Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Undine, the water maid, who wedded...
 Rip Van Winkle and his long...
 The swineherd
 Dick Whittington and his cat
 The dragon of Wantley
 A voyage to Fairyland
 The ugly duckling
 Robin Hood and his merry men
 The discontented pendulum
 The pied piper of Hamelin
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Group Title: Told in the twilight : stories to tell to children
Title: Told in the twilight
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00086983/00001
 Material Information
Title: Told in the twilight stories to tell to children
Uniform Title: Whittington and his cat
Physical Description: 93, 1 p., 10 leaves of plates : ill. ; 23 cm.
Language: English
Creator: McManus, Blanche, b. 1869 ( Illustrator )
Andersen, H. C ( Hans Christian ), 1805-1875
Browning, Robert, 1812-1889
E. R. Herrick & Co ( Publisher )
Publisher: E.R. Herrick & Company
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: c1898
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1898   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1898   ( lcsh )
Fantasy literature -- 1898   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1898
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Fantasy literature   ( rbgenr )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: with pictures by Blanche McManus.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
General Note: Illustrated endpapers printed in red.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00086983
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225077
notis - ALG5349
oclc - 256788390

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 1a
    Front Matter
        Page 2
    Half Title
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Table of Contents
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Undine, the water maid, who wedded a mortal
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
    Rip Van Winkle and his long nap
        Page 12
        Page 12a
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    The swineherd
        Page 16
        Page 16a
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Dick Whittington and his cat
        Page 24
        Page 24a
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    The dragon of Wantley
        Page 36
        Page 36a
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    A voyage to Fairyland
        Page 40
        Page 40a
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    The ugly duckling
        Page 45
        Page 45a
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
    Robin Hood and his merry men
        Page 60
        Page 60a
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
    The discontented pendulum
        Page 78
        Page 78a
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
    The pied piper of Hamelin
        Page 82
        Page 82a
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
    Back Matter
        Page 94
        Page 95
    Back Cover
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
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S20 v-'jes~-

A 7



7 1/


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Stories to tell to Children.
With Picturings



Copyright, 1898,






RIP VAN WINKLE AND HIS LONG NAP.... ................ 12

THE SWINEHERD ........................................ 16

DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. ........................... 24

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY .............................. 3

A VOYAGE TO FAIRYLAND................................ 40'

THE UGLY DUCKLING.............. ..................... 45

ROBIN HOOD AND HIS MERRY MEN ....................... 60

THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM ........................... 78

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN ............................ 82



WHO was Undine ? Why, just the most beautiful
Rhine maiden who ever existed, but she wanted to be a
mortal and to leave the lovely caves below the waters
and become a commonplace human being. So her great
uncle Kiihleborn, who was ruler of the spirits of the
waters, made a mighty storm, and Undine, in the shape
of a tiny baby, was washed to the shore of a lake, where
the old fisher people who had lost their own child
adopted her.
As a little girl Undine often amazed her foster parents
by her queer sayings and doings. She would play among
the waves of the lake, and often would mysteriously dis-
appear for'days at a time.
Now when she had grown up, a knight rode through
the forest and stopped with the old fisher people, and
that night another storm rose, and the lake burst its
bound and encircled the house, so that they were cut off


from land, and saw no way ever to rejoin the rest of the
world. A priest was wrecked below their hut, and the
next day Huldbrand, the knight, married Undine, who at
once became mortal-the sweetest, gentlest, loveliest bride
knight ever had. Then the lake sank down to its usual
size, and straightway the knight bore off his bride. But
Kfthleborn followed them through the forest-now as a
brook, and then as a waterfull-always near to watch
over Undine. For a long time they were very happy;
but a lady at the court, Bertalda, had loved the knight
herself before ever he met Undine, and still loved him;
so she did her best to persuade him that the fair Undine
was a witch. Undine thought that a person who was so
cruel must be unhappy, and thought it was because she
was an orphan, so she found out through the water-fairies
that Bertalda was the lost daughter of the fisher-folk, her
foster parents, and sent for them. But Bertalda was
furious at being discovered to be a peasant, and hated
Undine still more, and did more to set Huldbrand against
his bride. Now Undine knew if her husband was cruel
to her or loved another, she would have to kill him and
rejoin the water-people; so she did her best by loving
ways to inspire him with faith, but he grew more and
more suspicious, especially when Undine had the great
well of the castle covered with a huge stone, for she
feared lest IIuldbrand's treatment would cause the Rhine


fairies, who could only enter the castle by that spring, to
do him injury.
Afterwards, much against her wish, she went with her
knight, and Bertalda, for a tour on the Rhine. And here
one day her husband called her a witch, and in a violent
rage bade her go back to her people; so she vanished
over the side of the boat and melted like water into the
Huldbrand grieved bitterly, but after a while was com-
forted by Bertalda's love, and married her. The new
bride, eager to display her power, ordered the castle well
to be uncovered, when a pillar of water rose, that changed
into the form of Undine, who, wringing her hands,
walked to Huldbrand's chamber, where they found him
dead in her arms. They buried him, and a bubbling
spring gushed from the turf by his grave, encircling it ere
it flowed into the lake. Thus does Undine still hold her
loved knight in her embrace.


PAsT New York, right up the Hudson River, you come
to great mountains-called the Catskills-which are
otherwise known as the "Kaatsberg." Long ago there
lived in a village, at the foot of one of these tree-clad
hills, a Dutchman named Rip Van Winkle, who had a
wife, a grumbling, bad-tempered woman; a son, a young
Rip; and a blue-eyed daughter, whom he loved dearly.
The old Rip was a lazy, good-natured fellow, fond of sit-
ting outside the village inn and gossiping in the shade
beneath the sign-board which bore a portrait of King
George III., for America was then an English colony.
One summer evening when poor Rip Van Winkle had
been scolded by his wife, who had routed him out of his
favorite seat, he scrambled up the mountain for peace and
quiet with his dog and his gun, and threw himself on a
green knoll, and dozed.
He was aroused by hearing some one call "Rip Van
Winkle Rip Van Winkle !" His dog Wolf growled and
skulked to his master's side, as a curious dwarf approached
them carrying a keg of liquor on his shoulders; he made


Blnorh,.MeManus- 'q1.





signs for Rip to help him carry his burden up the moun-
tain, and they climbed in silence, broken only by long
rolling peals like distant thunder, until they came to an
open space, where Rip saw a company of odd-looking
personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in
short doublets, with great knives stuck in their belts, and
wore enormous breeches, each had a long beard and
a queue, and each wore a high-pointed hat, with a crown
like a sugar-loaf and a broad brim. By and by they
induced Rip to join them, and he found the noise he had
taken for thunder was caused by their balls as they rolled
along the mountain sides. After awhile they offered him
a flagon of hollands, which he drank and fell down in a
deep sleep.
When he woke it was bright sunshine, his first thought
was, What excuse shall I make to Dame Winkle ? He
looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-
oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock, its barrel
crusted with rust, its lock falling off, and the stock worm-
eaten. Wolf was gone, nor in spite of his whistling could
he bring him back. As he clambered down toward the
village, the people he met seemed dressed in a different
fashion from that he had known, and they all stared at
him and stroked their chins. As Rip did the same he
found he had a beard a foot long. He approached his
house, it had fallen into ruins; a half-starved dog snarled


at him, and Rip was sad to find that Wolf, as he thought,
had forgotten him. He called for his wife, but no answer
came. So he strolled on to the village inn, but in place
of the quiet little house, he found a great building with
a flag of stars and stripes fluttering above it, and a sign
with a head, entitled "General Washington." He asked
in vain for his old friends. "Does nobody here know Rip
Van Winkle ?" he shouted.
Oh, yes, there he is," said two or three voices at once,
and he looked up and saw a man exactly like he was
when he went up the mountain.
Then he saw a comely woman, and as she spoke to her
little boy, "Hush, Rip, the old man won't hurt you," he
seemed to know her voice. "What was your father's
name ?" he said.
"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but
it's twenty years since he went away from home with his
gun, and has never been heard of since his dog came
home without him."
"Where is your mother ?" he asked.
"She died some time ago," she replied.
"I am your father," the poor man said; and then a
very old woman came forward and said:
Sure enough it's Rip Van Winkle himself. Well, old
neighbor, where have you been these twenty years ?"
But nobody believed the story he told, yet they were


kind to him, and he soon grew very happy, for there was
no cross Dame Van Winkle to worry him; and if any one
wants to know more about him, a famous writer named
Washington Irving has told the story much better than it
is told here in his Sketch-Book."


THERE was once a poor prince; he had a kingdom that
was very small; still it was quite large enough to marry
upon; and he wished to marry.
It was certainly rather cool of him to say to the em-
peror's daughter, Will you have me ?" But so he did;
for his name was renowned far and wide; and there was
a hundred princesses who would have answered, "Thank
you." But see what she said. Now we will hear.
By the grave of the prince's father there grew a rose
tree-a most beautiful rose tree; it blossomed only once
in every five years, and even then bore only one flower, but
that was a rose that smelled so sweet as to make one
forget all cares and sorrows.
And furthermore, the prince had a nightingale, who
could sing in such a manner that it seemed as though all
sweet melodies dwelt in her little throat. So the princess
was to have the rose and the nightingale; and they were
accordingly put into large silver caskets, and sent to her.
The emperor had them brought into a large hall, where
the princess was playing at "making calls," with the
ladies of the court; they never did anything else, and when
she saw the caskets with the presents, she clapped her
hands for joy.

'f ,

The Swineherd.


"Ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat !" exclaimed she;
then out came the beautiful rose.
Oh, how prettily it is made !" said all the court ladies-
"It is more than pretty," said the emperor; "it is
charming !"
But the princess touched it, and was almost ready to
"Fie, papa !" said she, "it is not made at all; it is
natural !"
"Fie !" cried all the court ladies; "it is natural!"
"Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get
into a bad humor, proposed the emperor. So the nightin-
gale came forth and sang so delightfully that at first no
one could say anything ill-humored of it.
"Superbe! charmant!" exclaimed the ladies; for they
all used to chatter French, each worse than her neighbor.
"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box
that belonged to our blessed empress !" remarked an old
"Ah yes said the emperor, and he wept like a little
"I will still hope that it is not a real bird," said the
"Yet it is a real bird," said those who had brought it.
"Well, then let the bird fly," returned the princess;
and she positively refused to see the prince.


However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his
face over brown and black, pulled his cap over his ears,
and knocked at the door.
"Good-day, emperor !" said he. "Can I have employ-
ment at the palace ?"
"Oh, there are so many that want a place !" said the
emperor; "well, let me see, I want some one to take care
of the pigs, for we have a great many of them."
So the prince was appointed "Imperial Swineherd."
He had a dirty little room close by the pigsty; and there
he sat the whole day and worked. By the evening he had
made a pretty little saucepan. Little bells were hung all
around it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells
tinkled in the most charming manner, and played the old
"Ah! thou dearest Augustir-.!
All is gone, gone, gone!"

But what was still more curious, whoever held his
finger in the smoke of this saucepan immediately smelled
all the dishes that were cooking on every hearth in the
city: this, you see, was something quite different from
the rose.
Now the princess happened to walk that way: and
when she heard the tune, she stood quite still, and seemed
pleased; for she could play "Dearest Augustine;" and it


was the only piece she knew, and she played it with one
"Why, there is my piece!" said the princess; "that
swineherd must certainly have been well educated!
Here! Go in and ask him the price of the instrument."
And so one of the court ladies must run in; however,
she drew on wooden slippers first.
"What will you take for the saucepan ?" inquired the
"I will have ten kisses from the princess," said the
"Mercy on us !" said the lady.
"Yes, I cannot sell it for less," said the swineherd.
"Well, what does he say ?" asked the princess.
"I cannot tell you, really," replied the lady; "it is too
"Then you can whisper it !" So the lady whispered it.
"He is an impudent fellow!" said the princess, and she
walked on; but when she had gone a little way, the bells
tinkled so prettily:

"Ah! thou dearest Augustine!
All is gone, gone, gone!"

"Stay," said the princess. "Ask him if he will have
ten kisses from the ladies of my court."
"No, thank you!" answered the swineherd: "ten


kisses from the princess, or I keep the saucepan myself."
"That must not be, either !" said the princess; "but do
you all stand before me, that no one may see us."
And the court ladies placed themselves in front of her,
and spread out their dresses; and so the swineherd got
ten kisses, and she got the saucepan.
It was delightful! the saucepan was kept boiling all
the evening and the whole of the following day. They
knew perfectly well what was cooking at every fire
throughout the city, from the chamberlain's to the cob-
bler's; the court ladies danced and clapped their hands.
"We know who has soup and who has pancakes for
dinner to-day, who has cutlets, and who has eggs. How
interesting !"
And How interesting !" said the lord steward's wife.
"Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an emperor's
"Mercy on us," said they all.
The swineherd-that is to say the prince, for no one
knew that he was other than an ill-favored swineherd-
let not a day pass without working at something; he at
last constructed a rattle, which, when it was swung
round, played all the waltzes and jig-tunes which have
ever been heard since the creation of the world.
"Ah, that is superbe" said the princess when she
passed by; "I have never heard prettier compositions!


Go in and ask him the price of the instrument; but I
won't kiss him !"
He will have a hundred kisses from the princess !"
said the court lady who had been in to ask.
I think he is crazy !" said the princess, and walked on;
but when she had gone a little way, she stopped again.
"One must encourage art," said she; "I am the emperor's
daughter. Tell him he shall, as on yesterday, have ten
Jdsses from me, and the rest from the ladies of the court."
"Oh! but we should not like that at all!" said the
court ladies.
"What are you muttering?" asked the princess: "if I
can kiss him, surely you can! Remember, I give you
your food and wages." So the court ladies were obliged
to go to him again.
"A hundred kisses from the princess!" said he, "or
else let every one keep his own."
"Stand round !" said she; and all the ladies stood
round her whilst the kissing was going on.
"What can be the reason for such a crowd close by the
pigsty ?" said the emperor, who happened just then to
step out on the balcony. He rubbed his eyes and put on
his spectacles. "They are the ladies of the court; there
is some play going on. I must go down and see what
they are about!" So he pulled up his slippers at the
heel, for he had trodden them down.


Hey there! what a hurry he is in.
As soon as he had got into the courtyard he moved
very softly, and the ladies were so much engrossed with
counting the kisses, that all might go on fairly, that they
did not perceive the emperor. He rose on his tip-
"What is all this ?" said he, when he saw what was
going on, and he boxed the princess' ears with his slip-
per, just as the swineherd was taking the eighty-sixth
"Off with you !" cried the emperor, for he was very
angry; and both princess and swineherd were thrust out
of the city.
The princess now stood and wept, the swineherd
scolded, and the rain poured down.
"Oh, how miserable I am !" said the princess. If I
had but married the handsome young prince! Ah how
unfortunate I am !"
And the swineherd went behind a tree, washed the
black-and-brown color from his face, threw off his dirty
clothes, and stepped forth in his princely robes; he looked
so noble that the princess could not help bowing before
"I am come to despise thee," said he. "Thou wouldst
not have an honorable prince! thou couldst not prize the
rose and the nightingale, but thou wast ready to kiss the


swineherd for the sake of a trumpery plaything. Now
thou hast thy deserts!"
He then went back to his own little kingdom, and shut
the door of his palace in her face. Now she might well
Ah thou dearest Augustine!
All is gone, gone, gone !"
-Hans Christian Andersen.


IN the reign of King Edward the Third there lived in
a small country village a poor couple, named Whitting-
ton, who had a son called Dick. His parents dying when
he was very young, he could scarcely remember them at
all; and as he was not old enough to work, he was for a
long time very badly off, until a kind but poor old
woman took compassion on him, and made her little cot-
tage his home. She always gave him good advice, made
him industrious and well behaved, and he became quite
a favorite in the village.
At fourteen he had grown up to be a stout, good-
looking lad, and the good old woman dying, he had to
look out for himself. He had heard much about the
wonderful city of London; and he felt very curious to go
there, and see it with his own eyes; hoping in so great
and wealthy a place he should get on better than he
could in a poor country village.
On a fine summer's morning he boldly started on his
journey, with but a trifle of money in his pocket. When
he had walked on for some hours, he felt extremely tired,
and was rather alarmed as to how he was to get over the
long journey. Soon a heavy wagon advancing along


Dick Whittington.


the road to London was overtaken. Dick, without much
ado, told the wagoner his plan, and begged him for a lift
until he was sufficiently rested to allow him to walk again.
This was agreed to, and so, partly by riding, and partly
by walking side by side with the wagoner, Dick managed
to reach the great city.
His heart beat with joy at being really in London, but
he was a little disappointed. He had fancied a grander
and richer sort of place than it first seemed to him. A
very common mistake, indeed.
After Dick had parted with the wagoner, he had only
a groat left of his money; a night's lodging and a scanty
meal exhausted this, and after wandering for a whole day,
and feeling so weary and faint from fatigue and hunger, he
threw himself down in a doorway, and slept soundly until
morning. On awakening and observing on the door
above him a curious-looking knocker, he thought there
could be no great harm if he lifted the knocker, and
waited to see who should appear.
The house belonged to a worthy merchant of the name
of Fitzwarren, who had a daughter called Alice, of about
the same age as Dick. A sour-looking, ill-tempered
woman opened the door, and seeing it was a poor worn-
out-looking country lad who had disturbed her breakfast,
she began to abuse him roughly and to order him away.
Luckily, Mr. Fitzwarren, who was a benevolent, courteous


gentleman, came up to the door at this moment, and lis-
tened attentively to the poor lad's story; and being
struck with its truthful aspect, he kindly ordered Dick
to be taken into the house, and cared for until he should
be able to get his living decently.
Alice overheard all this, and did all she could to save
Dick from the ill-will and harsh treatment of the cook.
Her parents agreed Dick should remain in the house if
he would make himself useful. This, however, was not
easy, for the cook never liked the boy, and took every
opportunity to spite him. She made him sleep on a
wretched hard bed, in an old loft, infested with rats and
mice. Dick dared not to complain; so he bore with this
trouble as long as he could, and resolved at length, when
he should have money enough, to buy himself a cat.
A very few days from this, a poor woman passing by
the door offered to sell him a cat for a penny. Dick took
his prize up to his loft, and kept her in an old wicker
basket out of the cook's sight, as he feared she would do
the cat a mischief. Now and then he would take Pussy
with him when he went out on errands, so that they soon
became great friends. Pussy was a capital mouser, and
very soon got rid of the rats and mice, and was very
clever and quick in learning many tricks that her master
taught her.
One day, when Dick was amusing himself with her

