,
stormy nights; cold, wet days; rocks, seen


and unseen ; immense floating icebergs, and a
great many dangers which the boys do not
think about. The great sailor, Henry Hud-
son, did not escape all danger, for he was
turned out of his own ship in Hudson's Bay
by some of his wicked sailors, and left to per-
ish. There is something very pleasant,
though, when we are on a good ship, with
the sails all set, (like those on "The Hud-
son"), when the sun is shining, and just wind
enough to make the ship ride easily along
on the waves. Not like "The Hudson" just
now, for the sea is dashing against her sides,
and she is rolling a little more than some
may like who are on board. It is a glorious
sight, my children, to see the sea in a calm or
a storm ; but there is one thing about going
to sea which little folks and big folks do not
like, and that is sea sickness. This is very
unpleasant to those who suffer from it, and
nearly every one does who go to sea the first
time. The ship "Hudson" is not a steam-
ship, so she has to depend upon her sails
and the wind to make the voyage with, and
takes a longer time to cross the Atlantic


than a steamer. We can get from London
to New York in ten days; by railroad to
Liverpool, and then by steamer to New
York; but to come from London to New
York, by The Hudson," would take thirty
days or more. Some, who have plenty of
time, like to take a long voyage in a sailing
vessel, for they do not hear the noise of the
engine, or smell the oil used for the machin-
ery. Ships have to be made very strong,
and are a good deal like some young people,
who want a great deal of looking after, to
see that they are on the right track. What
a blessing it is, when so many boys and girls
keep on the right track; and that so many
ships go from one part of the world to
another without loss, and return with all on
board safe and well Some ships never
come back. They spring a leak, or are sunk
by an iceberg, while others are dashed
against the rocks and go to pieces. A great
many are lost every year in all parts of the
world. It is a sad thing to be lost when the
voyage is so nearly over, and we expect to
be so soon in the harbor.


" 7' DO not like to go to bed,"
II.. Sleepy little Harry said.

He said it a long while ago, and when
he was a long way off. All the sleepy
little Harrys do not live in England or
Canada. Quite a number live in America
who stop up late, and even then do not like
to go to bed. I often wonder why children,
who are so tired, should want to stay up late
and get more tired. One would think they
would scamper off to bed, and get to sleep as
fast as possible. Some little ones say: Why,
mamma, it is no use my going to bed; why,
I can't go to sleep for hours and hours."
But if mamma goes into the bedroom about
ten minutes after these little ones are in bed,
they will be found fast asleep. Tommy and
his little sister are not at all sorry when bed-
time comes, for they are tired and glad to go.
Dear little Mary is saying her prayers to her
sister, while Tommy is standing quite still and


listening to what she is saying. We should
not give God only a minute or two at the end
of the day, and have all the best of the day to
ourselves. This is what some children do
when they say sleepy prayers. They say a
few words, half asleep, and think they say
their prayers. When God listens, we should
pray. It is not right for little ones to tumble
into bed without thanking God for taking care
of them during the day. In this country we
go to bed, but in some countries they carry
the beds with them. In China it is the custom
of the people who are about to pay a visit to
carry their beds with them, and you may
often meet a man in the streets of China with
his bed under his arm.
In the Bible we read that Jesus said to the
sick man: Take up thy bed, and go unto
thine house." This bed must have been
small, or the man could not have carried it.
The Jews, in that warm country where the
Bible was written, would take off their outer
garment-a kind of shawl-lay it on the
ground, and sleep on it. The Romans had
two kinds of beds : one was a couch for


resting or reclining on at meals, and the
other was placed in the bedroom for sleep-
ing on.
In Eastern countries beds are seldom more
than a small mattress, which can be rolled up
and carried away, and in India are called
charpoys. All the beds in the East were not
so simple, for a verse in the book of Proverbs
reads : "I have decked my bed with coverings
of tapestry, with carved works, with fine linen
of Egypt." The Romans often had canopies
over their beds to keep the dust from falling
on their faces. Probably this was when they
slept out of doors. The English four-post
bed or bedstead was, and is still, a large,
solid looking affair, often made with heavy
curtains, which in cold weather are drawn at
night. The posts are made of mahogany and
nicely carved; all complete and well made,
will cost about three hundred and fifty dollars.
There is a large square bedstead in England,
called "The bed of Ware," still in good order,
although it has been made more than three
hundred years, and is large enough for twelve
persons to sleep in.

