Citation
My pleasure book

Material Information

Title:
My pleasure book containing original tales with numerous illustrations
Creator:
Crowdy, Wallace, L ( Illustrator )
J.S. Virtue and Co ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London
Publisher:
J.S. Virtue & Co.
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
viii, 230, 2 [p.], [1] leaf of plates : ill. ; 21 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Animals -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Natural history -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Recreation -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Picture books for children -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1897 ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- 1897 ( rbgenr )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1897 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1897
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's literature ( fast )
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Title page engraved.
General Note:
Pictorial front cover.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
General Note:
Date of publication based on inscription.
Statement of Responsibility:
edited by Wallace L. Crowdy.

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:
026887074 ( ALEPH )
ALH5203 ( NOTIS )
237789575 ( OCLC )

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Frontispiece. A JERSEY TRIO.





My PLEASURE BOOK

CONTAINING

ORIGINAL TALES
GAH numerous UWlustrations

EDITED BY

WALLACE L. CROWDY

;
:
i
:



LONDON

J. S. VIRTUE & CO., Lumrrep, 26, IVY LANE
PATERNOSTER ROW





_ LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED,
CITY ROAD.






VSD) Gf 5 “Giy
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Tox

oh) (ee |
PREAMBLE.

T is my object, in giving this collection of stories to our
young friends, first to amuse them; and, more than this,
to teach them to know that there are stories in everything,
chiefly, that there are stories in Nature :

«¢ And Nature, the old nurse, took
The child upon her:knee,
Saying, ‘ Here is a story book
Thy father hath written for thee.
“«¢ Come wander with me,’ she said,
‘Into regions yet untrod,
And read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God.’



'¢¢ And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,
Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe,”’

That the child is father to the man, also is so trite a truism that-no one
can underrate the great importance of.teaching our young friends to love
all things, to see around them friends at every turn, to learn that Nature is a



vi PREAMBLE.

great open story-book which they can read if they will. And so, whether the
stories given in this collection are of people, of animals, of places, or of the
green fields and the snow-mantled landscape, they will grow to know that
-everything has its tale to tell. If we succeed in amusing their leisure hours
we have done much; if, through them, they gain an added interest in
the things that surround their young lives, we have done more.

At no former period in the annals of literary adventure have the wants
of children been better served than at present, and in adding this new
volume to the list we have striven to combine stories of real interest with
such illustrations as, but a few years back, would have been considered “ too
good” for our young friends. Nothing is “too good” for them, we know;
and in issuing our new book we have striven to make every page,
whether written or drawn, witness to the great strides that this class of
literature has made in late years.

Tae Eprror.

















1

; PAGE
A JERSEY TRIO im : . i ; 1
THe Rosin | : : ; : : ‘ 2
Kine Turnip a . f a : 5b
THe SEVEN-LEAGUED Boors . ° : ‘ 9
My FRienD THE BrLackcock : 381
Unity 1s STRENGTH 34
Ir is so BEAUTIFUL To LIVE . eo 3 3 : : : : . 88
A Nicut’s ADVENTURE . "43
A VirGInIAN PRINCESS , 56
Grant THUNDERSTONE Ar Home. ‘ F : : : ; : . 68
Two PLAYMATES 73
May's Dream . ; 84
THE Potter’s DAUGHTER 2 3 ; 3 : . 98
SUMMER . : z . - . . 125



viii : _ CONTENTS:

PAGE
LITTLE PARTRIDGES ‘ i sesotyee : ; : , ‘ : . 126
On Sure-Boarp : 3 ‘ : ; : Y ; : : : . 182

LonGinc FoR GREAT DEEDS . : : : ; : : : ‘ . 148
THE SHRIMP GIRL . 5 : . ; a ee . : 4 : . 158
AUTUMN. ; : : : : A . . : ‘ . : . 161
An Uaiy CusroMEr ‘ ; . . y : 3 . : x - 162
So Goop-Looxine. ; : ‘ : . ec es : : : . 182
A HusHep Voice. : : : . : : : 3 . : . 190
A FEATHERED FAMILY . . : : . . ; ‘ ; f . 192

FORGETFUL FRANK . ... 7 ° 7 . . . . eres we 221

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A JERSEY TRIO.



EAR the shore of the ‘beautiful country of France, if you
N will look at your map, you will find a group of islands
ao called the Channel Islands. The one furthest away from

“s _England and nearest the French coast is called Jersey.
All these islands, Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney and Sark,
are famous for their beautiful soft-eyed, smooth-coated
cows, and one of these is seen in our frontispiece. The old
cow, tethered by the horns, is being led home by the farm
girl, whilst the merry little calf walks by her other side. ‘It is on the
-sea-shore, with the blue sea in the distance, and the rich grass is gay with
bright buttercups and daisies ; overhead the wild sea-gulls are flying, darting
hither and thither in merry rounds. The summer day is drawing to its
close, and soon the calf will be nestling with its mother in the manger ; and
to-morrow, perhaps, if we should pass by this meadow again, we shall see
them contentedly browsing near the same bright spot. ©
B



THE ROBIN.

N a northern country, a good






many years ago, there dwelt
a rich man. Although -_
he was sick, he was not
unhappy ; far from it,
for he was of a real
happy spirit; his was
a loving heart, and he
took the best, as it
passed, of every
pleasant thing. And,
weak and weary as he
was, he was never
heard to complain,
seldom to confess his -

sorry state. To this

THE ROBIN.

good man the gentlest
things were the sweetest; the simplest his greatest joy. They needed no
exertion on his part; their quiet simplicity gave him joy and rest.

And as he lay on ‘his couch, no hasty thoughts disturbed, no regret for his
lot crossed his simple mind. And so, from the Heaven, one day a sweet com-
panion was sent him, a little redbreasted robin. He was a merry fellow, full
of song, of freedom, and of joy. He came, as welcome as a sunbeam, into
that sick man’s room, to utter all the joy of his own content. The air with-



THE ROBIN. 3

out was wintry cold, and he had no fear as he sought this sick man in his
room. Great was the joy of the man, and very welcome was the robin to his
couch, safe from the cold and care. He was a cautious robin, too, for when

footsteps sounded on the oaken floor, he never ventured to show even the tip

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of his beak, but waited, unsuspected by any save his friend, in a hiding-place,
‘ until he heard them go. He had no wjsh that any but himself and his kind
host should know what happiness was his, and when these two friends were
left alone, and no one else could see, Robin left his hiding-place, and happy in
the happiness of his true friend, came to cheer his solitary hours, Yes, they



4 : THE ROBIN.

were indeed great friends. At meal-times they ate off the same dish, the
sick man of his dainties and the robin of the fruits, and they drank out of
one cup. This was the sick man’s welcome, and, although the snow and ice
lay white without, whilst Robin was here he seemed to fancy that he was back
in the orchards on a summer’s day, so good was his feast. He had no fear of
his friend, and no movement of that trusted man caused a flutter in his breast.

When he had finished his hearty meal, he was in no haste to leave, but,
proud of his friendship and of himself, he dressed his feathers, like a well-
_ ordered robin, in the warm glow of the sick man’s fire, and then, tuning his
sweetest note, sang-with all his little robin heart. This was a happy time!
Happy for himself and twice happy for his friend. very note that trilled
from his throat welled up from his heart and spoke of his love and friend-
ship for his host. How sweetly he sang! and how every note seemed to tell
his thanks! It-wasa great love that taught him to sing as surely no robin
ever sang before. And the sick man, how he loved this merry happy little -
fellow! He came to him from the free outside world, where he himself dare
not venture, except, perchance on some distant summer evening, when the
sweet hushed breeze has only strength enough to stir the leaves into one soft
murmur. And whilst the Robin’s song-story touched him with one gentle
regret, it soothed him all the same, for it breathed into his heart of hearts a
message of the one mighty gentle name, and taught him something ,of that
Great Love. Yes; that robin and that sick man were real friends.

Have you a “robin,” reader ? oS WLC,





KING TURNIP.

“ HE history of a turnip may not sound
a very inviting story, but if you will
listen to me I will tell you howa
poor man became rich in honour
and in wealth through a mighty
turnip.

It was a great many years ago,
when men walked about with glit-
tering swords at their sides, and
feathers in their caps. It was in



the land across the sea called
Saxony, and in the great city of that country there dwelt two brothers, one
name Fritz and the other called, among his intimate friends, “ thriftless
Joe.” Now Fritz was a great man, proud and rich, with his armed ser-
vants and his fine city house. Poor Joe, however, was not so lucky—
some say that he was born on a Friday, a sad fate in those days—and
only owned one small turnip-field. But though, when they chanced to
meet, the proud Fritz only muttered a recognition of his thriftless brother,
Joe never envied him his riches. He was always merry, and like Rip Van
Winkle in the old story, a great favourite with the neighbours, for his gay
laugh and ready smile was welcome everywhere. One day, as Joe was
watching his good wife preparing his dinner, the good lady asked him to
-go and fetch her a turnip. Off he ran, and taking down his spade from the
hook where it always hung, set off for his turnip patch. Bravely he dug



6 KING TURNIP.

away, until one large root he tugged at all in vain. But Joe was not to be
beaten ; when he took it into his head to do a thing he didit. He tugged
and tugged, but the root was mighty tough. He worked away with a will,
and at last, with one great heave, up came the turnip, and poor Joe lay panting
with the effort. It was a turnip! Such a size, nearly three times as big as
his head. Now, in all the years he had been growing turnips, Joe never
saw one half so big. It was immense; and while he sat there he thought that







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PROUD FRITZ AND THRIFTLESS JOE.

it was a great pity to have this king turnip all-to himself, and he determined
to take it to the King. So up he got, and putting his treasure in a sack,
after many tries, at last got it on to his back and set out for the town, and
went straight up to the castle gate, where His Majesty dwelt with his
courtiers. After a while poor Joe, nearly tired out with carrying this great
weight, gained the hall, where the King and all the court sat in the finest
state. It was enough to dazzle a braver man than Joe, for the monarch sat





KING TURNIP. 7

on his gilded throne surrounded by the wise men and the mighty men of
that ancient city. “On his right stood the learned doctors, and “ black-rod ”
stood at the back, just in front of “my Lord Chamberlain.” As’ he had
got so far poor Joe did not see why he should not state his errand; so he took
from the sack the mighty root, and without more ado said, “O please, your
Majesty, this turnip is for you.” Then the learned doctor shook his head, -
and “black-rod” shook his head, and “my Lord Chamberlain” shook his





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‘JOE PRESENTS HIS KING TURNIP.

head also. The turnip was indeed a mighty one; quite a king turnip ; but
was it fit for His Majesty? Then the good old King did a rare thing; he
actually laughed! The oldest lord of the chamber had not known His
_ Majesty to laugh so merrily before. Then he clapped his hands and gave
commands that his courtiers should not shake their heads. Poor Joe did not
know what to make of it all, but now the King turned to him and let him
know by thanks and gold to boot how much he prized this wonderful turnip-



8 KING TURNIP.

root. He made poor Joe the thriftless Inspector General of Turnips on the
spot. Poor Joe, a minute ago shaking in his shoes, now felt as proud, as he
was almost as rich, as his wealthy brother Fritz. ele

When the King had gazed his fill at the mighty turnip, Joe strode away
with his sack as heavy as before, but this time, instead of the turnip, his
bag was full of gold. As he went along all the townspeople followed him
and made a noisy din, calling out, “ There’s Joe! O my, the king has talked
to him.” As he passed his brother’s house, that proud man poked his head
out of the window to learn what the noise meant; and wasn’t he surprised and
jealous to see Joe so famous! “ This won’t do,” says he, “to be outdone by
' thriftless Joe, with his stupid turnip.” So he packs all sorts of precious
things into a bag and off he sets for the-castle. Not a bit afraid was he,
for he knew that he had got much more valuable things in his bag than Joe
ever had in all his house. So when he got to the King he offered all his
presents to the monarch. His Majesty was, no doubt, pleased, and he said,
“O Fritz, you bring us things so rich and rare, we scarcely know what to
bestow on you; but we will not spare, and give you what we deem most to
be a treasure—this turnip rare.” Proud Fritz, what did he care about his
brother’s king turnip! So away he rode, so terribly vexed and upset that
he pined away, and shortly died, some say out of sheer vexation.

Thriftless Joe became a famous man with wealth and children blest, and
lived many a long day to tell his friends how his good fortune came from
digging turnips, and one “ King Turnip ” in particular.

W. L. C.





THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

BOUT ten miles from Salisbury, and
near the Downs, there is a cele-
brated establishment for breeding
and training racehorses. Of the



boys engaged here a few years ago
was one of the name of Jack Sim-
mons. He was an intelligent, well-
conducted lad about fifteen years
of age, and much liked both by his
seniors and his companions. He
was quiet and good-natured, of a
generous disposition, and very
rarely out of humour, although,
when anything did happen to pro-
voke him, he was very apt to use —



physical force in showing his dis-
pleasure. This tendency, however, had been considerably subdued during his
residence in the establishment, where he had then been about three years.
His partial reformation could hardly be attributed to any conviction of its
impropriety, but rather to the care taken of him by the official who had the
boys under his control. The same measures Jack employed towards his
companions this official used towards him in expressing any disapprobation.
Jack, to do him justice, admitted the force of these arguments, and the result
was that at last he became a very good companionable sort of fellow.



10 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

The less said about Jack’s education and his capacity for learning, the
better for his reputation. He was very fond of reading, however; but then
the books he chose were hardly calculated to improve his mind. Although
very fascinating to boys some years younger than he was, they were not such
as lads of fifteen are apt to select either for their improvement or instruction,







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SALISBURY. #

They came under the category of fairy tales; and if he ever quitted these
for what might be termed a higher class of books, he never departed from
the legendary and absurd, but would gloat over the legends of King Arthur
and the Knights of the Round Table, of King Alfred’s adventures in the
Cottage, and other Senge of the same kind.



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. . rz

‘

Of all these tales and legends none made a stronger impression on our
hero’s mind than the story of Jack and the Seven-leagued Boots. This he
read over and over again till he could have repeated it word for word.
Indeed when out in the morning with the other boys exercising the horses
he would turn over in his mind during the gallop the story of the seven-





















































































































KING ARTHUR’S ROUND TABLE.

leagued boots, and draw comparisons, much to the disadvantage of his horse,
on the superior speed obtained by the wearer of the boots, reducing to insig-
nificance the pace of the sluggish animal he rode. He brought forward the
wonders of the seven-leagued boots on every conceivable opportunity, till at
last his companions became tired of it. Whenever Jack began the story. they —
teased him so unmercifully that at length he ceased to speak of it.



12 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

But although Jack ceased to speak of his favourite story, it pertinaciously
kept its place in his memory, till at length a circumstance occurred which
proved the utter absurdity of the whole story. One day when the boys were

out exercising the horses, the stud-groom saw, or fancied he saw, some

- ' indications of a swelling in the pastern joint of Peter the Great, the horse

on which Jack was mounted. As this horse was engaged to run in a race in
a few days’ time, he told Jack to pull up. Jack immediately obeyed, and
the stud-groom, dismounting from his own horse, and giving the bridle to
Jack, carefully examined the suspected joint. But he had apparently some
difficulty in making up his mind whether or not there was a tendency
to swelling; and he stood for some moments looking at the horse’s hoof
without being able to come to a settled conclusion. At length he
determined that the most prudent plan would be not to fatigue the horse
any more that day, but to send him home, and let him rest in his stable,
and then examine the swelling after the animal had rested for a short
time.

Taking the bridle from the boy’s hand, he mounted his own horse. Then,
telling Jack to dismount, he ordered him to lead the horse quietly back to the
stables, taking care to keep as much as possible on the greensward on his
way, and to lead the horse gently over the short distance of the high road he
would have to pass. Jack did as he was told, and commenced to lead the
horse slowly home. On his road he had to pass the little cottage of a poor
old widow from whom the boys occasionally bought apples and ginger-beer,
and similar luxuries. As the morning had been warm, and Jack had under-
gone a considerable amount of exertion, he naturally felt thirsty. So he
determined to diverge a little from his direct homeward course, and buy a
bottle of ginger-beer from the poor woman. On arriving at the house he
called to her somewhat loudly to. bring him a bottle of ginger-beer. The
woman, who was in the garden, on hearing Jack’s voice, hastened to obey



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 13

him, and entering the cottage came out of it again a few moments afterwards,
bringing with her an earthen mug and the bottle of beer.

“Come, be quick !” said Jack, “there’s a good old soul! How can you
be so slow when I’m dying with thirst?”



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KING ALFRED IN THE NEATHERD’S COTTAGE.

«Ah! my dear,” said the woman, “if you suffered from rheumatism as
bad as I do, you’d think I went quite fast enough, I can tell you.”

“There, come now, don’t chatter in that way,” said Jack imperiously ;
“ give me the beer. By the bye, whose boots are those I see?” he continued



14 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

pointing to a pair of those hob-nailed, inflexible-looking articles worn by
ploughmen, hung up iiside the cottage. ‘Whose boots are those? Why,
you haven’t got a husband, have-you, and never told us anything about it?”

“No, my dear, they’re my sister’s son’s. He’s been out of work for some
time past, and to-morrow he’s got a job, so he sent his boots to be mended,
and they came here this morning. Now, my dear, you hold the mug while
I draw the cork.” So saying, she put the mug in Jack’s hand, while she
untied the string that fastened the cork: :

“Now, I say,” said Jack, still joking with her, “are you quite certain
that the boots are your sister’s son’s, and that you haven’t got married after
all ?””

“ Ah! no ”” Bang went the cork with a report almost as loud as



when a pistol is fired off,-and the ginger-beer followed it, flowing over on
the ground.

The horse, startled at the sound, jerked the bridle out of Jack’s hand,
and galloped off over the downs, leaving Jack utterly aghast.

“Here, Tom,” cried the old woman to her nephew, who was in the garden
at the back of the house, “ here’s the horse run away: Come and help to
catch it, will you?”

_ Tom, a fine-looking farm-labourer, kicked off a pair of miserable old
slippers, and, without stopping to put on his boots, rushed with Jack over
the down to catch the horse.

“This was a work of no little difficulty. True, the horse, as soon as his
first alarm was over, stopped, and commenced nibbling the short grass on the
downs; but the moment his pursuers got within a few yards of him, he again
started off, and running some distance further commenced browsing. In this
manner things went on for more than two hours. The horse apparently had
a malicious pleasure in allowing his pursuers to come within a few yards of
him, and then darting off: again as swiftly as before. At length they came



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 15

near a farm-house, when a labourer in the stables, seeing what was going on,
came forward with a sieve of’ corn in his hand. He held it out in such a
manner as to attract the attention of the horse, and at last succeeded in getting
close enough to catch hold of. the bridle, which he held fast till Jack and his
companion came up. ;

Jack was now some distance from home, and was thirsty, hungry, and
fatigued, as well as dispirited and
out of humour. Disobeying the
instructions which had been given
him to lead the horse, he mounted

-it (though he had the good sense
to dismount again before he came .
in sight of the stables) and took
the road homeward, though only
at a walk, so as to let the horse,
when he should arrive, show as

' little symptom as possible of hay-—

ing been overdriven. At length
he reached the stables, where he
found the other horses had already
arrived, and the stud - groom



watching in a state of great
anxiety for Jack’s approach.

Jack narrated his disaster with tolerable truthfulness, taking care, how-
. ever, to give the full measure of blame to the unskilfulness of the widow in
drawing the cork of the ginger-beer bottle. The groom listened attentively
to Jack’s story, and examining the horse found that, although it had under-
gone a considerable amount of exercise, there was no further appearance of
swelling ; so he ordered it to be taken into the stable, and, good-naturedly



16 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

treating the whole affair’ as an accident, allowed. - J ack to go without
rebuke. ‘

Having been much fatigued during his morning’s occupation, Jack
would willingly have stayed indoors during the remainder of the day. This
indulgence, however, was not accorded him, and he was obliged to con-
tinue his duties till the evening. Before supper he stretched himself on a
bench to pass the time till the meal should be ready, and closing his eyes he
turned over in his mind the events of the morning. He compared the speed of
his gallop on the downs with that which could be obtained by the fortunate
wearer of the seven-leagued boots. He then remembered the stud-groom
stopping him and examining the hoof of the horse, and giving him the order
to walk the horse quietly home. He traced his course as far as the cottage
of the widow, and once again he saw inside it a pair of boots; but they were
no longer the hob-nailed abominations worn by agricultural labourers, but a
neater pair of j ockey-boots than had ever been turned out of the workshop of
Hoby or any other celebrated boot-maker. While he was looking with
admiration at the boots, earnestly wishing that. he had such a pair, and
thinking of the envy such an acquisition would cause in the breasts of the
other boys, the old woman—whose appearance now strongly resembled that
of a witch, the resemblance still further increased by her carrying a large
broom in her hand—ran from, the back of the house, and angrily. demanded
what he wanted. Jack, greatly surprised at her altered appearance, was
about to ask her for a bottle of ginger-beer, when his horse, frightened at
the broom the old woman carried in her hand, started off at a furious gallop
over the downs.

Jack, utterly aghast at the occurrence, and quite deprived of the power
of moving, watched his horse till it had disappeared. The full extent of his
misfortune now came before him. Not only might the horse—a very valu-
able one—meet with some accident, but he became alarmed at the thought



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 17

of the reception he would receive from the stud-groom when he returned
home.

“See what you’ve done with that broom. of yours! ”’ he exclaimed at last
to the old woman. “What do you mean by carrying such a thing about
with you? Why, its enough to frighten any high-spirited horse out of its
skin, without that ugly face of yours, you old witch!”

“Mind what you say,” said the woman. “If you don’t, vl punish you.”

“You punish me!” said Jack,
looking at her with contempt. Tt
I’d no more to fear than any punish-
ment you could give me, I should
be well off.”

“Tf you get a sound beating
when you get home,” said the
woman, “it will serve you right,
lazy fellow that you are, standing
there abusing a poor old creature
like me instead of trying to catch
your horse.”

“What’s the use of my trying
to catch it?” said Jack, sulkily.
“Do you think I should ever be able to do so?”

“Come,” said the old woman good-naturedly, “shall I help you?”



Vexed as he was, Jack could not help laughing at her remark, for the
idea of the decrepit old woman he saw before him catching a runaway race-
horse had something irresistibly ludicrous in it.

_ “Ah! you may laugh,” she said, guessing his thoughts ; ; “I don’t mean
that I could run fast enough to catch the horse myself, but if I chose I could
put you in the way of running a good deal faster.”

Cc



18 ' THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

“T wish you would, then,” said Jack, in a much more civil tone than he
had yet used; “you'd do me a very great service.”

“Oh!” said the old woman, “you can speak civilly enough, like most
persons, when they want to get anything, I can see that.”

“Well, then,” said Jack, coaxingly, “now just think for yourself the
trouble I shall get into if I go back without the horse ; and as you frightened
him away, isn’t it only fair play on your part to help me to catch him
again P” , :

“Well,” said the woman, “I don’t mean to say I can insure your catching
him again. WhatI did say was, that I could give you the faculty of running
a good deal faster than he can. And as you’ve now managed to get a civil
tongue in your head, I’ll give you the power if you wish it.”

Jack assured her that he should be eternally obliged to her if she would.

“Then I will,” said the woman. “Look at those boots,” she continued,
pointing to the pair of jockey boots already mentioned. “I’ve no doubt
that, as a young gentleman of education, you’ve heard of the celebrated
seven-leagued boots that Jack wore.”

“T have,” said the lad, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.

“Well, those are the identical boots,” said the old woman, “and very
wonderful they are. They fit every person who puts them on—no matter
whether their feet be large or small. If you put them on, they’d fit you as
if you'd been born in them, and every step you then took would be seven
leagues long. They have also another peculiarity, that the person who puts
them on in the daytime cannot take them off till after nightfall.”

“That at any rate would be no hardship,” said Jack. “I wish you'd
lend them to me for a day or two, and you’d oblige me very much.”

“Well, my dear, I will, since you speak so civilly,” said the old woman,
and going into the cottage she brought out the boots.

Jack immediately pulled off his own shoes, and drew on the boots the old



























































































































































































































































ie iG
Ht
eH









Bi



“PETER THE GREAT.”



20 é THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

woman had lent him. He had immediate proof that in one respect at least
she had spoken the truth. Although they had ‘appeared somewhat large
for him, he had no sooner put them on than he found they fitted him like a
glove.

“Now,” said the old woman, who appeared to read his thoughts instinc-
tively, “you see what I told you as to their fitting you istrue. You'd better
try their speed now, and start off after your horse.”

Jack immediately obeyed, and taking two steps found himself in a cemetery,
with two smart modern Gothic chapels in it, as well as the ruins of an old
- church. Greatly surprised, he asked an old man who was standing near him
if he had seen a race-horse running loose.

“ Well,” said the man, looking at him with astonishment, “T can’t say I
have; and, what’s more than that, if I was looking for one, Basingstoke
churchyard ain’t exactly the place I should choose to find him in.”

“ Basingstoke churchyard !”” .
far am I from Salisbury ?”

“A matter of more than forty-two miles, I should calculate,” said the
man. |

Jack was thunderstruck at this intelligence, and, striking his forehead
with his hand, remained for some moments in doubt what he should do. At
last the very reasonable idea occurred to him, that his best plan would be to
go back again. So he asked the man in what direction Salisbury lay. -The
old man merely pointed with his finger, looking at Jack the while as if he
thought him crack-brained. Jack immediately took two steps back again»

but having from the commencement made a slight variation from the direct

said Jack, greatly astonished. “Why, how

line to Salisbury, he stopped at a locality on the downs about six miles from
the spot where he had lost the horse. Here he saw a farm labourer, and
beckoning to him, inquired whether he had seen anything of a race-horse
with a saddle and bridle on him, running about the country.



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 21

“T can’t say I have,” said the man, “ but I heard a mate of mine say he’d
met somebody that had seen one galloping about the downs without a rider,
about eight or nine miles that way there over yonder.”

















































































































‘HOUND HIMSELF IN A CEMETERY.’’

Jack immediately took two steps in the direction indicated, and found
himself on the top of a beautifully-wooded hill, looking down on a large and.
flourishing town, with more than one church in it, and several fine buildings.



22 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

Fairly perplexed what to do, he threw himself on the grass and began to cry.
Indeed he sobbed so loudly, that he attracted the attention of a female servant
who was passing. Going up to him she asked what was the matter, and if
she could do anything for him. Jack, soothed by her kind tone, turned
round, and, ‘sitting upon the grass, said to her with tears streaming down
his eyes, “I’ve lost a race-horse, and can’t find him anywhere.”

“Well,” said the girl, “I don’t know much about race-horses, but from
what I’ve heard of them I should judge that the worst possible way of
catching them anon they’ve ve run away is to lay down with your face on the
grass and cry.” =

“‘There’s some truth in that,” said Jack; “but what can I do?”

“Tm afraid I can’t tell you,” she replied ;°“‘I would if I could. But
I’m going down into Sherborne, and I'll ask everybody I meet who comes
from the country, if they’ve seen a race-horse running about, and if they
say they have I’ll send you word.”

“Thank you,” said Jack. “But tell me, did you say that place was
Sherborne ? ” :

“ Yes, it is,” said the girl.

« And how far is Sherborne from Salisbury ?”

“Well,” she replied, “a matter of. forty or forty-two miles. I don’t
know exactly, but that’s what people say.”

Jack, when he heard this, fairly bellowed aloud.

22

“Why, you great simpleton,” said the girl, “what do you mean by
crying in that manner, as if you were a little boy of four years old ina
parish school? I’m ashamed of you. Iwas going to say you ought to have
been a girlinstead of a boy; but no girl of your age would make such a fool

” So saying, she gave. her head a toss, and continued her road to

of herself.
Sherborne.

_ No sooner had she gone, than Jack began to consider what steps he had



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 23

better take. He had now fairly discovered that a pair of seven-leagued boots
were by no means so desirable for human wear as he had hitherto imagined ;
on the contrary, they were a nuisance, and the best thing he could do would
be to get rid of them again as quickly as possible. He now determined to
pull them off, and, being actuated by a spirit of philanthropy, to throw them
into the stream as he crossed the bridge on entering Sherborne, so that no
unfortunate individual might in ignorance put them on. He now set



‘© 4 BEAUTIFUL WOODED HILL.’’

vigorously to work to get them off, but found that in. this respect, as well as
in every other, the old woman had told him the truth. By no exertions on
his part could he succeed ; they clung to his legs as pertinaciously as his
skin itself.

Jack now remained for some moments the picture of hopeless despair.
He then began to abuse the witch for having deceived him; but, on a
moment’s consideration, he was obliged to desist, for he could not help



“24 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

- admitting that the boots. only possessed the properties she had mentioned.
They fitted him exactly: at each step they carried him seven leagues ; and
now he discovered that those who put them on in the day could not take
them off again during daylight. The only consolation he experienced arose
from the assurance she had given him, that the wearer, if he pleased, could
take them off at night ; and, from her other statements having come true,
he had no reason to doubt that when evening arrived he ‘should be able to
get rid of them. But when evening came, where should he then be? He
must either remain where he was on the hill overlooking Sherborne, or be in’
some other locality where he had perhaps never been in his life before, and
far away from his home.

Jack remained for more than an hour seated on the grass, a prey to the
most melancholy thoughts. The very natural idea at last occurred to him,
that whether he resolved on making further attempts to catch Peter the
- Great, or on returning to the stables and candidly explaining to the stud-
groom what had happened, neither could be accomplished by sitting where
he was. He now rose from his seat, and was about to leave the spot, when
he remembered that he could not take a step which reached less than twenty-
one miles, whether it was in the proper direction or not.

The idea so terrified him that he immediately reseated himself, and
clutched his knee tightly so as to prevent his moving; for he dreaded going
in a wrong direction, and began to calculate how Salisbury stood in relation
to Sherborne. Before he had come to a conclusion, he saw a groom in livery
approaching him from the direction of the town. The groom, who was passing
at a few paces from him, saw him, and came towards him.

“ Where did you get those boots?” the groom said, looking at them with
an expression of intense admiration. “I never saw a better-made pair in
my life. Tell me the maker’s name, and I’ll get my master to give him an
order.”



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 25

“ T don’t know the maker’s name,” said Jack, evading the question, “or
I would tell you willingly. They were got for me.”

“T never saw anything like them in my life; why, they are just the
thing.”

“Tm glad you like them,” said Jack; “I’d willingly give them to you,
if I could get them off.”









NEWMAREET.

Jack said this with so much appearance of truth, that the groom fully
believed him. ik

Get them off?” he said. “Why, they don’t seem to be such a tight
fit, after all.”

« But they are,” said Jack, “and I can’t get them off.”



26 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

“Tet me help you,” said the groom; and he and Jack together made
violent efforts to pull them off. But all in vain. The boots remained as
tightly fixed on Jack’s legs as if they had been nailed to them.

“Well, I never saw such a tight fit in my life,” said the groom.

“ But now,” said Jack, “I want you to give-me a little advice. I was
leading a race-horse home, when he got loose and ran away, and I want to
find him.”

“Well,” said the groom, “you seem to have uncommon ideas of the way -
to catch a runaway race-horse. Do you think you are likely to find him
by sitting still on the grass, nursing your knee?’ What’s the horse’s
name?”

“ Peter the Great.”

““ Why, he’s entered to run at Newmarket the day after to-morrow. If
I were you, I would go there.”

’ Jack determined to follow the man’s advice, and, rising, asked him if he
could tell him the way to Newmarket.

“The way to Newmarket ? Why, how should I know? It’s hundreds
of miles from here!”

“No matter,” said Jack; ‘“ which is the way ?.”

“Somewhere out there, I suppose,” said the groom, pointing in a north-
easterly direction. ‘“ But I don’t know rightly.”

Jack, without bidding his new acquaintance good-bye, started off, and,
after a series of strides, stopped and asked a man if he was anywhere néar
Newmarket.

“No,” said the man, “it’s at least twelve miles off.”

«“ Which way ? ” asked Jack.

“That way, due west,” said the man, who had something of the appear-
ance of a sailor.

Jack immediately took a stud and, on inquiring, found he had passed it



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 27

by about nine miles. He now began a somewhat abstruse calculation to
determine, if he made a series of equilateral triangles—the first step being
towards the north-east, the second south-east, and the third due west— -
whether by repeating the process, and each time slightly altering the direc-
tion of the base of the triangle, he might not in time reach Newmarket. He











DOVER.

determined to try the experiment, and having three times completed the
triangles he stopped to ask a man if he was far from Newmarket.

“ Don’t know rightly,” said the man, “but I suspect it’s a matter of five
miles.

Here was encouragement for Jack to persevere with his triangular system.



28 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

He did so, and with so much success, that in less than an hour he found
himself on Newmarket race-course. Being now fairly out of breath, he
stopped for some moments to recover himself. Then, seeing a jockey
approaching, Jack asked if he had heard anything of Peter the Great.

« The horse, do you mean?”

“Yes, he’s entered to run here, isn’t he? ”

K



‘‘ ABOUT THREE MILES FROM CALAIS.”’

“Run here! No. What are you talking about? He’storun at Dover
races the day after to-morrow.”

« And which is the way to Dover ?” inquired Jack.

“How should I know ?” said the jockey ; ‘somewhere in the south.”

Jack’s ideas of geography were by no means profound. Still, he knew
that Dover was on the coast, so that when he reached the sea, it would be

~



THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 29

time for him to stop to ask his way, so he started again as fast as he could.
Indeed, so fast was his. pace and so great was his impetus, that when he
reached the cliffs of Dover, he could not stop himself. To prevent himself
falling into the sea, he took another stride right across the Channel, and
landed about three miles to the east of Calais.

Jack now determined to rest for a moment and collect his scattered senses,
but a new adventure awaited him. He found himself collared by a French
custom-house officer, who said to
him in very broken English, “ Ah,
T’ve caught you, have I? You want
to smuggle something, do you?”

Jack protested his innocence,
but the officer would take no excuse.
He told Jack to come with him to
be locked up for the night, and that
the next morning he should be
taken before the Waire of Calais to
give an account of himself. But as
he still kept a firm hold of his collar,
Jack could not, with the officer’s
weight added to his own, move one



step. The officer thought Jack was obstinate, and being a very powerful man
he placed his arm round his prisoner’s waist, and lifting him from the ground
carried him to his house, and locked him up in a little room, there to
remain, till the next day.

Jack was now perfectly miserable, and he remained there bamaling his
unhappy fate till night had set in. Then he remembered the witch had told
him that he could take off his boots if he pleased. He made the trial, and
they came off his feet with the greatest ease. Jack’s mind was now consider-



56 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

ably relieved, for the idea of being immured in‘a French dungeon sunk into
insignificance when compared to the miséry he had got rid of. He now slept
quietly through the night, and next morning, when the officer ordered him to’
accompany him to’Calais, Jack immediately prepared to obey him, carrying
his seven-leagued boots in his hand.

“Why do you not put on your boots ?” sad the officer ; “are you afraid
of wearing them out?”

“No, they hurt me, and I’m going to throw them into the sea.”

« Are you mad ?” asked the officer. If you don’t want them, give them
tome. I think they would just fit me, and my own are nearly worn out.”

“Take them and welcome,” said Jack. ; .

The officer took him at his word, .and kicking off his own shoes put on
Jack’s boots. :

“Why, they fit me capitally. I wonder whether they are easy to walk ©
ane

“Try,” said Jack, and the officer took one step and was out of sight ina
moment.

Jack, without shoes, now started off as fast as he could run towards
Calais, guided by the masts of the shipping he saw in the harbour. He
contrived to enter the town and reach the port, where he found a steamboat
about to. start for England. Jack immediately rushed on board, and was in
the act of descending to the cabin when some one caught hold of him, ane
said, “ Come, we can’t stand this snoring any longer.”’

Jack looked. round him, and found himself at home with his companions,
-who had supped while he slept. Although the whole had been a dream, it
made a strong impression on Jack’s memory. For the future he was fully of
opinion that a more cruel punishment could not be imagined than condemning
a man to wear a pair of seven-leagued boots.



MY FRIEND THE. BLACKCOCK.

'5 pis 3 | WAS sitting on a moor, one August day,
: ae under the shade of a small clump of ash,



and well screened by the bracken which
rose high around me, when I sud-
denly heard the whirr-r-r of wings,’
es and looking up cautiously, saw a
“NY fine old blackcock skimming along.
His pinions were now almost motion-
“less, and I noticed, by the gradual
-alteration of the angle of his body,
that he meant to alight on a rock on
the other side of the valley in which
I was, and not more than thirty-five yards from my seat. This he did, dropping ©
his legs neatly down just at the right moment to break the fall, and clapping
his wings to his side. Fortunately for my observation, his head was turned
away from me, and such wind as there was blew from his direction. Quietly
‘he walked to the edge of the rock, drew himself up with dignity and began
to discourse. He was very portly and. sleek, and reminded me irresistibly of
a city magnate, ambitious of parliamentary honours, addressing his consti-
tuents: there was a great deal of chuckling in his throat, and he fussed and
fumed as he stepped from side to side; then there was more gurgling and his
neck was yet more swollen, and if his face had not already been purple and
black, I feel sure it would have become so from the excessive excitement under
which he was labouring. But it soon ended, and he then calmly rubbed his
beak on the moss and began prosaically to search cracks'and crannies for any-
thing suitable for a mid-day meal. -He was apparently in high spirits, and
desirous of rehearsing a little, so as to be in grand voice for the forthcoming



o

32 MMV FRIEND THE BLACKCOCK.

spring. In the picture he is represented advancing to the edge of the natural









































platform, and, as it were, commencing his discourse with, “ Friends, we are here

to-day before you to redress the wrongs of the whole blackcock race,” &e., &e.





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































UNITY IS STRENGTH.

A very curious case of a combination on the part of animals to rid them-
selves of a foe occurred near the Winterberg, a mountain to the north of the
eastern frontier of the Cape of Good Hope.

In this locality there were several troops of baboons, young and old, which
resided in the deep rocky ravines, and gambolled among the fearful precipices
around. Very human were these creatures in their appearance and habits,
especially when suddenly alarmed; the mammas were then seen to catch up
their young ones, who clung round their parents’ necks, and were thus carried
rapidly to, the summit of the rocks, where they would grimace and cough out
their defiance at the intruder, who had ventured into their domain.

An enemy, however, once found his way into their stronghold, and this
was an enemy hungry, cunning, and powerful. It was a Cape leopard.



5
‘



UNITY IS STRENGTH. 35

Crouching down among the long grass, or amidst the crevices of the

rocks, the leopard would suddenly spring upon a young baboon, and actually

devour it before the eyes of its screeching parents. Strong as is a baboon,

the leopard is yet far stronger, and with its terrible claws could soon tear to
pieces the largest male baboon.



A LEOPARD REPOSING.

During some days the leopard feasted on baboons, but at length these
creatures combined, and jointly attacked the leopard. They did not really
mean to risk a pitched battle with him, for these creatures evidently knew
and respected his great powers. They had, too, as the result proved, deter-
mined on a safer and more crafty method of proceeding.

The leopard, fearing the combined strength of his adversaries, left their



36 UNITY IS STRENGTH.

neighbourhood, and retreated across country, but he was followed by nearly
all the large baboons.

On went the leopard; on followed the baboons. The day was hot, and
the leopard disliked this perpetual tramping, and so tried to seek a retreat
and lie down and rest. ‘Then it was that the baboons closed round and
worried: him. Soon, too, he began to thirst, his tongue hanging out of his
mouth, and the white foam covering his jaws. .

Water was soon scented by the hunted brute, and to this it rapidly made
its way: but now the baboons became frantic ; they closed on to the leopard.
some by their great activity actually tearing him with their sharp teeth, and
the creature could not drink. The baboons could relieve one another, and
some could eat and drink too, whilst their companions continued worrying
the leopard. ;

During two days and a ae the country for several miles along the
course of these creatures was startled by the cries of pursuer and pursued,
and several farmers were witnesses from a distance of portions of the scene
here described. They would not interfere, but watched the baboons’ method
of administering justice.

Worn out with exhaustion and thirst, the leopard at length could totter .

on no further, and sank to the ground a prey to the baboons, who, in spite of
his claws and teeth, which were yet formidable, attacked him with their
whole force and soon tore him to pieces, they themselves escaping with only |
a few severe scratches. :

Assembling their forces, the baboons returned rapidly to their stronghold,
where they. were welcomed by their females and young with choruses of loud
and triumphant barks, which were continued during the greater part of the
night, whilst for several days the excitement did not seem to calm down,
but was shown by the unusual noises which proceeded from this curious
colony. .













IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE.

T was little Marie’s birthday,—the most beautiful of all days,
she thought. All her small girl-friends and. boy-friends
came to play with her, and she wore her finest frock: this



had been given to her by Grandmother, who was now with
the good God; but Grandmother had cut it, and made it
herself before she went up into the bright beautiful
heavens. The table in Marie’s room was shining with’
- presents: there was the prettiest little kitchen, with
all-the belongings of a kitchen; and a doll that could twist its eyes, and
ery “ugh!” when you pinched its stomach; ah! and there was a picture-
book too, full of the prettiest stories, to be read when somebody could read.
But it was more béautiful than all the stories in the world to live to see many
birthdays. :
“Oh, it is so beautiful to live!” said the little Marie. “Godfather said
that was the most beautiful fairy tale.”
In the room next her were both her brothers; they were big boys, one of
them nine years old, and the other eleven, They thought it beautiful to live











40 IT IS SO "BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE.

too, to live in their way ; not to be babies like Marie, but thorough-going.
schoolboys; to get their high mark in class, to fight their schoolfellows, and
like them all the better for it ; to skate in the winter, and ride velocipedes in
summer ; to read of baronial castles, with drawbridges and dungeons, and to
read. of discoveries in Central Africa. On this subject, though, one of the
boys had a misgiving—that all might be discovered before he was grown a
man: then he was to go out on adventures. Life is the most beautiful fairy
tale, said Godfather, and one takes a part in it oneself.

It was on the parlour-floor these children played and lived; on the flat
Bhove them dwelt another branch of the family. And here too were children,
but they had slipped their leading strings, they were so big; one son was
seventeen, and another twenty; but one of them was very old indeed, said.
little Marie: he was twenty-five, and.engaged to be married. All of them
were well off; had good parents, good clothes, good attainments; and they
knew their own minds.

“Clear the way! down with the old hoardings!” said. they: “a free
look-out into the wide world: that is the finest thing we know of! God-
father is right; life is the most beautiful fairy tale of all!”

Father and mother, both elderly people (older than the children, naturally)
said with smiles on their lips, in their eyes, and in their hearts, “How young
they are, the young folk! things won’t go on in the world just as they
fancy ; still, they will goon! Life is a wonderful, beautiful fairy tale!”

Higher up—a little nearer ‘the sky, as we say when people occupy the
attics—lived Godfather. Old was he, and yet so young in mind; always in
good spirits. Many.a long story could he tell. Far and wide had he been
in the world, and from all the lands of the world were pretty tokens standing
in his room. There were pictures from floor to ceiling, and some of the
window-panes were of red or yellow glass; if one looked through them, the
whole world lay in sunshine, however grey it might be outside. There were



IT IS SO. BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE. 41

green plants growing in a great glass case, and in a globe attached to it
there were gold fish swimming—they looked at one as if they knew many
things they would not talk about. There was a sweet smell of flowers here
always, even in the winter; and in winter-time a great fire blazed-on the
hearth ; it was so amusing to sit looking into it, and to hear how it cracked
and crackled.