antics, he was surprised by Alice, who became as fond of
the cat as Dick was himself. This young lady always
remained the poor lad's friend, and cheered him up
under the hard usage of the cook, who ofttimes beat him
severely. Alice was not beautiful, but, what was of
greater real value, she was truly amiable in disposition,
and had the most agreeable manners. It was no wonder,
then, that Whittington, smarting under ill-treatment,
should regard his kind young mistress as an angel; while
the modesty of the youth, his correct conduct, his respect-
ful demeanor, and his love of truth, interested Alice so
much in his behalf, that she persuaded her father to let
him be taught to write-for he could already read. The
progress he made in this, and in acquiring further knowl-
edge, was astonishing.
Mr. Fitzwarren was a merchant; and it was his custom
whenever one of his ships went out, to call his family and
ask them all in turn to make a little venture or specula-
tion under charge of the captain. Poor Whittington was
absent when this next happened; he, poor fellow, felt
ashamed that he possessed nothing of value to send as his
venture. But he was called for, and told that he must
produce something-no matter what-to try his luck.
He then burst into tears, from very vexation and shame,
when Alice whispered in his ear, "Send' your cat, Dick,"
and forthwith he was ordered to take Pussy, his faithful


friend and companion, on board, and place her in the
hands of the captain. The mouser's good qualities were
made known to the captain, so that he might make the
most of her for Dick's benefit.
After his loss Dick felt rather sorrowful, and this
was not lessened by the taunts and jeers of his old
enemy, the cook, who used to tease him constantly about
his "fine venture," and the great fortune he was to make
by it. Poor fellow! she led him a miserable life; and as
his young mistress, besides, was soon after absent from
home on a visit, he lost heart entirely, and could no longer
bear to live in the same house with his tormentor.
So he resolved to quit Mr. Fitzwarren's house, and
started off accordingly one morning very early, unob-
served by any one, and wandered to the foot of Highgate
Hill. Tired and wretched, he flung himself upon a large
stone by the roadside, which is called Whittington's
Stone to this day. He presently sank into a sort of doze,
from which he was roused by the sound of Bow bells,
that began to ring a peal, as it was Allhallows Day. As
he listened he fancied he could make out the following
A hope was awakened within him as he kept repeating
these words after the bells. So distinctly did they appear


to be addressed to him, that he was resolved to bear any
hardships rather than check his way to fortune by idle
repining. So he made the best of his way home again.
Luckily he got into the house without his absence having
been noticed.
He exerted himself now more than ever to make himself
useful, especially to his worthy master and young mistress,
and succeeded beyond his expectation; almost everybody
saw that he tried to do his duty, and to excel in all he
attempted to do. Alice was more and more satisfied, and
heard with pleasure of the great progress he was making
in his studies. But the cook continued as surly as ever.
Mr. Fitzwarren's ship, the Unicorn," was all this time
slowly pursuing her voyage to Africa. In those days
navigation was but little understood, and much greater
dangers were incurred through ignorance than is now the
case. The "Unicorn was unlucky and met with much
foul weather, and was so tossed about that she lost her
reckoning; but what was worse, owing to her being so
long away, her provisions were nearly exhausted, and all
on board began to despair of ever returning to England.
All through this dreadful period Whittington's cat was
kept alive and well, and this no doubt was owing to the
great care taken of her by the captain himself, who had
not forgotten the interest Ahce had expressed to him
about the cat. Pussy was thus preserved from death and

contrived to bring up a little family of kittens during the
voyage: their funny tricks greatly diverted the sailors,
and helped to keep them in good humor when they began
to feel discontented.
One day land was described and proved to be a wealthy
kingdom of Africa. The inhabitants, who were copper-
colored, were hospitable, and much pleased to be visited
by the ships of white men. The King, as soon as he
heard of the arrival of the "Unicorn," sent some of his
great men to invite the captain and a few of his com-
panions to visit his Court, and to dine with him and his
A grand dinner, in the fashion of the country, was pro-
vided; and great good humor and cordiality prevailed
until the dishes were placed on the table, when the white
visitors were astonished at the appearance of rats and
mice in vast numbers, which came from their hiding-
places, and devoured nearly all the viands in a very short
time. The King and Queen seemed to regard this as no
uncommon event, although they felt quite ashamed it
should occur at this time.
When the captain found that there was no such
animal as a cat known in the country, he thought of
asking permission to introduce Whittington's cat at Court,
feeling convinced that Pussy would soon get rid of the
abominable rats and mice that infested it. The royal

pair and the whole Court listened to the account of
the cat's qualities as a mouser with wonder and delight,
and were impatient to see her talents put to proof. Puss
was accordingly taken ashore, and a fresh repast having
been prepared, which, on being served up was about to
be attacked in a similar way to the previous one, she
sprang in a moment among the crowd of rats and mice,
killing several, and putting the rest to flight in less than
the space of a minute.
Nothing could exceed the satisfaction caused by this
event. The King and Queen and all the courtiers did
not know how to make enough of Pussy, and they became
more and more fond of her when they found how gentle
and playful she could be. The captain was much pressed
to leave this valuable cat with his black friends, and he,
thinking that they would no doubt make a right royal
return for so precious a gift, readily acceded. The
Queen's attachment to Puss knew no bounds, and she felt
great alarm lest any accident should befall her, fearing
that in that case the odious rats and mice would return
more ferocious than ever.
The Queen had a tender heart, and when she had
heard from the captain all the particulars of Whitting-
ton's story, and of the poor lad's great regret at parting
with his cat, she felt quite loth to deprive him of his
favorite, especially when Pussy's kittens, which had also


been brought from the ship, were found to be quite able
to frighten away the rats and mice. So the cat was taken
on board again. The gratitude of the King and Queen for
the important services rendered by Pussy and her family
was manifested in the rich treasures they sent to Whit-
tington as the owner of the wonderful cat.
The captain, having completed his business and refitted
his ship as well, took leave of his African friends, and set
sail for England; and after a very long voyage safely
arrived in London. When the captain called upon the
merchant, the latter was very curious to hear of the perils
encountered and the strange sights witnessed by the cap-
tain. Alice, in particular, wanted to know what had be-
fallen Dick's cat, and what was the success of his venture.
When the captain had explained all, he added that
Whittington ought to be told very cautiously, otherwise
his good luck might make him lose his wits. But Mr.
Fitzwarren would hear of no delay, and had him sent for
at once.
Poor Dick at that moment had just been basted by the
cook with a ladle of dripping, and was quite ashamed to
appear in such a plight before company. But all his
woes were soon forgotten when the merchant told him of
his good fortune, and especially when he added that it
was a just reward granted by Heaven for his patience
under hard trials, and for his good conduct and industry.


When the boxes and bales containing the treasures given
by the King and Queen to the owner of the cat, and
marked outside with a large W, were displayed, the as-
tonished youth burst into tears, and implored his master
to take all if he would, but continue to be his friend.
But the merchant would touch none of it, declaring it to
belong to Whittington, and to him alone.
Before the captain took his leave, he said to Dick play-
fully, "I have another present for you from the African
Queen," and calling to a sailor, ordered him to bring up
Puss, which was done to the great joy of her former
master; and right happy was she to see him again, purr-
ing round him, and rubbing her head against his face
when he took her up in his arms. For the rest of her
days she continued to live with her grateful master.
Dick made a liberal and proper use of his wealth. Mr.
Fitzwarren constantly refused Whittington's earnest
wishes that he would accept at least some of his great
wealth, but he agreed to become his guardian and the
manager of his property until he should be of age. Under
his prudent counsel Whittington grew up to be a thriv-
ing merchant, and a wise and good citizen. With all
this success he never lost his old modesty of behavior; and
deeply as he loved Alice, he for a long time delayed to
make his secret known to her father; but the kind mer-
chant had long suspected the fact, and at last taxed


Richard with it. He could not deny it, but found he had
no cause to regret having opened his heart to Mr. Fitz-
warren. On Whittington's coming of age, he was re-
warded with the hand of Alice, who fully shared his
love, having long secretly regarded him with favor.
Whittington rose in eminence every year, and was
universally esteemed. He served in Parliament, was
knighted also, and was thrice Lord Mayor of London;
thus fulfilling the prophecy uttered, as he had fancied, by
Bow bells. When he served that office for the third
time, it was during the reign of Harry the Fifth, just
after that great king had conquered France. Sir Richard
entertained him and his Queen in such great style that the
King was pleased to say, "Never prince had such a sub-
ject!"to which it has been said the Lord Mayor loyally re-
plied, "Never subject had such a prince !"
At this entertainment the King was much pleased with
a fire made from choice woods and fragrant spices, upon
which Sir Richard said he would add something that
would make the fire burn more brightly for the pleasure
of his sovereign, when he threw into the flames various
bonds given by the King for money borrowed of the citi-
zens to carry on the war with France, and which Sir
Richard had called in and discharged, to the amount of
sixty thousand pounds-to the admiration of all who
witnessed this act of patriotic generosity.


After a long life, this good man, who nobly distin-
guished himself by public works and acts of charity-
by many of which he is still kept in memory-died,
universally regretted, having survived Alice, his wife,
about twenty years.

OLD stories tell how Hercules
A dragon slew at Lerna;
With seven heads and fourteen eyes,
To see and well discern-a:
But he had a club, this dragon to drub,
Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye:
But More of More-hall, with nothing at all,
He slew the dragon of Wantley.

This dragon had two furious wings,
Each one upon each shoulder;
With a sting in his tail as long as a flail,
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claws, and in his jaws
Four and forty teeth of iron;
With a hide as tough as any buff,
Which did him round environ.

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse
Held seventy men in his belly ?
This dragon was not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell ye;

The Dragon of Wantley.


Devoured he poor children three,
That could not with him grapple;
And at one sup he ate them up,
As one would eat an apple.
All sorts of cattle this dragon would eat,
Some say he ate up trees,
And that the forests sure he would
Devour up by degrees:
For houses and churches were to him geese and
Be ate all and left none behind,
But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,
Which on the hills you will find.
Hard by a furious knight there dwelt;
Men, women, girls, and boys,
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,
And made a hideous noise.
Oh, save us all, More of More-hall,
Thou peerless knight of these woods;
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,
We'll give thee all our goods.