HILDREN are children all the
world over: they must play; they
can play by themselves; but they
like best to have company. In
America or England, dogs and cats, rabbits
or birds, are the pets; but in Switzerland,
goats are the household playthings. An-
toine and his sister Antoinette are sitting
by the rocks in one of the lovely valleys at
the foot of the mountains, and quite close
to a water-fall, when a goat makes himself
more free than welcome. Antoinette had
been making a wreath of flowers for her hair,
and old Billy, the goat, thinks if they are so
nice to look at, they must be nice to eat;
but the brother does not like to see his sis-
ter's floral wreath destroyed, and we see him
brushing the goat away with some small
boughs of a tree. The Swiss peasants who
live in these beautiful valleys leave their
houses, or chalets as they are called, for the
mountains every summer with their families


and flocks. As the summer advances, the
herdsmen will go higher and higher up the
mountains in search of fresh pastures, and
on this account have several homes. The
women work very hard, helping in the gar-
dens on the mountain side. I shall never
forget," says one, "my visit.to the Simmen-
thal valley. Everywhere was seen fields,
orchards, gardens, which extended even to
the tops of the hills. It seems as if this
beautiful spot had been made expressly for
shepherds, with a river running through the
valley for the flocks, and fir forests to afford
shade in the summer. Our guide told us
that ten thousand chalets were to be seen
there." You may wonder why the Swiss
peasants should have so many houses; but
you must remember that they have to be
moving about every few weeks, and would
at each stopping place want a house to live
in. These valleys, which look so lovely in
summer, are very different in winter, for
they have snow there-not little tiny flakes,
falling now and then ; but a blinding, cutting
snow-storm from the mountains, which often


covers up the smaller chalets, and the in-
mates have to dig their way out through the
snow. Another source of dang er is a snow-
slide, or avalanche as it is called, where thous-
ands of tons of snow and ice w;ll slide down
the mountain without warning, and often
bury a complete village. V'hen the sun
sinks behind the mountains, you can hear
the sweet sounds of the psalm Praise God
the Lord," from the shepherc4s, (which are
echoed from cliff to cliff and fr,' m mountain
to mountain,) while kneelingwi th bare heads
in prayer. This is a signal for inclosing
the cattle for the night, and is a common
custom among the mountains of Unter-
wald. Far away from any cht rch, these
peasants do not forget their Maker and
Preserver," setting us an example which we
would do well to follow. When the moun-
tain streams at _,swoiic ,, y ~adi, niey leap
over the crags and rush on to the valley be-
low, forming a number of beautiful water-falls.
One valley is called, in English, "nothing
but water-falls," and is a lovely spot.

OME children can draw very nicely, and
others cannot draw at all; they have
no taste for it. They may take lessons
for a long time and manage to put some-
thing on paper, but they will never be artists.
Little Rosie is doing without a drawing mas-
ter, and looks very contented. She has a
nice place to sit in, just outside the cottage
door, with the fox-glove and roses for compan-
ions; but I do think she could draw much
better if she were sitting at a table. Still, as
she likes the garden, who can blame her ? I
dare say she cannot manage to make the lines
and curves just what they should be, or as
she would like to see them. Never mind,
Rosie; keep on and practice will soon make
perfect." I said some have no talent or taste
for drawing, and this is true, just as true as
that many have no taste for music. They
may sit down at the piano and play, but- the
music is wanting. But any one can by study
and perseverance know a little about music,
and drawing, too. We may not be able to


produce a painting of great merit, and secure
a prize at the Academy, yet we may do some-
thing of which we are not ashamed. William
Ross was not twelve years of age when lie
told his mother he "would try to paint a pic-
ture which would gain a prize. He studied
the history of the times, the dresses which
were worn, and at last the picture was finished
and sent in. At the end of a month a large
meeting was held to award the prize, which
was presided over by the Duke of Norfolk,
who stated that the prize was awarded to the
painter of the picture entitled "The Death of
Wat Tyler." When it was found that Wil-
liam Ross was the artist, and the audience saw
such a little fellow walk up to receive a prize,
there was, we are told, a great deal of ap-
plause. In the year 1767, a little boy was
born at Bristol, England, whose father kept
the White Lion Inn. This boy, when quite a
child, was very bright and intelligent. lie
was only four years old when lie recited a
long poem about Joseph aand his brethren.
Before he was six he could take likenesses.
(He had not been taught by any one.) The


sketches taken then are said to have been
very good, for among them was a portrait of
Lady Kenyon, which was so much like her
that it was recognized twenty-five years after-
wards by a friend of hers. At the age of six,
young Thomas Lawrence was sent to school
near Bristol, where he remained scarcely two
years, and this with a few lessons in French
and Latin was all the education he received.
His father would not allow him to go to Rome
to study, or to take lessniis in painting at
home; but he might go to some of the large
houses in the locality, and copy some of the
paintings which he found there. At last his
father settled in Buth when Thomas was
thirteen years old. No,, this boy painter had
so many people come to him, who wanted
crayon portraits, that he raised the price from
five dollars a portrait to seven dollars and a
half, and as he was very quick, and could
take a capital likeness in seven minutes, he
must have made a great deal of money. This
young artist was the sole support of his father
and all the family before he was twenty years
of age.

