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GRANDMOTHER AND HER PETS











QDWORTH,
horn or Woonwonra’s Yourars Caswer.









. — a7»
7 a i ee we ii Sie ei Solel eS







Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852,
By Putiuips, Sampson & Co.,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the District
of Massachusetts.

BTEREOTYPED BY
BILLIN & BROTHERS,
No. 10 Norra Wiixiiam Strreer, N. Y.



| - WRIGHT & HASTY,
.’ Printers, 3 Water Street, Boston.



CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
WHO Is “ouR suE””’ ,

CHAPTER IL
OUR SUE AS A PEACEMAKER

CHAPTER III.
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS

CHAPTER IV.
SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS
2

CHAPTER V.
HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO

CHAPTER VI.
LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’S

CHAPTER VIL
A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS

CHAPTER VIII.

MY GRANDMOTHER’s PETS .



PAGE

12
23
34 |
44
61
70

77





Vl CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IX. PAGE
SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ 83
CHAPTER X.
A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE . 4 ° ° 91

CHAPTER XI.
OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS + + °

CHAPTER XII.

A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME . é ‘ ° —
CHAPTER XIII.

THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW . ; . ° Ss ae
CHAPTER XIV.

THE TITHING-MAN OF OUR PARISH . ‘ ‘ " 7a



ILLUSTRATIONS. “«

GRANDMOTHER AND HER PETS - .+ °° (Frontispiece. )
VIGNETTE TITLE-PAGE ° ; 3
OUR SUE AND HER SISTERS R > > ‘ . 19
MAKING COFFEE . ae « . ‘ ° ° . 55
MY GRANDPARENTS . ‘ ° ° . . ‘ 89
SPRING ° . ° . ° ° . ° > 2
THE QUARREL . , ° ‘ ° ‘ ° . 188
THE OLD TITHING-MAN AND THE BOYS . . . 153



OUR SUE AND HER MOTTO.



CHAP. IL.

WHO IS “OUR SUE?”

““Anp who is our Sue?” I suppose
you will ask. Indeed, I should not
wonder if you had asked the question
already, in your own mind ; and think-
ing it quite likely that your mind will
hot give you a great deal of information
on the subject of that question, I will



8 wHO IS OUR SUE 2

try and throw some light on it my-
self. )
There lived in MY native village,
when I was a boy scarcely as old as
you are, family of children, one of
whom was named Susan—susan Car-
ter. She was the oldest of the chil-
dren, of whom there were three, all
girls. They had a brother once. But
he died when he was @ child. Su-
san was very nearly of my own age.
On that account, and possibly be-
cause we liked each other exceedingly
well, we were often together. - Many

and many 2 time, before we had ad-



WHO IS OUR SUE ? 9



vanced into our teens, have we walked
to and fro from school in company, our
hearts as merry as the summer birds.
We were in the sarhe class at school.
I don’t mean to tell you which of us
was the better scholar; for if I should, I
am half afraid I should reveal a secret
not much to my credit.

Now it so happened that there lived
on the other side of Blue Hill another
girl, by the name of Susan. She did
not attend our school, as her father’s
house was in a different school district.
Of course, in speaking of either of these —
two girls, it was necessary to call her

°



10 WHO IS OUR SUE?



by some name which would distinguish
her from the other Susan. It cannot
be denied that about as direct and
natural a way to* get over this diffi-
culty, would have been to call one of
the girls Swe Carter, and the other Swe
Staples. But that is not the way we
little folks managed the thing. All
the boys and girls on our side of the
hill—all who went to the red. school-
house—invariably spoke of one of the
girls as Sue Staples, and of the other as
our Sue. °

Susan Carter was one of the best
girls that ever lived in Willow Lane.



WHO IS OUR SUE? 11



I cannot go through a list of her good
qualities ; and you would get tired be-
fore I got half through, if I should
attempt such alist. But I must men-
tion one of her good qualities, and
dwell upon it a minute or two. That
I will do, if you please, in another
chapter.



CHAP. IL.
OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.

I saw I would point out one of
Susan’s good qualities. She was a
peace-maker. If there was any difficulty
between any of the school children,
our Sue was the one to see that it
was all nicely made up. How many
times I have known her, without say-
ing more than half a dozen words,
completely calm the waters of discord,



ead . Se Se a lL lLlLlL ll le

OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. 13



after they had raged furiously in the
breasts of two of her companions.
She had such a quiet way of per-
forming these little acts of kindness
and love! She did not make the least
noise about the matter. She never
put on any airs—never acted or spoke
as if she thought that she was any
better than her playmates—she never
seemed to blame any one for a fault.
The dear girl! The blessing of hea-
ven always attended her godlike mis-
sion. Indeed, she was herself blessed
in blessing others; for our Saviour has
said, “ Blessed are the peace-makers.”



14 = OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



I remember scores of instances, in
which our Sue was the messenger of
peace to those who had fallen out with
each other. Let me mention one:

Betsey Baldwin and Mary Austin
were disputing about the best way to
do a sum in the Rule of Three. Betsey
had her way; Mary had hers. It may
not seem altogether strange to some of
you, who have noticed how very trivial
disputes will roll up, like snow-balls,
until they get to be great quarrels—
it may not seem altogether strange to
you, that the two girls grew warmer
about that trifling question, as they



OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. @ 15



talked on, until they got up quite a
tempest.

Our Sue heard what was going on.
It was during recess, and the children
were out at play. Qur Sue heard it
all; and as soon as she saw that the
affair was getting to be serious, she ran
up to the place where the angry girls
were disputing, and stood there a mo-
ment, apparently waiting to see what
could be done. She did not speak a
word. She only looked at her play-
mates, and awaited a favorable chance
for dropping a word. But there was
such a world of good nature expressed in



16@ OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



her face, and withal, there was such a
veil of merriment thrown over her fea-
tures, that the two angry girls, as soon
as they glanced at the peace-maker,
stopped disputing. There was a charm
in that honest, loving, happy face.
There was no more disputing after that
first glance. The girls hung down their
heads for a few moments, heartily
ashamed, and not quite knowing what
to do next. When they looked again
into the face of Susan, they saw there
a curious kind of smile, which made
them both burst out into a hearty
laugh.



OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. — .



“Well, girls, it’s all over now, isn’t
it?” said the peace-maker.

The girls said nothing, but they
clasped each other’s hands, lovingly,
and it was all over.

When any dispute arose between her
two sisters, one word from Sue was
generally sufficient to produce sunshine
again. Qne day these girls quarreled
about a doll. Both wanted to hold the
doll at the same time. They could not
be gratified in this wish, of course.
But they could have been kind to each
other, though, and have settled their
difficulty well enough, it seems to me.



18 OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



However, they did not settle it. They
used angry words to each other, and
each one, in turn, snatched the doll: from
her sister’s hands. Our Sue heard what
they said, and saw what they did.

“Come here a moment,” said she.
“T have got something to show you.”

Both of them ran towards their sis-
ter, as fast as they could run, as soon
as they heard her voice. They knew
that Sue never deceived them, and that
when she said she had any thing to
show them, she told the truth.

“ Shall I read you a pretty story ?”
asked Susan.





ft



We

SSI

ae: say 3 °
SS tS
S jens Doon, Fi
- .. cS a



OUR SUE AND HER SISTERS









OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. 21



“Oh, yes, dearest sister,” they both
said.
Then the peace-maker opened the

Bible, and turned to the story about —

Joseph and his brethren. -It was not
long before both the little listeners
were weeping over that most affecting
story. |

“Shall I read a little more?” asked
Sue, after she had finished the narra-
tive about Joseph. The girls said,
“Yes, do if you please.’ And_ this
time the eldest sister selected a chap-
ter in one of the gospels, in which
our Saviour exhorts his disciples to

2



92 OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



love each other. Again the two Ssis-
ters wept. ‘I have been very naugh-
ty,” said one. “ And so have I,” said
the other.

You can’t think how much good our
Sue was continually doing among her
playmates. Every body loved her.
What a loss it was to our school when
she was absent, though only for a few
days.



CHAP. III.
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.

Tere was a class in geography one
summer, in the school we attended.
The geography we studied was Wood-
bridge and Willard’s. It was printed,
I recollect, a part of it in large and
the other part in small type. The
little boys and girls used to begin
with the “ coarse print,” as they called
it; and when they were thought old



94 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.

——

enough or bright enough, to master
it, they were required 10 learn the
“fine print.” Our Sue belonged to
this class. 50, too, did Cousin Kate.

« And who is Cousin Kate?’ some
. of you may ask.

Why, haven't I told you about her
before? She has long been one of
Uncle Frank's best friends.

‘Ts that her real name, Uncle Frank,
or is it only the name she sometimes
goes by r

It is not her real name, that is, not
exactly her real name. It is the only
one she chooses to take, though, when



THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 25



she writes stories for her friends, the
little folks.

“And is she your cousin, Uncle
Frank ?”

No; she is no more my cousin than
yours. She is every body’s cousin,
when she is telling stories for chil-
dren.

“Has she written any children’s
books ?”

Yes, one or two, and I wish she
would write more, for the children’s
sake. She is a fine story-teller. If
you should ever hear of a book writ-

ten by Cousin Kate, you may be sure



26 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



it is: worth reading. I never came
across one of her stories, that did not
appear as if it would charm the little
folks who read it.

But we must not forget the geography
class. I will tell you, also, what Cousin
Kate has said about it.

Our Sue did not enjoy very good
health generally ; and, on this account,
she frequently had to stay at home
from school. She was not among the
number who were best acquainted with
the fine print in the geography. As
her parents did not wish her to apply
very closely to study, her teacher did



THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 27



not oblige her to learn any thing but
the large print. Sue went on in this
way a few weeks.

But the geography class proved ra-
ther a dull affair. The teacher began to
think she must do something to wake
up the ideas of the girls who belonged
to it. To raise their ambition, she pro-
posed that they should “go up and
down,” as they used to call it. That
is, if one missed a question, and the
next answered it, the one who an-
swered was to take her place above
the one who missed it. In this way,
the one who had the most perfect les-



28 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



sons, would get and keep the place at
the head of the class. The one who
was at the head of the class the most
times was to receive a prize.

Sue did not quite like this plan.
She did not exactly see how she was
to get along as she had done, and study
but half the lesson. She went to her
teacher, and told her the trouble she
was in. Her teacher told her if she
could make up her mind to be always
at the foot of the class, she could get
her lessons just as she had done; she
could not, of course, expect to take
any other place in the class, unless she



Se SNe ME ER SE ny ee q

THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 29



studied the whole lesson, as the rest
did.
Sue did not know what to do. She
did not like the idea of being at the
foot of the class all the time; but then
she must get the whole lesson, and get
it perfectly, too, if she expected to take
any other place. This she thought
would be very hard for her, for she
was much younger than many of the
class, and had attended school less
than those of her own age. After hesi-
tating a while, she concluded to be
satisfied with the foot of the class.
Things went on in this way until the



30 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



best scholar in the class had been at
the head some twenty-days, when Sue
thought she would get the whole les-
son, one day, and get it perfectly, if it
were a possible thing. You shall see
how she succeeded. She went to her
class the day after this resolution had
been taken; and soon the one next
above her missed a question. Our Sue
answered it, and took her place. She
was quite glad to resign her place at
the foot to another, even if it was but
for one day.

It was not long before the one who
was now next above her missed a ques-



THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 31



tion. Sue answered that, too. She was
now removed two places from her old
station.

Some notions of rising still higher
in the world, or at least in the class,
began to enter her head. At all events,
she resolved to get the next lesson per-
fectly, and see what might happen in
consequence. The next day, she went
to her class again, with a perfect les-
son. This time she went up, up, until
she reached the place next to the head
of the class.

The one who had kept possession
of the head, until she had done fear-





32 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



ing any rival, now began to open her
eyes rather widely. But she did not
think it best to be frightened by one
who had remained so long and so qui-
etly at the foot of the class. She
thought the little girl probably owed
her sudden promotion to some lucky
chance. But it was not many days
before she too missed, and our Sue
took her place. Yes, there she was,
at last, quite up to the head. And she
kept her place there, too, until her
companion began to tremble, for fear
she should lose the prize she had been
so sure of getting. |



THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 33



But Sue did not expect the prize.
She knew that she had started in the
race too late for that. Her ambition
was satisfied, by showing so clearly
what she could do, even at that late
hour. But this was not all. Sue
learned a lesson which was of much
greater value to her than the prize
would have been. What do you think
it was, reader? She learned that she
could do more than she thought she
could, if she tried; and this is the
lesson I want my little friends to learn
from this story.



CHAP. IY.
SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.

“Bor pray,” some one may be ready
to inquire, “do you think that the les-
son you have just spoken of is worth
such a great deal?”

Indeed I do. There is nothing more
common than to hear a girl say, “1
can’t do this,” or “I can’t do that,”
when she has never tried to do it; and,
in nine cases out of ten, I do believe,



SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 35



when those children undertake one of
these things, they find they can do
it. It is a great point gained, when
a girl finds out that she can do a thing,
if it is hard. Here is a little boy who
says, ‘I can’t do this sum in arithme-
tic ;’’ and here is another who says, ‘I
can’t remember those dates in my his-
tory.” Nonsense! You have not tried
yet. I don’t believe you have.

Perhaps you may say, “ Why, I have
tried.”