This being done, he did engage
To hew the dragon down;
But first he went new armor to
Bespeak at Sheffield town;


With spikes all about, not within but without,
Of steel so sharp and strong,
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er,
Some five or six inches long.

Had you but seen him in this dress,
How fierce he looked, and how big,
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig:
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,
Each cow, each horse, and each hog:
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be
Some strange, outlandish hedge-hog.

To see this fight all people then
Got up on trees and houses,
On churches some, and chimneys too;
But these put on their trousers,
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank, by the tale, six pots of ale
And a quart of aqua-vitae.

It is not strength that always wins,
For wit doth strength excel;
Which made our cunning champion
Creep down into a well,


Where he did think this dragon would drink,
And so he did in truth;
And as he stooped low, he rose up and cried, boh!
And kicked him in the mouth.

Oh, quoth the dragon with a deep sigh,
And turned six times together.
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing
Out of his throat of leather:
More of More-hall, 0 thou rascal,
Would I had seen thee never;
With the thing at thy foot thou hast pricked my
And I'm quite undone forever.

Murder, murder, the dragon cried,
Alack, alack, for grief;'
Had you but missed that place, you could
Have done me no mischief.
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cried;
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he;
So groaned, and kicked, and died.


DoRA closed the book she had been reading with a
slightly impatient gesture, as it was now growing quite
dark. "I don't believe there are fairies and things
really," she said aloud, although there was no one else in
the room, as she placed her chin on her hand and gazed
abstractedly into the nursery fire. Now Dora loved
fairies and fairy tales, but she had just finished reading
such a particularly choice one that, growing somewhat
envious of the good life the fairies led, she had given
vent to this skeptical remark to ease her feelings. The
lights had not yet been brought in, and the flicker of the
fire threw fantastic shifting shadows on the walls and floor.
When Dora expressed her disbelief in "fairies and
things," it must not be supposed that she dismissed them
from her mind. Oh, no her thoughts were very busy
now; and, gazing intently into the dancing flames, she
there discovered all sorts of lovely fairy corners. Gob-
lins skipped about and danced in rare abandon, while
dainty little fairies with bright hair and smiling faces,
and clothed in flower petals, strolled about in a manner
most sedate and queenly for people so very small. Her
attention was strangely attracted by a number of goblins

A Voyage to Fairyland.

dancing wildly, with hands clasped, round a timid little
fairy, who seemed greatly amused and somewhat embar-
rassed. Quickly and more quickly they went round,
until the rate was really dazzling, and Dora trembled lest
one of them should tumble or let go. "There! I thought
so," she cried excitedly, with a start; "I knew you would
do that;" for one of them had broken loose and been
hurled right out of the circle on to Dora's shoulder, where
he lay gasping like a fish out of water.
"Here's a go," said the goblin at last, in a funny squeaky
little voice, as he crouched there and hung on to her pretty
auburn hair. Dora gazed at him with open-mouthed
astonishment, as with eager eyes fixed on hers, he com-
menced gingerly to climb down her arm on to the rug.
"I hope I haven't hurt you," he continued, "but it
wasn't my fault exactly; you see- "
"Don't trouble to explain," said Dora, who was grow-
ing accustomed to the situation. I saw it all. You're
a fairy, aren't you ?" she added abruptly.
"You put it rather bluntly, but I suppose I am,"
returned the goblin, who had now reached the rug, and
was leaning against Dora's knee; "but there! I must be
"Where ?" asked Dora.
"Back," replied the goblin, jerking his head over his
shoulder as an accompaniment to his rather vague answer.


"Please be a little more definite; where s 'back ?' "
"Oh, Fairyland, you know."
"Then take me with you, please; I'llbe so good," cried
Dora, so suddenly that it made the goblin jump.
"Well, you're rather a lot to look after, but come
along," he replied; and taking her by the hand they
vanished through the wall in a twinkling.
Dora was not surprised or startled, somehow, even
when she observed that she now appeared no bigger than
her companion, for she had something else to wonder at.
They were standing amid a mass of lovely many-
colored flowers, with everything around bright and daz-
zling. The sun was shining in a deep blue sky, while
along the flowery slopes, across a belt of yellow sand, lay
the sea, shimmering in the sunlight.
"Oh, how lovely!" cried Dora, clasping her hands. "Is
this Fairyland ?"
Oh, dear no; Fairyland is over there," replied her
companion, pointing across the shining water. "This is
only one of the branches, so to speak."
They glided across the smooth sand down to the water's
"How are we going to get there ?" Dora remarked.
"Well, I think I'd better call a ship," he said; and
holding up his hand and giving a low whistle, a queer-
looking ship approached them.


When Dora got on board she found several other chil-
dren there who were about to make the same voyage.
Slowly they sailed across the harbor into the open sea.
Dora was lost in enchantment. The water was divided
into bands of purple and blue, and gray and green; and
the deep blue of the sky was made to appear more
intense by little fleecy white clouds blown by gentle
zephyrs across the sky, while right in the midst of a
purple stretch of water nestled a group of golden-rimmed
islands like jewels in their settings.
"What glorious color!" exclaimed Dora under her
breath to her companion.
"Yes, it isn't bad; but you see I get it every day," he
added, noticing the reproach in her eyes; and with this
he left her and went below.
Birds of gay plumage darted in front of them, and
seemed to disappear into the little white blotches of surf
that the sea was flecked with. Amid the sighing of
the winds and she splashing of the water, as the ship
plowed on, Dora thought she distinguished the sound of
faint music, and looking intently in front, she perceived
that what at first she had taken to be a gathering of mist
had resolved itself into two fairy figures playing on fairy
instruments and singing softly. As they proceeded, the
music grew more distinct and more lovely, and Dora was
quite carried out of herself. She was brought back,


however, by the little man, who had returned, and was
digging her in the side.
"You see, we don't steer our ships as you do in your
world; we are drawn to our destination by the music of
"How sweet," murmured Dora; and looking over the
side she saw lovely mermaids with golden hair besporting
themselves in the blue; she was sure also she could see
little fairies riding on the tops of the waves. The coast
of Fairyland appeared very distinct now, and the music
which filled the air was loud and sweet. On a little
promontory stood a crowd of dainty people in dresses of
flowers waiting to receive the voyagers. Sweetly they
smiled on Dora as she stepped ashore, and Dora could
hardly keep the tears back for very joy. Soon the crowd
of fairies divided, and coming toward her appeared the.
Queen more radiant than them all; and as she took Dora
by the hand, the music, which had been growing contin-
ually louder and more sweet, burst into a flood of melody.
But then, as the face of the Queen drew near to Dora's
to kiss her, the joy became so intense that she must have
swooned, for everything seemed to fade right away, and
then-- "Come, you must go to bed, dear," said a
voice in her ear. Dora had awakened in nurse's arms.

The Ugly Duckling.


IT was so glorious out in the country; it was summer;
the cornfields were yellow, the oats were green, the hay
had been put up in stacks in the green meadows, and the
stork went about on his long red legs, and chattered
Egyptian, for this was the language he had learned from
his good mother. All around the fields and meadows
were great forests, and in the midst of these forests lay
deep lakes. Yes, it was right glorious out in the coun-
try. In the midst of the sunshine there lay an old farm,
with deep canals about it, and from the wall down to
the water grew great burdocks, so high that little chil-
dren could stand upright under the loftiest of them. It
was just as wild there as in the deepest wood, and here
sat a Duck upon her nest; she had to hatch her duck-
lings; but she was almost tired out before the little ones
came, and then she so seldom had visitors. The other
ducks liked better to swim about in the canals than to
run up to sit down under a burdock, and cackle with her.
At last one eggshell after another burst open. "Piep!
piep !" it cried, and in all the eggs there were little
creatures that stuck out their heads.
Quack! quack!" they said; and they all came quack-


ing out as fast as they could, looking all round them
under the green leaves; and the mother let them look as
much as they chose, for green is good for the eye.
"How wide the world is!" said all the young ones, for
they certainly had much more room now than when they
were in the eggs.
"D'ye think this is all the world?" said the mother.
"That stretches far across the other side of the garden,
quite into the parson's field; but I have never been there
yet. I hope you are all together," and she stood up.
"No, I have not all. The largest egg still lies there.
How long is that to last ? I am really tired of it." And
she sat down again.
"Well, how goes it?" asked an old Duck who had come
to pay her a visit.
"It lasts a long time with that one egg," said the Duck
who sat there. "It will not burst. Now, only look at
the others; are they not the prettiest little ducks one
could possibly see ? They are all like their father: the
rogue, he never comes to see me."
"Let me see the egg which will not burst," said the old
visitor. "You may be sure it is a turkey's egg. I was
once cheated in that way, and had much anxiety and
trouble with the young ones, for they are afraid of the
water. Must I say it to you, I could not get them to
venture in. I quacked and I clacked, but it was no use.