0 be rowed on the water in a
gondola or Venetian boat, by twelve
sturdy gondoliers, while the band
*l is playing, must be very pleasant;
but to be taken in such a charming
way to a fairy's palace, and to have as a
pilot a man who can fly, seems almost too
good to be true; and yet it must be so, for
the lords and ladies are on the steps of the
palace waiting to receive the prince and
princess in good old-fashioned fairy style.
In a fairy palace there would be, as a matter
of course, some wonderful things, such as
gold and silver chairs to sit on, and windows
made of diamonds to see through. All you
want is there, to eat, to drink, or to wear.
The idea of asking for any thing is too
absurd, for the fairies know what you need,
and will bring you the most delicate flowers
in an alabaster vase, and the choicest fruits
on plates of crystal. You may roam through
fairy-land without being weary, and sail on
a fairy's sea without a storm ; while a touch
from a fairy's wand will give you another


shape, or waft you to some genial spot
wliere flowers always bloom and doctors are
never seen. So the fairies say. But I sup-
pose that almost every boy or girl who can
read knows that fairies are not real people,
and that there is no fairy-land in any part of
the world. Fairy tales came from Arabia,
and were carried into Europe by troubadours
(poets and singers). These men would sing
about the fairies in some of the old castles,
on holidays and at other times, for the
amusement of the lord of the castle and his
friends. In this way the stories would go
from place to place, and from one part of
the country to another. In those early days
the people were ignorant, and almost ready
to believe any thing which was told them by
the troubadours. These fairy tales spread
abroad, and many would talk of fairy-land
and the wonders wrought by a fairy.
Shakespeare, the great poet, introduced
them into his plays, and when this was
done, a great many more people were willing
to listen to the fairy tales. But we are told
they grew so fast that the people became


tired of them, for some who could read would
not read any thing else. By degrees a
change for the better took place. The
people liked best what was real and true,
and fairy stories were only written to please
little children. When we read of a fairy
ring, or a fairy of the mine, or a good fairy, we
may remember that a fairy cannot do anr
good or harm, because we cannot find one.
Fairy tales do not near so much harm as
those low-priced novels which the boys and
girls can buy cheap ; for when they reed the
poem, they know it is only a fairy tale; but
when they read the novel, it seems as if it
was all true, and the young people are more
willing to believe it. Little children in the
nursery want something to amuse them, and
a fairy tale may not do them harm, if it is
explained; but those boys and girls who
are old enough to read should seek after
something a little better. There are so
many good books printed now which can be
bought for a little money, and it seems a
pity for any one to buy what is bad, when
they can so easily buy the good.


JOLLY old fellow, whose hair is snow
And whose little bright eyes are blue,
Will be making his visits on Christmas
Perhaps he will call upon you.

A funny old name has this funny old man;
(You can tell what it is, no doubt);
He creeps down the chimney as fast as he can,
And then just as swiftly creeps out.

His plump cheeks are rosy as red cherries
His nose, too, is red as can be;
You may smell now and then the smoke of
his pipe,
But his face you never may see.


He carries a bag full of sweetmeats and toys,
And leaves them wherever he goes
For the good little girls and good little
So hang up your little white hose.

We have heard of this jolly old man before,
And his name, we think, is Santa Claus;
But we never heard how old he is,
Or where this jolly old fellow lives.

He never goes out along with his wife,
And very seldom without his pipe;
He drives over the snow at a terrible rate,
Never stops to ring or open the gate;

But up to the top of the chimney he springs,
And there empties his bag of all sorts of
things :
There's a doll for Rosa, a horse for Jack,
A rattle for baby, and a knife for Mack;


A book for Bertha, about men and women,
And a box for Fannie, with lace and ribbon;
Papa has some slippers, and mamma a ring,
And Aunty a dear little bird to sing.

Bridget, of course, is not forgotten,
Nor the German nurse, Katie Von Schotten;
One gets a new dress, and the other a shawl;
For this jolly old fellow has something for all.

In many a house good Santa Claus
Will call again where he called before,
For every day he has a good look
At the list of names in his big book,
So he will think of all the girls and boys
When he comes around with all his toys.

Long may you live, good Santa Claus;
Please come at Christmas and stop at our
We'll hang up our stockings before you come,
And wish you a merry Christmas time.


SOTTY had as good a father and
mother as any Dotty could wish
to have in this country or any
Other. She had a large house to
live in, a great big barn to play in, some
very pleasant school-fellows to come and see
her; and besides all this, she had a cat, a
dog, and a doll. I dare say you will think
she was a very happy little girl, and so she
was; and yet I do believe that Dotty would
have been just a wee bit happier if she had
had a brother or sister to play with. School-
fellows are very well in their way, but they
are not like brothers or sisters. They do
not live in your house; they do not belong
to you. Dotty knew all this, but she did
not grumble, not one bit. Perhaps she had
learnt, "what can't be cured, must be en-
dured." I dare say Dotty often saw some
girls who had things which she had not, and
these girls found Dotty enjoying something
which they had not. It is always so, my
children; no girl or boy has every thing


they want in this world. Having food
and raiment, let us be therewith content,"
the Bible says; and in another place, "Be
content with such things as ye have."
Some children would like very much to
change places with others, just as some birds
did once.
Miss, miss, how comfortable you are !"
said a lot of sparrows one day to a very
pretty canary, who was in a handsome cage,
hung in a room where there were plenty of
"I hope you are the same," said the
It is a very sharp frost, miss," they said,
when they got a little closer to the glass;
"the ground is as hard as iron, and there is
nothing to be had for love or money. We
have eaten all the berries we could find, and
all Miss Annie's crumbs, and there is not a
worm left for our breakfast."
"Well ?" said the canary.
"Yes, miss, it is very well for you, with all
that seed; but if you would let us have a
little, we should take it very kind. 'Tis fine