How hard have you tried? How
many times did you try? Suppose
you should try to lift a pail full of



36 SUE'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.



water, by only taking hold of it with
your little finger. How foolish you
would look, trying to clasp the handle,
and to raise the pail, with your little
finger. Come, now, be honest. Don't
you try to get your lessons pretty much
in this way, sometimes? You don’t
apply more than the little finger of
your mind to them—just one cornet
of your brain—and try a little while,
and then say, ‘I can’t.” Isn’t it so?
I am almost sure it is. Now, if you
will only apply your whole mind to
these matters, you can conquer them.
I have not a doubt of it.



SUE'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 837



If I should hear you say, “I can’t,”
{should like to ask you two questions
about it. First question: How hard
have you tried? Second question: How
many times have you tried? Have
you tried seven times? Now you
would like to know why I ask if you
have tried seven times. I will tell
you. Not long after our Sue had got
up to the head of the geography class,
one day, when she was at home, she
was trying to do some difficult task
or other—I forget what it was, if I
ever knew—and she finally gave up,

and told her mother she couldn’t do it.
3



38 SUE'S MOTTO—-WHAT IT WAS.



Mrs. Carter said, “Very well, if you
are satisfied you can’t do it, there is
no use trying any longer, of course.”

Sue, as most girls would have done
in such cases, gave up the task, and
sat down by the side of her mother,
who was knitting with her hands, and
rocking the cradle with her foot.

‘Sue, my dear,” said her mother,
“how would you like to hear a little
story ?”

“Very much,” was the reply, “very
much indeed.”

And Mrs. Carter told her the story
- about a Scottish king, who was driven



. SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 39



from his throne by the English. This
king fought six battles to regain his
kingdom ; but he did not succeed. He
became quite discouraged. He had
tried so hard and so many times, that
he thought it was time for him to
give up the notion that he could con-
quer his enemies. He had to hide
himself from the English, who would
have been very glad to get him into
their hands, and then they would not
have feared to fight any more battles
with him.

One day, he hid himself in a cave.
As he lay there, he watched a spider,



40 SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.



weaving her web. She was trying to
carry the slender thread from one point
over to another. The king watched
her, and counted the times she made
the trial.

“One, two, three, four, five, six
times,” said the king. “As many
times as I have fought battles. But
see! she is trying it again. She is
more persevering than I am. There!
She has succeeded. I will learn a les-
Son from this spider. . I will try ore
more battle.” He did try one more
battle, and gained the victory.

Sue hung down her head, when her



SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT was. 4]



mother had got through telling the
story ; for she knew well enough that
there was a reproof in it for her. She
went right away, and tried again to do
the task she had given up—and she
succeeded. She did it. After this,

when she was heard to say, “I can’te

do a thing,” as she sometimes would,
her mother would ask her if she had
tried seven times; and she soon learn-
ed the lesson. If she was just going
t6 say, “I can’t,” she would stop, and
say, “I have not tried seven times.”
If she was trying to loosen a fast knot
in her shoe strings, and was beginning

ft
<



42 SUE'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.



to feel impatient, she would think of
this story, and say, “I have not tried
seven times yet. Let me see. I have
tried twice. Now I have tried three
times. This makes four times. There
it comes! and I have tried only four
times either.’ Our young friend had
learned the lesson so well, that some-
times she would teach her teacher.
That little word can’t does slip out
of the mouth very easy sometimes. If
ever her mother said, “I can’t do so
and so,” Sue would look up in her
face, very innocently, and say, ‘‘ Have
you tried seven times?” This became



SUE’'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 43



our Sue’s motto: “LU ty—I'Ul try
seven times, at least.’

I don’t believe she ever heard a story
in her life, which did her so much good.
By the way, let me drop a hint just
here—a hint for parents; for I pre-
sume some of them will look over Uncle
Frank’s book. It is this: That good
instruction, through the medium of a
story, is far more likely to be remem-
bered than in any other form.



CHAP. V.

HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.

Ir is really astonishing how much a
motto can do, or rather, how much a
person can do with a motto. Indeed,
almost every one who has done any
thing worth mentioning in the world,
has been spurred on by some good
motto. In a great many instances,
to be sure, a person, who has accom-
plished a good deal, may not exactly



HOW MUCH A MOTTO GAN Do. 45



have formed his motto into words and
syllables. But he has had one, very
likely, nevertheless. You sometimes
come across a little girl, who seems
to have taken “I can’t” for her motto.
You, reader, have seen more than one
girl, who hardly ever thought she could
do a thing, when she was asked to do
it. Her answer was pretty uniformly
“T can’t.” Well, did such a girl ever
succeed in doing any thing worth na-
ming? Ofcourse not. How could she
do any thing with such a motto?
Our Sue’s motto was one of quite
another stamp. After her success in



46 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do.



the geography class, when she became
somewhat aware of her own power, and
after the story about the spider, the
motto that governed her more than
any other, when a task was proposed
to her, was, “Tl try.” She never
would allow herself to give up, in her
efforts to accomplish a hard task, until
she had tried as many times as the
spider did.

Her mother began very early to teach
her children to do housework. She did
not believe in letting girls grow up
to be women, without knowing the
alphabet. of housekeeping. “T want

"



HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO. 47



them to be useful,” she used to say,
“useful to themselves and to others ;
and I don’t see how they can be use-
ful, without learning to work.” Some
might say, and indeed, some did say,
“Why, madam, your children are able
to live without work.” “But what if
they are?’”’ she replied, “that may not
always be the case. To be sure, we’
are not poor now; but we may be,
some day or other. Besides, we don’t
expect the girls will live here with us
always; and who can tell whether
they will be able to keep tyo or three
servants twenty years hence? But



48 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



even if they were always to be quite
rich enough to warrant such extrava-
gance, I should be ashamed of them,
if they did not know how the differ-
ent branches of housekeeping ought. to
be done. It must be very uncomforta-
ble to be the mistress of a family, and
to be surrounded with servants, but
to be as ignorant as a cat.of the way
in which the household affairs ought
to be managed. What good would it
do such a lady, to know ever so well
_ how a particular dish ought to taste,
if she did not know how to cook it?
She ought to know how to do the work



HOW MUCH A MOTTO OAN DO. 49



in the kitchen, so as to be able to in-
struct her domestics, if for no other
reason ; and the only way for a girl
to learn how to do these things, is to
take hold and do them.”

I believe in that doctrine of Mrs. Car-
ter. I believe that children, if their
parents are ever so rich, ought to know
how to instruct others in doing work,
when they get to be masters and mis-
tresses themselves; and I believe that,
in most cases, at least, the only way to -
_ learn how to do a thing, is just to take
hold and do it. As to making bread,
and roasting turkeys, and broiling a



50 HOW MUCH A MOTTO GAN DO.



beef steak, I confess I don’t know,
from my own experience, but a lady
might learn all about these matters,
by studying the cookery books. But
I do know that it is impossible to
know how to drive any branch of use-
‘ful business belonging to boys and
men, without taking hold of it in
earnest ; and I have heard, too, from
those who ought to know, and who,
I think, did know, that a knowledze
of the cooking art cannot be learncd
_ from the cook books.

‘That was Mrs. Carter’s notion; and
it was certainly no fault of hers that



HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do. 51



her children were not good housewives.
When Sue was quite a little girl, her
mother began to teach her how to do
some of the work about the house. She

taught her the alphabet of housekeep- °

ing, almost as soon as she taught her
the alphabet that was printed on one
of the first pages of Webster’s spell-
ing-book.

I believe, however, that Sue did not
learn the mysteries of housekeeping
quite as easily as she did some other
things. She was very fond of her
books, and did not “take to cooking
much,” as Mrs. Carter’s hired girl used



52 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



to remark, once in a while, somewhat
complainingly. |

It was after the recital of the story
of the spider, that her mother, having
instructed her how to cook a few plain
dishes, told her she might prepare some
coffee for breakfast; and that, as her
father was quite fond of coffee, she
wished her to learn how to make it
very nicely. The first lesson was soon
given, and our Sue made her first trial,
She roasted the coffee, ground it, boiled
it, settled it, and make it all ready for
the table. But, for some reason’ or
other, and she could not tell what, the



HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO. 538



coffee was poor enough that time. Her
father could hardly drink it.

The next time, having got fresh in-
structions from her mother, she suc-
ceeded a little better. Still the coffee,
when it was poured out into the cups,
lacked that rich, clear, brown appear-
ance, which it ought to have. The
odor of it was not quite right, and its
flavor was far behind that which her
mother was in the habit of making.
Poor Sue! she was beginning to get
discouraged; and the third or fourth
time she tried, when the coffee was

served up, she burst into éears.
4



54 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



‘ Never mind, Sue,” her mother said.
“You'll make it better the next time,
I guess.”

Sue dried her tears. She had for-
gotten her motto until then; and when
it came into her mind, as it did while
her mother was speaking so kindly, she
thought, “ Why, what a foolish girl I
ém! I haven’t tried seven times yet,
have I?”

The next day she went about her
task again, a great deal more cheer-
_ fully than she had done before. “ Let
me see,” she said to herself. “Some-
thing has been wrong every time be-



SE eieetee ee A

Se

lta ee



Af
A Nk ~sS







MAKING COFFEE

errant a

oa DFT Mier

j
}
}
;
;
;





"ek ae

Si Ted





HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do. 57



fore. I wonder what it was. Perhaps
it was in the roasting. I havea good
mind to roast some coffee anew.” Her
mother gave her permission to do so,
and she made her second attempt at
_ coffee-roasting. She roasted it very,
slowly, stirred it often, and watched
it all the time, to see that it did not
burn. Then she ground it. When the
time came for preparing the coffee for
breakfast, she was very careful to do
just as her mother had directed her, |
in every little particular.

Well, the coffee was made. It was
brought upon the table, and poured out.



58 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



“Well done!” said Sue’s father,
“this is the best cup of coffee we
have had for many a day;” and he
praised the skill of the young cook
so highly, that she felt amply repaid
for all the pains she had taken.

“So much for that motto of yours,
Sue,” said her mother. ‘TI don’t be-
lieve you would have succeeded in
making this fine dish of coffee, my
dear, if it had not been for that motto
of yours.”

It was, indeed, astonishing, what
wonders were brought about by those
two words, J’l/ try. Napoleon Bona-



HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do. 59



parte, as you may have heard, thought
there ought to be no such word as
impossible among Frenchmen, and he
wanted it blotted out of the dictionary |
of the French language, I believe. Sue
did not go quite so far as Napoleon,
in her opinion of the words, J can’t;
yet they were words which one seldom
heard her use. The motto, which had
become, as it were, engraved into her
very heart, helped to control all her
actions.

I could tell you a great many anec-
dotes about Sue and that motto of hers.
But, fearing you would grow weary of



60 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO. ~



this theme, I will talk to you about
something else. Children, I have often
noticed, like short stories better than
long ones; and it is on this account
that I never spin out my yarns to a
very great length.



CHAP. VI.

LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’.

Have I ever told you any thing about
my maternal grandfather and grand-
mother? ‘They deserve a warm place
in my memory, I am sure. Moreover,
though they lived a humble life, there
was enough about their history worth
recording ; and if I have not given you
some account of them, perhaps it is
time I had done so.



62 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



I was an inmate of their family, off
and on, for some two years, when I was
a little boy. I did chores for the old
folks, night and morning, for which I
had my board, together with the privi-
lege of picking up choice morsels of
knowledge at the brick school-house,
the greater portion of five days in
each week.

My grand-parents were old-fashioned
people, thoroughly old-fashioned, indeed.
“New-fangled notions” did not find
much favor in their eyes. Still, they
did not quarrel with younger people,
because they preferred to do things and



LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S. 63



to see things done in a more modern
style.

They were very unlike, in many re-
spects. Grandfather had a strong will ;
grandmother easily gave up almost
every thing but principle. He had a
temper which would get excited, in
spite of all he could do—she was al-
ways mild, and pleasant, and good-
humored, let what might happen. In
his character, there was a good deal
of sternness—in hers there was none.
He had his own way of thinking in
religious matters—she had hers. But
with all these differences, they never



64 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



seemed to disagree. It was a very
rare thing to hear of the least clashing
between them. They loved each other
with an affection too deep to be easily
disturbed. It seemed to me, indeed,
that their love for each other ripened,
as their heads whitened with age.
My grandfather was a man to be
loved. But he was a man to be
feared, too. There was something in
his manner, which seemed to say to
the stranger, just making his acquaint-
ance, “ Not too fast, sir; there will be
time enough to be intimate; not too
fast.” The children in the neighbor-



LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’. 65



hood, who only saw him occasionally,
had a notion that there was a good
deal of the bear in his character.
They did not like him. Some of them,
I dare say, could not help remember-
ing how he set the house dog upon
them, when they attempted to rob the
sugar pear-tree in the garden; and
that recollection did not tend much to
make them love him. Those, however,
who got acquainted with him, especi-
ally if they had never done any thing
to call forth the old gentleman’s dis-
pleasure, thought better of him. There
was, in fact, a kind heart in his breast,



66 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



though, as I then thought, he regarded
the outward signs of affection as rather
unmanly, and so he often shut up his
tender feelings, when he had them, and
when many other people would let
them out. To my grandmother, how-
ever, he always showed a great deal
of tenderness. As for his love toward
his grandchildren in general, and to-
ward me in particular, I don’t feel
disposed to question it, though he did
not take the little folks in his lap and
play with them, as often as some old
people do. I believe he never kissed
me but once, and that was when |



LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’S. 67



threw up my cap, and shouted, “ Hur-
rah for Jackson !’’ when he was telling
me about the battle of New Orleans.
He was a great Democrat, and pinned
his political faith on such sleeves as
those of Thomas Jefierson.