Let me see the egg. Yes, that's a turkey's egg. Let it
lie there, and teach the other children to swim."
"I think I will sit on it a little longer," said the Duck.
"I've sat so long now that I can sit a few days more."
"Just as you please," said the old Duck; and she went
At last the great egg burst. "Piep! piep!" said the
little one, and crept forth. It was very large and very
ugly. The Duck looked at it.
"It's a very large duckling," said she; "none of the
others look like that: can it really be a turkey chick?
Well, we shall soon find out. It must go into the water,
even if I have to thrust it in myself ?"
The next day it was bright, beautiful weather; the
sun shone on all the green trees. The Mother-Duck went
down to the canal with all her family. Splash! she
jumped into the water. "Quack quack!" she said, and
one duckling after another plunged in. The water closed
over their heads, but they came up in an instant and
swam capitally; their legs went of themselves, and they
were all in the water. The ugly gray Duckling swam
with them.
"No, it's not a turkey," said she; "look how well it
can use its legs, and how straight it holds itself. It is
my own child! On the whole it's quite pretty, if one
looks at it rightly. Quack! quack! come with me and


I'll lead you out into the great world, and present you in
the duckyard; but keep close to me, so that no one may
tread on you, and take care of the cats!"
And so they came into the duckyard. There was a
terrible riot going on in there, for two families were
quarreling about an eel's head, and the cat got it after all.
See, that's how it goes in the world!" said the
Mother-Duck; and she whetted her beak, for she too
wanted the eel's head. "Only use your legs." she said.
"See that you can bustle about, and bow your heads be-
fore the old Duck yonder. She's the grandest of all
here; she's of Spanish blood-that's why she's so fat;
and d'ye see? she has a red rag round her leg; that's
something particularly fine, and the greatest distinction a
duck can enjoy; it signifies that one does not want to
lose her, and that she's to be known by the animals and
by men too. Shake yourselves-don't turn in your toes;
a well brought-up duck turns its toes quite out, just like
father and mother-so! Now bend your necks and say
And they did so; but the other ducks round about
looked at them and said quite boldly:
"Look there! now we're to have these hanging on, as
if there were not enough of us already! And-fie!-
how that duckling yonder looks;. we won't stand that!"
And one duck flew up at it, and bit it in the neck.


"Let it alone," said the mother: "it does no harm to,
any one."
"Yes, but it's too large and peculiar," said the Duck
who had bitten it; "and therefore it must be put down."'
Those are pretty children that the mother has there,'"
said the old Duck with the rag round her leg. "They're
all pretty but that one; that was rather unlucky. I wish:
she could bear it over again."
"That cannot be done, my lady," replied the Mother-
Duck. "It is not pretty, but it has a really good dispo-
sition, and swims as well as any other; yes, I may even
say it, swims better. I think it will grow up pretty, and
become smaller in time; it has lain too long in the egg,
and therefore is not properly shaped." And then she
pinched it in the neck and smoothed its feathers. "More-
over, it is a drake," she said, and therefore it is not of so
much consequence. I think he will be very strong: he
makes his way already."
"The other ducklings are graceful enough," said the
old Duck. "Make yourself at home, and if you find an
eel's head you may bring it me."
And now they were at home. But the poor Duckling
which had crept last out of the egg, and looked so ugly,
was bitten and pushed and jeered, as much by the ducks
as by the chickens.
"It is too big!" they all said. And the turkeycock,

who had been born with spurs, and therefore thought
himself an emperor, blew himself up like a ship in full
sail, and bore straight down upon it; then he gobbled
and grew quite red in the face. The poor Duckling did
not know where it should stand or walk; it was quite
melancholy because it looked ugly, and was the butt of
the whole duckyard.
So it went on the first day; and afterward it became
Worse and worse. The poor Duckling was hunted about
by every one; even its brothers and sisters were quite
angry with it, and said: "If the cat would only catch
you, you ugly creature !" And the mother said: "If
you were only far away!" And the ducks bit it, and
the chickens beat it, and the girl who had to feed the
poultry kicked at it with her foot.
Then it ran and flew over the fence, and the little birds
in the bushes flew up in fear.
"That is because I am so ugly!" thought the Duck
ling; and it shut its eyes, but flew on. farther, and so it
came out into the great moor, where the wild ducks lived.
Here it lay the whole night long; and it was weary and
Toward morning the wild ducks flew up and looked at
their new companion.
What sort of a one are you ?" they asked; and the
Duckling turned in every direction and bowed as well as


it could. "You are remarkably ugly !" said the Wild
Ducks. But that is nothing to us, so long as you do
not marry into our family."
Poor thing! it certainly did not think of marrying,
and only hoped to obtain leave to lie among the reeds
and drink some of the swamp water.
Thus it lay two whole days; then came thither two
wild geese, or, properly speaking, two wild ganders. It
was not long since each had crept out of an egg, and
that's why they were so saucy.
"Listen, comrade," said one of them. You're so ugly
that I like you. Will you go with us, and become a
bird of passage ? Near here, in another moor, there are a
few sweet, lovely wild geese, all unmarried, and all able
to say Rap?' You've a chance of making your fortune,
ugly as you are."
"Piff! paff !" resounded through the air, and the two
ganders fell down dead in the swamp, and the water be-
came blood-red. "Piff paff !" it sounded again, and the
whole flock of wild geese rose up from the reeds. And
then there was another report. A great hunt was going
on. The sportsmen were lying in wait all round the
moor, and some were even sitting up in the branches of
the trees, which spread far over the reeds. The blue
smoke rose up like clouds among the dark trees, and was
wafted far away across the water; and the hunting dogs

came-splash, splash!-into the swamp, and the rushes
and the reeds bent down on every side. That was a
fright for the poor Duckling. It turned its head and
put it under its wing; but at that moment a frightful
great dog stood close by the Duckling. His tongue hung
far out of his mouth, and his eyes gleamed horrible and
ugly; he thrust out his nose close against the Duckling,
showed his sharp teeth, and-splash, splash!-on he went
without seizing it.
"Oh, Heaven be thanked !" sighed the Duckling. "I
am so ugly that even the dog does not like to bite me!"
And so it lay quite quiet, while the shots rattled
through the reeds, and gun after gun was fired. At last,
late in the day, all was still; but the poor Duckling did
not dare to rise up; it waited several hours before it
looked round, and then hastened away out of the moor as
fast as it could. It ran on over field and meadow; there
was such a storm raging that it was difficult to get from
one place to another.
Toward evening the Duck came to a little miserable
peasant's hut. This hut was so dilapidated that it did
not itself know on which side it should fall; and that's
why it remained standing. The storm whistled round
the Duckling in such a way that the poor creature was
obliged to sit down to stand against it; and the wind
blew worse and worse. Then the Duckling noticed that


one of the hinges of the door had given way, and the
door hung so slanting that the Duckling could slip through
the crack into the room; and that is what it did.
Here lived a woman, with her Cat and her Hen. And
the Cat, whom she call Sonnie, could arch his back and
purr; he could even give out sparks; but for that one
had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The Hen had quite
little, short legs, and therefore she was called Chickabiddy
Shortshanks; she laid good eggs, and the woman loved
her as her own child.
In the morning the strange Duckling was at once
noticed, and the Cat began to purr and the Hen to cluck.
"What's this ?" said the woman, and looked all round;
but she could not see well, and therefore she thought the
Duckling was a fat duck that had strayed. "This is a
rare prize!" she said. "Now I shall have duck's eggs.
I hope it is not a drake. We must try that."
And so the Duckling was admitted on trial for three
weeks; but no eggs came. And the Cat was master of
the house, and the Hen was the lady, and always said
" We and the World!" for she thought they were half
the world, and by far the better half.
The Duckling thought one might have a different
opinion, but the Hen would not allow it.
"Can you lay eggs?" she asked.
No "


"Then will you hold your tongue !"
And the Cat said" Can you curve your back, and purr,
and give out sparks ?"
"Then you will please have no opinion of your own
when sensible folks are speaking."
And the Duckling sat in a corner and was melancholy;
then the fresh air and the sunshine streamed in; and it.
was seized with such a strange longing to swim on the
water that it could not help telling the Hen of it.
"What are you thinking of ?" cried the Hen. You
have nothing to do; that's why you have these fancies.
Lay eggs, or purr, and they will pass over."
"But it is so charming to swim on the water !" said the
Duckling, "so refreshing to let it close above one's head,
and to dive down to the bottom."
"Yes, that must be a mighty pleasure, truly," quoth
the Hen; "I fancy you must have gone crazy. Ask the
Cat about it; he's the cleverest animal I know; ask him
if he likes to swim on the water, or to dive down; I won't
speak about myself. Ask our mistress, the old woman;
no one in the world is cleverer than she. Do you think
she has any desire to swim, and to let the water close
above her head ?"
"You don't understand me," said the Duckling.
"We don't understand you? Then pray who is to


understand you ? You surely don't pretend to be cleverer
than the Cat and the woman-I won't say anything of
myself. Don't be conceited, child, and thank your Maker
for all the kindness you have received. Did you not get
into a warm room, and have you not fallen into company
from which you may learn something? But you are a.
chatterer, and it is not pleasant to associate with you.
You may believe me, I speak for your good. I tell you
disagreeable things, and by that one may always know
one's true friends! Only take care that you learn to lay
eggs, or to purr, and give out sparks !"
"I think I will go out into the wide world," said the
"Yes, do go," replied the hen.
And so the Duckling went away. It swam on the
water, and dived, but it was slighted by every creature
because of its ugliness.
Now came the autumn. The leaves in the forest
turned yellow and brown; the wind caught them so that
they danced about, and up in the air it was very cold.
The clouds hung low, heavy with hail and snowflakes,
and on the fence stood the raven, crying, "Croak! croak !"
for mere cold; yes, it was enough to make one feel cold
to think of this. The poor little Duckling certainly had
not a good time. One evening-the sun was just setting
in his beauty-there came a whole flock of great. hand-


