sualnieka des DS
pinata teat erence
*e
zt 3 : Nish
ee
sonnet
Reatiscink See
r Ta
Aine
} al
GIRLS BOOK OF TREASURES
INCLUDING
ENTERTAINING AND INSTRUCTIVE STORIES, TRAVELS, PASTIMES,
Poems, Recitations, In-Door Games, Out-Door
GAMES, AND A GREAT VARIETY OF
OTHER Goop READING
FOR GIRLS.
BY THE FOLLOWING EMINENT AUTHORS:
Emity Huntincron Miter, Laura E. Ricuarps, MatcoLm DOUGLAS,
Mary E. Burt, Crara G. Dotutver, Mrs. O. Howarp
AND Many. OTHERs.
PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED.
CHICAGO:
‘DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO,,
PUBLISHERS,
CoHPYRIGHTED 1893,
BY
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.,
Girls’ Book of Treasures.
DONOHUE & HENNEBERRY)
PRINTERS, ENGRAVERS AND BINDERS,
CHICAGO.
Something bout Sppidcers.
i NE afternoon Cora came running to her Aunt Sarah and said,
f “Oh, Auntie, there is the funniest thing in the window I ever
) saw. Do come and see what it is.â€
‘Where is it, Cora?†said Aunt Sarah.
“In the parlor window, and Iam sure it was not there yester-
day! I never saw anything like it before, and I want you to
come and see it too.†So Aunt Sarah went with Cora to the
window,and there, sure
enough, was the object
of Cora’s surprise, and
what do you think it
was? Only a spider's
web.
Aunt Sarah was a
neat housekeeper, and
did not like to see a
spider’s web in her
window, so she said;
“Oh, my! Cora, run
and get the broom so
that we can sweep it
down. I don’t want
anyspider swebaround
the house.â€
“But what is a
spider's web, Aunt
Sarah?†asked Cora.
“A spider's web,
child, is something that
a spider makes to catch
flies.â€
» “But how does it
put it in the window,
Aunt Sarah?†asked
Cora.
Cora seemed so . THR WAHAB IN THR WINDOw.
interested in the web that Aunt Sarah thought it a good opportunity to tell
her something about spiders, so seating herself in an easy chair and drawing
Sora to her knee, she said:
“And would my little girl like to know something about spiders?â€
“Yes, indeed, Aunt Sarah,†said Cora. “I should like to know how they
build those funny little things. They look just like lace, don’t they?â€
“Yes,†said Aunt Sarah. “A spider’s web does look something like lace, and
the threads from which they are spun are as fine as those of any lace you ever
saw.
“But how did the spider make his web in the window?†said Cora.
“The spider,†said Aunt Sarah, “spins his web from material which he car-
ries in his body. The spider picked out this place to weave the web. Crawl-
ing along the window, he fastened a single thread to the wall; then dropped
downward, spinning a singlethread as he dropped. After going some little dis-
tance he began to swing back and forth, farther and farther each time, until
he finally reached the wall. Clinging to this he fastened the thread there, so
you see he then had arope upon which to travel back and forth. Starting from
another point, he wove another thread, and dropped down until he reached this
rope, or could reach it by swinging. So he worked until he had a large number
of these single threads, which form the framework of his web. These threads
all cross at some point. Using this as a centre, he worked round and round
until he finished the thicker part which you see in the centre. His hope was
that some fly might be caught in the meshes of the web, and be held there
until he could devour it. The spider's web is a wonderful piece of work.
“Think, Cora, how strong these little threads must be to support the weight
of the spider as he swings back and forth. But get the broom now, and we
will sweep it away.†Cora got the broom, but not with very good grace. She
was much interested in the spider's web, and it was with sorrow that she saw
Aunt Sarah sweep it to the floor.
WBS DEL
A SUMMER VACATION.
ND so another summer ends. Already the dog-wood is blush-
ing her autumnal farewell to the nodding golden-rod and
the purple iron-weed. The wild asters are here, and the.
odorless pink, and the leaves are beginning to drift down to
the wailing ‘hollows of the wood.â€
I sit among my boxes, heaped in the hall convenient to
the front door, and jot down a few clinging thoughts of the
vanished summer. My outing was a small affair. I
_couldn’t afford the coast, and I couldn’t afford the moun-
tains, so I took a cabin midway the two in the barrens—the
barrens of Tennessee.
I wished a quiet summer and mineral water, andI found both. Too much
water, when it rained, for my cabin’s weather-worn roof.
When there is neither water for fishing or bathing, game to tempt one
to the woods, nor young folks and music, one may be forgiven, I trust, for
entertaining one’s self with one’s neighbors.
Just in front of my cabin are four others, whose back doors look my way..
A little further down there is a kind of rustic hotel, just far enough away to
relieve me of tell-tale odors from the kitchen, and yet near enough for my
entertainment such evenings as I do not care to go over, but sit and listen to
the music and catch the sound of flying feet and light laughter and the familiar
“Balance all!†of the tireless prompter. Quiet? Oh, yes. There has been
but little variety, little excitement. True, one night we were called over to the
“erand ball.†' . :
The ball wasn’t a great success—there were too many anxious and weary
faces to me, who have a habit of studying faces and hunting through them for
the heart below and its unspoken griefs.
Now old Mrs. Preston, sitting over there against the wall, ina rustling
black silk and diamonds, the first outing her finery had known this season. She
did smile upon the dancers, and nod to this and that sister fashion-plate, and
her feather fan did move gracefully, and evenly, too, though an only son is lying
on his couch in the Bird’s Nest cottage across the yard, dead drunk, with every
door and window barred to keep off prying eyes and to keep careless tongues
off the track of the well-planned lie that sent the young man off “unexpectedly
on the evening train,â€
Flutter your fan, Mrs. Preston. I shall not explain why it is your pretty
WZ A Bery Quiet Outing,
fe =
POLLY WAS PROUD OF THEM.
toy comes to a sudden halt whenever you hear a sound of laughter or calling,
as if all sounds took in the drunkard’s crazy yell in your ear. I shall not say
that it was I who found him asleep in the woods, too drunk to know that I
dragged him into my wagon and hauled him home after dark when the other
fellows had left the trail. I shall not tell that you looked at me with your
fashion-trained eyes full of a mute pleading, but that your lips only said: ‘You
are very good to shield us.†Us! You did not say “him.†I understand your
meaning thoroughly and shall hold my peace. Wave your fan, nod your
welcomes while you can, while youcan, poor fashion-plate. The mother in you
will cry out above all that by-and-bye, and you will care very little who knows
you came to this slow hole because you were afraid to ask an inherited inebriate
at the more fashionable places. You may talk about your “headaches,†and
slander your poor ‘liver’ as much as you like, but you will admit that it is
“heart trouble†at last, when you are no longer able to hide your skeleton in
its closet.
And the young mother with heavy eyes sitting over against the door,
always ready to run if a baby voice should chance to call out. What is the
“grand farce†to her beside the little life dragging through the terrible “second
summer?â€
And the lady sitting near her—she is a consumptive. She will not tarry
long at the grand ball; in half an hour she will creep to her bed over in the Ivy
cottage, so tired, oh, so tired, But first she will kneel down by her white bed
and fold her white hands and say her prayers:
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.â€
How simple! how simple and child-like! What is that about “Except ye
be as little children?â€
She will kneel and say it for all she will be so tired. But the one floating
by in a cloud of blue tulle, in the arms of a lover, she will go to her room when
the birds begin their matins. Aye! she will get her full measure of joy, not of
the grand ball. And she will be tired, too—too tired to say her prayers. She
intends to “say them in bed.†She arranges her fluffy hair for the next day’s
campaign and creeps between the white sheets. But she is thinking of that
last waltz. She taps the pillow with her slender fingers to the old, sweet
tune:
“Love comes like a summer sigh—
Gently o’er you stealing—â€
And she is fast asleep, with the prayers unsaid. But there will come a
time, fair dancer, when the dance will be forgotten. You will not forget to pray
then, poor dancer, but your prayers will scarcely be like hers—she who sleeps
in the white moonlight in the room next your own—she who prayed, “Now I
lay me,†like a little child.
So it goes on before me—this grand ball. I live each one’s life, act each
one’s part. And when the lights are going I wiil peep in to see one lone figure
slowly leaving the hall.
Had she enjoyed it so much that she is loath to leave? She danced—
and sang, too, when there was a break in the music—sang a fierce “‘gem†from
some opera, when she might have sung some tender little ballad like “Mar-
guerite†and given much more pleasure to her audience. But ballads hurt, and
‘Marguerite’ hurts, with its melancholy refrain,of the day:
“The dreary day you'll ne’er forget, Marguerite.â€
You cannot cheat me into an idea that you are enjoying the grand ball. I
could tell you a secret if I dared—I could tell you of a dream—a ruined hope,
and a desolate heart that would be glad to go down to the Ivy cottage and
creep into her place—the consumptive’s. But the ivy is growing for her, not
you. So—
“On with the dance!â€
Aye, on—there one passed me whose eyes continually seek the door. She
is writing a letter; a letter to her lover, who is too poor even to indulge “the
barrens.â€
An old man goes by, awkwardly “swinging†a young girl. Heis a widower;
yes, and you sneer: .
mo Gayle
Wait. He does not care for the dance; he is only deceiving himself with
the belief that it helps him to forged.
Forget! is all the world trying to forget? Sorry the dance is over, I go
back to my own leaky little cabin.
I shall lie down and study the stars Eres those leak-holes bye-and-bye
when I shall have sat for half an hour ae my vines watching the little
mother pass between the light and me in the cottage across the way. And
when the light goes out I shall know that the sick babe is asleep at last.
We had a picnic in the maple woods one day—a kind of woodland chat,
that was all, with a “quiet dance†in the hall to round up with in the evening.
But the next day when the sun shone and all the birds of the forest seemed
to have come over to sing about the cottages, and happy groups of children
swung on the knotted grape-vines or in the gaudy hammocks, and here or there
a party sat “at cards,†another told jokes, and all were quiet, if not happy, there
came a wail from the little mother’s room—a long, low, broken cry that had no
words to say the little baby was dead.
The birds sang on and the sun shone. Some dropped their cards and the
children were told not to laugh too loudly; while some, who were mothers, too,
went down to offer comfort and to make a tiny shroud. One old gentleman
with silver hair and tender eye lifted his hat an instant when the tidings
came.
Their light burned low that night; I could scarcely see it through my heavy
vines. But when at midnight the train whistled I went down to the track and
brought up the little casket under my arm, so that the young father might not
himself be compelled to carry his dead darling’s coffin. He had come in
response to his wife's telegram and had brought the little casket,
I walked with him to the cottage, and it smote me some to hear a girl’s
voice singing a gay waltz song as we passed down the row of cottages. He
didn’t seem to hear, for a door opened and some one came to meet him with a
low, heart-broken cry. And when he folded her in his strong, man’s arms, I
slipped in with my burden, so that when she saw the child again it was lying
fast asleep, like a folded lily, hid in the little, lace-trimmed casket.
She meant to spoil no one’s pleasure. When the next train passed at two
oclock I followed the little procession down to the track, again carrying the
tiny casket, for mourners were few and I was the only pall-bearer.
The train whistled and death passed on.
When I went down to my breakfast at the hotel I wondered, seeing the
customary crowd and hearing the customary merriment, if death had really
passed among them. Improving? Oh, yes, we are all improving. We take
long, hot walks and drink weak, cold coffee or watered milk, do penance for
the winter’s comfort by a series of sleepless nights, tiresome days and indiges-
tible dinners.
True, the “change†is something. It gives us many a jostle with humanity .
teaches so many lessons. Now there is the old lady who plays cards “for
pleasure.†She has quarreled over the games until only a few will play with
her. Yet she playsfor pleasure. I have watched her sour old face grow harder
than stale cider when her partner, who plays for accommodation, doesn’t play
to please her.
Tam “a looker-on in Vienna,†and I have tarried until there is no one left
to furnish me entertainment. Only one little woman remains, like me, for the
closing of the hotel. She so dislikes to give up the woods and the wild, sweet
freedom. As if I did not know that she so dreaded a return to a brute of a
husband, who makes her home so unbearable that she has invented that pretty
lie about her “lungs†and ‘‘a change of air.†Oh, I have learned all their pretty
tricks and the traps they set for freedom. Set traps for freedom? Why, yes.
Did you suppose that none but prisoners are slaves?
But they are all gone now; gone back to their old joys and their old pains
and their old heart-aches and burdens, as I shall go back to-morrow to mine,
and the summer for all of us will drop into the lap of oblivion, leaving neither a
track nor trace, except, perhaps, in the heart of the dead babe’s mother.
ee
a
©ur Mead Hoy.
SAW my wife pull the bottom drawer of the old bureau this evening and I
j went softly out and wandered up and down until I knew she had shut it
up and gone to her sewing. We have some things laid away in that
drawer which the gold of kings could not buy, and yet they are relics that
grieve us until our hearts are sore. I haven’t dared look at them for a year, but
I remember each article. There are two worn shoes, a little chip hat with the
brim gone, some stockings, pantaloons, a coat, two or three spools, bits of
crockery, a whip, and several toys. Wife, poor thing, goes to that drawer every.
day of her life and prays over it, and lets her tears fall on the precious articles,
but I dare not go. Sometimes we speak of little Jack, but not often. It has
been a long time, but somehow we can't get over grieving. Sometimes when
we sit alone of an evening, I writing and she sewing, a child will cry out in the
street as our boy used to, and we will both start up with beating hearts and a
wild hope, only to find the darkness more of a burden than ever. It is still
quiet now. I look up at the window where his blue eyes used to sparkle at my
coming, but he is not there. I listen for his pattering feet, his merry shout, his
ringing laugh, but there is no sound. There is no one to search my pockets
and tease me for presents, and I never find the chairs turned over, the broom
down, or ropes tied to the door-knobs. I want some one to tease me for my
knife; to ride on my shoulders; to lose my axe; to follow me to the gate when
I go and be there to meet me when I come; to call “good night†from the little
bed now empty. And wife, she misses him still more. There are no little feet
to wash, no prayers to say, no voice teasing for lumps of sugar, or sobbing with
pain from hurt toe, and she would give her life almost to wake at midnight and
look across the crib and see our boy as he used to be. So we preserve our
relics, and when we are dead we hope strangers will handle them tenderly, even
if they shed no tears over them.
—Bos BurRDETTE.
|n-O)oor ©ames.
The Seeress.
ive little girls come into the room where the others have
? gathered. One pretends to be a doctor, the other a
Soma mb aliMe or seeress, who knows more than ordi-
nary people. The doctor says that she can discover
the deepest secrets by falling into a magnetic sleep,
and then passes her hand three times over her eyes,
=\ ; muttering a few unintelligible words, which sound like
SS ee “Hocus, pocus, abracadabra,†and finally ties a black
handkerchief over he sleepers eyes to keep the bright light from disturbing
Then the questions begin.
The doctor walks up to the nearest spectator, takes her pocket handker-
chief, and then turns to the sleeper.
‘Does the seeress see what I hold i in my hand?â€
“A handkerchief.â€
“Ts it white or colored?â€
“Colored.â€
“What is the color—black, blue, or red?â€
“Blue,â€
“Is it figured, plaided, or striped?â€
plaidede a)
The replies usually astonish the company, but the mystery is very simple.
The doctor and seeress have agreed upon certain words by which the
sleeper’s answers are guided. Thus hold is the word for handkerchief, When
two things are mentioned, as “white,†or “colored,†the last is always the
correct one; and if three are named the somnambulist must choose the middle
one. When the game is well played it creates a great deal of amusement.
Little Market Women.
Each player takes the character of a huckster. One sells cherries, another
cakes, a third old clothes, a fourth eggs, etc.
. They pace around the room, and as soon as the name of any one of them
is called she must shout her wares as loudly as possible. The buyer then
inquires for the
wares, and receives
the answer: “JI
haven't it; ask some-
body else.†For in-
stance: The player
who begins the game
calls “Pears.†The
pear-dealer instant-
ly screams: ‘Pears!
Pears! Buy some
fresh pears!†The
first speaker then
SHOWS. asks: “Have you.
apples, too?†“No,†replies the pear-seller; “go to the water-carrier.â€
As soon as the water-carrier hears her name she begins to shout: ‘Water!
Water!â€
“Have you any raspberry vinegar?†asks the pear-seller. “No; go to the
umbrella-dealer.â€
“Umbrellas! Umbrellas!†cries the umbrella-dealer,
‘“‘Hlave you sun-shades, too?†asks the water-carrier.
“No,†she replies; ‘go to the cherry-huckster.â€
The cherry-huckster shouts: ‘Sweet cherries! Sweet cherries! Four
pennies a pound!â€
The umbrella-dealer asks: ‘‘Have you black cherries, too?â€
“No; go to the flower girl.â€
As soon as the flower girl hears her name she begins to call: ‘Beautiful
roses! Buy my roses!â€
These examples will give an idea of the game, which, when well played, is
avery merry one. The larger the number who take part in it the greater the
fun.
Every seller who does not instantly offer her wares as soon as she hears
her name must pay a forfeit, and every buyer who asks for the wrong article,
for instance, flowers froma fruit-dealer, must be sentenced to the same
punishment. ;
The Comical Concert.
This is a very lively game, and often affords much amusement when
introduced at fairs or children’s festivals. :
The children stand in a circle and each one tries to imitate the music of
some instrument. One pretends to play on
the violin by drawing the right hand to and
fro over the left arm; another raises both hands
to her lips, as though blowing a horn; another
drums on the table, as if it were a piano; a
fourth seizes the back of the chair and touches
the rounds as though it were a harp; a fifth
pretends to beat a drum; a sixth to play on
the guitar; a seventh to turn the handle of an
organ. The greater the number of players
the better. This, however, is only the beginning of the game; every musician
must try to imitate the sounds of the instrument as nearly as possible. For
instance:
Bum, bum, bum, for the drum.
Twang, twang, twang, for the harp.
Toot, toot, toot, for the horn, etc.
This strange mixture of sounds and gestures produces a very comical
effect when all enter into the game with spirit.
In the center of the circle stands the “leader,†whose duty it is to beat
time as ridiculously as possible, to make the others laugh. He or she must
hold a roll of music or a baton.
In the midst of the tumult the leader must suddenly give the signal to
stop, and ask:
‘Why don’t you play better?â€
The person addressed must zxzstantly give a suitable answer.
The harp-player should say:
“Because the harp-strings are too loose.â€
The pianist should reply:
_ ‘Because one of the piano keys wont sound.â€
If there isany delay in the answer, or if an unsuitable one is given, a forfeit
must be paid.
The Fourney to Ferusalem.
The players take their seats in a row, and before them stands the speaker
who is to describe a journey to Jerusalem.
Each one receives a name, which must be a word that will occur frequently
in the story, such as ship, sailor, sea, island, neighborhood, nation, storm, tree,
sun, air, etc. Whenever this word is uttered in the story the person who bears
it must rise and turn slowly round and round, until another person’s name is
_ mentioned.
If any one whose name is called forgets to turn she receives a blow with a
handkerchief, or is obliged to pay a forfeit. Whenever the word “Jerusalemâ€
occurs in the story the whole group must rise and turn around.
The point is to mention all the words often enough to keep the players
spinning. Of course, all sorts of adventures must be invented, the more
thrilling the better. The imagination has a wide field, and if the story-teller is
skilful enough to make the tale comical the listeners may become so interested
that they will forget to turn around.
he fox and the Geese.
~ FOX came once to a meadow, where a herd of fine fat geese
were enjoying themselves. “Ah,†he said, laughing, “I am jus
in time. They are so close together that I can come and fetch
them one after another easily.â€
The geese, when they saw him, began to cackle with fear,
sprang up, and, with much complaining and murmuring, begged for their lives,
The fox, however, would not listen, and said, ‘“There is no hope of mercy—
you must die.â€
At last one of them took heart, and said: “It would be very hard for us
poor geese to lose our young, fresh lives so suddenly as this; but if you will
grant us only one favor, afterward we will place ourselves in a row, so that you
may choose the fattest and best.â€
‘““And what is this favor?†asked the fox.
“Why, that we may have one hour to pray in before we die.â€
“Well, that is only fair,†replied the fox; “it isa harmless request. Pray
away, then, and I will wait for you.â€
Immediately they placed themselves in a row, and began to pray after
their own fashion, which, however, was a most deafening and alarming cackle.
In fact, they were praying for their lives, and so efficaciously that they were
heard at the farm, and, long before the hour had ended, the master and his ser- °
vants appeared in the field to discover what was the matter, and the fox, ina
terrible fright, quickly made his escape, not, however, without being seen.
_“We must hunt that fox to-morrow,â€
And so the cunning fox was outwitted by a
geese home to safe quarters,
goose,
said the master, as they drove the
@® family Mrum Corps.
LITTLE man bought him a big
brass drum;
Boom—boom— Sron
“Who knows,†said he, “when a
war will come?â€
Boom—boom—boom!
“Tm not at all frightened, you understand.
But,.if I am called on to fight for my land,
I want to be ready to play in the band.â€
Boom—boom—boom!
He got all his children little snare drums;
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
And they’d practice as soon as they’d fin-
ished their sums.
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
“We're just like our papa!†in chorus said
they,
“And if we should ever get into the fray,
Why, it’s safer to thump than to fight any
day!â€
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
And, showing her spirit, the little man’s
wife—
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
With some of her pin-money purchased a
fife; i
Boom—tidera—da—boom|!
And, picking out tunes that were not very
hard,
They’d play them while marching around
the back yard,
Without for one’s feelings the slightest re-
gard,
Boom—tidera—da—boom—a-diddle-dee—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
The little old parson, who lived next door—
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
Would throw up his hands, as he walked the
floor;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
“Wont you stop it, | beg you?†he often said,
“I’m trying to think of a text, but instead .
The only thing I can get into my head
Is your boom—tidera-da—boom-a~diddle-
dee—
Boom—tidera—da-—boom!â€
All of the people for blocks around—~
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
Kept time at their tasks to the martia!
sound;
Boom—tidera—da—boom!
While children to windows and stoops would
fly,
Expecting to see a procession pass by,
And they couldn’t make out why it never
drew nigh,
With its bbom—tidera-da—boom-a-diddle-—
dee—
Boom—tidera~-da—boom!
It would seem such vigor would soon eo
Boom—tidera—-da—boom!
But they still keep at it, early and late;
Boom—tidera-da—boom!
So, if it should be that a war breaks out,
They'll all be ready, I have no doubt,
To help i in putting the foe to rout,
With their boom—tidera~da—boom—
Boom—tideva-da—boom—
Boom—tidera~da—boom-a-diddle--dee-—-
Boom—soom—BOOM!
—MALcoLm Doue.uas.
@Q Had Story.
) Hi me!†said the sponge. ‘Dear! dear! dear! well-a-day!â€
“‘Whatisthe matter?†askedthebath-tub. ‘Have
you been squeezed too hard, or has the nurse rubbed
soap on you again? I know soap never agrees with
“Tam rather exhausted by the squeezing, I con-
fess, replied the sponge; “but it wasnot for that I
sighed. Iam gradually getting used to these daily
) tortures.
“But I was thinking about the past; about my beau-.
tiful home, from which I was so cruelly torn, and about the happy,
happy life I led there.†,
“Tell me about it,†said the bath-tub. ‘You have told me before, but I
always find it interesting. My home was in a tin-shop, as you are aware. The
society was good, but it was rather a dull place, on the whole. You lived, you
say’ — | |
“On the coast of Syria,†said the sponge, with a sigh—‘‘the coast of beau-
tiful Syria. There is a tiny bay, where the shore is bold androcky. The rocks
are bare above the water, but down below they are covered with lovely plants,
and fringed with gay mosses, beautiful to behold. The bottom of the sea is
covered with silver sand, and over it move the crimson and gold colored jelly-
fish, the scarlet star-fish, and a thousand other brilliant creatures, making the
neighborhood always attractive and delightful. On a certain ledge of rock,
close by the bottom, I lived, as happy an animal as could be found in the Med-
iterranean Sea.â€
‘What do you mean?†interrupted the nail-brush, which was new, and very
ignorant. “You, an animal? I don’t believe it. If your back were bone, and
your hair pig-bristles, like mine, you might at least call yourself an animal
product; but you have no back that I can see, nor hair either.â€
“You are extremely rude,†said the sponge. ‘But you know no better,
and ignorance should always be pitied rather than blamed. Iwas an animal,
my young friend, though now, alas! I am only the skeleton of one.
“] lived, as I said, a very happy life on my rocky ledge. I never moved
from it. I hadno occasion to do so, even if Ihad been provided with legs, as
many animals are. I never had any fancy for a roving life. To draw in the
warm, delicious water through the thousand small holes and canals of my
frame, and spout it out again through my large holes, was my chief occupation,
and one of which I was never weary. The water was full of tiny creatures of
all kinds, and these formed my food, and gave me always plenty toeat. In
the spring I was always busy with my maternal duties. I brought out hun-
dreds of lovely little, round eggs, yellow and white,—the prettiest eggs you
ever saw. Ina short time they put out tiny feelers, a sort of fringe of waving
lashes, like those things
on the nurse’s eyes; as
soon as they appeared
I knew my babies were
ready tocome out; and,
sure enough, they soon
broke through the egg-
covering, and, waving
their lashes, swam out
into the sea.
WAG jarst, —ithey
stayed near me, de-
lighting my heart with
their pretty tricks; but
very soon they felt the
need of homes of their
own, and went off to
fix themselves on rocks
or coral-trees, and be-
come, in their turn,
full grown sponges,
like myself. I could
not complain, for I had
left my own mother in
thesame way. I never
saw any of them again,
except one dear child,
who made his home on [Ree#
the shellofalargecrab. (ee ra
He grew finely; and became a noble sponge; but the crab never seemed to
mind him in the least, and carried him about with him wherever he went. In
this way he often passed near my ledge, and as the crab was a friendly and
sensible fellow we often had a pleasant chat together.
?
“One day, one dreadful, dreadful day, I was talking thus with my son and
his landlord, when suddenly something huge anddark was seen above us, swim-
ming slowly downward through the clear water. At first] paidno attention to |
it, supposing it to be a shark, or some other large fish; but asit drew nearer I
saw that it was no fish, but a strange and horrible monster, the like of which
had never been seen under the sea. It had four long arms, something like those
of a cuttle-fish, only much less graceful, and divided at the end into five claws,
or feelers. (I have since learned that two of these arms are called legs, and
that the feelers are fingers and toes.) It had gleaming eyes, and in one claw
it had something bright and shining. Ah! it makes me cold to think of it. To
my horror the monster fixed his shining eyes on me, and swam directly toward
my ledge. The crab scuttled off with my son on his back, and I was left alone
and helpless. I saw one of the long arms extended; the five feelers clutched
me in their grasp. I shrank down, and clung with all my might to the rock:
but in vain. The shining thing in the monster’s other claw was slipped under
me. It cut my delicate fibres; I felt them give way one by one; and at last,
with one terrible cut and a violent wrench, 1 was torn from my peaceful home,
torn from it, alas! forever!
“T was thrown into a bag full of other sponges, which the monster had slung
about his middle; and then he pursued his path of destruction. I will pass
briefly over the dark days that followed—the drying in the sun, till all the life
was dried out of me; the fearful squeezing, with thousands of other wretches
like myself, into wooden cases; the voyage over seas; finally the exposure of
my bleached and miserable skeleton in the window of a druggist’s shop. All
of these things are too painful to be dwelt upon, and, as you know, I am now
resigned to my lot. I find in you a sympathizing friend. I have water given
me (though of very inferior quality) morning and night, and, were it not for the
soap and the squeezing, I should make no complaint. But often, as I hang
idly in my wire basket, my thoughts go back to my own dear home under the
Syrian shores; and I long for a draught of the warm, delicious water, for the
cool retirement of my rocky ledge, and for the sight of my dear son, riding
eracefully about on the back of his crab.â€
—Laura E. RICHARDS.
©)ut-Ooor Eames.
Catching the Weasel.
=†HE whole party, except one, form a circle. The one who
is left out runs two or three times round the ring, and then
drops a handkerchief at the feet of a playmate, who must
dash swiftly forward to catch the “weasel’—namely, the
one who flung down the handkerchief. While running
jp = she sings: ‘Catch the
weasel in the wood. Now I’ve lost it; now
I've found it. Catch my nimble little
weasel.†eZ
When the game is well played itis very , %
lively and amusing. All the girls watch to see :
where the weasel drops the handkerchief, and,
while running, the little weasel tries to give
the pursuer as much trouble as possible by
jumping to the right or left, by breaking
through the ring, and leaping forward and backward. When the “weasel†is
caught the pursuer takes her place.
The Drill.
This is another merry little game, which makes a great deal of fun.
The children stand in a row on the soft grass, with the exception of one,
who acts as captain. The game is most amusing when only two know it—the
captain and the first one in the
line, who is called the corporal.
When allare in place the captain
stands in front and puts them
through a comical drill, giving
~ one order after another: “Cough,
Laugh, Slap your cheeks, Clap
your hands,†etc. The whole
company must obey the command
at once.
After a number of orders the
captain cries: ‘‘Kneel down!†Every girl drops upon her left knee, and the
captain makes them all move close together, and then gives the orders: “Load!
Aim!â€â€”upon which every one stretches out her right arm till the command
comes: “Fire!†The corporal then gives her neighbor a sudden push, and
down goes the whole line on the turf.
Weaving Garlands.
This graceful little game is like a dance. The girls stand in a row, with
joined hands; one stands perfectly still while the others dance around until the
whole line is wound into a knot, singing: ‘Let us lovely garlands wind.†Then
they dance the other way, singing: ‘Now the wreath we will unbind,†until they
form a straight line.
Little Washer-women.
This game somewhat resembles weaving garlands. The players stand
opposite to one another in couples, each girl with her right hand clasping her
companion’s left. Then they swing their arms, slowly and gracefully, first
three times toward the right and then three times toward the left, singing:
“This is the way we wash the clothes, wash the clothes, wash the clothes.â€
Then they unclasp their hands and rub them together as washerwomen do in
rubbing their clothes, singing: ‘This is the way we rub our clothes, rub our
clothes.â€
The third movement is very pretty. The couple clasp hands just as they
do at first, then raise their arms in an arch on one side and slip -hrough sothat
they stand back to back, then raise their arms in the same way on the other
side, and again slip through so that they stand face to face again. This must
be done very quickly, thrice in succession, while the players sing: ‘This is the
way we wring the clothes, wring the clothes, wring the clothes,†and then, stop-
ping suddenly, clap their hands, singing: “And hang them on the bushes.â€
When several couples have learned the game well it is a very pretty sight.
The Flying Feather.
In this game the little girls join hands and dance around in a ring on the
turf, trying meanwhile, by blowing a bit of down, to keep it in the air. When
the players are skilful they can often dance for fifteen minutes without letting
the feather come to the earth.
Blind Man's March.
An open space of turf is chosen and a tree, stake or pole selected for a
goal, on which all sorts of trifles, fruit, garlands, flowers, etc., are hung as prizes,
Then a circle is drawn around the goal, about six or eight feet distant. The
players first dance hand in hand around the ring, then in couples around the
tree, and finally form two straight lines. Lots are then drawn to decide which
row shall make the blind march first, and all in that rank are blindfolded and
led by the others forty or fifty paces away from the ring and formed in couples
ina semi-circle. The game is prettier when a march is sung, to which the
blindfolded couple keep time. Only a very few reach the goal; most go far
astray. If any couples disagree about the direction to be taken they can
separate and each pursue a different path. Whoever reaches the tree, or even
stands inside the circle when the game is over, receives a prize. The march
is considered at an end when the singing ceases. Then all the players take off
their bandages.
There 1s plenty of laughing, for the couples are generally standing every:
where except near the tree. The game begins again by the other side com-
mencing the. blind march.
The Beggar.
A life-size pasteboard figure of a man holding a hat in his hand is needed.
This hat has a hole, which serves as an opening to a calico bag. The players,
standing at acertain distance, try to throw a coin or some small fruit into
the beggar’s hat. The one who succeeds most frequently receives some trifling
prize.
The Naughty Straw Man.
A straw figure, completely dressed, is fastened to a tree in such a way that
it hangs about a foot from the ground. He must have one arm fastened
akimbo to his side and the other hanging free. After the players have had
their eyes bandaged and been furnished with a stick, the game’begins. The
object is to thrust the stick through the opening. Whoever succeeds in doing
so can claim a prize. Ofcourse, it often happens that the player misses and
receives a light pat for the clumsiness from the straw man’s hanging arm. If
any player misses the goal and passes the naughty straw man, the bandage is
removed and the player is considered out of the game. .
Coronella.
This pretty game is played by onechild, and requires an ivory or a wooden
ball fastened by a string half-way down a wooden stick which ends in a point
at one end and has a small leather cup at the other. The ball has a hole on
the side opposite to the string, and the object is to toss it into the air as far as
the string will let it go, and as it falls catch it alternately in the cup and on the
point of the stick.
mm F OR
— |’se a [@)an.
HERE’S a darling little fellow,
Sits in church in front of me,
Yet acquainted well are we;
For on every pleasant Sabbath
We both nod and smile and say
“Good-morning! Iam glad to see you,
Hope you are quite well to-day.â€
We didn’t have an introduction,
’Twas only eyes looked love to eyes
Till my heart was running over
With its unsung lullabies;
And I longed to hold and fold him
As of yore I did my own,
Ere from out the nest my birdlings
Any one of them had flown.
Coming in one day belated
His velvet cheeks I saw aglow,
And I knew somewhat had happened,
For the black eyes sparkled so;
But there was no chance to whisper,
And so still he had to keep
Soon the little dreamland fairies
Gently drew him fast asleep.
But as benediction ended
Down the aisle he quickly ran,
“Stop! Lady, stop! I want to tell you
T’se dot on pants! See! I’se a man!â€
Could I keep the tears from starting
At ambition’s early morn?
So the kiss I gave in parting»
Held a prayer for boyhood’s dawn.
Oh, the precious buds of childhood!