“Tt reads old memories out loud to me,” said Godfather: and it seemed |
to little Marie moreover as if many pictures showed themselves in the fire.
But in the large carved bookcase close by stood the real books: and the one
which Godfather read oftenest he called: the book of books; it was the Bible.



There was pictured the history of the world, and all mankind ; of the
Creation, the Flood, the Kings, and the King of kings.

“All that has happened, and all that will happen, is written in this
book!” said Godfather. ‘So infinitely much in one single: book! Ay, and
all that man has to pray for, is entered there, in the prayer ‘ Our Father.’ ”

“ It is the drop of mercy!” said Godfather ; “ it is the pearl of comfort
from God. It is laid as a gift on the child’s cradle, is laid on the child’s
heart. Little child, keep it carefully! never lose “it, however big thou
mayest grow ; and thou wilt not be forsaken on life’s changeful way—it will
beam bright within thee—and thou wilt never be lost.”,



42 IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE.

Godfather’s eyes were brightened by it, till they shone with joy; once in
his years of youth they had wept, and “ this, too, was good,” he said. ‘That
was the time of trial; then all looked dark: now I have sunshine within and
around me. The older one grows the clearer one sees, in adversity and pros-
perity, that Our Lord is in it all, that life is the most beautiful fairy tale :
that this only He can give us, and that this goes on into eternity ! ”

“Tt is beautiful to live!’ said the little Marie; so, too, said the small
and big boys; father and mother, the wlile family, and chief of all God-
father : and he had experience; he was the oldest of them all; knew all
stories: and he said, “ Life is the most beautiful fairy tale.”





A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

“Sar ho!” The cheering ery from the masthead aroused the slumbering
watch of Her Majesty’s brig Pantaloon, and

MMT MNS" eg : : ;
TTL S a ae Fah dispelled the waking dreams in which I, the



















I
Cece SS ' ; 7} officer of the watch, was indulging.
TL il qk i i We were cruising —looking out for
TN ( \, { ia \ slavers—off the mouth of the Congo; and
HIT Ve ‘ey lll] a8 a pleasant change in the middle of the
a ai . rainy season, the night was starlight. Send-

ing word to the captain, I made all sail on

the ship, and in a few minutes our spars



were covered with canvas, and the brig
gliding through the smooth water under the
influence of a land wind which had just
sprung up.















ATT

Uh
itt





2

eh Pore alll
Be Wy

lle, vz

AW

y

Our men clustered forward in the bows, eagerly trying to discover the



7 ae A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

chase, which was as yet visible to no eyes except those of the Krooman at the
masthead who had first reported the strange sail. As a coloured man’s power
of vision in the night-time is generally superior to that of a white person, the
suspense was endured for nearly a quarter of an hour, but at length the
captain, fearing lest the anticipated prize should prove a myth, hailed in
dialect suited to the Krooman, “ King Tom! You sure you see him ?”

“Yes, captain, him live out dere,” replied the individual bearing the regal
cognomen, pointing right ahead. In a few more minutes the good faith of
King Tom was verified, the strange sail being plainly seen on the line of
the horizon, and the distance between the Pantaloon and her prey rapidly
lessening. ,

“Clear away the gun forward and give her a blank cartridge,” was an
order obeyed as soon as given. The long thirty-two pounder bellowed forth,
and the flash illumined momentarily the excited faces on deck. As the report
died away, all eyes were bent on the chase to discover if she obeyed that
authoritative signal to “heave to;” but her white sails still gleamed in the
moonlight, and she pursued her course regardless of the mandate. This
perseverance in attempting to escape gave good assurance that we were in
pursuit of a slave-ship. Many of the crew began already in imagination to
spend their prize-money; the Kroomen especially were chuckling with
delight, for the very day preceding, at their earnest request—made in con-
sequence of no slaver having been seen for some months—the figure-head of
the Pantaloon (a capital reproduction of the well-known ‘personage in the
pantomime) had had his spectacles repainted, “ to make him sce better.’”*

The proverbial “slip between cup and lip ” had, however, yet to be illus-
trated. The gun having been again loaded, this time with shot, the gunner
was standing, lanyard in hand, awaiting the order to fire, when the captain’s
attention was attracted by the flapping of the sails—which hitherto had kept

* A Fact.





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A WRECK AT SEA,



46 i A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

full—against the masts; the land wind had suddenly subsided, and a hot
stifling calm succeeded. On looking round he discovered in one quarter of
the horizon the small cloud, literally as a man’s hand, which to experienced
eyes betokens the quick approach of a tornado; and he knew well that, if one
of these awful tropical storms struck the ship while all sail was set, nothing
but the loss of her masts could save her.

No time now to think of aught but the ae of the ship. “ Hands
shorten sail! Quick, men,—quick,—for your lives!” shouted the captain.
The crew, aware of the danger, worked well; sail after sail was taken in,
until, instead of a cloud of canvas, the cruiser showed nothing aloft but the
clear tracery of spars and rigging. In time, and only just in time, was the
work completed, the ship made snug and the men down from aloft.

Meanwhile the cloud had rapidly increased in volume until now it over-
spread half the horizon, the remainder of the heavens being yet bright and clear.

Notwithstanding all our precautions, the first shock threw the Pantaloon
nearly on her beam-ends; for a few moments of painful suspense she remained
in that position, then suddenly righting—all her timbers groaning—
gradually yielded to her helm. Immediate danger was now over, it being
only necessary to keep the ship driving before the wind until the storm should
subside.

Two hours passed thus, and the fury of the tornado began to decrease,
when—with a simultaneous crash of thunder—the lightning struck our fore-
mast. On reaching the deck the electric fluid was first attracted by the chain
cable, along which it ran hissing until, reaching the quarter-deck, it leaped
with a loud report to the nearest gun, flashing from gun to gun until it
plunged into the water astern, the old helmsman as it passed him ducking
his head as he would to an enemy’s shot. Happily no one was seriously hurt,
although some men standing round the mast were partially stunned. The
thunder now ceased, and the wind fell.





a
Se
18
8
E





48 A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

It being now. midnight, I was. stepping, wearily enough, towards the
companion-ladder, intending to go below, when I was met by an officer who
rushed violently up the ladder and attempted to pass me. Recognising our
surgeon—who was suffering from a severe attack of yellow fever—I .
attempted to stop him, but, tearing himself from my grasp with the strength
of delirium, he forced his way overboard.

Giving orders to the boatswain’s mate to call away the lifeboat’s crew, I
sprang aft and let go the life-buoy. The portfire attached to the apparatus
blazed up, and by its light the form of the doctor was visible, floating rapidly
astern. Not a moment was to be lost, and divesting myself of coat and
waistcoat, I was quickly in the water at his side. Being a good swimmer,
there was little difficulty in supporting him; the shock of the plunge had
apparently restored his senses, for he recognised me, and feebly syllabled my
name. A few strokes brought us to the life-buoy, and resting my feet on the
lower part under water, one.arm clinging to the upper rod, and the other
round the waist of my friend, I awaited with impatience the. approach of
succour from the ship. The situation was by no means agreeable; the half-
drowned man soon lost the little consciousness that remained, and hung a
dead weight on my arm.. The recent tornado had occasioned a heavy. sea;
and, though the life-buoy bore: our weight well, yet frequently the waves,
‘dashing over our faces, half-choked me. I was also myself. much weakened,
having only lately recovered from an attack of yellow fever ; and as the light
at the Pantaloon’s masthead dimmed and faded to my eye as we drifted more
and more from the ship, so also fainter and more faint waned my hopes. of
deliverance. . The portfire was quickly burning out, already its brilliancy had
much lessened, and the fine volume of light it had at first given was dwind-
ling into a fitful gushing of.sparks, as in a badly prepared school-boy’s squib.
I knew well that, if the light should indeed go out entirely, the boat. sent to
our aid would row in vain quest of such a speck as the life-buoy; when



































































































































































































EMANCIPATED NEGRESS.
i



50 A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

morning broke it might be discovered, but long before that time my exhausted
arms would have loosened their hold, and our bodies found the sailor’s grave.
With despair in my heart I gazed upwards at the portfire, which now sud-
denly shot forth an expiring gleam—tinting with a blue unearthly glare the
closed eyes and senséless form of my companion: and then all was darkness.
But, even at that moment, I heard the welcome sound of the measured beat
of oars. Gathering all my strength, I hailed; the hail was answered cheerily
by many strong voices, and guided by my shout the boat discovered our posi-
tion. Soon friendly hands grasped us, and in another minute I was safely
seated in the boat, with the doctor, still unconscious, by my side.

The boat’s crew gave way cheerily for the brig, towing the life-buoy
astern. Overhead the sky was clearing, the stars again shone out; and as
the black form of our floating home once more became visible—her hull,
looming large in the obscurity of night—I revelled in anticipation of the
comforts and of the rest in my own little cabin, which a few moments more
would bring. But not easily were these enjoyments to be gained—not yet
were the dangers of this eventful night passed. |

As we neared the ship it became perceptible that she was rolling heavily
in the trough of the sea, and that the act of getting on board and hoisting up
the boat would be a perilous one. Nothing, however, could be gained by
delay, so seizing what appeared to be a favourable moment, during a tem-
porary lull in the ship’s motion, we pulled up alongside. Just as the boat
came abreast of the gangway, we rose on the crest of an immense wave: a
crowd of men were on deck ready to. assist us, and into their outstretched
arms we literally threw the insensible form of the doctor. Two of our men
also leaped on the deck and were safe, but the danger to us who still remained
was imminent. Our boat sank with the receding wave, the ship at the same
time rolling heavily over to starboard, away from us. ‘With the ‘return roll
‘would come the danger. In vain with desperate efforts we tried with oars to





heard, had sunk to rise no

A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE. 51

force the boat away from her dangerous proximity. Closer and closer yet
the power of attraction pressed her to the ship’s side. ‘The return roll came.
I looked up, saw the’ heavy dark mass descending remorseless upon our
heads ; then a crash, a cry of agony—a few struggling, breathless moments
in the dark depths; and I was
floating, half-stunned, but un-

hurt, on the surface, amidst









































































































































oars and fragments of the













wrecked boat. One poor fellow,
whose death-shriek we had





























































more, but the others were
swimming besideme uninjured.



And now the safest way of
regaining the ship had to be
considered. The “ falls,” or
ropes by which the lost boat
had been lowered, were hang-
ing from the projecting davits,
their ends trailing in the water
some six or eight feet from the ©
side; and to climb up by their
assistance was an easy mode





BUYING NEGRO SLAVES.

of escape for trained sailors.

Swimming therefore to these ropes, I directed my men to go up first, and
soon had the satisfaction of seeing them all safely on board, the ship at this
time being tolerably steady. Then grasping the falls I began my own ascent
hand over hand. Scarcely had my feet left the water, however, when the
rolling motion once more commenced. As the ship inclined gradually over,



52 A: NIGHTS ADVENTURE.

my feet again touched the surface; still I descended until the waters closed
over my head, and then lower and lower yet—clinging the while to the rope
as my only chance of ultimate safety—until at length I felt the downward
motion cease. Quickly succeeded a sudden jerk, nearly wrenching my hands
from their hold; and with a velocity far exceeding that of the descent, a roll
of the ship in an opposite direction was dragging me into upper air. It
required all my remaining strength to retain my grasp, the opposing pressure
of water as I was carried upwards being enormous. At last, panting and
exhausted, but with presence of mind still unimpaired, I emerged, and with
desperate haste—dreading the coming downward roll—began again to clamber
up the rope.

I succeeded in gaining a point about two feet higher than my former
position ; another foot or two and I should be safe—already had several men
slipped down the ropes, whose hands nearly touched mine. I struggled hard,
but with all my efforts could not gain another inch—again the horrible
downward motion recommenced, and, while breathless from the last descent,
' again I was plunged beneath the waters.

. The agony of this second immersion was almost insupportable. As in the
first instance, I sank slowly, then after a momentary pause was dragged
violently upwards, the resisting body of water clinging to me as if loth to
lose its prey. Once more my face reached the surface; I gave a deep gasp
for breath. But nature had been too heavily tried. A loud booming in my

~ ears—flashes of light before my eyes—and I knew no more.

When consciousness returned, I was in my own cabin, the assistant-
surgeon bending over the bed. Although too feeble for conversation, I could
understand from him that my rescue had been effected by the men who had
descended the rope; they had seized my hands just as insensibility was un-
locking their grasp. He also informed me that, contrary to all expectation
_ the shock experienced by the surgeon was likely to prove beneficial—that,



A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE. 53

all fever having left him, he was now sleeping clamly and peaceably. With
strict injunctions to follow so good an example, I was left to my repose.

In these southern latitudes no soft intervening twilight exists; the

_ change from obscure night to glaring broiling day is almost instantaneous. No

sooner did day break on the following morning, and the sun appear, than all

eyeswereanxiously :

engaged sweeping

the horizon in hopes













of encountering the
lost slaver. Fifty
voices quickly ex-
claimed, « There

she is!” and there





























































































































































































indeed, not two













































































































miles off, was the













luckless vessel,
which even the tor-
nado had failed to |
save. The sea was —
calm; not a ripple
disturbed its glassy

















smoothness as it



gently heaved in
the long low swell
which prevailed. It was evident to the crew of the slave-ship that no chance
of escape remained ; although armed, they were no match for the English
cruiser. Soon a Brazilian ensign fluttered up to her masthead, waved there
for a moment, and then slowly and reluctantly descended, in token of sur-

render.





54 A NIGHT’S AD VENTURE.

Our boats, well manned and armed, now pulled towards the prize, passing
through some dozens of empty wine and ale bottles recently thrown over-
board, demonstrating that the slave-crew had begun to drown their sorrows
in the good liquor the cabin stores afforded, determined it should not be
wasted down the throats of their captors.

On boarding and taking possession, the prize proved to be the Aventureiro,
a fine yacht-like schooner, carrying one long swivel gun amidships. Small
need was there to inquire of her sullen commander whether the cargo was
lawful or “ contraband,” and our sailors at once proceeded to open the closely-
covered hatchways. On removing them.a dense steaming mist of foul
sickening air ascended from the slave-deck below; and three hundred unhappy
beings of both sexes were discovered lying down, their feet manacled to long
iron bars placed “fore and aft”? throughout the ship. From this piteous
writhing mass of humanity arose strange voices and shouts of joy, as the
' irons were unloosed and the fact of their deliverance dawned upon their
minds. Half the number were brought on deck to breathe the purer atmo-
sphere, and the rest, unfettered, roamed about at will below.

The crew of the slaver, twenty-four in all, were transferred to the
Pantaloon, and a lieutenant and party of men detailed to convey the prize to
Sierra Leone. Before parting company, however, an exciting scene of
plunder was enacted ; officers and sailors keenly searching after comestibles
which—although articles of daily consumption on shore—were luxuries to
men shut up for months in an African cruiser.

Tins of preserved meats, sardines, potted salmon and lobster, boxes of
crystallized sugar, raisins, potatoes, butter, wine, and bottled pale ale
rewarded the laughing plunderers ; and were passed into the ship under the
very eye of the slave-captain, who, as he leaned over the side, muttered the
not inappropriate word, “ Ladrones!” Soon, however; his face cleared up,
and ejaculating “ Fortuna de la guerra!” he smoked his paper cheroot with





A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE. 55

calmness, consoled doubtless by the recollection of former successful trips ;
for slave-traders confess that if only one vessel out of four escapes, they are
amply repaid. ;

And now, all arrangements being complete, the prize-crew gave a hearty
farewell cheer as the Aventureiro, with England’s flag of liberty waving at
the peak, bore away to the westward, a cheer returned as heartily by their
comrades in the Pantaloon,. as that vessel’s head was once more ‘turned
towards her cruising ground.







A VIRGINIAN PRINCESS.

Have you ever heard of the fair country of Virginia? It’is far away across
the seas, where beautiful palms grow in the open air, like our own bracken-
ferns, and pine-apples ripen in the glorious sun. Nearly three hundred
years ago, when the brave sailors first discovered the new land, there dwelt
amongst the wild Indians who inhabited the land the young and beautiful
princess Pocahontas. The Indians in those far-off days did not love to see
the white men visit’ their shores, and ofttimes, when they came across a party
of Englishmen, they would fall upon them with their tomahawks and clubs





A VIRGINIAN PRINCESS. 57

and kill them all. But the Princess Pocahontas was not at all pleased with
this, and ofttimes saved their lives. On one occasion, when the great sailor,
Captain John Smith, had heen taken prisoner, he was condemned to death
in the hut of her father, the King of Virginia. Then the true heroic spirit
of the Princess Pocahontas showed itself, for when the blow of the heavy
club was about to fall upon the kneeling figure, she placed her own head over
the neck of the captain, and stopped the hand of the executioner and gained
_ the boon of his life. Was not this brave? Yet her own end was a sad one,
-for she died on the edge of the shores of England, whither she had come to
learn the manners and customs of the English and to be presented at court, on
board the vessel that was to carry her back to her home in Virginia. Her
physical strength, no longer sustained as in childhood by the rich sunshine
and the bracing air of her native country, gave way under the damps of a
country so different to her own. Great was the sorrow of her friends, and of
her subjects in Virginia, for her brave and generous spirit towards strangers
was rare indeed in the old days... Many are the records of her timely pro-
tection of the English colonists from the wrath and plots of their Indian
enemies. The Princess was married to a young Englishman named John >
Rolfe, she being taught to believe that Captain Smith was dead, and it is
said that when Smith visited her in London, after saluting him she turned .
away her face and hid it in her hands, and remained in this position for two

or three hours.





7

GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

Or all the heroes whose deeds ee obtained for them

a renown greater than they deserved, there is not






one to be named -before our own Jack the Giant-
killer. “Many of the heroic feats he is said
to have performed were simple impossibilities,
and those founded on anything like reliable

tradition are all marked with gross exaggera-

tion. Among these may especially be quoted
his fight with the tremendous two-headed
‘giant Thunderstone. In the account of it, of
course, Jack is described as a hero, while
Thunderstone is a monster of iniquity, agile
= asa stag, and powerful as six cart-horses put
2 ‘tc together. Now, as far as regards the giant’s

Asles

agility and strength, the direct contrary is
the fact. When he fought with Jack, he
was at the time as weak as a child. He had been suffering from a sharp

i
e

attack of illness, and when he went out to accept Jack’s challenge, he had not
sufficient strength left to carry his unwieldy body without tottering. As
for his arms, they had so fallen away, from the effect of his malady, that
it was with great difficulty he could raise his club from the ground.

Again, Thunderstone was by no means so cruel a monster as Jack’s

admirers represent him. That he might have been so before his marriage



GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 59.

is possible, but his wife was a very clever, shrewd little woman, possessing
great tact; and before two months after their marriage there was not a
more docile or obedient giant to be found in the three kingdoms. There
was something very worthy of admiration in the way that that fragile little
woman contrived to manage her gigantic husband.
Thunderstone, it is said, made many other offers
of marriage to Cornish maidens, and had eaten
the papas of several who had refused him their
daughters’ hands (actions much to be reprehended,
it is true) ; and everybody thought that the maiden
who had accepted him would soon die a horrible
death. Some prophesied that when her husband
came home from the chase, and found no dinner
ready, he would put his wife into the copper, and
boil her ; and many other suggestions of the kind
were made, all of which turned out to be without
foundation. .

Now the means with Mrs. Thunderstone took
to-.gain sway over her husband were as follows.
At first she was obedient to his every whim,
though at the same time she was keenly bent on



noting his mental peculiarities. Mrs. Thunder-
stone, before her wedding, had easily perceived that
the two heads of her husband differed considerably. Both, it is true, jis a
very stern expression of countenance; but there the similarity ended. The
right head was of a dark complexion, with dark eyes; the left was fair, with
light curly hair and blue eyes. She also perceived that when Nature pro-
vided him with two heads, she had at the same time given each a brain, and,
by a wise provision, eack of these brains had the power of thinking inde-



60 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

pendently of the other. Otherwise, if the thoughts which emanated from
each were the same, where would be the use of two brains? Again, each
head had a tongue to give expression to its thoughts, and as each tongue
possessed considerable volubility—and her husband was very candid in his
expressions—she soon determined on her plan of action.

Noticing the extreme dissimilarity of the dispositions of her husband’s
heads, she invariably sided with the one whose views coincided with her own,
changing from one to the other with great readiness, so as to show that she
regarded neither with any special favour. In this way, without appearing
to be anxious to govern her husband, she soon became as perfect and
absolute a mistress in her own house as any well-conditioned wife could wish
to be.

Let us take an instance. The right head had contracted a habit of
. smoking tobacco, and the greatest luxury of his life was a pipe. The left
head detested smoking, saying that the odour of the tobacco got into his
hair (of which he was particularly proud), and into his nostrils and mouth,
and made him feel sick. One day a violent altercation had arisen between
them, and Mrs. Thunderstone stepped in to calm it. Now she detested
smoking, and had resolved. to put a stop to the practice. When therefore
the right head complained of his brother being fastidious and a molly-coddle
in objecting to the smell of tobacco, and pretending that it made him sick,
she immediately took the other’s part, saying he had not in any way over-
stated the case, and that she sympathised with him, and was determined to
put a‘stop to the disgraceful habit.

Although in this instance Mrs. Thunderstone had sided with Fair-head,
it must not be imagined that she held him in greater favour than Dark-skin
(for thus she used playfully to designate the two heads when in conversation).
So far from this being the case, though she could not close her eyes to his
superior beauty, she took good care not to show him the slightest partiality ;



GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. - 61

and, by keeping rigidly to her determination, she managed so happily that
no jealousy ever existed in the mind of Dark-skin at the superior attractions
of Fair-head. An exception, however, is to be made in cases where either
had displeased her, and then she would give two kisses to the cheek of the
one whose behaviour she approved of, and none to the other. By this
conduct, as soon as the first burst of ill-temper had subsided, she invariably
‘succeeded in bringing the rebellious head to reason.





But, like a good wife, she was not content with establishing her sway
-over her husband solely by tact and ingenuity. She knew enough of the

characters of giants to be aware that the greatest accomplishment a wife
could possess in their eyes was a good knowledge of cooking. She rightly
calculated that if this accomplishment bore good fruits with giants possessing
only one head, how much more highly would it be held in estimation by a
giant with two heads, each having a mouth, teeth, and a sensitive and



62 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

delicate palate of its own! And here again existed a peculiarity in her
husband which is worthy of notice, as showing the great difficulties the
clever little woman managed to overcome.’ Fair-head was fond of sweets : 7
Dark-skin, on the contrary, liked acids. Fair-head revelled in puddings ;
Dark-skin held them in disgust, his taste being for solid meat. And even
on the subject of meat a strong discrepancy existed between them, Fair-head
liking lean meat made into well-cooked and delicate little dishes, while
Dark-skin liked underdone meat with plenty of fat.

Although, in the case of Jack Sprat, who could eat no fat, while his wife
could eat no lean, a joint of mutton could be very easily disposed of by both
indulging their own peculiar tastes, in Mrs. Thunderstone’s establishment it
was very different. If Dark-skin chose for his dinner the leg of a bull,
underdone, with plenty of fat, of course at first sight it would appear
difficult for her to oblige him without disregarding the tastes of Fair-head ;
and if the latter desired a delicate beef-steak pie without fat, made in
the copper, Dark-skin was not likely to have much appetite for his dinner.
In cases such as these Mrs. Thunderstone showed herself an excellent
manager. If the dinner was to be fat and underdone, she generally sent her
husband out upon some long and difficult hunting excursion in the morning,
so ‘as by excessive fatigue to create an enormous appetite. Now, as the two
heads suffered equally from fatigue or exhaustion of the body, it naturally
followed that, when they sat down to dinner, Fair-head would be scarcely
less ravenous than Dark-skin; and as “ hunger is the best sauce,” he ate of
the fat and underdone meat without much objection. I£, on the other hand,
it was a dull rainy morning, with little attraction for outdoor exercise, Mrs.
Thunderstone would make a delicate beef-steak pie, and Dark-skin, who
from the want of exercise had but little appetite, grumbled much less than -
might have been expected at the dish set before him. And here it is but
‘ justice to Mrs. Thunderstone emphatically to state, that while: on all other .

‘



GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 63

subjects she managed, by supporting the views of the head whose ideas
corresponded with her own, to mould her husband to her wishes, on the
subject of cooking she never allowed her own tastes to interfere, her sole
desire being to please her husband to the utmost extent of her power.

By these and similar means did this clever little woman become the
absolute mistress in her own house. ‘True, you may say, gentle reader, that
to ‘become mistress in their own a
houses is a very common thing with
clever little women ; but at the same
time you must bear in mind that
Mrs. Thunderstone had difficulties
to surmount rarely met with in
society, but which any lady having
a husband’ with two heads can
thoroughly appreciate. In spite,
however, of the difficulties she had
~ to: contend with, she not only suc-
ceeded in keeping her house in per-
fect order, with an appearance of
comfort and cleanliness about it
which Thunderstone had been but
little accustomed to in’his bachelor-



hood, but she succeeded in smooth-
ing his naturally wicked temper so completely, that a more-amiable, affectionate,
or docile husband was not to be found in the whole of Cornwall.

For more than two years after their marriage, with the exception .of
having no family, nothing arose to mar the happiness of this estimable
couple. But, alas! Mrs. "Thunderstone was no more destined to go through
life without sorrow and trouble than other Cornish ladies. _ Although during



64 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

the whole of that time her husband had enjoyed perfect health, he was
afterwards thrown on a bed of sickness, and here Mrs. Thunderstone’s
troubles began. If, gentle reader, you are of the fair sex, you will agree
with me when I state that a husband with one head is, when sick, quite as
much as any wife can manage with peace and comfort to herself. What
then must have been Mrs. Thunderstone’s lot when she had to nurse her
husband, a giant with two heads, each having a decided will of its own,
and that generally differing diametrically from the other? In the first
appearance of sickness her case was even the more difficult, inasmuch as one
head only was taken ill, while the other remained in perfect health ; and of
course their tempers, generally but little sympathetic, were then worse than ever.

Mrs. Thunderstone’s troubles began in the following manner. As has
been before stated, Fair-head was the handsomer of the two, and took great
pains with his appearance. Now it happened one night that, during a
violent gale of wind, a pane of glass was broken in the casement at the head
of the bed, though without awaking either Mrs. Thunderstone or her
husband. The pane of glass which had been broken was exactly over Fair-
head, and the result was that a strong current of air blew on him all night
without reaching Dark-skin. Next morning Mrs. Thunderstone discovered
from Fair-head’s sneezing that he had caught a violent cold, and she insisted
that he should have his breakfast in bed. Dark-skin, however, had that
morning set his mind on a hunting excursion; and, as the weather had now
cleared up and everything seemed propitious, he resolved he would not be
disappointed. So he told his wife that stay indoors he would not, and that
no argument on her part could induce him. Even Fair-head on this occasion
seemed to be of the same opinion as his brother, and insisted—although he
‘sneezed violently as he did so—that it was making a simpleton of him to
keep him indoors on such a fine day, and that hunt he would, whatever she

might say to the contrary.



GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 65

_ Great indeed was Mrs. Thunderstone’s sorrow at the obstinate conduct of
her husband, and she felt it the more keenly that she was much better
yersed in medical matters than he was, and could easily perceive that the
cold he had taken was a far more violent one than he imagined. However,
even in her time the proverb “A wilful man must have his way,” was as
well known and appreciated by ladies as at present. So making no further
remark, ‘she wrapped up Fair-head
with all the shawls and comforters
she could find, and allowed her hus-
band to depart, advising him to
expose himself as little as possible
to the cold air, and to.be sure to
return at an early hour to dinner.
Off started Thunderstone on his
hunting excursion. For some time
he saw no game, and began to feel
very much annoyed. At last he
perceived on a hill at a short dis-
tance from him a magnificent stag,
large enough to serve him and his

wife for dinner for three days. He



now crept cautiously forward, and
then lay in ambush, watching its
movements. Presently he saw the stag advance near a hedge, and running
round, he crept up to it on the other side as stealthily as possible, not to
allow it to see him. He hoped that he might be able to kill it with one
blow of his club. Everything seemed to promise success. He had, unper-
ceived, succeeded in arriving within almost arm’s length of the stag, when
Fair-head suddenly sneezed; the animal caught the alarm, and bounded off

at a swift gallop across the plain.



66 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

It would be impossible to describe to ears polite the language Dark-skin
made use of to his brother head. Suffice it to say that he abused him in
every term he could think of. Fair-head retaliated, and the quarrel con-
tinued for some time, when they saw another stag at a considerable
distance.

The heads now resolved for the moment to cease their quarrel, and the
giant rushed after the prey, which was browsing quietly upon the green-
sward. As soon as Thunderstone had got within a few yards he slackened
his pace, when unfortunately Fair-head was seized with another attack of
sneezing, and as a reward was subjected to a second volley of abuse from
Dark-skin.

It would be useless to go over the different misfortunes of that day’s
~ hunting. Suffice it to say that Fair-head’s attacks of sneezing invariably
came on when the giant was near the game, the result being that nothing
was caught. Mrs. Thunderstone, when her husband returned home, easily
judged by the expression of his countenances that some ill-feeling existed
between the two heads, in which, conclusion she was further confirmed by his
bringing with him no game. However, like a prudent little woman, she -
made no remark, but set before him the dinner, which she had prepared
expressly to put him into good humour should he arrive at home out of temper.
For Dark-skin she had prepared a fat rump-steak hardly warmed through ;
and for Fair-head a basin of delicious gruel.

After dinner, Thunderstone seated himself by the fire, with the evident
intention of digesting his dinner, as well as of resting after the fatigues
and misfortunes of the morning. He was doomed, however, to be disap-
pointed. Fair-head still continued to sneeze, and that so violently and
incessantly, that no sooner did Dark-skin close his eyes than he was
immediately awakened again. In this state they remained squabbling
together till night came on; while Mrs. Thunderstone, the tear in her eye



‘said he didn’t see why he

GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. © 67°

at the unhappy frame of her husband’s mind, seated herself on a stool by the

~ other side of the fire, and silently continued her knitting.

At last it was time to go to bed, and Mrs. Thunderstone began to make
preparations for the night. -

“My dear,” she said to her husband, “let me advise you to put your feet
in warm water before you get into bed. It will draw the cold out of. your
head, and you will feel much
better for it to-morrow morn-
ing. .

Fair-head immediately re-
solved to follow her advice,
but Dark-skin objected, and

should put his feet in warm
water, as he’d got no cold, and
he wouldn’t do anything of the
kind. Fair-head insisted that

he would, and the result was a Mh

a:

iN ag

violent quarrel between the

two heads, and they continued



scolding each other for some A DOCTOR FOR FAIR-HEAD AND A DOCTOR FOR
time, while poor Mrs. Thunder- Pe tare

stone, whose usual tact seemed on the present occasion to have deserted her,
was unable to make peace between them. At last her woman’s ingenuity

came to her aid, and the affair was arranged. It was agreed that the left foot

—the one on Fair-head’s side—should be placed in hot water, while that of

Dark-skin should remain out. ‘
During the night a circumstance occurred which again roused the anger
of the two heads. Fair-head snored violently, so much so that it was nearly.



68 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

‘morning before Dark-skin closed his eyes; and he had hardly done so when
he was awakened by what he imagined to be a stranger talking in the room.
Rousing himself, Thunderstone leaped out of bed, and glared furiously around
him, but could see no one. 3

“What is the matter with you, my dear?” said Mrs. Thunderstone,
astonished at her husband’s behaviour.

Dark-skin replied that there was’a stranger in the room, and, whether
“alive or dead, he’d grind his bones to make his bread.” Mrs. Thunderstone
in vain looked round the room for the stranger, but seeing no one, she told
her husband he must be mistaken.

“Nonsense,” said Thunderstone; “I heard his voice as plainly as I hear
“yours.”

‘I don’t believe a word of it,” said a hoarse voice.

Dark-skin now looked fairly astonished, and somewhat sheepish, for the
“voice he had heard was no other than Fair-head talking in his oe ; on he
was now s0 hoarse that Dark-skin did not detect his voice.

Fair-head, now completely angry at being disturbed in his sleep, wickedly
‘said to Dark-skin, “ You are a cruel pitiless miscreant, and have no feeling
‘for those in misfortune. I hope that in your turn you will have some
terrible fit of illness, and then perhaps you'll learn to have some sympathy
for others.”

In a few days this wicked wish came true. No sooner did Fair-head
recover from his cold, than Dark-skin was seized with some mysterious -
ailment, which at first sight completely baffled Mrs.. Thunderstone’s medical
skill. In vain did she try all the nostrums she had ever heard of. None of
them seemed to do him any good; and during the first day and night he
appeared each hour to become worse>. His ‘appetite fell off, and he was
fractious and irritable. So she called in a doctor for Fair-head and a doctor

for Dark-skin, Fair-head’s patience was greatly tested in his turn, and it



GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 6g

must be admitted he showed no more pity than Dark-skin had done.

He would not listen to Mrs. Thunderstone’s suggestions that he ought to be

patient, since he had himself experienced how cruel it was for one head to be

indifferent to the misfortunes of the other. No, instead of profiting by her
excellent advice, Fair-head merely replied that he was in Dark-skin’s debt,

and he was now going to pay
him off.

Dark-skin’s malady increased,
and Mrs. Thunderstone became
terribly alarmed. After conjur-
ing up in her mind all the differ-
ent remedies she had heard of,
she at last determined, with the
spirit of a true wife, that Thun-
derstone had eaten something
which had disagreed with him.
She also knew that the first step
to be taken in every malady is
to remove, if possible, the excit-
ing cause; and in the present
case the best way in which it
could be effected would be to

administer an emetic. No



sooner, however, had she sug-

gested this remedy, than Fair-head flew into a violent passion. He could
not see, he said, why he should suffer because Dark-skin chose to be ill. She
ought to bear in mind that although each of them had a mouth of his own,
they had but one stomach between them; and why he should suffer from the
nausea of Dark-skin’s emetic, he couldn’t understand, and he wouldn’t allow



70 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

it under any pretence whatever. In vain did Mrs. Thunderstone implore
Fair-head to allow Dark-skin to take the emetic. Fair-head was inex-
orable, and would permit nothing of the kind, saying he had already put up
‘with inconvenience enough, and that to go partners in an emetic was
an infliction that no giant, having a proper respect for himself, could
submit to.

But terribly was Fair-head punished for his cruelty. The emetic was
not given, and the next day the small-pox in its most virulent form attacked
Dark-skin. Possibly this might have been prevented, had Mrs. Thunder-
stone’s medical directions been followed. Great indeed now became the
terror of Fair-head, lest his handsome features should be disfigured by the
disease; and this was rendered the more terrible, that he was fixed on the
same pair of shoulders with Dark-skin. The giant now earnestly implored
his wife to place between his two heads whatever appliances she could think
of, so that at least one of his faces might continue good-looking; and
strenuous and unceasing indeed were the amiable little woman’s exertions to
please him. Night and day did she sit up with him, endeavouring by every
means in her power to prevent the spread of the infection, till at last fatigue
seemed to have lost all power over her.

By degrees the malady spread over the body of the giant, though, thanks
to the care taken by his wife, there was no appearance of its passing from
one head to the other. So skilful were her precautions, that they deserve to
be recorded, as worthy to be followed should a case of the kind occur in any
of our large hospitals. She seated Thunderstone upright in his bed (for
Fair-head was now so terrified that he objected to nothing she proposed),
and placed a thin pillow covered with parchment between the heads,
feeding them herself, and giving to each the particular condiments their case
required.

All her precautions, however, were in vain. The malady had taken a





Shier



GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 71

firm hold of the giant’s constitution, and, spreading upwards, at last attacked
the handsome features of Fair-head as remorselessly as it had done those of
Dark-skin.

And here again the admirable beauties of Mrs. Thunderstone’s character
developed themselves to their fullest. Nothing daunted, she continued her

' ministrations with unflagging energy and kindness; and her sympathies

were so fully enlisted in her hus-
band’s welfare as to close her eyes
to the very unattractive appear-
ance he presented. If you have
ever, dear reader, seen a person
suffering under a violent attack
of small-pox, you must be fully
aware that, unless either in the
eye of science or of affection, the
patient usually presents a somewhat

repulsive appearance. But imagine,





if you can, what that appearance
must have been in the case of an
enormous giant with two heads,
and their faces in a state of
violent eruption. Yet had he

































been the most lovely man that ever existed, he could hee have appeared
more beautiful in Mrs. Thunderstone’s eyes than did her husband during
the time she nursed him through his terrible malady.

A misfortune of the kind such as we have narrated would appear to be a
sufficient infliction on any wife; but greater trouble was in store for Mrs.
Thunderstone, and at the time when she imagined herself on the point of
enjoying the reward of her anxiety, labour, and affection. Her husband was



72 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

slowly approaching to a state of convalescence, when that boastful little
sham hero Jack the Giant-killer made his appearance before the. castle.
He had heard of Thunderstone’s dangerous illness, and how he had not yet
fully recovered from its effects; and he meanly calculated that now was the
time to challenge him to mortal combat.

He did so; and Thunderstone, who was naturally of a chivalrous
disposition, accepted the challenge. "Snatching up his club (which he was
obliged to drag after him, being too weak to lift it), he quitted his castle,
and advanced to meet Jack,. but, alas! fell an easy prey to his boastful
adversary, while Mrs. Thunderstone, in a state of indescribable horror,
witnessed the combat from the castle window. Let us drop a veil over the
heart-rending scenes, and her sorrows. Those who wish to be better
acquainted ‘with the pseudo particulars of the battle as narrated by Jack
himself may easily do so by purchasing for a few half-pence the so-called
history of his life and adventures.

And now for the moral of our story—that is to say, if one can be drawn
from it. It may point out that a clever and amiable little woman can make
a home almost a paradise, even though she has a ferocious two-headed giant
for her husband. But this must certainly be learnt from it—that the
proverb, “Two heads are better than one,” is not always to be depended

upon.





TWO PLAYMATES.

Wuen I was a little girl, I was never tired of
reading a book, which has now become quite
old-fashioned, abeut “Our Village” in Berk-
shire. Kind, good Miss Mitford! How many
happy hours I spent with her and her grey-
hound; with the mole-catchers and little Harry
Grover ; with Lady Mary H——,, “a professed
tea-drinker” (and green tea too! ), and Hop-
ping Bob, Their very names are warm to my
‘heart. Never was picture so-full, so true, as
these stories of Three Mile Cross near Reading.
That was the name of Miss Mitford’s village.

It still stands, of course; farms and cottages, the forge and the inn, and



the hedge where Master Tom pulled the papers off Fanny’s fairings.

But dear Miss Mitford is not there. She is gone where pretty Lizzie
went before, and the old French Abbé, and God-mother, and the good old
Judge, her father. They are all gone together; but you, dear children,
can read about what they did in the world, if your mamma will ask
at her circulating library for the old brown volumes which I read some
thirty years ago. Or you can buy them in a bran new edition at the
bookseller’s. I have got them in keeping for my daughter Polly, that when
she learns to read, she may know what Old England was like before any
_ railway went to Reading.



a4. TWO PLAYMATES.

This village where I write is a French village, and so different to an
English one, that I could never make you understand it by mere description.
But I can tell you something about the people. The greatest house is called
the chateau, or the castle, but it is not in the least what we call a castle in
England. It has neither towers, nor a moat, nor a drawbridge, and it would
not stand a siege of half an hour, even if all the shutters were put up. It is
a large, handsome white house, about 200 years old, with a beautiful sloping
park, and an orangery where the orange-trees live in tubs, like Diogenes.
They are brought out every summer, and put like sentinels all along the
broad terrace just underneath the house on the park-side. There is also a
sort of winter garden, with walks and parterres and a little pond, all covered
over with glass; and a row of conservatories full, of splendid flowers. Our
windows look right over these, and we always know when frost is expected
in autumn by the lighting of the fires. This chateau is handsomer within
than I can tell you; such carpets and curtains and mirrors; and I am sure
if you saw the place you would think nothing sad or uncomfortable could
come near it. But all the upholstery in the world will not keep out sorrow,
and so you will think when I tell you what happened here only fourteen
months ago.

This chateau belongs to an old bachelor, one of the most learned men in
France. He has just finished a translation of Homer, all about the siege of
Troy. It sounds very odd in French rhyme; but everybody says it is ex-
tremely well done. This old gentleman sometimes gives great dinner-
parties to a number of other old gentlemen, and then he has a great show of
silver-plate; and it takes the cook all day cooking, and the Intendant all day
scolding, before things are in order. The Intendant is something like an
English butler, and manages everything in a great house.

So one day in August, 1868, M. le Comte de X. had sent owt fourteen
invitations to fourteen learned old gentlemen, who were coming, some from



TWO PLAYMATES. 75

/

Paris, which is an hour off by rail, and some from neighbouring chateaux,
and.early in the morning of this day the Intendant had a great deal to see
to, and his wife also, she being the housekeeper. Now he and his wife were
rather oldish. They had two grown-up daughters who were married long
since. One kept the lodge of the park, and the other lived in Paris; but
though the father and mother were very fond of them, there was some one
they loved still more—their one little son Paul, born so long after his sisters



that he was still only a boy of eight years old. He lived at the chateau with
his parents, and went to sthool in the village.

So in the morning his father gave him a slice of bread and jam, and sent
him out to play till lunch time. Paul set off, munching his ¢artine, and went
past the dairy farm buildings, which are very handsome, and built just like
Swiss chalets. The dairy-woman saw him go by, and called to him to come
and take a cup of new milk. She was very fond of little Paul; as indeed



76 TWO PLAYMATES.

were all the people about the place. Then Paul came to a great sheet of
grass, not exactly a lawn, nor yet a field, where a couple of men were mowing
the August after-crop,—they told him to get out of the way of their scythes
and he went on, always eating his bread and jam, till he came to where a
little boy of his own age, or a little older, was pulling up weeds. One of
the gardeners was there too; but apparently he did not think little Jean very
necessary, for he made no objection to the two little boys running off together;
because Paul said he wanted to play at horses.

Now Jean, I should tell you, was a year and a half older than Paul. He

was the son of a drunken cobbler in the village, whose family were all in
"dirt and rags, and very ill brought up. Usually none but very respectable
people were employed at the chateau, but Paul’s mother, who was a kind-
_ hearted woman, had taken pity on the wretched vagabond, and had got the
gardener to give him some work.

The hours went on that hot August morning; M. le Comte de X. sat in
his study, in a great wide dressing-gown, drinking chocolate out of a fine
china cup; the Intendant put out all the silver for the great dinner ; his
wife looked up her maids all over the house, and took the covers off the blue
satin chairs of the best drawing-room. The dairy-woman pottered among
her sweet-smelling pans; the two men finished their mowing and made little
cocks of hay on the shorn grass; the gardener tidied up his walk and carried
all his tools off in his browette, or wheelbarrow, and put them into a tool-house.
Just as he shut the door, the great breakfast bell rang in the courtyard for
the servants’ meal. It was eleven o’clock, and fifteen indoor and outdoor
servants came flocking together to eat eggs, and dowilli,and salad made of
cold vegetables chopped up with oil and vinegar, and to drink thin red wine
out of long black bottles. ,

“Where’s Paul?” said the Intendant’s wife, setting her capeline straight,

and hanging a great bunch of keys on a nail in her own sitting-room.



TWO PLAYMATES. 27

“T gave him a piece of bread and jam, and told him to go and play in
the park,” said the Intendant.



















A Ny ul
INCA:

WA Uy Sea.
Ml LUN y
LITTLE PAUL.

