Citation
Snow and sunshine for girls and boys

Material Information

Title:
Snow and sunshine for girls and boys a book of merriment and fun
Creator:
Mary ( Editor )
Cox, Palmer, 1840-1924 ( Illustrator )
Garrett, Edmund Henry, 1853-1929 ( Illustrator )
Monarch Book Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Chicago ;
Philadelphia
Publisher:
Monarch Book Company
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.), music ; 26 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1893 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1893 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1893
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Illinois -- Chicago
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors, some illustrations by E. H. Garrett and Palmer Cox.
Statement of Responsibility:
edited by Aunt Mary.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026657762 ( ALEPH )
ALG5183 ( NOTIS )
214285120 ( OCLC )

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Full Text










OHE HELD THE FLOWERS AGaINsT HER Lips.



~SNOW AND SUNSHINE

GIRLS AND BOYS...

B& BOOK OF MERRIMENT AND FUN

. Oh, these two little toadies went out for a walk,
Out for a walk, out for a walk,



And arm in arm they had a nice talk,
Had a nice talk, had a nice talk.

EDITED BY AUNT MARY

MONARCH BOOK COMPANY,

(Formerly L. P. Miller & Co.)
Cuicaco, ILL. . PHILADELPHIA, Pa,



COPYRIGHT, 189%



THE USUAL WAY.

Speen iS) Oem VEaave

There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
For he said, “Ill go a-fishing in the neighboring brook,”
And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
And they met—in the usual way.





Meade Wi

uy erat |

Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by,

But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;

“I thought,” she shyly whispered, “you'd be fishing all the day!”
And he was—in the usual way.



So he gravely took his rod in hand, and threw the line about,

And the fish perceived distinctly he was not looking out;

And he said “Sweetheart, I love you,’ but she said she could not stay,
But she did—in the usual way.



OB lees am SOE eV

Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh,
fis they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by;
‘ We must say good-bye,” she whispered, by the alders old and gray,
And they did—in the usual way.

WH ge
EHH tra terre

Rea





And day by day beside the stream they wandered to and fro,
And day by day the fishes swam securely down below ;
Till this little story ended, as such little stories may,

Very much—in the usual way.

And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?
Do they ever fret and quarrel like other couples do?
Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey ?

Well—they do—in the usual way.

SS











Re AE BSC
Se
ay a, fa a
SEAN TS
: es

moe |
Boy ke



Tur Christmas day is dawning ;

Our carols now we sing ;
And pray the coming season

May peace and gladness bring.

To every one, and all of yours,
‘We wish a merry dav, |

And hope some of its pleasures
Through all the year may stay.

L. A. FRANCE,

THE MORNING-GLORY PITCHER.

I saw a pretty little pitcher the other day. It was covered with
vines and blossoms of morning-glories. A lady showed it to me
who does not play with dolls and tea-sets any more. She lives in
a beautiful home of her own, with plenty of real china for real
people. But she has kept this little pitcher, without a crack or
flaw, since the days when she spread dolls’ tables, and poured cream
from it into little cups for stiff little people with bright eyes and
“real hair,” but with no lips to open for pretended tea and coffee.

There was a little folded paper, yellow from age, inside the
pitcher.

She told me who gave it to her. It was at a children’s party,
where ever so many little girls were dancing about a Christmas
tree, each one with a gift from this kind lady. I did not wonder
she had kept the pitcher.

If you should not know about the lady who gave the pitcher,



THE MORNING-GLORY PITCHER.

when I tell you that her name was Catherine Sedgwick, your
mother will know. She will tell you that when she was a little
girl she used to get away in a snug corner of some old parlor and
read Miss Sedgwick’s stories for children. And perhaps she will
go to the library and take down a green or brown old-fashioned
book and read you about a “ Poor man who was rich, or a rich man
who was poor.” Stories keep, as well as pitchers, when the kind
people who wrote or gave them have gone where we cannot see
them any more.































































These are the verses inside the pitcher: —



“Here’s dear Lucy P. ;
So bright and so rosy,
In each of her cheeks
Is a little red posy.

“T wonder why ’t is
That her eyes are so bright?

I think it’s because
The tree gives so much light.



OUT IN THE STOBM.

“And ’twill show her, I hope,

Something pleasant to see,

Which by common consent
Little Lucy’s shall be.”



And this is the pitcher.



MES. JULIA FP. Rs



OUT IN THE STORM.

Suritt shriek the winter winds
And through the hemlocks s
Swit, in a mae and merry dance,
The snow-flakes whirl across the sky.
The trees with icy boughs
Stand crackling in the gale;
Low from his kennel, snug and warm,
Echoes old Carlo’s mournful wail.









































































































































































































OUT IN THE STORM,

Heap high the blazing grate,
And fill the house with cheer;
In cosey circle clustered round, —
No storms we happy children feax.
Though the loud whistling blasts
O’er land and ocean roam,
We laugh and sing without a care,
Safe in our own dear sheltering hor,

But listen! “Tap, tap, tap,”
Upon the window-pane.
You roguish wind, we love you not,
Pray fly away, nor come agai. !
Ah, look! A shrewd and sparkling eye!
"Tis Master Snow-bird’s plaintiv. chirp:
‘Feed me, kind friends, nor let me die!”

Hasten! the choicest crumbs
Pour on the window-sill.
Welcome, lone wanderers in the gais;
Come, snow-birds all, and take your fill.
He darts away in fright;
Quick, close the sash, and wait!
See, he returns on fluttering wing,
And, joyful, calls his gentle mate.

How sweet, amid the storm,
Their twitters of delight!
And, while we watch their eager jov.
How our own hearts grow warm and light!
Only two mites of birds,
Two specks on the gray sky;
Yet not one pang nor joy they feel,

Escapes the Heavenly Father's eye.
KELAM,



A PUZZLING QUESTION.

A PUZZLING QUESTION.

Are you sitting for your portrait
That you look so grave and glum?
Are you working out a problem,
Or a long division sum ?

If my pussy-cat, my Chloe,
Happ’ned to come wand’ring by,

Would you leave your meditations,
Spread your pretty wings, and fly?

Are you dead, or are you living?
That is what I'd like to know;

Are you stuffed, you poor dear dicky,
Put there just to make a show?



A WEATHERCOCK.

He stands upon the old church tower,
Through calm or tempest, sun or shower :
A bird who never seems to care

To eat or drink, but lives on air!

And why? The reason’s plain to me:
He’s but a weathercock, you see.

MR. WREN.



Mr. Golden-crested Wren;

How you sing when Winter's gone!
For, when leaves are showing, then,
Mr. Golden-crested Wren,
Of your nest you dream again,

Soft and snug, with roof thereon!
Mr. Golden-crested Wren,

How you sing when Winters gone!





A FARMER'S BOY.












































A FARMER'S BOY.

“What will you do, my little man,
When you are tall and strong?”

Says Bertie with a laugh, “I mean
To drive the plow .



along.

‘It must be fun to feed the pigs,

And wear a white smock-frock,
And eat your dinner in the fields,
And rise at four o'clock.

“Besides, to hunt for new-
laid eggs

Is just what I’d enjoy;

Now, don’t you think it

must be nice



To be a farmer’s boy?” A FARMER'S BOF.





HOW MISTRESS SPECKLE CELEBRATED
THANKSGIVING DAY.

’T was early in the morning
Of the glad Thanskgiving Day,
And the people on old grandpa’s farm
Were joyous, blithe, and gay;
For the dinner was preparing,
And the folks from out of town
Were hastening home to help us eat
The turkey crisp and brown.

We children were exploring
The red-roofed barn for eggs,

And climbing up to the rafters, with
No fear of broken legs.

For the boys were bold and daring,
And the girls —'were Tom-boys, too,

And the hens looked on in wild amaze,
And round about us flew.

Said our youngest pet and darling,
“I’m so glad I’m not a hen;

For they don’t have a Thankful day,
Nor dinners, nor” — just then

Uprose our gray old speckle
From her hidden nest near by,



CHLEBRATING THANKSGIVING DAY.

And passed us with a merry cluck,
And crested head on high ;





























































































































































































































































While close behind her followed
The darlings hatched that day, —
Twelve dainty, downy, fluffy chicks,
Some yellow and some gray.
“Cluck, cluck,” said Mistress Speckle,
‘‘Here’s one thankful hen, you see.
Who says that this is not a glad
Thanksgiving Day for me?”

MARY D. BRINE,



THE CANOE OF THE WATER MOTH.

THe gnat builds his ege boat. The water moth, another
little creature, puts together a real canoe. It is a very curious
thing, made of bits of straw and reeds all matted together.
It is just the shape of the caterpillar that lives in it. The msect
breathes with gills just like a fish, and yet cannot swim.
So he fastens this straw { and grass together, winding
them all around with his own 4 silk. The body of the caterpil-
lar is soft and delicate, you | know, and might get hurt if it
a




was left exposed. This
is the reason why he
covers it so carefully,
all but his head.

This funny sort of
canoe is open at both
ends. It is so_ fixed
that when the grub is
tired of sailing he can
sink down upon the
sand. Reaching out
of the upper end are
his six little feet, with
which he drags his
small boat after him whenever he wants to get his din-
ner or put up for the night. After several days he not
only creeps out of this strange house, but out of his skin, at the
same time taking on moth wings.

Many people call these queer creatures “laddis worms.” If you
hunt for them with your young eyes, you can find these little nests
of stone, and gravel, and leaves, made by the grubs, though they
are very small. They seem to have great taste im fixing them.
You should see the houses they make of fresh leaves, curiously put
together. They hang from their shoulders like so many wings.
They are even more like a bud just ready to open.





THE CANOE OF THE WATER MOTH.

These pretty cases of leaves re-glued together, leaving an opening
at its top just large enough for the little creatures to put out their
head and shoulders, when they want to look about for food; others
of the same species cut pieces of reed or wood into lengths or strips,
and join them together as they go on with their work. They use a
certain kind of cement, which is better able to stand water than any
ever made by man. And they often finish up the whole by putting
a broad piece, longer than all the rest, overhead, to shade the door-
way, so that no one shall see them work. Some of these funny
grubs break off bits of the stems of rushes, which, you know grow in
the water, and weave them into a sort of a round ball. ‘Then they
hang them together on the stem of some other water plant, making a
little cell in the middle to live in. Some use tiny shells even, with
snails and other animals alive in them. They keep these poor things

just as if they were in prison, and drag them all about with them.
MRS. G. HALL.







A CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE INDIAN
TERRITORY.

THERE are two little children who like play and playthings, but
who live seven miles from town or neighbor, from post-office or
store, in the Indian Territory. There are only seven





white women in the nearest settlement.
At Christmas, their father brought in a
cottonwood-tree, and made it gay
with gold and silver paper and
pop-corn. The
gold paper
lighted it up in-
stead of tapers.
He hung upon
it all the toys he
was able to get,
and placedat the
top a picture of
Santa Claus driv-
ing his reindeer.
It was n’tmuch
like the Christ-
mas trees you
are used to;
but it delighted

them, because











































they had never
seen anything better. If you don’t know where the Indian Terri-
tory is, you can find it on your map

MARY N. PRESCOTT.



i

inh
a
: :

























































































































































































































































































































































































SANTA CLAUS AT THE SOUTH.

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A GOOSE FLYING A KITE.

Not long ago some little boys were flying small paper kites.
They were made of newspaper, about as big as your hand, with
straws stuck through for sticks.

A flock of tame geese came waddling along, picking up stray
grains of corn. One of the boys took a grain and tied his kite-string
firmly to it. An old gray goose, a little behind the rest, with her
neck stuck out as far as possible, made a grab for the corn. She
got it, but found she had the kite too.

Off she started, — “ Quack, quack, quack!” — with the kite flying
up above her head and her wings flapping all the while. It frightened
the rest of the geese, and such a quacking and flapping as they
made! The boys raced after them, and thought it fine fun to see an
old goose flying a kite.

ET.



TWO YEARS OLD IN MISCHIEF.

mustered courage to go into the hall and shut the door behind her;
but she came back quickly enough. It seemed to her as if the
shadows were all following her up the staircase. It was some time
before she made up her mind to conquer; then she ran up the stairs
as if all the hobgoblins in the fairy-books were behind her. When
she reached the nursery and groped her way about, all at once it
was the same as though the room had been full of sunlight. She
was never afraid of the dark again.

MARY N. PRESCOTT.

TWO-YEARS-OLD IN MISCHIEF.

A crack in the vase, and the roses al! scattered;
A snarl in the knitting, a hunt for the ball;
The ink-bottle shattered, the carpet bespattered ;

Dirt-pies in the hall.

The fruit on the table by tiny teeth bitten;
Wee prints of wet fingers on window and door;
Poor grandmamma’s cap, as a frock for the kitten,
Dragged down on the floor.

Soft gurgles of laughter; a sunshiny glancing,
As somebody flits in and out like a bird;
Strange accidents chancing wherever the dancing,
Small footsteps are heard.

“Come, Ethel, my baby, your grave eyes uplifting,
Stand here at my knee. Do you know the wee sprite,
Who into some ever-new mischief is drifting,
From morning till night?”

A smile like a sunbeam, so coy and caressing,
She smiles in my face, like the witch that she is.
No need of more guessing. “My trouble, my blessing,

Come, give me a kiss!” |
MARGARET JOHNSON.



THE BIRDIES’ MISSION.

Coe little birdies, come,
Come to our calling,
Look at the crumbs we bring,
Show’ring and falling.
Then when you’ve had enough,
Upward go winging,
Round mother’s window pane,

Fly and be singing.

And when you fly away,
When summer’s over,
Tlaply our father’s ship,
You may discover.
Fly to him, little birds,
_ Where he stands steering,
Tell him we wait and pray

For his appearing.

Tell him of mother’s love,
Sing to him gaily,

Tell him his little girls
Miss him so daily.

Then when the winter’s past,
Birdies appearing,

Tell us that father’s boat

Homeward is steering !







































Dor was afraid of the dark; nobody knows why. It has nota
sting like a wasp, nor a thorn like a rose; but Dot was afraid of it.
Perhaps there are some other children like her.

One night she was sitting with her father and mother in the
drawing-room, in the twilight. She wanted her doll, which was
up-stairs in the nursery.

“You will have to go up for it yourself,” said her mother;
‘Bridget is busy in the kitchen.” Dot opened the drawing-room
door and looked out into the hall. It was big and dark, and the
pictures on the walls were all eyes. Even the hat-tree looked as if
it had grown. She shut the door and sat down for a while. Pres-
ently she opened it wide, and put a cricket against it to keep it
open. Still the shadows in the hall were just as thick and dark.
She closed the door and went back to her seat. By and by she



GOOD-NIGHT.

GOOD-NIGHT.

Down the dark stairs unduly,
Two little Nightgowns creep;
To see if Dollies truly
Are safe and sound asleep.
One kiss to each, one only,
Then back on tiptoe light,
“Dear Dollies, don’t be lonely,
Sleep sweet till morning bright!”



And up the stairs at midnight
Mamma will softly creep,

To see if her two Dollies
Are also sound asleep.

She'll bend to kiss them sleeping,
One little pray’r she'll say,

“God bless them thro’ the darkness,
God bless them all the day!”



HOW INSECTS MAKE MUSIC.

Tue katydid has a wing that is very curious to look at. You
have seen this little insect,
I have no doubt. Its color
is light green, and just
where the wing joins the
body there is a thick ridge,
and another on the wing.
On this ridge there is a
thin and strong skin, which
makes a sort of drumhead.

It is the rubbing of these
two ridges, or drumheads,
that makes the queer noise you have heard. There is no music in
it, surely. The insects could keep quiet as well as not, and they
must enjoy doing it.

The katydid usually makes three rubs with its drumheads, some-
times only two. You can fancy she says, “Katy did,” and ‘“ She
did,” or “She didn’t”. The moment it is dusk, they begin. Soon
the whole company are at work. As they rest after each rubbing,
it seems as if they answered each other.

Did you know that bees hum from
wings? It is not the stir of those
light wings we hear. It is the air
and out of the air-tubes, in the
flight. The faster a bee flies
the humming is.

Don’t you
Indeed they
all over them,
and out to the
suffer just as
must remember
insects God has



under their
‘ beautiful
Ҥ\ drawing in













bee’s quick
the louder

believe insects feel ?
do! They have nerves
even through their wings,
end of every feeler. They
much as you do when hurt. You
this, and be kind to all the little
made.
MRS. G. HALL



TWO-YEARS-OLD IN MISCHIEF.





DOLLY'S PRAYERS,

DOLEWS, PRAYERS:
Dolly, Dolly, Nursie’s here,

I must leave you now, I fear,
Let me only brush ‘your hair,
Kiss me then, and say your prayer.

Put your hands together, so,

Say the words in whispers low,
Pray that you may sleep alway,
Safe and sound till break of day.

Pray that never goblin come
To frighten you with fi-fo-fum,
Never rat or bat or mouse
Come a-near your beddy-house.

Pray that when you wake again
I may never cause you pain,
Never beat you, never scold
When I find you getting old.

Pray that brother Alec too

Will not want to play with you,
Will not prick you with a pin
When he tries to look within.








I must leave you, Dolly dear,

Nursie’s getting cross I fear.

There! and now your prayer
you've said,

I must really go to bed.

Don’t be frightened, dear,
at all,
If you want me, Dolly,
Calis
And Tl come to
comfort you,
Go to sleep then,
Dolly, do!





THE UGLY DUCKLING.

ite UCN DwCREING:

On a river broad and fair,

In the land of You-know-where,
Lived a duck who was the envy of the rest;

And her offspring at her side

Filled her mother-heart with pride,
For she naturally considered them the best.

But pride must have a fall;
There was one among them all,
Whose arrival seemed a very sad mistake,
He'd a color all quite
wrong,
And his neck was far
too long,
And his legs a deal too gawky
for a drake.

So with anger, all the rest
~ Drove him flying from
the nest,
And they called him “Ugly
Duckling” in their scorn,
And that ill-used little
thing
Unfurled each ugly wing,
And drifted down the river all
forlorn.















































































































































And the days went sad and slow
As he drifted to and fro,
With all the joy of life forever gone,
Till one morning he espied
His reflection in the tide,
And ‘twas not an ugly duckling, but a swan.

So if misunderstood,
Simply struggle to be good,
"Tis the only way, you see, of getting on;
And with patience and with pluck
Tho’ you once were thought a duck,
You may prove yourself a grand white swan!



SHARP-SHOOTING FISH.

SHARP-SHOOTING FISH,

Some curious stories are told about the shooting fish which are found
in the rivers and small lakes of Siam. The fish passes most of its
time doing nothing in the deep, quiet pools near the shore. When it
becomes: hungry it swims slowly down stream near the surface of the
water. As soon as it sights a fly or bug on a bush or bit of grass
at the water’s edge, it floats up to a position within two or three feet
of the insect, raises its head slightly above the surface of the water,
then for a few seconds it remains motionless, apparently taking aim with
its mouth. Then it projects its under jaw slightly beyond the upper
jaw, and fires from the little round aperture thus formed, a drop of
water at the fly or bug. This drop of water moves with lightning
rapidity, and invariably hits the insect at which it is aimed. The
insect falls into the water, and the fish devours it. Dr. Meister, a
German traveler, says he has often seen a shooting fish bag thirty or
more insects in quick succession after this fashion. Bugs with hard
shells or heavy wings are sometimes impervious to the shooting fish’s
drop of water. Any ordinary insect, however, of smaller size than the
end of a man’s thumb, is usually knocked senseless by it.

In Siam Dr. Meister caught and preserved in his aquarium several
shooting fish. They became tame. They would shoot at almost any
kind of an object that was held over their tank. To test the accuracy
of their aim he occasionally held over the tank a bit of white paste-
board, on which was painted a black fly of about half the size of
the top of a lead pencil. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the fish
hit the fly squarely, and the one hundredth time missed it only bya
hair’s breadth. The end of a pencil, or a finger, or any small round
object held over the tank, always attracted a tiny shower of drops
from the fish below. Three of the shooting fish were trained by the
Doctor to jump five or six inches out of the water to get bits of
food from between his fingers. Dr. Meister considers shooting fish to
be the most intelligent of all fish, and destined to supplant gold fish
in the parlor aquariums of Europe and America. The shooting fish
is usually the size of a man’s hand, short and thick, and of a grayish-
green color. Four heavy black stripes cross its back, which, near the
sides, is of a silvery hue. It is a shy and cautious fish, is rarely
found near other fish, and is difficult to catch.

























































“

— ty As
i Ap, Dee























Ti















va
Uf

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SHARP-SHOOTING FISH.



A FOOLISH MOUSE.

A FOOLISH; MOUSE:

AMtdey
at My

Â¥% 44



This is a tale of a wee little mouse
Who lived in a hole in a wee little house,
And crept out one day, and in manner cool,

Dared to wink at a lordly cat on a stool.

The cat made a leap, but ’twas all in vain,

For mousie was soon in his hole again;

But, alas! the danger once over, Sir Mouse

Ran the same risk again, and ne'er reached his house.

There’s a moral of course to this very old tale,
And to bear it in mind you never should fail :
Unharmed you may once a great peril endure,

But risk it too oft, and repentance is sure!

—G. WEATHERLY.











WILLIE’S FIRST POCKET.

Five happy years have swiftly passed away;
Willie has got his first pocket to-day ;
Ha! Ha!

Oh, how my baby is slipping from me!

What a big man my darling soon will be!

Next year a vest and suspenders we’ll see ;
Ho! Ho!

Proud, very proud of his pocket is he;
See, he has stuffed it as full as can be;

Ho! Ho!

Now toward his mother he turns his brown eyes,
And, though lke a melon it looks from its size,
“ My pocket ain’t big enough, ma!” he cries.
Ha! Ha!
ABRAM LENT SMITH.



THE NEST IN THE MAIL-BOX.

We had to fasten a box for our mail on the gate-post, because the
postman. is afraid of our dog,
and will not come into the
yard. Last stmmer two little
bluebirds made a cunning nest
right in that box.

The mamma bird laid five
tiny eggs, and sat on them,
letting the postman drop the
letters on her. Every morning
and evening the newsboy put in
* the paper. 5
Papa bird brought her worms, and
mamma, sister, and I used to watch him.
He would never go in the box while we





looked on, and when we
walked away he would drop
down quick as a flash.

By and by there were five
little birds in the nest. We
thought the letters and papers
would surely kill them. But
they did not; the birds grew
finely. Their mouths were
always wide open. One day
I put some fine crumbs in
the nest thinking they would
like to eat. I wish you could
have seen mamma bird. She
flew round and round, acting















































































THE NEST IN THE MAIL BOX.

us if crazy. Finally she began taking out the tiny crumbs one by
one, uutil the last one was
away. I had seen pictures
dren feeding crumbs to birds,
thought it the right thing to
surely it was not the food
needed. For several weeks
we watched them, and saw
them grow.

We wanted to see the
mamma teach them to fly. .
But they all left suddenly. The %
nest was empty one day, and we
could never tell our birds from the
others in the yard. I brought the
nest into the house and kept it all
winter. We wondered if we should
see the little birds again the next
year.

At the opening of spring we
watched closely, and sure enough
the bluebirds did come again, and built a nest in the same box,
This time they made a better founda-
tion, raised the nest higher up, lined it
with horse-hair, and put it in one corner
of the box. Then the mamma bird laid
five little eggs, and we and they were
happy-

One day we missed an ege, The
next day another was gone, and then
another, until only one was left. We
found that some bad boys had dis-
covered the nest and were stealing all
the eggs. Finally the boys took the

last one;. then we felt so sorry, and
thought we should see the birds no

thrown
of chil-

I








JOUNNIE BROWNS WHITE DRESS.

more. But they did not give up. They at once tore to pieces the
old nest, and built a new one in another corner. [our more little
eges were laid in it. The bad boys took two of those out. Then
papa and I locked the box. I thought the mamma bird might be
so frightened she would not want to stay on the nest. But she did
stay; and now we have two little baby birds which open their
mouths wide and squirm whenever we raise the cover of the box.

I wonder if any other little boy has such cunning pets.
BERTIE CASTLE.

JOHNNIE BROWN’S WHITE DRESS.

Tus little boy had light curly hair and large blue eyes. He was
achubby, good-natured fellow. Once in a while he would run away
to float a small sail-boat in the harbor. There was a large tub full
of water at home, where he could try his boat; but that was not
large enough to suit him. One day his mother missed him, and
went out to find him. He was down by the shore, with his little
trousers tucked up to his knees. By a long’twine he was letting his
boat ‘Gypsy ” sail towards the ocean. His mamma was quite sur-
prised. She led Johnnie quickly home. What do you think she
did? She made Johnnie put on his little white nightdress, and
keep it on the rest of the day. His other clothes were put in the
closet and locked up. All the rest of the day Jolinnie kept out of
sight. Once in a while he would peep out from behind the door.
He felt badly when he saw the other boys playing outside.

After he had worn this nightdress two or three times, he did not
run away. He minded his mamma, and was a very good little
boy. :

I saw him in the little white nightdress one fine afternoon, and
this is a true story. Johnnie is now grown up into quite a great

boy.

MRS. E. ORR WILLIAMS,





JOHNNIE BROWN’S WHITE DRESS,







BROWN JOHN.

Jonn was a little Indian boy. His real name was very long,
very hard to spell, and very hard to pronounce. So when he came



BROWN JOHN.

im to attend the school for Indian children, the teacher gave him the
name of John. Sometimes he was called Brown John, he was so
very dark.

There were nearly two dozen childrea in the school. They all
had English names by which they were called while in school.
John was the brightest and prettiest of them all’ I am afraid you
would not think any of them were very
pretty.










John was fourteen years old.
ed He had just commenced
fey, reading in words of one
syllable, and could
say his multipli-
cation table up
. to the fives.

He could not write his name, but had learned to make a very
crooked J. He could say two pieces of poetry, and was very
proud of it.
I suspect you think he did not know much. But you must
remember he had been in school only a few months. af 6
Brown John was not duli. One look into his sharp black eyes



TOM AND THK SUGAR.

would show you that. He could do a great many things which
boys who know more about books than he could not.

He could run and leap in a way that would soon tire any one but
an Indian. He could make such cunning traps and snares, that the
most cautious birds and animals were caught in them. He could
ride a wild pony without saddle or bridle, and throw himself to one
side so that he was entirely hidden by the horse. He could shoot
both with a rifle and a bow. He liked his bow best, and could send
his bright-colored arrows to any spot he wished, and bring down
any kind of game. He could see farther than any white man. He
could name a distant object that seemed to the rest of us a mere
speck. He could also hear very quickly, and would notice a sound
before any one else.

Until he came in to the school at the fort, he had lived all his life
in a wigwam, and done nothing but fish, hunt, ride, and play Indian
games. But since he has been there he is anxious to learn like

white men and do as they do.
DEBORAH TALLMAN.

TOM AND THE ‘SUGAR.

Lirtte Tom was very fond of sweets. He always ate jam at
lunch until his mother took the jar away from him. When he
had hot milk to drink, he filled the cup half full of sugar. At
Christmas and on his birthday he would say, ‘‘ Don’t give me toys.
I’d rather have candy than anything else.”

One day Tom was in the kitchen when the grocer’s boy brought
in a basket of packages. Tom saw his mother fill a wooden box
with fine sugar, and set it away in the pantry. |

“Give me some sugar, please, mother,” he said.

“No,” said his mother; “Iam going to put a stop to your eating
so much sugar. It is not good for you. But I will give you a
piece of bread and butter.”

‘““T don’t want bread and butter,” said Tom, feeling very cross

indeed.
“Very well,” said his mother, going ont of the kitchen,



TOM AND THE SUGAR.

"hom was left wiih the cook, who soon went down cellar to skim
the milk. Tom stepped softly into the pantry and raised the lid of
the sugar-box. How nice and white the sugar looked!

“Tt won't hurt me to eat just a little,” thought Tom. So he
seized a handful of sugar and crowded it into his mouth. Just as
he had finished eating it, he heard his mother’s step in the hall. He
ran out of the pantry as she came in.

“Have you been at that sugar, Tom?” she asked.

Tom was fright-
ened. He feared he
would be punished
if he told the truth ;
so he told a story.

“T was just look-
ing at it,” he said.
“T did n’t take a bit.”

His mother did
not say anything.
She took him by the
shoulder and led him
into the parlor, where
there was a long
mirror. Tom looked
in, and saw that the
whole front of his
navy - blue , flannel
waist was covered
with finesugar. He
began to cry.

“You see, your
waist told on you,”
said his mother.
“You ought to be punished; but f will tell you a little story in-
stead; for I don’t think you ever told me a falsehood before, and
I hope you never will again.” ;

Then she drew Tom to her knee, and told him the story of



























































































































































































































































































































































UP CAME A LITTLE ANT

George Washington and the cherry-tree. She asked him if he
would not try to be as good and truthful a boy as George. Tom
cried harder than ever, then; and promised that he would never tell

another falsehood; and I don’t think he ever did.
FLORENCE B, HALLOWELE,

Z¢ \
as FE



One day I saw some hornets on a bank near our house. I went a
little nearer, and saw a hornet which had captured a caterpillar. He
tried hard to carry him off, when up came a little ant. He looked
at them a moment, and then ran around to the side of the hornet.
With a peculiar jump the ant bit the hornet in the side. The hor-
net did not seem to mind it very much, and went on pulling all the
harder at the caterpillar. The ant ran around to the other side, and
bit the hornet again. The hornet flew up about an inch, and came
back. He was just going to take hold of the caterpillar, when the ant
bit him in the head, and he flew away disgusted. He left the cater-
pillar to the ant, who, with the help of the family, carried him to

their home.
WILLIE FORBES.



THEOREVELS (OF LAE! VICE,

AVENE) Re VaaleS

feta
mca bur
I

‘et



‘““ DANCING AT A BALL.”

Eighty little feet which stepped
On each other’s toes;

What the end then might have been

Not a creature knows,



OF i iEe VEL@ ins

Twenty little tricksy mice
Dancing at a ball;

One but danced a step awry,
That confused them all.

Twenty little partners
All mixed up together,
Very like a flock of sheep
Lost in foggy weather.

Twenty little panting throats
Squeaking with affright,

Puffed the lamps and candles out
Pitch-dark was the night.

For just then the faulty one
'Squeaked out in high glee,
“JT could make the step aright

Ite bocouldi but vsee!

Blazed up all the lights again—
What a pretty sight !—

Eighty little twinkling feet
Once more dancing right.

Each one found his partner,
Wove them in and out;
Pussy came to see the fun-

What a sudden rout!

Twenty flying, startled mice,
Eighty scudding feet ;
Twenty peals of laughter gay

Baffled pussy greet.

Danced they in the moonlight then,

Till fair dawn of day;

Why Miss Puss ne’er found them out

No one seems to say.





“ PUSSY CAME TO SEE THE FUN”



CHRISTMAS SONG,

“Wake up! wake up! Old Santy has come
With oceans of goodies and toys!

Wake up! wake up! the chiming bells
Proclaim our festive joys.”

From cellar to attic the riot begins;
Up and down, up and down, their voices ring,
Their bright eyes glance, their sweet lips meet,

And over and over the song they sing:

“Ah! jolly Old Santy, you’ve come once again
With gifts for your girls and your boys!

We greet you, we love you, we speed you away,
For millions are waiting your joys!”

Shout on, happy hearts, hearts pure as the snow;
Shout on, for the years their measures will bring,—
For the bright eyes tears, for the sweet lips sighs,—

But now, O merrily, joyfully sing:

“Santy has come again, Santy has come,
The silvery bells are ringing ;

We'll crown him with holly and mistletoe,
And give him a joyous greeting!”

—ELIZABETH A. Davis, IN OuR LITTLE ONEs.





THE LAZY PUSSY.



THE LAZY. PUSSY.

There lives a good-for-nothing cat, Or climb around and pull her tail,
So lazy it appears, And boldly scratch her nose.
That chirping birds can safely come
And light upon her ears. Fine servants brush her silken coat
And give her cream for tea ;—
And rats and mice can venture out Yet she’s a good-for-nothing cat,
To nibble at her toes, As all the world may see.

.

16§—_ 344



SIMPLICITY OF LOGIC.

SIMPLICITY OF LOGIC.

Max is four years old and bonny,
Sharp as bee-strings, sweet as honey.
Full of little quips and wiles,

Baby frowns and baby smiles;

Doffs his hat to any stranger,

Squeezes Pussy, kisses Ranger ;



DOFFS HIS HAT TO ANY STRANGER.

To be brief, has all the arts
That run away with people’s hearts,

And my little lad chops logic
Like a grown-up pedagogic,
Only simpler; thus he reasons;
What is good befits all seasons;



SHIMPEI CTL VEG ORVEOG LO,

iva thingy 1s: true, .its iene,
Whether said to me or you.
Ah! might grown folks solve their puzzles

Without putting thought in muzzles.

Well, his mamma gave instructions,
But he made his own deductions.
‘When you've something nice to eat,”
She said, ‘‘and company to treat,
Serve the first your little playmate,
Put the largest piece on her plate,
And keep the smallest; don’t forget,
A gentleman must be my pet.”

Max went to Marian’s next day.
Programme: The cake; then after, play.
At home once more, his mamma tender
Said: “Well, dear, did you remember
And give the largest piece of cake

To Marian?” Pause; then outbreak:
“Why, mamma, you fink I know nuffin?
Oh, I geth I ’members sumfin—

“«Give company the largeth piethe,’ you thaid,
An’ I had cake, an’ she had bread;

An’ 7 wath company; of courth

I had the largeth piethe of both.”

His mamma smiled, for logic won;

She failed to scold her little son.

But ever after this, she tried

To keep logic on her side.
WIDE AWAKE,





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































144



OUR CHILDREN'S PARTY.

OUR CHILDREN’S’ PARTY,

AND HOW IT WAS MANAGED.



My little sister Sybil was eight on the first of January, and I was ‘to
be sixteen on the nineteenth; so mamma
said we should keep the two birthdays
together by having a children’s party on
the nineteenth.. One condition only she
made—that I should draw up a programme
of amusements for the evening, and under-
take the arrangements of our little party
without troubling her. She promised to
provide the tea and supper, but all the
games and procedure of the evening’s
entertainment were to be my doing. So
first of all she gave me some money in
hand for invitation-cards, programmes,
etc., and very busy we were one whole
Saturday afternoon writing and sending
‘out the invitations. We got some pretty tinted cards with little gold
‘doves flying in one corner, and wrote out—



SYBIL.



Miss Joan and Miss Sybil Brune
AT Hog,
Thursday, January ith.
408 P.M. RS. V. P.



Great excitement followed in watch-
ing for the answers, and little Sybil
was highly delighted when notes of
acceptance came, and I had to read
them over and over again to let her
know ‘“‘zackly” who was coming. Of
course we had several refusals; the
little ones had measles or colds or
something disagreeable, and my party
dwindled down from forty to thirty.
Ages ranged from five to eleven. I secured three girls of my own age



WRITING THE INVITATIONS.



OUR CHILDREN'S PARTY.

SRL AA

and two boys of seventeen from among our friends to assist me in the
maintenance of order, and to help me with the games.

As the children arrived. nurse stood ready to receive them at the
library door, now turned into’ a cloak-room, and the eldest of each
little party (or nurse of the very little ones) had a small round ticket
given her with a number written on it; this was attached to a silk
cord which she could slip round her neck and so be sure of not losing
it, and no confusion occurred amongst the wraps, coats, shoes, etc. on
their departure. Then they were marshaled into the dining-room, and at
a quarter-past four (for they were all
very punctual in coming), we sat down
to a very plain but pretty tea-table.

Mamma had provided sweet bis-
cuits, brown and white bread-and-butter
cut thin and rolled up so that the
little fingers need not get greasy,
sponge cakes iced with pink and white
sugar, sponge fingers, gingerbread nuts,
etc., with tea, coffee, and plenty of
milk. When tea was over the hitherto
silent tongues began to chatter, and
we asked Miss Drew to play a lively
march tune; this she did, and each
boy then took a girl and marched arm in arm in step downstairs to
the breakfast room, which was cleared for the purpose. We had decorated
the walls with pretty fireplace fans, and the fireplace itself was quite a
work of art, being ornamented with ferns, grasses, and a bright-colored
muslin curtain drawn on one side showing a Japanese screen above the
grasses,

No fire was in the room, but it was well lighted with gas, and warm
curtains were hung over the door and windows.

The children all wondered why IJ had six chairs in a row in the
middle of the room, but I soon showed them what I was going to do.

I chose six girls and seated them on the chairs, and sent six little
boys out of the room, and told my young ladies each to choose a boy
aed tell us who it was.





OUR CHILDREN’S PARTY.

oa

Outside the room Robert, our big boy friend, told the boys when
rang the hand-bell that they were to go in one at a time and each kneel
at the feet of any little girl he thought had chosen him, and when he
came out, if wrong he was not to tell the others to whom he had knelt.
Then poor Roderick Gray was the first to go in and kneel down,
and was soon driven out by the hisses of the players and onlookers, It
was great fun watching the shy way in which the boys came in looking
askance to see if a gleam of recognition might tempt them to kneel at the
feet of a “fayre ladye.” As the game went on some of the girls grew
bold and mischievous, and an ap-
pealing look often drew the small
knight toward them, to be hissed
again if unsuccessful, but when they
did choose rightly, the clapping from
all was quite deafening. That over,
we started tape and the ring for the
very little ones. About twelve stood
in a ring holding their hands over
a piece of tape on which a small
curtain ring was threaded, and the
game was for them to slip the
ring along from one to the other, a
child standing in the center trying



Gi
3 ; : . EACH BOY THEN TOOK A GIRL AND MARCHED
to catch it as it rapidly slipped 2... DOWNSTAIRS.”

from hand to hand. Whenever the ring was found, then that child in

whose hands it was captured went into the center and the other fell
into the ranks again.

While this was going on ‘musical chairs” gave great amusement
to the elder ones. Miss Drew played a quick, bright tune and stopped
suddenly at intervals, taking them unawares, so that they hardly got
time to jump on to a chair, and the laughter and merry shouts showed
their evident enjoyment.

Mamma and papa came in to see the fun, and agreed that our
games were very successful. It was now about six o’clock, and we
assembled them again for a march twice round the room and up the
middle, leaving the girls ranged one side and the boys opposite for



OUR CHILDREN’S PARTY.

the ‘Swedish dance,” and that I think is so well known and such a
favorite that I need not describe it. The children soon entered into
“the spirit of it, and it was such a pretty sight to see them all kneeling
down clapping their hands to the time of the music, while one dear
dainty little pair tripped merrily down, the girl in the middle holding
the boy’s hand as he skipped along outside the kneeling children.
We then let them rest a few minutes, whilst my two friends, Miriam
and Mortimer Mills, went round with baskets of crackers, Then Sybil
took another basket containing tiny fans, and to each girl she gave
one; and Roderick did the same, giving each boy a fan matching those
Sybil had, and the cotillon began by their trying to match their fans

and at once skipping off with a partner. j
After this colored ribbons were

introduced. Miriam and Morti-
mer both wearing jockey caps of
bright colors distributed these,
and Miriam leading or driving
the boys and Mortimer the girls,
went two or three times round the
room to the crack of a whip and a
merry tune, and then each girl
paired off with a boy whose ribbon ~
matched with hers.