None may see the fruit or flower;
For the influence, wrong or holy
Makes or mars the manhood’s hour.
In the Father’s special keeping
May the mothers all be found,
Till the sowing and the reaping
To His glory shall redound!
—JOSEPHINE BRAMAN,
ITTLE ones,†said a hen to her brood one day in autumn, “This
is the time for nuts and acorns, let us go to the mountains and
feast ourselves before they are all gone.â€
“That will be a happy time,†said the chicks. ‘Yes, we
are quite ready.â€
So they started off together very early in the morning, and
stayed all day feasting.
Now I cannot say whether they had.eaten too much, or if they really were
tired: at all events, they could not walk home, so they made a little carriage of
nut shells. No sooner was it finished than the hen seated herself in it, and
said to the chicks, “Come, you may as well harness yourself to the carriage and
draw me home; you are stronger than I am.â€
“Very likely,†they replied,
“that we should be harnessed like
a horse and draw you; it would be
better to walk home than to do
that. No, if we have the carriage
at all, we shall ride, but we're not
going to draw you, so don’t expect
‘tea
While they were contending,
a duck came by. ‘You thieves,â€
she quacked, “what are you doing
in my nut mountains? be off quick-
ly, or you will get the worst of it,â€
and she gave the hen a tremendous peck with her beak.
But the hen was not going to stand that; she flew at theduck and beat her
so that she was obliged to beg for mercy, and at last allowed herself to be har-
nessed to the little carriage as a punishment for her interference.
They all got in and drove at a furious rate, crying out, “Get on, duck! get
on!â€
After traveling some distance they overtook two foot passengers—a pin
andaneedle. ‘Halt, halt,’ they cried, ‘do help us, we are so tired that we
cannot goa step farther; night is coming on, the roads are so dusty, and we
cannot sit down. We stopped at ‘the door of a tailors shop and asked for
shelter, but he said he had too many like us already.â€
The hen, seeing they were slight thin people who would not require much
room, allowed them to enter the carriage, only making them promise not to
step on the chicks’ feet.
Late at night they reached a roadside inn, and by this time the duck was
getting so tired that her legs were unsteady, and she waddled terribly. So
they stopped and asked for supper and a night's lodging. The landlord made
many objections at first—his house was already full, and he thought these new-
comers did not look very well.
However, the hen flattered the old landlord, and promised that whatever
eggs the she and the duck might lay while they stayed should be his. So the
landlord gave them shelter, and glad enough they were of a night’s rest.
Early in the morning, while every one else was asleep, the chicks and hen
awoke, and seeing the egg which she had laid they made a good breakfast on
it, and threw the shell into the kitchen fire. Then they went to the pin-cushion,
where the needle and pin still lay asleep, and, carrying them away, stuck the
needle in the cushion of the landlord’s arm-chair and the pin in his towel.
After performing these tricks they flew away through the open window.
and across the heath. oa
The duck had roosted in the outer court, and was awakened by the rustle
of wings; rousing herself quickly, she plumed her feathers, and espying a
stream near, partly flew and partly waddled down to it, for to swim home
would be far better than drawing that heavy carriage.
A few hours after this, the landlord arose and prepared to wash himself;
but on taking up his towel to wipe his face, the point of a pin made a long red
scratch right across from one ear to the other.
It was rather painful; but he dressed himself quickly, and went into the
kitchen to light his pipe. As he stooped to putin a match, out popped a piece
of burnt egg-shell into his eye.
The pain made him start back, and sink down into his chair, which stood
near; but he started up again more quickly than he had sat down, for the
needle in the cushion pricked him terribly.
Then was the landlord very angry, and began to suspect his guests who
had arrived so late the night before. He went out to look for them, and found
they were gone. Then he took an oath that he would never again admit such
knaves into his house—ragamuffins who ate a great deal, paid nothing, and,
above all, instead of thanks, performed knavish tricks.
LISTEN, my boy, I’ve a word
for you, '
And this is the word: Be true! Be f
true!
At work or at play, in darkness or f
light, :
Be true, be true, and stand for the f
right. (
List, little girl, I’ve a word fo
you,
*Tis the very same word: Be true! }
Be true! ;
For truth is the sun, and falsehood
the night; .
Be true, little maid, and stand for
the right.
@he P\are and the H\edgehog.
w( I was a beautiful morning, about harvest time, the buckwheat was in
flower, the sun shining in the heavens, and the morning breeze
waving the golden corn-fields, while the lark sang blithely in the
clear, blue sky, and the bees were buzzing about the flowers. The
villagers seemed all alive; many of them were dressed in their best
clothes, hastening to the fair.
It was a lovely day, and all nature seemed happy, even to a
little hedgehog, who stood at his own door. He had his arms
folded, and was singing as merrily as little hedgehogs can do on a
pleasant morning. While he thus stood amusing himself, his little wife was
washing and dressing the children, and he thought he might as well go and see
how the field of turnips was getting on; for, as he and his family fed upon
them, they appeared like his own property. Nosooner said than done. He
shut the house door after him and started off.
He had not gone farther than the little hedge bordering the turnip field
when he met a hare, who was on his way to inspect the cabbages, which he also
considered belonged to him. When the hedgehog saw the Tete he wished him
“Good morning!†very pleasantly.
But the ee who was a grand gentteman in his way, and not very Pe
tempered, took no notice of the hedgehog’s greeting, but said in a most imper-
tinent manner: ‘ How is it that you are running about the fields so early this
morning?â€
“Tam taking a walk,†said the hedgehog.
«Taking a walk,†cried the hare, with a laugh; ‘I don’t think yo legs are
much suited for walking.â€
This answer made the hedgehog very angry. He could bear anything but
a reference to his bandy legs, so he said: ‘‘ You consider your legs are better
than mine, I suppose?â€
‘Well, I rather think they are,†replied the hare.
‘“‘T should like to prove it,†said the hedgehog. “I will wager anything
that if we were to run a race I should beat.â€
“That is a capital joke,†cried the hare, “to think you could beat me with
your bandy legs. However, if you wish it, I have no objection to try. What
will you bet?â€
‘A golden louis d’or and a bottle of wine.â€
“ Aoreed,†said the hare: ‘and we may as well begin at once.â€
‘No, no,†said the hedgehog, “not in such a hurry as that. I must ge
home first and get something to eat. In half an hour I will be here again.â€
The hare agreed to wait, and away went the hedgehog, thinking to himself:
“The hare trusts in his long legs, but I will conquer him. He thinks himself
a very grand gentleman, but he is only a stupid fellow, after all, and he will
have to pay for his pride.â€
On arriving at home, the hedgehog said to his wife: “ Wife, dress yourself
as quickly as possible; you must go to the field with me.â€
‘What for?†she asked.
‘Well, I have made a bet with the hare of a louis d’or and a bottle of
wine that I will beat him in a race, which we are going to run.â€
‘Why, husband,†cried Mrs. Hedgehog, with a scream, “what are you
thinking of? Have you lost your senses?â€
“Hold your noise, ma’am,†said the hedgehog, “and don’t interfere with
my affairs. What do you know about a man’s business? Get ready at once to
go with me.†©
What could Mrs. Hedgehog say after this? She could only obey and fal-
low her husband, whether she liked it or not. As they walked along, he said to
her: “Now, pay attention to what I say. You see that large field? Weli,
we are going to race across it, The hare will race in one furrow, and I in
another. All you have to do is to hide yourself in the furrow at the opposite |
end of the field from which we start, and when the hare comes up to you, pop-
up your head and say: ‘Here I am.’â€
As they talked, the hedgehog and his wife reached the place in the field
where he wished her to stop, and then went back and found the hare at the
starting-place, ready to receive him.
‘Do you really mean it?†he asked.
“Yes, indeed,†replied the hedgehog, ‘I am quite ready.â€
“Then let us start at once,†and each placed himself in his furrow as the
hare spoke. The hare counted “One, two, three,†and started like a whirlwind
across the field. The hedgehog, however, only rana few steps, and then popped
down in the furrow and remained still.
When the hare, at full speed, reached the end of the field the hedgehog’s
wife raised her head and cried: ‘Here I am.â€
The hare stood still in wonder, for the wife was so like her husband that
he thought it must behim. “ There is something wrong about this,†he thought
‘However, we'll have another try.†So he turned and flew across the field at
such a pace that his ears floated behind him.
The hedgehog’s wife, however, did not move, and, when the hare reached
the other end, the husband was there, and cried: ‘“‘ Here I am.â€
The hare was half beside himself with vexation, and he cried: “One more
try, one more.â€
“T don't mind,†said the hedgehog. ‘I will go on as long as you like.â€
Upon this the hare set off running, and actually crossed the field seventy-
three times; and atone end the husband said: ‘‘ Here am I,†and at the other
end the wife said the same. But at the seventy-fourth run the hare’s strength
came to an end, and he fell to the ground and owned himself beaten.
The hedgehog won the louis d’or and the bottle of wine, and, after calling
his wife out of the furrow, they went home together in very good spirits, toenjoy
it together; and, if they are not dead, they are living still.
The lesson to be learnt from this story is, first, that however grand a
person may think himself, he should never laugh at others whom he considers
inferior until he knows what they can do; and, secondly, that when a man
chooses a wife, he should take her from the class to which he himself belongs;
and if he isa hedgehog she should be. one also.
Ghe Pappy Shoemaker.
NWIC-TIC! Tac-tac! Toc-toc!’ This was what the shoemaker’s
¢ hammer said. It was driving pegs into a shoe.
“‘Coo-coo! Weet-weet! Whir-r-r! Cut-cut-cut! Cock-a-doo-
oo! Pit-pit-pit!’? This was what the rest of them said.
What strange sounds in a shoemaker’s shop!
“Whir-r-r!†Around flew a gray bunch of fur, with a tail
whizzing on the end of it. This was Peter, the gray squirrel. And ‘Whir!
went Jim, the red squirrel, in another cage close by.
REP
The shoemaker looked up andsmiled. ‘‘Tic-tac! Good morning,†said the
hammer and he together.
“Cut-cut!†cried the bantams in one corner of the room.
“Are those chickens eating shoe-pegs, Mr. Shoemaker?â€
“Oh, no! Oats, of course! You might think they were shoe-pegs,
though!â€
“Jocko, don’t you want to come out and see the lady?†continued the
shoemaker.
“No, no!†squeaked a white-faced monkey, almost as plainly as a child.
And he shook his head as he took a fresh bite of his apple.
“Oh, you don’t! Well, then you come, Jumbo.â€
Jumbo, the black and white guinea-pig, only said, “‘Wee-wee,†and the
little pigs squeaked ‘‘Wee-wee†in chorus.
“They came all the way from China,†said the shoemaker.
Then all the doves in half-a-dozen cages began to plume themselves, and
say ‘‘Coo-coo!†very softly.
“Yes; you are handsome creatures, and you know it.†There were several
kinds of doves. One, great beauty, white and brown, flew and perched upon
the shoemaker’s shoulder.
“You must be happy, working here amid so many pets,†said the lady.
“Oh, yes! I teach them all sorts of tricks. Now see this youngster!â€
The shoemaker laid down his hammer, and reaching to a cage of white
rats, took outa baby one. “I am training him to walk the rope,†said the
shoemaker.
He took the pretty little thing, who peeped softly all the while, and put
him to the gas-pipe, which hung down near the bench.
The young rat began to climb. ‘Gently now! Don’t fall off!†And the
shoemaker helped him with his finger. The rat climbed up till he came toa
rope. Then he crawled across the rope to the cage again.
“He does his lesson very nicely,†said the lady.
“Yes; they are all well-behaved,†replied the shoemaker. “If Jocko wasn’t
so busy with his apple he would come out, too.
“T am very happy indeed with my pets, as you said, madam. It is pleas-
ant to work among so many creatures that love you.â€
“Tic-tic! Tac-tac! Toc-toc!†went the hammer again. The birds, the
guinea-pigs, the squirrels, and the monkey began their joyful chorus.
The lady opened the door to go away.
“Good morning!†said the shoemaker, with a bright smile.
“Coo-oo0! Pit-pat! Wee-wee! Tic-tic!â€
~-KHAM.
ce @he @Oetopus.
% HAT an ill-shapen monster is shown in this picture! It is
called the devil fish, and it is certainly well named. It is
called by this title not only on account of its ugly shape, but
because of its fierce attacks upon other inmates of the sea.
The real name of this fish is the Octopus, which means
eight-footed, though it is also known as the cuttle fish and
Ze the squid. Withits picture before us it is not necessary to
describe its shape. Indeed, this would be hard to do. The most
striking feature is the great staring eyes—which are said to be
larger than those of any other animal. They have been known to measure
ewmht inches indiameter. Think
of two great eyes eight inches
across staring you in the face! Its®
eight arms are furnished with
little fleshy cups with shell-like
edges; these fasten to any object
coming within their reach and
cling so tightly that no victim can
escape the monster’s clasp until
its arms are cut off. Some kinds
of these fish have long feelers, or
tentacles, about three times the
length of the body of the fish. Its
width is nearly as great. Its
mouth is situated in the center of
the body and food is carried to it
by the arms, and it has not only
one but several rows of teeth. It
has a very funny way of moving;
instead of using its arms to help itself, as we would think, it breathes in large
quantities of water through its gills and then by a sudden motion squirts the
water out of a tube near the head. This drives the fish backward like an
arrow. The Octopus is usually found in deep water, often-times among the
rocks on the bottom; although frequently found floating on the surface it seems
to prefer to live beneath the water. The color is black above and white be-
neath, though it possesses the strange power of changing its color so as to
appear like surrounding objects. When watching for prey it lies with arms rest-
ing and tenacles flying, looking much like sea-weed, but let a careless fish draw
near and it will be instantly dragged down by its terrible arms, which fold them-
selves about it and draw it to the central mouth, and all is over.
The Octopus has not been studied as carefully as many other sea mon-
sters. Living as it does in deep water it is not so easy to study. Many won- .
derful stories are told bysailors of their lying upon the ocean looking like small
islands and of even taking hold of small ships and of drawing the vessel with
all its crew to the depths below. Some of the smaller species have been driven
ashore even on our own coast. In the early part of this century one was driven
ashore at the entrance of Delaware Bay and was so heavy as to require four
pair of oxen to bring it tothe shore. It was said to weigh about five tons, that
is, as much as ten good sized horses. It was seventeen feet long and eight-
teen feet wide. Its mouth was nearly three feet across. Do you wonder at its
strength?
During gales of wind, or in places where thereis a small current, fishermen
often drive them into shallow water where they are usually captured, large
quantities of oil are then taken from their livers; so we see that even the
ugly devil fish, hideous as he is, may be made to serve the purpose of man.
XK
Only five [PVinutes.
IVE minutes late and the table is| Five minutes late and school has begun,
spread, 4 What are rules for, if you break every one?
2Â¥| The children are seated and grace | Just as the scholars are seated and quiet
‘ has been said; You hurry in with disturbance and riot.
Even the baby, all sparkling and rosy,
Sits in her chair by mamma, so cozy! Five minutes late on this bright Sabbath
morn;
Five minutes late and your hair all askew, All the good people to church have now
Just as the comb was drawn hastily through. gone.
There is your chairand yourtumbler and plate, | Ah, when you stand at the Beautiful Gate,
Cold cheer for those who are five minutes late. '! What would you do if five minutes late?
UG erhat ene!
black eyes, and feet that looked as if they might have corns
onthem. They dressed alike, too, in lovely green coats and
hoods edged with red. Their oe were not at all sweet, but
they loved to sing, and never seemed to mind if people did
laugh.
They i:ved in a cigar store, where they were often spoken
to and given pieces of candy or sugar.
They liked to be talked to and admired, but if anybody tried to touch
them they would scratch or bite.
This seems very naughty, but Polly and Patty were not little giris, but
parrots.
Mr. Peters, the man who kept the store, bought them ofa sailor. They
could only speak Spanish then, but they soon learned English. As they were
very tame he did not keep them ina cage, but let ee perch on a pair of
large deer-horns near the front of the store. They never tried to get away,
but would say, ‘“How do you do? Glad to see you!†when any one came in,
and ‘‘Good-by! come again,†when they went.
One day Mrs. Peters, who was a very prim old lady, thought she would
take Patty home with her, as she was often very lonesome. But Patty missed
Polly so much that she would not talk at all. She moped on her perch all
day, with her feathers ruffled up.
An old friend of Mrs. Peters called to see her. She was French, and
could not speak very good English. She tried to tell about the old fat poodle
she had had so many years, and that had just died. She cried as she talked,
and Patty must have thought it very funny, for she opened her beady eyes
and straightened up to listen.
In afew moments she began to imitate the
French lady—sniffing and sobbing, and saying, in the same broken English:
“Mon poor Flore! So sweet dog!â€
Prim Mrs. Peters was very much shocked at Patty. She was hiceined for
fear her friend would be offended, so she took a piece of green baize and threw
it over the naughty bird, thinking that in the dark she would be quiet.
And
so she was; for some time she did not make a sound; but all the time she was
pecking and pulling at the baize until she had made a hole large enough for
her bill and one eye.
Then she cried out, “Hooray!†in loud tones, and at once
began to sniffle and sob and talk about “poor Flore†more than ever.
Mrs. Peters hurried her into another room. She sent her back to the
cigar store the next morning, where Polly welcomed her back by cackling like
a hen.
But the French lady has never liked Mrs. Peters since, nor does Mrs.
Peters like parrots.
—CLARA G. DOLLIVER.
Hhorn of Hyis Cocks.
PLACED my boy in the barber’s chair,
To be shorn of his ringlets gay;
And soon the wealth of his golden hair
On the floor in a circle lay.
‘Twas a trifling thing of daily life,
And to many unworthy of thought—
Too small a theme ’mid the toil and strife
Of this world’s changing lot.
But thé finging out of the cruel shears
To my heart-strings caused a pang,
For they changed.the child of my hope and
fears
With the scornful tune they sang.
My thoughts were bent on the little cap,
And the curls that round it twined
Like golden clasps with which to trap
The sunbeam and the wind.
4 No more I shall see those flying curls,
And my homeward steps I wend;
Another stage of his life unfurled, |
Where youth and childhood blend.
So when from his chair he stepped at
length,
ie stood, with his artless smile,
Like Samson shorn of his locks of strength
By Delilah’s treacherous wile.
Thus one by one will vanish away
The charms of his childish life,
And each bring nearer his manhood’s day,
With its scenes of toil and strife.
God grant that my lease of life may last
' Through his changing years of youth;
‘Till the danger rapids of life are passed
And a Samson stands in truth.
©hased by Savages.
PAWRENCE -NORTON was a young man of twenty-two. He
, had finished his education, and was desirous of seeing ‘“‘some-
thing of the world,†as he expressed it. His uncle, who wasa
large ranchman in Montana, had frequently written Lawrence,
urging that he visit the west and make his home there. Law-
rence was anxious to go, and in a few short weeks found himself
safe in his uncle’s home.
The house in which his uncle lived was not such as Lawrence
had been used to. Neither[~
was life on the plains as
luxurious as in the eastern
cities, yet Lawrence en-
joyed it all. It was a
change to him, and the
wild and free life which he
led there was so pleasant
that he thought he should
like always to remain.
On his uncle’s ranch
were many hundreds of
horses and of cattle. Only
a few days after his ar-
rival his uncle presented =
him with a fine horse and
saddle and told him tok
make the most of it. Day
after day Lawrence went
out to help herd the cat-
tle. On one occasion, he
thought he would ride to
the hills some distance
away and explore them. His horse was fresh, and he galloped rapidly forward.
The air, was bracing and Lawrence felt every nerve thrill with life and vigor
Reaching the hills he dismounted, and, staking out his horse, he started out on
foot in search of whatever adventure might befall him.
SS #5 sf be Fe
A RACK POR LIPS.
Like every other herdsman, he carried his trusty rifle with him. As he
reached the summit of a little hill he saw a band of Indians encamped in the
vale below him. Lawrence thought it would be great fun to send a rifle ball
over their heads and terrify them. He did not think of the danger there would
be in such a course for himself, so, raising his rifle to his shoulder, he fired in
the direction of the encampment. No sooner was the gun discharged than
the Indians sprang to their feet in great commotion. They ran hither and
thither, gathered their arms together, and hastily mounted their ponies. Then
Lawrence realized what he had done. Hisown horse was some distance away,
and the Indians “were coming in the direction from which the gun had been
fired. Lawrence ran rapidly to the spot where he had left his horse, and
reached him none too soon. As he was mounting, the Indians appeared on the
summit of the hill, and seeing him, at once gave chase. Then began a race
for life. Lawrence knew that if he fell into the hands of the Indians there was
little hope forhim. He had had no time to reload his gun, and so was unable
to defend himself. He urged his gallant steed to the utmost, and started off
across the plains, hoping that he might escape them. But the ponies of the
Indians were fresh, and although Lawrence had some rods the start, yet he feit
that there was but little hope of escape. Knowing that his gun was of no use
to him, and that it added so much weight to his horse, he threw it away.
Then he threw away his coat and hat, and sped onward.
For miles and miles they raced. At one time the Indians were close upon
him, but his horse seemed to know that life depended on his efforts, and that
another mile would bring him within reach of assistance. So springing for-
ward with renewed vigor, he soon placed a safe distance between him and his
pursuers. Lawrence reached his companions badly frightened, and it was with
difficulty that he could tell them of his escape. Although they rejoiced that
Lawrence had gotten off unharmed, yet none of them felt like blaming the
Indians for chasing a man who, without any cause whatever, had fired upon
them.
@he Hwallow-Gailed Hen.
| WO dear little girls went out to
play,
) And mamma said, as they
EG) skipped away,
“Don’t go to the barn, now
mind!
For we’ve shut up the chickens that came
to-day,
From the nest old Swallow-tail hid in the
hay :
That nobody ever could find;
And the mother is clucking with all her
might,
Clucking and strutting and ready to fight:
Why even the men
- Are afraid of the hen!
Don't go to the barn, I say.â€
“No! no!†cried the good little girls; “Not
welâ€
So out they scampered the world to see;
Such a great big place for play!
The bird and the bee flew far and free,
And the children followed, so full of glee
They never noticed the way;
They leaped the logs near the buzzing mill,
Went over the fence and under the hill,
Waded the pond
To the barn beyond,
And the grand old “acorn-tree.’
Oh, and the sun was warm that day!
The dear little girls were tired of play,
So down they sat in the shade.
“Just hear hear old Swallow-tail cluck!â€
Fay;
“Come on! Let’s go in the barn,
“It’s silly to be so ’fraid!â€
So up she ran and took out the pin
From the staple that fastens the chickens i Hi
“Oh, oh!†cried she;
“Do come and see!
Come into the barn, I say!â€
said
†said May.
Right in went the bold little girlies then,
In spite of the fowl that fought the men—
That grave old, brave old bird.
They counted the little ones,
ten.â€
They kissed them over and over again,
But the hen said never a word. |
Puzzled and bothered and filled with doubt,
She walked and stalked and circled about
All ’round the floor,
Till she reached the door,
Then off went the swallow-tailed hen.
“eight, nine,
“Good-bye! good riddance!†quoth May
with a frown;
And she tucked the birdies all up in her
gown—
Wee roosters and comical pullets!
Such dear little, queer little balls of down,
Puffy and fluffy and yellow and brown,
With eyes as round as bullets!
Set a thousand like them up in a row
Not one could cackle, or cluck or crow:
But out they’d pop
And away they’d hop.
Just cunning from claw to crown!
“But Swallow-tail’s gone, she’s gone!†sighed
Fay;
‘She'll never come back, she’s gone to stay,
The poor little chicks will die!â€
“Oh, ho! what a goose to be frightened away
By two little, kind little girls!†laughed May,
“That never would hurt a fly.
We'll just run out and shoo her back in,
And shut up the door, and put in the pin
So nobody’ll know,
Then off we'll go
To the saw-mill yard and play.â€
Now where had Swallow-tail gone,oh, where
They hunted here, and they hunted there,
But the fowl had hidden well;
“We can’t go way, it wouldn’t be fair,â€
Said May, half crying; “I do declare
1 never should dare to tell!â€
“T wish, I wish,†wept sorrowful Fay,
“We'd minded mamma, and kept away!
No use to talk!
Some terrible hawk
Has carried her up in the air!â€
But that was a great mistake of hers,
For, still as a mouse when Tabby stirs,
Â¥rom the roof she peered below;
And a mother, as all the world avers,
Whether in satin, or feathers, or furs
Is a match for every foe.
But the very minute they came in sight
She pounced on May, like a flash of ae
Like the teeth of saws
Were the sharp, sharp claws,
4ind they clung to the child like burs.
Oh, the hen had whetted her horny beak!
And she pecked and pecked the pretty red
cheek
Till down the red blood rolled,
All the birds of the air heard little May
shriek!
Looked down and saw how a maiden meek,
Could fight like a soldier bold!
For Fay, with her little fat hands Soe
tight,
Went hitting old Swallow-tail, left and right,
Yet the hen stuck fast,
Till over at last
Fell May, all blinded and weak!
Away to her chickens, ‘eight, nine, ten,â€
Went the terrible bird that scared the men,
And whipped disobedient girls;
And the children, safely at home again,
Owned all their naughtiness there and then,
While mamma smoothed the curls
And bathed the wounds all swollen and red;
But, though not an angry word she said,
To-see her so sad,
Hurt ’most as bad
As the beak of the swallow-tailed hen!
—AMANDA T. JONES.
@hristmas Gve.
bells.
They are coming near,
They are coming here,
And their sweet sound swelling of joy fore-
tells.
{t is Santa Claus,
And he cannot pause;
But down the chimney he quickly slides;
Each stocking fills,
Till it almost spills,
Then gaily chuckles, and off he glides.
How happy he,
The saint to be
Of all the girls and all the boys!
He hears his praise
Thro’ the holidays,
As they eat their sweets, and break thei:
toys.
So still he smiles,
And the time beguiles
Concocting schemes our hearts to cheer;
He loves us all,
And great and small
Regre* that he comes but once a year.
—WILLIAM BarcLay DuNHAM.
Robbie's Sleigh-ide.
, OBBIE DAWSON did so hate to write compositions, and now
y he must have one about “goats†ready to be handed in by the
next Thursday. It was Tuesday already, and he didn't know
any more about goats than he did the week before, when his
subject was given him. He told his Uncle Robert that all he
@ knew about them was that they were a very fine thing fora boy
to have, and he wished he had one to drive.
Finally a happy thought struck him. “I'll go and get Uncle Robert to
write it for me,†said he to himself. ‘“He’s going back to New York next
week, and it’s a pity if he can’t do a favor for a fellow before he goes.â€
Uncle Robert was easily found but not so easily persuaded, as Robbie
found to his sorrow.
“Look here, Robbie, my boy,†said he, ‘your schooling wont be of the
least benefit to you, as you will learn to your cost when it is too late to rectify,
if you are going to get some one else to do all the tasks set before you. You
are the one that needs the discipline, not I, but if I were to do it I would reap
all the benefits, and you would reap all the harm. Besides, it would be cheating
your teacher.
“But Pll tell you what I will do. Find out all you can about goats, their
home, nature, use, etc.; copy it neatly twice, once for me and once for your
teacher. Hand your teacher hers, and if she accepts hers I will mine, and wili
send you a live specimen of the animal as soon as I get home, providing that
you promise hereafter to do all the tasks assigned you without seeking or re-
ceiving unlawful assistance.â€
‘It’s a bargain,†said Robbie, and off he rushed to the library for pencils,
papers, and book helps.
By Wednesday night two neatly written sheets of foolscap lay in his
desk, one addressed to his teacher, and the other to his Uncle Robert. They
were both delivered with great solemnity Thursday morning. Friday, at
close of school, the teacher returned hers so that he might practice for reading
it at the close of the term the next week. It was marked roo per cent.
He took it home in high glee, and proudly showed it to his uncle, whe
seemed as much pleased as he.
Uncle Robert left the following morning for New York, and before another
week rolled round Robbie was in possession of not one goat, but two, labeled
Punch and Judy.
|
A JOLLY SLEIGH RIDE.
Pp
Such fun as Robbie had that winter! His father made him a neat little
sleigh, which would hold three or four, and after school Robbie would: make up
a sleigh-load of school-girls, and with the boys in tow on their sleds behind, they
would have fine rides up ané down the neighboring hills. Punch and Judy
seemed to enjoy it as muchas the boys and girls, and Punch especially seemed
to think he couldn't get down the hills half fast enough, and so would go
prancing along, plowing the snow with his horns, and kicking his feet straight
out behind him, to the great danger of the dash-board.
Robbie ever thereafter wrote his own compositions, and soon excelled in
that branch. Ido not think he even thought of asking help; if he did, he
thought of Punch and Judy, too, and immediately repented.
eS eRe
Rp rey
@he @Moll’s
And have to make a dress;
I want a lot of ’lusion,
A hundred yards, I guess—
I think Pll make it “princess,â€
I couldn’t wear it plain;
It’s very fashionable
To have a plaited train.
It’s Rosa Burdock’s wedding,
To-morrow, just at three,
In Mamie Turnbull’s garden
Under the apple-tree; -
The bridegroom’s Colonel Bracebridge,
He wears a sword and plume,
To show that he’s a soldier—
2v’s stylish, I presume.
We made some sugar-water,
And Mamie’s got a cake;
I never saw such good ones
As her mamma can make.
\Weadding.
She puts on plenty fros:ng
And lots of sugar plums—
I guess we'll have the ’freshments
Before the min’ster comes.
We've got to pick some dandelines
To make a chain and ring—
Louise will play the jew’s-harp,
And Mamie and I will sing;
We'll have to say the ’sponses,
They couldn’t if they tried—
But Rosa is so el’gant
She’ll make a lovely bride.
We'll have to stand the Colonel
Against a piece of board,
Or maybe he can stand up
By leaning on his sword.
Come now, this is to-morrow—
Let’s get our hats and shawls,
Bring June and Zephyrine,
And all the other dolls.
—KAaTE ALLYN
Ghe [M\ason Spider.
HAT a wonderful little creature this is! It does all its work in
the night. It builds a comfortable home right in the side of a
bank. It is exactly round, and no bigger than a quarter of a
dollar; you would say it was done with some instrument, and
so it was; but it is on its own body. It isa sort of rake, made
of hard points, on its head. This little tunnel is then lined with
silk, and do you know why? Because dampness cannot get
through silk, and your mother’s drawing-room is not more beautifully furnished
with drapery than the mason spider's sitting-room is. But the door is the most
curious part of it. It shuts of itself. It is about aslargeas a six-pence, bound
very thick, and made of thin layers of fine earth, moistened and worked together
with fine silk; attached to this little door is a silken hinge, very springy, and so
very tight that if the door is opened it springs back with a sharp snap. Even
the socket is bound with silk, and the outside covered with bits of moss, glued :
on, so that no one can find it. If any one should attempt to open this door the
spider would hold it tightly at the bottom, at the same time clinging to the
walls of the house with main force.
All day the mason spider remains in this home. When night comes he .
ventures out to spin a few threads on the grass to catch its prey. Carrying its
food into the tunnel it has a good feast.
—Mrkrs. G. Hatt.
=
\iaosin Mn RE TO i = LS Ci eAT
a Dine Lee AY mang Teen
Om(R. AND MRS. SAND-HOPPER request the pleasure of Mr. and
39? Mrs. Sand-screw’s company, on Thursday evening, Septem-
We Detpedth. Dancine,:
That is the way the invitations were worded. Now, we
were not invited to the party, it is true, but still, as we hap-
pen to be strolling in the neighborhood, there certainly can
S be no harm in our looking in for a moment, to see how the
i ¥ dancers are enjoying themselves; and it will be very easy, for, as it
is a warm evening, the ball is held out of doors, on the sand-beach
here,
Dear! Dear! What a gay scene! What is it they are dancing?
“First couple forward and back, jump over each other and turn somersault
back to places! All hands jump! Second couple right and left, three back
somersaults, and hop to places! Ladies chain! All hands hop! Right claw, left
claw, down the middle! All hands somersault back to places!â€
Well! I never saw a dance like that before, did you? And everybody is
dancing: no lazy people here. There must bea thousand people. A thousand!
There must be a million!
“Hop! Hop! Skip! Skip! Right claw, left claw, down the middle!â€
Don’t you wish we could be ‘sand-hoppers, too, just for a few minutes?
That is Mr. Sand-hopper himself in the picture, the one who is just jumping
backward so nimbly. He is dancing with his cousin, Miss Corophium,—that
lovely creature with the long, graceful, claw-like antenne. She is not quite
used to dancing on sand, for she lives in the mud at home; but still she is en-
joying herself very much. The lady in the left-hand corner is Mrs. Sand-Screw,
who is dancing back to back with Mr. Kroyler’s Sand-screw, her third cousin.
It is quite a family party, you see, for host and guests are all related to each
other.
Curious people, aren’t they? The biggest cannot be more than an inch
long. Their hard, shining shells are polished as bright as possible, and their
claws all neatly arranged. They have twelve legs, some of which they use in
walking and some in swimming; indeed, one of their family names is Amphi-
poda, which means “both kinds of feet.†Some of the ladies are carrying their
eggs with them, packed away under the fore-part of their bodies, just where the
legs are joinedon. Shouldn't you think they would be afraid of dropping them?
Ah! Now they are going to supper! There is the feast, spread out on
the sand. Great heaps of delicious rotten sea-weed, and plenty of worms—
a supper fit for a king, if the king happens to be a sand-hopper. They seem
very hungry, and no wonder, after dancing so hard!
They will eat anything and everything,—these tiny creatures; if you
were to drop your handkerchief now it would be bitten to rags in five
minutes.
The lovely Miss Corophium is beating the sand with her long feelers, to
see if there are any worms under it. Greedy creature! Can't you be content
with what is given you? But look! Whatis the matter now? Oh! Oh! How
| dreadful! An enemy is com-
ing. “The Green Crab! The
Green Crab! Run, hop, bur-_
row under ground, for your
lives!†Off they all go, hel-
ter-skelter, Hopper, Screw,.
and Corophium.
