Citation
Fairy folks and Mother Goose melodies

Material Information

Title:
Fairy folks and Mother Goose melodies charming stories intended to instruct and amuse little ones
Creator:
W.B. Conkey Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Chicago ;
New York
Publisher:
W.B. Conkey Company
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 27 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Animals -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Pets -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1898 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1898 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1898
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Illinois -- Chicago
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
Statement of Responsibility:
illustrated with special designs.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026620600 ( ALEPH )
ALG3609 ( NOTIS )
262616999 ( OCLC )

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Full Text





















IN STORYLAND,



Fairy Folks and Mother Goose Melodies

Charming stories intended to instruct
and amuse the Little Ones.







































ILLUSTRATED WITH SPECIAL DESIGNS.

Copyright 1898, by VV. B. Conkey Company.

| CHICAGO &# NEW YORK
, _ W. B. CONKEY COMPANY, Publishers.





















































































































































































Yul Jones











in



Gle fairies’ Ball.

RANDMA, there are lots of fairies where we live, for I have
heard them laugh and sing and play in the moonlight. You
know we have no dreary winters where my fairies live; no cold,
white snow covers the pretty, green grass, the wind is not
chilly, and the flowers never die; the leaves never turn brown,
nor are the trees ever bare, and the birds sing all the year

round. The fairies are perfectly happy, for, of course, they could not live



without flowers, birds, and moonlight.

_ Sometimes, when the moon is so bright, it makes me think it is time to get
up. I go to the window and listen. The wind that comes from where the sun
has gone to bed begins to sing just like the organ inchurch. First the fire-flies
and the glow-worms light up the fairy ball-room, until the lovely pine-woods
look like the place God makes the stars in. Then the grasshoppers and crick-
ets, bugs and bees begin to tune up their horns and fiddles, while some of the
birds join in the fairies’ orchestra. One funny old bird keeps tap-tapping on
an old tree and thinks he is playing the drum. A pretty black-bird, with a red
breast and yellow wings, has a flageolet; the other instruments are all taken
by the mocking-bird, and whenever he sings, or plays, a solo, everybody hushes
to listen. There is a chorus of voices, too, one big bird singing quite distinct-
ly the words ‘Ever more, ever more,” and the other birds sing out whenever
they have a chance.

After the band are all in their places, the katy-dids and katy-didn’ts begin
scolding, and making the fairies hurry up; soon they begin to tiptoe, tiptoe over
the grass, making ready for dancing and ring-around-a-rosy.

The old owl is floor-manager, and he says: ‘“‘To which, to who, to which,
to who?”

Another bird, who wants to help manage, says: ‘Choose Will’s widow!
choose Will’s widow!” while everybody looks at a pretty little fairy, all in
green and gold, with the tiniest little feet, standing pouting ata little boy fairy,
who is teasing her, and I can just hear her say:

“ Blow, breezes, blow,

Let Colin’s hat go;

O’er hills and dale let it be whirled,

*Till I get my hair all curled and curled.”

Then a bird sings out loud, ‘“‘ Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!” and every-



body turns to look at a boy fairy, who is naughty and cross, because hecan not
have the first chance to dance with the pretty widow; the bugs and beetles
begin to scold, and say:
“Huzzy, huzzy, huzzy;”
some others answer:
‘Busy, busy, busy;” the
ball seems in danger of
breaking up in a quarrel,
_ until the cricket sings out
loud: “Cheer up, cheer up,
cheer up,” and the dance
begins.

The big spider over in
an old tree-top is the fairies’
spinner; his wheel goes:

Whiz, whiz, whirl, whirl,

Lo, and behold

Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold.


















The fairies’ pretty dresses are made of his gold and
silver threads; they sparkle and glisten so, as they dance,
that my eyes are dazzled by looking at them.
Well, grandma, they dance and dance till they're tired,
then they have supper; eating violets and
lily-bells, and drinking dew-drops from
acorn-cups. They are so merry with their
laughing and singing,
that some little bunnies,
who have not gone to
bed, scamper away
home to tell their mam-
mas; the quail wake up
and call: “Bob White,
Bob White,” and that
starts the squirrels, who
chatter: “Chestnut,
- chestnut, they'll eat ’em
all up!” Jennie Wren, who was taking a nap with her head under her wing,
says: “ Tweet, tweet;” the fairies, startled by all this noise, run away home,











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Ra

except a few, who have drank too much

dew-drop. An old robin flies round

mocking them with the words: “ Kill ‘em, cure ’em, physic; kill ’em, cure ‘em,

physic.”

Then I know it is morning, and creep shivering to bed. AsI nestle

in my pillow, I hear the turkey hens say: “I’m up, up,” and the old gobbler
answers: “Talk, talk, talk, gabble, gabble, gabble,” and this is why I slept so

late in the morning.

Sewing Song.
@| HAVE a little servant
With a single eye,
She always does my bidding
Very faithfully;
But she eats me no mieat,
And she drinks me no drink,
A very clever servant, as you well may think,



Another little servant
On my finger sits, .
She the one-eyed little servant
Very neatly fits;
But she eats me no meat,
And she drinks me no drink, .
A very clever servant, as you well may think.

Now, one more little servant,
Through the single eye,
Does both the other’s bidding
Very faithfully;
But she eats me no meat,
And she drinks me no drink,
A very clever servant, as you well may think.

A needle and a thimble,
And a spool of thread,
Without the fingers nimble,
And the knowing head,
They would never make out,
If they tried the whole day,
To sew a square of patchwork, as you well

may say.
ey, —Mary J. Jacques,

Being a [P\an.

{EFORE a boy has doffed his kilt
He wants a sword with a flashing
hilt,

He must manage a train, though it
be of chairs,

He must beat a drum, he must hunt for
bears;

In fact, his highest ambition and plan,

His dearest wish, is to be a man.



But many a boy is unmanly to-day

Because there are so many “ifs” in the
way;

He scorns this “if,” and he frowns at that,

He shirks his lesson to wield a bat;

And so he will go, as best he can,

From youth to old age without being a man,

Oh, there are so many “ifs” in the road
That leads to manhood’s highest abode!
Kindness, purity, courage and truth,
Stumbling-blocks these to many a youth,
For he who will not make these his own,
Can never reach manhood’s glorious throne.

So who would be manly should keep in mind
He must ever be gentle, and brave, and kind,
Obedient always to Right’s fair laws,

A brother to every noble cause;

Thus shall he serve God’s cherished plan,
And come to the stature of a man.

~-Euma C. Down.



A Dog and a Cat
Went Out Ti ogether.



DOG and a cat went out together,
A To see some friends just out of town;
Said the cat to the dog,
“What d’ye think of the weather?” -
“TI think, ma’am, the-rain will come down;
But don’t be alarmed, for I’ve an umbrella
That will shelter us both,” said this amiable fellow.



My Father He Died.
Y father he died, but I

can’t tell you how;

He left me six horses to
drive in my plough;
With my wing, wang,

waddle O,
Jack sing saddle O,
Blowsey boys bubble O,
Under the broom.



I sold my six horses, and bought me a cow;
I'd fain have made a fortune, but did not know how:

a With my, etc.

° I sold my cow, and I bought me a calf; -

I'd fain have made a fortune, but lost the best half:

With my, etc.



ip 1 sold my calf, and I bought me a cat;
Soh pretty thing she was, in my chimney
sat;
With my, etc.

1 sold my cat, and bought me a
mouse;

He carried fire in his tail, and burnt
down my house;

With my, ete.



&

ba
fe
~~





























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































So

* B,



ROXY was darning a table-cloth. Miss Roxy being on the
warm side of fifty, still adhered to some of the careless ways
of youth; she would bite off her thread in spite of warnings
and protests from her more sedate elder sister, half expecting
areproof. This morning, however, she escaped, and when
Miss Eunice took off her spectacles, it was only to say, in an
annoyed tone:

“TI declare, if a week from to-day ain't Thanksgiving! Does seem

to me it’s coming pretty early in the season, with the leaves hardly

down and the grass green as summer.”

“ A week is time for a good deal to happen,” said Miss Roxy “I wonder if
John’s wife will ask us up there this year. Don’t reely seem as if she could with
the children just getting over the measles, and John so behindhand on account
of his broken leg.”

“Well, Roxy,” said Miss Eunice, “it does seem as if it was kind of forcing
things to make much fuss over Thanksgiving. I don’t say we oughtn’t to be
thankful, but a body might. do that without having a day set forit. Look at
John’s folks now, and look at us, with every last dollar of our savings gone just

as we had a chance to make a good investment in that creamery.”

“Yes, it’s hard, but I’d rather be the one to lose than the one to rob poor

folks of their savings. I tell you, Eunice, we ought to be thankful we ain't

neither of us the cashier of that bank.”

‘Don’t be a fool, Roxy,” said her sister, grimly.

“Well, then,” persisted Roxy, “I’m thankful John wasn’t: a broken leg
ain't half so tryin’ as a bad conscience.”

“Of course they wont ask us there,” said Miss Eunice, “and I wouldn’t go
if they did. We'll stay at home and keep our thankfulness and our troubles
to ourselves. I don’t mean to go to church.”

‘Eunice Martin!” said Miss Roxy, with an appalled face.

“No, I don’t. Mercy sakes, Roxy! you needn’t look so scared. The
Lord didn’t appoint Thanksgiving Day any more’n Trainin’ Day, or ’Lection
Day. It’s just the governor, and I’ve read that he was a regular infidel, any-

_ how.”

Miss Eunice put a little shawl over her head, and went out to see how old
Silas Bowles was getting on with the wood he was sawing, or rather should have

rata We





















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FRANCOIS AND RENE IN LINCOLN PARK,







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been sawing, for as Miss Eunice came to the door of the shed her keen eyes
pounced upon the old man sitting on the chopping block, his bleared eyes
closed in tipsy slumber, while a bottle rested between his feet.

“The miserable old sot!” said Miss Eunice, looking scornfully at the sleep-
er, who quickly roused himself and bustled of for the saw, Saying:

‘“Scuse me, ma’am, I’m kinder beat out this mornin’, been watchin’ all
night with a sick critter, and I set down to file the saw and kinder lost my-
self.”

‘Here's your ile,” said Miss Eunice, significantly, picking up the bottle.

“That? Oh, yes, that’s a sort of mixter I keep on hand for the spells that
ketch me in the stomach. It’s juniper berries and—and—”

“Whisky,” said Miss Eunice, grimly.

“Well, yes, there’s a leetle liquor in it; not more’n you have in your cam-

phire bottle,” said the old reprobate, slyly.

“If folks only took liquor through their xoses, a whisky bottle mightn’t do
any more harm than a camphor bottle,” and Miss Eunice went away. She was
on her morning rounds to the barn and the chicken house, and she came back
with a couple of new-laid eggs in her apron, to find the saw again silent, and
old Silas sitting comfortably in the corner of the kitchen, with a bowl of hot
coffee in his clumsy hand.

Roxy answered her look of indignant inquiry with a brave little smile
quite unusual to her, and the old man paused between his sips to say apolo-
getically:

_“T jes’ come in f’r s’m taller to grease the saw, ’n Miss Roxy she fixed me
up a bowl of coffee. Goes to the spot, I c’n tell ye, when a body hain’t got
nothin’ inside of him but cold pancakes.”

“Cold pancakes!” said Miss Eunice, incredulously.

“Yes’m; my old woman’s over to Cap'n Cady’s makin’ sassidge and tryin’
out. She ‘lowed she’d git through last night and fetch home suthin’. Mis
Cady she’s allus free with her help, but ‘pears they didn’t git done.”

The old man finished his coffee, picked up his bit of tallow candle, and
went out. ;

“Cold pancakes!” said Miss Eunice scornfully. “I found him asleep over
a whisky bottle. Is’pose vou gave him that extra chop. I call that encour-
aging drunkenness.”

“Well, I call it déscouraging it,” said Miss Roxy, cheerfully. “If I had to
start in for a day’s work on cold pancakes I might take to tippling, like as not,
And I may as well tell you, Eunice, I made up my mind if we wa’nt going to
keep Thanksgiving this year any special day, I’d sort of spread it out as fur as



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‘twould reach, and I begun to-day. Iam giving thanks that John ain’t a poox,

_ tipsy, old toper, and that breakfast was my thank-offering.

Miss Eunice went slowly to the pantry to put away her eggs, remarking to
herself:

“Some folks never do seem to grow up.”

Silas came to his work the next day in quite a comfortable condition of
body and mind. His “old woman” had come home; the family larder was
enriched by such store of “sassidge” and spare-rib as it had not seenin a twelve-
month. The weather was blustering, however, and Miss Eunice made no
objection when Roxy set the coffee-pot on the back of the stove, that the old
man might be warmed up by an opportune draught.

“TI suppose you're still giving thanks about John,” said Miss Eunice, looking
curiously at her sister. :

“No,” said Miss Roxy, laughing in her silent fashion, “I’m giving thanks
that I ain’t Silas Bowles’ old woman. ;

“Well, of all things,” said Miss Eunice, but Miss Roxy was calmly survey-

ing some red flannel shirts John’s wife had given her to make a stripe for the

new carpet.

‘‘That’s a nice red,” she said, spreadiag a garment on herlap. “I thought
I'd get at it and work ’em up before the moths got into ’em, but it seems most
a pity tocut’em up. There’s a good deal of wear in’em yet if they was fixed
over. Don’t you remember, Eunice, what a master hand mother was to make
Over.”

‘Was ye cal'lating to make over them shirts for me or for you?” asked
Miss Eunice, with grim sarcasm.

“I was thinking of the McBoles; Jimmy looked so frozen when he came
over last night; I don’t s’pose Bridget can sew any more than a hen, but I could
fix these up so’t they'd go all winter.”

“And leave out your red stripe?”

“Yes, I believe I’ll leave out the red stripe. I can—”

“Can what?” said Miss Eunice impatiently, as her sister stopped in the
middle of her sentence.

“Make a little thank-offering of it for to-morrow,” said Miss Roxy, very
gently, and was soon absorbed in piecing and patching and reducing the gar-
ments to the dimensions of the small boy she measured in her imagination.
Miss’Eunice clattering away in the pantry, smiled compassionately to hear her
singing over her work.

“The Lord is my Shepherd, no want shall I know,

I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest.”
21B



















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“‘Roxy’s voice ain’t what it used to be,” she reflected, ‘‘but she’s a nice
singer yet, and she don’t seem to fall off much in her looks, as I see.”

Miss Roxy’s week of Thanksgiving was almost ended. The day dawned
upon the world with clear, bright skies over a fleece of light snow that caught
the sparkle of the sunshine on millions of crystalline shapes. Her heart had
been growing warmer and younger with each day of kindly deeds, and now, as
she drew aside the curtain and looked out on the splendor of the morning, she
said softly:

_ ‘*‘And T saw a new heaven and a new earth.’”

“Well,” said Miss Eunice, in an injured tone, “this settles it about going
to church; we can’t walk over in this slosh. I must say I think it’s curious
John’s not coming near us ail the week. He might have sent some word and
said he was sorry not to have us come over, but I spose it’s his wife’s doings.
When a man of his time of life marries a young widder with three children,
.ain’t to be expected his old maid sisters will count for much.” __

Miss Roxy went about her morning work meditating upon the possibility
of going to church alone, but Jimmy McBole made his appearance at the house,
heading a procession of small boys, all in a state of noisy hilarity. Abig, good-
natured dog was harnessed to a sled, behind which had been constructed an
ingenious scraper, with handles like a plow, which the boys took turns in holding,
the tenure of office only lasting until some one succeeded in tumbling the in-
cumbent into the nearest ditch,

“We've cleaned a path to the gate,” said Jimmy, proudly, ‘and we're going
to the well and the barn, and clean up to the meetin’-house. Mother said she
knew you'd go to meetin’ on Thanksgivin’ Day, ef you had to swim there,
but we'll fix ye a fust-rate path,” and with a crack of his whip, Jimmy roused up
the dog and started his cavalcade onward.

“J declare,” said Miss Eunice, ‘if that ain’t a real ingenious contrivance!
I reckon we will have to go, after all, seein’ it’ turned off so pleasant.”

Miss Roxy was thinking of Jimmy McBole with his coat unbuttoned to
show a bit of the warm red shirt; of the grateful look in poor old Sally Dow’s
faded eyes when she brought her the cushion of blue and black scraps filched
from her hoarded carpet rags, and her heart was still in a flutter at the thought
of the pleased surprise of the minister's wife, when she pressed into her hand
a five-dollar gold piece; “‘A little thank-offering for the good you have done me,”
she said, hurriedly. That gold piece had been saved many a year, in case of
anything “happening unexpected,” but nothing had happened, and now it
was gone Miss Roxy really felt lighter, as if she had got rid of the danger
also.



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In the porch outside, John’s man met them after the service, with sleigh
and extra robes for the long ride:

‘Going over? Of course we ain't,” said Miss Eunice. “ We ain’t so hard
pushed as to take invitations this time of day.”

“Didn't you git Mis’ Martin’s letter?” said Ezra, staring at them. “She
wrvute ye; I heard her say so, and I seen her give it to Mr. Martin to mail when
I was takin’ him to the deepo. I bet it’s in his pocket yit.”

‘““To the deepo! Where's he gone?” said Miss Eunice, sharply.

‘‘Gone to the city; he was called sudden the day he was cal’latin’ to drive
over and see ye. Hadn't ye better be gitting in? It’s a middlin’ long ways,
and the sleighin’ ain’t none too good.”

The sisters settled themselves in silence, and not a word was said until
just as the sled was passing the shut-up house Miss Eunice called out:

‘«Stop a minute, Ezra, I’ve got to go in.”

She disappeared a few minutes and came out with a basket in her hand,
saying:

‘‘T just thought I'd take that chicken-pie and cranb’ry sass over to Malviny
Bowles as we went by. Seems a pity to have ’em wasted, and I dare say they
wont have anything out of the common run.” |

They left the unexpected bounty at Silas’ door, and sped on over the long,
hilly country road. Only once Ezra turned his frosty face toward them to say,
from the depths of his woolen comforter:

‘Say, I heard Mr. Martin tellin’ the deepo master they’d got back that
money that was stole, every last dollar.”

Silence for some minutes, and then the man turned again to add:

_ ‘That feller that was goin’ to start the creamery, he’s failed up; gone all
tosmash. Lots of folks has lost by him, they say.”
| ‘Poor things,” said Miss Roxy, compassionately.

_ _ “Roxana Martin,” said Miss Eunice, grimly, ‘‘I’m an ungrateful old gump,
and don’t deserve to have another Thanksgiving long as I live.”

“If we only got what we deserved, Eunice,” said Miss Roxy, mildly, “we'd
all of us be dretful bad off.”

‘Well, I’ve been feeling so cross-grained all the week I feel as if I sh’d
have to keep Thanksgiving a month to git square.”

—EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.



Babes tin the Wood.





Y dear, do you know, :
M How a long time ago, ae
Two poor little children,
Whose names I don’t know,
Were stolen away
On a fine summer’s day,
And left in a wood,
As I’ve heard people say.

And when it was night,
So sad was their plight,
The sun it went down,
And the moon gave no light!
They sobbed, and they sighed,
And they bitterly cried,
And the poor little things,
They lay down and died.



a And when they were dead,
| The Robins so red
Brought strawberry leaves,
And over them spread;
And all the day long,
They sung them this song:
“Poor babes in the wood! poor babes in the wood!
And don’t you remember the babes in the wood?”
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Bless You, Bless You. igor:
Bless yeu, bless you, burnie bee;
Say, when will yeur wedding be?
If it be to-morrow day,
Take your wings and fly away.



Swan Swam Over the Sea.

Swan swam over the sea—
Swim, swan, swim;

Swan swam back again,

Well swum, swan.







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St. Dunstan, as the Story Goes.

T. DUNSTAN, as the story goes,
Once pulled the devil by the nose,
With red-hot tongs, which made him roar,

That he was heard ten miles or more.

®



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Ghe f©ox and the ©eese.

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5 FOX came once to a meadow, where a herd of fine fat geese
were enjoying themselves. ‘‘Ah,” he said, laughing, “I am just
o in time. They are so close together that I can come and fetch
NOS them one after another easily.”
i The geese, when they saw him, began to cackle with fear,
sprang up, and, with much complaining and murmuring, begged for their lives.
The fox, however, would not listen, and said, ‘There is no hope of mercy—
you must die.” .
At last one of them took heart, and said: “It would be very hard for us
poor geese to lose our young, fresh lives so suddenly as this; but if you will

















































































































































































































































































































































































grant us only one favor, afterward we will place ourselves in a row, so that you
may choose the fattest and best.”

‘“‘And what is this favor?” asked the fox.

“Why, that we may have one hour to pray in before we die.”

“Well, that is only fair,” replied the fox; “it isa harmless request. Pray
away, then, and I will wait for you.”

Immediately they placed themselves in a row, and began to pray after
their own fashion, which, however, was a most deafening and alarming cackle.
In fact, they were praying for their lives, and so efficaciously that they were
heard at the farm, and, long before the hour had ended, the master and his ser-
vants appeared in the field to discover what was the matter, and the fox, ina
terrible fright, quickly made his escape, not, however, without being seen.











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“We must hunt that fox to-morrow,”
geese home to safe quarters.
goose.

said the master, as they drove the

And so the cunning fox was outwitted by a

Cw
@ family Orum Corps.

LITTLE man bought him.a big
brass drum;
Boom—boom—boom!
‘“‘Who knows,” said he, ‘‘when a
war will come?”
Boom—boom—boom!
“I’m not at all frightened, you understand.
But, if I am called on to fight for my land,
I want to be ready to play in the band.”
Boom—boom—boom!



He got all his children little snare drums;
Boom—tidera—da—boom! :

And they'd practice as soon as they'd fin-

ished their sums.
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
“We're just like our papa!” in chorus said
i they,
“Andif we should ever get into the fray,
Why, it’s safer to thump than to fight any
day!”
Boom—tidera—da—boom!

And, showing her spirit, the little man’s
wife—
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
With some of her pin-money purchased a
fife;
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
And, picking out tunes that were not very
hard,
They'd play them while marching around
the back yard,

Without for one’s feelings the slightest re-_

gard,
Boom—tidera—da-boom-a-diddle-dee—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!



The little old parson, who lived next door—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
Would throw up his hands, as he walked the
floor;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
“Wont you stop it, I beg you?” he often said,
“I’m trying to think of a text, but instead
The only thing I can get into my head
Is your boom—tidera~da—boom-a~diddle-
dee—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!”

All of the people for blocks around—~
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
Kept time at their tasks to the martial
sound;
Boom—tidera~da—boom!
While. children to windows and stoops eoutd
fly,
Expecting to see a procession pass by,
And they couldn’t make out why it never

drew nigh,
With its bbom—tidera-da—boom—a-diddle-
dee—

Boom—tidera—da—boom!

It would seem such vigor would soon abate;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!

But they still keep at it, early and late;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!

So, if it should be that a war breaks out,

They'll all be ready, I have no doubt,

To help i in putting the foe to rout,

With their boom—tidera~da—boom—
Boom—tideva-da—boom—
Boom—tidera-da—boom—a-—diddle--dee—-
Boom—soom—BOOM!

—MALCOLM DOUGLAS,



Girls and Boys Come Out to Play.

=~
IRLS and boys come out to play,

G The moon does shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,
And meet your playfellows in the street;
Come with a whoop, and come with a call,
And come with a good will, or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,

A halfpenny loaf will serve us all,
You find milk and I'll find ‘flour,
And we'll have a pudding in half an hour.

Green Cheese, Yellow Laces.

Green cheese, yellow laces,
Up and down the market-places,
Turn, cheeses, turn!



ee



Good Dobbin.



Fi! thank you, good Dobbin, you’ve been a long track,
‘ And have carried papa all the way on your back;
You shall have some nice oats, faithful Dobbin, indeed,

For you’ve brought papa home to his darling with speed.

The howling wind blew, and the pelting rain beat,
And the thick mud has covered his legs and his feet;
But yet on he galloped in spite of the rain,

And has brought papa home to his darling again.

The sun it was setting a long while ago,

And papa could not see the road where he should go:
But Dobbin kept on through the desolate wild,

And has brought papa home again safe to his child.