“Vanishing faces” was one of
the most popular variations of the
games. Two chairs were placed in the center of the room and a couple
of girls took their places on them, each holding a small mirror in her
hand. The boys then came behind, and looked into the glass. If the
maiden disapproved of the youth whose face she saw reflected she
rubbed the mirror with her handkerchief and he had to retire, and give
place to some one else, and so on till she was satisfied, when she laid
down the glass and gave the successful cavalier her hand, another girh
taking her place.

We had animals and birds—“Noah’s ark animals” in fact—and they
caused immense fun, to say nothing of the children’s pleasure in
carrying off the toys on their departure.

i
RI
4)

on



“ HISSING AND CLAPPING.”



OUR CHILDREN’S PARTY.

At a quarter-past seven oclock Sir Roger de Coveriy was calied for
and after it was over we marched up to supper. Words are wanting
to describe the prettiness and lightness of this. The table was gaily
loaded with masses of ferns and flowers, high silver candelabras,
color and greenery everywhere. A lovely Twelfth night cake with lots
of pretty ornaments on it, and the inside not a plum but a delicious
rice cake, perfectly harmless to the tiniest amongst us. Sandwiches,
chicken, jellies, custards, blanc-manges in all colors, and pretty looking
biscuits, grapes, figs, oranges, chocolate drops, and a little box of sugar
candy and Turkish delight on every plate. Crackers with fans, scent,
bottles, pencil-cases, tablets, book marks,
jewelry, and last, but not least, in a
gorgeous-looking cracker, a Jubilee six-
pence to every little boy and girl. I can
not tell you what delight this last gave,
and what exclamations of surprise there
were! for papa had not told us of his Ny
intention, and we knew the difficulty of fs2tng2 Clapping Sue ai shy Dam

getting them. Supper over we trotted es
5 wusiea! aie OT « }
the children off to nurse to cloak and FOr SioK ae Covartay /
Â¥ \ eee. mf

hand them over to their respective nurses,
and we rushed downstairs to await papa
and mamma and Uncle Stephen, and hear
their remarks.

Papa said that, judging by the shouts
he heard when he came home, he thought they must be enjoying them-
selves. Mamma kissed me and said, “My great pleasure has been in
seeing Joan forget herself in her endeavors to please and amuse her little
friends.”

So ended a day I shall long remember as being one of the brightest
and happiest I have ever spent. Sybil was quite content to say “Good.
night” when her little friends departed, and next day she was as lively
and merry as usual, and talked not a little of our party, and how she
enioyed it.

Carmvrapen
Bos, BORNE ee
f HE [aad ee

S









THE LITTLE VEAR.



A pretty boy, with tumbled curls,
And dimples soft in either cheek,
Who lays his finger on his lip,
And looks at me and does not speak,

A royal child, with that to give
Which I am fain to know and see,
Who shakes a soft, unconscious head:
When I implore on bended knee,

But smiles with eyes serene and sweet And will not loose to silver speech

To see me kneeling at his feet.

A little prince, who needs no crown
To show him lord of all the earth,
Who comes, unbidden, to my door,
And sits beside the silent hearth,
Two wings beneath his tunic gay,
Wherewith some night to fly away.



His lips, close curving each to each.

A stranger, in whose dimpled hand
Half-fearfully my own I lay,

Nor know where I must walk, until
His baby footsteps lead the way.
And yet I needs must hold him dear—-
Time’s youngest-born, the Little Year?

—WIDE AWAKE,







JOSEPHINE.
A TRUE STORY.

Ovr beautiful pet was called Josephine. She was a collie,! with
soft brown eyes, and had a great deal of sense. She seemed to
understand whatever was said to her, and to have many thoughts of
her own besides.

One day we
were going to
send off some of
her pretty pup-
pies on the train.
Josephine went
with us to the ex-
press office, and
saw the little
creatures in the
box ready to set
out.

She came home
with us, but we
soon missed her.
We found that
she had gone
back alone to
take leave of her
puppies.

Poor Josephine
came to us one
evening in great
agony. She lay at our feet with her soft brown eyes raised, as if
pleading for help. We did everything we could for oar pet. A
cruel man had given her poison.

For three days she suffered the greatest pain, and then died. We
buried her as a friend, and covered her grave with green turf and
flowers. PINK GUNTER,

A kind of shepher’s dog.





































NED’S BLACK LAMB.




of a black lamb. Ned was crying when
the lamb came. His mamma had gone
to ride, and had taken one child with
her; she could take but one at a time.
So Ned, and the others whose turn it
was not, stood on the stone terrace with
tearful eyes, watching mamma out of r.

sight. -

Just then a man came into the yard with the lamb. Ned and the
other children did not cry any more, you may be sure.

The black lamb was a very little thing; it had a line of white
about its neck and feet, like a collar and cufts.

The children called it “a beauty,” and ‘a darling,” and they
jumped up and down around it for joy... Pretty soon the lamb did
so too, jumping up and down on its little legs, stiffly but joyfully.
It grew very fond of Ned, and would follow him aboutallday. After
a while Ned’s mamma noticed that his hair was jagged and stubby.

“Why, Ned,” she said, “what is the matter with your hair?”

“My lambie eats it, mamma,” said Ned. “ Lambie eats it, and
he likes it so much; just as well as he does hay!”

This was true: when the little boy sat with his book, or lay in
the shade, the lamb would come up and lovingly nibble his hair. By
and by lambie grew large, and he took a faney to dance a stately
minuet on the baby whenever it toddled out on the lawn. So the

”



NEDS BLACK LAMB.

mother had to send him off to the field, some miles from town. Poor
Ned sadly missed his playmate, and his little heart was full of grief.

Some weeks after, when a flock of sheep went by, his mamma
heard him say to the driver: ‘Please have you a little black lamb



















































\with a white collar round its neck? I would like just a little one.
If you have not any black, a white one will do’most as well!”
_ Even now the family do not talk about the bad ways of that
“black sheep,” for fear of grieving Ned’s faithful little heart.
“ MRS. D. P. SANFORD,



FOUR YEARS OLD.

Wuat makes it night? I want to go .
"Way off behind the sky and see.
The world’s as round as it can be,

Somebody told me, so I know.

You yellow Moon, how bright you are f
Tlave all the stars been put to bed?
And is it true, as Nursey said,

That you’re the baby-stars’ mamma ?

And are they sometimes naughty too?

I cried a little bit to-day ;

The tears would come, —where do they stay
When people’s eyes won't let them through?

My dolly’s in the grass out there.

Be quiet, Wind! you rustle so,

I’m ’fraid you'll wake her up, you know.
Please hush, dear Wind! —I wonder where

That four-leaved clover is that grew

Down by the fence this afternoon.

I’m four years old, too. Tell me, Moon,
When shall I be as old as you?

The clocks are striking in the town.
Oh, dear! I have n’t said my prayers.
‘The little birds, I think, sing theirs, —
I heard them when the sun went down.

Where did it go, and why? Some day
I’ll know a great deal more, I guess,
When I’m not quite so sleepy. — Yes,

“famma, I’m coming right away!
MARGARET JOHNSON,







Sse =
Se





DOLLY’S FAN—A PROCESSION.

DOLLY’S FAN,

Dolly had a silken fan,
Crimson, with a feather border
And she—O, so airily—
Used to sway it from and toward her.

Dolly, seated in her pew, .

Many wondering eyes were scanning ;
Tilting up her dainty chin

Toward the parson, softly fanning,

Every little girl in church,—
Pity 'tis to tell such folly—
While the parson preached and prayed,
Tried to fan her just like Dolly!



DOLLY, SEATED IN HER PEW,

MM

We
AS

A PROCESSION

They all came trooping past the mill,
Singing ‘“‘ Hey diddle diddle! Hey diddle diddle !”
There were Fan and Nan, and Jack and Jill,
And Bess and Jess, and Jim and Will;
Right in the rear ran little Mill,
With eight or nine more in the middle!
And where were they going to down the hill ?
Hey diddle diddle! That is the riddle !

They carried sweet flowers that afternoon,
Singing, ‘Hey diddle diddle! Hey diddle diddle !”
And they all trooped on, with hearts in tune,
To find the cow that jumped over the moon,
The dog that barked, the dish and the spoon,
The wonderful cat and the fiddle!
And that’s where they went to that afternoon !
- Hey diddle diddle! I’ve solved you the riddle!











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S * = \ Ss ~ fon Ke ~ y ‘a ey by yp ak
x = N = Ah .° i teed?
a BRA bas SEN force Wi ew FI Sm ye





A MERCANTILE TRANSACTION.

A MERCANTILE TRANSACTION,

“A pound of jumps/” and I looked in
surprise
At little black Rose with her shining eyes.

“A pound of jumps!—my mother sazd
A pound of jumps,” and she nodded her
head.

“But, my dear, we've flour, and sugar in
lumps,
And peanuts, but never a pound of jumps.

“ With walnuts and chestnuts, and corn that

pops—”
“O, O! I forgot! it’s a pound of hops /”



LITTLE BLACK ROSE,

PD DS

BOSE AND THE PUPPY.

Bose was a large gray dog, that lived at Squire Horton’s on the
hill. He was brought there by.a Frenchman. The man said he was
poor, and would be glad to sell his dog. So Squire Horton took Bose,
for he was a fine watch:dog, and the Frenchman went on his way.

At bedtime Bose was shut up in the kitchen, and told that he must
take good care of the house. In the night Squire Horton was waked by
a growling in the kitchen. Soon he heard Bose give two or three low
barks. Then there was a strange noise, and growls from the dog.

Squire Horton went downstairs with a light, and what do you think
he found? That bad Frenchman came back in the dark to steal his dog.
He raised the window and called softly, “ Bose!.Bose!” But the good

| dog growled, and did not come.
Then the man put his head in at the window, and called again



BOSE AND THE PUPPY.

Bose barked, and seized him by the coat. He held him till Squire
Horton came. Don’t you think Squire Horton was very proud of Bose
that night?

Bose lived on the hill for many years. One night Squire Horton
heard a puppy crying in a field near the house. Bose heard him too,
and in the morning he ran out,
and was not seen again until
night,







At supper time he came
.. back, hot, tired, and hungry.
Squire Horton told
him he was a bad
dog to run off. But
he gave him some
supper. Bose wag-
ged his tail, winked
his eyes, and crept
off to bed.

The next day a
farmer drove up to
Squire Horton’s
door, and said:
“Squire, what a
good dog Bose is.
He brought my lost
puppy home yester-
day. I saw them a
mile off from my~
house; and Bose
was smelling his
way along the track
which the puppy
took when he ran away the day before. He must have gone over twenty
miles before he found his way to my farm.” Then Bose walked up and
wagged his tail for joy.

And what do you think Squire Horton did? Why, he gave Bese a

real nice dinner, and one bone more.

~
RA

a

i

»)
j



DRESSING MARY ANN.

DRESSING MARY ANN.

Ti
She came to me one Christmas Day,

In paper, with a card to say :

2.
“From Santa Claus and Uncle John”—

And not a stitch the child had on



“Tl dress you; never mind!” said I,
“And brush your hair; now, den’t you.

cry.



First I made her little hose,

And shaped them nicely at the toes.

5.
Then I bought a pair of shoes—

A lovely “ dolly’s number twos,”





DRESSING MARY ANN.

6.
Next I made a petticoat ;

And put a chain around her throat.

Then, when she shivered, I made
haste,
And cut her out an underwaist.

>

}.

Next I made a pretty dress,

It took me ‘most a week, I guess.






—. lad
ee uke AG ur ()
\ Se To We



ie Sai) Ny

g) 7 An Nee





DRESSING MARY ANN.



And then I named her Mary Ann,
And gave the dear a paper fan.



Then I trimmed a lovely hat—
Oh, how sweet she looked in chaz.

us

10.
Next I made a velvet sacque

That fitted nicely in the back.

And dear, my sakes, that wasn't ali {
I bought her next a parasol !



A WORD TO MOTHERS.









D
Vs SN a

SEAN Se
SS NN RY f
f Ni ANS
a \ MN e
DSSS .

She looked so grand when she was dressed
You really never would have guessed
How very plain she seemed to be,

The day when first she came to me.
—Mary Marrs Dopcr



A WORD TO MOTHERS.

Would you know the baby’s skies?
Baby’s skies are mother’s eyes.
Mother's eyes and smile together,
Make the baby’s pleasant weather.
Mother, keep your eyes from tears,
Keep your heart from foolish fears ;
Keep your lips from dull complaining,
Lest the baby-think ’tis raining,



CHRIS'S STRANGE TALE.

CHRIS'S STRANGE TALE.

Pat Moore’s home was next door to Chris Grey’s, and great friends the
two were, though Chris was eight years old and Pat was but six.

Mr. and Mrs. Moore had gone up to spend a few days in town, and
Mrs. Grey said she would be glad if Pat might come in each day they were
gone, to have tea with Chris. He came in the first day at four o’clock, and
when tea was done he and Chris went off to the schoolroom to play. They
did noc romp much went to Mrs. Grey’s
this time, for Chris (ie at three o’clock, and
had a new book, as it was so nice and
which had some nice warm, Chris went out
stories in, that she with him to the
read to Pat, and when grounds at once.
she came to the end The tea-bell rang
of one of them they \\ at five, but they did
had a long talk. I not seem to hear it
can’t tell you yet and as they did not
what it all meant, but come in Mrs. Grey
when it was time for told the maid to go
Pat to go home she to the hall door and
put her hand on his ring it there.
arm, and said, ‘‘Mind, But still this did
Pat, you don't tell not bring them home
your nurse a word of and the maid went
our plans.” 4 Pr PAT, YOU DON'T TELL Your down to the fowl.

The next day Pat NURSE” house to look for
them, but they were not there. As time went on Mrs. Grey was infear lest
some harm had come to them, and she sent down to the town, in the hope
that she might hear of them there.

The cook said there had been a queer kind of man round at the back
door at four o'clock, and strange as the thing was, the thought came to Mrs.
Grey’s mind that he must have had in some way to do with the loss of Chris
and Pat.

The news soon spread through the town of the loss of Chris and Pat, and
all who had time to spare ‘and did not need to stay at home, went out to join
‘n the search. but for hours this was made in vain.



( ve





CHRIS’S STRANGE TALE.

Mrs. Grey did not know what to do. She did not like to send to tell Mr.
and Mrs. Moore, and give them a fright, when it might be their child was
quite safe, and would soon be found. Mr. Grey, too, would not be at home
ull quite late, and she had no one to help her to know what was best to be
done. She could not sit still, but up and down the path she went, too full of
grief to weep, and the sun sank down in the sky, and dusk came on.

At last she heard the tramp of feet, and she knew that a small crowd
were on their way to the house. She felt so sick with fear and dread of
what kind of news they brought with them that she did not seem to care to
go down to the gate, but she stood where she was, by the trunk of an old
oak tree, to wait for the news.

At last the news came; the soft breeze brought the sound of a voice, and
what it told her made her fall, as if she were dead, at the foot of that tree.

Yes, for a great joy strikes one at times much in the same way as a great
vrief, for the words that came on the wings of the wind that night were the
good news, “ They are found, found, found!”

And the crowd came up the path to go to the house; in front of it was
the man who had found Chris and Pat, and he held their hands and led them
on. As he went by the tree he caught sight of the white dress that Mrs.
Grey wore, and stood still. Chris saw it too, and with a cry of dread she ran
and flung herself on the grass by her side. Some of the crowd now came up
to help take Mrs. Grey to the house. She was in a faint, but soon came
yound, and her first glance fell on Chris and Pat.

But such a strange Chris and Pat they were, for their cheeks were now
quite brown, and their clothes full of rents, and great mud spots on them.

It was a strange tale that Chris had told those who found them; how a
man had come up to them when they were down at the fowl-house, and caught
hold of them, and put a cloth in their mouths so that they could not cry not,
and when they had gone ona short way, he put some stain first on Chris's
Jace and then on Pat's, and after that he made them walk on a long way, and
meant to take them to a wagon, but he met some one who spoke to him, and
then he left them.

When Mrs. Grey heard all this, she said, “Oh, you poor mites, what a
fright you must have had!” and drew Chris close to her to give her a kiss.

» Oh,” said Chris, “it is not true; it was all my fault ; I did it for fun. I
made Pat’s face all brown, and my own too, like a story I read last night in



CHRIS'S STRANGE TALE.

my new book; then we went to the prairie, and lost our way, and when I
found such a crowd came out to look for us I did not like to tell the truth,
and I thought, too, you would be cross with us.”

It was a great grief to Mrs. Grey to think her child could make up such
a story, but she saw what shame Chris felt when she told the truth of it to
those who found her and Pat, and brought them home,

For a long time Chris could not bear to go out for a walk, for the boys in
the town would call out such rude things to her. She found out, too, how
hard it was fora long time to get her friends to trust her, but I think this
shame has done her good, for she now dreads to say a word which is not
quite true.

Ve
iS

SOO

S
4

































































WAITING FOR BREAKFAST,





A MILKING SONG.

Jump every idler out of bed

And away with Jane to the
milking-shed,

Where, standing deep in balmy
thyme,

We'll find the patient waiting
kine;

And, as we briskly move along,

Our Jane shall sing her milk-

mg song.

“Coming, coming, coming,
I'll not make ye wait,
For the sun has risen,
And ’t is getting late.
Daisy white and Ruby red,
‘Come o’er here to me.





A MILKING SONG.

“Coming, coming, coming,
’T is no ye’d have to wait,
But see! I’m here already
A-standing by the gate;
Daisy white, my heart’s delight,
Just hearken now to me.

“Dreaming, sleeping, eating,
Through the quiet night,
Yet ye keep me waiting
Now I’m fall in sight.
Ruby red, and Daisy white,
I call ye all to me.

“Going, going, going,
I’ve stayed here far too long ;
"Lis little use my singing
When you’re deaf to all my song.
But though you graze in pastures green,
Ye ll want me back ere long, I ween;
And then ye ‘ll low for me.

“Going, going, going,
’T is growing far too late:
T vow Ill stay no longer.
Ah! Now they ’re through the gate.
But, Daisy, Duchess, Ruby, May,
I'll pay ye out another day
For making fun o’ me!”

MRS. A. M. GOODHART,



























































x, your: |

aly. guardie
‘youd. nly

c.your: INFanes Vist

oe
Hier
Sw ds ft
race atias







BAD SIR MOSES.

Srr Moses was called a model kitten. He was nice in his habits,
and grave and quiet in his behavior. To be sure, he would chase
wildly after a ball of yarn when Flora dragged it. And he would
scamper fast enough down the garden walk behind his little mis-
tress, mewing with glee as he ran. But most of the time he was
very still. ILe was asleep in Flora’s lap, or lay upon the rug watche
ing her with half-shut eyes. An old proverb says, “ Still waters run
deep.” Perhaps the man who wrote it knew a cat like Sir Moses.

“T would like to know what becomes of my cream!” This was
what mamma Painter said at the breakfast table. The children all
opened their eyes at her in surprise. “ What do. you mean,
mamma?” asked Bessie.

“Why,” replied her mother, “I bring in the cream in this little
pitcher every morning, when I first come down, and put it on the
table. Now for three mornings it has been half gone by breakfast
time. Who can have taken it?”

Nobody knew. The pitcher was an odd little thing, with a small
neck. One fact was very strange. There was no mark of cream on
*he edges of the pitcher.

There was a great deal of wonder and talk about this curious loss
ot the cream. It happened again the next morning, and the
morning after that. On the third day Bessie was heard shouting,
“ Ah, you rogue, I have caught you at last!” And so she had. It



BAD SI MOSES.

vas that meek Sir Moses. When the pitcher was put upon the
table, he waited till he was left alone. Then he leaped upon the
table, and put his paw in the pitcher. You may be sure it did not
take him long to lick the cream from his paw. Then he dipped







again and again, till he heard somebody coming. When the person
entered, he seemed to be sound asleep.

It was planned so that the sly rogue could steal no more cream.
That night nurse Katy heard Flora add to her praver: “O God,
please forgive Sir Moses, for he did n’t know any better!”

W. H. W. CAMPBELL.



GHORGIE AND THE GEESE.

“Gerorciz, do you want to go to the orchard with me while I
hang up the clothes ?”

“Oh yes, yes, Barbie,” said Georgie, clapping his hands. He was
always glad to go
to the orchard with
some one; but he
was afraid to go
alone, he was such
a little fellow. He
felt sure Barbie
would take just as
good care of him
as mamma always
did; but when the
clothes were hung
up, Barbie went to
the house without

saying a word to
Georgie.

The little boy
very soon found
that he was alone,
and set up a loud
cry. This drew
the attention of a
flock of geese, who
were nibbling
grass near by, and
they all came
around him. No doubt they wondered what small thing it was that
stood so still and made such a noise. It couldn't be a goose, though
Georgie was not much bigger than a goose, and, you iad think,
acted much like one. Was it something good to eat?

They quacked to each other these questions, and then the ewan





GEORGIE AND THE GEESE.

to nibble his fingers. Georgie’s cries grew louder and his tears fell
faster, and oh, how far away the house seemed, and there were no
windows looking out upon the orchard! He would run, but he was
afraid the geese would knock him down with their wings. If he
stood still he was afraid they would eat him up, and mamma would
never know where her little boy had gone to.

Oh, he must get home to mamma; and giving one great, big,





frightened yell, he started and ran, expect-
ing the next moment to feel the strong
white wings beating him to the ground;
but to his great surprise the geese made no objections to his going,
and he was soon showing his bleeding fingers to mamma and telling
the story of his wonderful escape. Mamma listened, and ki-sed the
little finger-tips and bound them up carefully. She rocked her little
boy in her armsand sang to him. The geese in the orchard went on
quietly nibbling the grass. They had forgotten all about him.
MARY A, ALLEN.





IN THE PUBLIC GARDEN.

Wurn Rose was three years old, she was walking one day in the
Public Garden with a grown-up friend.

“T want to sit down,” said she, by and by, “I’m so tired!” It
was so late in the season that all the seats and benches had been
taken away. But there was an empty fower-vase near, and her
friend lifted her into it.

“You can sit here and rest,” said she.

“Now,” said Rose, “I’m a little flower.”





IN THE PUBLIC GARDEN.

After waiting awhile, her friend asked, ‘“Shan’t we walk along
now? Aren’t you rested?”

“Walk along!” repeated Rose. “Why, don’t you see, I’m a
little flower, growing in a vase!”

‘Very well, if you are a little flower I will pick you and take
you home.”

“Oh,” cried Rose, ‘‘ but you are forbidden to pick flowers in the

Public Garden, you know!”
MARY N. PRESCOTT.









Dap Dreams,





ORCHARD CAMP.

Uncie Grorce was going to camp out, so Ted and Will wantea
to try camping out too. ‘Their mother said they were too small to
go off to the woods by themselves, but they might have a little tent
put up at the edge of the orchard. They thought that would be
splendid, for they could play the orchard was a great forest.

Uncle George put up the tent for them before he left. They
named it ‘ Orchard Camp,” and put up a flag so it would wave over
the tent.

They had a very busy time taking their things down to the camp,
for they were to stay three days if it did not rain. They were to
sleep there, too, but Uncle John was to stay with them at night.
They hauled their things down in their cart. In the last load they
took their provision.

Their mother had baked them some cunning little cakes and bis-
cuit. They had crackers, dried beef, and cheese, a large bottle
of milk, and a cup of butter.

The boys had a fine time that night. Uncle Joh. came about
dusk. He built a fire to keep off the mosquitoes, and they sat



around it while he told them a story. It was about when he camped
out and killed a bear.

They were so tired, they had to go to bed early.

Their mother and cousin Will made them a visit the next dav, and
stayed to dinner. They brought some fresh milk and a basket of
lunch. They had a merry time. After they had gone, Uncle John
came and took them down to the creek to fish. They caught five
fish. They cooked them for their supper.

The next day they had a grand surprise. Their mother invited
their cousins Charlie, Fan, Millie, Rod, and Nora to spend the day
with them. The boys did not know about it until they came. Then
what laughing and talking there was! They had a picnic that
lasted all day.

When Ted and Will broke up camp that night, they said they had
had a splendid time. AUNT FRANCES.





THE COW THAT SAID « PLEASE.” |

Freppie was a sad little coward. He always wanted mamma to
sit close beside him when he was going to sleep. One night, when
he called for his: usual go-to-bed story, mamma told him this one:



“Once upon a time there was a lady who had a little boy, and one
night she said to him, ‘Now if you will be brave and go to sleep
all alone, I will pack a trunk, and to-morrow we will go out to see
Uncle John and Aunt Bessie’” That was the shortest story she had

ah!



THE COW THAT SAID PLEASE.

ever told him, but Freddie thought it the nicest, for he guessed in
a minute who the lady was and who the little boy was. He thought
so much of the good times coming, that he was not afraid, and the
first thing he knew, it was bright morning.

They got out to the farm just in time
for dinner. Freddie could hardly stop 4)
for that, though, he was so impatient /(
to go out to the barn to see all the
animals.

Aunt Bessie hurried her dinner, » ¢
so as to please the little boy. / } i:
She took him first to callon the JY fae
cow. Her name was White-
foot, and she thought it was \ ca
about time she had her din- WAN
ner, so she said, ‘‘ Moo!” Mi \ fy
very loud. Such a loud :
noise, coming from such > .
a great big creature, Keele ee
frightened Freddie, gh. s Aaa

ARES,
and he began to y i Ms
ery, mak- Se PSE ‘Yj By LEL

—( ‘93

a ; 4

x









ing a great ;

deal more SSG Ve ix.
noise than ee TE eA,
the cow EEG NS y w

did. Aunt PE |
Bessietried (ee ey =
to quiet Wane a
him by telling him |
that Whitefoot was Ae tee

only saying { i AS acct, A
“Please,” because we PUR TT ay 7 iy '
NX aN : f Ht wt “OY”
she wanted her {[=>Wx :
. . erce re
dinner. Freddie

told mamma afterwards that he would like that cow better if she
~ would n’t talk so loud.





A GOOD-NATURED BEAR.

Whitefoot seemed to be quite as much surprised at Freddie’s big
noise as Freddie was at hers, and she didn’t talk any more. Aunt
Bessie patted her nose and gave her some cornstalks. After a little
while, Freddie grew brave enough to feed her with some of the
longest stalks.

Every day Uncle Jolin gave him a ride out to the garden in his
wheelbarrow, and back again on top of his load of cornstalks.

Whitefoot soon began to expect the little boy; but now, instead
of being afraid of her talking, Freddie was very particular that she
should be polite and say “ Please” every time that she wanted her

dinner.
J. A. M.



A GOOD-NATURED BEAR.

Lirtie Carl, his father, mother, and little sister, lived in the far
West, where there were very few people or houses.

Near their house was a thick woods. One day Carl, though
his mamma had often told him not to do so, thought he would
take Allie into the woods to see if he could not find a hobby-horse.
He knew a hobby-horse was made of wood, though he had never
keen one. Ina childlike way he reasoned that if they were made
of wood, he could perhaps find one in the woods. His papa had
‘promised to buy him one when he went to the village, but Carl felt
‘that he could not wait.



A GOOD-NATURED BEAR,

They wandered hand-in-hand into the woods. They saw so many
pretty flowers, and found such sweet berries, that they almost forgot
the hobby-horse. Suddenly Carl shouted, “Here, Allie! Here is
our hobby-horse at last, and a real live one, too! Isu’t he cunning? |
Come quick, and hold him till I can get on.”




Of course it was not a
hobby-horse It really
was a good-natured little tame bear. He had
wandered away from his home, like the chil-
dren, and was as fond of roaming about.
Allie tried to hold him by the ears till Carl
could climb on his back, but the bear’s hair
was so soft and glossy that her little fat fin-
gers slipped off. The bear, smelling some
berries which Allie had in her hand, began
licking them out with his tongue. In this
way he remained quiet long enough for Carl
to scramble on his back. He got seated, and
was thinking what a nice ride he would have. Just then a loud
scream from his mother, who had come in sight, caused the bear to
scamper off in a fright. He went so fast that poor little Carl was
tumbled upon the ground.





WHAT BECAME OF THE DOLLS.

Mamma was so glad to get her children home safe that she did not
punish Carl for his disobedience. If he had not disobeyed her, he
would not have had that big lump on his forehead which he got by
falling from the bear.

After that day Allie always felt. sad and worried when her papa
went out to hunt, fearing lest he might shoot the runaway horsey.
She liked the bear because he was so nice and sleek, and “didn’t

mean to hurt Carl, after all.”
Cc. B

“



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Wao ato
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we



WHAT BECAME OF THE DOLLS.

A cERTAIN little dolly dear,
With hair as black as ink,

And eyes of painted blue, so clear,
You certainly would think

A bit of sky had tumbled down,
And lighted up her face.

She never had been known to frown, -
And always kept her place,



WHAT BECAME OF THE DOLLS.

Till one day a strange
dolly came, —
She had the blackest
eyes,—
And it was said, much to
her shame,
She told such dreadful
lies.
At all events, she paid no
heed
To what they both were
told ;
In naughty things she
took the lead,
She was so very bold.
She coaxed the blue-eyed
doll away,
Far down arocky shore; |





















It grieves me much,
such things to
say, —

They never were
seen more.

7 But on the sands, at

| ebb of tide,

Their little hats
were found;

And so’twas known

how they had

. died, —

ss ""@&)f_ The dollies both

drowned. per were drowned.






































é Dollie

2 bo th wer

ELIZABETH A, DAVIS.





Tne day was very dark. Little Meta was lonely, for her mamma
was out. She was wondering what to do, when who should come in
but Miss Louise.

Miss Louise was a young German lady, so pleasant and kind that
every one loved her. She knew many pretty stories. She had
travelled in many countries, and she always had something new
or bright to tell children.

“Oh, dear Miss Louise!” cried Meta, running to her, “please
amuse me !”

The young lady thought for a moment, and then she said, “ Did
you ever hear the bells of Cologne ?”

“Why, of course not,” replied the little girl. “ But I have seen a
picture of the Cologne Cathedral in my papa’s Rhine album. My
mamma has some Cologne water in a big bottle.”

Miss Louise laughed. ‘* Wait two minutes,” she said. “Be very
patient, and when I come back you shall hear the bells of Cologne.”

She left the room, and soon returned with a large silver table-
spoon. Then she took a piece of cord about a yard long and tied it
in the middle, in a hard knot, around the slim part of the handle.
She turned up the cloth so that the edge of the table was exposed.
She next asked the wondering Meta to hold out her two forefingers.
Around these she wound the ends of the cord.

“Now put those two fingers in your ears,” she said, “ and swing
the spoon so that the bow] will strike the edge of the table.”



THE BELLS OF COLOGNE.

Meta obeycl.
“Oh, bells!” she
cried; “beautiful,
deep-sounding
church bells! How
wonderful and how
sweet! Oh, Miss
Louise!”

Meta liked it so
well that she would
have gone on swing-
ing the spoon for an
hour, but her friend
stopped her after a
few moments. Meta
ran off to get the
Rhine album to
show the picture of
the Cologne Cathe-
dral. Miss Louise
related many curl-
ous and interesting
things about it, so that the afternoon
passed off very quickly. When the
young lady went away it was time to
get dressed for tea.

“JT fear my little girl has had a
dull time of it,’ said her mamma,
when she came in from her long
drive. “It has been such a gloomy
day.”

“Oh no, mamma! Miss Louise
came. She’s as good—or ’most as
good — as sunlight. After tea, if
youll let me, I'll show you and papa what she showed me, — how
to hear the bells of Cologne. May I?”

































HOW A MOUSE WENT TO. SCHOOL.

“Certainly, my pet.”

But Meta couldn’t wait until after tea. When they sat down at
the table the sight of the spoons made her so impatient that her
papa and mamma thought she had better get it off her mind. So
she showed them then, and they were both delighted with the bells

of Cologne.
EDYTH KIRKWOOD.





HOW A MOUSE WENT TO SCHOOL.

Ons Monday morning Arthur Strong and his sister Jennie were
getting ready for school. They had to walk a mile. Arthur said,
“Hurry, Jennie, or we shall be late.” Jennie wanted her coat,
which was ina dark closet under the stairs. She found it on the
floor. “My careless little girl must hang her coat up,” said her
mamma.

Jennie put it on, and ran after Arthur. When they reached the
school-house the teacher had her shawl on. “ Our stove smokes,”
said she, wiping her eyes. “Keep your coats on, children, until
the room is warm.”

Jennie put her mittens in her pocket and sat down. When school
was out, she put her hand in to take out the mittens. Jennie cried
out, “Oh, oh!” and the teacher ran to her.

“There is something warm and soft in my pocket,” said Jennie.
“T can feel it move.”

“ Let me look,” said the teacher. And sure enough, there was a





HOW A MOUSE WENT TO SCHOOL.

dear little mouse cuddled down in one corner! He had heard the
children read and spell. He had heard them sing. He had heard
them say the Lord’s Prayer. Perhaps his bright eyes saw them all
standing up with their hands folded.



The teacher put
him in a box. Jen-
nie carried the box
home. One day
Arthur made a lit-
tle cage for him.
The mouse is alive
now, and you can
see him at Jennie’s home. The children feed him every day.

The mouse is very fond of music. When Jennie’s sister plays the
plano mousey is very happy. Jennie has taught him to play with a
little ball. It is about as large as a marble. He rolls it about. He
tosses it up in the air and carries it in his mouth. Jennie says he
must go to college one of these days. ;

Mousey looks very wise as he sits in the door of his little house.
When children visit Arthur and Jennie they always want to see
“the mouse that went to school.”







































































































































































































HOW SALLIE SCOURED THE LITTLE BLACK GIRL.

One day grandma said to Sallie, “ Dinah’s little girl is here,
Can't you show her your dolls?”

Sallie was glad to have a little girl to play with.

Pretty soon she came back and said, “ Why, grandma, she’s black !”

“Well,” said grandma, “she’s a good little girl.”

“ But I’m afraid of her,” said Sallie, “ she’s so black.”

“ But Dinah’s black.”

“ Dinah’s a grown-up woman,” said Sallie. “I didn’t know that
little girls were black.”

“ She is as well-behaved as if she weve white,” said grandma, “and
you can have a nice time playing.”

So the two children went, to Sallie’s room, where the dolls were.

“My name’s Sallie; what’s yours?” asked the white girl.

“Marionette,” said the little black girl.

Then they began to play house ; but Sallie suddenly said, “ What
makes you black?”

“T don’t know,” said Marionette.

“Won't it come off if you wash it?”

“No,” said Marionette.

“Did you ever try soap and sand?” asked Sallie.

“ No,” said Marionette.

“Then let’s try,” added Sallie. She brought a basin of water and
some soap and sand and began to rub Marionette’s hand.

“T guess Pll try your face,” she said after a while.

Marionette was a little afraid in the strange house, and had not
dared to cry, but now the soap got into her eyes and the sand into
her mouth, and she began to scream with all her might.

“ What are those children doing?” said grandma to Dinah; and
they both ran upstairs.

There was Marionette crying as loud as she could cry; and there



HOW SALLIE SCOURED THE LITTLE BLACH GIRL.

was Sallie looking as frightened as Marionette, for she had not
meant to hurt her. She held the basin in one hand, and the water
was running over the floor. The
sand was pouring over the edge of
the table, and the kitten was play-
ing with the soap. Grandma told





Sallie that Marionette’s skin was made black; she could not make
at white any more than she could make her own black.
* Sallie often laughs about scouring the little black girl; for this is
a true story, and Sallie is now a grown-up woman.

EVA M. TAPPAN.





POP CORN.

Ou, the sparkling eyes,
In a fairy rg!
Ruddy glows the fire,
And the corn we bring.
a:
Tiny lumps of gold
One by one we drop ;
Give the pan a shake,

Pip! Pop! . Pop!



Pussy on the mat
Wonders at the fun;
Merry little feet
Round the kitchen run.
Smiles and pleasant words
Never, never stop;
Lift the cover now, —
Pip! Pop! Pop!

What a pretty change !

Where’s the yellow gold?
Here are snowy lambs

Nestling in the fold;
Some are wide awake,

On the floor they hop ;
Ring the bell for tea!

Pip! Rope kope

GEORGE COOPER










INSKECT LIFE.

Ir you go out into the fields



and meadows, you will find there



many wonderful little insects. If you
are afraid of some of them, don’t for-
get that the good God made them, and
finished every part of thei bodies just
as carefully as he has made yours, my
dear children.

There are many strange things to
learn about them too. Do you know
how grasshoppers sing, and bees buzz?
Do you know how the wasp builds its

paper nest? How the cricket beats its little tambourines all night



INSECT LIFE.

long’ Or how the tiny ant builds such wonderful houses, some of
them many stories deep?

The ugliest worms, too, will change by and by to most beautiful
butterflies and silvery moths.

All insects are made with-







out bones. Their

skin

hardened

into a sort





of horn; it
has been cut into rings which
move easily upon one another.
Yet they are as solid and strong as animals which have
a great many bones. '

Instead of lungs and blood-vessels like ours, they have curious little
breathing places all along their sides. They have small air veins

which are filled from these and make the whole body light.

MRS. G. HALL.





FEATHER PICTURES.

Tur Aztecs, the people who ruled Mexico four hundred years ago,
were very clever. They could copy any object in nature that they
saw around them. Frogs, birds, leaves, ducks, lizards, serpents,
foxes, wolves, and dogs, —of all these they made images in gold, sil-
ver, clay, and stone. Many of these they adored as gods, but most
of them they used as ornaments. The Spaniards, who took their
country from them in 1521, wondered at their skill. They said that
no silversmith in Spain could make such fine work.

But what they most admired, and what they had never seen before,
was the feather-work. Tiven the old soldiers, who had passed all
their lives in war, were struck with its beauty.

When the Aztecs were conquered, nearly all their beautiful arts
were lost. They soon forgot how to cut precious stones, and how to
mould silver and gold, for they were made slaves of, and had to
labor in the fields. The art of making objects in feathers is about
the only one they have kept and passed down to the present time
from father to son. Even this they are very careful not to show to
strangers. They work in secret, and carefully guard it from sight.

When in Mexico I tried hard to find out how they made the lovely
birds on cards, which they offered for sale on the streets. A friend
took me to the house of one of these artists. It was a little hovel,
where he sat on the mud floor and toiled. But when he heard us
coming he put away all his work and would not let us see it.

He was an Indian, with brown skin and black, straight hair. He
wore ragged clothes, and had an old blanket to keep him warm at
night. Poor as he was, no money would tempt him to show us the
secret, process he had learned from his father, which had been kept
in the family for hundreds of years.



FEATHER PICTURES.

Creat skill is required to produce a perfect picture. First, the
Indian traces on the card the outlines of














the body of the bird in wax, just enough
for the feathers to stick to. Then he be-
gins at the lower part and places them on,
one at a time, one row lapping over the
other, as a slater lays slates. He works
very slowly and patiently.
Perhaps this is the secret
of his perfect work, and
the reason that no other
people have been able to
The result is, a bird that

looks as though it
might sing or fly.