to be you in that grand house, among all
the flowers, and so much to eat."
My friends," said the canary, "when
summer comes, with its soft air, blue sky,
and plenty of flowers, with fruits of all
kinds, you can go where you like, and enjoy
them all. I can't leave my cage to fly about
as you can. I shall have no more in the
summer than I do now in the winter."
Well," said the sparrows, "we do think
what you say is true."
"To be sure it is," said the canary; I can't
go where I like, but you can. I have to
work for my living; so must you."
You work for your living ?" said all the
Of course I do," said the canary; "don't
I have to sing to please every body? and if
I did not sing, I could not expect to be kept
all the year; for my master and mistress
would say, 'No song, no supper.'"
The canary was quite'right. No one has
all the good things; and it is very foolish
when we envy those who may happen to live
in a larger house than we do.


AM a boy, and my name is Harry
And I must not tell a lie, or do a
thing that's mean.
My mother says I should not steal, or
swear or fight,
Not because 'tis cowardly, but because it is
not right.

I have read of men who, when they were
but boys,
Did not care a single pin for ball, or bat, or
I am not at all like them, for I do love to
In barns, or lanes, or on the new-mown hay.

I think play is meant for boys, and boys are
made for play,
But I don't say 'tis right to play about all
My father says for every thing there is a time,
And boys who leave off work to play, are
never worth a dime.


The birds and bees have each some work
to do,
And if I would be of any use, I must this
plan pursue.
I may not be a president, but I may be a
And whether man or president, do all the
good I can.

Some say, Boys are but boys," and if all
the boys are good,
Who don't mind fetching in the coals, or
chopping up the wood,
And when the baby is asleep, won't make the
slightest noise,
Why, every body would not say so much
against the boys.

But if "Boys are but boys," and all the boys
are bad,
We might have all the prisons full, and all
the mothers sad.
" Bad boys are sure to make bad men," I
have been told,
Unless they alter very much, before they
get so old.


Some men are so cross to boys, they don't
want them in the house;
Just as if one could always be as quiet as a
But these men did not do what boys do now,
Who live in great tall houses, and never see
a plough.

I wonder if those men were ever little boys,
And always sat so still, without making any
noise ;
If they ever laughed out loud, or ever tore
their pants,
And always spoke so nicely to their uncles
and their aunts.

But really I must stop, 'tis time I went to
My lessons I do know, my history, too, I've
I have a happy home, where cross men are
seldom seen,
I am glad I am a boy, and that my name is
Harry Gwynne.


" A'N eruption of Mount Vesuvius,"
says some little one; "whatever is
c-^- that?" There are in some parts of
the world volcanoes, or burning mountains-
mountains always on fire. Five of them are
in Europe, and Mount Vesuvius is one of
them; and when we say there is an eruption
of Vesuvius, we mean that there is a break-
ing out of the fire, or what some children
would call a boiling over of the melted mat-
ter or material inside the mountain, and
which is called lava. Vesuvius is about five
miles from Naples, in Europe. It is nearly
thirty miles round at the lowest part, and
about three thousand feet high. Near the
mountain are cities and towns, some large
gardens, and plenty of fruit. If you could
climb up its sides, you would find that the
higher you went the more desolate it looked
-more cinders and ashes, but no trees or
flowers. The inside of the volcano is called
the crater or mouth, and quite low down you


come to the fire, which has been burning
night and day for thousands of years. Peo-
ple who live near Vesuvius are not very
much frightened unless there is seen a
larger amount of smoke or fire coming from
the volcano than usual, when they think
there may be an eruption, and will prepare
to leave their homes. About eighty years
after our Saviour's death there was a terri-
ble eruption of Vesuvius, which completely
destroyed the cities of Herculaneum and
Pompeii. For nearly eighteen hundred
years these cities were sealed up and almost
forgotten; till, in making a canal, some old
coins and pictures were found. Years passed
away, and then other relics came to light,
which proved that there must have been a
city on the spot where these things were
found. The learned men of those times be-
gan to talk, while others began to search;
and now, street after street has been uncov-
ered. Temples, baths, markets, tombs
stand out just as they stood eighteen hun-
dred years ago, looking as bright and fresh
as if they had only been buried yesterday.


You can see the old-fashioned kitchen, the
school-room, the counting house, and the
baker's shop, with the oven filled with loaves
of bread burnt to charcoal. There is the
laborer's spade, the prisoner's chain, and the
soldier's spear, all made as they were made
when the Saviour was walking about Jeru-
salem. Olives have been found swimming
in oil; fruit which has yet some of its fla-
vor left ; bottles in the druggist's store, and
shelves on which are piled raisins and figs;
furniture as used by the Romans, and a bed
large enough for a giant. It is called a bed,
but I think a bedstead is meant, for it is
made of bronze, and inlaid. with silver.
How many children could sleep in it I do
not know, but it is nine feet long, five feet
wide, and about two feet high from the
ground. In this buried city can be seen egg-
shells, bones of fish and chickens, and close
to these are the skeletons of the people who
were eating their dinner or supper when
this calamity took place, which destroyed
them all.