“Tt’s very odd the child does not come,” said the mother. Whereat the
father went to the garden front and called as loudly as he dared, being

\





78 TWO PLAYMATES.

afraid of disturbing his master. Five minutes passed, and no Paul made his
appearance, and as, like most little boys, he was generally hungry, everybody
wondered where he could be: The dairy-woman said she had given him a
cup of new milk at half-past eight, and the two mowers told of having sent
him away eating his bread and jam, and one of them said he thought he had
seen little Paul talking to Etienne the gardener..

Now Etienne was a married man, who lived in the village and went
home to all his meals; and as it was agreed by all present that Paul must
have gone home with. him, the stable-boy was sent round to fetch him; but
the stable-boy came back in ten minutes, and Etienne with him, who said —
that, so far from having taken Paul home, he had not been with him for any
time at all; but had run off with little Jean the cobbler’s son to play at
horses. At. this, Paul’s mother, looking uneasy, said the boys must have gone’
farther than they intended, down to the very bottom of the park ; and his
father, laying down his knife and fork, left the head of the table, and taking
his hat went round to the garden front. The park is not very large; it took
Paul’s father about twenty minutes to walk round it. The ground slopes
from the chateau into a deep wooded valley ; once upon a time the trees were ~
all planted in double semicircles, just as they were at the king’s palace at
Marly. But M. le Comte de X.’s father had had a great fancy for English
planting and gardening, and so. during the last fifty years many thick tufts
of shrubs and quick-growing trees had been interspersed among the stately
old rows of limes‘and chestnuts. Paul’s father, getting more and more
uneasy, shouted as he went along, “Paul! Jean! Jean! Paul!” But no
answer came. He went up to several of the thickets and struck at them with
his stick, thinking that the children might be purposely hiding. So he .
made the round till he came up again near the house, when he crossed the
lawn near the Long Pond. Now hard by the Long Pond (there were two
others in the grounds, all of them near the chdteau) was a great tuft of































































































































8WISS CHALETS,



80 ; TWO. PLAYMATES.

pampas grass, its feathering spikes towering up above the leaves, and as he
came near it he thought he saw these feathery spikes trembling more
than they need; for the day was very calm and hot. Paul’s father, struck
with a sudden hope, hurried up and struck his stick vigorously into the tuft,
saying somewhat angrily, “Paul, come out this instant! you are frightening
your mother and behaving very badly. You shall not have any breakfast,
sir.’ As the stick went poking into the pampas grass, a little voice gave a
yell of dismay; and Paul’s father, plunging into the middle, pulled out, not
Paul, but Jean! A sickening fear.came over the poor man’s heart as he saw
the little boy’s frightened’ and scowling face—“ Oh-oh-h-h,” howled Jean,
twisting his ragged blouse in his dirty hands,

Paul’s father, impetuous like his nation, and terribly frightened by the
child’s expression, seized Jean and gave him a succession of shakes, saying,
“ Where’s Paul ? where’s Paul?”

Jean, blubbering and sulky, tried to say nothing ; but cowed by the repe-
tition of the shakes, he at last pointed to the Long Pond, and muttered
reluctantly, “There.”

“ There!” said Paul’s father, bursting into’ a torrent of unintelligible
words, and flinging his arms into the air. ‘He rushed to the pond, and. stood.
- for an instant looking at its unruffled depths; but he knew it was at
least six feet deep; and the- banks were steep, and he himself a short stout
man, far from young, and with neither rope nor pole at hand. So dragging
Jean with him, he ran panting and choking to the house, where for a moment
he stood with his hand on his heart unable to speak. At last he said the
word “pond,” and pointing to Etienne, who had remained in the servants’
hall, he fell in a heap on the floor. His wife sprang towards him, quite
bewildered, poor woman, with her double fright; all the men and maids left
their chairs and ran out calling for water, for ropes, for blankets; and M. le
Comte de X., astounded at the noise, came out of his study, holding his pink





ILWO PLAYMATES. 81

cup of chocolate in one hand, and pushing his wig over his left ear with the
other. But while all this was going on, Etienne, who had that excellent
quality which we call presence of mind, ran quickly out of the house to the
shed where he kept his tools, and got a long strong rake. When the other

















NEAR THE CHATEAU ~

servants, with M. le Comte de X. at their head, came flocking down to the

pond, calling out for a pole, or for some one who could dive, Etienne was

already up to his waist in the water, where it was shallowest, and feeling -

about carefully with his rake. It was not long befote he touched the body
G



82 TWO PLAYMATES.

of poor little Paul, and then Etienne plunged in under the water and brought
him up in hisarms. The string with which he had played at horses was
still twisted round his fingers, and dragged along the grass as he was carried
into the house and laid before the kitchen fire. When Jean was asked how
long Paul had been in the water, he said sulkily, “ about two hours;”’ which
reply made M. le Comte de X. so angry, that I am sorry to say he said a
great many things which he should not, though he had reason to be terribly
indignant at the boy’s wretched cowardice in not instantly coming to tell
what had happened. After this everybody said that there must have been a
quarrel between the two lads, and that J ean had probably given Paul an
ugly push. . It was very sad to think of how easily he might have been
restored, even after he had fallen in, for there were three people close by i in
the grounds, and if Jean had even called out loud, they must have heard
him.

So the matter remains somewhat of a mystery to this hour.

I am not going to make you miserable by describing the misery of those
poor people. They tried all they could, by rubbing and warming the poor
little boy before the fire; but nohody had any hope when they heard how
long he had been in the water. And when it was all in vain, they laid him
on. his little bed, and. his mother and sisters strewed flowers over him. Two
- days after—for burials-take place much sooner in France than in England,
and the time is fixed by law—Paul was carried in his coffin into the village
church ; and after the prayers the coffin was borne to the grave-yard on the
hill; the old curé walking in front and all the village following after. They
laid him in a little grave close under an ivy-covered wall, where a baby sister
had been buried long ago. Her mound was planted over with white peri-
winkles, and looked quite snowy.

When all the servants went sadly back to fhe chiiean; Paul’s father and
mother walking at theit head, and crying sadly, they found M. le Comte de









TWO PLAYMATES. 83

X. telling the Maire of the village that Jean’s father, the drunken cobbler,
must be turned out of his cottage and sent away. He was so apt to quarrel
and fight that it was not difficult to do this; and the Maire, a fat peasant
proprietor in a blouse (the village maires are generally like that in F rance),
was promising it should be done. But who do you think putinaword? It
was poor Paul’s mother; the kind woman, who said, ““M. le Comte, I had

‘rather nothing was done. My son loved little Jean; and if he is sent away

with that drunken father, he will only go from bad.to worse.”

So Jean stayed ; and for a long time to come he was always sulky. But
sometimes he looked at Paul’s mother as if he were going to speak. I can
hardly tell you whether the dreadful thing in which he was somehow mixed
up will; in the end, make him repentant and bea better boy. But I think

- so; and I am sure Paul’s mother deserves that he should.





MAY’S DREAM.

Lirtize May Whittingham was just recovering from ;
an illness. The doctor said she had got through it
wonderfully ; and he smiled and kissed her in the
sweetest possible manner when he came to see her
now that she was getting better. For a long while
she had only been allowed to sit up in bed; and










she used to feel as if her legs were running races,
in spite of her being kept lying there so still; and
when the old doctor
brought the little hand
looking-glass to let her see
how fast her cheeks were
getting round and plump
again, she could not help
thinking that they were
like the doctor’s own, for
he was fresh and bright-
looking, in spite of his
white hair; and although
_ May knew that the doctor °
had boys and girls of his own, and had long since laid his wife in the grave
beside the two children that died within a day or two of each other when the
fever was so bad, she thought to herself she would prefer a sweetheart like



MAP’S DREAM. 85

: him to one like little dark Joe Benson they had teased her so much about,
because he used always to give her the flowers he brought from home.







THE BROWN COW.

But May felt herself different in several ways from what she was before
she lay down in that long illness. She would lie awake through the long
hours of the night, and close her eyes so as to tempt her mamma into lying









86 MAP’S DREAM.

down on the couch beside: her, and then she would listen to the clock of St.
Asaph’s striking the hours, and think of the strange old stories she had heard
‘ before her illness came. ° What made her like so much to do this was that
everything came back to her different and much clearer, though often mixed
up with other things: what had happened to her long ago and been quite
forgotten would come back to her mind along with the fairies and the giants
and strange people she had begun to read about before she was taken ill.
She would sometimes fall asleep just as the lamp’s tiny light began to fade
before the dawn that came stealing coldly through the window, and touching -
the spire of St. Asaph’s, that glittered and seemed to glide nearer and nearer
to her as she looked. She would gaze at the bright spire till she fell into a
dream, and in the morning she would try and try to recollect it all, just as
she was wont to do with her lessons; and her mother would wonder to herself
what it could be that the child was thinking about, and would .be afraid to
ask in case it was anything disagreeable, and the telling of it make her still
more uncomfortable. And May, who had a tender conscience, was not sure
whether it was quite right of her to hide such things from her mother ; but
then, when she tried to think it all over, it was-so strange she was afraid she
could never tell it half; and her dreams lay on her conscience and did not let
her get better so quickly as she might have done. But the doctor had a
notion of his own, and said to May one day that the only thing for her now
was to get to the country. The only doctor who could do her the good she
needed livedthere and nowhére else. She must rise for an hour or two the
day after to get strong. So next day, when her mother had lifted her into
the arm-chair, so nicely lined with pillows that it looked exactly like a big .
nest in a tree, May was so overcome with joy that she cried, and when her
mamma had dried her tears and kissed her, she felt she must tell about her

dream. So she rather suddenly said— a

“Mamma dear, was I ever across the sea in a ship?”



MAY'S DREAM. .- 87

Whe
WA AWAY







“What makes you think of that, child?”’ said her mamma, rather taken
aback at the sudden question.





83 ; . MA¥’S DREAM.

“Because I had such a strange dream, and I feel sure, now I’m awake,
that it must be very like something that happened once—very long ago,
though I was just 4 baby at the time.”

“Eyerybody’s dreams are like that sometimes, dear; but you shouldn’t
think about it. The doctor says you are to get up every day now, you know,
and then you won’t have
“Oh, but I’m sure this is real, mamma, and isn’t like any other dream,

and it has come to me twice, and both times so much alike, you. wouldn't

’- believe!”

“Well, I hope it was a plousiat dream, May.”
is UEVes: it was pleasant,” said ‘May, with a slight pause over the word
‘pleasant ;”? “it would have been delightful, if it hadn’t been for the
brown cow.”

“The brown cow, May! I don’t understand you.”

“Well, mamma dear, come quite close to mé and sit down and listen, and
Tl tell you.”

May’s mamma was good and kind, and she could not refuse to grant the
sick child’s wish, so she sat down beside the arm-chair ; for though she would
much rather have kept May quiet, as you can easily fancy a mother desiring to
do at such a time, still she had a notion that perhaps the speaking might be
a relief to her, as she found her think-think-thinking so often now, and
didn’t know very well what to do with her. So May, by help of her mother’ 8
questions and remarks, managed to tell her dream.

Although she could not say how she got there, she susldanly- found herself
in a green field with a little stream of water running through it; and there
was just one big. brown cow in the field, and the cow pursued her whenever
she tried: to run, and stood stock still when she stood, and looked at her with
such strange black eyes, the breath all the while coming out of her wide
nostrils like smoke. At last May made a great effort to run, and the cow



MAVY’S DREAM. » | 8g

ran too, and suddenly she was nipped up into the arms of a strange man, who

ND.

ER FRUM SCOTLA

/

THE STEAM.





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ne Vf

Frontispiece. A JERSEY TRIO.


My PLEASURE BOOK

CONTAINING

ORIGINAL TALES
GAH numerous UWlustrations

EDITED BY

WALLACE L. CROWDY

;
:
i
:



LONDON

J. S. VIRTUE & CO., Lumrrep, 26, IVY LANE
PATERNOSTER ROW


_ LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED,
CITY ROAD.



VSD) Gf 5 “Giy
V oN : \P

Tox

oh) (ee |
PREAMBLE.

T is my object, in giving this collection of stories to our
young friends, first to amuse them; and, more than this,
to teach them to know that there are stories in everything,
chiefly, that there are stories in Nature :

«¢ And Nature, the old nurse, took
The child upon her:knee,
Saying, ‘ Here is a story book
Thy father hath written for thee.
“«¢ Come wander with me,’ she said,
‘Into regions yet untrod,
And read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God.’



'¢¢ And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,
Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe,”’

That the child is father to the man, also is so trite a truism that-no one
can underrate the great importance of.teaching our young friends to love
all things, to see around them friends at every turn, to learn that Nature is a
vi PREAMBLE.

great open story-book which they can read if they will. And so, whether the
stories given in this collection are of people, of animals, of places, or of the
green fields and the snow-mantled landscape, they will grow to know that
-everything has its tale to tell. If we succeed in amusing their leisure hours
we have done much; if, through them, they gain an added interest in
the things that surround their young lives, we have done more.

At no former period in the annals of literary adventure have the wants
of children been better served than at present, and in adding this new
volume to the list we have striven to combine stories of real interest with
such illustrations as, but a few years back, would have been considered “ too
good” for our young friends. Nothing is “too good” for them, we know;
and in issuing our new book we have striven to make every page,
whether written or drawn, witness to the great strides that this class of
literature has made in late years.

Tae Eprror.














1

; PAGE
A JERSEY TRIO im : . i ; 1
THe Rosin | : : ; : : ‘ 2
Kine Turnip a . f a : 5b
THe SEVEN-LEAGUED Boors . ° : ‘ 9
My FRienD THE BrLackcock : 381
Unity 1s STRENGTH 34
Ir is so BEAUTIFUL To LIVE . eo 3 3 : : : : . 88
A Nicut’s ADVENTURE . "43
A VirGInIAN PRINCESS , 56
Grant THUNDERSTONE Ar Home. ‘ F : : : ; : . 68
Two PLAYMATES 73
May's Dream . ; 84
THE Potter’s DAUGHTER 2 3 ; 3 : . 98
SUMMER . : z . - . . 125
viii : _ CONTENTS:

PAGE
LITTLE PARTRIDGES ‘ i sesotyee : ; : , ‘ : . 126
On Sure-Boarp : 3 ‘ : ; : Y ; : : : . 182

LonGinc FoR GREAT DEEDS . : : : ; : : : ‘ . 148
THE SHRIMP GIRL . 5 : . ; a ee . : 4 : . 158
AUTUMN. ; : : : : A . . : ‘ . : . 161
An Uaiy CusroMEr ‘ ; . . y : 3 . : x - 162
So Goop-Looxine. ; : ‘ : . ec es : : : . 182
A HusHep Voice. : : : . : : : 3 . : . 190
A FEATHERED FAMILY . . : : . . ; ‘ ; f . 192

FORGETFUL FRANK . ... 7 ° 7 . . . . eres we 221

coe

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A JERSEY TRIO.



EAR the shore of the ‘beautiful country of France, if you
N will look at your map, you will find a group of islands
ao called the Channel Islands. The one furthest away from

“s _England and nearest the French coast is called Jersey.
All these islands, Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney and Sark,
are famous for their beautiful soft-eyed, smooth-coated
cows, and one of these is seen in our frontispiece. The old
cow, tethered by the horns, is being led home by the farm
girl, whilst the merry little calf walks by her other side. ‘It is on the
-sea-shore, with the blue sea in the distance, and the rich grass is gay with
bright buttercups and daisies ; overhead the wild sea-gulls are flying, darting
hither and thither in merry rounds. The summer day is drawing to its
close, and soon the calf will be nestling with its mother in the manger ; and
to-morrow, perhaps, if we should pass by this meadow again, we shall see
them contentedly browsing near the same bright spot. ©
B
THE ROBIN.

N a northern country, a good






many years ago, there dwelt
a rich man. Although -_
he was sick, he was not
unhappy ; far from it,
for he was of a real
happy spirit; his was
a loving heart, and he
took the best, as it
passed, of every
pleasant thing. And,
weak and weary as he
was, he was never
heard to complain,
seldom to confess his -

sorry state. To this

THE ROBIN.

good man the gentlest
things were the sweetest; the simplest his greatest joy. They needed no
exertion on his part; their quiet simplicity gave him joy and rest.

And as he lay on ‘his couch, no hasty thoughts disturbed, no regret for his
lot crossed his simple mind. And so, from the Heaven, one day a sweet com-
panion was sent him, a little redbreasted robin. He was a merry fellow, full
of song, of freedom, and of joy. He came, as welcome as a sunbeam, into
that sick man’s room, to utter all the joy of his own content. The air with-
THE ROBIN. 3

out was wintry cold, and he had no fear as he sought this sick man in his
room. Great was the joy of the man, and very welcome was the robin to his
couch, safe from the cold and care. He was a cautious robin, too, for when

footsteps sounded on the oaken floor, he never ventured to show even the tip

AIAN

LAUT a
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ill







of his beak, but waited, unsuspected by any save his friend, in a hiding-place,
‘ until he heard them go. He had no wjsh that any but himself and his kind
host should know what happiness was his, and when these two friends were
left alone, and no one else could see, Robin left his hiding-place, and happy in
the happiness of his true friend, came to cheer his solitary hours, Yes, they
4 : THE ROBIN.

were indeed great friends. At meal-times they ate off the same dish, the
sick man of his dainties and the robin of the fruits, and they drank out of
one cup. This was the sick man’s welcome, and, although the snow and ice
lay white without, whilst Robin was here he seemed to fancy that he was back
in the orchards on a summer’s day, so good was his feast. He had no fear of
his friend, and no movement of that trusted man caused a flutter in his breast.

When he had finished his hearty meal, he was in no haste to leave, but,
proud of his friendship and of himself, he dressed his feathers, like a well-
_ ordered robin, in the warm glow of the sick man’s fire, and then, tuning his
sweetest note, sang-with all his little robin heart. This was a happy time!
Happy for himself and twice happy for his friend. very note that trilled
from his throat welled up from his heart and spoke of his love and friend-
ship for his host. How sweetly he sang! and how every note seemed to tell
his thanks! It-wasa great love that taught him to sing as surely no robin
ever sang before. And the sick man, how he loved this merry happy little -
fellow! He came to him from the free outside world, where he himself dare
not venture, except, perchance on some distant summer evening, when the
sweet hushed breeze has only strength enough to stir the leaves into one soft
murmur. And whilst the Robin’s song-story touched him with one gentle
regret, it soothed him all the same, for it breathed into his heart of hearts a
message of the one mighty gentle name, and taught him something ,of that
Great Love. Yes; that robin and that sick man were real friends.

Have you a “robin,” reader ? oS WLC,


KING TURNIP.

“ HE history of a turnip may not sound
a very inviting story, but if you will
listen to me I will tell you howa
poor man became rich in honour
and in wealth through a mighty
turnip.

It was a great many years ago,
when men walked about with glit-
tering swords at their sides, and
feathers in their caps. It was in



the land across the sea called
Saxony, and in the great city of that country there dwelt two brothers, one
name Fritz and the other called, among his intimate friends, “ thriftless
Joe.” Now Fritz was a great man, proud and rich, with his armed ser-
vants and his fine city house. Poor Joe, however, was not so lucky—
some say that he was born on a Friday, a sad fate in those days—and
only owned one small turnip-field. But though, when they chanced to
meet, the proud Fritz only muttered a recognition of his thriftless brother,
Joe never envied him his riches. He was always merry, and like Rip Van
Winkle in the old story, a great favourite with the neighbours, for his gay
laugh and ready smile was welcome everywhere. One day, as Joe was
watching his good wife preparing his dinner, the good lady asked him to
-go and fetch her a turnip. Off he ran, and taking down his spade from the
hook where it always hung, set off for his turnip patch. Bravely he dug
6 KING TURNIP.

away, until one large root he tugged at all in vain. But Joe was not to be
beaten ; when he took it into his head to do a thing he didit. He tugged
and tugged, but the root was mighty tough. He worked away with a will,
and at last, with one great heave, up came the turnip, and poor Joe lay panting
with the effort. It was a turnip! Such a size, nearly three times as big as
his head. Now, in all the years he had been growing turnips, Joe never
saw one half so big. It was immense; and while he sat there he thought that







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PROUD FRITZ AND THRIFTLESS JOE.

it was a great pity to have this king turnip all-to himself, and he determined
to take it to the King. So up he got, and putting his treasure in a sack,
after many tries, at last got it on to his back and set out for the town, and
went straight up to the castle gate, where His Majesty dwelt with his
courtiers. After a while poor Joe, nearly tired out with carrying this great
weight, gained the hall, where the King and all the court sat in the finest
state. It was enough to dazzle a braver man than Joe, for the monarch sat


KING TURNIP. 7

on his gilded throne surrounded by the wise men and the mighty men of
that ancient city. “On his right stood the learned doctors, and “ black-rod ”
stood at the back, just in front of “my Lord Chamberlain.” As’ he had
got so far poor Joe did not see why he should not state his errand; so he took
from the sack the mighty root, and without more ado said, “O please, your
Majesty, this turnip is for you.” Then the learned doctor shook his head, -
and “black-rod” shook his head, and “my Lord Chamberlain” shook his





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‘JOE PRESENTS HIS KING TURNIP.

head also. The turnip was indeed a mighty one; quite a king turnip ; but
was it fit for His Majesty? Then the good old King did a rare thing; he
actually laughed! The oldest lord of the chamber had not known His
_ Majesty to laugh so merrily before. Then he clapped his hands and gave
commands that his courtiers should not shake their heads. Poor Joe did not
know what to make of it all, but now the King turned to him and let him
know by thanks and gold to boot how much he prized this wonderful turnip-
8 KING TURNIP.

root. He made poor Joe the thriftless Inspector General of Turnips on the
spot. Poor Joe, a minute ago shaking in his shoes, now felt as proud, as he
was almost as rich, as his wealthy brother Fritz. ele

When the King had gazed his fill at the mighty turnip, Joe strode away
with his sack as heavy as before, but this time, instead of the turnip, his
bag was full of gold. As he went along all the townspeople followed him
and made a noisy din, calling out, “ There’s Joe! O my, the king has talked
to him.” As he passed his brother’s house, that proud man poked his head
out of the window to learn what the noise meant; and wasn’t he surprised and
jealous to see Joe so famous! “ This won’t do,” says he, “to be outdone by
' thriftless Joe, with his stupid turnip.” So he packs all sorts of precious
things into a bag and off he sets for the-castle. Not a bit afraid was he,
for he knew that he had got much more valuable things in his bag than Joe
ever had in all his house. So when he got to the King he offered all his
presents to the monarch. His Majesty was, no doubt, pleased, and he said,
“O Fritz, you bring us things so rich and rare, we scarcely know what to
bestow on you; but we will not spare, and give you what we deem most to
be a treasure—this turnip rare.” Proud Fritz, what did he care about his
brother’s king turnip! So away he rode, so terribly vexed and upset that
he pined away, and shortly died, some say out of sheer vexation.

Thriftless Joe became a famous man with wealth and children blest, and
lived many a long day to tell his friends how his good fortune came from
digging turnips, and one “ King Turnip ” in particular.

W. L. C.


THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

BOUT ten miles from Salisbury, and
near the Downs, there is a cele-
brated establishment for breeding
and training racehorses. Of the



boys engaged here a few years ago
was one of the name of Jack Sim-
mons. He was an intelligent, well-
conducted lad about fifteen years
of age, and much liked both by his
seniors and his companions. He
was quiet and good-natured, of a
generous disposition, and very
rarely out of humour, although,
when anything did happen to pro-
voke him, he was very apt to use —



physical force in showing his dis-
pleasure. This tendency, however, had been considerably subdued during his
residence in the establishment, where he had then been about three years.
His partial reformation could hardly be attributed to any conviction of its
impropriety, but rather to the care taken of him by the official who had the
boys under his control. The same measures Jack employed towards his
companions this official used towards him in expressing any disapprobation.
Jack, to do him justice, admitted the force of these arguments, and the result
was that at last he became a very good companionable sort of fellow.
10 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

The less said about Jack’s education and his capacity for learning, the
better for his reputation. He was very fond of reading, however; but then
the books he chose were hardly calculated to improve his mind. Although
very fascinating to boys some years younger than he was, they were not such
as lads of fifteen are apt to select either for their improvement or instruction,







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SALISBURY. #

They came under the category of fairy tales; and if he ever quitted these
for what might be termed a higher class of books, he never departed from
the legendary and absurd, but would gloat over the legends of King Arthur
and the Knights of the Round Table, of King Alfred’s adventures in the
Cottage, and other Senge of the same kind.
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. . rz

‘

Of all these tales and legends none made a stronger impression on our
hero’s mind than the story of Jack and the Seven-leagued Boots. This he
read over and over again till he could have repeated it word for word.
Indeed when out in the morning with the other boys exercising the horses
he would turn over in his mind during the gallop the story of the seven-





















































































































KING ARTHUR’S ROUND TABLE.

leagued boots, and draw comparisons, much to the disadvantage of his horse,
on the superior speed obtained by the wearer of the boots, reducing to insig-
nificance the pace of the sluggish animal he rode. He brought forward the
wonders of the seven-leagued boots on every conceivable opportunity, till at
last his companions became tired of it. Whenever Jack began the story. they —
teased him so unmercifully that at length he ceased to speak of it.
12 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

But although Jack ceased to speak of his favourite story, it pertinaciously
kept its place in his memory, till at length a circumstance occurred which
proved the utter absurdity of the whole story. One day when the boys were

out exercising the horses, the stud-groom saw, or fancied he saw, some

- ' indications of a swelling in the pastern joint of Peter the Great, the horse

on which Jack was mounted. As this horse was engaged to run in a race in
a few days’ time, he told Jack to pull up. Jack immediately obeyed, and
the stud-groom, dismounting from his own horse, and giving the bridle to
Jack, carefully examined the suspected joint. But he had apparently some
difficulty in making up his mind whether or not there was a tendency
to swelling; and he stood for some moments looking at the horse’s hoof
without being able to come to a settled conclusion. At length he
determined that the most prudent plan would be not to fatigue the horse
any more that day, but to send him home, and let him rest in his stable,
and then examine the swelling after the animal had rested for a short
time.

Taking the bridle from the boy’s hand, he mounted his own horse. Then,
telling Jack to dismount, he ordered him to lead the horse quietly back to the
stables, taking care to keep as much as possible on the greensward on his
way, and to lead the horse gently over the short distance of the high road he
would have to pass. Jack did as he was told, and commenced to lead the
horse slowly home. On his road he had to pass the little cottage of a poor
old widow from whom the boys occasionally bought apples and ginger-beer,
and similar luxuries. As the morning had been warm, and Jack had under-
gone a considerable amount of exertion, he naturally felt thirsty. So he
determined to diverge a little from his direct homeward course, and buy a
bottle of ginger-beer from the poor woman. On arriving at the house he
called to her somewhat loudly to. bring him a bottle of ginger-beer. The
woman, who was in the garden, on hearing Jack’s voice, hastened to obey
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 13

him, and entering the cottage came out of it again a few moments afterwards,
bringing with her an earthen mug and the bottle of beer.

“Come, be quick !” said Jack, “there’s a good old soul! How can you
be so slow when I’m dying with thirst?”



it
by
hi

a











































































































KING ALFRED IN THE NEATHERD’S COTTAGE.

«Ah! my dear,” said the woman, “if you suffered from rheumatism as
bad as I do, you’d think I went quite fast enough, I can tell you.”

“There, come now, don’t chatter in that way,” said Jack imperiously ;
“ give me the beer. By the bye, whose boots are those I see?” he continued
14 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

pointing to a pair of those hob-nailed, inflexible-looking articles worn by
ploughmen, hung up iiside the cottage. ‘Whose boots are those? Why,
you haven’t got a husband, have-you, and never told us anything about it?”

“No, my dear, they’re my sister’s son’s. He’s been out of work for some
time past, and to-morrow he’s got a job, so he sent his boots to be mended,
and they came here this morning. Now, my dear, you hold the mug while
I draw the cork.” So saying, she put the mug in Jack’s hand, while she
untied the string that fastened the cork: :

“Now, I say,” said Jack, still joking with her, “are you quite certain
that the boots are your sister’s son’s, and that you haven’t got married after
all ?””

“ Ah! no ”” Bang went the cork with a report almost as loud as



when a pistol is fired off,-and the ginger-beer followed it, flowing over on
the ground.

The horse, startled at the sound, jerked the bridle out of Jack’s hand,
and galloped off over the downs, leaving Jack utterly aghast.

“Here, Tom,” cried the old woman to her nephew, who was in the garden
at the back of the house, “ here’s the horse run away: Come and help to
catch it, will you?”

_ Tom, a fine-looking farm-labourer, kicked off a pair of miserable old
slippers, and, without stopping to put on his boots, rushed with Jack over
the down to catch the horse.

“This was a work of no little difficulty. True, the horse, as soon as his
first alarm was over, stopped, and commenced nibbling the short grass on the
downs; but the moment his pursuers got within a few yards of him, he again
started off, and running some distance further commenced browsing. In this
manner things went on for more than two hours. The horse apparently had
a malicious pleasure in allowing his pursuers to come within a few yards of
him, and then darting off: again as swiftly as before. At length they came
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 15

near a farm-house, when a labourer in the stables, seeing what was going on,
came forward with a sieve of’ corn in his hand. He held it out in such a
manner as to attract the attention of the horse, and at last succeeded in getting
close enough to catch hold of. the bridle, which he held fast till Jack and his
companion came up. ;

Jack was now some distance from home, and was thirsty, hungry, and
fatigued, as well as dispirited and
out of humour. Disobeying the
instructions which had been given
him to lead the horse, he mounted

-it (though he had the good sense
to dismount again before he came .
in sight of the stables) and took
the road homeward, though only
at a walk, so as to let the horse,
when he should arrive, show as

' little symptom as possible of hay-—

ing been overdriven. At length
he reached the stables, where he
found the other horses had already
arrived, and the stud - groom



watching in a state of great
anxiety for Jack’s approach.

Jack narrated his disaster with tolerable truthfulness, taking care, how-
. ever, to give the full measure of blame to the unskilfulness of the widow in
drawing the cork of the ginger-beer bottle. The groom listened attentively
to Jack’s story, and examining the horse found that, although it had under-
gone a considerable amount of exercise, there was no further appearance of
swelling ; so he ordered it to be taken into the stable, and, good-naturedly
16 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

treating the whole affair’ as an accident, allowed. - J ack to go without
rebuke. ‘

Having been much fatigued during his morning’s occupation, Jack
would willingly have stayed indoors during the remainder of the day. This
indulgence, however, was not accorded him, and he was obliged to con-
tinue his duties till the evening. Before supper he stretched himself on a
bench to pass the time till the meal should be ready, and closing his eyes he
turned over in his mind the events of the morning. He compared the speed of
his gallop on the downs with that which could be obtained by the fortunate
wearer of the seven-leagued boots. He then remembered the stud-groom
stopping him and examining the hoof of the horse, and giving him the order
to walk the horse quietly home. He traced his course as far as the cottage
of the widow, and once again he saw inside it a pair of boots; but they were
no longer the hob-nailed abominations worn by agricultural labourers, but a
neater pair of j ockey-boots than had ever been turned out of the workshop of
Hoby or any other celebrated boot-maker. While he was looking with
admiration at the boots, earnestly wishing that. he had such a pair, and
thinking of the envy such an acquisition would cause in the breasts of the
other boys, the old woman—whose appearance now strongly resembled that
of a witch, the resemblance still further increased by her carrying a large
broom in her hand—ran from, the back of the house, and angrily. demanded
what he wanted. Jack, greatly surprised at her altered appearance, was
about to ask her for a bottle of ginger-beer, when his horse, frightened at
the broom the old woman carried in her hand, started off at a furious gallop
over the downs.

Jack, utterly aghast at the occurrence, and quite deprived of the power
of moving, watched his horse till it had disappeared. The full extent of his
misfortune now came before him. Not only might the horse—a very valu-
able one—meet with some accident, but he became alarmed at the thought
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 17

of the reception he would receive from the stud-groom when he returned
home.

“See what you’ve done with that broom. of yours! ”’ he exclaimed at last
to the old woman. “What do you mean by carrying such a thing about
with you? Why, its enough to frighten any high-spirited horse out of its
skin, without that ugly face of yours, you old witch!”

“Mind what you say,” said the woman. “If you don’t, vl punish you.”

“You punish me!” said Jack,
looking at her with contempt. Tt
I’d no more to fear than any punish-
ment you could give me, I should
be well off.”

“Tf you get a sound beating
when you get home,” said the
woman, “it will serve you right,
lazy fellow that you are, standing
there abusing a poor old creature
like me instead of trying to catch
your horse.”

“What’s the use of my trying
to catch it?” said Jack, sulkily.
“Do you think I should ever be able to do so?”

“Come,” said the old woman good-naturedly, “shall I help you?”



Vexed as he was, Jack could not help laughing at her remark, for the
idea of the decrepit old woman he saw before him catching a runaway race-
horse had something irresistibly ludicrous in it.

_ “Ah! you may laugh,” she said, guessing his thoughts ; ; “I don’t mean
that I could run fast enough to catch the horse myself, but if I chose I could
put you in the way of running a good deal faster.”

Cc
18 ' THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

“T wish you would, then,” said Jack, in a much more civil tone than he
had yet used; “you'd do me a very great service.”

“Oh!” said the old woman, “you can speak civilly enough, like most
persons, when they want to get anything, I can see that.”

“Well, then,” said Jack, coaxingly, “now just think for yourself the
trouble I shall get into if I go back without the horse ; and as you frightened
him away, isn’t it only fair play on your part to help me to catch him
again P” , :

“Well,” said the woman, “I don’t mean to say I can insure your catching
him again. WhatI did say was, that I could give you the faculty of running
a good deal faster than he can. And as you’ve now managed to get a civil
tongue in your head, I’ll give you the power if you wish it.”

Jack assured her that he should be eternally obliged to her if she would.

“Then I will,” said the woman. “Look at those boots,” she continued,
pointing to the pair of jockey boots already mentioned. “I’ve no doubt
that, as a young gentleman of education, you’ve heard of the celebrated
seven-leagued boots that Jack wore.”

“T have,” said the lad, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.

“Well, those are the identical boots,” said the old woman, “and very
wonderful they are. They fit every person who puts them on—no matter
whether their feet be large or small. If you put them on, they’d fit you as
if you'd been born in them, and every step you then took would be seven
leagues long. They have also another peculiarity, that the person who puts
them on in the daytime cannot take them off till after nightfall.”

“That at any rate would be no hardship,” said Jack. “I wish you'd
lend them to me for a day or two, and you’d oblige me very much.”

“Well, my dear, I will, since you speak so civilly,” said the old woman,
and going into the cottage she brought out the boots.

Jack immediately pulled off his own shoes, and drew on the boots the old
























































































































































































































































ie iG
Ht
eH









Bi



“PETER THE GREAT.”
20 é THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

woman had lent him. He had immediate proof that in one respect at least
she had spoken the truth. Although they had ‘appeared somewhat large
for him, he had no sooner put them on than he found they fitted him like a
glove.

“Now,” said the old woman, who appeared to read his thoughts instinc-
tively, “you see what I told you as to their fitting you istrue. You'd better
try their speed now, and start off after your horse.”

Jack immediately obeyed, and taking two steps found himself in a cemetery,
with two smart modern Gothic chapels in it, as well as the ruins of an old
- church. Greatly surprised, he asked an old man who was standing near him
if he had seen a race-horse running loose.

“ Well,” said the man, looking at him with astonishment, “T can’t say I
have; and, what’s more than that, if I was looking for one, Basingstoke
churchyard ain’t exactly the place I should choose to find him in.”

“ Basingstoke churchyard !”” .
far am I from Salisbury ?”

“A matter of more than forty-two miles, I should calculate,” said the
man. |

Jack was thunderstruck at this intelligence, and, striking his forehead
with his hand, remained for some moments in doubt what he should do. At
last the very reasonable idea occurred to him, that his best plan would be to
go back again. So he asked the man in what direction Salisbury lay. -The
old man merely pointed with his finger, looking at Jack the while as if he
thought him crack-brained. Jack immediately took two steps back again»

but having from the commencement made a slight variation from the direct

said Jack, greatly astonished. “Why, how

line to Salisbury, he stopped at a locality on the downs about six miles from
the spot where he had lost the horse. Here he saw a farm labourer, and
beckoning to him, inquired whether he had seen anything of a race-horse
with a saddle and bridle on him, running about the country.
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 21

“T can’t say I have,” said the man, “ but I heard a mate of mine say he’d
met somebody that had seen one galloping about the downs without a rider,
about eight or nine miles that way there over yonder.”

















































































































‘HOUND HIMSELF IN A CEMETERY.’’

Jack immediately took two steps in the direction indicated, and found
himself on the top of a beautifully-wooded hill, looking down on a large and.
flourishing town, with more than one church in it, and several fine buildings.
22 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

Fairly perplexed what to do, he threw himself on the grass and began to cry.
Indeed he sobbed so loudly, that he attracted the attention of a female servant
who was passing. Going up to him she asked what was the matter, and if
she could do anything for him. Jack, soothed by her kind tone, turned
round, and, ‘sitting upon the grass, said to her with tears streaming down
his eyes, “I’ve lost a race-horse, and can’t find him anywhere.”

“Well,” said the girl, “I don’t know much about race-horses, but from
what I’ve heard of them I should judge that the worst possible way of
catching them anon they’ve ve run away is to lay down with your face on the
grass and cry.” =

“‘There’s some truth in that,” said Jack; “but what can I do?”

“Tm afraid I can’t tell you,” she replied ;°“‘I would if I could. But
I’m going down into Sherborne, and I'll ask everybody I meet who comes
from the country, if they’ve seen a race-horse running about, and if they
say they have I’ll send you word.”

“Thank you,” said Jack. “But tell me, did you say that place was
Sherborne ? ” :

“ Yes, it is,” said the girl.

« And how far is Sherborne from Salisbury ?”

“Well,” she replied, “a matter of. forty or forty-two miles. I don’t
know exactly, but that’s what people say.”

Jack, when he heard this, fairly bellowed aloud.

22

“Why, you great simpleton,” said the girl, “what do you mean by
crying in that manner, as if you were a little boy of four years old ina
parish school? I’m ashamed of you. Iwas going to say you ought to have
been a girlinstead of a boy; but no girl of your age would make such a fool

” So saying, she gave. her head a toss, and continued her road to

of herself.
Sherborne.

_ No sooner had she gone, than Jack began to consider what steps he had
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 23

better take. He had now fairly discovered that a pair of seven-leagued boots
were by no means so desirable for human wear as he had hitherto imagined ;
on the contrary, they were a nuisance, and the best thing he could do would
be to get rid of them again as quickly as possible. He now determined to
pull them off, and, being actuated by a spirit of philanthropy, to throw them
into the stream as he crossed the bridge on entering Sherborne, so that no
unfortunate individual might in ignorance put them on. He now set



‘© 4 BEAUTIFUL WOODED HILL.’’

vigorously to work to get them off, but found that in. this respect, as well as
in every other, the old woman had told him the truth. By no exertions on
his part could he succeed ; they clung to his legs as pertinaciously as his
skin itself.

Jack now remained for some moments the picture of hopeless despair.
He then began to abuse the witch for having deceived him; but, on a
moment’s consideration, he was obliged to desist, for he could not help
“24 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

- admitting that the boots. only possessed the properties she had mentioned.
They fitted him exactly: at each step they carried him seven leagues ; and
now he discovered that those who put them on in the day could not take
them off again during daylight. The only consolation he experienced arose
from the assurance she had given him, that the wearer, if he pleased, could
take them off at night ; and, from her other statements having come true,
he had no reason to doubt that when evening arrived he ‘should be able to
get rid of them. But when evening came, where should he then be? He
must either remain where he was on the hill overlooking Sherborne, or be in’
some other locality where he had perhaps never been in his life before, and
far away from his home.

Jack remained for more than an hour seated on the grass, a prey to the
most melancholy thoughts. The very natural idea at last occurred to him,
that whether he resolved on making further attempts to catch Peter the
- Great, or on returning to the stables and candidly explaining to the stud-
groom what had happened, neither could be accomplished by sitting where
he was. He now rose from his seat, and was about to leave the spot, when
he remembered that he could not take a step which reached less than twenty-
one miles, whether it was in the proper direction or not.

The idea so terrified him that he immediately reseated himself, and
clutched his knee tightly so as to prevent his moving; for he dreaded going
in a wrong direction, and began to calculate how Salisbury stood in relation
to Sherborne. Before he had come to a conclusion, he saw a groom in livery
approaching him from the direction of the town. The groom, who was passing
at a few paces from him, saw him, and came towards him.

“ Where did you get those boots?” the groom said, looking at them with
an expression of intense admiration. “I never saw a better-made pair in
my life. Tell me the maker’s name, and I’ll get my master to give him an
order.”
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 25

“ T don’t know the maker’s name,” said Jack, evading the question, “or
I would tell you willingly. They were got for me.”

“T never saw anything like them in my life; why, they are just the
thing.”

“Tm glad you like them,” said Jack; “I’d willingly give them to you,
if I could get them off.”









NEWMAREET.

Jack said this with so much appearance of truth, that the groom fully
believed him. ik

Get them off?” he said. “Why, they don’t seem to be such a tight
fit, after all.”

« But they are,” said Jack, “and I can’t get them off.”
26 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

“Tet me help you,” said the groom; and he and Jack together made
violent efforts to pull them off. But all in vain. The boots remained as
tightly fixed on Jack’s legs as if they had been nailed to them.

“Well, I never saw such a tight fit in my life,” said the groom.

“ But now,” said Jack, “I want you to give-me a little advice. I was
leading a race-horse home, when he got loose and ran away, and I want to
find him.”

“Well,” said the groom, “you seem to have uncommon ideas of the way -
to catch a runaway race-horse. Do you think you are likely to find him
by sitting still on the grass, nursing your knee?’ What’s the horse’s
name?”

“ Peter the Great.”

““ Why, he’s entered to run at Newmarket the day after to-morrow. If
I were you, I would go there.”

’ Jack determined to follow the man’s advice, and, rising, asked him if he
could tell him the way to Newmarket.

“The way to Newmarket ? Why, how should I know? It’s hundreds
of miles from here!”

“No matter,” said Jack; ‘“ which is the way ?.”

“Somewhere out there, I suppose,” said the groom, pointing in a north-
easterly direction. ‘“ But I don’t know rightly.”

Jack, without bidding his new acquaintance good-bye, started off, and,
after a series of strides, stopped and asked a man if he was anywhere néar
Newmarket.

“No,” said the man, “it’s at least twelve miles off.”

«“ Which way ? ” asked Jack.

“That way, due west,” said the man, who had something of the appear-
ance of a sailor.

Jack immediately took a stud and, on inquiring, found he had passed it
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 27

by about nine miles. He now began a somewhat abstruse calculation to
determine, if he made a series of equilateral triangles—the first step being
towards the north-east, the second south-east, and the third due west— -
whether by repeating the process, and each time slightly altering the direc-
tion of the base of the triangle, he might not in time reach Newmarket. He











DOVER.

determined to try the experiment, and having three times completed the
triangles he stopped to ask a man if he was far from Newmarket.

“ Don’t know rightly,” said the man, “but I suspect it’s a matter of five
miles.

Here was encouragement for Jack to persevere with his triangular system.
28 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

He did so, and with so much success, that in less than an hour he found
himself on Newmarket race-course. Being now fairly out of breath, he
stopped for some moments to recover himself. Then, seeing a jockey
approaching, Jack asked if he had heard anything of Peter the Great.

« The horse, do you mean?”

“Yes, he’s entered to run here, isn’t he? ”

K



‘‘ ABOUT THREE MILES FROM CALAIS.”’

“Run here! No. What are you talking about? He’storun at Dover
races the day after to-morrow.”