The eyes are
made with small
glass beads, and
the bill and feet are painted so nicely
that they appear to be part of the bird.
Then he paints a twig or branch for it to
rest. on, or makes one from a feather, and
his work is done.

The finest pictures are made from the
bright feathers of the humming-bird.
These are found only on the throats of
these living jewels, and it takes several birds to yield feathers:



SIX YEARS OLD.

enough for one picture. When in the sun, or strong light. the feath-

ers glow hke bright gems. They gleam like rubies and en:eralds, and

seem like live birds perched in the sunlight of their native tropics.
As works of art, these feather pictures are admirable. As the last

remains of a gifted people, they take us back to the storied past.
FREDERICK A. OBER.



SIX YEARS OLD.

Wnar do you think, doll Rosa ?
Look sharp at me, and say!

What do you think has happened ?
Tm six years old to-day.

Yes, this is why my dear mamma
Has dressed you up so gay,

And brought you here to visit me, —
T’m six years old to-day!

You see how fast ’m growing ?
Oh, I forgot, you know,

That you had only met me
An hour or two ago!

I’ve grown a year since yesterday !
My papa told me so.

I’m sure I didn’t feel so tall
A day or two ago!



Full Text






OHE HELD THE FLOWERS AGaINsT HER Lips.
~SNOW AND SUNSHINE

GIRLS AND BOYS...

B& BOOK OF MERRIMENT AND FUN

. Oh, these two little toadies went out for a walk,
Out for a walk, out for a walk,



And arm in arm they had a nice talk,
Had a nice talk, had a nice talk.

EDITED BY AUNT MARY

MONARCH BOOK COMPANY,

(Formerly L. P. Miller & Co.)
Cuicaco, ILL. . PHILADELPHIA, Pa,
COPYRIGHT, 189%
THE USUAL WAY.

Speen iS) Oem VEaave

There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
For he said, “Ill go a-fishing in the neighboring brook,”
And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
And they met—in the usual way.





Meade Wi

uy erat |

Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by,

But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;

“I thought,” she shyly whispered, “you'd be fishing all the day!”
And he was—in the usual way.



So he gravely took his rod in hand, and threw the line about,

And the fish perceived distinctly he was not looking out;

And he said “Sweetheart, I love you,’ but she said she could not stay,
But she did—in the usual way.
OB lees am SOE eV

Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh,
fis they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by;
‘ We must say good-bye,” she whispered, by the alders old and gray,
And they did—in the usual way.

WH ge
EHH tra terre

Rea





And day by day beside the stream they wandered to and fro,
And day by day the fishes swam securely down below ;
Till this little story ended, as such little stories may,

Very much—in the usual way.

And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?
Do they ever fret and quarrel like other couples do?
Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey ?

Well—they do—in the usual way.

SS








Re AE BSC
Se
ay a, fa a
SEAN TS
: es

moe |
Boy ke



Tur Christmas day is dawning ;

Our carols now we sing ;
And pray the coming season

May peace and gladness bring.

To every one, and all of yours,
‘We wish a merry dav, |

And hope some of its pleasures
Through all the year may stay.

L. A. FRANCE,

THE MORNING-GLORY PITCHER.

I saw a pretty little pitcher the other day. It was covered with
vines and blossoms of morning-glories. A lady showed it to me
who does not play with dolls and tea-sets any more. She lives in
a beautiful home of her own, with plenty of real china for real
people. But she has kept this little pitcher, without a crack or
flaw, since the days when she spread dolls’ tables, and poured cream
from it into little cups for stiff little people with bright eyes and
“real hair,” but with no lips to open for pretended tea and coffee.

There was a little folded paper, yellow from age, inside the
pitcher.

She told me who gave it to her. It was at a children’s party,
where ever so many little girls were dancing about a Christmas
tree, each one with a gift from this kind lady. I did not wonder
she had kept the pitcher.

If you should not know about the lady who gave the pitcher,
THE MORNING-GLORY PITCHER.

when I tell you that her name was Catherine Sedgwick, your
mother will know. She will tell you that when she was a little
girl she used to get away in a snug corner of some old parlor and
read Miss Sedgwick’s stories for children. And perhaps she will
go to the library and take down a green or brown old-fashioned
book and read you about a “ Poor man who was rich, or a rich man
who was poor.” Stories keep, as well as pitchers, when the kind
people who wrote or gave them have gone where we cannot see
them any more.































































These are the verses inside the pitcher: —



“Here’s dear Lucy P. ;
So bright and so rosy,
In each of her cheeks
Is a little red posy.

“T wonder why ’t is
That her eyes are so bright?

I think it’s because
The tree gives so much light.
OUT IN THE STOBM.

“And ’twill show her, I hope,

Something pleasant to see,

Which by common consent
Little Lucy’s shall be.”



And this is the pitcher.



MES. JULIA FP. Rs



OUT IN THE STORM.

Suritt shriek the winter winds
And through the hemlocks s
Swit, in a mae and merry dance,
The snow-flakes whirl across the sky.
The trees with icy boughs
Stand crackling in the gale;
Low from his kennel, snug and warm,
Echoes old Carlo’s mournful wail.



































































































































































































OUT IN THE STORM,

Heap high the blazing grate,
And fill the house with cheer;
In cosey circle clustered round, —
No storms we happy children feax.
Though the loud whistling blasts
O’er land and ocean roam,
We laugh and sing without a care,
Safe in our own dear sheltering hor,

But listen! “Tap, tap, tap,”
Upon the window-pane.
You roguish wind, we love you not,
Pray fly away, nor come agai. !
Ah, look! A shrewd and sparkling eye!
"Tis Master Snow-bird’s plaintiv. chirp:
‘Feed me, kind friends, nor let me die!”

Hasten! the choicest crumbs
Pour on the window-sill.
Welcome, lone wanderers in the gais;
Come, snow-birds all, and take your fill.
He darts away in fright;
Quick, close the sash, and wait!
See, he returns on fluttering wing,
And, joyful, calls his gentle mate.

How sweet, amid the storm,
Their twitters of delight!
And, while we watch their eager jov.
How our own hearts grow warm and light!
Only two mites of birds,
Two specks on the gray sky;
Yet not one pang nor joy they feel,

Escapes the Heavenly Father's eye.
KELAM,
A PUZZLING QUESTION.

A PUZZLING QUESTION.

Are you sitting for your portrait
That you look so grave and glum?
Are you working out a problem,
Or a long division sum ?

If my pussy-cat, my Chloe,
Happ’ned to come wand’ring by,

Would you leave your meditations,
Spread your pretty wings, and fly?

Are you dead, or are you living?
That is what I'd like to know;

Are you stuffed, you poor dear dicky,
Put there just to make a show?



A WEATHERCOCK.

He stands upon the old church tower,
Through calm or tempest, sun or shower :
A bird who never seems to care

To eat or drink, but lives on air!

And why? The reason’s plain to me:
He’s but a weathercock, you see.

MR. WREN.



Mr. Golden-crested Wren;

How you sing when Winter's gone!
For, when leaves are showing, then,
Mr. Golden-crested Wren,
Of your nest you dream again,

Soft and snug, with roof thereon!
Mr. Golden-crested Wren,

How you sing when Winters gone!


A FARMER'S BOY.












































A FARMER'S BOY.

“What will you do, my little man,
When you are tall and strong?”

Says Bertie with a laugh, “I mean
To drive the plow .



along.

‘It must be fun to feed the pigs,

And wear a white smock-frock,
And eat your dinner in the fields,
And rise at four o'clock.

“Besides, to hunt for new-
laid eggs

Is just what I’d enjoy;

Now, don’t you think it

must be nice



To be a farmer’s boy?” A FARMER'S BOF.


HOW MISTRESS SPECKLE CELEBRATED
THANKSGIVING DAY.

’T was early in the morning
Of the glad Thanskgiving Day,
And the people on old grandpa’s farm
Were joyous, blithe, and gay;
For the dinner was preparing,
And the folks from out of town
Were hastening home to help us eat
The turkey crisp and brown.

We children were exploring
The red-roofed barn for eggs,

And climbing up to the rafters, with
No fear of broken legs.

For the boys were bold and daring,
And the girls —'were Tom-boys, too,

And the hens looked on in wild amaze,
And round about us flew.

Said our youngest pet and darling,
“I’m so glad I’m not a hen;

For they don’t have a Thankful day,
Nor dinners, nor” — just then

Uprose our gray old speckle
From her hidden nest near by,
CHLEBRATING THANKSGIVING DAY.

And passed us with a merry cluck,
And crested head on high ;





























































































































































































































































While close behind her followed
The darlings hatched that day, —
Twelve dainty, downy, fluffy chicks,
Some yellow and some gray.
“Cluck, cluck,” said Mistress Speckle,
‘‘Here’s one thankful hen, you see.
Who says that this is not a glad
Thanksgiving Day for me?”

MARY D. BRINE,
THE CANOE OF THE WATER MOTH.

THe gnat builds his ege boat. The water moth, another
little creature, puts together a real canoe. It is a very curious
thing, made of bits of straw and reeds all matted together.
It is just the shape of the caterpillar that lives in it. The msect
breathes with gills just like a fish, and yet cannot swim.
So he fastens this straw { and grass together, winding
them all around with his own 4 silk. The body of the caterpil-
lar is soft and delicate, you | know, and might get hurt if it
a




was left exposed. This
is the reason why he
covers it so carefully,
all but his head.

This funny sort of
canoe is open at both
ends. It is so_ fixed
that when the grub is
tired of sailing he can
sink down upon the
sand. Reaching out
of the upper end are
his six little feet, with
which he drags his
small boat after him whenever he wants to get his din-
ner or put up for the night. After several days he not
only creeps out of this strange house, but out of his skin, at the
same time taking on moth wings.

Many people call these queer creatures “laddis worms.” If you
hunt for them with your young eyes, you can find these little nests
of stone, and gravel, and leaves, made by the grubs, though they
are very small. They seem to have great taste im fixing them.
You should see the houses they make of fresh leaves, curiously put
together. They hang from their shoulders like so many wings.
They are even more like a bud just ready to open.


THE CANOE OF THE WATER MOTH.

These pretty cases of leaves re-glued together, leaving an opening
at its top just large enough for the little creatures to put out their
head and shoulders, when they want to look about for food; others
of the same species cut pieces of reed or wood into lengths or strips,
and join them together as they go on with their work. They use a
certain kind of cement, which is better able to stand water than any
ever made by man. And they often finish up the whole by putting
a broad piece, longer than all the rest, overhead, to shade the door-
way, so that no one shall see them work. Some of these funny
grubs break off bits of the stems of rushes, which, you know grow in
the water, and weave them into a sort of a round ball. ‘Then they
hang them together on the stem of some other water plant, making a
little cell in the middle to live in. Some use tiny shells even, with
snails and other animals alive in them. They keep these poor things

just as if they were in prison, and drag them all about with them.
MRS. G. HALL.




A CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE INDIAN
TERRITORY.

THERE are two little children who like play and playthings, but
who live seven miles from town or neighbor, from post-office or
store, in the Indian Territory. There are only seven





white women in the nearest settlement.
At Christmas, their father brought in a
cottonwood-tree, and made it gay
with gold and silver paper and
pop-corn. The
gold paper
lighted it up in-
stead of tapers.
He hung upon
it all the toys he
was able to get,
and placedat the
top a picture of
Santa Claus driv-
ing his reindeer.
It was n’tmuch
like the Christ-
mas trees you
are used to;
but it delighted

them, because











































they had never
seen anything better. If you don’t know where the Indian Terri-
tory is, you can find it on your map

MARY N. PRESCOTT.
i

inh
a
: :

























































































































































































































































































































































































SANTA CLAUS AT THE SOUTH.






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































A GOOSE FLYING A KITE.

Not long ago some little boys were flying small paper kites.
They were made of newspaper, about as big as your hand, with
straws stuck through for sticks.

A flock of tame geese came waddling along, picking up stray
grains of corn. One of the boys took a grain and tied his kite-string
firmly to it. An old gray goose, a little behind the rest, with her
neck stuck out as far as possible, made a grab for the corn. She
got it, but found she had the kite too.

Off she started, — “ Quack, quack, quack!” — with the kite flying
up above her head and her wings flapping all the while. It frightened
the rest of the geese, and such a quacking and flapping as they
made! The boys raced after them, and thought it fine fun to see an
old goose flying a kite.

ET.
TWO YEARS OLD IN MISCHIEF.

mustered courage to go into the hall and shut the door behind her;
but she came back quickly enough. It seemed to her as if the
shadows were all following her up the staircase. It was some time
before she made up her mind to conquer; then she ran up the stairs
as if all the hobgoblins in the fairy-books were behind her. When
she reached the nursery and groped her way about, all at once it
was the same as though the room had been full of sunlight. She
was never afraid of the dark again.

MARY N. PRESCOTT.

TWO-YEARS-OLD IN MISCHIEF.

A crack in the vase, and the roses al! scattered;
A snarl in the knitting, a hunt for the ball;
The ink-bottle shattered, the carpet bespattered ;

Dirt-pies in the hall.

The fruit on the table by tiny teeth bitten;
Wee prints of wet fingers on window and door;
Poor grandmamma’s cap, as a frock for the kitten,
Dragged down on the floor.

Soft gurgles of laughter; a sunshiny glancing,
As somebody flits in and out like a bird;
Strange accidents chancing wherever the dancing,
Small footsteps are heard.

“Come, Ethel, my baby, your grave eyes uplifting,
Stand here at my knee. Do you know the wee sprite,
Who into some ever-new mischief is drifting,
From morning till night?”

A smile like a sunbeam, so coy and caressing,
She smiles in my face, like the witch that she is.
No need of more guessing. “My trouble, my blessing,

Come, give me a kiss!” |
MARGARET JOHNSON.
THE BIRDIES’ MISSION.

Coe little birdies, come,
Come to our calling,
Look at the crumbs we bring,
Show’ring and falling.
Then when you’ve had enough,
Upward go winging,
Round mother’s window pane,

Fly and be singing.

And when you fly away,
When summer’s over,
Tlaply our father’s ship,
You may discover.
Fly to him, little birds,
_ Where he stands steering,
Tell him we wait and pray

For his appearing.

Tell him of mother’s love,
Sing to him gaily,

Tell him his little girls
Miss him so daily.

Then when the winter’s past,
Birdies appearing,

Tell us that father’s boat

Homeward is steering !




































Dor was afraid of the dark; nobody knows why. It has nota
sting like a wasp, nor a thorn like a rose; but Dot was afraid of it.
Perhaps there are some other children like her.

One night she was sitting with her father and mother in the
drawing-room, in the twilight. She wanted her doll, which was
up-stairs in the nursery.

“You will have to go up for it yourself,” said her mother;
‘Bridget is busy in the kitchen.” Dot opened the drawing-room
door and looked out into the hall. It was big and dark, and the
pictures on the walls were all eyes. Even the hat-tree looked as if
it had grown. She shut the door and sat down for a while. Pres-
ently she opened it wide, and put a cricket against it to keep it
open. Still the shadows in the hall were just as thick and dark.
She closed the door and went back to her seat. By and by she
GOOD-NIGHT.

GOOD-NIGHT.

Down the dark stairs unduly,
Two little Nightgowns creep;
To see if Dollies truly
Are safe and sound asleep.
One kiss to each, one only,
Then back on tiptoe light,
“Dear Dollies, don’t be lonely,
Sleep sweet till morning bright!”



And up the stairs at midnight
Mamma will softly creep,

To see if her two Dollies
Are also sound asleep.

She'll bend to kiss them sleeping,
One little pray’r she'll say,

“God bless them thro’ the darkness,
God bless them all the day!”
HOW INSECTS MAKE MUSIC.

Tue katydid has a wing that is very curious to look at. You
have seen this little insect,
I have no doubt. Its color
is light green, and just
where the wing joins the
body there is a thick ridge,
and another on the wing.
On this ridge there is a
thin and strong skin, which
makes a sort of drumhead.

It is the rubbing of these
two ridges, or drumheads,
that makes the queer noise you have heard. There is no music in
it, surely. The insects could keep quiet as well as not, and they
must enjoy doing it.

The katydid usually makes three rubs with its drumheads, some-
times only two. You can fancy she says, “Katy did,” and ‘“ She
did,” or “She didn’t”. The moment it is dusk, they begin. Soon
the whole company are at work. As they rest after each rubbing,
it seems as if they answered each other.

Did you know that bees hum from
wings? It is not the stir of those
light wings we hear. It is the air
and out of the air-tubes, in the
flight. The faster a bee flies
the humming is.

Don’t you
Indeed they
all over them,
and out to the
suffer just as
must remember
insects God has



under their
‘ beautiful
Ҥ\ drawing in













bee’s quick
the louder

believe insects feel ?
do! They have nerves
even through their wings,
end of every feeler. They
much as you do when hurt. You
this, and be kind to all the little
made.
MRS. G. HALL
TWO-YEARS-OLD IN MISCHIEF.


DOLLY'S PRAYERS,

DOLEWS, PRAYERS:
Dolly, Dolly, Nursie’s here,

I must leave you now, I fear,
Let me only brush ‘your hair,
Kiss me then, and say your prayer.

Put your hands together, so,

Say the words in whispers low,
Pray that you may sleep alway,
Safe and sound till break of day.

Pray that never goblin come
To frighten you with fi-fo-fum,
Never rat or bat or mouse
Come a-near your beddy-house.

Pray that when you wake again
I may never cause you pain,
Never beat you, never scold
When I find you getting old.

Pray that brother Alec too

Will not want to play with you,
Will not prick you with a pin
When he tries to look within.








I must leave you, Dolly dear,

Nursie’s getting cross I fear.

There! and now your prayer
you've said,

I must really go to bed.

Don’t be frightened, dear,
at all,
If you want me, Dolly,
Calis
And Tl come to
comfort you,
Go to sleep then,
Dolly, do!


THE UGLY DUCKLING.

ite UCN DwCREING:

On a river broad and fair,

In the land of You-know-where,
Lived a duck who was the envy of the rest;

And her offspring at her side

Filled her mother-heart with pride,
For she naturally considered them the best.

But pride must have a fall;
There was one among them all,
Whose arrival seemed a very sad mistake,
He'd a color all quite
wrong,
And his neck was far
too long,
And his legs a deal too gawky
for a drake.

So with anger, all the rest
~ Drove him flying from
the nest,
And they called him “Ugly
Duckling” in their scorn,
And that ill-used little
thing
Unfurled each ugly wing,
And drifted down the river all
forlorn.















































































































































And the days went sad and slow
As he drifted to and fro,
With all the joy of life forever gone,
Till one morning he espied
His reflection in the tide,
And ‘twas not an ugly duckling, but a swan.

So if misunderstood,
Simply struggle to be good,
"Tis the only way, you see, of getting on;
And with patience and with pluck
Tho’ you once were thought a duck,
You may prove yourself a grand white swan!
SHARP-SHOOTING FISH.

SHARP-SHOOTING FISH,

Some curious stories are told about the shooting fish which are found
in the rivers and small lakes of Siam. The fish passes most of its
time doing nothing in the deep, quiet pools near the shore. When it
becomes: hungry it swims slowly down stream near the surface of the
water. As soon as it sights a fly or bug on a bush or bit of grass
at the water’s edge, it floats up to a position within two or three feet
of the insect, raises its head slightly above the surface of the water,
then for a few seconds it remains motionless, apparently taking aim with
its mouth. Then it projects its under jaw slightly beyond the upper
jaw, and fires from the little round aperture thus formed, a drop of
water at the fly or bug. This drop of water moves with lightning
rapidity, and invariably hits the insect at which it is aimed. The
insect falls into the water, and the fish devours it. Dr. Meister, a
German traveler, says he has often seen a shooting fish bag thirty or
more insects in quick succession after this fashion. Bugs with hard
shells or heavy wings are sometimes impervious to the shooting fish’s
drop of water. Any ordinary insect, however, of smaller size than the
end of a man’s thumb, is usually knocked senseless by it.

In Siam Dr. Meister caught and preserved in his aquarium several
shooting fish. They became tame. They would shoot at almost any
kind of an object that was held over their tank. To test the accuracy
of their aim he occasionally held over the tank a bit of white paste-
board, on which was painted a black fly of about half the size of
the top of a lead pencil. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the fish
hit the fly squarely, and the one hundredth time missed it only bya
hair’s breadth. The end of a pencil, or a finger, or any small round
object held over the tank, always attracted a tiny shower of drops
from the fish below. Three of the shooting fish were trained by the
Doctor to jump five or six inches out of the water to get bits of
food from between his fingers. Dr. Meister considers shooting fish to
be the most intelligent of all fish, and destined to supplant gold fish
in the parlor aquariums of Europe and America. The shooting fish
is usually the size of a man’s hand, short and thick, and of a grayish-
green color. Four heavy black stripes cross its back, which, near the
sides, is of a silvery hue. It is a shy and cautious fish, is rarely
found near other fish, and is difficult to catch.






















































“

— ty As
i Ap, Dee























Ti















va
Uf

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SHARP-SHOOTING FISH.
A FOOLISH MOUSE.

A FOOLISH; MOUSE:

AMtdey
at My

Â¥% 44



This is a tale of a wee little mouse
Who lived in a hole in a wee little house,
And crept out one day, and in manner cool,

Dared to wink at a lordly cat on a stool.

The cat made a leap, but ’twas all in vain,

For mousie was soon in his hole again;

But, alas! the danger once over, Sir Mouse

Ran the same risk again, and ne'er reached his house.

There’s a moral of course to this very old tale,
And to bear it in mind you never should fail :
Unharmed you may once a great peril endure,

But risk it too oft, and repentance is sure!

—G. WEATHERLY.








WILLIE’S FIRST POCKET.

Five happy years have swiftly passed away;
Willie has got his first pocket to-day ;
Ha! Ha!

Oh, how my baby is slipping from me!

What a big man my darling soon will be!

Next year a vest and suspenders we’ll see ;
Ho! Ho!

Proud, very proud of his pocket is he;
See, he has stuffed it as full as can be;

Ho! Ho!

Now toward his mother he turns his brown eyes,
And, though lke a melon it looks from its size,
“ My pocket ain’t big enough, ma!” he cries.
Ha! Ha!
ABRAM LENT SMITH.
THE NEST IN THE MAIL-BOX.

We had to fasten a box for our mail on the gate-post, because the
postman. is afraid of our dog,
and will not come into the
yard. Last stmmer two little
bluebirds made a cunning nest
right in that box.

The mamma bird laid five
tiny eggs, and sat on them,
letting the postman drop the
letters on her. Every morning
and evening the newsboy put in
* the paper. 5
Papa bird brought her worms, and
mamma, sister, and I used to watch him.
He would never go in the box while we





looked on, and when we
walked away he would drop
down quick as a flash.

By and by there were five
little birds in the nest. We
thought the letters and papers
would surely kill them. But
they did not; the birds grew
finely. Their mouths were
always wide open. One day
I put some fine crumbs in
the nest thinking they would
like to eat. I wish you could
have seen mamma bird. She
flew round and round, acting












































































THE NEST IN THE MAIL BOX.

us if crazy. Finally she began taking out the tiny crumbs one by
one, uutil the last one was
away. I had seen pictures
dren feeding crumbs to birds,
thought it the right thing to
surely it was not the food
needed. For several weeks
we watched them, and saw
them grow.

We wanted to see the
mamma teach them to fly. .
But they all left suddenly. The %
nest was empty one day, and we
could never tell our birds from the
others in the yard. I brought the
nest into the house and kept it all
winter. We wondered if we should
see the little birds again the next
year.

At the opening of spring we
watched closely, and sure enough
the bluebirds did come again, and built a nest in the same box,
This time they made a better founda-
tion, raised the nest higher up, lined it
with horse-hair, and put it in one corner
of the box. Then the mamma bird laid
five little eggs, and we and they were
happy-

One day we missed an ege, The
next day another was gone, and then
another, until only one was left. We
found that some bad boys had dis-
covered the nest and were stealing all
the eggs. Finally the boys took the

last one;. then we felt so sorry, and
thought we should see the birds no

thrown
of chil-

I





JOUNNIE BROWNS WHITE DRESS.

more. But they did not give up. They at once tore to pieces the
old nest, and built a new one in another corner. [our more little
eges were laid in it. The bad boys took two of those out. Then
papa and I locked the box. I thought the mamma bird might be
so frightened she would not want to stay on the nest. But she did
stay; and now we have two little baby birds which open their
mouths wide and squirm whenever we raise the cover of the box.

I wonder if any other little boy has such cunning pets.
BERTIE CASTLE.

JOHNNIE BROWN’S WHITE DRESS.

Tus little boy had light curly hair and large blue eyes. He was
achubby, good-natured fellow. Once in a while he would run away
to float a small sail-boat in the harbor. There was a large tub full
of water at home, where he could try his boat; but that was not
large enough to suit him. One day his mother missed him, and
went out to find him. He was down by the shore, with his little
trousers tucked up to his knees. By a long’twine he was letting his
boat ‘Gypsy ” sail towards the ocean. His mamma was quite sur-
prised. She led Johnnie quickly home. What do you think she
did? She made Johnnie put on his little white nightdress, and
keep it on the rest of the day. His other clothes were put in the
closet and locked up. All the rest of the day Jolinnie kept out of
sight. Once in a while he would peep out from behind the door.
He felt badly when he saw the other boys playing outside.

After he had worn this nightdress two or three times, he did not
run away. He minded his mamma, and was a very good little
boy. :

I saw him in the little white nightdress one fine afternoon, and
this is a true story. Johnnie is now grown up into quite a great

boy.

MRS. E. ORR WILLIAMS,


JOHNNIE BROWN’S WHITE DRESS,




BROWN JOHN.

Jonn was a little Indian boy. His real name was very long,
very hard to spell, and very hard to pronounce. So when he came
BROWN JOHN.

im to attend the school for Indian children, the teacher gave him the
name of John. Sometimes he was called Brown John, he was so
very dark.

There were nearly two dozen childrea in the school. They all
had English names by which they were called while in school.
John was the brightest and prettiest of them all’ I am afraid you
would not think any of them were very
pretty.










John was fourteen years old.
ed He had just commenced
fey, reading in words of one
syllable, and could
say his multipli-
cation table up
. to the fives.

He could not write his name, but had learned to make a very
crooked J. He could say two pieces of poetry, and was very
proud of it.
I suspect you think he did not know much. But you must
remember he had been in school only a few months. af 6
Brown John was not duli. One look into his sharp black eyes
TOM AND THK SUGAR.

would show you that. He could do a great many things which
boys who know more about books than he could not.

He could run and leap in a way that would soon tire any one but
an Indian. He could make such cunning traps and snares, that the
most cautious birds and animals were caught in them. He could
ride a wild pony without saddle or bridle, and throw himself to one
side so that he was entirely hidden by the horse. He could shoot
both with a rifle and a bow. He liked his bow best, and could send
his bright-colored arrows to any spot he wished, and bring down
any kind of game. He could see farther than any white man. He
could name a distant object that seemed to the rest of us a mere
speck. He could also hear very quickly, and would notice a sound
before any one else.

Until he came in to the school at the fort, he had lived all his life
in a wigwam, and done nothing but fish, hunt, ride, and play Indian
games. But since he has been there he is anxious to learn like

white men and do as they do.
DEBORAH TALLMAN.

TOM AND THE ‘SUGAR.

Lirtte Tom was very fond of sweets. He always ate jam at
lunch until his mother took the jar away from him. When he
had hot milk to drink, he filled the cup half full of sugar. At
Christmas and on his birthday he would say, ‘‘ Don’t give me toys.
I’d rather have candy than anything else.”

One day Tom was in the kitchen when the grocer’s boy brought
in a basket of packages. Tom saw his mother fill a wooden box
with fine sugar, and set it away in the pantry. |

“Give me some sugar, please, mother,” he said.

“No,” said his mother; “Iam going to put a stop to your eating
so much sugar. It is not good for you. But I will give you a
piece of bread and butter.”

‘““T don’t want bread and butter,” said Tom, feeling very cross

indeed.
“Very well,” said his mother, going ont of the kitchen,
TOM AND THE SUGAR.

"hom was left wiih the cook, who soon went down cellar to skim
the milk. Tom stepped softly into the pantry and raised the lid of
the sugar-box. How nice and white the sugar looked!

“Tt won't hurt me to eat just a little,” thought Tom. So he
seized a handful of sugar and crowded it into his mouth. Just as
he had finished eating it, he heard his mother’s step in the hall. He
ran out of the pantry as she came in.

“Have you been at that sugar, Tom?” she asked.

Tom was fright-
ened. He feared he
would be punished
if he told the truth ;
so he told a story.

“T was just look-
ing at it,” he said.
“T did n’t take a bit.”

His mother did
not say anything.
She took him by the
shoulder and led him
into the parlor, where
there was a long
mirror. Tom looked
in, and saw that the
whole front of his
navy - blue , flannel
waist was covered
with finesugar. He
began to cry.

“You see, your
waist told on you,”
said his mother.
“You ought to be punished; but f will tell you a little story in-
stead; for I don’t think you ever told me a falsehood before, and
I hope you never will again.” ;

Then she drew Tom to her knee, and told him the story of
























































































































































































































































































































































UP CAME A LITTLE ANT

George Washington and the cherry-tree. She asked him if he
would not try to be as good and truthful a boy as George. Tom
cried harder than ever, then; and promised that he would never tell

another falsehood; and I don’t think he ever did.
FLORENCE B, HALLOWELE,

Z¢ \
as FE



One day I saw some hornets on a bank near our house. I went a
little nearer, and saw a hornet which had captured a caterpillar. He
tried hard to carry him off, when up came a little ant. He looked
at them a moment, and then ran around to the side of the hornet.
With a peculiar jump the ant bit the hornet in the side. The hor-
net did not seem to mind it very much, and went on pulling all the
harder at the caterpillar. The ant ran around to the other side, and
bit the hornet again. The hornet flew up about an inch, and came
back. He was just going to take hold of the caterpillar, when the ant
bit him in the head, and he flew away disgusted. He left the cater-
pillar to the ant, who, with the help of the family, carried him to

their home.
WILLIE FORBES.
THEOREVELS (OF LAE! VICE,

AVENE) Re VaaleS

feta
mca bur
I

‘et



‘““ DANCING AT A BALL.”

Eighty little feet which stepped
On each other’s toes;

What the end then might have been

Not a creature knows,



OF i iEe VEL@ ins

Twenty little tricksy mice
Dancing at a ball;

One but danced a step awry,
That confused them all.

Twenty little partners
All mixed up together,
Very like a flock of sheep
Lost in foggy weather.

Twenty little panting throats
Squeaking with affright,

Puffed the lamps and candles out
Pitch-dark was the night.

For just then the faulty one
'Squeaked out in high glee,
“JT could make the step aright

Ite bocouldi but vsee!

Blazed up all the lights again—
What a pretty sight !—

Eighty little twinkling feet
Once more dancing right.

Each one found his partner,
Wove them in and out;
Pussy came to see the fun-

What a sudden rout!

Twenty flying, startled mice,
Eighty scudding feet ;
Twenty peals of laughter gay

Baffled pussy greet.

Danced they in the moonlight then,

Till fair dawn of day;

Why Miss Puss ne’er found them out

No one seems to say.





“ PUSSY CAME TO SEE THE FUN”
CHRISTMAS SONG,

“Wake up! wake up! Old Santy has come
With oceans of goodies and toys!

Wake up! wake up! the chiming bells
Proclaim our festive joys.”

From cellar to attic the riot begins;
Up and down, up and down, their voices ring,
Their bright eyes glance, their sweet lips meet,

And over and over the song they sing:

“Ah! jolly Old Santy, you’ve come once again
With gifts for your girls and your boys!

We greet you, we love you, we speed you away,
For millions are waiting your joys!”

Shout on, happy hearts, hearts pure as the snow;
Shout on, for the years their measures will bring,—
For the bright eyes tears, for the sweet lips sighs,—

But now, O merrily, joyfully sing:

“Santy has come again, Santy has come,
The silvery bells are ringing ;

We'll crown him with holly and mistletoe,
And give him a joyous greeting!”

—ELIZABETH A. Davis, IN OuR LITTLE ONEs.


THE LAZY PUSSY.



THE LAZY. PUSSY.

There lives a good-for-nothing cat, Or climb around and pull her tail,
So lazy it appears, And boldly scratch her nose.
That chirping birds can safely come
And light upon her ears. Fine servants brush her silken coat
And give her cream for tea ;—
And rats and mice can venture out Yet she’s a good-for-nothing cat,
To nibble at her toes, As all the world may see.

.

16§—_ 344
SIMPLICITY OF LOGIC.

SIMPLICITY OF LOGIC.

Max is four years old and bonny,
Sharp as bee-strings, sweet as honey.
Full of little quips and wiles,

Baby frowns and baby smiles;

Doffs his hat to any stranger,

Squeezes Pussy, kisses Ranger ;



DOFFS HIS HAT TO ANY STRANGER.

To be brief, has all the arts
That run away with people’s hearts,

And my little lad chops logic
Like a grown-up pedagogic,
Only simpler; thus he reasons;
What is good befits all seasons;
SHIMPEI CTL VEG ORVEOG LO,

iva thingy 1s: true, .its iene,
Whether said to me or you.
Ah! might grown folks solve their puzzles

Without putting thought in muzzles.

Well, his mamma gave instructions,
But he made his own deductions.
‘When you've something nice to eat,”
She said, ‘‘and company to treat,
Serve the first your little playmate,
Put the largest piece on her plate,
And keep the smallest; don’t forget,
A gentleman must be my pet.”

Max went to Marian’s next day.
Programme: The cake; then after, play.
At home once more, his mamma tender
Said: “Well, dear, did you remember
And give the largest piece of cake

To Marian?” Pause; then outbreak:
“Why, mamma, you fink I know nuffin?
Oh, I geth I ’members sumfin—

“«Give company the largeth piethe,’ you thaid,
An’ I had cake, an’ she had bread;

An’ 7 wath company; of courth

I had the largeth piethe of both.”

His mamma smiled, for logic won;

She failed to scold her little son.

But ever after this, she tried

To keep logic on her side.
WIDE AWAKE,


































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































144
OUR CHILDREN'S PARTY.

OUR CHILDREN’S’ PARTY,

AND HOW IT WAS MANAGED.



My little sister Sybil was eight on the first of January, and I was ‘to
be sixteen on the nineteenth; so mamma
said we should keep the two birthdays
together by having a children’s party on
the nineteenth.. One condition only she
made—that I should draw up a programme
of amusements for the evening, and under-
take the arrangements of our little party
without troubling her. She promised to
provide the tea and supper, but all the
games and procedure of the evening’s
entertainment were to be my doing. So
first of all she gave me some money in
hand for invitation-cards, programmes,
etc., and very busy we were one whole
Saturday afternoon writing and sending
‘out the invitations. We got some pretty tinted cards with little gold
‘doves flying in one corner, and wrote out—



SYBIL.



Miss Joan and Miss Sybil Brune
AT Hog,
Thursday, January ith.
408 P.M. RS. V. P.



Great excitement followed in watch-
ing for the answers, and little Sybil
was highly delighted when notes of
acceptance came, and I had to read
them over and over again to let her
know ‘“‘zackly” who was coming. Of
course we had several refusals; the
little ones had measles or colds or
something disagreeable, and my party
dwindled down from forty to thirty.
Ages ranged from five to eleven. I secured three girls of my own age



WRITING THE INVITATIONS.
OUR CHILDREN'S PARTY.

SRL AA

and two boys of seventeen from among our friends to assist me in the
maintenance of order, and to help me with the games.

As the children arrived. nurse stood ready to receive them at the
library door, now turned into’ a cloak-room, and the eldest of each
little party (or nurse of the very little ones) had a small round ticket
given her with a number written on it; this was attached to a silk
cord which she could slip round her neck and so be sure of not losing
it, and no confusion occurred amongst the wraps, coats, shoes, etc. on
their departure. Then they were marshaled into the dining-room, and at
a quarter-past four (for they were all
very punctual in coming), we sat down
to a very plain but pretty tea-table.

Mamma had provided sweet bis-
cuits, brown and white bread-and-butter
cut thin and rolled up so that the
little fingers need not get greasy,
sponge cakes iced with pink and white
sugar, sponge fingers, gingerbread nuts,
etc., with tea, coffee, and plenty of
milk. When tea was over the hitherto
silent tongues began to chatter, and
we asked Miss Drew to play a lively
march tune; this she did, and each
boy then took a girl and marched arm in arm in step downstairs to
the breakfast room, which was cleared for the purpose. We had decorated
the walls with pretty fireplace fans, and the fireplace itself was quite a
work of art, being ornamented with ferns, grasses, and a bright-colored
muslin curtain drawn on one side showing a Japanese screen above the
grasses,

No fire was in the room, but it was well lighted with gas, and warm
curtains were hung over the door and windows.

The children all wondered why IJ had six chairs in a row in the
middle of the room, but I soon showed them what I was going to do.

I chose six girls and seated them on the chairs, and sent six little
boys out of the room, and told my young ladies each to choose a boy
aed tell us who it was.


OUR CHILDREN’S PARTY.

oa

Outside the room Robert, our big boy friend, told the boys when
rang the hand-bell that they were to go in one at a time and each kneel
at the feet of any little girl he thought had chosen him, and when he
came out, if wrong he was not to tell the others to whom he had knelt.
Then poor Roderick Gray was the first to go in and kneel down,
and was soon driven out by the hisses of the players and onlookers, It
was great fun watching the shy way in which the boys came in looking
askance to see if a gleam of recognition might tempt them to kneel at the
feet of a “fayre ladye.” As the game went on some of the girls grew
bold and mischievous, and an ap-
pealing look often drew the small
knight toward them, to be hissed
again if unsuccessful, but when they
did choose rightly, the clapping from
all was quite deafening. That over,
we started tape and the ring for the
very little ones. About twelve stood
in a ring holding their hands over
a piece of tape on which a small
curtain ring was threaded, and the
game was for them to slip the
ring along from one to the other, a
child standing in the center trying



Gi
3 ; : . EACH BOY THEN TOOK A GIRL AND MARCHED
to catch it as it rapidly slipped 2... DOWNSTAIRS.”

from hand to hand. Whenever the ring was found, then that child in

whose hands it was captured went into the center and the other fell
into the ranks again.

While this was going on ‘musical chairs” gave great amusement
to the elder ones. Miss Drew played a quick, bright tune and stopped
suddenly at intervals, taking them unawares, so that they hardly got
time to jump on to a chair, and the laughter and merry shouts showed
their evident enjoyment.