Now go to the stable, the night is so raw;
Go, Dobbin, and rest your old bones on the straw;
Don’t stand any longer out here in the rain,
For you’ve brought papa home to his darling again,

























































































































































































































































































































































Wo

sy

'S ONE sails up the Hudson River he will notice at the foot of the
\ Catskill Mountains a light smoke curling up from a little
village. This is a very old town, being founded in the days
Ao of Peter Stuyvesant, the good Dutch Governor of New York.
VE ee \\ There were, a few years ago, some of the houses of the first
S a. settlers standing, built of the same small, yellow bricks
Be, Ve ' brought from Holland, with latticed windows and gable fronts
é mounted by weathercocks. :

In this village, according to our story, there lived, in the days when our
country was yet a province of Great Britain, an old, good-natured fellow, by
the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a great favorite with all the children of
the village, and whenever he appeared they would shout for joy. He helped










EY

them at their sports, made their toys, and taught them to fly kites and shoot

marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches and Indians.
But there was one thing Rip would not do, and that was work. He was

always ready to aid a neighbor, and was the foremost man at country frolics—

in fact, was ready to attend to anybody’s business but his own. Indeed, he

‘said it was useless to work on his farm; that it was the most worthless piece

of ground in the whole country; everything would go wrong in spite of him;
his fences would fall in pieces; his cow would go astray, or get among the
cabbages; weeds would grow faster in his field than elsewhere. It always rained
when he had out-doors work to do—so the broad acres, left him by his father,
had dwindled down to a little patch, not more than enough to supply him with
a little corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst looking piece of ground in the
neighborhood.

But Rip was one of those happy, jolly men who take the world easy, eat
white bread or brown, whichever can be got with the least effort, and would
rather starve ona dime than work for a dollar. If left to himself he would
have whistled his life away contentedly. But he had a wife, a good woman in
many respects, but one with a tongue that was going from morning to night,
and vigorously lashing Rip for his many shortcomings.

As the years went by times grew worse with Rip; but the worse the times
the more constantly Rip’s wife plied her tongue—so at last he used to take his
place with other idlers upon a bench before the village inn. Here they sat in
the shade talking over village gossip, or telling endless, sleepy stories about
nothing. But at length poor Rip was deprived of this consolation, for, one







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day, who-should break in upon the band of idlers but Dame Van Winkle with
her sharp tongue. Day after day she repeated these visits until poor Rip was
driven to despair, and the only way to escape the labor of the farm and the
scolding of his wife was to go with his dog in the woods for a stroll.

One fine autumn day, after a severe tongue-lashing from his wife, Rip
started out with his dog and gun for his favorite squirrel-shooting; weary at
length, he threw himself on a green knoll on the mountain side. Here he lay
until evening was approaching. He dreaded to return, knowing well that his
good wife would be angry. Thinking of this he postponed starting for home

until he finally fell asleep and slept a long sleep, full of strange dreams and

fancies. On waking, he found himself on the green knoll where he had fallen
to sleep. He rubbed his eyes. “Surely,” he thought, “I have not slept here all
night.” He picked up his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled one he had
laid down the night before he found a rusty, worm-eaten affair with the lock
trusted off. He began to think that some one had played a trick on him and
taken his gun while he slept. His dog, Wolf, too, was gone. He whistled for
him and shouted his name; but all in vain. What should he do—the morning
was passing and he felt famished for want of breakfast: he was in despair. A
flock of idle crows perched in a tree near him, looked down from their elevation
and seemed to mock at the poor man’s troubles. He grieved to lose his dog
and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife, but he could not starve among the
mountains. He arose and started for home, but found himself very stiff in
the joints. “These mountain beds do not agree with me,” he thought, “and if
this frolic should lay me up with rheumatism, a sweet time I shall have of it
with Dame Van Winkle.” On his way to the village he met a number of
people, none of whom he knew. He could not account for this, as he believed
himself acquainted with every one in the country around. Their dress was of
a fashion unknown to him. Ashe entered the village a group of children ran

at his heels, hooting at him and pointing to his long, gray beard. The dogs,
‘no one of which he knew, barked at him as he passed. The village was

changed; it was larger; more populous; strange names were over the doors;
strange faces at the windows; everything was strange.

He thought himself bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which
he had left but a day before. There stood the mountains, there ran the
Hudson; every hilland dale was as it had been, yet Rip was sorely perplexed.
He bent his steps, trembling, toward his old home, expecting every minute to
hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle, but the house had gone to decay,
the roof had fallen in, the windows were shattered, the doors were off the
hinges, a half-starved dog was skulking about. Rip called to him. but the cur

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only growled, showed his teeth and ran away. This was hardest of all, “My
very dog,” sighed poor Rip, “has forgotten me.” He entered the house; it was
empty. He called aloud for his wife andchildren. The lonely rooms rang for
a moment with his voice, and then all was still.

He now hurried to the village inn. That, too, was gone. A large wooden
building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken
and mended with old hats, and over the door was painted: “The Union Hotel,
by Jonathan Doolittle.” Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet
little Dutch inn there now was reared a tall, naked pole, with something on the
top that looked like a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag marked
with strange stars and stripes.

There was a crowd of folks about the tavern door, but none that Rip knew.
_ He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double
chin, and pipe, smoking, and Van Bummel, the school-master, reading a news-
paper. Kip, with his long, grizzled beard, his uncouth dress, and the army of
women and children which had gathered at his heels, at once attracted the
attention of the loafers. A very important looking gentleman, with a stern
voice, inquired of him what had brought him there witha gun over his shoulder,
and whether he meant to stir up a riot in the village,

Poor Rip humbly assured them that he meant no harm, and had merely
tome there in search of some of his neighbors, swho used’ to be about the
tavern.

The gentleman mentioned before asked him who they were.

Rip thought a moment and inquired: “Where is Nicholas Vedder?”

There was a short silence, when an old man told him that Nicholas Vedder
was dead these many years.

‘Where is Brom Dutcher?” said the puzzled Rip.

“Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war, and—well, he
never came back again.”

Rip’s heart was sad. He had no courage to ask about any more of his old
friends, but cried out in despair: “Does anybody here know Rip Van Winkle?”

The people exclaimed: “Oh, to be sure: that is Rip Van Winkle yonder
leaning against a tree!”

_ Rip looked up and was astonished to see a man exactly as he looked when
he went up the mountain. The poor fellow was more puzzled than ever.

They asked Rip again who he was.

“The Lord only knows!” exclaimed Rip. “I am not myself—I’m some-
- body else—that is me yonder—no—that is somebody else got into my shoes—
I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they changed























































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my gun, and everything changed, and I am changed, and I can’t tell what's my
name or who I am.” :

The by-standers began to wink at each other, and talked about taking his
gun from him lest he would hurt some one. At this moment a young woman
came through the crowd with a child in herarms, who began to cry at the sight
of the man. She said: ‘Hush, Rip, hush, the old man wont hurt you.) dhis
all seemed to call up old reminiscences in his mind. Rip asked; “What is
your name, my good woman?”

“Judith Gardiner.”

“And your father’s name?”

“Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle; but it is years since he
went away with his gun and never has been heard of since.”

Rip caught his daughter and her child in his arms and cried: “I am your
father—young Rip Van Winkle once, old Rip Van Winkle now. Does nobody
know poor Rip Van Winkle?”

Rip soon told his story, and the crowd soon dispersed to their homes,
talking over the strange affair. Rip’s daughter took him home to live with her;
she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout, jolly farmer for a husband,
whom Rip remembered as one of the children who used to climb on his knee.

It was some time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or
could be made to understand the strange events that had taken place during
his long sleep. How that there had been a revolutionary war—that the country
had thrown off the yoke of old England—and that instead of being a subject
of his majesty, George the Third, he was now a free citizen of the United
States. But Rip was not a politician, so such changes made but little differ-
ence to him. —

He used to visit the tavern and tell his story to everybody who came there,
and every man, woman and child knew it by heart.

Some pretended not to believe it and declared there was something not
quite right with Rip’s head. But most of the old Dutch inhabitants believed
it, and the story was told around the old tavern for years after poor Rip died.
And what right-minded person could doubt a story told on such authority?




Fata
es ls ;



Good KK: ng Arthur.



FHEN good King Arthur ruled this land,
He was a goodly king;

Fe bought three pecks of barley-meal,
To make a bag-pudding.



A bag-pudding the king did make,
And stuffed it well with plums;

And in it put great lumps of fat,
As big as my two thumbs.

‘The king and queen did eat thereof,
And noblemen beside;

And what they could not eat that night,
The queen next morning fried.



Lf Saw Three Ships.

SAW three ships come sail-
ing by,
Come sailing by, come
sailing by;
I saw three ships come sail-
ing by,
New Year’s Day in the

morning.

; And- what do you think was
A gtyad - in them then?
BCG JB Was in them then, was
GB Ces, may hy yy

b Bd t
: fs Sly NI , 5 >
Nik oy “i LG in them then?



EES:






whe, :
oe And what do you think was
So TSA :
7 in them then?



New Year’s Day in the

morning.

Three pretty girls were in them then,
Were in them then, were in them then;
Three pretty girls were in them then,

New Year’s Day in the morning.

One could whistle, and another could sing,
And the other could play on the violin—
Such joy was there at my wedding,

New Year’s Day in the morning.



Fohn Cook He Had a Little Grey Mare.

OHN COOK he had a little grey mare,
hee, haw, hum;
Her legs were long and her back was bare,
hee, haw, hum.
John Cook was riding up
Shooter’s Bank,
. hee, haw, hum;
\ The mare she began to
kick and to prank,
hee, haw, hum.















' ely
AWN Te Sf nh SHE
Ha wae taste wa
Sen fees at a)
=> os as NTN S

John Cook was riding up Shooter’s Hill,
hee, haw, hum;
His mare fell down and made her will,
hee, haw, hum.
The bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf,
hee, haw, hum;
if you want any more, you may sing it yourself,
hee, haw, hum.

ty

&



Tableaux in the Nursery.






o
sel C S Lange Bewry ae |
My REI 2 ;
i Fo
BY
&
eos 3 =
BT was a cold-and rainy day. Polly, Puss, Jess and Will stood by the
iI wursery window, watching the rain. Baby Ned was asleep on nurse’s lap.
ft “I wish we could go for a walk,” said Jess.
‘ “So do I,” said Polly: “I just love to go out in the rain.”
“But nurse will never let us go,” complained Will.
x

‘No, indeed; you would every one take cold and be sick,” saidnurse. “You



ought to be glad you have such a nice, warm place to stay in. Think how many
nice things you have to cae with. A good many little children have no good
home or nice playthings.”

“But we have played
everything we know, and
we are awful tired staying
10,” saiduPuss:

“T wish mamma did not
have company; then she
would come and play with

’ said Polly.

“You might get up
some tableaux,” suggest.
edaurse. “ You have not
done that for a long
time.”

“Oh, yes; that will be
splendid,” cricd Jess.
Even Will, who thought
he was too large a boy to
take a part in girls’ plays,
agreed that it would be
fun.

Baby Ned woke up, and
then nurse could help
them. Sheset him on the
sofa to play witha mug
andspoon. Shearranged
the screen in front of
one corner, and brought

things for them to dress
with. They arranged the
tableaux behind the
screen, then nurse pulled
it away. She and baby
Sap Ned were the audience.
The Sieeping Beauty was the first tableau. Jess was sleeping on acouch
made of a bright shawl. She was covered up with a white lace curtain, and had



out some shawls and other —



a wreath of artificial flowers on her head. Will was the prince. He was
standing beside her. He looked very gay with Polly’s blue circular for a cloak,
thrown over his shoulders. A hat, with a long white feather, was on his head.
He had his toy sword hung at his side.

Then they had Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother.

Polly was the grandmother ; she had on a cap with a wide frill, and was
propped up on pillows. Puss was Red Riding Hood; she had on a bright red
cloak and carried a little basket.

It took them a long time to dress ana arrange each tableau.

They were just saying, What shall we have next?” when nurse said,
“It’s time to get ready for supper.” They could not believe that the time had
gone so quickly. “I guess we will play tableaux every rainy day,” said Jess,





‘loss Was a Little Man.



sa

21%



OSS was a little man, and a little mare did buy;
For kicking and for sprawling, none her could come nigh;
She could trot, she could amble, and could canter here and
there,
But one night she strayed away—so Moss lost his mare.

‘Moss got up next morning to catch her fast asleep.

And round about the frosty fields so nimbly he did creep.
Dead in a ditch he found her, and glad to find her there;
So ll tell you by-and-by how Moss caught his mare.

“Rise! stupid, rise!” he thus to her did say;

“Arise, you beast, you drowsy beast, get up without delay,

For I must ride you to the town. so don’t lie sleeping
there!”

He put the halter round her neck—so Moss caught his
mare.



The F; rogs’ Chorus.

$¢\7AUP, yaup, yaup!”
Said the croaking voice of a Frog;
“A rainy day
_ In the month of May,
And plenty of room in the bog.”

‘““Yaup, yaup, yaup!”
Said the Frog as it hopped away;
“The insects feed
On the floating weed,
And I’m hungry for dinner to-day.”



‘““Yaup, yaup, yaup!”

Said the Frog as it splashed about;
“Good neighbors all,
When you hear me call,

It is odd that you do not come out.”

““Yaup, yaup, yaup!”
Said the Frogs; “it is charming weather;
“We'll’come and sup,
When the moon is up,
And we'll all of us croak together.”









ZEIGE UUM

Sleesy lite Gentians, itis time fo pise

AU Sn oe
Hur the sunis climbing last up the golden skies, On
Aud the happy brooklels ave laughing where they leap; fe
: L | , : HG
Dont you hear there in your dreams asyau lie asleep 2 yi
ay “A








CSOT

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Ws,

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? pa 3 7 MLL VAN CZZLAN

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y \ W/E line
Wy Ey) WY ZZ’ aes
iff ee ve,
LUI

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a4 ee
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SSE NMEE

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Sg Tu










SE Z

aS ¥ : ieee
SSE Se” pull,

KOT RSS ie
~ Bee =

ae
~

ee fringed lashes’ up,shut sovery tight,
se Pliding from your sweet blue eyes all the rosy light,
Le What can you be dreaming that you slumber so,
Po. Sleepy litfle Gentians, I should like to know!

te toe eo Gertrude Alger
















(ied and the ,

LITTLE mouse, a little bird and a sausage once formed a
partnership. They had set up housekeeping and had lived
for a long time in great harmony together. The duty of the
little bird was to fly every day into the forests and bring

ge ‘ » home wood, the mouse had to draw water, to light the fire

and lay the table-cloth, and the sausage was cook.

How often when we are comfortable we begin to long for something new.
5o it happened one day that the little bird had
met in his road another bird, to which he had
boasted of their happiness and friendship at
home.

The other bird replied: “What a simpleton .
you are to work in the way you do, while the
other two are enjoying themselves at home.
When the mouse has lighted the fire and drawn
the water she can go and rest in her little room till she js called to lay the
cloth. The sausage can sit by the stove while he watches that the dinner is
well cooked, and when the dinner time arrives he eats four times as much as
the others, till he quite shines with salt and
fat.”

The bird, after listening to this, came home
quite unhappy, and, laying down his load, seated
himself at the table and ate so much that he
slept till the next morning without waking, and
thought this was a happy life.

Uhe next day the little bird objected to go
and fetch wood, saying, ‘That he had been their
servant long enough, and that he had been a
fool to work for them in this way. He intended
at once to make a change and seek his living in
another way.”

The bird was master, so he proposed that they should draw lots, and «he lots
fell so that the sausage was to fetch the weod, the mouse to be cook, and the bird
to draw the water. Now, what was the result? The sausage went out to get
wood, the bird lighted the fire and the mouse put on the saucepan and sat down
to watch it till the sausage returned home with wood for the next day. But



1®\ouse, the ausage.










he stayed away so long that the bird, who wanted a breath of fresh air, went
out to look for him. On his way he met a dog, who told him that, having met .
with the sausage, he had devoured him.

The bird scolded
the dog for his conduct,
-and called him a cruel
. robber, but it did no
good,

The little bird, full
of sorrow, flew home,
carrying the wood with
him, and related to the mouse what he had seen and heard. They were both
very grieved, but quickly agreed that the best thing for them to do was for them
to remain together.

From that time the bird undertook to prepare the table, and the mouse to
roast something for supper and to put the vegetables into the saucepan as she
had seen the sausage do; but before she had half finished her task the fire
burnt her so terribly that she fell down and
Bees died.

iq When the little bird came home there was
- no cook to be seen and the fire was nearly out..
The bird, in alarm, threw the wood here and
soy there, cried out and searched everywhere, but
no cook could be found.

Meanwhile a spark from the fire fell on the
wood and set it in a blaze, so that there was
danger of the house being burned. The bird ran in haste to the well for water.
Unfortunately, he let the pail fall into the well, and being dragged after it he
sank into the water and was drowned.

And all this happened because one little bird listened to another who was
jealous of the happy little family at home, and from being discontented and
changing their arrangements they all met with their death.



















w/f{ AB a shine, sah?” cried a black boy, who looked too old to be
young, and too young to be old, as he dropped his blacking kit
on the pavement.

A large, rather good-looking gentleman came out of the
hotel and put a well-booted foot on Jim’s blacking box, saying
with the familiarity of a superior and old acquaintance: —
“How are you, Jim? I’ve been waiting for you.’

Jim replied, “I ’specs I’s well, Colonel.”

_ Jim knew very ‘well his customer was a man who had so much money
that people said of him he “rolled in wealth.” At any rate, Jim had good
reason to remember the Colonel. Did he nnt throw down quarters for a
' ten cent job, and never wait for the change? The Colonel always said:

“Never mind now, Jim, I will take it out in ‘shines.’ But somehow he never
did. Hehada very poor memory—when he wanted to.

“Why, Jim,” said he, “it seems to me you don’t appear so very merry for
the holidays. What's the matter, youngster?”

‘No, sah! I’s been ’tinkin’ ob somesin’ all day,” he replied, while polishing
away on the Colonel’s boot. “You see, Colonel, de younguns at home, dey
al’ays ’spects a big Chris’mas an’ dis’ yere dey didn’t hab it, an’ I’se calkalatin
how ter gib dem younguns a tree an’ fixins yit. I can git de tree—but de fixins
on it: Gave w’at I jes’ doan see my way clar to git for New Year’s, which am to-
morry.”

The Colonel had an idea! It made him so nervous he took his right foot
down before Jim had quite polished it off, and put up his other in its place.

“Hol on dere, Colonel; dat fut am on’y haf polish!” said Jim, shaking the
blacking brush at him warningly. Just then the wind flopped about Jim’s old
clothes, which were never made for him, and crept in at the rents and snipped
his shivering flesh as spitefully as only Jack Frost can. Still he kept on at the
Colonel's boots, until they reflected like a mirror. As he finished, the Colonel
said: “Here, take this, you little son of ebony,” throwing him a five-dollar
bill. “Take it and be off. Get those young ones a jolly good time, but don’t
forget Fim. Tell them Santa Claus could not get there for Christmas. He
was too busy.”

Jim gave a whistle, lifted his old hat with a bow to the Colonel, then gath.
ered up his “kit,” and throwing the strap-over his shoulder, started off ata

- racing pace. :
21D









Fe

Life, with its struggle for the necessities, had begun early for Jim. His
mother was the lowliest of earth—a slave refugee. As for his father, if he
ever had one—he knew him not, His ‘‘(Mammy,” with old gray headed “gran’-
dad,” lived out on the hills across the river. When Jim was five years old his
ole mammy bought him the blacking kit,~carried him over into the city, set
him up in business, and told him to “Begin now, Jim, to he’p yo’ self; but
come home, honey, once a week wid yo’ earnin’s for mammy.” Jim obeyed.
The rest of the week he slept and ate—wherever he was—on a doorstep or
under it, with his bread or pie in his hand.

Jim lost no time in racing for Seventh street after finishing the Colonel’s
boots, for the snow was now falling in earnest. He halted before the gay
stands on the pavements loaded with cheap toys and with candies that re-

sembled pebble stones in more ways than one. Jim bought and bought, with

a reckless abandon that was refreshing to see. He filled all his pockets—
that would hold anything—and the rest of the bundles he carried in his arms.
Among them was a new clay pipe, and a bag of “tobaccy” for gran’dad. Jim
felt himself to be a veritable Santa Claus. “I ‘spec I'll make a gran’ time w’en
I gits ober to Hillsdale. I'll ’sprise ’em, dat I will,” said he to himself,

As Jim ran out of sight the Colonel watched him with interest; then going
up toa man who was leaning on the sheltered side of a column of the portico
in front of the hotel he thus spoke to him: ‘

“Hello, Jerry! Do you want to make a nice little New Year’s dot?”

“Find out for me before twelve o'clock tonight where Jim lives, will you?”

“I know that now. He and his are poor as Job’s turkey—but he’s an hon-
est little chap. I’ve known him on this street for seven years past, and |
never knew him to do anything worse than fight/ I’ve seen him lick boot-blacks
and newsboys more than once—/or abusin’ a smaller boy. He's a good-hearted
little chap, if he is black! He’s round here six days an’ nights o’ the week, but
he disappears on Saturdays, so I suspect he goes home, for we don’t see nuth-
in’ uv’ him until Monday mornin’. Most o’ the boot-blacks do arushin’ bizness

_ on Sundays, but he don’t. Leastways, not round here.”

“Well, I was athinking”’—said the Colonel deliberately—wher spoke up
Jerry:—

“Anything in my line? Iam ready, if so, to do it.”

“Yes, I was just remembering to-night—New Year's night it is too—of
when I was pretty nearly as bad off as Jim. My father and mother were refu-
gees from Ireland, and poor enough, God knows. But somehow they managed
to give me an education, and it was my luck that all I touched seemed to turn
togold I’ve taken a fancy to help black Jim makea happy New Year for those













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































‘younguns he spoke of. I am tired of everything that money can buy !—It will
amuse me to turn myself into a kind of patron saint for Jim’s edification.
There’s a hundred dollar bill, Jerry; that is, if you will undertake the job. I
want you to get a bushel basket full of nice fixings for Jim’s folks; and then
buy a strong, warm suit of clothes, from head to heels, for him, and lay that on
top of it. Then tell him—sometime to-morrow, after the basket has been shoved
in on them—that a man in No. 36 wants to see him at 8 o'clock inthe evening.
I will be there to finish up the job myself.”

Jim on his way over to the poor little home was just as happy, with his
little ragged pockets full, as the richest heir inallthe land. His feet were wet,
and he shivered in the blasts as he climbed the lonely road up the hill after
dark. But he was not afraid, cold or lonely.

The wind howled dismally round Jim’s home on stormy nights. It came
in without leave at the crevices and cracks and seemed to put the handful of
fire in the kitchen stove out with a maliciously spiteful air. A bucket of coal
once or twice a week was all the fuel that Mammy Roxie ever bought at one
time, and that was only when she had ironing to do. Whatever else they
burned the children picked up.

When Jim came in sight of the place he made a rush for it. Pretty soon
after, a tall man came riding by ona roan horse; and all the villagers who saw
him mistook him for a mounted “perlice” and paid no special attention to
where he went or what he did.

Jimmy burst open the kitchen door crying: “Oh, Mammy, I'm as rich as
King Solomon. De Colonel whose boots I shines-he gib me five dollars fo’
New Yea’s, ad’ ez I comed by Santa Claus’ factory, where he was shoein’ his
hosses fo’ de las’ time dis season, I jess gaged him to stop here tonight an’
lebe somesin’ for dese yer younguns—ef dey goes to bed jes es soon as dey eat
deir suppers so he kin come in!”

“OQ, Jimmy, what’s Santa Claus like?” one dared to ask. “Does he come
down the chimbly? I tau’t he on’y cumd Christmas.”

“Mostly, chillen—but yo’ see he skipt us befo’—an’ as we’s got a stovepipe,
I promised to leabe de do’ cpen jes a leetle crack tonight so he can git in. But
he says to me ‘If dem chillen keep one peeper open ten minutes arter suppa,
Ise goin’ by dat shanty, shoah.’ Do yo’ hear dat, now?” and Jim puffed him-
self up enormously as he said this.

Jim’s “gran’-dad” sat in his splint chair, listening. He was a very stately
and dignified old darkey, with wool as white as snow; and he was almost ~
blind. He, too, was a born slave, but his natural dignity and high-bred
manner made him greatly respected by his neighbors, especially as he was a












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‘preacher.” As Jim finished his harangue at the children, the old man spoke
up: “Last night, Jim, I dreamed of white horses; an’ dat am a turrible bad
sign. De white hoss al’ays ’pears fo’ a deff in de fambly. Ise ben ’spectin’ to
heah ob yo’ gittin’ knocked down and kilt, or dat yo’s broke yo’ leg or somesin’
o dat sort, forI doan bleebede Lord goin’ sen’ for me yt, Leastwise, not till
arter awhile. I can’t un’erstan’ it, how Icum to dream o’ de white hoss, an’
good luck comin’ ’stead o’ bad fortin. Yo’ orter Say your praars mighty nice
tonight, honey.”