« And which is the way to Dover ?” inquired Jack.

“How should I know ?” said the jockey ; ‘somewhere in the south.”

Jack’s ideas of geography were by no means profound. Still, he knew
that Dover was on the coast, so that when he reached the sea, it would be

~
THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS. 29

time for him to stop to ask his way, so he started again as fast as he could.
Indeed, so fast was his. pace and so great was his impetus, that when he
reached the cliffs of Dover, he could not stop himself. To prevent himself
falling into the sea, he took another stride right across the Channel, and
landed about three miles to the east of Calais.

Jack now determined to rest for a moment and collect his scattered senses,
but a new adventure awaited him. He found himself collared by a French
custom-house officer, who said to
him in very broken English, “ Ah,
T’ve caught you, have I? You want
to smuggle something, do you?”

Jack protested his innocence,
but the officer would take no excuse.
He told Jack to come with him to
be locked up for the night, and that
the next morning he should be
taken before the Waire of Calais to
give an account of himself. But as
he still kept a firm hold of his collar,
Jack could not, with the officer’s
weight added to his own, move one



step. The officer thought Jack was obstinate, and being a very powerful man
he placed his arm round his prisoner’s waist, and lifting him from the ground
carried him to his house, and locked him up in a little room, there to
remain, till the next day.

Jack was now perfectly miserable, and he remained there bamaling his
unhappy fate till night had set in. Then he remembered the witch had told
him that he could take off his boots if he pleased. He made the trial, and
they came off his feet with the greatest ease. Jack’s mind was now consider-
56 THE SEVEN-LEAGUED BOOTS.

ably relieved, for the idea of being immured in‘a French dungeon sunk into
insignificance when compared to the miséry he had got rid of. He now slept
quietly through the night, and next morning, when the officer ordered him to’
accompany him to’Calais, Jack immediately prepared to obey him, carrying
his seven-leagued boots in his hand.

“Why do you not put on your boots ?” sad the officer ; “are you afraid
of wearing them out?”

“No, they hurt me, and I’m going to throw them into the sea.”

« Are you mad ?” asked the officer. If you don’t want them, give them
tome. I think they would just fit me, and my own are nearly worn out.”

“Take them and welcome,” said Jack. ; .

The officer took him at his word, .and kicking off his own shoes put on
Jack’s boots. :

“Why, they fit me capitally. I wonder whether they are easy to walk ©
ane

“Try,” said Jack, and the officer took one step and was out of sight ina
moment.

Jack, without shoes, now started off as fast as he could run towards
Calais, guided by the masts of the shipping he saw in the harbour. He
contrived to enter the town and reach the port, where he found a steamboat
about to. start for England. Jack immediately rushed on board, and was in
the act of descending to the cabin when some one caught hold of him, ane
said, “ Come, we can’t stand this snoring any longer.”’

Jack looked. round him, and found himself at home with his companions,
-who had supped while he slept. Although the whole had been a dream, it
made a strong impression on Jack’s memory. For the future he was fully of
opinion that a more cruel punishment could not be imagined than condemning
a man to wear a pair of seven-leagued boots.
MY FRIEND THE. BLACKCOCK.

'5 pis 3 | WAS sitting on a moor, one August day,
: ae under the shade of a small clump of ash,



and well screened by the bracken which
rose high around me, when I sud-
denly heard the whirr-r-r of wings,’
es and looking up cautiously, saw a
“NY fine old blackcock skimming along.
His pinions were now almost motion-
“less, and I noticed, by the gradual
-alteration of the angle of his body,
that he meant to alight on a rock on
the other side of the valley in which
I was, and not more than thirty-five yards from my seat. This he did, dropping ©
his legs neatly down just at the right moment to break the fall, and clapping
his wings to his side. Fortunately for my observation, his head was turned
away from me, and such wind as there was blew from his direction. Quietly
‘he walked to the edge of the rock, drew himself up with dignity and began
to discourse. He was very portly and. sleek, and reminded me irresistibly of
a city magnate, ambitious of parliamentary honours, addressing his consti-
tuents: there was a great deal of chuckling in his throat, and he fussed and
fumed as he stepped from side to side; then there was more gurgling and his
neck was yet more swollen, and if his face had not already been purple and
black, I feel sure it would have become so from the excessive excitement under
which he was labouring. But it soon ended, and he then calmly rubbed his
beak on the moss and began prosaically to search cracks'and crannies for any-
thing suitable for a mid-day meal. -He was apparently in high spirits, and
desirous of rehearsing a little, so as to be in grand voice for the forthcoming
o

32 MMV FRIEND THE BLACKCOCK.

spring. In the picture he is represented advancing to the edge of the natural









































platform, and, as it were, commencing his discourse with, “ Friends, we are here

to-day before you to redress the wrongs of the whole blackcock race,” &e., &e.































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































UNITY IS STRENGTH.

A very curious case of a combination on the part of animals to rid them-
selves of a foe occurred near the Winterberg, a mountain to the north of the
eastern frontier of the Cape of Good Hope.

In this locality there were several troops of baboons, young and old, which
resided in the deep rocky ravines, and gambolled among the fearful precipices
around. Very human were these creatures in their appearance and habits,
especially when suddenly alarmed; the mammas were then seen to catch up
their young ones, who clung round their parents’ necks, and were thus carried
rapidly to, the summit of the rocks, where they would grimace and cough out
their defiance at the intruder, who had ventured into their domain.

An enemy, however, once found his way into their stronghold, and this
was an enemy hungry, cunning, and powerful. It was a Cape leopard.
5
‘



UNITY IS STRENGTH. 35

Crouching down among the long grass, or amidst the crevices of the

rocks, the leopard would suddenly spring upon a young baboon, and actually

devour it before the eyes of its screeching parents. Strong as is a baboon,

the leopard is yet far stronger, and with its terrible claws could soon tear to
pieces the largest male baboon.



A LEOPARD REPOSING.

During some days the leopard feasted on baboons, but at length these
creatures combined, and jointly attacked the leopard. They did not really
mean to risk a pitched battle with him, for these creatures evidently knew
and respected his great powers. They had, too, as the result proved, deter-
mined on a safer and more crafty method of proceeding.

The leopard, fearing the combined strength of his adversaries, left their
36 UNITY IS STRENGTH.

neighbourhood, and retreated across country, but he was followed by nearly
all the large baboons.

On went the leopard; on followed the baboons. The day was hot, and
the leopard disliked this perpetual tramping, and so tried to seek a retreat
and lie down and rest. ‘Then it was that the baboons closed round and
worried: him. Soon, too, he began to thirst, his tongue hanging out of his
mouth, and the white foam covering his jaws. .

Water was soon scented by the hunted brute, and to this it rapidly made
its way: but now the baboons became frantic ; they closed on to the leopard.
some by their great activity actually tearing him with their sharp teeth, and
the creature could not drink. The baboons could relieve one another, and
some could eat and drink too, whilst their companions continued worrying
the leopard. ;

During two days and a ae the country for several miles along the
course of these creatures was startled by the cries of pursuer and pursued,
and several farmers were witnesses from a distance of portions of the scene
here described. They would not interfere, but watched the baboons’ method
of administering justice.

Worn out with exhaustion and thirst, the leopard at length could totter .

on no further, and sank to the ground a prey to the baboons, who, in spite of
his claws and teeth, which were yet formidable, attacked him with their
whole force and soon tore him to pieces, they themselves escaping with only |
a few severe scratches. :

Assembling their forces, the baboons returned rapidly to their stronghold,
where they. were welcomed by their females and young with choruses of loud
and triumphant barks, which were continued during the greater part of the
night, whilst for several days the excitement did not seem to calm down,
but was shown by the unusual noises which proceeded from this curious
colony. .







IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE.

T was little Marie’s birthday,—the most beautiful of all days,
she thought. All her small girl-friends and. boy-friends
came to play with her, and she wore her finest frock: this



had been given to her by Grandmother, who was now with
the good God; but Grandmother had cut it, and made it
herself before she went up into the bright beautiful
heavens. The table in Marie’s room was shining with’
- presents: there was the prettiest little kitchen, with
all-the belongings of a kitchen; and a doll that could twist its eyes, and
ery “ugh!” when you pinched its stomach; ah! and there was a picture-
book too, full of the prettiest stories, to be read when somebody could read.
But it was more béautiful than all the stories in the world to live to see many
birthdays. :
“Oh, it is so beautiful to live!” said the little Marie. “Godfather said
that was the most beautiful fairy tale.”
In the room next her were both her brothers; they were big boys, one of
them nine years old, and the other eleven, They thought it beautiful to live





40 IT IS SO "BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE.

too, to live in their way ; not to be babies like Marie, but thorough-going.
schoolboys; to get their high mark in class, to fight their schoolfellows, and
like them all the better for it ; to skate in the winter, and ride velocipedes in
summer ; to read of baronial castles, with drawbridges and dungeons, and to
read. of discoveries in Central Africa. On this subject, though, one of the
boys had a misgiving—that all might be discovered before he was grown a
man: then he was to go out on adventures. Life is the most beautiful fairy
tale, said Godfather, and one takes a part in it oneself.

It was on the parlour-floor these children played and lived; on the flat
Bhove them dwelt another branch of the family. And here too were children,
but they had slipped their leading strings, they were so big; one son was
seventeen, and another twenty; but one of them was very old indeed, said.
little Marie: he was twenty-five, and.engaged to be married. All of them
were well off; had good parents, good clothes, good attainments; and they
knew their own minds.

“Clear the way! down with the old hoardings!” said. they: “a free
look-out into the wide world: that is the finest thing we know of! God-
father is right; life is the most beautiful fairy tale of all!”

Father and mother, both elderly people (older than the children, naturally)
said with smiles on their lips, in their eyes, and in their hearts, “How young
they are, the young folk! things won’t go on in the world just as they
fancy ; still, they will goon! Life is a wonderful, beautiful fairy tale!”

Higher up—a little nearer ‘the sky, as we say when people occupy the
attics—lived Godfather. Old was he, and yet so young in mind; always in
good spirits. Many.a long story could he tell. Far and wide had he been
in the world, and from all the lands of the world were pretty tokens standing
in his room. There were pictures from floor to ceiling, and some of the
window-panes were of red or yellow glass; if one looked through them, the
whole world lay in sunshine, however grey it might be outside. There were
IT IS SO. BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE. 41

green plants growing in a great glass case, and in a globe attached to it
there were gold fish swimming—they looked at one as if they knew many
things they would not talk about. There was a sweet smell of flowers here
always, even in the winter; and in winter-time a great fire blazed-on the
hearth ; it was so amusing to sit looking into it, and to hear how it cracked
and crackled.

“Tt reads old memories out loud to me,” said Godfather: and it seemed |
to little Marie moreover as if many pictures showed themselves in the fire.
But in the large carved bookcase close by stood the real books: and the one
which Godfather read oftenest he called: the book of books; it was the Bible.



There was pictured the history of the world, and all mankind ; of the
Creation, the Flood, the Kings, and the King of kings.

“All that has happened, and all that will happen, is written in this
book!” said Godfather. ‘So infinitely much in one single: book! Ay, and
all that man has to pray for, is entered there, in the prayer ‘ Our Father.’ ”

“ It is the drop of mercy!” said Godfather ; “ it is the pearl of comfort
from God. It is laid as a gift on the child’s cradle, is laid on the child’s
heart. Little child, keep it carefully! never lose “it, however big thou
mayest grow ; and thou wilt not be forsaken on life’s changeful way—it will
beam bright within thee—and thou wilt never be lost.”,
42 IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL TO LIVE.

Godfather’s eyes were brightened by it, till they shone with joy; once in
his years of youth they had wept, and “ this, too, was good,” he said. ‘That
was the time of trial; then all looked dark: now I have sunshine within and
around me. The older one grows the clearer one sees, in adversity and pros-
perity, that Our Lord is in it all, that life is the most beautiful fairy tale :
that this only He can give us, and that this goes on into eternity ! ”

“Tt is beautiful to live!’ said the little Marie; so, too, said the small
and big boys; father and mother, the wlile family, and chief of all God-
father : and he had experience; he was the oldest of them all; knew all
stories: and he said, “ Life is the most beautiful fairy tale.”


A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

“Sar ho!” The cheering ery from the masthead aroused the slumbering
watch of Her Majesty’s brig Pantaloon, and

MMT MNS" eg : : ;
TTL S a ae Fah dispelled the waking dreams in which I, the



















I
Cece SS ' ; 7} officer of the watch, was indulging.
TL il qk i i We were cruising —looking out for
TN ( \, { ia \ slavers—off the mouth of the Congo; and
HIT Ve ‘ey lll] a8 a pleasant change in the middle of the
a ai . rainy season, the night was starlight. Send-

ing word to the captain, I made all sail on

the ship, and in a few minutes our spars



were covered with canvas, and the brig
gliding through the smooth water under the
influence of a land wind which had just
sprung up.















ATT

Uh
itt





2

eh Pore alll
Be Wy

lle, vz

AW

y

Our men clustered forward in the bows, eagerly trying to discover the
7 ae A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

chase, which was as yet visible to no eyes except those of the Krooman at the
masthead who had first reported the strange sail. As a coloured man’s power
of vision in the night-time is generally superior to that of a white person, the
suspense was endured for nearly a quarter of an hour, but at length the
captain, fearing lest the anticipated prize should prove a myth, hailed in
dialect suited to the Krooman, “ King Tom! You sure you see him ?”

“Yes, captain, him live out dere,” replied the individual bearing the regal
cognomen, pointing right ahead. In a few more minutes the good faith of
King Tom was verified, the strange sail being plainly seen on the line of
the horizon, and the distance between the Pantaloon and her prey rapidly
lessening. ,

“Clear away the gun forward and give her a blank cartridge,” was an
order obeyed as soon as given. The long thirty-two pounder bellowed forth,
and the flash illumined momentarily the excited faces on deck. As the report
died away, all eyes were bent on the chase to discover if she obeyed that
authoritative signal to “heave to;” but her white sails still gleamed in the
moonlight, and she pursued her course regardless of the mandate. This
perseverance in attempting to escape gave good assurance that we were in
pursuit of a slave-ship. Many of the crew began already in imagination to
spend their prize-money; the Kroomen especially were chuckling with
delight, for the very day preceding, at their earnest request—made in con-
sequence of no slaver having been seen for some months—the figure-head of
the Pantaloon (a capital reproduction of the well-known ‘personage in the
pantomime) had had his spectacles repainted, “ to make him sce better.’”*

The proverbial “slip between cup and lip ” had, however, yet to be illus-
trated. The gun having been again loaded, this time with shot, the gunner
was standing, lanyard in hand, awaiting the order to fire, when the captain’s
attention was attracted by the flapping of the sails—which hitherto had kept

* A Fact.


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A WRECK AT SEA,
46 i A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

full—against the masts; the land wind had suddenly subsided, and a hot
stifling calm succeeded. On looking round he discovered in one quarter of
the horizon the small cloud, literally as a man’s hand, which to experienced
eyes betokens the quick approach of a tornado; and he knew well that, if one
of these awful tropical storms struck the ship while all sail was set, nothing
but the loss of her masts could save her.

No time now to think of aught but the ae of the ship. “ Hands
shorten sail! Quick, men,—quick,—for your lives!” shouted the captain.
The crew, aware of the danger, worked well; sail after sail was taken in,
until, instead of a cloud of canvas, the cruiser showed nothing aloft but the
clear tracery of spars and rigging. In time, and only just in time, was the
work completed, the ship made snug and the men down from aloft.

Meanwhile the cloud had rapidly increased in volume until now it over-
spread half the horizon, the remainder of the heavens being yet bright and clear.

Notwithstanding all our precautions, the first shock threw the Pantaloon
nearly on her beam-ends; for a few moments of painful suspense she remained
in that position, then suddenly righting—all her timbers groaning—
gradually yielded to her helm. Immediate danger was now over, it being
only necessary to keep the ship driving before the wind until the storm should
subside.

Two hours passed thus, and the fury of the tornado began to decrease,
when—with a simultaneous crash of thunder—the lightning struck our fore-
mast. On reaching the deck the electric fluid was first attracted by the chain
cable, along which it ran hissing until, reaching the quarter-deck, it leaped
with a loud report to the nearest gun, flashing from gun to gun until it
plunged into the water astern, the old helmsman as it passed him ducking
his head as he would to an enemy’s shot. Happily no one was seriously hurt,
although some men standing round the mast were partially stunned. The
thunder now ceased, and the wind fell.


a
Se
18
8
E


48 A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

It being now. midnight, I was. stepping, wearily enough, towards the
companion-ladder, intending to go below, when I was met by an officer who
rushed violently up the ladder and attempted to pass me. Recognising our
surgeon—who was suffering from a severe attack of yellow fever—I .
attempted to stop him, but, tearing himself from my grasp with the strength
of delirium, he forced his way overboard.

Giving orders to the boatswain’s mate to call away the lifeboat’s crew, I
sprang aft and let go the life-buoy. The portfire attached to the apparatus
blazed up, and by its light the form of the doctor was visible, floating rapidly
astern. Not a moment was to be lost, and divesting myself of coat and
waistcoat, I was quickly in the water at his side. Being a good swimmer,
there was little difficulty in supporting him; the shock of the plunge had
apparently restored his senses, for he recognised me, and feebly syllabled my
name. A few strokes brought us to the life-buoy, and resting my feet on the
lower part under water, one.arm clinging to the upper rod, and the other
round the waist of my friend, I awaited with impatience the. approach of
succour from the ship. The situation was by no means agreeable; the half-
drowned man soon lost the little consciousness that remained, and hung a
dead weight on my arm.. The recent tornado had occasioned a heavy. sea;
and, though the life-buoy bore: our weight well, yet frequently the waves,
‘dashing over our faces, half-choked me. I was also myself. much weakened,
having only lately recovered from an attack of yellow fever ; and as the light
at the Pantaloon’s masthead dimmed and faded to my eye as we drifted more
and more from the ship, so also fainter and more faint waned my hopes. of
deliverance. . The portfire was quickly burning out, already its brilliancy had
much lessened, and the fine volume of light it had at first given was dwind-
ling into a fitful gushing of.sparks, as in a badly prepared school-boy’s squib.
I knew well that, if the light should indeed go out entirely, the boat. sent to
our aid would row in vain quest of such a speck as the life-buoy; when
































































































































































































EMANCIPATED NEGRESS.
i
50 A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE.

morning broke it might be discovered, but long before that time my exhausted
arms would have loosened their hold, and our bodies found the sailor’s grave.
With despair in my heart I gazed upwards at the portfire, which now sud-
denly shot forth an expiring gleam—tinting with a blue unearthly glare the
closed eyes and senséless form of my companion: and then all was darkness.
But, even at that moment, I heard the welcome sound of the measured beat
of oars. Gathering all my strength, I hailed; the hail was answered cheerily
by many strong voices, and guided by my shout the boat discovered our posi-
tion. Soon friendly hands grasped us, and in another minute I was safely
seated in the boat, with the doctor, still unconscious, by my side.

The boat’s crew gave way cheerily for the brig, towing the life-buoy
astern. Overhead the sky was clearing, the stars again shone out; and as
the black form of our floating home once more became visible—her hull,
looming large in the obscurity of night—I revelled in anticipation of the
comforts and of the rest in my own little cabin, which a few moments more
would bring. But not easily were these enjoyments to be gained—not yet
were the dangers of this eventful night passed. |

As we neared the ship it became perceptible that she was rolling heavily
in the trough of the sea, and that the act of getting on board and hoisting up
the boat would be a perilous one. Nothing, however, could be gained by
delay, so seizing what appeared to be a favourable moment, during a tem-
porary lull in the ship’s motion, we pulled up alongside. Just as the boat
came abreast of the gangway, we rose on the crest of an immense wave: a
crowd of men were on deck ready to. assist us, and into their outstretched
arms we literally threw the insensible form of the doctor. Two of our men
also leaped on the deck and were safe, but the danger to us who still remained
was imminent. Our boat sank with the receding wave, the ship at the same
time rolling heavily over to starboard, away from us. ‘With the ‘return roll
‘would come the danger. In vain with desperate efforts we tried with oars to


heard, had sunk to rise no

A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE. 51

force the boat away from her dangerous proximity. Closer and closer yet
the power of attraction pressed her to the ship’s side. ‘The return roll came.
I looked up, saw the’ heavy dark mass descending remorseless upon our
heads ; then a crash, a cry of agony—a few struggling, breathless moments
in the dark depths; and I was
floating, half-stunned, but un-

hurt, on the surface, amidst









































































































































oars and fragments of the













wrecked boat. One poor fellow,
whose death-shriek we had





























































more, but the others were
swimming besideme uninjured.



And now the safest way of
regaining the ship had to be
considered. The “ falls,” or
ropes by which the lost boat
had been lowered, were hang-
ing from the projecting davits,
their ends trailing in the water
some six or eight feet from the ©
side; and to climb up by their
assistance was an easy mode





BUYING NEGRO SLAVES.

of escape for trained sailors.

Swimming therefore to these ropes, I directed my men to go up first, and
soon had the satisfaction of seeing them all safely on board, the ship at this
time being tolerably steady. Then grasping the falls I began my own ascent
hand over hand. Scarcely had my feet left the water, however, when the
rolling motion once more commenced. As the ship inclined gradually over,
52 A: NIGHTS ADVENTURE.

my feet again touched the surface; still I descended until the waters closed
over my head, and then lower and lower yet—clinging the while to the rope
as my only chance of ultimate safety—until at length I felt the downward
motion cease. Quickly succeeded a sudden jerk, nearly wrenching my hands
from their hold; and with a velocity far exceeding that of the descent, a roll
of the ship in an opposite direction was dragging me into upper air. It
required all my remaining strength to retain my grasp, the opposing pressure
of water as I was carried upwards being enormous. At last, panting and
exhausted, but with presence of mind still unimpaired, I emerged, and with
desperate haste—dreading the coming downward roll—began again to clamber
up the rope.

I succeeded in gaining a point about two feet higher than my former
position ; another foot or two and I should be safe—already had several men
slipped down the ropes, whose hands nearly touched mine. I struggled hard,
but with all my efforts could not gain another inch—again the horrible
downward motion recommenced, and, while breathless from the last descent,
' again I was plunged beneath the waters.

. The agony of this second immersion was almost insupportable. As in the
first instance, I sank slowly, then after a momentary pause was dragged
violently upwards, the resisting body of water clinging to me as if loth to
lose its prey. Once more my face reached the surface; I gave a deep gasp
for breath. But nature had been too heavily tried. A loud booming in my

~ ears—flashes of light before my eyes—and I knew no more.

When consciousness returned, I was in my own cabin, the assistant-
surgeon bending over the bed. Although too feeble for conversation, I could
understand from him that my rescue had been effected by the men who had
descended the rope; they had seized my hands just as insensibility was un-
locking their grasp. He also informed me that, contrary to all expectation
_ the shock experienced by the surgeon was likely to prove beneficial—that,
A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE. 53

all fever having left him, he was now sleeping clamly and peaceably. With
strict injunctions to follow so good an example, I was left to my repose.

In these southern latitudes no soft intervening twilight exists; the

_ change from obscure night to glaring broiling day is almost instantaneous. No

sooner did day break on the following morning, and the sun appear, than all

eyeswereanxiously :

engaged sweeping

the horizon in hopes













of encountering the
lost slaver. Fifty
voices quickly ex-
claimed, « There

she is!” and there





























































































































































































indeed, not two













































































































miles off, was the













luckless vessel,
which even the tor-
nado had failed to |
save. The sea was —
calm; not a ripple
disturbed its glassy

















smoothness as it



gently heaved in
the long low swell
which prevailed. It was evident to the crew of the slave-ship that no chance
of escape remained ; although armed, they were no match for the English
cruiser. Soon a Brazilian ensign fluttered up to her masthead, waved there
for a moment, and then slowly and reluctantly descended, in token of sur-

render.


54 A NIGHT’S AD VENTURE.

Our boats, well manned and armed, now pulled towards the prize, passing
through some dozens of empty wine and ale bottles recently thrown over-
board, demonstrating that the slave-crew had begun to drown their sorrows
in the good liquor the cabin stores afforded, determined it should not be
wasted down the throats of their captors.

On boarding and taking possession, the prize proved to be the Aventureiro,
a fine yacht-like schooner, carrying one long swivel gun amidships. Small
need was there to inquire of her sullen commander whether the cargo was
lawful or “ contraband,” and our sailors at once proceeded to open the closely-
covered hatchways. On removing them.a dense steaming mist of foul
sickening air ascended from the slave-deck below; and three hundred unhappy
beings of both sexes were discovered lying down, their feet manacled to long
iron bars placed “fore and aft”? throughout the ship. From this piteous
writhing mass of humanity arose strange voices and shouts of joy, as the
' irons were unloosed and the fact of their deliverance dawned upon their
minds. Half the number were brought on deck to breathe the purer atmo-
sphere, and the rest, unfettered, roamed about at will below.

The crew of the slaver, twenty-four in all, were transferred to the
Pantaloon, and a lieutenant and party of men detailed to convey the prize to
Sierra Leone. Before parting company, however, an exciting scene of
plunder was enacted ; officers and sailors keenly searching after comestibles
which—although articles of daily consumption on shore—were luxuries to
men shut up for months in an African cruiser.

Tins of preserved meats, sardines, potted salmon and lobster, boxes of
crystallized sugar, raisins, potatoes, butter, wine, and bottled pale ale
rewarded the laughing plunderers ; and were passed into the ship under the
very eye of the slave-captain, who, as he leaned over the side, muttered the
not inappropriate word, “ Ladrones!” Soon, however; his face cleared up,
and ejaculating “ Fortuna de la guerra!” he smoked his paper cheroot with


A NIGHT’S ADVENTURE. 55

calmness, consoled doubtless by the recollection of former successful trips ;
for slave-traders confess that if only one vessel out of four escapes, they are
amply repaid. ;

And now, all arrangements being complete, the prize-crew gave a hearty
farewell cheer as the Aventureiro, with England’s flag of liberty waving at
the peak, bore away to the westward, a cheer returned as heartily by their
comrades in the Pantaloon,. as that vessel’s head was once more ‘turned
towards her cruising ground.




A VIRGINIAN PRINCESS.

Have you ever heard of the fair country of Virginia? It’is far away across
the seas, where beautiful palms grow in the open air, like our own bracken-
ferns, and pine-apples ripen in the glorious sun. Nearly three hundred
years ago, when the brave sailors first discovered the new land, there dwelt
amongst the wild Indians who inhabited the land the young and beautiful
princess Pocahontas. The Indians in those far-off days did not love to see
the white men visit’ their shores, and ofttimes, when they came across a party
of Englishmen, they would fall upon them with their tomahawks and clubs


A VIRGINIAN PRINCESS. 57

and kill them all. But the Princess Pocahontas was not at all pleased with
this, and ofttimes saved their lives. On one occasion, when the great sailor,
Captain John Smith, had heen taken prisoner, he was condemned to death
in the hut of her father, the King of Virginia. Then the true heroic spirit
of the Princess Pocahontas showed itself, for when the blow of the heavy
club was about to fall upon the kneeling figure, she placed her own head over
the neck of the captain, and stopped the hand of the executioner and gained
_ the boon of his life. Was not this brave? Yet her own end was a sad one,
-for she died on the edge of the shores of England, whither she had come to
learn the manners and customs of the English and to be presented at court, on
board the vessel that was to carry her back to her home in Virginia. Her
physical strength, no longer sustained as in childhood by the rich sunshine
and the bracing air of her native country, gave way under the damps of a
country so different to her own. Great was the sorrow of her friends, and of
her subjects in Virginia, for her brave and generous spirit towards strangers
was rare indeed in the old days... Many are the records of her timely pro-
tection of the English colonists from the wrath and plots of their Indian
enemies. The Princess was married to a young Englishman named John >
Rolfe, she being taught to believe that Captain Smith was dead, and it is
said that when Smith visited her in London, after saluting him she turned .
away her face and hid it in her hands, and remained in this position for two

or three hours.


7

GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

Or all the heroes whose deeds ee obtained for them

a renown greater than they deserved, there is not






one to be named -before our own Jack the Giant-
killer. “Many of the heroic feats he is said
to have performed were simple impossibilities,
and those founded on anything like reliable

tradition are all marked with gross exaggera-

tion. Among these may especially be quoted
his fight with the tremendous two-headed
‘giant Thunderstone. In the account of it, of
course, Jack is described as a hero, while
Thunderstone is a monster of iniquity, agile
= asa stag, and powerful as six cart-horses put
2 ‘tc together. Now, as far as regards the giant’s

Asles

agility and strength, the direct contrary is
the fact. When he fought with Jack, he
was at the time as weak as a child. He had been suffering from a sharp

i
e

attack of illness, and when he went out to accept Jack’s challenge, he had not
sufficient strength left to carry his unwieldy body without tottering. As
for his arms, they had so fallen away, from the effect of his malady, that
it was with great difficulty he could raise his club from the ground.

Again, Thunderstone was by no means so cruel a monster as Jack’s

admirers represent him. That he might have been so before his marriage
GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 59.

is possible, but his wife was a very clever, shrewd little woman, possessing
great tact; and before two months after their marriage there was not a
more docile or obedient giant to be found in the three kingdoms. There
was something very worthy of admiration in the way that that fragile little
woman contrived to manage her gigantic husband.
Thunderstone, it is said, made many other offers
of marriage to Cornish maidens, and had eaten
the papas of several who had refused him their
daughters’ hands (actions much to be reprehended,
it is true) ; and everybody thought that the maiden
who had accepted him would soon die a horrible
death. Some prophesied that when her husband
came home from the chase, and found no dinner
ready, he would put his wife into the copper, and
boil her ; and many other suggestions of the kind
were made, all of which turned out to be without
foundation. .

Now the means with Mrs. Thunderstone took
to-.gain sway over her husband were as follows.
At first she was obedient to his every whim,
though at the same time she was keenly bent on



noting his mental peculiarities. Mrs. Thunder-
stone, before her wedding, had easily perceived that
the two heads of her husband differed considerably. Both, it is true, jis a
very stern expression of countenance; but there the similarity ended. The
right head was of a dark complexion, with dark eyes; the left was fair, with
light curly hair and blue eyes. She also perceived that when Nature pro-
vided him with two heads, she had at the same time given each a brain, and,
by a wise provision, eack of these brains had the power of thinking inde-
60 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

pendently of the other. Otherwise, if the thoughts which emanated from
each were the same, where would be the use of two brains? Again, each
head had a tongue to give expression to its thoughts, and as each tongue
possessed considerable volubility—and her husband was very candid in his
expressions—she soon determined on her plan of action.

Noticing the extreme dissimilarity of the dispositions of her husband’s
heads, she invariably sided with the one whose views coincided with her own,
changing from one to the other with great readiness, so as to show that she
regarded neither with any special favour. In this way, without appearing
to be anxious to govern her husband, she soon became as perfect and
absolute a mistress in her own house as any well-conditioned wife could wish
to be.

Let us take an instance. The right head had contracted a habit of
. smoking tobacco, and the greatest luxury of his life was a pipe. The left
head detested smoking, saying that the odour of the tobacco got into his
hair (of which he was particularly proud), and into his nostrils and mouth,
and made him feel sick. One day a violent altercation had arisen between
them, and Mrs. Thunderstone stepped in to calm it. Now she detested
smoking, and had resolved. to put a stop to the practice. When therefore
the right head complained of his brother being fastidious and a molly-coddle
in objecting to the smell of tobacco, and pretending that it made him sick,
she immediately took the other’s part, saying he had not in any way over-
stated the case, and that she sympathised with him, and was determined to
put a‘stop to the disgraceful habit.

Although in this instance Mrs. Thunderstone had sided with Fair-head,
it must not be imagined that she held him in greater favour than Dark-skin
(for thus she used playfully to designate the two heads when in conversation).
So far from this being the case, though she could not close her eyes to his
superior beauty, she took good care not to show him the slightest partiality ;
GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. - 61

and, by keeping rigidly to her determination, she managed so happily that
no jealousy ever existed in the mind of Dark-skin at the superior attractions
of Fair-head. An exception, however, is to be made in cases where either
had displeased her, and then she would give two kisses to the cheek of the
one whose behaviour she approved of, and none to the other. By this
conduct, as soon as the first burst of ill-temper had subsided, she invariably
‘succeeded in bringing the rebellious head to reason.





But, like a good wife, she was not content with establishing her sway
-over her husband solely by tact and ingenuity. She knew enough of the

characters of giants to be aware that the greatest accomplishment a wife
could possess in their eyes was a good knowledge of cooking. She rightly
calculated that if this accomplishment bore good fruits with giants possessing
only one head, how much more highly would it be held in estimation by a
giant with two heads, each having a mouth, teeth, and a sensitive and
62 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

delicate palate of its own! And here again existed a peculiarity in her
husband which is worthy of notice, as showing the great difficulties the
clever little woman managed to overcome.’ Fair-head was fond of sweets : 7
Dark-skin, on the contrary, liked acids. Fair-head revelled in puddings ;
Dark-skin held them in disgust, his taste being for solid meat. And even
on the subject of meat a strong discrepancy existed between them, Fair-head
liking lean meat made into well-cooked and delicate little dishes, while
Dark-skin liked underdone meat with plenty of fat.

Although, in the case of Jack Sprat, who could eat no fat, while his wife
could eat no lean, a joint of mutton could be very easily disposed of by both
indulging their own peculiar tastes, in Mrs. Thunderstone’s establishment it
was very different. If Dark-skin chose for his dinner the leg of a bull,
underdone, with plenty of fat, of course at first sight it would appear
difficult for her to oblige him without disregarding the tastes of Fair-head ;
and if the latter desired a delicate beef-steak pie without fat, made in
the copper, Dark-skin was not likely to have much appetite for his dinner.
In cases such as these Mrs. Thunderstone showed herself an excellent
manager. If the dinner was to be fat and underdone, she generally sent her
husband out upon some long and difficult hunting excursion in the morning,
so ‘as by excessive fatigue to create an enormous appetite. Now, as the two
heads suffered equally from fatigue or exhaustion of the body, it naturally
followed that, when they sat down to dinner, Fair-head would be scarcely
less ravenous than Dark-skin; and as “ hunger is the best sauce,” he ate of
the fat and underdone meat without much objection. I£, on the other hand,
it was a dull rainy morning, with little attraction for outdoor exercise, Mrs.
Thunderstone would make a delicate beef-steak pie, and Dark-skin, who
from the want of exercise had but little appetite, grumbled much less than -
might have been expected at the dish set before him. And here it is but
‘ justice to Mrs. Thunderstone emphatically to state, that while: on all other .

‘
GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 63

subjects she managed, by supporting the views of the head whose ideas
corresponded with her own, to mould her husband to her wishes, on the
subject of cooking she never allowed her own tastes to interfere, her sole
desire being to please her husband to the utmost extent of her power.

By these and similar means did this clever little woman become the
absolute mistress in her own house. ‘True, you may say, gentle reader, that
to ‘become mistress in their own a
houses is a very common thing with
clever little women ; but at the same
time you must bear in mind that
Mrs. Thunderstone had difficulties
to surmount rarely met with in
society, but which any lady having
a husband’ with two heads can
thoroughly appreciate. In spite,
however, of the difficulties she had
~ to: contend with, she not only suc-
ceeded in keeping her house in per-
fect order, with an appearance of
comfort and cleanliness about it
which Thunderstone had been but
little accustomed to in’his bachelor-



hood, but she succeeded in smooth-
ing his naturally wicked temper so completely, that a more-amiable, affectionate,
or docile husband was not to be found in the whole of Cornwall.

For more than two years after their marriage, with the exception .of
having no family, nothing arose to mar the happiness of this estimable
couple. But, alas! Mrs. "Thunderstone was no more destined to go through
life without sorrow and trouble than other Cornish ladies. _ Although during
64 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

the whole of that time her husband had enjoyed perfect health, he was
afterwards thrown on a bed of sickness, and here Mrs. Thunderstone’s
troubles began. If, gentle reader, you are of the fair sex, you will agree
with me when I state that a husband with one head is, when sick, quite as
much as any wife can manage with peace and comfort to herself. What
then must have been Mrs. Thunderstone’s lot when she had to nurse her
husband, a giant with two heads, each having a decided will of its own,
and that generally differing diametrically from the other? In the first
appearance of sickness her case was even the more difficult, inasmuch as one
head only was taken ill, while the other remained in perfect health ; and of
course their tempers, generally but little sympathetic, were then worse than ever.

Mrs. Thunderstone’s troubles began in the following manner. As has
been before stated, Fair-head was the handsomer of the two, and took great
pains with his appearance. Now it happened one night that, during a
violent gale of wind, a pane of glass was broken in the casement at the head
of the bed, though without awaking either Mrs. Thunderstone or her
husband. The pane of glass which had been broken was exactly over Fair-
head, and the result was that a strong current of air blew on him all night
without reaching Dark-skin. Next morning Mrs. Thunderstone discovered
from Fair-head’s sneezing that he had caught a violent cold, and she insisted
that he should have his breakfast in bed. Dark-skin, however, had that
morning set his mind on a hunting excursion; and, as the weather had now
cleared up and everything seemed propitious, he resolved he would not be
disappointed. So he told his wife that stay indoors he would not, and that
no argument on her part could induce him. Even Fair-head on this occasion
seemed to be of the same opinion as his brother, and insisted—although he
‘sneezed violently as he did so—that it was making a simpleton of him to
keep him indoors on such a fine day, and that hunt he would, whatever she

might say to the contrary.
GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 65

_ Great indeed was Mrs. Thunderstone’s sorrow at the obstinate conduct of
her husband, and she felt it the more keenly that she was much better
yersed in medical matters than he was, and could easily perceive that the
cold he had taken was a far more violent one than he imagined. However,
even in her time the proverb “A wilful man must have his way,” was as
well known and appreciated by ladies as at present. So making no further
remark, ‘she wrapped up Fair-head
with all the shawls and comforters
she could find, and allowed her hus-
band to depart, advising him to
expose himself as little as possible
to the cold air, and to.be sure to
return at an early hour to dinner.
Off started Thunderstone on his
hunting excursion. For some time
he saw no game, and began to feel
very much annoyed. At last he
perceived on a hill at a short dis-
tance from him a magnificent stag,
large enough to serve him and his

wife for dinner for three days. He



now crept cautiously forward, and
then lay in ambush, watching its
movements. Presently he saw the stag advance near a hedge, and running
round, he crept up to it on the other side as stealthily as possible, not to
allow it to see him. He hoped that he might be able to kill it with one
blow of his club. Everything seemed to promise success. He had, unper-
ceived, succeeded in arriving within almost arm’s length of the stag, when
Fair-head suddenly sneezed; the animal caught the alarm, and bounded off

at a swift gallop across the plain.
66 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

It would be impossible to describe to ears polite the language Dark-skin
made use of to his brother head. Suffice it to say that he abused him in
every term he could think of. Fair-head retaliated, and the quarrel con-
tinued for some time, when they saw another stag at a considerable
distance.

The heads now resolved for the moment to cease their quarrel, and the
giant rushed after the prey, which was browsing quietly upon the green-
sward. As soon as Thunderstone had got within a few yards he slackened
his pace, when unfortunately Fair-head was seized with another attack of
sneezing, and as a reward was subjected to a second volley of abuse from
Dark-skin.

It would be useless to go over the different misfortunes of that day’s
~ hunting. Suffice it to say that Fair-head’s attacks of sneezing invariably
came on when the giant was near the game, the result being that nothing
was caught. Mrs. Thunderstone, when her husband returned home, easily
judged by the expression of his countenances that some ill-feeling existed
between the two heads, in which, conclusion she was further confirmed by his
bringing with him no game. However, like a prudent little woman, she -
made no remark, but set before him the dinner, which she had prepared
expressly to put him into good humour should he arrive at home out of temper.
For Dark-skin she had prepared a fat rump-steak hardly warmed through ;
and for Fair-head a basin of delicious gruel.

After dinner, Thunderstone seated himself by the fire, with the evident
intention of digesting his dinner, as well as of resting after the fatigues
and misfortunes of the morning. He was doomed, however, to be disap-
pointed. Fair-head still continued to sneeze, and that so violently and
incessantly, that no sooner did Dark-skin close his eyes than he was
immediately awakened again. In this state they remained squabbling
together till night came on; while Mrs. Thunderstone, the tear in her eye
‘said he didn’t see why he

GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. © 67°

at the unhappy frame of her husband’s mind, seated herself on a stool by the

~ other side of the fire, and silently continued her knitting.

At last it was time to go to bed, and Mrs. Thunderstone began to make
preparations for the night. -

“My dear,” she said to her husband, “let me advise you to put your feet
in warm water before you get into bed. It will draw the cold out of. your
head, and you will feel much
better for it to-morrow morn-
ing. .

Fair-head immediately re-
solved to follow her advice,
but Dark-skin objected, and

should put his feet in warm
water, as he’d got no cold, and
he wouldn’t do anything of the
kind. Fair-head insisted that

he would, and the result was a Mh

a:

iN ag

violent quarrel between the

two heads, and they continued



scolding each other for some A DOCTOR FOR FAIR-HEAD AND A DOCTOR FOR
time, while poor Mrs. Thunder- Pe tare

stone, whose usual tact seemed on the present occasion to have deserted her,
was unable to make peace between them. At last her woman’s ingenuity

came to her aid, and the affair was arranged. It was agreed that the left foot

—the one on Fair-head’s side—should be placed in hot water, while that of

Dark-skin should remain out. ‘
During the night a circumstance occurred which again roused the anger
of the two heads. Fair-head snored violently, so much so that it was nearly.
68 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

‘morning before Dark-skin closed his eyes; and he had hardly done so when
he was awakened by what he imagined to be a stranger talking in the room.
Rousing himself, Thunderstone leaped out of bed, and glared furiously around
him, but could see no one. 3

“What is the matter with you, my dear?” said Mrs. Thunderstone,
astonished at her husband’s behaviour.

Dark-skin replied that there was’a stranger in the room, and, whether
“alive or dead, he’d grind his bones to make his bread.” Mrs. Thunderstone
in vain looked round the room for the stranger, but seeing no one, she told
her husband he must be mistaken.

“Nonsense,” said Thunderstone; “I heard his voice as plainly as I hear
“yours.”

‘I don’t believe a word of it,” said a hoarse voice.

Dark-skin now looked fairly astonished, and somewhat sheepish, for the
“voice he had heard was no other than Fair-head talking in his oe ; on he
was now s0 hoarse that Dark-skin did not detect his voice.

Fair-head, now completely angry at being disturbed in his sleep, wickedly
‘said to Dark-skin, “ You are a cruel pitiless miscreant, and have no feeling
‘for those in misfortune. I hope that in your turn you will have some
terrible fit of illness, and then perhaps you'll learn to have some sympathy
for others.”

In a few days this wicked wish came true. No sooner did Fair-head
recover from his cold, than Dark-skin was seized with some mysterious -
ailment, which at first sight completely baffled Mrs.. Thunderstone’s medical
skill. In vain did she try all the nostrums she had ever heard of. None of
them seemed to do him any good; and during the first day and night he
appeared each hour to become worse>. His ‘appetite fell off, and he was
fractious and irritable. So she called in a doctor for Fair-head and a doctor

for Dark-skin, Fair-head’s patience was greatly tested in his turn, and it
GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 6g

must be admitted he showed no more pity than Dark-skin had done.

He would not listen to Mrs. Thunderstone’s suggestions that he ought to be

patient, since he had himself experienced how cruel it was for one head to be

indifferent to the misfortunes of the other. No, instead of profiting by her
excellent advice, Fair-head merely replied that he was in Dark-skin’s debt,

and he was now going to pay
him off.