Mamma and papa came in to see the fun, and agreed that our
games were very successful. It was now about six o’clock, and we
assembled them again for a march twice round the room and up the
middle, leaving the girls ranged one side and the boys opposite for
OUR CHILDREN’S PARTY.

the ‘Swedish dance,” and that I think is so well known and such a
favorite that I need not describe it. The children soon entered into
“the spirit of it, and it was such a pretty sight to see them all kneeling
down clapping their hands to the time of the music, while one dear
dainty little pair tripped merrily down, the girl in the middle holding
the boy’s hand as he skipped along outside the kneeling children.
We then let them rest a few minutes, whilst my two friends, Miriam
and Mortimer Mills, went round with baskets of crackers, Then Sybil
took another basket containing tiny fans, and to each girl she gave
one; and Roderick did the same, giving each boy a fan matching those
Sybil had, and the cotillon began by their trying to match their fans

and at once skipping off with a partner. j
After this colored ribbons were

introduced. Miriam and Morti-
mer both wearing jockey caps of
bright colors distributed these,
and Miriam leading or driving
the boys and Mortimer the girls,
went two or three times round the
room to the crack of a whip and a
merry tune, and then each girl
paired off with a boy whose ribbon ~
matched with hers.

“Vanishing faces” was one of
the most popular variations of the
games. Two chairs were placed in the center of the room and a couple
of girls took their places on them, each holding a small mirror in her
hand. The boys then came behind, and looked into the glass. If the
maiden disapproved of the youth whose face she saw reflected she
rubbed the mirror with her handkerchief and he had to retire, and give
place to some one else, and so on till she was satisfied, when she laid
down the glass and gave the successful cavalier her hand, another girh
taking her place.

We had animals and birds—“Noah’s ark animals” in fact—and they
caused immense fun, to say nothing of the children’s pleasure in
carrying off the toys on their departure.

i
RI
4)

on



“ HISSING AND CLAPPING.”
OUR CHILDREN’S PARTY.

At a quarter-past seven oclock Sir Roger de Coveriy was calied for
and after it was over we marched up to supper. Words are wanting
to describe the prettiness and lightness of this. The table was gaily
loaded with masses of ferns and flowers, high silver candelabras,
color and greenery everywhere. A lovely Twelfth night cake with lots
of pretty ornaments on it, and the inside not a plum but a delicious
rice cake, perfectly harmless to the tiniest amongst us. Sandwiches,
chicken, jellies, custards, blanc-manges in all colors, and pretty looking
biscuits, grapes, figs, oranges, chocolate drops, and a little box of sugar
candy and Turkish delight on every plate. Crackers with fans, scent,
bottles, pencil-cases, tablets, book marks,
jewelry, and last, but not least, in a
gorgeous-looking cracker, a Jubilee six-
pence to every little boy and girl. I can
not tell you what delight this last gave,
and what exclamations of surprise there
were! for papa had not told us of his Ny
intention, and we knew the difficulty of fs2tng2 Clapping Sue ai shy Dam

getting them. Supper over we trotted es
5 wusiea! aie OT « }
the children off to nurse to cloak and FOr SioK ae Covartay /
Â¥ \ eee. mf

hand them over to their respective nurses,
and we rushed downstairs to await papa
and mamma and Uncle Stephen, and hear
their remarks.

Papa said that, judging by the shouts
he heard when he came home, he thought they must be enjoying them-
selves. Mamma kissed me and said, “My great pleasure has been in
seeing Joan forget herself in her endeavors to please and amuse her little
friends.”

So ended a day I shall long remember as being one of the brightest
and happiest I have ever spent. Sybil was quite content to say “Good.
night” when her little friends departed, and next day she was as lively
and merry as usual, and talked not a little of our party, and how she
enioyed it.

Carmvrapen
Bos, BORNE ee
f HE [aad ee

S






THE LITTLE VEAR.



A pretty boy, with tumbled curls,
And dimples soft in either cheek,
Who lays his finger on his lip,
And looks at me and does not speak,

A royal child, with that to give
Which I am fain to know and see,
Who shakes a soft, unconscious head:
When I implore on bended knee,

But smiles with eyes serene and sweet And will not loose to silver speech

To see me kneeling at his feet.

A little prince, who needs no crown
To show him lord of all the earth,
Who comes, unbidden, to my door,
And sits beside the silent hearth,
Two wings beneath his tunic gay,
Wherewith some night to fly away.



His lips, close curving each to each.

A stranger, in whose dimpled hand
Half-fearfully my own I lay,

Nor know where I must walk, until
His baby footsteps lead the way.
And yet I needs must hold him dear—-
Time’s youngest-born, the Little Year?

—WIDE AWAKE,




JOSEPHINE.
A TRUE STORY.

Ovr beautiful pet was called Josephine. She was a collie,! with
soft brown eyes, and had a great deal of sense. She seemed to
understand whatever was said to her, and to have many thoughts of
her own besides.

One day we
were going to
send off some of
her pretty pup-
pies on the train.
Josephine went
with us to the ex-
press office, and
saw the little
creatures in the
box ready to set
out.

She came home
with us, but we
soon missed her.
We found that
she had gone
back alone to
take leave of her
puppies.

Poor Josephine
came to us one
evening in great
agony. She lay at our feet with her soft brown eyes raised, as if
pleading for help. We did everything we could for oar pet. A
cruel man had given her poison.

For three days she suffered the greatest pain, and then died. We
buried her as a friend, and covered her grave with green turf and
flowers. PINK GUNTER,

A kind of shepher’s dog.


































NED’S BLACK LAMB.




of a black lamb. Ned was crying when
the lamb came. His mamma had gone
to ride, and had taken one child with
her; she could take but one at a time.
So Ned, and the others whose turn it
was not, stood on the stone terrace with
tearful eyes, watching mamma out of r.

sight. -

Just then a man came into the yard with the lamb. Ned and the
other children did not cry any more, you may be sure.

The black lamb was a very little thing; it had a line of white
about its neck and feet, like a collar and cufts.

The children called it “a beauty,” and ‘a darling,” and they
jumped up and down around it for joy... Pretty soon the lamb did
so too, jumping up and down on its little legs, stiffly but joyfully.
It grew very fond of Ned, and would follow him aboutallday. After
a while Ned’s mamma noticed that his hair was jagged and stubby.

“Why, Ned,” she said, “what is the matter with your hair?”

“My lambie eats it, mamma,” said Ned. “ Lambie eats it, and
he likes it so much; just as well as he does hay!”

This was true: when the little boy sat with his book, or lay in
the shade, the lamb would come up and lovingly nibble his hair. By
and by lambie grew large, and he took a faney to dance a stately
minuet on the baby whenever it toddled out on the lawn. So the

”
NEDS BLACK LAMB.

mother had to send him off to the field, some miles from town. Poor
Ned sadly missed his playmate, and his little heart was full of grief.

Some weeks after, when a flock of sheep went by, his mamma
heard him say to the driver: ‘Please have you a little black lamb



















































\with a white collar round its neck? I would like just a little one.
If you have not any black, a white one will do’most as well!”
_ Even now the family do not talk about the bad ways of that
“black sheep,” for fear of grieving Ned’s faithful little heart.
“ MRS. D. P. SANFORD,
FOUR YEARS OLD.

Wuat makes it night? I want to go .
"Way off behind the sky and see.
The world’s as round as it can be,

Somebody told me, so I know.

You yellow Moon, how bright you are f
Tlave all the stars been put to bed?
And is it true, as Nursey said,

That you’re the baby-stars’ mamma ?

And are they sometimes naughty too?

I cried a little bit to-day ;

The tears would come, —where do they stay
When people’s eyes won't let them through?

My dolly’s in the grass out there.

Be quiet, Wind! you rustle so,

I’m ’fraid you'll wake her up, you know.
Please hush, dear Wind! —I wonder where

That four-leaved clover is that grew

Down by the fence this afternoon.

I’m four years old, too. Tell me, Moon,
When shall I be as old as you?

The clocks are striking in the town.
Oh, dear! I have n’t said my prayers.
‘The little birds, I think, sing theirs, —
I heard them when the sun went down.

Where did it go, and why? Some day
I’ll know a great deal more, I guess,
When I’m not quite so sleepy. — Yes,

“famma, I’m coming right away!
MARGARET JOHNSON,




Sse =
Se


DOLLY’S FAN—A PROCESSION.

DOLLY’S FAN,

Dolly had a silken fan,
Crimson, with a feather border
And she—O, so airily—
Used to sway it from and toward her.

Dolly, seated in her pew, .

Many wondering eyes were scanning ;
Tilting up her dainty chin

Toward the parson, softly fanning,

Every little girl in church,—
Pity 'tis to tell such folly—
While the parson preached and prayed,
Tried to fan her just like Dolly!



DOLLY, SEATED IN HER PEW,

MM

We
AS

A PROCESSION

They all came trooping past the mill,
Singing ‘“‘ Hey diddle diddle! Hey diddle diddle !”
There were Fan and Nan, and Jack and Jill,
And Bess and Jess, and Jim and Will;
Right in the rear ran little Mill,
With eight or nine more in the middle!
And where were they going to down the hill ?
Hey diddle diddle! That is the riddle !

They carried sweet flowers that afternoon,
Singing, ‘Hey diddle diddle! Hey diddle diddle !”
And they all trooped on, with hearts in tune,
To find the cow that jumped over the moon,
The dog that barked, the dish and the spoon,
The wonderful cat and the fiddle!
And that’s where they went to that afternoon !
- Hey diddle diddle! I’ve solved you the riddle!








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a BRA bas SEN force Wi ew FI Sm ye


A MERCANTILE TRANSACTION.

A MERCANTILE TRANSACTION,

“A pound of jumps/” and I looked in
surprise
At little black Rose with her shining eyes.

“A pound of jumps!—my mother sazd
A pound of jumps,” and she nodded her
head.

“But, my dear, we've flour, and sugar in
lumps,
And peanuts, but never a pound of jumps.

“ With walnuts and chestnuts, and corn that

pops—”
“O, O! I forgot! it’s a pound of hops /”



LITTLE BLACK ROSE,

PD DS

BOSE AND THE PUPPY.

Bose was a large gray dog, that lived at Squire Horton’s on the
hill. He was brought there by.a Frenchman. The man said he was
poor, and would be glad to sell his dog. So Squire Horton took Bose,
for he was a fine watch:dog, and the Frenchman went on his way.

At bedtime Bose was shut up in the kitchen, and told that he must
take good care of the house. In the night Squire Horton was waked by
a growling in the kitchen. Soon he heard Bose give two or three low
barks. Then there was a strange noise, and growls from the dog.

Squire Horton went downstairs with a light, and what do you think
he found? That bad Frenchman came back in the dark to steal his dog.
He raised the window and called softly, “ Bose!.Bose!” But the good

| dog growled, and did not come.
Then the man put his head in at the window, and called again
BOSE AND THE PUPPY.

Bose barked, and seized him by the coat. He held him till Squire
Horton came. Don’t you think Squire Horton was very proud of Bose
that night?

Bose lived on the hill for many years. One night Squire Horton
heard a puppy crying in a field near the house. Bose heard him too,
and in the morning he ran out,
and was not seen again until
night,







At supper time he came
.. back, hot, tired, and hungry.
Squire Horton told
him he was a bad
dog to run off. But
he gave him some
supper. Bose wag-
ged his tail, winked
his eyes, and crept
off to bed.

The next day a
farmer drove up to
Squire Horton’s
door, and said:
“Squire, what a
good dog Bose is.
He brought my lost
puppy home yester-
day. I saw them a
mile off from my~
house; and Bose
was smelling his
way along the track
which the puppy
took when he ran away the day before. He must have gone over twenty
miles before he found his way to my farm.” Then Bose walked up and
wagged his tail for joy.

And what do you think Squire Horton did? Why, he gave Bese a

real nice dinner, and one bone more.

~
RA

a

i

»)
j
DRESSING MARY ANN.

DRESSING MARY ANN.

Ti
She came to me one Christmas Day,

In paper, with a card to say :

2.
“From Santa Claus and Uncle John”—

And not a stitch the child had on



“Tl dress you; never mind!” said I,
“And brush your hair; now, den’t you.

cry.



First I made her little hose,

And shaped them nicely at the toes.

5.
Then I bought a pair of shoes—

A lovely “ dolly’s number twos,”


DRESSING MARY ANN.

6.
Next I made a petticoat ;

And put a chain around her throat.

Then, when she shivered, I made
haste,
And cut her out an underwaist.

>

}.

Next I made a pretty dress,

It took me ‘most a week, I guess.






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ee uke AG ur ()
\ Se To We



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DRESSING MARY ANN.



And then I named her Mary Ann,
And gave the dear a paper fan.



Then I trimmed a lovely hat—
Oh, how sweet she looked in chaz.

us

10.
Next I made a velvet sacque

That fitted nicely in the back.

And dear, my sakes, that wasn't ali {
I bought her next a parasol !
A WORD TO MOTHERS.









D
Vs SN a

SEAN Se
SS NN RY f
f Ni ANS
a \ MN e
DSSS .

She looked so grand when she was dressed
You really never would have guessed
How very plain she seemed to be,

The day when first she came to me.
—Mary Marrs Dopcr



A WORD TO MOTHERS.

Would you know the baby’s skies?
Baby’s skies are mother’s eyes.
Mother's eyes and smile together,
Make the baby’s pleasant weather.
Mother, keep your eyes from tears,
Keep your heart from foolish fears ;
Keep your lips from dull complaining,
Lest the baby-think ’tis raining,
CHRIS'S STRANGE TALE.

CHRIS'S STRANGE TALE.

Pat Moore’s home was next door to Chris Grey’s, and great friends the
two were, though Chris was eight years old and Pat was but six.

Mr. and Mrs. Moore had gone up to spend a few days in town, and
Mrs. Grey said she would be glad if Pat might come in each day they were
gone, to have tea with Chris. He came in the first day at four o’clock, and
when tea was done he and Chris went off to the schoolroom to play. They
did noc romp much went to Mrs. Grey’s
this time, for Chris (ie at three o’clock, and
had a new book, as it was so nice and
which had some nice warm, Chris went out
stories in, that she with him to the
read to Pat, and when grounds at once.
she came to the end The tea-bell rang
of one of them they \\ at five, but they did
had a long talk. I not seem to hear it
can’t tell you yet and as they did not
what it all meant, but come in Mrs. Grey
when it was time for told the maid to go
Pat to go home she to the hall door and
put her hand on his ring it there.
arm, and said, ‘‘Mind, But still this did
Pat, you don't tell not bring them home
your nurse a word of and the maid went
our plans.” 4 Pr PAT, YOU DON'T TELL Your down to the fowl.

The next day Pat NURSE” house to look for
them, but they were not there. As time went on Mrs. Grey was infear lest
some harm had come to them, and she sent down to the town, in the hope
that she might hear of them there.

The cook said there had been a queer kind of man round at the back
door at four o'clock, and strange as the thing was, the thought came to Mrs.
Grey’s mind that he must have had in some way to do with the loss of Chris
and Pat.

The news soon spread through the town of the loss of Chris and Pat, and
all who had time to spare ‘and did not need to stay at home, went out to join
‘n the search. but for hours this was made in vain.



( ve


CHRIS’S STRANGE TALE.

Mrs. Grey did not know what to do. She did not like to send to tell Mr.
and Mrs. Moore, and give them a fright, when it might be their child was
quite safe, and would soon be found. Mr. Grey, too, would not be at home
ull quite late, and she had no one to help her to know what was best to be
done. She could not sit still, but up and down the path she went, too full of
grief to weep, and the sun sank down in the sky, and dusk came on.

At last she heard the tramp of feet, and she knew that a small crowd
were on their way to the house. She felt so sick with fear and dread of
what kind of news they brought with them that she did not seem to care to
go down to the gate, but she stood where she was, by the trunk of an old
oak tree, to wait for the news.

At last the news came; the soft breeze brought the sound of a voice, and
what it told her made her fall, as if she were dead, at the foot of that tree.

Yes, for a great joy strikes one at times much in the same way as a great
vrief, for the words that came on the wings of the wind that night were the
good news, “ They are found, found, found!”

And the crowd came up the path to go to the house; in front of it was
the man who had found Chris and Pat, and he held their hands and led them
on. As he went by the tree he caught sight of the white dress that Mrs.
Grey wore, and stood still. Chris saw it too, and with a cry of dread she ran
and flung herself on the grass by her side. Some of the crowd now came up
to help take Mrs. Grey to the house. She was in a faint, but soon came
yound, and her first glance fell on Chris and Pat.

But such a strange Chris and Pat they were, for their cheeks were now
quite brown, and their clothes full of rents, and great mud spots on them.

It was a strange tale that Chris had told those who found them; how a
man had come up to them when they were down at the fowl-house, and caught
hold of them, and put a cloth in their mouths so that they could not cry not,
and when they had gone ona short way, he put some stain first on Chris's
Jace and then on Pat's, and after that he made them walk on a long way, and
meant to take them to a wagon, but he met some one who spoke to him, and
then he left them.

When Mrs. Grey heard all this, she said, “Oh, you poor mites, what a
fright you must have had!” and drew Chris close to her to give her a kiss.

» Oh,” said Chris, “it is not true; it was all my fault ; I did it for fun. I
made Pat’s face all brown, and my own too, like a story I read last night in
CHRIS'S STRANGE TALE.

my new book; then we went to the prairie, and lost our way, and when I
found such a crowd came out to look for us I did not like to tell the truth,
and I thought, too, you would be cross with us.”

It was a great grief to Mrs. Grey to think her child could make up such
a story, but she saw what shame Chris felt when she told the truth of it to
those who found her and Pat, and brought them home,

For a long time Chris could not bear to go out for a walk, for the boys in
the town would call out such rude things to her. She found out, too, how
hard it was fora long time to get her friends to trust her, but I think this
shame has done her good, for she now dreads to say a word which is not
quite true.

Ve
iS

SOO

S
4

































































WAITING FOR BREAKFAST,


A MILKING SONG.

Jump every idler out of bed

And away with Jane to the
milking-shed,

Where, standing deep in balmy
thyme,

We'll find the patient waiting
kine;

And, as we briskly move along,

Our Jane shall sing her milk-

mg song.

“Coming, coming, coming,
I'll not make ye wait,
For the sun has risen,
And ’t is getting late.
Daisy white and Ruby red,
‘Come o’er here to me.


A MILKING SONG.

“Coming, coming, coming,
’T is no ye’d have to wait,
But see! I’m here already
A-standing by the gate;
Daisy white, my heart’s delight,
Just hearken now to me.

“Dreaming, sleeping, eating,
Through the quiet night,
Yet ye keep me waiting
Now I’m fall in sight.
Ruby red, and Daisy white,
I call ye all to me.

“Going, going, going,
I’ve stayed here far too long ;
"Lis little use my singing
When you’re deaf to all my song.
But though you graze in pastures green,
Ye ll want me back ere long, I ween;
And then ye ‘ll low for me.

“Going, going, going,
’T is growing far too late:
T vow Ill stay no longer.
Ah! Now they ’re through the gate.
But, Daisy, Duchess, Ruby, May,
I'll pay ye out another day
For making fun o’ me!”

MRS. A. M. GOODHART,
























































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BAD SIR MOSES.

Srr Moses was called a model kitten. He was nice in his habits,
and grave and quiet in his behavior. To be sure, he would chase
wildly after a ball of yarn when Flora dragged it. And he would
scamper fast enough down the garden walk behind his little mis-
tress, mewing with glee as he ran. But most of the time he was
very still. ILe was asleep in Flora’s lap, or lay upon the rug watche
ing her with half-shut eyes. An old proverb says, “ Still waters run
deep.” Perhaps the man who wrote it knew a cat like Sir Moses.

“T would like to know what becomes of my cream!” This was
what mamma Painter said at the breakfast table. The children all
opened their eyes at her in surprise. “ What do. you mean,
mamma?” asked Bessie.

“Why,” replied her mother, “I bring in the cream in this little
pitcher every morning, when I first come down, and put it on the
table. Now for three mornings it has been half gone by breakfast
time. Who can have taken it?”

Nobody knew. The pitcher was an odd little thing, with a small
neck. One fact was very strange. There was no mark of cream on
*he edges of the pitcher.

There was a great deal of wonder and talk about this curious loss
ot the cream. It happened again the next morning, and the
morning after that. On the third day Bessie was heard shouting,
“ Ah, you rogue, I have caught you at last!” And so she had. It
BAD SI MOSES.

vas that meek Sir Moses. When the pitcher was put upon the
table, he waited till he was left alone. Then he leaped upon the
table, and put his paw in the pitcher. You may be sure it did not
take him long to lick the cream from his paw. Then he dipped







again and again, till he heard somebody coming. When the person
entered, he seemed to be sound asleep.

It was planned so that the sly rogue could steal no more cream.
That night nurse Katy heard Flora add to her praver: “O God,
please forgive Sir Moses, for he did n’t know any better!”

W. H. W. CAMPBELL.
GHORGIE AND THE GEESE.

“Gerorciz, do you want to go to the orchard with me while I
hang up the clothes ?”

“Oh yes, yes, Barbie,” said Georgie, clapping his hands. He was
always glad to go
to the orchard with
some one; but he
was afraid to go
alone, he was such
a little fellow. He
felt sure Barbie
would take just as
good care of him
as mamma always
did; but when the
clothes were hung
up, Barbie went to
the house without

saying a word to
Georgie.

The little boy
very soon found
that he was alone,
and set up a loud
cry. This drew
the attention of a
flock of geese, who
were nibbling
grass near by, and
they all came
around him. No doubt they wondered what small thing it was that
stood so still and made such a noise. It couldn't be a goose, though
Georgie was not much bigger than a goose, and, you iad think,
acted much like one. Was it something good to eat?

They quacked to each other these questions, and then the ewan


GEORGIE AND THE GEESE.

to nibble his fingers. Georgie’s cries grew louder and his tears fell
faster, and oh, how far away the house seemed, and there were no
windows looking out upon the orchard! He would run, but he was
afraid the geese would knock him down with their wings. If he
stood still he was afraid they would eat him up, and mamma would
never know where her little boy had gone to.

Oh, he must get home to mamma; and giving one great, big,





frightened yell, he started and ran, expect-
ing the next moment to feel the strong
white wings beating him to the ground;
but to his great surprise the geese made no objections to his going,
and he was soon showing his bleeding fingers to mamma and telling
the story of his wonderful escape. Mamma listened, and ki-sed the
little finger-tips and bound them up carefully. She rocked her little
boy in her armsand sang to him. The geese in the orchard went on
quietly nibbling the grass. They had forgotten all about him.
MARY A, ALLEN.


IN THE PUBLIC GARDEN.

Wurn Rose was three years old, she was walking one day in the
Public Garden with a grown-up friend.

“T want to sit down,” said she, by and by, “I’m so tired!” It
was so late in the season that all the seats and benches had been
taken away. But there was an empty fower-vase near, and her
friend lifted her into it.

“You can sit here and rest,” said she.

“Now,” said Rose, “I’m a little flower.”


IN THE PUBLIC GARDEN.

After waiting awhile, her friend asked, ‘“Shan’t we walk along
now? Aren’t you rested?”

“Walk along!” repeated Rose. “Why, don’t you see, I’m a
little flower, growing in a vase!”

‘Very well, if you are a little flower I will pick you and take
you home.”

“Oh,” cried Rose, ‘‘ but you are forbidden to pick flowers in the

Public Garden, you know!”
MARY N. PRESCOTT.









Dap Dreams,


ORCHARD CAMP.

Uncie Grorce was going to camp out, so Ted and Will wantea
to try camping out too. ‘Their mother said they were too small to
go off to the woods by themselves, but they might have a little tent
put up at the edge of the orchard. They thought that would be
splendid, for they could play the orchard was a great forest.

Uncle George put up the tent for them before he left. They
named it ‘ Orchard Camp,” and put up a flag so it would wave over
the tent.

They had a very busy time taking their things down to the camp,
for they were to stay three days if it did not rain. They were to
sleep there, too, but Uncle John was to stay with them at night.
They hauled their things down in their cart. In the last load they
took their provision.

Their mother had baked them some cunning little cakes and bis-
cuit. They had crackers, dried beef, and cheese, a large bottle
of milk, and a cup of butter.

The boys had a fine time that night. Uncle Joh. came about
dusk. He built a fire to keep off the mosquitoes, and they sat
around it while he told them a story. It was about when he camped
out and killed a bear.

They were so tired, they had to go to bed early.

Their mother and cousin Will made them a visit the next dav, and
stayed to dinner. They brought some fresh milk and a basket of
lunch. They had a merry time. After they had gone, Uncle John
came and took them down to the creek to fish. They caught five
fish. They cooked them for their supper.

The next day they had a grand surprise. Their mother invited
their cousins Charlie, Fan, Millie, Rod, and Nora to spend the day
with them. The boys did not know about it until they came. Then
what laughing and talking there was! They had a picnic that
lasted all day.

When Ted and Will broke up camp that night, they said they had
had a splendid time. AUNT FRANCES.


THE COW THAT SAID « PLEASE.” |

Freppie was a sad little coward. He always wanted mamma to
sit close beside him when he was going to sleep. One night, when
he called for his: usual go-to-bed story, mamma told him this one:



“Once upon a time there was a lady who had a little boy, and one
night she said to him, ‘Now if you will be brave and go to sleep
all alone, I will pack a trunk, and to-morrow we will go out to see
Uncle John and Aunt Bessie’” That was the shortest story she had

ah!
THE COW THAT SAID PLEASE.

ever told him, but Freddie thought it the nicest, for he guessed in
a minute who the lady was and who the little boy was. He thought
so much of the good times coming, that he was not afraid, and the
first thing he knew, it was bright morning.

They got out to the farm just in time
for dinner. Freddie could hardly stop 4)
for that, though, he was so impatient /(
to go out to the barn to see all the
animals.

Aunt Bessie hurried her dinner, » ¢
so as to please the little boy. / } i:
She took him first to callon the JY fae
cow. Her name was White-
foot, and she thought it was \ ca
about time she had her din- WAN
ner, so she said, ‘‘ Moo!” Mi \ fy
very loud. Such a loud :
noise, coming from such > .
a great big creature, Keele ee
frightened Freddie, gh. s Aaa

ARES,
and he began to y i Ms
ery, mak- Se PSE ‘Yj By LEL

—( ‘93

a ; 4

x









ing a great ;

deal more SSG Ve ix.
noise than ee TE eA,
the cow EEG NS y w

did. Aunt PE |
Bessietried (ee ey =
to quiet Wane a
him by telling him |
that Whitefoot was Ae tee

only saying { i AS acct, A
“Please,” because we PUR TT ay 7 iy '
NX aN : f Ht wt “OY”
she wanted her {[=>Wx :
. . erce re
dinner. Freddie

told mamma afterwards that he would like that cow better if she
~ would n’t talk so loud.


A GOOD-NATURED BEAR.

Whitefoot seemed to be quite as much surprised at Freddie’s big
noise as Freddie was at hers, and she didn’t talk any more. Aunt
Bessie patted her nose and gave her some cornstalks. After a little
while, Freddie grew brave enough to feed her with some of the
longest stalks.

Every day Uncle Jolin gave him a ride out to the garden in his
wheelbarrow, and back again on top of his load of cornstalks.

Whitefoot soon began to expect the little boy; but now, instead
of being afraid of her talking, Freddie was very particular that she
should be polite and say “ Please” every time that she wanted her

dinner.
J. A. M.



A GOOD-NATURED BEAR.

Lirtie Carl, his father, mother, and little sister, lived in the far
West, where there were very few people or houses.

Near their house was a thick woods. One day Carl, though
his mamma had often told him not to do so, thought he would
take Allie into the woods to see if he could not find a hobby-horse.
He knew a hobby-horse was made of wood, though he had never
keen one. Ina childlike way he reasoned that if they were made
of wood, he could perhaps find one in the woods. His papa had
‘promised to buy him one when he went to the village, but Carl felt
‘that he could not wait.
A GOOD-NATURED BEAR,

They wandered hand-in-hand into the woods. They saw so many
pretty flowers, and found such sweet berries, that they almost forgot
the hobby-horse. Suddenly Carl shouted, “Here, Allie! Here is
our hobby-horse at last, and a real live one, too! Isu’t he cunning? |
Come quick, and hold him till I can get on.”




Of course it was not a
hobby-horse It really
was a good-natured little tame bear. He had
wandered away from his home, like the chil-
dren, and was as fond of roaming about.
Allie tried to hold him by the ears till Carl
could climb on his back, but the bear’s hair
was so soft and glossy that her little fat fin-
gers slipped off. The bear, smelling some
berries which Allie had in her hand, began
licking them out with his tongue. In this
way he remained quiet long enough for Carl
to scramble on his back. He got seated, and
was thinking what a nice ride he would have. Just then a loud
scream from his mother, who had come in sight, caused the bear to
scamper off in a fright. He went so fast that poor little Carl was
tumbled upon the ground.


WHAT BECAME OF THE DOLLS.

Mamma was so glad to get her children home safe that she did not
punish Carl for his disobedience. If he had not disobeyed her, he
would not have had that big lump on his forehead which he got by
falling from the bear.

After that day Allie always felt. sad and worried when her papa
went out to hunt, fearing lest he might shoot the runaway horsey.
She liked the bear because he was so nice and sleek, and “didn’t

mean to hurt Carl, after all.”
Cc. B

“



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=~
Wao ato
“29,
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rece
we



WHAT BECAME OF THE DOLLS.

A cERTAIN little dolly dear,
With hair as black as ink,

And eyes of painted blue, so clear,
You certainly would think

A bit of sky had tumbled down,
And lighted up her face.

She never had been known to frown, -
And always kept her place,
WHAT BECAME OF THE DOLLS.

Till one day a strange
dolly came, —
She had the blackest
eyes,—
And it was said, much to
her shame,
She told such dreadful
lies.
At all events, she paid no
heed
To what they both were
told ;
In naughty things she
took the lead,
She was so very bold.
She coaxed the blue-eyed
doll away,
Far down arocky shore; |





















It grieves me much,
such things to
say, —

They never were
seen more.

7 But on the sands, at

| ebb of tide,

Their little hats
were found;

And so’twas known

how they had

. died, —

ss ""@&)f_ The dollies both

drowned. per were drowned.






































é Dollie

2 bo th wer

ELIZABETH A, DAVIS.


Tne day was very dark. Little Meta was lonely, for her mamma
was out. She was wondering what to do, when who should come in
but Miss Louise.

Miss Louise was a young German lady, so pleasant and kind that
every one loved her. She knew many pretty stories. She had
travelled in many countries, and she always had something new
or bright to tell children.

“Oh, dear Miss Louise!” cried Meta, running to her, “please
amuse me !”

The young lady thought for a moment, and then she said, “ Did
you ever hear the bells of Cologne ?”

“Why, of course not,” replied the little girl. “ But I have seen a
picture of the Cologne Cathedral in my papa’s Rhine album. My
mamma has some Cologne water in a big bottle.”

Miss Louise laughed. ‘* Wait two minutes,” she said. “Be very
patient, and when I come back you shall hear the bells of Cologne.”

She left the room, and soon returned with a large silver table-
spoon. Then she took a piece of cord about a yard long and tied it
in the middle, in a hard knot, around the slim part of the handle.
She turned up the cloth so that the edge of the table was exposed.
She next asked the wondering Meta to hold out her two forefingers.
Around these she wound the ends of the cord.

“Now put those two fingers in your ears,” she said, “ and swing
the spoon so that the bow] will strike the edge of the table.”
THE BELLS OF COLOGNE.

Meta obeycl.
“Oh, bells!” she
cried; “beautiful,
deep-sounding
church bells! How
wonderful and how
sweet! Oh, Miss
Louise!”

Meta liked it so
well that she would
have gone on swing-
ing the spoon for an
hour, but her friend
stopped her after a
few moments. Meta
ran off to get the
Rhine album to
show the picture of
the Cologne Cathe-
dral. Miss Louise
related many curl-
ous and interesting
things about it, so that the afternoon
passed off very quickly. When the
young lady went away it was time to
get dressed for tea.

“JT fear my little girl has had a
dull time of it,’ said her mamma,
when she came in from her long
drive. “It has been such a gloomy
day.”

“Oh no, mamma! Miss Louise
came. She’s as good—or ’most as
good — as sunlight. After tea, if
youll let me, I'll show you and papa what she showed me, — how
to hear the bells of Cologne. May I?”






























HOW A MOUSE WENT TO. SCHOOL.

“Certainly, my pet.”

But Meta couldn’t wait until after tea. When they sat down at
the table the sight of the spoons made her so impatient that her
papa and mamma thought she had better get it off her mind. So
she showed them then, and they were both delighted with the bells

of Cologne.
EDYTH KIRKWOOD.





HOW A MOUSE WENT TO SCHOOL.

Ons Monday morning Arthur Strong and his sister Jennie were
getting ready for school. They had to walk a mile. Arthur said,
“Hurry, Jennie, or we shall be late.” Jennie wanted her coat,
which was ina dark closet under the stairs. She found it on the
floor. “My careless little girl must hang her coat up,” said her
mamma.

Jennie put it on, and ran after Arthur. When they reached the
school-house the teacher had her shawl on. “ Our stove smokes,”
said she, wiping her eyes. “Keep your coats on, children, until
the room is warm.”

Jennie put her mittens in her pocket and sat down. When school
was out, she put her hand in to take out the mittens. Jennie cried
out, “Oh, oh!” and the teacher ran to her.

“There is something warm and soft in my pocket,” said Jennie.
“T can feel it move.”

“ Let me look,” said the teacher. And sure enough, there was a


HOW A MOUSE WENT TO SCHOOL.

dear little mouse cuddled down in one corner! He had heard the
children read and spell. He had heard them sing. He had heard
them say the Lord’s Prayer. Perhaps his bright eyes saw them all
standing up with their hands folded.



The teacher put
him in a box. Jen-
nie carried the box
home. One day
Arthur made a lit-
tle cage for him.
The mouse is alive
now, and you can
see him at Jennie’s home. The children feed him every day.

The mouse is very fond of music. When Jennie’s sister plays the
plano mousey is very happy. Jennie has taught him to play with a
little ball. It is about as large as a marble. He rolls it about. He
tosses it up in the air and carries it in his mouth. Jennie says he
must go to college one of these days. ;

Mousey looks very wise as he sits in the door of his little house.
When children visit Arthur and Jennie they always want to see
“the mouse that went to school.”




































































































































































































HOW SALLIE SCOURED THE LITTLE BLACK GIRL.

One day grandma said to Sallie, “ Dinah’s little girl is here,
Can't you show her your dolls?”

Sallie was glad to have a little girl to play with.

Pretty soon she came back and said, “ Why, grandma, she’s black !”

“Well,” said grandma, “she’s a good little girl.”

“ But I’m afraid of her,” said Sallie, “ she’s so black.”

“ But Dinah’s black.”

“ Dinah’s a grown-up woman,” said Sallie. “I didn’t know that
little girls were black.”

“ She is as well-behaved as if she weve white,” said grandma, “and
you can have a nice time playing.”

So the two children went, to Sallie’s room, where the dolls were.

“My name’s Sallie; what’s yours?” asked the white girl.

“Marionette,” said the little black girl.

Then they began to play house ; but Sallie suddenly said, “ What
makes you black?”

“T don’t know,” said Marionette.

“Won't it come off if you wash it?”

“No,” said Marionette.

“Did you ever try soap and sand?” asked Sallie.

“ No,” said Marionette.

“Then let’s try,” added Sallie. She brought a basin of water and
some soap and sand and began to rub Marionette’s hand.

“T guess Pll try your face,” she said after a while.

Marionette was a little afraid in the strange house, and had not
dared to cry, but now the soap got into her eyes and the sand into
her mouth, and she began to scream with all her might.

“ What are those children doing?” said grandma to Dinah; and
they both ran upstairs.

There was Marionette crying as loud as she could cry; and there
HOW SALLIE SCOURED THE LITTLE BLACH GIRL.

was Sallie looking as frightened as Marionette, for she had not
meant to hurt her. She held the basin in one hand, and the water
was running over the floor. The
sand was pouring over the edge of
the table, and the kitten was play-
ing with the soap. Grandma told





Sallie that Marionette’s skin was made black; she could not make
at white any more than she could make her own black.
* Sallie often laughs about scouring the little black girl; for this is
a true story, and Sallie is now a grown-up woman.

EVA M. TAPPAN.


POP CORN.

Ou, the sparkling eyes,
In a fairy rg!
Ruddy glows the fire,
And the corn we bring.
a:
Tiny lumps of gold
One by one we drop ;
Give the pan a shake,

Pip! Pop! . Pop!



Pussy on the mat
Wonders at the fun;
Merry little feet
Round the kitchen run.
Smiles and pleasant words
Never, never stop;
Lift the cover now, —
Pip! Pop! Pop!

What a pretty change !

Where’s the yellow gold?
Here are snowy lambs

Nestling in the fold;
Some are wide awake,

On the floor they hop ;
Ring the bell for tea!

Pip! Rope kope

GEORGE COOPER




INSKECT LIFE.

Ir you go out into the fields



and meadows, you will find there



many wonderful little insects. If you
are afraid of some of them, don’t for-
get that the good God made them, and
finished every part of thei bodies just
as carefully as he has made yours, my
dear children.

There are many strange things to
learn about them too. Do you know
how grasshoppers sing, and bees buzz?
Do you know how the wasp builds its

paper nest? How the cricket beats its little tambourines all night
INSECT LIFE.

long’ Or how the tiny ant builds such wonderful houses, some of
them many stories deep?

The ugliest worms, too, will change by and by to most beautiful
butterflies and silvery moths.

All insects are made with-







out bones. Their

skin

hardened

into a sort





of horn; it
has been cut into rings which
move easily upon one another.
Yet they are as solid and strong as animals which have
a great many bones. '

Instead of lungs and blood-vessels like ours, they have curious little
breathing places all along their sides. They have small air veins

which are filled from these and make the whole body light.

MRS. G. HALL.


FEATHER PICTURES.

Tur Aztecs, the people who ruled Mexico four hundred years ago,
were very clever. They could copy any object in nature that they
saw around them. Frogs, birds, leaves, ducks, lizards, serpents,
foxes, wolves, and dogs, —of all these they made images in gold, sil-
ver, clay, and stone. Many of these they adored as gods, but most
of them they used as ornaments. The Spaniards, who took their
country from them in 1521, wondered at their skill. They said that
no silversmith in Spain could make such fine work.

But what they most admired, and what they had never seen before,
was the feather-work. Tiven the old soldiers, who had passed all
their lives in war, were struck with its beauty.

When the Aztecs were conquered, nearly all their beautiful arts
were lost. They soon forgot how to cut precious stones, and how to
mould silver and gold, for they were made slaves of, and had to
labor in the fields. The art of making objects in feathers is about
the only one they have kept and passed down to the present time
from father to son. Even this they are very careful not to show to
strangers. They work in secret, and carefully guard it from sight.

When in Mexico I tried hard to find out how they made the lovely
birds on cards, which they offered for sale on the streets. A friend
took me to the house of one of these artists. It was a little hovel,
where he sat on the mud floor and toiled. But when he heard us
coming he put away all his work and would not let us see it.

He was an Indian, with brown skin and black, straight hair. He
wore ragged clothes, and had an old blanket to keep him warm at
night. Poor as he was, no money would tempt him to show us the
secret, process he had learned from his father, which had been kept
in the family for hundreds of years.
FEATHER PICTURES.

