Citation
American children's annual

Material Information

Title:
American children's annual 150 illustrations : stories, poetry, and pictures for boys and girls by the best authors
Creator:
W.B. Conkey Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London ;
New York ;
Chicago
Publisher:
W.B. Conkey Company
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : col. ill. ; 25 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1895 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1895 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1895
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Illinois -- Chicago
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors; illustrations and text printed in blue.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026584182 ( ALEPH )
ALG2115 ( NOTIS )
231759962 ( OCLC )

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Full Text






brary

Uni

5
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IN STORYLAND









ops
° o

« AMERIO

Q am

Ge) ail
G } P
es

AN GHILDREN’S

























| 150 ILLUSTRATIONS

==

STORIES, POETRY, AND PICTURES
ror BOYS ann GIRLS, _8Y THE BEST AUTHORS ~

COPYRIGHT 1895, BY W. B. CONKEY CO. =











LONDON ¢ NEW YORK ¢ GHIGAGO

W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
PUBLISHERS. : :


































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































PLAYING BARBER,



CANE SE R®:



ADD) BeGeae ils

Hurrah! Hurrah! only two days
more to vacation, and then!—
If the crowning whistle, and ener-



getic dang with which the strapped-

books came down, were any indication
of what was coming after the “then!”
it must be something unusual. Ani so
it was—for Ned, Tom and Con, who
were the greatest of chums, as well as
the noistest, merriest boys in Curry-
ville Academy—were to go into camp
for the next two weeks, by way of
spending part of their vacation. They
could hardly wait for school:to close,
and over the pages of Greenleaf danced,
those last two days, unknown quanti-
ties of fishing tackle, tents, and the
regular regalia of a camping out-fit.
They talked of it by day and dreamed
of it by night.

At last the great day dawned —
dawned upon three of the most gro-
tesque-looking specimens of boyhood,
arrayed in the oldest and worst fit-
ting clothes they could find; for, as
they said, in the most expressive boy
language—“We are in for a rattlin’
good time, and don’t want to be togged
out. They and their effects were taken
by wagon over to the Lake Shore, about
four miles distant, to establish their
camp under the shadow of old Rumble
Sides, a lofty crag or boulder.

Boys, I wish you could have seen
them that night, in their little wood-
land home; really, it was quite at-
tractive. They worked like beavers all
day—cutting away the brush, driving
stakes to tie down the little white
tent, digging a trench all around in
case of rain, and building a fire-place
of stone, with a tall, forked stick on
which to hang the kettle. A long board,
under the shady trees, served as table.

Too tired to make a fire that night,
they ate a cold lunch, and threw them-
selves on their bed—which was a blan-





| ket thrown over pine boughs—untied

the tent flaps to let in air, and slept a
happy, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, early, they were
up, and, after taking a cold plunge in
the lake, built a brisk fire, boiled cof-
fee, and roasted potatoes for breakfast.
They then bailed out the punt, which
was their only sailing craft, and put off
for.an all-day’s fishing excursion. Sev-
eral days, with fine weather, passed,
and the boys declared they were hav-
ing a royal time, and that camping was
the only life to lead

They had much difficulty to settle
upon a name, but finally decided that
“Camp Trio” was most appropriate.

One night they were suddenly awak-
ened by a deep, roaring sound; the
wind blew fiercely, it rained hard, but
the noise was not of thunder, it seemed
almost human; nearer and nearer it
came! The three lads sat up in the
semi-darkness, and peered at each other
with scared faces.

“Tt’s Old Rumble broke loose and
coming down on us,” said Con, in a
ghostly whisper. “Hush!” and the
trio clutched in a cold shiver, as a
crackling of twigs was heard outside,
a heavy tread, a long, low moan, a hor-
rible silence.

“Tt was the Leviathan, I guess,” said
Tom, with a ghastly attempt at smil-
ing, as the early morning light stole
through the flaps. At length they
moved their stiffened limbs and peeped
out. Oh, how it did pour! No fire, no
fishing, no any thing to-day. Pretty
soon a shout from Ned, who had been
cautiously prowling around to find the
cause of their late fright.

“Oh, boys, it’s too rich! Why, it was
Potter's old cow, down here last night,
bawling for her calf that was after our
towels, as usual—look here!” and he
held up three or four dingy, chewed-
looking articles, which had hung ona
tree to dry, and might have been tow-
els once. The boys broke into a hearty
laugh at their own expense. The day
was very long and dull, and the next,















































































































































































































































































A MIDNIGHT ATTACK,





stories and jokes fell flat, cold victuals
didn’t relish, they began to feel quite
blue. The third day Farmer Potter
appeared upon the scene.

“What on airth ye doin’ here; tres-
passin’ on other folks’grounds? Mebby
ye don’t know it’s agin the law!”

The boys. felt a trifle uneasy, but an-
swered him politely.

“Hevin’ fun, b& ye! Wall, I'll vow,
settin’ in the wet, eatin’ cold rations,
haint wy idee of fun.” And away he
stalked.

The boys looked at each other.

“ pie anda hunk of fresh bread zwouldn’t
go bad—eh?”

The two answered with a hungry
look.

“But let’s tough it out over Sunday,
or they'll all laugh at us.”” And so they
did; but it was the longest, dreariest
Sabbath they ever spent.

“Td rather learn ten chapters in.
Chronicles,” Tom affirmed, “than put
in another such a Sunday.”

They had, in the main, a jolly time,
but the ending was not as brilliant as
they had looked for. They never re-
gretted going, but the next year took
a larger party, and went for a shorter
time.

THE SENTIMENTAL FOX,

“Qh, beautiful wild duck, it pains me
to see, :
You flying aloft in that gone sort of
way,
Sweet one, fare you well. I could shed
many tears,
But my deepest emotions I never

betray,

“T’ve always admired you, wonderful
bird,
By the light of the sun and the rays
of the moon; :





I tell you ‘tis more than a fox caf en-
dure,

, To know that you take your depart-
ure so soon,

“T snatched a few feathers, in memory
of you;
I desired a whole wing, but you baf-
fled my plan;
Oh, what a memento to hang in my den!
And in very hot we*ther to use as a
fan,

“Descend, O, thou beautiful creature,
to earth!
There's nothing I would not perform
for your sake ;
If once in awhile I could see you down
here,
I’d never get tired of the shores of
this lake!”

“Cheer up, Mr. Fox,” said the duck,
flying higher,
«The parting of such friends is some-
times a boon ;
When they get far away, and have
- time to reflect,
They see that it came not a moment
too soon.

“You wanted a wild wing to fan your-
self with ;
You see if I granted that favor to
you,
"Twould have left me but one, which is
hardly enough,
As I find it convenient, just now, to
have two.”

Then she faded away, a dark speck on
the sky.
“That's a very shrewd bird,’’ said
the fox in dismay !
T shall have to look round for my din-
ner, again,
And I fancy it will not be wild duck
to-day.”



















































































































































































































































































































'S PETS,

PAPA



Tue SweetT-Grass House.

MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.

Two little mice went out one day
Among the scented clover ;
They wandered up and down the lane,
They. roamed the meadow over.
‘QB, deary me!”. said Mrs. Mouse,

“| wish I had a little house!”

Said Mr. Mouse,—* I know a place
Where nice sweet grass is growing ;
Where corn-flowers blue, and buttercups
And poppies red, are blowing.”
“Oh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mouse,

“We'll build- us there a house.”

So, of some sweet and tender grass
They built their house together;
And had a happy time, through all
The pleasant summer weather.
“Oh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mouse,

“Who ever had so nice a house?”



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































|



}

ad













i

i

i











































































OUR XMAS CLUB.

















































































































































CLARA AND
THE *
- ANIMAL BOOK.

Clara was a little western girl. She
had lived in San Francisco until she
was nine years old, when her dear
mamma and papa brought her east to
live with Aunt Mary and Cousin Char-
lie, and they were growing very fond of
her indeed, for she was so sweet and
kind and always obedient.

One day she was sitting out under the
blossoming trees on the old Worden
seat, her book lying, unread, in her lap,
and her eyes having a dreamy, far-
away look in them, when, from the
balcony overhead, sounded a piping
little voice:

_big horns, and























“Clara, Tousin Clara! has oo dot
my Animal book?” and a small, rosy-
checked boy came running to her, rub-
bing his sleepy, dark eyes.

“Why, Charlie, have you finished
your nap so soon? yes here is your
Animal book, and what shall I read
about ?”’

“Oh, about the deers, wiz their dreat
and—every sin,” and
he nestled close, satisfied he would
hear all he wished. So she read a short
sketch of the deer, its haunts and habits
when he interrupted :

“Tlas 00 ever seen a deer—a real “ive
one?” and his black eyes opened wide.

“Oh, yes; and when we were com-
ing east, across the plains, whenever
the train drew near a wooded stream,
often the screaming whistle would star-
tle a herd of deer from their covert,
and they would rush up through the
trees, antlers erect, and sleek brown
bodies quivering with alarm, and fol-
lowed by the soft-eyed, gentle fawn.
It was quite a pretty picture.

“Tell me more; what tind of a cit

did 00 live in?” ;
CS







= SSS SS
= 2 SSF LSS S>=

NW OZEZZ- ee" -LSSS































































































































































































































































ND THE ANIMAL BOOK,





















































CLARA

SSS

































































































































































‘“A very beautiful city, Charlie. You
should see our noble bay, with the
great ships riding at anchor; our fine
parks and stately buildings. Then if
you should go down in Market street,
where most of the business is done,
you would see some funny sights. All
kinds of people are there—Ranchmen,
Indians, Spaniards, English, Ameri-
cans and lots of queer little Chinamen,
and they have small, dark shops full of
curious things, and besides spread their
wares on the walk.

After telling about the orange groves
and vineyards, the lovely flowers, es-
pecially the fuchsia, which winds its
branches like a vine over the porches,
often reaching the upper story of a
house, Charlie thought it must be a
wonderful country, and expressed his
intention of /éviug in- California when
he became a man,

--In a Chinese village during a time of
drought a missionary saw a row of -dols
put in the hottest and dustiest par: of
the road. He inquired the reason and
the natives answered: “We prayed
our gods to send us rain, and they wont,
so we've put them out to see how they
like the heat and dryness.” =

THE UNSOCIABLE DUCKS.



Three meadow birds went out in great
glee,

All in the sunshiny weather ;

Down by the pond, with the reeds
waving free,

Where the ducks were all standing

together.





“Good day Mrs. Duck,” said the threa
meadow birds,
‘From all the news we can gather,
You're a very good friend, of very few
words.”

Then one flew away with a feather.

“Ouackls-esaid the- duck, Phat
feather is mine,
I sée through your ways altogether ;
You want our feathers, your own nests
to line,

Ail in the bright summer weather.”

“What shall we use?”’ Said the three
meadow birds,
*“There’s no good in moss or in
heather.”
““We don’t care a straw,” said the old
blue drake,
“Tf you line all your nests with sole

leather.”

“Quack! Quack! Quack! You must
think we are slack !
You talk too polite altogether ;
We've had quite enough of your high-
flown stuff,
And we know, you are birds of a
feather.





SOMEWHERE IN LEAFY FORESTS
THE WILD DEER ROAM AND SLEEP,

+






IN THE
WOODS.



Merryvale was not
a very lively place for
any one except a cou-
ple of young colts,
and as many calves,
jumping around after
their mothers.

The bees seemed to be making a
good deal of fun for themselves, if
stinging us children amused them, and
buzzing into every pretty, bright flower,
so that no one could pick it with safety.

The crows, too, collected in great
gossiping parties, in the pines, over on
the shore of the pond, and they always
seemed to be congratulating themselves
over something immensely satisfactory.

But we children, especially the girls,
found it very dull after we had seen
the few sights of the farm. The boys
were trying to hunt and fish; but Lib
aniI talked that over, and we came to
the conclusivn, after much laughing
and many caustic remarks, that the
only amusement we had was, laughing
at their failures.

We communicated that fact to them,
but it didn’t seem to make any differ-
ence; off they went on the same fruit-
less hunt, and left us to do what we
might, to make ourselves happy.





The next day, Lib and Dora and I
told them we. would go into the woods
with them and see what the charm was.
Lib was the eldest of us three, and had
read a great deal, and she said:

“May be we shall find the robbers’
cave, and if we say, ‘Open Sesame,’
the great stone doors will slowly swing
open, and we can go in where the
chains of flashing gems and the heaps
of golden coin are.” |

“T think you'll get into places where
you can’t get out; ‘open sesame’ will
never lift you out of a marsh hole,”
said William Pitt Gaylord, our eldest
brother.

“Mollie, you can find somebody to
have a talking match with, for there are
lots of chipmunks over in the grove,”
remarked Hugh.

“T’ve seen snakes in that very woods,
too,” and if you’d holler, Lib, at that
end of the pond, as you do at this end
of the tea-table, you wouldn’t catch
any fish,’ said William. ‘This caused
an uproarious laugh on the part of the
boys.

We listened quietly to their sarcastic
remarks, knowing they were prompted
by an unreasonable desire to monopo-
lize the delights of the woods te them-
selves.

William Pitt remarked that “Girls
had no business to meddle with boys
sports, and they'd come to grief if they
did; you'd see!”

Next morning the August haze lay
soft on the landscape, but in a short



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GOOD NIGHT.



















































































































































































































































































































































































































time it went off, and Father, learning
that we girls were going to spend a
part of the day in the woods, quietly
told the boys that they must escort us
to the pleasantest place, and not wan-
der very far off. They pouted consid-
erably, and had a talk at the corner of
the barn; they then came back, smiling,
and apparently good-natured.

Our brothers did not intend to be
unkind, but they had the common fail-
ing of humanity—selfishness. But Lib
matched them in a dozen ways with her







good-humored retaliations ; and many a
tilt she had with William Pitt since we
had arrived at the farm. In the city she
was abreast of him in all his studies;
and I noticed that Lib could get out
her Latin, and write a composition
much faster than he, and often he had
been obliged to come to her for aid.
It nettled Lib not to be able to hunt
and fish. We two younger ones mod-
eled after her; she was the leader, and
. when she said we would go with the
boys, we went.



“Hello Fred,” said Hugh, as a
neighboring boy, a city boarder, came
through the gate, attired in base-ball
cap and knickerbockers, “we can't go to
Duck Inlet to-day. Father says the
girls must have a good time, too, and
that we must devote one day to them,
at least.”

“All right,” said Fred, “can I go
with you? I'll go and get my butterfly
net, and we can go over to Fern-Hol-
low mill, the winter-greens and berries
are as thick there! Gracious! yon can
get a quart pail full in no time.
The mill-wheel is a beautiful
sight,” said Fred, turning to
Lib, “and you can sketch it,
Miss Gaylord.”

Lib looked upon Fred with
a little more toleration, after
he had said “Miss Gaylord,”
and went -and ordered an
additional ration to be put
into the lunch basket. We
were glad to have Fred along
with us, for he was very fun-
ny, and made jokes on every
thing.

Lib would allow no one to
carry the lunch basket but
herself, as she remarked, “It
is safer with me.”

We started, and were tempt-
ed to loiter at all the little
nooks on the leaf-shadowed
road, and investigate the
haunts of the curious dwel-
lers in the rocks and bush-
es, and especially were we
interested in the ducks on Fern Hol-
low creek. Dora insisted upon feed-
ing them a piece of bread. “Calamity,”
the dog, was along, of course, and as
he belonged to William Pitt, who called
him “Clam,” he was always in that
boy’s company. It was, “Love me,
love my dog,” with William; and as
he was a professional of some kind, he
was greatly prized by the boys.

We reached the woods and the old
mill early ; I think I never was in a
more delightful place, Every thing





































Y i Atty Wig hi
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ee ‘ 7 Co
AMM yt) YY IAHR We
Ha i i i Uy i i} nN
A i uh tN
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MEDITATION.





seemed to grow here. . Winter-greens,
with their crimson berries, shining in
the moss, and blueberries, where the
sun came; tall, white flowers that grew
in clusters in the shade, sent their per-
Back of the mill, on
grew pennyroyal

fume all about.
some sandy ledges,
and spearmint ;
raspberries and
blackberries
grew every-
where.

The boys









“This is certainly the fairies’ dining
hall,” said Lib.

“T'll tell you what,” said I, “this is
not far from home, and we can bring
things, and have a little parlor here. [I
can make a couple of curtains out of
that figured scrim, for windows, and

that old square rug in the car-

riage-house will do for the floor.

You can. bring your rocking-

chair, Lib, and Dora can bring

her tea-set. :
» _ “T’ll bring our Christmas and
Easter cards, and we can fasten
hem all about, on the walls,” said




































Lib, who had fallen in immedi-
ately with the plan.













went off to
gather a
quantity for lunch,
and Lib and Dora
and I hunted fora
pleasant place to
set out our dainties.
We found it. A
natural bower, between four
trees; one being a giant of a GS
pine, right at the doorway. The ¢
wild grape-vine and the woodbine
had inclosed the space so com-
pletely, that Lib, who had thought-
fully >rought along a scissors to
cut off stubborn plants, could make
two windows in the green wall; one
looking into the woods, the other off
at the distant pond. The grass was
fine in here, and the sunbeams
dropped down in little round spots,
on the pine needles that covered the
floor.
B2

“Tl bring Mrs. Snobley, and
all her children, and the dining
table,” said Dora.

She had reference to her large
doll, and a whole dozen of little
ones, that were always brought
orward in any play that Dora
had taken a fancy to.

We were in, such haste to
put our scheme- into operation,
that we dispatched the lunch
in short order, and told the
boys of our plan. They thought
it was capital. Any thing that
would release them, after they
had eaten all that was to be had,
would, of course, be received
with acclamation. They ac-
knowledged the same, in a very
neat speech, which Lib said,
“did very good for Hugh,’

She fell in immediately with
our fun, and helped us to a num-
ber of nice things, to furnish
Our greenwood bower. We
worked tremendously that after-
noon, and after Betty had -washed
the dinner dishes, she helped us. Be-
fore sun-down every thing was complete.
The boys, who had taken themselves a
mile away, to hunt, came round to visit
us on their way home. They agreed
that it was just perfect, and inquired if
we hadn’t put in an elevator, to reach
the second story, with numerous other



_

7

Zi

_
_

Gy

Yj
ty
Yj
J
Z

esas
S

S



SS
SS

DSS HATTIE





inquiries, intended to be funny; and
then asked where we kept our cran-
berry tarts.

“We're not going to allow any boys
in this play-house atter to-day,” said 1;
“your feet are muddy, and you're so big,
you fill it all up.”

Our visitor, Fred, looked at his feet,
and blushed. “Not after to-day? How
are you going to keep any one out?”
inquired William Pitt.

“We will draw this portiere across
the door-way, and no gentleman would
think of entering,” said Lib.

“No, they wouldn’t, sure enough,”
said Hugh. “How are you going to
prevent our looking in the windows?”

“Only rude boys would look in win-’

dows,” said Fred, “and I don’t know
of any hereabouts.”

They laughed at this, and Lib laughed
too, and made the sly remark, that
“Hunting on the duck-pond trans-
formed some people mighty soon.”

Fred said he'd try to be on his good
behavior if we’d let him make a formal
call on us the next afternoon. We
coasentel to this; then they all said
they'd call.

The next day we busied ourselves in
preparing a spread of good things for
our reception, and Betty took it over,
and on returning, said every thing was
just as we had left it. We dressed
ourselves up in our best, to receive the
gentlemen, a little time after dinner.
The woods were never so lovely, we
thought, and to add to our personal
charms, we made wreaths and garlands
of ferns and wild-flowers to adorn our
persons and hats.

I had sauntered along considerably
in advance, and as I approached the
bower I was not a little surprised to
see froma distance that the door-cur-
tain was drawn half open. I stopped
to listen, but there was no sound, only
a wild bird piping its three little notes,
down by the mill. I cautiously went
up, and peeped into the little window,
and there stood a manontherug! He
seemed to be looking about. I think I





never was so frightened. I ran back,
and whispered to the rest the dreadful
state of things. They looked horror-
stricken. Lib changed color, but just
stood still. Then she said,—“ There’s
plenty of help over at the mili.”

“Oh, let us go no nearer, but get
home as fast as we can,” I said.

Lib raised her hand in warning for us
to keep still, and we crept along, softly,
behind the bower ; and when we had got-
ten so far, we all turned around and ran
for dear life into the woods again.

“This is nonsense,” said Lib. “You
were mistaken, Molly, I’m sure.”

I said P’'d go back with her, and she
could see for herself. We crept to the
back of the bower, and Lib leaned over
andlooked in. Lib turned pale, caught
hold of my hand and Dora’s, and ran
quite a distance toward the mill.
Then she stopped, and said, as true as
she was alive, there was a man in there;
he stood with a large stick resting en
his shoulder, upon which was slung a
bundle, tied up in a red_ handkerchief,
his clothing was ragged, and his hat —
was very dilapidated.

“Oh, Lib, ’m going to run for it,”
said I.

“Wait a minute,” said she. “I don’t
hear any noise. Let’s think; if we
didn’t have to go right in front of the
door, we could get to the mill.”

All this time we were edging our-
selves as far away from the dangerous
precincts as we conveniently could.
She stood again, perfectly still. “1
wont go another step,” she said. That
moment’s reflection had re-instated her
courage. ‘He don’t come out ; I should
say that was making an informal call
when the ladies were out. He’s a
beautiful-looking specimen anyway,”
said Lib, with fine irony; and as she
said this, she frowned, and put her
head back.

No sound was heard, and no demon-
strations from the interloper were made.
The sight of the mill-wagon, going
slowly down the road, gave us heart,
and Lib said:

4































































































































































































































A CORNER IN THE GARDEN,

oe



“T'll go and order him out, be the
consequences what they may. Mollie,
youre good at screaming, you can
pee the miller here if we have to get

elp.

“Don’t! Don’t! I would rather he
stole all our things ; let him have the
tarts and the cocoanut cake, and the
jam, and the pickles, and the cheese,
and the sandwiches! Let him have
them in welcome! I’m going to fly
home!”

“T want Mrs. Snobley!” sobbed
Dora.

Lib never said another word. She
walked up to the entrance, and pulled
aside the curtain, and there stood the
semblance of aman. In his extended
hand was a card; on which was very

badly printed :



“Pma poor by,—I want a
home.”

“PU scrape the mud off me

| “References exchanged.”
| boots, tf yell let me in.”



Lib called, “Come here, Mollie, it’s
a trick of those boys.”

We went in, and there we found the
interloper to be a scarecrow from a
neighboring field, ingeniously arranged
so as to appear very human.

At that moment, a loud laugh above
our heads betrayed the presence of the
boys in the trees, who clambered down
with hilarious expedition, and fairly
rolled themselves upon the ground
with delight. They had seen all our
perturbation ; had heard my_ cowardly
cries and expressions ; Lib’s looking in
the window, and her fearful hesitation
and scamper behind the fairy bower!
The best thing to do was to laugh, and
that we did right heartily ; we girls, were
internally thankful that the intruder was
only a scarecrow after all.

We ordered the boys take their silly

t



joke out, and to come in like gentle-
men, and make a formal call, and
probably they would be invited to take
some refreshments.

This news caused them to work with
great alacrity. They were dressed up
too; Fred having chosen to wear his
school uniform, with a gorgeous crim-
son sash and his sword.

We were never so delighted with
any thing as with that afternoon’s ad-
venture. For hours we chatted and
laughed, and ate our refreshments,
until the western light began to take
on a ruddy hue, and we closed our little
bower and proceeded homeward.