Dark-skin’s malady increased,
and Mrs. Thunderstone became
terribly alarmed. After conjur-
ing up in her mind all the differ-
ent remedies she had heard of,
she at last determined, with the
spirit of a true wife, that Thun-
derstone had eaten something
which had disagreed with him.
She also knew that the first step
to be taken in every malady is
to remove, if possible, the excit-
ing cause; and in the present
case the best way in which it
could be effected would be to

administer an emetic. No



sooner, however, had she sug-

gested this remedy, than Fair-head flew into a violent passion. He could
not see, he said, why he should suffer because Dark-skin chose to be ill. She
ought to bear in mind that although each of them had a mouth of his own,
they had but one stomach between them; and why he should suffer from the
nausea of Dark-skin’s emetic, he couldn’t understand, and he wouldn’t allow
70 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

it under any pretence whatever. In vain did Mrs. Thunderstone implore
Fair-head to allow Dark-skin to take the emetic. Fair-head was inex-
orable, and would permit nothing of the kind, saying he had already put up
‘with inconvenience enough, and that to go partners in an emetic was
an infliction that no giant, having a proper respect for himself, could
submit to.

But terribly was Fair-head punished for his cruelty. The emetic was
not given, and the next day the small-pox in its most virulent form attacked
Dark-skin. Possibly this might have been prevented, had Mrs. Thunder-
stone’s medical directions been followed. Great indeed now became the
terror of Fair-head, lest his handsome features should be disfigured by the
disease; and this was rendered the more terrible, that he was fixed on the
same pair of shoulders with Dark-skin. The giant now earnestly implored
his wife to place between his two heads whatever appliances she could think
of, so that at least one of his faces might continue good-looking; and
strenuous and unceasing indeed were the amiable little woman’s exertions to
please him. Night and day did she sit up with him, endeavouring by every
means in her power to prevent the spread of the infection, till at last fatigue
seemed to have lost all power over her.

By degrees the malady spread over the body of the giant, though, thanks
to the care taken by his wife, there was no appearance of its passing from
one head to the other. So skilful were her precautions, that they deserve to
be recorded, as worthy to be followed should a case of the kind occur in any
of our large hospitals. She seated Thunderstone upright in his bed (for
Fair-head was now so terrified that he objected to nothing she proposed),
and placed a thin pillow covered with parchment between the heads,
feeding them herself, and giving to each the particular condiments their case
required.

All her precautions, however, were in vain. The malady had taken a


Shier



GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME. 71

firm hold of the giant’s constitution, and, spreading upwards, at last attacked
the handsome features of Fair-head as remorselessly as it had done those of
Dark-skin.

And here again the admirable beauties of Mrs. Thunderstone’s character
developed themselves to their fullest. Nothing daunted, she continued her

' ministrations with unflagging energy and kindness; and her sympathies

were so fully enlisted in her hus-
band’s welfare as to close her eyes
to the very unattractive appear-
ance he presented. If you have
ever, dear reader, seen a person
suffering under a violent attack
of small-pox, you must be fully
aware that, unless either in the
eye of science or of affection, the
patient usually presents a somewhat

repulsive appearance. But imagine,





if you can, what that appearance
must have been in the case of an
enormous giant with two heads,
and their faces in a state of
violent eruption. Yet had he

































been the most lovely man that ever existed, he could hee have appeared
more beautiful in Mrs. Thunderstone’s eyes than did her husband during
the time she nursed him through his terrible malady.

A misfortune of the kind such as we have narrated would appear to be a
sufficient infliction on any wife; but greater trouble was in store for Mrs.
Thunderstone, and at the time when she imagined herself on the point of
enjoying the reward of her anxiety, labour, and affection. Her husband was
72 GIANT THUNDERSTONE AT HOME.

slowly approaching to a state of convalescence, when that boastful little
sham hero Jack the Giant-killer made his appearance before the. castle.
He had heard of Thunderstone’s dangerous illness, and how he had not yet
fully recovered from its effects; and he meanly calculated that now was the
time to challenge him to mortal combat.

He did so; and Thunderstone, who was naturally of a chivalrous
disposition, accepted the challenge. "Snatching up his club (which he was
obliged to drag after him, being too weak to lift it), he quitted his castle,
and advanced to meet Jack,. but, alas! fell an easy prey to his boastful
adversary, while Mrs. Thunderstone, in a state of indescribable horror,
witnessed the combat from the castle window. Let us drop a veil over the
heart-rending scenes, and her sorrows. Those who wish to be better
acquainted ‘with the pseudo particulars of the battle as narrated by Jack
himself may easily do so by purchasing for a few half-pence the so-called
history of his life and adventures.

And now for the moral of our story—that is to say, if one can be drawn
from it. It may point out that a clever and amiable little woman can make
a home almost a paradise, even though she has a ferocious two-headed giant
for her husband. But this must certainly be learnt from it—that the
proverb, “Two heads are better than one,” is not always to be depended

upon.


TWO PLAYMATES.

Wuen I was a little girl, I was never tired of
reading a book, which has now become quite
old-fashioned, abeut “Our Village” in Berk-
shire. Kind, good Miss Mitford! How many
happy hours I spent with her and her grey-
hound; with the mole-catchers and little Harry
Grover ; with Lady Mary H——,, “a professed
tea-drinker” (and green tea too! ), and Hop-
ping Bob, Their very names are warm to my
‘heart. Never was picture so-full, so true, as
these stories of Three Mile Cross near Reading.
That was the name of Miss Mitford’s village.

It still stands, of course; farms and cottages, the forge and the inn, and



the hedge where Master Tom pulled the papers off Fanny’s fairings.

But dear Miss Mitford is not there. She is gone where pretty Lizzie
went before, and the old French Abbé, and God-mother, and the good old
Judge, her father. They are all gone together; but you, dear children,
can read about what they did in the world, if your mamma will ask
at her circulating library for the old brown volumes which I read some
thirty years ago. Or you can buy them in a bran new edition at the
bookseller’s. I have got them in keeping for my daughter Polly, that when
she learns to read, she may know what Old England was like before any
_ railway went to Reading.
a4. TWO PLAYMATES.

This village where I write is a French village, and so different to an
English one, that I could never make you understand it by mere description.
But I can tell you something about the people. The greatest house is called
the chateau, or the castle, but it is not in the least what we call a castle in
England. It has neither towers, nor a moat, nor a drawbridge, and it would
not stand a siege of half an hour, even if all the shutters were put up. It is
a large, handsome white house, about 200 years old, with a beautiful sloping
park, and an orangery where the orange-trees live in tubs, like Diogenes.
They are brought out every summer, and put like sentinels all along the
broad terrace just underneath the house on the park-side. There is also a
sort of winter garden, with walks and parterres and a little pond, all covered
over with glass; and a row of conservatories full, of splendid flowers. Our
windows look right over these, and we always know when frost is expected
in autumn by the lighting of the fires. This chateau is handsomer within
than I can tell you; such carpets and curtains and mirrors; and I am sure
if you saw the place you would think nothing sad or uncomfortable could
come near it. But all the upholstery in the world will not keep out sorrow,
and so you will think when I tell you what happened here only fourteen
months ago.

This chateau belongs to an old bachelor, one of the most learned men in
France. He has just finished a translation of Homer, all about the siege of
Troy. It sounds very odd in French rhyme; but everybody says it is ex-
tremely well done. This old gentleman sometimes gives great dinner-
parties to a number of other old gentlemen, and then he has a great show of
silver-plate; and it takes the cook all day cooking, and the Intendant all day
scolding, before things are in order. The Intendant is something like an
English butler, and manages everything in a great house.

So one day in August, 1868, M. le Comte de X. had sent owt fourteen
invitations to fourteen learned old gentlemen, who were coming, some from
TWO PLAYMATES. 75

/

Paris, which is an hour off by rail, and some from neighbouring chateaux,
and.early in the morning of this day the Intendant had a great deal to see
to, and his wife also, she being the housekeeper. Now he and his wife were
rather oldish. They had two grown-up daughters who were married long
since. One kept the lodge of the park, and the other lived in Paris; but
though the father and mother were very fond of them, there was some one
they loved still more—their one little son Paul, born so long after his sisters



that he was still only a boy of eight years old. He lived at the chateau with
his parents, and went to sthool in the village.

So in the morning his father gave him a slice of bread and jam, and sent
him out to play till lunch time. Paul set off, munching his ¢artine, and went
past the dairy farm buildings, which are very handsome, and built just like
Swiss chalets. The dairy-woman saw him go by, and called to him to come
and take a cup of new milk. She was very fond of little Paul; as indeed
76 TWO PLAYMATES.

were all the people about the place. Then Paul came to a great sheet of
grass, not exactly a lawn, nor yet a field, where a couple of men were mowing
the August after-crop,—they told him to get out of the way of their scythes
and he went on, always eating his bread and jam, till he came to where a
little boy of his own age, or a little older, was pulling up weeds. One of
the gardeners was there too; but apparently he did not think little Jean very
necessary, for he made no objection to the two little boys running off together;
because Paul said he wanted to play at horses.

Now Jean, I should tell you, was a year and a half older than Paul. He

was the son of a drunken cobbler in the village, whose family were all in
"dirt and rags, and very ill brought up. Usually none but very respectable
people were employed at the chateau, but Paul’s mother, who was a kind-
_ hearted woman, had taken pity on the wretched vagabond, and had got the
gardener to give him some work.

The hours went on that hot August morning; M. le Comte de X. sat in
his study, in a great wide dressing-gown, drinking chocolate out of a fine
china cup; the Intendant put out all the silver for the great dinner ; his
wife looked up her maids all over the house, and took the covers off the blue
satin chairs of the best drawing-room. The dairy-woman pottered among
her sweet-smelling pans; the two men finished their mowing and made little
cocks of hay on the shorn grass; the gardener tidied up his walk and carried
all his tools off in his browette, or wheelbarrow, and put them into a tool-house.
Just as he shut the door, the great breakfast bell rang in the courtyard for
the servants’ meal. It was eleven o’clock, and fifteen indoor and outdoor
servants came flocking together to eat eggs, and dowilli,and salad made of
cold vegetables chopped up with oil and vinegar, and to drink thin red wine
out of long black bottles. ,

“Where’s Paul?” said the Intendant’s wife, setting her capeline straight,

and hanging a great bunch of keys on a nail in her own sitting-room.
TWO PLAYMATES. 27

“T gave him a piece of bread and jam, and told him to go and play in
the park,” said the Intendant.



















A Ny ul
INCA:

WA Uy Sea.
Ml LUN y
LITTLE PAUL.

“Tt’s very odd the child does not come,” said the mother. Whereat the
father went to the garden front and called as loudly as he dared, being

\


78 TWO PLAYMATES.

afraid of disturbing his master. Five minutes passed, and no Paul made his
appearance, and as, like most little boys, he was generally hungry, everybody
wondered where he could be: The dairy-woman said she had given him a
cup of new milk at half-past eight, and the two mowers told of having sent
him away eating his bread and jam, and one of them said he thought he had
seen little Paul talking to Etienne the gardener..

Now Etienne was a married man, who lived in the village and went
home to all his meals; and as it was agreed by all present that Paul must
have gone home with. him, the stable-boy was sent round to fetch him; but
the stable-boy came back in ten minutes, and Etienne with him, who said —
that, so far from having taken Paul home, he had not been with him for any
time at all; but had run off with little Jean the cobbler’s son to play at
horses. At. this, Paul’s mother, looking uneasy, said the boys must have gone’
farther than they intended, down to the very bottom of the park ; and his
father, laying down his knife and fork, left the head of the table, and taking
his hat went round to the garden front. The park is not very large; it took
Paul’s father about twenty minutes to walk round it. The ground slopes
from the chateau into a deep wooded valley ; once upon a time the trees were ~
all planted in double semicircles, just as they were at the king’s palace at
Marly. But M. le Comte de X.’s father had had a great fancy for English
planting and gardening, and so. during the last fifty years many thick tufts
of shrubs and quick-growing trees had been interspersed among the stately
old rows of limes‘and chestnuts. Paul’s father, getting more and more
uneasy, shouted as he went along, “Paul! Jean! Jean! Paul!” But no
answer came. He went up to several of the thickets and struck at them with
his stick, thinking that the children might be purposely hiding. So he .
made the round till he came up again near the house, when he crossed the
lawn near the Long Pond. Now hard by the Long Pond (there were two
others in the grounds, all of them near the chdteau) was a great tuft of




























































































































8WISS CHALETS,
80 ; TWO. PLAYMATES.

pampas grass, its feathering spikes towering up above the leaves, and as he
came near it he thought he saw these feathery spikes trembling more
than they need; for the day was very calm and hot. Paul’s father, struck
with a sudden hope, hurried up and struck his stick vigorously into the tuft,
saying somewhat angrily, “Paul, come out this instant! you are frightening
your mother and behaving very badly. You shall not have any breakfast,
sir.’ As the stick went poking into the pampas grass, a little voice gave a
yell of dismay; and Paul’s father, plunging into the middle, pulled out, not
Paul, but Jean! A sickening fear.came over the poor man’s heart as he saw
the little boy’s frightened’ and scowling face—“ Oh-oh-h-h,” howled Jean,
twisting his ragged blouse in his dirty hands,

Paul’s father, impetuous like his nation, and terribly frightened by the
child’s expression, seized Jean and gave him a succession of shakes, saying,
“ Where’s Paul ? where’s Paul?”

Jean, blubbering and sulky, tried to say nothing ; but cowed by the repe-
tition of the shakes, he at last pointed to the Long Pond, and muttered
reluctantly, “There.”

“ There!” said Paul’s father, bursting into’ a torrent of unintelligible
words, and flinging his arms into the air. ‘He rushed to the pond, and. stood.
- for an instant looking at its unruffled depths; but he knew it was at
least six feet deep; and the- banks were steep, and he himself a short stout
man, far from young, and with neither rope nor pole at hand. So dragging
Jean with him, he ran panting and choking to the house, where for a moment
he stood with his hand on his heart unable to speak. At last he said the
word “pond,” and pointing to Etienne, who had remained in the servants’
hall, he fell in a heap on the floor. His wife sprang towards him, quite
bewildered, poor woman, with her double fright; all the men and maids left
their chairs and ran out calling for water, for ropes, for blankets; and M. le
Comte de X., astounded at the noise, came out of his study, holding his pink


ILWO PLAYMATES. 81

cup of chocolate in one hand, and pushing his wig over his left ear with the
other. But while all this was going on, Etienne, who had that excellent
quality which we call presence of mind, ran quickly out of the house to the
shed where he kept his tools, and got a long strong rake. When the other

















NEAR THE CHATEAU ~

servants, with M. le Comte de X. at their head, came flocking down to the

pond, calling out for a pole, or for some one who could dive, Etienne was

already up to his waist in the water, where it was shallowest, and feeling -

about carefully with his rake. It was not long befote he touched the body
G
82 TWO PLAYMATES.

of poor little Paul, and then Etienne plunged in under the water and brought
him up in hisarms. The string with which he had played at horses was
still twisted round his fingers, and dragged along the grass as he was carried
into the house and laid before the kitchen fire. When Jean was asked how
long Paul had been in the water, he said sulkily, “ about two hours;”’ which
reply made M. le Comte de X. so angry, that I am sorry to say he said a
great many things which he should not, though he had reason to be terribly
indignant at the boy’s wretched cowardice in not instantly coming to tell
what had happened. After this everybody said that there must have been a
quarrel between the two lads, and that J ean had probably given Paul an
ugly push. . It was very sad to think of how easily he might have been
restored, even after he had fallen in, for there were three people close by i in
the grounds, and if Jean had even called out loud, they must have heard
him.

So the matter remains somewhat of a mystery to this hour.

I am not going to make you miserable by describing the misery of those
poor people. They tried all they could, by rubbing and warming the poor
little boy before the fire; but nohody had any hope when they heard how
long he had been in the water. And when it was all in vain, they laid him
on. his little bed, and. his mother and sisters strewed flowers over him. Two
- days after—for burials-take place much sooner in France than in England,
and the time is fixed by law—Paul was carried in his coffin into the village
church ; and after the prayers the coffin was borne to the grave-yard on the
hill; the old curé walking in front and all the village following after. They
laid him in a little grave close under an ivy-covered wall, where a baby sister
had been buried long ago. Her mound was planted over with white peri-
winkles, and looked quite snowy.

When all the servants went sadly back to fhe chiiean; Paul’s father and
mother walking at theit head, and crying sadly, they found M. le Comte de






TWO PLAYMATES. 83

X. telling the Maire of the village that Jean’s father, the drunken cobbler,
must be turned out of his cottage and sent away. He was so apt to quarrel
and fight that it was not difficult to do this; and the Maire, a fat peasant
proprietor in a blouse (the village maires are generally like that in F rance),
was promising it should be done. But who do you think putinaword? It
was poor Paul’s mother; the kind woman, who said, ““M. le Comte, I had

‘rather nothing was done. My son loved little Jean; and if he is sent away

with that drunken father, he will only go from bad.to worse.”

So Jean stayed ; and for a long time to come he was always sulky. But
sometimes he looked at Paul’s mother as if he were going to speak. I can
hardly tell you whether the dreadful thing in which he was somehow mixed
up will; in the end, make him repentant and bea better boy. But I think

- so; and I am sure Paul’s mother deserves that he should.


MAY’S DREAM.

Lirtize May Whittingham was just recovering from ;
an illness. The doctor said she had got through it
wonderfully ; and he smiled and kissed her in the
sweetest possible manner when he came to see her
now that she was getting better. For a long while
she had only been allowed to sit up in bed; and










she used to feel as if her legs were running races,
in spite of her being kept lying there so still; and
when the old doctor
brought the little hand
looking-glass to let her see
how fast her cheeks were
getting round and plump
again, she could not help
thinking that they were
like the doctor’s own, for
he was fresh and bright-
looking, in spite of his
white hair; and although
_ May knew that the doctor °
had boys and girls of his own, and had long since laid his wife in the grave
beside the two children that died within a day or two of each other when the
fever was so bad, she thought to herself she would prefer a sweetheart like
MAP’S DREAM. 85

: him to one like little dark Joe Benson they had teased her so much about,
because he used always to give her the flowers he brought from home.







THE BROWN COW.

But May felt herself different in several ways from what she was before
she lay down in that long illness. She would lie awake through the long
hours of the night, and close her eyes so as to tempt her mamma into lying






86 MAP’S DREAM.

down on the couch beside: her, and then she would listen to the clock of St.
Asaph’s striking the hours, and think of the strange old stories she had heard
‘ before her illness came. ° What made her like so much to do this was that
everything came back to her different and much clearer, though often mixed
up with other things: what had happened to her long ago and been quite
forgotten would come back to her mind along with the fairies and the giants
and strange people she had begun to read about before she was taken ill.
She would sometimes fall asleep just as the lamp’s tiny light began to fade
before the dawn that came stealing coldly through the window, and touching -
the spire of St. Asaph’s, that glittered and seemed to glide nearer and nearer
to her as she looked. She would gaze at the bright spire till she fell into a
dream, and in the morning she would try and try to recollect it all, just as
she was wont to do with her lessons; and her mother would wonder to herself
what it could be that the child was thinking about, and would .be afraid to
ask in case it was anything disagreeable, and the telling of it make her still
more uncomfortable. And May, who had a tender conscience, was not sure
whether it was quite right of her to hide such things from her mother ; but
then, when she tried to think it all over, it was-so strange she was afraid she
could never tell it half; and her dreams lay on her conscience and did not let
her get better so quickly as she might have done. But the doctor had a
notion of his own, and said to May one day that the only thing for her now
was to get to the country. The only doctor who could do her the good she
needed livedthere and nowhére else. She must rise for an hour or two the
day after to get strong. So next day, when her mother had lifted her into
the arm-chair, so nicely lined with pillows that it looked exactly like a big .
nest in a tree, May was so overcome with joy that she cried, and when her
mamma had dried her tears and kissed her, she felt she must tell about her

dream. So she rather suddenly said— a

“Mamma dear, was I ever across the sea in a ship?”
MAY'S DREAM. .- 87

Whe
WA AWAY







“What makes you think of that, child?”’ said her mamma, rather taken
aback at the sudden question.


83 ; . MA¥’S DREAM.

“Because I had such a strange dream, and I feel sure, now I’m awake,
that it must be very like something that happened once—very long ago,
though I was just 4 baby at the time.”

“Eyerybody’s dreams are like that sometimes, dear; but you shouldn’t
think about it. The doctor says you are to get up every day now, you know,
and then you won’t have
“Oh, but I’m sure this is real, mamma, and isn’t like any other dream,

and it has come to me twice, and both times so much alike, you. wouldn't

’- believe!”

“Well, I hope it was a plousiat dream, May.”
is UEVes: it was pleasant,” said ‘May, with a slight pause over the word
‘pleasant ;”? “it would have been delightful, if it hadn’t been for the
brown cow.”

“The brown cow, May! I don’t understand you.”

“Well, mamma dear, come quite close to mé and sit down and listen, and
Tl tell you.”

May’s mamma was good and kind, and she could not refuse to grant the
sick child’s wish, so she sat down beside the arm-chair ; for though she would
much rather have kept May quiet, as you can easily fancy a mother desiring to
do at such a time, still she had a notion that perhaps the speaking might be
a relief to her, as she found her think-think-thinking so often now, and
didn’t know very well what to do with her. So May, by help of her mother’ 8
questions and remarks, managed to tell her dream.

Although she could not say how she got there, she susldanly- found herself
in a green field with a little stream of water running through it; and there
was just one big. brown cow in the field, and the cow pursued her whenever
she tried: to run, and stood stock still when she stood, and looked at her with
such strange black eyes, the breath all the while coming out of her wide
nostrils like smoke. At last May made a great effort to run, and the cow
MAVY’S DREAM. » | 8g

ran too, and suddenly she was nipped up into the arms of a strange man, who

ND.

ER FRUM SCOTLA

/

THE STEAM.


go ‘ MAY’S DREAM.

seemed as if there was nothing but sky all around her, and she was quite

alone. She could neither rise nor cry out; but no sooner had the tears

started to her eyes, than a man with a face very like Doctor Spurstowe’s, and

a big head, but oh such a little man, you can’t think, with a blue woollen

shirt on, came to her and told her he had something to let her see. Then he

went away and came back in a little time, leading the brown cow in a chain,

with a bright, three-cornered spot on her forehead, something like the gold.
top of the spire; and. the man made her touch the cow’s head, so soft and

sleek, with her hand, and that moment both man and cow were gone, and a

~ tall, pale-faced lady stood in their place, holding a litile child in her arms,

just able to walk, for there were shoes on the tiny feet. And the lady stooped

down, and after speaking very softly in May’s ear and kissing her, she made

May kiss the baby, and May saw now that it was very like herself ; and
suddenly she heard the swish and swirl of water, and felt that she was sailing
on the-sea ; and there came a great noise of feet, though she could see nobody
close to her. ‘ But looking round at last she caught the brown cow’s eye
staring at her from the opposite side; and the little man with the big head.
rose up as if he had sprung out of nothing, and took her hand in his, and the
cow rose up with the baby laughing on its back, and all at once.it went as if
with a great splash over the side, and at this little May awoke.

May’s mother, as you may suppose, didn’t know very well what to make
of such a dream as this. She only said—

« Ah, but when you get to the country, May, you won’t dream like that
- any more. Dreams come because you are so weak, you know.”

« But don’t you think the dream means something, mamma?”

“Well, dreams are sometimes very odd—I have had ‘strange things come
to me too,” said her ae “but dreams are mostly nonsense, so you
mustn’t think of it any more.’

But May couldn’t help thinking about it, though she tried all she could.


MAP’S. DREAM. gr

By-and-by her mamma, who had gone to look after things down-stairs, came
and sat down beside her again, and she began to tell May how in a week’s
time, if she only kept well, they were to go into the country—to the place
they had lived at long ago, though May would not mind of it. It was all,
green fields and thick woods there, and May would see so many things to
interest her, and have so much running about, that she would not be troubled
with dreams to make her think and brood afterwards.

Ina week May and her mother and a servant started for Devonshire. It
was a longish journey ; but May had a nice corner in the carriage, made up
with cushions for her; and she was so delighted with ‘what she saw out of
the window, as the train swept along, that she did not weary very much. It
avas nearly evening before they-got to the station, where there was a coach
waiting for them. May slept very soundly that night, and when she awoke
in the morning the sun was shining in upon her. She only remembered she
was in the country when she looked for the spire and couldn’t find it; and
when, instead of the ticking of the clock, she heard the cows lowing near by,
and the hens.cackling under her very window ; for she had been taken to a
farm-house, which once belonged to her father, and where she was born nearly _
_ seven years before. She had lived the first two years of her life there. When
her mamma in the next room heard May stirring, she was soon beside her,
and gave her some new milk to drink, quite warm from the cow. Then May
rose and got her clothes put on. She asked her mother when the doctor
would come, and her mother said that here they must go to'see the doctor
instead of his coming to see them; for this doctor wasn’t like town doctors,
and made it a rule to see his patients out of doors, if they were at all'able to
go. He was very strange in his ways, and did a great deal of his work in
secret when people were not thinking of him at all. :

- May was accordingly put into a perambulator, and the seetant wheeled
her through one field and then another. When at last they had crossed a _
92 MAY¥’S DREAM.

road and passed through a gate intoa field lying on the slope of a little gentle
valley, May grasped her mamma’s hand tight, and said excitedly—

“That is where I first saw the brown cow—yes, there,” pointing down
towards the water.

And then her mother all at once remembered how when May was a little
thing, just begun to walk, the nurse had a pet cow that she used often to take
May out to see, and it was so fond of nurse that it would follow her about in
the field. And one day, when Jessie was patting her favourite “ Brownie,”
the bull from the neighbouring farm had broken loose, and had got into this
field, and made a rush at nurse, who snatched May up in her arms and ran,
pursued by the bull, which would no doubt have seriously hurt them, had it
not been that a labourer, seeing the danger, got over the fence and took May
in his arms, and. with his goad drove back the bull, while Jessie, as she
confessed afterwards, stood trembling and crying, now that she saw the bull
driven back. The man had taken the child in his arms, as he felt this would:
be safest, because nurse in her fright might falland hurt her. Not very long
after this, May’s father and mother left the fatm and went down to Scotland
to see some of their friends before settling in London. They stayed there
nearly two months, and instead of returning by the railway they took a fancy
to sail in the steamer as the weather was delightful. ie

There were some cattle in the fore part of the vessel, at which May was so
very much afraid that she cried whenever she was taken upon deck ; but one
of the sailors, a very thick little man, spoke to her so kindly that she was
quieted at last, and laughed when nurse held her up to see the poor cattle, |
which must have felt so-strange on the sea. And when May’s mamma sat
' down beside her in the afternoon and told her all this May said— :

“T was sure the dream was real, mamma. Are all dreams real, like that
one ? and it must be real, you ‘know, though I confused the brown cow with -
the bull. I had forgot all about the fright in the field, of course.”
MAY’S DREAM. a

“Well, May, very often our most unpleasant dreams would be easily
explained if we only knew a little more; at any rate, now I think of
"it, I am convinced your dream is just a confused recollection of what
took place five years ago, and it is very distinct, too, when you come to
think of it.”
« And I would never have got to remember about the fright, if you and
nurse and me hadn’t come down here.”

“No, it isn’t very likely, child; but then you see when we are oppressed
pt Yip yy ieyplfity ,
by Yj, Wp
| cal i ey i Ci i Zz a
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MAY’S GOAT-CARRIAGE.

with sad and painful thoughts, whether they come to us at first in dreams or
not, we should always believe that if we only saw a little more, or got to
know some very little thing we Son’ know, we should, find that it was foolish
to trouble ourselves so much about them. Your nature was craving for the
fresh air, and the streams, and the green fields, and your imagination in’
sleep took you back to this place, the only country place you were in for any
length of time, notwithstanding that everything seemed so confused; and
now that you have come to the very field where ‘ Brownie’ used to roam
94. MAPF’S DREAM.

about, there is no fear, I think, of unpleasant dreams of that kind coming to
you any more

“No, mamma, I think not; but it was a strange dream: and -wasn’t it ©
very strange too for us to come down here just to find it all out?”

“Yes, May, and that is the way we always find things out; it looks as if
it were all by chance, but God knows better, who gradually leads us so as to
convince us that all is for our good, however strange and trying it may seem
to us.” cotge

“But we've forgot the doctor!” said May, with the gravest of
looks.

"Oh, no; , the doctor saw you, though you didn’t see him, child, and he
says you will soon be strong and big.”

“He must be a very sharp doctor,” said May; “but I must watch him
better next time: I was so taken up about the dream! Yes, I suppose, that
must have been it!”

And so May grew daily stronger, and she was before long able to roam
about the country at her own sweet will, and even to dispense with the goat-
carriage which her father had so kindly bought her.




THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.



Lavra Tibbie lived with her father on the wildest portion
| of those moors which, encircling the little town of
Leek, in Staffordshire, cross the border into Derby-
= shire. She was a very lonely little child, for her
tender mothér had been ‘dead a year, her dear old
maternal grandfather about two months; she had no
sister, and Ben, her brother, a lad of twelve, had run
away from home some weeks before on account of his father’s cruelty. Thus
she was very lonely, and for this reason unhappy—as lonely children must be ;
for they naturally love to have playfellows and companions, and to dance, to
sing, and run and climb, and be as free as birds singing on the summer’s
* boughs.

‘Little Tibbie’s father was by trade a potter, and a clever workman when °
he chose to work ; but this was only by fits and starts. When once he made
a. fresh beginning, he would labour heartily for several weeks. He would
mould—that is to say form—a large quantity of pots and pans, and bake them
in his oven; but alas! when ready, he would load eight or nine donkeys with
the ware, and leave his home for weeks—rarely returning till all the money
his goods had sold for was spent; for he was a drunken, wicked, godless man.

His name was William Adams, and that of his little girl Sarah Adams—
though called Tibbie, after an aunt, her mother’s sister, who died many years
before. Will Adams—for so he was called in his own neighbourhood— ~
might have been a very prosperous man, for the cottage and potwork, and
96 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

" fields around, had come to him through his wife, whose father—Tibbie’s dear
old grandfather—had been a noted potter in his time, and wrought, in this
moorland solitude, many beautiful works. As his strength declined, he had
hired Will Adams as his journeyman, and at no late date master and servant



‘AS FREE AS BIRDS ON THE SUMMER BOUGHS.’’

became relations. Won by Will’s handsome face, the potter’s daughter
married him—to soon rue her unhappy choice; for finding there was a little
money he took to idleness, to drink, to riding wildly about the moors. As
his vices grew, he frequented low company, and so on from bad to worse, till
death entered his dwelling, and mortgage lay ruinously upon the simple hold-
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. 97

4

ing Cottage and works fell into decay, and the fields around them were, from
neglect, scarcely to be distinguished from the heathery moor hard by.





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































. MOORLAND SOLITUDE.

Considering that Will Adams was often away on the tramp for months at
H


98 THE POTTER S DAUGHTER.

a time, a very little girl like Tibbie could not have lived alone in this wild
place. But she had a true friend in an old servant of her erandfather’s.
Molly Owen—for such was her name—lived in a poor cottage no great way
off, keeping house for two unmarried sons, who worked as labourers at a
distant farm. She was getting advanced in years, but still active and clever in
all household ways. She tended the poor child as well as her narrow means
allowed. Tibbie’s porringer was often filled with milk from Molly’s cow, her
hands with bread and butter from’ Molly’s cupboard, and many and manya
night she slept warm and protected in Molly’s bosom, whilst the vagabond
father was away, or, if at home, soddened with, or enraged by, drink.

The time was the fairest part of spring. For full six weeks Will Adams
had been at home, hard at work, and, for him, in a tolerable state of sobriety.
But, now having fired his wares, he made ready for a long journey ; a journey
which would take him to the borders of Scotland, and occupy the whole
summer. He had filled twenty-four panniers and looked up his train of
fdurteen donkeys the night before, and now, rising early on this sunny May
morning, he leant on the half door of his cottage and called “Tibbie.” The
little maid was sitting by Molly’s hearth eating her usual porringer of bread
and milk, but, warned by her father’s surly voice she rose and went to the door.

“Come,” he said, “don’t loiter. I told thee last night thou’d have to go
to the Red Lion for yell (ale). There’s six mugs o’er the packing, so thou
must take ’em wi’ thee to the missis, and bring back a gallon o’ the best yell,
the very best; they be worth three, but th’ missis be a y’owd skinflint.”’
Then bidding her be quick, he disappeared from the hatch.

Tibbie went back to Molly’s side, and began to cry. “It’s so far, Molly,
and the mugs be heavy, and I have to wade two brooks and the swamp
beside.” Z ;

“TI know it, love,” said Molly, wiping away with the corner, of her apron
the child’s bitter tears; “he ought to be ashamed of asking thee, and for yell
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. See

too, when thy shoes be so worn and thy frock so ragged. But go thou must,
so go cheerfully ; a spirit to bear evil manfully is the best. He'll soon be
gone, we shall be shut on him all the summer months, and thou wilt be as
happy asa bird. Come, love, make haste. Here’s your hat and tippet.”

Molly tied these on, and Tibbie, with a beating heart and timid steps,
crossed to her father’s houseplace. He was seated gloomily by the filthy
hearth, smoking his pipe, whilst some oat-
meal porridge thickened on the fire. The
pots Tibbie had to carry stood ready
threaded by their handles on a strap, as
also a gallon bottle for the ale. When he
had given her these, he bade her begone
in a voice of thunder, threatening her with
wicked oaths that if she loitered or spilt
the “yell” “‘he’d hide her, that he would,”
when she returned.

Crying bitterly, she struck into ‘the
wildest paths of the green wilderness, and
this as fleetly as she could, although the
pots were heavy. . But not alone she went.
For Clack, the collie dog, went bounding
after her. He leaped against her shoulder,
he licked her face, he bounded into the springing fern, and then after a
long run he came bounding back again. He loved her so, that his very



LADEN WITH THE WARE.

joy helped her to forget her sorrows. and to dry her tears. In due time
Clack’s joy sobered down; he licked her hand as she plucked the luxuriant
primroses that here and there decked the way, he raised his almost sentient
face as she stopped to listen to the raining song of some skylark poised
far above, and. he followed her soberly over brook and morass. But alas!
100 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

-the journey was in vain: The mistress of the Red Lion would neither
take the pots nor send the ale. “I ha’ pots enough,” she said, “to stock a
town. So go back where thee’st come from, and tell thy father, instead 0’
troubling folks i’ this way, to pay th’ score he owes. It’s fifteen shillings:
and twopence-halfpenny, and ha’ been owing this two year.” So thus driven
with contumely from the village alehouse, Tibbie could but retrace her
steps. |

By noon she was in sight of the potwork once more ; weary and faint, but
wearier in heart from terror. Her father was loading the asses, but, stopping

‘short as she approached him, held out his hand.

“Tye no ale, dad; the woman wouldn’t give it. She’d pots enough, she
said, and thou must pay the score thou owest.” ;
_ He lifted his hand as though to strike her, but, refraining, clutched her
shoulder and drew her in doors.
“ Tt’s thy fault,” he said, hoarse with passion.
- ©No, dad, no.”
“Jt is! and to punish thee thou shalt goagain. She'll take something,

and shall.”

Then looking round the poor denuded place, and casting a
glance into the miserable bedchamber, the door of which stood open, be.said,
as though to himself, “The blankets be well-nigh all gone, the old man’s
watch gone, and his clothes, and the dead missis’s clothes, every bit on ’em,
and she canna carry furnitur’.” ... . Then, after some doubtful shakings of
his head, and a few minutes’ pause, he bawled, “ Holla! I have it: there’s
them little tea-things thy grandfather made and painted. They’re in a box
thou canst carry,—she’ll take them, for she’s childer.”

“Oh no, dad, no! not Aunt Tibbie’s tea-things. Grandfather two days
cafore he died said, ‘Tibbie, keep thee the little tea-things. I made and
‘painted them years ago for a little daughter I loved as dearly as I love thee.
And, dad! dad! poor Mam loved them too. She gave Benny drink from the


















TIBBIE AT THE COTTAGE DOOR.


102 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

little robin red-breast cup when he was ill, sd ii I was ill I drank too,
‘and it made me well! Oh!: dad; dad! not the little tea-things, please.”

But he was too wicked to listen, too deaf to hear pitiful entreaty. He
flung his pretty little daughter from him with cruel haste, and striding to a
sort of hutch or cupboard beside the fireplace, searched and brought down
from an upper shelf a little oaken box, the lid of which was quaintly fastened
by a sort of hook. Placing it on the table, he opened it and looked within.
Then flashed such pretty colours on the eye,—such greens, and. lovely reds,
and blue, and yellow, that the little maiden, in her grief, redoubled her
entreaties. ,

“They shail go,” he replied; “I’m dying for yell, and. I'll have it, if I
sell thee!” .

Then beating down the lid, he snatched a coarse check handkerchief from
a line above his head, tied the box within it, put the bundle thus made into
her, hand, and pushed her towards the door. Once outside, he ran and fetched
a two-gallon bottle from a shed, and coming back thrust this also into her
other hand, and drove her still more-fiercely on the way she had gone once
before that morning. ee
' Gus thee,” he bawled; “go! and if thee don’t hasten thy shanks, it7ll

be the wus for thee. . Tell the missis she’s to take the things for her childer,

and fill the two-gallon bottle thou hast with thee. ‘As for the score, I’ll give
it her when I’ve sold this batch of ware. Now be sharp—I want yell, and
L'll have it, come what will.” ;

Then whistling the dog, which again sought to follow the child it loved
so well, the wicked ruffian turned back to the house. Here he was met by
Molly, who, alarmed by the child’s cries, had run out to rescue her if there
were need.

“Thou villain,” she Said, in a voice of such profound, indignation as to

have awed any other ear.but his; “thou hast slain thy missis, and four
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. 103

_ children, and thy missis’s parents, and thy lad has run from thee, and now
thou wilt kill this child, to whom a sweeter and kinder the Lord never gave
life.”’. 3

« Ay, and Tl add thee, and then the batch o’ thee will be finished.”
Saying this he banged to the door, and shut himself up within the place.

Terrified and bewildered the child ran on, till breathless and exhausted
her weary feet caught upon a stone, and she fell. For some time she lay too
spent to rise; and when she rose again, it was to sit and think and rest. She
would not sell the pretty things for drink! No! Her grandfather had
been a good old man, and
she would do as he had
bidden her—save them
and keep them all her
life! As her eyes fell
upon the great stone
bottle she had dragged
along, her childish indig-



TIBBIE’S TEA-THINGS.

nation grew, and she ae
flung it in a clump of furze hard by. Next she untied the handkerchief and _
looked into the box, fearing that in her fall the pretty things had taken harm.
But no! packed by her dead mother, in wool rough from the sheep’s back
they lay unharmed; the charming colours on them looking brighter in the
broad light of the noon.

And now she saw she had in her terror struck into a path she had never
trod before. Yet she knew it led towards Derbyshire, and to the sweet
mountain village in the churchyard of which her mother and grandparents
lay. And this brought back to her mind a moment’s thought as she sped
along. She would go to her grandfather’s grave. Molly had told her where
it was, and had often pointed in that direction across the moors.. Yes, she
104 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

would go to him; for though she had seen him lie stiff and cold, and deaf
and blind, and speechless in his coffin, yet she had alla child’s unconsciousness
of death,—nay, even more, for she had not been taught that when we die the
spirit leaves the body and goes to God. So, having ever had love and pity
from her dear old grand-dad, she went across the moor; half unconscious why
she went, half knowing that he could not hear ; yet going on, as though,
beside his grave, pity and peace were to be found.

' She was weary and footsore long before she reached the village, which lay
six miles away, and she might have never
reached it, but that the path striking down
from the moor into a road, a man in a cart.
overtook lier, and she asking the way, he
| lifted her in and kindly drove her thither.
| She did not tell him her errand, because
i she feared he would laugh at her. But
| when he had set her down and driven on,
she asked a boy playing in the village
j street. He pointed out the way, and she

[ff was soon within the churchyard.



fs It was the loveliest of mountain villages
THE LITILE OAKEN BOX. for it was set somewhat high up in a
valley. Through this ran a brawling river, which, eddying roughly over
broken stones, wound about the ivy-covered church and churchyard.
Tibbie climbed the stile, and made towards the solitary spot where she knew.
her grandparents and mother lay, for Molly ‘had too often described it for
mistake to be made. The sun-was sinking as she reached the nameless
hillocks, and its light lay golden over them.
She sat down beside them weary, worn, and hungry, so weary that her
head soon drooped, her eyelids closed, her cheek sank on that nearest, and so
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. 105

she deeply slept; the box half hidden by her threadbare tippet, her hand
tightly grasping the handkerchief which held it. The river gurgled on, the



























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































7 oe oe oe, n Es

yh a Ali

Te. AA it ee
Pe SB lane te:





















Aan

























































SSS
A POTTERY.

fe birds piped their last songs in the neighbouring trees, and the evening light,
as it sank and sank, still lingered lovingly upon the sleeping child.

Not a stone’s throw from where she slept, ran a low holly hedge, which

divided the parsonage garden from the churchyard. A terrace ran within,
106 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

and from this led a gate. A young girl and boy sauntering up and: down
saw little Tibbie, and wondering who she was and what she did, opened the:
- gate, came out, and towards her. They saw she was sleeping, and this so
deeply, that though they spoke, and spoke loudly, she did notstir. Running
back ‘into the garden, they made towards a gentleman who sat on a rustic |
chair quietly reading. They told him of the weary-looking sleeping child,
- and he, laying down his book, went back with them. His glance fell upon



EARTHENWARE OVENS.

her ragged dress, her almost soleless shoes, but! more in ity on the weary,
tear-stained face.
«This grave,” he said, in a low voice to his children—for the young girl
. and boy bore that relationship to him—“ is that of old Samuel Turner, who
was apotter on the moors. This next one is that of his daughter.”
The gentleman sat down upon the adjacent hillock, and spoke and spoke
again: but Tibbie still sleeping, he laid hishand gently on her face. At this
she partly awoke, and secing strangers, in fear began to cry.
“ Don’t cry,” spoke the gentleman; “I am the clergyman, and my name
is Egremont. What is yours?”
«Tibbie, sir; little -Tibbie,”’ sobbed the weary child.
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. 107

“Tibbie? I don’t understand. What is your father’s name ?”

“ Dad’s name is Will Adams, and grand-dad’s Sam Turner.”

“Oh! now Il know. And your poor old ee lies here! . Have
you come to see his grave?”

“Yes, and to tell him I am an unhappy little girl; that dad wants me to
sell the pretty tea-things for drink.
Oh! the little tea-thingsthat grand- |» aS
dad told me to keep!” Then, 3 fe
as her sorrow came freshly to her |
mind, she sobbed convulsively.

“But, my dear,” reasoned the (
good clergyman, “when we die our
spirit goes to God, and our bodies
moulder in the grave. We have
neither eye to see nor ear to listen.
- Has no one told you this ?”

“Oh, I don’t know; I only
want my dear grand-dad. I want
to tell him all my trouble.”

“ But, my dear, were you to

spend all your life here, the old : CNY

man, being dead, could not hear.

ieee e Ma ji) ua WA Wee
Tell me your sorrows; I may netp @



ASLEEP IN THE CHURCHYARD.
to cure them.”’ .

For some time he could only elicit broken words and convulsive sobs; but
his tender manner soothed her at; length, and so by degrees he grew to under-
stand her artless, touching tale of woe. é

« And the pretty tea-things are in this box, Tibbie ?”