some birds out of the bushes; they were dazzlingly
white, with long, flexible necks; they were swans. They
uttered a very peculiar cry, spread forth their glorious
great wings, and flew away from that cold region to
warmer lands, to fair open lakes. They mounted so
high, so high and the ugly Duckling felt quite strangely
as it watched them. It turned round and round in the
water like a wheel, stretched out its neck toward them,
and uttered such a strange loud cry as frightened itself.
Oh it could not forget those beautiful, happy birds;
and so soon as it could see them no longer it dived down
to the very bottom, and when it came up again it was
quite beside itself. It knew not the name of those birds,
and knew not whither they were flying; but it loved
them more than it had ever loved any one. It was not
at all envious of them. How could it think of wishing
to possess such loveliness as they had? It would have
been glad if only the ducks would have endured its com-
pany-the poor, ugly creature !
And the winter grew cold, very cold 1 The Duckling
was forced to swim about in the water, to prevent the
surface from freezing entirely; but every night the hole
in which it swam about became smaller and smaller. It
froze so hard that the icy covering crackled again; and
the Duckling was obliged to use its legs continually to
prevent the hole from freezing up. At last it became

exhausted, and lay ouite still, and thus froze fast into
the ice.
Early in the morning a peasant came by, and when he
saw what had happened he took his wooden shoe, broke
the ice crust to pieces, and carried the Duckling home to
his wife. Then it came to itself again. The children
wanted to play with it; but the Duckling thought they
wanted to hurt it, and in its terror fluttered up into the
milk-pan, so that the milk spurted down into the room.
The woman clasped her hands, at which the Duckling
flew down into the butter-tub, and then into the meal-
barrel and out again. How it looked then! The woman
screamed, and struck at it with the fire-tongs; the chil-
dren tumbled over one another in their efforts to catch
the Duckling; and they laughed and they screamed-
well it was that the door stood opel, an(l the poor crea-
ture was able to slip out between the shrubs into the
newly-fallen snow-there it lay quite exhausted.
But it would be too melancholy if I were to tell all the
misery and care which the Duckling had to endure in the
hard winter. It lay out on the moor among the reeds,
when the sun began to shine again and the larks to sing:
it was a beautiful spring.
Then all at once the Duckling could flap its wings:
they beat the air more strongly than before, and bore it
strongly away; and before it well knew how all this


happened it found itself in a great garden, where the
elder trees smelled sweet, and bent their long green
branches down to the canal that wound through the
region. Oh, here it was so beautiful, such a gladness of
spring! and from the thicket came three glorious white
swans; they rustled their wings and swam lightly on the
water. The Duckling knew the splendid creatures, and
felt oppressed by a peculiar sadness.
"I will fly away to them, to the royal birds! and they
will beat me, because I, that am so ugly, dare to come
near them. But it is all the same. Better to be killed
by them than to be pursued by ducks, and beaten by
fowls, and pushed about by the girl who takes care of
the poultry yard, and to suffer hunger in winter !" And
it flew out into the water, and swam toward the beautiful
swans: these looked at it, and came sailing down upon
it with outspread wings. "Kill me !" said the poor crea-
ture, and bent its head down upon the water, expecting
nothing but death. But what was this that it saw in the
clear water? It beheld its own image; and, lo! it was
no longer a clumsy dark-gray bird, ugly and hateful to
look at, but a-swan !
It matters nothing if one is born in a duckyard if one
has only lain in a swan's egg.
It felt quite glad at all the need and misfortune it had
suffered, now it realized its happiness in all the splendor


that surrounded it. And the great swans swam round
it, and stroked it with their beaks.
Into the garden came little children, who threw bread
and corn into the water; and the youngest cried, "There
is a new one!" and the other children shouted joyously,
"Yes, a new one has arrived !" And they clapped their
hands and danced about, and ran to their father and
mother; and bread and cake were thrown into the water;
and they all said: "The new one is the most beautiful of
all! so young and handsome!" and the old swans bowed
their heads before him. Then he felt quite ashamed, and
hid his head under his wings, for he did not know what
to do; he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He
thought how he had been persecuted and despised; and
now he heard them saying that he was the most beauti-
ful of all birds. Even the elder tree bent its branches
straight down into the water before him, and the sun
shone warm and mild. Then his wings rustled, he lifted
his slender neck, and cried rejoicingly from the depths of
his heart:
"I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was
the Ugly Duckling!"


ROBIN HooD, as we know, dwelt in the Yorkshire
Forest of Barnsdale, though in Sherwood Forest he seems
to have been at home. One day, this most proud and
courteous of outlaws declared that he could not dine till
he got some guest who should pay for their cheer. So
his faithful followers, Little John, so called in sport be-
cause he was seven feet high; Will Scathelock, whom
men named also Scarlett, and Much, the miller's sturdy
son, he sent out toward Watling Street, that they might
perchance make prize of some rich traveler. Then, before
long, they fell in with a knight riding through one of the
forest glades, yet in little knightly pride, for he sat down-
cast on his sorry steed, thinly clad, all woe-begone and
poverty-stricken of aspect, and wept as he went along.
"A sorrier man than he was one
Rode never in summer's day !"
All the same, Little John knelt courteously to give him
his master's pressing invitation, which the knight was
nothing loath to accept, saying he had heard much good
of Robin Hood. So they all went together to Robin's
lodge among the woods, where the hungry outlaw also


welcomed his guest with a great show of friendliness,
and when they had washed and wiped together," they
sat down to dinner.
A good meal it was, bread and wine in plenty, with
venison, swans, pheasants, and every kind of game; and
the starveling knight confessed that he had not had such
a dinner for three weeks.
"If I come again, Robin,
Here by this country,
As good a dinner I shall thee make
As thou hast made to me."
Robin thanked him, but said that he must now pay
before he went, since it was not seemly that a yeoman
should be at the cost of entertaining a knight.
Alas! replied the knight, he had no more in the world
than ten shillings, which he was ashamed to offer. In
that case, declared Robin, he would not take a penny,
but would rather lend his guest money, if in need. To
make sure, however, he bid Little John examine the
knight's mantle, which in those days was a rider's bag-
gage, and, this being spread on the ground, his "coffer"
was found to contain no more than half a pound, as he
had said.
Robin Hood asked how one of his degree came to be
so poor, and heard in reply a moving tale of family mis-
fortune. The knight's son had had the misfortune to kill

a knight of Lancashire, and to get him out of this trouble,
the father had been forced to pledge his lands to the rich
Abbot of St. Mary. Now the day was at hand on
which he must pay up four hundred pounds, or see his
inheritance pass into possession of the greedy monks.
His friends had all abandoned him in his poverty; they
pretended not to know a man at the point of ruin; no-
body would lend him money or go bail for him. So he
saw nothing for it but to go over the salt sea to Palestine.

"And see where Christ was quick and dead,
On the Mount of Calvary.
Farewell, friend, and have good day-
It may no better be !"

But it was not Robin Hood's way to turn his back on
one in distress. Even his men wept for pity of the poor
knight; and now, ordering the best wine to be brought
out for a guest who could pay only with thanks, their
master sent Little John to his treasury for four hundred
pounds, which he counted out as a loan, to be repaid that
day twelvemonth, under the same greenwood tree, on no
other security than the love of Our Lady. Moreover,
Robin and his friendly men gave the knight scarlet and
green cloth to make a good suit of clothes, and a good
horse and a new saddle, and a pair of boots and gilt
spurs; and Little John was lent him to go along as
squire, since it seemed unbecoming for a knight to ride

without a single attendant. This knight, then, Sir Rich-
ard of the Lee by name, turned from his sad way to the
Crusades, and went joyfully back, blessing the outlaws,
as well he might, for "the best company that ever he
came in." Without fail, Our Lady helping him, he
promised to keep his tryst that day twelvemonth under
the greenwood tree.
Next day, there was joy and revel at St. Mary's Abbey,
where the proud priests thought that their debtor could
not discharge the bond, and that they would forthwith
enter into his goodly heritage, worth by the year as much
as had been lent upon it. The prior, indeed, had pity
on the.poor man, whom he believed to be already suffer-
ing hunger and cold far beyond the sea; but the abbot,
and that "fat-headed monk" the cellarer, were bent on
exacting their bond; and here they had no less an officer
than the high justice at hand, with other men of law, to
adjudge the forfeiture if Sir Richard failed to pay, as
like was.
But as this good company sat at meat, to the gate came
their debtor, he and his followers all in poor apparel, for
he meant to fool the covetous monks before paying them
their due. He came lowly into the hall and knelt down,
pretending he had not a penny, and praying for delay.
With haughty looks and scornful words, the abbot
spurned his entreaties, not even having the courtesy to


bid him rise. But his countenance changed, when Sir
Richard leaped up, and out of a bag shook four hundred
pounds of bright gold-
"Sir Abbot, and ye men of law,
Now have I held my day;
Now shall I have my land again,
For ought that you can say !"