What was our surprise, when we
reached there, to find that three young
friends from the city with their servant
had come to visit us. Merryvale was
not dull after that, [ can assure you.



THE NEW SERVANT AT MERRYVALE,































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ON THE CANAL,








ZEB Se ES Dn sSe

SN a eee
a) . Se p C>
Ss les ys y (
aL ooking out jor

‘ ae a

OS

Zo
zx

Lor O
Number Owe,
ASS

AN / OLIVE A. WADSWORTH,

Joey was a country boy,

Father's help and mother’s joy ;

In the morning he rose early,—
That’s what made his hair go curly ;
Early went to bed at night,—
That’s what made his eyes so bright;
Ruddy as a red-cheeked apple ;
Playful as his pony, Dapple;

Even the nature of the rose
Wasn't quite as sweet as Joe’s,

Charley was a city boy,’

Father's pet and mother’s joy;
Always lay in bed till late;

That's what made his hair so straight
Late he sat up every night,—
That's what made his cheeks so white ;
Always had whate’er he wanted,

He but asked, and mother granted ;
Cakes and comfits made him snarly,
Sweets but soured this poor Charley.

>

Charley, dressed quite like a beau,
Went, one day, to visit Joe.
“Come,” said Joey, “let's go walking ;
As we wander, we'll be talking;

And, besides, there’s something growing
In the garden, worth your knowing.”
“Ha!” said Charley, “I’m your guest ;
Therefore I must have the best.

All the zzner part I choose,

And the outer you can use,”

Joey gave a little laugh;
“Let’s,” said he, “go half and half.”

“No, you don’t!” was Charley's answer, | On the tree a peach of gold,
“T look out for number one, sir ” All without, fair, ripe and yellow,
But when they arrived, behold, Fragrant, juicy, tempting, mellow,

f
k



ee i ee eee

Paes

i











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Ana, within, a gnarly stone.



“There,” said Joey, “that’s your own ;

As you choose, by right of guest,



Keep your choice—I'll eat the rest.”



Charley looked as black as thunder,
Scarce could keep his temper under.
“’Twas too bad, I think,” said Joe;

“ Throuch the cornfield let us go,
Something there, perhaps we'll see
That will suit you to a T.”




“Ves,” said Charles, with accent nip-

ping,



“Twice you will not catch me tripping ;

Since I lost the fruit before,
You now owe me ten times more.
Now the over part I choose,
And the zzwer you can use.”

Joey gave another laugh:
Better call it half and half.”



“No, indeed !”” was Charley’s answer,

«T look out for number one, sir!
Well I know what Pm about,—



For you, what’s in; for me what’s out!”

On they went, and on a slope
Lay a Tecan cantaloupe,
Rich and rare, with all the rays
From the August suns that blaze ;
Quite qwét/izu its swects you find,
And without the rugged rind,

Charley gazed in blank despair,
Deeply vexe | and shamed his air.







“ Well,” said Joey, “since you would

Choose the bad and leave the
good ;

Since you claimed the outer
part,

And disdained the juicy
heart,—

Yours the rind, and mine the rest ;

But as you're my friend and guest,

Charley, man, cheer up and laugh,



And we'll share it half and half; —
Looking out for number one
Doesn’t always bring the fun.’









A STUFFED JUMBO.

Yesterday, Alice met the stuffed | very much affected by the meeting
Jumbo, her former mate. She walked | He was Jumbo’s old keeper.—Hy.
slowly up to him, andthen stoodforafew | mane Journal.
moments, evidently surveying him -
with wonder. Then she swung
her trunk so as to reach Jumbo s
mouth. She also touched his
trunk in a cautious manner, and
then turning her back upon him,
gave vent to a groan that made
the roof of the garden tremble.
William Newman, the elephant
trainer, Frank Hyatt, the super-
intendent, and “Toddy” Hamil-
ton, talked to her in their usual
winning way, and she again faced
jumbe: She fondled his trunk,
ooked straight into his eyes, and














. HEN cy
again she groaned, and then A
2 2 : Ty
walked away as though diseusted WI ie
with the old partner of her joys es

and sorrows. She went back to
her quarters and continued to
mourn. Her keeper, Scott, was
appealed to by the spectators.
He was asked whether he be-
lieved that she recofnized Jumbo,
and he replied in all serious-
ness, “Of course she did. She

















ee












told me so.” At another time he SSS

ps 5 —— eee SY U¥ice
said, “I can understand elephant = Suny F
talk, and Alice told me she = ue ea
recognized Jumbo,” Scott seemed . JUMBO MAKING HIMSELF USEFUL



















'

!

\

i

|
SCENE AT AN ELEPHANT MARKET. |















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TUG OF WAR



the beautiful

























































colors and for











































the females







































A NEGRO MELODIST,

It has often been remarked that in
the bird world the rule is for the males

to have the brilliant plumage, with all’





to be the
dowdy ones—
a rule which
would entail
a revolution
in fashions,
startling and
ludicrous, if
it were to be
introduced
for variety
among our
own kind.
Again, gaily-
dressed birds
have the least
pleasing song
—the scream.
ing jay bear.
ing an unfa:
vorable com-
parison with
the thrush—
and the mod-
estly-attired nightingale having fur:
nished, in all ages, a brilliant example
of virtue unadorned. The nightingale,
however, leaving before the climate has
become objectionable, we must praise
its musical accomplishments rather as
being those of a distinguished guest, or
foreign prima donna, than of an indi-
genous artist. But we have another
bird who zs always here, facing winter’s
blasts in addition to summer's bloom,
who in voice stands unrivaled; nocom-
petitor approaching any where near
‘him for fluency, richness, and liquid
mclody of song—to wit, the blackbird,
This negro melodist seldom spares
his lungs at all until winter is far ad-
vanced into its New Year months;
and even amid the bitter mornings of
January, his rich, unfaltering notes can
sometimes be heard. His coat is 4
glossy black, always cleanly brushed,
and in the case of one family, some-
times called the “Red-wing,” with a
gorgeous scarlet lapel on either side,



SS

SS



Z a ie 7
Ne ts r
of

fly,

Ubi

Ui
iy yy
if

W

Pil)



UNDER THE TREES.



SHE HAD NEVER SEEN A TREE.



They took the littie London giri, from
out the city street,

To where the grass was growing green,
the birds were singing sweet ;

And every thing along the road, so filled
her with surprise,

The look of wonder fixed itself, within
her violet eyes.

The breezes ran to welcome her; they
kissed her on each cheek,

And tried in every way they could, their
ecstacy to speak,

Inviting her to romp with them, and
tumbling up her curls,

expecting she would laugh or scold,

like other little girls.

But she didn’t—no she didn’t ; for this
crippled little child

Had lived within a dingy court, where
sunshine never smiled ;

And for weary, weary days and months,
the little one had lain

Confined within a narrow room, and on
a couch of pain.

The out-door world was strange to her
—the broad expanse of sky,

the soft, green grass, the pretty flow-
ers, the stream that trickled by;

3ut all at once she saw a sight, that
made her hold her breath,

And shake ana tremble as it she were
frightened near to death.





Oh, fie some horrid monster, of which
the child had dreamed,

With nodding head, and waving arms,
the angry creature seemed ;

It threatened her, it mocked at her, with
gestures and grimace

That made her shrink with terror, from
its serpent-like embrace.

They kissed the trembling little one;
they held her in their arms,

And tried in every way they could to
quiet her alarms, =

And said, ‘Oh, what a foolish little girl
you are, to be

So nervous and so terrified, at nothing
but a tree!”

They made her go up close to it, and

put her arms around

The trunk, and see how firmly it was
fastened in the ground;

They told her all about the roots, that
clung down deeper yet,

And spoke of other curious things, she
never would forget.

Oh, [have heard of many, very many
girls and boys

Who have to do without the sight, of
pretty books and toys—

Who have never seen the ocean; bu.
the saddest thought to me

Is that any where there lives a. child
who never saw a tree,



SN

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SA
sSSUUAASV AS

Sire

, &
Wl Oe ‘i
as) wy eval Hin

Last unaiee |
VRE
Ing

SS S SOT :
< WSS

an

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CN COMER tea

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A ALA \ Xyprkl a 1 Rint

IM (Huh DS SED np) Pe ay hesonsssagee’ Te
— aS NS AE OZER ERG SP RRA INT Leen 4
ea es

= Se Rea PtH ERAN tL) 4 (LZ DR si
eee Wey Wise otis bet
NS et IN i @

LAI UNE,

SAE SS LINE Hg LIPS LEGER DIE

La La





CELEBRATING THE FOURTH OF JULY,







MERRY TRAVELERS.



TIME ENOUGH.

_—

Two little rabbits out in the sun;

One gathered food, the other had none.

“Time enough yet,” his constant re-
frain ;

“ Summer is still just on the wane.”

Listen, my child, while I tell you his
fate:

He roused him at last, but he roused
him too late.

Down fell the snow from a pitiless
cloud,

And

white shroud.

gave little rabbit a spotless

Two little boys in a school-room were
placed ;

One always perfect, the other dis-
graced.

“Time enough yet for my learning,”
he said ;

“T will climb by-and-by, from the feot to
the head.”

Listen, my darling—their locks are
turned gray ;

One, as a governor, sitteth to-day.

The other, a pauper, looks out at the
door

O1 the alms-house, and idles his days
as of yore.

B38



Two kinds of people we meet every
day ;

One is at work, the other at play,

Living uncared for, dying unknown.—

The busiest hive hath ever a drone.

Tell me, my child, if the rabbits have
taught,
The lesson I longed to impart in your

thought.

Answer me this, and my story is
done,

Which of the two will you be, little
one?

THE MOUSE WEDDING.

Dick Sly was the smartest mouse in
Mousetown. He knew any kind of a
new trap that was set to catch him, and
he always warned the rest. The houses
in Mousetown are called “holes,” you
know. Next to the hole where Dick
lived with his parents was the hole
where pretty Nan Spry lived. She
could run faster than any mouse in
Mousetown; even Dick could not
catch her, if she tried to run away
from him. At last it was told in Mouse-
town that Dick and Nan were to be
married, and every body said, “ What a
grand pair they’ll make.” Judge Mouse,
who married them, put on his best
gold spectacles, and they were married
on a big wedding cake, which some
folks call a “cheese.” Every one in
Mousetown had a bit of it, and de-
clared it to be the best wedding cake
they had ever eaten.





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































EE er AD IPAS



A FUNNY HORSE.



Knock! Knock! Knock! I’ve been
before this block

More than half an hour, I should say;

I am standing in the sun, while Miss
Lucy lingers on,

Talking of the fashions of the day.

‘It is a trick you know, she taught me

long ago,

But now I am im earnest, not in play;

And the world is very wide, to a horse
that isn’t tied,
I’ve a mind to go and ask the price of

hay

There’s a nail in my shoe that needs
fixing too,
And I want a drink more than I can
say ;
How I could run, with my dandy har-
ness on!
But it’s such a mean thing to run
away,
Rap! Tap! Yap! That’s énough to
break a nap—
There she comes, and is laughing at
the way
I brought her to the door, when she
wouldn’t come before,

That’s a trick worth playing any day.





MRS. GIMSON’S SUMMER
BOARDERS.

It was recess at the school-house at
the cross roads, and three country girls
gathered round a companion, whose
unhappy face showed that something
had gone wrong.

“Ts this your last day at school,
Lucindy?” asked Carrie Hess, a girl
of fifteen, and the eldest of the three
sisters.

“Yes, this is my last day, thanks to
the summer boarders. I can’t bear to
think of them. I hate them!”

“Will you have to work harder than-
you do now?” asked Freda, who was
next younger to Carrie. :

“T don’t ‘mind the work so muchas I
do their impudent airs, and their
stuck-up ways. I wont be ordered
around, and if Auntie thinks I’m going
to be a black slave, she'll find she’s
mistaken.”

Lucindy’s face flushed, and she ap-
peared to be greatly in earnest.

“Td be glad to have them come to
our house, they have such nice clothes,”
said Lena, the youngest and most mis-
chievous.

“Yes, it’s very nice, I must say, to
go around in old duds, and have a girl
that’s not a whit better in any way
than you, only she’s been to a city
school and has a rich father, turn up her
hose at you, and perhaps make fun of
you, with her white dresses and her
sill dresses, and her gaiter boots.”

“Can't we come to your house any
more? Can’t we come to play?” asked
Carrie.

“Oh, can’t we come?” said the other
two, almost in a breath.

“No, Auntie told me this morning,
that I must tell you and the rest of the
girls, that it wouldn’t be convenient to
have you come, as you have done; you
are not stylish enough for Miss Hattie
Randolph to associate with, I suppose.”

The girls looked really disappointed.
Lucindy was a great favorite, and a



























































;
Li,

y
YN





We Hy









LITTLE SNOWBALL.



feader, fearless and successful in all es-
capades that required originality and
coolness, and her company would be
sorely missed. Her aunt had indulged
her in all the dress and amusement she
could afford, and her companions had
always been welcome to visit at the
house, but now there was a necessity
for her services, and play could not be
indulged in so often for the rest of the
summer, as the household needed the
avails, if not the presence of summer
boarders.

“Ts she older than we?” asked Car-
rie.

“No, but she’s lived all her life in
the city, and feels above everybody.
She and her brother and her mother
will just take possession of Gur piazza
and .door-yard, and our swing; and I
can wash dishes, and sit on the back
door-step, and never see a girl from
one month’s end to another. Here
Lucindy burst out crying.

*“Tt’s too bad,” said Carrie.

The little Lena, ever fertile in inven-
tion, crept near, and putting her arms
around Lucindy’s neck, whispered :

“We'll come to see you on the sly,
and we can go down in the fields and
have fun, when your Auntie goes out
for an afternoon.”

“T wish you would,” said Lucindy.
“And [ll bring down some cake and
pickles, and some honey, and we'll
have a pic-nic in spite of Mrs. Ran-
dolph!”

This was a solution of the unhappy
problem, and it seemed to throw a ray
of sunlight slantwise into the gloomy
picture of the coming summer.

The progress of the afternoon at
the school-house was not marked by
any unusual occurrence, and at the
close, the little company of schoolmates
proceeded together, until they came
to the road leading to Lucindy’s home.
Here they parted, with many profes-
sions of everlasting friendship; Lu-
cindy, walking backwards, watched her
companions until the turn in the road
hid them from view,



Then she sat down upon a bank by
the roadside under an old tree. Throw-
ing her slate and books down on the
grass, she snatched a few daisies that
grew near, and thought of many things
of a disquieting nature, pulling the flow-
ers to pieces.

“I feel mad enough to run away!”
she thought. “I could earn my living
easy enough in the city, and not have
to work so hard either. Miss Hunter
can’t teach me any thing more. I’ve
learned ali she knows. It’s just too
bad not to be able to get more educa-
tion. Tl just take my own way, if
Auntie crowds me too much I don’t
care if she don’t like it. If my father
and mother were alive, she wouldn’t
be my boss. I can get on in another
place with what I know about a good
many things.

“But oh, that girl that’s coming has
so much better times than I. Those
lovely city schools! no one can help
learning there, they take such pains
with you.”

She looked down the road upon which
the slanting red light of the declining
sun was shining, and there she sawa
cloud of dust. This road was not a
great thoroughfare, and she knew that
was the stage, and it probably would
bring the undesired summer guests.

She shrank visibly back into the
shadow of the tree as it came on, and
smoothed out her faded calico dress and
pulled her sun-bonnet farther over her
face,

The coach came rolling past, and a
girl in the back seat directed the atten-
tion of a fashionably-dressed lady to
herself, she thought, and laughed as
though immensely pleased, at the same
time pointing at her. who sat in the front seat with the’
driver, and who was playing upon a
harmonica, stopped, and looking in her
direction, laughed too.

“It’s my outlandish sun-bonnet
they’re making fun of,” she thought.
“I suppose this is the beginning of
bei























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SHE SAT DOWN ON A BANK BY THE ROADSIDE UNDER AN OLD TREE,



Now this ungentle girl was mistaken
in her surmise, as she was about many
things that caused her unhappiness.

hat the people in the stage were
really interested and amused with were
a couple of lambs in the field back of
Lucindy, and their playful gyrations
were a novel sight to them, and they
had come for the very purpose of being
pleased with country sights and experi-
ences. Lucindy felt sure these were
the summer boarders, and, taking a
short cut across the fields, arrived at her
aunt’s just as the guests were alighting.

Gaicindy stood at the back corner of
the house, and heard the sprightly talk
of Mrs. Randolph and the merry laugh
of the daughter, as her aunt bade them
welcome, and she knew they were being
conducted to the upper rooms that had
been prepared with such thoughtful ret-
erence to their comfort.

Her aunt came down very soon, and
seeing Lucindy, bade her wash her
hands and smooth her hair, and put on
a white apron, and prepare to get ready
the tea. This duty Lucindy had always
done, and a little curiosity, mingled
with her other feelings, came to her, as
to how the boarders would like her
aunt’s puffy biscuit, and if the cold
custard and raspberry jam wouldn’t be
to their taste. If coffee and fricaseed
chicken would not be just the thing
after an all-day ride, and remarked to
herself: “If they don’t like such fare,
let them go where they'll get better.”

The tea passed off with great good
feeling; the new people making a most
favorable impression upon her aunt, and
impressing Lucindy with the discovery
that polite manners were a recommend
to strangers, for her aunt made gratified
remarks from time to time as she came
into the kitchen. Lucindy would not
wait upon the table the first evening, a
convenient head-ache being the excuse.

Mrs. Gimson was a most kindly dis-
posed person, and endeavored, in every
way, to make the time pass pleasantly
to her guests; but all she could say in
their favor did nothing toward dispos-



ing the mind of her niece to regard
them with any toleration. She per-
formed the household duties that fell
to her with a stolid indifference, or with
an openly expressed reluctance, and
her aunt bore all kindly, explaining and
smoothing away what she could, prom-
ising Lucindy that she should havea
nice present of money when the guests
departed. : :

Hattie Randolph had not taken any
notice of her, never really having seen
her, for Lucindy had positively refused
to wait upon the table; and had kept
herself in the back-ground, thus mak-
ing her life at home more of a disci-
pline than was necessary. She envied
Hattie’s graceful ways and refined con-
versation; and her apparel was a reve-
lation, not of beauty, but of another
source of jealous envy to the country
girl, for in putting the guests’ rooms
in order, she examined, critically, the
pretty things in the wardrobe.

The city people found so much to

interest them in the beauties of the
surrounding neighborhood, that they
were out nearly all the time, and when
the e®ening came, Mrs. Randolph, with
yer son and daughter, made a pleasant
addition to Mrs. Gimson’s parlors, with
heir graceful talk, and numberless re-
sources of entertainment.
Lucindy, observant and sullen, kept
herself informed of all their movements,
and was continually having the blush
brought to her cheek and the bitter-
ness of comparison to her heart, as she
noted the wide difference there was be-
tween herself and them. It never once
occurred to this foolish gir!, that this
difference was growing more and more
every day, by the fostering of pride and
an ignorant stubbornness, which pre-
vented her, utterly, from ever cultivat-
ing their envied characteristics.

It was a long time since she had
seen any of her playmates from the
school, but by an ingenious contrivance,
that had been thought out by Lucindy,
a tin box had been inserted into an old
tree iu a fence corner, about midway

























































































































































































nes

iat

Bout



FAIRY LAND



between her home and the school-house,
and in this they deposited their notes
to each other. ;

This was a solace to Lucindy, as all
the happenings at the school could be
reported, and many a mis-spelled, soiled
missive found its way to the eager
hands of the absent one. Not less in-
teresting was the news as to the doings
of the boarders. Nothing, however
trivial, that happened not to accord
with Lucindy’s notions was overlooked
in her setting forth of grievances, and
she found ready sympathizers in the
Hess girls. Carrie Hess stood under
the old tree, one lovely morning, over-
staying her time in doing so, as the
warning bell had rung at the school-
house, reading a note she had taken
from the tree post-office. Among other
things, it communicated the welcome
news, that herself and sisters might
come to the pretty knoll behind the
house that afternoon, and that Lucindy
would take the occasion to make a
holiday for herself, as her aunt was
going, after dinner, to look up fresh
butter and eggs, and would be gone
until near tea time.

Mrs. Randolph had hired a team, and
with her family would be gone the
same length of time, fora ride.

Carrie took a race to school, very
much elated at the prospect of enjoy-
ing Lucindy’s company once more.
Recess came, and after eating their
very generous lunch, they prepared to
quictly put a considerable distance be-
tween themselves and the precincts
over which Miss Hunter’s authority
extended. They were “skipping,” as
they termed it, and as their parents
would not know of it, they reveled in
theforbiddenfreedom. They proceeded
over fences and across stubble fields,
and soon reached the coveted meeting-
place. A wide-spreading tree, with a
wreath of apples upon it, just turning
to a.ruddy hue, was almost completely
surrounded at its trunk with hazel
bushes, but on one side they did not
grow; this was away from the house,



and toward the wheat field. It was a
natural bower, and into this they crept
to await the coming of Lucindy.

They were not kept long in suspense,
and when she appeared what a hugging
and kissing were gone through with!

‘‘Fiave your boarders gone for their
ride?” asked Carrie.

“Yes, and I thought they’d never
get off. Old Mrs. Randolph fusses so,
you'd think she was going toa party
every time she goes to ride. I wonder
who she expects to see on a country
road?”

“Sure enough.
dressed, Lu?”

“Oh, she had ona light check silk,
and a lovely brown jockey, trimmed
with pink satin ribbon rosettes and
long ends at the back, and a lovely,
wide collar.”

“Don’t you like her better than her
mother?” asked Lena.

“Well, she doesn’t put on as many
airs as her mother, and she’s acted, two
or three times, as if she were going to
speak to me, but I managed not to let
her. I don’t want her acquaintance.
I don’t want any of her coming down
tome:

“I suppose they have nice things,
that they’ve brought with them, in their
rooms,” said Carrie.

“Yes, Mrs. Randolph has an elegant
blue satin pin-cushion, with morning-
glories and apple-blossoms painted on
it, and a dressing-case with white ivory
combs and brushes, and they do your
hair up lovely, for I fixed mine in her
room yesterday with them. This caused
much merriment.

Lucindy proceeded to take from her
pocket a pack of children’s cards, illu-
minated with gaily-dressed ladies and
gentlemen, and queer-looking figures of
all kinds. These caused a sensation;
they looked incredulously at Lucindy,
as she said:

“These are the things that make
them laugh evenings. If we knew how
to play them, we could have some of
their kind of fun.”

How was the girl

{



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:

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i
\

u











































They passed them to one another
and examined them. They threw them
aside presently, and returned to the
subject of never-failing interest—the
wardrobe of the boarders.

Carrie and Lena intimated more than
once, that if they could only see some-
thing that city people really considered

Lucindy had no scruples whatever in
procuring so coveted a pleasure for her
dear friends. She ran back to the
house and up into Mrs. Randolph’s
room, She fumbled over the dresses,
and thinking it was as well to take out
two or three, that they might feast
their eyes upon a variety, she piled









=



























































































































































































































































GRELCHEN TRAILING THE BEAUTIFUL

elegant, they would be satisfied, and for-
ever indebted to Lucindy for the sight.

“Oh, dear, if that will please you so
much,” said Lucindy, entirely willing
to gratify them, ‘I'll go and get one
of Mrs. Randolph’s prettiest dresses
and show you. It wont take me a
minute.”

“Oh, do, Lucindy! we’re just crazy
to see it! She'll never know it,” said
Carrie, with eagerness.



|
|
|









MULL OVERSKIRY GN THE GROUND.

two silk dresses and an India mull upon
her arm, and hurried out.