I" E 'HAT is it all about?" said one
of Mrs. Crow's ducks to a friend,
as they heard a splashing noise
in the water.
"I cannot think," said Ducky; "let's go
and see." They sailed down the brook to
the place, and found a great piece of wood
had fallen across the bank, and the water
was splashing over it. The other ducks saw
them go off, so they went, too. The old
hen, that was looking after her ten chickens,
heard the ducks quacking so loud she
thought something must be the matter; so
she left her chickens, and went after the
ducks. Old Drover, the shepherd's dog,
heard the noise while he was resting in the
sun; he pricked up his ears, shook his sides,
and went along. The old cow, seeing him
scamper off, took another bit of grass, and
very shortly followed the dog. As old
Drover went, he met the potter's horse, who
called out:
Hey, Drover, what's the matter?"


Who knows ?" said Drover; "did you
not hear a noise ? "
No," said the old horse; but he was a
little deaf, and being stiff, thought he would
not go any further.
Have you heard a noise ?" said the old
What noise ?" said all the other crows.
"Oh, such a noise! A fight, I should
think, and somebody will be hurt. I saw
Drover running as if he would break his
neck. The potter's horse and the old cow
are on the road, and I don't know who be-
Let us go," said the crows. So off they
The sparrows on the vicar's currant
bushes saw the crows going off, and wonder-
ed what it all meant.
Very strange," said the old jackdaw in
the church tower, to some rooks who were
passing. "I think we ought to call a meeting
and talk over the matter."
Just as Drover got to the brook, the two
ducks were coming back again.


"What is it all about ?" said Drover.
"What?" said the ducks.
"Why, the noise ?" said Drover.
Nothing," said the ducks.
Nothing?" said the hen to her chickens.
"Nothing!" said old Drover, vexed be-
cause he ran so fast.
Nothing at all, did you say?" said the
old cow.
Nothing at all," said the old horse.
"Glad I didn't go."
"Nothing?" said the old crow. "And
all this noise for nothing! Why, I thought
there was a panic! I caught such a cold
the other day that all my feathers are gone.
Then to think that all the corn I was going
to eat should be stolen while I was away at
the brook! I do declare, it is too bad!
What shall I do? I never will have any
thing to do with another panic as long as I
live. I can't see much, and must be led by
an old mouse. What a pity that I did not
mind my own business; but now it is too
late, too late."


OMEBODY'S hands look rather
dirty just now. Little Tommy has
been touching the black pots and
things on the stove, till he has got
his hands about as dirty as they
want to be. He looks puzzled, as if he won-
dered what he had better do now. Never
mind, Tommy; a little soap and water will
soon alter the color of your tiny hands. A
good many big people have such dirty jobs
to do that they would be quite pleased if
they could wash their hands and make them
as clean as Tommy's will soon be. But our
little friend must look about him when he
goes to the stove next time, for it may be a
little too hot, and if his hands are burnt as
well as blackened, Tommy may not like it.
I met a man one day whose coat was on fire,
and he did not know it. He had been
smoking, and his pipe had not gone out
when he put it in his pocket. The lighted
ashes had set fire to his coat, and burnt a
hole in it. When I stopped him and told


him he was on fire, he did look frightened.
Looking down he saw the smoke, and the
poor man was more scared than ever. In
trying to put out the fire he burnt his hand,
and this frightened him a little more. But
at last the fire was out, the man knew what
damage was done, and he went away a sad-
der and a wiser man." This man was like
Tommy: he did not expect his coat would
be burnt when he put the pipe in his pocket.
Tommy did not expect his hands to be so
black when he touched black things. Both
these things may happen. If we play with
fire, we may get burnt; and if we touch dirty
or black things, we shall have our hands a
good deal like Tommy's. I met four little
girls, the other day, who live close to me,
whose hands, lips, and chins were stained red.
The eldest had been up in a cherry tree,
gathered as many as she could reach, and
let them fall close to the girls who were un-
der the tree. Their hands and faces were
not exactly dirty, but stained. This stain
would wash out. Sometimes we read of men
doing such bad things, that all the soap and


water in the world cannot make their hands
clean or take away the stains. I was quite
a little boy when my father left home one
evening for London. He was going in a
coach, which was all night on the road. On
the seat opposite to him, and inside the
coach, sat a man who looked like a gentle-
man. He was well dressed and well be-
haved, and my father thought him a pleasant
companion. Yet this man had been doing
such dirty work, that soon after his arrival
in London he was put in prison, tried for
his crime, and found guilty. This was a cer-
tain Dr. Dodd, who was the last person hung
in England for forgery. His hands were so
stained that soap and water could not make
them clean. There are wicked men so bad
that they try to make boys and girls bad,
too. What dirty work they have to do!
Not long ago I saw a man coming from a
dye-house. His hands were stained with a
red dye. He had washed them, but the stain
was deep and would not come out. Soap
and water may clean the hands, but not the