Creat skill is required to produce a perfect picture. First, the
Indian traces on the card the outlines of














the body of the bird in wax, just enough
for the feathers to stick to. Then he be-
gins at the lower part and places them on,
one at a time, one row lapping over the
other, as a slater lays slates. He works
very slowly and patiently.
Perhaps this is the secret
of his perfect work, and
the reason that no other
people have been able to
The result is, a bird that

looks as though it
might sing or fly.

The eyes are
made with small
glass beads, and
the bill and feet are painted so nicely
that they appear to be part of the bird.
Then he paints a twig or branch for it to
rest. on, or makes one from a feather, and
his work is done.

The finest pictures are made from the
bright feathers of the humming-bird.
These are found only on the throats of
these living jewels, and it takes several birds to yield feathers:
SIX YEARS OLD.

enough for one picture. When in the sun, or strong light. the feath-

ers glow hke bright gems. They gleam like rubies and en:eralds, and

seem like live birds perched in the sunlight of their native tropics.
As works of art, these feather pictures are admirable. As the last

remains of a gifted people, they take us back to the storied past.
FREDERICK A. OBER.



SIX YEARS OLD.

Wnar do you think, doll Rosa ?
Look sharp at me, and say!

What do you think has happened ?
Tm six years old to-day.

Yes, this is why my dear mamma
Has dressed you up so gay,

And brought you here to visit me, —
T’m six years old to-day!

You see how fast ’m growing ?
Oh, I forgot, you know,

That you had only met me
An hour or two ago!

I’ve grown a year since yesterday !
My papa told me so.

I’m sure I didn’t feel so tall
A day or two ago!
SIX YEARS OLD.

And, don’t you think, dell Rosa,
’m most too old to play ?

I really feel quite busy,
Because I’m six to-day.



I cuess Pll help mamma a while !
I wonder what she’ll say.
And after that we'll celebrate !
Because I’m six to-day.
UN@€LE FELIX.


CHILDREN NO MORE.

pD° you remember where we played,
The pools upon the shore,

The crabs we caught, the boat we made,
The old sea’s rush and roar?

Do you remember how I vowed
To sail across the blue,

And build behind the silver cloud
A palace-home for you?

Do you remember all our pain
Beside the little pool,

When you were taken home again,
And IT went back to school ?

You smiled upon me through your tears,
And took my keepsake knife,

You vowed to love me all the years,
And be my little wife !

We may go back to those old spots
Where we were boy and maid,

The woods of sweet forget-me-nots,
The shore whereon we played ;

Again may hear the same woods ring,
Again the old sea’s roar,

But to our childhood’s far-off spring

We can return no more!
MISS LOLLIPOP.

MISS LOLLIPOP

Two little feet stamping over the floor;
Two little fists thumping hard at the door,
One little body all bustle and noise—
Room for Miss Lollipop, all of you boys!

One little voice full of squeaks and of sings;
One little gait full of hops and of springs ;
Two bonny eyes full of laughter and tears;
And the cunningest, loveliest pink pair of ears,



eee Item: One dear little pug of a nose;

Item: Ten sweet little fingers and toes;
Item: One golden brown wig, closely
curled ;
And item: The best little heart in the
world;





“TWISTING PAPA.”

Two little dimples in two rosy
cheeks ;

Ten little teeth that shine when
she speaks ;

And a gay little giggle when
funny things strike her;
This is Miss Lollipop! How do

you like her?

THUMPING HARD AT THE DOOR.
MISS LOLLIPOP.

She’s all smiles and sunshine, and brimming with play
When everything happens to go her own way ;

But tease her, or fret her, or cause her to cry,

And spinkety! spankety! Isn’t she high?

Perhaps you may think that my lady is meek,
Perhaps you may think that my lady is weak:
But strong as papa is, Miss Pop, if you please,
Can twist him around her small fingers with ease!

Her brothers are slaves to this proud little pet,—
A fact they’re not likely at all to forget—

But if they should chance to gain freedom awhile,
She buys them all back with a kiss and a smile.

She might be made better; she might be less bold;
But we would not change her for silver and gold,
Nor let the least bit of her naughtiness drop,
But, just as she is, keep our sweet Lollipop !
: —WIDE AWAK:,



FAPPY CHIPPERS.
THE EVENING LESSON.

THE EVENING LESSON.

Let me show you, babies dear,
How to act when puss is near.
In this manner run to hide;
Dodge around, and jump aside;
Don't be slacking in your pace,
Thinking she'll give up the chase,
You may scamper as you will,
She'll be close behind you still.
When she tries to use her claws,
Then be lively, never pause ;
Though you leave your ears behind,
Squeeze ahead, and never mind.





THE EVENING LESSON.

Now, suppose the cat were here,
Show me how you'd disappear.
Are you ready? One, two, three!
Good enough, she'll hungry be

Ere she catches you or me.
—PALMER Cox,


A GALLANT ARMY.

ae here w/as-a,
little-boy~,
And-ne é
ha.d-8. “Sng
little-bun Wy
And-sweet!f









were-the-euprpants ME
tis saidPe-pulled
them-altout-—T was
Foolish: no-doubt — And




A GALLANT ARMY.

An army is drilling, just how. as you
see ;

There’s Bryan, and Archie, and Dolly
and me.

We're a right gallant army, as you
may suppose,

For we hold up our heads and turn
up our toes.

Our captain is Bryan, so sturdy and
bold,

Who wz// have his army do just as
it’s told;

While I am the drummer, and Archie

and Dot

Are all the brave soldiers our army
has got.












































































































THE MARCH PAST,
BOY OR PUG.

BOY OR PUG.

Pug is a dog; you all know that

He plays with baby and worries the cat:
He sleeps in a basket lined with silk,
And sometimes sips a little new milk ;
‘He is very dainty,” so they say,

And his whims are humored every way.





Now, Roy is a boy, and full of fun;

He wants to play when school is
done ;

He has his marbles, and top, and
ball,

And sometimes runs in the lower hall.

He wants to eat when hungry. They.
say, !

‘He must not be humored in any

Now, babies and boys, children all,

Come hither and listen. Pray what
would befall

This old world of ours, if, some fine
day

A ieee whisk you all away,

And leave in your places cosy and

D>?

A queer little, stupid, frowzy Pug?

—KATE TANNATT WOODS,
THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS.

THEO WOLFCAND RESGOSEINGS:

An old gray goose walked forth with pride,
With goslings seven at her side;
A lovely, yellowish-green they were,

And very dear to her.

She led them to the river's brink
To paddle their feet awhile and drink,

Neg j

NS he i
S SSS i

SS |
ANIA
PY 4g
* tetie Me

ANS
PX



aU aL a RAZ



JP Oe

and there she heard a tale that made
Her very soul afraid.

A neighbor gabbled the story out,
How a wolf was known to be thereabout—
A great wolf whom nothing could please

As well as little geese.
THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS

So, when, as usual,.to the wood

She went next day in search of food,

She warned them over and over, before
She turned to shut the door:

“My little ones, if you hear a knock

At the door, be sure and not unlock,

For the wolf will eat you, if he gets in,
Feathers and bones and skin.

“You will know him by his voice so hoarse,

By his paws so hairy, and black, and coarse,”

And the goslings piped up, clear and shrill,
“We'll take great care, we will.”

The mother thought them wise, and went
To the far-off forest quite content;
But she was scarcely away, before

There came a rap at the door.

“ Open, open, my children dear,”

A gruff voice cried: ‘your mother is here.”

But the young ones answered, “ No, no, no,
Her voice is sweet and low;

“And you are the wolf—so go away,

You can’t get in, if you try all day.”

He laughed to himself to hear them talk,
And wished he had some chalk,

To smooth his voice to a tone like geese;
So he went to the merchant’s and bought a piece,
And hurried back, and rapped once more.

‘‘Open, open the door,
THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS.

“T am your mother, dears,” he said.







But up on the window ledge he laid,
In a careless way, his great black paw,
And this the goslings saw.

mde
:

Y








‘No, no,” they called, “that will not
Our mother has not black hands like you;
For you are the wolf, so go away,

You can’t get in to-day.”

The baffled wolf to the old mill ran,
And whined to the busy miller man:
“T. love to hear the sound of the wheel

And to smell the corn and meal.”
THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS.

The miller was pleased, and said “All right ;
Would you like your cap and jacket white ?”
At that he opened a flour bin

And playfully dipped him in.

He floundered and sneezed a while, then, lo,
He crept out white as a wolf of snow.
“Tf chalk and flour can make me sweet,”

He said, “then I’m complete.”

For the third time back to the house he went,
And looked and spoke so different,
That when he rapped, and “Open!” cried,

The little ones replied,

“Tf you show us nice clean feet, we will.”
And straightway, there on the window-sill
His paws were laid, with dusty meal

Powdered from toe to heel.

Yes, they were white! So they let him in,
And he gobbled them all up, feathers and skin,
Gobbled the whole, as if ’twere fun,

Except the littlest one.


THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS.

An old clock stood there, tick, tick, tick,

And into that he had hopped so quick

The wolf saw nothing, and fancied even
He'd eaten all the seven.








But six were enough to satisfy ;

So out he strolled on the grass to lie.

And when the gray goose presently
Came home—what did she see?



. il the house door open wide,
ee ee va But no little yellow flock inside ;
4 © The beds and pillows thrown about;
= The fire all gone out;

The chairs and tables overset ;
The wash-tub spilled, and the floor all wet;
And here and there in cinders black,

The great wolf’s ugly track.
THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS.

She called out tenderly every name,
But never a voice in answer came,
Till a little frightened, broad-billed face

Peered out of the clock-case.

This gosling told his tale with crief,
And the gray goose sobbed in her handkerchief
And sighed—‘Ah, well, we will have to go

And let the neighbors know.”

So down they went to the river’s brim,
Where their feathered friends were wont to Slt tee,
And there on the turf so green and deep

The old wolf lay asleep.

He had a grizzly, savage look,
And he snored till the boughs above him shook.
They tiptoed round him—drew quite near,

Yet still he did not hear.

Then, as the mother gazed, to her
It seemed she could see his gaunt side stir—
Stir and squirm, as if under the skin

Were something alive within:

““Go back to the house, quick, dear,” she said,
“And fetch me scissors and needle and thread.
I'll open his ugly hairy hide,

And see what is inside.”

She snipped with the scissors a criss-cross slit,
And well rewarded she was for it,
For there were her go-lings—six together—

With scarcely a rumpled feather!
THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS. _ . ‘
The wolf had eaten so greedily,
He had swallowed them all alive, you see,
So, one by one, they scrambled out,

And danced and skipped about.




Then the gray goose got six heavy
stones,







And placed them in between the
bones;
She sewed him deftly, with needle
and _ thread, ,
And then with her goslings fled.

The wolf slept long and hard and

late,

And woke so thirsty he scarce could
wait.

So he crept along to the river’s brink

To get a good cool drink.


THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS.

But the stones inside began to shake,
And make his old ribs crack and ache;
And the gladsome flock, as they sped away,

Could hear him groan, and say :—

“What's this rumbling and tumbling ?
What’s this rattling like bones?
I thought I’d eaten six small geese,

But they've turned out only stones,

He bent his neck to lap—instead,

He tumbled in, heels over head;

And so heavy he was, as he went down
He could not help but drown

‘

And after that, in thankful pride
With goslings seven at her side,
The gray goose came to the river's brink
Each day to swim and drink.
— Ciara Dory BaTrEs, IN WiDE AWAKE,

ee , i c


VIPPLe, PALKS ABOUTAINSEC I LIFE.

LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE:

THE HIVE BEE.





































































When a hive becomes



pod : SS" 4’ crowded then the bees swarm;

PS! ¢@ they fly out with a loud buz-

, Zing; the air is thick with them. The
owners of & bees used to think they must beat tin
pans and brass kettles to keep the bees from flying too high or
too far before they lighted. The queen bee lights first; then the
others cling around her. They hang in a big bunch; commonly from

a tree. Often there are three or four swarms.

The owner places under them a hive and gently shakes
them into it. The first thing % they do is to stop up

any cracks there may be in the hive. Then they begin to build comb

to hold their honey. Many of you may know the old verses beginning :
How doth the little busy bee And gather honey every day
Improve each shining hour ; From every opening flower.

The bee makes its comb from wax which it takes from its wax
pockets. It comes home with its little baskets packed
with the pollen of flowers. From this pollen it makes
LARVA OF BEE MOTH. its bee-bread. It has a little basket on each hind leg.
It brings its honey in a sack given it for that purpose. And what
delicious honey it does swarm:


LIZLITE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

Here is an old country saying about swarms:

A swarm in May is worth a load of hay,
A swarm in June is worth a silver spoon;
But a swarm in July isn’t worth a fly.

Rats, mice, birds, ants, toads and spiders trouble the bees, but their
worst enemy is the bee or wax moth. This moth is the color of old
wood; so that, as it lies in the corner of a hive, or
undemethe svedee -or Mirsmrool it looks @likejea.binwor
weather-beaten wood. And that is just what the bee
thinks it is. It cannot pierce the skin of the larva,
but it could sting the moth itself, and drive it from the
hive, if it only saw it. But the busy little creature
does not often see the moth.

So the moth lays its eggs in the cracks; and when the larve are
hatched, they eat their way right up into the comb. As they go up
they make a little gallery through the comb. If they reach the centre of
the comb the bees have hard work te drive them out.

The honey or hive bee is very fond of the sweet flowers of the locust
tree. But the big wild bumble-bee goes first and slits the pockets of the
locust flower and takes as much honey as it likes. Then the honey bee
takes what is left.

The Solitary Bee does not live in a large family like the hive bee.
It lives alone. The bumble-bee is a solitary bee. Its home is almost
always in a hole in the ground:

“The Mason Bee builds her nest of clay in a brick wall or
heap of stones. She has six rooms in her house. In each room
she lays one egg; she then gathers pollen enough for the larva



THE BEE ALOTH,





oo?
to eat when it is hatched. Then she covers over
the door of the little room with an earth paste,
that she knows how to make. These
rooms are each one inch long, and are
Shapecmlii rooms in the picture of the Mason Bee and her house.
ongortuerooms 1M one cell the larva is hatched; you see the round grains
OR CELLS IN THE ss ,
koskLEArFcUT- Of pollen in it. In another you see only the pollen;
TER'S HOUSE. e iS 2
the egg is not yet hatched. Still another is empty. She

has not yet gathered the pollen for it, nor laid her egg.


LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

The Carpenter Bee makes ner home in wood; she digs it out bit by
bit. When it is done it is a long tunnel. She divides this tunnel into
rooms. The walls between the rooms
are made from a cement of chips and
dust. She makes this cement herself.
She sometimes has as many as_ ten
rooms in her house.

The Poppy Bee lines her nest in
the ground with oval pieces of the
petals of the scarlet poppy; she then
lays her eggs, puts in a little honey
and pollen, and folds the scarlet petal
down over it all. Such a lovely nest
for the little larva!

The house of the Roseleaf-cutter
Bee is a long tunnel. Its rooms or cells are made of round bits of
rose leaves. The bee cuts these bits as nicely as though she had a pair
of scissors of her own; as indeed, she has. It takes nine or ten bits
to make one cell. adh

Now if it takes nine or ten bits of roseleaf to mak€ fg
~ one cell, how many will it
take to make five cells?
There is a question in arith-
metic for you. And when
you can answer it you will
know just how many round fi |
bits the Roseleaf-cutter Bee
has to cut out before her
house is done.

We sometimes hear a
boy or girl say, “I am just
as busy as a bee.” And
‘now, after reading about the hive bees and the Solitary
Bees, I think you will know a little what the saying
means, But there is a great deal more to learn about “ePRcorTER BEE
bees. Some of it you will learn in books, and some by watching the
bees themselves.



THE MASON BEE AND HER HOUSE.



THE ROSELEAF-CUTTER BEE AT WORK.




LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

THE SILK-WORM.

“Where does the silk all come from, to make the pretty ribbons, the
soft velvets and plushes and satins?” Florence asked this question of
her grandma. Florence was holding some bright
silk for grandma to wind. “The silk is made by
the silk-worm,” grandma replied. And as soon as
they had finished their work she showed Florence
some cocoons which had been made by her own
silk-worms, many years before. Then she asked
Florence to look at the mulberry-trees in the



garden.
“Upon their leaves my silk-worms fed,” said
grandma. Grandma then told Florence a great deal about the silk-worm.
“The silk-worm moth is very common,” said grandma. “It is whitish
with brown stripes. At the end of summer the mother moth lays a
great many eggs. They are about the size of the head of a common

SILK-WORM ALOTH.

pin. -The moth then dies,
and these little eges do not
hatch until next summer.”

“Tn warm countries the
eggs are hatched by
natural heat, that is, by the heat of the sun. But in cold countries arti-
ficial heat. is needed to hatch the eggs; that is, the heat from furnaces
or stoves or fireplaces.

“After the little silk-worm is hatched, it begins to eat. It eats two
mealsyral day maNVhen it use tive e days aol cmt
changes its old skin for a new one. On the
ninth day it appears in a second new skin.
On the fifteenth day it changes its dress again.
And so again, as it continues to grow, on the
twenty-second and thirty-second days.

“Then comes the time for it to spin its
cocoon. And just before it begins to spin it
SILK-WORM MOTH AND EGGS. i just as hungry as it can be. It eats and
eats all the time. The silk-worm feeds on the leaves of the white

and black mulberry-trees.



FULL GROWN SILK-WORM,


LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

“When the silkworm is feeding it keeps nearly in one place.
But when it is ready to spin its cocoon it looks about for such a
place as suits it.

“Now it is a full-grown worm. Its spinner
or spinneret is a little tube, in the mouth. Out
of this tube flow two tiny streams of fluid.
As soon as this fluid comes in contact with
the air, it hardens into a thread. And that is
the silk.” ;

“Q grandma, what a queer thing, “/Elorence cries out. ‘And is
your black silk gown made out of that thread?”



COCOON.

“Ves,” says grandma, with a
smile, “my black silk gown came
out of the little worms’ spinnerets.”

The worm is five or six days
spinning its cocoon. It spins the
outside first, and so winds itself up
in its cradle.

This cradle or cocoon is some-
times white; sometimes a_ pale
yellow.

“So the silk-worm goes to sleep
in its cocoon,” said grandma. ‘By
and by it wakes up. It wants to
come out, and it gnaws a hole in



SHAKING OFF THE DEW FROM THE MULBERRY one end. It comes out. And lo!
cat aaeay the worm has become a moth!”
“But when it comes out it breaks the silk. So the people who
keep silk-worms for their silk, kill the little worm in some way before
it is ready to come out. Then they unwind the silk off the cocoon.”
“T used to put my cocoons in hot water,” said grandma, ‘and soak
them, so as to find the end of the silk.”
“How much silk does the one little worm spin?” asked Florence.
“Some spin more than others,” said grandma. ‘I have heard of
worms that spun eighteen hundred yards. But they usually spin much
less than that.”
LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

Grandma’s cocoons were fuzzy-looking balls. They were greenish-
yellow. They were about the size of pigeons’ eggs. Cocoons are of
different colors—white, and yellowish-white.

“The Chinese and Japanese make a great deal of silk. So they
keep a great many silk-worms. They keep them in high, airy rooms,
They have windows on all sides of the room. These windows are always
—z5,} carefully shut at night, for the
night-damp is not good for the
worms. They keep them on rice-
straw trays, and on tables of
bamboo. These trays and tables
are of lattice, or open-work. The
lattice-work is very nice for the
worms to fasten its cocoons to.”

Grandma seemed to know all
about silk-worms. ‘The Japanese,”
she said, ‘gather the mulberry
leaves at morning or at evening,
and hang the branches by little
cords to the side of the room.
They shake the dew from the
leaves before giving them to the
worms. The leaves must be per-
fectly dry before they are given
= to the worms.” ;
FYAPANESE WOMEN TAKING CARE OF SILK-WORMS. It is the custom in Japan for
the women to take all the care of the silk-worms.

Some attempts have been made to raise silk-worms in the United
States. But little silk has yet been made here, however.

—FANNIE A, DEANE, IN LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN.



f










i TER i i EEE OPIN i i add re et Ie en aN IN 2s ZAseiR SCA woes cess

COASTING SONG.

Mrrainy, ho!

* Dangers now we bravely dare;
OI we vo

Swiltly. with no thought of care,

O’er the white and crusted snow ! Down we go!
Stars shining bricht, Merrily. 0!
Hearts dancing ght! Through the frosty air.”

Hear our inusic softly flow :—
JENNY JOY.
SHUFFLE, THE BABY ALLIGATOR.

eee



A QUEER name for a baby !

But this baby was an infant alligator. One of the “ Pike-nose
family,” and a native of Florida.

Mamma alligators build their nests among tall reeds by the banks
of rivers or shallow ponds. The nests look like small tents about
four feet igh. First, mamma alligator makes a circle on the ground
about as large round as a wagon- Sea

A mud 66 is smoothed over this circle. As soon as it is hard,
she packs on it as many eges as she can crowd together. They are
larger than a hen’s egg, and have very hard shells. Then comes a
second mud floor, a little smaller than the first, and more eggs. And
so on, until the peak of her house is reached, and there is no more
room.

Sometimes a hundred eges are in one house. Mamma alligator
keeps careful watch over them. She fights if enemies come near.
Ba a wlieators follow the mother in water just as ducks swim out

after their mothers.

W hen baby alligators lie on the shore in the sunshine they whine
and yelp like little dogs. At first they are not very strong. If
large birds peck at them, or ugly turtles poke them, they cry out for
the mother.

One day a mamma alligator went off fishing, and a black boy
caught one of her babies. It was about six mches long. He sold
the little creature to a lady. Master Pike-nose slipped about the
house easily, but was awkward running on the ground. So, in fun,
he was called Shuffle. He had a small bath-tub for his home. There
he was happy, and every one petted him.

One day Shuffle was missing. Oh, what hunting there was! All
the boarders looked through closets, and under beds and sofas.

Nothing was heard of Shuffle all night.

Little Daisy Fenn, waking early, peeped through the bars of her
crib.

“O mamma, — see, the paper is moving!” she cried.

“In the fireplace,’ added Jack. “See, see!”’
SHUFFLE,









* Ha, ha, - see this
nose,” said mamma, now
wide awake. Master Pike-
nose popped out, quite as
much surprised as any
one.

It did not take long to
catch the rogue and put
him into his bath-tub

THE BABY ALLIGATOR.


MY VALENTINE

home. “Just to think of it,” said all in a breath; “we all slept in
the room with an alligator, — a free alligator!”

“And nobody was hurt,’ added Jack. “That’s the funny part
Olasiiae

Shuffle was a very small eater. A bit of raw beef the size of a
pin-head, fastened to a quill, was given him. This was all he wished
for a day, and sometimes he would not eat even that. Old alligators
‘go whole days without food.

In the spring, when Jack returned to his Northern home, he
brought tshuttle with him in a box, a present from the landlady.

Â¥. PB. CHAPLIN.



MY VALENTINE.

Tux tell you of a little maid
Tve chosen for my Valentine ;
She is not very wise or staid,
And numbers years fron: seven to nine.
But truth looks from her eyes of blue,
And oh, her voice has music in it:
I’m speaking only strictly true ;
You'd surely think ’twas lark or linnet.

She always does just what she should,
Without a fuss or bother ;
So nice, so loving, and so -good,
You scarce could find another.
And so for my sweet Valentine
, I choose this little darling maid,—
My dearest daughter, seven to nine,
Who is not very wise or staid.
ELIZABETH A. DAVIS.
WHY yy YY yyy
yy) wD
Yf UY - y Ui) yj Uy

YY |
oe

] ty




















THE SIX CRULLERS.
A TRUE STORY.

One day Frank was with his mother when she was making
erullers. She was mixing the dough in a pan, but on the table were
six cerullers, fried to a





rich brown, and look-

ing very nice.


















































































































































have one of
these ?” asked Frank.
“No,” said his mother, “I made a mistake and put in toa

much butter. They are too rich, and would make you sick.
a
THE STIX CRULLERS.

T am addimg more milk and flour to the dough, and you shall

have some of the new batch when they are fried.”

she went back into the house without secir

The chickens came running from the bar





g Frank.

But Frank was
a little boy who
never liked to
wait for anythin e.
He teased for the
rich crullers until
his mother sent
him away.

Frank sat down
under a tree and
was sulky. He
thought his moth-
er had treated
him very badly.

Then he saw
her come out
with the six crul-
lers in her hands.
She threw them
on the grass, and
called, “Chick!

ehieck!’? Then

n-yard, but Frank ran too.





He picked up the crullers before the chic

at them.

cens had

a chance to peck

* Mother didu’t seem to be afraid these crullers would inake the

chickens sick.” he thought. + and why should they hurt me ?”’

So he took a bite out of the largest cruller. It tasted so good that

‘
THE SIX CRULLERS.

he kept on biting until the cruller was gone. Then he began on
another, and did not stop until he had eaten all six.

“T don’t feel a bit sick,” he thought, as he ran off to play with
his tame rabbit.

A couple of hours later Frank’s mother went to the door with two
of the ecrullers in her hand. One was a very fat soldier with a
cocked hat on is head, and the other was a horse with a long mane.
Frank was lying under a tree, and his mother thought him asleep.

“Wake up, Frank.” she said. ‘“ Here are some fancy crullers for
you.”

But Frank did not answer, and when his mother went close to him
she saw that he was very pale. She lifted him m her arms, carried
him into the house, and put him to bed.

He was very sick all night, and cried a great deal. The next day
he was too weak to play. He lay on a sofa, and wished he had
let the chickens eat those six crullers.

“ Mother,” he said, 1 shall feel sure after this that you know
best when you tell me not to eat anything.”

“ You have learned a very good lesson, Frank,” said his mother.

And the lesson was such a severe one that 1t was several years
before Frank could eat another cruller. He couldn't forget what he

had suffered from eating the six he had taken from the chickeus.



Lk KZ
wh, Jeo
a hh E




BABY BROTHER.

Now here is baby brother !
Was there ever such a boy,
So merry and good tempered,
With a laugh so full of joy?
And he has bonny curly hair,

And he can walk from chair to chair.

His cheeks are full of dimples,
His eyes are full of glee ;
He shouts and crows and capers,
When he rides on uncle’s knee.
1»

And he can say “ Dada, dada

Aud pull the beard of his papa.
MARY E. GELLIE.
THE MONKEY’S STORY.

My name is Mingo. I had a sister named Chippy. We were
born in South America. We are called spider monkeys, and all of us
have beautiful long tails. Chippy and I lived in a cocoa-nut tree.
We were very happy. We did nothing but play, and eat, and
sleep. We chattered all the time in a very loving manner, and never
quarrelled. I was always kind to Chippy, and she never scratched
and bit. That was what made our home so happy. We were both
good monkeys, and father and mother loved us.

Such fine times as we did have! Awake bright and early, we
washed our faces and took a drink of cocoa-nut milk. It was very
nice. Then we hunted for bird’seggs for breakfast, or perhaps
caught some tender beetles or dragon-flies. After that we spent our
days in playing hide-and-seek among the branches of the trees, or
teased the lazy crocodiles, basking in the sun by the river-side.
But we never strayed far from home, for our parents had warned us
not to do so, for fear of cruel men. One day, when father and mother
had gone out to walk, we heard strange sounds near us. Stealing to
an open space, Chippy and I saw a company of men gazing up at us.
We started to run away, but it was too late. I felt something around
my neck like a snake. I soon found that one of the men had thrown
a rope over me, and I was captured.

What became of Chippy I do not know. I have never seen her
since. I can just remember bemg placed in a dark box, mm which IL
was kept prisoner for many long days and nights. When Twas set
at liberty I was upon a ship, with water all around me. Iwas sold
to my present master, and by hun, after many beatings, T was taught
the little tricks which please the boys and girls. They seem very
silly to me now.

During the long, hot summer days we tramp over dusty roads and
play the same tiresome tunes and perform the same tricks. Some-
times we have a good day, and then I get a crust of bread or a bun
for supper. Often the days are bad, and I go to bed hungry and
dream of the happy days in the cocoa-nut grove by the Amazon.

W. EUSTIS BARKER.


















































































THE MONKEY’S STORY.
HOW INSECTS SEE AND HEAR.

HAvE you eyer noticed the
long horns on the grasshoppers,
beetles, and the like? These
are antenne, or feelers. They
turn every way, and are what they hear
with, — that is, it seems so. If you
watch some of them when they hear a
noise, you will see them stretch out these
feelers. They keep them motionless, as
if they were listening. When the noise
is over they will move them about care-
lessly again.

















it

The eyes of insects are wonderful
things; they have many in one. Under

ae J a glass* they seem just like paved
sie streets.

These strange eyes do not help them
to see at a distance, but they are very
useful when the insects go inside of
flowers.

To a fly everything must look very
rich, for one rose may appear to him
: like ten thousand, and one drop of
op | honey like ten thousand drops.
oe Now, if a man were made without
bones, breathing out of
his sides, with a
head almost all
eyes, wouldn't he
be a funny-looking
object ?

MRS. G. HALL.



* A microscope.

tee we
THE FROG AND THE RAT.

THE FROG AND THE RAT.

A frog and a rat were out traveling one day;
“Kind sir,” said the rat, “will you tell me, I pray,

Why are all the people so civil to you,

But glare upon me, as if death were my due?”



“My friend,” said the frog, ‘now the reason lies here;
The water is cheap, but the grain it is dear.

If you lived on water, on mud, and such stuff,

The people to you would be civil enough.”

—PALMER COX.
NURSERY SONG.

NURSERY SONG.

Toss a brown baby up over the tree!
Up he goes! Up he goes!
Up where the wind whistles loud in its glee;
Up where the robin shrieks gaily to see;
Where the sweet apple grows,
Up he goes! Up he goes!
Dance with the thistle-down; buzz with the bee!

Roll a brown baby down deep in the flowers!
Down he goes! Down he goes!

Down where the butterflies flash in their bowers;

Down where the rose petals pelt him in showers:
Where the soft pansy grows,
Down he goes! Down he goes!

Honey-bee food is this baby of ours.

—K WAM,



x fy 4g Gm
%,

prt
4? il Ree
Se yi eS
Za joe fi

ae
Ws



MY BEANS IS GROWN SPLENDID.


TOSSING THE BROWN BABY.
THE CHIPMONK.

PAE-GHIPMONK

When Nell came home from school one day, she found her favorite
kitten with a little chipmonk in her mouth. It was the chipmonk which
had lived in the hollow tree in the garden. He had paid flying visits
to the piazza all summer, and was almost as well known as the kitten
herself. It was plain that puss had mistaken him for a mouse. Nell
gave chase across the garden, in among the tangle of rosebushes, where
the kitten fled with her But at night the poor,
booty. She found it hurt fellow hobbled
hard to follow, toward the piazza,
though she could and seemed to
sees thes bright want comfort.
eyes of the chip- He was too fee-
moni. Tirey ble to keep him-
were full of pain self from the cat’s
and pleading, as paw, if she had
come near.

Nell made a
little house for
him in the gar-
den, of a smal!
box. She raised
iis on, four
stones at the four
corners, so as te



if he begged her
to take his side.
At last Puss
was caught and
shaken till she
dropped the chip-
monk. He could
only limp away
and hide himself. : \ eae
Nell hoped Le Eee “i ES — give him air. She
; slipped water and
chestnuts under-

his friends would
take care of him.
neath for his supper. A good doctor came to the house and looked
at his wounds. He said the chipmonk could get well, with care.

I wish I could tell you that, thanks to Nell, he was able to leave his
hospital at last, and be still a resident of the old hollow tree.

But somebody, passing through the garden after dark, overturned the
box. When Nell went to feed her squirrel in the morning, she found
nothing but some empty nutshells, and puss washing her face close by.

—Our LirrLe Ones,
FROLICSOME PLAYMATES.

FROLICSOME PLAYMATES.

Brave Dash from towns dwelt far away,
A happy life had he,

All round his home the moorland lay,
Where he could wander free.

By night he had a door to guard;

For dreamy days he had the sward

Beneath his own ash-tree.

But once the folk he lived among
Their quiet haunts forsook ;

Strange time to choose, when songs were sung
In every leafy nook, rs

When myriad roses flecked the hedge,

And hyacinths swayed on grassy ledge,

And nodded to the brook.

Brave Dash within the London house

By gloom was sore oppressed;



So still he lay whole days—a mouse

Had been a welcome guest.
Few outdoor pastimes could he share;
For works of art he did not care—

He liked the moorland best !
FROLICSOME PLAYMATES.

One day at last—the room was dim—
Three kittens found him out;
No wholesome dread had they of him,
But made a shocking rout.
They stuck their claws right through his hairs,
And darted on him unawares,

And frolicked round about.

Long while their mocking sport at dark
He suffered in disdain, :

Yet never thought by growl or bark,
Of hardship to complain :

Until at last, most strange to say,

He watched for them to come and play,

And torture him again!










































































































































































































































































































































































































































(Ht
{th



















NYA





Mt)



NATIT















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FROLICSOME PLAYMATES.












: t 74h
On: from their huts and houses, e
; Gi In frocks and smocks and blouses

To go aoe their ae ming,

~Ttven though the sun poured down
A perfect blaze of scorching rays,
~ And hot enough to melt them
They knew too well how winter days

. ould pierce and chill and pelt them.

oe eet
Some plow ed long even furrows :

With little red wheelbarrows °
~ Some trundled here and there,
And if a heedless brother
Na bumping ‘gainst another,
= Why, no. one seemed to. cate—
we i _ Sal fear of fisticuffs or fight
ow ith. no one to > begin i it:

Way or
Boy ft Phey slew him in a minute,

Ww ith aailees oe ith ¢ ging, <
Mowers their scythes w eal swingin
And swath on swath laid low; .
With w aists so very dwindling,
And arms so lean and spindling, =
They looked too-slim to mow,
Yet still all day, as if ‘twere ne 5

ee rom. every cloy er thicket 3

ns







ee re 3
« In time the grain grew: yellow,
Nae he Tne sweet ane. ele

a












hey kept on salts
- As th sumimer hours winged ny :
af They had 1
| Took: never a day oe ea
ce ever ae x ourth of a ys

} Their al b 12
“And even the lowly
Camped like a gipsy1 in the field
Or by the wayside creeping, a
+ Was waiting the fit hour to ong


































They ae the fa wheal abbh ‘

Until their elbows ached; . AS
| Hacked, hewed and hugged and hustled
Till down the gold ears rustled,
> While others gleaned and raked.’
\ Wide open swung the granary doors, |

With flails the air resounded, ~~
As on the dusty, straw-strewn floors’

Glee whack! the threshers pounded, WZ



i

s

/ Meanwhile, within the houses, ~~
> The wives of the Ants in blouses
Nico 2 j ;

pS Found work enough to do,

The whirring spindles turning,
Baking, scouring and churning,
\~ And rocking the cradle too ;
yh While boys and girls with rosy looks

if *\ The path to school went tripping,




Yow eho
Some to get knowledge out of books, # Near by there lived a dapper,

a some, ee ai whipping: 1

Long-l legged, gray Gras SSHOPPE R,










And a bachelor he was; © »)) tees

; il Not famous for his riches, SEE 3) 1
NS y)}

Yet he wore ereen silk nes breeches 7 2









And a claw-hammer coat of gauze. YW
o stocks and bonds and houses and. lands,

Of course he hadn't any, «(2-24 ZA
. But was very careful of his white hands, .

ne

And his fine, well-waxed antennae. Qé <
FS EES







WE os ee
(0 (( Though always without money,
es Is He managed to dine on honey

Ais choice as the choicest eat:



























y

And he'd drink a cool dew todd

With almost anybody, 225

“

t
He'd ‘utter his pocket-handkerchiel

At the first girl-buttertly.

pote Sopa erin een ae TR
OP &

K( When down the rain came splashing,

Ry And spattering. and dashing,

Wy) :

7; And.-all the leaves were wet,

V4

F This isn’t really pleasant, Ps oy
i i ’ : ‘ ‘ po Ne
; But ‘twill never do to fret!” Nez

P. And then a-mushroony for a-tent,







~ Ora hay-rick for a cover,











oer ae
Great was his pleasure, very,

a

bi
eo BONN
AL NS BA
ee SS





) He'd find, and call it excellent, :
A Until the shower was over. To laugh at and make merry i
z Over the busy Anrs; i
; a Al

Only to see them moiling, |

|. Their striving so and toiling,

: oe Provoked his heels to dance.
“TIL never work,” he cried, “like thes
- Until the weather's colder!”

~~







FW

bees I!
eee ih







ed

And he ‘thought them vulgar as common:





“With bags slung on each shoulder.







\S
ZL: ANS a ee ON ye eee
Jack Frost canie creeping, stealing, Hge.



Cold-hearted and unfeeling, Hy
~‘Tcicles in his breath; Go ;
* \ Then, “ Oh, for a furlined wrapper,”

-Bewailing cried GrassHoprer, ~

: “Or [ shall freeze to death!”
Then he found he'd nothing on which t
“f . And nothing to drink whatever, |
Sy And the length of his spine he cou
By a constant ague shiver.






i His muscles were full of twinges, .
( His joints like rusty hinges;
Ak Pee ee Peer [at
Ms Ugh! T know what it is! LY)

| ite groaned, as a sharp crick wrung him, 9}










a And pains like needles stung him,

“Tis the farmers ‘rheumatiz!” 48)




(; And he wondered if they kept always wary





i} in butternutcolored blouses,
i
\













fe3| And said, “Twill do no special harm

Spo \, a Seer tap . gins a
Ayes “lo visit them in their houses!” x
YA se 3 SZ

uh







es! fy 3 2 Leos i = a = well



SDS oe
A Imi fe 72,
ath UU Ce




bbled away on crutches,
faded silk knee-breeches
‘nd his gauze claw-hammer.coat, ©

“I’ve met reverses lately,”
“He stammered, bowin



stately





_ SAME AIS g \ mere > ‘Pray lend me half-a dime,
But mot, as formerly, laughing—-.. Sf d haven't a crumb for supper,’ —
| And-he blushed, poor old Grassi

“



he!





as wheezing.












k ble’ clothes for cover
hs he passed out of sight.
zy ight a gray cloud sifted —

kes down that. dri









NAIF A,

EEE OE OE AE

ocks deep: and white.
‘toot, no food, no fireside bla:
'o-kaith nor. kin to ‘cherish!










Al i ‘Ah, he who wastes the’ summer ‘da
We Prom winter want must. perish
nih ESS : oe ae Sai

4 ‘| RS. — RB KR ponte fe
4 3 sem yoy) - a









ie Gest

ey
tras

; \ A LEE at |

oie

i SS
dacs re
ip wy

THE MOON IS A LADY.

Let MOON IS: Ay AD Ye

The moon, the moon, the silvery moon,
The moon is a lady fair;
She has a great, round, smiling face,

And long, bright, shining hair.
I think way up amid the clouds

She lives in a palace bright ;
She keeps the curtains drawn all day,

And opens them by night.

Awhile she at her casement sits,
And spins with her fingers spry
A long white veil of moonbeams bright

To float upon the sky.