They dragged considerably upon the
dusty path, but this was not noticed, and
the wild delight of the girls, when they
really had them in their hands, amply re-
paid Lucindy for any risk, she thought.

They fingered them over, the bead
embroideries and lace trimmings, and
examined the fashion of each with un-
tiring interest.



rt

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































BIRDS CHASING BUTTERFLIES.



“TLet’s put them on!” said Carrie,
"and see haw we would look in them.”

“We'll look sweetly stylish,’ said
‘Freda. »

“Oh, do let us, Lucindy! Mrs. Ran-
dolph wont be back until evening.
It'll be such fun!” insisted Carrie.

“All right, let us ; I don’t care how
much fun we have with them, the more
the better,’ returned Lucindy. No
sooner said than done; over their clo-
thing they stretched the dresses, and
jerked and settled them into the proper
set. Shouts of laughter greeted every
ridiculous pose and awkward stumble,
and certainly nothing could be more
provocative of merriment than their
appearance. They trailed the dresses
over the stubble in mock dignity; they
improvised a dance, and went through
all the grotesque changes they could
invent. Their comments and jokes
were most spicy and personal, and in
all Lucindy led.

After a good time enjoyed in this
way, the fun lost its point and novelty,
and they threw the dresses in a heap
on the grass, and sat and chatted over
the gossip connected with the school
at the cross roads. The afternoon was
wearing on, and Lucindy thought it time
to produce her good things, and tak-
ing up the dresses, ran along to the
house.

In getting through the bars she
dropped the mull overskirt and did not
perceive her loss. Gretchen saw it,
and running after, brought it back.
Lucindy hung the dresses up in their
places, certainly not improved by the
airing they had had; but chancing to
look out of an upper window, she was
horrified to see down the road the
identical tezm that Mrs. Randolph had
hired, ana as true as the world, they
were coming home!

She rushed down, and abandoning
the lunch, ran as fast as she could to
the field, and as she approached, this
was the sight that met he: gaze:

Gretchen was strutting about with a
dock leaf held over her head for a para-

4



sol, and trailing the beautiful mull
overskirt on the ground, endeavoring
to realize the feelings of a fine lady in
a trailed dress.

“Gretchen! Gretchen!” screamed
Lucindy,asloudlyas shedared. ‘Hide
it! hide it! Mrs. Randolph has come
home!”

Carrie jumped, and lifting Gretchen
from it, secured the skirt, and Lucindy
grasped it and rolled it in a small ball
and hid it in the hazel bushes. -Then
they held a hurried consultation, and
decided it was best for Lucindy to go
back immediately; but, as it was now
impossible to restore the skirt to its
place in the wardrobe, they urged her
to put it in some unfrequented spot,
until a favorable opportunity came to
get it back. Lucindy now feared her
aunt would arrive without warning, and,
although loth to part without the long
anticipated treat, they walked quickly
down the path by the fence toward the
road.

“What on the face of the earth will
I ever do with this thing?” whispered
Lucindy, for the first time betraying
fear. “I can’t get it back to-night,
that’s as plain as the nose on your face.
Oh, grief! she may inquire after it as
soonasI goin! Itll be just like my
luck for her to want to wear it to-night.
Maybe she expects some one to spend
the evening with them, and that’s what
brought them back so early. Let me
see—Auntie will find it if 1 put it any-
where about the house or barn; I must
not be found out in this, because if I
am, Auntie wont give me the present
she promised. I'll tell you, Carrie, you
take it and put it down the hole in the
tree, under the tin box. No one has
ever found out that place; it will
be safe there until I go for it to-mor-
row.”

This was immediately decided upon,
and the girls went sulkily home. The
skirt was forced down into the tree,
and the tin box placed on top, and they
trudged slowly homeward.

As Lucindy approached the house,









fee

WQvr"Es

&
SN



THE GALLANT YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN



she began to see more and more the
serious dilemma in which she was
placed, and her face hardened visibly
as she thought.

“Tl deny the whole thing if I’m cor-
nered; perhaps Mrs. Randolph will
live through the disappointment of not
wearing her dress for once. I have to
live all the time without such dresses.”

Just then she heard her aunt calling
her, and she knew that some unlooked-
for occasion had. brought them home
before evening.

“Lucindy, we must hurry up the
tea; the folks are going to spend the
evening at Judge Brander’s. Theteam
is waiting to take them there. Mrs.
Randolph saw me in the village, and
told me.”

Lucindy did not answer, but went in
andabout her dutiesas usual. Presently
Mrs. Randolph called for Mrs. Gimson
to come up stairs, as she wished to
speak to her. Lucindy felt that now
the discovery had been made, and
strengthening her purpose, to deny all,
worked on, quietly waiting tor devel-
opments.

In a few moments, her aunt came
down in great excitement, and told her
that someone had been in the house,
while they were away, and had _ stolen
Mrs. Randolph’s elegant India mull
overskirt, and had almost ruined her
other dresses, as the trimmings were
broken and destroyed, and some of
them were gone entirely.

“Tt must have been when I went for
water; | noticed that there were two
tramps going down the road, a man and
woman.

“Oh, Lucindy, you
locked the door!”

‘Why, aunt, I never lock the doors
when I go after water. I suppose
you'll put the blame of it on me!”
Here Lucindy began to cry.. “I think
you are a very strange woman to leave
no one but a girl alone in a house, with
such valuable things ; it’s a wonder the
robbers didn’t kill me; my coming in
frightened them away. I’ve no doubt

should have

* ~.
rd

informed Mrs. Gimson



they thought it was the hired man,”
Lucindy continued to cry.

Mrs. Gimson never suspecced her
niece of such systematic deception.
The well was a short distance from the
house, and that accounted for the fact
that nothing else was missing, as they
had not had time, and also that the
other dresses had been rudely dragged
to get them down.

She believed Lucindy’s story. Mrs.
Randolph could not account for the
plight in which she found her clothing,
and bewailed her loss, as being particu-
larly annoying at this juncture.

Nothing more was said, and, after tak-
ing tea, they started forthe Judges, leav-
ing Mrs. Gimson in a greatly perturbed
state of minid. She knew that this un-
fortunate thing would get abroad and
discourage patrons. Desirable board-
ers would avoid her house in future.

Lucindy, never uttering a comfort-
ing word to her aunt, went up to her
room with an air of injured innocence
that hurt her aunt quite as much as
any thing she had undergone. During
the early part of the evening a violent
thunder storm came up, and Mrs.
Randolph did not return. The next
morning it still rained, and there was
no excuse for Lucindy’s going out,
and the dress could not be secured.
Mrs. Randolph returned at noon, and
that she had
been invited to visit, for the rest of the
summer, at Judge Brander’s, and would
ye Mrs. Gimson’s the next day.

Just as soon as Lucindy could be
spared, she ran down to the tree post-
office, put a note into the tin box, and
returned, This, Carrie Hess got assoon
as recess came, and the scheme worked
out successfully, as the eve. t proved.

Barry, Hattie’s brother, wa. stand-
ing by the shrubbery gate, when © lit-
tle barefoot boy sidled up, and attracted
his attention by his curicus behavior—
he finally snoke: ;

- “T say, them Hitalyans stuffed yer
mother’s clothes inter a tree down here;
I found it this mornin’,”

lea





Ce
SA

VSS SQV yi
eS WS SAK NN

~



NOW, CHILDREN, DON’T ALL SPEAK AT ONCE!

f \ .



_ “What do you mean?” asked Barry,
not fully understanding the boy.
“That ere tree, don’t yer see?” and
the boy pointed to the girls’ post-office,
that stood out ay down the road.
“Ts it there now?” asked Barry.
“T do’no, I seed it there this mornin’.”











the rain had soaked it and the decayed
wood had stained it.

“Ves, I think it must have been those
tramps,’ said Mrs. Randolph. “They
hid it there, expecting to come for the
rest of it the next day. ‘They'll be dis-
appointed. Ill be gone.”



A LITTLE BARE-FOOT BOY SIDLED UP AND ATTRAOTED HIS
ATTENTION.

«Wait till I ¢6 and tell my mother,”
said Barry, and he ran into the
house.

Inamoment Mrs. Randolph and Mrs.
Gimson were at the gate, but the boy
had disappeared. “Go down, Barry,
and see if what*he says is true,” said
his mother. He ran off, and returning
after a little time, brought the over-
skirt, rolled up in a soiled bundle, as

B4

The boy was Carrie Hess’s brother,
and the ruse. had worked; entirely turn-
ing off all suspicion from Lucindy.

Irs. Gimson lost her summer board-
ers and Lucindy returned to school.
This unprincipled girl, however, learned
the hard lesson, in her after life, that
ingratitude to benefactors, and unfaith-
fulness to trust, meet a sure retribution,
even if they appear to succeed,

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































AS NIGHT CAME DARKLY DOWN.

The night came darkly down;
The birdies’ mother said,

“Peep! peep!
You ought to be asleep!
'Tis time my little ones were safe in bed!”’
So, sheltered by her wings in downy nest,
The weary little birdlings took their rest.

The night came darkly down;
The baby’s mother said,

“Bye-low!
You musn’t frolic so!
You should have been asleep an hour ago!”
And, nestling closer to its mother’s breast,
The merry prattler sank to quiet rest.

Then in the cradle soft
"Twas laid with tenderest care.

“Good-night!
Sleep till the morning light!’
Whispered the mother as she breathed a prayer.
Night settled down; the gates of day were barred
And only loving angels were on guard.

JOSEPHINE POLLARD.





























































SSS













Ss ——SSS—































































































































WATERING THE FLOWERS.



“COME, IUEIPL IE BIRD!”
“Come, littie bird, I have waited some
time,
Light on my hand, and I'll give you
a dime.

I have a cage that will keep you warm,
Free from danger, and safe from storm.”

“No, little lady, we cannot do that,
Not for a dime, nor a brand new hat.
We are so happy, and wild, and free,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’

“Fly, pretty bird, fly down, and take

Just a crumb of my Christmas cake ;

Santa Claus brought it to me, you
know,

Over the snow. Over the snow.”

“Ves, we know of your home, so rare,

And stockings hung in the fire-light
there ;

We peeped through the window-blinds
tosee. «

Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”

“We were on the button-ball tree,
Closer than we were thought to be ;
Soon you may have us in te tea,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”



SERENAS ROU BIEE.

Adalina Patti was a doll of most
trying disposition. You couldn't tell,
when she woke up, what distracting
thing she’d do first.
when seated at the breakfast table, in
her high chair, next to Sirena, her lit-
tle mamma, I have known her to jerk
suddenly forward, and plunge her face
right into a plate of buttered cakes and
syrup.

This necessitated the removing of
her from the table and a good deal of
cleansing and re-dressing on the part of
Bidelia, the hired girl.



I’ve known her, |



She had movable eyes; they were
very lovely, but, if you'll believe it,
she'd screw them round, just to be con-
trary, so that she’d look cross-eyed for
hours together. No sweet persuasion
or threat of punishment could induce
her to look like a doll in her right mind.

This was not quite so bad though,
as the outlandish noises she made
when she didn’t want to say “mamma,”
which she could do very distinctly when
she first arrived, at Christmas.

But a-crisis in her petulant obstinacy
came, when she wouldn't sit still to
have her hair combed, and it looked
like a “hurrah’s nest,’ her brother Bob

said. All her naughtiness came right
out then. She rolled one eye entirely

up in her head, and left it there, and
stared so wild with the other, that
Sirena gave her a pretty lively shake,
but she only dropped that eye and

‘rolled up the other.

This made her little mamma pause
and meditate. - She got provoked as
she looked at her, and then she gave
her a double shake; then that bad doll
rolled up both her eyes, and nothing -
could induce her to get them down
again.

h, dear! How many dreadful things ©
she looked like. There was a vicious
parrot in the park that made its eyes
look just like Adalina’s did, just before
it stuck its head through the bars of its
cage to bite people. And there was a
stone lady, that was named “Ceres,”
on one of the paths in the ‘same park,
and she kept her eyes rolled up all the
time, greatly to the terror of Sirena
and Bidelia, who had to pass her in
coming home in the twilight. And
down street there was a tobacconist’s
sign that represented a fairy queen,
with butterfly wings, taking a pinch of
snuff, and the weather had taken all
the paint off Her eyes and she looked
simply hideous; and Sirena grasped
Bidelia very tight, till they got round
the corner. Now here was her lovely
French doll looking like them and cut-
ting up worse. She’d go to mamma

)

=





























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































GEARNING TO KNIT,



with this trouble as she did with all
others.

She put her doll down with her face
against the carpet, and taking hold of
her pink kid arm, dragged her, not
very gently, over the carpet to her
mother.

At that moment in bounced Rob,
who, immediately taking in the situa-
tion of affairs, exclaimed,—“ Oh, don’t
be so cruel to Adalinai Is she just
horrid? You know, Rena, that’s what
you are, scmetimes, yourself. What’s
the matter any way? What makes
you look so glum?” ‘
~ “This doll is acting dreadful; just
look at her eyes!” said Sirena.

“You can't tell any thing by any
one’s eyes, yours look like the 4th of
July, now, and you're a delightful lit-
tle girl, everybody says; you don’t
whack things round, and scream, when
the flowers bloom in the spring.”

He was to be repressed immediately.
Sirena looked at her mother.

“He wants to be funny, Sirena,”
said her mother, soothingly.

“Then he isn’t funny; hes never
funny,” said Sirena, drawing herself up
with dignity.

“Totty Belmont says you're the teas-
enest, hatefulest boy she knows! So
there,” remarked Sirena.

“Qh, ho! I don’t wonder the doll
is scared. Why don’t you treat that
pretty creature with some considera-
tion? Dragging her over the carpet,
‘and spoiling her pretty dress! Now
you'll see, just as soon as she comes to
me, because I’m good-looking and nice,
she'll put her eyes down and smile at
me as lovely as ever.

He took the doll and jumped it up
and down in the air, dancing about and
singing, “ Tra-la.”

As sure as the world! Down came
the eyes, and Adalina was her charm-
ing self again.

*Now you see,” said’Rob, “if you
want people to be good to you and love
you, you must not be rude and ill-na-
tured yourself. This doll is French,





and particular, and she just won't look
at cross little girls; so there!”

“J think,” said her mamma, *‘that
Sirena will not get so angry with her
doll again. “She looks as if she were
ashamed of it now. However disagree-
able we may think people are, it’s
best to watch ourselves, lest in finding
fault with them, we fall into the same
errors.”

5 AD Ve VOI Bale



My little love, with soft, brown eyes,
Looks shyly back at me,

Beneath the drooping apple bough,
She thinks I do not see.

I cannot choose, I laugh with her,
‘I catch her merry glee;

Or stay you near, or go you far,

Oh, little love, how sweet you are!

A hue, like light within a rose,
Is dimpling on her cheek,

It wins a grace, it deepens now

’ With every airy freak ;

A love-light in the rose like this,
Ah, you may vainly seek ;

It shines for me, no shadows mar,

Oh, little love, how fair you are

My heart clings to her pretty words,
They will not be forgot ;

My happy brain will not discern,
If they be wise or not.

To ever be so ‘charmed, so blessed,
Ah, this were happy lot.

My own, shine ever like a star

Upon my life, so true you are.









en mp:
ae \ i / \



r))) ol
oy



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| ML




























































SS eo
fo 2g
SS











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































BEACHED,



ON TRIAL.

Little Hal Keys was prtetty sure to
throw a stone at every pussy cat he
saw, and so all the cats around used to
have a great deal to say about him as
they sat together on the back fences,
or when they had a party in the big
barn. At last the cats determined to
do something about it, and so they
said: “We will have him up for trial



























































































































































































































kind to me from the time I was alittle

kitten, I will be his lawyer, and try to

get his punishment made as light as I
can.

Twelve cats had to be found who
could say that they were not quite sure
that Hal was such a bad boy as he
seemed tobe. They werestay-at-home
cats,who did not know what was going
on outside of the comfortable houses
where they lived. These twelve cats











DOLLY VARDEN ACCUSING JACK WITH CRUELTY,

before Judge Thomas White.” Hewas
the wisest and oldest of all the cats in
town, and wore spectacles that made
him look even wiser than he was.
Eleven of the most learned cats said
they would be lawyers, and get other
cats to be witnesses, to tell what Hal
had done, and try to get him punished.
One of the eleven said: ‘“ For the sake
of Hal’s mother, who has always been

were to be the jury, and it was theit
duty to hear all that tthe lawyers an«:
the witnesses had to say about Hal’
doings, and then to tell whether or not

they thought he ought to be punished.

At last the day of the trial came;
Judge Thomas White sat down in his
big chair and took his pen; the law-
yers took their places ; the twelve jury
cats were brought in, and put ina higt.

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THAT GUIDING STAR,



box, so they could not jump out and
run away. Hal was brought in and
put in the prisoner’s box, as they call
it ; and Christopher Gray, his mother’s
old cat, took his place beside Hal.
Three cats, called “reporters,” came
in with pockets full of paper and pen-
cils, to write down all that is said; to
print in the newspapers, for all cats in
the world to read.

The first witness to tell all the bad
she knew about Hal was his sister
Alice’s little Dolly Varden. How
saucy she looked, with the blue ribbon
tied around her neck, as she sat on the
witness stand telling how Hal chased
her from cellar to garret; and stepped
on her tail; and gave her saucer of
milk to the dog Jack whenever he got
a chance. ““Cruel, cruel: hoy,” ‘said
Dolly Varden, “he teases his sister al-
most as much as he teases me.”

Hal trembied from head to foot when
he heard what Dolly Varden said, for
he knew it all was true, and he was
much afraid that a very hard punish-
ment would be given to him. Then
the old black cat, on whom Hal bad
thrown a dipper of hot water, wes
called to the witness stand. Poor clad
thing! the hot water had taken the
fur off his back. Then came another
cat, limping up to the witness stand,
whose leg had been broken by a stone
which Hal had thrown. There weresc
many witnesses that it would make my
story too long to tell about them ail.
All that Christopher Gray could say in
Hal’s favor was: “He has a_ good
mother.”

“The more shame for him,” said
one of the lawyers.

When the jury had heard all that was
to be said, they went out of the room
together; in five minutes they came
back; all agreed that Hal should be
punished. Then Judge Thomas White,
in his most solemn tone, said : “Albert
Keys, you are found guilty of great
cruelty to good cats everywhere. I
must, therefore, pronounce sentence
upon you. You must go with us to





Cat town for two days and one night.”

There were tears in Hal's eyes, but
the Judge had no pity on him, and he
called in some of the strongest cats to
take him. Oh! what along, hard way
it was ; over fences, under houses, and
through the barns. It was hard work
for Hal to keep up with them, but they
made him. What atime he had after
he got to Cat town. All of the cats
gathered around him, and howled at
him, and scratched his face and hands,
and made him wish he was any place
but there. At last when he was set
free, he never could have found_ his
way home, if pretty little Dolly Var-
den had not forgiven him, and shown
him the way back.

Hal was never known after that to
throw a stone at a cat, or to treat one
badly in any way.

TWO Jel bt GIRS,

They don’t know much, these little girls,
I'Tl tell you why ’tis so,

They played away their time at school,
And let their Jessons go.

One took a slate to cipher,
And all went very well,

Until she came to four times eight,
And that she could not tell.

The other would make pictures
In her copy book at school,
Of boys and girls and donkeys
Which was against the rule.

But nothing good could come of it,
And this is what befel;

She tried to write to papa,
And found she could not spell.

| The teacher said, “Of all sad things,

I would not be a dunce,
But would learn to write and cipher,
And begin the work at once.”



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ARRIVAL OF SANTA CLAUS,

SEE:


































Pie Ele WO iR)S:

A great astronomer was, once in his
early days, working hardat mathematics,
and the difficulties he met with, made
him ready to give up the study in de-
spair. After listlessly looking out of
the window, he turned over the leaves
of his book, when the lining at the





back attracted
his attention.
Looking at it
closely, he found it was part
of a Ictter written to a young man,
apparently, like himself, disheartened
with his difficulties. “Go on, sir, go
on,” was the counsel; ‘“‘the difficultics
you meet will disappearas youadvance.”
This short sentence seemed to give
the student fresh courage. Following
out these sim ple words he applicd him-
self with renewed energy to his studies,
and ultimately became one. of the most
learned men of his day. D.

PALSE SHAME.



Do not be ashamed, my lad, if you
have a patch on your elbow. It is no
mark of disgrace. It speaks well for
your industrious mother. For our part,
we would rather see a dozen patches
on your clothes:than to have you doa
bad or mean action, or to hear a pro-
fane or vulgar word proceed from your
lips. No good boy will shun you or
think less of you because you do not
dress as well as he does, and if any one
laugh at your appearance, never mind
it. Go right on doing your duty.















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































eee

i

i

Hi



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































RESCUED,















BURY
a
\ q \
+h
}

AN

that is the
name of the gentleman you see sitting

by the table, wrote many books and

Charles Dickens, for

stories. Some of his stories are about
little children for grown folks to read,
and others are for the children them-
Mr. Dickens had a pet cat,
that was always in his library. Strange

That was no

selves.

to say, it had no name.
matter, because the cat could not hear,
He was deaf. But he liked very much
to be petted, and plainly showed some-

times that he was not pleased to have







}

























his master.do any thing else, One even.
ing, when Mr. Dickens was

g, sitting at
the table reading, his candle suddenly
went out. He did not know why it
should have done so, but he got up
and lighted it.

began to get dark again, and he looked

In a few moments it

up quickly at the candle, and saw puss
just raising his paw to put it out,
“What did he do?”
a loving little pat and went on with

He gave the cat

hisreading. Whatasly cat was that tc

find a way tomake his master notice him.



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ON THE SLIDE,





WELCOME NEWS.



SULKYeAR CHIE:



BY C. MANNERS SMITH.



“Tt must be nice to be a sailor, and I
wish I was one. Every thing goes
wrong and mother is al-
ways scolding me, and
father is never done
growling; I am getting
tired of it.”

The speaker was a
little, round-cheeked lad,
of about nine years of age.
He was standing, with
a tall, fair-haired girl,
evidently his sister, on
the edge of the river
Wyncombe. He was not
a lively boy. He was
one of those thoughtful,
gloomy little boys who
are always dreaming; al-
ways thinking and
imagining some fancied
injury from either father
or mother.

Archie Phillips was
the little bcey’s name,
and he and his sister
had got a holiday and
were watching a party of
older children from the
Wynne High School,
who had come down to
the river to spend the
afternoon. There was
Algernon Wright witha
large model yacht, and
Willie Schofield, the
Mayor’s son, with a new
silver-mounted fishing
rod. They were all as
happy and full of frolic
as all boys in the spring-time of life
ought to be. Little Archie was, how-
ever, of a morose temperament, and
did not share in any of the amusements.

The village of Wynne is a fishing vil-
lage, and is approached from the sea by



The town is built on the slopes of the
hills reaching down to the water’s edge,
and the river Wynne empties itself
into the sea near by.

It is, indeed, a pleasant place. At
the time of this story all the boys of
Wynne, young and old, were crazy after









“NOBODY CARES.”

maritime pursuits and sports. They
spent the bulk of their holiday time
either in sailing about the bay, or in
fishing, bathing, or holding model yacht
races in the cove.

“Why don’t I have a yacht in the

a beautiful cove on the Cornish coast. { place of a silly ball? Why don’t I have

B5

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































nA" 4 AN
A A = FW A
a WN N RN Re

La N y
AW
pee





boys to play with instead of Lucy and

Gyp? What do girls or dogs know
about a top or a cat hunt? Tm dis-
gusted! Ill go for a sailor! I'll run

away; there!”