An admirable old- lady was my grand-
mother. All the boys and girls, for
miles around the little brown cottage
where she dwelt, were in love with
her. They loved her, I suppose, be-
‘cause she loved them, and because
her kind heart sought so many ways of
making them happy.

My grandparents were not rich. In-



68 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



deed, except in faith and good works,
they were poor. The house in which
they lived and had brought up a family
of children, aS numerous, almost, as
Jacob’s, was but one story in height,
and had only some half a dozen rooms
in it, all told, including the sink-room,
which was a sort of shanty, though
joined to the main building after a
fashion.

I tell you what it is, my young friend,
in that part of the country where I
lived when I was a little boy, our fore-
fathers and foremothers—if that last
word happens to be in the dictionary,



LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’s. 69



which, I confess, is a matter of some
doubt in my own mind—were satisfied
with a much smaller house than we
think we need now-a-days, to make
us comfortable; and they didn’t fur-
nish their houses so finely as most of
the families do who live in this last
half of the nineteenth century. Why,
would you have dreamed of such a
thing? There was not a piano in the
county where my grand-parents were
brought up, when I first went to live
with them.



CHAP. VIL.

A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.

How homesick I was, now I think of
it, the first autumn I was at the old gen-
tleman’s. I used to cry so much, that,
to use a comparison of my grandfather’s,
my eyes looked like a pair of onions. I
remember, now, as if it were but yes-
terday, how one afternoon, after school,
I went out to the wood-pile, to split
some oven wood for my grandmother,

A



A TASTE OF HOMESICKNEsS. 71



it being the day preceding the baking
day—Friday, of course—I remember
how my tears fell so fast, that I could
not see to split a log I was at work
upon, and ‘spht my great toe instead. —
But I declare to you, that the pain I
suffered from the wound—and I had
a hard time of it with that toe, too,
before it got well—was easier to bear
than the homesickness,
Homesickness is a good deal like .
seasickness, When one is seasick,
thoroughly seasick, he does not care
much what becomes of him. If the

captain should come. to the berth of.-
5

&.



79 A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.



a poor fellow, who was eroaning with
seasickness, and tell him he was very
much afraid the vessel was going to
~ the bottom, just as likely as nob he
would say, ‘‘ Well, let ‘the old thing
go, I can’t help it;” or if he didn’t
say so, he would feel like saying 80.

Just so, when a chap has got as
completely under the control of the
genius of homesickness as I was at
the time I now allude to, he scarcely
cares a fig for any thing else that may
be going on in the | great, world around
him. | |

I must tell you, now I have shown



A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS. "3



you how I got into this fit of home-
sickness, how it came to pass that
I got out of it. Thanksgiving now ap-
«proached. ‘Coming events cast their
shadows before,” it is said. I suppose
they do sometimes, though not always,
[am sure. This time there were more
lights than shadows cast forward on my
pathway. You can guess why, can’t
you? I was to go home the day before
thanksgiving, and remain there a whole
week. A whole week! That thought
was bliss to, me, periect bliss—as it
seemed then.
Why; the wood. split a+good deal



74 A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.



easier, as the longed-for day drew near.
Old Kate, my grandfather’s mare, who
had only two faults—first, that she
was bad to catch, and secondly, that,
she was good for nothing after she was
caught—seemed not to act quite as
much like an uncivilized mare, when
I came up to her irr the pasture, with
the bridle on my arm; the cows cer-
tainly stood stiller, while they were
undergoing the milking penance; there
did not appear to be half as many
chips to pick up for erandmother’s:
kitchen fire; and indeed, the sun, and
moon, and stars, all looked more and



A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS. [5



more cheerfully and good-naturedly up-
on me.

At last, the day came—the day be-
fore thanksgiving —and off I posted
homeward, twelve long miles, afoot |
and alone, as a certain Irish gentle-
man from the island of Erin is re-
puted to have gone to the wedding.
My feet were blistered when I got
home. But that was no matter. I.
was happy. |

Young friends, when do you think
d went back to my grandfather’s? Not.
until the frosts of the next autumn
began to open the chestnut burs, near-



76 A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.



ly one whole year after that thanks-

giving festival.





CHAP. VIII.

MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. —

I po wish from my heart, you could
have seen my grandmother, little girl.
It would have done your heart good to
‘sit down by her side, when she had
her knitting work in her hand, and
to read what there was written in her
countenance.

“Why, what was there so remarka-
ble about her?” you inquire.



%8 MY GRANDMOTHER'S PETS.



Indeed, I am not sure that there was
any thing exactly remarkable about
her, except this, that she always wore
one of the best-natured faces that you
ever gazed upon in your life. I never
saw her angry for a moment, in all my
acquaintance with her. She was al-
ways as cheerful as the old family cat,
who had sat in the chimney corner,
purring a song of contentment and
genuine enjoyment, time out of mind.
She loved every body and every thing ;
and every body and every thing, it
seemed to me, loved her.

Speaking of the old family cat, as



MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. "9



I did a second ago, reminds me of
what a host of pets the good old lady
always had. Indeed, every thing that
had the breath of life in it, with which
she had aught to do, was a pet of hers,
to a greater or less extent. She in-
variably had at least one cosset lamb
under her care, who would show his
fondness for his mistress, whenever he
could get a chance, by playing all sorts
of pranks for her amusement, often
coming into the sink-room door, and
making himself vastly at home in al-
most every part of the house.

Many a time, when we have been



80 MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS.



eating dinner, in the summer season,
and the doors were all open, old Jenny,
a huge cosset sheep, that grandmother
had brought up with great care, came
into the kitchen, and marched straight
to my grandmother’s chair, looking up
wistfully into her face, as much as to
say, “I am fond of that dish, too.”
And Jenny usually got her share of
the dinner, before she left the room. *

Hens and chickens, a multitude of
them, scampered toward the old lady,
whenever the word diddy fell from her
lips, in the yard. I have known a
great rooster alight on her head, many



- MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. §1



a time, to manifest the joy he felt to
greet her appearance among his tribe;
and once, I distinctly recollect that,
after such a personage had taken his
position there, and was clinging to the
old lady’s mob cap, another member
of the family, much younger, though
quite as ambitious, mounted upon the
aforesaid rooster’s back.

, Though my grandmother never kept
birds shut up in cages, considering it
wrong and cruel to deprive the poor
things of their liberty, she had houses
built for the martens and the wrens,
close under the eaves of the house,



82 MY GRANDMOTHER'S PETS.



every spring. Such a chattering as
grandmother’s wrens made when they
they were bringing up @ family of
children! I don’t know whether the
feeling of eratitude ever entered a
wren’s heart; and I could not say
positively that wrens have hearts at
all. But I am sure if they do have
hearts, and if they ever feel any thing
in the shape of gratitude, those around
the old mansion must have been trying
to express their thanks to the old lady
for her hospitality to them, when they
were chattering at such a rate.



CHAP. IX.

SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.

I, roo, was one of my grandmother's
pets. At least, I so regarded myself,
when a child. Oh, what an ocean of
kindness there was in her heart. How
could I ever have been homesick in a
house which was blessed by the light
of her cheerful countenance? I don’t
believe that a single night passed, du-
ring the winter season, while I was



84 SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.



living with the good old couple, that
grandmother did not come to my bed
in the garret, to see that I was lying
“nice and warm.” In the day-time,
when I had nothing out of doors to do,
and had got my lessons for the next
day sufficiently studied, it was among
my greatest comforts to sit by her side,
on a high-backed article of furniture,
which we called a settle, while she was
spinning flax on the little wheel that
went with a lathe, where I would
watch the motions of her fingers, as
the wheel went round. There was
sweet music to my ears in the buzzing



SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL. 85



of that wheel, as it went round and
round so industriously.

A most wonderful process, it seemed
to me, was the spinning of that linen
thread. How skilfully the old lady did
manage the thread with one hand, and
draw out the unspun flax with the
other ; and what a remarkable feat she
performed, now and then, when she
dipped her fingers in the miniature
gourd shell, to moisten the thread.
She did it as quickly as a swallow
dips his beak in the mill-pond. Did
you ever see a lady spin on one of these
little wheels, my friend ? Very likely



86 SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.



you have not enjoyed such a treat, as:
the business of family spinning has
gone quite out of fashion in these days,
I believe.

While my grandmother was spinning
on the little wheel, she would sing for
me, and tell me stories, and try to store
my young mind with valuable knowl-
edge. I shall never forget those songs
and stories. They not only made a
deep impression upon me at the time,
put they lived in my memory, and still
live there. Next to my own dear mo-
ther, who died when I was little else
than a child, no one ever did so much



SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL. 87



to guide my steps toward heaven, as
my grandmother. With too many peo-
ple, religion wears a gloomy face. It
wore a cheerful one, as it was pictured
by my grandmother. There was noth-
ing sad, nothing gloomy, nothing cheer-
less about it, in her vision.

I have spoken of the garret, where I
used to sleep. In the same room were
stored all kinds of things, some of which
excited my curiosity a good deal, and
I never wearied of hearing my. grand-
mother tell stories which were con-
nected with them. She had a way of

her own, in gratifying children’s cu-
6



88 sPINNING -ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.



riosity about any thing. If I asked |
her what that odd-looking thing was,
with something like an ox bow, only
smaller, fastened to it, she would tell
me it was a pilloon, and go on to ex-
plain what a pillion was, and how they
were used: in old times, when she was
a young lady. But her talk about pil-
lions did not stop here. She was not
satisfied with informing me, in general,
what the article was, and how it was
used. She improved the opportunity
to tell me ever so many stories, in all
of which the pillion played a part.



NTS

MY GRANDPARE

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Fog 0 “tes “bg * e
- 7

A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE

Ler me tell you one story, as a speci-
men of her mode of amusing her little
grand-children, and instructing them,
too, at the same time.

When I was a romping girl—she
would say—we had no chaigas and
wagons. There was not, indeed, a sin-
gle wagon in all our parish, when I
was married. Squire Keeler was the





92 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



first to get one; and I remember that
the people came to see it from all parts
of the neighborhood. They thought it
a wonderful thing, and many of them
secretly accused the squire, who was a
good man and a deacon in the meeting,
of getting proud, or grand, as they had
the word.

When we girls rode out, instead of
getting into a carriage, we mounted
the family horse; and the way your
grandfather and erandmother went to
meeting, when we first started in life
together, was on the back of Kate, our
old sorrel mare. Grandfather sat upon



A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE. 93



the saddle, and I sat behind him on
the pillion. That is the way we rode
out, the next day after the wedding.
This time he didn’t ride Kate, though.
It would have been better for us, if we
had, as things turned out.

It was in the winter. Let me see.
It was in December—the twenty-fourth
day of December, old style. The ground
was covered with light snow. It seems
to me that we had deeper snow in those
days than we have now. At any rate,
the snow was deep enough then. The
neighbors had to turn out, for miles
around, that morning, with their ox



94 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



sleds to break paths, over the whole
' parish. I should not wonder if it was
as deep as that yard stick yonder,
when we set out on our first ride after
the wedding.

I have told you that we did not ride
~ Kate. We rode, however, your Uncle
Zial’s horse, instead of her. Ill tell
you the reason why: your Uncle Zial’s
Jack was handsomer than Kate, and
your grandfather said, that as one’s
wedding didn’t happen a great many
times in one’s life, we might as well
look “ nice and trim,” when it did hap-
pen. You see, he was to take me, for



A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE. 95



the first time, from the home of my
childhood, to his father’s house, where
we were to live, the “best room”’ hav-
ing been fitted up for us, until our
new home was built. It was a great
event, and your grandfather thought,
and I believe we all thought, that it
was best to do something worthy of
the occasion, and to perform the jour-
ney in good style. That was the reason
that Jack was selected, in preference
to Kate, at the time I am now speak-
ing of.

Every thing having been got ready,
your grandfather mounted the saddle,



96 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



and I, having climbed the horse-block
that stood at the garden gate, mounted
the pillion behind him. Off we started.
As we rode along, toward the house
of my new father and mother, we
could not help noticing that all the
people along the road were looking
at us; and I am not sure but we
felt a little pride, when we reflected
that we were the most important char-
acters in all those parts, that day.
For a while, our journey was a pros-
perous one. Things went on smoothly.
Jack behaved well. He was not noted
for his kindness and gentleness, while



A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDP. 97



under the saddle and pillion. He was
roguish. Uncle Zial never had any
trouble with him, it is true. He knew
how to manage the fellow. But Jack
made it a sort of principle, to cut up
some caper or another with almost
every body, except his master, who
had any thing to do with him. We
were not afraid, though. ‘Your grand-
father said, I recollect, as we were
riding along, that he believed he could
manage any horse in the world, if he
could get a bit into his mouth, and
I believed he could, too.

But that self-confidence proved quite



98 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



out of place. As we were going down
the long hill, just this side of the
stone bridge, Jack began to grow rest-
less, and to show signs that things
were not going exactly right with him.
I have thought since that the girth
of the saddle was too tight to suit
him, and that he was nervous on that
account. It matters little now, how-
ever, what was the cause of Jack’s
restlessness, though if we had under-
stood it then, we might have turned
our knowledge to good account.

As soon as Jack commenced twisting
his head about, as if a swarm of flies


---

---





GRANDMOTHER AND HER PETS





QDWORTH,
horn or Woonwonra’s Yourars Caswer.






. — a7»
7 a i ee we ii Sie ei Solel eS




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852,
By Putiuips, Sampson & Co.,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the District
of Massachusetts.