And then behind her flying steeds
She rides in her golden car,

O’er daisy fields where every flower

Is just a twinkling star.
—OvR LITTLE ONES,

































































































































































































































THE WISE OLD AIOUSE.

PEE WH SE OL De MOUSE:

A wise old
mouse went
| on tip-toe into
the kitchen, to
{see if Jane had
|swept up all
the crumbs.
| There, to his
surprise, he
{met Buzz, the
cat.

“Oho,” cried
{the cat, “this
jis lucky! Now
I shall havea
i fine dinner.”



"The mouse
HE MET BUZZ THE CAT.
saw that he
was caught. So he said: “Thank you Mr. Buzz; but if I am to dine
with you I should like first to put on my red Sunday coat. My old gray
jacket is not nice enough.”

This amused the cat. He had
never seen the mouse with his red
Sunday coat. ‘“ Perhaps he will taste
better,” thought he. “Very well,
Mr. Mouse,” he said, “do not be
long: fore sam hunery. I will wait
for you here.”

The mouse lost no time, but at



ONCE popped into his hole. THE MOUSE POPPED INTO HTS HOLE.
THE WISE OLD MOUSE.

The cat waited all day, softly singing to himself; but the wise old
mouse did not come back.

Since then there is a new proverb in cat-land. It is this: “A mouse
in a gray jacket is sweeter than a mouse it a red Sunday coat.”

—OuvR LITTLE ONES,



THE CAT WAITED ALL DAY.



A SAD PLIGHT.

“I believe a book I will write,”
Said young Mr. Marmaduke Knight ; =
“T'll win to myself a great name,
For there’s nothing so pleasing as fame.”
c So he sat himself down to begin,
But alack! what a plight he was in!
Though he pondered and puzzled all day
He found he had nothing to say.
THE FROG AFLOAT.

THE FROG AFLOAT.























































































O, a double life I lead ; Though my boat is but a leaf,
And it’s truly pleasure fine And a barley-straw my oar,

To go sailing up and down I am never filled with fear,
Like a sailor on the brine. As I vush away from shore,

O, my fingers I can snap
At a shipwreck; for, you see,
I am quite at home below,
And it’s all the same to me!

o

—PALMER Cox.
THE MAN IN THE TUB.

THE MAN IN THE TUB.

Come here, little folks, while I rub
and I rub!

O, there once was a man who lived
in a tub,

In a classical town far over the seas;

The name of this fellow was
Diogenes.

And this is the story: It happened
one day

That a wonderful king came riding
that way ;

Said he to the man in the tub, ‘““How
d’ye do?

Pm Great Alexander; now, pray,



; 1)
“WHILE I RUB, AND I RUB.” who are you?

O, yes, to be clean you must rub, you must rub!
Though he lived and he slept and ate in a tub,
This singular man in towns where he halted,
History tells us was greatly exalted.

He rose in his tub: “I am Diogenes!”
“T) a” uy ’
ear me,” quoth the king, who'd been over the seas,
“T’ve heard of you often; now what can I do
To aid such a wise individual as you?”

Could one expect manners, I ask, as I rub,
From a man quite content to live in a tub?
“Get out of my sunlight,” growled Diogenes,

To this affable king who'd been over the seas.
x —WIDE AWAKE,
FOR SALE—A ¥ACK IN A BOX.

FOR SALE—A JACK IN A BOX.

His teeth are very white
And he smiles all day and night,
His hair is curled up tight,
And his eyes and boots are black as they can be.

How can any one desire

Any Jack to jump up higher? .

How can any Jack be spryer
Than is he?

He is dressed in perfect taste,

His coat is silver laced,

There’s a sash around his waist,
And it falls in silver fringe to the

knee.

And I know whoever buys him

For his elegance will prize him,

So 1 wish to advertise him

As you see.

If you ask about the price—
Well--I cannot be precise,
But I’ve kept him very nice



And I think you'll find him good as new, to-day.
He’s a Jack in prime condition,
He is now on exhibition ;
He'll be quite an acquisition,

As I say.

—WIDE AWAKE,
BULLFROG TALK.

BULLFROG TALK.

















Crodunk, Crodunk !
I'm the wisest frog

That ever lived in this |
muddy bog. ,

I know the world, though 4,
weal)

they say I’m green,
For I see it all behind

a screen.

Crodunk, crodunk:

I keep a school
Down in the shady, watery pool.
The young ones learn to dive
and swim,

And then they sing a temperance hymn.





Crodunk, Crodunk! I have a wife;

But she and I ne’er meet in strife.



All know I often say “ Kerchog !”



Which means I am a model frog.

—GrAcE H. Knapp.



























































































































































LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

Pie SAS AB OUE EN SE Cie er iim

Now we will talk about the butterflies which fly among our garden
flowers. First we will look at them through the microscope. What feather-
like scales are on their wings! There are thousands of these scales on
one wing. So we see the reason
why butterflies are called by a
long name which means scale-
winged insects.

Some of these scales are broad
and flat, and overlap like the



CA TERPILLAR AND CRADLE OF THE MACHAON shingles on a house. Others

Seana ine are long and hair-like. In the

blue butterfly of the meadow, the scales are shaped like battledores. To
the naked eye, all these scales look like fine dust.

Butterflies have four wings. Sometimes these wings are so fastened

with hooks, that the two on either side are as one wing. The butterfly
is a changeable creature. It throws off one skin and then another by
drawing its body up a few
times.
As soon as the butterfly
caterpillar is hatched, it eats
as though it could never get
enough. Then it spins its
cradle or chrysalis, and goes
to sleep. When it comes out
of its chrysalis, it hangs down
from it until its new wings are
strong enough to fly.

The Machaon is a large
butterfly with yellow wings,
spotted and striped with
black. It lives in Europe, but it has an American cousin. This cousin
is black, with a double row of yellow spots across its wings. In July you
may see it, flying over the phlox, especially.

The peacock butterfly is a European butterfly, and it, too, has an



THE MACHAON BUTTERFLY.
LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

American cousin. The caterpillar of this peacock cousin likes to eat the
leaves of the poplar, willow, and elm trees. Look for it next summer,
and, when you find it, shut it up with plenty of leaves from the tree where
it feeds, and watch it day by day, and see it weave its cradle and go to
sleep, and wake up some morning changed
into a lovely butterfly.

The caterpillar has no tongue. But the
butterfly has a long tongue. With this
long tongue it reaches into the flowers for
the honey it likes.

The eyes of the butterfly are compound
eyes. A compound eye is made up of many
eyes, put so close together they look like
one eye.

It is difficult to understand why insects
need more eyes than boys and girls do.
But it would seem that they do, for they have more.

Butterflies and moths look very much alike when flying. _ Butterflies
fly only in the daytime, however, while most
moths fly in the night. fA

The feelers of the butterfly are finished at ee
the end with little clubs. The feelers of the
moths, on the contrary, are pointed. By this
difference in the feelers or axtenne@, you can
tell a gay butterfly from an equally gay moth.

One of the largest and finest of butterflies
is the Amphrzszus. It is a long name, but your
teacher will tell you how to pronounce it. This
is an English butterfly. Its upper wings area
blackish brown; the lower wings are yellow,
with a jet black edge. Around its neck it wears
a bright crimson collar, silky like the lovely
chenille fringe your mamma wears on her pretty |
gown.

Have you ever seen the white butterflies
which hover about the beds of radish, turnip or cabbage about the first
of June?



THE PEACOCK BUTTERFLY.



i

CHRYSALIS OF THE AMPIRISIUS.
LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

this white buttertty lays its eggs upon the under part of the leaf. In
about a week these eggs hatch, and the caterpillar reaches its full size in
three weeks, The caterpillar is a pale green. It remains in the chrysalis
state eleven days. The perfect white butterfly comes out about the last
of July.

When the butterfly is at rest it folds its wings as in the picture.

When a moth is at rest
its wings lie flat on either
side.

Did you ever see a
woman jump up from her
chair, and run around the
room, clapping her hands
4 together, and crying out
a ‘O there’s a moth miller!
there’s a moth miller !”

I have. She is trying
to catch a little moth,
which, if she does not kil}
it, will lay its eggs in her
carpet. These eggs will
hatch, and the tiny larvae
or caterpillars will feed on
her carpet and fill it with
holes. So it is no wonder
that she wants to kill the
moth before it has a
chance to lay its eggs.

Another kind of moth
lays its eggs in the apple
blossom. After the apple



bts

THE BUTTERFLY CALLED AMPHRISIUS, AND ITS CATERPILLAR. is grown the eggs hatch,

and the little larvae, or worms, eat their way out, and leave a round hole
to show the road by which they traveled out from the dark fruit into the
sunlight. These moths have no special beauty, and they are small. They
are often called ‘ millers,” because their wings look as if they were covered
with a white dust, like a miller’s clothes.
LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

The beautiful Hawk Moths are so called because they fly swiftly like
hawks. They fly in the night. .They seek for honey in the night. On
@ bright moonlight night, if you go and stand quietly near honey-bearing













A HAWK MOTH, ITS CATERPILLAR, AND ITS CHRYSALIS.

flowers like the honeysuckle, you will see them come and feed. They are
the largest and finest of the moths, and quite as beautiful as any of the
butterflies.

But how unlike is the moth, in its habits, to the butterfly! The butter-
fly loves the sun. It sits and basks in its warmth. But the moth loves
the twilight. If it sees a bright light it dashes into it, and is burned.
LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

Have you ever noticed how the moths will gather about a lighted lamp
in a room, on a summer evening ?

Hang a lighted lantern in a tree, and they will come to it from far
and near.

The Humming-Bird Moth is a hawk-moth. It is so called because it
makes a humming noise when it is flying, as the humming-bird does. This
moth flies by day.

A lady tells me that she caught a Humming-Bird Moth, once, when
she was a little girl She was in her flower garden when it came flying
about the tall, sweet phlox. She caught it under a big glass tumbler.

She thought, when she caught it, that it
was a Humming Bird, it looked so much
like one when flying. But when she
looked at it more closely, she saw it was
an insect, not a bird.

Had it been a Humming Bird, you
may be sure she would never have caught
it. For the Humming Bird is shy and
timid. But the Humming-Bird Moth is
not shy. It will not fly away, even if you
‘come quite near it. It will poise itself
on its wings and suck the honey from a
flower, while you stand near and watch it.

There is a small moth called the
= “ Housebuilder.” Before the caterpillar
~arer. of this moth begins to feed, it makes a

fe house from bits of wood. It binds the
bits firmly together, with silken threads. If the little builder is frightened
he pulls the sides of his house together, and is safe from harm. When he
has eaten his fill, he goes to sleep; and when he awakes he is a House-
builder Moth.

The people of a certain country say that these Housebuilders were once
human beings—real people, who stole firewood, and so were punished by
being changed into these insects, and being obliged to carry these bits of
wood about. And they have given them a name which means “billets of
wood.” That story sounds like a bit of a fairy story, and a very pretty one
it is, too.











—LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN.
DHE PANS IAT SCHOOL:

AeA NiSaiAsiy SC i ©. Oi:

In a summer garden is a boarding-school,




For the fairy maidens under flower-rule.

Witchy little fairies, fairies sweet
and prim,

Lazy, careless fairies, fairies neat
and trim.

All are met together, lessons hard
to learn,

How to paint flower petals, how to
curl a fern;

How to make the May-flowers and the

violets fair;

A LAZY FAIRY,

How to sprinkle perfumes on the balmy
alti:

How to place a dew-drop in a flower’s heart ;

How to delve for honey (which is quite an art);

How to ring the lilies in a lovely chime ;

How to make the four-o’clocks




open just on time;
How to see in everything special
use and beauty,
How through all their fairy
lives to do their fairy
duty.

—HARRIOT BREWER.

PAINTING FLOWER PETALS.
THE MEWSICAL PAIR.

They gained no pennies for their cup, |

But many a window did fly up,

While bootjacks speedily flew out,

The concert eats to kill or rout.

Ah, me! ah, me! it was a pity,

In all that great and glorious city,

No person—(wasn’t it a shame ?)

Helped those poor kitty cats to fame,
What woe.

—JINGLES AND JouSs,

Dive TRIED I(T
OVER AND OYER ,
CANT KNIT
MY STOCKING
AT ALL»
LNLEss MY
DEAR,

MOD Kerry Gover

mee pfs WITH ME

$i IY LA WITH THE
=—— || BALI

a










Ons oe Dy:
6: Gent ta: The«kilehen, «
BR frien rothakas ‘Nn eae :
2 ith wih NG madonna:

<> <= LS Rortts: dade Seb “ghee good. Things:

= tittle lie,
oH Bacelves:
We Qush. o “slapd dinner’
= a+ on abe =
Wg: cil orks A-elotte vin f
ee ae ROS Ag iFagte

(0%) alse uh ee ae 0
VN


THE MEWSICAL PAIR.

ao 1

THE MEWSICAL PAIR.

Two kitty cats one time I knew,

No sooner had they learned to mew,
Than down they sat to think and think,
(With many a wise and sober blink)
What they could do so grand and fine,

To make them with great fame to shine.

They pondered o’er and o’er. ‘Ah me,
Where could the road to fortune be?”
They asked the dog, he shook his head,
“Vou'd better go catch mice,” he said,
“And don’t disgrace the family

By secking fame so uselessly.

(Bow-wow).”

One day, one day, those cats, said they,

With sudden manner blithe and gay,

“As street mewsicians we will see

How famous we shall shortly be,
Meow, Meow.”

So off they started one fine night,



With voices tuned and pitched aright ;

One howled soprano, while her friend,

With alto loud the air did rend.

But people in the neighborhood

Seemed not to think the concert good ;
Oh, no.
HOW THE BROKEN WINDOW WAS PAID FOR.

HOW THE BROKEN WINDOW WAS PAID FOR.

Crash! smash! There was a noise of glass breaking; then silence;
then the sound of boys’ voices, of boys’ feet running down the lane; and
next a startled cry. Then old Dame Crumpleton, who lived in a cottage
close by, came hobbling out of the underwood, holding a boy fast by the
collar of his coat.

“That’s the second window you boys have broken; but this time I’ve
caught you,” she grumbled. “It was indeed fortunate that 1 came home
just then. You thought you were running away from the old woman, did
you? But you made a great mistake; you ran right into her instead.”

As she spoke she reached the cottage door, lifted the latch, and marched
the boy into the room.

“Now, Mark Huffam, I shall put an end to the annoyances I receive
from you boys by making an example of you,” she said. “You will stay
here whilst I go first to your mother and then to the Squire. It is a
great shame you boys do not know how to behave.”

Directly she mentioned his mother, Mark found his tongue.

“1 did not break your window, grannie; I assure you I didn’t.”

“You were throwing stones,” interrupted the old lady.

“But I did not throw at your window,” said Mark.

“Well, some one did, and you are the one caught. How will you
prove it was not your stone?” asked the old lady, as she prepared to go
out again.

“JT don’t know; but wait a minute,” said Mark. “Don’t go to my
mother; she’s very sick indeed, and the worry will make her worse.”

“J can’t help that,” said the old lady. “Look at my window.”

“Will you be content if I pay for your window?” asked Mark, feeling
that anything would be better than making a fuss and worry for his
mother, and resolving in his own mind to find out for himself which boy
it was who threw the stone that had done the mischief, and to make him
pay for it.

The old lady hesitated, and at first would not hear of it; but Mark
pleaded, and finally it was agreed that if he brought seventy-five cents
before the week was over, nothing more should be said about it.

Mark, at last released, walked away, feeling very worried. His mother
HOW THE BROKEN WINDOW WAS PAID FOR.

would not be troubled, but the question was, where should he get the
seventy-five cents.

As soon as he could, he asked all the boys if they knew whose stone
had broken the window; but as each one denied it, Mark plainly saw that
he would have to find the seventy-five cents somehow.

One morning a day or two afterward the boys on their way to school
were astonished to see a big notice outside the blacksmith’s door. This
notice had been put up by Mark, whose father was the village smith, and
this is how it read—



PORTRAITS TAKEN
EVERY EVENING FROM SEVEN TO NINE.

Prics, Five Cents Eacu,



That same evening when seven o'clock came there was quite a crowd
round the smithy door; for every one was curious to see what it meant,
and who was the artist that was going to take the photographs.

Mark admitted six boys, and at once set to work.

He fastened a large sheet of paper on the door, put a strong light in
front of it, and then placed a boy between the light and the door, so that
the shadow of his side face was thrown on the paper.

Then Mark carefully drew over the outline with black chalk, put in a
little shading , touched it up when the paper was taken from the door, and
the portrait was finished. Mark had a very steady hand, and a decided
talent for drawing, so that the result was in most cases a fairly good
likeness.

The boys thought it wonderful, and one after another paid their money.
Then some of the older people came, so that Mark was quite busy.

At last the boys were finished, all but two ; Caleb Arrowsmith and Jack
Bridgman. Caleb had waited, because he did not mean to have his portrait
taken; he had no money to pay for it. He was a lazy boy, and never
earned a penny. He did not like work, in fact, he did not like anything,
except perhaps his dog, a pretty little terrier, and to that he was very
much attached.

As he sat watching Mark while he carefully drew the outline of Jack’s
shadow, Caleb was thinking, although he could not have his own portrait
drawn, how much he would like to have the dog's.
























































































































































































































































































4A STRANGE STUDIO, ¢°
HOW THE BROKEN WINDOW WAS PAID FOR.

“ Now then, Caleb, you are last,” said Jack.

**T don’t care about it, thank you,” said Caleb.

“‘Don’t—fiddlestick !” said Jack. ‘“ Haven't you any money?”

Caleb colored, and calling to his dog, turned away.

“Tl do it, just for practice, if you like,” said Mark kindly.

“T don’t want it,” said Caleb crossly. ‘I don’t care a bit about it.”

Mark had been very successful, and he had already earned sufficient
money to pay for the window, therefore he was in capital spirits, and not
in the humor to quarrel with any one.

“Very well,” he said, “if you don’t like it you needn’t have it done.
Shall I do the dog instead ?”

Caleb’s face flushed with pleasure; it was very evident how much he
would like that. Mark saw that he was pleased, and at once set to work,
and sent Caleb away happy.

As he was going home with Jack, he said curiously—

“Why does Mark want the money? I wonder what it is for.”

“For the window, of course,” said Jack. ‘Don’t you know he promised
Dame Crumpleton to pay for it? I don’t believe he broke it either,” he
added, after a minute, as Caleb made no remark; ‘I think the fellow
who did break it is a—”

Jack said no more, for he found himself alone; Caleb had run off.

Mark was very busy all the week, and when the eventful Saturday
arrived he walked to Dame Crumpleton’s with a light heart and a heavy
pocket. He had earned a whole dollar, and was able to keep his promise.
Besides, had he not kept his mother from being worried when she was so
unwell ?

But when he produced seventy-five cents and offered it to the old lady
he was greatly surprised to find it refused. Dame Crumpleton declared
she did not want it; she had been paid once for the broken window already.

Mark did not understand it at all, but could get nothing out of the
old lady, and returned home quite puzzled and surprised. Another surprise
was in store for him, however; a far greater one.

He had determined to spend his money on a dog, and when he went
into the market town to buy one, what was his astonishment to see Caleb’s
dog offered for sale. At first he thought it had been stolen, and then
another explanation suggested itself to him. In a moment he understood
it all.
A SURPRISE IN STORE.

He bought the dog at once, and set off home. Then he sent for Caleb,
and asked him to lend him his dog for a model. Poor Caleb burst into
tears, and with many sobs told his story. It was as Mark had thought.
Caleb had broken the window, but had been afraid to say so, although
he was very sorry for it. But Mark’s kindiess had been too much for
him, and he had sold his beloved dog to pay Dame Crumpleton.

Before he had finished his story, however, Mark fetched the dog; then
there was indeed a licking and kissing, and barking and talking. I don’t
know which was the happier, Caleb, Mark, or the dog.

It was not long before Caleb earned some money and paid Mark back;
but it was very long before those two boys fell out; indeed, they are the
greatest friends to this day, for all I know.

: —MAGcIE Browne,

SED OPES SS

A SURPRISE IN STORE.

To his wife one
day cried Mr.
Drake,

*’Tis not too #
cold for a
swim on the f
lake,” J

So they trotted }
down to the |,
water’s brink,

But there they *

paused, for, only think,
Gone was the water, and what was more,
In its place lay a glittering, slippery floor.
Scarcely could they believe their eyes,
And they gaped and stared in huge surprise;
He looked at her, and she looked at him:
Without any water, how could they swim?
But they made up their minds that, at any rate,
The thing to be done was to learn to skate.



THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY.

THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY.

“My son,” said Mistress Fox, With all his might,
“You're clumsy as an Ox. He ran to Farmer Dobbs’ yard,
"Tis almost Christmas time, And found the turkey off his guard.
The merry bells will chime ; Without a word
But we may starve, He choked the bird; [ back,
While Dobbs will carve Then proudly slung him on his
A fine fat turkey on his table ; And took for home the shortest
Go, bring that bird, if you are able. | track, [no ox;
You are so lazy, “Good boy, my son! You are



“T’m proud of you,” said Mistress

For play so crazy,

No game you ever brought, Fox.

No chicken ever caught, “Of name and fame you are the.

For Christmas or Thanksgiving, : winner,

Or for our daily living.” And we have got our Christmas
dinner ; [ men

Young Foxy felt quite sad, While Farmer Dobbs and his three

When called a clumsy lad, Must dine upon an ancient hen.”

And just at night, : —ArTHUR M, DRAKE,
A DEAR LITTLE GIRL,







































































































































































A DEAR LITTLE GJRb.

She isn’f an angel,
She isn’? Q goooess,

She isn’t a diamond, ruby, or pearl:
She’s simply what's neafest,
Complefest, ano sweefesf—

A dear little, queer little, lovable girl.
AN OLD-FASHIONED FATHER.





























AN OLD-FASHIONED FATHER.

“Tt’s a very strange thing,” said old Mr. Bullfrog, shaking his head,
“and a very sad one too, it seems to me. Our family used to be as
renowned for swimming as they were for croaking, and now one never
hears about anything but the croak.”

“Can you swim, father?’”’ asked little Hop, in a subdued voice and
manner.

Old Mr. Bullfrog swelled himself up. “I could swim perfectly when
i was your age, my son,” he answered, “and I still remember the theory
quite well enough to teach it. If your mother will excuse us for an hour
or two this evening, you and Skip shall come with me a little way up the
bank, where the water is deep, and I will give you a lesson.”

So Mrs. Bullfrog gave them an early tea, and soon after Mr. Bullfrog
and Hop and Skip found a nice place where the bank went off suddenly ;
and there Mr. Bullfrog sat down and gave them a lecture on swimming.
His instructions were delightfully clear and simple.

“First you jump in,” he said. Hop and Skip shuddered. “Then you
draw up your hind legs like this,” he continued, ‘and shoot them out sud-
denly, like that. Well, why don’t you do it?” he asked impatiently.

Hop and Skip immediately did it, all but the jumping in.

“You can’t swim on dry land,” said their father. ‘“ Why don’t you
jump in?”

“Tt makes me feel all gone here, just to think of it,” said Hop, putting
his hand on his stomach, and little Skip shrank back from the edge in terror.
_ “Now, this is all nonsense,” said Mr. Bullfrog angrily. “If you'll just
do as I say, and not as I do, you'll have no trouble at all. I could swim
like a duck when I was no older than Skip. You ought to set your little
brother a better example, Hop.”

“Tf you'd just show us once, father,” said Hop meekly, “I think we
could do it; we’d see then that it could be done.”














































































































































































































































































HOP AND SKIP LEARNING TO SWIM.
AN OLD-FASHIONED FATHER.

Mr. Bullfrog sat on the bank and thought for at least five minutes,
And while he was thinking he remembered that when his father taught
him things, he said “ Come,” much oftener than he said “ Go,” so that
when he did say “Go,” Mr. Bullfrog had hastened to mind him.

“Come, children,” said Mr. Bullfrog, pleasantly ; and, jumping up as he
spoke, he “ took a header” from the back, and came up smiling, though he
was puffing and blowing too, while Hop and Skip looked on in terror.
Mr. Bullfrog reached up, caught Hop's leg, and pulled him into the water,
then he turned and swam gracefully backward, saying, ‘‘Come on, now—
swim toward me; you'll not sink, and if you do I'll catch you.”

And Hop, when he recovered from his first scare, found that he could
swim quite well, and enjoyed it.

“You'll not do me that way, will you father?” implored little Skip
from the bank, as Mr. Bullfrog floated upon his back.

“Not if youll jump in without it, my son,” said Mr. Bullfrog, encour.
agingly. “Just look how Hop’s enjoying himself out there beyond the
cat-tails. Come—one! two! three!” At “three,” Skip actually did plunge
in, and in a few minutes was swimming gaily about with his brother and
father.

“Why, you're all wet, father! did you go in, too?” asked Mrs. Bull-
frog, when the party, in great spirits, returned home about an hour later.

“Yes, I went in too, mother,” said Mr. Bullfrog, smiling; “and I'll get
you just to rub me down with a burdock-leaf if you’re not too tired; I
don’t care about having rheumatism if I can help it, but I found that it
was much easier to teach swimming in water than on land.”













A RACE FOR LIFE.
THE EARLY SWALLOWS.





‘Oh, let us away o’er the ocean once
more |”

Said some swallows when first they
arrived on this shore ;

“How bitterly cold when compared
with the south,

And no sign of food, e’en for one
little mouth.”

‘‘ Have patience,” cried one; “though
I grant, things look ill,

There is surely enough to be thank-
ful for still;

The sun, see, is trying his hardest
to shine,

And the lark overhead has a voice
quite divine !

“Let some go and search, while the
others rest here,

lor food and a glimpse of the nests
of last year ;

This well can be done by a party of
three,

And let us draw lots as to which it

shall be.”

THE EARLY SWALLOWS.

No better advice could the swallows
desire ;

So, seating themselves on a_ tele-
graph wire,

They each gave a feather, and one
held them loose

In a dear little bunch for the others
to choose.

Then they who the three longest
feathers had drawn,

"Mid showers of good wishes, were
speedily gone;

While those left behind did their best
to look bold,

And nestled together to keep out
the cold,

An hour slowly passed—and then,
swift through the air,

Came a wonderful story of nests and
good fare;

So each little bird gave a chirp of
delight,

And, spreading their wings, all were

soon out of sight.
—ELLIs WALTON,
THE SQUIRREL’S TRICK.

THE SQUIRREL’S TRICK.

What do you think of a boy and girl
Who went to walk one day,

And laid themselves beneath the trees,
To yawn the hours away?

Now to the apple-tree above
Came little squirrels two,

Said they—on mischief full intent—
‘Here's something we can do,





“We'll pelt these lazy little folks,
With apples by the score,

And never cease till they, at last,
“With bumps are covered o’er.”

So down, down the apples fell,
Around about each side,
When Squirrel No.1 beheld

Jack’s round mouth open wide.

Then Squirrel No. 2, and he,
Shook down one apple more,
It hit poor Jackie on the nose,

And spoiled his sweetest snore.
—JINGLES AND Joys,


A BAD HABIT.

LitTLe Mattie was always getting into mischief because she would
not heed what older and wiser people told her. She always wanted
to see for herself if things were just as they were said to be.

One day she told her sister Amy, who was much younger, that she
Was going to get some honey out of the beehives.

“The bees will sting you,” said Amy.

“Jam going to see if they will,” said Mattie; and she ran to the
hive and overturned it.

Out swarmed the bees in great numbers. They were very angry
A BAD HABIT.

at being disturbed, and lighted on Mattie’s face, neck, and hands,
stinging her so badly that she fell to the ground screaming with pain.
_ The cook ran out of the kitchen and picked her up. She was sick
in bed for several days, and you may be sure she never went
near the beehives again.

But she was not cured of meddling. One day she leaned
over the well-curb to see how deep the well was.

‘Take care! yowll fall in,” said Amy. ‘

‘NOs ol won't fall in,” said Mattie; but just as she
spoke, over she went.

The well was not very deep, and Mattie
did not get hurt at all; but she had time
to get very wet and to cry almost a tea-
cupful of tears before her papa came
and drew her up in the well-buck-
et. She caught cold, too, and had
to stay im the house for a week,
and take very bitter medicine.

But she was just as meddlesome
as ever, and it took a very severe
lesson to cure her of her bad habit.

One day her brother Joe left
his gun in the hall while he went
into the kitchen for a drink of
# water.

“Ne piiereae “Don’t touch that gun,
Mattie,’ he said; “it is
loaded.”

Mattie was playing with ae her dolls by the hall
door; but as soon as Joe went away she ran to
the gun and stroked it with her hands.

She took hold of the gun and tried to lift it, but it was too heavy.

It fell to the floor, and went off with aloud noise. And Mattie
fell, too, shot through the knee.

It was many weeks before she could play out-doors again, and
then she had to walk with a crutch. But she had learned to let
things alone. She was cured of her bad habit. F.

























THE YOUNG FISHERMAN.

In the glowing morning, Through the crystal water,
With his baited hook, | Darting in and out
Johnnie tries his fortune Of their tiny caverns,
By the dashing brook. See the speckled trout.





Lucky day for fishing ; Heme our Johnnie trudges ;
One, two, three, and more ; — With his spotted prize,
Oh, the shining beauties With his rod and_fish-line,

Lying on the shore! Looking wondrous wise.
THE CHRISTMAS SONG.

RACIOUS and heavenly star,
Which shines on us afar,
Still, whereso’er we are,
Watch o’er His fold.

Calm was that holy flight
Through the far lonely night,
When first your radiant light
Spoke of His birth.

In the still midnight air,
Silent you sparkle there,
Hovering with loving care

Over the spot.

Hark! from the cloudless blue
Sweet music stealing through.
Angels the song renew,—
“Glory to God!”

Hail, blessed Christmas morn,
When Christ, a child was born,
Let us the strain prolong

Forevermore |
HARRY’S WINGED MOUSE.

Litrte Harry is only four years old, yet he is very fond of all
kinds of animals. He is always ready to share
his food with any stray dog or cat which
he can induce to accept it. He is never
happler than when he can se-
cure a bird or mouse, or even a
toad, for a pet.

One day he came running into
my room
with his
eyes wide
open with won-
der, saying, “O
papa, I have
found such a
strange-look-
ing mouse!
Do come and
see him. He
has wings just
like a bird.”

“J think it
must be a bird ete
if it has wings,” } Ai
IT replied. “Did you
catch it?”

“Oh, yes. He was nasi
dead when I found him.
I think the cat must have killed
him. I have him in a box. Do
come and see him.”

I went with him to see what his new pet might be. I soon found
that he was not so far from right as I had supposed. Lying in an
old box was a little dead creature very much like a mouse, but
with large wings stretched out to their full length.











THE BABY-CAGE

fee

“Poor little mouse!” said Harry, kneeling by the box. “It has
lost its tail; I think the cat must have bit it off.”

“T don’t think he ever had
aavailea wsancd dace Ove lic sina:
a mouse, as you suppose, but



a bat. You never saw one
before, and we will look at
him and see where he is not
like a mouse. Then you will
know a bat the next time you
see one.”

Harry was much pleased with what he learned. He often speaks
of the bat he found, and is on the lookout for a live one. He would
like to see anything so much like a mouse flying through the air like
a bird.



I. L. CHARLES.

THE BABY-CAGE.

Dip you ever hear of a baby-cage? Minnie had never seen one,
and she thought of it “all by herself,” as she said.

Minnie’s mamma was not strong, and they went to spend the
summer in the mountains of North Carolina. They stayed at a large
boarding-house.

There were many farm-houses on the place. The barn stood a
great way from the house where Minnie boarded. Jol, the hostler,
was fond of Minnie. She often rode with him from the house to the
barn when the ladies came home from their afternoon drives.

Minnie used to walk back to the house. One day as she was pass-
ing the door of a log-house, between the barn and the great house,
s e heard some babies crying. She stopped, and went into the
h use. A colored woman was ironing at a table. Two poor little
black babies lay crying on the floor. Minnie went near them and
spoke to them. ‘The flies were very plenty, and were crawling over
the poor babies’ faces.

Minnie wondered why the flies did not go down the babies’ threats,


THE BABY-CAGE.

for their mouths were wide open when they were crying. She
brushed them away and tried to quiet the little ones. The woman
told her that the babies’ mothers were up at the large house at work.
Minnie felt very sorry for the poor little things. She knew the flies
would trouble them as soon as she left them.

Minnie thought about it a great deal that evening. At last she
said, “I know what we can do. We can build a baby-cage!”’ She



then asked John to make her a large frame, in the shape of a box,
to go over the babies. Minnie and her mamma covered the frame
with pretty pink mosquito netting.

John carried the baby-cage to the little log-house. Minnie went
with him, taking some of her playthings.

Minnie gave the toys to the babies, and then set the cage over
them. She first scared away all the flies. All the company at the
large house wished to see “‘Minnie’s invention,” as they called it.
Each one paid a “nickel” to Minnie for looking at the baby-cage.
She gave the money to the babies’ mothers, to buy some clothing

for them.
AUNT NELL.
UNCLE JACK’S PACK OF HOUNDS.

Dip you ever hear a pack of hounds? Such a noise as they
make! They can beat anything for noise, except boys just let loose
from school.

Uncle Jack More has five or six fine fox-hounds. When he goes
out to hunt he takes his
hounds. They start on
a run, with their noses
to the ground. When
one of them scents the
track of a deer, a fox,
or any other animal, he
raises a cry. Then the
whole pack start on the
trail, making the woods
ring with their cries.

The hounds are very
gentle. They are great
pets with all the chil-
dren who live near.

Uncle Jack has a
friend living eight miles
distant. He often makes
him a visit with his
hounds. One day when
he was coming home he
had a funny time. I
must tell you the story.

Right on his road home stands our new white school-house. School
had just begun for the summer. We had a pretty, young teacher.
She was a stranger to all of us, and had never heard of the hounds.
Uncle Jack was riding with a neighbor. As they came near the
school-house, he called the hounds up into the wagon.

“Tf they strike the track of the children, they will go straight to
school,” he said.




UNCLE JACK’S PACK OF HOUNDS.

They rode along, but did not see that one of the dogs had jumped
down. He was under the wagon.

“ To-0-0-too to-o-ot !” said he; and all the other hounds jumped
after him. Away they went, baying at the top of their voices.





























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Nothing could stop them now. They had found the track of their
little playmates. Happy dogs! The school-house door was open.
In they went. You never heard such a noise as they made.

The little school-mistress was brave. She did not scream or faint.
But she said she was frightened. She never had seen a pack of
hounds before. She did not know that dogs could make so much
noise. They went all around the school-room, wagging their tails
against the desks. They were glad to see everybody once more.

Poor Uncle Jack had the worst of it. He had to come into school

with, his riding-whip, to drive them out. ’
L. A. B. CURTIS.
SOME STRANGE BIRDS.

THERE is a bird that knows
how to sew so well that it is
called the tailor-bird. Look
at this queer nest, which is
hidden in the leaves all
sewed together.

Perhaps you wonder where |
it gets its thread. Even that
it makes from the fine cotton
on the back of the cotton-
plant, which it spins into a
thread with its delicate bill
and little feet. When it is
all ready to sew, it makes
holes through the leaves
with its small bill, and then
sews them nicely together.

Some birds, like the wood-
pecker, use their bills to drill
holes in the trees, to get at
worms and insects, which
they eat. You can hear the
sound of this little instru-
ment a good ways off. It
is like many knocks, one
after the other.

I will tell you of one
other, and this is a strange-
looking bird. It really has
no wings, but such a long
bill, which it uses, like ali
the others, for gathering its
food, — insects and worms.
But it has a stranger use
than that, for it makes a cane of it.




















































































GOOD MORNING.
A QUEER COUPLE.

BC (ONUT EID BO CON NPIS,

Once a hopper and a spider
Promenaded down the street,

Said the hopper to the spider,
‘“Smile to all we chance to meet.”



Said the spider to the hopper,
Slyly glancing at her spouse,

“Do you really think it proper
Thus to recognize a mouse ?”

Then her spouse began to chide her
For her foolish pride of life,

“Don’t you know you're but a spider,
Notwithstanding you're my wife?’


A GAME OF SEE-SAW.

But the hoppér vainly plied her
With his questions quick and keen,
She replied, « Although a spider,

I’m as good as you, I ween.”

Thus the spider and the hopper,
Promenaded down the street,
In deciding what was proper,

All their friends forgot to greet.
—Our LITTLE ONES.



A GAME OF SEE-SAW.

The fox, the wolf, the porcupine
See-saw with Bruin in the wood;
They don’t on one another dine,

But play in peace, as children should,
—PALMER Cox
WATCHING FOR FATHER—THE BIRDIES’ DUET.

awe +

WATCHING FOR FATHER.

“He's a very long time,”
Cries sweet little May,
While Harold feels certain,
The train’s late to-day.

These two always sit

In the very same place,
To catch the first sight

Of their father’s dear face.

Ah, now they can hear him !—



He’s walking so fast.
“Well, children, well, dear ones,
Here’s father at last.”



THE BIRDIES’ DUET.

“Will you sing me a song,
Just to cheer me?” said she,

To a gentleman caller
Who dropped in to tea.

“T’m too nervous by far
To sing all alone”—

And the sigh that he heaved
Would have melted a stone.

“ But our voices I’m sure,
Would go finely together!”



So the pair sang duets
' Through the bright summer weather.
ONLY
Uncie Harris was a carpenter, and had a shop im the country.
One day he went into the barn where Dick and Joe were playing
with two tame pigeons.































































“ Boys,”
he said, “my
work-shop ought
to be swept up every even-
ing. Which of you will
undertake to do it? I am willing to pay a cent for each sweeping.”

“ Only a cent!” said Dick. “Who would work for a cent ?”

“JT will,’ said Joe. “A cent is better than nothing.”

Se every day, when Uncle Harris was done working in the shop,
Joe would take an old broom and sweep it. And he dropped all his
pennies into his tin savings bank.
THE TAME DEER.

One day Uncle Harris took Dick and Joe to town with him.
While he went to buy some lumber, they stayed in a toy-shop,
where there were toys of every kind.

“«¢ What fine kites!” said Dick. “ I wish I could buy one.”

“ Only ten cents,” said the man behind the counter.

“‘T haven’t even a cent,” said Dick.

“T have fifty cents,’ said Joe, “and I think I will buy that bird-
kite.”

“ How did you get fifty cents ?”’ asked Dick.

“By sweeping the shop,” answered Joe. “I saved my pennies,
and did not open my bank until this morning.”

Joe bought the bird-kite and a fine large knife, while Dick went
home without anything. But he had learned not to despise little
things, and he was very glad to sweep the shop whenever Joe
would let him, even though he received for his work only a cent.

FLORENCE B. HALLOWELL.



THE TAME DEER.

A FEW years ago some men were hunting for deer on the
prairies of Nebraska. One day they shot a doe which had two
young ones with her.

The young deer, or fawns, were so frightened that they did
not know which way to go. One of them ran right up to the
hunters and was caught. One of the men, whose name was
Gray, took the fawn home and kept him. He soon got quite
tame, and would go to his master when called.