«Yes, and I want to put them in a nice safe place, where dad couldn’t
get them.”
108 THE POTTER S DAUGHTER.

“ Well, Tibbie, if you will trust me, I think I can find a nice safe place
in my study, where 80 long as you like they can remain. But may we see
them?. My boy and girl—Lucy and Walter are their names—would be
pleased, I’m sure.”

“Yes, and you'll see the pretty colours grandfather put on the cups, and

‘teapot and all. And mam put them in wool, off our own sheep’s back.”’

So Mr. Egremont, opening the box, set out the fair contents on the hillock
which covered in the hands which had wrought them long years before.

' Very charming they were, though not clear so you could see through
them; for ware of that kind is called china or porcelain, and is very costly.
But these were plain Staffordshire ware of creamy hue. The cups and all
were rather larger than children’s toy services ordinarily are. Their form
was very pretty, and on each separate piece, birds and flowers, and insects
and moorland scenes, were richly painted, though in miniature.. On one cup
two robins perched ‘on a bough were seen, and their pretty pated. out breasts
were finely red.

“ This cup,” said Tibbie emphatically—for she had a sanetey earnest way
with her that was very winning—“ makes sick people well. When Benny
was ill, mammy pleased him by giving him tea in it, and she gave me tea in
it, and we both got well.”

“ Like all your sex, Tibbie, you hare much faith, ” smiled Mr. Egremont.
“ But come, we'll repack the things, and you shall have food and rest; you
need both.”

“You won’t let dad have them?”

“Certainly not. You shall see that I have a fine place for them.”

When the box was again in the handkerchief Lucy carried it carefully,
and Mr. Egremont, taking the weary child in his arms, went swiftly to the
house. Here, entering a fine book-clad room, he set Tibbie in a chair, while
he unlocked a richly-carved press. In a drawer of this he locked the box,
THE POTTER S DAUGHTER. 109

then locked the press itself, and put the keys in his pocket. Tibbie’s eyes
beamed with delight.

“Dad won’t get them there!” she said softly to herself.’

“No, Tibbie, I think we’ve found a snug place. But come, let me take
you to Mrs. Catherine, our head-servant; she shall give you food and put
you to bed.”

















































MR. EGREMONT’S CHURCH.

So saying, Mr. Egremont took the little maid tenderly in his arms to his
housekeeper’s room, and there, bidding that every care should be shown her,
left her with Lucy and this faithful servant. ;

Mrs. Catherine gave poor Tibbie a nice tea and supper, and then put her
to bed, where soon she fell into the deepest sleep. They then looked up
some more decent clothes for the poor child, and spent the evening in altering
them, as well as time would permit, to her size.
110 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

' Next morning, after breakfast, Mr. Egremont ‘walked to the house of one of
the parish overseers, and telling him of Tibbie, questioned him as to her father.
“He is one of the most lawless vagabonds on the moors,” replied the
overseer. ‘ He is as godless as he is drunken. It is said his wife’s death
came of his violence; and the child may perish if she go back to him.”

“She shall not. A plan for her future has occurred to me, though,
except in a preliminary way, I do not like to act fully upon it till Mrs.
Egremont’s return. She will be home from visiting her father at Winchester,
in the course of a week or two. Meanwhile, I should like the child’s friend,
_ old Molly Owen, to be assured of her safety, as but for her she must have
wanted food, and perhaps shelter.”

“Tt will not do to go direct to the potwork, for if the wicked fellow be in
search of the child, any person going from this village might give him a clue
to her whereabouts. But I know the farm where Molly Owen’s Sons work,
and it we could get some discreet messenger to go there, Molly would hear,
if indirectly, this very evening of the child’s safety.”

The overseer soon thought of a poor woman who would be glad to earn a
trifle by a walk across the moors; so he went to her at once, and she was
‘ soon cu the way.

There were two very superior Government schools in the village ; one for
boys, another for girls. They were placed at a distance from each other, that
for girls standing ina pretty croft and garden beside the river. The mistress

, was Miss Clare, a gentlewoman by birth and education ; but who, preferring
the independence of a home of her own and the quietude of a simple country
life, had qualified herself for a National schoolmistress, and had thus become
one, rather than be dependent in the house of a wealthy, nay, even a titled
person. Besides being an admirable mistress of all common. .knowledge, she
could play music, and draw, and paint, and read books in several languages, -
and thus she amused her evening hours.

Mr. and Mrs. Egremont had a great respect for this lady; so, on i way
THE POTTER S DAUGHTER. “rr

back to the parsonage, the former called at the school-house, and spoke to
Miss Clare about Tibbie. He proposed that the child should not only enter
the school, but board with her. . At first the latter declined to take so young
and, perhaps, rude a child; but perceiving Mr. Egremont’s disappointment,
she consented to try Tibbie for a few
days; so that very evening Lucy and
Mrs. Catherine led the little maid to
her new home. At first she was very
shy and timid, but the company of
children of her own age soon lessened.
these ; and by the time Mrs. Egremont
returned fromthe south and confirmed
Mr. Egremont’s desire in the matter,
Miss Clare had taken quite a liking to
Tibbie, and Tibbie to her. The child
had a sweet temper, and a winning,
gracious manner, that attracted all to-
wards her. She was, moreover, a very
intelligent little child, and also useful
in domestic matters; for, though so
young, Molly had taught her to light a
fire, sweep the hearth, set tea-things,



A CURIOUS. JUG.

and peel’potatoes. «
The few days for which Tibbie had gone to the school-house waned silently
into others, and these again into more ; still Tibbie stayed on. She won Miss
‘Clare completely, so that soon Tibbie loved her. tender mistress dearly, and
the mistress the little maid.

But long ere Tibbie felt thus at home, old Molly had come from the moors

‘to see her, bringing with her some poor, patched garments for the child, a
pot full of wild raspberry jam, and a plum cake. Molly was greatly comforted
AE THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

to find the child in so sweet and safe a home, and assuring her she would
come and see her every now and then, she bade her be content, dutiful to her
kind mistress, and attentive to her book. Before leaving, Molly told Tibbie
that her cruel father had searched for her everywhere ; and had not departed
on his journey till he had vowed to punish her on. his return, and have the
tea-things, let them be where they might. “But you need not care, child,”
she added ; “he’s gone a mighty long journey, so that it will be nigh winter
before he’s home.” ar

Thus in the most sweet and happy manner the months of summer and
autumn passed by. Tibbie became so great a favourite at the parsonage as to
be permitted to spend an occasional day there with Miss Lucy, and one
evening each week she took tea with the housekeeper; and, if there were no
company, she went into the drawing-room for an hoar, to look at pretty books
and prints, of which she was very fond. Nothing delighted Tibbie so much
as beautiful colours; and it gave Mrs. Egremont great pleasure to show her
coloured pictures, in which varying hues were tastefully blended. Mr.
Egremont called Tibbie “the little potter,” and Tibbie liked the title very
well, because of her dear old grandfather and the pretty tea-things so safe in
Mr. Egremont’s study. ;

October had come, the leaves were falling, and the afternoons grown
short. On one of these, Tibbie, bearing a little parcel of needlework for Mrs.
Egremont, set off to take tea with Mrs. Catherine at the parsonage. Her
way lay for some little distance through a solitary lane, with wide patches of
common on either side, and these covered more or less with great clumps of
furze. As she passed the largest of these, a man, who had been long waiting
there, jumped out and seized her with cruel roughness. It was the wicked
man, her father. é

“So, Pve got thee at last, have I!” he said. ‘“ Won’t I punish thee,
eh? Come! to make a beginning, where’s them tea-things? I want some
yell (ale), and I’ll have them, come what may.”
THE POTTER’S DAUGHTER. 113,

“T haven’t got them, father.”

“You have! If you don’t say where, I’ll slay you. I’m come home
mighty poor; all my apney's gone,. and all the asses but one. Molly’s
raging at me, but I don’t care.’

Tibbie determined not to tell, come what siti so her father kept beating
her, and thrusting her on before him. By-and-by he came toa house, in the
window of which shone a strong fire-light, and here, seeing the child’s clothes
were very good, he stripped off an outer coat she wore, then her hat, and last
her shoes. He then carried her some way to where the high bleak edge of
the moorland began, and where several
roads diverged. Here, when he had again |
beaten her cruelly, he bade her hasten
home and light a fire. He then turned
down a lane, where, as Tibbie rightly
guessed, stood an alehouse. As soon as she
was free, she almost fled along the path ; !
but the night being dark, and the way |’
almost unknown to her, it was hours before /
she reached the potwork, which she might
not have reached at all ‘but for the gleam-



ing fire-light in Molly’s cottage. By this



time her feet were cut and bruised, and
her hair and remaining clothes thoroughly IN MR. EGREMONT'S STUDY.
soaked by the mists: of that wild region. Her cries brought Molly to the
door, whose horror was extreme when she saw the poor child’s forlorn and
stripped condition.

“Merciful me,” she said, “the man must ha’ gone clean out 0’ his wits.
wi’ wickedness.” _

“But, Molly, he’s coming home to beat me worse, and to kill me outright,,
if a big fire don’t roar up the chimney.”

I
114, THE POTTER’S DAUGHTER.

“ Thou shalt light no fire; there be no food for fire—not a scrap 0’ coal
or wood, to say nought.o’ turf, which can be got for digging. No! he’s
come home worser than ever, for he’s sold the asses all but one. But come
thee to th’ fire; a bit of a stir, and it’ll be all a-flame.”

In Staffordshire and Shropshire, and‘all other English eoantis where
coal abounds, the principal fire in house or cottage is rarely let out, but what
is called “smothered in” at bed-time. Thus, though it was past midnight,
and Molly and her sons long a-bed, she soon had a cheerful fire whereby to
warm and soothe the weeping, exhausted child. This accomplished, she put
Tibbie in bed and lay down beside her.

The night waned into morning without sign of the vagabond father,
although Clack, who was tied up in a shed, howled dismally. Consulting her
sons before they set off to work, they advised her to take Tibbie home to the
school as soon as possible. So Molly, directly they had departed, roused the
child, and dressing her in such old clothes and shoes as she could find about
the cottage, sat down with her to breakfast.

“T’m going to lock up the place, my dear,” she said, “and putting thee
on the ass’s back, go off with thee at once to Mr. Egremont. Thee won’t be
safe here; my lads say, so.”

“Tl like to go,” replied Tibbie; “Miss Clare is always so kind to me.
I don’t like dad, and he’ll be wanting the little tea-things. But, Molly,
what’s that?” ;

“Its only Clack whining, my dear. I suppose he hears thy voice, for
he’s uncommon sagacious. But he’s been shamefully treated, beaten and
starved; so that thouw’lt hardly know him. When he came home with thy
father two nights ago, I thought it was the ghost of the cretur, not the cretur
his-self. ;
“Please untie him, Molly, and let him come to me. ‘He shall go to
Mr. Egremont’s.”
_THE POTTER’S DAUGHTER. 11s

“You mustn’t be trespassing, my dear, on the gentlefolks.”





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TIBBIE AT THE VICARAGE.

“He shall go home with me then; Miss Clare loves dogs, and there’ll be
room for him to sleep in the wood-house. But please let him come.”
116 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

Although she knew if Will Adams returned and found the dog loose his
rage would be furious, Molly so pitied the poor brute and loved the child, as
to obey at once. She had much ado to unfasten the thick rope about his
neck; but once unfastened Clack bounded towards the cottage, and entering
the house-place almost upset the little round table on which breakfast was
spread, and at which Tibbie sat. Oh, her joy ! And asfor Clack, he whined
and jumped up and down, and licked Tibbie’s face, and did all a poor dog
could to show his deep affection; and Tibbie in turn hugged him, and told
him he should “go home” with her ; a point he seemed to comprehend.

When Molly had dressed herself and the little girl, and put her on the
ass, and locked up the house, they took their way towards the distant village,
Clack trotting steadily beside them. In the hope of escaping Will Adams,
should he be on his way: home, Molly had made a somewhat wide circuit, so
it was past noon as they wound down from the grey moorlands towards more
~ level country. Reaching the high road a horseman came in sight, and, as he
passed, Molly dropped a-curtsey ; for it was Mr. Fenton, the Union doctor,
and he had been very kind to her.

The gentleman reined in his horse and inquired after her health.

“Thank you, sir, we’ve had a nice summer, and my rheumatics is always
less then—and a quiet summer—for you see Will Adams——”

“Ah! Will Adams! Whose child is this?”

“His, sir. He was drunk last night, caught her, beat her, and sent her
home, and I’m now taking her back. . Her life ain’t safe,”

“Tt will be sonow. Bid the asstravel on. I have something to tell you.”

When Tibbie was out of hearing, Mr. Fenton told Molly that Will Adams
had been found that morning by two labourers going to work at an early
hour, bleeding and insensible at the foot of some rocks on the moor. Incapable
from drink, he had taken a wrong direction homewards, and trying to climb

- arocky ledge had fallen backwards. The men placed him on a hurdle, and
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. ‘17

carried him to the Union-house, which fortunately lay not more than a mile
away.

“T have been with him since eight o’clock,” continued the doctor; “but
human skill can avail little. Nearly all his ribs are broken,
his spine is injured, and the back of his head frightfully |
battered. He will never rise from his bed again, though








he may last yet a time, for he is not old, though dissi-
pated. If you see Mr. Egremont, tell him of the
matter, and: break it to the child tenderly. p
Though a worthless fellow, he is still her father.”

“Tenderly, sir!” exclaimed Molly, her in-
dignation overmastering all other
feelings; “why, the
- very drink that has
led to his punishment
he got by: stripping
her of her hat, shoes,
and jacket. Pity, sir; only let us hone
he will repent.”

“Let us hope so, Molly. But I
must say good-day. I have mani patients to
see, and am behind time.”

The surgeon rode onwards, and Molly, following the
donkey, told Tibbie, in some part, what Mr. Fenton’ had
said; and she heard. that her father had had a fall, and
that he now lay at the Union-house ill. But Tibbie could not say she was
sorry, for her dread of him was so great. Indeed, she was rather glad he
would not be able to follow her, or take Clack away.

‘When they reached the school-house, they found Miss Clare in great
118 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

distress concerning her. Those evenings she went to the parsonage, the
gardener or groom brought her home; and when the usual hour for return
passed, the governess concluded the little girl had been invited to stay all
night. Next morning, as soon as the childrén arrived, she sent one of them
with a message to the parsonage, but no Tibbie had been there the previous
evening. Greatly concerned, Mr. Egremont went at once to the school-house,
and it being feared that she had fallen into the hands of her father, messengers
were sent to the moorland potwork and elsewhere to make inquiries. These
messengers had taken the direct road, and so had missed Molly and the child.

Miss Clare was made happy by Tibbie’s presence, and readily promised to
give Clack a home. When Molly had rested and taken food, she retraced
her steps, calling on the way to tell Mr. and Mrs. Egremont that the child
was safe, and the accident which had befallen her worthless father. Mr.
Egremont promised to visit him on the following day.

The good clergyman kept his word. Thrice a week he visited the
miserable man. He read to him, talked to him, prayed with him, but to little
purpose, for his heart was hard and his ignorance intense. Sullen and stolid,
he never opened his lips in thanks: though life was fading before him, he
never once asked after his child, much less that she should visit him.

So winter passed by, and Will Adams grew weaker and weaker. Spring
was beginning to show itself, for there were snowdrops and crocuses, even
violets, in the rectory garden. In the hope of softening him Mr. Egremont
had often spoken of Tibbie to the father, though without result. But now —
one day he begged she might come and seehim. Mrs. Egremont deputed the
housekeeper to take the child, and carry with her some nice jelly, oranges
and other things for the sick man. Tibbie of her own accord gathered a pretty
posy of spring flowers as her small offering: But it was soon evident that
she was quite unprepared for the dreadful change’ which met her eye,—a

deathlike shrunken man, his head bandaged up and supported by many
THE POTTER’S DAUGHTER. 119

pillows, his hand fevered, his breath short, and his voice scarcely audible! He
seemed pleased to see his child; drew her towards him, kissed her tenderly,
very tenderly for him. At this, the first show of kindness she ever had from
him, her whole soul was touched. She thought of mother, grandfather,
brother Benny, Molly, Clack, the old potwork, the pretty tea-things—all
these rose up before her! Badas = ,~—————--———

he was, he was the link between
the present and the past, and
cleaving frantically to him, she
sobbed, ‘Dad, dad, thou must
get well!”

But he was never to be well
on earth, and as her tears and cries
distressed him, they had to lead
her away. |

And the effect lasted, for the
gay little child became sorrowful,
silent, and ill. They removed her
to the parsonage, but her un-
natural silence continued.

One morning whilst Mr.





Egremont sat in his study wri- a
ting, there came a little tap on = MOLLY BRINGING TIBBIE BACK.
the door. He knew the tap, for Tibbie was a favourite and privileged, and
went and came about the house as she willed.

Permitted by his kindly “Come in,” she opened the door, shut it, and
advanced towards the table.

“Well, Tibbie ?”
"420 THE POITER’S DA UGHTER.

“Tf you please, gentleman,”—for so she always called Mr. Egremont,—
~ and then, as though abashed, she stayed.

“What, dear P”

“T should like to make father well.”

“None but God can do that, Tibbie; none but God.”

“But mother made Benny well, and me well. And if I gave him tea in |
the little robin red-breast cup, he would get well too.”

“Nay, dear, the matter is very different! Your father is sick unto death,
whilst you and Benny were only ill with little childish ailments. Your
mother, as mothers do, sought to amuse you, and so gave you drink from what
pleased your childish eye and fancy. But the matter of your father is too
solemn for childish trifling.”

“ But, if it made us well, it would make father well.”

“Tibbie, you’re a little girl of unreasoning faith. You are very like ue
little maiden in the pretty poem I read you, ‘ We are Seven.’”

“TJ would like to make father well. I should like to see him.”

“He wishes to see you. He says he cannot die in peace till he has asked
‘you to forgive him. The words were on his lips when you were with him, but
‘you stayed him by your tears.”

“But I won’t cry. And if I may I will give him eink in the little
cup, and drink myself; then he will know my heart is not angry with
him.” he

Mr. Egremont was silent. She would not be convinced; and yet her
unconviction touched the soul.

“Tf you please, gentleman, let me see father; let me have the little robin-
teacup and the little teapot.”

“T will, Tibbie; your faith would make you whole.”

“Thank you, gentleman.” Then, conscious she had said enough, she
dropped her curtsey and went.
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. 121

SSSss
S=

Ss ~ SS = S

LS SSS = = =

WES SS SSS LSS =
SSS ES '



AT THE SCHOOL OF DESIGN.

“Tn that child’s heart are truth and poetry,” thought Mr. Egremont,

“and neither shall be gainsaid.”
i22 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

That very noon, Mr. Fenton called at the rectory to say Will Adams was
rapidly sinking, and wished to see his child.

So, as the day advanced, the housekeeper prepared to take Tibbie to the
Union-house.. Leading her to his study, Mr. Egremont unlocked the press,
took out the box, and selecting the cup and teapot, gave them in silence to
the child. With these she repaired to the housekeeper, who, filling the little

teapot with made and sweetened tea, packed it and the cup and saucer care-
fully in a basket. Then they went, and to spare fatigue and time were driven
to the Union-house.

‘When they reached the infirmary ward, the sick man had recently fainted,
so they did not approach the bed till he was more recovered. Sitting down
by the fire, the housekeeper put the pretty little teapot on the hob to
warm.

They had told him Tibbie was coming, and presently he asked for ner.
Promising the housekeeper not to cry, she went towards the bed. The dews
of death were already on the sick man’s face, and with difficulty he stretched

forth his arms and drew his child into their embrace.

“Wilt thou forgive me, Tibbie ? I was bad to thee, and thou must pardon
me.” :

“Father, I will try to love thee, and I’ll never think more about the little
tea-things. ‘To mend thee I’ve brought the robin redbreast cup and little
teapot. Let me go; Mrs. Catherine will pour some tea out—we’ll drink

. together.”

She kissed him as she spoke, loosened his grasp, took the robin-cup, which
the housekeeper had filled, and brought to the bed.

She held it to her own lips and drank; she held: it towards his lips, and
they touched it and the liquid within. But no more; for even as she put her
one hand tenderly upon his neck and leant her face to his, his head bent for-
ward, and he closed his eyes for ever.
THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER. 123

And this was the sacrament between them! It was that of forgiveness
and peace !

* * ‘ * *

Will Adams was buried in his wife’s grave, and, like a true gentleman -
and a Christian as he was, Mr- Egremont did the best he could for the settle-
ment of his affairs, so as to benefit his children. ‘The potwork, cottage, and
adjacent land sold for considerably more than was expected, so that when the
mortgage and attendant expenses were paid, there yet remained more than a



A ROMAN POTTER’S KILN.

hundred pounds. This was: carefully invested in the name of Tibbie and her
brother. Mr. Egremont also sought out the wandering lad, and ultimately -
he was found in’ Liverpool, destitute and homeless, though occasionally
earning a few pence by helping at the docks. Though so destitute, he was
honest ;.so that at Mr. Egremont’s intercession he was taken as errand-boy by
a wealthy firm of tea-brokers, one of the partners of which had married the
clergyman’s sister. Ben Adams turned out a steady, industrious lad; and
124 THE POTTER'S DAUGHTER.

‘favoured by his masters, is now their head clerk at a good salary. Molly left
the moors and settled in the village. One son works at a farm hard by, and |
has better wages; whilst the other, emigrating to California, has done well,
and has already sent his mother a little sum of money.

Tibbie lives with Miss Clare, as a- dear daughter with a loving mother.
~ She assists in the school, though that is not her true occupation. She loves
art, and studies drawing and painting ; going twice a week by railway to the
School of Design at Stoke-upon-Trent, where she is a private pupil on account
of her industry and talent. She will go and study at South Kensington by
and by; and Mr. Egremont as well as her brother say—for Ben loves Tibbie
dearly—that if she choose she shall visit Italy and Germany for the sake of
perfecting herself in the art she loves so well. ;

Thus out of sorrow joy is born; out of evil cometh good. ‘Tibbie is now
old enough to see this; and though her unreasoning faith in the robin red-
breast cup has passed away with other childish things, she loves the pretty
painted toys, both for what they were and what they are. They still rest
safely in Mr. Egremont’s study, thcugh sometimes looked at by visitors and
friends, for they have a little history, as we have seen, and are still known as
“ Tibbie’s Tea-things.” :

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































LITTLE PARTRIDGES.

AMMA! MAMMA! mayn’t I have the little new partridges
brought on ‘the lawn to feed? lLeverton’s got fourteen
under a hen just hatched,” cried Arthur, rushing into the
room, shaking his heels and tossing his mane of thick
hair, after the fashion of a pony colt, followed by his

sister, who ran after him everywhere like a little dog.



Jenny was two years younger than he was, and when one
is only six that is a large share out of one’s life, and she
respected him accordingly for his age and experience.

“The keeper says the coop and the speckledy hen could come quite
nicely up here, and then we. could feed them ourselves. Such beauties!
quite round ! ” |
LITTLE PARTRIDGES.

127

The partridges and their foster-mother were accordingly transferred to a
sunny, shady corner of the lawn, where the great oak cast long shadows in
the hottest part of the day upon the green mossy turf, and a little yard
was fenced in by planks for their park, to. keep out mischief of all kinds.

“I wonder whether the mamma partridge was very sorry to lose her

children ?” said Jenny meditatively, as she stood by watching the beautiful
little dainty brown morsels: which raced in and out.





A SUNNY, SHADY CORNER OF THE LAWN.

“No, she wasn’t,”- replied Arthur decisively, “’cause I'll tell you.
Leverton was out looking after the mowers in the Midhurst Close—he says
there are almost always nests in that field—and all of a sudden one of the
men cried out loud; he had cut off the partridgée’s head with his scythe;
she sat so close in the long grass he hadn’t seen her, and she wouldn’t leave
128 LITTLE PARTRIDGES.

her nest. They're brave birds, Leverton says, and ’Il stand almost anything
(in reason, you know) sooner than forsake.. And so then he brought the
egos home, and put ’em under a hen, and they were hatched this morning.
She only sate four days. He's always got a hen or two sitting ready at the
lodge, he says, for when they may be wanted.”

But although the partridges looked very pretty in their new home, they
did not seem to thrive. ‘They were fed by the children with the most
orthodox viands, chopped egg and’ barley-meal. I even detected Arthur
with about a spoonful of ants’ eggs at the bottom of a great basket, which he
had been to the wood to fetch. But this was caviare to the nestlings, who
were too young to appreciate its worth. In spite, however, of all this care,
they rather ‘dwindled in size than grew. They looked scared, and tumbled
- over each other into the ‘shelter of. the coop at the smallest noise, without
growing any tamer.

On the third day one of them was missing.

“T can’t think what ails the little things,” said Arthur dolefully.. “Why
shouldn’t they do here as well as at the lodge’? nothing can get at them in
the coop all night, and all day there are people about to. look after them,
and. they’re safe so near the house.” And he walked round and round like
an armadillo, but there was no faulty place to be detected anywhere in the
planks.

The next day another bird was gone, and two more the morning after.

«‘Leverton’s been up to see all about, and can’t find out any reason. He
thought it might be a rat, but he’s taken up the coop, and there isn’t a hole
- anywhere.”

“We must send them back to the keeper’s,” said his father ; “it’s a pity
to lose them all in this way.”

“Oh no, papa—a little longer. Mayn’t we try a little longer whether
we can’t find out what itis? We’re putting bushes for them to run into.”
LITTLE PARTRIDGES. 129

As he spoke the yellow stable cat sauntered carelessly and demurely
across the lawn, with a sort of melancholy gentility in her air.








Ta
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Ts oR LG as
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“Pussy! pussy!” cried Jenny, running after her, and taking her up in
her arms, a familiarity she submitted to rather than encouraged.
K
130 oy LITTLE PARTRIDGES.

“You wretch!” said Arthur, shaking his fist at her; “ you’ve had some
hand in it, I’Il be bound.” :

.“QOh no,” answered Jenny for her; ‘there isn’t any bit of a place where
such a big puss can getin. Could you, dear! if you wanted ever so?”

This was quite true, and puss walked off that day with a verdict of “not
guilty,” or at least “not proven.”

But quite early next morning, before we came down, there was an outcry
on the lawn. ,

“T saw her, Master Arthur, shouted the gardener; “J caught her at it
but now, I did,. just after dawn. She puts her paw in between the bars of
the coop, so clever, just like a hand, and drags out the little birds and eats
’em. She’s a hypocrite, that’s what she is, walking up so innocent before ye
all, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and then swallowing of ’em
down like a pill behind our backs.”

We took-good heed after this against the beast of prey, and the whole
establishment—pen, coop, and all—was covered over with a great net, peck
baffled even puss.

Only eight of the nestlings grew up to partridge estate, when they
were at length turned out into the fields to follow their own devices.

“And then papa ‘Il find them, I hope, and shoot ’em in the turnip
fields, when he’s out after Septémber comes, I wish I was old enough
to go too,” said Arthur, looking solemnly after the birds as they raced
away among the long grass and fern.

“Qh no, I hope they’ll get away,” answered Jenny eagerly and breath-
lessly, with a deep sigh, ‘it would be such a pity.”

_ “Why, you silly,” replied that piece of common-sense, her brother,
opening his great eyes, “ don’t you know that’s what they’ve been brought
up and born for? ” ;

“Are you quite sure of that, Arty ?”’ asked somebody.




































































































































































































































































































































































































RETURNING FROM PARTRIDGE SHOOTING.

uf

j
i

of

Tea





SHOCIALAVdA ZT LITT

1¢1
ON SHIP-BOARD.

CRUISING with the Mediterranean
‘Fleet, before the Russian War, was very
like yachting: the Admiral’s wife often

accompanied him to sea in his flag-

ship, where she had her drawing
room, her suite. of private apartments
and better accommodation than many
houses. in Mayfair. The Admiral
had generally officers from other ships



to dine with him,so whatever newsthere
was circulated at his table.. In calm weather, leave was sometimes given for
the officers of different ships to visit each other.. Life had no particular
object : we were all in the placid enjoyment of full pay: the Mediterranean
command was regarded as an easy and. honourable berth for some elderly
gentleman who had. well served his party, and was therefore supposed to
have: well served his country.. There was a tacit understanding that the
Admiralty would not interfere with the: Commander-in-chief if he would not
bother them for ships and:men and stores.

And so these great wooden castles floated lazily about on the blue waters
of the Mediterranean, anchoring for a week or two at Athens, Smyrna,
Gibraltar, or any “place of interest. If foul or light winds prolonged our
cruise, and the hay for the Admiral’s cow began to run short, then it became
necessary that. England should be informed what had become of her Medi-
ON SHIP-BOARD. , 133

terranean Fleet: the signal is made to a steamer to get up steam to take

dispatches to the nearest port;

and a general signal announces that an

opportunity offers of sending letters to England: the Admiral’s steward, and
probably a steward from every ship, goes on board, and as she steams away

we envy them their trip.
The next morning we
watch for the smoke of
the returning steamer,
and welcome’ the
stewards, who are laden
with milk, butter, fresh
meat and vegetables, and
a newspaper or two.

A storm at sea has
probably been oftener
described than a calm,
but in the days of sailing-
ships a calm was some-
times quite as vexatious ;
utterly unmanageable,
the ponderous old Iine-
of-battle ships got into
the trough of the sea, and
shipping water in at the








i=

EERSYUCKEs





CC Teel ee ;

IN THE CAPTAIN’S DRAWING-ROOM.

main-deck ports, seemed as if they would roll bottom up: the sails that were

set in the vain attempt to steady the ship, flapped and banged themselves to

pieces against the rigging, and every block and every rope chattered :, the

guns had to be secured as for a gale of wind. Sometimes two ships would
drift so dangerously close to each other that the boats of the Fleet had to be
a oe ON SHIP-BOARD. '

sent to tow them apart: and any little catspaw of wind to give the abies
steerage way was most welcome.

In 1852 the Fleet consisted of five line-of-battle ships, and used to cruise
with two or three frigates, and perhaps the same number of paddle-wheel
steamers: but the latter were often under sail with their wheels disconnected,
so we numbered about ten ships for any evolutions or naval tactics. There
was generally a certain amount of drill daily, regulated by signal from the
flag-ship. A day with a light steady breeze would be devoted to firing at a



A QUO
/

OFFICERS FROM OTHER SHIPS.

target: the ships spread all over the horizon that each may have a clear area
for practising. The targets are made of a cask with a flag-staff driven into
the bung-hole: every ship sails round and round her own, blazing, away
broadside after broadside, shot, shell, shrapnel, grape, and canister, tearing
up the foaming sea around. When the ship is firing at long range and
rolling about, the cask has a very fair chance. I have known it bob up and
down unhurt in the seething water all day, mockingly nodding its little red
flag, but when brought on board in the evening it was pretty sure to show
ON SHIP-BOARD, . 135

traces of its late peril. Firing at a mark with pistols or rifles may be
practised at any time: the target is usually a bottle (empty) hung by a long
piece of spun yarn from the foreyard-arm, and he is a proud man who
succeeds in smashing it.

_ On fine evenings we anxiously watched the flag-ship, hoping for the
signal to bathe: when this was made the Fleet came to the wind together,

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE SIGNAL STATION AT GIBRALTAR.

. and hove-to; as soon as each ship had shortened sail with main-yard squared,
a boat was lowered to attend the bathers, and the boatswain’s mates piped
“hands to bathe.” In a few moments there would be hundreds of men in —
the water, swimming, rolling, and splashing like a school of porpoises: one
is seen diving head first from the fore-yard, another from the chains, while
the cautious or timid slide down a rope’s end or Jacob’s ladder. Now we ;
hear a general shout of laughter as a hapless wight, intending to take a
as

136 ON SHIP-BOARD.

header and cleave the water like an arrow, comes down with a loud clap like
a soup-plate. When the signal is again made, the bugles sound, the men





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































NEAR GIBRALTAR.

come scrambling inboard, the ‘attendant boats are hoisted up, the yards are
trimmed, sail is made, and the Fleet proceeds on its way.
ON SHIP-BOARD. 137

These were the good old days; I was always told then that “ the service
had gone to the dogs since pepper and mustard were served out.’”’ I often
hear now that the service has gone to the dogs since something or another









































































A STEAMER TO TAKE DISPATCHES. TO THE NEAREST PORT.

has happened: but my informant always takes care to fix some date that
shall not include himself. It was my good fortune to enter the service just
before pepper and mustard became part of the daily rations; so, you see, I
138 ON SHIP-BOARD.

really am a salt of the olden time. The good old days had their charms
certainly, and there is some truth in.the lament:

‘«* When sailors fed on mouldy bread

And lumps of rusty pork,

No Frenchman dared his nose to show ©
Between the Downs and Cork :

But now that Jack gets beef and greens,
And next his skin wears flannel,

We’ve not an ironclad to show
In plight to keep the Channel.”

One afternoon, when we were sailing in line of battle, with a steady
breeze, the signal was hoisted for the Fleet to heave to; we anxiously
watched the flag-ship to see the cause of the stoppage, when to my astonish-
ment I saw my own name flying at her mast-heads; the Admiral had
recollected a request I made a short time before to be transferred to another
ship, and this was the signal that my request was granted. I had forgotten
all about it, and thought that the Admiral had so too, and was not in the
least prepared. Of course, it became now a point of honour for my captain
to show how smart he could be in obeying the signal: you may suppose he
was not particularly well pleased at my wishing to go, and did not think
what my feelings were likely to be: indeed, I never heard that a midshipman
was allowed to have feelings. I rushed down to pack my things up; there
was my proverbial midshipman’s-chest, “ everything uppermost, and nothing .
at hand;” my messmates did what they could to help me, jumping on the
lid when it hopelessly gaped; a cutter was lowered and manned; in ten
minutes my chest was hoisted out, and with all my worldly goods I was
pulling towards my new home. From every ship telescopes were levelled at
me to discover what belonged to this name which had been advertised as the
reason of delay to the whole Fleet: for the moment I knew and felt what it
was to have greatness thrust on me; but in a few minutes my chest was
ON SHIP-BOARD. Sag













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































vt
}

ae NV
SS

MAKING COFFEE IN THE NIGHT WATCH.


140 . ON SHIP-BOARD.

again swinging in the air, myself and my traps were passed on board my
new ship, and in half an hour the Fleet had made sail again. Of course I
left a great many things behind ; some I did not get back for weeks, others I
am still in search of; some chocolate and.a silver fork I at once abandoned
all hope of. ‘

It was dreary enough to find myself suddenly dropped into a new world
among perfect strangers ; I was at once put into a watch, and found my duty
would begin that night, from midnight till 4 am. At twelve o’clock I came
on deck; my watchmates were friendly enough, and at once proposed that
we should make some coffee. ‘With the senior midshipman of the watch I
went down to the gunroom. “ Now,” said he, “you bring the spoons and the

coffee, and I’ll bring the cups and saucers.” I thought it very considerate
of him to offer to carry the fragile china; and so it afterwards proved. _ We
made our coffee successfully, and at four o’clock went to bed again. The
next morning at seven I was washing in the cockpit in scant apparel, when
the senior mate of the mess came forward with adog-whip. “Which of you
youngsters was it took silver spoons out of the mess last night?” I inno-
cently confessed that I had: he then slowly and carefully explained to me
that it was contrary to the rules of the mess, and that I must not forget it;
he emphasized his remarks and pointed his observations with repeated cuts of
his dog-whip, and so, you see, I have not forgotten it unto this day.

Making coffee in the night-watches was one of the principal employment

‘of the youngsters. Sometimes we had “ conjurors” to make it in; but as a
conjuror only made a little at a time, and as the spirits of wine for the lamp
was expensive, we oftener lighted a,small fire in a corner of the galley-ranges

and made it in a saucepan. The cook did not always approve of having -his ;
saucepans dirtied: one night, when I went as usual to make coffee, I found
-he had locked up everything except a frying-pan. I went to the mate of the
watch, and told him: his memorable answer was, “ Youngster, if you don’t
ON SHIP-BOARD. ae

make some coffee, you'll be licked.” With a heavy heart and a shallow fry-

|
|
ANN IT



PONDEROUS OLD LINE-OF-BATILE SHIPS.

ing-pan I set about my task, and at last succeeded in producing a smoked in-
142 ' ON SHIP-BOARD.

fusion of coffee-grounds. I brought it on deck to the midshipmen of the
watch, who were surreptitiously smoking their cigars between the boom-boats:
they desired me to keep it hot till they had finished their smoke. In vain I
pleaded that coffee would not retain its caloric in a coverless frying-pan. “If
it gets cold you'll be licked,” was the answer. I will not linger over the
harrowing details ; it did get cold, and those prophets words were literally
fulfilled.

These are some of -my recollections. of life in that Mediterranean Fleet,
whose like we ne’er shall see again, and whose softly pensive career was
rudely broken in upon by the Russian War.












LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

IT was a hot sultry evening in August, when Philip
stood by the open window of his bedroom, leaning
out, and thinking before he went to bed. The house
that Philip lived in was in one of the large quiet
squares of London. It was not far from a noisy road,
but the square seemed always still, and its trees and
quiet were very pleasant after the noise and bustle of
the great city. Philip’s room was at the top of the
house, and looked over a small yard at the back,
a= where stood two aspen poplar trees, whose leaves were



- always chattering to one another about what they
~ heard and saw in the great world outside, for their
topmost branches peeped over some stables, and could also stare into
many of the neighbouring house-windows. I do not know exactly why these
trees grew there: it was certainly not for their beauty’s sake, because they
- were only green a fortnight in the year, and the rest of the time, out of
compliment to the houses round about, put’ on their neighbours’ dingy
uniform. Perhaps they stood there to keep the sun off Philip’s mamma’s
drawing-room curtain ; or there is another reason which I have just thought
of, perhaps they grew up so that they might be a Kew Gardens or a Bushey
Park for the little black sparrows that hopped about there. Poor little
things! they sorely needed a change from the red chimney-pots and sooty
house-roofs ; and on a hot night like this they must have found the coot
branches very refreshing, though the leaves were such noisy gossips.
144 LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

Philip stood moodily at the window, with his elbows on the sill, and his
eyes looking far away over the tree-tops. Instead of going to bed this night
happily and full of fun, as he usually did, the poor boy was heavy and sad,
for he felt, for the first time in his life, lonely. Perhaps, when I tell you
the cause of this feeling of loneliness, you will think that he was very foolish,
and that he ought not to have given way to it. You will be quite right in
so thinking; but then we all are foolish and give way sometimes, and so you
must not be too hard upon our friend’ Philip.

Philip was one brother amongst many sisters—they therefore thought
him the noblest and bravest brother that had ever been; and Philip really
was a brave and noble boy, for though he may not have had all the good
virtues that his sisters gave to him, he certainly had some which his sisters
knew nothing about. For the last three months the family had been
anxiously expecting the coming home ofa sailor uncle. The children had
not seen him since they were very small, the youngest having been even a
baby ; and so perhaps you can imagine how much they were all thinking
about the tales that they expected Uncle Kit would tell them. They were
looking forward to them with too ‘great a pleasure, for it would have been
impossible, unless he had had as many voyages as Sindbad the Sailor, or seen
and done as many marvellous things as Sindbad the Sailor saw and did, for
him at all to have satisfied their dreams of his adventures. Thus, when he

,did come home, the children drew away from him, and spoke in a disappointed
tone, for, instead of the talkative, brigand-looking uncle they had expected,
they saw a tall, thin man, with a square serious face, and eyes so deep in his
head that they were not quite sure, at first, if he had eyes at all ; and even
when Little Bessie did find them, by their twinkling, it struck her that they
were a great deal too small for them ever to have seen much. They were
disappointed, too, at his dress not being at all strange, for he had not even
gilt buttons, but might, as Philip said, “by the look of his hands and coat,
LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS. 145

.
have done nothing but walk down Regent Street all his life.” However,

after atime, the children got used to their disappointment, and then























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































gradually got used to their uncle. He began to tell them tales, too, about
. people and places he had seen ; not such wonderful tales as they had longed
L
146 LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

8
for, but still very amusing ones. But he seemed to like best to have one little
girl on his knee, and the others standing round him, and then to hear about
their work and their music, and about what they did all the day-time. He
did not take so much notice of Philip, and Philip heard him say that he
feared. “the boy would be quite spoilt by being brought up with so many
girls.” This rather hurt Philip’s feelings, for he had always thought himself
a very manly boy; and though he did speak gently to his sisters, and kindly
mend their dolls and their workboxes,he knew himself that he would much
rather have a game of cricket with other boys than be a dolls’ doctor or girls’
carpenter. His uncle, too, had once or twice called him lazy, and had said
that before he was Philip’s age he had been half round the world, and that
he never had more than three hours’ sleep at atime. It struck Philip as
rather hard that he should be reproached because he had not run away from
school (as his uncle had done), but had kept steadily at his lessons instead ;
while as for sleeping so much, why, he never wanted to go to bed when he
was told, and only went because he did not like to worry his mother to let
him stay up later. When he was in bed, to be sure, he might wake up every
three hours; but, if he did, he did not see what good it would do: so Philip,
and J think justly, fancied his uncle was not quite fair with him.

' This evening, as it had been very hot all day, and the cooler air now was
so refreshing, the children had been allowed to stay up later, and they were
gathered round their mamma and uncle, telling ‘their good and bad deeds of
the day before they went to bed. Ruth confessed to have been very cross
over her music particularly, when she had to play the scale of G with six flats. -
Fanny remembered having cried, though she could not exactly recollect why;
and then Uncle Kit turned to Philip, “And what, sir, have you done to-day?”

“T don’t remember to have done anything in particular,” answered
Philip, his uncle’s abrupt question putting all his deeds, both good and bad,
out of his head.
LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS. 947

“IT would much rather hear,” said Unele Kit, “that you had been in
mischief than that you had done nothing in particular.”





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































LITTLE BESSIE.

“Yesterday I broke mamma’s best glass dish, and spilt all the custard,”
returned Philip.
“ Glorious achievement! ” said Uncle Kit drily, while mamma could not
L2
148 LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

help smiling, and the little girls laughed loudly. Philip looked fierce; and
then his sisters, who really loved him very much, were sorry that he should |
be so vexed, and tried to be grave again, whilst Ruth, his pet sister, pushed
up to him and squeezed her little hand through his shut fingers.

There was a silence for a few minutes; then Uncle Kit, breaking the
stillness, said, “I will tell you a tale.” And the tale which he told,. Philip
was still thinking about, as he leant moodily on the window sill. It was a
: very short one, and, as Uncle
Kit said, wa8 not- to be be-
lieved for a moment. He
said too, looking at Philip,
he only told it to them for
the sake of the moral.