Leaving them to stomach their discomfiture as best
they could, he strode out of these inhospitable doors, and
now first arrayed himself in the good clothes he had got
from Robin Hood. Thus, in gallant guise, he rode home
to tell his wife and children what had befallen, and bid
them pray for the kind outlaw.
A year he lived at home, till he had gathered together
four hundred pounds. This money in his cloak-bigs, and
carrying also a present of a hundred bows and a hundred
sheaves of peacock-feathered arrows, inlaid with silver, in
token of his gratitude for the loan, he set out to pay
Robin on the appointed day, attended now by a goodly
retinue of a hundred men, well armed and harnessed, so
much had his state bettered through the year's delay.
But as he rode along singing for lightness of heart, he
came to a place where a wrestling was going on, and
turned aside to see the sport. And from sport the wrest-
lers, it would seem, came to earnest, for the rest set upon
a good yeoman, stranger as he was, who had deserved


the prize, and came near to have killed him in this quar-
rel. Then our knight, "for love of Robin Hood," would
not suffer that any yeoman should be wronged, so he and
his men spurred into the fray, and laid about them, till
the yeoman was allowed to take his prize-a white bull,
a tall steed richly equipped, a pair of gloves, a gold ring,
and a pipe of wine. For the wine Sir Richard paid him
down five marks, and set it abroach on the spot, to restore
good humor among all who were there. This business
delayed him some three hours; and thus went by the
hour of noon, when he should have been at his tryst with
Robin Hood.
Meanwhile Robin Hood awaited him impatiently, for
he would not dine till the knight came to keep his word.
Little John had returned to the greenwood, after playing
some fine tricks of his own upon the sheriff of Notting-
ham. He, with Scarlett and Much, went out to see if
any one were coming through the forest; and soon they
were aware of a fat monk riding along the road, with
some fifty attendants and more to grace his lordly state.
When the outlaws stopped him, and gave their master's
invitation to dinner, the monk called out on Robin Hood
for a strong thief of whom he had heard no good. But
all his men took to flight as soon as they heard the
arrows whistling about their ears; and, willy-nilly, he
was brought to the lodge in the greenwood,


Now Robin could sit down to his dinner, and the monk
had sullenly to let himself be entertained by this jesting
crew. After dinner they asked who he was, and their
unwilling guest confessed himself the high cellarer of St.
Mary's Abbey; whereupon the chief called to mind how,
half in jest and half in earnest, Our Lady had been
appointed the borrow, or security, between him and that
faithless knight:

"' But I have great marvel,' said Robin,
Of all this long day;
I dread Our Lady be wroth with me,
She sent me not my pay.'

"Have no doubt, master,' said Little John
Ye have no need, I say.
This monk it hath brought, I dare well swear,
For he is of her abbey.'

'And she was a borrow,' said Robin,
Between a knight and me,
Of a little money that I him lent
Under the greenwood tree. .

'Thou toldest with thine own tongue,
Thou mayest not say nay,
How thou art her servant,
And serves her every day.

"' And thou art made her messenger
My money for to pay.'"


In short, the monk must tell how much money he had
with him. Only twenty marks, he vowed; and if so,
said Robin, he would rather lend to him than take a
penny. But when they came to search, more than eight
hundred pounds were counted out of this fat churchman's
coffers, which Robin Hood took for himself, saying that
Our Lady was the truest woman he ever knew, who paid
twice the sum for which she had gone bail. The angry
monk cried out in vain. He was allowed to go on his
way, declaring very truly that he might have dined
cheaper in the next town.

Greet well your abbot,' said Robin,
And your prior, I you pray,
And bid him send me such a monk
To dinner every day.'"

Scarcely was the monk gone when up came the knight,
giving for his delay a good excuse, as Robin judged, and
said that whoever helped a worthy yeoman should always
be his friend. Then Sir Richard would have paid down
the four hundred pounds; but Robin told him that Our
Lady herself had already paid the debt by her cellarer,
so how could he take the money twice over? And to
show how nobly he dealt with honest debtors, he made
the knight a present of half the monk's money in return
for that gift of bows and arrows we know of.


"'Have here four hundred pounds,
Thou gentle knight and true,
And buy horse and harness good,
And gild thy spurs all new.

And if thou fail any spending,
Come to Robin Hood,
And by my troth thou shalt none fail
The while I have any good.'"

So once more Sir Richard and Robin parted good
friends; and all were merry but the poor monk, riding
home to his abbey to tell what had become of its rents.
After this Robin Hood and his men lived quietly in
the greenwood for a time, till they heard news of a great
archery contest at Nottingham. And though it was the
proud sheriff of that place, Robin Hood's sworn enemy,
who was thus inviting all archers of the north to try
their skill, our outlaws were not the men to stay away
from such a meeting. So to Nottingham they went,
sevenscore strong; and we may be sure that their leader
proved himself the best man at the butts. But when he
had taken his prize there rose a cry that this was Robin
Hood, and the sheriff's men tried to seize him. Then his
men bent their good bows, no longer in sport, and fight-
ing they made their way out of the town. But Little
John was sore hurt by an arrow in the knee, so that he
prayed his master to kill him outright, that he might


neither hinder their escape nor fall alive into the hands
of the sheriff. This Robin swore he would not do for all
the gold in England, and, turning about from time to
time to hold the pursuers at bay, they bore the wounded
man to Sir Richard's castle, which, luckily, lay on their
road. Right glad was the grateful knight to see his bene-
factor, and willingly he gave him refuge, shutting the
castle gates, letting down the drawbridge and defying all
the threats of the sheriff, who in vain summoned him to
give up the king's enemy.
The baffled sheriff then rode straight to "London town,
all for to tell our king." This was not the first complaint
against Robin Hood that had come to the king's ears.
He sent the sheriff back, promising himself to be at Not-
tingham within a fortnight to deal with that bold rebel
and his friend the knight-a thing much easier said than
Meanwhile, after feasting with Sir Richard twelve
days, and letting Little John be healed of his wound,
Robin had gone back to the greenwood. Then that
proud sheriff, not able to take the outlaw in his forest
retreat, laid wait night and day for Sir Richard, till at
last he caught him out hawking, and carried him off to
prison at Nottingham, bound hand and foot. Straight-
way his wife got to horse, and rode to Robin Hood with
her complaint:

'Let thou never my wedded lord
Shamefully slain to be;
He is fast bound to Nottingham ward,
All for the love of thee!"

Nor was Robin one to desert his friend in such a strait.
With all his men he hastened to Nottingham, met the
sheriff and his prisoner in the street, cut Sir Richard's
bonds, drove away the guard; and as to the sheriff, fetched
him down from his horse with an arrow, then smote off
his head, and left him lying there-no more to trouble
honest archers.
Now was there more need than ever for both Robin
Hood and Sir Richard to hide themselves in the woods.
The king traveled to Nottingham with a great array, but
could not come at the outlaws, though every day he
heard how they were masterfully killing his deer. All
he could do was to proclaim the knight a traitor and
seize his lands, which yet he durst hardly bestow upon
any other, since the new lord would never have peace so
long as Robin Hood lived.
Full of wrath as the king was, not less grew his curi-
osity to see this bold outlaw, who thus set him and his
officers at defiance. To this end he took advice to dis-
guise himself as a monk, a kind of bait sure to tempt
Robin. Dressed like a portly abbot, with five of his
knights also robed in monkly weeds, he rode into the


forest; and sure enough he had not gone a mile there
before up started Robin and his men. Robin took the
king's horse by the bridle, saying:

Sir Abbot, by your leave,
Awhile ye must abide.
'We be yeomen of this forest
Under the greenwood tree;
We live by our king's deer,
Other shift have not we.
And ye have churches and rents both,
And gold full great plenty:
Give us some of your spending
For Saint Charity.'"

In answer to this sturdy begging, the king said he had
no more than forty pounds, which Robin forthwith di-
vided, gave half of it to his men, and courteously returned
the other half. Then the pretended abbot delivered him
a message, as from the king, bidding him come to Not-
tingham, and showing him the royal broad seal as token,
at the sight of which Robin fell reverently on his knees,
declaring how he loved no man in the world like his
king. So much had men belied him in calling him a
rebel, when it was only sheriffs, keepers, bailiffs, and
other ministers of justice that he could nowise abide!
In honor of the message he brought Robin IHood now
bid the "abbot" stay to dinner, and served him with the


best of their woodland cheer. The guest was amazed to
see how many merry men came flocking up at the sound
of their chief's horn, and how dutifully they did obeisance
to this outlaw.

"His men are more at his bidding
Than my men be at mine!"

So thought the king under his cowl. Then, after dinner,
though the outlaws had drunk to the king's health, he
was startled to see them handling their bows, half be-
lieving some treason was meant. But it was only to give
proof of their skill in archery. Two wands were set up,
fifty paces, too far apart judged the king, not knowing
what sturdy arms these men had; and on each wand a
rose garland, at which they were to shoot. Whoever
missed the garland must lose his arrow and let himself
be punished by a buffet on his bare head, for such was
their custom; and even their chief himself had to submit
to this forfeit of ill fortune.
Twice Robin cleft the wand, but at his third shot, as
will happen to the best of archers, he missed the garland
by three fingers' breadth and more, whereupon his fol-
lowers laughingly demanded that he should stand forth
and "take his pay." Since so it had to be, he delivered
himself to the abbot, desiring him to administer the buffet.
He objected that this was not the part of a churchman ; but


when Robin urged him, giving him full leave to smite
on boldly," the king folded up his sleeve, and, without
iore ado, dealt the outlaw such a blow as had almost
brought him to the ground.
It was Robin's turn to be astonished. Then, looking
hard at that stalwart monk who had such kingly pith in
his arm, all at once he was aware of the truth, and fell
on his knees, and Sir Richard too-

"And so did all the wild outlaws,
When they saw them kneel.
My lord, the King of England,
Now I know you well !'"

Thus he submitted himself, craving the king's mercy for
him and his men. The king graciously forgave them all,
on condition that Robin gave up this lawless life and
went back with him to take service at the court.
Robin dutifully consented; then, the king and his
knights having exchanged their monkish disguise for
more seemly garments of Lincoln green, they all rode
together to Nottingham, shooting by the way "pluck-
buffet," and neither king nor outlaw spared each other if
it were the mischance of either to stand a hearty cuff.
When they arrived, the townspeople were alarmed to see
so many green coats, thinking the king had been killed
and that Robin Hood now came to sack the town.

"Full hastily they began to fly,
Both yeomen and knaves,
And old wives that might evil go,
They hopped on their staves.

The king laughed full fast,
And commanded them again;
When they saw our comely king,
I wis they were full fain."