As soon as he was fully grown, a harness was made for him,
and he was taught to draw a buggy like a horse.
THE TAME DEER.

It was a curious sight to see Mr. Gray riding through the streets
of the village in a carriage drawn by such a queer-looking horse.
It not only attracted the attention of the people, but the horses,









































































































































































as they passed, would look very shyly at the deer’s long horns.
Some of them were frightened. Mr. Gray had two children, a
boy and a girl, who learned to drive the deer, and who grew to
be very fond of him.

One night the people were awakened from their sleep by the cry
of “Fire! fire!” and the ringing of bells all over the village. The
fire proved to be in Mr. Gray’s stable, and had burned so much
before it was seen that it could not be put out.

The poor deer was tied in the stable; he could not get away,
and was burned to ashes in the flames. The children mourned
over their loss for a long time. Every one felt sorry, for the tame
deer was well known all over the village, and had become a great

favorite.
H. L. CHARLES.
THE BOATS THE GNATS BUILD.

Dip you ever hear about the wonderful boats the gnats build?
They lay their eggs in the water, and the eggs float until it is time
for them to hatch. You can see these little egg rafts on almost any
pool in summer.

The eggs are so heavy that one alone would sink. The cunning
mother fastens them all together
until they form a hollow boat.
It will not upset, even if it is
filled with
water!
The upper
end.o-f
these egos
is pointed,
and looks
very much


























like a powder-flask.
One egg is glued to another, pointed
end up, until the boat is finished. And how
many eges do you think it takes? From two
hundred and fifty to three hundred. When the young are hatched,
they always come from the under side, leaving the empty boat afloat.

These eggs are very, very small. First they are white, then
green, then a dark gray. They swim just like little fishes, and
hatch in two days. Then they change again to a kind of sheath.*
In another week this sheath bursts open and lets out a winged
mosquito. It is all ready for work. There are so many of them
born in a summer, that, were it not for the birds and larger insects,
we should be “eaten up alive.”

* Chrysalis.
STINGY DAVY.

Davy was a very pretty lit-*
tle boy. He had light curly
hai, dark blue eyes, and rosy
cheeks. But he was very
stingy. He did not like to
share anything with his little
brothers and sisters. One
day he went into the kitchen
where his mother
was at work, and
saw on the table
a saucer of jelly.

“Can I have that
jelly?” asked Davy. HO oa er

“Mrs. White sent it to me,” said Davy’s mother. “She has com-
pany to dinner, and made this jelly very nice. But I don’t care for
it; so you may have it if you won’t be stingy with it.”

Davy took the saucer of jelly and went out into the yard; but
he did not call his little brothers and sisters to help him eat it.

“Tf I divide with them, there won’t be a spoonful apiece,” he
thought. “It is better for one to have enough than for each to have
just a little.”

So he ran to the barn and climbed up to the loft, where he was
sure no one would think of looking for him.

Just as he began to eat the jelly he heard his sister Fannie calling
him. But he did not answer her. He kept very still.

“They always want some of everything I have,” he said to him-
self. “If I have just a ginger-snap they think I ought to give them
each a piece.”

When the jelly was all eaten, and he had scraped the saucer clean,
Davy went down into the barn-yard and played with the little white
ealf, and hunted for eggs in the shed where the cows were. He
was ashamed to go into the house, for he knew he had been very
stingy about the jelly.









STING Y DAVY,

“Q Davy,” said Fannie, running into the barn-yard, “where
have you been this long time? We locked everywhere for you.”

“What did you want?” asked Davy, thinking that of course his
sister would say she had wanted him to share the jelly with her.





“Mother gave us a party,” said Fannie. “We had all the dolls”
dishes set out on a little table under the big tree by the porch; and
we had strawberries, cake, and raisins. Just as we sat down to eat,
Mrs. White saw us from her window, and she sent over a big bowl
of ice-cream and some jelly, left from her dinner. We had a
splendid time. You ought to have been with us.”

Poor Davy! How mean he felt! And he was well punished for

eating his jelly all alone.
/ FLORIE BURNETT.



ne
































































































































































































BRIGHT LITTLE DANDELION.

Bricnt little dandelion
Glitters in the sun,
The wind combs out his yellow hair
Like gold that is spun:
Let the winter work its will
With its frost and snow;
When he hears the robins trill,
He begins to grow.

What is he about there,
Underneath the mould?
Has he not an hour to spare,
Digging hard for gold?

Has he work enough to do
To cut his jacket green,
To slash it and shape it too,
Fit for kmg or queen ?

How does he hear, think,
When brooks begin to coo ?

Does he never sleep a wink
The long night through ?

Like a ghost he fades, alas,
Ere the summer’s fled,

In among the meadow grass,
A halo round his head!

MARY N. PRESCOTT.


DICKY AND THE PEARS.

Tuer tree is full of Bartlett pears ;
How fair they are, and large!
Each of the children all the time
Thinks them his special charge.
When, lo! one day John rushes in,
His eyes with grief aglow,
And shouts, “Somebody steals our pears, —
Somebody -does, I know !

“T thought that they were going off, —
And underneath the tree

T’ve found a dozen, I should think,
Nibbled like this, —just see!”

“What can it be?” exclaims mamma ;
“Tt surely can’t be mice.”

No one could tell. “ Whoever ’tis,”
Sobs John, “he isn’t nice!”

“Let’s watch,” said mamma. So we watched.
What do you think we saw?
A cunning little chipmunk came,
And straight began to gnaw
Until a stem was severed; then
He glided down the tree,
And on the ground he ate a pear
With great avidity ;
DICKEY AND THE PEARS.

Then up he ran. Another pear
Soon dropped, and down again

Ran Mr. Dicky. Oh, he knew
The way to do, ‘twas plain!



“Dear me!” cried Charlie, “it’s no use
To take such pains with pears!

We've mulched and pruned and watched, and, see
How little Dicky cares!”
LEGGINS AND MOCCASONS.

But one day came a hunter by
When Dick was at his fun,

And ere that little rogue could fly,
He shot it with bis gun.

Poor little Dick! the children felt
They'd rather, almost, lose

The pears than have the squirrel shot,

If they could only choose!
MRS. KATE UPSON CLARK.





LEGGINS AND MOCCASONS.

Onp Ticer lived in a dismal swamp down in Florida. He was
very old, as you might think from his name, but not so fierce as his
name would imply. He was indeed a very gentle old man, though
in his younger days he had been a great fighter.

The white people wanted the land he lived on, and he fought to
defend it. The war lasted seven years, and in the end the strangers
drove Old Tiger into the swamp, where he lived when I saw hin.
Te was very brave, and his people made him a chief. He had
killed a great panther, once, with his knife, and from this fact his
Indian brothers gave him his name. They call the panther a tiger.
Tt sometimes kills their cattle.

What has Old Tiger got to do with the leggins and moccasons ?
Just this: he made them. :

One day, hungry and very tired, I reached the little Indian village
where Tiger lived. He was sitting in his doorway, smoking deer-
skins. After the Indians kill a deer they strip off his skin and
prepare it so it is soft and nice. After tanning it they rub it over a
log till it is very soft, and then smoke it over a little fire of leaves in


LEGGINS AND MOCCASINS,

a hole in the ground. This was what Tiger was domg when I
reached his hut. He didn’t
even look up when I spoke
to him, but grunted out,


























































































































































































































“ Howdy ?”

He meant to say,
“ How do you do?”
but it was too much
trouble to say the
whole of it.

‘“Take seat,’”
said he.

I sat down and
watched him; and
then I thought how
nice it would be to
have my Indian
friend make me
something from the
deer-skin. So I said to Tiger, “What can you make me from those



































































skins?”

** Make moceason. make legein,” answered he.

Then I told him to make me a pair of leggins and a pair of
mloccasons.
LEGGINS AND MOCCASONS.

« Sticky out um foot,” he grunted.

I put out my foot, and he wrapped a skin around it, cut it here and
there with his sharp knife, and then did the same with the other.
Cutting a slender strip from one of the skins, he rolled it up into a
cord, and sewed them up, where they needed it, in a very few minutes.

«“ Want um leggin?”

«< Yes, certainly.”

At this he drew a skin around my leg and marked the size of it
with his knife. With a long thong he sewed it up on one side, com-
mencing at the top and running the skin thread the whole length of
the leg. Another was made to match it; and then I had a pair of
Indian leggins and shoes, all made in less than half an hour.

“§’pose want um look good, hey?”

“Oh yes,” said I, “ make them look nice.”

With his knife he then cut the edges of, the leggins so as to make
a kind of fringe at the sides and bottom. Having done this, he held
out his hand: —

“Gime dollar.”

I gave him the dollar, and he went on with his other work. The
moccason, or deer-skin shoe, is the only kind the little Indian child
ever wears. These shoes are sometimes prettily ornamented with
colored beads, and then look very gay. The moccasons I had made
were only for hunting in, to use m the woods, and were much better

without ornament.
FREDERICK A. OBER.


A FAIRY STORY.

A FAIRY STORY.

Once on a time, and no matter where,

In a field of daisies so wide and fair,

So far from cities and haunts of boys,
From roving cattle, from dust and noise,
That it seemed to shine with the very dew
Of the meads of Eden when earth was new,
A band of butterflies met one day,

To legislate in their own sweet way.







TrimlHiY

He

lee
—

ma
muss ST nicl y | f ky
Suni ANTE ‘| | 20 hile ‘08 we
i Wy PHAR ff Peale baits

ttl,

Mee a THE Foun mes
~ ~ ieee



A BUTTERFLY HUNTING LITTLE MAID,

But how they revelled! What hours of fun
(“The days are long,” said the wisest one)
Before they settled their airy wings

To think of business—the merry things !
A FAIRY STORY.

And then they gossiped a little first,

With wine of clover to quench their thirst ;
And then—and then—what a luckless day—
The heavens fell!

It was just this way ;
A butterfly-hunting little maid,
Armed with a terrible hoop-net, strayed
Among the daisies, and saw from far
Some wings a-flutter. “A council of war,
Or butterfly ball, I don’t know which,”
She softly whispered; ‘“ But V’ll be rich
In half a minute.” And in a trice
(Her feet were as nimble as little mice),
A score of butterflies at one swoop
Were prisoned fast in the netted hoop!
“Oh!?—and the little maid laughed aloud—
“Now I'm happy, and xow I’m proud!
Twenty butterflies flew away,
But twenty beautiful creatures stay!
Don’t—you darlings—you lovely things!
You'll beat the gold dust from off your wings,
I know it’s cruel to keep you, still
You are so pretty, 1 must—and will!” |

Hear what happened before the moon

Was a half-hour high that night—so soon;
Seated round in the slant moonlight

On the dewy discs of the daisies white,

A ring of fairy folk, tete-a-tete,

Talked in whispers about the fate

Of twenty others, who were, they wailed,
“Drugged with ether, and then impaled

On twenty pins for a common show!”

And they leaned together and whispered low—
So low that only the fairy ear

That hears the growing of grass could hear,
A FAIRY STORY.

But suddenly there was a whirr of wings,
And then there happened—some other things!

A little girl stood in a moonlit door.
She had just pinned up the last of a score
Of “lovely specimens” on her wall,
And tripping down through the lighted hall,
She spied another; around the light



THE BUTTERFLIES’ REVENGE.

A night-moth sailed in a circling flight,

A downy fellow, broad-winged and green;

A finer specimen never was seen!

She crept to the door, but he flitted out

To circle around the moon, no doubt,

So then she poised on her slippered toes

And peered around her, till “ There he goes!”
A FAIRY STORY.

She cried; and over the dewy lawn
She flew to find him, but he was gone!

A little later the bright hall-light

Revealed a maid in a sorry plight.

Her hair was tangled, her dress was torn,

Her foot was pierced with an ugly thorn,

She was dashed with dew, and with tears as well,
And she lost her breath as she tried to tell
How “thorns had pricked her, and bees had stung,
And all the spiders their webs had hung

From bush to bush, and from tree to tree

For very mischief. She could not see

How bees, and spiders, and thorns should know
That she had murdered a moth or so,

And bugs and butterflies—just a few!”

And so with tears, and with much ado

She wearily climbed the stair, and sought

A place where spiders and bees were not.

Shall I tell you a secret? Bend your ear,
That none of the fairy folk may hear:
‘Tis said by one who is strangely wise,
That at set of sun all the butterflies

Are changed to fairies, and all night long
They haunt the forests with dance and song,
But just as the sun begins to rise-

They fly to the fields and are butterflies,
So, dear collector of winged things,

The bug that pinches, the bee that stings,
Are honest enemies, full of spite

Toward “specimen” hunters, day or night ;
But if it be true that the butterflies

Are really fairy-folk in disguise,

Be wise and wary whene’er you come
Through a daisy field, or if e’er you roam
Abroad for butterflies, lest you catch

A fairy Tartar—be on the watch!
Mary A. LATHROP, IN WIDE AWAKE.




















































WHAT POLLY DID,
LITTLE BONNIE'S TRIAL.

LITTLE BONNIE’S TRIAL.




H! he is so clever!” said Roger.

“And so handsome!” said Mysie.

“And so brave,” added Rachel; “he
doesn’t seem the least bit frightened of
~ anything or anybody.”
This is 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 that she had
ever seen or was ever likely to see; and
as for Bonnie himself —well, he thought
that the children and his mother knew

what they were talking about, and quite

ee LG- agreed with them.

CARLO, There was only one thing that
disturbed his mind, > That’ was; that Carlo, the big retriever, wagged his
tail vigorously—which is the way a dog smiles, you know—when Bonnie
announced boldly in the stable-yard 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
wagged 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 w2// prove it; and the first
thing for me to do is to go out into the world and commence my travels.”

He said nothing to his mother; but one bright sunshiny morning,
when the coachman opened the stable-door to let Carlo out, small Bonnie
crept out too, and followed the big dog down the lane.

Carlo, however, managed to get over the ground much more quickly
than the puppy could do, and Bonnie was soon left behind.

He made his way across some fields, and at last came to a little
stream. Then he began to feel thirsty, and thought he would like a
drink of water. He went down to the stream and bent his head to drink.






































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CARLO AND DARBY

95
LITTLE BONNIE'S TRIAL.
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 his great adventure—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; “but he was in the water when I
first saw him.”

_ Carlo ran down to the water, and calling Bonnie to him, told him to
look into the stream. Bonnie looked, and barked with astonishment, for
there was the puppy again.

“ Now, my clever friend,” said Carlo, “don’t you understand? That
is no dog, but the reflection of yourself in the water. I don’t call it very
clever to fight and frighten your own reflection.”

Poor Bonnic looked very disgusted; and then he walked along by the
side of the stream very soberly, trying to think what he could do. After
a little time he came to a place where a bridge had been made over the
‘stream by throwing a plank across. Bonnie decided that he would go
over this. He had reached the end of the plank when he saw five geese
coming down the path toward him. He thought perhaps it would be
as well to let the birds pass by before he continued his walk in search
of Carlo, so he began to retrace his steps.

Unfortunately, the geese came toward the bridge instead of passing
by it; and before Bonnie reached the bank one of them stepped on to
the bridge.

At first he thought he would run away home; then he remembered
how Carlo’s tail would wag, and turning round, 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 anything, so he stood quite still. The bird took another
step toward him.
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE MEETING ON THE BRIDGE.
LITTLE BONNIE'S TRIAL.

Bonnie turned his head away, and was just making up his mind to
run for his life and not even try to be brave, when through the trees he
caught sight of Carlo’s tail. He only saw it for one second, but it was
evidently wagging hard, :

Without stopping to think any more, Bonnie gave a big jump, as loud
a bark as ever he could, and shut his eyes tight, so that he could not
see what happened next.

What did happen? Why, he suddenly found himself struggling in the
cold water.

He was so frightened that somehow he did not seem to be able to
swim, and somehow too, he felt so cold and stiff.

Next he heard Carlo’s bark, and felt Carlo helping him, and pulling
him out of the water on to the dry land. He was very soon quite
himself again, and then he looked round about him.

There was the bridge, but there were no big geese on it, and there
was Carlo.

Bonnie at once looked at the tail, and was astonished to see that it
really was not wagging.

“Whatever happened?” he asked at last. ‘What did that horrid bird
do to me? and where is it gone ?”

“It was frightened away, of course, by you,” said Carlo; “but it seems
you frightened yourself quite as much as the goose. I was watching you.
from behind a big bush all the time. I thought at first you were going
to be a coward; but then you barked loudly, and, of course, all the geese
were frightened, and waddled off the bridge. Then, to my astonishment,
you tumbled into the water. Whatever were you doing?”

“My foot slipped,” said Bonnie; “and to tell you the truth, I was
frightened.”

“Well, it was very plucky of a little bit of a dog like you to attack
those big birds. Don’t think too much of yourself, and you will make a
fine dog one of these days. Now come home; I think that you have
proved that you are brave.”

Bonnie looked pleased, very pleased. Then he trotted home con-
tentedly, 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.
A WIZARD,

A WIZARD.

Twas a famous East Indian wizard—








He could change a cow to a lizard,
A fish to a squirrel,

Or, just by a twirl,

2

Make gold from a black hen’s gizzard,

Fell in with a Kansas blizzard;



They had a set-to,
And when they got through

He didn't know “a” from “izzard.”

—JAMES PENNYPACKER.




A MARCH PAST THE HOUSE THAT FACK BUILT.

38)



A MARCH PAST THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.

This is Sir Bantam, belonging to

Jack.

This is Don Spanish, in coat of jet-
black.

Who followed Sir Bantam, belong-
ing to Jack.

This is Lord Dorking, stately and
grand,

Who marched along third of the
feathered band,

Just after Don Spanish, in coat of
jet-black, [to Jack.

Who followed Sir Bantam, belonging

And here’s Rajah Brahma, from far-
away land,

Coming next to Lord Dorking, so
stately and grand,

Tb reer NANTON NA ITD IO ET AIT





















Who marched
feathered band,

Just after Don Spanish, in coat of
jet-black,

Who followed Sir Bantam, belong-

ing to Jack.

along third of the

And here's Farmer Barndoor, sturdy
and bold,

The last of the marchers that day
in the cold,

Right behind Rajah Brahma, from
far-away land,

Coming next to Lord Dorking, so
stately and grand,

Who marched along third of the
feathered band, [ jet-black,

Just after Don Spanish, in coat of

Who followed Sir Bantam, belong-
ing to Jack.






THE WORD THE CHILDREN SPELLED.

THE WORD THE CHILDREN SPELLED.

Two bright little girls, one seven and the other five, form an important
arc of the family circle of a member of the Memphis Avalanche staff. The

eldest





slates,

has quite an inventive turn of mind, and finds in her younger

sister an apt pupil. An evening or two since, tiring of books and

they concluded to pursue their studies in another way.
“ Look, papa, we are going to spell with ourselves!” cried
one of them. Where they got the idea nobody knows.
Perhaps it was an inspiration, The eldest took the lead.
Standing straight up, with her arms by her sides, she called

to her smart little assistant to lie down on the carpet. It was done in a
moment. Did anybody know what letter it was? Plain as day, the letter L.



The second letter was not so easily made. They put their
little feet together, clasped hands, bent themselves backward
—tried a dozen ways, but, as the mirror, a few feet away
informed them, when it was consulted from time to time, they
were not successful. Suddenly one of them tripped away,
returning in a moment with her big hoop. Pressing them-
selves hard upon either side, with their curly heads over the

top, the result was not only a pretty picture but a perfect letter O.
Now for the third letter, and really it did not seem to be much easier than



the second. There were two or three pretty hard falls, but
it was no time for tears, and so much determined were they
to succeed that they didn’t notice what would have been
reason enough for giving up their play at another time and
at last they succeeded—it was easy. The jumping rope
solved the problem, and made of the pair a burlesque V.

It was useless to pretend ignorance any longer of the word they were

trying to spell.



The last letter was the most difficult of all. How it was to
be done father was obliged to own to himself he did not see.
By standing with their faces to each other three feet apart,
bending over until the tops of their heads touched and_hold-
ing an arm straight down, they made the letter, but it was

not upright. After many trials, however, they succeeded in
making, as the illustration shows, an excellent E.

Hold the page at arm’s length, glance down the column, and you have
ELIE ENTALIOS: ABOUL INSE C PALLEE,

that most eloquent’ of all words in the English language—one which
describes the bond between the hearts of the little ones whose lithe young
bodies and dimpled limbs have learned to form it almost as soon as their lips
have learned to lisp it—Love



LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.
HOW INSECTS LAY THEIR EGGS.

VER and ever so long ago, in a far-away country, the
boys and girls believed that insects grew out of the
earth just as plants grow! There were grown people,
too, who thought that they grew in the mud of the
river Nile, in Egypt!

Now, I am going to try to tell you a little about
how they really do grow, and how they change from
one form to another.

The egg is the first form, and it is of many different
shapes. Sometimes the eggs are round, sometimes

i oval; sometimes they are of the shape

of a pine cone, and again they look like round tubes. The

different kind of insects lay different shaped eggs.

Sometimes the eggs are wrapped in a soft covering or
shell. Here is a picture of a shell full of eggs. See how the
eggs are placed in perfect order in little cells, which makes us
think of the seeds in the seed vessels of a flower. The
picture shows you how one of these shells looks when seen
under a microscope. You could not see these tiny eggs with
the naked eye.

The mother insect lays her eggs in many places ; near the
roots of plants, or in trunks of trees. She often bores with a
little auger of her own, into the bark of the tree to find a safe
place for her eggs. Some insects, like the mosquito, lay their
eggs in the water, or on plants that grow in the water. Yes, .
re . . . SHELL CONTAIN-
insects lay their eggs in many, many different places. ING EGGS.

The mother insect does not watch over her eggs and her little ones asa



LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

bird mother does. Only a few insects do that. They just lay their eggs in
a snug, warm place, sometimes where the sun’s rays can reach them, and near
by suitable food for the little ones, and then they leave them to their fate.

When the eggs hatch, the little crawling things are called Zarve. They
do not look one bit like their mother. They ¢
are worms, and they crawl and creep about
for food. The lovely butterfly, you know,
has first to be a crawling caterpillar. But,
after all, the caterpillar is as interesting, if
not quite so pretty, as the butterfly.

Some larve build cradles into which
they run if they are afraid. When the time
draws near for them to change into a third
form, they shut themselves up in these
cradles.

Some larve spin soft, silken nests in
which they go to sleep—the caterpillar does



this. CRADLES OF LARVE.

THE CHRYSALIS.

If the limbs of the insect are not covered when it passes through its
second change and into its third form, and if it takes food, it is called a
nymph. The bumble-bee takes this form. If the insect does not eat, but
keeps very, very still, all bound up like a mummy in its case, then we say, it
is achrysalis. The butterfly comes froma chrysalis. ‘‘ Chrysalis” means
‘‘ oilt, or covered with ornaments of gold;” and the insect is so called because
it is often yellow, or covered with yellow spots, when
in this state. Some insects live in societies, keeping
very near each other until they become nymphs, and
some of the more social caterpillars remain in company
during ¢hzs state also. Do you suppose they are afraid
to be alone in the dark, as some boys and girls are?

Often the chrysalis or nymph form lasts but a few
days, while it way last during the whole winter. The
butterfly chrysalis usually opens in a few days, but it
sometimes lives in this state during the whole wintcr. The harvest fly lives
seventeen years in the larva and chrysalis state before it becomes an insect.



NYMPH, CHRYSALIS.
6

LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.

As an insect it lives but a few weeks. The harvest fly is black, and has
transparent wings, veined with a red-orange color. It has a ‘“ music-box”
attached to its body, and the movements of its wings help in making the
drumming or music, which we often hear. It likes the oak forests. Some-
times so many gather on one limb that it bends down with the weight, like a
branch full of cherries.

Once there was a little girl who used to go with her papa to a camp-meet-
ing, away from her home. As they drew near the oak grove where the
meeting was held, and she heard the harvest flies singing, she would say, ‘ O
papa, I hear the camp-meeting!” And although the little girl has become a
gray-haired lady, the singing of the harvest fly always recalls those early days
to her mind. .

The harvest fly belongs to the Cicada. The Cicadz are a large family,
and are found in almost every part of the world. In the full-page picture,
the pretty one with the lace-like wings is a native of Asia. The little one
with two white stripes across its back, lives in Java. You will find, in the
picture, a queer little one with horns. Part of its scientific name is Taurean
(bull), so called from its horns.

When the perfect insect is formed, the chrysalis opens on the. back, and
the insect flies out in all its beauty.

THE SENSES OF INSECTS.

Touch, taste, smell, hearing, sight—all these senses insects have. ‘Can
insects taste?” you ask. One day, a little girl left a bit of candy upon the
kitchen table. As soon as she had gone, an ant crept slowly toward the bit
of candy. The ant must have smelled the candy, and, as he came nearer,
he saw it. He tasted it, and then went back, but soon came again, bringing
a party of ants to share the feast. So you see, the ant smelled, saw, and
tasted the candy.

The cricket is one of those insects that hear quickly. The cricket, as you
know, likes to come into the house, and hide in the corners, and sing. Once

upon a time, a great many crickets crawled into a certain house. When they

all sang, as they often did, the noise was too much for the people in the
house. But they could not get the crickets out of the house. They tried,
but they could not. One night, however, there was a party in the house,
and the music drove away the crickets. They did not like the kind of music.
So, it seems, they must have heard.
LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE.



CICADAS,
THE BUTTERFLY.

On the heads of insects are two little organs called antenne. We often
call them “feelers.” Examine a fly or wasp, and you will easily find the
antenne. WNith these they seem to talk. They tell each other the. news
with them. When the little ant had tasted the candy, he went back, you
remember, and told the other ants about it, and they came to share the feast.
How did he tell them? By touching their antennz with his. When you

have a chance, watch these tiny creatures, and see how they talk.
—LitTLe MEN AND WOMEN.

1

: @ butterfly

3 ks Of jel and gold |

41/ "be year grows old:
> iby dreams of summer,

e Gay summer comer,

© flutter backs,
2 Qn wings thal held
oe Sun's sunniesf gold,
“Dight’s blackest black,
2) Alyd you and |,

) oth gay together,
Will idle by

The winter weather,

Q butterfly!

PL
iS

Nh,

are

NI

















LITTLE lass with

‘Golden har,
AY little lass wilh brown, ni
ithe lass with raven locks,
Went Crip ing) mto
town, >

"| like the golden pair the
best aS

“Gnd 1 prefer the brown!”

“ind I the black !”

Chree Sparrows Said
Chree Sparrows
OF the Town. |

\


















Cu-whib! Cu Wee an old oe erjed,
: yom’ the be im The Cown :
“ ‘aes ie ne hol mind
iy If locks be Gold, black, byoven.
Comhi ts Gewhoo : So fost So fast
Ghe Sands of life run dov?n,”
c na $oon,So 3d0n, Three while-hai red dames
Will Totter thro’ the lown -
one fhen for aye the vaven locks;
Ghe golden hair, the brown:
Gnd She will fairest be Whose face,

Gas never Worna frown!”





ee

39
A FURY OF FLAMINGOES.










SS Ste ee
LaF pedd le
iG van junk,
| fhatapoems-but
| * paperand: ink:
Now, \'Ve-had-then
Sag) ai :

op-an- hour [rs
: queers
» Butthelee’s











A JURY OF FLAMINGOES.

It appears that trial by jury is not unknown among the funny looking
long-shanked birds called flamingoes, and in the picture on the opposite page
the artist has represented this quaint ceremony. While a sportsman was
engaged in the chase of wild ducks among the brackish lagoons in the south
of Spain, his attention was aroused by a hideous gabble. Wading in the
direction whence the noise came, he found that an excited group of flamin-
goes were the disturbers of the peace. It was plain, from its downcast
looks, that one of their number—which was standing in its midst—had
sinned against the laws of their society, and that the others were discussing
its conduct. They were all speaking at once, except one, which kept
flapping its wings vigorously, as much as to say, “Stop this talking; let’s
punish him and be done with it.”. This seemed to be the general opinion,
for soon afterward they fell upon the criminal and cruelly killed him.
Then they took wing, uttering cries of approval that their laws had been
upheld, but leaving behind, in a heap, the feathers and bones of their victim.












































































ol FORV OF FLAITINGOES. Al
ayic and Klugh went oul one day,
[Ca ver a bramblk, wilhoul a thera
"To gel into mischit? in every way.

it Cows the rreadow and sheep in the comnff S
s q
4 7

"They lellina hedge while setking a rose,

if / diver a bramble wilboul a thornff
#alnd scralched their faces and fon their clothes. }
/ Cows in be meadow and shes nthe corn}

Whey scrambled among lhe sharp slones on the hill ,- f
| [Pever a bramble whoul 2 loralf
"TTIL their bouts cams to pieces.as boots often wil Lt
ft Cows inthe miadaw and shesfp in the corn]


B

CHA xe wa Pe
i “yy Ly Ay sia ve

De

Suis

AWS
A dap
os
QE, We

hs lhver a Lramble without a lhorndf a
And aben they came out they were wet to the skin!

1 Pe
y

WS Flnd now it wes hinie for relumingsthey thoughl
[1 lever a bramble wilhoul 2 Boralf Ks
So ragged and forn their way home they sought. f
: [ Lows in les mcadiw ard Shit wn thé corn Fe

Gbeary and worn in their bed they lay,
/i liver 2 bramble wilbal a ltornff
Vei ready for mischie| the very neat day! [8
: ft Cows ta lhe meadow and shipnlhe corn ff a



"They went to the brook, and of course tumbled in 5 Be Ls
THE SNOW BIRD.

Slate eal Ge)

In the rosy light trills the gay swallow,
The thrush, in the roses below;
The meadow lark sings in the meadow,
But the snow bird sings in the snow.
Ah me!
Chickadee!
The snow bird sings in the snow!

The blue martin trills in the gable,
The wren, in the ground below;
In the elm, flutes the golden robin,
But the snow bird sings in the snow.
Ah me!
Chickadee !
The snow bird sings in the snow!

High wheels the gray wing of the
osprey,

The wing of the sparrow drops low;

In the mist dips the wings of the
robin,

And the snow bird’s wing in the
snow.

Eugene

Chickadee !
The snow bird sings in the snow.



I love the high heart of the osprey,
The meek heart of the thrush, below,
‘The heart of the lark in the meadow,
And the snow bird’s heart in the snow;
But dearest to me,
Chickadee! Chickadee!
Is that true little heart in the snow.

—WIDE AWAKE,
THE FOUR-LEAFEP CLOVER.

THE FOUR-LEAFED CLOVER.

She went to play with the butterflies,
This little fair-haired rover,

And found in the meadow a long-sought prize-
A lucky four-leafed clover.



THE LITTLE MAID WENT LIKE A BIRD TO HER NEST,
AS THE STARS CREPT OUT OF HEAVEN. I’ i

She caught it up with a happy start,
And clasped it close to her bosom ;
’Twas far more fair to her childish heart
Than the sweetest meadow blossom.
“T will place it under my pillow,” she said,
THE FOUR-LEAFED CLOVER.

“And dream to-night of the one I shall wed.”

The simple thing to her room she brought;

“T will leave it here till night,” she thought,
“In this book of fairy stories;

When sleep-time comes I'll never look,

But I'll lie right down and dream on the book
Till I wake with the morning glories ;
And then we shall see! and then we shall see

Whao’s the little lad that shall marry me
When playtime days are over!

We shall see who the lover is going to be,
From a dream on the four-leafed clover!”

The day passed by, and the sun sank low,
and the night stole down through the gloaming,
And the fireflies gay, with their lamps aglow,
O’er vale and meadow were roaming.
The little maid went like a bird to her nest,
As the stars crept out of heaven;
_With the picture book close to her pillow prest
Her heart to dreams was given.
She dreamed of a little blue-eyed lad,
With rosy face that was sunny and glad—
The very one she hoped she should see,
The very one she prayed it might be,
A merry little lover!
She woke. The day gleamed through the skies,
She opened her book to kiss her prize—
Her treasured four-leafed clover.
Alas! alas! what greets her sight ?
She has dreamed on the wrong book all the night,
And the vision was only a fable.
The clover still lies ’twixt the pages white
Of the fairy-book left on the table.

1

le

SOY
AWS

a
BABY’S LETTER.

BABY Sane aia BR:

Here in this casket you may behold
Something more precious to me than gold,
‘For the crumpled scrap of paper there,
Inclosing a tress of soft, bright hair,

And penciled over so cunningly,

‘Is my wee grandson’s letter to me,

Where not in vain did his Babyhood
Struggle, to make himself understood.



A world of odors, and light. and song,

Such as to infancy belong,

Seem part of this letter; for, don’t you see,
He is just as sweet as a baby can be.

To think the darling—you needn't laugh—
Marked lines like this at a year and a half,
With his blessed own. little dimpled hand,
And sent them to me out of Babyland!

oro

—
wee

BABY’S LETTER.

His words still few, he scarce has met
The fitting ones for his purpose yet.

But the love in his all-loving breast,
Beyond expression, is here expressed.
These comical crooks and awkward angles,
And twisted lines like threads in tangles
Are riddles, riddles that grandma guesses
To be storms of chokingly close caresses.

And what was ever more plain than this
Circle his mother labels, “a £&zss—”

A prophecy of Love’s new romance,
Bringing the old to remembrance,

This letter shows clear as a heavenly ray
The angel-side of my mortal way.

And crowned, I behold my graxdboy stand
On the sunniest summit of Babyland.

—WipE AWAKE,


THE WORKING TOOLS OF INSECTS.

I wonper if you know that the smallest insects you see about yi
have tools given them to do their work with. There is a little fly
called a saw-fly, because it has a saw to work with. It is really

a very much nicer






saw than you could
make, if you were
ever so old.

The fly uses 7
to make places
where the eggs will
be safe. What is
more strange, ib
has a sort of home-
made glue waich
fastens them where
they are laid.
Some insects
ey : 2» have outting in-
: struments that
work just as your
scissors do. The
poppy-bee is one of them, whose work is wonderful. ‘This bee has a
boring tool, too. Its nest is usually made in old wood. This borer
cleans out the nest ready for use. When all is ready the insect cuts
out pieces of leaves to line the nest and to make the cells. These
linings are cut in the shape of the cells. You would be surprised
to see the care taken to have every piece of just the right size, so
that it will ft. When they are fitted, the pieces are nicely fastened

together and put into the nest.
MRS. G. HALL.

cs
DOG SPOT.

“Mamma, tcll me a story, please.”

“Tl tell you a story about Jack O’Nory”’ —

“Not that, mamma, but a true story.”

* Well, Rex, what shall it be about?”

“Oh, tell me about Dog Spot, that Grandpa Eastman used to have.”

Such is the xequest my little boy, Rex, often makes to me, and

“Dog Spot” is one of his

favorite stories. Here is the

story just as it is told to him.
“Wver so many years

ago, when the country was







quite new, there were woods all the
way from your grandpa’s house to the city. Many Indians lived
in their wigwams on the hills. Your grandpa owned a large black
and white watch-dog by the name of Spot.

«Spot disliked Indians very much. He showed his hatred by
never allowing them to approach the place.

“One day grandpa was at work by the river, out of sight of the
house. Spot was with him. Suddenly the dog started and ran
DOG SPOT.

towards home. He went so very fast and was so excited that
grandpa’s attention was attracted by his strange manner. He thought
he had better find out, if possible, the cause of Spot’s sudden flight.

“Qn arriving at the oes
top of the steep bank he
could see Spot making
flying leaps towards the
house. Some Indians
were approaching from
another direction. Spot,
in his mad haste, arrived
first, and placed himself
in the doorway as if to
guard the house and its
inmates.

“The Indians were
really quite friendly and
harmless. On seeing the
dog they came no nearer,
and hastily went another
way. Indians are very
much afraid of dogs, and
will rarely, if ever, enter

Wo See
a place if one is near. yn WÂ¥e



“Spot used to go to school every morning with your aunts Vasist?
and Sarah. The school-house was about half a mile distant. ‘Lhe
road led through woods and across the sparkling river with its pretty,
rustic bridge. Grandma was very glad to have Spot go with the
girls, as she felt safe when he was with them. She tried hard to
teach him to go after them at night. He would go part way, meet
them, and return with them.

“The dog was praised and petted very much for his goodness and
wisdom. For many years Spot was a valued member of the family.”

“Ts that all, mamma?” asks Rex.

“Yes, dear, all for to-night,” I reply. In a very short time Rex,
whose eyes have become troubled by the Sand-man, is tucked in his

little bed. REX’S MAMMA.
CAPER, THE GOAT.

OnE summer, in the country, Eddy and John found a man who
had a goat to sejl. The man
asked three dollars for him.
Eddy and John. and a boy | aghs
who played with them, had
each a dollar, and they ‘,
bought the goat.

The goat was a fine play-
mate. The boys named him






























Caper, and they had great fun with
him. But when it was time to go
back to the city, what was to be done
about the goat ?

“We cannot take two-thirds of Caper home!” said John.

“Well,” said Hady, “ maybe papa will give us a dollar, and we wib
ask Carl to sell us lis part. We own most of him, you know.”
CAPER, THE GOAT.

Papa gave the dollar, and Carl at last made up his mind to sell out
his share, rather than divide poor Caper. So the goat went to the
city. The little boys cared more for him there than they had cared
in the country, where there were plenty of pets. sie

It was fun to see the boys and the goat play at hide-and-seek.
When Eddy gave a sign, the two boys ran off to hide. In a minute
Caper rushed into the house to find them. All over the house he
would go. As soon as he found the boys, he skipped out before them
to the gate-post, which was the “ goal.”

There he was sure to stand, on his hind
legs, ready to butt them as they came up.
This he seemed to think was a part of the
play.

When Christmas came, some friends
gave Eddy and John a beautiful little
carriage for Caper, with harness and all
complete. Caper went quite well m har-
ness, and tne little boys had more fun
with him than ever.

When the warm days came again, the
boys were told that they were going with
mamma to spend the summer on a farm.

“Oh, may we take Caper?” they



asked. Mamma said they might write
and ask the farmer. So they did, and
he said: “ Yes, bring the goat: I shall like to have him here!”

One day, at the farm, Caper ran into the yard where all the cows
were. They were not used to a goat. They chased him into a
corner. Then they all stood in a half-circle about him. They looked
as if they would ask, “ What strange thing is this, with horns on its
head?” Poor Caper was glad when the farmer came and drove the
cows off.

MRS. D. P. SANFORD.


THE YOUNG FISHERMAN.



Little brother Charlie

Sees how it 1s done ;
Says, “ When I am bigger,
“Won't I have such fun!”

Fish steam on the table,
Boys are in their chairs ;
What a savory breakfast
This young fisher shares !
JULIA A. MELVIN.
“take them to factories, where

INSECT SPINNERS AND WEAVERS.

Dip you know that all the
silk in the world is made by
very little worms? These crea-
tures have a machine for spin-
ning it. They wind the silk,
too, as well as spin it. The
curious cocoons the worms make
are wound with the silk. Men

they are unwound and made
into the beautiful silks you and
your mother wear.