The girl took no notice of this dis-
course. It was no new thing for her
_ to hear grumbling from her brother, and
she was accustomed to bear it without
murmur or dissent. Presently she ran
away, along the river bank, with her
doll, to a shady place, where she knew
the sun was not strong, and where some
rushes overhung the path. There she
could put her doll to sleep. It was no
use asking Archie to join her. He was
too old and too much of a man to enter
into any such stupidity.

Presently Archie sat down in the
shade, on the balustrades of the church-

ard and watched the glee of the High-
Schoolboys with a sulky envy.

It was a glorious summer afternoon.
The sky overhead was one vast, in-
verted field of blue, without a single
speck of cloud. The hot sun was beat-
ing down almost perpendicularly, and
the rays penetrated the leaves, shed-
ding a lattice-work pattern on the
ground.

“T know Ben Huntly, the boat-builder,
will tell me how to goto sea. He has
been a sailor himself, and I know he
will tell me all about it. Nobody cares;
well, mother might, perhaps, a bit, but
then, I don’t know.”

Then he paused in his musings and
thought of all the injustice done to him
by his mother. He thought, like all
gloomy, wretched little boys, of all that
was ill. He didn’t for one moment re-
member, how, that very morning, the
self-same, unjust mother, after packing
up his little lunch-basket, had put her
arms round his neck, and a little red-
cheeked apple in his pocket, and told
him to keep away from the river. Oh,
no, he seemed to have quite forgotten
all that.

Then the sun went behind a cloud
and Archie felt the cool wind, which
blew from the cove, on his cheek, so he



jumped down from his musing plaee
and sped away as fast as his legs would
carry him toward the house of the
boat-builder. He ran across the green,
down the grassy slopes and across a
stretch of shingly beach, to the cottage
of his friend.

Ben Huntly, the boat-builder, was a
good-hearted fellow, and was extremely

fond of all the children of the village.

He had that methoa possessed by few
people of searching into the heart of
a child and arguing with him in a
manner suitable for a child’s under-
standing.

Archie had often sought Ben’s coun-
sel when things seemed to go wrong,
and it was seldom that the boat-builder
had failed to convince the boy, even to
his satisfaction, that he was wrong.

It was an off day for the boat-builder.
He was sitting, smoking his pipe, in
the cottage porch, and reading a well-
thumbed copy of “ Gray’s Master Mari-
ner.” He welcomed Archie with a se.
cret delight, for he knew, by his little
friend’s face, that he was brooding over
some fancied injury, and it gave the
boat-builder pleasure to talk his little
friend out of his troubles.

“Well, Archie, what's new in the
wind,” said Ben, as he greeted the
boy with a grasp of the hand. “It
aco almost an age since I saw you, my

oy.

Little Archie sat down*on a large
stone bench in the porch, and told Ben
his story. His mother had been vexed
with him that morning. She had asked
him to call-at the rectory with a mes-
sage for Doctor Hart, and he wanted to
cut grass at the time, and objected.
His mother did not scold him, oh, no,
Ben, she sent Carrie, who willingly
took the message, and his father had
called him a name. Then, again, he
had no toys like other boys. Some had
a pony; he couldn’t have one. His
father always answered his request for
a pony with the reply that he couldn’t
afford one just then and he would see
about it some day. If Ben would only

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SS ———





A RECKLESS RIDE,



tell him how to go to sea he would cer-
tainly run away the next day.

Now, Ben knew the character of lit-
tle Archie better, perhaps, than his own
mother did; so, when he had given the
little boy a draught of cool milk from
the cottage kitchen, Ben lit his pipe
afresh, and took down an old telescope,
a relic of his seafaring days, from the
wall. The young man and the boy then
strolled across a low, level tract of sand,
toa grassy hillock, formed by the cur-
rent of the Wyncombe.
sat down in the fast waning twilight,



to the lad’s questions. He told little
Archie how, early one stormy morning,
he had been awakened from his bed in
the cottage by the sound of guns away
at sea, how he had descended to the
beach with a lot of the villagers, to find
the waves beating mercilessly over a
great, broken ship. He told how they
had all stood, in the leaden morning,
stricken with dread at the sight of the
disaster they were all powerless to pre-
vent; leaning hard against the wind,



and discussed
little Archie’s
purposed flight.

“Ves, Archie,”
said Ben, “a sail-
or’s life is well
enough, if you
don’t mind hard
beds: and harder
words. If you
can eat salty
meat and mouldy
bread it’s a fine
life, Archie
There is no life
I'd like better if
they’d give you
fresher water and
not quite so
many cruel blows,
But, if you’ve
made up your
mind, Archie, and
think you can
go to bed nights
in a rolling, tossing sea, with the wind
howling and the rain pouring, and your.
mother thousands of miles away, look-
ing at your little empty bed, I should
think very seriously about it. Archie
looked thoughtful, as the gloom deep-
ened on his face, and silence fell on the
pair for a time.

Suddenly Ben spied a French frigate
looming against the darkening sky and
showed it to Archie through the tele-
scope. He explained all the parts of
the ship and dwelt long in his answers

h

\



ARCHIE THINKING OF BEN’S STORY.

Here they | their breath and vision often failing
as the sleet and spray rushed at them

from the great

mountain of

foaming sea

which kept break-
ing on the rocks
in the cove. He
told farther, how,
before all their
eyes, the vessel
had given one
great heave back-
wards and sank
beneath the
waves forever;
how they could
faintly hear the
heart-rending
screams of wo-
men and children
above the storm
as the great waste
of waters covered

the struggling
vessel. He told

Archie that, on
the following evening, while he was
mending a boat down the bay, he came
across something lying amongst a
mass of sea-weed, and on turning it
over had found it to be the dead body
of a sailor—a fair, curly-headed youth,
. “He was clad,” said Ben, “ina pair
of linen trowsers and a sea shirt, and
the weeds and sand were all tangled in
his hair. I raised him up from the
beach and a small bundle fell out of his
bosom. I laid him in my boat and
went for Doctor Hart, Tt was the talk





























































































































































































of the village for days. Dr. Hart found
the bundle to contain a packet of let-
ters written in a feeble hand and signed
by the dead sailor's mother. ‘They
were loving letters of expected joy at
her boy’s return.”

Ben would have gone on with the
story, but he was attracted by the ap-
pearance of Archie. The little lad was
sitting, with his pale face turned up to
Ben, and with two great tears, as large
as horse beans, in the corners of his
eyes. On meeting Ben’s gaze he broke
down thoroughly and burst into a flood
of tears, throwing his arms round the
honest boat-builder’s neck, sobbing on
his breast.

“Oh, Ben, I don’t want ta leave
mother; I am a wicked boy. If she
were to die, Ben, what should I do?
Do you think she is alive now, Ben?
I don’t want to go away, Ben.”

The boat-builder soothed the little
lad and smiled at the success of his pur-
pose to divert the boy’s mind.

It was now nearly night, and time
for Archie to go home, so Ben took
him on his shoulders and carried him to
Mr. Archer’s house, where the family
were all waiting supper for the little
boy.

Avenetaa to his mother as soon as
he got in and kissed her over and over
again. He told her his little story,
making the good woman's heart over-
flow with love for her little son.

Ben stayed to supper with the family
that night, and all was bright and happy
as the merry party sat round the board
laughing and joking to their heart’s
content.

Archie is a young man now, and has
outgrown his gloomy, brooding dispo-
sition. He is a clerk in the office of a
rich corn merchant in Oxbridge, the
nearest market to Wynne, and shows
every tendency to become a successful
and respected business man.

Occasionally, when things do not hap-
pen to his satisfaction, and he feels the
old spirit of discontent rising, he checks



it by reflecting on his early unhappi-
ness. If his mother or father are harsh
or angry with him, or if Mr. Gayton,
his employer, speaks quickly or loudly
to him, he stifles any tendency to sulk
and become angry by thinking of Ben
Huntly ane the story of the wreck.

A WISH FOR WINGS.



O dear little birdie, how nice it must
be
To be able to fly
Far away to the sky,
Orto sit on the toss-away top of a
tree.

I wish you would lend me yeur wings
for a day. :
I have two little feet
That can run on the street,
One step at a time, but I can’t fly
away.

I would fly to the woods if I only had
WINGS ;
Over house-top and tree,
Like a bird or a bee,

And sit by the side of the thrush while

she sings.

I would count the blue eggs in her
snug little nest ;
I would stay all day long,
To hear her sweet song,
And bring home a feather of gold from
ber breast.

Mrs. S. J. BRIGHAM.











es ‘i
AC a
"y TAN

HCH
ht \iM
a, ie

UW



Oi
Lara ATIF

No uit

sae
ee

a | TUS.

Fig on AMI TUNA LE ne

f\ ARAN RANTES WT ON VSR Ss me igs

THE GLEANERS.





CONSEQUENCES: A
PARABLE,

The baby held it in his hand,
An acorn green and small,

He toyed with it, he tossed it high,
And then he let it fall!

He sought for it, and sorely wept,
Or did his mother know
(Though sweet she kissed and clasped
her boy)
What loss had grieved him so

_ Then he was borne to other lands,
And there he grew to man,
And wrought his best, and did his
most,
And lived as heroes can.

But in old age it came to pass
He trod his native shore,

Yet did not know the pleasant fields
Where he had played before

Beneath a spreading oak he sat,
A wearied man and old,

And said,—‘“‘I feel a strange content
My inmost heart enfold.

“As if some sweet old secret wish
Was secretly fulfilled,

As if I traced the plan of life
Which God Himself has willed!

“Oh, bonnie tree which shelters me,
Where summer sunbeams glow,
I’ve surely seen thee in my dreams !—

Why do I love thee so’”’

IsaABELLA Fyviz Mayo.





COMFORTABLE MRS.
CROOK.



BY RUTH LAMB.



If Mrs. Jemima Crook happened to
be in a very good temper, when taking
acup of tea with some old acquaint-
ance, she would sometimes allude to
her private affairs in these words: “I
don’t deny it; Crook has left me com-

fortable.” This was not much to tell,
for Mrs. Crook was not given to confi-
dences, and a frequent remark of hers
was: “I know my own business, and
that is enough for me. I don’t see that
I have any callto fill other people’s
minds and mouths with what does not
concern them.”

Seeing, however, that Mrs.- Crook’s
own mind and heart were entirely filled
by Mrs. Crook herself, it was, perhaps,
as well that she should not occupy too
much of the attention and affection of
her neighbors.

It is a poor, narrow heart, and a small
mind, that find self enough to fill them;
but these sorts are not unknown, and
Mrs. Crook was a sample of such.

When she spoke of having been left
“comfortable” by her deceased _part-
ner, there was a look of triumph and
satisfaction on her face, and a “No-
thanks-to-any-of-you”” kind of tone in
her voice, that must have jarred on the
ear of a listener.

No one ever saw a tear in Mrs. Crook’s
eye, or heard an expression of regret
for the loss of “Crook’’ himself. He
had been dead and out of sight and mind
almost these ten years past. He was
merely remembered as having done his
duty in leaving his widow “comfort-
able.” People were left to speculate as
they chose about the amount repre-
sented. by the expression. It would
not have been good for the man or
woman who had ventured to ask a di-
rect question on the subject, but every-
body agreed that Mrs. Crook must have
something handsome. Surely ‘“com-
fortable” means free from care, both
as regards to-day and to-morrow: not
only enough, but a little more, or else
anxiety might step in and spoil com-
fort. If Mrs. Crook had more than
enough, she took care not to give of
her abundance. Neither man, woman
nor child was ever the better for the
surplus, if such there were. One of
her favorite expressions was, “I don’t
care for much neighboring; I prefer
keeping myself to myself.”

























































































































































































































































































































































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SNOWFLAKES,



“And you keep every thing else to
yourself,” muttered one who had vainly
tried to enlist her sympathy for another
who was in sickness and trouble.

Mrs. Crook hada pretty garden, well-
stocked with flowers, according to the
season. She was fond of working in
it, and might be seen there daily, with
her sun-bonnet on, snipping, tying and
tending her plants.

Children do so love flowers, and,
thank God, those who live in country
places have grand gardens to roam in,
free to all, and planted by His own
loving hand. But in town it is differ-
ent, and Mrs. Crook lived just out-
side one; far enough away from its
smoke to allow of successful garden-
ing, not too far to prevent little feet
from wandering thither from narrow
courts and alleys, to breathe a purer
air, and gaze, with longing eyes, at the
fair blossoms. It always irritated Mrs.
Crook to see these dirty, unkempt little
creatures clustering around her gate,
or peeping through her hedge.

“What do you want here?” she
would ask, sharply. “Get away with
vou, or I will send for a policeman.

ou are peeping about to see if you
zan pick up something; I know you
are. Be off, without any more telling!”

The light of pleasure called into the
young eyes by the sight of the flowers
would fade away, and the hopeful look
leave the dirty faces, as Mrs. Crook’s
harsh words fell on the children’s ears.
But as they turned away with unwill-
ing, lingering steps, heads would be
stretched, and a wistful, longing gaze
cast upon the coveted flowers, until
they were quite lost to sight.

There was a tradition amongst the
youngsters that a very small child had
once called, through the bars of the

ate: “P’ease, Missis, do give me a
‘ower.’ Also that something in the
baby voice had so far moved Mrs. Je-
mima Crook, that she had stooped to
select one or two of the least faded
yoses among all those just snipped
from the bushes, and giventhem to the





daring little blue eyes outside, with
this injunction, however:

“Mind you never come here asking
for flowers any more.”

This report was long current among
the inhabitants of a city court, but it
needs confirmation. _

Mrs. Crook objected to borrowers
also, and perhaps she was not so much
to be blamed for that. Most of us
who possess bookshelves, and once de-
lighted in seeing them well filled, look
sorrowfully at gaps made by borrow-
ers who have failed to return our treas-
ures. But domestic emergencies oc-
cur even in the best regulated families,
and neighborly help may be impera-
tively required. It may be a matter of
Christian duty and privilege too, to
lend both our goods and our personal
aid. Mrs. Crook did not think so.
Lending formed no part of her creed.
If other people believed in it, and liked
their household goods to travel up and
down the neighborhood, that was their
look-out, not hers; S

“T never borrow, so why should I
lend?” asked Mrs. Crook. ‘“ Besides,
I am particular about my things. My
pans are kept as bright and clean as
new ones, and if my servant put them
on the shelves, as some people’s ser-
vants replace theirs after using, she
would not be here long. No, thank
you. When I begin to borrow, I will
begin to lend, but not until then.”

Mrs. Crook’s sentiments were so well
known that, even in a case of sickness,
when a few spoonfuls of mustard were
needed for immediate use in poultices,
the messenger on the way to borrow it,
passed her door rather than risk a re-
fusal, whereby more time might be lost
than by going farther in the first in-

‘stance.

Many were the invitations Mrs. Crook
received to take part in the work of dif-
ferent societies. One lady asked her
to join the Dorcas meeting.

“You can sew so beautifully,’’ she
said, “ You would be a great -acquisi-
tion -to our little gathering.

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The compliment touched a tender
point. Mrs. Crook was proud of her
needlework, but to dedicate such skill
in sewing to making under-clothing for
the poorest of the poor: The idea was
monstrous !

Mrs. Crook answered civilly, that she
could not undertake to go backwards
and forwards to a room half a mile off.
It would be a waste of time. Besides,
though it was probably not the case in
that particular meeting, she had heard
that there was often a great deal of
gossip going on at such places. The
visitor was determined not to be of
fended, and she replied, gently, that
there was no chance of gossip, for, af-
ter a certain time had been given to
the actual business of the meeting,
such as planning, cutting out, and ap-
portioning work, one of the ladies read,
whilst the rest sewed. “But,” she
added, “if you are willing to help usa
little, and object to joining the meet-
ing at the room, perhaps you would
let me bring you something to be made
at home. There is always work for
every willing hand.”

‘Then Mrs. Crook drew herself up and
said she did not feel inclined to take in
sewing. She had her own to do, and
did it without requiring assistance, and
she thought it was better to teach the
lower classes to depend upon them-
selves than to go about pampering poor
people and encouraging idleness, as
many persons were so fond of doing now-
a-days. No doubt they thought they
were doing good, but, for her part, she be-
lieved that in many cases they did harm.

The visitor could have told tales ot
worn-out toilers, laboring almost night
and day to win bread for their children,
but unable to find either material for a
garment or time to make it. She could
have pleaded for the widow and the or-
phan, if there had seemed any feelings
to touch, any heart to stir. But Mrs.
Crook’s hard words and looks repelled
her, and she went her way, after a mere
“Good-morning. I am sorry yeu can-
not see your way to help us.”



No chance of widows weeping for the
loss of Mrs. Crook, or telling of her
almsdeeds and good works, or showing
the coats and garments made for them
by her active fingers!

It was the same when some adven-
turous collector called upon Mrs. Crook
to solicit a subscription. She had al-
ways something to say against the ob-
ject for which money was asked. If it
were for the sufferers by an accident in
a coal mine or for the unemployed at a
time of trade depression:

“Why don’t they insure their lives
like their betters? Why don’t they
save something, when they are getting
good wages? I am not going to en-
courage the thriftless, or help those
who might help themselves, if they
would think beforehand.”

At length every one gave up trying.
to enlist her services, or to obtain con-
tributions from her, for the support of
any good cause. And Mrs. Crook be-
stowed all her thoughts, her affections,
her time and her means, on the only
person she thought worthy of them all
—namely, Mrs. Crook herself.

AN EVENING SONG.



BY COUSIN ANNIE.



Twilight dews are gath’ring,
The bright day’s done;

Upon thy downy couch
Rest, little one.

Each tiny bird’s hieing
Home to its nest ;

-Each flower-head’s nodding
Upon its breast.

Be still now, little heart,
Until the morrow

Brings again its share
Of joy and sorrow.

May angels round thy couch
Be ever nigh,

And over thy slumbers chan
Their lullaby.













































































































































































































































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i

“Rut THEN.”

——————

It was a queer name for a little girl,
and it was not her real name—that was
Lizzie—but everybody called her “But
Then.” : :

“My real name is prettier, but then,
I like the other pretty well,” she said,
nodding her short, brown curls merrily.
And that sentence shows just how she
came by her name. :

If Willie complained that it was a

eS

miserable, rainy day, and they couldn't
play out of doors, Lizzie assented
brightly,—

“Ves; but then, it is a real nice day
to fix our scrap-books.”

When Kate fretted because they had
so far to walk to school, her little sis-
ter reminded her,—

“< But then, tt's all the way through the
woods, you gow, and that’s ever se

Da ?





























































































at THE PICNIC.



much nicer than walking on pavements
in a town.”

When even patient Aunt Barbara
pined a little because the rooms in the
new house were so few and small com-
pared with their old home, a rosy face
was quietly lifted to hers with the sug-
gestion,—

“But then, little rooms are the best
to cuddle all up together in, don’t you
think, Auntie?”

“Better call her ‘J.ittle But Then,’
and have done with it,” declared Bob,
half-vexed, half-laughing. ‘No matter
how .bad any thing is, she is always
ready with her ‘but then, and some
kind of consolation on the end of it.”

And so, though no one really in-
tended it, the new name began. There
were a_good many things that the
children missed in their new home.
Money could have bought them even
there; but if the money had not gone
first, their father would scarcely have
thought it necessary to leave his old
home. They had done what was best
under the circumstances; still the boys
felt rather inclined to grumble about it
one winter morning when they were
starting off to the village on an errand.

“Just look at all the snow going to
waste, without our having a chance to
enjoy it,” said Will; ‘and the ice too—
all because we couldn’t bring our sleds
with us when we moved.”

“But then, you might make one your-
self, you know. It wouldn’t be quite so
pretty, but it would be just as good,”
suggested Litt’e But Then.

“exactly what I mean to do as soon
as I get money enough to buy two or
three boards; but I haven’t even that
yet, and the winter is nearly half gone.”

“Tf we only had a sled to-day, Sis
could ride, and we could go on the
river,” said Bob. ‘It’s just as near
that way, and we could go faster.”

“Tt isa pity,” admitted the little girl.
“But then, lve thought of something
—that old chair in the shed! If we
turned it down, its back would be al-
most like runners, and se—”

B6



“Hurrah! that’s the very thing!”
interrupted the boys; and the old chair
was dragged out in a twinkling, and
carried down to the river. Then away
went the merry party, laughing and
shouting, on the smooth road between
the snowy hills, while Gyp followed,
frisking and barking, and seeming to
enjoy the fun as much as any of them.

“Now we'll draw our sled up here,
close under the bank, where nobody
will see it, and leave it while we go up
to the store,” said Bob, when they had
reached the village.

Their errand was soun done, and the
children ready to return; but as they
set forth Will pointed to a dark spot a
little way out on the ice.

“What is that? It looks like a great
bundle of clothes.”

It was a bundle that moved and
moaned as they drew near, and proved
to be a girl, a little bigger than Lizzie.
She looked up when they questioned
her, though her face was pale with
pain.

“JT slipped and fell on the ice,” she
explained, ‘(and I’m afraid ve broken
my leg, for it is all twisted under me,
and I can’t move it or get up. _Ilivein
the village. That’s my father’s carpen-
ter shop where you see the sign. I
could see it all the time, and yet I was
afraid I'd freeze here before any one
saw me. Oh dear! it doesn’t seem as
if I could lie here while you go for my
father.”

“Why, ree needn t,” began Bob;
but the girl shook her head.

“T can’t walk a step, and you two are
not strong enough to carry me all the
way. You'd let me fall, or you'd have
to keep stopping to rest; and putting
me down and taking me up again would
almost kill me.”

“Oh, but we'll only lift you into the
chair, just as carefully as we can, then
we can carry you easy enough,” said
Will.

And in that way the poor girl was
borne safely home; and the children
lingered long enough to bring the sur-



THE OAT,

Ss

\\\








geon and hear his verdict, that “ Young
bones don’t mind much being broken,
and she will soon be about again, as
well as ever.”

“But I don’t see how you happened
to have a chair so handy,” said her
father to thc boys. And when they ex-



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_“3UL THEN, IT’S ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS, YOU KNOW.”

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plained that they were using it fora
sled, he said, with a significant nod of
his head,—“Your sled, was it? Well,
I shall be surprised if my shop does
not turn you out a better slea than
that, just by way of thanks for your
kindness.”















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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WY
/

I)



GYLEL



WILL YOU RIDE?



“But then, wasn't it good that it was
only the old chair that we had to-day ?”
asked Little But Then, as she told
the story to Aunt Barbara at home.
“Oh Auntie, * had the nicest kind of a
time!”

“T believe you had,” answered Aunt
Parbara, smiling; ‘‘for a brave, sunny
spirit, that never frets over what it has
not, but always makes the best of what
it has where it is, is sure to havea good
time. It does not need to wait for it to
come—it has a factory for making it.”

















TTT
l













































—The following is an Arabic_proverb
taken from the mouth of an Oriental:
‘‘Men are four. 1. He who knows not,

and knows not he knows not. He is
a fool; shun him. 2. He who knows
not, and knows he knows not. He is

simple; teach him. 3. He who knows,
and knows not he knows. Heis asleep;
wake him. 4. He who knows, and
knows he knows. He is wise; follow
him.”







WHAT THE SNAIL SAID.

“You little chicks, tho’ you peck at
my dress,
I will not get angry at that;
I know you would gobble me up if you
could,

As quick as a worm or a gnat.”