BTEREOTYPED BY
BILLIN & BROTHERS,
No. 10 Norra Wiixiiam Strreer, N. Y.



| - WRIGHT & HASTY,
.’ Printers, 3 Water Street, Boston.
CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
WHO Is “ouR suE””’ ,

CHAPTER IL
OUR SUE AS A PEACEMAKER

CHAPTER III.
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS

CHAPTER IV.
SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS
2

CHAPTER V.
HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO

CHAPTER VI.
LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’S

CHAPTER VIL
A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS

CHAPTER VIII.

MY GRANDMOTHER’s PETS .



PAGE

12
23
34 |
44
61
70

77


Vl CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IX. PAGE
SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ 83
CHAPTER X.
A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE . 4 ° ° 91

CHAPTER XI.
OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS + + °

CHAPTER XII.

A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME . é ‘ ° —
CHAPTER XIII.

THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW . ; . ° Ss ae
CHAPTER XIV.

THE TITHING-MAN OF OUR PARISH . ‘ ‘ " 7a



ILLUSTRATIONS. “«

GRANDMOTHER AND HER PETS - .+ °° (Frontispiece. )
VIGNETTE TITLE-PAGE ° ; 3
OUR SUE AND HER SISTERS R > > ‘ . 19
MAKING COFFEE . ae « . ‘ ° ° . 55
MY GRANDPARENTS . ‘ ° ° . . ‘ 89
SPRING ° . ° . ° ° . ° > 2
THE QUARREL . , ° ‘ ° ‘ ° . 188
THE OLD TITHING-MAN AND THE BOYS . . . 153
OUR SUE AND HER MOTTO.



CHAP. IL.

WHO IS “OUR SUE?”

““Anp who is our Sue?” I suppose
you will ask. Indeed, I should not
wonder if you had asked the question
already, in your own mind ; and think-
ing it quite likely that your mind will
hot give you a great deal of information
on the subject of that question, I will
8 wHO IS OUR SUE 2

try and throw some light on it my-
self. )
There lived in MY native village,
when I was a boy scarcely as old as
you are, family of children, one of
whom was named Susan—susan Car-
ter. She was the oldest of the chil-
dren, of whom there were three, all
girls. They had a brother once. But
he died when he was @ child. Su-
san was very nearly of my own age.
On that account, and possibly be-
cause we liked each other exceedingly
well, we were often together. - Many

and many 2 time, before we had ad-
WHO IS OUR SUE ? 9



vanced into our teens, have we walked
to and fro from school in company, our
hearts as merry as the summer birds.
We were in the sarhe class at school.
I don’t mean to tell you which of us
was the better scholar; for if I should, I
am half afraid I should reveal a secret
not much to my credit.

Now it so happened that there lived
on the other side of Blue Hill another
girl, by the name of Susan. She did
not attend our school, as her father’s
house was in a different school district.
Of course, in speaking of either of these —
two girls, it was necessary to call her

°
10 WHO IS OUR SUE?



by some name which would distinguish
her from the other Susan. It cannot
be denied that about as direct and
natural a way to* get over this diffi-
culty, would have been to call one of
the girls Swe Carter, and the other Swe
Staples. But that is not the way we
little folks managed the thing. All
the boys and girls on our side of the
hill—all who went to the red. school-
house—invariably spoke of one of the
girls as Sue Staples, and of the other as
our Sue. °

Susan Carter was one of the best
girls that ever lived in Willow Lane.
WHO IS OUR SUE? 11



I cannot go through a list of her good
qualities ; and you would get tired be-
fore I got half through, if I should
attempt such alist. But I must men-
tion one of her good qualities, and
dwell upon it a minute or two. That
I will do, if you please, in another
chapter.
CHAP. IL.
OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.

I saw I would point out one of
Susan’s good qualities. She was a
peace-maker. If there was any difficulty
between any of the school children,
our Sue was the one to see that it
was all nicely made up. How many
times I have known her, without say-
ing more than half a dozen words,
completely calm the waters of discord,
ead . Se Se a lL lLlLlL ll le

OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. 13



after they had raged furiously in the
breasts of two of her companions.
She had such a quiet way of per-
forming these little acts of kindness
and love! She did not make the least
noise about the matter. She never
put on any airs—never acted or spoke
as if she thought that she was any
better than her playmates—she never
seemed to blame any one for a fault.
The dear girl! The blessing of hea-
ven always attended her godlike mis-
sion. Indeed, she was herself blessed
in blessing others; for our Saviour has
said, “ Blessed are the peace-makers.”
14 = OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



I remember scores of instances, in
which our Sue was the messenger of
peace to those who had fallen out with
each other. Let me mention one:

Betsey Baldwin and Mary Austin
were disputing about the best way to
do a sum in the Rule of Three. Betsey
had her way; Mary had hers. It may
not seem altogether strange to some of
you, who have noticed how very trivial
disputes will roll up, like snow-balls,
until they get to be great quarrels—
it may not seem altogether strange to
you, that the two girls grew warmer
about that trifling question, as they
OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. @ 15



talked on, until they got up quite a
tempest.

Our Sue heard what was going on.
It was during recess, and the children
were out at play. Qur Sue heard it
all; and as soon as she saw that the
affair was getting to be serious, she ran
up to the place where the angry girls
were disputing, and stood there a mo-
ment, apparently waiting to see what
could be done. She did not speak a
word. She only looked at her play-
mates, and awaited a favorable chance
for dropping a word. But there was
such a world of good nature expressed in
16@ OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



her face, and withal, there was such a
veil of merriment thrown over her fea-
tures, that the two angry girls, as soon
as they glanced at the peace-maker,
stopped disputing. There was a charm
in that honest, loving, happy face.
There was no more disputing after that
first glance. The girls hung down their
heads for a few moments, heartily
ashamed, and not quite knowing what
to do next. When they looked again
into the face of Susan, they saw there
a curious kind of smile, which made
them both burst out into a hearty
laugh.
OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. — .



“Well, girls, it’s all over now, isn’t
it?” said the peace-maker.

The girls said nothing, but they
clasped each other’s hands, lovingly,
and it was all over.

When any dispute arose between her
two sisters, one word from Sue was
generally sufficient to produce sunshine
again. Qne day these girls quarreled
about a doll. Both wanted to hold the
doll at the same time. They could not
be gratified in this wish, of course.
But they could have been kind to each
other, though, and have settled their
difficulty well enough, it seems to me.
18 OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



However, they did not settle it. They
used angry words to each other, and
each one, in turn, snatched the doll: from
her sister’s hands. Our Sue heard what
they said, and saw what they did.

“Come here a moment,” said she.
“T have got something to show you.”

Both of them ran towards their sis-
ter, as fast as they could run, as soon
as they heard her voice. They knew
that Sue never deceived them, and that
when she said she had any thing to
show them, she told the truth.

“ Shall I read you a pretty story ?”
asked Susan.


ft



We

SSI

ae: say 3 °
SS tS
S jens Doon, Fi
- .. cS a



OUR SUE AND HER SISTERS



OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER. 21



“Oh, yes, dearest sister,” they both
said.
Then the peace-maker opened the

Bible, and turned to the story about —

Joseph and his brethren. -It was not
long before both the little listeners
were weeping over that most affecting
story. |

“Shall I read a little more?” asked
Sue, after she had finished the narra-
tive about Joseph. The girls said,
“Yes, do if you please.’ And_ this
time the eldest sister selected a chap-
ter in one of the gospels, in which
our Saviour exhorts his disciples to

2
92 OUR SUE AS A PEACE-MAKER.



love each other. Again the two Ssis-
ters wept. ‘I have been very naugh-
ty,” said one. “ And so have I,” said
the other.

You can’t think how much good our
Sue was continually doing among her
playmates. Every body loved her.
What a loss it was to our school when
she was absent, though only for a few
days.
CHAP. III.
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.

Tere was a class in geography one
summer, in the school we attended.
The geography we studied was Wood-
bridge and Willard’s. It was printed,
I recollect, a part of it in large and
the other part in small type. The
little boys and girls used to begin
with the “ coarse print,” as they called
it; and when they were thought old
94 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.

——

enough or bright enough, to master
it, they were required 10 learn the
“fine print.” Our Sue belonged to
this class. 50, too, did Cousin Kate.

« And who is Cousin Kate?’ some
. of you may ask.

Why, haven't I told you about her
before? She has long been one of
Uncle Frank's best friends.

‘Ts that her real name, Uncle Frank,
or is it only the name she sometimes
goes by r

It is not her real name, that is, not
exactly her real name. It is the only
one she chooses to take, though, when
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 25



she writes stories for her friends, the
little folks.

“And is she your cousin, Uncle
Frank ?”

No; she is no more my cousin than
yours. She is every body’s cousin,
when she is telling stories for chil-
dren.

“Has she written any children’s
books ?”

Yes, one or two, and I wish she
would write more, for the children’s
sake. She is a fine story-teller. If
you should ever hear of a book writ-

ten by Cousin Kate, you may be sure
26 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



it is: worth reading. I never came
across one of her stories, that did not
appear as if it would charm the little
folks who read it.

But we must not forget the geography
class. I will tell you, also, what Cousin
Kate has said about it.

Our Sue did not enjoy very good
health generally ; and, on this account,
she frequently had to stay at home
from school. She was not among the
number who were best acquainted with
the fine print in the geography. As
her parents did not wish her to apply
very closely to study, her teacher did
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 27



not oblige her to learn any thing but
the large print. Sue went on in this
way a few weeks.

But the geography class proved ra-
ther a dull affair. The teacher began to
think she must do something to wake
up the ideas of the girls who belonged
to it. To raise their ambition, she pro-
posed that they should “go up and
down,” as they used to call it. That
is, if one missed a question, and the
next answered it, the one who an-
swered was to take her place above
the one who missed it. In this way,
the one who had the most perfect les-
28 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



sons, would get and keep the place at
the head of the class. The one who
was at the head of the class the most
times was to receive a prize.

Sue did not quite like this plan.
She did not exactly see how she was
to get along as she had done, and study
but half the lesson. She went to her
teacher, and told her the trouble she
was in. Her teacher told her if she
could make up her mind to be always
at the foot of the class, she could get
her lessons just as she had done; she
could not, of course, expect to take
any other place in the class, unless she
Se SNe ME ER SE ny ee q

THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 29



studied the whole lesson, as the rest
did.
Sue did not know what to do. She
did not like the idea of being at the
foot of the class all the time; but then
she must get the whole lesson, and get
it perfectly, too, if she expected to take
any other place. This she thought
would be very hard for her, for she
was much younger than many of the
class, and had attended school less
than those of her own age. After hesi-
tating a while, she concluded to be
satisfied with the foot of the class.
Things went on in this way until the
30 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



best scholar in the class had been at
the head some twenty-days, when Sue
thought she would get the whole les-
son, one day, and get it perfectly, if it
were a possible thing. You shall see
how she succeeded. She went to her
class the day after this resolution had
been taken; and soon the one next
above her missed a question. Our Sue
answered it, and took her place. She
was quite glad to resign her place at
the foot to another, even if it was but
for one day.

It was not long before the one who
was now next above her missed a ques-
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 31



tion. Sue answered that, too. She was
now removed two places from her old
station.

Some notions of rising still higher
in the world, or at least in the class,
began to enter her head. At all events,
she resolved to get the next lesson per-
fectly, and see what might happen in
consequence. The next day, she went
to her class again, with a perfect les-
son. This time she went up, up, until
she reached the place next to the head
of the class.

The one who had kept possession
of the head, until she had done fear-


32 THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS.



ing any rival, now began to open her
eyes rather widely. But she did not
think it best to be frightened by one
who had remained so long and so qui-
etly at the foot of the class. She
thought the little girl probably owed
her sudden promotion to some lucky
chance. But it was not many days
before she too missed, and our Sue
took her place. Yes, there she was,
at last, quite up to the head. And she
kept her place there, too, until her
companion began to tremble, for fear
she should lose the prize she had been
so sure of getting. |
THE GEOGRAPHY CLASS. 33



But Sue did not expect the prize.
She knew that she had started in the
race too late for that. Her ambition
was satisfied, by showing so clearly
what she could do, even at that late
hour. But this was not all. Sue
learned a lesson which was of much
greater value to her than the prize
would have been. What do you think
it was, reader? She learned that she
could do more than she thought she
could, if she tried; and this is the
lesson I want my little friends to learn
from this story.
CHAP. IY.
SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.

“Bor pray,” some one may be ready
to inquire, “do you think that the les-
son you have just spoken of is worth
such a great deal?”

Indeed I do. There is nothing more
common than to hear a girl say, “1
can’t do this,” or “I can’t do that,”
when she has never tried to do it; and,
in nine cases out of ten, I do believe,
SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 35



when those children undertake one of
these things, they find they can do
it. It is a great point gained, when
a girl finds out that she can do a thing,
if it is hard. Here is a little boy who
says, ‘I can’t do this sum in arithme-
tic ;’’ and here is another who says, ‘I
can’t remember those dates in my his-
tory.” Nonsense! You have not tried
yet. I don’t believe you have.

Perhaps you may say, “ Why, I have
tried.”