It was about a_ boy
named David, who had been
shipwrecked, and who had
been the only one saved
from a crew of thirty hands.
It had been a fearful night
for this boy David, for the

storm had come on in the



DAVID’S FATHER.

darkness, and increased so quickly, and with so much fury, that the captain
and men soon saw that a miracle alone could save their little craft. The boats
were not seaworthy, or the crew were too frightened to use them, and David
saw the men, as a great fear came upon them, jump overboard, and thus seek
themselves the very death they were dreading. He himself was too fright-
ened at the white foam and the angry growling of the waves to follow them,
but he knelt quite still, grasping the mast, while his limbs felt as if they -
were bound with iron chains, so impossible it seemed for him to rise, or to let
LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS. 149

go his hold. Hours passed—hours so long and dreary; but at last day
broke, and gradually, as it grew lighter, the sea became calmer. David
raised himself, looked about, and then shut his eyes with a shudder; for he,



DAVID’S HOME.

the weakest of the crew, was alone,—alone, on that black-looking sea. Alone
in a black-looking world he might have thought ; for as he looked round,
_ the clouds on every side seemed joined to the sea, and the small storm-
150 LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

stripped wreck he was on appeared the centre of a dismal globe. Then
Uncle Kit told them how miserably David passed several days in his prison,
the ship, and that one morning he discovered in the 8.W. horizon a green
line, which he at once recognised as land. "Whether the wreck had drifted
to it, or it had arisen in the night, David never knew, but it was there on
the third morning after the storm. Then David with great joy soon found
a plank, and strapping himself to it, managed to paddle to the green line,
and found it to be covered with moss and weeds, while great trees grew on the
edge, and dipped their branches into the water. David, with the help of
' the strong weeds and the trees, managed to land, and then he felt very
thankful for what he found there. Instead of the wild desert he had
expected, there was a beautiful city before him, with houses grander
than he had seen even in London. It seemed to him that he had
climbed up the least inhabited part of the island, for he could see a
great number of people moving about among the handsome streets more
inland; while near him, though there were some of the largest buildings, he
could see noone. He noticed, too, that these large buildings, though grandly
built, looked very desolate and uncomfortable, and as if no care had been
taken with them. He was going to walk on farther, when a sight startled
him so much that he felt almost inclined to.jump back into the sea once
more. On the grass outside one of the biggest houses was stretched a man
—a giant, perhaps, I ought to say—a giant so long that David thought that.
there was no end to him. This giant lay quite still, as if asleep, and David
wondered if he could get away without being noticed. No, the movement
in the grass disturbed him; he raised his head, and ina sleepy voice called
out to the sailor-boy. David—for he was really brave—went up to him,
and the giant asked him where he came from, and who he was. These.
* questions answered, David grew pluckier, put questions too, and at last, in a
hesitating tone, asked, “How long are you?” The giant answered him—
LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS. bee



















































































































A STORM-STRIPPED WRECK. °

I forget the exact length, but it was very long; and he told him, too, many
152 LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

strange things about the island. That the people on it did not die of years,
but of deeds, and that to die was looked upon as their one great wish, ‘“ for
the life on this island,” said the giant, “we only count as an apprentice-
ship, as an entrance to the life afterwards to come.’ The giant then, with
a great effort, changed his position: and then he told David that some men
lived a long life before they were twenty, whilst others, like himself, were





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE STRANGE LAND.

mere babies, though really hundreds of years old. Then he said that the
hardest part was that, as time went on, without deeds, the men grew taller
and taller. ‘ You will find those that are active small and lithe, and with -
glossy black hair, while each day that I lie here I grow longer and longer,
and my hatr, instead of turning white, as I have heard that it does from old
age in some countries, turns redder and redder.” And the poor giant sighed,












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ea r
eNOS TOTES BY



aioe



“© TOUSES GRANDER THAN Tih IAD SEEN EVEN IN LONDON.”’
154 LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

deeply, while David asked why he didnot get up and work, for perhaps he
might then either die or grow shorter. The giant answered that that was
another hard part. of the life on this island, for the longer a man kept idle
the more difficult it was for him to work, and that now it had become almost
impossible for him even to rise. The people here, he told: David, were
beginning to think him a public nuisance, and were discussing what they
could do with him, for they knew as well as he did how impossible it was
for him to exert himself now, and they were wondering how much more
room he would take if he went on ‘growing during generation after genera-
tion. “This talk,” he said, ‘may dome good. It is a good deed, for I
meant to warn you off the island, and I need not have spoken at all, but let
you go further inland, and eat our fruit, and sleep in our enchanted air,
. and then you too would have had to work or grow. Do you think, boy, that
my length is less than when you first saw me?”

David did not know what to answer, for though lie despised the giant,
he could not help pitying him, and he did not like to tell him that he could
see no difference; so he said nothing, but turned away, and began weeding
a large bed of beautiful flowers that grew near. The giant sighed deeply
again, and in a, more sleepy manner still beckoned David nearer to him:
“Fly, boy, fly this place.” Then his eyes closed, and once more every: inch
of the big giant was sleeping.

Then Uncle Kit told how David, after thinking a little with himself, did
leave the island; not that he was lazy, and feared to grow—though after he
had got on board the wreck again he did.stretch out his arms to see if his
coat-sleeves were shorter—but because the island puzzled him, and his
father was-a Scotchman, and cautious, and Davidfelt sure that he should be . .
more comfortable on his lonely wreck than on an island where there was
even a chance of his hair turning red. The rest of Uncle Kit’s tale was soon
told, though of course David had some more strange adventures before he
LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS. 155

found himself again amongst his own friends. It was the first part of the tale

















Hi

So

Nu



PHILIP ON THE STAIRS.

that Philip was thinking about this hot August night. His uncle had said
that he told the tale for the sake of the moral, and Philip knew that he
156 _ LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS.

meant the moral particularly for him, and Philip was wondering if his uncle
was right.

I dare say that you have often heard people talk about the hum of the
world; but-have you ever listened to it? Put your head out of your window
some evening, when all close to you is still, and then in the distance, if you
live in or near a great city, you will hear a sound, as if all the people in it
were speaking to you at-once in a whisper. Philip heard this whisper, a
whisper of three millions of people, =—for, you know, he lived in London,—
and it almost seemed to him as a voice inviting him to come too, and with
ever so slight a movement of his lips to add to the murmur.

Then this fancy changed into thoughts, and he thought what a grand
thing it would be if he could put into his school-satchel (he was now playing
with its lock) a change of clothes, a few pet books, his toy schooner, if the
mast would shut in, his writing-case, and a few other odd things, and then
if he were to leave home, and soon after write a letter back to them at home,
and be able to tell them that he had saved a life, or helped to win a battle,
or perhaps been one of the first to discover a new land! Then his thoughts
became actions, and Philip did put into his satchel a few clothes. The
mast of the schooner would stick out beyond the top of the bag, so the
schooner had to be left, and a small tool-box went instead. Then there was
another moment of listening at the window, and Philip opened his door, and
began to move slowly down-stairs. ‘The stairs would creak so, that he was
obliged to stop and take his boots off. He did not like doing this at all, for
it made him feel as if he were sneaking, and anything like sneaking went
very much against his conscience. However, he had made up his mind to go;
so noiselessly and slowly he at last reached the bottom of the stairs, and was
at the parlour-door. Just then he heard a jingle of glasses, and knew that
it was Mary bringing up the supper-tray ; so with a bound he was half-way
up the flight again, and then he sat down on the stairs as. near as he could
LONGING FOR GREAT DEEDS. 157

to the bottom without being seen. He saw the girl bustling in and out to
lay the supper, he heard the clatter of the knives and forks, and waiting
impatiently, he rested his head against the balustrade, determining to stay
there until the parlour door was shut again. But he could not help noticing
how cheerful the small supper-party was, and he heard his father’s voice
speaking,—“Ah, my boy, Philip! my boy, Philip.’ Those three words
were equal to the humming whisper of the world, the moral of the tale of
the enchanted island, the expected glory of the letter home. Those three
words made Philip’s eyes smart, and made Philip run up-stairs, not creep
this time, to unpack his satchel and hurry into bed.

Do not think, though, my little friends, that this was the end of
Philip’s sad feelings, or the end of his longings for great deeds. No, but
from that evening he understood better the last word of that beautiful verse :

‘‘Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate,
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour, and to wait.”’
He learnt, also, in after years to labour, and believe me he lived a long
life in deeds as well asin years; and, believe me too, that as he grew older,

his hair turned white, not red.


THE SHRIMP GIRL.

THERE are not many of us who are not fond of
shrimps, are there? Well, not so very long ago,
when London was hardly half as big a city as it
now is, shrimps were carried about by girls in
big flat baskets on their heads. There are not
many shrimp girls in London now, for we send
now for these little red fellows to the neighbour-
ing fishmonger. The shrimp girl who is smiling
so sweetly to you out of this picture has many



customers, for a ready laugh and a happy face are

“ pors 40 MEND.”? always welcome. She walked about the London
streets from early morning until the waning light warned her that her day’s
work was nearly done, and we hope that by then her basket was quite empty.

The “shrimp girl,” too, was only one of a number of similar itinerant
pedlars who contributed their share to making up the characteristic noises
of the streets of London a century ago, the hum and buzz of the bees and
drones of this mighty hive.

There were all sorts of cries in those days. One cried “ribs of beef”’
and “‘many a pie; ” then another came calling “hot.sheep’s feet,” and “ hot
peascod,” and yet another “ strawberries ripe and cherries in the rise.”
Then there were those who sold “pepper and saffron,” and “spectacles to read,”
just as you may see to this day at a country fair; “rushes green” for the
floor, “ fair lemons and oranges,” and “ four for sixpence, mackerel.”

Yet just as “what lack ye?” is now rarely heard at the shop-doors, and
THE SHRIMP GIRL. 159

only the butcher calls “buy, buy,” so the cries of the shrimp girl, of “ fair



THE SHRIMP GIRL.

oranges,” and of “cherry ripe,” seldom ring through the streets. ' The cry

of the milkman, however, and the merry rattle of his pails, will never cease
160 THE SHRIMP GIRL.

to be heard. “Mio,” or “mi-eu” is still'a universal and “well-understood
call in most towns, and although little of the original sound of “ milk, maids
below,” is left, it has very cheerful meaning for most of us. But the
shrimp girl belongs to quite other times, when Finsbury had its pleasant
groves, and Holborn was surrounded by green pastures, gay with the clover
and the buttercup. ‘‘Old chairs to mend,” or “pots to mend,” still
salutes us in the more retired suburbs, and a merry crowd of newsboys and
hawkers of penny toys makes the City a perfect bedlam at times. The art of
extorting money, moreover, by hideous noises is not altogether unknown
to “German bands” to-day ; but no longer do—
“Successive oieraba seasons’ change declare,

And mark the monthly progress of the year.

Hark! how the streets with treble voices ring,

To sell the bounteous. product of the spring.”
The tuneful sounds are gone, and the flower-girls who now offer their posies
to passers-by are very silent damsels—almost as silent as those woe-stricken
beggars who will follow you for miles in some valleys of Switzerland.

é



A COSITARDMONGER,.






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































UMN

AUT
















AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

In the year 1852, when things were at their busiest in the American Gold
States, I formed one of the chief Government surveying-party engaged in
laying out ground from San Francisco bay to the mountains of the coast
range. During that time there were various opportunities of seeing Cali-
fornian life in a way unknown to most who have described the country ; and
we enjoyed a great variety of field-sport and wood-craft all along. Even
round the bay, and throughout the level land of the Contra Costa, or over
the settled bottoms about San José, game of every sort fairly swarmed
during the spring season while we were occupied thereabouts. And a better
test could not well have been had of it than our survey-chain, going ahead
over everything, through scrub, chapparal, wild-corn or mustard-brake.
Each of us had a six-shooter in his belt, and it may easily be conceived that
when quail, crested partridge, or white cranes were started, or perhaps a
black-tailed doe hiding to save her fawn, or a couple of huge donkey-hares,
ora puzzled young antelope, the sport at times tended to drop our duty to
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 163

Government out of view. Whatever our success in the field,—which could
not be much with such tools, not to speak of the two sharp surveyors at our



A VACQUEROE.

head,—a pretty good time could generally be had about camp at leisure

hours trapping, tracking, or fishing. The creeks from the bay abounded in

trout, mullet, and the finest salmon in the world, while moreover it might so
mM 2
164 AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

happen that you hooked an alligator-terrapin or a snapping-turtle, the play
of which would have been a caution to a stay-at-home Britisher. arly of
a morning the great wapiti-elks might have been seen by the water-edge,
come down to feed and drink, with their legs and antlers showing like a
newly-sprung grove through the fog: then there was the tree-game, from
sloths to racoons, going under the general name of ’possum; .the ground-
venison, such as porcupines, armadilloes, and land-turtle; without men-
tioning the coyotés, burrowing-squirrels, and no end of skunks and gophers.
Out of the whole of them we managed not only to enliven our spare time
during the greater part of the summer, but to freshen up the camp fare not
a little.

Ultimately, however, our quarters were shifted much farther inland, to
rougher ground beyond San Mateo, under the spurs of the hills; and what
with the advance of the season, together with the change of locality to drier
soil, almost everything in the way of free live-stock seemed to have gone,
save where too shy to be got at.. Plenty of Spanish cattle there were, to be
sure, wild enough in all conscience to be looked upon as fair game, and bold
enough too ; but these we could not meddle with. The only other creatures
likely to be seen, worth speaking of, were an occasional grey hill-wolf loping
along and the bears, both brown and black, which left sufficient signs of
their vicinity, though much too shrewd to come athwart a party of Uncle
Sam’s men if they knew it.

The waggon and tents were at last settled down in a handy spot by the
head of a creek from the hills. The one side commanded a stretch of fine
open savannah, by which we had to work back toward the Bay settlements ;
the other was more broken ground, leading up to the pine-barrens and |
redwood ranges.. This latter district had to be finished off before we turned
to the level, and that duty proved quite as hard as it looked. Most parts we
drove across in most determined style, tearing over thorny chapparal, through
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 165

poison-oak brush, and up streaks of rock. ‘In parts it could not be cleared,
_even by the axemen’s help, and had to be done by computation. Some again



A SETTLER.

was slumped in liberally, upon the averaging system, whatever the future
settlers might do with it.

One or two of the localities at hand were by no means inviting to look at
by way of neighbourhood, and they went by suitable names. ‘There was
366 AN UGLF CUSTOMER.

Guzman’s Gulch, as dreary a rift into the solid stone as one could wish to
see, with a vein of quartz shining up at the end, remarkably like gold-sign,
but quite out of reach. What was more to the point, there was Grizzly
Cafion, a dismal hollow of bush and scrub, running off the level into a belt
of immense redwoods that shot against the sky. According to the Spanish
vacqueroes we met with, it had been formerly noted as a spot where: real
grizzly bears used to breed, though none had been heard of for years so far
down, and the likelihood was that the Survey would make no difference in
that respect. However, the Spaniards
were known to look upon us with



= small favour; and when the question
- came to be about interfering with a
== regular “ Ephraim,” as backwoods-
ih men called the grizzlies, it must be
Hi) owned there were few among us who
considered it in a sporting light.
Judge Tracey, the surveyor, and our
compassman, Mr. Higley, were the



only members of the party who had _

A WHITE CRANE.

been at the mines besides myself;

they knew well how the case stood; in fact, that we were much more likely to
have to take to tree than a grizzly bear was, if we chanced to meet one. For
my own part, I had never happened to see one, even,when up the Yuba River.
Still, I cannot say I fell short as to this caution on the point; much less
could I enter into the hunting view of it that was taken by one or two of us.
At the first occurrence that took place in connection, it.so chanced that I

was principally concerned. My part of the surveying duty was simply to
carry “fore-chain,” or take the line along for the bearings given by the
surveyors, sticking in the measuring-pins as I went; while the hinder end .
AN UGLY CUSTOMER.’ 167

was taken by my friend Lettsom, a young man from the North of England,
"who had joined the party with me. Neither of us could be said to occupy
a high post in the service as yet, but so far as our head-work went, from
passing the orders to keeping tally of the marks, the responsibility was all
on my companion’s shoulders. Indeed, setting aside his advantage in years
and height, he seemed to have a natural turn for the business to which I
could not pretend. It was lucky for him, however, on this occasion, that I
took it easy when possible. We were rounding one of the stiff corners, too
hard to get ever direct, and each made
the best of his way for the next
bearing-point. Having sighted it I
found myself ahead of therest, and sat,
down to light a pipe till they joined.
I had just struck a lucifer, when a
rustling caught my ear in the chap-



paral close by, and looking over my
shoulder I saw the upper. half of an

A coror&.

immense bear, as he rose on end to eye

me from below. Neither he nor I uttered a sound, with the exception of a
slight snuffle on his part, as if the smell of the match were not to his liking.
At the same time he put up a claw like a tree-root, at the end of a monstrous
long foot, giving his muzzle a fretful kind of rub, whilst our eyes met. A
most particularly wicked little one his was, as red as a live coal; and not to
speak of the great size of his head, there was something so peculiar about
his colour, neither black, brown, grey, nor yet grizzly, but more of a steel-
blue with a mildew over it, that I kept perfectly quiet, not so much as
moving a hand to my loaded revolver, still less calling out to my companions
behind. The lighted match, by the way, burnt me to the quick without
being felt at the time. ;
108 'AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

‘The bear was undoubtedly a grizzly, and a full-grown one, but from what
I heard afterwards he must have been quite young. Possibly he observed
that the case was similar in that respect on my side ; .at all events he dropped
on his tracks again, keeping up-hill as before. Ty that time the men could
be heard on their way up in the same direction, crashing through the bush
and laughing and talking like schoolboys. I knew that if my friend Lettsom
caught sight of the beast, he was sure to fire, and being one of the best
shots among us, not likely to miss ; so to prevent accidents I sung out at
last. ‘“’Ware snake—a rattler!” I hailed, in a tone as like a whisper as
circumstances would allow; and that
stopped all of them at once. ‘“ Which
-way ?” called Lettsom; “don’t lose
sight of him—give usa chance!” I
did not soon forget the bear’s style of
taking this noise. He reared on end

again, looking back at me, giving a





low. growl, and seeming to consider













whether any affront was meant. In



fact for a moment or two it was doubtful
if he would not come down like thunder ; but finding all quiet, he concluded
accordingly, and went off straight for the redwoods.

When the party joined me, all was safe; but my story was not by any
means well received. No sooner did they take it in than they opened full
cry against my behaviour in the matter ; and the foremost to disapprove was
Fred Lettsom. Fred had notions as to sport that might have done well
enough at home in Yorkshire, but would certainly have been inconvenient to -
carry through California; though his worst luck was not to come in that
shape, poor fellow. Among the party was a lump of a red-haired Missouri
lad, who rejoiced in the odd name of Billy Rufus. He declared they saw so
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 169

many b/ars of all sorts out West that he made no account of them, and asked
nothing better than to tackle a real Ephraim, if such it-actually was, which
he much doubted.
The surveyors on
coming up, how-
ever, considered I
was in the right,
and had done quite
properly ; nor was
it long before an
incident occurred
to turn the laugh
altogether against
Rufus himself.
Wehad finished
our measurements
on the hill-ground
without further
trouble of the sort,
and had put in the
last angle-post in
that. direction ;
after which we
were making our
way back to camp
for the night.
Rufus, who was our



GUZMAN’S GULCH.

under-axeman, missed some article or other belonging to him, and returned
to look for it near the post. He overtook us again in a speechless state
170 AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

between hurry’ and fright, without his‘hat, and his red hair bristling
like fire. By his. account, when made out, he had seen a bear-cub of
the most extraordinary size and colour standing at the foot of the new-
made mound, apparently gazing at the survey-post in astonishment. Before
he got within reach, it went close up and examined the Government hiero-
glyphics most carefully, then gave a yell and proceeded to claw at the post
as if resolved to haye it up. .On this Rufus was of course running in, he
said, to make short work with the creature; but hearing sounds desperately
like more of the family on the way down, he concluded to come off for help.
Billy’s story was rather salt in some respects, especially as he declared there
must have been half-a-dozen of them coming down in Indian file; but if he
could be believed, the cub was neither of the black nor the brown breed;
and at that time of the afternoon no one was inclined to go back and see.
That there was some truth in the Missouri man’s statement appeared next
morning ; for clawed down the angle-post was, with marks in it which no
ordinary bear could have made. A new post was put in, leaving further
difficulties to be managed by the first settler on the claim. Our subsequent
duty lay back again on the level towards San Mateo, where we thought no
more about such points. But we were not to get off just so easily.

Our special trouble on the low ground was, as formerly, with the wild
Spanish cattle. These long-horned, little, dingy-coloured savages were here
worse than ever, herding over the rich virgin pasture, and ready to charge
at all and sundry, if not mounted, the survey appearing beyond all to rile
them up. The flags on the measuring-pins set them fairly mad, and
whoever chanced to wear a red shirt was particularly marked out, till at
times they quite stampeded us off the line, axemen included. Besides the
strict orders against meddling with them seriously, there were always enough
of idle Spanish vacqueroes scouring about on the watch to pick up a pretext
for complaints and lawsuits, which the Government of the new State could
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 171

not then help attending to; though, so far as concerned our annoyance, the |















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TRAPPING GAME.

‘Spaniards took but little pains, seeming rather to relish the sight. This was
3 AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

all very well for Judge Tracey, the surveyor, who kept a riding-horse, and
got along comfortably enough when using it. As for our compassman, Mr.
Higley, he could make shift with one of the mules; but one morning the
case was pushed just too far to be borne. A shaggy-headed bull gave chase
‘to Lettsom and me, and so far from being daunted, would certainly have
finished one or the other before there was time to use our Colts, but for the
lucky neighbourhood of a-clump of bush on the open, with a large tree in
the midst. We thus dodged him, firing several shots after all with very
little effect, till the two axemen came up to our help, and settled the business.
Both surveyors, of course, had observed what passed, and, though no
Spaniards could have been within view at the time, Mr. Higley rode up with
decided instructions to bury the carcase carefully there and then, turfing it
up, and on no account meddling with it further. This he waited to see
done. The work was then proceeded with as before for the rest of the day,
during which some miles were completed; and, as usual, by sundown we
got round to camp, which was still in the old place.

Nothing more had been said of the bull till supper was serving up for
the bell-tent, where the surveyors had their quarters, our own meal being all
‘ready at the fire, outside the main tent. Nor in fact did any one seem to
have thought of it again, till the time came for smelling that perpetual
salt-pork, as we could do through the best fry which our cook could turn
out. To tell the truth, not only were camp-stores seldom varied after being
so long off from the settlements, but even Uncle Sam’s chief staple had
begun to get rather rusty for our taste, and that in spite of every attempt to
help it out on the part of our two camp-keeping hands, old Tobin the
teamster and little Andy the cook, who ‘made up the party. Andy was a
Malay, and though clever at his own work, a perfect imp for skill at trap-
ping, snaring, and decoying; while our worthy teamster, who came out of
New Orleans, and was of course far above associating pleasantly with aught
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 173

in the coloured connection, at the same time had a touch of the true nigger
turn for “’possum,” always treeing and baiting for odd venison at every
chance. There was rather a suspicion amongst us that the pair occasionally
squared their differences behind backs, to the concocting of what Andy
called a blind-frijolé; which in fact often proved too good to be inquired
into. Somehow that evening the mess was not so successful; at all events

there were sundry discontented remarks, with a pretty plain allusion or two



A PUZZLED YOUNG ANTELOPE.

to the prime fresh beef lying “ cached” at the moment within reach, under
the big oak on the level. However, the night was dark, and the spot some
distance off; moreover, the mouth of that ugly-named redwood cafion had to
be passed on the way, and after a stiff day’s survey all hands seemed to think
the treat not worth the pains. The surveyors had no better fare than
ourselves; so it was just going to be made the best of, with the prospect of

a good pipe at the fire before turning in, when suddenly we missed our

/
174 AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

Missouri axeman, Rufus, from the mess. It turned out he had left before
the talk commenced, and, as Billy never failed at his grub, this meant some-
thing in his case. The truth was easy to guess, when we brought to mind
his wistful looks behind him that day. He had taken his tools along with
him, after giving his knife a sly rub of the grindstone, and clearly intended
securing some tit-bits for a late roast to his own cheek ; indeed, Billy was
not the character to think of extra slices for his friends.

He could not have been many minutes gone, when, on listening after him
behind the tent, we could hear plain enough that the coyotés had been
beforehand in the design, evidently likely to save Billy some trouble at
shovelling up. Then, in the midst of their noise, off they scattered with a
louder yell than before; close upon which we could make out a loud note or
two from our axeman’s voice, apparently giving them a Missouri war-whoop
to quicken their flight.’ It now occurred to our joky old teamster that the
wok and he, both being fresh, might give Master Bill a start in turn, as he
well deserved ; namely, by setting off quietly across his tracks, on a nearer
cut over the open. The right bearings they at once got from us. Accord-
ingly away they set at a good rate, the Malay first signifying for our ‘benefit
that the supper might perhaps not lose by waiting a little, though the
surveyors had got theirs served..

By old Tobin’s subsequent account, they steered fair for the clump of
bush, with the big tree for a mark against the stars. They soon got there;
everything was dark inside, and all quiet except the pattering of the earth
on the leaves where Billy’s shovel seemed at work, with the grating of his
knife, apparently, as he fell closer to. Going up nearer, the teamster caught
sight of him through the dusk, hard at it; there he was, sure enough,
evidently never dreaming he had been followed, dodging up and down in
the hole, and tugging and cutting away like a good one. Tobin then made
Andy wait, while he stole softly in behind, flattening his hand to come down
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 175

sharp upon the fellow, and setting his mouth for a suitable remark in
Mr. Higley’s style. At the same time he thought he heard something like
a husky whisper from aloft, with’ a rustle out of the tree; and our worthy
teamster being as superstitious an old boy as ever was raised on the Missis-
sippi, this “ struck him strange” at the moment, as he expressedit. Rufus’s
manner of handling the meat had caused a horrid notion already, as if he
began to nuzzle at it in the raw; so, with a pretty smart slap on his shoulder,
Tobin commenced a speech of his
own, by no means inferior to what
our compassman would have given,
oaths aside. The words stuck in his
throat, however, for he found him-
self turned round upon with a growl
like thunder—his escape being solely
due to the depth of the hole, and the
other’s hands being full at the in-
stant, with his jaws aswell. It was
no less than an enormous old grizzly
that he had tackled in this fashion.
As for poor Rufus, he was fast treed
overhead, trying for breath to tell how



A YOUNG GRIZZLY.

matters stood. ‘Tobin fired one shot at random as he bolted, tumbling over
little Andy, who came off after him into camp. "The first alarm among us, in
fact, was such that the Malay ran some risk of being shot by mistake for
the grizzly in pursuit.

The Judge and Mr. Higley got out their rifles; in addition to which they
had it in their power to keep mounted on the occasion. They accordingly
decided at length to go in a body and see what could be done for getting the
axeman off. The survey-duty for next day was certainly much more to the
176 AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

point than any mere risk to Billy, or his night’s comfort; and even then the
whole object lay in scaring the bear off, or at least drawing it out for a
sufficient time, while the Missouri man cotld get down to run. This was
given him to understand, and proceedings were therefore tried on the cautious
system. But whether the old bear was too much bent on his night’s meal,
or had an eye to the tree besides for supplies, it proved difficult to make him
leave it at all on any reasonable terms. Back he always would go again,
growling savagely; Rufus having once more to scramble up, before he was
well down, and more than once he just narrowly missed being gripped.
The bear appeared set on keeping cover within reach of him, where there
was no mark for a shot; so that we had nothing for it but to fire the brush-
wood to windward, which was cleverly done by the Malay creeping in. Heré
it was found we had brought matters to a head, and no mistake ; for though
our axeman of course succeeded in getting down on the safe side, the bear
no sooner took the open, than instead of giving chase to the mounted sur-
veyors, as calculated upon, he turned and charged us where we stood. It
may easily be believed I never forgot the sight; the blaze of the scrub
showing the old monster as he tore along upon us, with the hoar-frost
bristling from him, as it were, and his swinish eye at red heat.

We had taken care to get the channel of a dry arroyo in our favour, but
he came on like a race-horse, and was over it in a twinkling, with the bullets
of five six-chambered Colts emptied at him, to no apparent effect save on one
fore-leg. Just as he was upon us in the dusk, we scattered right and left,
some dodging down the dark bed of the water-course. My friend Lettsom
had still a bullet left, and seeing it was useless to run, he stood on the bank
as the bear dashed at him, then fired close into the brute when rearing on
end, claw. up, with his jaws about his very shoulder. Down they went
together into the arroyo-bed, the bear uppermost, but luckily losing hold for
a moment or two in the reedy bottom. Owing to his crippled fore-leg, too,
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 177

the brute did not nip poor Fred so quickly as must otherwise have been the
case, but kept searching, in a style that made the sedge fly like rags. Not
a shot among us was ready, and the quickest-loaded would have been too





























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ON THE SURVEY.

late. Mr. Higley had left his mule, taken
a steady aim, and hit the old bear some- |
where, yet without serious effect. He went
on loading again as he ran up, for it must
be. said of our compassman that he was not
the character to flinch at such points, no
matter who might be concerned. |

By this time, however, we did not even see which was which in the
shadow of the arroyo. The best we could have-done was useless, had it not
N
_ 1798 AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

been for the old Judge himself, who came forcing his terrified mare right
over the hollow; then he threw himself off, let her go, and next moment
was down in the arroyo, rifle in hand for the proper moment. He took the
grizzly fair in the eye when just rising with Lettsom in the hook of its free
fore-paw; a sure shot, that dropped the brute a dead weight a-top of the
poor fellow, nearly squeezing the last breath out of him. We pulled him

























THE CAUSE OF ALL OUR TROUBLE.

out to all appearance finished by it, drenched in blood, with his clothes in
strips. A little time, however, brought him to again, not seriously injured,
though there was more than one ugly rip. A score of bullets at the least
had been put into the bear, and none of them signified till the last had
smashed his skull. A cooler thing of the sort never was done than old
Judge Tracey did on the occasion, for he actually took care to put a fresh cap
on his rifle before pulling trigger. If he had hung fire or missed the mark
AN UGLY CUSTOMER.








AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

180









































: ‘A’ CALIFORNIAN STATION.

not only ‘would all have been up'with Lettsom, but with a few more of the
United States Survey. ,
AN UGLY CUSTOMER. 181.

The Judge’s composition had begn rather underrated before, in regard to
what he could do if put to it. As to his title, it was well known to have
been derived merely from having taken a lead in the arrangement of Lynch
cases at the Mines: but after this he stood ina new light, which some of us
were destined to. see clearer before being done with him.

The old grizzly bear was a piece of game such as rarely had fallen to
the luck of any surveying-party, or, for that matter, of any hunter in the
Gold State. Had the season been cooler, within reach of town or settlement,
he would have been worth no small sum to us, taking meat and hide together,
besides the showing parts; his weight being about that of a full-sized ox.
As it was, being in prime condition, and mostly nut-fed at that season, he
furnished the staple of several days’ provision in camp. As our ground
subsequently led us from-.the redwoods, the further adventures of the party
did not turn on any incidents of the same nature. It was not the last
grizzly that I saw tackled and killed during ten years in the country, not
by a score at the least; some of which happened to cost a good deal more
damage to those concerned. But even allowing for the fact that this was
the first in my experience, I should say he was decidedly the hardest to
manage of them all.






WN F
“SaN Xe :





we; és z
lle VN he
SQ GOOD-LOOKING.



I may say without vanity that I am a very









handsome horse. I am a grey, streaked
and’ spotted like a mackerel sky. Jim
can make my coat shine like a looking-
glass when he chooses to
take the trouble ; but
Jim isa lazy, sulky old
fellow, and it is not often that
he does me justice. When he is ©
_ eurry-combing me he “sisses”
/ at me as spitefully as a goose, and he stops
( every two minutes to grumble out, “ Blow
greys, says I—they take twice as much groomin’ as other ’osses.” But if
other horses only get half as much grooming as Jim generally gives me, I
_ pity them. It does. not matter.so much in my case, because I’m so good-
looking, but all horses have not my natural advantages. I do think that
Jim is the only person belonging to the place who isn’t proud of me, and
even Jim is proud of me sometimes. Instead of giving a wrench or two at
my mane and tail as if he wanted to pull them out by the roots, he’ll brush
and comb them till they look as silky as my mistress’s hair, and he’ll make
my hoofs shine like master’s boots, and rub me down and polish me up, as
I was saying, until you could almost see your face in my coat.

It is twice as easy for Jim to get me to “kim over” when he treats me
Te
: ! i

~ a





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































DAPPLE AT HOME.


184 ae COO DEON Gs

with proper respect. He has no sol then to give me rude slaps, and I don’t
feel inclined then to turn round my head and pretend to mistake his drab
breeches for a bundle of hay. At other times, especially when he is stooping
conveniently, I am often sorely tempted to do so.

‘Sometimes master rides me, and sometimes he drives me in the gig, and
sometimes my mistress drives.me in the four-wheeler, It’s when my mistress
: is going to drive me, I’ve noticed that Jim takes most pains with me. Master
often has to find fault because Jim has brought me round so rough and dusty,
but mistress never has. I’m quite a swell horse then.
I’ve silver-plated patent-leather harness, and my mis-
tress has white ends to her reins to keep her gloves
clean, and she’s very pretty, and so are the children,
and they’re all dressed very smart, so that it is quite a
swell turn-out altogether.

I should really enjoy being driven by my mistress,
for the chaise runs very light, and she and the little
ones don’t make it much heavier, if she wasn’t quite so
fond of sawing my mouth, and flicking me with the
whip. She doesn’t hurt me—she wouldn’t, I know, for’
the world—but such behaviour detracts from my
dignity. When a horse is stepping out with his head
up he doesn’t like to have it pulled right and left for no earthly reason
except to make a lady believe that she’s taking care of the horse, instead of
the horse taking care of her. If£I were to mind mistress’s jerks, we should
often be in the ditch, and running foul of every cart we passed, and every
turnpike gate we went through. And if I were to mind her whips, and
begin to canter or gallop when I’m trotting along a good showy ten miles an
hour, a nice screaming I should hear behind the splash-board! But I know
that she means no harm, and I’m proud of her and the children, and remem-



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































186 SO GOOD-LOOKING.

ber that master has trusted them to my honour, and so I bring them back all
safe and sound. Still, when a horse has done it all, it isn’t quite pleasant for
him to hear his mistress bragging about her clever driving when she gets
home. Master understands it, though; soI don’t mind so much. As for
Jim, he’s a sneak, and makes mistress believe that she’s a wonderful whip to
he able to drive a vicious horse like me. “He zs wicious, ma’am,”’ Jim says,
“but he’s too artful to show it with.

you and the master.” Of course,

We?



that is because I sent Mr. Jim over
my head once, when he put the
spurs into me; and J’ll do it again
.if he gives me the chance, but I’m
afraid he never will.
However, if Jim is grumpy,
' I’ve three friends in the stable who
properly appreciate me. They
would be always with me if they
could, and one of them, Snap, the
terrier, almost always is. Master
used to have a “plum-pudding
dog,” but I never cared much for

- AS PROUD AS A PEACOCK.’ -

him. He was a heavy dog, with
no fun in him. All he could do was to run behind the chaise, and yet, just
because he was spotted all over, he was as proud as a peacock. He seemed to
think that I ought to thank him for being allowed to look at him—the sleepy,
sulky cur! TI haven’t the least doubt that he thought his spots far handsomer
than mine! What conceited animals there are in this world!

But Snap is a very different kind of dog. He’s full of fun—jumps up
at my nose, and barks at my legs, when we’re out together—but still he is
SO GOOD-LOOKING. 187

never wanting in real respect. He knows that I belong to a superior class,
and behaves himself accordingly. You might think that he was taking
liberties with me sometimes, if you saw his funny ways. He will jump up

































































































































































TILBURINA.

and worry my tail—but bless you, Snap and I understand each other. I
know that he could never dream of being rude, and he knows that I shan’t
be offended by his pranks—he only plays them to amuse me.
188 SO GOOD-LOOKING.

To go through life smoothly, there is nothing like being distinctly con-
scious of our superiority to the animals you come in contact with. If you’re
doubtful about it, of course they’ll take advantage, and even, perhaps, when
they don’t mean anything rude, you’ll be sure to fancy that they do. I’m,
afraid I wasn’t as firm as I ought to have been with the plum-pudding dog, :
or he certainly would never have given himself such ridiculous airs.

Snap, now, is a very different kind of dog. He’ll do anything he can to
oblige me, without making any merit of it—you’d fancy he was doing it just
. to please himself. We've. got rats
in the stable, and he knows I don’t
like them. Itisn’t pleasant to feel
them routing in the straw, and



running over your back, when
you’re lying down of a night, or
trying to run up your legs when
you're taking a nap standing; and
then they eat my corn, and make
what they don’t cat smell nasty.
Well, Snap knows I hate rats, and
he’ll watch by the holes for an
hour or more, and when a rat



slips out, Snap’s down upon him like a shot, and breaks his neck almost
before he has time to squeak; and then Snap lugs him about, shaking him
for his impudence in bothering me, and looks as delighted as if he had only
done it for his own amusement. He’s a very worthy young dog, is Snap—
the only fault I have to find with him is that he is almost too fond of me.
He gets so jealous if I take the least notice of my other two humble friends
in the stable.

One of them Jim calls Curate. He has a (not very clean) white breast, and
SO GOOD-LOOKING. 189

is awfully thin. He eats flies and blackbeetles, and he’ll die ‘of consumption
if he doesn’t take care. I should be very sorry, for, though he isn’t much
company, he is so very respectful. When he comes to the stable door,
he mews to ask if he may come in. If Snap hears him, he rushes at
him, and wants to worry him like a rat; but Curate spits and swears and
scratches, and as soon as he’s got the chance, up he climbs to the top of the
rack, and makes a bridge of his:back, and swells out his tail, and growls at
Snap like a small thunder-cloud.

But Snap hates Tilburina almost worse than he hates Curate. Tilly isa
tabby pussy of the softer sex; she’s as fat as butter. Tilly is almost too
familiar for my taste, but then she is so very fond of me that I can scarcely
feel offended. Her feelings get the better of her, and so I don’t blame fer,
but her gender. Curate would as soon think of j umping down Snap’s throat
as of jumping on to my back; but that is Tilly’s favourite place. She leaps
into the manger, and scrambles into the rack, and then down she comes on
my haunches, and there she lies purring like a tea-kettle, if Snap doesn’t
happen to be in the way; but if he’s there, she makes faces at him, and puts
out her tongue at him, and then she washes herself with her tongue, as if
she’d forgotten that there was such a being as Snap in existence; and poor
Snap goes almost wild. Up he jumps, tumbling heels over head, and barking
as if he’d bark his heart out, but Tilly takes no notice. She’s safe, she
knows, and so she goes on licking herself in a quiet way, that must be pro-
voking to Snap.

I wish my friends could agree better, but it’s natural they should all want’
to be first favourites with me. I’m a handsome, high-bred horse, I know,
with Godolphin Arab blood in me, though Jim does laugh at my long head
and my podgy barrel, and says he’s as much of an Arab as I am—and so I
must take the consequences. .
A HUSHED VOICE.



INTER! Oh yes, it is very cold, so cold that we hurry
along the frozen roadway as if we were all of us late for
school. It is not school time, however, but the holidays,
and we look forward to a pleasant merry time on the ice.

We have got our skates now, have whistled to the great
black retriever “ Fritz,” and are hurrying away to the
pond near by, where the skaters are gliding about noise-
lessly, except for the droning sound, half whistle, half moan, which the
skates make as they fly over the silvery surface. Ah! that was a fall;
but we are none the worse, and shaking the snow from our, coat, are
soon spinning away with the rest. How glorious is the motion, and how
soon we forget the keen nipping air as the exercise makes us glow with
warmth. As far as we can see the soft mantle of snow covers everything. .
Frost is the true magician, and the most fairy-like vision in the realm of
snow is but one manifestation of his power. The air is still, and the hushed
voice of nature adds to the wonderful effect of the fantastic change. There
is an abiding charm in the perfect harmony of earth and.heaven, and in the
beautiful entranced vision of the white world. King Frost is indeed a
great potentate, and if we have a warm fire and hearty dinner awaiting us at

home, winter is indeed a merry time.














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































mi

ANON









THE HUSHED VOICE OF NATU.
A FEATHERED FAMILY.

WLI, to.be sure! it was rather trying for the old
. starlings. From generation to generation had they
been born and bred in that hole in the ivy-covered
garden-wall, and always till now had the young birds
tried their wings for the first time by flying right up
on to the great red chimney, that always smoked so
much when the kettle was on the fire in-the nursery
beneath ; and now, here was a little stuck-up, miser-
able thing, with feathers undressed and head on one
side, declaring he shouldn’t—and wouldn’t—and
’ couldn’t do it!—Such words had‘never been used



in the Starling family before ; at least not in that
branch of it. They were famous for saying, “ Might,
could, would, and should.” But then, this atom of a

rebel had learnt strange things from some cousins over the way, who lived not

REED-WARBLER.

in a brick wall but in a hole high up in the great tree on the lawn; and their
little ones were taught to take their first flight up to the drawing-room
chimney, because it was said to be a quarter of an inch higher than the
nursery one. They were descended from a tame bird, that had lived in an °
' elegant cage, and been fed upon bread and milk instead of worms, and had
been taught all sorts of funny little sayings, such as “I won’t,” “I can’t,”
. “TI shan’t,” “What a bother,” &¢., which had been handed down from
"father to son, as signs of being more civilised, more educated and refined—




co ie

i ou)



































MARION.
194. A FEATHERED FAMILY.

altogether a peg above ordinary starlings. Certainly their elm-tree was
higher than the wall, and they said that their chimney was higher than the
other, but when you come to think of it, making such distinctions and being
so puffed up about them, was most absurd; for it happened that they all came
from the same great-great-great-great-grandmother, who had lived—actually
made her nest—in a tumble-down cottage chimney, with the same great
ceiling of blue sky above, as they had now, all of them; and the same sun
had risen and set upon that nest then, as‘he did now, in exactly the same way
-for all of them ; though those ridiculously would-be-grand birds persisted in
_ maintaining that as the wall was lower, naturally the sun must set there first.
How they used to chatter and argue about it as they sat on the chimneys!’
for chimneys are to starlings what sea-side beach, and London parks and
squares, are to little boys and girls. . _If the other starlings had not been a
thoroughly respectable, sensible family, they might have been much annoyed
by the constant insulting remarks on the sunset subject made by their
conceited relatives, who were never tired of saying: “ Where are you? ”—
Then, without waiting for an answer, would immediately add, “In the dark;”
or, “ Who are you? You can’t see;” and this last word would be carried on
till it sounded like a railway whistle in the distance. Indeed, the old nurse
who belonged to the nursery chimney, and the kettle too, would often cry
out :
“Good gracious! how that whistle does scream to-night ! P’raps that’s
your papa’s train, dears:” And all the little dears would leave their horses,
their bricks, or whatever they were about, and would rush to the window,
when the starlings would whistle again ‘ Can’t see-e-ee-ee-e,” and then there
would be a great shout of “There it is again, Nurse! there must be an
accident, or fog, or something.” Whereupon the poor old woman used
generally to throw open the window, whatever the weather was, and wave.
her handkerchief frantically, by way of being cheerful and encouraging,
2

A. FEATHERED FAMILF. 195

though what good that would have done if there really had been anything
the matter, she could not have said, nor any one else either. Then the
children would laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks, and the starlings
would fly about over the chimney, and whistle louder than ever, scared by
the nurse’s pocket- -handkerchiet ; and the draught made by their wings would
send the smoke back into the nursery in great puffs, and never till then did
Nurse regain her composure, when she would say :



AN IVY-COVERED WALL.

“Bless me! if it isn’t the starlings! What childvedi you are for a little’
bit of fun! those birds will be the death of me.”