The spider is also a spinner.
His thread is much finer than
the silk-vorm’s. It is made up
of a vreat many threads, just
like a rope of many strands.
This is the spider’s rope, that
he walks on. He often swings
on it, too, to see how strong it
is. Did you ever see a spider
drop from some high place ?
How his spinning-machine must
work!

The wasp makes his paper
nest out of fibres of wood. He
picks them off with his strange
little teeth, given him for the
purpose, and gathers them into
a neat bundle.

When he has enough, he makes them into a soft
pulp in some strange way. This pulp is very much
like that used by imen in making our paper. Very
likely the wasps taught them how, because they are
the oldest paper-makers in the world.




























































































































































































































































































A QUEER ANIMAL.

Wuen I was a little girl, grandpapa gave me a book all about
animals. How I liked that book! Mamma used to read it to me,
just as your mamma reads to you.

There was a picture of one very queer animal in the book. He
was not pretty one bit. He had a big hump on his back; he had
long legs and a long neck, and such a homely head! But I used
to like to hear about him.

He wasacamel. Did you ever see a camel? In the countries
where camels live, the people ride on them. They cross the great
deserts of sand on the backs of camels. Do you think you would
like to ride on one? The little children ride in a kind of basket.

The people often travel many days in the great deserts without
finding any water. They always carry water with them in great
leather bottles. But the camels themselves can go many days with-
out water. They do not get thirsty.

I wish you could see a baby camel. A baby camel is such a
SOMETHING ABOUT TOMMY.

queer little thing. His body is small, and his legs are very, very
long. He has big black eyes. His hair is fluffy and yellow.

It is a funny sight to see the camels eat. The driver spreads a
cloth on the ground and pours the grain upon it. Then all the
camels sit down on the ground around the cloth and eat. It is just
like a pienie.

They behave very well at their table. They bend their long
necks down to the grain. They look as if they were bowing
politely to each other. Sometimes a camel feels cross and will not
eat at all. Do you ever feel so cross that you cannot eat ?

FRANCES A. HUMPHREY.





SOMETHING ABOUT TOMMY.

Tommy, as we call our cat, was born out in the stable. But he did
not care to stay in his nursery with the horses. When he was quite
a wee kitten he began to follow us about the garden.

As he grew stronger and bigger he would run quite a long way
SOMETHING ABOUT TOMMY.

after us. When we went for a walk through the fields on summer
evenings he used to follow till he was tived, and then he would sit
down and say, “ Mew, mew,” which meant, “ Please carry me, some



If no one

would carry him he

; would sit there till we

- came back, and then follow us to
the house.

Who could help liking such a dear cat? He became such a pet
that we soon took him into the house altogether. He generally sits
all day long just in front of the fire when it is cold. He is very
fond of auntie, and likes to sit in her lap and rub his head against
her chin, and then lie sigs his song, “Purr, purr.” At mealtimes

9
one.





SOMETHING ABOUT TOMMY.

7

he sits close to auntie’s side and watches her. When he thinks she
nas been eating long enough he says “ Mew,” which means, “I think
itis my turn now.” He knows, the sly fellow, that he will get a bit
oit her plate when she has done.

Tommy keeps himself very nice. He wears a gray fur coat, and
a gray fur cap to match, with clean white shirt and stockings.

But I am sorry to say that he does not grow better as he grows
older. He is very fond of
catching the poor little dicky
birds in the trees; but he
never dares to touch the
chickens, for he knows the
mother hens would peck him.

Lately Tommy has be- .
come a great thief. One
day the cook was preparing
some pigeons for dinner.
She was called away for a
nunute, and when she came
back one of the pigeons was
gone. She guessed who was
the thief, and ran out of
the kitchen. Then she saw
Tommy jumping out of an
open window with the pig- ia ee
eon in his mouth.

Sometimes he fights, too. A little while ago we did not see him for
two or three days. One stormy morning he came crawling in, wet
through, with his fur coat all brushed the wrong way. Both his ears
were torn, and great scratches were all over his face. One eye was
quite closed up, and he was so lame that he could just manage to
crawl to the kitchen fire.

He scarcely left the front of the fire for days, and did not wash
his face once for a whole week. But he is quite well again now,
has grown very big and fat, and puts on a clean shirt every day.
MARY E. GELLIE.

Suet g



Loxvoy.




































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE BUTTON CHARM—A LITTLE GIRL'S FATE,


A QUEER RAG-BAG.

Aunt Mary kept her rags in a large green bag. It had once
covered Uncle John’s big bass-viol.

One day Aunt Mary said that the rag-bag was very full, and they
must sell the rags to the pedler. Jane needed a new bread-pan.
The pedler called for the rags, and Jane carried down the bag.

“You have a fine lot here,” he said, “I will weigh them in the bag.”

So he weighed them.

“ Just forty-five cents,” said he; “now I will put them in my cart.”

When he did so, Aunt Mary heard him use a strange word.

“That beats all I ever saw!” said the pedler.

Aunt Mary ran out. Jane followed her, with uncle John’s two
boys.

“Dear me!” said one.

“ Did you ever!” said another.

‘For pity’s sake!” added Aunt Mary.

And there was Malta, the cat, with two of the prettiest kittens you
ever saw, in the rag-bag!

She had been missing for three weeks. ‘lhe boys had asked all
the neighbors about her. They even went to the police-station, and
_ the kind Chief said, ‘‘ We will do all we can to find your pet.”

All this time she was sleeping with her babies in the rag-bag. The
boys thought she must be starved. Malta looked fat and wise.
A QUEER RAG-BAG.

“T know,” said Jane; “she has taken some of baby’s milk. I put
it on the table every night, and in the morning it was all gone.”

“That was it,” said Aunt Mary, ‘for sometimes baby did not
wake up.”

““She must have eaten mice, too,” said Fred, ‘for they have all left

our room.”









Then the pedler had to weigh the rags again without Malta and
‘her babies, and Aunt Mary did not get forty-five cents.

The pedler said he would give them fifty cents for the cat and her
babies.

“Sell Malta!” said the boys. ‘“ Why, we would just as soon os
of Belling mother !”




BABY WILLIE.

Basy WIutin, dressed so warm,
What cares he for wind and storm #
Sleighbells jingling as we go
Skimming o’er the ice and snow.

Baby Willie laughs in glee
As we glide so merrily.
Jolly fun, he thinks, to ride,
With his sister by his side.
SOME QUEER ANTS,

Baby Willie, brother mine,

Whose soft arms my neck entwine,
On my cheeks so lovingly
Sweetest kisses gives to me.

Rosy lips and golden hair,
Dark blue eyes and cheeks so fair;
To us all his smile brings joy,

Darling Willie, baby boy.

EDITH E, SHERMAN.



SOME QUEER ANTS.



HAT would you think, to see an ant carrying a
parasol?” asked Uncle Fred.
“Oh, uncle!” cried Johnny and Puss at the
same time. |
“ You know an ant could not carry a parasol,”
added Puss.

Their uncle had just come home from a long trip to the West
Indies and South America. He had a great many wonderful stories to
tell them about the queer sights he had seen and the strange places
where he had been. But they thought he must be joking with them
now, for they could not believe that an ant could do such a thing.

“Well,” said Uncle Fred, “their parasols were not made of silk
stretched over a wire frame. They were only pieces of leaves from
trees, and the ants held them in their mouths in such a way that
SOME QUEER ANTS.

they covered their body entirely, You could not see the ants at all,
so the leaves looked as if they were marching along of their own
accord. The first time I saw any was in the West Indies. One day,
when I was riding with a friend out to his
plantation, a great swarm of these ants
crossed our road. We watched
them along time. It was a
very queer sight, 1 assure
you. They did not travel
very fast. There must
have been thousands and ~
thousands of them, for we
could not see either end
of the column.”






































































































































































































































=





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































“Where were they going, I wonder,” said Johnny.

“They were carrying the leaves to their nests. They do not eat
the leaves, but they are very fond of a fungus which grows on them
after they have been a little while in their underground nests. The
ants are very destructive, and do a great deal of damage. Some-
times they will cut every leaf off of a tree.”
WISH SNOW-DROP AND SILLY BILLY.

“Don’t we have any here?” asked Puss, who was much inter-
ested, and wished she could see some.
“No,” said Uncle Fred. “ We have some curious ants, but none

like those I have been telling you about.” ;
FRANK HOLTON,



WISE SNOW-DROP AND SILLY BILLY.

Lirtte Davie Morgan lived in North Wales. His father kept a
great many goats. They used to climb up and down those high
rocky mountains, and leap from crag to crag, where no other animal
would dare to go.

On, Davie’s sixth birthday his father brought down from the
mountain a pair of twin kids for his birthday present.

One of them was pure white with buff ears, and Davie named her
“Snow-drop.” The other, a beautiful gray shaded with black, he
called ‘ Billy,” after his older brother. They were to be Davie’s own
pets, and he did pet and feed them so that they soon grew fat and saucy.
Billy, I have no doubt, really loved his pretty twin-sister, ‘ Snow-
drop,” but he delighted to tease her whenever he had a chance.

In Wales there are a great many mountain streams, narrow Sux
deep, that go dashing over their rocky beds, making foamy waver -

t
WISH SNOW-DROP AND SILLY BILLY.

falls and dark pools, where the speckled trout play “ hide-and-seek ”
on sunny days.

The only foot-bridge over some of these streams is a plank, or a
couple of small trees laid down side by side. They are round, and.
often slippery. It would seem dangerous crossing for anything but.
Welsh children and goats. Of course the folks or the animals that
cross have to go over “ Indian file.” They could not possibly pass
each other.

Billy and Snow-
drop often trotted
over these little
bridges, he always
taking the lead.
One day, when he
was in avery mis-
chievous mood, he
trotted over as fast
as he could; then
turned round and
came back! In
this way he met
poor Snow-drop,
as the rogue knew
he should, about
the middle of the
bridge.

Then what a
_ fuss! He capered
and butted, and
threatened to throw
her into the river. Davie, who stood on the bank, was quite sure that
“naughty Billy” would drown his beautiful pet. But he didn’t; for
what do you think she did after he had teased and threatened her for
ever so long? Why, the sensible little creature lay down on the nar-









































































row plank. Billy, tired of the fun, took the hint, and jumped over her!
This is a true story of two Welsh goats. I think Davie was right
when after this he called them “wise Snow-drop” and “silly Billy.”
B. P






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NIN NN Wi erin

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phot iS WN en
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= pow Lady and King «ach ne ands EOe
ae An with the Two animals walls fe the [Age


SORE:

Trp leaned against a tree,
With his arm across his eyes;
About him was a group of children
Of every color and size.








There were heads as yellow as flax,
One black, one curly one;

And all their little freckled faces
Were burnt brown in the sun.

It was Teddy’s turn to
blind,
And at his “‘One, two,
three,”
Tiptoe, like frightened
mice, they scampered
Away from the apple-tree.





Whisk, every one was
gone
In just a jiffy of
time !
And hidden too, even
while he shouted
His final sing-song
rhyme.

-~ And then began the
search.
“Hullo,” cried Ted,
“Ty spy !”—
As this and that one
he discovered
With quick and
eager eye.
®

THE EIDER DUCK.

Up from the nearest fence,
Out from behind a bush,

From lurking-place, peep-hole, and corner,
They came with hurry and rush.











vee eat \
Woy URES,

WY NR ad
= ay
RE

AW





i






eG
9 Ge
q ens
Sew LS we
. os

Ke



Not one but what Ted’s eyes
After a while could find.
“T spy,” he called, and kept on calling! —

Whose turn was it to blind?
MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES



THE EIDER DUCK.

In a very cold country far away in the Northern Ocean, -—
Iceland it is called, —there are thousands of these beautiful birds.
Wherever you step, you find one.

You think they would not like to stay where the rivers are always
THE EIDER DUCK.

frozen, and snow is on the ground all the long year, with only a few
days of sunshine. But they do, because they can be very quiet
there, and do pretty much as they like.

Their nests are a sort of little mattress made of drift-grass and sea-
weed, over which they spread a bed of finest down. The careful
mother plucks this down from her own breast, heaping it up in a
sort of thick fluffy roll around the edge of the nest.

You know that while she is sitting on her eggs she fs
must sometimes leave the nest for food. The weatheris
so cold, that before she, goes she care-
fully turns this roll of down over the
eggs, to keep them warm until her re-
turn. A great deal of money
is made by the Icelanders in

selling the down. When it
is taken from the nest the
little mether goes to work
just as carefully as before,
and makes it all over.
But if they take it the
second time, and her
home is left with bare
walls, her breast bare
too, what is she to do?

In a moment the
male bird comes to
her help, and plucks
the down oft his own
breast. His feathers
are whiter, though not
so soft.

This down is so light, that it takes a great many feathers to
weigh anything at all. If you should fill your father’s hat with
them, they would not weigh an ounce. After all, they would make
you the warmest covering in the world.







of









MRS. G. HALL.
NIPPER WON’T SNORE.

NIPPER’S an obstinate naughty young pup,
As Flipper and Flapper agree,
Tye sat myself down and taken him up
To rock him to sleep on my knee.
I’ve got him a nightcap all dainty and thin,
The best in Miss Lavender’s drawer,
I’ve tied it quite tight ‘neath his velvety chin,
—But Nipper won’t snore !

I’ve rocked him serenely from morning till night,
I’ve counted his dear little toes,

T’ve laid him flat down and I’ve sat him upright,
T’ve tickled the tip of his nose.

T’ve told him long stories again and again,
I’ve given him sweets by the score,

And I know he is sleepy, I fear he’s in pain,

—But Nipper won’t snore!

O, Flipper and Flapper, you've watched me all day,
O, tell me, what am I to do?

And poor slighted Dolly, I’ve thrown you away,
T wish I’d been faithful to you.

It’s useless to coax him or bang him or shake,
To tell him I’m hungry and sore,

I thought that he would—for his mistress’s sake,

—But Nipper won’t snore !:
“WONT TAKE A BAFF.”

“WONT TAKE A BAFF.”

To the brook in the green meadow dancing,
The tree-shaded, grass-bordered brook,
For a bath in its cool, limpid water,

Old Dinah the baby boy took.

She drew off his cunning wee stockings,
Unbuttonea each dainty pink























shoe,
Untied the white slip and smali
apron,
And loosened the petticoats,
too.
And while Master Blue Eyes
undressing,
-She told him in quaintest of
words
Of the showers that came to
the flowers,

Of the rills that were baths
for the birds.

And she said, “Dis yere sweet-
est of babies,

W’en he’s washed, jest as
hansum 'll be

As any red, yaller or blue bird

Dat ebber singed up in a tree.

“An’ sweeter den rosies an’
lilies,
Or wiolets eder, I guess—”
When away flew the mischiev-
ous darling,
In the scantiest kind of a ae
dress. ESCA PE,*



“Don’t care if the birdies an’ fowers,”
He shouted, with clear, ringing laugh,

“Wash ’eir hands an’ ’eir faces forebber
An’ ebber, me won’t take a baff.”

—MarcGarer EyTINGE, IN WIDE AWAKb
THE FROGGIES PICNIC.

THE FROGGIES’ PICNIC.

The froggies had a picnic fine,
A day or two ago,

In such a splendid, marshy spot,
Where lovely toadstools grow.



Tall cat-tails waved above their heads,

And soft ferns gave them shade,
While mossy logs around the place
Conveniently were laid.

In white and scarlet beauty, too,
The flowers bloomed about,

And with a most enchanting sound
The mud oozed in and out.
THE FROGGIES’ PICNIC.

The bull-frogs soon were ready quite
To lead off in a dance, :

While merry hop-toads frisked around
Just where they had a chance.

Beneath a broad and graceful fern
The table had been spread;

And thither, when the dance was done,
Each knight his lady led.

To all the dainties, choice and sweet,
He helped his gentle mate;

She flashed her eyes like jewels bright
Upon him, as they ate.

When they had feasted long enough,
They finished off the day
By croaking on the mossy logs

In quite a charming way.
—Ovr LITTLE ONES



. oe

gots
THE MOUSE THAT BECAME A KITTEN.

THE MOUSE THAT BECAME A KITTEN.

“Oh, I wish I was a kitten!” exclaimed from
the shelter of the sofa a little brown mouse who
had been hunted all round the room, into which

he had crept but a few moments before. ‘Oh,
I wish I was a kitten!”

All of a sudden a change seemed to come
over him: his body felt like a balloon, his
head got dizzy, and appeared higher from the

ground. He looked at his feet; they were
white, so was his body! Yes, his wish had come
true, he had been changed into a kitten.

It must have been “wishing-day,” which only comes once in a
thousand years, he thought. In a moment his mind was made up. Out
he rushed into the middle of the room, licking his lips the while, as much
as to say, ‘There, I’ve done for that brown mouse now, I have!”

Immediately there was a shriek of delight from all the young ladies
in the room, who at once jumped off the chairs where they sought
protection from the little timid brown mouse, and ran to pick him up.

“Oh, doesn’t he smell mousy!” exclaimed one. ‘What a brave little
dear!” smirked another. “Yes, and look at his /ovely blue eyes and
exquisite long white fur. Oh, what a love!” and the lady who spoke
gave him a big, big kiss.

“Oh, and doesn’t he meaw beautifully?” said young Bob, who was
hunting the little brown mouse round the room but a moment before, as
he pinched the end of the kitten’s tail, but Bob was scolded for being:
cruel, and was told he was a coward, and shut out of the room.

They named the kitten Hercules, because of his bravery in killing and
eating a whole live brown mouse all to himself, ordered half a pint of
milk for him every day, and stuffed him with all the dainties in and out
of season, so Hercules fared well. But he began to wish for a bit of
candle, and first he bit away at all the drawing-room wax candles, which
gave him a fit of indigestion ; then he made a raid on a lighted kitchen
candle, with dire results to himself. Suddenly, one day, an idea occurred
to him. He had got brothers and sisters who were still mice, and who
had probably gone into mourning for him. He would make friends «th


THE MOUSE THAT BECAME A KITTEN.

éhem. No sooner said than done. Taking the best candle he could
find, he hauled it off to the little hole he himself had made in the
skirting boards,

“Annie! Jackie! Willie!” he shouted; “come and see your lost
brother, who’s got a long candle for you all.”

“Oh, no, not we,” they answered in chorus; “you are only a nasty
savage cat, although you smell mousy.”













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































“¥ACKIE . . . STOOD UP ON HIS HIND LEGS”

Then he explained all about the “wishing day,” and how he was
changed to a kitten.

They thought this very wonderful, and began to notch a beam,
one notch for every day, and thought to themselves that they would
soon get to the end of a thousand years, and then wouldn't they wish !
Jackie declared he would be lion and eat up all the nasty boys ;
Willie would be a Home Secretary, and make a law that all cass but
THR MOUSE THAT BECAME A KITTEN.
his brother should be poisoned; while Annie would keep a large girl’s
school, and teach all the young ladies to love and make pets ‘of the
little brown mice, and not to be frightened at them.

Well, they came out of their hole in time, and ate a lot of the
candle, and sat and had a long talk with their brother Hercules, who
proposed to introduce them to all his friends, the kittens, and make
peace between the two races. They bade each other “good-bye,” and
Hercules went off on his mission of love as happy as a king.

Now you must know that Hercules had come to be looked upon
as a wonderful kitten by all the other kittens, and this is how it came
about.

One great thing in his favor was that he was very intelligent ; another
was that his coat had never lost its mousy scent and flavor, consequently
all the kittens sat as near to him as they could to get a sniff of his fur.
Why, he never even had to wash or lick himself. He would say in a
very lackadaisical tone of voice, “Oh, dear, I do feel so dirty,” when
immediately a whole crowd of kittens would rush and struggle to get
a lick at his coat, and he had to say, “That’s enough!” five’ minutes
before he wanted them to leave off, they enjoyed the mousy flavor so
much. And when at last he could get free from them again, they would
purr around him and sing such songs as were never heard before or
since, even in Catdom. .

Hercules, after leaving his brothers and sister, sat down and thought
out a plan. One meaw brought in all the kittens from the neighboring
houses; he let them all lick him till they were intoxicated with delight.
Then he broached the delicate subject, and preached them such a homily
they could not resist. After that he called to Jackie, who came out
shivering like an aspen leaf, and stood up on his hind legs. ‘This is
Jackie,” said Hercules.

Immediately their whiskers bristled.

“Yes, I’m Jackie, I’m a lion, and I’m going to eat all the naughty
boys up who pinch your tails, and tie bricks to your poor necks.”

Hercules looked solemn, and said it was true, which made the kits
“Sir” Jackie, and wonder whether it was possible that they could be
lions too, though they did not know exactly what a lion was, but Jackie
had gnawed the picture of a lion out of a book, so of couse he did,






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A FRIENDLY MEETING.
THE MOUSE THAT BECAME A KITTEN.

Next Willie was called. “I’m Home Secretary, and it is my mission
in life to look after cats, and poison all those who eat mice.”

The kittens looked frightened. and one guilty one bolted. Annie next
came forward, and declared that she was a ladies’ schoolmistress, and that
if the kittens did not behave themselves for the future she would make
the young ladies like mice, and banish the kittens from the house. Then
he introduced three more members of his family, making six in alk
Finding the mice knew so much, the kits grew very interested in their
conversation. One told of how he had gnawed away at a geography till
he knew about every country in the world, Another had eaten a hole
clean through a whole medical library, and dosed all the sick and
ailing kittens with bitter aloes. Why, there was not a thing but that
some of them knew, and as for gossip, there was one ancient old woman
mouse, who would have been a tough morsel for any cat, who knew every
secret in every house for miles around. What times they did have, to
be sure! The kits would sit on the kitchen stairs, with the six mice and
Hercules below them; and the mice would pretend that there was
some one coming and frighten all the kits out of their wits. At others
the kittens would send the mice bolting to their holes.

But an end came to all this ‘suddenly. The life of the meeting,
Hercules, came to grief one day. He tumbled into a water-butt and
was drowned. No mouse dared to venture beyond his hole again, for
the kits grew into cats, and forgot the past. Some of the mice got
caught in traps, and some of the cats disappeared mysteriously

Annie, Jackie, and Willie took to notching every day on the beam, one
notch for a day, living in hopes; but finding out that they would have
to make 365,000 notches before their hopes would be fulfilled, and that
at the end of a year they were as far off as ever, there being only 365
notches to their credit out of so many thousands, they gave it up as a
hopeless task, and as a result lived to a good ripe old uge on candles

and cheese-crumbs.
—Lovis WAIN.

0 EK

i eer eemepa utente std neg as NARA VA RAENPPCCII APE RINNE NR
MYSTERIOUS SANTA CLAUS.



Dip you see Santa
Claus, Robbie ?
I do wish I could; and
I’ve tried.
My mamma has seen him
quite often, —
Tf I only could keep by
her side!
Why, whenever she goes in
the parlor,
Where the stockings are
hung by the tree,
He’s sure to come right
down the chimney
With some bundle or other
for me!

ever















One day I teased my mamma so,
That she said I might creep in be-
hind,

And hide in her skirts very softly,
And peep out when I had a mind.
But the minute we got in the door-

way
(He must be the shyest of men)
He scampered away up the chim-
ney,
So it’s no use to try it again.











No; children never can see him,
But I heard his sleigh-bells last
night ;
It was after papa came to supper,
And the shutters and doors were
shut tight.
Mamma said, “There, don’t you hear
it, —
The jingle of Santa Claus’ bell?”
I dashed to the door like a rocket ;
He was faster than that, I can tell!
5 SCAMP’S VISIT TO CONEY ISLAND,

£ could almost have cried with vexation ;

Till mamma said, “See where he sleighed!”
And there, sure enough, in the snow-drift

Were the tracks that his runners had made!
What a very small sleigh he must have, though ;

No bigger, I’m sure, than my sled!
And how it can carry such bundles,

I cannot get into my head.










Nurse says Santa Claus is my
father.
What nonsense! I’ve often
been told
How Santa Claus lives in a j\ Ji"
palace,
Some place where it always is
cold.
Papa could n’t climb down that
chimney,
And he never could ride in 7
that sleigh!
I don’t think nurse knows much
about it, —
Ill tell her so this very day.

©. ST. DENYS.



SCAMP’S VISIT TO CONEY ISLAND.

NE day my master told me to get ready vo go
away. He began packing up my neck-
ribbons and pug-dog harness. I wondered
where he was going. At last he took me in
his arms. Wyatt, the waiter, carried his
valise down-stairs, and we got into the car-
riage. My master’s sister and brothers were
there too.

We drove away, and at last stopped at e
big house, and my master said, ‘‘ Here’s the depot.” Then we got
into a sort of long carriage with seats on either side and a greas


SCAMP'S VISIT TO2 CONEY ISLAND.

2

a a e
many windows in it.

My master told me it was a car.

thing in front gave a loud scream and began to toot.

is moving, We
are off,” cried my [i
and he
let me look out |
of the window.
The houses
and streets began
to pass by me as |
if they were walk-

master ;



ine. I looked
around at my
master. He

laughed, and said,
“Scamp don't























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































know what to make of this.”



































IT did not.

“
Then sume-
“The engine




























































































































I looked out for a long

time, until I got tired, and then lay down and went to sleep.
«* When I awoke, my master said, “‘ We are at Coney Island.” We
SCAMP’S VISIT TO CONEY ISLAND.

[all got out, and went into the big house he called a hotel, Atter we
had dinner we all walked out. It was awful sandy, and water was |
running up and down on the sand. I looked at the water. I saw
it away off in the distance. Then it came running in towards
me, and after making a great noise, it splashed and rolled up on the
sand almost to my feet. Then it went back again.

I got mad, for the water kept doing this for ever so long. My
master wanted to go up the sand and see all the funny houses and
people. I did not want to go, but wished to bite the water because
it chased me. At last I made a dart at the water as it was run-































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ning away. I ran down the sand, when, oh, my! a great big wave —
that ’s what my master called it — came up. It splashed all over me.
I fell down and began to roll. My master called me, but I could not
get up. The water came all over me, and I thought I should

drown. .

I hate water. All pug-dogs do. Another wave came up, and I
know I should have been washed away if a boy had not run out into
the water avd caught me. My master gave me a good scolding
when I got safe on land again. I can tell you I did not like my

first day at Coney Island.

JOHN S. SHRIVER.
WO NE SIDS:

Swine, birdies, swing!
Over the green earth, and under the sky,
Mother-bird hung up her cradle on high;
Wove it so deep, and wove it so strong,
Birdies may rock in it all the day long.
Swing, birdies, swing!

Swing, baby, swing!
Under the old elm’s fluttering leaves
Mother for baby a brave cradle weaves;
Weaves it of silk, and lines it with down,
Hangs it on threads soft as baby’s white gown.
Swing, baby, swing!

Swing, birdies, swing!
Down from the tree- -tops four little tongues call;
Baby coos back again, answering all:
Oriole flutters in love o’er her nest;
Mother hugs baby, and thinks her the best.

Swing, birdies, swing!
$, J. DOUGLASS,

QUEEN.
A TRUE STORY.

Queen was an Irish setter dog. She was not at all proua of her
“blood,” though she had every reason to be; but she was very
proud of her nine little baby doggies. Such cunning mites they
were, too, and as blind as bats!

Baby doggies cannot see until they are nine days old, and these
were not old at all; indeed, they were very new. Now Queen’s
master thought there were nine dogs too many, and he said, ‘ These
baby doggies must be drowned in ae creek.”

One a when Qneen’s little family were all soundly slee_..g,
and she had gone off to search for a bone, something dreadful
QUEEN.

happened. It was just this: the little blind doggies were carried tu
the creek, and all were dropped right into the water !

Drowned? You shall know.

Later in the day Queen trotted up to her master, and in her dumb
way made him understand that she wished him to follow her. He
did follow her, and she led him straight to the creek. There upon

I





















































































































ao
a

























=o



bi
i a iN bs

the mossy bank he saw — all cuddled up in a funny heap — the
baby doggies !

Queen had scratched together in a snug pile some fallen leaves.
Upon this pretty bed lay eight little doggies, sleeping as sweetly as
if they had not been in the water at all. How did they get there?
Queen had carried them there, to be sure. She had saved her

babies, all but one.
A LETTER PAGE.

Do you not think Queen was a royal mother? The master thought
so, and told her, as she had saved her babies, she might keep them.
How did Queen ever find out that the baby doggies were thrown
into the creek? Ah! no one knows that but Queen, and she will
not tell. GEORGIEANNA LEE.

es
i














——
~~
et

Se. Tost pl ing bip oar,
or artle,

: Ghat stands nea Tbe ayers
SS op Ea, le

of,

for Oussmap,

ey Ghat Ay tborm nf cannot arm ;

| a if for anchor,
‘4 > atked on the tary an ty
J ir op Ne func,
\, hebeing ihe oa
iN Chee f thers,
“Boundlys ’ Ve AS

Wenders i 2S “aN ong le i: 2 ocean!






3
LUCKY DOGS.

NCE had two little dogs,
And each to each was brother,
Dandy was the name of one;
Tobias, of the other.

She made a little coat for them,
With bells for its adorning,
Dandy wore it afternoons,

Tobias in the morning.

She gave them lessons every day
With strictest regulation,
Dandy was better on the drum,

Tobias at dictation.

And when she went to Market-town,
She had no need to ask it;

For Dandy took her parasol,
Tobias bore her basket.

But rain and wind and snow and hail
Of course a little change meant;
For then the basket carried them

, By mutual arrangement.

And as they nestled warm inside
Said Dandy to his brother:

“Tobias, we are lucky dogs;”
“We are!” replied the other.


TWO NESTS,
ie MARY AND DOG CARLO.

MARY AND DOG CARLO.
BY MRS, FRANCES SMITH.

Little Mary and her great black Newfoundland dog, Carlo, were a
very familiar picture to me.

I often stopped to look at them as they ran about the yard. If it was
a warm afternoon, they lay asleep under the large evergreen trees. Mary's
light curls made a lovely contrast to Carlo’s shaggy black sides. His loving
gentleness made him : wet seem as good as he
was handsome. Little Mary had
a naughty habit of
running away from
home. Carlo would
not leave her for a
Tmoment. He seem-
j ed to try to get her
home again. He
ran before her, keep-
ing her from getting
off the walks, and



















| turn about. Sometimes
| he would succeed; and
t then I heard his joyful
» bark, when he saw her
once more safely in the
yard. If he could not
get her home, he would
Gi) not desert her. When
i bi she was tired out, she
THEY LAY ASLEEP UNDER THE TREE. laid her curly head
against his neck, ready to go wherever he led. Then you may be sure he
led her home just as straight as he could go.
One day, when I came out of the gate, Carlo met me, barking and
jumping about in a most anxious manner. He ran a little way, and then

f
MARY AND DOG CARLO.

= f

eame back to me, as if coaxing me to follow him. I thought him too wise 4
dog to be mistaken; so I followed him, though a little slowly. He seemed
: ) to notice this, and to beg me to

hasten. In a moment more I
saw dear little May toddling
along the railroad track. 1 felt
sure the dog’s quick ear must
have heard the train, which was
coming around the curve. I
hurried fast enough, I can tell
you. Carlo had never before
allowed me to pick her up, even
fora moment. Now he seemed
fairly wild
with joy when














HE SEEMED WILD WITH FOY.

I caught her in my arms. He led me home ina perfect dance of denght.
| After that I was a privileged friend, for Carlo never forgot that morn-

mng. To the day of his death he thanked me, in his mute, loving way, every

time he saw me. —Our Little Ones,
THE TEXT AND THE SPIDER.

THE TEXT AND THE SPIDER.

Fan sat quite still, and all alone in the big square pew. She said the
text over and over to herself. Lz¢dle children, keep yourselves from tdols.
It was so short, and began so sweetly, she was
sure she could remember it, and how pleased papa
would be.

Suddenly, from the gallery, a big spider came

spinning down,
_ Straight down to-

ward Mrs. Allen’s



bonnet. O! O! was it go- ing to
drop on to her! No, it stopped
just over the pink rose. It Wo swung
gently to and fro. It put out a leg
and touched the pink rose. lt was

thinking what a fine pink rose that was to
spin a trap in.

Then it took a little wider swing over



FAN eat Mrs. Allen’s right ear, then back over her |
eae \, left ear. Was it thinking of crawling
ALONE IN ZW) ;

down into her ear? Ugh! If it did, Fan
knew she would scream. But the spider































































only took a look at each ear, and then up it went, and
down again, AN and up and down, and up and down, till
watching it put the text quite out of Fan’s head, and all she could remember

to tell papa after service was Lzttle children.
' LITTLE MEN AND WoMEN,














































































































pee con Sprrito. :B: Music by T. CRAMPTON.

“ala Meret

. There were six nice ducks that
: On the meadows green these





































and 3. In fe brook they went with
4 4. If told you all that
Piano, 3 (es ic Oil
4 be a et o
Words by Saprz Ei. Oper. oe x on
qae a ears lor: x
3 Eas sf
Sa a ae a a

ence > we —¥Fat ducks and pretty ducks they were, too. Andone had a feather curled
ducks would go, Wid - dle and waddle, all in a row; But he with a feather curled
met - ry dash, Swimming ea-way with a sparkling splash; But he with a feather curled
these ducks did, What games they had in_ the meadows hid, The one with a feather curled

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(esexermendmenrcerroaeices ENR
a
CHORUS.
INS,
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this back, And. he ruled tho oth - ers with his Q. ack ! quack | quack ! Quack ! quack ! quack?
his back, Was al-ways a-head with his Quack ! quack! quack! Quack ! quack ! quack!
his back, Oh! he swam the. fastest with his Quack ! quack! quack ! Quack ! quack | quack {
his back, Would half fill the sto-ry with his Quack ! quack ! quack ! Quack ! quack ! quack {



























Quack ! quack ! quack! Oh, he ruled the others with his Quack ! quack ! quack!
Quack | quack! quack! Oh, he went oa - head with his Quack ! quack ! quack!
Quack ! quack ! quack ! Oh, he swam the fastest with his Quack | quack ! quack !
, Quack 1 quack ! quack ! Would half fill the story with his Quack § quack! quack!

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ce

A pa MR
oo _ : il a

Lae
LITTLE BLOSSOM.

Tus wee bit lady
Has a wee bit bonnet;
'T ig made of dainty needlework
With a broad frill upon it, —
A Mother Hubbard bonnet!
The ruffle flutters round her face,
And every breeze that blows
Whispers, “Ah, what a funny place
To find a white Scotch rose, —
A fresh-blown, white Scotch rose!”

This wee bit lady
Has a wee bit gown,
Straight and breezy in the skirt
From the yoke down, —
A Mother Hubbard gown!
And when she toddles on the walk
With small uncertain feet,
No rose upon its swaying stalk
Was ever half so sweet, —

So bonny fair and sweet.
MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES,

RAILWAY JACK.

A voc at Lewes, near Brighton, has gained the name of Railway
Jack, owing to his having travelled over most of the railways in
England.

Jack jumps on a train that is just about to start, and while the
train is in motion he looks about the country as if he enjoyed the
ride. No doubt he does.
RAILWAY JACK.

When the train stops, Jack jumps down and makes friends at once
with the station-master. He is well known to many station-masters
in England. Jack seldom visits any station more than once. He
is fond of change.

Some time ago Jack was away from his home at Lewes longer
than usual. His friends gave him up for lost, thinking he had been
killed on some railway. But one day J ack came home, to the joy

Al “
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of all who knew him. His leg had been hurt by some train, which
had no doubt kept him so long from home.

The wife of the manager of the London and Brighton line gave
Jack a collar. Some one was mean enough to steal it. Judge
Hawkins, hearing of the loss when at Lewes, gave Jack another
collar, which he seems proud to wear. He has won prizes at several

exhibitions, many of which he wears at dog-shows.
T. CRAMPTON.















were two
as blue as a
They thought

together in the

Once there .
pretty young birds —
piece of the sky. *
they would keep house
limb of a tree. Their family name was
Gnat-Snapper; but they were not in the
least related to the Snap-dragons or Snapping-turtles. In fact, you
never saw a sweeter, gayer pair in all the days of your life.

Their nest was very neat, and the three eggs in it were white,
with a pink blush all over them, like the blush that lies on apple-
blossoms.

“How pleasant it is to have a home of our own!” said the bird-
wife, looking at the eggs, with a twinkle in her eye.
The husband wiped his bill. ‘Iam glad there is no rent to pay,”
said he. Well, they did not know what was going to happen.
They sang and were very happy, till one day when they were both
gone from home a great brown bird came visiting. She walked in
without knocking, and sat down in the nest. It was a lazy cow-
bird, who had really no manners at all.

“T wish I had a pretty home like this, but I shall not take the
trouble to make one,” said she.

And the next thing she did was to lay an egg. Could anything
have been more impolite? It was rather larger than the other eggs,
and not pink like an apple-blossom, but brown like a ball of mud.

It was quite too bad; and when little Mr. and Mrs. Gnat-Snapper
came home they were very angry and very much surprised to find a
strange egg in the nest. ‘ But we cannot help it now,” said little
madam, ready to cry. “And, oh, dear, if I sit on my own pretty
pink eggs, I must sit on the big, brown, homely egg too!”

Yes; and so she did. Soon her own bird-babies came out of the
pink eggs, and lovely blue darlings they were. But in a little while
the big egg opened, and out stepped a lazy brown bird.

Papa scolded, and little madam cried.

“ But we cannot help it now,” said she. ‘And we must feed the
big bird too; it will never do to let her starve.”

Starve? There was no danger of her starving! Oh, how she did
eat! She seized all the best food that was brought to the nest, and
the other birdies had to take what was left. And then, how she
did push !

“This is my home,” said she to the little blue nestlings, — “ this
is my home, and there is no room for you. Why do you stay here
and crowd me so?”

Papa scolded; but the brown bird pushed and pushed.

“We cannot help it, I suppose,” said little madam, weeping.
“ Our darlings must go, or there will be no peace.”

So, as soon as might be, the little blue sisters tried their wings,
and one by one they flew away into the wide, wide world.

And then the little cow-bird was happy, for she had the whole

nest to herself.
SOPHIE MAY
THE NEWS OF THE DAY.

HE SNE WSOP ahs Di aeve

I’m Grandmamma, and I sit in her
chair
With her spectacles on my nose,
And, with paper in hand, I feel very
grand
And wise, as you may suppose;
For I read what is happening every-
where,
And I learn such things as these:

In a week or less I shall have age

new dress, [ trees.
And a farmyard with horses and
Poor dolly fell down yesterday,
And smashed her beautiful chin.
Hugh Thomson’s cat has caught a
big rat;

And baby was scratched with a pin.
What else? Oh, that is all the news:
I can’t ¢h¢nk any more indeed!
For——-you never would guess: ’tis

the truth none the less—
I was only pretending to read.







BABY BOY.

Baby boy has gone to heaven:
So they say.

Never more from morn tiil even
Will he play

In the dear old loving way.

Baby boy has left his sister
Here below:

Oft I wonder has he missed her;
Does he know

That I long to see him so?

Sometimes when I lie in bed,
Then it seems to me

Angels hover round my head,
And with them I see

Brother smiling lovingly.






































































































































































































































































































































































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