Saye little snail, you had better go on,
They may try the same trick upon
you.”
“No, no,” said the snail, with his hard
coat of mail,

“T don’t care a rush if they do.

“Little girl, there’s no harm to cause
me alarm,
I'll sit here and watch them a spell,
But as soon as they pounce, I'll cheat
them at once,

By getting right into my shell.”

“But listen, wise snail, the old hen in
the coop
Has her ‘cye very closely on you;
Andif she gets out, it may put you
about,
Now mind, what I tell you is true.”

“But dear little girl, she is fast in her
house ;
No, no, she can’t touch me, no, no.
But if that respectable fowl should get

out,
Oho!”’ said the snail, “Oho!”





LAVINIA.



ONLY NOW AND THEN.

Think it no excuse, boys,
Merging into men,
That you do a wrong act
“Only now and then.”

Better to be careful
As you go along,
if you would be manly,

Capable and strong.

Many a wretched set, boys,
That one daily mects

Drinking from the beer-kegs,
Living in the streets,

Or at best, in quarters
Worse than any pen,

Once was dressed in broadcloth

Drinking now and then.

When you have a habit
That is wrong, you know,

Knock it off at once, lads,

_ With a sudden blow.

Think it no excuse, boys,
Merging into men,

That you do a wrong act

“Only now and then.”



A SERPENT AMONG THE
BOOKS.

One day, a gentleman in India went
into his library and took down a book
from the shelves. As he did so, he
felt a slight pain in his finger, like the
prick of a pin. He thought that a pin
had been stuck, by some careless _per-
son, in the cover of the book. But soon
his finger began to swell, then his arm,
and then his whole body, and in a few
days he died. It was not a pin among
the books, but a small and deadly ser-
pent. :

There are many serpents among the
books now-a-days ; they nestle in the
foliage of some of our most fascinating
literature ; they coil around the flowers
whose perfume intoxicates the senses.
People read and are charmed by the
plot of the story, and the skill with
which the characters are sculptured or
grouped, by the gorgeousness of the
wood-painting, and hardly feel the pin-
prick of the evil that is insinuated.
But it stings and poisons.

Let us watch against the serpents
and read only that which is healthy,
instructive and profitable.

Lek Bb MOd Ea

BY JULIA HUNT MOREHOUSE,

It was Judge Bellow’s big, fine house,
that stood on the corner by the park.
Every body knew that, but every body
did zo¢ know that the one little girl
who lived in that house was restless
and unhappy and often cross.

“Why do you roam about so, Nell?
Why don’t you settle down to some-



|

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i

IN











































A GAME OF TENNIS.



thing?” her mother asked, one bright,
spring day. :

“Oh, I am sick of every thing. I
have read all my books, and I hate my
piano. The croquet isn’t up, and there

is nobody to play with me, if it was.”

“Why don’t you find some kind of -

work to do?”

“That is just the trouble. There’s
nothing that needs to be done; ser-
vants for every thing ; and what does
crocheting amount to, and plastering
some little daubs of paint on some
plush! Why, I believe that little Dutch
girl that sells things out of her big
basket, on our corner, every morning,
is a good deal happier than I am. I
mean to ask her some time what makes
her so.”

* * *
* % *

A few weeks more and the hot sum-
mer came on, and Nell missed the little
Dutch girl on the corner. It really
worried her that the bright, womanly
face did not come any more, but she
supposed she had moved to ‘a better
stand or perhaps left the-city.

One morning Nel) took a walk with
her teacher; a loug walk, for they
found themselves outside the city,
where there were open fields and every
house had green grass and trees close
around it.

“ What a little, Z¢¢7e house! That
one with the woodbine all over it—and
I do believe—yes, it really zs my little

Dutch girl scrubbing the steps,” and
away she bounded and was soon beside
the little worker.

“Oh! I’m so glad to find you again !
Why don’t you come to our corner any
more?”

“Baby’s been sick a long, good
time,” explained Lea, wiping her hands
on her apron. ‘Wont you ladies please
to walk in, if you please, ma'am?”

It was a queer little figure that
showed them into the cool, clean room ;
short and broad and dumpy. Her
shoes were coarse, her dress of faded



black, with a white kerchief at the
neck, so like an old woman. Her face
too, was short and broad ; her nose was
very short and her eyes very narrow.
So you see she was not pretty, but her .
face was all love and sunshine. She
sat down ona low stool and took up

the baby in such a dear, motherly way,

smoothing its hair and dress and kiss-
ing it softly.

“Vou don’t mean that you live here
all alone?” asked Nell.

“Oh, no; there is Hans and baby
and me, and there is old Mrs. Price in
the other part.”

“But your father and mother?”

“ Mother died a year ago. Oh, she
was one such good mother, but baby
came in her place. Baby looks like
mother, and now I have to be her little
mother, you see,” and she set the little
dumpling out upon her knee, with such
pride and tenderness.

“And your father ?”

The little Dutch girl dropped her
head and answered very low, “ Father
has been gone a long time. They say
he is shut up somewhere. He don't
come home any more.”

“Oh, how very dreadful! I don’t
see where you get money to buy things
with.”

“Hans is fifteen and works in a
shop. He gets some money, and_he
will get a good deal, by-and-by. The
rest / get from the flowers. You see
I raise them myself, mostly.”

“ But do you get enough for clothes
and playthings, and do you always
have enough to eat?” persisted Nell.

“7 don’t have any clothes. I make
over mother’s. We have Kitty for
playthings. Enough to eat? Baby
always has enough, don’t she, lovie ?”’
cuddling her up close.

A new world was opening up to Nell.

“Excuse me, but don’t you have any
pleasure trips, or birthday parties, ot
Christmas ?”

“No; I don’t just know what those
things are, but we have nice beef and
apples for dinner on Christmas.”









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































“And are you always happy as you
seem—really happy?”

The ‘little mother” opened her
eyes wide in wonder. ‘Why, of course.
What else should we be? Mother al-
ways told us it was wicked to be cross,
and that we must not fret much, even
over her going away to heaven.”

Nell did some hard thinking on her
way home, and being a sensible little
girl, she made up her mind that one

way to be happy is to be dusy, and not |

-only busy, but useful, and she set about
the new way in earnest.

She learned that it is possible to be
unselfish and happy axy where; she in
her wealthy home, and the “little
mother” in her one room, with her
baby and her flowers.

Lie eS Gage lb:

MRS, JEANE A. WARD.



She was her mother’s darling, and
a very good little girl in most things.
With her yellow hair, big blue eyes
and rosy cheeks; in the pretty blue
dress and red sash; nice little slip-
pers on her plump feet, she made the
whole house lively and bright, and
sometimes she made plenty of work
for every one in it, too, for she was a
terrible Nelly to scatter playthings.
The dolly would be on the chair, her

torn picture-books over the floor, her’

ball kicking about everywhere, and
her blocks any where.

What’could mother do with such a
girl? When she would talk to her,
Nelly would promise not to do so
any more, and would pick up the dolly
and the pictures, and the ball and the
blocks, and her other toys, and take
them to her own corner play-house and
fix them all in order, and be real good
for a little while.

But the ‘real good’ would last only





a little while and then out all would
come again, and Little Scatter would
have them around just as before.

That is the way she came to be given
that name, and she was old enough to
know she well deserved it, and to be
ashamed of it; yet she could no:
break off the bad habit.

She had a kind, good mother, whc
saw that she would have to, in some
way, cure her little daughter of such
slovenly habits or else she would grow
up to be a very careless, untidy woman,
and the mother was wise enough to
know that it is more easy to correct
such matters when children are young
than when they grow older.

She did not want to punish Nelly
severely, and so, whenever Little Scat-
ter had gotten all her toys over the
floor, tables, sofa and chairs, mamma
would call her and say :

“Now, Nelly, every thing you have
is lying about, it is time for my Little
Scatter to get gathered in close ;” and
then Miss Nelly would have to gc
close to the wall and be shut in by <
chair and stand there until mamma’s
watch said half an hour had passed.
This was very hard ona little girl that
loved to run around so much as Nelly
did, and though she knew she deserved
all the punishment, yet she used to beg
very hard and promise, but she always
had to stay the full time; then she
would come out, get her mamma’s kiss
and forgiveness, pick up her toys and
be happy.

It did not take many such punish-
ments before Nelly began to think
before she acted so carelessly, and in
a short time she was almost as neat
about such matters as she was sweet
and good in every thing else. If ever
there were afew of her things lying
about, mamma _ had only to call her
‘Little Scatter,’ to make her remem-
ber, and so hard did she try to correct
herself of this bad habit that in a few
months she and those about her almost
forgot that she had ever been known
by such an untidy name.







“GRANDMOTHER'S CLOCK,



GRANDMOTHER’S CLOCK.

It stands in the corner of Grandma's room;
From the ceiling it reaches the floor;

“Tick-tock,” it keeps saying the whole day long,
““Tick-tock,” and nothing more.

Grandma says the clock is old, like herself;
But dear Grandma is wrinkled and gray,

While the face of the clock is smooth as my hana,
And painted with flowers so gay! :

Backwards and forwards, this way and that,
You can see the big pendulum rock:

“Tick-tock,” it keeps saying the whole day long,
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!”

The clock never sleeps, and its hands never rest
As they slowly go moving around;

And it strikes the hours with a ding, ding, ding,
Ding

g, ding, and a whirring sound.

I wonder if this is the same old clock
That the mousie ran up in the night,

And played hide-and-seek till the clock struck one,
And then ran down in a fright.

Backwards and forwards, this way and that,
You can see the big pendulum rock;
“Tick-tock,” it keeps saying the whole day long,
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!”
Nettie M. GARABRANT.





























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Full Text





brary

Uni

5
3
2
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IN STORYLAND



ops
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« AMERIO

Q am

Ge) ail
G } P
es

AN GHILDREN’S

























| 150 ILLUSTRATIONS

==

STORIES, POETRY, AND PICTURES
ror BOYS ann GIRLS, _8Y THE BEST AUTHORS ~

COPYRIGHT 1895, BY W. B. CONKEY CO. =











LONDON ¢ NEW YORK ¢ GHIGAGO

W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
PUBLISHERS. : :































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































PLAYING BARBER,
CANE SE R®:



ADD) BeGeae ils

Hurrah! Hurrah! only two days
more to vacation, and then!—
If the crowning whistle, and ener-



getic dang with which the strapped-

books came down, were any indication
of what was coming after the “then!”
it must be something unusual. Ani so
it was—for Ned, Tom and Con, who
were the greatest of chums, as well as
the noistest, merriest boys in Curry-
ville Academy—were to go into camp
for the next two weeks, by way of
spending part of their vacation. They
could hardly wait for school:to close,
and over the pages of Greenleaf danced,
those last two days, unknown quanti-
ties of fishing tackle, tents, and the
regular regalia of a camping out-fit.
They talked of it by day and dreamed
of it by night.

At last the great day dawned —
dawned upon three of the most gro-
tesque-looking specimens of boyhood,
arrayed in the oldest and worst fit-
ting clothes they could find; for, as
they said, in the most expressive boy
language—“We are in for a rattlin’
good time, and don’t want to be togged
out. They and their effects were taken
by wagon over to the Lake Shore, about
four miles distant, to establish their
camp under the shadow of old Rumble
Sides, a lofty crag or boulder.

Boys, I wish you could have seen
them that night, in their little wood-
land home; really, it was quite at-
tractive. They worked like beavers all
day—cutting away the brush, driving
stakes to tie down the little white
tent, digging a trench all around in
case of rain, and building a fire-place
of stone, with a tall, forked stick on
which to hang the kettle. A long board,
under the shady trees, served as table.

Too tired to make a fire that night,
they ate a cold lunch, and threw them-
selves on their bed—which was a blan-





| ket thrown over pine boughs—untied

the tent flaps to let in air, and slept a
happy, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, early, they were
up, and, after taking a cold plunge in
the lake, built a brisk fire, boiled cof-
fee, and roasted potatoes for breakfast.
They then bailed out the punt, which
was their only sailing craft, and put off
for.an all-day’s fishing excursion. Sev-
eral days, with fine weather, passed,
and the boys declared they were hav-
ing a royal time, and that camping was
the only life to lead

They had much difficulty to settle
upon a name, but finally decided that
“Camp Trio” was most appropriate.

One night they were suddenly awak-
ened by a deep, roaring sound; the
wind blew fiercely, it rained hard, but
the noise was not of thunder, it seemed
almost human; nearer and nearer it
came! The three lads sat up in the
semi-darkness, and peered at each other
with scared faces.

“Tt’s Old Rumble broke loose and
coming down on us,” said Con, in a
ghostly whisper. “Hush!” and the
trio clutched in a cold shiver, as a
crackling of twigs was heard outside,
a heavy tread, a long, low moan, a hor-
rible silence.

“Tt was the Leviathan, I guess,” said
Tom, with a ghastly attempt at smil-
ing, as the early morning light stole
through the flaps. At length they
moved their stiffened limbs and peeped
out. Oh, how it did pour! No fire, no
fishing, no any thing to-day. Pretty
soon a shout from Ned, who had been
cautiously prowling around to find the
cause of their late fright.

“Oh, boys, it’s too rich! Why, it was
Potter's old cow, down here last night,
bawling for her calf that was after our
towels, as usual—look here!” and he
held up three or four dingy, chewed-
looking articles, which had hung ona
tree to dry, and might have been tow-
els once. The boys broke into a hearty
laugh at their own expense. The day
was very long and dull, and the next,












































































































































































































































































A MIDNIGHT ATTACK,


stories and jokes fell flat, cold victuals
didn’t relish, they began to feel quite
blue. The third day Farmer Potter
appeared upon the scene.

“What on airth ye doin’ here; tres-
passin’ on other folks’grounds? Mebby
ye don’t know it’s agin the law!”

The boys. felt a trifle uneasy, but an-
swered him politely.

“Hevin’ fun, b& ye! Wall, I'll vow,
settin’ in the wet, eatin’ cold rations,
haint wy idee of fun.” And away he
stalked.

The boys looked at each other.

“ pie anda hunk of fresh bread zwouldn’t
go bad—eh?”

The two answered with a hungry
look.

“But let’s tough it out over Sunday,
or they'll all laugh at us.”” And so they
did; but it was the longest, dreariest
Sabbath they ever spent.

“Td rather learn ten chapters in.
Chronicles,” Tom affirmed, “than put
in another such a Sunday.”

They had, in the main, a jolly time,
but the ending was not as brilliant as
they had looked for. They never re-
gretted going, but the next year took
a larger party, and went for a shorter
time.

THE SENTIMENTAL FOX,

“Qh, beautiful wild duck, it pains me
to see, :
You flying aloft in that gone sort of
way,
Sweet one, fare you well. I could shed
many tears,
But my deepest emotions I never

betray,

“T’ve always admired you, wonderful
bird,
By the light of the sun and the rays
of the moon; :





I tell you ‘tis more than a fox caf en-
dure,

, To know that you take your depart-
ure so soon,

“T snatched a few feathers, in memory
of you;
I desired a whole wing, but you baf-
fled my plan;
Oh, what a memento to hang in my den!
And in very hot we*ther to use as a
fan,

“Descend, O, thou beautiful creature,
to earth!
There's nothing I would not perform
for your sake ;
If once in awhile I could see you down
here,
I’d never get tired of the shores of
this lake!”

“Cheer up, Mr. Fox,” said the duck,
flying higher,
«The parting of such friends is some-
times a boon ;
When they get far away, and have
- time to reflect,
They see that it came not a moment
too soon.

“You wanted a wild wing to fan your-
self with ;
You see if I granted that favor to
you,
"Twould have left me but one, which is
hardly enough,
As I find it convenient, just now, to
have two.”

Then she faded away, a dark speck on
the sky.
“That's a very shrewd bird,’’ said
the fox in dismay !
T shall have to look round for my din-
ner, again,
And I fancy it will not be wild duck
to-day.”
















































































































































































































































































































'S PETS,

PAPA
Tue SweetT-Grass House.

MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.

Two little mice went out one day
Among the scented clover ;
They wandered up and down the lane,
They. roamed the meadow over.
‘QB, deary me!”. said Mrs. Mouse,

“| wish I had a little house!”

Said Mr. Mouse,—* I know a place
Where nice sweet grass is growing ;
Where corn-flowers blue, and buttercups
And poppies red, are blowing.”
“Oh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mouse,

“We'll build- us there a house.”

So, of some sweet and tender grass
They built their house together;
And had a happy time, through all
The pleasant summer weather.
“Oh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mouse,

“Who ever had so nice a house?”
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































|



}

ad













i

i

i











































































OUR XMAS CLUB.














































































































































CLARA AND
THE *
- ANIMAL BOOK.

Clara was a little western girl. She
had lived in San Francisco until she
was nine years old, when her dear
mamma and papa brought her east to
live with Aunt Mary and Cousin Char-
lie, and they were growing very fond of
her indeed, for she was so sweet and
kind and always obedient.

One day she was sitting out under the
blossoming trees on the old Worden
seat, her book lying, unread, in her lap,
and her eyes having a dreamy, far-
away look in them, when, from the
balcony overhead, sounded a piping
little voice:

_big horns, and























“Clara, Tousin Clara! has oo dot
my Animal book?” and a small, rosy-
checked boy came running to her, rub-
bing his sleepy, dark eyes.

“Why, Charlie, have you finished
your nap so soon? yes here is your
Animal book, and what shall I read
about ?”’

“Oh, about the deers, wiz their dreat
and—every sin,” and
he nestled close, satisfied he would
hear all he wished. So she read a short
sketch of the deer, its haunts and habits
when he interrupted :

“Tlas 00 ever seen a deer—a real “ive
one?” and his black eyes opened wide.

“Oh, yes; and when we were com-
ing east, across the plains, whenever
the train drew near a wooded stream,
often the screaming whistle would star-
tle a herd of deer from their covert,
and they would rush up through the
trees, antlers erect, and sleek brown
bodies quivering with alarm, and fol-
lowed by the soft-eyed, gentle fawn.
It was quite a pretty picture.

“Tell me more; what tind of a cit

did 00 live in?” ;
CS




= SSS SS
= 2 SSF LSS S>=

NW OZEZZ- ee" -LSSS































































































































































































































































ND THE ANIMAL BOOK,





















































CLARA

SSS






























































































































































‘“A very beautiful city, Charlie. You
should see our noble bay, with the
great ships riding at anchor; our fine
parks and stately buildings. Then if
you should go down in Market street,
where most of the business is done,
you would see some funny sights. All
kinds of people are there—Ranchmen,
Indians, Spaniards, English, Ameri-
cans and lots of queer little Chinamen,
and they have small, dark shops full of
curious things, and besides spread their
wares on the walk.

After telling about the orange groves
and vineyards, the lovely flowers, es-
pecially the fuchsia, which winds its
branches like a vine over the porches,
often reaching the upper story of a
house, Charlie thought it must be a
wonderful country, and expressed his
intention of /éviug in- California when
he became a man,

--In a Chinese village during a time of
drought a missionary saw a row of -dols
put in the hottest and dustiest par: of
the road. He inquired the reason and
the natives answered: “We prayed
our gods to send us rain, and they wont,
so we've put them out to see how they
like the heat and dryness.” =

THE UNSOCIABLE DUCKS.



Three meadow birds went out in great
glee,

All in the sunshiny weather ;

Down by the pond, with the reeds
waving free,

Where the ducks were all standing

together.





“Good day Mrs. Duck,” said the threa
meadow birds,
‘From all the news we can gather,
You're a very good friend, of very few
words.”

Then one flew away with a feather.

“Ouackls-esaid the- duck, Phat
feather is mine,
I sée through your ways altogether ;
You want our feathers, your own nests
to line,

Ail in the bright summer weather.”

“What shall we use?”’ Said the three
meadow birds,
*“There’s no good in moss or in
heather.”
““We don’t care a straw,” said the old
blue drake,
“Tf you line all your nests with sole

leather.”

“Quack! Quack! Quack! You must
think we are slack !
You talk too polite altogether ;
We've had quite enough of your high-
flown stuff,
And we know, you are birds of a
feather.


SOMEWHERE IN LEAFY FORESTS
THE WILD DEER ROAM AND SLEEP,

+



IN THE
WOODS.



Merryvale was not
a very lively place for
any one except a cou-
ple of young colts,
and as many calves,
jumping around after
their mothers.

The bees seemed to be making a
good deal of fun for themselves, if
stinging us children amused them, and
buzzing into every pretty, bright flower,
so that no one could pick it with safety.

The crows, too, collected in great
gossiping parties, in the pines, over on
the shore of the pond, and they always
seemed to be congratulating themselves
over something immensely satisfactory.

But we children, especially the girls,
found it very dull after we had seen
the few sights of the farm. The boys
were trying to hunt and fish; but Lib
aniI talked that over, and we came to
the conclusivn, after much laughing
and many caustic remarks, that the
only amusement we had was, laughing
at their failures.

We communicated that fact to them,
but it didn’t seem to make any differ-
ence; off they went on the same fruit-
less hunt, and left us to do what we
might, to make ourselves happy.





The next day, Lib and Dora and I
told them we. would go into the woods
with them and see what the charm was.
Lib was the eldest of us three, and had
read a great deal, and she said:

“May be we shall find the robbers’
cave, and if we say, ‘Open Sesame,’
the great stone doors will slowly swing
open, and we can go in where the
chains of flashing gems and the heaps
of golden coin are.” |

“T think you'll get into places where
you can’t get out; ‘open sesame’ will
never lift you out of a marsh hole,”
said William Pitt Gaylord, our eldest
brother.

“Mollie, you can find somebody to
have a talking match with, for there are
lots of chipmunks over in the grove,”
remarked Hugh.

“T’ve seen snakes in that very woods,
too,” and if you’d holler, Lib, at that
end of the pond, as you do at this end
of the tea-table, you wouldn’t catch
any fish,’ said William. ‘This caused
an uproarious laugh on the part of the
boys.

We listened quietly to their sarcastic
remarks, knowing they were prompted
by an unreasonable desire to monopo-
lize the delights of the woods te them-
selves.

William Pitt remarked that “Girls
had no business to meddle with boys
sports, and they'd come to grief if they
did; you'd see!”

Next morning the August haze lay
soft on the landscape, but in a short
SSS SS SS ————— FT I
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GOOD NIGHT.
















































































































































































































































































































































































































time it went off, and Father, learning
that we girls were going to spend a
part of the day in the woods, quietly
told the boys that they must escort us
to the pleasantest place, and not wan-
der very far off. They pouted consid-
erably, and had a talk at the corner of
the barn; they then came back, smiling,
and apparently good-natured.

Our brothers did not intend to be
unkind, but they had the common fail-
ing of humanity—selfishness. But Lib
matched them in a dozen ways with her







good-humored retaliations ; and many a
tilt she had with William Pitt since we
had arrived at the farm. In the city she
was abreast of him in all his studies;
and I noticed that Lib could get out
her Latin, and write a composition
much faster than he, and often he had
been obliged to come to her for aid.
It nettled Lib not to be able to hunt
and fish. We two younger ones mod-
eled after her; she was the leader, and
. when she said we would go with the
boys, we went.



“Hello Fred,” said Hugh, as a
neighboring boy, a city boarder, came
through the gate, attired in base-ball
cap and knickerbockers, “we can't go to
Duck Inlet to-day. Father says the
girls must have a good time, too, and
that we must devote one day to them,
at least.”

“All right,” said Fred, “can I go
with you? I'll go and get my butterfly
net, and we can go over to Fern-Hol-
low mill, the winter-greens and berries
are as thick there! Gracious! yon can
get a quart pail full in no time.
The mill-wheel is a beautiful
sight,” said Fred, turning to
Lib, “and you can sketch it,
Miss Gaylord.”

Lib looked upon Fred with
a little more toleration, after
he had said “Miss Gaylord,”
and went -and ordered an
additional ration to be put
into the lunch basket. We
were glad to have Fred along
with us, for he was very fun-
ny, and made jokes on every
thing.

Lib would allow no one to
carry the lunch basket but
herself, as she remarked, “It
is safer with me.”

We started, and were tempt-
ed to loiter at all the little
nooks on the leaf-shadowed
road, and investigate the
haunts of the curious dwel-
lers in the rocks and bush-
es, and especially were we
interested in the ducks on Fern Hol-
low creek. Dora insisted upon feed-
ing them a piece of bread. “Calamity,”
the dog, was along, of course, and as
he belonged to William Pitt, who called
him “Clam,” he was always in that
boy’s company. It was, “Love me,
love my dog,” with William; and as
he was a professional of some kind, he
was greatly prized by the boys.

We reached the woods and the old
mill early ; I think I never was in a
more delightful place, Every thing


































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MEDITATION.


seemed to grow here. . Winter-greens,
with their crimson berries, shining in
the moss, and blueberries, where the
sun came; tall, white flowers that grew
in clusters in the shade, sent their per-
Back of the mill, on
grew pennyroyal

fume all about.
some sandy ledges,
and spearmint ;
raspberries and
blackberries
grew every-
where.

The boys









“This is certainly the fairies’ dining
hall,” said Lib.

“T'll tell you what,” said I, “this is
not far from home, and we can bring
things, and have a little parlor here. [I
can make a couple of curtains out of
that figured scrim, for windows, and

that old square rug in the car-

riage-house will do for the floor.

You can. bring your rocking-

chair, Lib, and Dora can bring

her tea-set. :
» _ “T’ll bring our Christmas and
Easter cards, and we can fasten
hem all about, on the walls,” said




































Lib, who had fallen in immedi-
ately with the plan.













went off to
gather a
quantity for lunch,
and Lib and Dora
and I hunted fora
pleasant place to
set out our dainties.
We found it. A
natural bower, between four
trees; one being a giant of a GS
pine, right at the doorway. The ¢
wild grape-vine and the woodbine
had inclosed the space so com-
pletely, that Lib, who had thought-
fully >rought along a scissors to
cut off stubborn plants, could make
two windows in the green wall; one
looking into the woods, the other off
at the distant pond. The grass was
fine in here, and the sunbeams
dropped down in little round spots,
on the pine needles that covered the
floor.
B2

“Tl bring Mrs. Snobley, and
all her children, and the dining
table,” said Dora.

She had reference to her large
doll, and a whole dozen of little
ones, that were always brought
orward in any play that Dora
had taken a fancy to.

We were in, such haste to
put our scheme- into operation,
that we dispatched the lunch
in short order, and told the
boys of our plan. They thought
it was capital. Any thing that
would release them, after they
had eaten all that was to be had,
would, of course, be received
with acclamation. They ac-
knowledged the same, in a very
neat speech, which Lib said,
“did very good for Hugh,’

She fell in immediately with
our fun, and helped us to a num-
ber of nice things, to furnish
Our greenwood bower. We
worked tremendously that after-
noon, and after Betty had -washed
the dinner dishes, she helped us. Be-
fore sun-down every thing was complete.
The boys, who had taken themselves a
mile away, to hunt, came round to visit
us on their way home. They agreed
that it was just perfect, and inquired if
we hadn’t put in an elevator, to reach
the second story, with numerous other
_

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DSS HATTIE


inquiries, intended to be funny; and
then asked where we kept our cran-
berry tarts.

“We're not going to allow any boys
in this play-house atter to-day,” said 1;
“your feet are muddy, and you're so big,
you fill it all up.”

Our visitor, Fred, looked at his feet,
and blushed. “Not after to-day? How
are you going to keep any one out?”
inquired William Pitt.

“We will draw this portiere across
the door-way, and no gentleman would
think of entering,” said Lib.

“No, they wouldn’t, sure enough,”
said Hugh. “How are you going to
prevent our looking in the windows?”

“Only rude boys would look in win-’

dows,” said Fred, “and I don’t know
of any hereabouts.”

They laughed at this, and Lib laughed
too, and made the sly remark, that
“Hunting on the duck-pond trans-
formed some people mighty soon.”

Fred said he'd try to be on his good
behavior if we’d let him make a formal
call on us the next afternoon. We
coasentel to this; then they all said
they'd call.

The next day we busied ourselves in
preparing a spread of good things for
our reception, and Betty took it over,
and on returning, said every thing was
just as we had left it. We dressed
ourselves up in our best, to receive the
gentlemen, a little time after dinner.
The woods were never so lovely, we
thought, and to add to our personal
charms, we made wreaths and garlands
of ferns and wild-flowers to adorn our
persons and hats.

I had sauntered along considerably
in advance, and as I approached the
bower I was not a little surprised to
see froma distance that the door-cur-
tain was drawn half open. I stopped
to listen, but there was no sound, only
a wild bird piping its three little notes,
down by the mill. I cautiously went
up, and peeped into the little window,
and there stood a manontherug! He
seemed to be looking about. I think I





never was so frightened. I ran back,
and whispered to the rest the dreadful
state of things. They looked horror-
stricken. Lib changed color, but just
stood still. Then she said,—“ There’s
plenty of help over at the mili.”

“Oh, let us go no nearer, but get
home as fast as we can,” I said.

Lib raised her hand in warning for us
to keep still, and we crept along, softly,
behind the bower ; and when we had got-
ten so far, we all turned around and ran
for dear life into the woods again.

“This is nonsense,” said Lib. “You
were mistaken, Molly, I’m sure.”

I said P’'d go back with her, and she
could see for herself. We crept to the
back of the bower, and Lib leaned over
andlooked in. Lib turned pale, caught
hold of my hand and Dora’s, and ran
quite a distance toward the mill.
Then she stopped, and said, as true as
she was alive, there was a man in there;
he stood with a large stick resting en
his shoulder, upon which was slung a
bundle, tied up in a red_ handkerchief,
his clothing was ragged, and his hat —
was very dilapidated.

“Oh, Lib, ’m going to run for it,”
said I.

“Wait a minute,” said she. “I don’t
hear any noise. Let’s think; if we
didn’t have to go right in front of the
door, we could get to the mill.”

All this time we were edging our-
selves as far away from the dangerous
precincts as we conveniently could.
She stood again, perfectly still. “1
wont go another step,” she said. That
moment’s reflection had re-instated her
courage. ‘He don’t come out ; I should
say that was making an informal call
when the ladies were out. He’s a
beautiful-looking specimen anyway,”
said Lib, with fine irony; and as she
said this, she frowned, and put her
head back.

No sound was heard, and no demon-
strations from the interloper were made.
The sight of the mill-wagon, going
slowly down the road, gave us heart,
and Lib said:

4




























































































































































































































A CORNER IN THE GARDEN,

oe
“T'll go and order him out, be the
consequences what they may. Mollie,
youre good at screaming, you can
pee the miller here if we have to get

elp.

“Don’t! Don’t! I would rather he
stole all our things ; let him have the
tarts and the cocoanut cake, and the
jam, and the pickles, and the cheese,
and the sandwiches! Let him have
them in welcome! I’m going to fly
home!”

“T want Mrs. Snobley!” sobbed
Dora.

Lib never said another word. She
walked up to the entrance, and pulled
aside the curtain, and there stood the
semblance of aman. In his extended
hand was a card; on which was very

badly printed :



“Pma poor by,—I want a
home.”

“PU scrape the mud off me

| “References exchanged.”
| boots, tf yell let me in.”



Lib called, “Come here, Mollie, it’s
a trick of those boys.”

We went in, and there we found the
interloper to be a scarecrow from a
neighboring field, ingeniously arranged
so as to appear very human.

At that moment, a loud laugh above
our heads betrayed the presence of the
boys in the trees, who clambered down
with hilarious expedition, and fairly
rolled themselves upon the ground
with delight. They had seen all our
perturbation ; had heard my_ cowardly
cries and expressions ; Lib’s looking in
the window, and her fearful hesitation
and scamper behind the fairy bower!
The best thing to do was to laugh, and
that we did right heartily ; we girls, were
internally thankful that the intruder was
only a scarecrow after all.

We ordered the boys take their silly

t



joke out, and to come in like gentle-
men, and make a formal call, and
probably they would be invited to take
some refreshments.

This news caused them to work with
great alacrity. They were dressed up
too; Fred having chosen to wear his
school uniform, with a gorgeous crim-
son sash and his sword.

We were never so delighted with
any thing as with that afternoon’s ad-
venture. For hours we chatted and
laughed, and ate our refreshments,
until the western light began to take
on a ruddy hue, and we closed our little
bower and proceeded homeward.

What was our surprise, when we
reached there, to find that three young
friends from the city with their servant
had come to visit us. Merryvale was
not dull after that, [ can assure you.



THE NEW SERVANT AT MERRYVALE,




























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ON THE CANAL,





ZEB Se ES Dn sSe

SN a eee
a) . Se p C>
Ss les ys y (
aL ooking out jor

‘ ae a

OS

Zo
zx

Lor O
Number Owe,
ASS

AN / OLIVE A. WADSWORTH,

Joey was a country boy,

Father's help and mother’s joy ;

In the morning he rose early,—
That’s what made his hair go curly ;
Early went to bed at night,—
That’s what made his eyes so bright;
Ruddy as a red-cheeked apple ;
Playful as his pony, Dapple;

Even the nature of the rose
Wasn't quite as sweet as Joe’s,

Charley was a city boy,’

Father's pet and mother’s joy;
Always lay in bed till late;

That's what made his hair so straight
Late he sat up every night,—
That's what made his cheeks so white ;
Always had whate’er he wanted,

He but asked, and mother granted ;
Cakes and comfits made him snarly,
Sweets but soured this poor Charley.

>

Charley, dressed quite like a beau,
Went, one day, to visit Joe.
“Come,” said Joey, “let's go walking ;
As we wander, we'll be talking;

And, besides, there’s something growing
In the garden, worth your knowing.”
“Ha!” said Charley, “I’m your guest ;
Therefore I must have the best.

All the zzner part I choose,

And the outer you can use,”

Joey gave a little laugh;
“Let’s,” said he, “go half and half.”

“No, you don’t!” was Charley's answer, | On the tree a peach of gold,
“T look out for number one, sir ” All without, fair, ripe and yellow,
But when they arrived, behold, Fragrant, juicy, tempting, mellow,

f
k
ee i ee eee

Paes

i








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Ana, within, a gnarly stone.



“There,” said Joey, “that’s your own ;

As you choose, by right of guest,



Keep your choice—I'll eat the rest.”



Charley looked as black as thunder,
Scarce could keep his temper under.
“’Twas too bad, I think,” said Joe;

“ Throuch the cornfield let us go,
Something there, perhaps we'll see
That will suit you to a T.”




“Ves,” said Charles, with accent nip-

ping,



“Twice you will not catch me tripping ;

Since I lost the fruit before,
You now owe me ten times more.
Now the over part I choose,
And the zzwer you can use.”

Joey gave another laugh:
Better call it half and half.”



“No, indeed !”” was Charley’s answer,

«T look out for number one, sir!
Well I know what Pm about,—



For you, what’s in; for me what’s out!”

On they went, and on a slope
Lay a Tecan cantaloupe,
Rich and rare, with all the rays
From the August suns that blaze ;
Quite qwét/izu its swects you find,
And without the rugged rind,

Charley gazed in blank despair,
Deeply vexe | and shamed his air.







“ Well,” said Joey, “since you would

Choose the bad and leave the
good ;

Since you claimed the outer
part,

And disdained the juicy
heart,—

Yours the rind, and mine the rest ;

But as you're my friend and guest,

Charley, man, cheer up and laugh,



And we'll share it half and half; —
Looking out for number one
Doesn’t always bring the fun.’



A STUFFED JUMBO.

Yesterday, Alice met the stuffed | very much affected by the meeting
Jumbo, her former mate. She walked | He was Jumbo’s old keeper.—Hy.
slowly up to him, andthen stoodforafew | mane Journal.
moments, evidently surveying him -
with wonder. Then she swung
her trunk so as to reach Jumbo s
mouth. She also touched his
trunk in a cautious manner, and
then turning her back upon him,
gave vent to a groan that made
the roof of the garden tremble.
William Newman, the elephant
trainer, Frank Hyatt, the super-
intendent, and “Toddy” Hamil-
ton, talked to her in their usual
winning way, and she again faced
jumbe: She fondled his trunk,
ooked straight into his eyes, and














. HEN cy
again she groaned, and then A
2 2 : Ty
walked away as though diseusted WI ie
with the old partner of her joys es

and sorrows. She went back to
her quarters and continued to
mourn. Her keeper, Scott, was
appealed to by the spectators.
He was asked whether he be-
lieved that she recofnized Jumbo,
and he replied in all serious-
ness, “Of course she did. She

















ee












told me so.” At another time he SSS

ps 5 —— eee SY U¥ice
said, “I can understand elephant = Suny F
talk, and Alice told me she = ue ea
recognized Jumbo,” Scott seemed . JUMBO MAKING HIMSELF USEFUL



















'

!

\

i

|
SCENE AT AN ELEPHANT MARKET. |












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TUG OF WAR
the beautiful

























































colors and for











































the females







































A NEGRO MELODIST,

It has often been remarked that in
the bird world the rule is for the males

to have the brilliant plumage, with all’





to be the
dowdy ones—
a rule which
would entail
a revolution
in fashions,
startling and
ludicrous, if
it were to be
introduced
for variety
among our
own kind.
Again, gaily-
dressed birds
have the least
pleasing song
—the scream.
ing jay bear.
ing an unfa:
vorable com-
parison with
the thrush—
and the mod-
estly-attired nightingale having fur:
nished, in all ages, a brilliant example
of virtue unadorned. The nightingale,
however, leaving before the climate has
become objectionable, we must praise
its musical accomplishments rather as
being those of a distinguished guest, or
foreign prima donna, than of an indi-
genous artist. But we have another
bird who zs always here, facing winter’s
blasts in addition to summer's bloom,
who in voice stands unrivaled; nocom-
petitor approaching any where near
‘him for fluency, richness, and liquid
mclody of song—to wit, the blackbird,
This negro melodist seldom spares
his lungs at all until winter is far ad-
vanced into its New Year months;
and even amid the bitter mornings of
January, his rich, unfaltering notes can
sometimes be heard. His coat is 4
glossy black, always cleanly brushed,
and in the case of one family, some-
times called the “Red-wing,” with a
gorgeous scarlet lapel on either side,
SS

SS



Z a ie 7
Ne ts r
of

fly,

Ubi

Ui
iy yy
if

W

Pil)



UNDER THE TREES.
SHE HAD NEVER SEEN A TREE.



They took the littie London giri, from
out the city street,

To where the grass was growing green,
the birds were singing sweet ;

And every thing along the road, so filled
her with surprise,

The look of wonder fixed itself, within
her violet eyes.

The breezes ran to welcome her; they
kissed her on each cheek,

And tried in every way they could, their
ecstacy to speak,

Inviting her to romp with them, and
tumbling up her curls,

expecting she would laugh or scold,

like other little girls.

But she didn’t—no she didn’t ; for this
crippled little child

Had lived within a dingy court, where
sunshine never smiled ;

And for weary, weary days and months,
the little one had lain

Confined within a narrow room, and on
a couch of pain.

The out-door world was strange to her
—the broad expanse of sky,

the soft, green grass, the pretty flow-
ers, the stream that trickled by;

3ut all at once she saw a sight, that
made her hold her breath,

And shake ana tremble as it she were
frightened near to death.





Oh, fie some horrid monster, of which
the child had dreamed,

With nodding head, and waving arms,
the angry creature seemed ;

It threatened her, it mocked at her, with
gestures and grimace

That made her shrink with terror, from
its serpent-like embrace.

They kissed the trembling little one;
they held her in their arms,

And tried in every way they could to
quiet her alarms, =

And said, ‘Oh, what a foolish little girl
you are, to be

So nervous and so terrified, at nothing
but a tree!”

They made her go up close to it, and

put her arms around

The trunk, and see how firmly it was
fastened in the ground;

They told her all about the roots, that
clung down deeper yet,

And spoke of other curious things, she
never would forget.

Oh, [have heard of many, very many
girls and boys

Who have to do without the sight, of
pretty books and toys—

Who have never seen the ocean; bu.
the saddest thought to me

Is that any where there lives a. child
who never saw a tree,
SN

NN

SA
sSSUUAASV AS

Sire

, &
Wl Oe ‘i
as) wy eval Hin

Last unaiee |
VRE
Ing

SS S SOT :
< WSS

an

i; BOVE ~ oh Pas SN
CN COMER tea

y i) nS
nts at Sy }
A ALA \ Xyprkl a 1 Rint

IM (Huh DS SED np) Pe ay hesonsssagee’ Te
— aS NS AE OZER ERG SP RRA INT Leen 4
ea es

= Se Rea PtH ERAN tL) 4 (LZ DR si
eee Wey Wise otis bet
NS et IN i @

LAI UNE,

SAE SS LINE Hg LIPS LEGER DIE

La La





CELEBRATING THE FOURTH OF JULY,




MERRY TRAVELERS.
TIME ENOUGH.

_—

Two little rabbits out in the sun;

One gathered food, the other had none.

“Time enough yet,” his constant re-
frain ;

“ Summer is still just on the wane.”

Listen, my child, while I tell you his
fate:

He roused him at last, but he roused
him too late.

Down fell the snow from a pitiless
cloud,

And

white shroud.

gave little rabbit a spotless

Two little boys in a school-room were
placed ;

One always perfect, the other dis-
graced.

“Time enough yet for my learning,”
he said ;

“T will climb by-and-by, from the feot to
the head.”

Listen, my darling—their locks are
turned gray ;

One, as a governor, sitteth to-day.

The other, a pauper, looks out at the
door

O1 the alms-house, and idles his days
as of yore.

B38



Two kinds of people we meet every
day ;

One is at work, the other at play,

Living uncared for, dying unknown.—

The busiest hive hath ever a drone.

Tell me, my child, if the rabbits have
taught,
The lesson I longed to impart in your

thought.

Answer me this, and my story is
done,

Which of the two will you be, little
one?

THE MOUSE WEDDING.

Dick Sly was the smartest mouse in
Mousetown. He knew any kind of a
new trap that was set to catch him, and
he always warned the rest. The houses
in Mousetown are called “holes,” you
know. Next to the hole where Dick
lived with his parents was the hole
where pretty Nan Spry lived. She
could run faster than any mouse in
Mousetown; even Dick could not
catch her, if she tried to run away
from him. At last it was told in Mouse-
town that Dick and Nan were to be
married, and every body said, “ What a
grand pair they’ll make.” Judge Mouse,
who married them, put on his best
gold spectacles, and they were married
on a big wedding cake, which some
folks call a “cheese.” Every one in
Mousetown had a bit of it, and de-
clared it to be the best wedding cake
they had ever eaten.


































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































EE er AD IPAS
A FUNNY HORSE.



Knock! Knock! Knock! I’ve been
before this block

More than half an hour, I should say;

I am standing in the sun, while Miss
Lucy lingers on,

Talking of the fashions of the day.

‘It is a trick you know, she taught me

long ago,

But now I am im earnest, not in play;

And the world is very wide, to a horse
that isn’t tied,
I’ve a mind to go and ask the price of

hay

There’s a nail in my shoe that needs
fixing too,
And I want a drink more than I can
say ;
How I could run, with my dandy har-
ness on!
But it’s such a mean thing to run
away,
Rap! Tap! Yap! That’s énough to
break a nap—
There she comes, and is laughing at
the way
I brought her to the door, when she
wouldn’t come before,

That’s a trick worth playing any day.





MRS. GIMSON’S SUMMER
BOARDERS.

It was recess at the school-house at
the cross roads, and three country girls
gathered round a companion, whose
unhappy face showed that something
had gone wrong.

“Ts this your last day at school,
Lucindy?” asked Carrie Hess, a girl
of fifteen, and the eldest of the three
sisters.

“Yes, this is my last day, thanks to
the summer boarders. I can’t bear to
think of them. I hate them!”

“Will you have to work harder than-
you do now?” asked Freda, who was
next younger to Carrie. :

“T don’t ‘mind the work so muchas I
do their impudent airs, and their
stuck-up ways. I wont be ordered
around, and if Auntie thinks I’m going
to be a black slave, she'll find she’s
mistaken.”

Lucindy’s face flushed, and she ap-
peared to be greatly in earnest.

“Td be glad to have them come to
our house, they have such nice clothes,”
said Lena, the youngest and most mis-
chievous.

“Yes, it’s very nice, I must say, to
go around in old duds, and have a girl
that’s not a whit better in any way
than you, only she’s been to a city
school and has a rich father, turn up her
hose at you, and perhaps make fun of
you, with her white dresses and her
sill dresses, and her gaiter boots.”

“Can't we come to your house any
more? Can’t we come to play?” asked
Carrie.

“Oh, can’t we come?” said the other
two, almost in a breath.

“No, Auntie told me this morning,
that I must tell you and the rest of the
girls, that it wouldn’t be convenient to
have you come, as you have done; you
are not stylish enough for Miss Hattie
Randolph to associate with, I suppose.”

The girls looked really disappointed.
Lucindy was a great favorite, and a
























































;
Li,

y
YN





We Hy









LITTLE SNOWBALL.
feader, fearless and successful in all es-
capades that required originality and
coolness, and her company would be
sorely missed. Her aunt had indulged
her in all the dress and amusement she
could afford, and her companions had
always been welcome to visit at the
house, but now there was a necessity
for her services, and play could not be
indulged in so often for the rest of the
summer, as the household needed the
avails, if not the presence of summer
boarders.

“Ts she older than we?” asked Car-
rie.

“No, but she’s lived all her life in
the city, and feels above everybody.
She and her brother and her mother
will just take possession of Gur piazza
and .door-yard, and our swing; and I
can wash dishes, and sit on the back
door-step, and never see a girl from
one month’s end to another. Here
Lucindy burst out crying.

*“Tt’s too bad,” said Carrie.

The little Lena, ever fertile in inven-
tion, crept near, and putting her arms
around Lucindy’s neck, whispered :

“We'll come to see you on the sly,
and we can go down in the fields and
have fun, when your Auntie goes out
for an afternoon.”

“T wish you would,” said Lucindy.
“And [ll bring down some cake and
pickles, and some honey, and we'll
have a pic-nic in spite of Mrs. Ran-
dolph!”

This was a solution of the unhappy
problem, and it seemed to throw a ray
of sunlight slantwise into the gloomy
picture of the coming summer.

The progress of the afternoon at
the school-house was not marked by
any unusual occurrence, and at the
close, the little company of schoolmates
proceeded together, until they came
to the road leading to Lucindy’s home.
Here they parted, with many profes-
sions of everlasting friendship; Lu-
cindy, walking backwards, watched her
companions until the turn in the road
hid them from view,



Then she sat down upon a bank by
the roadside under an old tree. Throw-
ing her slate and books down on the
grass, she snatched a few daisies that
grew near, and thought of many things
of a disquieting nature, pulling the flow-
ers to pieces.

“I feel mad enough to run away!”
she thought. “I could earn my living
easy enough in the city, and not have
to work so hard either. Miss Hunter
can’t teach me any thing more. I’ve
learned ali she knows. It’s just too
bad not to be able to get more educa-
tion. Tl just take my own way, if
Auntie crowds me too much I don’t
care if she don’t like it. If my father
and mother were alive, she wouldn’t
be my boss. I can get on in another
place with what I know about a good
many things.

“But oh, that girl that’s coming has
so much better times than I. Those
lovely city schools! no one can help
learning there, they take such pains
with you.”

She looked down the road upon which
the slanting red light of the declining
sun was shining, and there she sawa
cloud of dust. This road was not a
great thoroughfare, and she knew that
was the stage, and it probably would
bring the undesired summer guests.

She shrank visibly back into the
shadow of the tree as it came on, and
smoothed out her faded calico dress and
pulled her sun-bonnet farther over her
face,

The coach came rolling past, and a
girl in the back seat directed the atten-
tion of a fashionably-dressed lady to
herself, she thought, and laughed as
though immensely pleased, at the same
time pointing at her. who sat in the front seat with the’
driver, and who was playing upon a
harmonica, stopped, and looking in her
direction, laughed too.

“It’s my outlandish sun-bonnet
they’re making fun of,” she thought.
“I suppose this is the beginning of
bei




















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SHE SAT DOWN ON A BANK BY THE ROADSIDE UNDER AN OLD TREE,
Now this ungentle girl was mistaken
in her surmise, as she was about many
things that caused her unhappiness.

hat the people in the stage were
really interested and amused with were
a couple of lambs in the field back of
Lucindy, and their playful gyrations
were a novel sight to them, and they
had come for the very purpose of being
pleased with country sights and experi-
ences. Lucindy felt sure these were
the summer boarders, and, taking a
short cut across the fields, arrived at her
aunt’s just as the guests were alighting.

Gaicindy stood at the back corner of
the house, and heard the sprightly talk
of Mrs. Randolph and the merry laugh
of the daughter, as her aunt bade them
welcome, and she knew they were being
conducted to the upper rooms that had
been prepared with such thoughtful ret-
erence to their comfort.

Her aunt came down very soon, and
seeing Lucindy, bade her wash her
hands and smooth her hair, and put on
a white apron, and prepare to get ready
the tea. This duty Lucindy had always
done, and a little curiosity, mingled
with her other feelings, came to her, as
to how the boarders would like her
aunt’s puffy biscuit, and if the cold
custard and raspberry jam wouldn’t be
to their taste. If coffee and fricaseed
chicken would not be just the thing
after an all-day ride, and remarked to
herself: “If they don’t like such fare,
let them go where they'll get better.”

The tea passed off with great good
feeling; the new people making a most
favorable impression upon her aunt, and
impressing Lucindy with the discovery
that polite manners were a recommend
to strangers, for her aunt made gratified
remarks from time to time as she came
into the kitchen. Lucindy would not
wait upon the table the first evening, a
convenient head-ache being the excuse.

Mrs. Gimson was a most kindly dis-
posed person, and endeavored, in every
way, to make the time pass pleasantly
to her guests; but all she could say in
their favor did nothing toward dispos-



ing the mind of her niece to regard
them with any toleration. She per-
formed the household duties that fell
to her with a stolid indifference, or with
an openly expressed reluctance, and
her aunt bore all kindly, explaining and
smoothing away what she could, prom-
ising Lucindy that she should havea
nice present of money when the guests
departed. : :

Hattie Randolph had not taken any
notice of her, never really having seen
her, for Lucindy had positively refused
to wait upon the table; and had kept
herself in the back-ground, thus mak-
ing her life at home more of a disci-
pline than was necessary. She envied
Hattie’s graceful ways and refined con-
versation; and her apparel was a reve-
lation, not of beauty, but of another
source of jealous envy to the country
girl, for in putting the guests’ rooms
in order, she examined, critically, the
pretty things in the wardrobe.

The city people found so much to

interest them in the beauties of the
surrounding neighborhood, that they
were out nearly all the time, and when
the e®ening came, Mrs. Randolph, with
yer son and daughter, made a pleasant
addition to Mrs. Gimson’s parlors, with
heir graceful talk, and numberless re-
sources of entertainment.
Lucindy, observant and sullen, kept
herself informed of all their movements,
and was continually having the blush
brought to her cheek and the bitter-
ness of comparison to her heart, as she
noted the wide difference there was be-
tween herself and them. It never once
occurred to this foolish gir!, that this
difference was growing more and more
every day, by the fostering of pride and
an ignorant stubbornness, which pre-
vented her, utterly, from ever cultivat-
ing their envied characteristics.

It was a long time since she had
seen any of her playmates from the
school, but by an ingenious contrivance,
that had been thought out by Lucindy,
a tin box had been inserted into an old
tree iu a fence corner, about midway






















































































































































































nes

iat

Bout



FAIRY LAND
between her home and the school-house,
and in this they deposited their notes
to each other. ;

This was a solace to Lucindy, as all
the happenings at the school could be
reported, and many a mis-spelled, soiled
missive found its way to the eager
hands of the absent one. Not less in-
teresting was the news as to the doings
of the boarders. Nothing, however
trivial, that happened not to accord
with Lucindy’s notions was overlooked
in her setting forth of grievances, and
she found ready sympathizers in the
Hess girls. Carrie Hess stood under
the old tree, one lovely morning, over-
staying her time in doing so, as the
warning bell had rung at the school-
house, reading a note she had taken
from the tree post-office. Among other
things, it communicated the welcome
news, that herself and sisters might
come to the pretty knoll behind the
house that afternoon, and that Lucindy
would take the occasion to make a
holiday for herself, as her aunt was
going, after dinner, to look up fresh
butter and eggs, and would be gone
until near tea time.

Mrs. Randolph had hired a team, and
with her family would be gone the
same length of time, fora ride.

Carrie took a race to school, very
much elated at the prospect of enjoy-
ing Lucindy’s company once more.
Recess came, and after eating their
very generous lunch, they prepared to
quictly put a considerable distance be-
tween themselves and the precincts
over which Miss Hunter’s authority
extended. They were “skipping,” as
they termed it, and as their parents
would not know of it, they reveled in
theforbiddenfreedom. They proceeded
over fences and across stubble fields,
and soon reached the coveted meeting-
place. A wide-spreading tree, with a
wreath of apples upon it, just turning
to a.ruddy hue, was almost completely
surrounded at its trunk with hazel
bushes, but on one side they did not
grow; this was away from the house,



and toward the wheat field. It was a
natural bower, and into this they crept
to await the coming of Lucindy.

They were not kept long in suspense,
and when she appeared what a hugging
and kissing were gone through with!

‘‘Fiave your boarders gone for their
ride?” asked Carrie.

“Yes, and I thought they’d never
get off. Old Mrs. Randolph fusses so,
you'd think she was going toa party
every time she goes to ride. I wonder
who she expects to see on a country
road?”

“Sure enough.
dressed, Lu?”

“Oh, she had ona light check silk,
and a lovely brown jockey, trimmed
with pink satin ribbon rosettes and
long ends at the back, and a lovely,
wide collar.”

“Don’t you like her better than her
mother?” asked Lena.

“Well, she doesn’t put on as many
airs as her mother, and she’s acted, two
or three times, as if she were going to
speak to me, but I managed not to let
her. I don’t want her acquaintance.
I don’t want any of her coming down
tome:

“I suppose they have nice things,
that they’ve brought with them, in their
rooms,” said Carrie.

“Yes, Mrs. Randolph has an elegant
blue satin pin-cushion, with morning-
glories and apple-blossoms painted on
it, and a dressing-case with white ivory
combs and brushes, and they do your
hair up lovely, for I fixed mine in her
room yesterday with them. This caused
much merriment.

Lucindy proceeded to take from her
pocket a pack of children’s cards, illu-
minated with gaily-dressed ladies and
gentlemen, and queer-looking figures of
all kinds. These caused a sensation;
they looked incredulously at Lucindy,
as she said:

“These are the things that make
them laugh evenings. If we knew how
to play them, we could have some of
their kind of fun.”

How was the girl

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They passed them to one another
and examined them. They threw them
aside presently, and returned to the
subject of never-failing interest—the
wardrobe of the boarders.

Carrie and Lena intimated more than
once, that if they could only see some-
thing that city people really considered

Lucindy had no scruples whatever in
procuring so coveted a pleasure for her
dear friends. She ran back to the
house and up into Mrs. Randolph’s
room, She fumbled over the dresses,
and thinking it was as well to take out
two or three, that they might feast
their eyes upon a variety, she piled









=



























































































































































































































































GRELCHEN TRAILING THE BEAUTIFUL

elegant, they would be satisfied, and for-
ever indebted to Lucindy for the sight.

“Oh, dear, if that will please you so
much,” said Lucindy, entirely willing
to gratify them, ‘I'll go and get one
of Mrs. Randolph’s prettiest dresses
and show you. It wont take me a
minute.”

“Oh, do, Lucindy! we’re just crazy
to see it! She'll never know it,” said
Carrie, with eagerness.



|
|
|









MULL OVERSKIRY GN THE GROUND.

two silk dresses and an India mull upon
her arm, and hurried out.

They dragged considerably upon the
dusty path, but this was not noticed, and
the wild delight of the girls, when they
really had them in their hands, amply re-
paid Lucindy for any risk, she thought.

They fingered them over, the bead
embroideries and lace trimmings, and
examined the fashion of each with un-
tiring interest.
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BIRDS CHASING BUTTERFLIES.
“TLet’s put them on!” said Carrie,
"and see haw we would look in them.”

“We'll look sweetly stylish,’ said
‘Freda. »

“Oh, do let us, Lucindy! Mrs. Ran-
dolph wont be back until evening.
It'll be such fun!” insisted Carrie.

“All right, let us ; I don’t care how
much fun we have with them, the more
the better,’ returned Lucindy. No
sooner said than done; over their clo-
thing they stretched the dresses, and
jerked and settled them into the proper
set. Shouts of laughter greeted every
ridiculous pose and awkward stumble,
and certainly nothing could be more
provocative of merriment than their
appearance. They trailed the dresses
over the stubble in mock dignity; they
improvised a dance, and went through
all the grotesque changes they could
invent. Their comments and jokes
were most spicy and personal, and in
all Lucindy led.

After a good time enjoyed in this
way, the fun lost its point and novelty,
and they threw the dresses in a heap
on the grass, and sat and chatted over
the gossip connected with the school
at the cross roads. The afternoon was
wearing on, and Lucindy thought it time
to produce her good things, and tak-
ing up the dresses, ran along to the
house.

In getting through the bars she
dropped the mull overskirt and did not
perceive her loss. Gretchen saw it,
and running after, brought it back.
Lucindy hung the dresses up in their
places, certainly not improved by the
airing they had had; but chancing to
look out of an upper window, she was
horrified to see down the road the
identical tezm that Mrs. Randolph had
hired, ana as true as the world, they
were coming home!

She rushed down, and abandoning
the lunch, ran as fast as she could to
the field, and as she approached, this
was the sight that met he: gaze:

Gretchen was strutting about with a
dock leaf held over her head for a para-

4



sol, and trailing the beautiful mull
overskirt on the ground, endeavoring
to realize the feelings of a fine lady in
a trailed dress.

“Gretchen! Gretchen!” screamed
Lucindy,asloudlyas shedared. ‘Hide
it! hide it! Mrs. Randolph has come
home!”

Carrie jumped, and lifting Gretchen
from it, secured the skirt, and Lucindy
grasped it and rolled it in a small ball
and hid it in the hazel bushes. -Then
they held a hurried consultation, and
decided it was best for Lucindy to go
back immediately; but, as it was now
impossible to restore the skirt to its
place in the wardrobe, they urged her
to put it in some unfrequented spot,
until a favorable opportunity came to
get it back. Lucindy now feared her
aunt would arrive without warning, and,
although loth to part without the long
anticipated treat, they walked quickly
down the path by the fence toward the
road.

“What on the face of the earth will
I ever do with this thing?” whispered
Lucindy, for the first time betraying
fear. “I can’t get it back to-night,
that’s as plain as the nose on your face.
Oh, grief! she may inquire after it as
soonasI goin! Itll be just like my
luck for her to want to wear it to-night.
Maybe she expects some one to spend
the evening with them, and that’s what
brought them back so early. Let me
see—Auntie will find it if 1 put it any-
where about the house or barn; I must
not be found out in this, because if I
am, Auntie wont give me the present
she promised. I'll tell you, Carrie, you
take it and put it down the hole in the
tree, under the tin box. No one has
ever found out that place; it will
be safe there until I go for it to-mor-
row.”

This was immediately decided upon,
and the girls went sulkily home. The
skirt was forced down into the tree,
and the tin box placed on top, and they
trudged slowly homeward.

As Lucindy approached the house,






fee

WQvr"Es

&
SN



THE GALLANT YOUNG MIDSHIPMAN
she began to see more and more the
serious dilemma in which she was
placed, and her face hardened visibly
as she thought.

“Tl deny the whole thing if I’m cor-
nered; perhaps Mrs. Randolph will
live through the disappointment of not
wearing her dress for once. I have to
live all the time without such dresses.”

Just then she heard her aunt calling
her, and she knew that some unlooked-
for occasion had. brought them home
before evening.

“Lucindy, we must hurry up the
tea; the folks are going to spend the
evening at Judge Brander’s. Theteam
is waiting to take them there. Mrs.
Randolph saw me in the village, and
told me.”

Lucindy did not answer, but went in
andabout her dutiesas usual. Presently
Mrs. Randolph called for Mrs. Gimson
to come up stairs, as she wished to
speak to her. Lucindy felt that now
the discovery had been made, and
strengthening her purpose, to deny all,
worked on, quietly waiting tor devel-
opments.

In a few moments, her aunt came
down in great excitement, and told her
that someone had been in the house,
while they were away, and had _ stolen
Mrs. Randolph’s elegant India mull
overskirt, and had almost ruined her
other dresses, as the trimmings were
broken and destroyed, and some of
them were gone entirely.

“Tt must have been when I went for
water; | noticed that there were two
tramps going down the road, a man and
woman.

“Oh, Lucindy, you
locked the door!”

‘Why, aunt, I never lock the doors
when I go after water. I suppose
you'll put the blame of it on me!”
Here Lucindy began to cry.. “I think
you are a very strange woman to leave
no one but a girl alone in a house, with
such valuable things ; it’s a wonder the
robbers didn’t kill me; my coming in
frightened them away. I’ve no doubt

should have

* ~.
rd

informed Mrs. Gimson



they thought it was the hired man,”
Lucindy continued to cry.

Mrs. Gimson never suspecced her
niece of such systematic deception.
The well was a short distance from the
house, and that accounted for the fact
that nothing else was missing, as they
had not had time, and also that the
other dresses had been rudely dragged
to get them down.

She believed Lucindy’s story. Mrs.
Randolph could not account for the
plight in which she found her clothing,
and bewailed her loss, as being particu-
larly annoying at this juncture.

Nothing more was said, and, after tak-
ing tea, they started forthe Judges, leav-
ing Mrs. Gimson in a greatly perturbed
state of minid. She knew that this un-
fortunate thing would get abroad and
discourage patrons. Desirable board-
ers would avoid her house in future.

Lucindy, never uttering a comfort-
ing word to her aunt, went up to her
room with an air of injured innocence
that hurt her aunt quite as much as
any thing she had undergone. During
the early part of the evening a violent
thunder storm came up, and Mrs.
Randolph did not return. The next
morning it still rained, and there was
no excuse for Lucindy’s going out,
and the dress could not be secured.
Mrs. Randolph returned at noon, and
that she had
been invited to visit, for the rest of the
summer, at Judge Brander’s, and would
ye Mrs. Gimson’s the next day.

Just as soon as Lucindy could be
spared, she ran down to the tree post-
office, put a note into the tin box, and
returned, This, Carrie Hess got assoon
as recess came, and the scheme worked
out successfully, as the eve. t proved.

Barry, Hattie’s brother, wa. stand-
ing by the shrubbery gate, when © lit-
tle barefoot boy sidled up, and attracted
his attention by his curicus behavior—
he finally snoke: ;

- “T say, them Hitalyans stuffed yer
mother’s clothes inter a tree down here;
I found it this mornin’,”

lea


Ce
SA

VSS SQV yi
eS WS SAK NN

~



NOW, CHILDREN, DON’T ALL SPEAK AT ONCE!

f \ .
_ “What do you mean?” asked Barry,
not fully understanding the boy.
“That ere tree, don’t yer see?” and
the boy pointed to the girls’ post-office,
that stood out ay down the road.
“Ts it there now?” asked Barry.
“T do’no, I seed it there this mornin’.”











the rain had soaked it and the decayed
wood had stained it.

“Ves, I think it must have been those
tramps,’ said Mrs. Randolph. “They
hid it there, expecting to come for the
rest of it the next day. ‘They'll be dis-
appointed. Ill be gone.”



A LITTLE BARE-FOOT BOY SIDLED UP AND ATTRAOTED HIS
ATTENTION.

«Wait till I ¢6 and tell my mother,”
said Barry, and he ran into the
house.

Inamoment Mrs. Randolph and Mrs.
Gimson were at the gate, but the boy
had disappeared. “Go down, Barry,
and see if what*he says is true,” said
his mother. He ran off, and returning
after a little time, brought the over-
skirt, rolled up in a soiled bundle, as

B4

The boy was Carrie Hess’s brother,
and the ruse. had worked; entirely turn-
ing off all suspicion from Lucindy.

Irs. Gimson lost her summer board-
ers and Lucindy returned to school.
This unprincipled girl, however, learned
the hard lesson, in her after life, that
ingratitude to benefactors, and unfaith-
fulness to trust, meet a sure retribution,
even if they appear to succeed,











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































AS NIGHT CAME DARKLY DOWN.

The night came darkly down;
The birdies’ mother said,

“Peep! peep!
You ought to be asleep!
'Tis time my little ones were safe in bed!”’
So, sheltered by her wings in downy nest,
The weary little birdlings took their rest.

The night came darkly down;
The baby’s mother said,

“Bye-low!
You musn’t frolic so!
You should have been asleep an hour ago!”
And, nestling closer to its mother’s breast,
The merry prattler sank to quiet rest.

Then in the cradle soft
"Twas laid with tenderest care.

“Good-night!
Sleep till the morning light!’
Whispered the mother as she breathed a prayer.
Night settled down; the gates of day were barred
And only loving angels were on guard.

JOSEPHINE POLLARD.


























































SSS













Ss ——SSS—































































































































WATERING THE FLOWERS.
“COME, IUEIPL IE BIRD!”
“Come, littie bird, I have waited some
time,
Light on my hand, and I'll give you
a dime.

I have a cage that will keep you warm,
Free from danger, and safe from storm.”

“No, little lady, we cannot do that,
Not for a dime, nor a brand new hat.
We are so happy, and wild, and free,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”’

“Fly, pretty bird, fly down, and take

Just a crumb of my Christmas cake ;

Santa Claus brought it to me, you
know,

Over the snow. Over the snow.”

“Ves, we know of your home, so rare,

And stockings hung in the fire-light
there ;

We peeped through the window-blinds
tosee. «

Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”

“We were on the button-ball tree,
Closer than we were thought to be ;
Soon you may have us in te tea,
Chee-dee-dee! Chee-dee-dee!”



SERENAS ROU BIEE.

Adalina Patti was a doll of most
trying disposition. You couldn't tell,
when she woke up, what distracting
thing she’d do first.
when seated at the breakfast table, in
her high chair, next to Sirena, her lit-
tle mamma, I have known her to jerk
suddenly forward, and plunge her face
right into a plate of buttered cakes and
syrup.

This necessitated the removing of
her from the table and a good deal of
cleansing and re-dressing on the part of
Bidelia, the hired girl.



I’ve known her, |



She had movable eyes; they were
very lovely, but, if you'll believe it,
she'd screw them round, just to be con-
trary, so that she’d look cross-eyed for
hours together. No sweet persuasion
or threat of punishment could induce
her to look like a doll in her right mind.

This was not quite so bad though,
as the outlandish noises she made
when she didn’t want to say “mamma,”
which she could do very distinctly when
she first arrived, at Christmas.

But a-crisis in her petulant obstinacy
came, when she wouldn't sit still to
have her hair combed, and it looked
like a “hurrah’s nest,’ her brother Bob

said. All her naughtiness came right
out then. She rolled one eye entirely

up in her head, and left it there, and
stared so wild with the other, that
Sirena gave her a pretty lively shake,
but she only dropped that eye and

‘rolled up the other.

This made her little mamma pause
and meditate. - She got provoked as
she looked at her, and then she gave
her a double shake; then that bad doll
rolled up both her eyes, and nothing -
could induce her to get them down
again.

h, dear! How many dreadful things ©
she looked like. There was a vicious
parrot in the park that made its eyes
look just like Adalina’s did, just before
it stuck its head through the bars of its
cage to bite people. And there was a
stone lady, that was named “Ceres,”
on one of the paths in the ‘same park,
and she kept her eyes rolled up all the
time, greatly to the terror of Sirena
and Bidelia, who had to pass her in
coming home in the twilight. And
down street there was a tobacconist’s
sign that represented a fairy queen,
with butterfly wings, taking a pinch of
snuff, and the weather had taken all
the paint off Her eyes and she looked
simply hideous; and Sirena grasped
Bidelia very tight, till they got round
the corner. Now here was her lovely
French doll looking like them and cut-
ting up worse. She’d go to mamma

)

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GEARNING TO KNIT,
with this trouble as she did with all
others.

She put her doll down with her face
against the carpet, and taking hold of
her pink kid arm, dragged her, not
very gently, over the carpet to her
mother.

At that moment in bounced Rob,
who, immediately taking in the situa-
tion of affairs, exclaimed,—“ Oh, don’t
be so cruel to Adalinai Is she just
horrid? You know, Rena, that’s what
you are, scmetimes, yourself. What’s
the matter any way? What makes
you look so glum?” ‘
~ “This doll is acting dreadful; just
look at her eyes!” said Sirena.

“You can't tell any thing by any
one’s eyes, yours look like the 4th of
July, now, and you're a delightful lit-
tle girl, everybody says; you don’t
whack things round, and scream, when
the flowers bloom in the spring.”

He was to be repressed immediately.
Sirena looked at her mother.

“He wants to be funny, Sirena,”
said her mother, soothingly.

“Then he isn’t funny; hes never
funny,” said Sirena, drawing herself up
with dignity.

“Totty Belmont says you're the teas-
enest, hatefulest boy she knows! So
there,” remarked Sirena.

“Qh, ho! I don’t wonder the doll
is scared. Why don’t you treat that
pretty creature with some considera-
tion? Dragging her over the carpet,
‘and spoiling her pretty dress! Now
you'll see, just as soon as she comes to
me, because I’m good-looking and nice,
she'll put her eyes down and smile at
me as lovely as ever.

He took the doll and jumped it up
and down in the air, dancing about and
singing, “ Tra-la.”

As sure as the world! Down came
the eyes, and Adalina was her charm-
ing self again.

*Now you see,” said’Rob, “if you
want people to be good to you and love
you, you must not be rude and ill-na-
tured yourself. This doll is French,





and particular, and she just won't look
at cross little girls; so there!”

“J think,” said her mamma, *‘that
Sirena will not get so angry with her
doll again. “She looks as if she were
ashamed of it now. However disagree-
able we may think people are, it’s
best to watch ourselves, lest in finding
fault with them, we fall into the same
errors.”

5 AD Ve VOI Bale



My little love, with soft, brown eyes,
Looks shyly back at me,

Beneath the drooping apple bough,
She thinks I do not see.

I cannot choose, I laugh with her,
‘I catch her merry glee;

Or stay you near, or go you far,

Oh, little love, how sweet you are!