ZELEN and Hattie were sisters who
lived in England, and had a very
pleasant home. They had been
playing all the afternoon, and now
as it is nearly dark, they feel tired of play,
so they lay the doll and playthings on the
floor of the nursery, while they both sit
down and have a good look at the fire. In
England soft coal is burnt in an open grate,
and as the coal gets hotter and hotter, chil-
dren pretend that they see all kinds of
shapes in the fire. After the sun has set,. it
is some little time before it is quite dark,
for in that country they have long twilights;
and the younger children, finding it is too
dark to read, and not dark enough to have
a light, will draw the chairs round the fire
on a winter's afternoon, and watch the coals
as they burn and blaze away. What won-
derful changes are made in a great many
things by the action of fire. Horses wear
out their shoes as well as boys and girls, so
the blacksmith takes a bar of iron, cuts it in


pieces, makes them red hot, bends them into
the proper shape, and the shoes are made.
If you take some very clean sand, carbonate
of soda, nitre, lime, and charcoal, in certain
proportions, mix them all together, put the
mixture into a certain shaped furnace, where
the fire is intensely hot, all these things will
melt, and you will have glass. When you
break one of your mother's cups and saucers,
the pieces feel very hard and brittle. But
how was the cup made so hard? By fire.
White clay, softened and prepared, is made
into the shape required by the aid of a pot-
ter's wheel, slightly burnt, then dipped into
a glaze, and afterwards bakcd. What should
we do without gas? Gas is made by melt-
ing coals in a very hot fire, round a retort in
which the coals are placed. You may won-
der how coals can be melted, but they are,
and when you are older it will be very easily
understood. What we should do without
fire to bake our bread or pies with, I hardly
know. The sun in July and August is very
hot; but if we were to put bread or pies out
in the sun and wait until they were baked, I


am afraid we should have to wait so long
that we should be quite hungry. And yet
the people who lived in Egypt thousands of
years ago did not know any thing about fire,
so they probably cooked their bread in the
sun. In those old times they were not in a
hurry; therefore, the bread had plenty of
time to get brown on both sides. We are
told that the inhabitants of the Marian
Islands, which were discovered rather more
than three hundred years ago, had not seen
fire previous to that date; but after a good
look at a piece of burning wood, said it was
an animal that fed upon wood. Forests are
set on fire by friction. Branches of trees
are rubbed together so fast and so long by
the wind, that they get hot enough to burn.
The Indians procure fire by joining two
pieces of wood together, another piece is
put between the two, when they will turn
the middle piece round and round so quick
that the whole is heated, and bursts into a
flame. Boys will often set their clothes on
fire by burning-glasses, which they hold in
the sun.


APPING at the window-
Tell me, who is that ?
Only snow-flakes falling
With soft pit-a-pat.

Put back the curtain-
What is this I see ?
Birds and tiny robins,
Looking up at me,

Chirping loud the song
They are taught to sing,
At the time of year
Christmas joy-bells ring.

" Good people, good people, remember the
Whether they tap at your window or door;
Comfort and help, when for comfort they
For the sake of 'the Child' who was born
this day."


Then the tiny birdies
Quickly fly along,
Tapping at each window,
Singing their sweet song.


JagpiWO little robins, this fine bright
S weather,
( I Are keeping house in a nest together,
Out on a bough of the old apple tree,
Where from my window their sweet ways I

Up in the morning before it is light,
Making their toilet, both early and bright,
Pluming their feathers and shaking their
Winking and bobbing their little brown

Now, let me tell you, their house, trim and
Is furnished as pretty as yours is or mine,


With downiest couches you ever saw,
Stuffed full of hair and the nicest of straw.

They have no dishes to wash or to break,
No puddings to cook, no fires to make,
No servants to fret them, without or within
And yet this bird-house is kept tidy and trim.

The finest of pictures are hanging there,
Of roses all blooming in gardens fair;
Pictures of humming-birds, pictures of bees,
Pictures of orchards all filled with nice trees

To-day I peeped into their nest, and spy
Three little robin's eggs, blue as the sky.
Come, Helen and Jenny, Susie and Kate,
Take a sly peep, all, before it's too late.

For soon mother robin will sit on the nest,
And cover the eggs with her red downy
In three weeks or so, if you come here you'll
Wee baby robins, as many as three.