In short, all was now mirth and revelry at Nottingham,
where the king in turn feasted his guests. Sir Richard
got his lands again, and Robin Hood went up to London
to dwell at the court.
But here the doughty woodsman was like a bird in a
cage. He pined after his free forest life; he could not
feel at home where he might not hunt for his own dinner.
He spent all his money with the open hand which came
readily to one who had been so long in the way of re-
plenishing his treasury by robbing a rich monk or two.
His men fell away from him when he could no longer
keep them. And at length, when he had lived at court
little over a year, the chance sight of some young archers
shooting one day reminded him how he had once been
accounted the best bowman in England; and he could no
longer restrain his longing for the greenwood and the
chase. Making excuse to the king of a pilgrimage, and
getting leave to stay away no more than seven days, he


stole back to his old haunts for good and all. The first
thing he did was to kill a deer; then he put his horn to
his mouth, and at the well-remembered sound all the out-
laws of the forest quickly gathered together, and ere long
"Seven score of wight young men
Came ready in a row."
With them he lived henceforth under the greenwood tree
as of old, shooting the king's deer, and defying the king's
officers-nay, paying no heed to the king's own com-
mand. No one durst meddle with him in the heart of
the forest; and there he might have lived on many a
year, but that he was beguiled by a monk, as some say,
or as others tell, by a woman, and that of his own kin.
For Robin growing old, found his eye and hand failing
him, so knew that he had fallen ill, and must seek the
help of some cunning leech, such as were priests and
nuns in those days. He betook himself, then, to the nun-
nery at Kirkley, of which his cousin was Prioress, and
begged her to bleed him for his health's sake. But the
false nun, set on to it by his enemies, was minded to
bleed him to death who had so trusted himself in her
hands. She locked him up in a private chamber, and let
the vein run till next day at noon. In vain he tried to
escape by the window; his strength was all ebbing
away; he could do no more than blow three weak blasts
on his bugle horn.


The faithful Little John heard from the forest, and
knew his call-knew, too, by its feebleness that Robin
must be near death. He hastened to Kirkley, where "he
broke locks two or three," and made his way into that
chamber in which Robin lay helpless. At the sight of
his dying master, Little John fell on his knees, begging, in
wrath and sorrow, for leave-

"'To burn fair Kirkley Hall,
And all their nunnery.'

"'Now nay, now nay,' quoth Robin Hood;
That boon I'll not grant thee;
I never hurt woman in all my life,
Nor man in woman's company.

"'I never hurt fair maid in all my time,
Nor at my end shall it be.
But give me my bent bow in my hand,
And a broad arrow I'll let flee;
And where this arrow is taken up,
There shall my grave digg'd be.

'Lay me a green sod under my head,
And another at my feet;
And lay my bent bow by my side,
Which was my music sweet;
And make my grave of gravel and green,
Which is most right and meet.'"


So died Robin Hood, as he had lived, and so was
buried, and many there were to say a prayer over his
For he was a good outlaw,
And did poor men much good."


AN old Clock, that had stood for fifty years in a farm-
er's kitchen without giving its owner any cause of com-
plaint, early one summer's morning, before the family
was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this the Dial-plate
(if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with
alarm; the Hands made an ineffectual effort to continue
their course; the Wheels remained motionless with sur-
prise; the Weights hung speechless. Each member felt
disposed to lay the blame on the others.
At length the Dial instituted a formal inquiry into the
cause of the stop, when Hands, Wheels, Weights, with
one voice protested their innocence. But now a faint
tick was heard from the Pendulum, who thus spoke:
"I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present
stoppage, and am willing, for the general satisfaction, to
assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of tick-
ing." Upon hearing this the old Clock became so
enraged that it was on the point of striking.
"Lazy Wire'!" exclaimed the Dial-plate.
"As to that," replied the Pendulum, "it is vastly easy
for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as everybody
knows, set yourself up above me-it is vastly easy for



you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness-you who
have nothing to do all your life but to stare people in
the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that
goes on in the kitchen. Think, I beseech you, how you
would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and
wag backward and forward year after year, as I do."
"As to that," said the Dial, "is there not a window in
your house on purpose for you to look through ?"
"But what of that ?" resumed the Pendulum. "Al-
though there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an
instant, to look out. Besides, I am really weary of my
way of life; and, if you please, I'll tell you how I took
this disgust at my employment.
"This morning I happened to be calculating how many
times I should have to tick in the course only of the next
twenty-four hours-perhaps some of you above there can
tell me the exact sum ?"
The Minute-hand, being quick at figures, instantly
replied: "Eighty-six thousand four hundred times."
"Exactly so," replied the Pendulum.
Well, I appeal to you all if the thought of this was
not enough to fatigue one? And when I began to mul-
tiply the strokes of one day by those of months and
years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the
prospect; so, after a great deal of reasoning and hesita-
tion, thought I to myself, 'I'll stop!'"


The Dial could scarcely keep its countenance during
this harangue; but, resuming its gravity, thus replied:
"Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a
useful, industrious person as yourself should have been
overcome by this suggestion.
"It is true, you have done a great deal of work in your
time; so have we all, and are likely to do; and though
this may fatigue us to think of, the question is, Will it
fatigue us to do? Would you now do me the favor to
give about half a dozen strokes, to illustrate my argu-
The Pendulum complied, and ticked six times at
its usual pace.
"Now," resumed the Dial, was that exertion fatiguing
to you ?"
"Not in the least," replied the Pendulum; "it is not
of six strokes that I complain, nor yet of sixty, but of mil-
"Very good," replied the Dial; "but recollect that,
although you may think of a million strokes in an instant,
you are required to execute but one; and that, however
often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will
always be given you to swing in."
"That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the
"Then I hope," added the Dial-plate, "we shall all


immediately return to our duty, for the people will lie in
bed till noon if we stand idling thus."
Upon this, the Weights, who had never been accused
of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to
proceed; when, as with one consent, the Wheels began
to turn, the Hands began to move, the Pendulum be-
gan to swing, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever;
while a beam of the rising sun, that streamed through a
hole in the kitchen-shutter, shining full upon the Dial-
plate, made it brighten up as if nothing had been the
When the farmer came down to breakfast he declared,
upon looking at the Clock. that his watch had gained
half an hour in the night.
-Jane Taylor



HAMELIN Town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city;
The river Weser deep and wide
Washes its walls on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin, was a pity.
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in their cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

*^ f
*^ ll^


At last the people in a body
To the Town-hall came flocking:
"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation-shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin !
You hope, because you're old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease !
Rouse up, sirs Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.
An hour they sat in council,
At length the Mayor broke silence:
" For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;
I wish I were a mile hence !
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-
I'm sure my poor head aches again,
I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap !"
Just as he said this, what should hap
At the chamber door, but a gentle tap ?
" Bless us," cried the Mayor, what's that ?

Anything like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!

Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger;
And in did come the strangest figure!
His queer long coat from heel to head
Was half of yellow, and half of red;
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes each like a pin,
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin,
But lips where smiles went out and in-
There was no guessing his kith and kin!
And nobody could enough admire
The tall man and his quaint attire:
Quoth one, "It's as if my great-grandsire,
Starting up at the trump of Doom's tone,
Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council table:
And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,
After me so as you never saw !
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
8 L


The mole, the toad, the newt, the viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.
Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham,
Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats;
I eased in Asia the Nizam
Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats:
And as for what your brain bewilders,
If I can rid your town of rats
Will you give a thousand guilders?"
"One ? fifty thousand !" was the exclamation
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept,
Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
Then like a musical adept,
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe had uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling-


Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails, and pricking whiskers,
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-
Followed the Piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped, advancing,
And step for step they followed dancing,
Until they came to the river Weser,
Wherein all plunged and perished,
Save one, who stout as Julius Casar,
Swam across, and lived to carry
(As he the manuscript he cherished)
To Rat-land home his commentary,
Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
And putting apples wondrous ripe
Into a cider press's gripe;
And a moving away of pickle-tub boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks,
And a breaking the hoops of butter casks;
And it seemed as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery


Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice !
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery !
So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
Breakfast, dinner, supper, luncheon!
And just as a bulky sugar puncheon,
All ready staved, like a great sun shone
Glorious, scarce an inch before me,
Just as methought it said, Come, bore me !'
-I found the Weser rolling o'er me."
You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;
" Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!
Poke out the nests, and block up the holes !
Consult with carpenters and builders,
And leave in our town not even a trace
Of the rats!" When suddenly up the face
Of the Piper perked in the market-place,
With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"
A thousand guilders The Mayor looked blue,
So did the Corporation too.
For council dinners made rare havock
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
And half the money would replenish
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!


"Besides," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink,
"Our business was done at the river's brink;
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
And what's dead can't come tc life, I think.
So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
From the duty of giving you something for drink,
And a matter of money to put in your poke;
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke-
Beside, our losses have made us thrifty:
A thousand guilders come, take fifty !"
The Piper's face fell, and he cried,
" No trifling I can't wait beside!
I've promised to visit by dinner-time
Bagdat, and accept the prime
Of the head-cook's pottage, all he's rich in,
For having left in the caliph's kitchen,
Of a nest of scorpions no survivor.
With him I proved no bargain-driver,
With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!
And folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe to another fashion."
"How ?" cried the Mayor, d'ye think I'll brook
Being worse treated than a cook ?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With idle pipe and vesture piebald ?


You threaten us, fellow ? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst."
Once more he stept into the street,
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth, straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
Never gave the enraptured air),
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling,
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
And like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering
Out came the children running:
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping by-
And could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
And now the Mayor was on the rack,

And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However he turned from south to west,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.
'He never can cross that mighty top;
He's forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our children stop!"
When, lo as they reached the mountain's side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
And the Piper advanced, and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,
The door in the mountain side shut fast.
Did I say, all? No One was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say-
It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can't forget that I'm bereft
Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me:

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