How hard have you tried? How
many times did you try? Suppose
you should try to lift a pail full of
36 SUE'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.



water, by only taking hold of it with
your little finger. How foolish you
would look, trying to clasp the handle,
and to raise the pail, with your little
finger. Come, now, be honest. Don't
you try to get your lessons pretty much
in this way, sometimes? You don’t
apply more than the little finger of
your mind to them—just one cornet
of your brain—and try a little while,
and then say, ‘I can’t.” Isn’t it so?
I am almost sure it is. Now, if you
will only apply your whole mind to
these matters, you can conquer them.
I have not a doubt of it.
SUE'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 837



If I should hear you say, “I can’t,”
{should like to ask you two questions
about it. First question: How hard
have you tried? Second question: How
many times have you tried? Have
you tried seven times? Now you
would like to know why I ask if you
have tried seven times. I will tell
you. Not long after our Sue had got
up to the head of the geography class,
one day, when she was at home, she
was trying to do some difficult task
or other—I forget what it was, if I
ever knew—and she finally gave up,

and told her mother she couldn’t do it.
3
38 SUE'S MOTTO—-WHAT IT WAS.



Mrs. Carter said, “Very well, if you
are satisfied you can’t do it, there is
no use trying any longer, of course.”

Sue, as most girls would have done
in such cases, gave up the task, and
sat down by the side of her mother,
who was knitting with her hands, and
rocking the cradle with her foot.

‘Sue, my dear,” said her mother,
“how would you like to hear a little
story ?”

“Very much,” was the reply, “very
much indeed.”

And Mrs. Carter told her the story
- about a Scottish king, who was driven
. SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 39



from his throne by the English. This
king fought six battles to regain his
kingdom ; but he did not succeed. He
became quite discouraged. He had
tried so hard and so many times, that
he thought it was time for him to
give up the notion that he could con-
quer his enemies. He had to hide
himself from the English, who would
have been very glad to get him into
their hands, and then they would not
have feared to fight any more battles
with him.

One day, he hid himself in a cave.
As he lay there, he watched a spider,
40 SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.



weaving her web. She was trying to
carry the slender thread from one point
over to another. The king watched
her, and counted the times she made
the trial.

“One, two, three, four, five, six
times,” said the king. “As many
times as I have fought battles. But
see! she is trying it again. She is
more persevering than I am. There!
She has succeeded. I will learn a les-
Son from this spider. . I will try ore
more battle.” He did try one more
battle, and gained the victory.

Sue hung down her head, when her
SUE’S MOTTO—WHAT IT was. 4]



mother had got through telling the
story ; for she knew well enough that
there was a reproof in it for her. She
went right away, and tried again to do
the task she had given up—and she
succeeded. She did it. After this,

when she was heard to say, “I can’te

do a thing,” as she sometimes would,
her mother would ask her if she had
tried seven times; and she soon learn-
ed the lesson. If she was just going
t6 say, “I can’t,” she would stop, and
say, “I have not tried seven times.”
If she was trying to loosen a fast knot
in her shoe strings, and was beginning

ft
<
42 SUE'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS.



to feel impatient, she would think of
this story, and say, “I have not tried
seven times yet. Let me see. I have
tried twice. Now I have tried three
times. This makes four times. There
it comes! and I have tried only four
times either.’ Our young friend had
learned the lesson so well, that some-
times she would teach her teacher.
That little word can’t does slip out
of the mouth very easy sometimes. If
ever her mother said, “I can’t do so
and so,” Sue would look up in her
face, very innocently, and say, ‘‘ Have
you tried seven times?” This became
SUE’'S MOTTO—WHAT IT WAS. 43



our Sue’s motto: “LU ty—I'Ul try
seven times, at least.’

I don’t believe she ever heard a story
in her life, which did her so much good.
By the way, let me drop a hint just
here—a hint for parents; for I pre-
sume some of them will look over Uncle
Frank’s book. It is this: That good
instruction, through the medium of a
story, is far more likely to be remem-
bered than in any other form.
CHAP. V.

HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.

Ir is really astonishing how much a
motto can do, or rather, how much a
person can do with a motto. Indeed,
almost every one who has done any
thing worth mentioning in the world,
has been spurred on by some good
motto. In a great many instances,
to be sure, a person, who has accom-
plished a good deal, may not exactly
HOW MUCH A MOTTO GAN Do. 45



have formed his motto into words and
syllables. But he has had one, very
likely, nevertheless. You sometimes
come across a little girl, who seems
to have taken “I can’t” for her motto.
You, reader, have seen more than one
girl, who hardly ever thought she could
do a thing, when she was asked to do
it. Her answer was pretty uniformly
“T can’t.” Well, did such a girl ever
succeed in doing any thing worth na-
ming? Ofcourse not. How could she
do any thing with such a motto?
Our Sue’s motto was one of quite
another stamp. After her success in
46 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do.



the geography class, when she became
somewhat aware of her own power, and
after the story about the spider, the
motto that governed her more than
any other, when a task was proposed
to her, was, “Tl try.” She never
would allow herself to give up, in her
efforts to accomplish a hard task, until
she had tried as many times as the
spider did.

Her mother began very early to teach
her children to do housework. She did
not believe in letting girls grow up
to be women, without knowing the
alphabet. of housekeeping. “T want

"
HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO. 47



them to be useful,” she used to say,
“useful to themselves and to others ;
and I don’t see how they can be use-
ful, without learning to work.” Some
might say, and indeed, some did say,
“Why, madam, your children are able
to live without work.” “But what if
they are?’”’ she replied, “that may not
always be the case. To be sure, we’
are not poor now; but we may be,
some day or other. Besides, we don’t
expect the girls will live here with us
always; and who can tell whether
they will be able to keep tyo or three
servants twenty years hence? But
48 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



even if they were always to be quite
rich enough to warrant such extrava-
gance, I should be ashamed of them,
if they did not know how the differ-
ent branches of housekeeping ought. to
be done. It must be very uncomforta-
ble to be the mistress of a family, and
to be surrounded with servants, but
to be as ignorant as a cat.of the way
in which the household affairs ought
to be managed. What good would it
do such a lady, to know ever so well
_ how a particular dish ought to taste,
if she did not know how to cook it?
She ought to know how to do the work
HOW MUCH A MOTTO OAN DO. 49



in the kitchen, so as to be able to in-
struct her domestics, if for no other
reason ; and the only way for a girl
to learn how to do these things, is to
take hold and do them.”

I believe in that doctrine of Mrs. Car-
ter. I believe that children, if their
parents are ever so rich, ought to know
how to instruct others in doing work,
when they get to be masters and mis-
tresses themselves; and I believe that,
in most cases, at least, the only way to -
_ learn how to do a thing, is just to take
hold and do it. As to making bread,
and roasting turkeys, and broiling a
50 HOW MUCH A MOTTO GAN DO.



beef steak, I confess I don’t know,
from my own experience, but a lady
might learn all about these matters,
by studying the cookery books. But
I do know that it is impossible to
know how to drive any branch of use-
‘ful business belonging to boys and
men, without taking hold of it in
earnest ; and I have heard, too, from
those who ought to know, and who,
I think, did know, that a knowledze
of the cooking art cannot be learncd
_ from the cook books.

‘That was Mrs. Carter’s notion; and
it was certainly no fault of hers that
HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do. 51



her children were not good housewives.
When Sue was quite a little girl, her
mother began to teach her how to do
some of the work about the house. She

taught her the alphabet of housekeep- °

ing, almost as soon as she taught her
the alphabet that was printed on one
of the first pages of Webster’s spell-
ing-book.

I believe, however, that Sue did not
learn the mysteries of housekeeping
quite as easily as she did some other
things. She was very fond of her
books, and did not “take to cooking
much,” as Mrs. Carter’s hired girl used
52 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



to remark, once in a while, somewhat
complainingly. |

It was after the recital of the story
of the spider, that her mother, having
instructed her how to cook a few plain
dishes, told her she might prepare some
coffee for breakfast; and that, as her
father was quite fond of coffee, she
wished her to learn how to make it
very nicely. The first lesson was soon
given, and our Sue made her first trial,
She roasted the coffee, ground it, boiled
it, settled it, and make it all ready for
the table. But, for some reason’ or
other, and she could not tell what, the
HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO. 538



coffee was poor enough that time. Her
father could hardly drink it.

The next time, having got fresh in-
structions from her mother, she suc-
ceeded a little better. Still the coffee,
when it was poured out into the cups,
lacked that rich, clear, brown appear-
ance, which it ought to have. The
odor of it was not quite right, and its
flavor was far behind that which her
mother was in the habit of making.
Poor Sue! she was beginning to get
discouraged; and the third or fourth
time she tried, when the coffee was

served up, she burst into éears.
4
54 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



‘ Never mind, Sue,” her mother said.
“You'll make it better the next time,
I guess.”

Sue dried her tears. She had for-
gotten her motto until then; and when
it came into her mind, as it did while
her mother was speaking so kindly, she
thought, “ Why, what a foolish girl I
ém! I haven’t tried seven times yet,
have I?”

The next day she went about her
task again, a great deal more cheer-
_ fully than she had done before. “ Let
me see,” she said to herself. “Some-
thing has been wrong every time be-
SE eieetee ee A

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Af
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MAKING COFFEE

errant a

oa DFT Mier

j
}
}
;
;
;


"ek ae

Si Ted


HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do. 57



fore. I wonder what it was. Perhaps
it was in the roasting. I havea good
mind to roast some coffee anew.” Her
mother gave her permission to do so,
and she made her second attempt at
_ coffee-roasting. She roasted it very,
slowly, stirred it often, and watched
it all the time, to see that it did not
burn. Then she ground it. When the
time came for preparing the coffee for
breakfast, she was very careful to do
just as her mother had directed her, |
in every little particular.

Well, the coffee was made. It was
brought upon the table, and poured out.
58 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO.



“Well done!” said Sue’s father,
“this is the best cup of coffee we
have had for many a day;” and he
praised the skill of the young cook
so highly, that she felt amply repaid
for all the pains she had taken.

“So much for that motto of yours,
Sue,” said her mother. ‘TI don’t be-
lieve you would have succeeded in
making this fine dish of coffee, my
dear, if it had not been for that motto
of yours.”

It was, indeed, astonishing, what
wonders were brought about by those
two words, J’l/ try. Napoleon Bona-
HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN Do. 59



parte, as you may have heard, thought
there ought to be no such word as
impossible among Frenchmen, and he
wanted it blotted out of the dictionary |
of the French language, I believe. Sue
did not go quite so far as Napoleon,
in her opinion of the words, J can’t;
yet they were words which one seldom
heard her use. The motto, which had
become, as it were, engraved into her
very heart, helped to control all her
actions.

I could tell you a great many anec-
dotes about Sue and that motto of hers.
But, fearing you would grow weary of
60 HOW MUCH A MOTTO CAN DO. ~



this theme, I will talk to you about
something else. Children, I have often
noticed, like short stories better than
long ones; and it is on this account
that I never spin out my yarns to a
very great length.
CHAP. VI.

LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’.

Have I ever told you any thing about
my maternal grandfather and grand-
mother? ‘They deserve a warm place
in my memory, I am sure. Moreover,
though they lived a humble life, there
was enough about their history worth
recording ; and if I have not given you
some account of them, perhaps it is
time I had done so.
62 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



I was an inmate of their family, off
and on, for some two years, when I was
a little boy. I did chores for the old
folks, night and morning, for which I
had my board, together with the privi-
lege of picking up choice morsels of
knowledge at the brick school-house,
the greater portion of five days in
each week.

My grand-parents were old-fashioned
people, thoroughly old-fashioned, indeed.
“New-fangled notions” did not find
much favor in their eyes. Still, they
did not quarrel with younger people,
because they preferred to do things and
LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S. 63



to see things done in a more modern
style.

They were very unlike, in many re-
spects. Grandfather had a strong will ;
grandmother easily gave up almost
every thing but principle. He had a
temper which would get excited, in
spite of all he could do—she was al-
ways mild, and pleasant, and good-
humored, let what might happen. In
his character, there was a good deal
of sternness—in hers there was none.
He had his own way of thinking in
religious matters—she had hers. But
with all these differences, they never
64 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



seemed to disagree. It was a very
rare thing to hear of the least clashing
between them. They loved each other
with an affection too deep to be easily
disturbed. It seemed to me, indeed,
that their love for each other ripened,
as their heads whitened with age.
My grandfather was a man to be
loved. But he was a man to be
feared, too. There was something in
his manner, which seemed to say to
the stranger, just making his acquaint-
ance, “ Not too fast, sir; there will be
time enough to be intimate; not too
fast.” The children in the neighbor-
LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’. 65



hood, who only saw him occasionally,
had a notion that there was a good
deal of the bear in his character.
They did not like him. Some of them,
I dare say, could not help remember-
ing how he set the house dog upon
them, when they attempted to rob the
sugar pear-tree in the garden; and
that recollection did not tend much to
make them love him. Those, however,
who got acquainted with him, especi-
ally if they had never done any thing
to call forth the old gentleman’s dis-
pleasure, thought better of him. There
was, in fact, a kind heart in his breast,
66 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



though, as I then thought, he regarded
the outward signs of affection as rather
unmanly, and so he often shut up his
tender feelings, when he had them, and
when many other people would let
them out. To my grandmother, how-
ever, he always showed a great deal
of tenderness. As for his love toward
his grandchildren in general, and to-
ward me in particular, I don’t feel
disposed to question it, though he did
not take the little folks in his lap and
play with them, as often as some old
people do. I believe he never kissed
me but once, and that was when |
LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’S. 67



threw up my cap, and shouted, “ Hur-
rah for Jackson !’’ when he was telling
me about the battle of New Orleans.
He was a great Democrat, and pinned
his political faith on such sleeves as
those of Thomas Jefierson.

An admirable old- lady was my grand-
mother. All the boys and girls, for
miles around the little brown cottage
where she dwelt, were in love with
her. They loved her, I suppose, be-
‘cause she loved them, and because
her kind heart sought so many ways of
making them happy.

My grandparents were not rich. In-
68 LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER'S.



deed, except in faith and good works,
they were poor. The house in which
they lived and had brought up a family
of children, aS numerous, almost, as
Jacob’s, was but one story in height,
and had only some half a dozen rooms
in it, all told, including the sink-room,
which was a sort of shanty, though
joined to the main building after a
fashion.

I tell you what it is, my young friend,
in that part of the country where I
lived when I was a little boy, our fore-
fathers and foremothers—if that last
word happens to be in the dictionary,
LIFE AT MY GRANDFATHER’s. 69



which, I confess, is a matter of some
doubt in my own mind—were satisfied
with a much smaller house than we
think we need now-a-days, to make
us comfortable; and they didn’t fur-
nish their houses so finely as most of
the families do who live in this last
half of the nineteenth century. Why,
would you have dreamed of such a
thing? There was not a piano in the
county where my grand-parents were
brought up, when I first went to live
with them.
CHAP. VIL.

A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.

How homesick I was, now I think of
it, the first autumn I was at the old gen-
tleman’s. I used to cry so much, that,
to use a comparison of my grandfather’s,
my eyes looked like a pair of onions. I
remember, now, as if it were but yes-
terday, how one afternoon, after school,
I went out to the wood-pile, to split
some oven wood for my grandmother,

A
A TASTE OF HOMESICKNEsS. 71



it being the day preceding the baking
day—Friday, of course—I remember
how my tears fell so fast, that I could
not see to split a log I was at work
upon, and ‘spht my great toe instead. —
But I declare to you, that the pain I
suffered from the wound—and I had
a hard time of it with that toe, too,
before it got well—was easier to bear
than the homesickness,
Homesickness is a good deal like .
seasickness, When one is seasick,
thoroughly seasick, he does not care
much what becomes of him. If the

captain should come. to the berth of.-
5

&.
79 A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.



a poor fellow, who was eroaning with
seasickness, and tell him he was very
much afraid the vessel was going to
~ the bottom, just as likely as nob he
would say, ‘‘ Well, let ‘the old thing
go, I can’t help it;” or if he didn’t
say so, he would feel like saying 80.

Just so, when a chap has got as
completely under the control of the
genius of homesickness as I was at
the time I now allude to, he scarcely
cares a fig for any thing else that may
be going on in the | great, world around
him. | |

I must tell you, now I have shown
A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS. "3



you how I got into this fit of home-
sickness, how it came to pass that
I got out of it. Thanksgiving now ap-
«proached. ‘Coming events cast their
shadows before,” it is said. I suppose
they do sometimes, though not always,
[am sure. This time there were more
lights than shadows cast forward on my
pathway. You can guess why, can’t
you? I was to go home the day before
thanksgiving, and remain there a whole
week. A whole week! That thought
was bliss to, me, periect bliss—as it
seemed then.
Why; the wood. split a+good deal
74 A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.



easier, as the longed-for day drew near.
Old Kate, my grandfather’s mare, who
had only two faults—first, that she
was bad to catch, and secondly, that,
she was good for nothing after she was
caught—seemed not to act quite as
much like an uncivilized mare, when
I came up to her irr the pasture, with
the bridle on my arm; the cows cer-
tainly stood stiller, while they were
undergoing the milking penance; there
did not appear to be half as many
chips to pick up for erandmother’s:
kitchen fire; and indeed, the sun, and
moon, and stars, all looked more and
A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS. [5



more cheerfully and good-naturedly up-
on me.

At last, the day came—the day be-
fore thanksgiving —and off I posted
homeward, twelve long miles, afoot |
and alone, as a certain Irish gentle-
man from the island of Erin is re-
puted to have gone to the wedding.
My feet were blistered when I got
home. But that was no matter. I.
was happy. |

Young friends, when do you think
d went back to my grandfather’s? Not.
until the frosts of the next autumn
began to open the chestnut burs, near-
76 A TASTE OF HOMESICKNESS.



ly one whole year after that thanks-

giving festival.


CHAP. VIII.

MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. —

I po wish from my heart, you could
have seen my grandmother, little girl.
It would have done your heart good to
‘sit down by her side, when she had
her knitting work in her hand, and
to read what there was written in her
countenance.

“Why, what was there so remarka-
ble about her?” you inquire.
%8 MY GRANDMOTHER'S PETS.



Indeed, I am not sure that there was
any thing exactly remarkable about
her, except this, that she always wore
one of the best-natured faces that you
ever gazed upon in your life. I never
saw her angry for a moment, in all my
acquaintance with her. She was al-
ways as cheerful as the old family cat,
who had sat in the chimney corner,
purring a song of contentment and
genuine enjoyment, time out of mind.
She loved every body and every thing ;
and every body and every thing, it
seemed to me, loved her.

Speaking of the old family cat, as
MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. "9



I did a second ago, reminds me of
what a host of pets the good old lady
always had. Indeed, every thing that
had the breath of life in it, with which
she had aught to do, was a pet of hers,
to a greater or less extent. She in-
variably had at least one cosset lamb
under her care, who would show his
fondness for his mistress, whenever he
could get a chance, by playing all sorts
of pranks for her amusement, often
coming into the sink-room door, and
making himself vastly at home in al-
most every part of the house.

Many a time, when we have been
80 MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS.



eating dinner, in the summer season,
and the doors were all open, old Jenny,
a huge cosset sheep, that grandmother
had brought up with great care, came
into the kitchen, and marched straight
to my grandmother’s chair, looking up
wistfully into her face, as much as to
say, “I am fond of that dish, too.”
And Jenny usually got her share of
the dinner, before she left the room. *

Hens and chickens, a multitude of
them, scampered toward the old lady,
whenever the word diddy fell from her
lips, in the yard. I have known a
great rooster alight on her head, many
- MY GRANDMOTHER’S PETS. §1



a time, to manifest the joy he felt to
greet her appearance among his tribe;
and once, I distinctly recollect that,
after such a personage had taken his
position there, and was clinging to the
old lady’s mob cap, another member
of the family, much younger, though
quite as ambitious, mounted upon the
aforesaid rooster’s back.

, Though my grandmother never kept
birds shut up in cages, considering it
wrong and cruel to deprive the poor
things of their liberty, she had houses
built for the martens and the wrens,
close under the eaves of the house,
82 MY GRANDMOTHER'S PETS.



every spring. Such a chattering as
grandmother’s wrens made when they
they were bringing up @ family of
children! I don’t know whether the
feeling of eratitude ever entered a
wren’s heart; and I could not say
positively that wrens have hearts at
all. But I am sure if they do have
hearts, and if they ever feel any thing
in the shape of gratitude, those around
the old mansion must have been trying
to express their thanks to the old lady
for her hospitality to them, when they
were chattering at such a rate.
CHAP. IX.

SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.

I, roo, was one of my grandmother's
pets. At least, I so regarded myself,
when a child. Oh, what an ocean of
kindness there was in her heart. How
could I ever have been homesick in a
house which was blessed by the light
of her cheerful countenance? I don’t
believe that a single night passed, du-
ring the winter season, while I was
84 SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.



living with the good old couple, that
grandmother did not come to my bed
in the garret, to see that I was lying
“nice and warm.” In the day-time,
when I had nothing out of doors to do,
and had got my lessons for the next
day sufficiently studied, it was among
my greatest comforts to sit by her side,
on a high-backed article of furniture,
which we called a settle, while she was
spinning flax on the little wheel that
went with a lathe, where I would
watch the motions of her fingers, as
the wheel went round. There was
sweet music to my ears in the buzzing
SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL. 85



of that wheel, as it went round and
round so industriously.

A most wonderful process, it seemed
to me, was the spinning of that linen
thread. How skilfully the old lady did
manage the thread with one hand, and
draw out the unspun flax with the
other ; and what a remarkable feat she
performed, now and then, when she
dipped her fingers in the miniature
gourd shell, to moisten the thread.
She did it as quickly as a swallow
dips his beak in the mill-pond. Did
you ever see a lady spin on one of these
little wheels, my friend ? Very likely
86 SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.



you have not enjoyed such a treat, as:
the business of family spinning has
gone quite out of fashion in these days,
I believe.

While my grandmother was spinning
on the little wheel, she would sing for
me, and tell me stories, and try to store
my young mind with valuable knowl-
edge. I shall never forget those songs
and stories. They not only made a
deep impression upon me at the time,
put they lived in my memory, and still
live there. Next to my own dear mo-
ther, who died when I was little else
than a child, no one ever did so much
SPINNING ON THE LITTLE WHEEL. 87



to guide my steps toward heaven, as
my grandmother. With too many peo-
ple, religion wears a gloomy face. It
wore a cheerful one, as it was pictured
by my grandmother. There was noth-
ing sad, nothing gloomy, nothing cheer-
less about it, in her vision.

I have spoken of the garret, where I
used to sleep. In the same room were
stored all kinds of things, some of which
excited my curiosity a good deal, and
I never wearied of hearing my. grand-
mother tell stories which were con-
nected with them. She had a way of

her own, in gratifying children’s cu-
6
88 sPINNING -ON THE LITTLE WHEEL.



riosity about any thing. If I asked |
her what that odd-looking thing was,
with something like an ox bow, only
smaller, fastened to it, she would tell
me it was a pilloon, and go on to ex-
plain what a pillion was, and how they
were used: in old times, when she was
a young lady. But her talk about pil-
lions did not stop here. She was not
satisfied with informing me, in general,
what the article was, and how it was
used. She improved the opportunity
to tell me ever so many stories, in all
of which the pillion played a part.
NTS

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A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE

Ler me tell you one story, as a speci-
men of her mode of amusing her little
grand-children, and instructing them,
too, at the same time.

When I was a romping girl—she
would say—we had no chaigas and
wagons. There was not, indeed, a sin-
gle wagon in all our parish, when I
was married. Squire Keeler was the


92 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



first to get one; and I remember that
the people came to see it from all parts
of the neighborhood. They thought it
a wonderful thing, and many of them
secretly accused the squire, who was a
good man and a deacon in the meeting,
of getting proud, or grand, as they had
the word.

When we girls rode out, instead of
getting into a carriage, we mounted
the family horse; and the way your
grandfather and erandmother went to
meeting, when we first started in life
together, was on the back of Kate, our
old sorrel mare. Grandfather sat upon
A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE. 93



the saddle, and I sat behind him on
the pillion. That is the way we rode
out, the next day after the wedding.
This time he didn’t ride Kate, though.
It would have been better for us, if we
had, as things turned out.

It was in the winter. Let me see.
It was in December—the twenty-fourth
day of December, old style. The ground
was covered with light snow. It seems
to me that we had deeper snow in those
days than we have now. At any rate,
the snow was deep enough then. The
neighbors had to turn out, for miles
around, that morning, with their ox
94 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



sleds to break paths, over the whole
' parish. I should not wonder if it was
as deep as that yard stick yonder,
when we set out on our first ride after
the wedding.

I have told you that we did not ride
~ Kate. We rode, however, your Uncle
Zial’s horse, instead of her. Ill tell
you the reason why: your Uncle Zial’s
Jack was handsomer than Kate, and
your grandfather said, that as one’s
wedding didn’t happen a great many
times in one’s life, we might as well
look “ nice and trim,” when it did hap-
pen. You see, he was to take me, for
A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE. 95



the first time, from the home of my
childhood, to his father’s house, where
we were to live, the “best room”’ hav-
ing been fitted up for us, until our
new home was built. It was a great
event, and your grandfather thought,
and I believe we all thought, that it
was best to do something worthy of
the occasion, and to perform the jour-
ney in good style. That was the reason
that Jack was selected, in preference
to Kate, at the time I am now speak-
ing of.

Every thing having been got ready,
your grandfather mounted the saddle,
96 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



and I, having climbed the horse-block
that stood at the garden gate, mounted
the pillion behind him. Off we started.
As we rode along, toward the house
of my new father and mother, we
could not help noticing that all the
people along the road were looking
at us; and I am not sure but we
felt a little pride, when we reflected
that we were the most important char-
acters in all those parts, that day.
For a while, our journey was a pros-
perous one. Things went on smoothly.
Jack behaved well. He was not noted
for his kindness and gentleness, while
A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDP. 97



under the saddle and pillion. He was
roguish. Uncle Zial never had any
trouble with him, it is true. He knew
how to manage the fellow. But Jack
made it a sort of principle, to cut up
some caper or another with almost
every body, except his master, who
had any thing to do with him. We
were not afraid, though. ‘Your grand-
father said, I recollect, as we were
riding along, that he believed he could
manage any horse in the world, if he
could get a bit into his mouth, and
I believed he could, too.

But that self-confidence proved quite
98 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



out of place. As we were going down
the long hill, just this side of the
stone bridge, Jack began to grow rest-
less, and to show signs that things
were not going exactly right with him.
I have thought since that the girth
of the saddle was too tight to suit
him, and that he was nervous on that
account. It matters little now, how-
ever, what was the cause of Jack’s
restlessness, though if we had under-
stood it then, we might have turned
our knowledge to good account.

As soon as Jack commenced twisting
his head about, as if a swarm of flies
A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE. 99



had suddenly pounced upon him from
their wintry graves, he tried to pacify
him, in every possible way. “ Whoa,
Jack!” he said, in the very kindest
tone of voice. But that would not do.
Then he patted the nervous beast, ten-
derly and soothingly, on the neck, and.
addressed to him such words as “ poor
fellow,” “nice jade,’ and other terms
of endearment. But it was of no use.
He kept acting worse and worse. We
would have got off, when we found
that there was no such thing as qui-
eting the feverish animal. But we
couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t stop
100 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



long enough to let us dismount in de-
cent style. On he went down the hill,
and on we went with him. On he did
not go long, though. Jack gave one
huge kick, and off went your grand-
father, over Jack’s head, into the snow-
bank, and off went his bride into the
snow-bank, after him.

We were not hurt in the least—that
is, not in dody. Some things, not exact-
ly belonging to the body, (I speak for
myself now, not for your grandfather ;
he can speak for himself,) some things,
not belonging to the body, were hurt a
good deal. My pride suffered severely.
A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE. 101

———

When I saw the neighbors looking out
of the windows at us, as we were pick-
ing ourselves up out of the snow-bank,
I thought of those words of the wise
man, “Pride goeth before destruction,
and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
That is the way my grandmother
told stories. She would tell a dozen
stories, perhaps, with a pillion for a
sort of text. And if 1 inquired about
that old rusty musket, which stood in
‘the corner of the garret, with a still
rustier bayonet on it, she would tell
stories by the half hour, off and on,
while she was spinning or knitting,
102 A FUNNY HORSEBACK RIDE.



about the part which that musket
took in war-time—how my. grandfather
carried it in the army, when the British
landed at New London; how they
fought for liberty ; how they got what
they fought for; what a time there
, was, when peace was declared; how
every body rejoiced; how many bless-
ings we had, on account of what our
soldiers did for us, and how thankful
we all of us ought to be.
CHAP. XI.

OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS ;

OR, A STORY ABOUT PARSON MURDOCK,

In the best room of the old brown
cottage, I remember there were two
or three rather coarsely engraved por-
traits hanging up over the fireplace. ©
One afternoon in summer, when my
grandmother had gone into the best
room with her knitting-work, because

it was cooler there than in any other
9
104 OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS.



part of the house, I followed her, and
took my seat, as usual, near her rock-
ing chair.

This time I had a great curiosity to
know all about those great men whose
pictures were hanging up over the fire-
place. The good old lady gratified me ;
and I remember it was almost sun-
down, and quite time to run after the
cows, before she stopped telling stories
about those men. Among the pictures
which hung there, I remember there
was one of General Washington, and
one of Thomas Jefierson. My grand-
mother told me a story at that time,
OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS. 105



of Jefferson, which, I guess, I must tell
you.

Some time after the close of the
Revolutionary War, there were two
political parties; and one party were
called Federalists, and the other Dem-
ocrats. I need not stop now, to tell
you what difference there was in these
parties. That is of no consequence.
Jefferson was a Democrat, and the
Federalists did not like him. They
called him a bad man, and I have
no doubt but they believed what they
said. Your grandfather was a Demo-
crat; but most of the people in the

‘
106 OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS.



parish were Federalists. Democrats
were scarce in all this part of the
country. All the ministers and most
of the deacons, I believe, were Fed-
eralists. Parson Murdock—good old
man! how I loved him—Parson Hil-
kiah Murdock, who preached in our
meeting-house at that time, though
one of the best-natured men that I
ever saw in my life, used to get quite
out of patience, when he heard, what he
very seldom did hear, any one of his
flock praise Thomas Jefferson. He
wanted no such man as that for Presi-
dent. I do believe that he would as
OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS. 107



soon have voted for Benedict Arnold,
as for Jefferson. I don’t suppose that
he thought, as many ionorant people
did think in this part of the country,
that if Jefferson were ever elected, he
would have all the Bibles in the land
burned up. But he did think that his
election would be a great curse to the
country. And so he used to pray, I
remember, every Sunday, in a round-
about way, but so that we all under-
stood him well enough, that no such
man as Jefferson might ever come to
be President.

One day, when feeling about politics
108 OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS.



ran very high, Captain Coan and his
wife brought their child to our meeting,
to be baptized. It was not the present
Captain Coan, who lives across the way,
but his father. Now the captain was a
Democrat—a red-hot Democrat, as the
neighbors used to call him. He was a
Jefferson man all over, from head to
foot.

“Let the child be presented for bap-
tism,’”’ said Parson Murdock.

And the captain and his wife came
up to the pulpit, bearing the little child
with them.

The good old minister whispered to
OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS. 109



Captain Coan, and asked him what
name had been selected for the babe.

“Thomas Jefferson,” was the reply,
almost in a whisper, so that the people
could not hear it, though most of them
knew what they were going to call
the child.

Parson Murdock did not like the
name. Of course he did not like it.
You could see that in his face. How-
ever, he said nothing about it to the
father. He went on with the service.
And when he came to the naming of
the babe, he said, in a much louder
voice than usual, “This child’s name
110 OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS.



is John! I baptize him,” and so on,
to the end of the service.

There was nothing that ever hap-
pened in the brick meeting-house,
since I was old enough to know what
was going on there, that ever caused
such a general laugh, all over, the
house, as that act of Parson Murdock.
Nobody pretended to justify the good
old minister, I believe. It was pretty
generally thought that he had taken
too much upon him, and that he had
no business to give any other name
to the child than the one which the
parents had selected for him. Still, no
OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS. 111



one who heard how strongly and de-
cidedly that word John came out of
the pastor’s lips, could help laughing
at it.

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CHAP. XII.

A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME;

OR, THE LOVED ONE.

Wuen I was a boy, I used to think
that the spring-time was the pleasant-
est season in all the year. I remem-
ber how anxiously I watched for the
first indications that spring had com-
menced its mild reign. ‘There was a
forest not far from my father’s house,
abounding in maple trees. As soon
se
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A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME. 115



as the warm sun of spring set the
sap of the trees in motion, we used
to tap them; and the process of drain-
ing off the sap from those old maple
trees, and making it into sugar, was,
in my childish way of looking at things,
a very great treat.

It was pleasant, too, at that season
of the year, to hunt for ground nuts,
and sassafras root, and artichokes, and
snake root. Besides, 1 was always
a lover of flowers. As long ago as
I can recollect, I was fond of search-
ing all over the woods and meadows
for the sweet wild flowers. Multi-
116 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



tudes of beautiful wild flowers bloomed
near the old brown house where I dwelt
when I was a child, and I dearly loved
to look at their smiling faces. I loved
them then, and I love them now. They
seem like old friends to me, all of them,
whenever I meet them in their native
haunts.

Reader, speaking of the spring flow-
ers reminds me of one of the dearest
friends of my childhood. I can never
think of the wild flowers without think-
ing of her. Shall I tell you a story
about her? Presuming the answer is.
“Yes,” I will tell it.
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TImE. 117



Among the little girls of our village,
there was none more generally beloved
than Kitty Stone. I call her Kitty,
though her name was Catharine, be-
cause every body else called her so.
She was the youngest of three sisters,
the eldest of whom, at the time when
the incidents related in this story took
place, could not be more than twelve
or thirteen years of age. A year or
two before that time, the mother had
gone to her rest. Weighed down with
a sorrow too heavy to be borne, and
of a nature too delicate to be confided
to others, she sank under it, while in
118 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



the noon of life, and died, commending
her children to God. Kitty, young as
she was, remembered a thousand inci-
dents connected with the departed one,
and seemed, so late as the time at which
my story begins, to be never happier
than when her mother was the theme
of conversation.

There was something remarkable in
this. One reason for it might have
been, that the surviving parent of these
sisters, though once a kind and affec-
tionate father, was now so altered by
habits of intemperance, that the differ-
ent members of his family found very
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME. 119



little enjoyment or pleasure in his s80-
ciety.

But there was another reason. Lit-
tle Kitty was an unusually thoughtful,
serious child, for one of her years. Was
there not another reason, still ? I do
not know. I cannot tell what words
God may whisper to the child that
loves him; but this I know, that little
Kitty talked much of heaven, and she
seemed to have learned more of the
‘language of heaven than men can
teach.

One bright Saturday, in the early
spring-time, when there was no school,
120 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



these sisters might have been seen
winding their way through the woods,
not far from the house where they
lived, searching for the first wild flow-
ers. Little Kitty, the youngest, was
very happy, but, as usual, more grave
than the other sisters. By and by,
wearied with their walk, they sat down
on a carpet of moss, and talked a great
while. At first, the conversation was
about birds and flowers; but Kitty
soon gave a serious turn to it.

‘T wonder,” said she, “if dear mo-
ther has pretty flowers in heaven. I
hope so—she loved them so well. Do
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME. 121



you remember the little monthly rose
she wanted we should bring into her
room, just before she died? How
happy she was, when one of us went
and brought it to her bed. And she
went to heaven. so soon after that! Oh,
I think there must be flowers up there
in the sky, or she would not have
thought of them and loved them 60,
when she was dying. Don’t you think
S02”

And she was silent. So were her
sisters, awhile. Thoughts of heaven
made them serious. They were sad,
too. When the youngest, their darling
122 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



Kitty, conversed in this strain, a cloud
always came over their sunny faces.
They could scarcely tell why it was
so; for they, too, loved to think of hea-
ven. But the language of their sister
seemed to them to belong to another
world ; and often, in the midst of their
brightest hopes, would come the fear,
like a thunderbolt, that God would
crush that cherished flower, and re-
move her from their embrace while she
was young.

“ Kitty,” at length said Eliza, the
eldest sister, ‘‘why do you always talk
so much about heaven ?”
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME. 123



“JT don’t know,” was the reply; ‘“ per-
haps, because I think a good deal about
it. I dreamed last night’”—

“Oh, I thought so,” said Maria, play-
fully interrupting her sister; “you are
always dreaming; I should think the
little fairies were playing hide and seek
all around your pillow, every night. I
wish they would whisper in my ears as
they do in yours. Why, the naughty
things hardly ever speak to me; and
when they do, they tell a very different
story from those they tell you. It is
generally about falling down from a
church steeple, or getting run away

5
ue

124 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



with by a vicious horse, or being
chased by a mad bull, or something
of that kind. Well, what did the
fairies say to you this time, dear?”

“T never had such a dream before,”
said the loved one, her face glowing
with a new, almost an unearthly light ;
“T mean I never had one just like
it. When dear mother died, you re-
member I told you a dream about the
angels. Last night I thought they
came to me again, and I saw mother,
too, so clearly !”’—

She stopped, and her eyes fell. She
seemed almost sorry that she had said
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME. 125



as much; for she had not forgotten
that the former dream, to which she
alluded, had caused her sisters pain,
and she thought, that perhaps she
should make them unhappy again, if
she related her dream of the night be-
fore. “I will not tell you the dream,
if it makes you feel bad,” she said.

But her sisters begged her to go on,
and she did so.

“When I went to sleep,” said she,
“T was thinking of—of—what father
had said to me’—and she burst into
a flood of tears.

Her sisters wept, too; for they well
126 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



remembered that their father had come
home from the tavern that night, un-
der the influence of liquor, and that he
had spoken very harshly to them all,
and especially to the youngest. They
could not say much to console her.
What could they say? Silently they
wept, and by their tears and embraces
they told her how deeply they sympa-
thized with her, and how much they
would do for her, if they could. When
the little dreamer was able to go on,
she said,

“Twas thinking about this when I
went to sleep. I thought I was cry-
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME. 127



ing, and wondering why God should
let dear mother die, and leave us all
alone, when I heard some one Say,
‘Look up.’ I looked up in the sky,
and all the stars were windows, and
I saw through them. I saw heaven—
so beautiful—so beautiful! 1 saw mo-
ther looking out of one of these win-
dows, and she smiled, as she did when
we brought the rose to her bed-side. 1
heard her call my name, and then she
reached her arms toward me, and said,
‘You may come.” Oh, this was not
like other dreams’—

“ Don’t think of it, dear sister; don’t
128 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



think of it, any more,” said Eliza.
“You were not well last night, and
I have often heard, that when people
are ill, their dreams are more apt to
be disturbed. But we will not say
any more about it now, dear.”

“No,” said Maria; “we shall all
feel too sad, if we do.” And she made
an effort to be cheerful; though tears
stood in her eyes as she spoke.”

“JT don’t know why it makes others
feel sad to think of heaven,” said the
loved one. “I should love dearly to
go there.”

“But then it is so dreadful to die!”
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME. 129



“TI know it; but mother was s80
happy when she died!” :

“Would you be willing to leave your
sisters, dear Kitty ?”

“No; not unless I could see mother
and Christ. Oh, I do love Christ more
than all the rest of my friends! Do
you think that 1s wrong?”

Neither of the sisters answered that
question. Their minds were too busy
with other thoughts to heed it.

- Slowly and thoughtfully that loving
group bent their steps homeward, and
just as the sun was setting, and the
western clouds were spread all over
130 A STORY OF THE SPRING-TIME.



with the beauty and glory of twilight,
they entered that cottage which, though
the abode of sorrow and shame, was
yet dear and sacred to them, because it
was once the home of their mother.

From that time, the gentle, loving,
thoughtful little Kitty, faded—taded as
a flower in the autumn wind. She had
not been well for weeks; and soon it
was evident that she was rapidly de-
clining.

Was her dream a cause or an eflect—
a cause of her decline, or an effect of
an illness already preying upon her
frail system? I do not know. Per-
A STORY OF THE SPRING-TrmME. 131



haps no one could tell. There is some-
thing very remarkable about a great
many dreams. It is not easy to ac-
count for them all, by what is known
of the laws of the mind. But we must
not stop now to inquire into this mat-
ter. It is too deep for us.