“So ’yo kin, gran’dad, wid tanks, fo as Ise walkin’ ‘long I meets Mr. Santa
Claus, an’ he says to me, ‘See here, Jim, Ise got a bag o’ ‘baccy an’ a pipe fo’
yo grandad at las’, po’ ole man! Gib him my ’spects, cos I haint got no time
to go see ‘im befo’ he goes to bed. You, sonny, jes gib dis to ’im an’ my best
‘spects,’ so dere dey is, daddy. White or black hosses, yous in luck.” Thus
ignoring the folk-lore of his forefathers, Jim handed over the treasures to the
old man, who said in a trembling voice: “De Lor’ be praise’, Jim; I was jes a
longin’ fo’ some ’baccy, an’ yo’ know dem chillen broke gran’dad's pipe blowin’
soap bubbles to-day. Yo’ can say to Mr. Santa Claus Ise berry much ‘bleeged
to'im. se berry much 'bleeged to ‘im, dat Lis! He’s berry good to cum at all
dis yere!” -

All that stormy New Year's Eve the Colonel remained in; his thoughts

were with black Jim, intermingled with reminiscences of his own boyhood, when

one dollar looked larger to him than a hundred did to-night. It pleased his
mood to be amused in playing with the destiny of a boot-black, and it made
him blush with conscious pleasure to find that his heart had not quite become
hardened to the trials of the very poor.

While the Colonel was thinking his “long thoughts,” his protege was the
central figure—a dispenser of happiness—in a very humble sphere. The ‘“chil-
luns,” after the supper of fried bacon and corn pone, went to bed on a straw
tick om the floor right over the stove, to keep them warm. After that Jim and
Mammy had a chance to dress the belated Christmas tree. It bloomed out
gorgecusly with strings of cranberries strung on a thread, likewise ropes of
popcorn. -It bore oranges and apples on the same bough; while drums, tin
horns, doll babies and various toy devices for making a noise bloomed helter,
skelter from base to dome on the little cedar tree. Every cent of Jim’s five
dollars had gone into the decorations of that gorgeous tree or into the
dainties for to-morrow’s dinner, with not a dime reserved for Jim.

Finally gran’dad was coaxed to go to bed, when Jim’s mammy began to

' prepare for the very climax of the occasion. Out from the hiding place came

that fat ‘possum which looked not unlike a little pig ready for roasting. That
























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was to be kept a secret from gran’dad, who thought ““possum and sweet tater
the finest feast in all the world” of cookery. When the preparations were at
last completed, Mammy crept up-stairs to snuggle down beside tlhe young ones,
while Jim rolled himself up in the blankets, and was soon fast asleep on his
bunk on the floor in front of the kitchen stove.

Nobody knows how or when it was done, but when Jim awoke that New
Year’s morning at peep of dawn, his astonishment was boundless. He raised
himself on his elbow to survey the scene. “How dem tings git in heah, I
like to know?” said he. “Da’s a big snow track on de floah, but I didn’t heah
nobody! Whew! Da’s a whole baskit full of—lem me see—a turkey gob-
bler on top wid his tail fedders on so I kin recognize him! Da’'sa pappa ob
coffee —I kin feel dat shuah! Sugah candies in dis Pappa; oranges, apples,
banannas, en cakes all cubbered with white shugah!” And then he peeped into
the bundle he had laid aside while rummaging the contents of the basket. He
~ broke the string, and pulling out a pair of new pants just about his size, he gave
a yell that nearly raised theroof, At least it raised “Mammy” and the “young.
uns.” ‘“Heah, you lazy niggahs, yo’! w’at yo’ doin’ that yo’ don’ come down
heah an’ see wat Santa Claus ben doin’ while weuns all sleepin’? Dat ole ras-
cal he got in heah widout me knowin’ notin’ ’boutit, an’ I down heah un puppus
to let ’im in!”

With a rush and a scuffle Mammy and the three kinky-headed little ones
appeared on the scene, which they viewed with wide-eyed wonder, their kinks
standing out each way for Sunday.

“Now, Jim,” said his Mammy, solemnly, “I ‘specs yo’ know who sen’ dem
tings!” 5

‘Deed I dusn’t, mammy, unless it be de Colonel. Heso rich, folks say he
done know wat to do wid his money. I done care who sen’ ‘em, Tse much
obleeged, lis. Heah, do yo’ see dem close? Dey done fit nobody but me!”
Then and there Jim began to array himself in the new garments.

“Now, Jim,” said his Mammy, “‘yo’ jes stop dat, honey, an’ go up-stairs wid
a cake o’ soap an’ wash yo'sef clean. Make yo’sef presumable befo’ yo’ dresses
up, and yo’ be shuah yo’ gits all de dirt ofen yo’; if yo’ don’ I'll be up dar wid
de scrubbin’ brush!—I’se de proudes’ woman in Hillsdale, I is! My dinnah to-
day of.roas’ turkey an’ possum ’Il jes scent dis yer town as dey a fryin’ an’ a
bakin’! I’se jes as good as oder folks w’at tink deys better dan I is, who et der
Chris’mas dinna’ las’ week,” and Mammy Roxie strutted up and down her little
kitchen ina way that delighted her youngsters. . “My Jim,” she continued,
‘don’ go loafin’ roun’ de groceries ob dis town like mos’ ob dese niggahs ’bout
yere do. He.don’ git inter fights an’ git ‘rested by de perlice like Elsie Fair.





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faxes boys do.” Here gran’dad appeared in time to hear this spontaneous com-
bustion of motherly pride, which he considered it his duty, as a preacher and
' prophet, to rebuke.

“Roxie Gant,” he said solemnly, “I’se had anodder dream las’ night.
Dreams dey goes de odder way wat yo’ dream. If I dreams o’ weddin’s, it
means funals; if I dreams 0’ swimmin’ it means drownin’. If 1 dream yo’ well,
it mean yo’ goin’ be sick, an’ wiser werser. Yo’ see wat luck dis dream bring
us. Las’ night Jim was in de ribber up to his chin. I was awfu’ distress! I
tried to waid out to ‘im, fo’ I’specs dat chile drown right fo’ my eyes. But
Jim he fling up he head, an’ he sputters an’ spits out de watah, an’ he slopsout
is legs behin’ like a big bull frog, an’ ’is arms like frippers, an’ he mak’ fo’ de
sho’ an’ den he come climin’ out all drippin’. Den I know somesin’ good goin’
to happen to Jim! In de ole times, wen we slabes, eberyting a comin’ an’ a
goin’ ’cordin’ to de dreams; an’ people cast ‘spells’ on udder people for der
helth. I seed folks dieunder a bewichin’ ‘spell! “Deed Ihas! An’ if you don’t
tote a lucky stone out o’ a toad’s head, or a catfish, in yo’ pocket all de time—
you don’t hab no luck.” Just then Jim reappeared all shiny from his ablutions,
arrayed in his new suit. “Pears to me, gran’dad, dat luck o’ mine yo’ talkin’
‘bout ‘aready come true. Do yo’ see dat possum? Do yo’ see dat turkey? Do
yo’ see dat baskit? Do yo’ see me all dress up fine by ole Santy Claus himsef,
jes cos he tinks I sech a likely darkey? Santy Claus mighty po’ ‘round dis
shanty las’ week, but he doin’ mighty well dis’ New Year!” after which speech
he began to dance a shuffle. Gran’dad seized the banjo from the corner, and
to the tune of “Tum! tum! tum! tummy, tummy, tummy, tum!” Jim jumped
higher and faster, while little Elsie, next in age to him, joined in, and Hetty,
the baby, stood in the door, a spectacle of unadulterated admiration; while
Mammy’s broad mouth opened like a red cavern, as she gave vent to her feel-
ings in roars of delight and motherly pride, clapping her hands to keep time to
the flying feet. -

The dinner was a success at Jim’s home, and so was the belated Christmas
tree, but he did not forget his appointment to meet aman at No. 36, at 8
o'clock New Year's night.

The Colonel was surprised, for he never would have believed that a
mere suit of decent clothes could so transform a child of want into a comely
and respectable looking lad. The Colonel’s first and only thought of Jim had
been to give himself the pleasure of making one humble person’s New Year a
happy one. Now he felt inspired to go on with the work which he had begun.
In Jim he saw enshrined an embryo man, which education and opportunity
might develop. ~ There #s no color line when it comes to “manhood.”







































































































































































He extended his hand, saying heartily:

“How are you, Jim? Seems to me somebody has treated you pretty
well. You look quite like a gentleman.”

“Tank you, sah!” said Jim. “I’se berry much ‘bleeged to you, for I’se
shuah dis time you an’ Santa Claus berry near relations.”

“Well, yes, Jim, I’ve @ distant relationship to him,” replied the Colonel,
amused.

“Can you read, Jim?”

ONIGS eSiis:

“Where did you learn?”

“In de Freedman’s school, sah, at night. I’se berry anxus to learn to write,
an’ I’m goin’ to begin right away arter New Year’s,”

“Oh, you are? Well, I want to set up another boy in the shoe blacking
business; what will you take for your kit, Jim?”

Jim couldn’t help laughing at the idea of the rich Colonel wanting to buy
out his old “kit” when new ones could be had so cheap.

“I ’spec. I’d ask five dollars for it, Colonel, if yo’ wants it. I’d hab to git
anoder, yo’ know, sah.”

“No you wouldn't, either. I wanta boy about your size to wait on me,
out of school hours. Do ‘you want the place?”

“Bress de Lor’! I ‘spec I do, but I couldn't take tt, cos Mammy and de
chilluns can’t git nuff t’ eat widout my wuk, sah. I’se berry much ’bleeged, ‘deed
1 is!”

‘Well, well, Jim, your love for the home folks does you infinite credit. I
will see that you are paid enough to provide for them as well as now, and you
can go to school just as long as you remain in my service and chose to do so.”

Jim’s eyes rolled up almost incredulously, but as the opening dawned upon
his mind clearly he was too full for utterance.

To-day in Washington there is a physician, very dark of skin, but very
skilful of practice among his own people. No one now thinks of him as the
poor little Jim of our story, and yet he is one and the same. Jim dates all his
success in life to the five dollar bill received on New Year's Eve, 18—, while
the Colonel regards his bestowal of that little bill upon a bootblack as one of
the happiest inspirations of his life; and he is thankful that he has been able to
help in making the world richer by one man, whose name was—“Jim.”

—EmiLy L, SHERWOOD,
sitee



The Winds T. hey Did Blow.



HE winds they did blow,
The leaves they did wag;

Along came a beggar boy,
And put me in his bag.

He took me up to London:
A lady did me buy;

Put me in a silver cage,
And hung me up on high.

With apples by the fire,
And nuts for to crack;

Besides a little feather-bed,
To rest my little back.



Lhe North Wend.



HE north wind dot n blow,
And we shall snow,

And what will the robin do then,
Poor thing?

He'll sit in the barn

And keep himself warm,

And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing.

The north wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,

And what shall the honey-bee do,
Poor thing?

> In his hive he will stay
Till the cold’s passed away,
And then he’ll come out in the spring
Poor thing.

J



The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow, .
And what will the dormouse do then,

Poor thing?

Rolled up like a ball

In his nest snug and small,

He'll sleep till warm weather comes back,
Poor thing.

ap



The north wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,

And what will the children do then,
Poor things?

When lessons are done,

They'll jump, skip, and run,

And that’s how they'll keep themselves warm,
Poor things.







©apture.

ED had never mentioned it, but he really intended to bea porice-
man when he grew up. He wassure he wouldlike that, and posi-
tively envied the policeman on his beat his blue coat and brass
buttons, to say nothing of his size, which was enormous, while
Ted’s was nothing to speak of, he felt with deep regret; though
by stretching and standing on tiptoe he tried to hurry it up.

The policeman’s name was Thirty-four; at least it said so
_ on the silver. badge that he wore on the beautiful coat, and so.
Ted always called him, for they were great friends. “Hullo, young sir,” Thirty-
four would call out as he spied the golden head watching for him through the
gate. “How do you find yourself this morning?”

‘First rate, thank you, Thirty-four,” Ted would reply, genially smiling,
and showing a vacancy where two teéth had lately moved out,

“That's right, take good care of yourself.” ‘

‘Thank you, sir,” and Ted would wistfully watch the broad, retreating back
of his friend as he passed up the street.

- Ted had only one objection to his mother. She was too particular, and
did not allow him to play on the street, and in spite of a large and beautiful
yard, he longed for this privilege with all his heart.

One morning an exciting thing happened: Ted was trying to fish in the
irrigating ditch with his brother. As their bamboo fish-pole stuck through the
fence palings, whiz came the patrol-wagon around the corner, and Ted’s friend
Thirty-four was sitting on one of the seats, with a very red-nosed tramp sitting
beside him. The wagon stopped by the patrol-box, and with a word to the
driver Thirty-four got down and went into the box.

But the horses were uneasy, and while the driver was busy with them the
tramp jumped out of the wagon andran up the walk straight toward Ted, who
was so busy watching them that he forgot he had left the fish-pole about siz
inches above the walk.

Thirty-four dashed out of the box and after the tramp pell-mell, who, look-
ing over his shoulder, caught his foot in the fish-pole, fell flat, and was nabbed
by Thirty-four before he could get up.

“What's this?” asked Thirty-four, eyeing the side-walk trap.

“Mine!” cried Ted eagerly. ‘I’ve been sishing” (he meant fishing) “in the
irratating ditch!”

“You're a brick!” laughed Thirty-four. “Ketched the right kind of a sish

21E













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































sarpint this time, sure,” giving the tramp a little shake. “But I reckon you
better take it in now, for fear you ketch the wrong ’un next time; and here’s a
dime to buy peanuts with.”

Ted thanked him with dignity, and watched them drive off, and then went
in to tell his mother how he helped ’rest a tramp. ‘Guess she'll be pretty
s’prised, and think I’m pretty growned up to do such a thing,” he said.

And she was.

(@esson in ©eography

—L. E. CHITTENDEN.

Al iN LESSON in geography,

: 2 With all the states to bound!” —
OW My boys grew sober in a trice,
And shook their heads and

frowned;
And this was in the nursery,
Where only smiles are found.



Then suddenly up jumped Boy Blue—
. Youngest of all is he—

And stood erect beside my chair;

_ “Mamma,” he said, “bound me!”

And all the other lads looked up
With faces full of glee.

I gravely touched his curly head;
“North, by a little pate

That’s ‘mixed’ in ‘mental ’rithmetic’
And can’t get fractions straight;

That never knows what time it is,
Nor where are books or slate.

“South, by two feet—two restless feet—
That never tire of play,

But never fail to gsadly run
(Even on a holiday)

On others’ errands willingly
In most obliging way.

“East, by a pocket stuffed and crammed
With, oh, so many things!

With tops and toys and bits of wood,
And pennies, knives and strings;

And by a little fist that lacks
The glow that water brings.

“West, by the same, and well explored
The pocket by the fist;

The capital two rosy lips
Already to be kissed.

And, darling, now I’ve bounded you,
The class may be dismissed:;”










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“PUT THE COLORS OF YOUR COUNTRY JUST BELOW THE CROSS OF CHRIST.”

Bishop Matthew M, Stupson, BD, B,







Ghe \Mateh P\ight at Smithville.

2 'T was watch night down at Smith-

Whar the people’s jes’ as clever
as the Lord ’ud hav’ ’em be;
Whar the sweet ole songso’ Zion
iS s flood the valleys an’ the hills
‘Till the angels lean and listen from the Hea-
venly . winder-sills.



The Methodists is curious, but we know what
we're about

When watchin’ New Vear comin’ in, the ole
year goin’ out.

The Baptis’—they ain’t much fer that—think
shoutin’ is a crime;

But, bless yer! we’re the folks as has the hal- |
leluia time!

Weel, thar we wus at Smithville—its nigh to
twenty year—

The little church was crowded, Deacon
Williams in the chair,

An’ sez he: “Now, while we’re waitin’, let’s

_ sing a hymn or two,

‘An’ then get up and tellus what the Lord has

done fer you.”

“Amazin’ Grace” cum ringin’ out; the bro-
ther pitched it high,

Asif he thought the folks was deaf on ’tother
side the sky.

“Sing louder, brotherin’, louder yit!” the
leader sed, sed he:

“Fer that’s the kind o’ grace—thank ‘God!—
’at saved a wretch like me.”

“I second that,” sed Brother Jones, arisin’
nigh the door,

“An’ glad am I my life is spared to be wi? ye
onct more.

P’raps I wont be wi’ ye when Watch Night
cums nex’ year,

But” (looking up) “I hope, dear frens, I'll
meet you over there!”

ville, in the lovin’ land o’ Lee, |

When he got thru’ we had a pra’t, thea
Williams tuk the stan’;

Sed he: “I feel to-night I’m still bound fer
the promis’ lan’,

Fer I’ve quit the grocery business—that’s
whar religun fails—

An’ ef Williams gitsto glory hit’ll be by split-
tin’ rails!”



“I’m out er politicks, my frens,” sed gray-
ha’red Brother Guy,

“The office I’m er runnin’ fer thar ain’t no
man kin buy.

An’ I'm bound to be elected: but that son o’
mine—hit’s hm

I’m thinkin’ of—he’s sheriff, an’ I’m fearer’
his chance is slim!”



“Is the sheriff in the church to-night?” askea
Brother Williams, loud;

An’ the people turned to lookin’ and a
sarchin’ thru’ the crowd.

“Weel, 'spose he is?” a voice replied, “He
hain’t dun nothin’ wrong,”

“O, no,” sez Brother Williams, “cept to
dodge the Lord so long!”

“{ ain’t after no religun,” sed the sheriff,
“needn’t pray

Fer me—I know my bizness an’ I’m bound
ter hav’ my way.”

But here the leader shouted: “Brotherin’! git
aroun’ that man;

It’s a desp’rit case, I tell ye; we must save him >
ef we can.”

An’ they saved him. Ole John Williams had
a habit, makin’ prayer,

Of reachin’ out wi’ doth han’s an’ a beatin’ o’
the air;

An’ it wasn’t no exception on this partickler

| night;



He got close ter the sheriff an’ he hit him left
and right!















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We didn’t know when New Year cum, nor
when the old went out; ;

We just kept on er prayin’ till we heard the
sheriff shout!

An’ then the meetin’ ended, and I’ve been

- thinkin’ sence

That the sheriff he surrendered in a sort o’

seli-defence!

He kinder looked the worse for wear—jes’
used up in the cause—

Fer the way: old Williams frailed him was a
caution, so it was;

An’ he sed, as if ’twar nothin’—like he tuk
the matter light:

“You don’t hav’ these here Jeatin’ pra'rs
’cept only New Year’s Night?”

F, L. STantTon,



———e,
——S===_

@Jack’s P\ew Sear Giant.

ANE holidays were ended. The little candles on the Christmas tree
Ko)! had burned out. The visit to grandma’s was over and the New Year
ken] party broken up. Even the story-books had been read through, and
now, on this bright, cold second of January, there was nothing for Jack to do
but to collect his scattered books, put thém in his school-bag and trot back to
school.

“Oh, ho!” sighed Jack; “it feels very dull to go back to school. I wish I
was Jack the Giant-killer, and had nothing to do but climb a bean-stalk.”

But when he glanced slyly at the dining-room window, on his way out of
the door, there was no sign of a bean-stalk, though he had dropped a whole
handful of beans out there on purpose.

“Well, boys, a happy New Year!” said Miss Lucy as the boys chattered
noisily in the school-room, and “Happy New Year!” echoed all the fresh young
voices.

After a sober little talk about the old year that was gone and the New Year
that was coming, Miss Lucy said: ‘There is one job I’ve laid out for you this
year, boys, and that is to kill a giant.”

Jack started. Had Miss Lucy heard him talking to himself a while ago?

“I wont tell you the giant’s name now,” said the teacher, “but I will let
you know if I see him around.”

As I told you, Jack didn’t feel a bit like going to school, and he missed his
spelling, and got his sums wrong, and blotted his copy-book, until Miss Lucy
had to give him several ugly marks on his report.

“Ah, Jackie,” she said, “that giant has met you in the way and got the
best of you.”

“Is it Giant Laziness, Miss Lucy?” asked one of the older boys.

“That’s his name, Frank, and here is the sword to kill him with,” and Miss
Lucy wrote across the blackboard, “Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit,
serving the Lord.”





AC)





-

DNDECISION.





Ne ost Something.

‘x(OTHER, can we go sliding on Red Run this afternoon? You
_ heedn’t be afraid, mother; the ice is as hard as—as—”
Mf “As hard as what, Rob?”

“As your head,” prompted mischievous Rob; and there
was a little scuffle between the boys as to which had the
hardest head—a scuffle full of fun to them, but rather too
S noisy for mother.

4 “I don't know about that, boys,” answered the mother; “I wanted
you to take care of Rosa this afternoon.”

“Oh, what a bother!” cried Foster, “we wont have a bit of fun.”

“Never mind, mother,” spoke up Rob, quickly, “let us have the little kid;
we'll take care of her.” :

“T want to go to see poor Mrs. Belt,” said the mother, “and try to help her
with her sick children; Rosa would be in my way, but I wont let her go with
you, Foster, if you are not willing to take her.”

‘Oh, T’ll take her,” said the little boy, ungraciously, “but it wont be any
fun; it will be a lost afternoon.”

When twilight fell over the white, snow-covered world the children’s mother
hurried home, and found little Rosa and her two brothers sitting before the
glowing coal-fire in the nursery.

“Oh, mamma,” they all cried, together, springing up from the rug and
hanging on to her snowy cloak, ‘we had just lots of fun.” And while the
mother dried her damp wraps and boots all three little tongues wagged at once,

‘““We payed I was a pwis’ner,” said Baby Rosa, “and Wobb and Foster
put me in pwison; and den I wunned away, and they taught me and slided me
back to pwison.”

“We most died laughing, mamma, to see the tot try to run on ice.”

“And sometimes her little feet would fly from under. her, and down she
would come like a thousand of brick; but she was real plucky—she didn’t cry
at all.”

“Flow about your afternoon, Foster?” asked the mother, ‘‘was it lost?”

‘“‘Fossy was weal nice to me, mamma,” said Rosa, putting her little fat
arms around him.

“Yes,” said mamma, looking very pleased, “my boy lost something after
all—not his afternoon, I am glad to see, but a selfish, ugly little temper.”








Who Stole the Bird’s Nest ?






O-WHIT! to-whit! to-whee! ;
Will you listen to me?

Who stole four eggs I laid,
And the nice nest I made?

















Not I, said the cow, moo-oo!

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Such a thing I’d never do.






I gave you a wisp of hay,

But did not take your nest away;
Not I, said the cow, moo-oo!
Such a thing I’d never do.

Bob-o-link! Bob-o-link!

Now, what do you think?
Who stole a nest away
From the plum-tree to-day?



“

WD
i GE “tm 3 Not I, said the dog, bow-wow!
Bis A
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J May
He

I wouldn’t, be so mean, I vow.

I gave some hairs the nest to make,
But the nest I did not take;

Not I, said the dog, bow-wow!

I would not be so mean, I vow.



Coo-coo! coo-coo! coo-coo!
Let. me speak a word or two;
Who stole that pretty nest
‘From little Robin Redbreast?

ie Not I, said the sheep; oh, no!
I would not treat a poor bird so;
I gave the wool the nest to line,
But the nest was none of mine.
Baa! baa! said the sheep; oh, no!



I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so.

Caw! caw! cried the crow,
I should like to know

~ What thief took away

A. bird’s nest to-day.





Chuck! chuck! said the hen,
Don’t ask me again;

Why, I haven't a chick
Would do such a trick.
We all gave her a feather,



And she wove them together.
I'd scorn to intrude

On her and her brood.
Chuck! chuck! said the hen,

Don’t ask me again.

Chirr-a-whirr! chirr-a-whirr!
We will make a great stir.
Let us find out his name,

And all cry—For shame!

A little boy hung down his head,
And went-and hid behind the bed;
For he stole that pretty nest
From little Robin Redbreast;

And he felt so full of shame

He did not like to tell his name.



gt






,OW to get to Boston had been the problem of Midge Bartlett’s
life for at least a month.

It was absurd to expect her to stay at home with Nora, who
shook the broom at her, and called her all sorts of names when
no one was around, when everybody else had been planning for
weeks and weeks to go and see the great parade.

Midge hadn’t the least idea what a parade was like, but that
was the very reason why she should go and see.

Go she must, go she would, and this was the scheme which Midget’s small
brain worked out. She would listen very carefully when the family were lay-
ing their plans, and find out just what day they were going, and on what train;
and when the train came, she, Midget, would wait till all the others were gone,
slip out the back way, and run around by another street to the depot.

Of course this was all very risky, for Vinton was a small place, and the
little adventuress might meet some one who would take her home again. But
Midge was.a cautious little creature, and had the brightest eyes in the world,
you may be sure, and the nimblest feet, too, for she reached the depot in time
to scramble on board the train, and dart up the aisle of a car in which she
knew there wasn’t a soul from Vinton.

Little Midge trembled a good deal as she climbed into an empty seat, but
looking toward the car door, she saw something that sent her to the floor and
under the seat so quickly that she never quite knew how she got there.

You may think it was something dreadful that frightened Midget so much,
but I assure you that it was only a little old lady in a black bonnet, who was
looking—not for Midget at all—but for a seat.

But then this same little lady, Miss Twiss, lived in the next house to
Midget. Of course Miss Twiss sat down in Midget’s seat, and of course the
poor runaway didn’t have a bit good ride crouching there on the floor, with her
old friend and neighbor sitting on top of her, so to speak, and was heartily glad
when they got to Boston.

Although the little Midget was cramped and tired, she waited patiently
until everybody had left the car, and then ran out to look for the Vinton peo-
ple, meaning to walk along at a safe distance behind them.

















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A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF THE KING.





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But there were no Vinton people to be seen—noit even Miss ‘Twiss.

What should she do? There was nothing to do but to let this hurrying
crowd of strangers carry her along with them, and the horrid din made by the
tramping feet, throwing of heavy trunks and boxes, and the shrill voices of
hackmen calling on people to ride.

-Poor Midge’s heart failed her, her head swam, and she began to think
ongingly of her pleasant home, and even to believe that Nora and the broom
was better than this. On and on they rushed, out of the great smoky depot,
up and down dirty, bad-smelling streets, the crowd ever growing denser and
more impatient, until they turned into a wide thoroughfare filled with a multi-
tude, beside which the throng at the depot was a mere handful.

Midge began to wonder if this pushing, hurrying crush of people was the
parade, and why great grown folks were so anxious to come to Boston to be
knocked and elbowed by everybody.

Presently there was a burst of music in the distance, and everybody
shouted, “They're coming!”

As the music came nearer and nearer, together with the sound of many

» feet in measured tramp, the excitement ran high, and people shouted, and hur-

rahed, and waved their handkerchiefs as if they were crazy. At first Midge
was scared at all these strange noises, but as everybody’s face seemed running
over with delight and expectation, she took courage and tried to squeeze her
way forward to see what was passing in the street. Aftera long, long time
she did get where she could just get a peep now and again, and what do you
suppose she saw? Why nothing at all but rows and rows of men in brass-
buttoned blue clothes with glistening swords dangling at their sides, walking
briskly along; while before and behind them were other men, blowing ine
liveliest kinds of tunes out of all sorts of queer looking brass and silver
things. Then there were ever so many men beating with all their might

-and main on things that looked like, but were fifty times bigger than, what

little Freddy Hoffer called his dyad.

Midge hated Freddie’s drum, for it made her head ache, and these big
noisy things nearly drove her frantic. She was so glad when they were gone,
and so sorry when others came, which they continued to do, and meant to
tramp for hours and hours. A whole life-time it seemed to poor, tired, hun-
gry, little Midget.

But at last some of the crowd grew tired of watching and moved away,
people who had been sitting on doorsteps near by went off; and Midge
crawled back and sat down on the steps to rest, and’think what she should

do.
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DOT’S WISH.



Surely she was in a doleful plight; and the poor little atom looked pitt.
fully into the many faces around her.. None heeded, none cared for her. What
would become of her? Altogether wretched she burst out crying, not softly,
but as loud as she could. for she didn’t care who heard her.

“Mamma, did you hear that?”

The voice was that of a little girl in the crowd, but it went straight to
Midget’s heart and almost stopped its beating.

in a moment poor Midge was hugged tightly in the arms of a little girl whe
exclaimed, between laughing and crying, “You dear, darling, naughty, bad,
wicked cat! How dare you come to see the parade all by yourself?”

With a delicious feeling of safety Midge nestled in her little mistress’s
arms, and never once opened her eyes until she was home in Vinton.

-—-MINNA STEIN Woon.






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: Wishes \Without Beart.

we WISH you a happy New Year, mamma,” cried Belle, as she bounded
faq down-stairs on New Year’s morning. “A happy New Year to you,
ax grandma! Lots of Happy New Years to you, baby!” she added, kissing
the baby’s soft cheek. .

“Does my little girl know how to help make the New Year a happy
one to us all?” asked her mother.

“Oh, yes!” snapped Belle, pettishly, “by being a good girl, of course.
That’s what you always say.” And I don’t know what more she might have
said, but just then she heard her father and brother coming in, and ran to meet
them and be the first to give them the greetings of the season. “A happy New
Year to you, papa! A Happy New Year to you, brother Will!”

“I’m going out to slide till school-time,” she said, after breakfast,

“I wish you'd sew these buttons on to my gloves,” said her father. “I want
them to wear this morning, and your mother is dressing the baby,”

“Oh, dear!” pouted Belle, throwing down her hood, and going in search of
needle and thread, “that’s always the way. I never can have any fun as other
girls do.”

“Wont you wear your cloak to school instead of your shawl?” grandma
asked Belle, not long after. “I like the shawl so much to put over my shoulders
these cold days.”

“Well, yes, I suppose I can,” was the ungracious reply. “The cloak is so
old and faded that it looks like a fright, and the shawl is new and pretty.”

And Belle put on her cloak with so much vim that she tore off two buttons
and burst out a buttonhole.

Noon-time came. “I’m as hungry as a bear,” said Belle, coming in from
school.

‘Please hurry off your things and set the table,” said her mother. “Dinner |
is a little behindhand. I’ve had so much to do, and baby has fretted a good
deal.”

“T think it’s too hard to have to study all school-time and work the rest of
the time,” said Belle. “I wish you’d keep a servant to do the housework. I
don’t like it.” :

Baby was fretful after school that night. “She is cutting a tooth,” said
mamma, “and feels badly. Can’t you play with her a little while, Belle, to
amuse her, and help her forget her little aches and pains?”


















































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“I don’t think there’s any fun playing with babies,” Belle said, crossly.
“They don’t know anything. Come along, then, if you must, you little bother,”
and Belle took her so roughly, and spoke so crossly, that baby just made up a
lip and cried aloud.

“Come and have a game of checkers with me, Belle,” said Will, after tea,

“Oh, checkers!, You always want to play checkers, and you know I hate
‘em. I'll play Mother Goose with you.” :

“That’s too simple a game,” said Will. “Come, be a good girl, now.”

“I'd rather read,” was the selfish reply.

And so, before twelve hours from the time Belle wished each of the
rest a happy New Year, she had grieved every one of them by her selfish-
ness. How much heart was there in her good wishes, do you think?

P\ew Gear's Gee in [Porea.

/AHE night before New Year's is the Christmas Eve of the boys and girls
\~ of Korea. Instead’ of a jolly old Santa Claus bringing them presents, -
sede? however, they are taught to dread an ugly, old Quayshin, or Devil,
who is lurking around to steal their nice things.

For this occasion, each boy and girl has an entirely new outfit of clothes—
gorgeous red jackets, great, wide, snow-white trousers, padded with cotton, nice
new shoes, daintily turned up at the toes, and gay ribbons to be worn in the
braid of hair which adorns the heads of boys and girls alike.

_ Choice dainties in the way of food and confections are also prepared for
this occasion, and the children are kept awake by their mothers till the new
day comes in, lest this old Quayshin may come and carry off their nice things.
Also, they must not leave their shoes on the door-step as usual, for if they do
the old fellow will try them on and then they will be led into bad luck during
the ensuing year. They must put an oldsieve on the door-step for him to look
into, however, for it is said that the numberless little openings of the sieve so
puzzle the Quayshin that he at once takes himself away, and the boys and girls
are spared the loss of their New Year finery, feast, and good luck.





the t¥aves on the Sea-Shore.








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TOLL on, roll on, you restless waves,

R ‘That toss about and roar;
Why do you all run back again

When you have reached the shore?

Roll on, roll on, you noisy waves,
Roll higher up the strand;

How is it that you cannot pass
That line of yellow sand?

“We may not dare,” the waves reply;
“That line of yellow sand
Is laid along the shore to bound
The waters and the land.

“ And all should keep to time and place,
And all should keep to rule;
Both waves upon the sandy shore,
And little boys at school.”

S



There Was a Litile Guinea-Pig.



HERE was a little Guinea-pig
Who, being little, was not big,

He always walked upon his feet,
And never fasted when he ate.

When from a place he ran away,

- - He never at that place did stay;
And while he ran, as I am told,
He ne’er stood still for young or old.

He often squeaked and sometimes vi’lent,
And when he squeaked he ne’er was silent;
Though ne’er instructed by a cat,

He knew a mouse was not a rat.

One day, as I am certified,

He took a whim and fairly died;
And, as I’m told by men-of sense,
He never has been living since.





































































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Ghe @isowned Chicken.

HEN Dame Partlet had sat on her nest of eggs a fortnight, she became
i) weary of such a still life. It was dull to sit day after day in the old
6 barn without any company. Sheheard the other hens talking out-
side in the sun over the merits of beetles and angle-worms.
What a nice long run they had, too, behind the barn, among the wild rose

bushes, all in bloom just then. Surely it was too much to expect of any bird

that she should sit in the shadow all the bright summer day, and perhaps not
hatch a single chick after all,

It was quite different with the robin up in the apple-tree. She had had
such a gay time building her nest to begin with. She sat where the sun could
reach her. She could look out on her neighbors while her mate brought her
daily bread and whiled away the hours with song.

So Dame Partlet stepped down from her nest, and left the warm white
eggs. Farmer Burke, observing that she had left her task, put some of the eggs

‘under an old Dorking, who had just begun to sit. She was more surprised than

pleased, at the end of a week,*to hear a little piping voice in the nest.

“Here I was in for a good three week’s rest, out of the way of the noisy
flock,” perhaps she thought, “and now there’s a chick out already. I’ve never
brought off less than five, and I shall sit till my time is out, in spite of this early
bird.”

And when the Dorking strolled off to roll in the sand, to stretch her legs
and to pick up a luncheon, Farmer Burke took the little chicken away. The
old hen went back to her nest. “I must have been dreaming,” she thought, as



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she settled herself on the eggs. “No chicken ever hatches under three weeks.”

But what was to be done with the little chicken? Her own giddy mother
refused to receive the charge: she was out among the rose-bushes basking in
the sun, pluming her feathers, and regaling herself upon the banquet that
Sir Black Cochin-China unearthed for her.

Who, then would cover the chicken at night? who scratch for it by day?
“Who would protect it fromcats, and hawks and weasels? Must she shift for
herself? The old bantam was small, but her heart was large. She felt for
chickens; perhaps she remembered when she was young herself, and liked to
creep under the wing. Just then she saw with regret that her own brood had
outgrown her.

Some of them were larger than herself already, they could scratch for
themselves now. They no longer obeyed her call; one or two had even begun
to crow feebly, and they all went to roost at night without heeding her anxious
“cluck.” She followed where they led now, but they went too fast and far
for her,

She wished they had not grown so fast. They no longer needed her care,
and she felt useless and idle.

One day she discovered the chicken trying to keep itself warm in the sun.
She took it under her care without ado; here was some one who needed her.
Happy moment.

—Mary N. Prescott.










































































































































































































































































































































































































































Bach vitus

| Dancing Harleguin
| MB, a)





Dancing Dear.

| J Vint ning’
| fimusement

low to make Pardboard, oye | | : |

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MAMMA, the long winter evenings have come again,” cried
little May one night, as she sat in her little rocker by the fire.
“What shall we do with them? My hands must do some.
thing, and my head feels as if it would fly off just because 1
have nothing to do.”

“Why can we not have a game of authors?” said mamma.

“Oh, no, mamma, | don’t like authors,” replied May.

“Get out om toys, then, and I am sure you will find something

to amuse you,” suggested mamma again.

“Oh, no, they are all the same ola things and I have played with
them over and over again until I am tired.”
‘«Well,” said mamma, “this is a desperate case; what shall we

do? Why can we not make some toys ourselves—some new ones a

“Oh, yes, mamma, that is just the thing; that is something new, and while
we are making them we can amuse ourselves, and when they are finished we
shall play with them. What shall we make first?” cried May, clapping her
hands with joy.

“Let me think,” said mamma. ‘I believe a harlequin will be as well as
anything, as it is easy to make.”

“What is a harlequin, mamma?” said little May, aghast at the long word.

Mamma smiled a little as she replied: ‘“Avharlequin, May, is a dancing
image; you have seen them in the toy stores, though I do not think I ever



bought you one.”
May’s face brightened at her mamma's explanation of the word, and she

_ was eager to begin.

“Get me some stiff card- aaa and my large shears, some twine and some-
thing to make little holes with,” said mamma.

“May quickly brought the desired articles and the work began.

“The first thing to do,” said mamma, ‘Gs to trace the outline on the card-
board. I have here some patterns which I got yesterday. These will show us
just what to do. Now trace the outline figure A on this card-board—there, that

is done. Next make the little holes which are shown in the cut—there, that is

done. The next thing is to string it; this is really the hardest part, May, and
we must be very careful. You must do this with fine twine, and tie a knot in

the twine each time you put two parts together, and rivet the joints, as a car-

penter would say. A string isa peculiar rivet, is it not? Now that we have



it all joined together the next thing is to make the arms and legs appear
animated.”

“What is animated?” cried May, a little dismayed at some of the long
words her mother was using.

“Animated means lively, May. We can make the- figure appear lively by
passing a string through the little holes above the rivets and fastening them
together with knots, as you see in figure B. Now that we have done this we
will pull down the string, as shown in figure C, and our harlequin will throw out
his arms and legs, and the faster we pull the harder he will dance; there, is not
that nice?”

May was so delighted with the harlequin that the next night she wanted
her mamma to show her how to make something else. After supper was over
and they were seated around the fire her mamma said: “What shall we make
to-night, May?”

“IT was reading about a bear this afternoon,” said May, “and I wondered if
we could not make one.”

“I think this will not be very hard,” said-mamma, “We will need the
same kind of material that we had last night. The first thing is to cut out the
body of the bear, and that happens to be shown in the diagram No. 2,
Then let us cut out the arms and legs; you see in making the bear we do not
have nearly so many pieces as we had in the harlequin last night. Make the
holes in the arms and legs; fasten them to the body with a rivet of string, just
as we did before; then through the little holes in the upper part of the limbs
pass another string, one on each side of the body, letting them hang down so
they can be taken hold of, and there you have the bear complete, as in figure
B. We will make this large; let us make it about twelve inches high, and it
will be quite a bear.”

The bear was made and May was highly pleased with it. “But. mamma,
can we not put hair on it and make it a real bear?” said May.

“No, May, we cannot put hair on it, but we can paint it black if you wish.
Let us take a little bit of burnt sienna shaded with sepia and black, as that will
be the best color to paint the bear. Wecan paint all of our toys if you wish,” _
said mamma; “‘and let me see how gay a coat you can give your harlequin to-
morrow.” ;

The bear and the harlequin afforded amusement for several days, but a
few nights later little May was anxious to try some other toy.

“What shall it be?” said mamma.

“Almost anything,” said May.









“Let us try a parrot, then; and while we cannot make a parrot that will
‘talk we can make one that will flap his wings.”
May laughed at the idea of making a parrot that could flap his wings.
“Get my card-board and string, May,” said mamma, “and we will have a
parrot in just a jiffy. The first thing is to cut out the head, body, tail and
perch all in one piece, just as you see it here. We will have to have our parrot
ona perch, of course. Then let us cut out the wings, make the little holes,
just as we have done in the other toys, fasten them on the body by means of a
strong thread, and here we have the parrot ready to fly,” and mamma pulled
down the string and the parrot spread its wings.
“Now we must paint this nicely. Let us see, what color shall we give it?”
said mamma. cy

‘He must have green on his head and red on his body,” said May.

“You may paint the parrot to suit yourself,” said mamma, ‘‘and let us see
how like a real parrot you can make it.”

The harlequin, bear and parrot furnished little M y amusement for many
nights, but she was very much interested in making a larger number of toys,
and suggested to her mamma that they make a whole menagerie in that way.
Mamma was pleased to see the interest little May took in making toys, and so
readily consented to help her further. A few nights afterward, as they sat
around the fire, May said: ‘Mamma, let us make some more toys.”

“Very well,” said mamma, “let us make.a sailor with a wooden leg, playing
on a violin.” -

May laughed at the idea of a sailor put wasready to begin. Material was
brought and mamma said: ‘Now firs: trace head and body in one piece, the
legs and arms and bow in another, as in figure A.”

“But-the sailor cannot dance and fiddle, too,” said May, ‘can he, mamma?
He cannot fiddle and make both arms go.”

“We will easily fix that, said mamma. ‘Fasten the legs to the body,
_just as we have done before; fasten the one arm to the shoulder with a string
rivet, and then place the bow upon the fiddle; then on the back attach the legs
at the top with a string; then put a string in the hole at the upper part of the
arm, and your sailor is ready to fiddle and dance.”

“But, mamma, he can dance and he can fiddle, but he does not look like
a sailor,” said May

“Tet us see 71 we can paint him so he will,’ said mamma. The paints
were brought ana mamma soon changed the head so it looked like a sailor's
head and face with a hat.on it. The body was painted so as to bring out
the violin as we see it in figure B, and May added a one-legged sailor playing a

violin to her collection.
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The next night little May said: “Oh, mamma, I saw a horse kick a dog
to-day, and I wonder if we could make a toy like that.”

Mamma smiled and said: ‘After having made that one-legged sailor that
could play a violin I think we can make almost anything in the way of toys.”
So material was got ready.

“But let us make a donkey instead of a horse,’ said mamma, “because
donkeys kick harder. First let us draw head, body and the fore legs as we see
them in figure five. Then let us cut out the hind legs as we have them, let us
fasten the hind legs to the body with our string rivet, put a hole in the little
opening we have left for it, and see-our donkey kick.”

May clapped her hands with glee. ‘But where is the dog, mamma?” said
she.
“We will have to fix that,” said mamma.

So a dog was cut out in one piece, as shown in the figure, a string was
fastened behind and pulled, and the poor little dog went over and over as we
see it in the cut. i

“Now paint your donkey and dog whatever color you want,” said mamma,
“and you will have another toy.”

The next night May said: “Why can we not make an elephant—make a
regular Jumbo?”

“I think we can,” said mamma, ‘“‘and as Jumbo was the largest elephant
that was ever seen in America we will have to make our elephant large. Let
us make him at least sixteen inches long”

May brought the card-board and mamma said: “Cut out the body and
legs all in one piece, as shown in figure six; then cut head and trunk from
another piece, the tail from another, fasten the head to the body with our
string rivet, just as we have done before, and fasten the tail in the same way.
Next put the string through the tail and through the ear, where we have left
an opening; make this string just a little bit tight; tie a thread at the middle
of this string and pull down upon it.” May did so, and was surprised to see
the elephant throw up its head and tail just as she had seen live elephants do.

Mamma took the elephant in her hand and held it between the lamp ‘ang
wall, What was little May’s surprise to see the shadow of a great big elephant
cast upon the wall, and when mamma pulled the string and the elephant threw
up its great big head and tail, little May thought it was just the finest toy she
had made yet. an)

Little May was proud of the toys she had made and amused herself with
them for many days, but bye and bye she wanted something new, and after
coming from the store one day with her mamma she said: “Oh, mamma,



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Full Text














IN STORYLAND,
Fairy Folks and Mother Goose Melodies

Charming stories intended to instruct
and amuse the Little Ones.







































ILLUSTRATED WITH SPECIAL DESIGNS.

Copyright 1898, by VV. B. Conkey Company.

| CHICAGO &# NEW YORK
, _ W. B. CONKEY COMPANY, Publishers.


















































































































































































Yul Jones











in
Gle fairies’ Ball.

RANDMA, there are lots of fairies where we live, for I have
heard them laugh and sing and play in the moonlight. You
know we have no dreary winters where my fairies live; no cold,
white snow covers the pretty, green grass, the wind is not
chilly, and the flowers never die; the leaves never turn brown,
nor are the trees ever bare, and the birds sing all the year

round. The fairies are perfectly happy, for, of course, they could not live



without flowers, birds, and moonlight.

_ Sometimes, when the moon is so bright, it makes me think it is time to get
up. I go to the window and listen. The wind that comes from where the sun
has gone to bed begins to sing just like the organ inchurch. First the fire-flies
and the glow-worms light up the fairy ball-room, until the lovely pine-woods
look like the place God makes the stars in. Then the grasshoppers and crick-
ets, bugs and bees begin to tune up their horns and fiddles, while some of the
birds join in the fairies’ orchestra. One funny old bird keeps tap-tapping on
an old tree and thinks he is playing the drum. A pretty black-bird, with a red
breast and yellow wings, has a flageolet; the other instruments are all taken
by the mocking-bird, and whenever he sings, or plays, a solo, everybody hushes
to listen. There is a chorus of voices, too, one big bird singing quite distinct-
ly the words ‘Ever more, ever more,” and the other birds sing out whenever
they have a chance.

After the band are all in their places, the katy-dids and katy-didn’ts begin
scolding, and making the fairies hurry up; soon they begin to tiptoe, tiptoe over
the grass, making ready for dancing and ring-around-a-rosy.

The old owl is floor-manager, and he says: ‘“‘To which, to who, to which,
to who?”

Another bird, who wants to help manage, says: ‘Choose Will’s widow!
choose Will’s widow!” while everybody looks at a pretty little fairy, all in
green and gold, with the tiniest little feet, standing pouting ata little boy fairy,
who is teasing her, and I can just hear her say:

“ Blow, breezes, blow,

Let Colin’s hat go;

O’er hills and dale let it be whirled,

*Till I get my hair all curled and curled.”

Then a bird sings out loud, ‘“‘ Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!” and every-
body turns to look at a boy fairy, who is naughty and cross, because hecan not
have the first chance to dance with the pretty widow; the bugs and beetles
begin to scold, and say:
“Huzzy, huzzy, huzzy;”
some others answer:
‘Busy, busy, busy;” the
ball seems in danger of
breaking up in a quarrel,
_ until the cricket sings out
loud: “Cheer up, cheer up,
cheer up,” and the dance
begins.

The big spider over in
an old tree-top is the fairies’
spinner; his wheel goes:

Whiz, whiz, whirl, whirl,

Lo, and behold

Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold.


















The fairies’ pretty dresses are made of his gold and
silver threads; they sparkle and glisten so, as they dance,
that my eyes are dazzled by looking at them.
Well, grandma, they dance and dance till they're tired,
then they have supper; eating violets and
lily-bells, and drinking dew-drops from
acorn-cups. They are so merry with their
laughing and singing,
that some little bunnies,
who have not gone to
bed, scamper away
home to tell their mam-
mas; the quail wake up
and call: “Bob White,
Bob White,” and that
starts the squirrels, who
chatter: “Chestnut,
- chestnut, they'll eat ’em
all up!” Jennie Wren, who was taking a nap with her head under her wing,
says: “ Tweet, tweet;” the fairies, startled by all this noise, run away home,








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Ra

except a few, who have drank too much

dew-drop. An old robin flies round

mocking them with the words: “ Kill ‘em, cure ’em, physic; kill ’em, cure ‘em,

physic.”

Then I know it is morning, and creep shivering to bed. AsI nestle

in my pillow, I hear the turkey hens say: “I’m up, up,” and the old gobbler
answers: “Talk, talk, talk, gabble, gabble, gabble,” and this is why I slept so

late in the morning.

Sewing Song.
@| HAVE a little servant
With a single eye,
She always does my bidding
Very faithfully;
But she eats me no mieat,
And she drinks me no drink,
A very clever servant, as you well may think,



Another little servant
On my finger sits, .
She the one-eyed little servant
Very neatly fits;
But she eats me no meat,
And she drinks me no drink, .
A very clever servant, as you well may think.

Now, one more little servant,
Through the single eye,
Does both the other’s bidding
Very faithfully;
But she eats me no meat,
And she drinks me no drink,
A very clever servant, as you well may think.

A needle and a thimble,
And a spool of thread,
Without the fingers nimble,
And the knowing head,
They would never make out,
If they tried the whole day,
To sew a square of patchwork, as you well

may say.
ey, —Mary J. Jacques,

Being a [P\an.

{EFORE a boy has doffed his kilt
He wants a sword with a flashing
hilt,

He must manage a train, though it
be of chairs,

He must beat a drum, he must hunt for
bears;

In fact, his highest ambition and plan,

His dearest wish, is to be a man.



But many a boy is unmanly to-day

Because there are so many “ifs” in the
way;

He scorns this “if,” and he frowns at that,

He shirks his lesson to wield a bat;

And so he will go, as best he can,

From youth to old age without being a man,

Oh, there are so many “ifs” in the road
That leads to manhood’s highest abode!
Kindness, purity, courage and truth,
Stumbling-blocks these to many a youth,
For he who will not make these his own,
Can never reach manhood’s glorious throne.

So who would be manly should keep in mind
He must ever be gentle, and brave, and kind,
Obedient always to Right’s fair laws,

A brother to every noble cause;

Thus shall he serve God’s cherished plan,
And come to the stature of a man.

~-Euma C. Down.
A Dog and a Cat
Went Out Ti ogether.



DOG and a cat went out together,
A To see some friends just out of town;
Said the cat to the dog,
“What d’ye think of the weather?” -
“TI think, ma’am, the-rain will come down;
But don’t be alarmed, for I’ve an umbrella
That will shelter us both,” said this amiable fellow.
My Father He Died.
Y father he died, but I

can’t tell you how;

He left me six horses to
drive in my plough;
With my wing, wang,

waddle O,
Jack sing saddle O,
Blowsey boys bubble O,
Under the broom.



I sold my six horses, and bought me a cow;
I'd fain have made a fortune, but did not know how:

a With my, etc.

° I sold my cow, and I bought me a calf; -

I'd fain have made a fortune, but lost the best half:

With my, etc.



ip 1 sold my calf, and I bought me a cat;
Soh pretty thing she was, in my chimney
sat;
With my, etc.

1 sold my cat, and bought me a
mouse;

He carried fire in his tail, and burnt
down my house;

With my, ete.
&

ba
fe
~~


























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































So

* B,



ROXY was darning a table-cloth. Miss Roxy being on the
warm side of fifty, still adhered to some of the careless ways
of youth; she would bite off her thread in spite of warnings
and protests from her more sedate elder sister, half expecting
areproof. This morning, however, she escaped, and when
Miss Eunice took off her spectacles, it was only to say, in an
annoyed tone:

“TI declare, if a week from to-day ain't Thanksgiving! Does seem

to me it’s coming pretty early in the season, with the leaves hardly

down and the grass green as summer.”

“ A week is time for a good deal to happen,” said Miss Roxy “I wonder if
John’s wife will ask us up there this year. Don’t reely seem as if she could with
the children just getting over the measles, and John so behindhand on account
of his broken leg.”

“Well, Roxy,” said Miss Eunice, “it does seem as if it was kind of forcing
things to make much fuss over Thanksgiving. I don’t say we oughtn’t to be
thankful, but a body might. do that without having a day set forit. Look at
John’s folks now, and look at us, with every last dollar of our savings gone just

as we had a chance to make a good investment in that creamery.”

“Yes, it’s hard, but I’d rather be the one to lose than the one to rob poor

folks of their savings. I tell you, Eunice, we ought to be thankful we ain't

neither of us the cashier of that bank.”

‘Don’t be a fool, Roxy,” said her sister, grimly.

“Well, then,” persisted Roxy, “I’m thankful John wasn’t: a broken leg
ain't half so tryin’ as a bad conscience.”

“Of course they wont ask us there,” said Miss Eunice, “and I wouldn’t go
if they did. We'll stay at home and keep our thankfulness and our troubles
to ourselves. I don’t mean to go to church.”

‘Eunice Martin!” said Miss Roxy, with an appalled face.

“No, I don’t. Mercy sakes, Roxy! you needn’t look so scared. The
Lord didn’t appoint Thanksgiving Day any more’n Trainin’ Day, or ’Lection
Day. It’s just the governor, and I’ve read that he was a regular infidel, any-

_ how.”

Miss Eunice put a little shawl over her head, and went out to see how old
Silas Bowles was getting on with the wood he was sawing, or rather should have

rata We


















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FRANCOIS AND RENE IN LINCOLN PARK,




a .

been sawing, for as Miss Eunice came to the door of the shed her keen eyes
pounced upon the old man sitting on the chopping block, his bleared eyes
closed in tipsy slumber, while a bottle rested between his feet.

“The miserable old sot!” said Miss Eunice, looking scornfully at the sleep-
er, who quickly roused himself and bustled of for the saw, Saying:

‘“Scuse me, ma’am, I’m kinder beat out this mornin’, been watchin’ all
night with a sick critter, and I set down to file the saw and kinder lost my-
self.”

‘Here's your ile,” said Miss Eunice, significantly, picking up the bottle.

“That? Oh, yes, that’s a sort of mixter I keep on hand for the spells that
ketch me in the stomach. It’s juniper berries and—and—”

“Whisky,” said Miss Eunice, grimly.

“Well, yes, there’s a leetle liquor in it; not more’n you have in your cam-

phire bottle,” said the old reprobate, slyly.

“If folks only took liquor through their xoses, a whisky bottle mightn’t do
any more harm than a camphor bottle,” and Miss Eunice went away. She was
on her morning rounds to the barn and the chicken house, and she came back
with a couple of new-laid eggs in her apron, to find the saw again silent, and
old Silas sitting comfortably in the corner of the kitchen, with a bowl of hot
coffee in his clumsy hand.

Roxy answered her look of indignant inquiry with a brave little smile
quite unusual to her, and the old man paused between his sips to say apolo-
getically:

_“T jes’ come in f’r s’m taller to grease the saw, ’n Miss Roxy she fixed me
up a bowl of coffee. Goes to the spot, I c’n tell ye, when a body hain’t got
nothin’ inside of him but cold pancakes.”

“Cold pancakes!” said Miss Eunice, incredulously.

“Yes’m; my old woman’s over to Cap'n Cady’s makin’ sassidge and tryin’
out. She ‘lowed she’d git through last night and fetch home suthin’. Mis
Cady she’s allus free with her help, but ‘pears they didn’t git done.”

The old man finished his coffee, picked up his bit of tallow candle, and
went out. ;

“Cold pancakes!” said Miss Eunice scornfully. “I found him asleep over
a whisky bottle. Is’pose vou gave him that extra chop. I call that encour-
aging drunkenness.”

“Well, I call it déscouraging it,” said Miss Roxy, cheerfully. “If I had to
start in for a day’s work on cold pancakes I might take to tippling, like as not,
And I may as well tell you, Eunice, I made up my mind if we wa’nt going to
keep Thanksgiving this year any special day, I’d sort of spread it out as fur as
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‘twould reach, and I begun to-day. Iam giving thanks that John ain’t a poox,

_ tipsy, old toper, and that breakfast was my thank-offering.

Miss Eunice went slowly to the pantry to put away her eggs, remarking to
herself:

“Some folks never do seem to grow up.”

Silas came to his work the next day in quite a comfortable condition of
body and mind. His “old woman” had come home; the family larder was
enriched by such store of “sassidge” and spare-rib as it had not seenin a twelve-
month. The weather was blustering, however, and Miss Eunice made no
objection when Roxy set the coffee-pot on the back of the stove, that the old
man might be warmed up by an opportune draught.

“TI suppose you're still giving thanks about John,” said Miss Eunice, looking
curiously at her sister. :

“No,” said Miss Roxy, laughing in her silent fashion, “I’m giving thanks
that I ain’t Silas Bowles’ old woman. ;

“Well, of all things,” said Miss Eunice, but Miss Roxy was calmly survey-

ing some red flannel shirts John’s wife had given her to make a stripe for the

new carpet.

‘‘That’s a nice red,” she said, spreadiag a garment on herlap. “I thought
I'd get at it and work ’em up before the moths got into ’em, but it seems most
a pity tocut’em up. There’s a good deal of wear in’em yet if they was fixed
over. Don’t you remember, Eunice, what a master hand mother was to make
Over.”

‘Was ye cal'lating to make over them shirts for me or for you?” asked
Miss Eunice, with grim sarcasm.

“I was thinking of the McBoles; Jimmy looked so frozen when he came
over last night; I don’t s’pose Bridget can sew any more than a hen, but I could
fix these up so’t they'd go all winter.”

“And leave out your red stripe?”

“Yes, I believe I’ll leave out the red stripe. I can—”

“Can what?” said Miss Eunice impatiently, as her sister stopped in the
middle of her sentence.

“Make a little thank-offering of it for to-morrow,” said Miss Roxy, very
gently, and was soon absorbed in piecing and patching and reducing the gar-
ments to the dimensions of the small boy she measured in her imagination.
Miss’Eunice clattering away in the pantry, smiled compassionately to hear her
singing over her work.

“The Lord is my Shepherd, no want shall I know,

I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest.”
21B
















ab
“‘Roxy’s voice ain’t what it used to be,” she reflected, ‘‘but she’s a nice
singer yet, and she don’t seem to fall off much in her looks, as I see.”

Miss Roxy’s week of Thanksgiving was almost ended. The day dawned
upon the world with clear, bright skies over a fleece of light snow that caught
the sparkle of the sunshine on millions of crystalline shapes. Her heart had
been growing warmer and younger with each day of kindly deeds, and now, as
she drew aside the curtain and looked out on the splendor of the morning, she
said softly:

_ ‘*‘And T saw a new heaven and a new earth.’”

“Well,” said Miss Eunice, in an injured tone, “this settles it about going
to church; we can’t walk over in this slosh. I must say I think it’s curious
John’s not coming near us ail the week. He might have sent some word and
said he was sorry not to have us come over, but I spose it’s his wife’s doings.
When a man of his time of life marries a young widder with three children,
.ain’t to be expected his old maid sisters will count for much.” __

Miss Roxy went about her morning work meditating upon the possibility
of going to church alone, but Jimmy McBole made his appearance at the house,
heading a procession of small boys, all in a state of noisy hilarity. Abig, good-
natured dog was harnessed to a sled, behind which had been constructed an
ingenious scraper, with handles like a plow, which the boys took turns in holding,
the tenure of office only lasting until some one succeeded in tumbling the in-
cumbent into the nearest ditch,

“We've cleaned a path to the gate,” said Jimmy, proudly, ‘and we're going
to the well and the barn, and clean up to the meetin’-house. Mother said she
knew you'd go to meetin’ on Thanksgivin’ Day, ef you had to swim there,
but we'll fix ye a fust-rate path,” and with a crack of his whip, Jimmy roused up
the dog and started his cavalcade onward.

“J declare,” said Miss Eunice, ‘if that ain’t a real ingenious contrivance!
I reckon we will have to go, after all, seein’ it’ turned off so pleasant.”

Miss Roxy was thinking of Jimmy McBole with his coat unbuttoned to
show a bit of the warm red shirt; of the grateful look in poor old Sally Dow’s
faded eyes when she brought her the cushion of blue and black scraps filched
from her hoarded carpet rags, and her heart was still in a flutter at the thought
of the pleased surprise of the minister's wife, when she pressed into her hand
a five-dollar gold piece; “‘A little thank-offering for the good you have done me,”
she said, hurriedly. That gold piece had been saved many a year, in case of
anything “happening unexpected,” but nothing had happened, and now it
was gone Miss Roxy really felt lighter, as if she had got rid of the danger
also.
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In the porch outside, John’s man met them after the service, with sleigh
and extra robes for the long ride:

‘Going over? Of course we ain't,” said Miss Eunice. “ We ain’t so hard
pushed as to take invitations this time of day.”

“Didn't you git Mis’ Martin’s letter?” said Ezra, staring at them. “She
wrvute ye; I heard her say so, and I seen her give it to Mr. Martin to mail when
I was takin’ him to the deepo. I bet it’s in his pocket yit.”

‘““To the deepo! Where's he gone?” said Miss Eunice, sharply.

‘‘Gone to the city; he was called sudden the day he was cal’latin’ to drive
over and see ye. Hadn't ye better be gitting in? It’s a middlin’ long ways,
and the sleighin’ ain’t none too good.”

The sisters settled themselves in silence, and not a word was said until
just as the sled was passing the shut-up house Miss Eunice called out:

‘«Stop a minute, Ezra, I’ve got to go in.”

She disappeared a few minutes and came out with a basket in her hand,
saying:

‘‘T just thought I'd take that chicken-pie and cranb’ry sass over to Malviny
Bowles as we went by. Seems a pity to have ’em wasted, and I dare say they
wont have anything out of the common run.” |

They left the unexpected bounty at Silas’ door, and sped on over the long,
hilly country road. Only once Ezra turned his frosty face toward them to say,
from the depths of his woolen comforter:

‘Say, I heard Mr. Martin tellin’ the deepo master they’d got back that
money that was stole, every last dollar.”

Silence for some minutes, and then the man turned again to add:

_ ‘That feller that was goin’ to start the creamery, he’s failed up; gone all
tosmash. Lots of folks has lost by him, they say.”
| ‘Poor things,” said Miss Roxy, compassionately.

_ _ “Roxana Martin,” said Miss Eunice, grimly, ‘‘I’m an ungrateful old gump,
and don’t deserve to have another Thanksgiving long as I live.”

“If we only got what we deserved, Eunice,” said Miss Roxy, mildly, “we'd
all of us be dretful bad off.”

‘Well, I’ve been feeling so cross-grained all the week I feel as if I sh’d
have to keep Thanksgiving a month to git square.”

—EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.
Babes tin the Wood.





Y dear, do you know, :
M How a long time ago, ae
Two poor little children,
Whose names I don’t know,
Were stolen away
On a fine summer’s day,
And left in a wood,
As I’ve heard people say.

And when it was night,
So sad was their plight,
The sun it went down,
And the moon gave no light!
They sobbed, and they sighed,
And they bitterly cried,
And the poor little things,
They lay down and died.
a And when they were dead,
| The Robins so red
Brought strawberry leaves,
And over them spread;
And all the day long,
They sung them this song:
“Poor babes in the wood! poor babes in the wood!
And don’t you remember the babes in the wood?”
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Bless You, Bless You. igor:
Bless yeu, bless you, burnie bee;
Say, when will yeur wedding be?
If it be to-morrow day,
Take your wings and fly away.
Swan Swam Over the Sea.

Swan swam over the sea—
Swim, swan, swim;

Swan swam back again,

Well swum, swan.







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St. Dunstan, as the Story Goes.

T. DUNSTAN, as the story goes,
Once pulled the devil by the nose,
With red-hot tongs, which made him roar,

That he was heard ten miles or more.

®
&

Ghe f©ox and the ©eese.

a






5 FOX came once to a meadow, where a herd of fine fat geese
were enjoying themselves. ‘‘Ah,” he said, laughing, “I am just
o in time. They are so close together that I can come and fetch
NOS them one after another easily.”
i The geese, when they saw him, began to cackle with fear,
sprang up, and, with much complaining and murmuring, begged for their lives.
The fox, however, would not listen, and said, ‘There is no hope of mercy—
you must die.” .
At last one of them took heart, and said: “It would be very hard for us
poor geese to lose our young, fresh lives so suddenly as this; but if you will

















































































































































































































































































































































































grant us only one favor, afterward we will place ourselves in a row, so that you
may choose the fattest and best.”

‘“‘And what is this favor?” asked the fox.

“Why, that we may have one hour to pray in before we die.”

“Well, that is only fair,” replied the fox; “it isa harmless request. Pray
away, then, and I will wait for you.”

Immediately they placed themselves in a row, and began to pray after
their own fashion, which, however, was a most deafening and alarming cackle.
In fact, they were praying for their lives, and so efficaciously that they were
heard at the farm, and, long before the hour had ended, the master and his ser-
vants appeared in the field to discover what was the matter, and the fox, ina
terrible fright, quickly made his escape, not, however, without being seen.








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“We must hunt that fox to-morrow,”
geese home to safe quarters.
goose.

said the master, as they drove the

And so the cunning fox was outwitted by a

Cw
@ family Orum Corps.

LITTLE man bought him.a big
brass drum;
Boom—boom—boom!
‘“‘Who knows,” said he, ‘‘when a
war will come?”
Boom—boom—boom!
“I’m not at all frightened, you understand.
But, if I am called on to fight for my land,
I want to be ready to play in the band.”
Boom—boom—boom!



He got all his children little snare drums;
Boom—tidera—da—boom! :

And they'd practice as soon as they'd fin-

ished their sums.
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
“We're just like our papa!” in chorus said
i they,
“Andif we should ever get into the fray,
Why, it’s safer to thump than to fight any
day!”
Boom—tidera—da—boom!

And, showing her spirit, the little man’s
wife—
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
With some of her pin-money purchased a
fife;
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
And, picking out tunes that were not very
hard,
They'd play them while marching around
the back yard,

Without for one’s feelings the slightest re-_

gard,
Boom—tidera—da-boom-a-diddle-dee—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!



The little old parson, who lived next door—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
Would throw up his hands, as he walked the
floor;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
“Wont you stop it, I beg you?” he often said,
“I’m trying to think of a text, but instead
The only thing I can get into my head
Is your boom—tidera~da—boom-a~diddle-
dee—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!”

All of the people for blocks around—~
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
Kept time at their tasks to the martial
sound;
Boom—tidera~da—boom!
While. children to windows and stoops eoutd
fly,
Expecting to see a procession pass by,
And they couldn’t make out why it never

drew nigh,
With its bbom—tidera-da—boom—a-diddle-
dee—

Boom—tidera—da—boom!

It would seem such vigor would soon abate;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!

But they still keep at it, early and late;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!

So, if it should be that a war breaks out,

They'll all be ready, I have no doubt,

To help i in putting the foe to rout,

With their boom—tidera~da—boom—
Boom—tideva-da—boom—
Boom—tidera-da—boom—a-—diddle--dee—-
Boom—soom—BOOM!

—MALCOLM DOUGLAS,
Girls and Boys Come Out to Play.

=~
IRLS and boys come out to play,

G The moon does shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,
And meet your playfellows in the street;
Come with a whoop, and come with a call,
And come with a good will, or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,

A halfpenny loaf will serve us all,
You find milk and I'll find ‘flour,
And we'll have a pudding in half an hour.

Green Cheese, Yellow Laces.

Green cheese, yellow laces,
Up and down the market-places,
Turn, cheeses, turn!



ee
Good Dobbin.



Fi! thank you, good Dobbin, you’ve been a long track,
‘ And have carried papa all the way on your back;
You shall have some nice oats, faithful Dobbin, indeed,

For you’ve brought papa home to his darling with speed.

The howling wind blew, and the pelting rain beat,
And the thick mud has covered his legs and his feet;
But yet on he galloped in spite of the rain,

And has brought papa home to his darling again.

The sun it was setting a long while ago,

And papa could not see the road where he should go:
But Dobbin kept on through the desolate wild,

And has brought papa home again safe to his child.

Now go to the stable, the night is so raw;
Go, Dobbin, and rest your old bones on the straw;
Don’t stand any longer out here in the rain,
For you’ve brought papa home to his darling again,



















































































































































































































































































































































Wo

sy

'S ONE sails up the Hudson River he will notice at the foot of the
\ Catskill Mountains a light smoke curling up from a little
village. This is a very old town, being founded in the days
Ao of Peter Stuyvesant, the good Dutch Governor of New York.
VE ee \\ There were, a few years ago, some of the houses of the first
S a. settlers standing, built of the same small, yellow bricks
Be, Ve ' brought from Holland, with latticed windows and gable fronts
é mounted by weathercocks. :

In this village, according to our story, there lived, in the days when our
country was yet a province of Great Britain, an old, good-natured fellow, by
the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a great favorite with all the children of
the village, and whenever he appeared they would shout for joy. He helped










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them at their sports, made their toys, and taught them to fly kites and shoot

marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches and Indians.
But there was one thing Rip would not do, and that was work. He was

always ready to aid a neighbor, and was the foremost man at country frolics—

in fact, was ready to attend to anybody’s business but his own. Indeed, he

‘said it was useless to work on his farm; that it was the most worthless piece

of ground in the whole country; everything would go wrong in spite of him;
his fences would fall in pieces; his cow would go astray, or get among the
cabbages; weeds would grow faster in his field than elsewhere. It always rained
when he had out-doors work to do—so the broad acres, left him by his father,
had dwindled down to a little patch, not more than enough to supply him with
a little corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst looking piece of ground in the
neighborhood.

But Rip was one of those happy, jolly men who take the world easy, eat
white bread or brown, whichever can be got with the least effort, and would
rather starve ona dime than work for a dollar. If left to himself he would
have whistled his life away contentedly. But he had a wife, a good woman in
many respects, but one with a tongue that was going from morning to night,
and vigorously lashing Rip for his many shortcomings.

As the years went by times grew worse with Rip; but the worse the times
the more constantly Rip’s wife plied her tongue—so at last he used to take his
place with other idlers upon a bench before the village inn. Here they sat in
the shade talking over village gossip, or telling endless, sleepy stories about
nothing. But at length poor Rip was deprived of this consolation, for, one




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day, who-should break in upon the band of idlers but Dame Van Winkle with
her sharp tongue. Day after day she repeated these visits until poor Rip was
driven to despair, and the only way to escape the labor of the farm and the
scolding of his wife was to go with his dog in the woods for a stroll.

One fine autumn day, after a severe tongue-lashing from his wife, Rip
started out with his dog and gun for his favorite squirrel-shooting; weary at
length, he threw himself on a green knoll on the mountain side. Here he lay
until evening was approaching. He dreaded to return, knowing well that his
good wife would be angry. Thinking of this he postponed starting for home

until he finally fell asleep and slept a long sleep, full of strange dreams and

fancies. On waking, he found himself on the green knoll where he had fallen
to sleep. He rubbed his eyes. “Surely,” he thought, “I have not slept here all
night.” He picked up his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled one he had
laid down the night before he found a rusty, worm-eaten affair with the lock
trusted off. He began to think that some one had played a trick on him and
taken his gun while he slept. His dog, Wolf, too, was gone. He whistled for
him and shouted his name; but all in vain. What should he do—the morning
was passing and he felt famished for want of breakfast: he was in despair. A
flock of idle crows perched in a tree near him, looked down from their elevation
and seemed to mock at the poor man’s troubles. He grieved to lose his dog
and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife, but he could not starve among the
mountains. He arose and started for home, but found himself very stiff in
the joints. “These mountain beds do not agree with me,” he thought, “and if
this frolic should lay me up with rheumatism, a sweet time I shall have of it
with Dame Van Winkle.” On his way to the village he met a number of
people, none of whom he knew. He could not account for this, as he believed
himself acquainted with every one in the country around. Their dress was of
a fashion unknown to him. Ashe entered the village a group of children ran

at his heels, hooting at him and pointing to his long, gray beard. The dogs,
‘no one of which he knew, barked at him as he passed. The village was

changed; it was larger; more populous; strange names were over the doors;
strange faces at the windows; everything was strange.

He thought himself bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which
he had left but a day before. There stood the mountains, there ran the
Hudson; every hilland dale was as it had been, yet Rip was sorely perplexed.
He bent his steps, trembling, toward his old home, expecting every minute to
hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle, but the house had gone to decay,
the roof had fallen in, the windows were shattered, the doors were off the
hinges, a half-starved dog was skulking about. Rip called to him. but the cur

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only growled, showed his teeth and ran away. This was hardest of all, “My
very dog,” sighed poor Rip, “has forgotten me.” He entered the house; it was
empty. He called aloud for his wife andchildren. The lonely rooms rang for
a moment with his voice, and then all was still.

He now hurried to the village inn. That, too, was gone. A large wooden
building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken
and mended with old hats, and over the door was painted: “The Union Hotel,
by Jonathan Doolittle.” Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet
little Dutch inn there now was reared a tall, naked pole, with something on the
top that looked like a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag marked
with strange stars and stripes.

There was a crowd of folks about the tavern door, but none that Rip knew.
_ He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double
chin, and pipe, smoking, and Van Bummel, the school-master, reading a news-
paper. Kip, with his long, grizzled beard, his uncouth dress, and the army of
women and children which had gathered at his heels, at once attracted the
attention of the loafers. A very important looking gentleman, with a stern
voice, inquired of him what had brought him there witha gun over his shoulder,
and whether he meant to stir up a riot in the village,

Poor Rip humbly assured them that he meant no harm, and had merely
tome there in search of some of his neighbors, swho used’ to be about the
tavern.

The gentleman mentioned before asked him who they were.

Rip thought a moment and inquired: “Where is Nicholas Vedder?”

There was a short silence, when an old man told him that Nicholas Vedder
was dead these many years.

‘Where is Brom Dutcher?” said the puzzled Rip.

“Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war, and—well, he
never came back again.”

Rip’s heart was sad. He had no courage to ask about any more of his old
friends, but cried out in despair: “Does anybody here know Rip Van Winkle?”

The people exclaimed: “Oh, to be sure: that is Rip Van Winkle yonder
leaning against a tree!”

_ Rip looked up and was astonished to see a man exactly as he looked when
he went up the mountain. The poor fellow was more puzzled than ever.

They asked Rip again who he was.

“The Lord only knows!” exclaimed Rip. “I am not myself—I’m some-
- body else—that is me yonder—no—that is somebody else got into my shoes—
I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they changed




















































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ON GRANDPAPA’S KNEB:






my gun, and everything changed, and I am changed, and I can’t tell what's my
name or who I am.” :

The by-standers began to wink at each other, and talked about taking his
gun from him lest he would hurt some one. At this moment a young woman
came through the crowd with a child in herarms, who began to cry at the sight
of the man. She said: ‘Hush, Rip, hush, the old man wont hurt you.) dhis
all seemed to call up old reminiscences in his mind. Rip asked; “What is
your name, my good woman?”

“Judith Gardiner.”

“And your father’s name?”

“Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle; but it is years since he
went away with his gun and never has been heard of since.”

Rip caught his daughter and her child in his arms and cried: “I am your
father—young Rip Van Winkle once, old Rip Van Winkle now. Does nobody
know poor Rip Van Winkle?”

Rip soon told his story, and the crowd soon dispersed to their homes,
talking over the strange affair. Rip’s daughter took him home to live with her;
she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout, jolly farmer for a husband,
whom Rip remembered as one of the children who used to climb on his knee.

It was some time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or
could be made to understand the strange events that had taken place during
his long sleep. How that there had been a revolutionary war—that the country
had thrown off the yoke of old England—and that instead of being a subject
of his majesty, George the Third, he was now a free citizen of the United
States. But Rip was not a politician, so such changes made but little differ-
ence to him. —

He used to visit the tavern and tell his story to everybody who came there,
and every man, woman and child knew it by heart.

Some pretended not to believe it and declared there was something not
quite right with Rip’s head. But most of the old Dutch inhabitants believed
it, and the story was told around the old tavern for years after poor Rip died.
And what right-minded person could doubt a story told on such authority?




Fata
es ls ;
Good KK: ng Arthur.



FHEN good King Arthur ruled this land,
He was a goodly king;

Fe bought three pecks of barley-meal,
To make a bag-pudding.



A bag-pudding the king did make,
And stuffed it well with plums;

And in it put great lumps of fat,
As big as my two thumbs.

‘The king and queen did eat thereof,
And noblemen beside;

And what they could not eat that night,
The queen next morning fried.
Lf Saw Three Ships.

SAW three ships come sail-
ing by,
Come sailing by, come
sailing by;
I saw three ships come sail-
ing by,
New Year’s Day in the

morning.

; And- what do you think was
A gtyad - in them then?
BCG JB Was in them then, was
GB Ces, may hy yy

b Bd t
: fs Sly NI , 5 >
Nik oy “i LG in them then?



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whe, :
oe And what do you think was
So TSA :
7 in them then?



New Year’s Day in the

morning.

Three pretty girls were in them then,
Were in them then, were in them then;
Three pretty girls were in them then,

New Year’s Day in the morning.

One could whistle, and another could sing,
And the other could play on the violin—
Such joy was there at my wedding,

New Year’s Day in the morning.
Fohn Cook He Had a Little Grey Mare.

OHN COOK he had a little grey mare,
hee, haw, hum;
Her legs were long and her back was bare,
hee, haw, hum.
John Cook was riding up
Shooter’s Bank,
. hee, haw, hum;
\ The mare she began to
kick and to prank,
hee, haw, hum.















' ely
AWN Te Sf nh SHE
Ha wae taste wa
Sen fees at a)
=> os as NTN S

John Cook was riding up Shooter’s Hill,
hee, haw, hum;
His mare fell down and made her will,
hee, haw, hum.
The bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf,
hee, haw, hum;
if you want any more, you may sing it yourself,
hee, haw, hum.

ty

&
Tableaux in the Nursery.






o
sel C S Lange Bewry ae |
My REI 2 ;
i Fo
BY
&
eos 3 =
BT was a cold-and rainy day. Polly, Puss, Jess and Will stood by the
iI wursery window, watching the rain. Baby Ned was asleep on nurse’s lap.
ft “I wish we could go for a walk,” said Jess.
‘ “So do I,” said Polly: “I just love to go out in the rain.”
“But nurse will never let us go,” complained Will.
x

‘No, indeed; you would every one take cold and be sick,” saidnurse. “You
ought to be glad you have such a nice, warm place to stay in. Think how many
nice things you have to cae with. A good many little children have no good
home or nice playthings.”

“But we have played
everything we know, and
we are awful tired staying
10,” saiduPuss:

“T wish mamma did not
have company; then she
would come and play with

’ said Polly.

“You might get up
some tableaux,” suggest.
edaurse. “ You have not
done that for a long
time.”

“Oh, yes; that will be
splendid,” cricd Jess.
Even Will, who thought
he was too large a boy to
take a part in girls’ plays,
agreed that it would be
fun.

Baby Ned woke up, and
then nurse could help
them. Sheset him on the
sofa to play witha mug
andspoon. Shearranged
the screen in front of
one corner, and brought

things for them to dress
with. They arranged the
tableaux behind the
screen, then nurse pulled
it away. She and baby
Sap Ned were the audience.
The Sieeping Beauty was the first tableau. Jess was sleeping on acouch
made of a bright shawl. She was covered up with a white lace curtain, and had



out some shawls and other —
a wreath of artificial flowers on her head. Will was the prince. He was
standing beside her. He looked very gay with Polly’s blue circular for a cloak,
thrown over his shoulders. A hat, with a long white feather, was on his head.
He had his toy sword hung at his side.

Then they had Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother.

Polly was the grandmother ; she had on a cap with a wide frill, and was
propped up on pillows. Puss was Red Riding Hood; she had on a bright red
cloak and carried a little basket.

It took them a long time to dress ana arrange each tableau.

They were just saying, What shall we have next?” when nurse said,
“It’s time to get ready for supper.” They could not believe that the time had
gone so quickly. “I guess we will play tableaux every rainy day,” said Jess,


‘loss Was a Little Man.



sa

21%



OSS was a little man, and a little mare did buy;
For kicking and for sprawling, none her could come nigh;
She could trot, she could amble, and could canter here and
there,
But one night she strayed away—so Moss lost his mare.

‘Moss got up next morning to catch her fast asleep.

And round about the frosty fields so nimbly he did creep.
Dead in a ditch he found her, and glad to find her there;
So ll tell you by-and-by how Moss caught his mare.

“Rise! stupid, rise!” he thus to her did say;

“Arise, you beast, you drowsy beast, get up without delay,

For I must ride you to the town. so don’t lie sleeping
there!”

He put the halter round her neck—so Moss caught his
mare.
The F; rogs’ Chorus.

$¢\7AUP, yaup, yaup!”
Said the croaking voice of a Frog;
“A rainy day
_ In the month of May,
And plenty of room in the bog.”

‘““Yaup, yaup, yaup!”
Said the Frog as it hopped away;
“The insects feed
On the floating weed,
And I’m hungry for dinner to-day.”



‘““Yaup, yaup, yaup!”

Said the Frog as it splashed about;
“Good neighbors all,
When you hear me call,

It is odd that you do not come out.”

““Yaup, yaup, yaup!”
Said the Frogs; “it is charming weather;
“We'll’come and sup,
When the moon is up,
And we'll all of us croak together.”






ZEIGE UUM

Sleesy lite Gentians, itis time fo pise

AU Sn oe
Hur the sunis climbing last up the golden skies, On
Aud the happy brooklels ave laughing where they leap; fe
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Dont you hear there in your dreams asyau lie asleep 2 yi
ay “A








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se Pliding from your sweet blue eyes all the rosy light,
Le What can you be dreaming that you slumber so,
Po. Sleepy litfle Gentians, I should like to know!

te toe eo Gertrude Alger













(ied and the ,

LITTLE mouse, a little bird and a sausage once formed a
partnership. They had set up housekeeping and had lived
for a long time in great harmony together. The duty of the
little bird was to fly every day into the forests and bring

ge ‘ » home wood, the mouse had to draw water, to light the fire

and lay the table-cloth, and the sausage was cook.

How often when we are comfortable we begin to long for something new.
5o it happened one day that the little bird had
met in his road another bird, to which he had
boasted of their happiness and friendship at
home.

The other bird replied: “What a simpleton .
you are to work in the way you do, while the
other two are enjoying themselves at home.
When the mouse has lighted the fire and drawn
the water she can go and rest in her little room till she js called to lay the
cloth. The sausage can sit by the stove while he watches that the dinner is
well cooked, and when the dinner time arrives he eats four times as much as
the others, till he quite shines with salt and
fat.”

The bird, after listening to this, came home
quite unhappy, and, laying down his load, seated
himself at the table and ate so much that he
slept till the next morning without waking, and
thought this was a happy life.

Uhe next day the little bird objected to go
and fetch wood, saying, ‘That he had been their
servant long enough, and that he had been a
fool to work for them in this way. He intended
at once to make a change and seek his living in
another way.”

The bird was master, so he proposed that they should draw lots, and «he lots
fell so that the sausage was to fetch the weod, the mouse to be cook, and the bird
to draw the water. Now, what was the result? The sausage went out to get
wood, the bird lighted the fire and the mouse put on the saucepan and sat down
to watch it till the sausage returned home with wood for the next day. But



1®\ouse, the ausage.







he stayed away so long that the bird, who wanted a breath of fresh air, went
out to look for him. On his way he met a dog, who told him that, having met .
with the sausage, he had devoured him.

The bird scolded
the dog for his conduct,
-and called him a cruel
. robber, but it did no
good,

The little bird, full
of sorrow, flew home,
carrying the wood with
him, and related to the mouse what he had seen and heard. They were both
very grieved, but quickly agreed that the best thing for them to do was for them
to remain together.

From that time the bird undertook to prepare the table, and the mouse to
roast something for supper and to put the vegetables into the saucepan as she
had seen the sausage do; but before she had half finished her task the fire
burnt her so terribly that she fell down and
Bees died.

iq When the little bird came home there was
- no cook to be seen and the fire was nearly out..
The bird, in alarm, threw the wood here and
soy there, cried out and searched everywhere, but
no cook could be found.

Meanwhile a spark from the fire fell on the
wood and set it in a blaze, so that there was
danger of the house being burned. The bird ran in haste to the well for water.
Unfortunately, he let the pail fall into the well, and being dragged after it he
sank into the water and was drowned.

And all this happened because one little bird listened to another who was
jealous of the happy little family at home, and from being discontented and
changing their arrangements they all met with their death.
















w/f{ AB a shine, sah?” cried a black boy, who looked too old to be
young, and too young to be old, as he dropped his blacking kit
on the pavement.

A large, rather good-looking gentleman came out of the
hotel and put a well-booted foot on Jim’s blacking box, saying
with the familiarity of a superior and old acquaintance: —
“How are you, Jim? I’ve been waiting for you.’

Jim replied, “I ’specs I’s well, Colonel.”

_ Jim knew very ‘well his customer was a man who had so much money
that people said of him he “rolled in wealth.” At any rate, Jim had good
reason to remember the Colonel. Did he nnt throw down quarters for a
' ten cent job, and never wait for the change? The Colonel always said:

“Never mind now, Jim, I will take it out in ‘shines.’ But somehow he never
did. Hehada very poor memory—when he wanted to.

“Why, Jim,” said he, “it seems to me you don’t appear so very merry for
the holidays. What's the matter, youngster?”

‘No, sah! I’s been ’tinkin’ ob somesin’ all day,” he replied, while polishing
away on the Colonel’s boot. “You see, Colonel, de younguns at home, dey
al’ays ’spects a big Chris’mas an’ dis’ yere dey didn’t hab it, an’ I’se calkalatin
how ter gib dem younguns a tree an’ fixins yit. I can git de tree—but de fixins
on it: Gave w’at I jes’ doan see my way clar to git for New Year’s, which am to-
morry.”

The Colonel had an idea! It made him so nervous he took his right foot
down before Jim had quite polished it off, and put up his other in its place.

“Hol on dere, Colonel; dat fut am on’y haf polish!” said Jim, shaking the
blacking brush at him warningly. Just then the wind flopped about Jim’s old
clothes, which were never made for him, and crept in at the rents and snipped
his shivering flesh as spitefully as only Jack Frost can. Still he kept on at the
Colonel's boots, until they reflected like a mirror. As he finished, the Colonel
said: “Here, take this, you little son of ebony,” throwing him a five-dollar
bill. “Take it and be off. Get those young ones a jolly good time, but don’t
forget Fim. Tell them Santa Claus could not get there for Christmas. He
was too busy.”

Jim gave a whistle, lifted his old hat with a bow to the Colonel, then gath.
ered up his “kit,” and throwing the strap-over his shoulder, started off ata

- racing pace. :
21D



Fe

Life, with its struggle for the necessities, had begun early for Jim. His
mother was the lowliest of earth—a slave refugee. As for his father, if he
ever had one—he knew him not, His ‘‘(Mammy,” with old gray headed “gran’-
dad,” lived out on the hills across the river. When Jim was five years old his
ole mammy bought him the blacking kit,~carried him over into the city, set
him up in business, and told him to “Begin now, Jim, to he’p yo’ self; but
come home, honey, once a week wid yo’ earnin’s for mammy.” Jim obeyed.
The rest of the week he slept and ate—wherever he was—on a doorstep or
under it, with his bread or pie in his hand.

Jim lost no time in racing for Seventh street after finishing the Colonel’s
boots, for the snow was now falling in earnest. He halted before the gay
stands on the pavements loaded with cheap toys and with candies that re-

sembled pebble stones in more ways than one. Jim bought and bought, with

a reckless abandon that was refreshing to see. He filled all his pockets—
that would hold anything—and the rest of the bundles he carried in his arms.
Among them was a new clay pipe, and a bag of “tobaccy” for gran’dad. Jim
felt himself to be a veritable Santa Claus. “I ‘spec I'll make a gran’ time w’en
I gits ober to Hillsdale. I'll ’sprise ’em, dat I will,” said he to himself,

As Jim ran out of sight the Colonel watched him with interest; then going
up toa man who was leaning on the sheltered side of a column of the portico
in front of the hotel he thus spoke to him: ‘

“Hello, Jerry! Do you want to make a nice little New Year’s dot?”

“Find out for me before twelve o'clock tonight where Jim lives, will you?”

“I know that now. He and his are poor as Job’s turkey—but he’s an hon-
est little chap. I’ve known him on this street for seven years past, and |
never knew him to do anything worse than fight/ I’ve seen him lick boot-blacks
and newsboys more than once—/or abusin’ a smaller boy. He's a good-hearted
little chap, if he is black! He’s round here six days an’ nights o’ the week, but
he disappears on Saturdays, so I suspect he goes home, for we don’t see nuth-
in’ uv’ him until Monday mornin’. Most o’ the boot-blacks do arushin’ bizness

_ on Sundays, but he don’t. Leastways, not round here.”

“Well, I was athinking”’—said the Colonel deliberately—wher spoke up
Jerry:—

“Anything in my line? Iam ready, if so, to do it.”

“Yes, I was just remembering to-night—New Year's night it is too—of
when I was pretty nearly as bad off as Jim. My father and mother were refu-
gees from Ireland, and poor enough, God knows. But somehow they managed
to give me an education, and it was my luck that all I touched seemed to turn
togold I’ve taken a fancy to help black Jim makea happy New Year for those







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































‘younguns he spoke of. I am tired of everything that money can buy !—It will
amuse me to turn myself into a kind of patron saint for Jim’s edification.
There’s a hundred dollar bill, Jerry; that is, if you will undertake the job. I
want you to get a bushel basket full of nice fixings for Jim’s folks; and then
buy a strong, warm suit of clothes, from head to heels, for him, and lay that on
top of it. Then tell him—sometime to-morrow, after the basket has been shoved
in on them—that a man in No. 36 wants to see him at 8 o'clock inthe evening.
I will be there to finish up the job myself.”

Jim on his way over to the poor little home was just as happy, with his
little ragged pockets full, as the richest heir inallthe land. His feet were wet,
and he shivered in the blasts as he climbed the lonely road up the hill after
dark. But he was not afraid, cold or lonely.

The wind howled dismally round Jim’s home on stormy nights. It came
in without leave at the crevices and cracks and seemed to put the handful of
fire in the kitchen stove out with a maliciously spiteful air. A bucket of coal
once or twice a week was all the fuel that Mammy Roxie ever bought at one
time, and that was only when she had ironing to do. Whatever else they
burned the children picked up.

When Jim came in sight of the place he made a rush for it. Pretty soon
after, a tall man came riding by ona roan horse; and all the villagers who saw
him mistook him for a mounted “perlice” and paid no special attention to
where he went or what he did.

Jimmy burst open the kitchen door crying: “Oh, Mammy, I'm as rich as
King Solomon. De Colonel whose boots I shines-he gib me five dollars fo’
New Yea’s, ad’ ez I comed by Santa Claus’ factory, where he was shoein’ his
hosses fo’ de las’ time dis season, I jess gaged him to stop here tonight an’
lebe somesin’ for dese yer younguns—ef dey goes to bed jes es soon as dey eat
deir suppers so he kin come in!”

“OQ, Jimmy, what’s Santa Claus like?” one dared to ask. “Does he come
down the chimbly? I tau’t he on’y cumd Christmas.”

“Mostly, chillen—but yo’ see he skipt us befo’—an’ as we’s got a stovepipe,
I promised to leabe de do’ cpen jes a leetle crack tonight so he can git in. But
he says to me ‘If dem chillen keep one peeper open ten minutes arter suppa,
Ise goin’ by dat shanty, shoah.’ Do yo’ hear dat, now?” and Jim puffed him-
self up enormously as he said this.

Jim’s “gran’-dad” sat in his splint chair, listening. He was a very stately
and dignified old darkey, with wool as white as snow; and he was almost ~
blind. He, too, was a born slave, but his natural dignity and high-bred
manner made him greatly respected by his neighbors, especially as he was a









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‘preacher.” As Jim finished his harangue at the children, the old man spoke
up: “Last night, Jim, I dreamed of white horses; an’ dat am a turrible bad
sign. De white hoss al’ays ’pears fo’ a deff in de fambly. Ise ben ’spectin’ to
heah ob yo’ gittin’ knocked down and kilt, or dat yo’s broke yo’ leg or somesin’
o dat sort, forI doan bleebede Lord goin’ sen’ for me yt, Leastwise, not till
arter awhile. I can’t un’erstan’ it, how Icum to dream o’ de white hoss, an’
good luck comin’ ’stead o’ bad fortin. Yo’ orter Say your praars mighty nice
tonight, honey.”

“So ’yo kin, gran’dad, wid tanks, fo as Ise walkin’ ‘long I meets Mr. Santa
Claus, an’ he says to me, ‘See here, Jim, Ise got a bag o’ ‘baccy an’ a pipe fo’
yo grandad at las’, po’ ole man! Gib him my ’spects, cos I haint got no time
to go see ‘im befo’ he goes to bed. You, sonny, jes gib dis to ’im an’ my best
‘spects,’ so dere dey is, daddy. White or black hosses, yous in luck.” Thus
ignoring the folk-lore of his forefathers, Jim handed over the treasures to the
old man, who said in a trembling voice: “De Lor’ be praise’, Jim; I was jes a
longin’ fo’ some ’baccy, an’ yo’ know dem chillen broke gran’dad's pipe blowin’
soap bubbles to-day. Yo’ can say to Mr. Santa Claus Ise berry much ‘bleeged
to'im. se berry much 'bleeged to ‘im, dat Lis! He’s berry good to cum at all
dis yere!” -

All that stormy New Year's Eve the Colonel remained in; his thoughts

were with black Jim, intermingled with reminiscences of his own boyhood, when

one dollar looked larger to him than a hundred did to-night. It pleased his
mood to be amused in playing with the destiny of a boot-black, and it made
him blush with conscious pleasure to find that his heart had not quite become
hardened to the trials of the very poor.

While the Colonel was thinking his “long thoughts,” his protege was the
central figure—a dispenser of happiness—in a very humble sphere. The ‘“chil-
luns,” after the supper of fried bacon and corn pone, went to bed on a straw
tick om the floor right over the stove, to keep them warm. After that Jim and
Mammy had a chance to dress the belated Christmas tree. It bloomed out
gorgecusly with strings of cranberries strung on a thread, likewise ropes of
popcorn. -It bore oranges and apples on the same bough; while drums, tin
horns, doll babies and various toy devices for making a noise bloomed helter,
skelter from base to dome on the little cedar tree. Every cent of Jim’s five
dollars had gone into the decorations of that gorgeous tree or into the
dainties for to-morrow’s dinner, with not a dime reserved for Jim.

Finally gran’dad was coaxed to go to bed, when Jim’s mammy began to

' prepare for the very climax of the occasion. Out from the hiding place came

that fat ‘possum which looked not unlike a little pig ready for roasting. That





















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was to be kept a secret from gran’dad, who thought ““possum and sweet tater
the finest feast in all the world” of cookery. When the preparations were at
last completed, Mammy crept up-stairs to snuggle down beside tlhe young ones,
while Jim rolled himself up in the blankets, and was soon fast asleep on his
bunk on the floor in front of the kitchen stove.

Nobody knows how or when it was done, but when Jim awoke that New
Year’s morning at peep of dawn, his astonishment was boundless. He raised
himself on his elbow to survey the scene. “How dem tings git in heah, I
like to know?” said he. “Da’s a big snow track on de floah, but I didn’t heah
nobody! Whew! Da’s a whole baskit full of—lem me see—a turkey gob-
bler on top wid his tail fedders on so I kin recognize him! Da’'sa pappa ob
coffee —I kin feel dat shuah! Sugah candies in dis Pappa; oranges, apples,
banannas, en cakes all cubbered with white shugah!” And then he peeped into
the bundle he had laid aside while rummaging the contents of the basket. He
~ broke the string, and pulling out a pair of new pants just about his size, he gave
a yell that nearly raised theroof, At least it raised “Mammy” and the “young.
uns.” ‘“Heah, you lazy niggahs, yo’! w’at yo’ doin’ that yo’ don’ come down
heah an’ see wat Santa Claus ben doin’ while weuns all sleepin’? Dat ole ras-
cal he got in heah widout me knowin’ notin’ ’boutit, an’ I down heah un puppus
to let ’im in!”

With a rush and a scuffle Mammy and the three kinky-headed little ones
appeared on the scene, which they viewed with wide-eyed wonder, their kinks
standing out each way for Sunday.

“Now, Jim,” said his Mammy, solemnly, “I ‘specs yo’ know who sen’ dem
tings!” 5

‘Deed I dusn’t, mammy, unless it be de Colonel. Heso rich, folks say he
done know wat to do wid his money. I done care who sen’ ‘em, Tse much
obleeged, lis. Heah, do yo’ see dem close? Dey done fit nobody but me!”
Then and there Jim began to array himself in the new garments.

“Now, Jim,” said his Mammy, “‘yo’ jes stop dat, honey, an’ go up-stairs wid
a cake o’ soap an’ wash yo'sef clean. Make yo’sef presumable befo’ yo’ dresses
up, and yo’ be shuah yo’ gits all de dirt ofen yo’; if yo’ don’ I'll be up dar wid
de scrubbin’ brush!—I’se de proudes’ woman in Hillsdale, I is! My dinnah to-
day of.roas’ turkey an’ possum ’Il jes scent dis yer town as dey a fryin’ an’ a
bakin’! I’se jes as good as oder folks w’at tink deys better dan I is, who et der
Chris’mas dinna’ las’ week,” and Mammy Roxie strutted up and down her little
kitchen ina way that delighted her youngsters. . “My Jim,” she continued,
‘don’ go loafin’ roun’ de groceries ob dis town like mos’ ob dese niggahs ’bout
yere do. He.don’ git inter fights an’ git ‘rested by de perlice like Elsie Fair.


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faxes boys do.” Here gran’dad appeared in time to hear this spontaneous com-
bustion of motherly pride, which he considered it his duty, as a preacher and
' prophet, to rebuke.

“Roxie Gant,” he said solemnly, “I’se had anodder dream las’ night.
Dreams dey goes de odder way wat yo’ dream. If I dreams o’ weddin’s, it
means funals; if I dreams 0’ swimmin’ it means drownin’. If 1 dream yo’ well,
it mean yo’ goin’ be sick, an’ wiser werser. Yo’ see wat luck dis dream bring
us. Las’ night Jim was in de ribber up to his chin. I was awfu’ distress! I
tried to waid out to ‘im, fo’ I’specs dat chile drown right fo’ my eyes. But
Jim he fling up he head, an’ he sputters an’ spits out de watah, an’ he slopsout
is legs behin’ like a big bull frog, an’ ’is arms like frippers, an’ he mak’ fo’ de
sho’ an’ den he come climin’ out all drippin’. Den I know somesin’ good goin’
to happen to Jim! In de ole times, wen we slabes, eberyting a comin’ an’ a
goin’ ’cordin’ to de dreams; an’ people cast ‘spells’ on udder people for der
helth. I seed folks dieunder a bewichin’ ‘spell! “Deed Ihas! An’ if you don’t
tote a lucky stone out o’ a toad’s head, or a catfish, in yo’ pocket all de time—
you don’t hab no luck.” Just then Jim reappeared all shiny from his ablutions,
arrayed in his new suit. “Pears to me, gran’dad, dat luck o’ mine yo’ talkin’
‘bout ‘aready come true. Do yo’ see dat possum? Do yo’ see dat turkey? Do
yo’ see dat baskit? Do yo’ see me all dress up fine by ole Santy Claus himsef,
jes cos he tinks I sech a likely darkey? Santy Claus mighty po’ ‘round dis
shanty las’ week, but he doin’ mighty well dis’ New Year!” after which speech
he began to dance a shuffle. Gran’dad seized the banjo from the corner, and
to the tune of “Tum! tum! tum! tummy, tummy, tummy, tum!” Jim jumped
higher and faster, while little Elsie, next in age to him, joined in, and Hetty,
the baby, stood in the door, a spectacle of unadulterated admiration; while
Mammy’s broad mouth opened like a red cavern, as she gave vent to her feel-
ings in roars of delight and motherly pride, clapping her hands to keep time to
the flying feet. -

The dinner was a success at Jim’s home, and so was the belated Christmas
tree, but he did not forget his appointment to meet aman at No. 36, at 8
o'clock New Year's night.

The Colonel was surprised, for he never would have believed that a
mere suit of decent clothes could so transform a child of want into a comely
and respectable looking lad. The Colonel’s first and only thought of Jim had
been to give himself the pleasure of making one humble person’s New Year a
happy one. Now he felt inspired to go on with the work which he had begun.
In Jim he saw enshrined an embryo man, which education and opportunity
might develop. ~ There #s no color line when it comes to “manhood.”

































































































































































He extended his hand, saying heartily:

“How are you, Jim? Seems to me somebody has treated you pretty
well. You look quite like a gentleman.”

“Tank you, sah!” said Jim. “I’se berry much ‘bleeged to you, for I’se
shuah dis time you an’ Santa Claus berry near relations.”

“Well, yes, Jim, I’ve @ distant relationship to him,” replied the Colonel,
amused.

“Can you read, Jim?”

ONIGS eSiis:

“Where did you learn?”

“In de Freedman’s school, sah, at night. I’se berry anxus to learn to write,
an’ I’m goin’ to begin right away arter New Year’s,”

“Oh, you are? Well, I want to set up another boy in the shoe blacking
business; what will you take for your kit, Jim?”

Jim couldn’t help laughing at the idea of the rich Colonel wanting to buy
out his old “kit” when new ones could be had so cheap.

“I ’spec. I’d ask five dollars for it, Colonel, if yo’ wants it. I’d hab to git
anoder, yo’ know, sah.”

“No you wouldn't, either. I wanta boy about your size to wait on me,
out of school hours. Do ‘you want the place?”

“Bress de Lor’! I ‘spec I do, but I couldn't take tt, cos Mammy and de
chilluns can’t git nuff t’ eat widout my wuk, sah. I’se berry much ’bleeged, ‘deed
1 is!”

‘Well, well, Jim, your love for the home folks does you infinite credit. I
will see that you are paid enough to provide for them as well as now, and you
can go to school just as long as you remain in my service and chose to do so.”

Jim’s eyes rolled up almost incredulously, but as the opening dawned upon
his mind clearly he was too full for utterance.

To-day in Washington there is a physician, very dark of skin, but very
skilful of practice among his own people. No one now thinks of him as the
poor little Jim of our story, and yet he is one and the same. Jim dates all his
success in life to the five dollar bill received on New Year's Eve, 18—, while
the Colonel regards his bestowal of that little bill upon a bootblack as one of
the happiest inspirations of his life; and he is thankful that he has been able to
help in making the world richer by one man, whose name was—“Jim.”

—EmiLy L, SHERWOOD,
sitee
The Winds T. hey Did Blow.



HE winds they did blow,
The leaves they did wag;

Along came a beggar boy,
And put me in his bag.

He took me up to London:
A lady did me buy;

Put me in a silver cage,
And hung me up on high.

With apples by the fire,
And nuts for to crack;

Besides a little feather-bed,
To rest my little back.
Lhe North Wend.



HE north wind dot n blow,
And we shall snow,

And what will the robin do then,
Poor thing?

He'll sit in the barn

And keep himself warm,

And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing.

The north wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,

And what shall the honey-bee do,
Poor thing?

> In his hive he will stay
Till the cold’s passed away,
And then he’ll come out in the spring
Poor thing.

J
The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow, .
And what will the dormouse do then,

Poor thing?

Rolled up like a ball

In his nest snug and small,

He'll sleep till warm weather comes back,
Poor thing.

ap



The north wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,

And what will the children do then,
Poor things?

When lessons are done,

They'll jump, skip, and run,

And that’s how they'll keep themselves warm,
Poor things.




©apture.

ED had never mentioned it, but he really intended to bea porice-
man when he grew up. He wassure he wouldlike that, and posi-
tively envied the policeman on his beat his blue coat and brass
buttons, to say nothing of his size, which was enormous, while
Ted’s was nothing to speak of, he felt with deep regret; though
by stretching and standing on tiptoe he tried to hurry it up.

The policeman’s name was Thirty-four; at least it said so
_ on the silver. badge that he wore on the beautiful coat, and so.
Ted always called him, for they were great friends. “Hullo, young sir,” Thirty-
four would call out as he spied the golden head watching for him through the
gate. “How do you find yourself this morning?”

‘First rate, thank you, Thirty-four,” Ted would reply, genially smiling,
and showing a vacancy where two teéth had lately moved out,

“That's right, take good care of yourself.” ‘

‘Thank you, sir,” and Ted would wistfully watch the broad, retreating back
of his friend as he passed up the street.

- Ted had only one objection to his mother. She was too particular, and
did not allow him to play on the street, and in spite of a large and beautiful
yard, he longed for this privilege with all his heart.

One morning an exciting thing happened: Ted was trying to fish in the
irrigating ditch with his brother. As their bamboo fish-pole stuck through the
fence palings, whiz came the patrol-wagon around the corner, and Ted’s friend
Thirty-four was sitting on one of the seats, with a very red-nosed tramp sitting
beside him. The wagon stopped by the patrol-box, and with a word to the
driver Thirty-four got down and went into the box.

But the horses were uneasy, and while the driver was busy with them the
tramp jumped out of the wagon andran up the walk straight toward Ted, who
was so busy watching them that he forgot he had left the fish-pole about siz
inches above the walk.

Thirty-four dashed out of the box and after the tramp pell-mell, who, look-
ing over his shoulder, caught his foot in the fish-pole, fell flat, and was nabbed
by Thirty-four before he could get up.

“What's this?” asked Thirty-four, eyeing the side-walk trap.

“Mine!” cried Ted eagerly. ‘I’ve been sishing” (he meant fishing) “in the
irratating ditch!”

“You're a brick!” laughed Thirty-four. “Ketched the right kind of a sish

21E







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































sarpint this time, sure,” giving the tramp a little shake. “But I reckon you
better take it in now, for fear you ketch the wrong ’un next time; and here’s a
dime to buy peanuts with.”

Ted thanked him with dignity, and watched them drive off, and then went
in to tell his mother how he helped ’rest a tramp. ‘Guess she'll be pretty
s’prised, and think I’m pretty growned up to do such a thing,” he said.

And she was.

(@esson in ©eography

—L. E. CHITTENDEN.

Al iN LESSON in geography,

: 2 With all the states to bound!” —
OW My boys grew sober in a trice,
And shook their heads and

frowned;
And this was in the nursery,
Where only smiles are found.



Then suddenly up jumped Boy Blue—
. Youngest of all is he—

And stood erect beside my chair;

_ “Mamma,” he said, “bound me!”

And all the other lads looked up
With faces full of glee.

I gravely touched his curly head;
“North, by a little pate

That’s ‘mixed’ in ‘mental ’rithmetic’
And can’t get fractions straight;

That never knows what time it is,
Nor where are books or slate.

“South, by two feet—two restless feet—
That never tire of play,

But never fail to gsadly run
(Even on a holiday)

On others’ errands willingly
In most obliging way.

“East, by a pocket stuffed and crammed
With, oh, so many things!

With tops and toys and bits of wood,
And pennies, knives and strings;

And by a little fist that lacks
The glow that water brings.

“West, by the same, and well explored
The pocket by the fist;

The capital two rosy lips
Already to be kissed.

And, darling, now I’ve bounded you,
The class may be dismissed:;”







Cee,












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“PUT THE COLORS OF YOUR COUNTRY JUST BELOW THE CROSS OF CHRIST.”

Bishop Matthew M, Stupson, BD, B,




Ghe \Mateh P\ight at Smithville.

2 'T was watch night down at Smith-

Whar the people’s jes’ as clever
as the Lord ’ud hav’ ’em be;
Whar the sweet ole songso’ Zion
iS s flood the valleys an’ the hills
‘Till the angels lean and listen from the Hea-
venly . winder-sills.



The Methodists is curious, but we know what
we're about

When watchin’ New Vear comin’ in, the ole
year goin’ out.

The Baptis’—they ain’t much fer that—think
shoutin’ is a crime;

But, bless yer! we’re the folks as has the hal- |
leluia time!

Weel, thar we wus at Smithville—its nigh to
twenty year—

The little church was crowded, Deacon
Williams in the chair,

An’ sez he: “Now, while we’re waitin’, let’s

_ sing a hymn or two,

‘An’ then get up and tellus what the Lord has

done fer you.”

“Amazin’ Grace” cum ringin’ out; the bro-
ther pitched it high,

Asif he thought the folks was deaf on ’tother
side the sky.

“Sing louder, brotherin’, louder yit!” the
leader sed, sed he:

“Fer that’s the kind o’ grace—thank ‘God!—
’at saved a wretch like me.”

“I second that,” sed Brother Jones, arisin’
nigh the door,

“An’ glad am I my life is spared to be wi? ye
onct more.

P’raps I wont be wi’ ye when Watch Night
cums nex’ year,

But” (looking up) “I hope, dear frens, I'll
meet you over there!”

ville, in the lovin’ land o’ Lee, |

When he got thru’ we had a pra’t, thea
Williams tuk the stan’;

Sed he: “I feel to-night I’m still bound fer
the promis’ lan’,

Fer I’ve quit the grocery business—that’s
whar religun fails—

An’ ef Williams gitsto glory hit’ll be by split-
tin’ rails!”



“I’m out er politicks, my frens,” sed gray-
ha’red Brother Guy,

“The office I’m er runnin’ fer thar ain’t no
man kin buy.

An’ I'm bound to be elected: but that son o’
mine—hit’s hm

I’m thinkin’ of—he’s sheriff, an’ I’m fearer’
his chance is slim!”



“Is the sheriff in the church to-night?” askea
Brother Williams, loud;

An’ the people turned to lookin’ and a
sarchin’ thru’ the crowd.

“Weel, 'spose he is?” a voice replied, “He
hain’t dun nothin’ wrong,”

“O, no,” sez Brother Williams, “cept to
dodge the Lord so long!”

“{ ain’t after no religun,” sed the sheriff,
“needn’t pray

Fer me—I know my bizness an’ I’m bound
ter hav’ my way.”

But here the leader shouted: “Brotherin’! git
aroun’ that man;

It’s a desp’rit case, I tell ye; we must save him >
ef we can.”

An’ they saved him. Ole John Williams had
a habit, makin’ prayer,

Of reachin’ out wi’ doth han’s an’ a beatin’ o’
the air;

An’ it wasn’t no exception on this partickler

| night;



He got close ter the sheriff an’ he hit him left
and right!












,
Ey/














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ere ik




Leta = i . ;
- EES SEE a A a TS aS

THE ITALIAN IMAGE BOY.


We didn’t know when New Year cum, nor
when the old went out; ;

We just kept on er prayin’ till we heard the
sheriff shout!

An’ then the meetin’ ended, and I’ve been

- thinkin’ sence

That the sheriff he surrendered in a sort o’

seli-defence!

He kinder looked the worse for wear—jes’
used up in the cause—

Fer the way: old Williams frailed him was a
caution, so it was;

An’ he sed, as if ’twar nothin’—like he tuk
the matter light:

“You don’t hav’ these here Jeatin’ pra'rs
’cept only New Year’s Night?”

F, L. STantTon,



———e,
——S===_

@Jack’s P\ew Sear Giant.

ANE holidays were ended. The little candles on the Christmas tree
Ko)! had burned out. The visit to grandma’s was over and the New Year
ken] party broken up. Even the story-books had been read through, and
now, on this bright, cold second of January, there was nothing for Jack to do
but to collect his scattered books, put thém in his school-bag and trot back to
school.

“Oh, ho!” sighed Jack; “it feels very dull to go back to school. I wish I
was Jack the Giant-killer, and had nothing to do but climb a bean-stalk.”

But when he glanced slyly at the dining-room window, on his way out of
the door, there was no sign of a bean-stalk, though he had dropped a whole
handful of beans out there on purpose.

“Well, boys, a happy New Year!” said Miss Lucy as the boys chattered
noisily in the school-room, and “Happy New Year!” echoed all the fresh young
voices.

After a sober little talk about the old year that was gone and the New Year
that was coming, Miss Lucy said: ‘There is one job I’ve laid out for you this
year, boys, and that is to kill a giant.”

Jack started. Had Miss Lucy heard him talking to himself a while ago?

“I wont tell you the giant’s name now,” said the teacher, “but I will let
you know if I see him around.”

As I told you, Jack didn’t feel a bit like going to school, and he missed his
spelling, and got his sums wrong, and blotted his copy-book, until Miss Lucy
had to give him several ugly marks on his report.

“Ah, Jackie,” she said, “that giant has met you in the way and got the
best of you.”

“Is it Giant Laziness, Miss Lucy?” asked one of the older boys.

“That’s his name, Frank, and here is the sword to kill him with,” and Miss
Lucy wrote across the blackboard, “Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit,
serving the Lord.”





AC)


-

DNDECISION.


Ne ost Something.

‘x(OTHER, can we go sliding on Red Run this afternoon? You
_ heedn’t be afraid, mother; the ice is as hard as—as—”
Mf “As hard as what, Rob?”

“As your head,” prompted mischievous Rob; and there
was a little scuffle between the boys as to which had the
hardest head—a scuffle full of fun to them, but rather too
S noisy for mother.

4 “I don't know about that, boys,” answered the mother; “I wanted
you to take care of Rosa this afternoon.”

“Oh, what a bother!” cried Foster, “we wont have a bit of fun.”

“Never mind, mother,” spoke up Rob, quickly, “let us have the little kid;
we'll take care of her.” :

“T want to go to see poor Mrs. Belt,” said the mother, “and try to help her
with her sick children; Rosa would be in my way, but I wont let her go with
you, Foster, if you are not willing to take her.”

‘Oh, T’ll take her,” said the little boy, ungraciously, “but it wont be any
fun; it will be a lost afternoon.”

When twilight fell over the white, snow-covered world the children’s mother
hurried home, and found little Rosa and her two brothers sitting before the
glowing coal-fire in the nursery.

“Oh, mamma,” they all cried, together, springing up from the rug and
hanging on to her snowy cloak, ‘we had just lots of fun.” And while the
mother dried her damp wraps and boots all three little tongues wagged at once,

‘““We payed I was a pwis’ner,” said Baby Rosa, “and Wobb and Foster
put me in pwison; and den I wunned away, and they taught me and slided me
back to pwison.”

“We most died laughing, mamma, to see the tot try to run on ice.”

“And sometimes her little feet would fly from under. her, and down she
would come like a thousand of brick; but she was real plucky—she didn’t cry
at all.”

“Flow about your afternoon, Foster?” asked the mother, ‘‘was it lost?”

‘“‘Fossy was weal nice to me, mamma,” said Rosa, putting her little fat
arms around him.

“Yes,” said mamma, looking very pleased, “my boy lost something after
all—not his afternoon, I am glad to see, but a selfish, ugly little temper.”





Who Stole the Bird’s Nest ?






O-WHIT! to-whit! to-whee! ;
Will you listen to me?

Who stole four eggs I laid,
And the nice nest I made?

















Not I, said the cow, moo-oo!

Hes A
aR YE 2
ei 3

bs .

Spec cae S
‘4 =

p fis “in

Bi A ViSit Do Gets

WS Zopeteitny | AN
‘ \ i ly Mi

§
1
TE ME

op

Such a thing I’d never do.






I gave you a wisp of hay,

But did not take your nest away;
Not I, said the cow, moo-oo!
Such a thing I’d never do.

Bob-o-link! Bob-o-link!

Now, what do you think?
Who stole a nest away
From the plum-tree to-day?
“

WD
i GE “tm 3 Not I, said the dog, bow-wow!
Bis A
i

J May
He

I wouldn’t, be so mean, I vow.

I gave some hairs the nest to make,
But the nest I did not take;

Not I, said the dog, bow-wow!

I would not be so mean, I vow.



Coo-coo! coo-coo! coo-coo!
Let. me speak a word or two;
Who stole that pretty nest
‘From little Robin Redbreast?

ie Not I, said the sheep; oh, no!
I would not treat a poor bird so;
I gave the wool the nest to line,
But the nest was none of mine.
Baa! baa! said the sheep; oh, no!



I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so.

Caw! caw! cried the crow,
I should like to know

~ What thief took away

A. bird’s nest to-day.


Chuck! chuck! said the hen,
Don’t ask me again;

Why, I haven't a chick
Would do such a trick.
We all gave her a feather,



And she wove them together.
I'd scorn to intrude

On her and her brood.
Chuck! chuck! said the hen,

Don’t ask me again.

Chirr-a-whirr! chirr-a-whirr!
We will make a great stir.
Let us find out his name,

And all cry—For shame!

A little boy hung down his head,
And went-and hid behind the bed;
For he stole that pretty nest
From little Robin Redbreast;

And he felt so full of shame

He did not like to tell his name.



gt



,OW to get to Boston had been the problem of Midge Bartlett’s
life for at least a month.

It was absurd to expect her to stay at home with Nora, who
shook the broom at her, and called her all sorts of names when
no one was around, when everybody else had been planning for
weeks and weeks to go and see the great parade.

Midge hadn’t the least idea what a parade was like, but that
was the very reason why she should go and see.

Go she must, go she would, and this was the scheme which Midget’s small
brain worked out. She would listen very carefully when the family were lay-
ing their plans, and find out just what day they were going, and on what train;
and when the train came, she, Midget, would wait till all the others were gone,
slip out the back way, and run around by another street to the depot.

Of course this was all very risky, for Vinton was a small place, and the
little adventuress might meet some one who would take her home again. But
Midge was.a cautious little creature, and had the brightest eyes in the world,
you may be sure, and the nimblest feet, too, for she reached the depot in time
to scramble on board the train, and dart up the aisle of a car in which she
knew there wasn’t a soul from Vinton.

Little Midge trembled a good deal as she climbed into an empty seat, but
looking toward the car door, she saw something that sent her to the floor and
under the seat so quickly that she never quite knew how she got there.

You may think it was something dreadful that frightened Midget so much,
but I assure you that it was only a little old lady in a black bonnet, who was
looking—not for Midget at all—but for a seat.

But then this same little lady, Miss Twiss, lived in the next house to
Midget. Of course Miss Twiss sat down in Midget’s seat, and of course the
poor runaway didn’t have a bit good ride crouching there on the floor, with her
old friend and neighbor sitting on top of her, so to speak, and was heartily glad
when they got to Boston.

Although the little Midget was cramped and tired, she waited patiently
until everybody had left the car, and then ran out to look for the Vinton peo-
ple, meaning to walk along at a safe distance behind them.














pA AE RY Sr, Hs
aE Ray reef:

meaeraee tee



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A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF THE KING.


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But there were no Vinton people to be seen—noit even Miss ‘Twiss.

What should she do? There was nothing to do but to let this hurrying
crowd of strangers carry her along with them, and the horrid din made by the
tramping feet, throwing of heavy trunks and boxes, and the shrill voices of
hackmen calling on people to ride.

-Poor Midge’s heart failed her, her head swam, and she began to think
ongingly of her pleasant home, and even to believe that Nora and the broom
was better than this. On and on they rushed, out of the great smoky depot,
up and down dirty, bad-smelling streets, the crowd ever growing denser and
more impatient, until they turned into a wide thoroughfare filled with a multi-
tude, beside which the throng at the depot was a mere handful.

Midge began to wonder if this pushing, hurrying crush of people was the
parade, and why great grown folks were so anxious to come to Boston to be
knocked and elbowed by everybody.

Presently there was a burst of music in the distance, and everybody
shouted, “They're coming!”

As the music came nearer and nearer, together with the sound of many

» feet in measured tramp, the excitement ran high, and people shouted, and hur-

rahed, and waved their handkerchiefs as if they were crazy. At first Midge
was scared at all these strange noises, but as everybody’s face seemed running
over with delight and expectation, she took courage and tried to squeeze her
way forward to see what was passing in the street. Aftera long, long time
she did get where she could just get a peep now and again, and what do you
suppose she saw? Why nothing at all but rows and rows of men in brass-
buttoned blue clothes with glistening swords dangling at their sides, walking
briskly along; while before and behind them were other men, blowing ine
liveliest kinds of tunes out of all sorts of queer looking brass and silver
things. Then there were ever so many men beating with all their might

-and main on things that looked like, but were fifty times bigger than, what

little Freddy Hoffer called his dyad.

Midge hated Freddie’s drum, for it made her head ache, and these big
noisy things nearly drove her frantic. She was so glad when they were gone,
and so sorry when others came, which they continued to do, and meant to
tramp for hours and hours. A whole life-time it seemed to poor, tired, hun-
gry, little Midget.

But at last some of the crowd grew tired of watching and moved away,
people who had been sitting on doorsteps near by went off; and Midge
crawled back and sat down on the steps to rest, and’think what she should

do.
21F


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DOT’S WISH.
Surely she was in a doleful plight; and the poor little atom looked pitt.
fully into the many faces around her.. None heeded, none cared for her. What
would become of her? Altogether wretched she burst out crying, not softly,
but as loud as she could. for she didn’t care who heard her.

“Mamma, did you hear that?”

The voice was that of a little girl in the crowd, but it went straight to
Midget’s heart and almost stopped its beating.

in a moment poor Midge was hugged tightly in the arms of a little girl whe
exclaimed, between laughing and crying, “You dear, darling, naughty, bad,
wicked cat! How dare you come to see the parade all by yourself?”

With a delicious feeling of safety Midge nestled in her little mistress’s
arms, and never once opened her eyes until she was home in Vinton.

-—-MINNA STEIN Woon.






aistopnns

Rhee,








Pe.







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®
: Wishes \Without Beart.

we WISH you a happy New Year, mamma,” cried Belle, as she bounded
faq down-stairs on New Year’s morning. “A happy New Year to you,
ax grandma! Lots of Happy New Years to you, baby!” she added, kissing
the baby’s soft cheek. .

“Does my little girl know how to help make the New Year a happy
one to us all?” asked her mother.

“Oh, yes!” snapped Belle, pettishly, “by being a good girl, of course.
That’s what you always say.” And I don’t know what more she might have
said, but just then she heard her father and brother coming in, and ran to meet
them and be the first to give them the greetings of the season. “A happy New
Year to you, papa! A Happy New Year to you, brother Will!”

“I’m going out to slide till school-time,” she said, after breakfast,

“I wish you'd sew these buttons on to my gloves,” said her father. “I want
them to wear this morning, and your mother is dressing the baby,”

“Oh, dear!” pouted Belle, throwing down her hood, and going in search of
needle and thread, “that’s always the way. I never can have any fun as other
girls do.”

“Wont you wear your cloak to school instead of your shawl?” grandma
asked Belle, not long after. “I like the shawl so much to put over my shoulders
these cold days.”

“Well, yes, I suppose I can,” was the ungracious reply. “The cloak is so
old and faded that it looks like a fright, and the shawl is new and pretty.”

And Belle put on her cloak with so much vim that she tore off two buttons
and burst out a buttonhole.

Noon-time came. “I’m as hungry as a bear,” said Belle, coming in from
school.

‘Please hurry off your things and set the table,” said her mother. “Dinner |
is a little behindhand. I’ve had so much to do, and baby has fretted a good
deal.”

“T think it’s too hard to have to study all school-time and work the rest of
the time,” said Belle. “I wish you’d keep a servant to do the housework. I
don’t like it.” :

Baby was fretful after school that night. “She is cutting a tooth,” said
mamma, “and feels badly. Can’t you play with her a little while, Belle, to
amuse her, and help her forget her little aches and pains?”















































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“I don’t think there’s any fun playing with babies,” Belle said, crossly.
“They don’t know anything. Come along, then, if you must, you little bother,”
and Belle took her so roughly, and spoke so crossly, that baby just made up a
lip and cried aloud.

“Come and have a game of checkers with me, Belle,” said Will, after tea,

“Oh, checkers!, You always want to play checkers, and you know I hate
‘em. I'll play Mother Goose with you.” :

“That’s too simple a game,” said Will. “Come, be a good girl, now.”

“I'd rather read,” was the selfish reply.

And so, before twelve hours from the time Belle wished each of the
rest a happy New Year, she had grieved every one of them by her selfish-
ness. How much heart was there in her good wishes, do you think?

P\ew Gear's Gee in [Porea.

/AHE night before New Year's is the Christmas Eve of the boys and girls
\~ of Korea. Instead’ of a jolly old Santa Claus bringing them presents, -
sede? however, they are taught to dread an ugly, old Quayshin, or Devil,
who is lurking around to steal their nice things.

For this occasion, each boy and girl has an entirely new outfit of clothes—
gorgeous red jackets, great, wide, snow-white trousers, padded with cotton, nice
new shoes, daintily turned up at the toes, and gay ribbons to be worn in the
braid of hair which adorns the heads of boys and girls alike.

_ Choice dainties in the way of food and confections are also prepared for
this occasion, and the children are kept awake by their mothers till the new
day comes in, lest this old Quayshin may come and carry off their nice things.
Also, they must not leave their shoes on the door-step as usual, for if they do
the old fellow will try them on and then they will be led into bad luck during
the ensuing year. They must put an oldsieve on the door-step for him to look
into, however, for it is said that the numberless little openings of the sieve so
puzzle the Quayshin that he at once takes himself away, and the boys and girls
are spared the loss of their New Year finery, feast, and good luck.


the t¥aves on the Sea-Shore.








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TOLL on, roll on, you restless waves,

R ‘That toss about and roar;
Why do you all run back again

When you have reached the shore?

Roll on, roll on, you noisy waves,
Roll higher up the strand;

How is it that you cannot pass
That line of yellow sand?

“We may not dare,” the waves reply;
“That line of yellow sand
Is laid along the shore to bound
The waters and the land.

“ And all should keep to time and place,
And all should keep to rule;
Both waves upon the sandy shore,
And little boys at school.”

S
There Was a Litile Guinea-Pig.



HERE was a little Guinea-pig
Who, being little, was not big,

He always walked upon his feet,
And never fasted when he ate.

When from a place he ran away,

- - He never at that place did stay;
And while he ran, as I am told,
He ne’er stood still for young or old.

He often squeaked and sometimes vi’lent,
And when he squeaked he ne’er was silent;
Though ne’er instructed by a cat,

He knew a mouse was not a rat.

One day, as I am certified,

He took a whim and fairly died;
And, as I’m told by men-of sense,
He never has been living since.


































































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Ghe @isowned Chicken.

HEN Dame Partlet had sat on her nest of eggs a fortnight, she became
i) weary of such a still life. It was dull to sit day after day in the old
6 barn without any company. Sheheard the other hens talking out-
side in the sun over the merits of beetles and angle-worms.
What a nice long run they had, too, behind the barn, among the wild rose

bushes, all in bloom just then. Surely it was too much to expect of any bird

that she should sit in the shadow all the bright summer day, and perhaps not
hatch a single chick after all,

It was quite different with the robin up in the apple-tree. She had had
such a gay time building her nest to begin with. She sat where the sun could
reach her. She could look out on her neighbors while her mate brought her
daily bread and whiled away the hours with song.

So Dame Partlet stepped down from her nest, and left the warm white
eggs. Farmer Burke, observing that she had left her task, put some of the eggs

‘under an old Dorking, who had just begun to sit. She was more surprised than

pleased, at the end of a week,*to hear a little piping voice in the nest.

“Here I was in for a good three week’s rest, out of the way of the noisy
flock,” perhaps she thought, “and now there’s a chick out already. I’ve never
brought off less than five, and I shall sit till my time is out, in spite of this early
bird.”

And when the Dorking strolled off to roll in the sand, to stretch her legs
and to pick up a luncheon, Farmer Burke took the little chicken away. The
old hen went back to her nest. “I must have been dreaming,” she thought, as
es F Pa
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2
she settled herself on the eggs. “No chicken ever hatches under three weeks.”

But what was to be done with the little chicken? Her own giddy mother
refused to receive the charge: she was out among the rose-bushes basking in
the sun, pluming her feathers, and regaling herself upon the banquet that
Sir Black Cochin-China unearthed for her.

Who, then would cover the chicken at night? who scratch for it by day?
“Who would protect it fromcats, and hawks and weasels? Must she shift for
herself? The old bantam was small, but her heart was large. She felt for
chickens; perhaps she remembered when she was young herself, and liked to
creep under the wing. Just then she saw with regret that her own brood had
outgrown her.

Some of them were larger than herself already, they could scratch for
themselves now. They no longer obeyed her call; one or two had even begun
to crow feebly, and they all went to roost at night without heeding her anxious
“cluck.” She followed where they led now, but they went too fast and far
for her,

She wished they had not grown so fast. They no longer needed her care,
and she felt useless and idle.

One day she discovered the chicken trying to keep itself warm in the sun.
She took it under her care without ado; here was some one who needed her.
Happy moment.

—Mary N. Prescott.







































































































































































































































































































































































































































Bach vitus

| Dancing Harleguin
| MB, a)





Dancing Dear.

| J Vint ning’
| fimusement

low to make Pardboard, oye | | : |

ROR TES een om








MAMMA, the long winter evenings have come again,” cried
little May one night, as she sat in her little rocker by the fire.
“What shall we do with them? My hands must do some.
thing, and my head feels as if it would fly off just because 1
have nothing to do.”

“Why can we not have a game of authors?” said mamma.

“Oh, no, mamma, | don’t like authors,” replied May.

“Get out om toys, then, and I am sure you will find something

to amuse you,” suggested mamma again.

“Oh, no, they are all the same ola things and I have played with
them over and over again until I am tired.”
‘«Well,” said mamma, “this is a desperate case; what shall we

do? Why can we not make some toys ourselves—some new ones a

“Oh, yes, mamma, that is just the thing; that is something new, and while
we are making them we can amuse ourselves, and when they are finished we
shall play with them. What shall we make first?” cried May, clapping her
hands with joy.

“Let me think,” said mamma. ‘I believe a harlequin will be as well as
anything, as it is easy to make.”

“What is a harlequin, mamma?” said little May, aghast at the long word.

Mamma smiled a little as she replied: ‘“Avharlequin, May, is a dancing
image; you have seen them in the toy stores, though I do not think I ever



bought you one.”
May’s face brightened at her mamma's explanation of the word, and she

_ was eager to begin.

“Get me some stiff card- aaa and my large shears, some twine and some-
thing to make little holes with,” said mamma.

“May quickly brought the desired articles and the work began.

“The first thing to do,” said mamma, ‘Gs to trace the outline on the card-
board. I have here some patterns which I got yesterday. These will show us
just what to do. Now trace the outline figure A on this card-board—there, that

is done. Next make the little holes which are shown in the cut—there, that is

done. The next thing is to string it; this is really the hardest part, May, and
we must be very careful. You must do this with fine twine, and tie a knot in

the twine each time you put two parts together, and rivet the joints, as a car-

penter would say. A string isa peculiar rivet, is it not? Now that we have
it all joined together the next thing is to make the arms and legs appear
animated.”

“What is animated?” cried May, a little dismayed at some of the long
words her mother was using.

“Animated means lively, May. We can make the- figure appear lively by
passing a string through the little holes above the rivets and fastening them
together with knots, as you see in figure B. Now that we have done this we
will pull down the string, as shown in figure C, and our harlequin will throw out
his arms and legs, and the faster we pull the harder he will dance; there, is not
that nice?”

May was so delighted with the harlequin that the next night she wanted
her mamma to show her how to make something else. After supper was over
and they were seated around the fire her mamma said: “What shall we make
to-night, May?”

“IT was reading about a bear this afternoon,” said May, “and I wondered if
we could not make one.”

“I think this will not be very hard,” said-mamma, “We will need the
same kind of material that we had last night. The first thing is to cut out the
body of the bear, and that happens to be shown in the diagram No. 2,
Then let us cut out the arms and legs; you see in making the bear we do not
have nearly so many pieces as we had in the harlequin last night. Make the
holes in the arms and legs; fasten them to the body with a rivet of string, just
as we did before; then through the little holes in the upper part of the limbs
pass another string, one on each side of the body, letting them hang down so
they can be taken hold of, and there you have the bear complete, as in figure
B. We will make this large; let us make it about twelve inches high, and it
will be quite a bear.”

The bear was made and May was highly pleased with it. “But. mamma,
can we not put hair on it and make it a real bear?” said May.

“No, May, we cannot put hair on it, but we can paint it black if you wish.
Let us take a little bit of burnt sienna shaded with sepia and black, as that will
be the best color to paint the bear. Wecan paint all of our toys if you wish,” _
said mamma; “‘and let me see how gay a coat you can give your harlequin to-
morrow.” ;

The bear and the harlequin afforded amusement for several days, but a
few nights later little May was anxious to try some other toy.

“What shall it be?” said mamma.

“Almost anything,” said May.






“Let us try a parrot, then; and while we cannot make a parrot that will
‘talk we can make one that will flap his wings.”
May laughed at the idea of making a parrot that could flap his wings.
“Get my card-board and string, May,” said mamma, “and we will have a
parrot in just a jiffy. The first thing is to cut out the head, body, tail and
perch all in one piece, just as you see it here. We will have to have our parrot
ona perch, of course. Then let us cut out the wings, make the little holes,
just as we have done in the other toys, fasten them on the body by means of a
strong thread, and here we have the parrot ready to fly,” and mamma pulled
down the string and the parrot spread its wings.
“Now we must paint this nicely. Let us see, what color shall we give it?”
said mamma. cy

‘He must have green on his head and red on his body,” said May.

“You may paint the parrot to suit yourself,” said mamma, ‘‘and let us see
how like a real parrot you can make it.”

The harlequin, bear and parrot furnished little M y amusement for many
nights, but she was very much interested in making a larger number of toys,
and suggested to her mamma that they make a whole menagerie in that way.
Mamma was pleased to see the interest little May took in making toys, and so
readily consented to help her further. A few nights afterward, as they sat
around the fire, May said: ‘Mamma, let us make some more toys.”

“Very well,” said mamma, “let us make.a sailor with a wooden leg, playing
on a violin.” -

May laughed at the idea of a sailor put wasready to begin. Material was
brought and mamma said: ‘Now firs: trace head and body in one piece, the
legs and arms and bow in another, as in figure A.”

“But-the sailor cannot dance and fiddle, too,” said May, ‘can he, mamma?
He cannot fiddle and make both arms go.”

“We will easily fix that, said mamma. ‘Fasten the legs to the body,
_just as we have done before; fasten the one arm to the shoulder with a string
rivet, and then place the bow upon the fiddle; then on the back attach the legs
at the top with a string; then put a string in the hole at the upper part of the
arm, and your sailor is ready to fiddle and dance.”

“But, mamma, he can dance and he can fiddle, but he does not look like
a sailor,” said May

“Tet us see 71 we can paint him so he will,’ said mamma. The paints
were brought ana mamma soon changed the head so it looked like a sailor's
head and face with a hat.on it. The body was painted so as to bring out
the violin as we see it in figure B, and May added a one-legged sailor playing a

violin to her collection.
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The next night little May said: “Oh, mamma, I saw a horse kick a dog
to-day, and I wonder if we could make a toy like that.”

Mamma smiled and said: ‘After having made that one-legged sailor that
could play a violin I think we can make almost anything in the way of toys.”
So material was got ready.

“But let us make a donkey instead of a horse,’ said mamma, “because
donkeys kick harder. First let us draw head, body and the fore legs as we see
them in figure five. Then let us cut out the hind legs as we have them, let us
fasten the hind legs to the body with our string rivet, put a hole in the little
opening we have left for it, and see-our donkey kick.”

May clapped her hands with glee. ‘But where is the dog, mamma?” said
she.
“We will have to fix that,” said mamma.

So a dog was cut out in one piece, as shown in the figure, a string was
fastened behind and pulled, and the poor little dog went over and over as we
see it in the cut. i

“Now paint your donkey and dog whatever color you want,” said mamma,
“and you will have another toy.”

The next night May said: “Why can we not make an elephant—make a
regular Jumbo?”

“I think we can,” said mamma, ‘“‘and as Jumbo was the largest elephant
that was ever seen in America we will have to make our elephant large. Let
us make him at least sixteen inches long”

May brought the card-board and mamma said: “Cut out the body and
legs all in one piece, as shown in figure six; then cut head and trunk from
another piece, the tail from another, fasten the head to the body with our
string rivet, just as we have done before, and fasten the tail in the same way.
Next put the string through the tail and through the ear, where we have left
an opening; make this string just a little bit tight; tie a thread at the middle
of this string and pull down upon it.” May did so, and was surprised to see
the elephant throw up its head and tail just as she had seen live elephants do.

Mamma took the elephant in her hand and held it between the lamp ‘ang
wall, What was little May’s surprise to see the shadow of a great big elephant
cast upon the wall, and when mamma pulled the string and the elephant threw
up its great big head and tail, little May thought it was just the finest toy she
had made yet. an)

Little May was proud of the toys she had made and amused herself with
them for many days, but bye and bye she wanted something new, and after
coming from the store one day with her mamma she said: “Oh, mamma,
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could we not make a Chinaman—just such a one as we saw in the shop to-day?”

Mamma said: ‘Perhaps we can; we will try, at least, and so you may get
the material.” ;

May brougat the shears, string and card-board as her mamma requested.
“The Chinaman we saw,” said mamma, “was drinking tea from a cup and there
was a little stand in front of him. I don’t know whether we can make this or
not, but let us try. First we will cut the stand and body of the Chinaman,
all but one arm, from one piece. Now we will cut the arm holding up the cup
from another piece, fasten the arm to the elbow with the string, attach the
thread to the little opening near the joint and pull down.” May did so, and
was more delighted than ever to see the cup of tea placed up to the Chinaman’s
mouth as though he were drinking. Her mamma painted a fancy Chinese
costume, cut out the unnecessary card-board, and the toy was complete. But
this was not enough; little May wanted something else, and something like the
Chinaman, shetold her mamma. Her mamma thought that perhaps they could
make a Scotchman fishing. May laughed at the idea, but so many things had
been made from card-board she began to think it would be an easy matter to
make almost anything.

“First,” said mamma, “we must cut head, body and legs of the Scotchman
from one piece, just as shown in figure eight. Then we must cut one arm and
a fishing-rod from another piece. Then cut a fish from still another, tie the
fish to the rod by means of a string, fasten the arm to the elbow the same as
we did with the Chinaman, attach the thread to the opening near the joint and
pull down quickly.” May did so and up came a fish. The toy was painted,
and little May spent many happy hours playing with her Chinaman and
Scotchman

We might tell you how many other toys were made, but it is not necessary ;
now we want our little readers to go right on with the making of card-board toys
and see how many can be made; horses can be made to gallop, dogs to wag
their tails; in fact, almost any animal, bird or insect can be made with just a
little care and thought. This will not only afford amusement to our young
‘readers, but will be a valuable study for them.


am TRANG & APYENTUR

B LMMAGS Wa iG
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©ittle franz.

~ HE waters of Lake Lucerne splash against the shore,
lapping the rocks at the steps leading up to Tell’s Chapel.
Stand here now at the brink of the blue lake and look up
at the grassy slopes of the mountains, dotted with the
blossoms of spring. Here and there one sees a nest of

chalets built close together under the shadow of some
boulder rocks. Then follow the ridge of the mountain above until the eye
rests on a tiny speck some hundreds of yards beyond the village. This is the
chalet where Franz lives with poor old grandmere.

Franz minds the goats for the neighbors in the village below. He has
much to do and little to eat, for he shares his small earnings with grandmere,
who is now bedridden, and sighs as she thinks: ‘We are so poor, and now I
am helpless! Who will love my Franz when I am no longer here?”

The neighbors sometimes came to see her. They gave her plenty of
advice, and some scolded her for keeping the lad with her.

“But for him,” they said, ‘we could manage to take you home with us.”

To grandmere, during the long summer days, as she lay with her face
turned to the tiny window overlooking the lake, the voice of the boy warbling «
the Swiss yode/ far up the heights was the most delightful music in the world.

“I taught him myself. Only our family can yodel high like that. Ah!
there it is! I could fancy I myself were young again, for it is spring. Alas!
- when one is old the voice gets thin, but perhaps I don’t do badly for ninety-
four.”

Franz was not always idle when far away on the heights. He inherited a
gift for carving, and worked away to make a few more centimes for erandmere.
A man in the village below bought all the small things he could make. Franz
loved him with grateful fervor. How should he know, since no one told him,
the value of his work? This crafty man considered the child a treasure- trove,
and received him with open arms.

Thus life passed on with grandmere and Franz; but one May evening, as
Franz came singing to the chalet door, he was eorionied by his uncle and aunt,
who glared at him with unfriendly eyes.

‘T tell thee, grandmere, I will take no denial!” a the man, roughly,
speaking in a loud tone. ‘Wehave come for thee. The authorities are on our
side. Thou art bedridden. It shall not be said that we neglect thee.”

“And Franz?” inquired grandmere.


Her grandson shrugged his shoulders. ‘We have nine children, and little
enough for them to eat.”

Grandmere cared nothing for herself, but for Franz—she prayed that she
might not die before she had been able to find a home for her darling.

Her bright eyes saw much more than her grandchildren intended she should
see. Their greedy eyes were turned continually on the one valuable object
the chalet possessed—a beautifully carved chest which always stood by
the bed, so near that grandmere could touch it with her hand as she
lay thinking of her husband, whose masterpiece it had been seventy years
ago.

“It is still here,” said the granddaughter, with a meaning look at her
husband. .

“Worth a hundred francs at least,’ he said ina low tone, quite sure that
any one so old as grandmere must be a little deaf.

‘‘Aha, so that is what brings them here!” decided grandmere. ‘Well, we
shall see.”

“Now we are here,” said the woman, suavely, “let us carry dear grandmere
home with us. She is so light I can carry her alone, and thou, Carl, wilt bring
her wardrobe in the chest on your back.” .

“Good!” said he, briskly. ‘Where is the grandmere’s cloak?”

‘Not so fast,” said grandmere, deliberately. ‘I must have time to get used
to the thought of leaving my home. I have lived here almost a century. Leave
me awhile. When your hay is gathered and your harvest garnered you may
come again. If I am still here carry me where you will.”

Finding that she would not be persuaded, the rude couple went sulkily
away. }

When they were out of sight Franz came and stood beside poor grand-
mere, saying firmly: ‘Grandmere, they will be cruel to thee! I will not let
thee go to them.”

“If thou wert only a man, my Franz!” sighed the poor old woman.

“T am big, said he, “and strong. I will put thee on my sled, grandmere,
and run away with thee sooner than let that cruel woman take thee away from
me.”

Grandmere’s black eyes suddenly shone with a curious light. ‘Dost
think, Franz, thou couldst push me on thy sled to the valley?”

“Yes!” cried the lad. “Let me show thee!” He lifted her from her
pillows. ‘See, I can lift thee, thou dear light, little grandmere!”

After this the grandmere was silent. She was not thinking much of
herself, but her heart was full of the boy. Then she looked at the ragged little
lad and shook her head.

*
“For the village,” she said, “he must have some trousers of one color.
_ The boys would laugh at him. What is there left of my wardrobe? Pull the
chest to the light.”

As the lad obeyed he saw the exquisite carving .on the front panel—the
chamois wreathed with garlands of edelweiss.

“OQ, grandmere, how beautiful! Oh, to carve like that!”

“No one can,” said grandmere, solemnly. “My husband did that before
he was twenty years old. Open the box and give me the gown you will see
therein.”

Franz took out the old, worn gown—grandmere’s best forty years ago—and
then sat down and stared his fill at the chest.

It gave him ideas, and up on the mountain, with the sky and the wind, one
has so much time to think out a suggestion! So it was with Franz.

“I have made you some trousers,” said she, holding them out to Franz
some weeks later? Yes, weeks; for often when Franz was out on the mountain
with his goats the needle would slip from the aching fingers and lose itself
from grandmere’s view, or, as the sun shone on the small chalet, the aged
woman would fall into a dream of her youth and forget the urgent need of
haste.

One day a neighbor came panting up the mountain-side.

“Your grandson is coming for you in two days,” said she, “and of course
Franz can no longer mind the goats. He cannot live alone up here.”

Grandmere nodded. When the neighbor was gone she began to laugh, and
then she felt very tired and fell asleep.

When Franz came home grandmere was very wide awake indeed. The
boy thought she had suddenly grown twenty years younger. She was even
able to move herself without much help, though she had been bedridden so
long.
“Grandmere, are you getting well again?” cried the delighted child.

“Yes, | am getting well,” she smiled. “Perhaps—who knows?—my wings
are growing.”

The next morning, while the stars still shone in the sky, grandmere awoke
little Franz. She had managed to get up and dress herself, and was now put-
ting on her shawl.

“Make haste, Franz; it is time to start.”

The lad sprang up, laughing with joy. He put on the new trousers with
pride, and ran to dip his yellow head in the brawling stream near by,

‘We are ready now,” said grandmere, with a long, loving look at the dark
chalet where her life had passed so tranquilly. “Are you sure you can take us,
Franz?”
“Us” meant the chest, grandmere’s fortune, and herself. “For when we
sell the chest,” thought grandmere, “we shall be rich. A hundred francs! Good!
Those greedy ones shall not touch a centime of it.”

Franz harnessed himself to his grandfather's old hand-sled, which he had
found in the stable. Grandmere and the chest were placed comfortably upon
the seat. It was well that the load was not very heavy, for Franz could hardly
propel the sled over the rough mule track, and sometimes, where the path
was steep and free of stones, he found it difficult to keep his charge from running
away from him. Poor, old grandmere would fly up and down out of her seat
as the sled bumped over the stones, but she did not complain.

At mid-day the villagers by the lake-side were roused to keen interest. In
the midst of the stony street was a hand-sled, on which was seated an aged
woman leaning against a superbly-carved chest. Little yellow-haired Franz
held the handles of the sled—a quaint-looking object in his short velvet trousers,
cobbled with white thread, and his huge wooden shoes.

‘Here we are,” said grandmere, who had very fine manners. Franz nodded
gayly.

As the village folk crowded about them grandmere assumed an authori-
tative air.

“Send for Pierre Hart, the carver,” said she.

Hardly had she spoken than a burly old man forced the people aside.

“Whai; Grandmere Puget!” he cried, heartily embracing the old woman.

Grandmere pointed to the chest. “Arnaud Puget’s work is for sale,” she |

said, ina grandtone. ‘You remember I promised to let you know—”

“Precisely! Let us go. I will pay you the hundred francs at once before
the notary,” replied Pierre, almost ready to embrace the graceful chamois,
which seemed springing from the chest, so life-like was its pose.

Grandmere’s black eyes sparkled with pride, as every tongue began to
exclaim in admiration of her husband’s beautiful work.

“At ninety-four,” she said, boldly, “one has no time to wait. To the
notary, old friend.” :

As they moved on grandmere had much to say to Pierre Hart, who belonged
to sixty years of her past. Then came a long hour with the notary. Grand-
mere received her money and made her will before.she allowed Pierre to carry
her to his comfortable home.

A few days later there was a great hurly-burly in the village. The surly
grandson arrived with his scolding wife. They tried to get hold of Franz, in
order to punish him for running away with grandmere, but Pierre Hart stepped
between the child and the angry couple.

&
Ne

‘

ta

“Tam his guardian,” said he. “He is in my workshop, and his work will
one day rival that of the famous Arnaud. Address yourself to me, now that
grandmere is no more able to protect him.”

They did address themselves to him, and so vigorously that it was neces-
sary to call in the gendarme, who ordered them to leave the village, never to
return.

Grandmere knew nothing about it. Her work was done. Her little Franz
had a home, and now she was wandering in dreams of her youth, with Arnaud
beside her, on the flowery slopes, living in a perpetual spring.

—ADaA M. TROTTER.







xml record header identifier oai:www.uflib.ufl.edu.ufdc:UF0008737400001datestamp 2008-10-29setSpec [UFDC_OAI_SET]metadata oai_dc:dc xmlns:oai_dc http:www.openarchives.orgOAI2.0oai_dc xmlns:dc http:purl.orgdcelements1.1 xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.openarchives.orgOAI2.0oai_dc.xsd dc:title Fairy folks and Mother Goose melodies dc:subject Animals -- Juvenile literaturePets -- Juvenile literatureChildren's storiesChildren's poetryChildren -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literatureConduct of life -- Juvenile literatureChildren's stories -- 1898Children's poetry -- 1898dc:description illustrated with special designs.Frontispiece printed in colors.dc:publisher W.B. Conkey Companydc:date c1898dc:type Bookdc:format 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 27 cm.dc:identifier http://www.uflib.ufl.edu/ufdc/?b=UF00087374&v=00001002223360 (ALEPH)262616999 (OCLC)ALG3609 (NOTIS)dc:source University of Floridadc:language English