NNIE thought that she could play
quite as well as her mother, and
that it was most unkind not to
allow her to thump upon the piano
whenever she wished to do so.
One day, when her mother went out, and
the piano was open, she sat down before it.
" Better not touch it, miss," said Jane, the
housemaid. But Annie took no notice, and
banged up and down the piano, making a
dreadful clatter. It was not music, but
Annie was well pleased with it, and thumped
louder and louder. All at once there came
a loud crack, and one of the notes would not
sound. It was broken. Annie felt fright-
ened, and in the midst her mother came,
who was both sorry and angry that her little
girl had been so naughty.
Now, Annie," said her mother, "see what
you have done, and all because you think
you ought to have your own way. If you
really want to learn, you must have patience;
banging on the piano won't do you any


good, but will do the piano a great deal of
harm. Learning to play may be of some
use to you when you are older. Now sit
down here, while I tell you about a little
girl who wanted to be able to play on her
mother's piano; who began when she was
about eight years of age, and whose name
was not Annie, like yours, but Anna. They
lived in London then, for Anna's papa did
business there. I can very well remember
the tall brick house, the long garden, and
the room up-stairs, where the piano was.
I ought to have said it was some few miles
from London, for there is not much room to
spare in London for gardens; and Anna had
a garden. Twice a week she took music-
lessons from a tall, dark looking man, who
could play splendidly. Anna was doing her
best by practicing every day; but her best
was not quite as good as she wanted it
to be. She had no ear for music, as some
people say; but she did not give up
because she could not play as well as her
teacher. She kept on trying, and in time
knew how to play. Some years afterwards


she went to live in the country with her
mother; and in the church they went to,
there was an organ, but no one there to play
it. The minister asked her i' she would
play in the church, and for a long time
Anna was the organist of that church, doing
in her way all the good she could. Now,
Annie, I don't know," said her mother,
"whether you will be an organist or not;
but you can't do any good by getting out of
patience and banging the piano."
Annie was not allowed to hear any music
for a long time: but one day her mother
said, Now I will teach you to play, as I see
you are sorry for being naughty." I need
not say how pleased Annie was when her
mother gave her her first music-lesson.

E all know there are strange fish to
be seen, but who would have thought
that this odd-looking thing was a
fish ? When you can see him in the
aquarium, in New York, you will think, as I
do, that he is part horse, part snake, and the
other part fish. How they manage to swim
standing in the water is rather puzzling; but
it is more of a jump than a swim. The fin on
his back, as well as the two fins on his head,
help him very much to move about in the
water, and when tired, he coils his tail round
some sea-weed, and has a gcod rest by stand-
ing up. A sea-horse is very small, not larger
than a tea-spoon; but when found in Australia,
they are as large as a herring. What he
lives on when at home, we don't know, for he
tries hard to keep out of sight, living among
the rocks, where he has his hiding grounds.
There is a very great difference between the
sea-horse, or hippocampus, and the hippopota-
mus, although both like the water. Hippo-
camp means a horse that will bend." Hip-


popotamus, which is a great monster, means
a "river-horse." The names are spelt very
much alike, and sometimes little folks get
things pretty much mixed up ; but when you
can have a good look at them, it will help
you to remember them better than any thing
I can say. The sea-horse is a good climber,
and can twist his body about in any shape.
We sometimes read strange stories of a sea-
serpent, a big monster who comes up from the
sea, jumping up in one place, and then in
another; who frightens the sailors, and before
they can get close enough to have a good look
at him, will dive down into the sea with a
good deal of splashing. Sailors are easily
scared, and we do not know for certain
whether there is a real sea-serpent anywhere.
Very likely what was thought to be one, was
only a large whale, or some other big fish
having a little play, and, as it did not look as
a whale ought to look, it was called a sea-ser-
pent. But we do know that there is a sea-
horse, for he has been seen and can be seen
in different parts of the world, on the coasts
of England, in Australia, and in the aquarium


in New York. But the sea-serpent has not
been caught alive or dead. What a large
number of fish there must be in the sea, that
we know nothing at all about; who live in
the very bottom of the sea, among the sea-
weeds and coral rocks; fish who do not
come up for us to have a look at, but are all
very beautiful, and all made to live where
they have a home. Deep down in the sea,
the divers tell us, you can find plants and
flowers of curious colors, all very beautiful.
We are told that it is never quite dark at the
bottom of the deepest sea ; that more than a
hundred kinds of small shell fish were found
which were not known before, and a great
many pieces of sponge as well. God has
made nothing in vain, and as people get wiser,
we shall know more about the sea-lion, the
sea-wolf, and the sea-horse. The Chinese
catch some hundreds of these sea-horses, and
when they are dried and varnished, John
Chinaman puts them into cases with some in-
sects, and ships them to England. The Lon-
don dealers know they come from China, and
ask a good price for each case,