Step by step, that cherished sister
went downward to the grave; and be-
fore the summer had come, while the
early violet and the pure white ane-
mone were still in bloom, God called
her home. Peacefully and beautifully
her sun went down.

“They come!” she said—and died.
CHAP. XIII.
THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW.

Lucy and Robert, a brother and sis-
ter, used very often to quarrel. It was
a very foolish and a very wicked habit.
There was no necessity for it. The lit-
tle disputes and contentions which
occurred almost every day, might very
easily have been avoided, if the chil-
dren had only done as their mother
instructed them to do. Mrs. Mason,
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THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW. 185



their mother, was a pious woman. She
loved God, and Christ, and the Bible;
and it grieved her a good deal to see
her children show so little forbearance
toward each other.

Robert was the younger of the two
children. I hardly know which was
more in fault. Perhaps they were
equally to blame. But however that
may be, there was some jar between
them nearly every day, and sometimes,
when they did not go to school, several
times in a day. They could hardly
ever agree more than an hour or two
at a time. Sometimes Lucy would
136 THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW.



accidentally knock down her brother’s
play-house, very nicely built up with
cobs or books. Then there would be
a terrible tempest. Robert did not
wait to ascertain whether his sister
meant to do it or not; but he flew
into a passion at once, and said some
unkind words to Lucy. This, of course,
drew some harsh words from her in
reply, and so they would answer back
and forth, without stopping a moment
to see if they could not settle the difii-
culty. The matter was all the time
getting worse and worse. It is strange »
that they could not have seen this.
THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW. 1387



Sometimes Robert would tease his
sister on purpose, and she would get
angry. Once in a while, he would do
something by accident which displeased
her, and then there would be a pretty
heavy sea of anger on both sides before
they got through with the difficulty.
There were a good many very boister-
ous times. It took a great while to
bring about a calm in the angry wa-
ters, and when, at length, it became
a little tranquil, it seemed as if it
was because the elements were tired
out, and stopped to rest.

_Qne day—it was in the winter;
138 - THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW.



there was a furious snow-storm raging
without, so that Mrs. Mason said the
children need not go to school—one
wintry day, little Lucy and her brother
were just as busy as they could be in
the parlor with their playthings. They
had them all out. Lucy had her doll,
her cradle, and her little china tea-
cups and saucers, and I know not
what beside. Robert had his earthen
dog, his wagon, and his whip. It
was a merry time in that parlor; and
things went on pleasantly for a little
while.

By and by, however, Robert in run-
THE FIRST AND LAST BLow. â„¢ 139



ning about the room with his whip,
came in contact with the chair, on
which Lucy had her doll in the cradle.
The doll was fast asleep, of course, and
it was a great pity to wake her. But
the chair tumbled over, and over went
both doll and cradle, the doll in one
direction, the cradle in another. Here
was a sad state of things. To have a
doll disturbed, when it is sound asleep,
is a great calamity to a little girl.
Now, Robert did not mean to do
this. He was careless, to be sure;
but he upset the chair by accident.
Still Lucy did not stop to think how
140 @ THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW.



it was done. She ran after her bro-
ther, in a passion, and struck him a
cruel blow on the head. Robert cried
very loudly, of course.

This was the last time, however, that
these children ever quarreled. Shall ]
tell you how they were cured of this
bad trait of character? Their mother,
Mrs. Mason, as I said before, was a
good woman, and it grieved her very
much to see her children so unkind to
each other. She was sitting near the
fire, sewing, when she saw Lucy strike
her brother. She felt very sad indeed,
She had often seen the two quarreling,
THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW. 141



but this was the first time she had
seen either of them give the other a
blow.

“Oh,” said she, “my dear children,
has it come to this?” and she burst
into tears, and wept for some time.

- The children stopped quarreling in a
moment, when they saw their mother
weeping. This was the first time they
had ever seen her shed tears, and they
could not help thinking that she wept
on account of their bad behavior.
They felt as if an arrow had pierced
their hearts; and they ran to their

mother, threw their arms around her
9
142 THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW.



neck, and said, “Dear mother, don’t
cry; we will never do so again.”
The mother embraced them tenderly,
and said, ‘‘My dearest children, I for-
give you. I love you more than I can
tell. You know I love you fondly.
But I would rather see you both lying
cold and pale in the coffin, than to
have you grow up with this spirit of
anger and ill-will toward each other.”
A good many times after that, there
was a difference of opinion between
these children; but, whenever they
felt that quarrelsome spirit rising in
their breasts, they remembered their
THE FIRST AND LAST BLOW. 1438



mother’s tears, and that checked them
instantly. So, after a while, they
formed the habit of forbearing with
each other, and they found it quite
an easy thing to live without quar-
reling.

Little children, it may be that this
story contains a thought or two, which
it would be well for you to consider.
What do you think about it? You
can tell whether you ever quarrel with
your brother or sister, a great deal
better than Uncle Frank can.
CHAP. XIV.

THE TITHING-MAN OF OUR PARISH.

Reaper, let me give you a little
sketch of the tithing-man who used
to have authority in our parish meet-
ing-house. Perhaps you don’t know
what a tithing-man is, though. I
must not forget that tithing-men are
getting somewhat out of date now-a-
days. In old England, a tithing-man
was the chief man of a tithing. “But
THE OLD TITHING-MAN. 145



what was a tething?”’ you ask. A ti-
thing was a company of ten house-
holders, according to Blackstone, who,
dwelling near each other, were sureties
or free pledges to the king, for the good
behavior of each other. The institution
of tithing in England, if I recollect
aright, is due to Alfred the Great.

A tithing-man, among our ancestors
across the water, was one whose busi-
ness it was to act as president over
these ten men, who constituted the
tithing.

But a tithing-man in New England,
it must be confessed, was a very differ-
ae

146 THE OLD TITHING-MAN.



ent officer. He was an officer, elected
every year by the parish—or the town,
which was about the same thing in old
times—and his business was to keep
order in the meeting-house, while it
was open, on Sundays, fast days, and
thanksgiving days. If he found any
boy at play, in was his duty to stop
him—peaceably, if he could—torcibly,
if he must.

I hardly think the duties of this offi-
cer were very clearly and distinctly
defined by the statutes of the good
state of Connecticut. At any rate, it
used to come to pass, very often, in
THE OLD: TITHING-MAN. 147



our parish, that Uncle Ben, the good
old tithing-man, who had occupied his
post there time out of mind, was often
blamed by some for doing too little to
preserve order, and quite as often by
others for doing too much. I fancy,
too, that the tithing-man’s task was
rather a hard one.

How much of a salary Uncle Ben
got for pulling the ears of us boys
and girls of a Sunday, I don’t know
that I ever heard, and am certain
that I do not recollect, if I have been
informed. A little light, however,
seems to be thrown upon that subject,
148 THE OLD TITHING-MAN,



by what Uncle Ben once said at free-
man’s meeting, in answer to a cavil of
one of the neighbors, who was opposed
to his being elected again to that high
office, and who, it was thought by some,
would not mind serving himself, if he
could get a chance. Uncle Ben was in
a mood called huffy in those parts, and
said, a little more snappishly than
usual—for he was not apt to get out
of patience—that if any .body would
make a better tithing-man than he,
he was welcome to take his place;
that, for his part, he was getting tired
of the job; that there was more plague
THE OLD TITHING-MAN. 149



than profit about it, and more kicks
than coppers. I infer from this re-
mark, that tithing-men were poorly
paid, and that the honors of that
office, such as they were, were more
numerous than the dollars.

Uncle Ben had some humor about
him. I don’t know that he ever set
himself up for a wit, exactly. But we
boys used to enjoy most of his jokes
tolerably well, and some of them fur-
nished us material for laughing for
weeks after he had let them off. But
among the older portion of the com-
munity, to be sure, the good old ti-
150 THE OLD TITHING-MAN,



thing-man’s jokes were not so much
valued. But children and grown peo-
ple often have a little different stand-
ard of judgment as to what kind of
material fun is made up of.

I will give you a specimen of Uncle
Ben’s jokes, so as to allow you to judge
for yourself how good he used to make
that kind of ware.

One day, when there was plenty of
snow on the ground, and some dozen
boys, of whom I was one, were busy
with our sleds, we met the old man
in the road. When we first saw him,
he was putting his hand up to his
{HE OLD TITHING-MAN. 151



head, and wearing a very wry face,
as if something had gone wrong with
him.

“What is the matter, Uncle Ben?”
we inquired, with a great deal of alarm.
We were afraid he was going to have a
fit, or something of the kind.

“ Oh, dear!” said he, “there’s mat-
ter enough!” And he kept putting
his hand up to his head, as if that
were the spot where the trouble was.

“ Are you hurt, Uncle Ben?” some
of us asked ‘What has happened ?”

“Something struck me, just now.”

‘Where ?”” we asked.
152 THE OLD TITHING-MAN.



“Here,” he replied, again putting
his hand to his head.

“What was it?” we inquired; “ was
it a big icicle?”

“Oh, no, nothing of that kind.”

“What, then ?”

“Well, boys, if you must know, it
was a thought that struck me.” 3

The old man put on such a comical
look, as he said this, that I verily be-
lieve Mr. Solomon Stark, our school-
master, who professed always to have
a very poor opinion of the old tithing-
man’s wit, would have laughed heartily
enough, if he had been there.
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THE OLD TITHING-MAN AND THE BOYS,






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THE OLD TITHING-MAN. 155



I must tell you how Uncle Ben waked
up old Mr. Higgins, one day, in the
meeting-house. It was not considered
quite in order for the tithing-man to
wake up the old folks, I believe. It
was presumed that when they took
a nap, they had a good reason for
it. It was only the youngsters who
needed waking up officially. But Jede-
diah Higgins not only slept, and nod-
ded, but he snored. The sleeping and
‘nodding could be borne ; the snoring—
that altered the case. Uncle Ben lis-
tened to it until he could bear it no
longer. He marched right up to Jede-

‘
156 THE OLD TITHING-MAN.



diah Higgins’ pew, opened the door,
bolted in, and hit the sleeper a not
remarkably gentle tap on the shoulder.
Mr. Higgins was thus half waked’ up
by that tap.

“ Halloo, Jotham!” he shouted, sup-
posing it was daybreak, and he was in
his own bed, at home, “halloo, there!
turn out, and yoke up them steers!”

Mr. Higgins’ voice was almost as
loud as the bellowing of those same
steers, and, as you may imagine, the
way he called his boy Jotham, caused
some smiling faces in the old meeting
house. . |
Woodworth’s Juvenile Works.



PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.

PUBLISH THE FOLLOWING JUVENILE WORKS,
By francis €C. Woodworth,

EDITOR OF ‘‘ WOODWORTH’S YOUTH’S CABINET,”

AUTHOR OF “THE WILLOW LANE BUDGET,” “THE STRAWBERRY GIRL,”
‘‘THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE,” ‘‘ THEODORE THINKER’S
TALES,’’ ETO. ETO.

UNCLE FRANK’S BOYS’ AND GIRLS’ LIBRARY.

A Beautiful Series, comprising six volumes, square 12mo., with eight
Tinted Engravings in each volume. The following are their titles
respectively :

I, THE PEDDLER’S BOY;; or, Itt se Somzsosy.
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IIL THE POOR ORGAN-GRINDER, ayp orner Sroris.

IV. OUR SUE: Her Morro anp rts Uszs.

V. MIKE MARBLE: His Crorouers anp Oppitres.
VIL THE WONDERFUL LETTER-BAG OF KIT CURIOUS.



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them as one of the pleasantest series of juvenile books extant, both in their
terary vente and mechanical execution.”—Syracuse (NV. Y.) Daily
Woodworth’s Juvenile Works.



WOODWORTH’S STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS. 12mo., with
Illuminated Title, and upwards of Fifty Beautiful Engravings ;
pp. 336.

WOODWORTH’S STORIES ABOUT BIRDS. Uniform with
the above. With Sixty splendid Engravings; pp. 336.

These two volumes, containing characteristic anecdotes, told in a
racy and pleasing vein, are among the most entertaining books of
the kind to be found in the English language.

“ Attractive stories, told in a style of great liveliness and beauty. Asa

writer fur the young, the author is surpassed by very few, if any writers in
this country."—NV. Y. Tribune.

“A melange of most agreeable reading.”— Presbyterian.
“They cannot fuil to be intensely interesting.”—Ch. Register.

“Charming stories, told with that felicitous simplicity and elegance of
diction which characterize all Mr. Woodworth’s efforts for the young.” —.
Y. Commercial Advertiser.

“ Nothing can be more interesting than the stories and pictorial illustra-
tions of these works.” —Bratteborough Dem.

“ We never pen a notice with more pleasure than when any work of our
friend Mr. Woudworth is the subject. Whatever be does is well done, and
in a sweet and gentle spirit.”"—Christ. Inquirer.

“The author is a man of fine abilities and refined taste, and does his work
in a spirit of vivacious, but most truthful earnestness.”— Ladies’ Repos.

(Re ee

UNCLE FRANK'S PEEP AT THE BEASTS. Square 12mo.
Profusely Illustrated; pp. 160.

UNCLE FRANK’S PEEP AT THE BIRDS. Uniform with
the above; pp. 160.

These two volumes are written in the simplest style, and with
words, for the most part, of two and three syllables. They are ex-
ceedingly popular among children.

“Of those who have the gift to write for children, Mr. Woodworth stands
among the first; and, what is best of all, with the ability to adapt himself to
the wants and comprehension of children, he has that high moral principle

which will permit nothing to leave his pen that can do harm.”—Arthur’s
Home Gaz.
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