And indeed they were almost, on such occasions; for after the puff of
smoke every china dog and shepherdess and shell on the mantel-piece was
obliged to have the smuts blown off it; and as this little excitement took
place regularly every week throughout the winter, she might well declare
that her lungs would suffer at last. The nursery starlings used to peep down
196: A FEATHERED FAMILY.

and enjoy the fun, whilst the drawing-room starlings, having made the
smoke, fluttered solemnly back to their elm-tree home, and never got the
blame at all. However, the others could stand a few hard words; they had
respected themselves for years, and therefore nobody else’s disrespect could
hurt them. Besides, they would not give up their cosy perch above the
nursery fire for any abuse or insult whatever; if the truth must be told, they
are inquisitive birds, and that chimney was a capital one for hearing and see-
ing. There would they sit for hours, with their heads on. one side, peeping
- down right on to the worn-out old’ rug; and how the nursemaid annoyed
them by her way of lighting the fire in the morning! First—ashes ; then—
‘a wee bit of paper; then—a bundle of wood ; and lastly—a smother of coals
on the top. After that she expected it to burn! actually expected the smoke .
to shoot .straight wp and out of the chimney as it should do; and when,
instead, it ran back-of course into the nursery to meet Mamma as she came to
. say, “ Good morning ”—so that she choked and coughed and sneezed all at
once—if that provoking young woman did not always say :

“ Tt’s the starlings, Ma’am—the fire never will burn whilst those tiresome
birds will build in the chimney.”

At this, the starlings would draw a long breath, and whistle in. derision.
Just as if they built their nests in her smoky chimney! Sit on it nearly all
day long they did, and always would, but, if it were all the same to her, they
preferred a clearer atmosphere for a home. It was nothing but an excuse—
why did she not say at once, she “did not know how to do it, and had never
been properly taught, and please, would her mistress show her ?”—You see,
that from Itaving frequented housetops so long, starlings can understand
almost anything they hear said, and indeed can almost talk. They try very
hard, and are really so patient and persevering, that it is just as well they
should. live in the innocent belief that everybody knows what they chatter
about; and a great pity it is that everybody does not understand them.
A FEATHERED FAMILY. 197

Well would it have been for those drawing-room starlings with their
“won’ts” and “can’ts” and “bothers,” if they did not pride themselves
quite so much on having forgotten (they pretended, at least, to have forgotten)

7



THE GREAT RED CHIMNEY. ~

the four parts of a starling’s speech,—what every country and town-bred.
starling learns to say, as soon as it can speak.

No. 1. “Wait and see.” That was said by the first starling that ever
was to an impatient little one, who fretted and fumed to see the end of every-

an
198 A FEATHERED FAMILY.

thing before the proper time, and was always afraid that perhaps there
might be no worms or flies left for them to eat in ane world—it was such a
little place.

No. 2. ‘“ There’s the light.” - That was instituted by the same e wise bird.
It was the original early bird that picked up the worm for its naughty little
peevish children, and like a good kind thing, was always on the look-out for
‘the first sunbeam or glimmer of dawn. No matter how stormy or pitch-dark
had been the night—she knew that the dawn would come, and always had
_ come; and she was never disappointed.

No. 3. “It must be.” When this Mrs. Starling had anything to do—
she did it, whether it was pleasant or unpleasant ; if it had to be done, it must’
be done. What was the good of shivering and shaking and twittering about
it? did that get it done any the sooner ? of course not; and so she impressed
it upon the.minds of her young ones, or rather they naturally learnt it from
her, because they saw her always practising it herself, and. that is how star-
lings get their patient, sturdy, go-ahead sort of ways.

~ No. 4. “ Allright.” When this poor old starling was dying—or good
old starling, for she was too good to be pitied—and when all her children and
children’s children were wishing that she had not gone out that horrid damp
day, and caught her death of cold—what should they do without her? why
had she persisted in walking about that slippery, slimy lawn to pick up crumbs
for the invalid uncle starling, who was safe and warm in the nest ? why could
she not live a little longer amongst them all, with her clever old sayings and
cheery whistles ?—she only just opened one of her round bright eyes and
piped out—* All right. ” So that was the fourth and last part of that star-
ling’s speech, and though now ae say so many things, yet these are the
elementary doctrines.

Therefore after this long cipmiarole, you may better understand how very
trying it must have been for a starling to have one of its children, actually
A FEATHERED FAMILY. — .: 199

one of the good old sort, whining and whimpering, and altogether giving
itself great airs, because it did not want to learn to fly ;—it was such a bother
—it was so comfortable where it was—it was so afraid of beginning.

“If I should fall I should hurt myself so!” and he screwed. up his little
twinkling eyes at the very idea.

“Who said you were going to fall ? how do you expect to get the bread-
crumbs off thenursery window-
sill unless you go after them
yourself? Fall indeed!” and
the father bird.shrieked again
as he thought of it.

“Wait and — see-ee-ee,”’
whistled the mother softly. .
—Who are you? You can’t
see-e-c-c.” Now it was very
aggravating of one of those
horrid drawing-room starlings
to have said that just then, for
the shaft dealt straight home,
and made the little timid
‘starling wince again ashe
feebly echoed, “ Can’t see.”

But angry as the mother



= pied



PR TSA Yaa Ne #2
was, she only repeated quietly : THE GREAT TREE ON THE LAWN.

“Wait and see. How do .
you think your father and I should have got on so well, if we had always been
afraid ‘of ‘falling ?”

He did not quite know what to say to that driving question, so instead of




giving a direct answer he said:
200. A FEATHERED FAMILY.

“JT shouldn’t mind if I were a beautiful bird like some of those over the
way, but I’m so small—and my feathers won’t grow—and they all laugh at
me.” .

It was a pity he thought so much about himself.

“Who are you ? you can’t see-e-e-e,’”’—came from those odious birds, but
neither father nor mother heeded them. The father was sharpening his bill,
and saying, ‘“ Tst-tst ” in excessive annoyance that any child of theirs should
show such paltry weaknesses ; whilst the mother, sunning herself in the early
morning rays, pretended she had not heard her silly little son, and stringing
the four parts of speech together, as she often did, made a pretty little son g

of them :—
‘« Wait and see,

For there’s the light,
So it must be
All right—all right.’’

“Tf I might only begin by flying to one of the lowest chimneys, mother,”
faltered the young bird again, for he was really a good little fellow when he
was what he ought to be, and what he was meant to be,

“Every starling in our family, when it makes its first attempt in flying,
tries to reach the old red chimney—tries, mind you; of course if it fails after -
trying with all its might, it must go down to a lower one, which will be a
step towards reaching the highest; and gradually, as its wings grow stronger,
it takes longer flights—up to ‘greater ‘heights, till at last it reaches the very
chimney that once made it giddy to look at. But you have not tried, so you
cannot tell whether you can do it or not. It must be—it must be-e-e-e,”
whistled the energetic little mother. 2 f

‘Such a bother to try for nothing!” grumbled the other. _

“How do you know it will be for nothing ?”’ she added briskly, with her
sharp eyes piercing him through and through. * All this time her husband
was walking round and round the mouth of the chimney in little impatient.
A FEATHERED. FAMILY. 201

strides, listening to all that was going on in the old wall below, but much too
irritated to open his beak except to say, “Tst-tst-tst!’? whenever his young
hopeful spoke. He always acted in this way, when he knew that his wife
could manage anything better than hé could himself, and she was able to talk
when she was angry without losing her temper. “How do you know it will
be for nothing, if you have never
tried P” she said again.

“Oh, because—I am such a
stupid, ugly, awkward, rough,
untidy, gawky, unfledged, naughty,
weak, lazy, ruffled, frightful, use-
less, shrivelled, gooseish, topsy-
turvy, higeledy-piggledy, miser-
able, wretched muff of a bird! :
What else can I be-e-e-e ?”’—and
the little misery stood on one leg
and closed his eyes, whilst he
whistled about twenty “ee’s” on 4
to the last, and the opposition |
starlings hearing him, screeched. |

1!”

out, “ You can’t see-e-e-e! ” more

- derisively than ever—and so shrilly,



one Nurse thought baby was cry-

HIS FIKST FLIGHL.

g, and began rocking her off to
aa thereby waking her about an hour too soon; and the father-bird,
suddenly brought to a standstill by the shower of bad language from the
juvenile beak, exclaimed :

“ Hoity-toity! none of your cage language here, if you please.” But
the mother-bird, picking up a fly, popped it into her son’s beak with a snap-


202 5 A FEATHERED- FAMILY.

ping kiss, that sounded like a knife being sharpened ; whilst she still only
whistled cheerily :

«Wait and see what you will be; all right, all right—for there’s the
light.”

She was quite the poetess of the starling family, and was never tired of
making verses; but there was rather a sameness in them—at least the
jealous ones who could do nothing of the sort said so. As to music, she was
passionately fond of it. Not far from the nursery chimney, just half way
down the road to the’sca, stood a house, different from any other house near ;
for it had no chimney, but it had a bell, and throughout one day in the week
this bell was always ringing, and the mother starling always sang her verse
then louder than ever. She did not know what the bell said, but to her it
seemed to say much the same as she did. She regretted deeply that star-
lings had had one branch of their education neglected—they had never been
taught to read; for could she not, if she only knew how, read what was
written over the house-door where the bell rang so sweetly ? They were
words that told some story she knew, and she fancied they must be the
words of the bell song. Once she had seen an old woman pause outside
before entering, and as she looked up at the words written, she had shaken
her head sadly, saying :

_ “Eh dear! but my eyes are dim!”

Then a great long man—very like a chimney the satis thought, and
he was smoking too—stopped, instead of passing her, and just as the bell
would have said it, he read, “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the
waters ’’—and the old woman-had curtsied and gone in at the door with two
raindrops on her cheeks—and the tall man had remained there, standing
looking out over the great waters at the end of the narrow séa-side street:
he and that old woman knew some things that starlings can never know.

But they are too wise to fash themselves about what does not concern them.
A FEATHERED FAMILY. 203

They just do what they can, and say what they can, and enjoy what they
can. There was another sort of bell too, that came when the days grew









































THE CAPTIVE STARLING.

short. Every afternoon, when chimneys were smoking away bravely, and
fires lighting up every nursery and drawing-room in the parish, used this bell
204 _A‘FEATHERED FAMILY.

to tinkle, tinkle, tinkle up and down the streets. It belonged to an old man -
who trotted below the chimneys with a basket on his arm—a basket covered
with something green as grass; and as surely as he stopped beneath the
window belonging to the nursery chimney, so surely would there be a
prodigious stirring of the fire, and the children would cry out something
sounding like “ crumbs.” The starlings knew that word so well; but there
was another word that rather puzzled them, for it was so like one of the
very strange words caught from the caged starlings, that word “muff.”
~ Yes! “muff and crumb” those children certainly always shouted so soon as
the old man stopped; and therefore the starlings, because they had been
taught to consider the first as a bad word, only used by degenerate cage-
birds, supposed that the old man with ‘the bell was the original “ muff,” and
hated him accordingly, trying to drown his tinkle and his piping voice with
their loudest chattering and highest treble notes.. And yet the delicious
smell that on these afternoons ascended the nursery ‘chimney, after the fire
had been raked about by eight hands in turn, made them think a “ muff”
must have some’ good in him after all. Don’t laugh at them, for remember °
they could only know what was going on indoors by peeping down chimneys
and in at windows, so they could not see evérything.

When the sun gradually crept more and more back into the days again
and chimneys smoked less,.and fires crackled more gently, and warm winds
sported with sweet flowers and birds’ songs, then the irritating old “muff”
would ring himself quite away somewhere into silence, nobody knew where.
It was towards the close of one of these sweet days—so sweet that invalids
were turning unwillingly homewards from the Parade,‘and the very sun
lingered before giving Beachy Head his good-night kiss,—that Nurse—the
nurse who belonged to the nursery chimney—was tearing along behind a
perambulator, with a small boy holding on to her shawl, and calling her
“ Papa’s horse ”—whilst two or three more were urging her on with terrific
A FEATHERED FAMILY. 2095

howls, being hungry wolves coming to gobble her up. It was enough to
make her run! At last she stood on the door-steps in safety, where,
after she had shaken the baby well to get any sea-fog out of her pelisse
that might be in it, she gasped breathlessly from her fold upon eS of
shawl :

“My dears! you'll never get me racing down to Hastings. with wolves
after me so late of an afternoon again, for Jane has no mind, and she puts
the kettle on whether I’m out or in, and she’s frightened to take it off, if it
boils ever so!” and she panted upstairs into the nursery, where the kettle
was singing quietly.enough, on a very large fire
because. it was a warm evening, and through
the open window a starling could be heard
saying, “ Wait and see,” in its sleep.

Soon there was a prodigious clattering of cups
and saucers, and a ceaseless: knife went running
along the loaf, and there -was a hubbub of
voices, and four fresh jolly faces were hidden
in china mugs, whilst Jane, unfortunate Jane,
was sent mercilessly here and there and every-



where.

THE MUFFIN-MAN.

“Toasting fork !—no, never mind, too hot to
make toast—more butter !—marmalade! can’t have any? bother !”—and
next time Jane went out of the room, and came in again, Nurse’s goloshes
dropped from the top of the door on to her head. In vain did Nurse try to
silence the peals of laughter by saying— .

“N ow, my dear Master Charlie, you should not do so. Itis not polite; ”
whilst a voice from the rug growled out: |

ek say—shut up! How is a fellow to do his ene Ee

How well the starlings knew that growl! They used to hear it constantly
a6 A FEATHERED FAMILY.

after breakfast, and for a long time thought that the house-dog must be kept
chained up there, till at last their sharp eyes discovered that it was a boy with
thick brown hair, and an untidy heap of books before him.

“Master Loo, why don’t you do your work down in the study?” said his
old Nurse kindly, turning her comfortable face and formround upon him, and
handing him a cup of tea with “For my dear boy ” on it, and a piece of hot
buttered toast on a plate to match. ,

« Because it’s so cold, and dull, and horrid ! don’t talk to me.”

“T¢’s much more horrid for us,” spoke out Charlie, “that we mustn’t
open our mouths at tea to say a word. Why can’t you finish your work at
Boreham’s ? ”. ;

“You will find out soon enough when you go there at Midsummer,” came
from the rug.

“T know when I go there I shall find out lots of jolly fellows to make
friends and lark about with. ~ You never play football or. cricket with them
now up on the green, and ‘they call you e

« Master Charlie! Master Charlie! Master Charlie!” said Nurse severely,
whilst his brother raised a hot face from his hands, and said :

“Well! what do they call tne?”

Charlie crammed his mouth so inconveniently full that he could not possibly
answer, but a pretty little, sister who had learnt her lesson well, stretched.

out her neck so as to look over the tea-tray on to her big brother, and
said, °



“The dufferest duffer what ever was!”

It was spoken with such complacency that nobody could help laughing,
except Loo himself, who, with .a sort of groan in his voice, went on, still
looking steadily at Charlie— .

“Does Marsden call me that ?”

“ Marsden! ” burst out Charlie, “I should think he would say so of any
A FEATHERED FAMILY. 209

fellow who didn’t care for cricket or football, or anything else, for he is
awfully jolly, Will Austin says, and he asked me what my name was the
other day upon the green.”

“You didn’t tell him you were my brother ?” said Lucius, half sneering,
half interested in spite of himself. x a

“T said I was Mr. Maitland’s second son, and that I was going to Dr.
Boreham’s after my eleventh birth-
day, and mean to be cock of the
school some day,” said Charlie, bolt-
ing his last crust ; and, hearing his
father’s step on the stairs, ran off to
greet him. Handsome,—ready,— -

A

ng ty

quick,—of course he would: get on
at school as well as he did at home,
thought poor growling Lucius,
whilst he rolled on the rug, and
vowed he would not learn another

/




folly

fy |
ge

Wy,
Dg

word—he would not try: what was
the use? Here had he been. at
school three—nearly four years, and
instead of going up higher had been |
going down rather lower, or standing ° es een an aeclaner
still—which comes to the same in

the end. Did he not get sulkier and sulkier every day, so that he was now
quite as obnoxious at home as he was at schocl? He must be—he was sure of
it, for his father never said to him now as he used at one time to say after
dinner: ‘“ Have a hit at backgammon, my boy, if your work is prepared ?”—
and- how often his mother sighed when she spoke to him! . But he could not
take the trouble to ask himself why all this was so, it would be looking back such
208 A FEATHERED FAMILY.

a very long way,—it was not worth while. Once upon a time his work had
been prepared, and very well, too, so that he began to hope he might get the
prize at Midsummer, and he bent all his energies and tried with all his might ;
but “the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong” —and he iost it.
Would you believe it? he never really tried again.’ Hardly a word had he
said about it to anybody: better for him, perhaps, if he had. All kindness
seemed to be thrown away upon him; of course it was not really, for kindness
never is thrown away, but it seemed only to make him savage—surly at

home, indifferent to everything: old schoolfellows gradually fell away from

_ him, and his brothers and sisters thought it anything but pleasant when Loo

came home early to do‘his work. Ah! if he had done it properly, it would
have been a different thing; if he had prepared his lessons with all his might,

they would have taken him one half-hour, instead of three; and why did he

not shut himself up in the study and tell himself it ought to be done, and
therefore must be done? Just because there was not the slightest good in
his taking any more trouble ;—had he not tried very hard for the prize once,
and what had he got? And this had been going on for months and months.

- Sometimes it was terrible to feel that everybody and everything went on

better without him; at others he used to say, “ After all, it does not
matter—it is not worth trying to be anything else—it is such a bother;
nobody cares, and I’m sure I don’t”’—but he did really. He cared very
much that evening when, as he was about to. join his father and mother at
dinner, he overheard his father saying: “ Charlie will be up at the top of
the tree long before Lucius.ever dreams of climbing it. One has all the
making of a man in him, but as to the other, it is no use, my dear wife I

don’t know what to make of that boy; his apathy, his disagreeable manners

- are beyond——” then Lucius, who had heard all this as he was on the last .

stair, turned and went upstairs again. He sent word that he did not want
any dinner, as he had had some tea in the nursery, and there was some work
A FEATHERED FAMILY. 209

as usual waiting to be finished in his room. | Nobody missed him much.
He could hear them at their games in the nursery till the dessert bell rang,
when he pictured them all trooping into the bright pretty dining-room, and
his mother’s smile that was as good as any dessert.

What shouts there were in the drawing-room afterwards ! and then he











DOWN THE ROAD TO THE SEA.

heard his father carry Marion upstairs to bed on his shoulder, and another
little sister said, close by his door, “ Papa, where is poor Loo? I haven’t said
good night to him,” and actually Loo would not unlock the door to give her'a
kiss. But her papa said : :
- “Never mind, give me two instead.”
As their steps and voices died away down the passage, Lucius pushed his

P
210 A FEATHERED FAMILY.

Books from him, laid his head down on his arms, and wished he knew what
he ought to do, where he ought to begin—what was worth doing and what
was not ; and when he lifted his head at last, and saw his face in the glass,
he growled out :

“ What a stupid, ugly, miserable face itis! I shouldn’t mind if I were like,
Charlie—people would care about me then, I suppose.-—‘ The dufferest duffer .
that ever was!’ and ever will be; I shall always be that—I know I shall.”

“Master Loo, dear, let me in; you will be starved before the morning.

_ Master Loo!”

It was his old nurse at the ‘disis with bread and jam, but he snored so
loudly, that she went away again; though he did not go to bed and to sleep
till long afterwards, and therefore overslept himself, in spite of the mother
starling whistling straight down his chimney, as soon as the sun rose, “ Wait
and see, here comes the light.”

* * * * *

There was a cricket-match on the green, and two school elevens were
playing the afternoon away. ;

There was one boy sauntering about on the outskirts of the ground,
looking as if all he wanted was a pillow to send-him off to sleep.

There was the tall man like a chimney, with the voice like a bell, shouting
out, “ Bowled!” “ Played indeed!” as energetically as any boy. - Marsden
‘was his name, the new master. Looking off the players at last, he asked
who the solitary boy was. “That?” answered one standing near,. “Oh, .
that’s only Maitland.”

“ But why is he always alone ? ”

“Because he likes himself better than anybody else, and that’s not saying
much. He always goes about by himself—it’s a way of his.”

“What relation is he to the little ot I spoke to up here the day before
yesterday?”
A FEATHERED FAMILY. 200

“ Brother,—and the little one would make two of him any day.” Then
.there came a cry of “ lost ball,’ and off went master and boys to look for it,
as if it were the one great object of their life. But every word they said had
been carried to Lucius by the wind which had set his way, and he turned
*slowly towards home,-for the clock in the clock-tower had struck six, saying
to himself, “Marsden is like all the rest of them now. They have set him
against me.” But Lucius made mistakes sometimes, like everybody else.

All the next day John Marsden watched him closely. He noticed how












analyte

LS a ras
i - ee ges
yg Mier. 1

6 e

THE HOUSE WITHOUT A CHIMNEY.

surly he was towards the other boys, and how perfectly indifferent the
other boys were in their manner towards him, not shunning him, but simply
behaving as if he were not there, which perhaps was worse: \He noticed how
when Lucius had 500 lines given him, he took it as if quite accustomed to
it; and how, when Dr. Boreham spoke to them about the scholarship to be
worked for-after Easter, Lucius’s neighbour had said something to him which
made his face look like a thunder-cloud, with not a bit of sunlight near it.
The boy had only said with a laugh, “ You are going in for it, Maitland,
P 2
212 : A FEATHERED FAMILY.

aren’t you?” And then he noticed in the playground, when the bully of
_ the school, with his train of great, stupid, weak followers, got hold of a little
new fellow, fresh from home, and were treating him as only bullies know how
—that Lucius stepped forward, and hitting right and left, shouted out:
“You great cowards! hit me as much as you like—I don’t care! but you
shan’t touch him.” And, in his excitement, he ran against Mr. Marsden,
who, towering over them all, called them to order sooner than Lucius could
have done ; for, although they were struck dumb at first by Maitland show-
ing any signs of life, they were just beginning to resent his interference when
somebody said, “Here’s Marsden!” and they slunk away, leaving Lucius
with a face looking down upon him like a great sun shining, and a voice that
belonged to the face, saying, “ Well done, Maitland!” What did he care
for his 500 lines now? It was so long since he had heard “Well done!”
said to him, that he wrote and wrote that afternoon as if for his very life,
and the words seemed. to fly off his pen. When he had finished at last, and
he thought he was all alone in the schoolroom, there was Mr. Marsden looking
at him in a way that made Loo go up to him at once, and say, “Thank you,
sir, for what you said to me.” ;
“What did I say? I don’t remember.”
«You said, ‘Well done!’ and I wish somebody else would say it too.”

“ Who?”—and Mr. Marsden’s head was bent lower in kindly pity, waiting
for the answer; but Lucius drew into his shell again suddenly, and with the
usual frown took up his books, and only said :

“What’s the use of talking? it isn’t worth while to bother you—good
evening, sir.” - And he was out at the door in another minute, but he did
not get home quite so early as usual.

The starlings, to their.infinite surprise, spied out the man like the
chimney, and the boy who growled like a dog, striding along side by side
past the little house with the words written above the door, down to the
A FEATHERED FAMILY. 213

t

sea. Nurse, mending countless pairs of socks by the window, biting her °
thread as she looked out, wondered where Master Loo was going with the
gentleman who had a kind word and a smile for everybody: .

They stopped at the very far end of the parade, before a small house
with “Apartments to Let” in the window, and a very tiny sitting-room |









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































a
ee

yoy
Â¥
ic (hae

Peas where



We il

, - on a sofa lay a
aM lady with thin white hands,
‘large brilliant eyes, and a smooth white
forehead like Mr. Marsden’s.

THE PARADE. . «This is Lucius Maitland I was telling you
about yesterday evening, Florence. Maitland, this is my sister. Don’t expect
her to get up and shake hands, because she cannot move. You need not look —
so solemn. We do nothing but laugh here.” a eG

And the brother and sister exchanged a funny merry g salanee and. -Lucius

thought that excepting his mother he had never seen anything so lovely as
‘her smile when she held out her hand and said:

«he doctors will not let me be polite, or anything but very idle, so Es

\

leave everything for John to do.”
214 A FEATHERED FAMILY.

And to his surprise there was John doing what Nurse did—looking
after the kettle, making. the tea, and fixing a delicate little piece of bread on
the toasting fork, which he told Loo to toast, thereby making him feel at
home directly.

“But what do you do when Mr. aaieae is up with us at school?” he
inquired of the invalid, whose bright voice and manner had already won his
heart,—‘ Don’t you réad ?”

«Ah! just let me catch es at it,” said her brother, with that twinkle in
- his eyes again.

“No! I must not read anything to myself,” she answered, “ because I
am so silly when I once begin as not to be able to leave off at the proper
time ; so I wait till he comes home, and he reads as much as is good for me.
You see the books I like to read best are the very worst for me just now.’

“What are your favourite books? Do tell me. I know when one of
Ainsworth’s was taken away from me, when I was ill once, I thought it very
hard. lines,” said Lucius, so eagerly that he forgot what he was doing and
Mr. Marsden as eagerly called out—

“Have pity on our toast, Maitland!” and then in a quieter tone con-
tinued, “ My boy, the books that hurt my sister do not hurt you, I’m afraid.
She knows more about Greck and Latin than the head boy of Boreham’s—I
forget his name—who took such honours at Oxford last year; she can read
her German Bible as easily as her English one; and as to mathematics!
why the other morning, when, Turner was beaten by that problem in Euclid,
I could have.told him that my sister had done it before she was his age.”

“J ohn—my dear John! the poor boy looks as if he were quite fright-
ened of me, and well he may be after such an alarming account. Do sit
down and begin tea, and don’t tread on poor little Fido’s tail again.”

And when Marsden was sufficiently calm to sit down and pour out tea
from the little brown teapot, Loo noticed that he waited on his sister as
‘A FEATHERED FAMILY. 215

tenderly as his own mother had nursed him when he was ill, and that it
seemed as if the great strong man had left himself at Dr. Boreham’s, and
here, in this little room, was a gentle woman for the sake of that gentle





















MDT]















THE CRICKET MATCH.

woman on the sofa. That was one of the happiest evenings in Loo’s life,
and although he has spent very many happy ones since, and is now a grown- ©
up man, he remembers all as if it were yesterday. How pleasantly they
talked to him ‘about his home!
216 A FEATHERED FAMILF.

* When I called upon your father to ask him if he would allow you to
‘come home with me this evening, Lucius,” said Mr. Marsden, ‘I saw your
mother also, and I could not help thinking, as I looked at her and talked
‘with her, what a happy fellow you are.—I longed to call her: ‘Mother’
myself; and were those two little girls in white pinafores, who came to
meet us in the hall, both your sisters ?”

“Yes,” said Lucius, “and the. baby’s a girl too.”

“Just think of that, Florence! He is blessed with three sisters, and I
only have one ;” but Mr. Marsden’s eyes rested on that one sister as if she
were everything to him.

“One would be quite enough for me, I’m sure,” muttered Lucius, ith
what would have been a growl on the nursery rug at home; but somehow
he felt ashamed of having said what he had said. Neither brother nor
sister took any notice, and tea being finished soon afterwards, the brother
went out for a stroll with his pipe by the sea, telling Lucius he should take

-him home in a quarter of an hour. When he had left them Lucius
began : —_

“ How is it you can both be so jolly, if you are so ill, so obliged to be
idle, and Mr. Marsden has to leave you here all day by yourself?. I should
have thought you must find it so stupid and dull.”

“T cannot help being ‘jolly,’ as you call it,” answered Miss. Marsden,
with a smile, “when I see John so. He is never dull or cross up at school—
now, is he?” .

“No,” was the hasty answer ; “I should think not! We all like him
so much, and he goes in for all the games as if he were one of the fellows,
and speaks to us. more as if he were an elder brother than a master.”

“And yet,” went on Miss Marsden, with tears and smiles in her eyes at
the same time, “ nobody knows how hard it was for him, at. first, to teach ;
how he hated it, and made himself do it, because he knew that he must, that
A FEATHERED FAMILV. 217

it was his duty. He never told anybody but me how home-sick he used to
be; how, at the first school he was at, the boys called him ‘Crab,’ and ‘all
sorts of names,—and it was only his being so unhappy that ever made him
cross; he had nobody to love or care for. there. And so one day he had a
holiday, irom Saturday till Monday,—and on the Sunday he came to me
and said that he had been watching
some young birds—starlings—-
learning. to fly, and that the old
birds had been telling him all
sorts of wise things. One had ‘
_ said, ‘ Wait aid see ;’ another had § . S
‘said, ‘It must be;’ and. another, .
‘All right;” and another, |
‘There’s the light; > and now he
declares that, every morning on his
way to Dr. Boreham’s, other 4
starlings tell him the same. Those
gardens by the old clock-tower are
full of them, and he loves them for
reminding. him of that Sunday, a \



long time ago.”—Here the door X&

opened, and Mr. Marsden himself =

appeared.—“ John, dear old fellow,

T have been telling Lucius what the

starlings say. Do you remember how I laughed at you that Sanders ee?
John laughed now, and such a hearty laugh that Florence and Lucius did

IN THE CHIMNEY.

the same. , es
“Next time you come and see us,” said Mr. Marsden, “ you must tell us

whether ,the starlings say the same to you, Lucius, for there are whole
218 A FEATHERED FAMILF.

families up on your chimneys. I see them and hear them every morning.
I know you will understand them soon enough if you only listen—And now
we must be off, for I promised your father you should be home by nine.”

“T think your sister is an angel, sir,” said Lucius, after they had walked
some time in silence and had nearly reached his home.

_ No, Maitland—I will just tell you what she is. When our father died,
and I had to. leave Oxford, and our home was broken up, and we had each to
work for our living—she went out to educate girls as no girls were educated
before. She loved her work and she loved them, and when from loving both
too much she overdid it, and we were told she must have perfect rest and
come here to get strong again—she put it all away as cheerfully as she had
taken it up, because she loved Him who gave her the work to do, best of all.’
—I tell you if anybody—anything—can read you a sermon about what you
ought to be—how you ought to work—what is worth doing—she can.” All
the ringing of the bell had gone out of his voice, and there were great gasps,
like waves of the sea, tumbling about in it. Lucius did not like to speak, he
did not quite know what to. say, and Mr. Marsden went on:

“ And there was I, like a fool, fretting because I did not like my work ;
whilst she was doing hers so bravely, I was crying, like a baby, for home
and wishing I had somebody to care for at the school where I was one of
the masters! Why, man—there is always somebody to love and care for,
and if we care for them, we are sure to have somebody to care for us—to
love us.” It was the bell-voice again now, and the sunshiny face looked’
down upon Lucius, till his, too, caught a gleam, as he said wonderingly :

“Then you have to do every day what you don’t like, as well as Miss
Marsden, and yet you are both as jolly as youcan be! I cannot quite make it
out.” :

“Tt is just this, Maitland,’ was Mr. Marsden’s. answer, as he laid his
hand kindly on: the boy’s shoulder, “there is nothing worth fretting about
A FEATHERED FAMILY. : 219

here; if we do our duty like men—never frown where we might just as well
smile, and take all the good things God gives us with thankful hearts—we
may be sure that it will be all right some time.”

* * * * *

“Tt must be!’ were the first words Lucius heard, when he woke the
next morning.

It was the mother starling, talking to herself as she bustled. about the
smooth dewy lawn, picking up the worms; and she reminded Lucius that he
must be up and doing. He would learn his lessons in the library, that
morning, before breakfast; and though it was rather trying to hear them all
say, “Loo down so early!” “Loo hard at work!” “What is going to
happen ?” yet he actually did not growl. He told them with rather a red
face that he could not himself say what was going to happen—he must wait
and see, whilst he did his best at home and at school to be something
different from what he had been. Poor Loo! it was up-hill work; but then
it was up-hill for the young starling to reach the nursery chimney, but he
did reach it, and that. very afternoon too.

Whilst Lucius was working with all his might at schools the young bird
sat on the edge of the hole in the garden wall, and looked up sideways at
that chimney. Some of the lower ones looked very inviting, and so much
easier! must he really try for the highest ? Oh dear! he did so hope that
“nobody was looking. Yes! there was those nasty birds on the drawing-room
chimney, with all their eyes fixed upon him; and just then they all shrieked
out: together, “Where are you ? In the dark !”’ Not a minute longer would
he remain there, when he might be, and ought’ to be, in the light. Once to
make ready! twice to prepare!! “Here’s the light!” came softly down
from above, and he knew it was his mother’s whistle.

Three to start off!!! and four to get there!!!! Stretching his dusky
little wings, which would one day glisten with j ewels better than any cage
220 - A FEATHERED FAMILY.

bird’s, he flapped them rather unsteadily at first, with a tremulous motion,—
then spreading them more and more in the May sunshine, he went up, and
up, and up, till he hardly knew where he was going, only he heard, “ All
right, all right,” so cheerily whistled by his father and mother, that he knew
he had done what every sensible starling ought to do when it begins life in
earnest: he had flown on to the tip-top of the nursery chimney.

The starlings still sit on the chimneys, but the other end of the nursery
chimney is silent now, for all the ‘children are men and women, and Lucius
is the best of them all. The muffin-man still trots about below other
nursery windows with his tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. Other starlings tell their
little ones to “‘ wait and see,” for “it must be all right, > just as the mother

. of the faint-hearted bird used to tell him. The bell chimes in with the same
song from that little house down the street, and over the door may the words
still be read, “ Ho, every one- that thirsteth, come ye to the waters.” And
John Marsden’s sister obeyed, and is gone, whilst he who thirsted so much is

‘ left behind: But there is the blue sky still above him, and the great sea
beyond, and the Heavenly Father who made both is with him, and he

knows it. .


FORGETFUL FRANK.

PELL, Frank, how do you get on with your holiday task ?”
“Get on?” replies Frank; “I don’t get on abit. It’s
an awful shame giving a fellow any work in the holidays.



Here have I been fagging away at this long string of names
and dates for the last hour, and I can’t say it yet. I have
‘no memory atall.”

_ «Well, my boy,” said I, “holiday tasks are rather a
bore, no doubt, and rather unfair, when ‘a fellow works hard all the half-
year,’ as you say; but as you have got the Roman history to do, the best
thing is to see how soon you can manage it. As to No Memory, that’s a
complaint that a great many people suffer from. who might easily be cured.
Do you remember the old story of Eyes and No Eyes er

“Yes, I do; but what has that to do with memory?”

“« A great deal. Two boys—say you and Tom—of about equal age and
ability, walk down a green country lane, or up Regent Street, on a sunny
morning. One fellow sees a. hundred curious and pleasant things, the other
not five. But both have eyes, and both can see clearly. Much in the same
fashion, two fellows in your class both have memories. One has been taught,
or has learned by practice, to use the power of storing up facts in his mind,
and recollecting them; the other has not. What one finds easy, the other
finds very hard or impossible ; though, at the time, both have got memories
equally good, and equally fit for work. Do you remember, Frank, the pool
below the Hatch, where I killed the two big trout last year P”

“Oh yes, quite well,”
222 20-3 FORGETFUL FRANK.

“ You can remember how different the two fish were in colour, and size,

and shape; how the pool curved round on one sidé with a broad shallow

_pebbly beach, and how on the other side there was a bank of chalky, mud
beyond the bed of thick weeds?”

“And the thousands of caddis worms that we saw crawling about at the
bottom of the shallow! Oh yes, I remember; and we counted sixty-one red
spots on the biggest trout; and you showed me the two sorts of May-flies,
and the reed warbler’s nest, and the -water-ousel,—and then we were so

puzzled by the fish all at once leaving off feeding in the afternoon, and sud-
denly beginning again, as we came up the river., I can see that great pool |
now, quite plainly, and watch the fish feeding; and I recollect that queer
story the keeper told us about the two big trout fighting—charging each
other like a couple of rams—to settle which should be king of the run.”

“And how is it,” said I, “that you can recollect all these things 80
clearly and exactly if you have no’‘memory ? ”

“Oh,” replies Frank, “ but. trout-fishing is a very diferent thing from
Roman history. Of course, a fellow can recollect all about trout, and the
chalk-stream, flies, and beetles, and the river, because he likes them so
much.”

“Just so: he likes them all, and puts his heart ates the sort of storing
them up in his mind. The facts all fit into their right places, and he keeps _
them there safe and sound for many a long day. And the very same machine
he uses to learn the history of the trout, the names of the flies, beetles, and
birds, only wants careful use, and plenty of oil and a little heart in the
business, to serve equally well for Roman history. Some day, ee you
and I will have a talk about this long story of names and dates again.’

* ; * * *

A few weeks after this we got back from the country to our own home at

the Blind School in St. George’s Fields, where about one hundred and sixty


. A GREEN COUNTRY LANE.
224 Re LORGETIULE FRANK.

‘ poor blind children are taught to read and write and cipher, and work ata
trade; all of which things they learn to do as nimbly and correctly as boys
with the sharpest eyes. —

“ Now, Frank,” said I, “come along with me, and let us hunt up a few
fellows who once had no mémory,—like a boy I once met in the holidays,—
but somehow or other have managed to learn by heart scores and hundreds

-of words and lines which would puzzle you as much as the Roman history,
at first. . :

“ These blind children come to us at all ages, between ten and eighteen,
and generally knowing nothing more than the names of a few letters ; often

unable to say even the Lord’s Prayer correctly, and without even a notion of
what arithmetic means. As to writing and reading they look upon the whole

thing as an impossibility. And yet more than ninety out of a hundred learn
to read fairly with their fingers, and to emboss a letter on thick paper which
they can make out. for themselves, or a friend in the country can read in the
usual way ; and all of them, some early and some late, wake up to the fact
that they have got strong, clear, sharp memories.

“Go into the chapel on Sunday morning: you will hear a hundred voices
repeating not only all the responses, but, the alternate verses of the Psalms
for the day ; and, when the time comes for singing, joining heartily. in the
verses out of ‘Hymns Ancient and Modern,’ which are some hundreds in. |
number.

“Ask that little girl there, busy weaving a sash-line, how long she took
to learn the whole of the one hundred and fifty Psalms. She will tell, you
about eighteen months ;—all done, too, not in the school-room, or while at
work,—but after school-hours, while strolling about with a friend, who
teaches them to her a verse at a time, line by line, and makes her repeat it,
verse by verse; until she has mastered the whole Psalm, and so on through
the one hundred and fifty. And, once learned, she nevet forgets them. If
FORGETFUL FRANK. 225

you doubt my word, try her, by giving her a verse out of any one Psalm you
know, and she will at once go on with that which follows, to the end of the
Psalm.— There, I told you so. Once she had no memory. Now, you see













‘¢mHE POOL BELOW THE HATOH.”’

what she has. There are fifty other girls in this long work-room who can
do what she does so easily and so correctly.

“ Gossiping old Bishop Burnet* tells us of a blind lady, a Miss Walkier,
who had mastered five different languages, and knew by heart all the Psalms,

* Travels, vol. i., p, 218.
Q
226 FORGETFUL FRANK.

and the whole of the New Testament; and Mr. Wilson, in his Biography, of
a blind sailor, who had learned the ‘Navy List’ ai through from
beginning to end.

“You ‘smile, Frank, at this, I see,—but come now over to the other
side of the school, where the blind boys and men are at work, and you
shall see and hear for yourself a man who can beat the sailor, if not Miss
Walkier.

“ Here we are in the mat shop, full of boys and men, all busily at work
on cocoa-nut matting: coarse mats for doorways, or coloured rugs of the
' daintiest kind. There, at the loom, is D. Butler.”—

“ Well, Butler, how are you? ‘Busy as ever?”

“Yes, sir; and quite well, thank you.”

“ How does Milton get on? ”

“Pretty well, sir; but the ‘Paradise Regained’ is a deal harder than

' € Paradise Lost.’ ”’

“Paradise Regained ! ’—have you been learning that ? ”

“ Just finished two books, sir, in the holidays ; and the ‘ Life of Milton’
which you lent me as well,—and most of the Notes.”

“And can you really say the whole of this by heart?”

“Yes, sir, I think so. Will you try me? I shall be glad if you will,
because I am going to repeat a book or two of the ‘Paradise Lost’ to the
girls, and give them a sketch o the Life, wie a Note or two. Mr. M. (the
matmaker) has the book, sir.’

Milton was fetched in a trice; and we tried the blind man in half-a-
dozen places; giving him a line taken at random, wherever we pleased, and
he at onée giving in reply the lines that followed, as clearly and accurately
asif he read every word from a book.

By working slowly, steadily, and carefully on in his odds and ends of
leisure time, and going over the ground again and again, while at work, he
FORGETFUL FRANK, — 227

had not only learned the “ Paradise Lost” by heart, but a very large portion
of Scripture, the whole of the Prayer Book Psalms, and a vast number of
hymns,—to say nothing of Goldsmith’s “ Deserted Village,” and other modern
poetry! Very few persons, even with sight, could ever accomplish ‘such a











BUTLER AT THE LOOM.

holiday task, simply because few would sei to work for years with such
incessant, unwearied application. .

“Oh,” says Frank, “blind people must have extraordinary memories,— _
that’s the reason why they can do such things.”
228 , FORGETFUL FRANK.

“Yes,” said I; “they have got extraordinary memories, simply because
they put them to the right and the best use; and in spite of all difficulties,
fight their way steadily on. And see what a blind boy’s difficulties are.

Nearly every line he learns must be from the voice of a friend; not a book
can be looked at, not a note referred to; he has to rely solely and entirely
on his own wits. But watch the blind man as his friend reads to him.
See how intently he listens; he is now all ear, not a word, not a syllable
escapes him. He cuts off every channel of communication with the
other things that are going on about him, and gives himself up to this
one work. It is their unwearied, earnest application which, after all, wins
the day.

“Do not imagine for a moment that blind people have any wonderful or
special aptitude for remembering things, or any unusual genius for steady
work—except what practice and a strong desire to succeed bring with them,
The surest sign of genius is, in fact, the power of giving your mind steadily
to a single object ; and, in this sense, the old proverb comes true : An ounce

of genius is worth a pound of clever.” So, at last, the blind boy succeeds in
learning by heart many and many a long page which puzzles his friend with
eyes; not because his powers of memory are keener or stronger than his
friend’s, but mainly because he gives time and labour to the work, and puts
his heart into it. Step by step, and little by little, he finds out the strength
that is.in him; very often by being thrown upon his own resources, and left
almost alone to make the most of what he has.

“Take a few hints from the blind boy, when he sets about learning by
heart. Do not attempt too much at atime. Go slowly. ‘Memory,’ says a
wise man, ‘islike a purse: ifover-full that it cannot shut, all will drop out.’
As for facts and dates of history, try to sift the chaff from the wheat, be
content ‘toJet the little fishes slip through the meshes of the net, provided’
you save the big ones,’ Don’t turn so good a servant as memory into a
229

_FORGETFUL FRANK.

ieee ns

4



MILTON COMPOSING.
230 FORGETFUL FRANK.

slave; above all, never dream for a moment that you have ‘No Memory.’

Give it only fair play, fair exercise, and a willing heart, and some day you
may rival Butler in getting up a thousand lines of ‘ Paradise Lost.’ ”





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Including the graphic stories of the rise of the Peel Family, and the struggles of such men
as Hugh Miller, Wilson the Ornithologist, Smeaton the Engineer, and Robert Stevenson.

‘With Hight full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt edges.

FLOOD, FIELD, AND FOREST.
By Gzorce Roorsr, Author of “ Thames and Tweed,” ‘‘ Tales and Sketches.”
Illustrated by Gzorex Bowzns and J. Caruiszz. Cloth gilt, gilt edges.

“Its many merits of style and information, with its fund of excellent suggestions and amusing anecdotes, drawn from
the world of a long experience with sporting matters, have evidently given it and secured it a wide-spread popularity,”—
r di Standard.

WOMEN OF WORTH.

A Book for Boys and Girts.
With full-page Illustrations by W. Dickes. Crown 8yo, cloth gilt, gilt edges. :
Ys

‘ LONDON: J. 8. VIRTUE & CO., Limrep, 26, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.







































































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