" ONE after David the harpist,"
whispered a voice close to Clara's
ear. "Who is David the harpist ?"
said Clara, in a whisper. David the harpist is
the fairies' musician ; they cannot do without
music, and none can play like him. Others
tried, but they broke their harps, and played
no more. Kings, princes, lords and ladies,
wanted David to bring his harp to the pal-
ace, and play for them; but he wanted to go
where he liked, and kept away from the
kings. David was walking alone one Sum-
mer's evening, thinking of music and the
fairies, when a smiling, bright-eyed boy came
dancing up, and asked the harpist to go to
his father's hall; for a large party were wait-
ing to hear the music from David's harp.
He usually went where he pleased, but now
David felt as if he must follow the boy; so
they both went up the glen until, at a turn in
the path, a hundred little fairies came all
round him and asked some curious ques-


tions: "Will you travel above wind, below
wind, or under wind ?" a soft voice whispered
in his ear. Soar not too high, nor stoop too
low," David said; I will travel under wind."
Now he was gently raised from the ground,
through clouds of mist, and was sailing in
the air with a ship-load of fairies, as he
thought, but he could not see the ship.
After going what David imagined to be a
long way, he thought he was getting near the
ground again, and in a minute his feet
touched the earth, when the mist went all
away in a second of time. Now David
could look about him, and he saw a flight of
marble steps which led to a stately palace.
His little guide was once more at his side,
when the door opened, and David saw such
a dazzling sight that he had to set his harp
down and cover his face with his hands.
Then a chair of ivory and gold was brought
for him to sit in, and David found that he
was in another world, for all the lovely little
beings round him were not more than two
years old. All had long curls. The little
girls were robed in pale green, and dia-


monds of dew-drops were fastened in their
hair. When David began to play, the fairies
began to dance, and the harpist thought that
so grand a sight mortal eyes had never seen
before. Milk was handed round in golden
cups, and when David drank he could play
like magic, and still the fairies danced. But
dancing and playing in fairyland made David
the harpist tired, and he was allowed to go
to bed. His little guide came again, and
showed David the way to a bed-chamber,
where was a lounge of ivory and gold. Here
he slept, and slept so soundly that dancing
and laughing were heard no more. When
David the harpist did really awake, he ached
in every limb. David had been dreaming
about "Where, oh, where are the fairies
gone?" Dear little Clara was a fairy her-
self; but she did so want to see some real
fairies, like those she had heard so much
about in the song. As grown up people
had not seen any fairies flying about, I ex-
pect our little friend had to wait a long time.


ERE comes my baby master,
Bow, wow, wow !
He would walk a little faster,
If he only just knew how;
You see his legs are very short,
And so are mine, you'll say;
But he very soon gets tired,
While I can run all day.
He says "papa," he says mamma,"
He calls me ikle pucky ;"
He pulls my tail, he hurts my nose;
But I don't mind-that's lucky.
For, I love him, and he loves me,
And so, you know, we must agree.
Bow, wow, wow!

But my little baby master,
Bow, wow, wow!
Will walk a great deal faster,
When he knows how.


His legs will grow much longer,
When I can't be any stronger;
And he will run and play,
When I stay in all day.
He may have a good mamma,
And perhaps a good papa,
When I am dead and gone.
He pulled my tail, 'tis true,
But so might one of you,
Dick, Tom, Jack, or Sue.
Bow, wow, wow

Good bye, my baby master,
Bow, wow, wow
Don't try to walk too fast,
Till you know how.
You will grow bye and bye,
And get ever so high,
When you are a man.
I can't, if I do try,
Say good bye, good bye,
As you can.


Dogs, my master, cannot talk,
But I can run and bark
Whenever baby's Aunt
Comes here to stay.
Bow, wow, wow!

I hope all little baby boys,
Bow,wow, wow!
Won't make more noise
Than they know how.
Their voices are not strong,
And dogs don't like a ding dong.
Bow, wow, wow!
A good many babies cry,
Without exactly knowing why,
Or when they ought to stop.
Doggies are very wise;
They can tell when baby cries,
And see its little red eyes.
Bow, wow, wow'1

SHEN birds take so much trouble to
make such a snug little house, it
is a mean thing for a boy to steal it.
S We should not be very well pleased,
on coming home from a long walk, to fine
that some one had torn down our house and
broken all the furniture while we were away.
It is worse than this when birds' nests are
stolen; for the birds lose not only their
nests, but their eggs as well. Boys do not
think about what they are doing when they
rob the birds. I do not think they all mean
to be cruel or unkind. The nest is so nicely
made, the eggs are so pretty, and sometimes
to please a little brother or sister, they are
taken away; and when the poor little birds
come home, they are in great trouble.
Donald had a little sister of whom he was
very fond, and many a pleasant walk they
had together while rambling about in the
country lanes. Polly could gather wild
flowers, and Donald was on hand to get any


thing beyond her reach, such as a wild rose
or a slip of honeysuckle. In one of their
walks they found a bird's nest with f;ve
such dear little eggs in it that Polly asked
Donald to get it, so that she might have a
good look at it. To please her he took it
from the tree without meaning to keep it.
They stood looking at it a long while, but
did not want to give it up to the birds to
whom it belonged. Donald would not have
liked that any one should have thought him
to be a thief just then, but he felt a good
deal like stealing. How soon bad thoughts
will come, and how long they stay! Some-
times people will borrow a book or an um-
brella from a friend, and keep it so long that
they are ashamed to return it, when they try
to persuade themselves it does not matter
very much after all. But it does matter.
Whatever is borrowed should be returned
as quickly as possible. Donald did not say
any thing about it to his mother. Some-
thing is wrong, boys and girls, when we are
afraid to tell mother. Donald could not
sing just then:

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs