Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Fairy folks and Mother Goose...
 Back Cover

Title: Fairy folks and Mother Goose melodies
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00087374/00001
 Material Information
Title: Fairy folks and Mother Goose melodies charming stories intended to instruct and amuse little ones
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 27 cm.
Language: English
Creator: W.B. Conkey Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: W.B. Conkey Company
Place of Publication: Chicago ;
New York
Publication Date: c1898
Subject: 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
Statement of Responsibility: illustrated with special designs.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00087374
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223360
notis - ALG3609
oclc - 262616999

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Front Matter
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Fairy folks and Mother Goose melodies
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
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    Back Cover
        Page 110
        Page 111
Full Text




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Fairy Folks and Mother Goose Melodies

charming stories intended to instruct
and amuse the Little Ones.

Copyright 1898, by w. B. Conkey Company.

W. B. CONKEY COMPANY, Publishers,

^he f airie' Ia llC .

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 in church. 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 at a 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 he can 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,
Sheer up," and the dance
S,, begins.
The big spider over in
S t an old tree-top is the fairies'
S 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.
\Vell., randnai, they dance and dance till they're tired,
Si l II then th -v h \'e supper; eating violets and
i, ''" lily-b-ell- and drinking dew-drops from
acorn-cups. They are so merry with their
i J,: laughing and singing,
that some little bunnies,
S who have not gone to
bed, scamper away
11,home to tell their mam-
mas; the quail wake up
S*. and call: "Bob White,
i;, Bob White," and that
starts the squirrels, who
chatter: "C h e st n ut,
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,

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. As I 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.

SBa'a, %-.J/
k.-^ us' -y- &

sewing bong.
HAVE a little servant
With a single eye,
She always does my bidding
Very faithfully;
But she eats me no meat,
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.

Being a Iman.
EFORE a boy has doffed his kilt
He wants a sword with a flashing
He must manage a train, though it
be of chairs,
He must beat a drum, he must hunt for
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
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.

-EMMA C. Dowo.

A Dog and a Cat
Went Out Together.

A DOG and a cat went out together,
To see some friends just out of town;
Said the cat to the dog,
"What d'ye think of the weather?"
"I 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.

M Y father he died, but I / '1
can't tell you how;
He left me six horses to ,. '*
drive in my plough; .
With my wing, wang,
waddle ,.
Jack sing saddle O, '.
Blowsey boys bubble 0,
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;
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.

S I sold my calf, and I bought me a cat;
A pretty thing she was, in my chimney
With my, etc.

I sold my cat, and bought me a
He carried fire in his tail, and burnt
down my house;
With my, etc.

S\ )eek of ( ah nk giving.

ISS 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
Sa reproof. This morning, however, she escaped, and when
SMiss Eunice took off her spectacles, it was only to say, in an
annoyed tone:
"I 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 for it. 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 trying' 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-
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

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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 off for the saw, saying:
"'Scuse me, ma'am, I'm kinder beat out this morning been watching' all
night with a sick critter, and I set down to file the saw and kinder lost my-
Here's your file," 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 noses, 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-
I 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
nothing' inside of him but cold pancakes."
"Cold pancakes!" said Miss Eunice, incredulously.
"Yes'm; my old woman's over to Cap'n Cady's making' sassidge and trying'
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. I s'pose you gave him that extra chop. I call that encour-
aging drunkenness."
"Well, I call it discouraging 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

wouldd reach, and I begun to-day. I am giving thanks that John ain't a poor,
tipsy, old toper, and that breakfast was my thank-offering.
Miss Eunice went slowly to the pantry to put away her eggs, remarking to
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 seen in 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.
I 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, spreading a garment on her lap. "I thought
I'd get at it and work 'em up before the moths got into 'em, but it seems most
a pity to cut '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
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."

"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 I 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 all the week. He might have sent some word and
said he was sorry not to have us come over, but I s'pose 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. A big, good-
S 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 meeting' 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.
"I declare," said Miss Eunice, "if that ain't a real ingenious contrivance!
I reckon we will have to go, after all, seeing' 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

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
wrote 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 getting 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,
I 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
to smash. 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."

Babes in the Wood.

Whose names I don't know,.
-..As I've hed pple sy.

-And when it was night,
So sd ws teir -'-pliht,

Y Thear, do you know,
They sow a long time ago,
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.

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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B-es_ -m -
Bless You, Bless You. -5 -----

Bless you, bless you, burnie bee;
Say, when will your 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.

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.

hc f ox anc the ( eese.

-FOX came once to a meadow, where a herd of fine fat geese
were enjoying themselves. "Ah," he said, laughing, "I am just
in time. They are so close together that I can come and fetch
them one after another easily,"
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 is a 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, in a
terrible fright, quickly made his escape, not, however, without being seen.

"We must hunt that fox to-morrow," said the master, as they drove the
geese home to safe quarters. And so the cunning fox was outwitted by a

A pamik @Pum gorp5.

LITTLE man bought him a big
brass drum;
"Who knows," said he, "when a
war will come?"
"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."

He got all his children little snare drums;
S And they'd practice as soon as they'd fin-
ished their sums.
"We're just like our papa!" in chorus said
"And if we should ever get into the fray,
Why, it's safer to thump than to fight any

And, showing her spirit, the little man's
With some of her pin-money purchased a
And, picking out tunes that were not very
They'd play them while marching around
the back yard,
Without for one's feelings the slightest re-

The little old parson, who lived next door-
Would throw up his hands, as he walked the
"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-

All of the people for blocks around-
Kept time at their tasks to the martial
While children to windows and stoops would
Expecting to see a procession pass by,
And they couldn't make out why it never
drew nigh,
With its boom-tidera-da-boom-a-diddle-

It would seem such vigor would soon abate;
But they still keep at it, early and late;
So, if it should be that a war breaks out,
They'll all be ready, I have no doubt,
To hel in putting the foe to rout,
With their boom-tidera-da-boom-

Girls and Boys Come Out to Play.

GIRLS and boys come out to play,
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!

Good Dobbin.

O H! 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.

ffhe @5forj of pip )an winkle.

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
of Peter Stuyvesant, the good Dutch Governor of New York.
There were, a few years ago, some of the houses of the first
settlers standing, built of the same small, yellow bricks
brought from Holland, with latticed windows and gable fronts
-.f 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
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
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 on a 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

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
rusted 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. As he entered the village a group of children ran
at his heels, hooting at him and pointing to his long, gray beard. The .1
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 hill and 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 -.e to decay,
the roof had fallen in, the windows were shattered, the doors were oli the
hinges, a half-starved dog was skulking about. Rip called to him. but the cur

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 and children. 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. Rip, 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 with a 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
come there in search of some of his neighbors, wvho used to be about the
a 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




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 her arms, who began to cry at the sight
of the man. She said: "Hush, Rip, hush, the old man wont hurt you." This
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?

Good Kiing A r:/::'r.

I 1. .* -I 1

He was a goodly king;
He bought three pecks of barley-meal,
To make a bag-pudding.

A bag-pudding the king did make,
And stuffed it well with plums;
/ / Jr~i ',. I !
[ ','t '/i .t II f

S i ,**,9 j / "

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.

I Saw Three Ships.



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1...' .- _.~ ,f l
3. ^'- .. I ,.
'*' ^A
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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

And-what do you think was
in them then?
Was in them then, was
in them then?
And what do you think was
in them then?
New Year's Day in the

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.

7oh7n 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,
hec, hair, hum;
S ..' The mare she be-'an to
'kick and to prank,
hee, hee, ha%%-, hum.

,hee, ha, :ihum.

hee, haw, hum;
t '.

If you want any more, you may sing it yourself,
hee, haw, hum.

\ l -. -.

-hee, haw -, -hum;

His mare fell down and made her will,
hee, haw, hum.
bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf,
hee, haw, hum;

I you want any more, you may sing it yourself,
hee, haw, hum.

T 1laleaihx in the JhrseI.,

Twas a cold -and rainy day. Polly, Puss, Jess and Will stood by the
nursery window, watching the rain. Baby Ned was asleep on nurse's lap.
"I wish we could go for a walk," said Jess.
SSo do I," said Polly: I just love to go out in the rain."
"But nurse will never let us go," complained Will.
"No, indeed; you would every one take cold and be sick," said nurse. "You

ought to be glad you have such a nice, warm place to stay in. Think how many
nice things you have to play with. A good many little children have no good
home or nice playthings."
"But we have played
everything we know, and
m.'-;, : we are awful tired staying
S ."I. .,i in," said Puss.
S"I wish mamma did not
have company; then she
r1 .f....a.r:- '*i/ would come and play with
I' tus," said Polly.
en e "You might get up
"- some tableaux,' suggest.
'ednurse. "Youhavenot
S'' done that for a long
._. "Oh, yes; that willbe
,,,- splendid," cried Jess.
., i ,..1 Even Will, who thought
I he was too large a boy to
'.take a part in girls' plays,
agreed that it would be
4 fun.
SBaby Ned woke up, and
( .. '"-- then nurse could help
.? -:. -'. them. She set him on the
Ni sofa to play with a mug
S* i"-, and spoon. She arranged
'-',,, the screen in front of
-- ;'". ,' one corner, and brought
out some shawls and other
-:- ". ,, things for them to dress
with. They arranged the
.- -.tableaux behind the
:+ screen, then nurse pulled
it away. She and baby
SNed were the audience.
The Sleeping Beauty was the first tableau. Jess was sleeping on a couch
made of a bright shawl. She was covered up with a white lace curtain, and had

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.



* '"., A"
,'', ,',',: .. .
` *** *


M 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
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 I'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
He put the halter round her neck-so Moss caught his

_Moss fWas a Little Man.

The Frogs' Chorus.

SAVAUP, 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."

/ I N

"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."

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Y61 t lg 0] y1

41 eipy 1i e Geivk\flI' I tkP ycu 11un t klo wr

he Mouse, the ired and the ausage.

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
g 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.
So it happened one day that the little bird had ,
met in his road another bird, to which he had i; '
boasted of their happiness and friendship at j
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 is 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
S .-.._' 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
,, r',thought this was a happy life.
The next day the little bird objected to go
/ "' and fetch wood, saying, "That he had been their
S F, 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."
Thebird was master, so he proposed that they should draw lots, and the lots
fell so that the sausage was to fetch the wood, 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

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
,,'"' i,' ,, j d ied .
-"_*K'1'_ When the little bird came home there was
'A I'I~.' no cook to be seen and the fire was nearly out.
The bird, in alarm, threw the wood here and
there, cried out and searched everywhere, but
';-i 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.

d Jimis jicew (ea C5.

SAB 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:-
S "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. He had a 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?"
S"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
always aspectss 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: dat's w'at I jes' doan see my way clar to git for New Year's, which am to-
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 7im. 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 at a
racing pace.
a 21D

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 to a 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 I
never knew him to do anything worse than fight/ I've seen him lick boot-blacks
and newsboys more than once-for abusing' 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 morning Most o' the boot-blacks do a rushin' bizness
on Sunday, but he don't. Leastways, not round here."
"Well, I was a thinking"'-said the Colonel deliberately-when spoke up
"Anything in my line? I am 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
to gold I've taken a fancy to help black Jim make a happy New Year for those

'younguns' he spoke of. I am tired of everything that money can buy!-It will
S 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 in the 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 in all the 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 on a 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
losses fo' de las' time dis season, I jess gagedd 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!"
"O, 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' open 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

"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 terrible bad
sign. De white hoss always 'pears fo' a deft 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, for I doan bleebe de Lord goin' sen' for meyit. Leastwise, not till
arter awhile. I can't un'erstan' it, how I cum to dream o' de white hoss, an'
good luck coming' 'stead o' bad fortin. Yo' orter say your praars mighty nice
tonight, honey."
"So 'yo kin, gran'dad, wid tanks, fo as Ise walking' 'long I meets Mr. Santa
Claus, an' he says to me, 'See here, Jim, Ise got a bag o' baccyy an' a pipe fo'
yo' gran'dad at las', po' ole man! Gib him my aspects 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
aspects, so dere dey is, daddy. White or black hosses, you's 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 baccyy, an' yo' know dem chillen broke gran'dad's pipe blowing'
soap bubbles to-day. Yo' can say to Mr. Santa Claus Ise berry much 'bleeged
S to 'im. Ise berry much 'bleeged to 'im, dat I is! 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 on the floor right over the stove, to keep them warm. After that Jim and
Mamrry had a chance to dress the belated Christmas tree. It bloomed out
gorgeously 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 shelter,
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
S 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

was to be kept a secret from grandad, 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 the 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 things 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 kim! Da's a 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 the roof. 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 w'at Santa Claus ben doin' while weuns all sleeping ? Dat ole ras-
cal he got in heah widout me known' notin' 'bout it, 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
"'Deed I dusn't, mammy, unless it be de Colonel. He so rich, folks say he
done know wat to do wid his money. I done care who sen' 'em, I'se much
obleeged, I is. 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 presuriable 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 '11 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 in a 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.

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 w'at yo' dream. If I dreams o' weddin's, it
means funals; if I dreams o' swimming' it means drownin'. If 1 dream yo' well,
it mean yo' goin' be sick, an' wiser werser. Yo' see w'at 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 slops out
'is legs behind' 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, w'en we slabes, eberyting a comin' an' a
goin' 'cordin' to de dreams; an' people cast 'spells' on udder people for der
health. I seed folks die under a bewichin' 'spell!' 'Deed I has! 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,
S arrayed in his new suit. "'Pears to me, gran'dad, dat luck o' mine yo' talking'
'bout alreadyy 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 himself,
S 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 a man 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 '; 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
w ell. 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 a distant relationship to him," replied the Colonel,
"Can you read, Jim?"
"Yes, sir."
"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 want a 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 it, cos Mammy and de
- chilluns can't git nuff t' eat widout my wuk, sah. I'se berry much 'bleeged, 'deed
I 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."

The WVinds They Did Blow.

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THE 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.

Thie Zvor/ll W'in c.

THE north wind doth blow,
And we shall have 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.

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.

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.

Little (Tclds capture.

ED had never mentioned it, but he really intended to be a poilce-
man when he grew up. He was sure he would like 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 teeth 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 and ran up the walk straight toward Ted, who
was so busy watching them that he forgot he had left the fish-pole about six
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

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.

Season in eeographV

LESSON in geography,
With all the states to bound"
My boys grew sober in a trice,
And shook their heads and
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 mel"
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 gladly 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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T was watch night down at Smith-
ville, in the lovin' land o' Lee,
Whar the people's jes' as clever
as the Lord 'ud hav' 'em be;
Whar the sweet ole songs o' Zion
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 watching' New Year coming' 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 waiting let's
sing a hymn or two,
An' then get up and tell us what the Lord has
done fer you."

"Amazin' Grace" cum ringin' out; the bro-
ther pitched it high,
As if he thought the folks was deaf on otherr
side the sky.
"Sing louder, brotherin', louder yit!" the
leader sed, sed he:
"Ferthat'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!"

When he got thru' we had a pra'r, thea
Williams tuk the stan';
Sed he: "I feel to-night I'm still bound fer
the promise' 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 running' fer thar ain't no
man kin buy.
An' I'm bound to be elected: but that son o'
mine-hit's him
I'm thinking' of-he's sheriff, an' I'm feared
his chance is slim!"

"Is the sheriff in the church to-night?" asked
Brother Williams, loud;
An' the people turned to looking' and a
sarchin' thru' the crowd.
"Weel, 'spose he is?" a voice replied, "He
hain't dun nothing' wrong."
"0, no," sez Brother Williams, "'cept to
dodge the Lord so long!"

"I 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
around' that man;
It's a desp'rit case, I tell ye; we must save him
ef we can."

An' they saved him. OleJohn Williams had
a habit, making' prayer,
Of reaching' out wi' both han's an' a beating' o'
the air;
An' it wasn't no exception on this partickler
He got close ter the sheriff an' he hit him left
and right!

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j OX

We'didn't know when New Year cum, nor He kinder looked the worse for wear-jes
when the old went out; used up in the cause-
We just kept on er prayin' till we heard the Fer the way old Williams failed him was a
sheriff shout! caution, so it was;
An' then the meeting' ended, and I've been An' he sed, as if 'twar nothin'-like he tuk
thinking' sence the matter light:
That the sheriff he surrendered in a sort o' "You don't hav' these here beating' pra'rs
self-defence! 'cept only New Year's Night?"

dae~k' new bear 1iant.
HE holidays were ended. The little candles on the Christmas tree
had burned out. The visit to grandma's was over and the New Year
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 them in his school-bag and trot back to
"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
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."


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OTHER, can we go sliding on Red Run this afternoon? You
needn't be afraid, mother; the ice is as hard as-as-"
5Y "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
noisy for mother.
"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."
I 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
S you, Foster, if you are not willing to take her."
"Oh, I'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 p'ayed 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."
"How 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?

i l -ulisten to me?.- -
Who stole four eggs I laid,

Not I, said the cow, moo-oo!

4 TO-WHIT! to-whit! to-whee!

gave ill you listen to me?
SY ho stole four eggs I laid,
But And the nice nest I made

t *

Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! :
Such a thing I'd never do. !' '

Bob-o-link! Bob-o-link!
I gave y ou a wisp of hay, what do you think?
WhoBut did not take our nest away; nest away
Not I, said the cow, moooo! to-day
Such a thing I'd never do. 1:'\'- ...

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

- ---'.*- l

> Not I, said the dog, bow-wow!
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?

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.


1( J



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, .
1-- ---_2-- .-., ..
And went and hid behind the bed; I .i .'
For he stole that pretty nest
From little Robin Redbreast; i-. "
,4 r^--; :-- ;2"-,
And he felt so full of shame
He did not like to tell his name. -"- L

Ripow, Miioge jpQlAe fatw the Q.1.'^.

o. / }Paeade.

:-OW to get to Boston had been the problem of Midge Bartlett's
S life for at least a month.
It was absurd to expect her to stay at home with Nora, who
S shook the broom at her, and called her all sorts of names when
jI'- no one was around, when everybody else had been planning for
"- S weeks and weeks to go and see the great parade.
y 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.


But there were no Vinton people to be seen-not even Miss Twiss.
What should she do? There was nothing to do but to let this harrying
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
S way forward to see what was passing in the street. After a 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 the
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 drum.
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
k Bdo,

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ir_3'!' cc~-rS.
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9~ ~ ~ r1 .-V4-Q A2- -

Surely she was in a doleful plight; and the poor little atom looked piti-
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 who
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.

\)ishe \ ithout Reart.

WISH you a happy New Year, mamma," cried Belle, as she bounded
down-stairs on New Year's morning. "A happy New Year to you,
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.
Noontime came. "I'm as hungry as a bear," said Belle, coming in from
"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
"I 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 ?"

"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?

-Pew Yeap' &ve in Morea.
HE 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,
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 Quayskin 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 old sieve 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 Quayskin 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.


he ,.z aveson ; he Sea-Shore.

i)OLL on, roll on, you restless waves,
S\ 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."


(1 C
-- 9.
--C~ 1- n

There Was a Little Guinea-PPig

.** --; ..

-K '.,' -- _--- -

T 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 violent,
And when he squeaked he ne'er was silent;
__ -. =--_----__.- .,

~ -. .. -- r-g---

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.
ge never has been living since.

(The @isownecd @hieken.
HEN Dame Partlet had sat on her nest of eggs a fortnight, she became
S-weary of such a still life. It was dull to sit day after day in the old
barn without any company. She heard 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
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

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 from cats, 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.

-" ;~g ~~,,,,

tow ,t o l.k e 6ar nd f b n P 6 (os >

.- rIH, MAMMA, the long winter evenings have come again," cried
'' little May one night, as she sat in her little rocker by the fire.
l(; -.-----'-. "What shall we do with them? My hands must do some-
S-, :--'' thing, and my head feels as if it would fly off just because 1
.;-r'*ii" -_ have nothing to do."
-1-; "' "Why can we not have a game of authors?" said mamma.
'Oh, no, mamma, I don't like authors," replied May.
;Get out your toys, thpn, and I am sure you will find something
--' t., a-o-use you," suggested mamma again.
1., "-n-'"Oh, no, they are all the same old things and I have played with
S.j'-ii i-r,- over and over again until I am tired."
i"Well," said mamma, "this is a desperate case; what shall we
"s^ do? Why can we not make some toys ourselves-some new ones?'
"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: "A-harlequin, 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-board 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, "is 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 is a peculiar rivet, is it not? Now that we have

it all joined together the next thing is to make the arms and legs appear
"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?"
"I 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. We can paint all of our toys if you wish,"
said mamma; "and let me see how gay a coat you can give your harlequin to-
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 h-is 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
on a 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.
"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 out was ready to begin. Material was
brought and mamma said: "Now firsL 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
"Let us see 'i 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.

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
"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.
"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 and
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.
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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