The family, and as many
of the guests as they can
shelter, disappear under
ground into their tiny holes;
the rest make off wherever
they can. Have all escaped?
Alas! No! The unfortunate Kroyler’s Sand-screw has a lame leg, and cannot
go as fast as the rest. He is seized by the terrible Green Crab, the enemy of
his whole race, and gobbled up before our very eyes.
The ball is over; come away! Somehow I don't care so muchabout being
a sand-hopper now, do you?
—LAURA E. RicHARDS.
@he Polls’ ©hristmas
IT’ was the week before Christmas, and the dolls in the toy-shop played
_ together all night. The biggest one was from Paris.
One night she said, “We ought to have a party before Santa
Claus carries us away to the little girls. I can dance, and I will
show you how.â€
“T can dance myself if you will pull
the string,†said a “Jim Crow†doll.
“What shall we have for supper?
piped a little boy-doll in a Jersey suit.
He was always thinking about eating.
“Oh, dear,†cried the French lady,
“T don’t know what we shall do for
supper!â€
“T can get the supper,†added a
big rag doll. The other dollshad never†¢
fied her very well, but they thanked # eh,
her now. She had taken lessons at a cooking-school, and knew how to make
cake and candy. She gave French names to everything she made, and this
made it taste better. Old Mother Hubbard was there, and she said the rag
doll did not know how to cook anything.
They danced in one of the great shop-windows. They opened a toy piano,
and a singing-doll played ‘Comin’ through the rye.†The dolls did not find
that a good tune to dance by; but the lady did not know any other, although
she was the most costly doll in the shop. Then they wound up a music-box,
Party.
and danced by that. This did very well for some tunes; but they had to walk
atound when it played “Hail, Columbia,†and wait for something ‘else.
The “Jim Crow†doll had to dance by himself, for he could do nothing but
a break-down.†He would not dance at all unless some one pulled his string.
A. tay monkey did this; but he would not stop when the dancer was tired.
They had supper on one of the counters. Therag wx
‘doll placed. some boxes for tables. The supper was of
candy, for there was nothing inthe shop toeat but sugar gta
hearts and eggs. The dolls like candy better
than anything else, and the supper was splen-
did. Patsy McQuirk said
he could not eat candy.
He wanted to know what
kind of a supper it was
without any potatoes.
He. got very angry, put
and smoked his pipe. It
do so in com-
the little ladies
to climb into a
get out of the
Mother
two black wait-
love little pus-
in abrigand hat
wide that thef
aut ier cit inesy,
clown raised Pees
and Jack in the Box ll
could to look down into
All the baby dolls in caps and long
bed. They woke up when the others
to cry. The big doll brought them some candy, (ay
for some time. |
The next morning a little girl found the Y toy piano open. She was
sure the dolls had been playing on it. The grown-up people thought it had
been left open the night before, but they do not understand dolls as well as
little people do.
,., his hands into his pockets,
ei was very uncivil for him to
pany. ' The smoke made
sick, and they all tried
“horn of plenty†to
way.
Hubbard and the
ers tried to sing “I
sy; but the tall one
opened his mouth so
small dollies were
might fall intoit. The
both armsin wonder,
sprang up as high as he
the fellow’s throat.
dresses had been. put to
were at supper, and began
and that kept them quiet
—VIOLA ROSEBOROUGH.
Ghe Story of the Qain Prop.
HERE was once a poor farmer who owned a small field of corn. He
( had planted and cultivated it with great care, for it was all he could
depend upon for the support of his large family. The little blades of
corn had come up, but the ground was parched and dry for the want of rain.
One day, as he was out in his field looking anxiously for a shower, two little
: SN
4 Dryp Y i Ni! ), Mae
Lf RL ipod Sp aM
2 wo on galas i VAY 34
j ay Wie isfy WY
Thay tiy L ip
el P é Hey tie Ni $77
nie i. liv Mt tne, We ig
ae
Ses} =
yp fle
tite!
| Y, a2" TL
rain drops up in the sky saw him, and one said to the other, “Look at that poor
farmer, he looks so sad and discouraged, I do wish that I could help him.â€
“What would you do,†said the other; “you are only one little rain drop, you
could not even wet one hill of corn?†‘True,’ said the other, ‘‘but, then, I
could go and cheer hima little. I believe I'll try. So here I go,†and dows
went the little rain drop, and fell on the farmer’s nose. ‘Dear me!†said the
farmer, “I do believe we are going tohavea shower—I’m so glad!â€
No sooner had the first rain drop left, than the other said, ‘Well, if you
go, I believe Pll go too.†So down came the second little rain drop and fell on
a hill of corn by the farmer's feet.
By this time another rain drop said to his companions, as they came to-
gether: ‘‘What is this I hear about going to cheer some poor farmer—that is a
good errand, I believe I'll go too.†“And I, and I, and I,†said the others. So
they all went—faster, and faster they came, till the whole field was watered,
and the corn grew and ripened, all because one little rain drop did what it could,
which encouraged many others to do the same. ;
Dear friends, that is just what our mission bands in the churches are try-
XK
€@ Oery © Girl.
-]|N school she ranks above her mates, She cares for baby brother;
s| And wins the highest prizes; She fashions balls and kites for Nate,
She bounds correctly all the states, And runs for tired mother,
4 And tells what each one’s size is; “She’s just as odd as odd can be!â€
In class she will not prompt a friend, Say all at home of Esther Lee.
For she doesn’t believe in telling;
She heeds the rules from end to end,
And never fails in spelling.
“She’s just as odd as odd can be!â€
Say all the school of Esther Lee..
For little, crippled Mary Betts
She saves her brightest pennies;
She never, never, sulks or frets
If she doesn’t beat at tennis;
With happy words she is sure to greet
She keeps her room as neat as wax, Children in lowly by-ways;
And laughs at Peter’s mockings; She guides unsteady, aged feet
She mends Priscilla’s gloves and sacques, Across the bustling highways.
And darns the family stockings; | “She’s just as odd as odd can be!â€
She dusts the sitting-room for Kate, Say all the town of Esther Lee.
Byow the Ghildeen Helped Pay for.
the fOarm.
“?ILDA, Bertha and Otto Karsten were three little German chil-
dren who, with their parents, had come from that far-off land
beyond the sea to finda home on our western prairies. They
had once had a dear little home in the old country, but they had
lost it, and I will tell you how.
Their father had been a miller, and had owned the mill, to-
gether with the house and the few acres surrounding it. Thisland
joined on every side the estate of arich baron, and, in fact, had once beena part
of it; but it had been sold years before by the baron’s ancestors to meet some
reckless expenditure.
Now the baron had coveted these few acres for a long time, and had several
times offered to buy them; but the sum he offered was not half the value;
besides, Mr. Karsten loved his mill and his little home and did not care to part
with them. But the more the baron thought of it the more he wanted it, till
in his eyes it became worth more than all his vast possessions. He thought he
could never be happy unless he had it, and at last he determined to stead it.
You think it would be hard work to steal land. So it would be in this
country, where the poor have privileges as well as the rich; but in that country
might makes right, and it was an easy matter. Let me tell you how he did it.
The little stream that turned the big wheel in the mill flowed from the baron’s
land and entered it again after running through the miller’s; so this wicked man
dug a ditch around the poor miller’s farm, connecting it at both ends with the
stream, and thus drew the water all off. Then the big wheel stopped turning
and no grists could be ground. The miller did not know what to do, for he
could get no work to make a living. Finally the little money he had saved was
gone, and he was compelled to sell his home to the baron (no one else would
care to buy it now) for whatever he pleased to give him, which was not much:
Mr. Karsten had heard of this good land of ours, and had heard that here
by patient industry the poor might win homes; so one spring found the Karsten
family on the rolling prairies. A farm was bought and partially paid for, and
a comfortable house was built.
Ina year or two the grassy plain was transformed into fields of rustling
corn and waving wheat, and that in turn into shining dollars, and slowly and
“oR
surely the farm became their own. ‘When the farm is paid for!†That was
the children’s idea of perfect happiness. To this end they hoarded even their
pennies, and worked like little heroes, too. Barefooted and bareheaded, clad
in their old-fashioned, home-spun clothes, they weeded the garden, cared for
the cows and sheep and fed the calves and chickens. When the other children
laughed at their odd clothes they only smiled at each other and said: “Well
have new clothes, too, when the farm is paid for.â€
At last came the long-looked-for summer when the last dolar would be
paid if all went well. But alas! the spring was so damp and cold that the corn
seed rotted in the ground, and though it was planted over and over again it
became evident that the corn crop would be a perfect failure. But how the
wheat grew!—as if it knew that eager eyes and anxious hearts were watching it
—as if it knew that joy or grief depended on its growing. The children
measured by it. Now it was as tallas Otto; now it was over Bertha’s head, and
now Hilda, the eldest, could just reach the golden-turning heads by standing
on her tip-toes.
“The wheat would pay for it all if I didn’t have to hire some help to take
care of it,†said the father, “but that will cost money, and now the corn is
gone.†“QO, iather, cried Hilda, Bertha and Otto all together, “we can help
you take care of it, I’m sure we can. Do let us try.â€
The father looked doubtful and shook his head, but when he saw their
eager faces cloud over and tears come into their eyes he thought again and
said: “Well, you may try.†They could hardly wait tillit was ripe, they
were so anxious to prove that they could help; but at last the father shouldered
his cradle and went to cut it down. Then thechildren raked it up into bundles,
and very careful they were to get every scattered stalk. Then the mother left
the house to care for itself, and came out with them and bound the bundles
tight with wisps of straw. The children learned how, too, but they could bind
only the small ones.
But they could set the bundles all on end in great shocks, though, and
thought it fun. They called it building houses. Once it rained when they were
far from home, alone, in a distant corner of the field. Then they built a larger
house than usual and crawled inside. It thundered and lightened, too, but
they were not afraid. The shower was soon over, so that Bertha, holding out
her hand, could scarcely feel a falling drop. Then they crept from their safe ~
retreat and soon were at work again as merrily as ever.
Finally it was all cut and bound and set up. Now it must be stored in the
barn. Again the father shook his head, but again they all cried: “We cap
do it. Try us, father.†They were not afraid to work, you see. When ‘he
great wagon was driven to the field Otio held the lines and drove from shock to
shock, while Hilda and Bertha laid the great bundles, as large as themselves,
evenly, side by side, as fast as the father could toss them up. As proud as
kings and queens in a royal chariot, they rode on the loaded wagon to the barn,
and there they packed the grain in so tight that when the threshers came to
thresh they asked the father what man he had that packed the bundles so.
How they stared when they were told; and how the children laughed!
But they laughed a great many times that winter, when, clustered around
the fire ina home now all their very own, they would recount their summer's
work, and tell how they, too, had helped pay for the farm.
—i. &. M.
I
= oe
I
farmers’ Girls.
}P in the early morning,
Just at the peep of day,
Straining the milk in the dairy,
Turning the cows away;
Sweeping the floor in the kitchen,
Making the beds up-stairs.
Washing the breakfast dishes,
Dusting the parlor chairs.
Brushing the crumbs from the pantry,
Hunting for eggs in the barn,
’ Roasting the meat for dinner,
Spinning the stocking yarn;
Spreading the snow-white linen
Down on the bushes below,
Ransacking every meadow
Where the wild strawberries grow.
Starching their “‘fixin’s†for Sunday,
Churning their golden cream,
Rinsing the pails and strainer
Down in the running stream,
Feeding the geese and poultry,.
Making puddings and pies,
Jogging the little one’s cradle,
Driving away the flies.
Grace in every motion,
Music in every tone;
Beauty in form and feature,
Thousands might covet to own.
Cheeks that rival the roses,
Teeth the whiteness of pearls,
One of these country maids is worth
A score of your city girls.
—CHARLES K. SHETERLY.
f7 HE next summer Joe and Charlie made Grandfather Green
another visit, and remembering the interesting stories he had
told them of forest trees, they were anxious to gather further
information upon the same subject. So, before they had fairly
p gotten rested from their trip, Charlie said:
‘““Now, grandpa, we want to learn more about trees while we are here
this summer; and, while we have been reading a great deal about different
kinds of trees, Joe and I both think you can tell us a great many things we
cannot get out of books.â€
“Very well,†said grandfather, “I should be only too glad to help you gain
useful information. Let us go down to the river fishing to-morrow and while
there we can, perhaps, learn something of trees that grow in the low-
lands.â€
The boys were delighted, not only at the idea of learning more about
trees, but at the prospect of going fishing as well, for what boy is not fond of
this sport? The next morning bright and early the boys were up and searched
the premises for fishing tackle. Grandfather had provided for that, however,
and told them if they would only get the worms for bait he would find fishing
rods, hooks and lines. It took the boys but a little while to gather a sufficient
supply of bait for the day, and then, with a lunch basket that grandma in-
sisted they should take with them, they started. While on the road their grand-
father told them many stories of forest trees and forest life, but said, as some
large willow trees were found upon the river bank, he had concluded to tell
them about them. On reaching the river the boys found the willows as grand-
father had said and their interest was much aroused. Before beginning
the sport of the day the boys wanted to hear about the willow trees, so,
lying down in the shade of one of the trees, they prepared themselves to
listen.
Grandfather said: ‘The willow trees that you see around us here, boys,
are some of the largest that can be found anywhere. As a rule the willow does
not grow very large. It separates into many branches a few feet from the
ground and spreads out as you see around us. The branches are very slender.
The leaves are so thick and so heavy that the limbs all bend downward as you
see. The tree affords as dense a shade as any other. Willows are found
almost wholly in low-lands. There are quite a number of different kinds, as
you know. The lumber from the tree has but little commercial value. The
Some f©orest Grees.--Ghe \illow.
zt?
O LANGUAG
HEY N
HAVE T
tree branches so near the ground that logs of any length cannot be obtained
from it.., Willow is used, however, for quite anumber of purposes. The trunk
and larger limbs of the tree are worked into base ball and cricket bats, but I
presume you boys know more about these things than I do. When we used to-
play ball and cricket when I was a boy we did not do it with machine-made
bats and balls which you use to-day. The willow is valuable for this purpose
because it is light and strong. The tree and branches are cut into proper
lengths and split and each strip is cut by a lathe.
“The Indians used to weave baskets out of willow twigs and some of them
are very beautiful indeed. The’twigs after being cut a dried are plaited
together. You will, perhaps, find in your own home a number of baskets of
different shapes and sizes made from these willow twigs. The twigs are very
pliable; that is, they will bend without breaking, which makes them especially
useful for this purpose. The willow is used in making chairs and rockers of
various kinds. The willow is also used in making fences. I can show you a
willow or hedge fence in the lower pasture if you wish. Only a few years ago
I wanted a fence there and I had the men gather a lot of willow cuttings: we
went down there one day in early summer, and stuck these willow slips into the
ground a few inches apart, and as a result there is a fence there to-day which
stock cannot easily get through. You will find a great many of these hedge
fences throughout the country, especially in low-lands. Willow trees make a
very good fuel when dry; it is, however, too light to burn very. long, but it
makes a hot, quick fire and your grandmother aici it is the best wood we get
here for summer use. I think that is about all I can tell you about willows.
Now, boys, if we are going to do any fishing, it is time we should
begin.â€
“Well,†said Joe, ‘I never thought there was so much to learn about trees.
I believe I would like to live here on the farm with you all summer, grandpa,
and do nothing but study trees.â€
“J may say, I should like to have you with me, boys,†said grandpa, ‘and
if you will only stay with me until fall 1 think you will go back to your city
home regular little foresters, but we must not waitany longer. Get your tackle
yeady and we will see if there are any fish in this stream.â€
O\ (Syrave (Cittle ©irl.
? GREAT many years ago, about the year eighteen hundred’
when some of the eastern states were considered as being
quite far West, there nestled at the foot of one of the Green
Mountain ranges in Vermont the little country village of
Farmington. Close around it clustered a number of farm
A\ dwellings, surrounded by their fields of tilled land, but for
ra the most part it was comparatively a new country, and the settle-
ry ments few and far between. By climbing a short distance up the moun-
tain slope, however, one could see a few scattered farm-houses here and
there in the distance; and the frequent breaks in the trees that stood in bold
relief against the horizon showed where the woodman’s ax had been busy
opening up a new road through the forest, hewing out timbers for a cabin, or
cleaning a patch of ground for the Indian corn.
In one of the farthest of these cabins lived Edward Solis and his family,
consisting of a wife and three children. The eldest, Jennie, was but eleven
years of age, while Helen had just seen her fifth birthday, and the youngest
was a baby of a year or so old. The family had but lately moved there from
Connecticut, and had hardly got settled in their new home as the spring
opened.
One day in early summer Mr. Solis found he must go to a neighboring
town at some distance to obtain some farm appliances which he could not get
at the village. The journey would take him several days from home, as the
roads wererendered almost impassable from an exceedingly heavy rain, so, bid-
ding adieu to his family, he started early on the following morning.
The day passed as usual with the family, but at night it was observed that
the baby, who had during the day crept out unseen, and had been found pad-
dling in the water, had taken a severe cold and was flushed with fever. The
fever increased so rapidly during the night, and baffling all Mrs. Solis’s simple
“remedies and skill, by morning she determined to summon to her aid the vil-
lage doctor.
But whom should she send? There seemed to be but one messenger—
Jennie, and she had scarcely been beyond their little clearing. But the nearest
neighbor was nearly as distant as the village, and to be reached only by a nar-
row path through a dense forest; so the safer and more expeditious plan
seemed to be to take the newly-cut wagon road to town. Jennie was very
timid about the journey, and begged very ard that her little sister might be
JENNIE’S CROSSING.
allowed to go with her for company, and Helen, childlike, was even more eager;
so after many injunctions as to directions and carefulness, and being bid to
walk as fast as they could, the children set out. Collie, their pet shepherd dog,
went with them, and Jennie carried a well-filled lunch basket on her arm, which
her mother had given her, telling them that, after sending the doctor on, they
might take their time coming home. In those days doctors rode on horseback
instead of in gigs, and the children would have to return as they went.
The distance to the village was about three miles. Between them, about
a mile from town, flowed a creek, which higher up stream, touched the opposite
side of the town. At this point was a bridge, but to reach it the Solis’s would
have to go two miles out of their way. Their usual crossing place was ata
shallow ford, where stepping-stones had been laid from either bank. This was
generally a safe means of crossing, for a dam above the town confined the sur-
plus water, and the creek was never very deep.
Jennie and Helen, with Collie leading the way—he had Been over the road
many times—reached the creek without stopping to rest. Carefully pick-
ing their way over the white stepping-stones, they seated themselves on the
opposite bank, laughing to see Collie slip off one of the large stones as he tried
to get adrink without wetting his toes. But Collie looked none the worse for
his wetting, for he soon shook himself dry, and the girls bathed their warm
faces and tired feet.. Then they hurried on.
After reaching town they easily found the doctor by inquiry; but he was
just starting out to answer an urgent call at some distance, and said he could
not be back again before night. He read Mrs. Solis’s note, however, which
Jennie produced from her basket, and said he would put up some medicine
which he thought, if the directions’ were carried out, would be all that was
needed, and he would call at night. on his way back.
There was no help for it, so Jennie turned slowly away; and now they
must walk back with the precious medicine even faster than they came. Try-
ing her best to encourage little Helen, who was almost in tears, and whose
weary feet lagged sadly, she hurried on her way. A nameless dread had also
seized her. As she had passed through the door of the doctor’s office, she had
heard a man remark to him when he spoke of, returning that night, “You'd
better not try that till morning, Doctor. This last heavy rain has broken out
that weak spot in the dam, and if the water keeps tumbling down the moun-
tain as it has been doing, there’s no telling where the bridge will be by night.â€
Poor Jennie! “If the dam is gone, how will we get across the creek,†she
thought, ‘‘and what will mother think, and then perhaps Willie will die if I
don’t get the medicine there before the doctor comes.†Faint with fear she sat
on a log by the roadside, as much to steady her trembling knees as to rest
Helen. Taking the lunch from the basket, she. divided it between Helen and
Collie, bidding the former eat her share as quickly as possible. The latter
needed no such bidding, and soon they were again on their way.
Taking Helen by the hand, she hurried her at the top of her speed, answer-
ing her wondering look with a gentle reminder that they must get the medicine
to brother Willie as quickly as they could, that he might get well. It would do
her no good to tell her of the rising water, Jennie wisely thought, she would not
understand, would only be frightened, and might hinder getting her across.
With pale cheeks and trembling steps, she hurried forward, and at last
came in sight of the creek. Her worst fears were realized; the stepping-stones,
were completely submerged by dark, troubled waters, on whose surface floated
here and there bits of broken timber, telling too well the work of destruction
above. But now that she at last stood in the presence of the dreaded danger
Jennie instantly grew brave. “Helen,†said she, quite calmly, “see how the rain
has filled the creek. I don’t believe you can find the stones, but we’ll play
‘horse,’ and sister will carry you over on her back. It will belots of fun. Get
on this stone, and put your arms as tight as you can around my neck,â€
~ Helen, who had been gazing rather doubtfully at the water, seeing Jennie
made but play of the matter, was immediately re-assured, and instantly com-
plied with the conditions for a little “fun.†' Jennie’s new-found courage never
failed her. Slipping the basket over her arm, she clasped her hands tightly
behind her, over Helen’s chubby bare legs; but how could she find the stepping-
stones? Here Collie came to her aid. With an instinct almost human, he
_ seemed to take in the situation at a glance. Wagging his tail, he stepped out
on the first stone, and looked knowingly back as if tosay, “It’s allright. Come
Oiies
From stone to stone he guided her, never attempting to swim his way
along; and the emergency made Jennie sure-footed, while Helen was quite
boisterous in her glee. In safety they reached the opposite bank, and scarcely
had they done so, when a dull report was heard far up stream; the whole dam
had given away, and soon the pent-up waters would engulf the low banks of the
creek.
Jennie recognized the sound and understood its meaning, and nothing
but the thoughts of her sick brother, and the needed medicine, supported her
the remainder of the distance. When at last they reached the open cabin
door, she fell fainting on the floor, and only Helen was left to tell the story of
how “me and Jennie played horse.â€
When the doctor reached there, late in the night, he found two patients
instead of one, but left both at daybreak doing well. Before the next night
Jennie was quite a little heroine in the village, as the story of her bravery be-
came noised around through the kind-hearted doctor, and the village paper
stated that “Mistress Jennie Solis was the bravest little maid in the sixteen
states.â€
It was not long ere a bridge spanned the stream over the stepping-stones,
and now an iron structure does duty at the identical point; but from that day
to this the place has been known as ‘‘Jennie’s Crossing.â€
Qittle Golden Head.
lived within a town
AY LITTLE GOLDEN HEAD
x Full of busy bobolinks flitting up
and down;
Pretty neighbor buttercups, cosy auntie
clovers,
And shy groups of daisies all whispering like
lovers.
A town that was builded on the border of a
stream
By the loving hands of Nature when she
woke from winter's dream;
Sunbeam for the workingmen, taking turn
with shower, Y
Rearing fairy houses of nodding grass and
flower.
Crowds of noisy bumble-bees rushing up and
down,
Wily little brokers of that busy little town,
Bearing bags of gold dust, always in a hurry,
Fussy bits of gentlemen, full of fret and
flurry.
Gay little Golden Head fair and fairer grew,
Fed on flecks of sunshine and sips of balmy
dew,
Swinging on her slender foot all the happy
day, ;
Chattering with bobolinks, gossips of the
May.
Underneath her lattice on starry summer
eves
By and by a lover came, with his harp of
leaves; j
Wooed and won the maiden, tender, sweet
and shy,
For a little cloud home he was building in
the sky.
And one busy morning on his steed of might
He bore his little Golden Head out of mortal
sight, |
But still her gentle spirit, a puff of airy
down,
Wandered through the mazes of that busy
little town.
@n Gast |ndian Home.
ET your map and perhaps you can find the island of New
Guinea. Ah, here itis, lying near the equator and extending
several hundred miles south of that. This island is worth our
study. Itis about four times as large as the six New England
states. Of course, no frost is known in that region—the trees
are always green, the flowers always blooming. Here we find
the banana, the palm, the cocoanut and fruits in abundance. Our picture
shows the banana tree in front and a couple of cocoanut trees in the rear.
These trees usually surround the homes of the East Indiaman. They are
chosen not for ornament and shade but for their fruit. These fruits are not the
most abundant and cheapest in the island, yet almost any other could be gotten
along without much better than they.
The banana is to the East India people what bread is to the Americans,
The cocoanut not only furnishes them food but its oil is used for light anda
cooling, pleasant drink is also obtained from it. The houses in that part of the
world are very much alike. The poorer class—and those include nearly all the
people —build entirely with bamboo and roof with palm leaves. No sound of
hammer is heard in building these houses; a saw and hatchet is all that is
needed. The saw cuts the poles intoa required length. The hatchet splits
and dresses those that are to be used for siding and floor. The posts are set
firmly in the grounda few feet apart and some eight feet above the surface.
The first and only floor is laid a few feet above the ground; the rafters are set
at a moderate pitch. The poles and slats are tied together when necessary.
The palm leaf shingles that are then put upon them are fastened in the same
way. The leaves which are used for this purpose are from the mangrove; they
are long and narrow and while green are bent over a stick about three feet long,
so as to lie in courses. One of these leaf roofs, when laid well, will last from
eight to ten years without leaking. The houses have no windows.. Upon one
side is a door that can be opened and shut at pleasure; this door is made of
basket work and serves to let in the light. The lower story of the house is.
never enclosed. This is, they say, due toa fear of the overflow of rivers, the
fear of wild beasts and serpents and also the thought that sickness results from
living and sleeping onthe ground. It would seem that this mode of building is
rather a habit than anything else, as in every locality, even where there is no
danger of overflow from water or where are no serpents or wild beasts, the houses
are built in the same way. If anativeis asked why the houses are built so high,
the usual answer is, ‘(Our houses are frail and we build high to keep away from
robbers.†The door is reached by a light narrow ladder, which by night is
drawn up, and with the door tied the natives feel quite secure. No fire is ever
built in one of these dwellings; the cooking is done outside. The furniture is
very meagre indeed; it seldom exceeds two or three grass mats, a couple of rush
pillows, a rice pot and frying pan of earthenware, a betel box and a spittoon.
The cost of these houses is not very great. They seldom exceed $12 or $15,
and one native reported to his employer, after an absence of four days, “that
he had married a wife and built and furnished a house, all at an expense of $6.00.â€
Not all the people of New Guinea are fortunate enough to have houses. Thou-
sands live, year in and year out, without a roof of their own to give them shelter,
with only the ground for their bed and the sky for covering. Nature has pro-
vided soabundantly for these people that they are but little disposed to provide
for themselves.
A\iving the fees.
"HE bees have swarmed,†said Hal, as he rushed into the
kitchen where his mother was at work.
“What shall we do? Your father wil! not be at
home for several hours,†said the mother.
‘Do! Why, I can hive ea said Hal. “I
watched papa hive the other swarm.â€
“Do!†said the house-maid, before Hal had finished—“TI'll tell you’ what to
do! Drum on pans and pails. Make all the noise you can, so they will alight.
That’s the way Carrie Barnes did when her bees swarmed. Her mother and
ali the rest drummed on tin pans.â€
Hal went to the barn for a new hive, and the children got pans and pails
and went to drumming with sticks. The house-maid got an old stove-pipe and
laid it across a broken cart-wheel and she drummed, making more noise than
Aee sues: |
“Oh, what a racket!†said Hal, as he dusted the hive and wet the inside
with sweetened water.
What the bees thought of the noise I do not know, but they soon began to
settle upon a raspberry-bush. I really think they went there because their
queen led them, but the house-maid thought it was because of the noise they
made.
While the children saw that the dark bunch grew larger and larger on the
raspberry-bush Hal put his father’s bee-veil over his hat, buttoned his coat to
the chin over it, and then drew on long gauntlet gloves.
“Now I’m ready for the bees,†said Hal.
“T wish I had a veil,†said Ruby.
“[’m going to crawl into this gunny-sack,†said little Ned, “and look
through the holes.â€
Then all the little children pulled gunny-sacks over their heads, arms and
‘hands, and ran up close to the bees while Hal was hiving them.
Hal worked very gently. He pried up the bush. Taking hold of the top
of it with one hand he put the other hand under the roots and lifted the whole
mass of bees over the hive. He gave it a quick shake, which dropped the most
of them into the hive.
With great care and delicate touches he brushed the bees away from the
edge of the hive and replaced the cover.
“J don’t believe I have killed three bees,†said Hal, delighted with his
success. ‘‘I believe we should have lost that swarm if it had not been for you,
Hal,†added his mother.
“You mean if we hadn't drummed on the pans,†cried the house-maid.
When Hal’s father came his boy tried to look sober as he said: ‘Papa,
the bees swarmed two hours ago!â€
His father looked at him a minute, adding: “And you have hived them e
“Yes, sir,†said Hal, with sparkling eyes.
“You have done a good thing,†replied his father, proudly.
His father gave him that hive of bees, from which he has raised many
others.
—Mnrs. O. HowarbD.
ote einen
\
oI
H, see that pretty moss!
It is like a star!â€
_ It was clinging to a
rock by the sea-shore.
It was not moss, but an animal.
“It is a sea-star, Nellie, or a
star-fish, as some people call it.
Take it in your hand. You will
not be hurt.â€
“Why, Uncle John, he is all
legs. Where are his eyes and
nose?â€
“The sea-star has neither eyes, nose, nor ears, Nellie.
In fact he has no head at all. Those little feelers on what
you call his legs are really all the legs and arms he has.
His mouth and stomach are all the same.â€
“Oh, how funny!â€
“Yes, he is a curious animal. When he has finished one meal some of
those little arms sweep his stomach clean, and then he is ready for another.â€
“And what does he have to eat?â€
“Well, Miss Nellie, he is as fond of oysters as you are. Though he seems
so feeble, the strongest shell-fish cannot escape him. He sends a poisonous
juice through the valves of the oyster, which makes him oven his shell, Then
the sea-star has a fine feast!†.
“The wicked creature!â€
“Yes, the oyster fishermen are no friends of the star-fish. But he makes
a pretty ornament when dried. Do you want to take him home?â€
“T am afraid of being poisoned.â€
“T will tell you what to do. Place him in this little wooden box. I will
bore some holes in it. Then put him down over an ant’s nest. They will
prepare him nicely for you. His poison does not harm the ants. Perhaps
there are ant doctors who cure them.â€
—KHAM.
OjJuliette.
ID you ever own a nice horse who was full of fun and mischief
and whose eye seemed to have a laugh init? Let me tell you
about such a one. She was as black as jet; she had a
white star in her face, and a white stocking on her left hind
foot. She was roundand plump and very quick in her motions.
She could trot, rack, pace and run, and under the saddle was a
charmer. Her name was Juliette. Asa colt she took the lead
in mischief.
She could untie a bow-knot even when the end of the strap
was put through the bow and drawn up tightly. But she was not so foolish as
to do this when there was no occasion. But omit feeding her when the other
horses were fed, and then step out of the barn for a few moments; suddenly
return, and she would be found untied and in a stall with another horse, helping
herself to his grain. She had three associates, whom she led into mischief in
the night. She would open the barn-door, which was fastened with a hook and
staple; open the barn-yard gate by drawing out the pin that held it. She
would let down the bars with her teeth, and lead her three trusting companions
into the grain field. There they would be found in the morning, while she had
returned to the barn before the boys were up. She had such an innocent look
when she had been on these excursions that it would call forth one’s admira-
tion. When I rode her to bring back the colts she seemed to know what we
were after. She would go quite direct to where those wicked colts could be
found, and we would chase them home in a hurry.
One night a mysterious noise was heard at the barn. Horse-thieves were
not unknown, and, as we had the best horses in the neighborhood, great anxiety
was felt. Father drew himself softly out of his warm bed. Revolver in hand,
he went carefully and quietly out of the house, followed by a courageous bull-
dog.
You can imagine his astonishment when, instead of finding horse-thieves,
he found Juliette standing with the raised pump-handle in her mouth trying to
pump water, while the three colts, with unbounded confidence in her ability,
stood at the trough watching her with expectant eyes.
—CHILION B, ALLEN.
x Vv ee NID ee v
Oa SSS FR So
A Se NW comet A
Ghe P\utting.
Chestnuts are ripe—
VWIHESTNUTS are ripe—
i Are ripe, and now from the prickly | Are ripe, and now when berries are few
7, \h¢
“as
\ burr The brown nuts fall,
72 The brown nuts fall, And here,
And bound With a cheer,
To the ground From far and near,
With a twinkling sound, In the sparkling sun the boys appear
Where the woodlawn folk are camped around, At the end of the pasture wall;
At the end of the pasture wall, , | Bitten with brambles, washed in dew,
With tongues that chatter and wingsthat whir, | Ruddy and brown, a barefoot crew,
Birds in feathers and hearts in fur— Each with his sack
Squirrel and jay, Like a peddler’s pack,
And chipmunk gay— They climb, and shake, and cudgel, and
They scrape, and scamper, and scoldand play. thwack,
While the little white worm in the midst of | But the little white worm in the midst of the
the storm storm
Grows fat on his diet and laughs at themall. Feasts on the kernel and laughs at them all,
i A Pew [ind of fun.
)O_ nM 2
HERE was a great racket out in the back-yard, cries of distress,
J X shouts of merriment and loud laughter. Mrs. Harley rushed to the
° window in time to see Joe rolling on the ground, kicking his heels in
ae the air and fairly roaring with delight, while Bennie, the picture of
oe
ZIES
&
mortal terror, was running toward the house as if all the witches were
after him.
“Why, my poor little mouse, what does this mean?†was mamma’s aston-
ished inquiry to the funny object that appeared on the threshold a moment later.
“It means, mamma,†Bennie gasped, as he bent a dripping, yellow head
forward and stuck out his arms akimbo,
“means—that—I’m almost drowned,â€
and a righteous stream of indignant
tears joined the others that were run-
ning to the ground.
“Drowned! Where could you
drown, dear?†and mamma’s alarm
took flight in a hearty laugh.
“It isn’t anything to laugh at.
oe did it!†while sobs and groans fol-
lowed at the recollection of his wrongs.
“Tell Joe to come here.â€
“Now that sounds like business,â€
thought Bennie, and, wiping his eyes
with alacrity, he started on his pleasant
errand.
“JOR PUNISHED.†“Here he is, mamma,’ was the
triumphant announcement, as he shortly reappeared in the doorwav. holding
his elder brother by the arm.
“My son, what have you been doing to your little brother?†but Joe only
hung his head. ‘Tell me instantly; what have you been doing, I say?â€
“Why—I was—only having a little fun, that was all.†The voice was very
meek indeed for Joe.
“Having a little fun? You may tell me what you call fun, if you please.â€
“Well, it wasn’t anything, only the cow’s water-pail was standing out in the
yard, and Bennie came and stuck his head in to take a drink, and
I only stepped up behind him and gave him a little dip, that was all,†and Joe
looked up into the stern face inquiringly.
“It wasn't all; he pushed me clear to the bottom of the pail,†objected
Bennie, indignantly.
“Tf I can’t have a little fun I think it is a pretty thing,†sulked Joe.
“It seems to me you have had a good deal of fun lately,†said his mother,
gravely. ‘It is quite time for me to have mine now. Come into the kitchen.â€
Joe humbly obeyed, wondering what his mother could mean, and Bennie
followed, determined to miss nothing. f
“Fill that wash-dish full of water.†Matters began to look a little serious.
‘‘Now I want to see how you enjoy the kind of fun you are continually having
with others,†and Mrs. Harley, as she spoke, plunged Joe’s head once, twice,
three times into the water, giving it so generous a ‘‘dip†each time that even
Bennie could ask for no more.
“Now, Joe, how do you like the ‘fun’?†asked his mother quietly, standing
off a few steps and looking at him fixedly.
“I wouldn't have minded it,†gasped Joe, “if you had ducked me only once,
but it seems to me that three times running is a good deal.â€
“T intended it should be,†replied his mother, with decision. “I was set-
tling up a little back pay that was due you. I have discovered that your fun is
always at the expense of some one else. Do you remember the fun you had at
your sister's lawn party last summer, when you turned the hose on her new
white dress and spoiled all her pleasure? Then when you were sent into the
house, do you remember how you amused yourself by stretching a string across
the hall and seeing how many persons would trip over it? You enjoy chasing
your little brother with the poker, and occasionally giving him a ‘dip,’ as you
call it.â€
“OQ mamma, don't tell any more things. I can’t bear to have you speak to
me in that way. It doesn’t seem one bit like you,†and poor Joe hid his burning
face in his hands and began to sob in good earnest.
“T do not believe you have realized how cruel these sports of yours are at
times, nor how this selfish habit is growing upon you,†said his mother, sooth-
ingly, as she stroked his bowed head.
“T never will do so again, never,†came back in smothered tones. “Ohya
never knew how mean I was before; indeed I didn’t!â€
Bennie, quite satisfied by this time with the justice meted out to the
culprit, drew near, and, thrusting his little hands into his pockets, concluded
the scene by saying, with a lofty air: “Boy, I'll forgive you this time, but
remember you might have drowned me!â€
—Juria H. Tuayer.
@he Best \May.
POW hot the July sun poured down! Will rested on his hoe
handle, and drew his sleeve across his face to wipe off the mois-
ture. Such a lot of potatoes to hoe! He looked back at the
rows he had hoed, and then over at what there was still to hoe.
A sullen look crept into his face, but he worked on. At the end
of the long row he halted and, flinging the hoe in the furrow, sat
down in the shade of the tall corn that was nodding its tassels in the fitful
bheezes
“T don’t believe there ever was a boy that had such hard times as I do,â€
he muttered to himself. ‘It’s just work, work, work, work, from morning till
night. I’m sick of it,†and Will pushed back his hat and leaned against the
old basket to think it over, and build castles about what he meant to do by
and by. When he grew to bea man, he wouldn’t work on a farm all day; he
would live in a fine house like Mr. Brown’s, with a great spreading lawn and
tall shade trees in front; he knew just how it looked, for he went by there
almost every time on his way to town. Once he had seen a little boy just his
own size outin the yard, reading in a book, and how he wished he could change
places with him. He would have a span of gray ponies, too, such as he had seen
Mr. Brown driving out of the great gate. So he went on planning and thinking,
till the minutes crept into half an hour—a whole hour—or more. Suddenly
Will was startled at a rustle near him in the corn, and springing up, he saw
Uncle Esek looking at him with a peculiar twinkle in his eyes.
Uncle Esek was no real relation to Will. He was an old, weatherbeaten
man who lived in a little log house a mile up the road from Will's home. He
was shrewd and keen, and by his kindly words, spoken at just the right moment,
he often helped many a perplexed boy out of his troubles.
“Well, what is it?†said Uncle Esek, glancing down at the hoe and then
at Will’s flushed face, from which the discontented look had not yet faded
away.
Will looked as if ke would rather not tell, not feeling sure what answer
Uncle Esek would give him; but at last he said: ‘Don't you think it’s mean to
make a boy work all the while, anyhow? When I get to be a man, I shan’t do
anything I don’t want to,†and he looked up rather defiantly; then he told what
he had been planning.
“Well,†said Uncle Esek in his slow, quiet way, “I can remember when
Mr. Brown was a little boy lixe you, and didn’t live in half as good a house as
yours. He haa to work justas hard as you do, too.â€
Wiul looked surprised.
“Yes,†continued the old man, “he worked just as hard; but he didn’t fret
abor* it, and stop to build castles in the air when he ought to have been at
work. ‘The hand of the diligent maketh rich,’ the good Book says, and I
think you will find this true. And there is another verse: ‘Seest thou a man
diligent in his business, he shall stand before kings, he shall not stand before
mean men.â€
“But Mr. Brown don’t ‘stand before kings,†urged Will.
“No,†said Uncle Esek, ‘“‘but everybody respects him and values his good
opinion.â€
Will picked up his hoe thoughtfully, while Uncle Esek continued: ‘“Every-
thing in this world worth the having costs something. We always have to pay
all that a thing is worth before we getit. If we want money we must work for
it; if we want to be wise, we must study hard and think a great deal; if we
want to have an easy time when we are old we must work for it when we are
boys.â€
“Maybe that’s so,†said Will. ‘I never thought of it before. But anyhow
you can fix it, I don’t like to hoe potatoes, though I suppose it will have to be
done,†and he moved slowly toward his unfinished work.
“That’s right,†said the old man, looking after him; “do the things that are
waiting right at hand to be done. And after all, my boy, it doesn’t make sa
much difference what we work at, though it is a great deal pleasanter to do
what we enjoy; butitis the way in which we do the work that makes men of
â€
us.
SSS
(ove One Another.
a. was Saturday night, and two child- | “But ‘one another,’ I don’t see who
WV
NS ren small Is meant by ‘another’—now, May, do you?â€
a(Mas) Sat on the stairs in a lighted hall, :
coe@ Vexed and troubled and sore per-
plexed
To learn the Sunday’s forgotten text;
Only three words ona gilded card,
But both children declared it hard.
Very grandly she raised her head,
Our thoughtful darling, and slowiy said,
As she fondly smiled on the little brother:
‘Why, Iam one, and you are another,
And this is the meaning—don’t you see?—
That I must love you, and you must love me,’
‘Love,’ that is easy—it means, why, this†— | Wise little preacher, could any sage
{A warm embrace and a loving kiss); Interpret better the sacred page?
Doing \rong [Pjakes Baby Grouble.
E=c9—T was long after supper time. Iam sure of this, because Hannah
had cleared off the table, and gone into the kitchen to write a let-
ter home to Sweden; and there was no one in the dining-room ex-
cepting a mouse that was lazily picking up crumbs the baby had
dropped. Besides all this, I know in another way, too; for the
baby was fast asleep in his bed -up-stairs.
It is perfectly ridiculous for me to call him the baby, because he was really
a big boy half-past five years old, but everybody called him that, so I must, I
suppose.
Mamma came into the hall, and what do you suppose she saw there the
very firstthing? Itwas nothing more or
less than a big iron engine, with ared
smokestack, and only three wheels. It
must have had four wheels at first, but
now it just got along the best way it
could on three. Now, that engine did
not belong to baby at all; andmamma
guessed just right when she suspected
that her boy had taken it that very
afternoon when he was over playing
with Jim Boggs. 1 tell you what
mamma did not like that at all, so
she started up-stairs with all her
might.
“Baby!â€
But nothing stirred under the bed-clothes.
‘“Ba-by!â€
sae mana
«Are you awake?â€
“Perhaps so; to-morrow.â€
“No, now.â€
By this time he was sitting up in bed, trying to rub his eyes open with his
eight fingers and two thumbs.
Mamma was standing there with the candle, and looking just as savage as
that particular mamma could possibly look.
“ Baby, whose engine is that down-stairs?â€
6 L
“You mean, mamma, the one with the red smokestack, and only three
legs?â€
“Yes,†said mamma, ‘‘that’s the very one.â€
“Well, then,†replied the baby, as he settled down into bed again, ‘“‘that
b’longs to Jim.â€
“Did he say you could have it?â€
The baby thought for quite a long time, and then said: “Seems to me he
didn’t; I expect I just took it.â€
“Come,†said mamma, putting down the candle, ‘you must get right up
and take it back.†s
“But I haven’t got any clothes on,†said the baby.
“No difference,†said mamma, ‘‘you can dress, and Vil stay here to button
your shoes.â€
“Oh, dear!â€
But he had to do it, I can tell you; and, when he came down-stairs, there
was the engine quite ready to be taken home.
“Have I got to go all alone?†And the little boy opened the front door,
and looked out. The lights were burning in the streets, but, phew! wasn’t it
dark between them?
“T tell you what,†said mamma as her cold, stony heart softened a little at
last, ‘I'll stay here by the window, and perhaps you can see all the way over.â€
Well, and so—Oh, yes, then the baby clattered down the front steps; and,
after running straight into the big lilac bush at the corner of the house, and
almost going head-first over the big stone down in the driveway, he looked
around, and there was mamma, sure enough, standing and waving good-by.
“Pretty tough!†said baby to himself; but he tramped on over the hill, and
down to the fence that ran across Jim’s batk yard. He crawled through, and
went on tiptoe up the steps to the door.
“Guess I'll just leave it and run home,†said the little boy to himself, but
he looked across and there was mamma still standing in the window.
“No, I guess I wont,†he said; and so he rang the bell. The minute the
girl opened the door, he heard Jim crying almost like mad, way up-stairs.
“Here’s Jim’s engine, and I stold it; and I guess he’s crying for that, and I’m
sorry, and I’m going home—â€
And the next thing they saw was a little boy scurrying across the back-
yard, through the fence, and over the hill. And I tell you another thing, too—
that little chap did not stop till he was safe in his mamma's arms again. ‘This
makes two times that I’m gone to bed in only one night,†said the baby. “And,
mamma, I’m sorry ’bout that engine.â€
a
“That's all right now, my little man, and | don’t believe all this will hap-
pen again.â€
SS VWelleltat ier spectenore
So mamma leaned over and kissed him softly, for she saw his eyes were
almost shut up tight.
‘Had only three legs, anyway,†said the baby, as he tucked the eietnes
close up under his chin, and so fell asleep.
@Josie’s Grouble.
t ITTLE Josie Brown was sent to the store for a bottle of shoe-
dressing. He didn’t care to go just then, so he rushed out of
the house ina bad temper. After getting the bottle he was re-
turning in the same ugly fashion, not looking at all where he was
going. He happened to come toa slippery part of the pave-
ment, and down he fell, dropping the bottle onthe ground. Of
course it broke, and the contents splashed all over his face, his
hands and his clothes. In terror he few home, and ran scream-
ing to his mother. Seeing that he was about to throw himself on her lap, she
cried out in alarm: “Don’t come near me.’
Mrs. Brown was making a new silk dress, and she naturally objected to it
being soiled by shoe-dressing.
Then Josie screamed all the more, and his two little brothers, who were
present, thinking that their mother was frightened, began to scream too. This
woke the baby, ae joined in the dismal chorus.
The sound was heard in the street, and some foolish people quickly gave
an alarm of fire. In a veryshort time engines were in front of the house.
This made such an uproar that Mrs. Brown wondered for a moment what it all
meant. When she did understand it herself she found it difficult to make
every body else understand what had happened. Then she found it still more
difficult to quiet her three frightened little children.
Don’t you think that was a great deal of trouble for one boy to cause his
dear mamma? Josie thought so when he was calm enough to think at all, and
I believe he tries to be more careful now when he is sent to the store.
—-S. JENNIE SMiru
|
i
g
i
}
~Phe Meverland [Dyail.
i; Ow many of our little readers who find the mail delivered at
, their door every morning, or can get it by simply calling at
the post-office, ever think of the way in which letters and
papers were carried across the continent before railroads were
built there ?Up to the year 1867 the only means of carrying
mail from the Mississippi River to the coast was by means
of coaches, or horsemen. The stage coaches of those days were very
largeand strong, as they needed to be to stand the rough usage which
they received. They were drawn by six horses and traveled at a rapid
rate; about every fifteen miles were relays—as they were termed—
that is, horses were kept at these points, and when the coach dashed
up with its six foaming steeds, fresh horses were attached, and the
@ coach wenton tothe next post. These coaches carried not only mail,
valuable packages, but passengers as well. The coach would carry twenty pas-
sengers very comfortably inside and out. The route lay through a country full
of savages and the stage was frequently attacked by them. At such times
driver and passenger knew that they could expect no mercy and fierce battles
often ensued. The coach, however, contained a guard of armed men to pro-
tect the passengers from the savages, yet in many instances this was not suffi
cient, and oftentimes nota single passenger escaped to tell the story.
It was my lot once to ride on the overland coach from Omaha to Denver.
We had but about two days journey before us, and we were all congratulating
ourselves upon our good fortune in having escaped the savages so far. The driver
was a silent man, somewhat past middle age, and seemed to have but little to
say; his whole attention seemed to be directed to his steeds. As we were roll-
ing merrily along one morning chatting gaily, the driver said, ‘There are tracks
on the roadside and you may all look for a little brush with the savages before
the day closes.†The guards seemed to believe there were Savages before us,
and as we saw them looking carefully to the priming of their guns and examin-
ing their cartridge boxes to see that they were full, we became somewhat sober.
We did not, however, forget to look to our arms—such as we had. -But a short
time passed ere the driver spied a single savage some distance ahead. Hesaid
nothing—but gathering the reins carefully in his hands, and putting his big
whip where he could use it, he urged the horses onward; after a few moments
we saw another savage, then another—and in less time than it takes to tell the
story we saw ahead of us a large band of mounted Savages. There was noth-
ing todo but to make the most of it, and whipping up the horses to their utmost
speed he undertook to go past the terrible foe.
The savages were armed with bows and arrows and, of course, could stand
but little show against the superior weapons of the guards. A single volley
from the guards scattered them somewhat, and it was with real pleasure we
saw several of their number fall from their horses. The savages did not pro-
pose to let us off so easily, however, and soon returned; then began a hand to
hand fight. There were at least two hundred of them and only a dozen of us.
Their arrows fell thick and fast among us, but the savages were too wary to
come too close to the death-dealing guns of our men. We soon saw that if our
horses could only hold out that all would be well, and it was indeed a sight to
see the care with which the driver handled them. He did not seem to notice
the savages or their arrows, but gave his whole attention to his team. The
chase continued for some miles and we thought we would surely escape, but
the savages seemed to realize thaf it was now or never with them, andagain
came on with the most unearthly yells and a volley of arrows to which all
their previous assaults had been light indeed.
We met them resolutely. Finding that they could not capture us in any
other way they turned their attention tothe horses and soon one of the leaders
fell to the ground wounded with some of their arrows; as he fell the other horses
ran over him, and in an instant all was contusion. The driver succeeded in
stopping his team and we doubled our efforts to keep the savages away. As
soon as the coach was stopped and our men could aim more carefnlly the savages
realized there was no hope for them, and a few volleys put them to flight, leav-
ing a score of dead and wounded behind them. When the coast was clear we
dismounted, straightened out the horses as best we could and went on after
shooting the horse which the Indians had wounded so severely. We reached
- our journey’s end without further danger, but you can rest assured that no one
of us ever cared to again ride on the Overland Mail.
Ghe Stolen eaves.
a MIO stole my beautiful leaves?â€
Whispered the old Oak-tree;
Find them, and bring them to me.â€
“Not I,†said North-wind; “oh, no,
I would not treat an old friend so;
I found them lying upon the ground,
Brown and dead, and I carried them round
To bring them to life
In the autumn sun,
But I did not steal
A single one.â€
“Not I,†said North-wind; “oh! no,
I would not treat an old tree so.â€
“Who stole my beautiful leaves?â€
Said the weeping Willow tree;
“West-wind, South-wind, look for the thieves!
Find them, and bring them to me,â€
“Not I,†said the Frost; “oh! no,
I would not treat an old friend so;
I covered them over with crystals white,
And talked with them in the cold moonlight,
Till I felt the breath
Of the morning sun,
But I did not take
A single one.â€
“Not I,†said the Frost; ‘toh! no,
I would not treat an old tree so.â€
“Who stole my beautiful leaves?â€
Said the shivering Maple-tree;
“West-wind, South-wind, look for the thieves!
Find them, and bring them to me.â€
“Not I,†said the Sun; ‘oh! no,
I would not treat an old friend so;
I painted your leaves all scarlet and green,
With rows of crimson and gold between,
And I saw them fade
Ere my work was done,
But I did not take
A single one.â€
“Not I,†said the Sun; ‘oh! no,
I would not treat an old tree so.â€
“Who stole my beautiful leaves?â€
Echoed the Poplar-tree;
“West-wind, South-wind,
thieves!
Find them, and bring them to me.â€
“Not I,†said the Rain; ‘‘oh! no,
I would not treat an old friend so;
I mixed the shades of green and of gold
For the Sun to use, and I always told
The little rain-drops
Which way to run,
But I did not take
A single one.â€
“Not I,†said the Rain; “oh! no,
I would not treat an old tree so.â€
look for the
“O Maple, Willow, and Oak,
No one stole your beautiful leaves;â€
West-wind, South-wind, pitying said;
“North-wind, Frost, Sun, are not thieves;
They are dead, the Snow-flakes say;
I tell the tale another way:
Waiting in silence under the snow,
Are the souls of the leaves that shall upward
grow
In the resurrection
Of the spring;
When violets bloom
And robins sing,
And new life your heart receives,
To your arms will spring the beautiful leaves!’,
a a
EJohn Pounds’ Syehool.
OHN POUNDS was born at Portsmouth in the year 1766, and
as he grew up his parents, who were in humble circumstances,
apprenticed him to a shipwright. Whilst working in the dock-
yard he met with an accident; one of his thighs was broken, he
was rendered a cripple for life and had to seek another means
5 of subsistence. He took to mending shoes, and lived in a
vention boarded house in St. Mary’s street in his native town.
Being of a gentle and humane disposition, he was fond of animals, and ~
kept a number oa tame birds in his stall, and his good nature moved him to
take charge of a child belonging to his brother, who had a numerous family.
This poor child was acripple, his feet overlapping each other, but the ingenious
cobbler contrived an apparatus of old shoes and straps, by means of which the
boy’s feet were kept in their right position and he was soon cured. The kind-
hearted John next taught him to read, and, thinking that his little nephew would
learn better with companions, he asked a neighbor to send him his children to
be taught. Others followed, and soon the wooden booth, which was eighteen
feet long by six in width, was crowded to overflowing. His teaching was all
gratuitous, and he delighted in reclaiming and teaching.“‘the little blackguards,â€
as he called them. Hesought out the ragged urchins on the quays of the town,
and bribed them with a roasted apple to come to his school.
He managed to procure some fragments of old school-books, and from
these and some old hand-bills he taught the children to read, whilst with slate
and pencil they learned writing and arithmetic. His method of instruction was
by means of questions. Seated with his lapstone on his knee in the midst of
his mob of little pupils, he would go on with his work, whilst asking them the
names of different objects and then making them spell them. With the younger
ones he was very playful. He would touch a little one’s ear and say: ‘““What’s
this?†And when the child replied: “Ear,†he would say: “Spell it.†Then,
pinching it gently, he would say: “What dol do?†“Pinch.†‘Then spell
that,’ said he. And so on with the hand or foot.
As the children grew older he adopted a stricter discipline with them, but
they all loved him; and many hundreds of persons, filling useful positions in
life, owed all the education they ever received to the poor cobbler, whose sole
reward was the joy he felt in doing good to others, and in the visit, now and
then, of some brave soldier or sailor, grown out of all remembrance, who came
to shake hands with their kind old teacher. Though he was favorably noticed
by the local authorities, he never got one penny for his services, and lived the
most frugal and self-denying life, known chiefly to his poorer neighbors.
On the ist of January, 1839, when John Pounds was seventy-two years of
—— i
= = = Y
% :
: ff
} \
friend, go sorrowfully away.
age, liermand his
nephew determined
to have a grand din-
ner in honor of New
Year's Day, and they
bought a mug _ of
sprats; but before
they were cooked, as
he was looking at a
picture of his school
which had recently
been done for him,
he suddenly fell
down and expired.
Great was the
erief and consterna-
tion of the children,
and the younger ones
could hardly be made
to understand that.
their kind old friend
was really gone from
them, and many of
them’ came: to, the
door next morning
and cried because
they could not be
admitted; and for
several days the little
ones would come in
eroups of two or
three, look about the
deserted room, and,
not finding their
John Pounds was a true benefactor to his species, though he was only a
poor cobbler, for he was the originator of those ragged schools which have
since done so much to instruct the children of the poorest class and save them
from lives of misery and crime.
«Only @ne [\cther.â€
“Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky;
Hundreds of shells on the shore together,
Hundreds of birds that go singing by;
Hundreds of bees in the sunny weather.
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the morn;
Hundreds of lambs in the purple clover;
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn;
But only one mother the wide world over.â€
ND of that mother, Charles Kingsley said: “She had always such
a big ‘holiday heart!†Just what that means we may guess.
Good housebuilders and good homekeepers know that holiday
4 hearts make holiday faces; and to our children are priceless pic-
tures on the home walls.
The sun comes straight in and comes, as Ike Marvel says, ‘‘goldenly.†It
begins with a cheery breakfast, and is attendant upon every hour of each day.
No everyday guest is more welcome. All the windows of the heart catch the
morning, with its light and air, just as the warm east sunshine should gener-
ously flush the coffee cups. Holiday hearts glorify the ae bright faces, fresh,
from the night’s sleep and the morning bath!
The day begins with sunshine—even when the rain come down!
Mr. Thackeray liked “Clive Newcome†because he was not such a bril-
liant boy, maybe, but always pleasant.
Pleasantness is so contagious. The good mother Had been up all night
with baby, who had the croup; papa wasn’t in a saintly mood, Jarty looked glum;
and Susie whimpered. Jackcame bounding in with “Here’s the Morning Post,
papa,†in such an excited, cheery way papa had to smile.
“The top of the morning to ye, polly-wog,†he shouted to whimpering
Susie, who laughed; and as Bridget came in with the cakes she ‘‘felt quite
lifted with the breeze.†~The pale mother felt the little brown fingers on her
shoulder with a thrill, as her merry boy passed her chair and took his seat at
the table.
So the sunshine came in with Jack! Enough to cover the whole family!
@ Poll’s Story.
OU needn't laugh at me just becauseI am yellow and covered
with tiny cracks and don’t happen tobe dressed like your other
7 dolls. I know I look funny and old-fashioned to you, but really
i heart is as young as ever it was.
And when-your grandmama was a little girl this way of wear-
ing the hair was very fashionable, and it was considered quite
vulgar to wear heels on one’s shoes, and so mine were made as
you see, and were thought very genteel, indeed. ;
I was so happy yesterday, for Miss Martha said that we were to have com-
pany, and she took me out of my box, where I had been laid away for so long
that itis a treat to get out of my paper wrappings.
Her “grand-niece,†she said. So you are her grand-niece! Well! you favor
your grandmama, child. You are very like what she was at your age: the
same yellow hair and laughing mouth, only your eyes are not so blue nor your
skin so fair as hers was. Or am I forgetting? Was it her sister Betsy who
waslight? Yes, it was Betsy; I remember now, your grandmama was quite dark.
How one does forget in seventy years!
I am a little stiff, you notice, but it’s no wonder, for it is fully twenty years
since I was last out of my box; then, too, we were taught in my time to stand
or sit very straight and stiff, and habits grow very strong upon one, you know.
How well I remember the last time Miss Martha had me out. Twenty
years ago—that was long before you were born, mydear. They gave me to your
Aunt Lucy to play with, I recollect. I don’t like to speak ill of your kinfolk,
child, but really your Aunt Lucy was a very rude girl. She laughed at my
oddly-dressed hair and made fun of my flat feet, aa made the most odious
comparisons between me and an ill-bred china doll that she carried; and she
stuck pins into me to such an extent that I assure you I had a pain in my in-
side for hours.
She is a woman now and I understand that she is very well mannered and
gentle, but somehow it always gives me a turn even to think of her.
And your ee ee your great-uncle I mean, he used to tease me too.
He once tied me tothe cat’s back and I was terribly frig i ve
am afraid of cats and china dogs. ene
I know it sounds silly, but Icannot overcome my fear of china dogs. Now
your grandmama had one, a brown and white one, that used to sit upon the
parlor mantel, and he looked very gentle indeed, when, really, he was a most
ferocious beast. I had it froma friend of mine who heard him growl savagely
atthe cat worked upon your grandmama’s sampler. My friend fainted with
fright and remained unconscious for fully forty minutes, until she was aroused
by the striking of your great-grandfather’s clock and the whirring of the wheels
as the heavy weights ran down.
But I was telling you how your great-uncle, Rob, tied me to the cat's back.
j was wearing a pink muslin frock anda buff pelisse and a tippet that your
grandmama had just finished. I always tried to keep my clothes neat and tidy
and so I was lying quite still upon the shelf, that my new finery should not be-
come mussed.
Robespied me and he called the cat. I can hear his voice now as he called,
“Puss, nice pussy, come here, puss.†Strange how one can recalla voice after
seventy years! Puss came, suspecting no mischief, and in a twinkling Rob had |
tied me to herback with a stout piece of pack-thread, and she was tearing
across the yard at sucha mad pace that I was breathless with fear.
I think that Rob was frightened when he saw this, for he had meant no harm,
but only to have a bit of sport. Away we flew into the barn and up on the hay-
mow, when the string broke and I felt myself slipping down—down toward the
horses’ manger. My love, I cannot tell you my sensations as I felt the hot
breath of the great monsters, but they only pushed me to one side, where Rob
soon found me.
He carried me back and laid meon my shelf, but my tippet was lost and my
pelisse torn and ruined; and there was a large ugly crack across my neck; lift
up my gold beads, dear, and you can see it now.
Rob bought these beads as a peace-offering, and your grandmama tied
them on with her own hands. I havenever had them off since then. Be careful,
dear, the silk thread may have become tender with age and it might break easily,
and I should not like anything to happen to them. :
It may sound sentimental, but I should like always to keep them on ac-
count of Rob. Poor lad! it must be fifty odd years since he was drowned.
I can’t tell you the story, child, for whenever I think of him such a lump
comes in my throat that it opens the old crack, and I cannot speak at all.
Well! well how I have run on, andreally my throat begins to ache, and you
must notice that my voice is growing husky. I dare say it’s because 1 aliai ie Invelo)
thinking of your great-uncle, dear, but I think I must stop talking now.
Lay me down carefully, child, for 1 am not so young as I once was, and I
feel quite fatigued. There! that will donicely. How gentle youare, my dear,
quite like what your grandmama was seventy years ago.
3 ie
Sy Sy te ard aRaisitt cS se Y
ie disk all silver brigkt. @&
ee Raisin dusky purple,
Ard an. vet aeen creaney- Ne
- eee ea Said onan eS the Almond
he once ag fullof wire “Weare bothfrom Southern lands, -
As a dewdrop ig of sunlight, xndwecome once more together,
|
Anda lossy So wasmine. Having aaa English handsâ€
| Sard Eien to the Raisin, Dont youthink ‘ought tomarry?
“Ard I've a tale to tell Tatr sure’twould be as well,
| lwas borr inside a flower, ‘Though you have lost your juices, | !
penne need within askell? Ae losb my shell.â€
Nad the nod to the Raisin
* It ig my dearest wisk â€
x KX KX KX K x x &
That3 why youvaluays find thelie
Side hy see eas ee déspr:
@he Prineess {Ccona.
:
HE was a dainty, blue-eyed, golden-haired darling, who had ruled
her kingdom but four short years when the events in our history
occurred. Very short the four years had seemed, for the baby
princess brought into the quiet old house such a wealth of love,
" with its golden sunshine, that time had passed rapidly since her
arrival, as time always does when we are happy and contented.
: Our little princess did not owe her title to royal birth, but to
her unquestioned sway over those around her; a rule in which was so happily
blended entreaty and command that her willing subjects were never quite sure
to which they were yielding. But of one thing they were sure, which was that
the winning grace of the little sovereign equalled their pleasures in obeying her
small commands, and the added fact—a very important one—that this queen
of hearts never abused her power.
No little brothers nor sisters were numbered among the princess’ retainers,
but she had had from her babyhood an inseparable companion and playfellow
in Moses. Now Moses was a big brown dog who, like his namesake of old, had
been rescued from a watery grave, and it chanced that baby-girl and baby-dog
became inmates of the quiet old house about the same time. But the dog
grew much faster than the little girl, as dogs are wont to do, and was quite a
responsible person by the time Leona could toddle around. When she was
did enough to play under the old elm tree Moses assumed the place of
protector of her little highness, and was all the body-guard the princess needed,
for he was wise and unwearied in his endeavors to guard her from all mishaps.
But, although Moses felt the responsibility of his position, he did not consider
it beneath his dignity to amuse his mistress, and so they played together, baby
and dog, shared their lunch together, and frequently took their nap together of
a warm afternoon, the golden curls of the little princess tumbled over Moses’
broad, shaggy shoulder.
One day when Leona was about four years old an event occurred in her
life that seemed for a time to endanger the intimacy between the little girl and
her four-footed friend, and caused Moses considerable anxiety. It was a rainy
morning and she could: not play under the trees as usual, so she took her little
chair and climbed up to the window to see if the trees were lonesome without
her. Something unusual going on in the house next door attracted her attention
and her disappointment was soon forgotten. No one had lived in the house
since the little girl could remember. Now the long closed doors and windows
were thrown wide open, and men were running up and down the steps. She
was puzzled to know what it could all mean, and kept her little face so close to
the window, and was so unmindful of MMos that he felt quite neglected and
lonely.
The following morning was warm and bright and the little princess and her
attendant were playing under the trees again. Moses was so delighted in hav-
ing won the sole attention of his little mistress and played so many drol)
pranks that Leona shouted with laughter. In the midst of her merriment
she chanced to look up, and saw through the paling a pair of eyes as bright
as her own, dancing with fun and evidently enjoying Moses’ frolic quite ag
much as the little girl herself. The bright eyes belonged toa little boy about
Leona’s age, whose name was Jamie, and who had moved into the house that
had interested her so much the day before.
Now our little princess in her winning way claimed the allegiance of all
that came within her circle, and so confidently ran over to the fence to make
the acquaintance of her new subject. Jamie was quite willing to be one of her
servitors, and although they were separated by the high palings they visited
through the openings all the morning, and for many mornings after, exchang-
ing dolls, books, balls, and strings, and becoming the best of friends. This
new order of things was not quite satisfactory to Moses, who felt he was no
longer necessary to Leona’s happiness. He still kept his place close beside
hee and tried to be as entertaining as possible. But do what he would he
could not coax her away from her Perot friend, and all the merry plays
under the old elm tree seemed to have come to an end, but Leona was not
really ungrateful to her old playfellow. She was deeply interested in her new
companion and for the time somewhat forgetful of Moses, which is not much
to be wondered at, when we remember what great advantage over Moses Jamie
had in one thing. He could talk with Leona and Moses could not. But
although the dog’s faithful heart ached at the neglect of his little mistress, he
did not desert his place of protector, but watched and guarded the princess
while she and her friend prattled on ul the long, bright chs) quite unconscious
of his trouble.
One afternoon Leona’s happiness reached its highest point. Her mother
had been watching the visiting going on through the fence, and saw Leona’s
delight in her new companion, so, unknown to her, she wrote a note, asking that
Jamie be permitted to come into the yard and play under the elm tree. When
Leona saw Jamie coming up the walk, in her own yard, her delight knew no
bounds. She ran to meet him, and dolls and buggies and carts and everything
she prized was generously turned over to her visitor. How quickly the after.
noon passed. Moses was as happy as the children themselves—for if he could
not talk he could at least bark, and now they were altogether under the tree,
his troubles were forgotten and which were the happier, children or dog, it were
hard to say. So with merry play the beautiful day came toa close. The sun
was sending up his long golden beams in the west. Jamie was called home, and
Leona came into the house. The tired little eyes were growing drowsy and
the soft curls drooped over the nodding head when mamma undressed her
little girl to make her ready for bed. Then Leo knelt beside her little bed
and repeated the prayer she had been taught: “Now, I lay me down to
sleep,’ and “‘God bless papa and mamma and everybody, and make Leonaa
good girl.†But when she had done she did not rise as usual; looking up
earnestly at her mother, she said: ‘“‘Please, mamma, I want to pray my own
prayer now.†Then folding her little hands, the sweet childish voice took on
an earnestness it had not shown before, as she said: ‘‘Dear Father in heaven,
I thank you for making Jamie, and’cause his mamma let him come in my yard
to play. Please make lots more Jamies,†and with this sincere expression
of her grateful heart, and her loving recognition that all our blessings come
from the Father above, the tired, happy little girl was ready for bed and soon
asleep.
Moses lay sleeping contentedly on the rug beside the princess’ little bed.
He too had hada happy day. Iwonder if he had any way to express his thank-
fulness to his Creator, the same Father in heaven to which Leona prayed, for
the loveand companionship of his little playfellows, and for the bright, happy
day he had spent? I believe he had. What do you think about it?
—ANNA L. PARKER.
= ee ee and bo¥s tine krow,-
First they Find adard elior
oxRur to Be ard er, z- the y| How
3 ° tie Pay
mer ee ce is ore delock Ia! ae
Poof! poof! that willtGad
Poof! moat poof! ard th Ce Garr
What Igayis strarge. bt Le
Beg
Te wker you have; countedéa :
Ard some aceds theressbill nem alia, raw4
Worthless is that floral Lime preter lg" iN
~Fird arothker-try again ar tay na)
ayn oe
a
Thus the Fairies tell the tire; ot Sees Ne we
‘But a fact. tat you skould krow \Y an Wale + eae.
[Is that they are, When theyre orice. “ye PY,
Very careful kow they blow.
KH .OxeNFORD.
@A \Occk of Ghanksgiving.
‘(ISS ROXY was darning a table-cloth. Miss Roxy being on the
LA warm side of fifty, still adhered to some of the careless ways
av of youth; she would bite off her thread in spite of warnings
and protests from her more sedate elder sister, half expecting
areproof. This morning, however, she escaped, and when
Miss Eunice took off her spectacles, it was only to say, in an
annoyed tone: ;
“J declare, if a week from to-day ain't Thanksgiving! Does seem
to me it’s coming pretty early in the season, with the leaves hardly
down and the grass green as summer.â€
« A week is time for a good deal to happen,†said Miss Roxy “I wonder if
John’s wife will ask us up there this year. Don't reely seem as if she could with
the children just getting over the measles, and John so behindhand on account >
of his broken leg.â€
“Well, Roxy,†said Miss Eunice, ‘Gt does seem as it it was kind of forcing
things to make much fuss over Thanksgiving. I don’t say we oughtn’t to be
thankful, but a body might do that without having a day set for it. Look at
John’s folks now, and look at us, with every last dollar of our savings gone just
as we had a chance to make a good investment in that creamery.â€
“Yes, it’s hard, but I’d rather be the one to lose than the one to rob poor
folks of their savings. I tell you, Eunice, we ought to be thankful we ain't
neither of us the cashier of that bank.â€
“Don’t be a fool, Roxy,†said her sister, grimly.
“Well, then,†persisted Roxy, “I’m thankful John wasn’t; a broken leg
ain’t half so tryin’ as a bad conscience.â€
Of course they wont ask us there,†said Miss Eunice, ‘and I wouldn't go
if they did. We'll stay at home and keep our thankfulness and our troubles
to ourselves. I don’t mean to go to church.â€
“Eunice Martin!†said Miss Roxy, with an appalled face.
“No, I don’t. Mercy sakes, Roxy! you needn't look so scared. The
Lord didn’t appoint Thanksgiving Day any more’n Trainin’ Day, or *"Lection
Day. It’s just the governor, and I’ve read that he was a regular infidel, any-
how.â€
Miss Eunice put a little shawl over her head, and went out to see how old
Silas Bowles was getting on with the wood he was sawing, or rather should have —
been sawing, for as Miss Eunice came to the door of the shed her keen eyes
pounced upon the old man sitting on the chopping block, his bleared eyes
closed in tipsy slumber, while a bottle rested between his feet.
“‘ The miserable old sot!†said Miss Eunice, looking scornfully at the sleep-
er, who quickly roused himself and bustled off for the saw, saying:
‘“’Scuse me, ma’am, I’m kinder beat out this mornin’, been watchin’ all
night with a sick critter, and I set down to file the saw and kinder lost my-
self.â€
“Here’s your ile,†said Miss Eunice, significantly, picking up the bottle.
“That? Oh, yes, that’s a sort of mixter I keep on hand for the spells that
ketch me in the stomach. It’s juniper berries and—and—â€"
“Whisky,†said Miss Eunice, grimly.
“Well, yes, there’s a leetle liquor in it; not more’n you have in your cam-
phire bottle,†said the old reprobate, slyly.
“Tf folks only took liquor through their moses, a whisky bottle mightn't do
any more harm than a camphor bottle,†and Miss Eunice went away. She was
on her morning rounds to the barn and the chicken house, and she came back
with a couple of new-laid eggs in her apron, to find the saw again silent, and
oid Silas sitting comfortably in the corner of the kitchen, with a bowl of hot
coffee in his clumsy hand.
Roxy answered her look of indignant inquiry with a brave little smile
quite unusual to her, and the old man paused between his sips to say apolo-
getically:
“T jes’ come in f’r s’m taller to grease the saw, ’n Miss Roxy she fixed me
wp a bowl of coffee. Goes to the spot, I cn tell ye, when a body hain’t got
nothin’ inside of him but cold pancakes.â€
“Cold pancakes!†said Miss Eunice, incredulously.
“Yes’m; my old woman’s over to Cap’n Cady’s makin’ sassidge and tryin’
out. She ‘lowed she’d git through last night and fetch home suthin’. Mis’
Cady she’s allus free with her help, but pears they didn’t git done.â€
The old man finished his coffee, picked up his bit of tallow candle, and
went out. s
“ Cold pancakes!†said Miss Eunice scornfully. “I found him asleep over
a whisky bottle. Is’pose vou gave him that extra chop. I call that encour-
aging drunkenness.†_
“Well, I call it déscouraging it,†said Miss Roxy, cheerfully. “If I had to
start in for a day’s work on cold pancakes I might take to tippling, like as not,
And I may as well tell you, Eunice, 1 made up my mind if we wa’nt going to
keep Thanksgiving this year any special day, I'd sort of spread it ont as fur as
‘twould reach, and I begun to-day. I am giving thanks that John ain’t a peer,
tipsy, old toper, and that breakfast was my thank-offering.
Miss Eunice went slowly to the pantry to put away her eggs, remarking te
herself: .
‘Some folks never do seem to grow up.â€
Silas came to his work the next day in quite a comfortable condition of
body and mind. His “old woman†had come home; the family larder was
enriched by such store of ‘‘sassidge†and spare-rib as it had not seenin a twelve-
month. The weather was blustering, however, and Miss Eunice made no
objection when Roxy set the coffee-pot on the back of the stove, that the old
man might be warmed up by an opportune draught.
“I suppose you're still giving thanks about John,†said Miss Eunice, looking
curiously at her sister.
“No,†said Miss Roxy, laughing in her silent fashion, “I’m giving thanks
that I ain’t Silas Bowles’ old woman.
“Well, of all things,†said Miss Eunice, but Miss Roxy was calmly survey-
ing some red flannel shirts John’s wife had given her to make a stripe for the
new carpet.
“That's a nice red,†she said, spreadiag a garment on herlap. “I thought
I'd get at it and work ’em up before the moths got into ’em, but it seems most
a pity tocut’emup. There’s a good deal of wear in ’em yet if they was fixed
over. Don’t you remember, Eunice, what a master hand mother was to make
OVE:
“Was ye cal'lating to make over them shirts for me or for you?†asked
Miss Eunice, with grim sarcasm. .
“Twas thinking of the McBoles; Jimmy looked so frozen when he came
over last night; I don’t s’pose Bridget can sew any more than a hen, but I could
fix these up so’t they’d go all winter.â€
“And leave out your red stripe?â€
“Yes, I believe I'll leave out the red stripe. I can—â€
“Can what?†said Miss Eunice impatiently, as her sister stopped in the
middle of her sentence.
“Make a little thank-offering of it for to-morrow,†said Miss Roxy, very
gently, and was soon absorbed in piecing and patching and reducing the gar-
ments to the dimensions of the small boy she measured in her. imagination.
Miss Eunice clattering away in the pantry, smiled compassionately to hear her
‘singing over her work.
“The Lord is my Shepherd, no want shall I know,
I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest.â€
‘‘Roxy’s voice ain’t what it used to be,†she reflected, ‘‘but she’s a nice
singer yet, and she don’t seem to fall off much in her looks, as I see.â€
Miss Roxy’s week of Thanksgiving was almost ended. The day dawned
upon the world with clear, bright skies over a fleece of light snow that caught
the sparkle of the sunshine on millions of crystalline shapes. Her heart had
been growing warmer and younger with each day of kindly deeds, and now, as
she drew aside the curtain and looked out on the splendor of the morning, she
said softly:
‘“‘And I saw a new heaven and a new earth.’â€
“Well,†said Miss Eunice, in an injured tone, ‘‘this settles it about going
to church; we can’t walk over in this slosh. I must say I think it’s curious
John’s not coming near us all the week. He might have sent some word and
said he was sorry not to have us come over, but I s’pose it’s his wife’s doings.
When a man of his time of life marries a young widder -with three children,
tain’t to be expected his old maid sisters will count for much.â€
Miss Roxy went about her morning work meditating upon the possibility
of going to church alone, but Jimmy McBole made his appearance at the house,
heading a procession of small boys, all in a state of noisy hilarity. A big, good-
natured dog was harnessed to a sled, behind which had been constructed an
ingenious scraper, with handles like a plow, which the boys took turns in holding,
the tenure of office only lasting until some one succeeded in tumbling the in-
cumbent into the nearest ditch.
‘“ We've cleaned a path to the gate,†said Jimmy, proudly, “and we're going
to the well and the barn, and clean up to the meetin’-house. Mother said she
knew you'd go to meetin’ on Thanksgivin’ Day, ef you had to swim there,
but we'll fix ye a fust-rate path,†and with a crack of his whip, Jimmy roused up
the dog and started his cavalcade onward.
“T declare,†said Miss Eunice, ‘‘if that ain’t a real ingenious contrivance!
Treckon we will have to go, after all, seein’ it’ turned off so pleasant.â€
Miss Roxy was thinking of Jimmy McBole with his coat unbuttoned to
show a bit of the warm red shirt; of the grateful look in poor old Sally Dow’s
faded eyes when she brought her the cushion of blue and black scraps filched
from her hoarded carpet rags, and her heart was still in a flutter at the thought
of the pleased surprise of the minister’s wife, when she pressed into her hand
a five-dollar gold piece; ‘‘A little thank-offering forthe good you have done eae,
she said, hurriedly. That gold piece had been saved many a year, in case of
anything ‘happening unexpected,†but nothing had happened, and now it
was gone Miss Roxy really felt lighter, as if she had got rid of the danger
also.
In the porch outside, John’s man met them after the service, with sleigh
and extra robes for the long ride.
“Going over? Of course we ain't,†said Miss Eunice. ‘‘ We ain't so hard
pushed as to take invitations this time of day.â€
“Didn't you git Mis’ Martin’s letter?†said Ezra, staring at them. ‘She
_ wrute ye; I heard her say so, and I seen her give it to Mr. Martin to mail when
I was takin’ him to the deepo. I bet it’s in his pocket yit.â€
“To the deepo! Where's he gone?†said Miss Eunice, sharply.
‘Gone to the city; he was called sudden the day he was cal'latin’ to drive
over and see ye. Hadn't ye better be gitting in? It's a middlin’ long ways,
and the sleighin’ ain't none too good.†‘
The sisters settled themselves in silence, and not a word was said until
just as the sled was passing the shut-up house Miss Eunice called out:
‘Stop a minute, Ezra, I’ve got to go in.â€
She disappeared a few minutes and came out with a basket in her hand,
saying:
‘J just thought I’d take that chicken-pie and cranb’ry sass over to Malviny
Bowles as we went by. Seems a pity to have ’em wasted, and I dare say they
wont have anything out of the common run.â€
They left the unexpected bounty at Silas’ door, and sped on over the long,
hilly country road. Only once Ezra turned his frosty face toward them to say,
from the depths of his woolen comforter:
“Say, I heard Mr. Martin tellin’ the deepo master they'd got back that
money that was stole, every last dollar.†a
Silence for some minutes, and then the man turned again to add:
‘That feller that was goin’ to start the creamery, he’s failed up; gone all
to smash. Lots of folks has lost by him, they say.â€
‘Poor things,†said Miss Roxy, compassionately.
“Roxana Martin,†said Miss Eunice, grimly, ‘‘I’m an ungrateful oldgump,
and don’t deserve to have another Thanksgiving long as I live.â€
“Tf we only got what we deserved, Eunice,†said Miss Roxy, mildly, “we'd
all of us be dretful bad off.â€
‘Well, I’ve been feeling so cross-grained all the week I feel as if I sh’d
have to keep Thanksgiving a month to git square.â€
—EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.
The Sparrews and the Snew-Flakes.
ae AID the sparrows to thesnow-flakes:
%¢ “Where did you come from, pray?
“a\You make the trees all wet and cold;
s We wish you'd go away.â€
Said the snow-flakes to the sparrows:
“Don’t be so rude and bold;
Your feather coats are nice and warm—
You cannot feel the cold.â€
Said the sparrows to the snow-flakes:
“Vou cover up the way;
We'll starve, because we cannot find
A thing to eat to-day.â€
“Dear sparrows,†said the snow-flakes,
“Now do not get so mad:
We come from yonder cloudland,
To make the children glad.
“And the little ones who love us,
They love the sparrows too;
They'll scatter crumbs each morning,
And houses build for you.â€
“Of course we will, and gladly,â€
Said the little children all.
“We love the tiny snow-flakes—
We love the sparrows small.â€
—N.M.G,
> Cut in the Rain.
TITTLE DICK isin a sadfix. His mamma sent him over to Mr. Day’s
with abasket of clothes she had washed for Mrs. Day. It was
snowing a lit-
tlewhen Dick
started, so he took an
umbrella. He put the
basket on the sled Santa
Claus had brought him
and started out in a
merry mood. But the
wind blew hard and
turned his umbrella
wrong side out.
Dick thought it
was spoiled and began
to cry. See his face.
Does he not look sad?
When he gets to Mrs.
Day’s she will fix his
umbrella and give him
a big apple. Then he
will not cry any more.
Dick ought to knowthat |
it will do no good tocry.
It is as easy to laugh as
to cry. Which do you
do when things do not
suit you?
: Bedtime
COME, my drowsy little one,
Come here to mother’s knee,
sail
Across the Slumber Sea.
O come, and kiss me sweet good night,
And then away, away,
To find the shores of Slumberland,
Where all the dream-elves stay.
O, kiss good night, my little one,
And then away, away,
But to the land of Wide-awake
Come back at peep o’day.
See, dear, the sleep-boat’s sails are spread,
Like wings of some white bird.
And lo! with winds from twilight land
Each snowy sail is stirred.
And hark! the bells of Slumberland
Are ringing sweet and low,
From which the boat of sleep sets
ft
Beng.
I hear the boatman calling you—
It’s time for you to go.
O, kiss good night, my little one,
And then away, away,
But to the land of Wide-awake
Come back at peep o’day.
Good night, my sleepy little dear.
Take mother’s loving kiss
To dream of as yousail away.
And dream, my child, of this:
That mother’s heart is warm and true,
Her love will never fail,
And it will always follow you,
No matter where you sail.
O, kiss good-night, my little one,
And then away, away,
But to the land of Wide-awake
Come back at peep o’day.
—SELECTED.
«at We ARs SEVEN."
(ou’s failure.
&- MAMMA!†and Lou rushed into Mrs. Allen’s sitting-room with
Wey a bound, “the professor of the Art School has offered a
prize for the best piece of painting! How lovely! for,
mamma, I’m sure to get it; everybody in school says I
have the finest talent.â€
“IT hope you may,†said Mrs. Allen kindly, as she called
one of the smaller children to close a door Lou had thought-
lessly left open. Lou, meanwhile, threw her books on the floor, her
lunch-basket on a chair, and sat twirling her hat on one finger while
she told mamma “all about it.â€
“T believe you forgot to care for Dicky this morning, dear; at least, I
found him without food or water some little time after you had gone to school.â€
Mrs. Allen said this while Lou rested from her first eush of enthusiasm. <‘Be-
sides, Hannah tells me you forgot to order the roast this morning, and we were
obliged to go without meat for dinner. Papa was not at home, so it did not
matter so much, but I do wish you would try and be more thoughtful, dear.â€
“T really hate to think of such things, mamma. I am tired to death of
Dicky and I always did dislike shopping, or anything belonging to a kitchen.â€
Mamma might have asked Lou what she did not dislike.
“When I get farther along in painting,†Lou said with a satisfactory little
nod, “I wont think of such horrid things any more, but only of my beautiful
painting and my darling books.â€
The few weeks before the trial week were passed very quickly. There were
new studies to copy and new tints to mix and test.
“Tam sure /-wont get the prize,†said Leah Forbes as she leaned wearily
over her easel. “I have no time to study anything but bread and cake and
dirty dishes. How I wish mamma was well, or we could have a good house-
keeper!â€
The whole school knew how heavy were Leah Forbes’ burdens, and the
more kindly disposed tried to help her bear them by offering friendly sympathy
and gentle words.
The-long-looked-for week came at last, the week for making the prize pic-
tures. Each pupil was to choose her own design ‘and copy according to her
best taste and progress in the work. The professor was to be absent these days
so far as giving help or offering suggestions was concerned, and each was in all
ways to depend solely upon herself.
&é
“T shall paint flowers,†said Lou to Mrs. Allen the morning beginning thé
week for painting the prize pictures. ‘Sweet wild roses, purple heliotrope,
with geranium leaves and lilies of the valley. Wont that make a beautiful
picture?â€
“They are all very pretty flowers;†and Mrs. Allen stooped to repiacea tidy
Lou had ruthlessly pushed from a chair.
“Good-by, mamma,†Lou cried cheerfully as sne passed through the
gate; “help me to think of the very nicest way to spend my prize money.â€
Five days of unceasing labor and the pictures were finished and num-
bered and sent nameless to the judges in a neighboring city who were to ex-
amine and decide as to the finest workmanship.
“Did you see this one?†said Protessor Jones, POUNaHe to a painting of
flowers. “I think itis the best I have seen.’
“So I thought, and I still believe she possesses the finest taste, but I
think she is careless as regards “ttle things; for instance, she has put the lilies
of the valley on heliotrope stems and vzce versa. Iam very sorry; but for this
the work of a thoughtless moment, she would justly deserve the prize.â€
“Strange I did not see this,†said Professor Jones, still eyeing the picture
admiringly; “possibly because the design is so pleasing.â€
“Here is one, said Professor Barrows, pushing forward a painting of three
loaves of bread still in the tin and apparently fresh from the oven. “I call
this design strikingly natural. The true, perfect brown, a trifle darker on top,
the sides bulging a little over the tin, as I’ve often seen my mother’s bread look
when it was extra light, while the cracks and seams are points deserving our
attention.â€
When the morning «ame for telling the pupils the decision of the judges a
row of expectant faces greeted the professor. After a few introductory words,
the professor said.—
“Leah Forbes will’ please step forward and receive the prize for dis-
‘playing the most artistic workmanship of my class.â€
For a moment the room was very still, then Leah, tired, slender Leah,
who had worked with perhaps the faintest heart of all, received the congratu-
lations of her teacher and class.
“You are ever so much more deserving than I, and I think I am glad you
got the prize.†No one knew how much this little friendly speech cost Lou
Allen.
Watching her opportunity Lou slipped away and home, where she felt she
could sob at will over her bitter disappointment.
“The professor gave us each a card with a fersonal verse, he said, written
on it.†Lou said this after her mother’s kindly sympathy had stayed the torrent
of her grief. ‘“Mineis:-— -
“The poet, the artist, the sculptor,
The same simple story tell:
That they who would rank with the greatest
Must do the “tHe things well.â€
“I think, my dear, your teacher understood his pupil when he sent my Lou
that verse.â€
That night, alone in her room, Lou fought one of the hardest battles of
her ufe, and let us hope she came off victorious.
A few months later Lou got a letter written in a strange, cramped hand and
bearing an odd postmark. It read :—
ALASKA.
My dear Miss Lou:—I want to tell you that, the pretty painting you sent
us in the missionary box has taught me to love Jesus, and led me to become a
Christian. Lata REeEvEs.
“How strange!†said Lou to her mother that evening as they sat alone;
“but my failure has done more good than a success could possibly have done,
for it has helped a soul to love Jesus: besides,†and Lou looked at Mrs. Allen
thoughtfully, “I think it has taught me. to be more careful and thoughtful in all
things.â€
“I know it has, dear!†and Mrs. Allen stooped to kiss her daughter's cheek;
“and I hope this may teach my daughter that failures are often blessings in dis-
guise.
Then Mrs. Allen repeated seftly in the gathering twilight:—
“All our heaviest blows are surely
Inflicted by our Master’s hand;
So let us pray ‘as God will,’
And hope in him and suffer still.â€
il
|
ROAM
Se =
=
TOT AND HER PETS.
f\cre and @here (Gpon the lobe.
The Land of the Vikings.
OME, Paul, tell us of your visit to Norway last summer,†said
Sarah, as the children sat around the table at Grandfather Lee’s,
one cold, rainy evening, where they had gathered to spend a
week in gathering a ail apples and, perhaps, to get a piece
of pumpkin pie and an occasional doughnut such as only Grand-
ma Lee can make. “Yes,†said grandpa, ‘“‘the night is cold and dreary enough
for even a Norwegian, and a description of the land of the Vikings, the home
of Hans Andersen, whom children love so well; and of Ole Bull, whose sweet
strains on his loved violin have opened new beauties to thousands of lovers of
music, would certainly give pleasure to us all.â€
“Well,†said Paul, with some hesitation, ‘if my recollections of a pleasant
summer in Norway can help you to spend an evening, I will tell them as best I
can. The trip I liked best ‘was from Christiana to North Cape and return,
though the time spent in Christiana was full of pleasant surprises.†‘Tell us
something of that city, Paul,†said grandpa; ‘“‘we would like to know whether it
is like the cities in our own land.†‘‘Yes,†chimed in Sarah, “I have read much
about it and would like to know from some one who has seen it if what I have
read is true.†‘I cannot tell what you have read,†replied Paul, “but there is
much to interest one there. The city is not unlike an American city; the
streets are broad and well kept, the houses not so tall, perhaps, as we see them
here, and the people seem to enjoy life. While I was there it was always light.
From eleven untiltwelve at night was the darkest hour and even then one
could distinguish objects as ee as in our owntwilight. After twelve it began
to grow lighter and at almost all hours of the night the streets were full of
srl There are a great many shops where ales and stronger liquors are
sold, which gives the traveler an unfavorable opinion of the Bee still, but few
intoxicated persons are met.
“One of the most noted buildings is Oscar's Hall, built on a wooded knoll
in a little park on a promontory just outside the city. It was built by King
Oscar for his son, but sold to the Norwegian Congress by King Carl XV. and is
used asan art gallery. Another point of interest is the saeter, where the cows
are kept, and where the peasant girls go to take care of them and to make
cheese. A friend and I drove up there one afternoon and passed through a
dozen or more gates, at each of which was a little boy or girl ready to open it,
and ready also to pocket the ore which we gave him. The ove is the small.
est coin used and is one-fourth of a cent in our money. The saeter is a col-
lection of houses such as the peasants build, only much more comfortable. A
bed is built in one corner of the house and, of course, cannot be moved. Near
by is the store-house or granary, the second story of which projects beyond the
first on all sides. The whole is set on posts and is a quaint affair to look
upon.
“ But I must hurry if I get to North Cape to-night,†said Paul. “In going
to North Cape our party went by rail from Christiana to Throndhjem, a dis- ~
tance of three hundred and fifty miles. This railroad, by the way, is the only
one of any length in Norway, the country being too mountainous to permit of
them. The stops are long and frequent and twenty-four hours were spent in
going this distance. The cars are much like those of England, and our party
filled one compartment very nicely. We stopped at a little town for supper
and hardly knew what to do at first. The table was set with plates, knives,
forks and napkins, while on smaller tables at the sides were bountiful supplies
of fish, meats, vegetables, bread and coffee. There being no waiters each one
had to help himself, so, filling our plates with what we wanted, we ate our
suppers, stepped to the counter and paid for what we had eaten, the attendant
taking our word for what we had had without a murmur.
‘The night on the train was not altogether comfortable, but we made the
best of it. At no time during the night was it so dark but that we could see the
time by our watches. Thecountry through which we passed the last day was
like much of our own. The soil was poor and the farms bore an air of poverty.
I could easily understand why the Norwegians are so prosperous in America
when I saw the soil they tilled in their native land. From time to time we
passed a substantial looking farm-house, but most of them had turf roofs, and
the house could not be told from the stable, and several times we saw bushes
growing from the turf on the roofs of houses.
“While waiting in Throndhjem for the steamer I wandered around the
town to see the people. An elderly fisherwoman became quite talkative when
she found I was from America, and seemed quite disappointed because I had
nct met her son, who was somewhere in Minnesota.
“The boats which run from Christiana to North Cape and back carry
freight as well as passengers and it was not a rare occurrence for the captain
to find a telegram at some little town telling him to hold his boat for a cargo
from some hamlet in the interior. The telegraph runs everywhere and is used
freely by the people. The boat we were on was loaded with salt, flour and
provisions on her up trip, and with fish and lumber back. Our captain could
TRAVELING IN LAPLAND.
speak English quite well and, as he was a good-natured soul, freely answered
our many questions. He told us that on many trips the mist was so dense that
nothing could be seen, but, fortunately, we had clear weather and made the
most of it. The shore is rocky and in many places great iron bolts are driven
into the rocks, to which vessels are moored while taking on cargo. We passed
the Giantess, a huge rock with some faint resemblance to a human form, and
the captain told us the story of it, which I will give. This giantess lived upon
one of the many islands here and used to step from one to another with perfect
ease when she wished to go from place to place. One day while passing along
playing with her parasol she discovered a suitor whom she disliked very much
in pursuit of her. She started to run away from him whea her brother, a giant
at work near by getting out a glacier to put on his water pitcher, stopped his
labors and gave chase to the suitor. The suitor shot an arrow at the giant, but
only succeeded in shooting a hole in his hat. The wind whistled through the
hat so loudly that the giant dashed it to the ground, when thesun sent a strong
ray of light upon the hat and turned it into stone. At the same time a part of
the ray went through the hole, struck the giantess and her suitor, and turned
them both into stone. They fell upon their sides and remain to this day as a
proof of the truth of the story.â€
“I don’t believe that,†said Sarah; “it sounds too much like a story book.â€
“Neither do I,†said Paul, ‘‘but I give it to you as the captain told it.â€
“At one place we stopped, on a Sunday morning,†continued Paul, “a
Lapp came down tothe boat. He was a short, thick-set man; wearing anodd
shaped woolen frock, leather leggins, reindeer-skin shoes, and a peaked woolen
cap. He spoke to the captain, who asked us if we wanted to goto church. Of
course we wanted to go, and we followed the Lapp some distance to the church,
This was a large, eight-sided building, and as we came near we noticed men,
women and boys on the outside, some talking, some whittling, and some asleep.
The women wore handkerchiefs on their heads and the men heavy woolen
mufflers around their throats, though the day was hot. These articles seemed
to constitute the main part of their Sunday clothes. Upon trying to enter the
church we found it crowded, the men and women in the seats, the boys standing
on one side of the aisle and the girls on the other. An old clergyman, dressed
in a black robe with white ruffles at the neck and wrists and wearing a skull
cap, was slowly coming down the aisle catechizing the children. We did not
wait for him to finish but got out of doors and back to the ship.
‘At Tromso we went on land and I went to a hotel and asked for a
bath. The landlord brought out a huge, wooden tub, water, soap and towels
and left me to myself. It was not such a bath as I was used to, but I made the
best of it.
THE CHRISTMAS SHEAF,
“After we had got on board the ship the captain said he thought we could
see the sun at midnight if we cared to. Just at twelve we all gathered on the
deck and there was the sun on the edge of a bank of cloud, shining brightly, and
I saw what has always seemed strange to me—the midnight sun.
“The next forenoon found us at Hammerfest, the most northern town in
the world. It is a quaint little town lying at the foot of a steep, high hill, close
to the water's edge. It has a fine harbor, though, and this was filled with ships.
As we rambled through the town we noticed the door key hanging upon a nail
outside the door at almost every house. The people are honest and seem to
have no thought of danger from this source. It was while there, grandpa,
that I wrote you that letter headed, ‘The Most Northern Town in the
World.’ .
‘Leaving there we went on and reached North Cape in the early evening
and after supper made the ascent, and from this rough, rocky point once more
saw the strange spectacle of the sun shining at midnight. While standing on
the rocks one of the party recited Longfellow’s poem, ‘The Discoverer of the
North Cape,’ beginning:
‘Othere, the old sea-captain,
Who dwelt in Heligoland,
To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth,
Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth,
Which he held in his brown right hand.â€
“Ves, children, I read that poem when Paul’s letter came,†said grandpa,
“and it helped me to understand where Paul was. Mr. Longfellow has told us
much of Norse tradition in in his poems. His ‘Skeleton In Armor’ is the best
known, but if you will look through his works you will find many others. Go
on with your story, Paul.â€
‘Our trip back was uneventful,†said Paul. ‘It was interesting to see the
sailors load fish. At every stopping-place were barrels and barrels of herring
waiting to be taken on. These were loaded with a large derrick and it seemed
to me no market could be found for the quantity we had. You know that the
fisheries are the main support of these people.
«At one town at which we stopped I| noticed a sheaf of grain mounted on
a high pole and asked the captain what it meant. He said the Norwegians
have a pretty custom of fastening a sheaf of grain near their barns for the birds
to feed upon at Christmas time. The sheaf we saw was stripped of. grain but
had not been taken down. At Christmas time the farmers sell these sheaves in
the towns for this purpose, just as Christmas wreaths are sold with us. It isa
pretty notion and speaks volumes for the kind hearts of these simple
people.
“But it is bed-time now, and I fear if I get back to Christiana to-night
grandma will have no one to help eat those waffles which she promised us for
breakfast in the morning, so I think I had better say, as the stories do, ‘to be
continued.’â€
‘Well, Paul, you have givenus a pleasant evening,†said grandpa, “and
have proved, too, that a boy can get a good deal out of a trip to the land of the
Vikings.â€
THA LAND OF THA MIDNIGHT SUN,
( fee = rae
fae i id ye
[axe E
" ras Ae , A
ils ie ee
Ca
bee
a
Caravan vache ef. Siero
as Mrabs\are: wi
~ WZ a:
8 A
or pS 2 A
EG
7
AS
BG lin
Â¥ MN wy
Ww i\\
yl
4
\\ 7
——
Ss, Sx SSNs SaaS ASS SETS
SS SS SSS Ss
eax
Sy
ete ee So oe 1 s \
\ (i
ye SO eee
anes Ee See LE,
SSS SSR = aaa
a,
VES
SS
wie
DD DoD abs PAwM MPMI Prrr
Sparingly must we drink hhewEters AIR,
Waterskin made of a7
For the water ive
"Till the dése ie ES
a pas Mme asurs un Ta whe
dor i
Here 3 the Simoom swith, Sb
Hurricane whirling the Be
We mustlie down beside:
Our Camels,ard hide
Till the $form blows past, and the dlorkness iff
i | | ! (eee
re im ll ne |
Hi D, ul Gal ane eS
He Sil iy ,
Ze
A 3
2)
Si
SD
gobs |
yD
\.
NS ah Vp
eee
How «Ruby†Played.
7UD BROWNIN, when visiting New York, goes to hear Rubenstein,
: and gives the following description of his playing:
Well, sir, he had the blamedest, biggest, cally-cornedest
pianner you. ever laid eyes on: somethin’ like a distracten
y billiard table on three legs. The lid was hoisted, and mighty
well it was. If it hadn’t been he’d a tore the entire inside clean
PK ey out, and scattered them to the four winds of heaven.
R Played well? You bet he did: but don’t interrupt me.
When he first sit down, he peared tokeer mighty little bout playin’
and wisht he hadn't come. He tweedleleede a littie on the treble, and twoodne-
oodler some on the bass—just foolin’ and boxin’ the thing’s jaws for bein’ in his
way. And I says to the man sittin’ next to me, says I: “ What sort of playin’
‘sthat?†And he says, “Hush!†But presently his hands commenced chasin’
one another up and down the keys, like a passle of rats scamperin’ through a
garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar
squirrel turnin’ the wheel of a candy cage.
“Now,†I says to my neighbor, ‘he’s showin’ off. He thinks he’s a-doin’
of it, but he ain’t got no idea, no plan of nothin’. If he’d play me a tune of
some kind or other, ’d—â€
But my neighbor says, ‘“ Hush!†very impatient.
I was about to get up and go home, bein’ tired of that foolishness, when I
heard a little bird awaking up way off in the woods, and call sleepy-like to his
mate, and I looked up and see that Rubin was beginning to take some interest
in his business, and I sit down again. It was the peep of day. The light came
faint from the east. The breeze blowed gentle and fresh; some more birds
waked up in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all
begun singing together. People began to stir, and the gal opened the shutters.
Just then a little beam of sun fell on the blossonts, a little more and it techt the
roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day: the sun fairly blazed,
the birds sang like they’d split their little throats; all the leaves was movin
and flashin’ diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy
asaking. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in every house in the
land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a fine mornin’, and I
says to my neighbor, “‘ That’s music, that is,†but he glared at me like he'd like
to cut my throat. ;
Presently the wind turned; it began to thicken up, and a kind of gray mist
came over things. I got low-spirited directly. Then a silver rain began to
fall. I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed up like long pearl
_ear-rings, and the rest rolled away like round rubies. It was pretty but melan-
choly. Then the pearls gathered themselves into long strands and necklaces,
and then they melted into thin silver streams, running between golden gravels,
and then the streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill and madea
brook that flowed silent, except that you could kinder see the music, specially
when the bushes on the bank moved as the music went along down the valley.
I could smell the flowers in the meadow. But thesun didn’t shine, nor the birds
sing. It was a foggy day, but not cold.
Then the moonlight came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards,
where some few ghosts lifted up their hands and went over the wall, and between
the black, sharp, top trees, splendid marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit
up windows, and men that loved them, but couldn’t git a-nigh ‘em, who played
on guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable that I could have cried,
because I wanted to love somebody, I don’t know who, better than the men with
the guitars dld.
Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and weptlike a lost
child for its dead mother, and I could a got up there and preached a better
sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn’t a thing in the world left to
live for, not a blamed thing, and yet I didn’t want the music to stop one
bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy without being miser-
able. I couldn’t understand it. I hung my head, and pulled out my hand-
kerchief an’ blowed my nose loud to keep from crying. My eyes is weak
anyway. I didn’t want anybody to gaze at me a snivelin’, and its nobody's
business what I do with my nose. It’s mine. But several glared at me
mad as blazes. Then all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He
ripped and he rared, he tipped and. he taired, he pranced and he charged
like a grand entry at a circus. ’Peared to me like all the gas in the house
was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready
to look any man in the face, and not afraid of nothin’. It was a circusand
a brass band and a big ball all going on at the same time. He lit into the
keys like a thousand of brick; he gave ’em no rest, day or night; he set
every livin’ jint in me a-goin’, and not bein’ able to stand it no longer, I jumped
spang on to my chair and just hollered:
“Go tt, my Rube!â€
Every blamed man, woman and child‘in the house riz on me, and shouted:
“Put him out! put him out!’
“Put your great grandmother’s grizzly, gray, greenish cat into the mid-
dle of next month!†I says. “Tech meif you dare! I paid my money, and
you just come a-nigh me!â€
With that several policemen ran up, andI had to simmer down. But I
would have hit any man who laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby
out or die.
He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine
from end toend of the key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I
heard the church-bells over the hills. The candles of heaven was lit, one by
one; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from the
world’s end to the world’s end and all the agents went to Lay Cages eect
Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and
began to drop-drip, drip-drip-drop, clear and sweet, like tears of joy falling
into a lake of glory. It was sweeter than that. It was as sweet asa sweetheart
sweetened with white sugar mixt with powdered silver and sud diamonds. It
was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like
he wanted to say: ‘‘ Much obliged, but I’d rather you wouldn’t interrupt me.â€
He stopped a moment or two to catch breath. Then he gotmad. Herun
his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeves, he opened his coat-tails
a little further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over; and sir, he just went for
that pianner. He slapped her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he
pinched her ears, and he scratched her cheeks till she fairly yelled. He knocked
her down and he stamped on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she
bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she shrieked
like a rat, and then he wouldn’t let her up. Heruna quarter stretch down the
low grounds of the bass, till he got clean to the bowels of the earth; and you
heard thunder galloping after thunder through the hollows and caves of per-
dition.
Then he fox-chased his right hand with his left, till he got way out of the
treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the p’ints of cambric needles,
and you couldn’t hear nothin’ but the shadders of them. And ¢hen he wouldn’t
let the old pianner go. He for’ard two’d, he crossed over first: gentleman, he
chassade right and left, back to your places, he all hands aroun’, ladies to the
right, promenade all, in and out, here and there, up and down, perpetual mo-
tion, doubled-twisted and turned and tacked and tangled into forty-seven double
bow-knots.
By jinks! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn’t let the old pianner go.
He fetcht up his right wing, he fetcht up his center, he fetcht up his reserves.
He fired by file, he fired by platoons, by company, by regiment, and by bri-
gade. He opened his cannon-siege guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve
pounders yonder; big guns, little guns, middle sized guns, round shot, shells,
shrapnels, grape, canister, mortar, mines and magazines, every livin’ battery and
bomb a-goin’ at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the
walls shuk, the floor came up, the ceiling came down, the sky split, the ground
rokt heavens and earth oration, sweet potatoes, Moses, nine-penny glory, ten-
penny nails, Sampson in a ’simmon tree, Tump Thompson in a tumble-cart,
roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-ruddle-udle-udle-udle-radle-addle-addle-addle--riddle-
iddle-iddle-iddle, reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle--pr-r-r-r-lank! Bang!!! lang! perlang!
pr-r-r-r-r!! Bang!!!
I BE
eg
Ghe |ndian rave.
eo 9
AM fresh from the conflict—I’m
y) drunk with the blood
\) Of the white men, who chased me
ence o’er prairie and flood,
Till I trapped them at last, and exultingly
swore
That my fearless red warriors should revel
ia gore!
? tiave well kept my oath, O Manitou, the
Just!
Three hundred white hirelings are low in the
dust.
The unequal conflict was bloody and brief,
Aad they weep for their men and their gold-
en-haired chief.
ae
I hate the pale-faces! I'll fight to the death
While the prairies are mine, and the warrior
has breath!
By the bones of our fathers, whose ruin they
wrought,
When they first trod our land, and for sym-
pathy sought—
By the souls of our slain, when our villages
; burned—
By all the black vices our people have
learned,
No season of rest shall my enemies see,
Till the earth drinks my blood, or my people
are free.
—FRANCIS S. SMITH.
(\ere and GFhere (qpon the ©lobe.
The Play- Ground of Europe.
(OW, children, get your maps and let us look at the “play-ground
@ of Europe,†as the little country of Switzerland has been
called. Its charming lakes, its glorious mountains, its pic-
turesque valleys, its mighty glaciers and its quaint people have
given it this name. No other land is visited by a larger
number of people, perhaps, than this, and the gaily-dressed
¢ crowds that throng its places of interest during the year make the
name seem a fitting one. Not only is its present pleasing, but its past
speaks to us in deeds which shall never be forgotten. The names of Tell and |
Winkelreid, synonyms of liberty and freedom, have come down to us with a
halo which time cannot dim. What school-boy’s blood has not coursed more
fiercely through his veins as he has read “Make Way for Liberty†and the
story of William Tell? What mother or teacher but speaks in reverent tones —
the names of Pestalotzi and Frcebel, the founders of the “kindergarten�
Child garden—how apt the term! i
In this land we can certainly find something to amuse and interest, so let
us notice first its position in the heart of Europe, where, like a fortress, it
towers above its powerful neighbors without yielding up its independence to
them. This little state, about the size of Vermont and New Hampshire com-
bined, has been the home of a simple, hardy, liberty-loving race from the dawn
of history. Here Cesar found the brave Helveti, whose courage, bravery and
determination compelled the Roman legions to “pass under the yoke,†though
they afterward succumbed to the superior tactics and discipline of Czesar’s
army. Here the seed sown by the Reformation found a fertile soil, and for
centuries Protestants and Catholics waged intestine war, and not until the
beginning of the present century was peace declared between the two.
Here, too, are found the homes of that strange, ancient people, “Lake
Dwellers,†of whom so little is known, so much is left behind, who left so many
traces of their homes and implements, so little of themselves. Thoughts of the
past come to us as we gaze upon this map, but it is of the present we will
g239
tas
speak.
The mountains of Switzerland are noted for their beauty and grandeur.
Other countries can boast of higher peaks, of more extensive ranges, but in no
other land has Nature been more lavish in her display of the wonderful, the
6 R
AD
a
Sa Seah a
Tans
sy ila
sublime, the picturesque or the magnificent. The finest peaks are the Matter-
horn, Jungfrau, Mont Cenis, St. Gothard, Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa, the
two latter being the highest peaks in Europe. Amidst these mountains are
those wonderful rivers of ice called glaciers. The snow falls on the mountains
and gradually moves down into the valleys as a massive giant of ice and snow.
Some of these streams are twenty miles in length and three miles wide. They
move from twelve to twenty inches per day, less than an inch per hour, and as
they plow their way over the ground they cut out great furrows and carry with
them great masses of rock, stone and gravel, called moraines. As they get
further down into the valleys the warm sun melts the ice as fast as they advance,
and.soform streams varying in size from tiny mountain rills to small-sized rivers.
It is indeed a strange sight to see a stream of water flowing from a glacier, as
it has every appearance of moving from beneath. These glaciers make great
changes in the valleys through which they pass, as you can well imagine. The
stone and gravel which they gather can‘go no further than the point at which
the ice melts, except as they are crowded on by the moving force behind them,
and as a result we find great masses of debris here. Along the sides of the
glaciers also are found rock, stone, dirt and gravel, some of which is ‘crowded
out as the glacier moves on, and some of which falls from the top and sides,
having been gathered far up in the mountains. The glaciers are split by great
cracks or rents in the ice and frozen snow, some of which are very long and.
hundreds of feet deep. They make travel over the glaciers quite dangerous.
To avoid falling and being lost in these travelers tie themselves together by
means of long ropes and travel some distance apart. In this way if one falls in
the rest can easily draw him out.
During the summer the people in the valleys drive their cattle, sheep and
goats up into the mountains to pasture, and it is a pretty sight to see the herds
on the way browsing along the road-side, accompanied by the shepherds in
their quaint dress. The tinkling belis make sweet music amidst the echoing
mountains, as you can well imagine, and when evening comes and the tones of
the herdsman’s horn mingles with the rhythmic bells the sweet sounds fill the
air with melody. These shepherds live in little huts of wood, called chalets,
during the grazing months, and seldom go into the village below. What a
lonely life they must lead, and yet they are happy: and contented. In the
winter the snow makes traveling very dangerous. At this season the mountains
are deserted save by the good monks, who dwell there solely to give aid to the
travelers who pass. These monks keep large dogs called, after one of the
mountains, St. Bernards, which are trained to go out in the snow and find lost
travelers. They have a bottle of brandy tied to their necks, so that the
wanderer may refresh himself, and oftentimes a small lunch is fastened to the
dog’s neck in the same way. Many a traveler owes his life to the sagacity and
intelligence of these noble dogs, as well as to the kind-hearted hospitality of
the monks. Until a few years ago all travel from valley to valley was over the
mountains, but now there are several tunnels through them and travel is much
easier as well as less dangerous. The people are sober and industrious,
although many visitors have nearly spoiled some of them. In many cases a
traveler is looked upon as legitimate prey and all sorts of plans are laid to
deprive him of his money. They are a home-loving people, asis proved by the
small number of Swiss in any country except Switzerland. Many of them are
skilful workmen, especially in wood-carving, jewelry-making and weaving.
The watches of Switzerland were for many years the finest and best made, but
as they were made by hand the cost was beyond the reach of most people and
much of their trade has passed into the hands of Americans.
The cities are interesting beyond description, Here is Basle, a quaint,
old town, with picturesque overhanging roofs, fantastic chimneys and antique
turrets and gables. Around the hotels are parties of English tourists; many of
them, with their hob-nailed boots, knapsacks and knickerbockers, are evidently
bent upon some walking excursion. Here, too, are the guides, with their
Tyrolese hats and mountain dress, waiting to be engaged; farming women, who
nave come in to sell their produce from the country districts, are quite unlike
anything we have yet seen.
Yonder is the cathedral, built of red sand-stone. It contains many
curiosities worth looking at. Notice the large wooden head; notice how it rolls
its eyes and puts out its tongue.
Let us to the station and take the cars for iene We enter a long,
second-class carriage. Instead of being cooped up like birds in a cage or pigs
in a stye, we can roam about and sit wherever we like. If we get tired of being
inside we can mount up by steps to the roof and enjoy a view of the country.
The train moves rather slowly,but we do not mind that. As we stop at the
different stations merry Swiss girls come with trays full of glasses of frothy
beer, Alpine strawberries and Swiss grapes. Are they not nice? Here we are
at Lucerne. What a pleasant town thisis. Notice the covered wooden bridge
over which we are passing, and as we enter see the curious pictures on the roof.
Do you see that large lion cut out of the cliff? It is wounded by a spear and
at the point of dons but in its last moments it is defending a shield which
represents France. This monument is in memory of the officers and soldiers
of the Swiss Guard who fell in the defence of the Tuileries at the French
Revolution of 1792. But here is the lake; is it not beautiful? Yonder is the
inn where we are to sleep to-night. But first let us take the steamer and make
our way down the lake. Isit not like being in fairyland? The green mountains -
come right down to the edge of the water, and here and there are dotted the
pretty villas and penszons where visitors stay. There are the market boats,
laden with produce, and little yachts sailing gaily before the wind. In the far
distance we see the great mountains, all white with snow. But, as we have
time, let us take the train up the Righi; but what a curious train it is —only one
_ Carriage. The engine is not attached to the Carriage in the ordinary way. How
— slowly we go, only three miles an hour, but the grade is so steep we do not
care to go more rapidly. We pass through the tunnels, over the ravine, and
on, on up the mountain; every now and then we see parties who are ascending
on mules or with alpenstocks. We wonder if they do not look with envy at
our comfortable carriage—but here we are at the top. Now, as the sun is
shining, let us look at the magnificent place surrounding us. We can see the
Lakes of Constance, Zurich and Zug, and there on the banks of the latter lake
is Tell’s Chapel. Yonder is the Rossberg, famous for the terrible landslide,
which occurred in 1806, burying four villages, with over five hundred inhabitants.
You can see the rocks lying in the valley and the side of the mountain from
which the earth fell. The beautiful Lake Lucerne is at our feet and we could
almost throw a stone into it; but let us to the inn and have tea. What a
moving sea. All nations of the earth seem to have met on top of this mountain.
We have heard of sunrise in the Alps and conclude to remain; but we must to
bed early, for the sun rises here at the early hour of three and we shall not have
too much time for rest. We seea notice on the wall telling visitors not to dress
ina blanket when they go out to see the sun rise, under a penalty of two
francs. But morning comes too soon. We are awakened by the noise of a
large horn; it seems villainous to rouse us so early, but if we want to see the
sun we must be up. We turn out and see people in all kinds of fancy
costumes—some of them with their hair all covered with feathers, some of
them daring the two franc fine and ‘going out with blankets wrapped around
them, like our own Indians. It is dark when we go out, but soon we notice,
looking to the east, a streak of light, and now we notice a band of gold in the
far distance and soon the highest peaks in succession become tinged with the
rosy hue. Soon we begin to see the forests, lakes, villages emerging from the ~
mists, and now the sun rises in its majesty and floods the whole scene with his
golden light. We have seen the sun rise and, shivering and shaking, we go
back to the hotels and once more return to our beds to finish our morning’s sleep.
After breakfast we get our alpenstocks and go down the mountain on foot.
What fun it is!
Nw
Next day finds us at Berne, a picturesque town on the Aar. Look at the
curious ferry across the river. The boat is attached by a rope and ring to a
strong cable thrown across the stream; as the ring slides along the boat is
easily rowed across without fear of its being carried down thestream. Wherever
you look you see figures of bears, from which the town takes its name. Here
is the clock tower; as the clock strikes you see whole troupes of bears come out
and march in procession. This is the bear-pit, where a number of bears are
kept as pets at public expense. They look pleasant now as they climb up the
poles and take the buns we offer them, but if we were to go too near them [am
afraid some of us would go the same way as the buns.
We must end our trip at Geneva. This is a cheerful town, with nice shops
and gardens. We notice the Rhone, its blue waters rushing out of the lake on
its way to the sea. The mountains are on the other end of the lakes; the
shores here are low. Do you see those boats sailing and lying at anchor at the
end of the bay? Those belong to the pupils of the Bellrive school. The boys,
in season, have riding-school, play-ground and gymnasium, and we are sure
they enjoy it all. Yonder, too, is the lovely village of Clarens, where so many
people come to try the grape cure. As far as one can judge it consists in
walking about all day with large bunches of grapes in their hands. This is
certainly much pleasanter than taking pills and medicine and probably of as
much benefit to the patient. Yonder is the castle of Chillon. You will remem-
ber Byron’s poem upon it. We can see the dungeon and the pillars to which
the prisoners were chained. We can see the stone floor completely hollowed
out by the unfortunate prisoners’ footsteps, who paced round and round as far
as the length of their chains would allow them. We think of these poor men
shut up within these walls. They could look out upon the lake, see the vessels
sail from shore to shore; they could hear the songs of the birds, tinkling of the
bells as the herds of cattle were driven home from pasture; they could smell :
the fragrance of the flowers and the scent of the new-mown hay. But these
things were not for them to enjoy; they were shut up in a living tomb.
We note the homes of the Swiss, the large projecting roof reaching almost
to the ground on either side. The roofs are of stout timber cut into tiles and
held in place by large pieces of rock. Stair-cases and galleries run up the side
and enter the living-room, as very often the ground floor is used as a large shed
to shelter cattle during the winter months. Some of these homes are richly
carved, and in almost every one there is a text of Scripture. The window sills
are filled with flowers, and on the balustrades flax, hemp and Indian corn are
hung to dry. But let us take to the hotel. Evening is approaching and we
must prepare for a long day’s jaunt tomorrow.
A Bid Bastet. | a
It’s a pitty bid bastet of apples, but den, B= : Nt
Ldess I tan tarry it home like de men. Say old pony, look out t O he’s doin’ to kick.
‘O ma, tum and tatch me. Do hurry up, quick t
Tan’t move it. I’ll mate it wite into a cwadle
And sit on it des like a man in a saddle.
Hurrah! Now I’s up on my saddle. Gee! Bump! bump! bump! Ma! O apples and
Haw! pears ! .
Get up dere! I wish 1 tould show me to ma. My old horsie and I took a tumble down: tairs
\ As
be Ms yas: Tee fe 4
NA
\ iN sak
Se
MR.
SKA HO
iNDIANS IN THEIR ALA|
Bee and @here ao the Glove
ln Uncle Sams Lee Box.
ow well I remember, when a lad of ten, sitting one sultry sum-
mer’s day upon a backless bench in an old log school-house,
discontentedly studying the geography lesson which, for the
day, was Russian America. The hot sun beat in through the
uncurtained windows upon our defenseless heads and made it
well-nigh impossible to study. Not a breath of air was stirring.
The heat was oppressive, stifling, and as I read of the ice and
snow of that far-off land an intense longing to visit its snow-capped mountains,
rugged hills and ice-bound rivers took possession of me. Again and again the
longing returned, but I. was forced to satisfy myself with arn information as
could be obtained, and could only hope that some day my dream might be
realized.
In the summer of 188— I found myself in Portland, Oregon, with time hang-
ing heavily on my hands, and, upon learning that the mail steamer /daho would
soon sail for the land I had so long wished to visit, it is but little wonder that I
resolved to take passage upon ie An uneventful voyage, during which we
were scarcely out of sight of the coast, soon brought us to Sitka, the capital.
The quaint little town les on a narrow, undulating beach over which tower
Mounts Edgecombe, Nerstovia and other snowy peaks, rising high into the sky
and standing stern, silent sentinels to protect the city from invasion beyond.
The harbor, dotted with many islands, is deep and affords an excellent shelter
for storm-tossed ships. The old Russian Government House stands high ona
rocky pinnacle, like some castle of feudal times. The Russo-Greek church
with its tall green spire tells us that the people are not without religion. Here,
too, we find a weekly paper, bright, spicy and well edited, but the news it gives
would be out of date “inthe States.†There are fairly good schools here, though
their usefulness is lessened because attendance is not compulsory. Educational
matters are under the supervision of Rev. Sheldon Jackson, D. D., appointed
by the U. S. Commissioner of Education. There are eighteen schools in the
various settlements of the territory, two of them being at Sitka. Here, too,
industrial education has gained a footing, one of the schools being devoted to
teaching the various trades, as blacksmithing, shoe-making, carpentering, etc.
There are twenty teachers employed and nearly two hundred pupils in at-
tendance. The results of the school are beneficial and far-reaching, and it is
ALASKA INDIANS IN WINTER,
ee pee eee
OY
12 ~oee
ee
considered the most civilizing agency yet introduced into the country and is also
a refuge for native youth misused at home. a
Here is a land vast enough for an empire. For twelve hundred miles we
skirt its shores, washed by the placid waters of the Pacific, a distance as great
as from Maine to Florida. Westward we stretch our way to the island of Attu,
nearly three thousand miles west of San Francisco, which is therefore really east
of the center of the Union. We cannot credit it, yet it is true. The island is
only four hundred miles from Kamchatka, and an equal distance from the
nearest Alaskan village. -Here dwell a small but vigorous band of Aleuts, one
hundred and forty in number, whom no reward can induce to leave their lonely
island home. They have their chapel and their priest and seem content to spend
their lives in hunting and fishing. Blue foxes roam the hills; wild geese nest
here; sea-lions sport along the rocky shore; and cod and halibut in countless
numbers swarm its waters. What wonder these hardy people love their native ,
land? '
Near the end of arainy, dismal day we stand on the narrow beach, watching
the weary fisherman pull his heavily laden canoe to shore. Ashe lands the sun
bursts forth in a blaze of glory ere going torest. We feel his parting rays and
know that in the far-off east the morning sun is streaming out upon the toiling
woodsman of the Penobscot forests. Whata thought! A country of such
imperial dimensions that the sun never sets upon its broad domains during the
summer months. : ;
Islands are numerous, asa glance at a map will show. Some are inhabited
by bold Eskimo walrus hunters whose homes are built on stages constructed on
the steep, rocky slopes, one above another, like terraces. One-third of Alaska
- lies within the Arctic circle, a land of short, hot summers; of long, cold winters.
Along its coast and upon its river banks amid its always frozen fields, where
neither fruit nor cereals grow, dwell some 18,000 Eskimos. Its frozen moor,
snow-covered mountains, and mosquito haunted marshes offer small induce-
ments to the traveler, but these hardy people seem to lead a merry life. They
are taller and stronger than their Greenland brothers, with faces inclined to
mirth. They eat the flesh of moose, reindeer, walrus, seal, bear, fowl, and fish,
and if pipe and tobacco can be had the sorrows of life are forgotten. In summer,
their shelter is cotton tents or bark shanties; in winter, log huts entered by
underground passages. ‘These huts are ill-smelling, unventilated abodes, but
no cold can penetrate them. Their dress is the skins of animals and here a
seal-skin coat is no luxury, though a city belle might not like the primitive
style. Summer journeys are made in canoes of bark or skin; winter ones by
sledges, drawn by ill-looking dogs, six of which can transport several hundred
pounds some thirty miles per day.
ALASKA INDIANS.
When summer comes countless thousands of geese, ducks, herons, cranes,
swallows, robins, and grouse swarm the shores of Norton Sound to lay their
eggs and rear their young in the grasses of the lowlands. You may be sure the
Eskimos wage war upon the birds at this season, gathering the eggs, knocking
down the young birds with great sticks and feasting to their full content. At
Point Barrow, the most northern point of the U. S., during a few days in July
we found buttercups, dandelions and poppies sending forth their tender blos-
soms, and even golden butterflies floating in the chill air. As we ascended the
Yukon river, its yellow, muddy waters often clogged the boilers of the steamer,
and we were obliged tostop until they could be cleaned. The banks are covered
with wild roses, blue grass and other plants, but the enormous, poisonous mos-
“quitoes compelled us tostay on board atalltimes. For 1,300 miles we ascended
the river to the gold fields of the upper Yukon, where our journey ended. Of
life in the gold regions it.need only be said that the small amount of gold
secured afforded but small compensation for the hardship endured and we were
glad enough to avail ourselves of the first opportunity to get back to Sitka.
The mountains which lie back of the city afford an ever-changing scene to
the citizens of the town. They are northerly extensions of the Cascades of our
western coast, culminating in ice-clad towering peaks with an altitude of from
1,200 to 20,000 feet, and sending off spurs which are as yet unexplored. Mt.
St. Elias, with its summit 14,000 feet above the sea, lies some two hundred and
fifty miles to the northwest, but time would not permit us to visit it, as the a
steamer was just ready to sail for Portland, which was reached in the latter
part of October, satisfied at last that I had visited the land which seemed se
delightful on the hot summer day so long ago
@©@harades.
HOLIDAYS.
HOLLY.
[ Enter QueEN Titantia, dressed for a fairy
queen, followed by four little boys dressed as
foresters. TITANTIA takes her place at the
head of the stage. Foresters arrange them-
selues in two lines extending toward the
front of stage, thus: On the right hand,
Asu, Pato; on the left, OAK, Hotty. |
TITANTIA.
Come hither, come hither, come hither,
My foresters brave and bold;
Come over furze-bush and heather,
To dance in the moonlight’s gold,
And crown ye the king of the forest
Crown me the monarch of trees: :
Whom shall we choose from the woodland,
Lord of the birds and the breeze?
ASH.
Behold the lofty ash-tree,
So straight, so tall, so grand!
Its graceful shadow throwing
O’er all the meadow land.
Its limbs, for bows and lances,
For arrow-shafts and spears,
The Saxon and the red man
And the wild Gael cleft for years.
The conquering victor must be king!
Then let us crown the ash-tree king.
PALM.
In southern seas, on islands lone,
Where man has never trod.
Or where the Indian princes lie
Along their flower-gemmed sod,
The fair palm rises toward the sky,
And thousands clothes and thousands feeds;
North, west, and east, to distant lands,
His fruits and fans and timber speeds,
Millions bless him on every shere!
Crown him, and seek a king no more.
Oak.
Four hundred years the oak-tree lives,
With leathern leaves and iron heart;
Come blow, come snow, new life it gives
And vigor fresh to every part.
The ash may die, the palm decay,
The mistletoe may turn to dust,
But the grand oak flourishes for aye!
Then crown him king of trees we must.
HO. ty.
All winter stands the apple bare;
All winter sighs the shivering oak;
The palm-tree loves a southern air,
And diés beneath the snow-king’s stroke
But ne’er a sovereign raises hand
To strip the holly of its leaves;
Yet brighter glow its berries bland,
Beneath the garb the snow-king weaves.
As One above is Lord of all,
And earthly monarchs Him obey,
The holly green, who wears no pall, .
Must claim the crown on Christmas day.
[ Foresters’ chorus. ]
The holly green
Must claim his meed;
We'll crown him king on Christmas day.
TITANTIA.
Yes, let us crown him forest king—
The holly green, the holly brave;
Fit emblem of the eternal King
Who to our tree its verdure gave.
[Titania passes down between the lines, fol-
lowed by the fovesters in inverse order—thus:
As# and Pat, Oak and HOLty, passing with-
in the lines. |
[ While marching all repeat:— |
We go to crown our forest king,—
The holly green, the holly brave;
Fit emblem of the eternal King
Who to our woods the holly gave.
[ Exeunt omnes. |
DAYS.
[ Enter five little girls in white, with coronets on
which their names ave written. Forma semt-
circle thus: First, Curistmas Day; second,
Easter Day; third, St. VALENTINE’S Day;
fourth, Brrpat Day; fifth, BrrtTupay;
Thus Curistmas Day and Day oF Jupc-
MENT wll stand at opposite ends of the semt-
circle, with Day oF DEATH and BRIDAL Day
at the apex. The children may carry emblems
uf practicable. |
CurisTMas [22 a gay, carolling manner. |
Christ is born in Bethlehem!
Born to bless, and born to save.
Glory, glory be to him!
Glory to the God who gave!
Bless the day! oh, praise the day,
Birthday of our Saviour King;
Sing, sing, children! praise for aye!
Ring, ring, glad bells! ring, ring, ring!
EAsTER [. joyfully and triumphantly. |
Christ is risen from Joseph’s tomb!
Risen, Lord of life and love;
Risen in beauty’s freshest bloom,
Sovereign Lord all kings above
Hail the day! oh, glorious day!
Happiest day earth ever knew.
Praise, praise, children! praise for aye
Ring out, glad bells! ring anew!
BirTHDAY.
See a prayerful mother stand
By her first-born’s swinging bed;
See her lay a gentle hand
Softly on her darling’s head.
“Lord of love! Oh, guide my babe!
May each coming natal day
Be a golden milestone placed
On her heavenly, upward way
{27
St. VALENTINE’s Day
See a blushing maiden stand,
With a letter in her hand,
Covered o’er with bleeding hearts,
Wrought with torches, wrought with darts!
Reads and blesses with her smile
Good St. Valentine the while.
Happiest day of happy youth!
Day of love, and hope, and truth
BRIDAL Day.
See a bride beside the altar,
Holding fast her true love’s hand
With a trust that ne’er can falter,
Taking on the marriage band;
‘Into his care giving honor,
Hope and life, till death shall part;
But no death these two can sever—
One in mind and one in heart.
[March Out.]
HOLIDAYS.
The whole word is to be represented by a masque
of seven children, presenting the various holidays in
their appropriate order. New YEAR’s Day may be
represe te by a diminutive lady, elegantly dressed
to receive New Year’s calls, a number of visiting cards
in he. hand. FEBRUARY TWENTY-SECOND. God-
dess of Libeity, with a hatchet in her girdle, and
a flag inscribed “First in war, first in peace, first in
the hearts of his countrymen.â€â€”ALu-Foon’s Day.
Boy in a clown’s dress; fool’s-cap adorned with bells;
Punchinello hung with bells, ona short stick in his
hand; placard, “April Fool,†pinned on behind.—
May Day. Little girl in white adorned with spring
flowers and green grasses; bird’s nest with eggs
perched on one side of her wreath.—JuLy FourtH.
Boy in uniform of red, white and blue; cocked hat,
with bunch of fire-crackers over the crown instead of
plume, pinwheel for cockade, rocket for gun; drum
strapped to his back, on which two Roman candles
are bound instead of sticks; fires torpedoes as he
marches around the stage—THANKSGIVING Day.
Boy dressed in yellow cambric, to represent a plucked
turkey; yellow kid boots, worsted wattles, pasteboard
beak; carries in his zzzons a large yellow pie-dish,
containing a tissue-paper pumpkin pie.—CHRISTMAS
Day. Boy in purple velvet suit; crimson velvet man-
tle lined with white, bordered with ermine; crown of
holly; very red cheeks, and long, white, curling hair
and beard; cambric pudding, stuck with button
plums, and adorned with holly, on a large platter in
his hands. wes
INVESTIGATE.
A charade in five scenes, one for each syllable and one for the entire word.
Scene Il. An Lnn: Enter a traveler with
satchel, duster, stick, etc.
TRAVELER. Landlord, can you give mea
nice, cozy room, fronting east. é.
LanDLorpD, Yes, sir. No. 24 will please
you, lam sure.
TRAVELER. (Regzsters iis name). I have
heard that you keep an excellent zzz.
LanpLorp. No man ever left the Travel-
er’s Inn complaining of his accommodations.
This way, sir, to the washroom. (Exeunt.)
Scene IT.
@ vest.
Taitor. Ah, dot ish ein good fit. Shust
like ein pooty vest dot.
Customer. Don’t you think it isa trifle
Lalor shop. Customer trying on
too long?
Tairor. Nein. Pull him down. See!
Dot ish de latest style.
CusToMER. It seems a little tight unaer
the arms. (Feels armholes). 1 like an easy
vest.
Tartor. I will cutit out some more. See.
(Marks proper amount.)
Customer. All right! When shall I call
for it?
TaiLor. Dot vest will be done Vensday
in de night.
Scene III. A doy slowly carries across the
stage two or three times alarge placard on which
there ts a large I.
8 R
SCENEIV. Two boys walking a match on
the stage. Two others looking on, Jrom side of
stage.
Cuas. (Pointing his cane).
with the straw hat will win.
gait.
Harry. No sir! The fellow with the cap
will win.
Cuas. No sir! the boy with the cap hasa
bad gait. He'll break down before he gets
through.
Harry. I think he has a good gait,
Watch him swing his legs.
Cuas. I'll wager he is beaten inside of
fifteen minutes. The gait of that other chap
is as regular as a boy courting his first love.
Harry. We'll shall see who’s gait wins.
(Exeunt spectators, pedestrians follow.)
I say tne poy
Look at his
ScenE V. Five persons (boys or girls) seated
round a table. Paper, ink, etc., on table. The
chairman of the committee speaks.
Cuair. We must investigate this casé
thoroughly. We are to leave no stone un-
turned. You know what we have dose in
our investigation. Shall we do any more?
ist. MEMBER. I think we cannot well do
anything more. We have done our best to
investigate the matter placed before us and
are now ready to report. ;
2nD Memser. We cannot well addstrength
to the report.
Cuair. Then all that remains is to. adopt
the report. ‘oer :
1st Memper. I move, Mr. Chairman, that
the report be adopted as read.
2ND MemBer. I second that motion.
Cuarr. You have heard the motion. All
in favor say Aye. (Several ayes.) All opposed
say No. (One no.)
Jonrs. Mr. Chairman!
Cuarr. Mr. Jones!
Mr. Jones. As you are aware, Mr. Chair-
man and gentlemen of the committee, that
I do not agree withthe views of the majority
in regard to this investigation. I ask leave
to submit a minority report.
Cuair. According to custom, the gentle-
man may prepare his report for presentation,
Adjournment is now in order.
ist. Memper. Mr. Chairman, I move we
adjourn.
2D Memser. I second that motion.
Cuarr. Allin favor say Aye. (Ayes.) The
motionis carried and the committee is ad-
journed.
\Oishes \ithout cart.
WISH you a happy New Year, mamma,†cried Belle, as she bounded
YA down-stairs on New Year's morning. “A happy New. Year to you,
Q grandma! Lots of Happy New Years to you, baby!†she added, kissing.
the baby’s soft cheek.
INA “Does my little girl know how to help make the New Year a paabDY
Wz one to us all?†asked her mother.
“Oh, yes!†snapped Belle, pettishly, “by being a good girl, of course.
That’s what you always say.†And I don’t know what more she might have
said, but just then she heard her father and brother coming in, and ran to meet
them and be the first to give them the greetings of the season. ‘‘A happy New
Year to you, papa! A Happy New Year to you, brother Will!â€
“I’m going out to slide till school-time,†she said, after breakfast.
‘TJ wish you'd sew these buttons on to my gloves,†said her father. ‘I want
them to wear this morning, and your mother is dressing the baby. i
“Oh, dear!†pouted Belle, throwing down her hood, and going in search of
needle and thread, “that’s always the way. I never can have any fun as other
girls do.â€
‘Wont you wear your cloak to school instead of your shawl?†grandma |
asked Belle, notlong atter. ‘I like the shawl so much to put over my shoulders
these cold days.â€
‘Well, yes, I suppose I can,†was the ungracious reply. ‘The cloak is so
old and faded that it looks like a fright, and the shawl is new and pretty.â€
And Belle put on her cloak with so much vim that she tore off two buttons
and burst out a buttonhole.
Noon:time came. “I’m as hungry as a bear,†said Belle, coming in from
school.
“Piease hurry off your things and set the table,†said her mother. ‘Dinner
is a little behindhand. Tve had so much to do, and baby has fretted a good
deal.â€
“JT think it’s too hard to have to study all school-time and work the rest of -
the time,†said Belle. “I wish you'd keep a servant to do the housework. I
don’t iike it.â€
Baby was fretful after school that night. ‘She is cutting a tooth,†said
mama, “and feels badly. Can’t you play with her a little while, Belle, te
- amuse her, and help her forget her little aches and pains?â€
“] don’t think there’s any fun playing with babies,†Belle said, crossly.
“They don’t know anything. Come along, then, if you must, you little bothez,â€
and Belle took her so roughly, and spoke so crossly, that baby just made up a
lip and cried aloud.
“Come and have a game of checkers with me, Belle,†said Will, after tea.
“Qh, checkers! You always want to play checkers, and you know I hate
em. I’ll play Mother Goose with you.†—
_ That’s'too simple a game,†said Will. ‘Come, be. a good girl, now.â€
“T’d rather read,†was the selfish reply.
And so, before twelve hours from the time Belle wished each of the
rest a happy New Year, she had grieved every one of them by her selfish-
‘ness. How much heart was there in her good wishes, do you think?
ew Gear's ve in [Corea.
Big Coss Oe ie
HE night before New Year's is the Christmas Eve of the boys and girls
Ke of Korea. Instead of a jolly old Santa Claus bringing them presents,
M2? however, they are taught to dread an ugly, old Quayshin, or Devil,
who is lurking around to steal their nice things.
For this occasion, each boy and girl has an entirely new outfit of clothes—
gorgeous red jackets, great, wide, snow-white trousers, padded with cotton, nice
new shoes, daintily turned up at the toes, and gay ribbons to be worn in the
braid of hair which adorns the heads of boys and girls alike.
Choice dainties in the way of food and confections are also prepared for
this occasion, and the children are kept awake by their mothers till the new
day comes in, lest this old Quayshin may come and carry off their nice things.
Also, they must not leave their shoes on the door-step as usual, for if they do
the old fellow will try them on and then they will be led into bad luck during
the ensuing year. They must put an oldsieve on the door-step for him to look
into, however, for it is said that the numberless little openings of the sieve se
puzzle the Quayshin that he at once takes himself away, and the boys and girls
are spared the loss of their New Year finery, feast, and good luck.
ays
a
, . 4
PWuth’s Ghanksgiving.
OHN decided that we must have a Thanksgiving dinner, and must
have all the neighbors. There are all the phases of life around us,
and before I had issued my invitations Mollie Stanley came over
to tell me that: ‘‘Mrs. Preston was going to have such a swell
dinner—ten courses, and all the quality in the Hammock would
be there.†Ithen begged John to let me have a dinner after my
own heart. I sent the big wagon to town and put it at the disposal of the
King’s Daughters. They knew just who wanted a whiff of real country air, and
who needed a change to bring their appetite back, and who had no friends to
drop in and spend the day with, and my wagon was soon filled. There were
many who had never met before, but the beautiful day and the unexpected
treat seemed to make them all friendly. Three of the Daughters came to help
me make the day pass pleasantly. There were ten besides the Daughters,
and such a pleasant day as we had. Three of the guests were young ladies;
two had never been in the country before and how they enjoyed it.
John was in his glory. He took the six girls with him to get some cane,
pick up nuts for themselves and to cross a foot-log—new experiences. The
elder members stayed with me and we saw the chickens, the garden, and the
pigs I’m raising on butter-milk and scraps. We compared notes on chicken
cholera, cut-worms, and then went into the sitting-room to get our fancy work
patterns. When dinner time came Annie blew the horn for John and the
girls. I had to go to the dining-room to see if things were arranged properly
and I was begged to let them go, too, so we made a frolic of putting the milk
on the table, and each girl got her favorite jelly, or preserve, or pickle, and put
them on the table. Nota bit of stiffness. Some sat in the windows and ad-
mired the view, and some followed me to the kitchen and put the dishes on the
table as Annie and I took them up.
We had no fancy dishes—just the biggest turkey and an immense chicken
pie and plenty of vegetables, candied potatoes, potato pone, and apple roll, with
butter sauce, and a big black fruit cake. The ride and the romp in the country
air gave them a fine appetite, and we made a merry afternoon of it. Somehad
to go home in the afternoon, and to each I gave a box with plenty for supper in
it. They must help me consume the remains. John came home with the
wagon full of his clerk friends and one or two more girls—the wagon holds ten—
and the girls that helped me get up the pleasure came out in Marion Judson’s
pretty little surrey. When we saw them coming the six girls were anxious to
know ‘who in the world Mr. Vaughan has now?†Some were old friends and
acquaintances and some had to be introduced, but each seemed to think that it
was their duty to make the entire party feel easy, and, of course, all were en-
tertained.
After tea we had music and pretty soon two white-aproned maidens an-
nounced that the candy was done and we went to the back piazza, where it wag
cooling. Such laughter and badinage! Care was not a guest that evening.
The candy was pulled all the way from molasses to lovely straw-colored candy.
They ate all they cared for and the rest was carefully put in. shucks for some
less fortunate friend.
Then the wagon was once more called for and those compelled to be at
work early departed, saying it “had been just the nicest time they had ever en-
joyed.†They left me my three right bowers and fragile Nellie Williams.
John and I prevailed on her to stay with us until we can put some roses in her -
cheeks and fill out the hollows under her eyes. This blessed season should
open our hearts to all less fortunate, for surely the Lord has been good to us.
@ ©
| Ghanksgiving.
K,JAVE you cut the wheat in the blow-
ing fields,
The barley, the oats and the rye,
The golden corn and the pearly
rice?
For the winter days are nigh.â€
“We have reaped them all from shoretoshore,
And the grain is safe on the threshing floor.â€
“Have you gathered’ the berries from the
vine
And the fruit from the orchard trees?
The dew and the scent from the roses and
thyme
In the hive of the honey bees?â€
“The peach and the plum and the apple are
ours,
And the honeycomb from the scented
flowers.
“The wealth of the snowy cotton-field
And the gift of the sugar-cane,
The savory herb and the nourishing root—
There has nothing been given in vain.
We have gathered the harvest from shore to
shore, .
And the measure is full and running o’er.â€
Then lift up the head with a song!
And lift up the hands with a gift!
To the ancient Giver of all
The spirit in gratitude lift! :
For the joy and the promise of spring, —
- For the hay and the clover sweet,
The barley, the rye and the oats,
The rice and the corn and the wheat,
The cotton and sugar and fruit,
The flowers and the fine honeycomb,
The country, so fair and so free,
The blessing and glory of home.
“Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving! Thanks-
giving!†:
Joytully, gratefully call
To God, the “Preserver of men,â€
The bountiful Father-of all.
—AMELIA E. BARR.
[P\iss Sloeum's Ghankesgiving.
42 DO THINK that Thanksgiving is beautiful,†said pretty
§ little Mrs. Winship, looking up from her fleecy knitting,
“It does one so much good to try to actually count up their
blessings. I think I am thankful for everything as it comes
along, but when I come to think up my mercies, as I do at
Thanksgiving, I’m so thankful I can hardly bear it.â€
“Humph!†said Miss Ann, with a ring of bitterness in her voice;
‘it’s all very well for you to talk about thankfulness, and to feel it:
you've had nothing but beautiful things all your Ime long, Helen Win-
=, Ship—you ought to be thankful. Think of the difference in our lives;
RY you're dainty and pretty as a picture, you’ve been petted by every-
body all your life. You have always had a beautiful home, and never
had hard work to do. But I was homely as a hedge fence in January
always; no one ever kissed or petted me. I suppose you think I
don’t care for such things, but I used to long for them so it seemed to
me my heart would break. I’ve had to work hard all my life, and I’ve hated
the work, nobody knows how much, not because it was hard—I’m not lazy—but
because there was nothing pretty nor dainty in my life. There, I never said
so much about myself to any one before, and I never mean to again, but I
couldn’t help it,†and Miss Ann gave a little sob, in spite of her best endeavors.
“You may be thankful from the depths of your heart, but I fail to see any cause
for my being so.â€
Mrs. Winship’s eyes filled with tears and her voice was Vetyetenderss i
know it, Annie,†she said, going back to her friend’s girlish name. “I know I’ve
. ever so much to be thankful for, a thousand times more than I deserve. I wish
I could share some of it with you, but, dear, I’ve a thought for you. Isn’t there
a chance for a beautiful blessing in your life? Do you remember Mrs. Whitney
says in one of her books, ‘They only, who go without, know truly what it is to
have.’ Because you have gone without you know better than I do, for instance,
how other hearts ache for the things they go without, and how much you can do.
It is more blessed to make others happy than it is to be ourselves, is it not,
Annie?â€
. Miss Ann dropped her sewing and looked out of the window. Rob and
Annie, her dead brother’s children, were coming down the street; she had taken
them four years ago when they were left orphans. She remembered now, as
she watched them coming toward the house in a grave, unchildlike fashion,
how Annie had cried for a pretty white apron she could wear once in a great,
great while, and ‘Rob had pleaded, with something like a quiver in his boyish
voice, for some clothes that didn’t look as if they belonged to his great-grand-
father. Had she ever bestowed upon them any of the petting and loving
ways she had so longed for herself in her young days? It seemed to Miss
Ann that the scales fell from her eyes.
“T’ve treated those children just exactly as I’ve been complaining that I was
treated,†she said, turning to Mrs. Winship.
“But you will not any longer, will you, dear?â€
“T’ve been a blind, selfish woman, but my eyes are open now, and I don’t
believe [ll shut them so again. You can go home now, Helen. You've been a
good angel to me, but I want to be alone now for a little while to think it out.
But you may be sure of one thing, I’m thankful for you, if for nothing else.â€
So Mrs. Winship went home, and Miss Ann went up to her own room, shut
the door, and bolted it. She never told any one what she thought or did the
hour she was shut up there, but when she came out she called the children to
her.
“T want you to get ready to go down street with me,†she said. ‘“Thanks-
giving is coming, andI think we must have some new clothes for it. Rob wants
a new suit, I believe, and Annie, you shall have some white aprons for every
day, and a pretty new dress for best. Can you both be ready in fifteen
minutes?†:
_ “Oh, Aunt Ann, are you really going to duy me a xew suit?†asked Rob.
“Yes, my boy, that’s what I intend to do.â€
Rob hesitated a moment, then put out his hand. “I can't tell you how
much I thank you,†he said, “but I'll work just as hard as ever I can, truly I
will, to help pay for it. I’ve got fifty cents that ve been saving for a year
toward getting them myself, and I'll give it to you now.â€
“No, Rob, I want to get theclothes for you myself, so keep your money for
a knife or anything else that you want.â€
“Oh—oh, Aunt Ann, canI get a knife?†cried Rob.
“If you want one you may, and if your fifty cents wont get a good one, I'll
give you enough more.’
Rob looked at his aunt in amazement for a moment, then, obeying a sud-
den impulse, he threw his arms around her and gave her a vehement, boyish
hug, after which operation he turned a couple of somersaults on the kitchen
- floor.
“TI had to, or I should a-busted,†he said to Annie afterward.
“Well, well,†said Miss Ann, looking as flustrated as could be, “why, really,
what is the boy doing! I guess, Annie, we will have to look for a new dolly
while Rob is getting his knife, wont we? Why, bless me, child, what are you
crying for?â€
“T can’t help it, ’m so happy,†sobbed Annie. “I’ve wanted a nice, pretty
dolly, so it most seemed to me I couldn't bear it.â€
Well, that was only the beginning, Miss Ann never did things by halves.
She taught herself to be tender and loving, and instead of thinking about her-
self all the time and murmuring at her troubles, she turned her attention to
those about her, and tried to give pleasure to others.
“I’m thankful with all my heart and soul,†she whispered to Mrs. Winship
as she came out of church Thanksgiving day.
“T do actually believe aunt is growing pretty,†said Annie to Rob. ‘Seems
to me she is.†;
‘I believe so, too,†he answered. ‘Anyhow, she is awful good now.â€
And Miss Ann, who happened to overhear this conversation, “thanked
God and took courage.â€
—KATE SUMNER GATES.
ie Roy!â€
HERE is a small town in North Carolina, near the boundary line
of Virginia, that is noted as a railroad junction, seven different
roads meeting there. But the outside world only speaks of the
town in this way: “Did you make the connection at Weldon?â€
There was a disjointed period in traveling South, and it
was my lot to miss it by half an hour. They told me at the
depot that there was nothing for me to do but to wait twenty-four hours at the
hotel. The one I hit upon proved very dreary, having the barren air of a
restaurant in which no one had stayed long enough to make it feel inhabited.
To add to the loneliness, the rain was pouring down in great torrents outside,
and the only books I could discover in the hotel parlor were a ponderous gilt-
edged Bible, a moth-eaten copy of ‘Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy,†“Bax-
ter’s Call to the Unconverted,†and some old census reports.
Glancing at the negroes who were waiting on me at the table, I had to
confess that, though attentive, they were far from picturesque. There appeared
to be a great many of them. Judging hastily from this dining-room one might .
infer that the staples of the South were negroes and flies; the latter charging
at me in battalions from their ambush in the fringed arsenic green papers
attached to the chandeliers. The fried chicken and corn-bread, however, were
compensating.
When embowered in my solitary bed-room I began to count the hours
to be spent there, twenty-three, and it would be impossible to sleep away more
than eleven of them.
Hark! Somebody was crooning snatches of a quaint tune in the back
premises.
An idea broke in upon me,—I disrobed my banjo of its “traveling
ulster.†;
Why not spend the time learning the songs the negroes were singing over
their work down in the yard and kitchen? In all the accounts of Southern life
I had read in novels and magazines, the negroes were represented as always
singing merrily, except when they were drowsy and nodding.
I tuned the banjo—then the song stopped. Not another note did I hear
for an hour; there was plenty of noise, but it came from the clatter of dishes,
the slamming of doors, the steady rainfall, and the shrieking of the locomotives
on the seven roads.
I was not to be balked of my project. I rang for the chamber-maid, and
asked her to get some colored man who could sing and play the banjo, tocome
up and give me a lesson—I would pay him well.
She first gazed at me vacantly for a moment, as if her brain were busy
enlarging to receive a brand new idea; then she grinned from ear to ear,
‘Yes, Miss, I’ll see ef I kin find you one of the good singahs;—ef you had
only a sont word fo’ you arrove, and got it norrated roun’ dat you want ’struc-
tions in de banjer,—dat would ’a been de bes’ way. But Louvinia ’ll do de
bes’ she kin for you. I gwine ter be a real good darkey to you while you heak
—dat I is, you can put ‘pennance on dat, Miss.
She talked to herself all the way down the hall about what she meant tc
do for my comfort while I was at the hotel.
Imagination now began to work; I expected to see a lively young fellow
with laughing eyes and dancing feet ushered into my room; it would be jolly,
he should teach me all he knew.
Presently a muffled knock came at my door.
peor siinle
A large, middle-aged negro, with a very grave and very black face, stood
on the threshold, making a low bow with all the “deportment†of a Turveydrop,
hat in one hand, banjo in the the other. He wore a shabby blue tweed suit,
his toilet getting poorer as it went down, the coat still attempting to make an
impression of style with its double row of white china buttons, the pants well
patched about the knees and threadbare in spots, and his shoes broken inte
gaping holes, and tied with red twine strings.
“Yes, come right in. I sent for you. What’s your name?â€
‘Simon Barjona, dat’s my proper name, m’am, but they mostly calls me
Roy'l (Royal) ’bout heah, ’kase I come out 0’ de Roy’l fam’ly in Fahginy fo’ I
come to Weldon.â€
‘“T hope you are well, Royal?â€
“Pretty well, m’am, ’cep’n I subjec’ to typhoid fever.an’ consumption; when
I gets het up I is attacted wid de fever, an’, ef I gits cold I breaks out wid
de consumption; but I makes out to keep a goin’; my health is tol’able good
now, m’am.
“I’m glad to hear it,—sit down there. I want you to make yourself com.
fortable, Royal, so you can teach me some of your bk. ‘t songs. You sing,
don’t you?â€
“Oh, yes’m!â€
‘‘Did you ever live on a plantation?â€
“Sho'ly I did. I ain’t live nowhar else, clear o’ dese las’ two years I been
a xefugeein’ down heah in Weldon. I was riz on de ole Roy’l plantation, an’ I
nuver come away twell ole Mis’ die. You heerd how she met with a turrible
accident? I tole her dat was a superstitious ladder, an’ she mustn’t sot her
foot on it agin—I seen a ha’nt on dat same ladder one moonlight night in de
barn. Sperrits is mighty quiet folks mostly; dey stays whar dey put, dey ain't
a gwine ter meet up wid yer less’n dey come for sump’n;—but ole Mis’ she
wont listen to me, she so full o’ whimsies, an’ she got ter hang up dem greens
wid her own hands, Christmas, an’ sho’ ’nuff, she tumble down an’ broke her
spinal bone, so she couldn't get up no mo’! Ole Mis’, she set a heap o’ sto’ by
me; white folks allers did like me; I never had no boss’n an’ doggin’, ’kase dey
soon see t’err people’s property ain’t got no chawms for my principles an’ char-
acter. I bewar’ o’ covishness, I does, I too much enameled wid Christianity
for dat. Well’ w'en dey sell de ole place, I come down heah to work on de
railroad; but dey tu’n me off las’ wintah w’en dey done layin’ de new track. I
keep a hangin’ on, a hopin to git sump’n ter do on de road agin,—but I got to
scratch roun’ an make out ter live in de meantime.â€
“What are you doing now?â€
“T ain't got no speshal employmun, m’am; only wat I kin pick upa white-
wash’n an’ a mendin’cha’'rs an’ tables at de hotel, wen dey gits so onsteadfas’
can't do nuffin wid’em. Times is gittin’ harder ev’ry day now.†Hescratched
his head and looked down on the floor with a becoming reserve.
“Have you any family?â€
“Yessum, I has had consid’able fambly;—my wife she present me wid fo’
o’ de fines’ an’ de blackes’ niggah babies in de state o’ Fahginy, fo’ de wah, an’
to make shorts out of a mighty long tale—we raised ’em all, an’ dey tu’nd out
scamps, dey did, it’s de naked trufe, an’ its a scannel an’a shame. I ain’t kep’
track of allof’em. I don’t want to hear no mo’ ’bout’em. [ain't got much use
for niggahs no how.†He gavea deep sigh. ‘‘ Den after all our sufferment, de
Lawd he greed to make a complomise, an’ he sont down a I’il lamb f’om de
gret white frone, ter be de pride of our life. Dat was des fo’ years ago, she
come tak de las’ button off Gabe’s collar, after Tildy done give de cradle away,
—Oh, dat blessed 1’il gal!â€
Royal’s voice quivered with a mysterious parental tenderness, and there
was a moist look in his eyes. ‘But my membunce gittin’ slack,—w’at kinder
song dat yo’ want yo’ humblin’ servant teach yo’?â€
“Td rather you should choose one.â€
With a firm, solemn chord or two, he preluded a strangely stirring hymn I
had never heard before. What a roll and volume of sound he brought out of
his dilapidated banjo, as he sang this “Old Ship Zion!†The woodwork was
warped, every string tied at the bottom, yet a longing seized me to possess it,
such asa violinist might cherish fora Paganini. It seemed to me it must have
a superior soul to that of my frisky, be-ribboned instrument, which was so in-
dependent of my touch that it would only twang and clang with defiant metallic
echoes. The coy banjo deity was a familiar of this grave, dignified negro, and
yielded such melody to his fingers as I never heard from the expert in a
northern city who had been giving me lessons at the rate of two dollars
per hour. 2
Royal’s voice showed no signs of the consumption it was subject to; it was
rich and deep beyond a suggestion of fatigue.
When the hymn ceased, I said: ‘“‘‘The Old Ship Zion’ is very fine, I am
glad to hear it, but it’s not exactly the kind [’d rather learn from you—I can
find that in a book somewhere. Let me have some of your regular plantatior
tunes that you used to sing at corn-shuckings.â€
He hesitated a moment with a reluctant air. ‘Seems lak’ I kinder tu’n ter
de hymn chunes ter-day, lady, des natchul, but I mus’ try ter please yo’. How
yo’ lak’ dis one?â€
Straightening up briskly he changed the key entirely.
Look-a look-a heah, look-a-look a whar!
Look-a-look away o’ yandah!
Don’t you see de ole gray goose
Asmilin’ at de gander?
Unh unh um, a low down!
Unh unh um, a low down!
Unh unh um, 2a low down!
johnny come down de hollow!
A settin’ on a’ ole gum log,
A lookin’ for his dahtah,
Terrapin crope up behine dat frog
An’ pushed him into de watah.
Unh unh um, a low down!
Unh unh um, a low down!
Unh anh um, a low down!
Johnny come down de hollow!
Oh, de squirrel am got de bushy tail,
De possum tail am bar’,
De raccoon tail am ring all ’roun’,
An’ stumpy am de tail ob de har’!
Unh unh um, a low down!
Unh unh um, a low down!
Unh unh um, @ low down!
Wooow! Johnny come down de hollow!â€
I laughed and clapped neartily—‘“Splendid! Just the thing. Ill put the
words down right awayâ€â€”taking a pencil and sheet of paper out of my sachel.
‘Now say the first words over.â€
‘“‘Look-a-look a heah, look-a-look a whar?â€â€”he repeated—‘‘set that down
in yo’ rememberandum book.â€
Then, when I had all the words before me, I began to sing them as well
as I could, with a random accompaniment on my banjo. How weak and thin
my imitation. .
Royal wriggled in his seat—“‘Scuse me ef I disrup’ you, m’am, but you
don’t screech mo’n half loud enough; des make up yo’ mind ter take de roof
off—dis way—‘wooow/â€â€”He opened his mouth like a yawning cavern—‘ ‘John-
ny came down the hollow!’ Strike t’err string dar, dat off string yandah, pull
on it lak yo’ boun’ ter rip de insides outen de banjer. You is as well built a
lady as evah I see; don’t be skeered 0’ yo’ own voice—des holler ‘wooow’ wid
de bés’ of ’em. Dat some better.†After I had gone over the song twice,—
“Don’ yo’ be disencouraged; ef I had yo’ two or free days I'd make a
fust-rate singin’-bird out 0’ yo’. Can't yo’ lay yo’ plans ter stay awhile in
Weldon?†.
“Stay here, in this place? no indeed!â€
“Dat wat dey all say dat has ter stop heah—dey swivetin’ to git on.â€
‘IT wish you'd let me have your banjo to carry away with me, Royal, and
take mine in place of it. Perhaps I could learn to play if I had yours.â€
He glanced down lovingly at his, as a parent regards an afflicted child.
“Laws, m’am! dis heah instrumen’ ain’t wuf shucks ‘long side o’ yourn; can't
tell me nuffin bout him; I knows dis banjer inside an’ out; didn’t dese hands
make him fom de wud go? He gittin’ ole an’ skreaky. He don’t hold he age
good as he marster, but I got ottached to him, somehow. I don’t want ter part
wid him twell dey gives me a harp ter play on, up in de New Jerusalem. I
made dis here banjer on de ole Roy’! plantation w’en I was a co’tin’ Tildy. Dat
‘oman,—she gwine ter stick to me clean fru’ twell de crack o’ doom,—I never
had no wife like her.â€
After strumming at ‘“‘Look-a-look a heah†awhile longer, I said: “Can't
you sing me another one now, Royal?â€
He turned his eyes up to the ceiling with an abstracted air, as though his
thoughts were wandering far away from this room. There was something pa-
thetic in his gaze, something imploring; was the man praying? His fingers
strayed over the strings till they found a soft minor, and then came _a tender,
lingering wail that thrilled me to the core, his voice melting to the consistency
of a wistful lullaby:
“Oh, Susie, oh, Susie! wouldn’t you like to go
Way up in de mountains?
Dar’s whar de river flow,
Oh, de hills an’ de mountains will all pass away,
An’ you will have a new heart again some other day!â€
The music ceased with a broken sob; Royal leaned his head against the
banjo; his tears fell over the strings. ‘‘What’s the matter? Poor fellow!
Are you sick? Is it that you are so awfully poor? Never mind, I'll help you
some.†;
“| mighty po’, lady; dat why I ’bleege tocome heahan’ pick up a few cents
to-day; but dat ain’t troublin’ me now. You must ’scuseme. Roy’l heart too
heavy. Hs can’t singnomo. Of, my lil Susie! dat onlies lamb de Lawd send
me after all my mis'ry,—she lyin DAID at home!â€
—FRANCES ALBERT DOUGHTY,
— Ghe \Wedding of Glory @\nn.
AAHE old red farm house, ‘Carter's Place,†was unusually astir on
a certain bright October morning. There were no absolute
sounds of unwonted occurrences, only a vague air of expectancy
seemed to brood over it.
On the opposite side of the road lived Philury Corwin. She -
was busily engaged watching the Carter house and washing the
breakfast dishes, while she talked with her invalid sister, Rhody
Ann.
‘Pears to me,†said Philury, pausing in her work and gesticu-
lating with her dish-cloth in her hand, “’pears to me as if sothin’
unusual-like was a-goin on to them Carterses. I seen the greatest
lot o’ fixin’s a-goin’ in there these last two days, an’ I hearn they
got Mis’ Darney up from King’s Holler a-sewin’ up in the spare
chamber—a-sewin’ all day an’ on even by candle-light. Then I seen they been
a-havin’ them parlor blinds open, an’ that certainly means sothin’. An’ Mis’
Carter bought two silver-plated napkin-rings down to Collinses. I think I'll
jest run across an’ inquire, if you will watch them pies, Iam that fierce to know
if Glory Ann be really a-goin’ to marry that Philetus Antrim.â€
With a stai tling admonition concerning the pies, Philury started upon her
tour of investigation.
‘How be ye, Mis’ Carter?†she inquired, as she paused before the kitchen
door and looked at that lady, who was busily making sweet-smelling cakes.
Mrs. Carter looked up, and waving her flour- Oeeeg arm toward a chair,
said:
“ Set, Philury. I be feelin’ fair to middlin.. How’s Rhody Ann an’
yerself?â€
“Rhody Ann ain't feelin’ very smart. Her back’s a-troublin’ her, an’ her |
head is sort o’ fuddled with the achin’, but I’m feelin’ very nice. I jest run
over to-day to fetch ye the drawin’ o’ tea I borrowed of a Monday, an’ to see if
I couldn’t ‘do nothin’ to help ye. I seen ye was havin’ quite a lot a-goin’ on.
Be it that Glory Ann is really a-goin’ to git married? I heard some talk of it
when I was last down to the Holler. Be she, Mis’ Carter?â€
And Philury repeated her question in an insinuating manner, as she put
the teacupful of tea on the table.
‘She be, Philury,†said Mrs. Carter, laconically.
“ Aout when, Mis’ Carter?â€
“About Sunday, Philury, if nothin’ don’t prevent an’ these cakes are
pleasin’.â€
«Well, I jest said to Rhody Ann as I came out, | says, sothin’ is certainly
comin’ off to Carterses, though I wa’n’t sure. Rumor is now and ag’in de-
ceivin’.â€
“It be, Philury, though this time tain’t. I ‘lowed to go ’cross an’ bid ye to
the weddin’ this afternoon, all of ye—Rhody Ann, Rastus, Limy, Polly, Mariar,
your hired help, an’ Nervy Ann; but now, as ye are here, perhaps ye wont mind
a-doin’ my errent for me, an’ ask them as I have named to come o’ Sunday at
four, so as we'll get through in time for milkin’.â€
“T’ll tell ’em,†said Philury as she turned to go, “I'll tell ‘em, an’ it’s like
as not they'll come.â€
And they did, and the neighborhood with them. /
A wedding in the community was an event of no small occurrence. It
was second only in importance to a funeral, and no right-minded person would
think of missing “Glory Ann’s weddin’,†for she had friends in the city, and it
was expected that she would have a very stylish affair, with plenty of “new
fangled notions.â€
By three o’clock Sunday afternoon the road in front of the red farm house
was full of carriages, hitched to every available tree and fence post.
The bride-elect was proud in the possession of a tableful of presents, which
were displayed under the kitchen window, outside of which was hitched, to one
of the shutters, a yearling calf, the gift of her father.
_ There was a “fly-catcher†of straw from a cousin in King’s Hollow, and an
album from an aunt in the same place, a dozen flat-irons from Mr. Bangs, the
storekeeper, and six cans of preserved blackberries from his wife.
Philury brought a lamp shade of green paper muslin, and a tidy from
Rhody Ann. It was decorated with decalcomanies and trimmed with purple
ribbon. Philury had made it herself and was proud of it.
Mrs. Slimmer, from over the hill, being a poor widow, brought a yeast-cake,
which she said was ‘‘like to be useful when they kept their own house, an’ yeast,
too, was better nor salt risin’s.â€
The groom gave a salt cellar; Mrs. Carter a half dozen yards of rag carpet
and a copy of ‘“‘Grant’s Tour of the World.â€
The other gifts were varied in style, extending all the way from a brass
lamp, sent by the city lady, toa paper of gold hairpins, given by Carter’s hired
girl.
“Glory Ann’s hair, bein’ red, will sort 0’ set off them pins,†she explained
to Philury.
“But what,†Philury asked, ‘be that thing a-hangin’ by the parlor organ?
It looks for all the world like a bucket turned upside down an’ stuck all over
with white hollyhocks.â€
“And it is,†replied the hired girl. ‘Glory Ann’s city friend writ to her
about them weddin’ bells that they have a-hangin’ over them as is to be mar-
ried. We didn’t have no bell, so we noe a bucket. I think it’s very sightly
appearin’—don’t you?â€
“Ido. It certainly 1s lovely,†said Philury, sincerely.
“But I don’t set no store by his folks,†whispered the hired nel:
“Why?†asked Philury, eagerly.
“Well, they ain’t got no style about them, nor they don’t wear no mitts—
at least, his ma don’t. They staid to Sairy Holmses last night at the Holler,
an’ they walked up. I think they was too mean to ride. An’, too, they gave
such a present! Why, his pa gave Glory Ann six dollars, an’ his ma a blazin’
star bed quilt which would blind ye, ’tis so fierce colored.â€
‘Dew tell!†murmured Philury, interestedly.
“Fact,†whispered her companion, as she slipped away in the gathering .
crowd to help the bride.
The ceremony progressed well. Everything went Sent until the
supper was about half over, when Mrs. Carter said:
‘Where be ye goin’ for your tower, Philetus?†~
“Well,†he said, slowly, ‘I ‘lowed that me an’ Glory Ann would tower to
Glenham an’ back. My sister’s husband’s child, Alphonso, lives there. I ‘lowed
’twould be as good a place to tower to as any.â€
Then Glory Ann looked up quickly, and her cheeks glowed so that her hair
seemed pale in comparison as she said, with withering emphasis:
“T ‘lowed to tower to King’s Holler an’ see Uncle Elbertus. I ‘lowed I
should tower there and to no other place else, I did.â€
‘Seems to me,†said Mr. Carter, speaking up quickly, “that Glory Ann’s
tower is the best. It only seems to me to be jest proper in you to goand tower
to your Uncle Elbertus’, for I hear Mirandy ain't very well.â€
‘An’ it ‘pears to me,†said the groom, “as if I was the one to decide this
tower; it pears to me—it does.â€
- “JT can’t set quiet an’ see my darter’s opinion set aside, an’ sort o’ flounced
at,†interposed Mrs. Carter.
ji “Why, ain’t you decided on your tower yet?†asked Philury. ‘‘ Why, my
sister Dorlesky knew where her tower was a-goin’ to be before she knew about
her weddin’. She says to me, says she, ‘Philury, Jerry has promised to fetch
me to Niagary Falls on a tower, if I marry him. If he is really meanin’ it, }
will; if he ain’t, I wont.’ An’ he was; an’ she did.â€
Philury paused, and glanced inquiringly at the bride.
“An’"—Glory Ann shook her head emphatically—‘an’ Philury, Dorlesky
was right. She didn’t intend to be cast down or trod upon by any of them
bullies knownas men. Nor I don't, neither. I’m a-goin’ to tower to King’s
Holler, or I ain’t a-goin’ to tower at all, so I ain't.â€
‘Wall, ye are,†interposed Philetus
“Well, ye set and dally till I get ready to goon any other tower,†said the
bride, omplacently, as she passed her plate up, saying casually: “Please gimme
some more o’ them cakes, pa.â€
Hereupon Philetus grew very angry. Rising, he said, fiercely:
“Glory Ann, [ll take back that salt cellar; an’ you don’t come to Glen.
ham.â€
“ An’ you, Philetus, kin take your salt an’ yourself—both too fresh for me
—an’ go to Glenham, or | where ye will; for I’ll tower to the Holler, ox I'll towez
none.’
And Glory Ann arose and passed majestically up-stairs to her room, carry-
ing a glass of cider and “‘them cakes with her.â€
After supper, Mr. Carter said, turning to his new son-in-law:
‘Seems to me, Phile, that, if ye ain’t goin’ to tower none, ’twould be ag
well to onhetch them horses an’ get ready for milkin’; it’s arter five.â€
“T ’low to tower to Glenham yet,†said the groom, as he arose and vanished
up the steps in the direction the bride had disappeared. —
Slowly the time passed. . It was almost dark when Philury, who had out-
stayed all the guests in order to help Mrs. Carter, returned home to impatient
Rhody Ann, who sat in the kitchen, waiting for her.
“Well,†she exclaimed, ‘‘ Philury, where did they tower oe or ain’t they
towered?â€
‘‘ They towered,†said Philury; then added: “Ye see, it was this way; ‘long
about half-past five, after Phile had been ’most a half-hour with her, a-coaxin’,
the parson went up an’ he prayed with her; an’ Phile’s ma went up and exhorted
her, an’ I quoted from the Bible to her, an’ at last she said she’d go, as obeyin’
seemed to be the heftiest part of the marryin’.. Then we all went down to !et
her put on her new brown alapacky. Well, in about ten minutes she came
down with the salt-cellar in her hand, leanin’ on Phile’s arm, a-smilin like 3
basket 0’ chips; an’ he was grinnin’ too. Jest as she passed out, very majestic
like, her purple feather a-streamin’ out behind her, she paused and said, ‘It’s
King’s Holler.
9 R
An’ it was, too,†added Philury.
“Well, I guess Glory Ann will set off them gilt hairpins, if she ain’t se
everlasting fiery that they'll melt,†murmured Rhody Ann.
“Well, she be skairful,†said Philury.
“‘ She be,†echoed Rhody Ann.
—H. C. HEVERIN.
>
Dork.
F some great angel spake to me to-
night
( «©. In awful language of the unknown
oe land,
Bidding me choose trom treasure infinite
From goodly gifts and glories in his hand
The thing I coveted, what should I take?
Fame’s wreath of bays? The fickle world’s
esteem?
Nay, the greenest bays are worn on brows
that ache,
And world’s applauding passeth as a dream.
Should I choose Love, to fill my empty
heart
With soft, strong sweetness, asin days of old?
Nay, for Love’s rapture hath an after-smart,
And on Love’s rose the thorns are manifold.
Should I choose Life. with long succeeding
years? 3
Nay; earth’s longest life is longer time for
tears.
I would choose work, and never failing power
To work without weak hindrance by the way.
Ah, if an angel came to me to-night
Speaking in language of the unknown land,
So would I choose from treasure infinite.
But well I know the blessed gift I crave,
The tireless strength for never-ending task,
Is not for this life. But beyond the grave
It may be I shall find the thing I.ask;
For I believe there is a better land,
Where will and work and strength go hand
in hand.
eg st
WHAT DOI CARE FOR THE SNOW.
ew lowers of \Winter.
HO would think that in ice and snow are found some of the
most beautiful flowers that nature has produced? Not flow-
ers that greet our senses with their sweet odor, but flowers
~< that greet our eyes with forms so beautiful that we never
tire of looking at
them.
Our tittle
readers have often
watched the snow fall,
and at times,perhaps, have gathered
some of the larger flakes, and
watched them as they melted slowly
on the hand. If we could gather
some snow-flakes and they would
hold their shape until we could look
at them carefully, we would discover
forms more beautiful than one would
believe. When the snow falls in
calm air, the flakes are always in the
form of six-pointed stars, and,
strange as it may seem, no two of
these are exactly alike. We have
tried to show you in our picture some
of the many forms which snow-flakes
assume.. Examine them under a
microscope, and you will be surprised
at their beauty. ;
But, beautiful as the snow-flakes
are, they cannot be compared to the
magic forms locked up in a block of
ice. Even the most skillful work of
man, when placed under a microscope, appears coarse and unsightly, but not
so with nature’s work. The more it is magnified the more clearly its beauties
appear. Examine a piece of ice by means of a powerful glass, and you will
find it made of tiny star crystals which look almost like flakes, in the center of
which is a little spot as bright as polished silver. Strange as it may seem, this
ICGH FLOWBARS.
is only a bubble of air. Snow, as you know, is made up of small particles of
ice. If by pressure we squeeze the air out of them, we can soon bring these little
a
SNOW GRYSTALS.
pieces of ice together. Then they freeze,
as we term it. Thatis, they stick together,
and form a solid block. Itis in this way
that glaciers and rivers of ice are formed.
You can easily see this by placinga number
of small pieces of ice in a basin of water
and causing them to touch each other.
“Wherever they come together they will
freeze. You can form a chain of such
pieces, and by taking hold of one you can
draw the whole chain after it. In this way,
chains of icebergs are sometimes formed in
the Arctic seas. :
You have also, oftentimes, on cold
mornings, witnessed the wonderful work of
Jack Frost upon the window-pane. Here,
too, you can see the most beautiful crystal
forms, the most wonderful stars, and a
net-work to which the most delicate lace
is coarse indeed. Wonderful, wonderful are the works of nature!
@©randmother’s ©@hristmas Gree.
) OW busy the children were, knitting
and sewing
For grandmother’s Christmas-tree!
There were lace caps and wristers
and woolen shoes growing
Into beautiful objects to see!
It was the notion of Susie, the youngest of all,
That the surprise should be grandma’s this
year;
“She's such a nice lady, in such a nice shawl,
And her footsteps are trembling and queer!
“She's got bonbons that nobody scolds me
for eating,
And dolls that ave tiny and stout,
Which she gives me when somebody else
has been treating
Me badly!†Sue lisped, with a pout.
So it soon was decided to accept these rea-
sons
Why grandma should have this great honor;
And her presents were made on the sly at
all seasons
With loving delight by each donor.
Dear grandma was dressed in silken array,
When the bright Christmas Eve had come
round;
And the doors flung aside, lo! out shot a ray
From each twig on the huge fir’s dark ground!
And presents—they dangled in crowds every-
. where,
Till it looked like a fairy’s bazar;
And the children cried out, with pride in
their air:
“This fine tree is for you, grandmamma!’’
Then grandmother stared, and grandmother
laughed,
And she courtesied in old-fashioned style,
And she piped: “I declare, I believe I’ve
gone daft,
Or have fallen to dreaming awhile!
“Well, well, little pets, I’ll accept the bright
tree,
That shall light me far on my old way;
And now take your presents, which I hope
will be
Worthy children so kind and so gay!â€
So down sat old grandma inher high-backed
old chair;
But they brought to her gift after gift,
With many a speech and well-wishing prayer,
Till her treasures she scarcely could lift.
‘For nobody else,†cried the children in glee,
“Can have presents at this Christmas-tide!
Papa says perhaps that at New Year’s there'll
be
Something for us!†(Their hope they can’t
hide).
“But, grandma, you have been so kind and
so sweet,
And asked nothing of us at all,
That no wonder we gave you these presents
so neat—
Are you sure that you’ve quite seen them all 2â€
And up the old lady got then with a look
That shone as a girl’s for delight;
And raising both hands, which like autumn
leaves shook,
She blessed them on left and on right.
The effect upon Sue, of the blessing, was this,
That she sang out a nursery song,
And danced down the room with a face full
of bliss,
While the others all scampered along;
And round the tall tree they joined hands in
a ring,
And capered and crowed full of glee;
Their kind thoughts had made such a capital
thing
Of their gay Christmas Eve, as you see,
—Rose HAWTHORNE LATHROP.
@he Old [@\an and fim.
LD man never had much to
say—
’Ceptin’ to Jim.
And Jim was the wildest boy
he had,
And the oid man jes’
wrapped up in him!
Never heerd him speak but once
Ertwice in my life, and first time was
When the army broke out, and Jim he went,
The old man backin’ him, for three months—
And all’at I heard the old man say
Was jes’ as we turned to start away—
“Well, good-by, Jim—
Take keer of yourse’f!â€
"Pears like he was not satisfied
Jes’ lookin’ at Jim.
And likin’ him all to hisse’f like, see?—
Cause he was jes’ wrapped up in him!
And over and over I mind the day
The old man came and stood round in the way
While we was drillin’, a-watchin’ Jim—-
And down at the deepot a-hearin’ him say:
“Well, good-by, Jim—
Take keer of yourse’f!â€
Never was nothin’ about the farm
Disting’ished Jim; -
Neighbors all ust to wonder why
The old man ’peared wrapped up in him.
But when Cap. Biggler he writ back
’At Jim was the bravest boy we had
In the whole dern regiment, white er black,
And his fightin’ good as as his farmin’ bad—
*At he had led, with a bullet clean
Bored through the thigh; and carried the flag
Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen—
The ole man wound up a letter to him
"At Cap. read to us ’at said, “Tell Jim
Good-by,
And take keer of hisse’f.â€
Jim came back jes’ long enough
To take the whim
"At he’d like to go back in the cavalry—
And the old man jes’ wrapped up in him!
Jim ‘lowed ‘at he’d had sich luck afore,
Guessed he tackle her three years more.
And the old man gave him a colt he’d raised,
And followed him over to Camp Ben Wade,
And laid around for a week or so,
Watchin’ Jim on dress-parade—
*E] finally, he rid away, -
And last he heerd was the old man say—
“Well, good-by, Jim,
Take keer of yourse’f!â€
Tuk the papers, the old man did,
A watchin’ fer Jim—
Fully believin’ he'd make his mark
Some way—jes’ wrapped up in him!
And many a time the word ’ud come
That stirred him like the tap of a drum.
At Petersburg, fer instance, where
Jim rid right into their cannons there,
And tuck ’em, and pinted ’em t’other way,
And socked it heme to the boys in gray,
As they scooted fer timber, and on and on---
Jim a lieutenant, and one arm gone,
And the old man’s words inhis mind all day,
“Well, good-by, Jim,
Take keer of yourse’f!â€
Think of a private, now, perhaps,
We'll say like Jim,
"At climbed clean up to the shoulder straps—
And the old man jes’ wrapped up in him!
Think of him—with the war plum through
And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue
A-laughin’ the news down over Jim,
And the old man, bendin’ over him—
The surgeon turnin’ away with tears
"At hadn’t leaked for years and years—
As the hand of the dyin’ boy clung to
His father’s—the old voice in his ears—
“Well, good-by, Fim,
Take keer of yourse’f!â€
—JAMES W. RILEY.
~YOW many of our readers, when watching the bees gathering
honey from the flowers in the garden, or hovering about the
hive ready to deposit their loads of honey, have ever thought
of the bee in its native haunts, of his habits of life and,
above all, of the methods employed by man to rob him of
the fruits of his labors? It would seem that there could be ©
_ but little sport and less excitement in chasing a tiny bee to
his forest home and taking away the sweets he has labored |
mts so hard to gather, yet those who have engaged in the hunt
qe will avér that it is not lacking in either particular. He who
would hunt the bee successfully must know something of his
habits, and these can be learned by observation.
Our fathers and grandfathers, especially those whose homes were in fores.
regions, can tell us how well-versed the average man of those days was in the
habits of the lower animals. Brought up amidst hardship and privation, they
early learned to be alert and watchful, to know more of animals than of men,
and among the former the honey bee was not neglected. The delicious honey
which could be had would well repay the toil and danger necessary to obtain it
and would go far to eke out the scanty supply of sugar which could be had in
those days. For our readers must remember that the pioneer of fifty years
ago had to depend mainly upon his sugar camp or his patch of sorghum for his
supply of sweets. If this be realized one can more easily understand the great
value set upon wild honey by him and how anxious each family was to securea
supply for winter use. How well I remember a bright September day in the
fall of 18—, when I started out one warm, sunny morning in search of a ‘‘bee
tree.†For weeks I had looked forward to this day and had put it off from
time to time, that the bees might have more time to lay up a larger store than
they could have done had I gone earlier.
Though but a boy of eighteen, it had been my task for some three seasons
previous to supply the house with honey, and so successful had I been that no
other member of the family thought of undertaking the task. .
My arrangements for the hunt were simple. I had prepared a simple
three-legged stool with a box mounted on the tcp in which to place any sweet,
as sugar, syrup or honey. The box had a glass top anda sliding door. Some-
times a bee was caught, imprisoned and carried near the wood and allowed to
escape. Knowing that when set free he would start in a straight line for his
home, one only had to watch the direction in which he went and follow until
the tree was reached or the trace was lost. If the latter was the case one could
only set this stand with the sweet on the top and wait for the return of the bee
or the appearance of another, for almost invariably the bee will return to the
spot from whence he has secured a supply of honey, after depositing it in his
hive. He is certain to return the shortest way, and so if the supply is moved —
nearer he will meet it on his return and get another supply. By following him
again and again one will at last reach the tree containing the honey. Some-
times several bees are imprisoned at the same time and allowed to escape one
by one. If they chance to be from the same tree it hastens the finding of the
; tree, as one does not have to
Bo | = = spend so much time in wait-
2 2 ee _ing. If they take different
= : directions after being set free
it is positive proof that there
is more than one tree in the
vicinity. .
The work of following
the bee is not so haré as it
may seem to the uninitiated.
As soon as the bee starts in
his flight for home it is only
necessary to get behind him
and fix the eye upon some
object ahead. In a dense
|. wood this must necessarily
be quite near at hand, but in
a more open forest the object
may be a long distance away.
It is possible, too, to fix two
or more objects in the line and when the first is reached to use the second to
fix a third, and so on. The experienced hunter will be governed by circum-
stances and oftentimes can hit upon some device which will make his work
easier. : te ie
If no bees are at hand to start with one can only set his stand and wait for
one tocome to him, or he can roam around until a bee is found and then fix his
bait. It is wonderful by what sense or instinct the bee will detect the presence of
any substance from which hecan extract honey, yet such is the case. If there be
more than one substance at hand the bee will select that from which the
greatest amount of honey can be obtained with the least labor, and so it is that
_ the bait fixed by the hunter is sure to catch him. You may have noticed bees
at work, and if so have you not always found them on the sweetest flowers?
But this little stand did not include all my preparation. A small axe was
strapped to my side, for it would be necessary to “blaze,†or hack into, the
trees by the way from time to time, so that the bee tree could be easily found
afterward, for while the tree must be found by day it is much easier and safer
to remove the honey by night. Neither could I think of starting on such a
tramp without something to satisfy the inner man, for the task was likely to
occupy the day. So I had a hearty lunch of bread, meat, boiled eggs and
doughnuts, as well as a large bottle of coffee. On this particular day I took my
gun and my good dog, Hunter, with me. While I did not need these in finding
bee trees, I well knew that if bees could not be found there would be no lack
of larger game.
Our home was near a large forest, on the edge of which was a field of
buckwheat not yet out of bloom. I knew that bees would be as likely to: be
found there as anywhere and so went in that direction. On reaching the spot
I set my bait and lay down to wait. Old Hunter lay by my side, wagging his
tail and looking up into my eyes with a mute, appealing glance which seemed
to say: “This is dull sport, master; let us go on.†But I kept my.eye on the
box and soon saw.a bee settle upon it. I was up in an instant and, with every
sense aroused, watched him intently. Soon he rose, poised himself in the air
for an instant and then darted off toward the wood. Fixing my eye upon a
large tree some forty rods ahead, I followed. The promptness with which the
_ bee flew away led me to believe that the bee tree was near at hand. Arriving
at end of my “sight,†I set my bait and waited. For nearly an hour I stood
there patiently watching the return of Mr. Bee. Again a bee lighted upon my
box and again I fixed my eye upon a tall, dead tree, standing ina comparatively
open spot some little distance ahead. Now I began to observe the trees more
closely. I knew the bees would select some hollow tree and that the entrance
might be near the ground or far above. So while I advanced I was obliged to
examine every tree in my path to make sure that I did not pass by the object
of my search. As I neared the dead tree the hope that it might be the one I
wanted took possession of me and I felt as the boy does who has a “bite†when
fishing, but is not sure he will land his prize. Upon reaching it I Went round it
several times without detecting any sign of bees. Something seemed to say
to me that the tree contained bees. I struck it with my axe and it gave back
a hollow sound. I determined to climb it that I might better examine it. It
was the work of but a moment to reach the first branch and then I saw a small
opening. I hada small bottle of honey in my vest pocket and taking it out I
placed a few drops on the edge of the opening. In an instant a bee came
crawling out, then another and another, until there was no doubt that I, had
found a home of the bees. I need not tell you that my success elated me. I
had marked my route and knew it would be an easy matter to find the tree at
any future time. It was not yet noon, but vigorous exercise had given me an
appetite and I decided to eat my lunch. I knew of a spring of water at the
foot of a hill a mile away, and though I did not need the water old Hunter did,
and I resolved to go there. On the way I shot a plump partridge, and as I
had my flint and punk with me there was no reason why I should not have
him for my dinner. Reaching the spring I gathered a few dry leaves. twigs
and sticks and taking out my i
flint I struck it with my knife,
letting the sparks fall on the
punk. Igniting this I placed
it in the leaves and, nursing it
carefully, soon had a fire. In
those days matches were
almost unknown and it was
not as easy a matter to build
a fire asitisnow. Throwing
some flat stones upon the
fire, for I had no frying pan
and must use them instead,
I dressed my partridge and
soon had my dinner ready.
Youth and health and exercise
had given me a keen appetite ’ .
and I cannot tell you how good that dinner in the woods tasted. How often
since, when seated ata dinner of state, surrounded by attentive waiters, the
table glittering with silver, cut glass and rare china, a bill of fare containing
all that skill could conceive and money purchase, have my thoughts wandered
back to that day, when, with a leafy knoll for my table, my old jack-knife for
tableware and old Hunter for company, I ate and drank with a relish that only
a hungry boy can feel. You may be sure that my faithful dog fared as well as I.
Dinner over we went on and ere the sun had set I had marked two more
trees as homes of bees. A few days later, with my father and elder brother, I
set out one evening at dusk to complete my task. We chose the night, as the
bees would be at rest and more easily managed. We carried with us a large
tub, our axes, material for a fire, heavy gloves for our hands and netting to
throw over our heads to protect us from the stings of the bees. Going to the
farthest tree first we built a fire and hastily felled it. As the tree came crashing
to the ground the bees came swarming out, evidently surprised and dazed at
the sudden attack. But we were ready for them. A torch held at the opening
prevented their egress and it was but a short task to cut the tree in two above
and below the opening; placing a quantity of leaves moist with falling dew at
each end we set fire to them and the smoke soon stupefied the bees. To split
the tree open and remove the honey was but ashort task. Of course much
was wasted, but from that one tree we filled our tub and started home. At
least a hundred pounds of honey were taken out, and that had to be carried
home, some five miles distant. This was no easy task, but it had to be done.
Of that long tramp through the woods in the dead of night, burdened as we
were and with no light save the stars overhead, I need not speak. We reached
home at last, tired and sleepy, but well satisfied with our evening’s work.
Plow [Midge Hartictt saw the © A.P.
| Parade.
37/OW. wo get to Boston had been the problem of Midge Bartlett’s
life for at least a month.
It was absurd to expect her to stay at home with Nora, who
shook the broom at her, and called her all sorts of names when
no one was around, when everybody else had been planning for
weeks and weeks to go and see the great parade.
_ Midge hadn’t the least idea what a parade was like, but that
was the very reason why she should go and see.
Go she must, go she would, and this was the scheme which Midget’s small |
brain worked out. She would listen very carefully when the family were lay-
ing their plans, and find out just what day they were going, and on what train;
and when the train came, she, Midget, would wait till all the others were gone,
slip out the back way, and run around by another street to the depot.
Of course this was all very risky, for Vinton was a small place, and the
little adventuress might meet some one who would take her home again. But
Midge was a cautious little creature, and had the brightest eyes in the world,
you may be sure, and the nimblest feet, too, for she reached the depot in time
to scramble on board the train, and dart up the aisle of a car in which she
knew there wasn’t a soul from Vinton.
Little Midge trembled a good deal as she climbed into an empty seat, but
looking toward the car door, she saw something that sent her to the floor and
under the seat so quickly that she never quite knew how she got there.
You may think it was something dreadful that frightened Midget so much,
but I assure you that it was only a little old lady ina black bonnet, who was
looking—not for Midget at all—but for a seat.
But then this same little lady, Miss Twiss, lived in the next house to
Midget. Of course Miss Twiss sat down in Midget’s seat, and of course the
poor runaway didn’t have a bit good ride crouching there on the floor, with her
old friend and neighbor sitting on top of her, so to speak, and was heartily glad
when they got to Boston.
Although the little Midget was cramped and tired, she waited patiently
until everybody had left the car, and then ran out to look for the Vinton peo-
ple, meaning to walk along at a safe distance behind them.
But there were no Vinton people to be seen—not even Miss Twiss.
What should she do? There was nothing to do but to let this hurrying
crowd of strangers carry her along with them, and the horrid din made by the
_ tramping feet, throwing of heavy trunks and boxes, and the ‘shrill voices of
hackmen calling on people to ride.
Poor Midge’s heart failed her, her head swam, and she began to think
longingly of her pleasant home, and even to believe that Nora and the broom
was better than this. On and on they rushed, out of the great smoky depot,
up and down dirty, bad-smelling streets, the crowd ever growing denser and
more impatient, until they turned into a wide thoroughfare filled with a multi-_
tude, beside which the throng at the depot was a mere handful.
Midge began to wonder if this pushing, hurrying crush of people was the
parade, and why great grown folks were so anxious to come to Boston to be
knocked and elbowed by everybody.
Presently there was a burst of music in the distance, and everybody
shouted, “They're coming!â€
As the music came nearer and nearer, together with the sound of many
feet in measured tramp, the excitement ran high, and people shouted, and hur-
rahed, and waved their handkerchiefs as if Ne were crazy. At first Midge
was scared at all these strange noises, but as everybody's face seemed running
over with delight and expectation, she took courage and tried to squeeze her |
way forward to see what was passing in the street. After a long, long time
she did get where she could just get a peep now and again, and what do you |
suppose she saw? Why nothing at all but rows and rows of men in brass-
buttoned blue clothes with glistening swords dangling at their sides, walking
briskly along; while before and behind them were other men, blowing the
liveliest kinds of tunes out of all sorts of queer looking brass and silver
things. Then there were ever so many men beating with all their might
and main on things that looked like, but were a times bigger than, what
little Freddy seein called his drum.
Midge hated Freddie's drum, tor it made her head ache, and these big
noisy things nearly drove her frantic. She was so glad when they were gone,
and so sorry when others came, which they continued to do, and meant to
tramp for hours and hours. A whole life-time it seemed to poor, tired, hun-
gry, little Midget.
But ‘at last some of the crowd grew tired of watching and moved away,
people who had been sitting on doorsteps near by went off; and Midge
crawled back and sat down on the steps to rest, and think what she should
do.
vw
Surely she was in a doleful plight; and the poor little atom looked piti-
fully into the many faces around her. None heeded, none cared for her. What
would become of her? Altogether wretched she burst out crying, not softly,
but as loud as she could. for she didn’t care who heard her.
“Mamma, did you hear that?â€
The voice was that of a little girl in the crowd, but it went straight to
Midget’s heart and almost stopped its beating.
In a moment poor Midge was hugged tightly in the arms of a little girl Who
exclaimed, between laughing and crying, ‘““You dear, darling, naughty, bad,
wicked cat! How dare you come to see the parade all by yourself?â€
With a delicious feeling of safety Midge nestled in her little mistress’s.
arms, and never once opened her eyes until she was home in Vinton.
—MINNA STEIN Woop.
Snowball.
EW! mew!†came a soft little cry from the porch by the
dining-room door.
Minnie Vine, in the room all alone, eating her breakfast,
dropped her spoonful of bread and milk back into her mug
and listened. .
A little louder came the cry again—“Mew! mew! mew!â€
Then Minnie ran and opened the door and caught up in her arms the
purring softly.
‘Minnie ran to her mamma and asked her if she might keep the kitty for
her own. Mamma said she thought it was a little runaway, but she might keep
it until she found the owner. :
“Well, mamma, I want to give it some breakfast and name it,†said
Minnie. .
“What will you name it?†asked mamma, smiling.
“It was so white, it looked like a little snowball. when I first saw it, and I
think Snowball would be a pretty name.â€
For three days Minnie kept the kitten, and was beginning to think it was
really her own. She was sitting by the fire, rocking Snowball to sleep, when
some one knocked at the door. She went to open it, still holding the kitty in
her arms. A little boy stood there, who said: “I heard my kitten was here and
I came after it.â€
“But are you sure it’s yours?†asked Minnie, tightening her hold of Snow-.
ball.
(Ves mistre san tewamteit.« .
When Minnie saw she must really let it go she thrust it into the boy’s’
hands, saying: ‘“Good-by, my poor little Snowball.†Running to her mamma
she climbed into her lap and cried very hard for her lost pet.
The next morning when Minnie came into the dining-room she heard that
same little cry at the door. Opening it, there was her dear little Snowball
come back to her.
She clapped her hands with delight, and said she should hide it if any one
came after it again; but mamma said: ‘When its owner comes after it again
perhaps he will sell it to you, for it seems to wish to stay here.â€
And it was not long before the owner came. This time Minnie’s mamma
went to the door and asked him if he would let them keep his kitten, as she
seemed to want to stay with them. .
“I will buy it,†she said, “if you will sell it.â€
Minnie held Snowball tightly while she waited for his answer. —
“Well,†he said, after a little, “I don’t care much for a kitten that will run
away all the time. You may have her for ten cents.â€
“Please give him more, mamma,’ whispered Minnie, and Mrs. Vine handed
the delighted little boy a bright twenty-five cent piece.
“You are worth a great deal more than that,†said Minnie. Snowball
looked up at her and purred softly, as if she would say she knew that Minnie
was right.
—L.C.
pe
ey Ma!
Ny /fea NU Ait ds
Lg crate A i
y nla,
I os me fn
Wh A
r
i
}
2a a
f
Nae oat
\i Whos iad TF
HA ge =
WSS
SS
SS
._ Fritz and His Donkey.
“Saezâ€
Â¥ERE are little Fritz and his donkey taking their lunch by the road-
side. They have been to market and are on the way back, and,
as it is noon and both are very tired, they have stopped to eat.
Fritz has a piece of bread and some cheese, while the donkey
has to content himself with the grass he crops by the road-side.
Fritz is a poor boy who lives upon a small farm in the hills, .
along way from market. His father is dead and Fritz has to work
hard to help his mother take care of the little children, for there are
Fee all younger than Fritz. The farm is a poor one and will only raise vege-
tables for the market. But they have one cow and several hens and sell the
milk, butter and eggs from these and so make a scanty living. Every morning
during the season Fritz goes to market with his donkey, carrying corn, peas,
beans, cabbage and potatoes, and, once a week, butter and eggs. These he puts
in two large baskets, slings them over the donkey’s back and walks bravely forth,
The money he gets for them he carries back to his mother, never spending a
peuny for himself.
He has to rise early in the morning and set out before the sun rises, because
the people who buy want their vegetables early. After his sales are made he
goes back home and works in the garden until night. Is Fritz not a good little
boy to help his mother as he does?
ay, wy WF
th lf J lio (o
UL 10 1 Pope Ls
AM
Ghrissy Gherryblows.
a aaa
FUNNY thing about Chris Cherryblow was his belief that
he was as strong as a giant. He was fond of show-
ing what long strides he could take, how he could
lift and jump, and he liked to feel for the “muscleâ€
in his fat arms and to swell out the calves of his
two sturdy legs. At such times mamma called him
“Young Christopher Brag.†+ i
One bad March day Chris wished to take an
‘umbrella and go out. “Old North ‘Wind will turn
your umbrella inside out,†said mamma. “Td like to see
1 him,†said Chris, in a deep bass voice. So mamma let him
go. Old North Wind had that umbrella inside out in two minutes. Then -
the geese made fun of Young Christopher Brag.
“aS
@he \Wateh Pjight at Smithville.
T was watch night down at Smith-
Whar the people’s jes’ as clever
as the Lord ’ud hav’ ’em be;
Whar the sweet ole songso’ Zion
flood the valleys an’ the hills
‘Till the angels lean and listen from the Hea-
venly winder-sills.
The Methodists is curious, but we know what
we're about
When watchin’ New Year comin’ in, the ole
year goin’ out.
The Baptis\—they ain’t much fer that—think
shoutin’ is a crime;
But, bless yer! we’re the folks as has the hal-
leluia time!
Weel, thar we wus at Smithville—its nigh to |
twenty year—
The little church was crowded, Deacon
Williams in the chair,
An’ sez he: “Now, while we’re waitin’,
sing a hymn or two,
An’ then get up and tell us what the Lord has
done fer you.â€
let’s
“Amazin’ Grace†cum ringin’ out; the bro-
ther pitched it high,
Asif he thought the folks was deaf on ’tother
side the sky.
“Sing louder, brotherin’,
leader sed, sed he:
“Fer that’s the kind o’ grace—thank God!—
‘at saved a wretch like me.â€
louder yit!’ the
“I second that,†sed Brother Jones, arisin’
nigh the door,
“An’ glad am I my life is spared to be wi’ ye
onct more,
P’raps I wont be wi’ ye when Watch Night
cums nex’ year,
But†(looking up) “I hope, dear frens, I’ll
meet you over there!â€
ville, in the lovin’ land 0’ Lee, |
When he got thru’ we had a pra’r, thea
Williams tuk the stan’;
Sed he: “I feel to-night I’m still bound fer
the promis’ lan’,
Fer [’ve quit the grocery business—that’s
whar religun fails—
An’ ef Williams gitsto glory hit’ll be by split-
tin’ rails!â€
“Pm out er politicks, my frens,’
ha’red Brother Guy, -
“The office I’m er runnin’ fer thar ain’t no
man kin buy.
An’ I'm bound to be elected: but that son o’
mine—hit’s zm
I’m thinkin’ of—he’s sheriff, an’ I’m feare~
his chance is slim!â€
sed gray-
“Us the sheriff in the church to-night?†asked
Brother Williams, loud;
An’ the people turned to ‘lookin’ and a
sarchin’ thru’ the crowd.
“Weel, ’spose he is?†a voice replied, “He
hain’t dun nothin’ wrong.â€
“O, no,†sez Brother Williams,
dodge the Lord so long!â€
“cept fo
“{ ain’t after no religun,’ sed the sheriff,
“needn’t pray
Fer me—I know my bizness an’ I’m bound
ter hav’ my way.â€
But here the leader shouted: “Brotherin’! git
aroun’ that man;
It’s a desp’rit case, I tell ye; we must save him
ef we can.â€
An’ they saved him. Ole John Williams had
a habit, makin’ prayer,
Of reachin’ out wi’ doth han's an’ a beatin’ Oo"
the air;
An’ it wasn’t no exception on this partickler
night;
He got close ter the sheriff an’ he hit him left .
and right!
We didn’t know when New Year cum, nor
when the old went out;
We just kept on er prayin’ till we heard the
sheriff shout!
An’ then the meetin’ ended, and I’ve been
thinkin’ sence
That the sheriff he surrendered in a.sort 0’
self-defence!
He kinder looked the worse for wear—jes’
used up in the cause—
Fer the way old Williams frailed him was a
caution, so it was;
An’ he sed, as if ’twar nothin’—like he tuk
the matter light:
“You don’t hav’ these here Jdeatin’ pra'rs
‘cept only New Year’s Night?â€
F, L. Sranron,
——A_
a ——_
@Jack’s P\ew Gear Giant.
had burned out.
a|HE holidays were ended. The little candles on the Christmas tree
: The visit to grandma’s was over and the New Year
party broken up. Even the story-books had been read through, and
now, on this bright, cold second of January, there was nothing for Jack to do
but to collect his scattered books, put them in his school-bag and trot back to
school.
“Oh, ho!†sighed Jack;
‘it feels very dull to go back to school.
I wish I
was Jack the Giant-killer, and had nothing to do Bae climb a bean-stalk.â€
But when he glanced slyly at the aiees room window, on his way out of
the door, there was no sign of a bean-stalk, though he had dropped a whole
handful of beans out there on purpose.
“Well, boys, a happy New Year!†said Miss Lucy as the boys chattered
noisily in the school-room, and ‘“‘Happy New Year!†echoed all the fresh young
voices.
After a sober little talk about the old year that was gone and the New Year
that was coming, Miss Lucy said:
year, boys, and that is to kill a giant.â€
Jack started.
“T wont tell you the giant’s name now,â€
you know if I see him around.â€
‘There is one job I’ve laid out for you this
Had Miss Lucy heard him talking to himself a while ago?
said the teacher, “but I will let
As I told you, Jack didn’t feel a bit like going to school, and he missed his
spelling, and got his sums wrong, and blotted his copy-book, until Miss Lucy
had to give him several ugly marks on his report. _
coy Jackie,†she said, “that giant has met you in the way and got the
vest of you.’
“Ts it Giant (ates Miss Lucy?†asked one of the older boys.
“That's his name, Frank, and here is the sword to kill him with,†and Miss
Lucy wrote across the blackboard, ‘‘Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit,
serving the Lord.â€
(dnder the \Mheels.
SCENE.—A cosy cottage in the outskirts of a city.
Enter, a stranger, who is addressed by the aged
lady of the cottage, as follows:
@-OU’'VE called to see Jack,
I suppose, sir; sit down.
I’m sorry to say’t, but
Bo the boy’s out of town.
Gar He'll be back in an hour,
A if his train is not late,
And, perhaps, you'd be
willing to sit here and
wait
While I give you a cup
of his favorite tea—
Almost ready to pour. Oh! You called to
see me?
You-called-to-see-me? Strange, I didn’t
understand!
But you know we old ladies aren’t much in
demand—
You—called—to—see—me. Ana your busi-
ness is—say!
Let me know, now, at once! Do not keep it
away
For an instant!—Oh! pardon!—You wanted
to buy
Our poor little house, here. Now thank God
on high
That it wasn’t something worse that you
came for!—
Shake hands;
I’m so glad!—and forgive an old wom-
an’s ado,
While I tell you the facts; till your heart
understands
The reason I spoke up so brusquely to
you,
My life lives with Jack:—a plain boy, I con-
fess—
He’s a young engineer on the morning ex:
press; } ,
But he loves me so true; and though often
we part,
He never “pulls outâ€
heart.
Poor Jack! how he toils!—he sinks into yon
chair
When he comes home, so tired with the jar
and the whirl,
But he fondles my hands and caresses my
of one staticn--my
hair,
and he calls me “his love’’—till I Buch like
a eitl,
Poor Jack!—but to-morrow is Christmas, you
know, ,
And this is his present; a gown of fine wool,
Embroidered with silk; my old fingers ran
slow,
But with love from my heart, all the stitches
are full!
So when Jack is gone out on his dangerous
trip,
On that hot hissing furnace that flies through
the air,
Over bridges that tremble—past sidings that
slip-—
Through tunnels that grasp for his life with
their snare—
I think of him always; I’m seldom at rest;
And last night—O God’s mercy—the dreams
made me see
My boy lying crushed, with a. wheel on his
breast,
And a face full of agony, beck’ning to me! “_
Now to-day, every step that I hear on the
street,
Seems to bring mea tiding of woe and de-
spair;
Each ring at the door bell, my poor heart
will beat
isu