A hue, like light within a rose,
Is dimpling on her cheek,

It wins a grace, it deepens now

’ With every airy freak ;

A love-light in the rose like this,
Ah, you may vainly seek ;

It shines for me, no shadows mar,

Oh, little love, how fair you are

My heart clings to her pretty words,
They will not be forgot ;

My happy brain will not discern,
If they be wise or not.

To ever be so ‘charmed, so blessed,
Ah, this were happy lot.

My own, shine ever like a star

Upon my life, so true you are.






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BEACHED,
ON TRIAL.

Little Hal Keys was prtetty sure to
throw a stone at every pussy cat he
saw, and so all the cats around used to
have a great deal to say about him as
they sat together on the back fences,
or when they had a party in the big
barn. At last the cats determined to
do something about it, and so they
said: “We will have him up for trial



























































































































































































































kind to me from the time I was alittle

kitten, I will be his lawyer, and try to

get his punishment made as light as I
can.

Twelve cats had to be found who
could say that they were not quite sure
that Hal was such a bad boy as he
seemed tobe. They werestay-at-home
cats,who did not know what was going
on outside of the comfortable houses
where they lived. These twelve cats











DOLLY VARDEN ACCUSING JACK WITH CRUELTY,

before Judge Thomas White.” Hewas
the wisest and oldest of all the cats in
town, and wore spectacles that made
him look even wiser than he was.
Eleven of the most learned cats said
they would be lawyers, and get other
cats to be witnesses, to tell what Hal
had done, and try to get him punished.
One of the eleven said: ‘“ For the sake
of Hal’s mother, who has always been

were to be the jury, and it was theit
duty to hear all that tthe lawyers an«:
the witnesses had to say about Hal’
doings, and then to tell whether or not

they thought he ought to be punished.

At last the day of the trial came;
Judge Thomas White sat down in his
big chair and took his pen; the law-
yers took their places ; the twelve jury
cats were brought in, and put ina higt.






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THAT GUIDING STAR,
box, so they could not jump out and
run away. Hal was brought in and
put in the prisoner’s box, as they call
it ; and Christopher Gray, his mother’s
old cat, took his place beside Hal.
Three cats, called “reporters,” came
in with pockets full of paper and pen-
cils, to write down all that is said; to
print in the newspapers, for all cats in
the world to read.

The first witness to tell all the bad
she knew about Hal was his sister
Alice’s little Dolly Varden. How
saucy she looked, with the blue ribbon
tied around her neck, as she sat on the
witness stand telling how Hal chased
her from cellar to garret; and stepped
on her tail; and gave her saucer of
milk to the dog Jack whenever he got
a chance. ““Cruel, cruel: hoy,” ‘said
Dolly Varden, “he teases his sister al-
most as much as he teases me.”

Hal trembied from head to foot when
he heard what Dolly Varden said, for
he knew it all was true, and he was
much afraid that a very hard punish-
ment would be given to him. Then
the old black cat, on whom Hal bad
thrown a dipper of hot water, wes
called to the witness stand. Poor clad
thing! the hot water had taken the
fur off his back. Then came another
cat, limping up to the witness stand,
whose leg had been broken by a stone
which Hal had thrown. There weresc
many witnesses that it would make my
story too long to tell about them ail.
All that Christopher Gray could say in
Hal’s favor was: “He has a_ good
mother.”

“The more shame for him,” said
one of the lawyers.

When the jury had heard all that was
to be said, they went out of the room
together; in five minutes they came
back; all agreed that Hal should be
punished. Then Judge Thomas White,
in his most solemn tone, said : “Albert
Keys, you are found guilty of great
cruelty to good cats everywhere. I
must, therefore, pronounce sentence
upon you. You must go with us to





Cat town for two days and one night.”

There were tears in Hal's eyes, but
the Judge had no pity on him, and he
called in some of the strongest cats to
take him. Oh! what along, hard way
it was ; over fences, under houses, and
through the barns. It was hard work
for Hal to keep up with them, but they
made him. What atime he had after
he got to Cat town. All of the cats
gathered around him, and howled at
him, and scratched his face and hands,
and made him wish he was any place
but there. At last when he was set
free, he never could have found_ his
way home, if pretty little Dolly Var-
den had not forgiven him, and shown
him the way back.

Hal was never known after that to
throw a stone at a cat, or to treat one
badly in any way.

TWO Jel bt GIRS,

They don’t know much, these little girls,
I'Tl tell you why ’tis so,

They played away their time at school,
And let their Jessons go.

One took a slate to cipher,
And all went very well,

Until she came to four times eight,
And that she could not tell.

The other would make pictures
In her copy book at school,
Of boys and girls and donkeys
Which was against the rule.

But nothing good could come of it,
And this is what befel;

She tried to write to papa,
And found she could not spell.

| The teacher said, “Of all sad things,

I would not be a dunce,
But would learn to write and cipher,
And begin the work at once.”
















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ARRIVAL OF SANTA CLAUS,

SEE:































Pie Ele WO iR)S:

A great astronomer was, once in his
early days, working hardat mathematics,
and the difficulties he met with, made
him ready to give up the study in de-
spair. After listlessly looking out of
the window, he turned over the leaves
of his book, when the lining at the





back attracted
his attention.
Looking at it
closely, he found it was part
of a Ictter written to a young man,
apparently, like himself, disheartened
with his difficulties. “Go on, sir, go
on,” was the counsel; ‘“‘the difficultics
you meet will disappearas youadvance.”
This short sentence seemed to give
the student fresh courage. Following
out these sim ple words he applicd him-
self with renewed energy to his studies,
and ultimately became one. of the most
learned men of his day. D.

PALSE SHAME.



Do not be ashamed, my lad, if you
have a patch on your elbow. It is no
mark of disgrace. It speaks well for
your industrious mother. For our part,
we would rather see a dozen patches
on your clothes:than to have you doa
bad or mean action, or to hear a pro-
fane or vulgar word proceed from your
lips. No good boy will shun you or
think less of you because you do not
dress as well as he does, and if any one
laugh at your appearance, never mind
it. Go right on doing your duty.












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































eee

i

i

Hi



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































RESCUED,












BURY
a
\ q \
+h
}

AN

that is the
name of the gentleman you see sitting

by the table, wrote many books and

Charles Dickens, for

stories. Some of his stories are about
little children for grown folks to read,
and others are for the children them-
Mr. Dickens had a pet cat,
that was always in his library. Strange

That was no

selves.

to say, it had no name.
matter, because the cat could not hear,
He was deaf. But he liked very much
to be petted, and plainly showed some-

times that he was not pleased to have







}

























his master.do any thing else, One even.
ing, when Mr. Dickens was

g, sitting at
the table reading, his candle suddenly
went out. He did not know why it
should have done so, but he got up
and lighted it.

began to get dark again, and he looked

In a few moments it

up quickly at the candle, and saw puss
just raising his paw to put it out,
“What did he do?”
a loving little pat and went on with

He gave the cat

hisreading. Whatasly cat was that tc

find a way tomake his master notice him.
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ON THE SLIDE,


WELCOME NEWS.
SULKYeAR CHIE:



BY C. MANNERS SMITH.



“Tt must be nice to be a sailor, and I
wish I was one. Every thing goes
wrong and mother is al-
ways scolding me, and
father is never done
growling; I am getting
tired of it.”

The speaker was a
little, round-cheeked lad,
of about nine years of age.
He was standing, with
a tall, fair-haired girl,
evidently his sister, on
the edge of the river
Wyncombe. He was not
a lively boy. He was
one of those thoughtful,
gloomy little boys who
are always dreaming; al-
ways thinking and
imagining some fancied
injury from either father
or mother.

Archie Phillips was
the little bcey’s name,
and he and his sister
had got a holiday and
were watching a party of
older children from the
Wynne High School,
who had come down to
the river to spend the
afternoon. There was
Algernon Wright witha
large model yacht, and
Willie Schofield, the
Mayor’s son, with a new
silver-mounted fishing
rod. They were all as
happy and full of frolic
as all boys in the spring-time of life
ought to be. Little Archie was, how-
ever, of a morose temperament, and
did not share in any of the amusements.

The village of Wynne is a fishing vil-
lage, and is approached from the sea by



The town is built on the slopes of the
hills reaching down to the water’s edge,
and the river Wynne empties itself
into the sea near by.

It is, indeed, a pleasant place. At
the time of this story all the boys of
Wynne, young and old, were crazy after









“NOBODY CARES.”

maritime pursuits and sports. They
spent the bulk of their holiday time
either in sailing about the bay, or in
fishing, bathing, or holding model yacht
races in the cove.

“Why don’t I have a yacht in the

a beautiful cove on the Cornish coast. { place of a silly ball? Why don’t I have

B5














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































nA" 4 AN
A A = FW A
a WN N RN Re

La N y
AW
pee


boys to play with instead of Lucy and

Gyp? What do girls or dogs know
about a top or a cat hunt? Tm dis-
gusted! Ill go for a sailor! I'll run

away; there!”

The girl took no notice of this dis-
course. It was no new thing for her
_ to hear grumbling from her brother, and
she was accustomed to bear it without
murmur or dissent. Presently she ran
away, along the river bank, with her
doll, to a shady place, where she knew
the sun was not strong, and where some
rushes overhung the path. There she
could put her doll to sleep. It was no
use asking Archie to join her. He was
too old and too much of a man to enter
into any such stupidity.

Presently Archie sat down in the
shade, on the balustrades of the church-

ard and watched the glee of the High-
Schoolboys with a sulky envy.

It was a glorious summer afternoon.
The sky overhead was one vast, in-
verted field of blue, without a single
speck of cloud. The hot sun was beat-
ing down almost perpendicularly, and
the rays penetrated the leaves, shed-
ding a lattice-work pattern on the
ground.

“T know Ben Huntly, the boat-builder,
will tell me how to goto sea. He has
been a sailor himself, and I know he
will tell me all about it. Nobody cares;
well, mother might, perhaps, a bit, but
then, I don’t know.”

Then he paused in his musings and
thought of all the injustice done to him
by his mother. He thought, like all
gloomy, wretched little boys, of all that
was ill. He didn’t for one moment re-
member, how, that very morning, the
self-same, unjust mother, after packing
up his little lunch-basket, had put her
arms round his neck, and a little red-
cheeked apple in his pocket, and told
him to keep away from the river. Oh,
no, he seemed to have quite forgotten
all that.

Then the sun went behind a cloud
and Archie felt the cool wind, which
blew from the cove, on his cheek, so he



jumped down from his musing plaee
and sped away as fast as his legs would
carry him toward the house of the
boat-builder. He ran across the green,
down the grassy slopes and across a
stretch of shingly beach, to the cottage
of his friend.

Ben Huntly, the boat-builder, was a
good-hearted fellow, and was extremely

fond of all the children of the village.

He had that methoa possessed by few
people of searching into the heart of
a child and arguing with him in a
manner suitable for a child’s under-
standing.

Archie had often sought Ben’s coun-
sel when things seemed to go wrong,
and it was seldom that the boat-builder
had failed to convince the boy, even to
his satisfaction, that he was wrong.

It was an off day for the boat-builder.
He was sitting, smoking his pipe, in
the cottage porch, and reading a well-
thumbed copy of “ Gray’s Master Mari-
ner.” He welcomed Archie with a se.
cret delight, for he knew, by his little
friend’s face, that he was brooding over
some fancied injury, and it gave the
boat-builder pleasure to talk his little
friend out of his troubles.

“Well, Archie, what's new in the
wind,” said Ben, as he greeted the
boy with a grasp of the hand. “It
aco almost an age since I saw you, my

oy.

Little Archie sat down*on a large
stone bench in the porch, and told Ben
his story. His mother had been vexed
with him that morning. She had asked
him to call-at the rectory with a mes-
sage for Doctor Hart, and he wanted to
cut grass at the time, and objected.
His mother did not scold him, oh, no,
Ben, she sent Carrie, who willingly
took the message, and his father had
called him a name. Then, again, he
had no toys like other boys. Some had
a pony; he couldn’t have one. His
father always answered his request for
a pony with the reply that he couldn’t
afford one just then and he would see
about it some day. If Ben would only














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































SS ———





A RECKLESS RIDE,
tell him how to go to sea he would cer-
tainly run away the next day.

Now, Ben knew the character of lit-
tle Archie better, perhaps, than his own
mother did; so, when he had given the
little boy a draught of cool milk from
the cottage kitchen, Ben lit his pipe
afresh, and took down an old telescope,
a relic of his seafaring days, from the
wall. The young man and the boy then
strolled across a low, level tract of sand,
toa grassy hillock, formed by the cur-
rent of the Wyncombe.
sat down in the fast waning twilight,



to the lad’s questions. He told little
Archie how, early one stormy morning,
he had been awakened from his bed in
the cottage by the sound of guns away
at sea, how he had descended to the
beach with a lot of the villagers, to find
the waves beating mercilessly over a
great, broken ship. He told how they
had all stood, in the leaden morning,
stricken with dread at the sight of the
disaster they were all powerless to pre-
vent; leaning hard against the wind,



and discussed
little Archie’s
purposed flight.

“Ves, Archie,”
said Ben, “a sail-
or’s life is well
enough, if you
don’t mind hard
beds: and harder
words. If you
can eat salty
meat and mouldy
bread it’s a fine
life, Archie
There is no life
I'd like better if
they’d give you
fresher water and
not quite so
many cruel blows,
But, if you’ve
made up your
mind, Archie, and
think you can
go to bed nights
in a rolling, tossing sea, with the wind
howling and the rain pouring, and your.
mother thousands of miles away, look-
ing at your little empty bed, I should
think very seriously about it. Archie
looked thoughtful, as the gloom deep-
ened on his face, and silence fell on the
pair for a time.

Suddenly Ben spied a French frigate
looming against the darkening sky and
showed it to Archie through the tele-
scope. He explained all the parts of
the ship and dwelt long in his answers

h

\



ARCHIE THINKING OF BEN’S STORY.

Here they | their breath and vision often failing
as the sleet and spray rushed at them

from the great

mountain of

foaming sea

which kept break-
ing on the rocks
in the cove. He
told farther, how,
before all their
eyes, the vessel
had given one
great heave back-
wards and sank
beneath the
waves forever;
how they could
faintly hear the
heart-rending
screams of wo-
men and children
above the storm
as the great waste
of waters covered

the struggling
vessel. He told

Archie that, on
the following evening, while he was
mending a boat down the bay, he came
across something lying amongst a
mass of sea-weed, and on turning it
over had found it to be the dead body
of a sailor—a fair, curly-headed youth,
. “He was clad,” said Ben, “ina pair
of linen trowsers and a sea shirt, and
the weeds and sand were all tangled in
his hair. I raised him up from the
beach and a small bundle fell out of his
bosom. I laid him in my boat and
went for Doctor Hart, Tt was the talk























































































































































































of the village for days. Dr. Hart found
the bundle to contain a packet of let-
ters written in a feeble hand and signed
by the dead sailor's mother. ‘They
were loving letters of expected joy at
her boy’s return.”

Ben would have gone on with the
story, but he was attracted by the ap-
pearance of Archie. The little lad was
sitting, with his pale face turned up to
Ben, and with two great tears, as large
as horse beans, in the corners of his
eyes. On meeting Ben’s gaze he broke
down thoroughly and burst into a flood
of tears, throwing his arms round the
honest boat-builder’s neck, sobbing on
his breast.

“Oh, Ben, I don’t want ta leave
mother; I am a wicked boy. If she
were to die, Ben, what should I do?
Do you think she is alive now, Ben?
I don’t want to go away, Ben.”

The boat-builder soothed the little
lad and smiled at the success of his pur-
pose to divert the boy’s mind.

It was now nearly night, and time
for Archie to go home, so Ben took
him on his shoulders and carried him to
Mr. Archer’s house, where the family
were all waiting supper for the little
boy.

Avenetaa to his mother as soon as
he got in and kissed her over and over
again. He told her his little story,
making the good woman's heart over-
flow with love for her little son.

Ben stayed to supper with the family
that night, and all was bright and happy
as the merry party sat round the board
laughing and joking to their heart’s
content.

Archie is a young man now, and has
outgrown his gloomy, brooding dispo-
sition. He is a clerk in the office of a
rich corn merchant in Oxbridge, the
nearest market to Wynne, and shows
every tendency to become a successful
and respected business man.

Occasionally, when things do not hap-
pen to his satisfaction, and he feels the
old spirit of discontent rising, he checks



it by reflecting on his early unhappi-
ness. If his mother or father are harsh
or angry with him, or if Mr. Gayton,
his employer, speaks quickly or loudly
to him, he stifles any tendency to sulk
and become angry by thinking of Ben
Huntly ane the story of the wreck.

A WISH FOR WINGS.



O dear little birdie, how nice it must
be
To be able to fly
Far away to the sky,
Orto sit on the toss-away top of a
tree.

I wish you would lend me yeur wings
for a day. :
I have two little feet
That can run on the street,
One step at a time, but I can’t fly
away.

I would fly to the woods if I only had
WINGS ;
Over house-top and tree,
Like a bird or a bee,

And sit by the side of the thrush while

she sings.

I would count the blue eggs in her
snug little nest ;
I would stay all day long,
To hear her sweet song,
And bring home a feather of gold from
ber breast.

Mrs. S. J. BRIGHAM.








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f\ ARAN RANTES WT ON VSR Ss me igs

THE GLEANERS.


CONSEQUENCES: A
PARABLE,

The baby held it in his hand,
An acorn green and small,

He toyed with it, he tossed it high,
And then he let it fall!

He sought for it, and sorely wept,
Or did his mother know
(Though sweet she kissed and clasped
her boy)
What loss had grieved him so

_ Then he was borne to other lands,
And there he grew to man,
And wrought his best, and did his
most,
And lived as heroes can.

But in old age it came to pass
He trod his native shore,

Yet did not know the pleasant fields
Where he had played before

Beneath a spreading oak he sat,
A wearied man and old,

And said,—‘“‘I feel a strange content
My inmost heart enfold.

“As if some sweet old secret wish
Was secretly fulfilled,

As if I traced the plan of life
Which God Himself has willed!

“Oh, bonnie tree which shelters me,
Where summer sunbeams glow,
I’ve surely seen thee in my dreams !—

Why do I love thee so’”’

IsaABELLA Fyviz Mayo.





COMFORTABLE MRS.
CROOK.



BY RUTH LAMB.



If Mrs. Jemima Crook happened to
be in a very good temper, when taking
acup of tea with some old acquaint-
ance, she would sometimes allude to
her private affairs in these words: “I
don’t deny it; Crook has left me com-

fortable.” This was not much to tell,
for Mrs. Crook was not given to confi-
dences, and a frequent remark of hers
was: “I know my own business, and
that is enough for me. I don’t see that
I have any callto fill other people’s
minds and mouths with what does not
concern them.”

Seeing, however, that Mrs.- Crook’s
own mind and heart were entirely filled
by Mrs. Crook herself, it was, perhaps,
as well that she should not occupy too
much of the attention and affection of
her neighbors.

It is a poor, narrow heart, and a small
mind, that find self enough to fill them;
but these sorts are not unknown, and
Mrs. Crook was a sample of such.

When she spoke of having been left
“comfortable” by her deceased _part-
ner, there was a look of triumph and
satisfaction on her face, and a “No-
thanks-to-any-of-you”” kind of tone in
her voice, that must have jarred on the
ear of a listener.

No one ever saw a tear in Mrs. Crook’s
eye, or heard an expression of regret
for the loss of “Crook’’ himself. He
had been dead and out of sight and mind
almost these ten years past. He was
merely remembered as having done his
duty in leaving his widow “comfort-
able.” People were left to speculate as
they chose about the amount repre-
sented. by the expression. It would
not have been good for the man or
woman who had ventured to ask a di-
rect question on the subject, but every-
body agreed that Mrs. Crook must have
something handsome. Surely ‘“com-
fortable” means free from care, both
as regards to-day and to-morrow: not
only enough, but a little more, or else
anxiety might step in and spoil com-
fort. If Mrs. Crook had more than
enough, she took care not to give of
her abundance. Neither man, woman
nor child was ever the better for the
surplus, if such there were. One of
her favorite expressions was, “I don’t
care for much neighboring; I prefer
keeping myself to myself.”






















































































































































































































































































































































ar

UY)

7)
I}

“4 / TM
AS



e WAU EES

SNOWFLAKES,
“And you keep every thing else to
yourself,” muttered one who had vainly
tried to enlist her sympathy for another
who was in sickness and trouble.

Mrs. Crook hada pretty garden, well-
stocked with flowers, according to the
season. She was fond of working in
it, and might be seen there daily, with
her sun-bonnet on, snipping, tying and
tending her plants.

Children do so love flowers, and,
thank God, those who live in country
places have grand gardens to roam in,
free to all, and planted by His own
loving hand. But in town it is differ-
ent, and Mrs. Crook lived just out-
side one; far enough away from its
smoke to allow of successful garden-
ing, not too far to prevent little feet
from wandering thither from narrow
courts and alleys, to breathe a purer
air, and gaze, with longing eyes, at the
fair blossoms. It always irritated Mrs.
Crook to see these dirty, unkempt little
creatures clustering around her gate,
or peeping through her hedge.

“What do you want here?” she
would ask, sharply. “Get away with
vou, or I will send for a policeman.

ou are peeping about to see if you
zan pick up something; I know you
are. Be off, without any more telling!”

The light of pleasure called into the
young eyes by the sight of the flowers
would fade away, and the hopeful look
leave the dirty faces, as Mrs. Crook’s
harsh words fell on the children’s ears.
But as they turned away with unwill-
ing, lingering steps, heads would be
stretched, and a wistful, longing gaze
cast upon the coveted flowers, until
they were quite lost to sight.

There was a tradition amongst the
youngsters that a very small child had
once called, through the bars of the

ate: “P’ease, Missis, do give me a
‘ower.’ Also that something in the
baby voice had so far moved Mrs. Je-
mima Crook, that she had stooped to
select one or two of the least faded
yoses among all those just snipped
from the bushes, and giventhem to the





daring little blue eyes outside, with
this injunction, however:

“Mind you never come here asking
for flowers any more.”

This report was long current among
the inhabitants of a city court, but it
needs confirmation. _

Mrs. Crook objected to borrowers
also, and perhaps she was not so much
to be blamed for that. Most of us
who possess bookshelves, and once de-
lighted in seeing them well filled, look
sorrowfully at gaps made by borrow-
ers who have failed to return our treas-
ures. But domestic emergencies oc-
cur even in the best regulated families,
and neighborly help may be impera-
tively required. It may be a matter of
Christian duty and privilege too, to
lend both our goods and our personal
aid. Mrs. Crook did not think so.
Lending formed no part of her creed.
If other people believed in it, and liked
their household goods to travel up and
down the neighborhood, that was their
look-out, not hers; S

“T never borrow, so why should I
lend?” asked Mrs. Crook. ‘“ Besides,
I am particular about my things. My
pans are kept as bright and clean as
new ones, and if my servant put them
on the shelves, as some people’s ser-
vants replace theirs after using, she
would not be here long. No, thank
you. When I begin to borrow, I will
begin to lend, but not until then.”

Mrs. Crook’s sentiments were so well
known that, even in a case of sickness,
when a few spoonfuls of mustard were
needed for immediate use in poultices,
the messenger on the way to borrow it,
passed her door rather than risk a re-
fusal, whereby more time might be lost
than by going farther in the first in-

‘stance.

Many were the invitations Mrs. Crook
received to take part in the work of dif-
ferent societies. One lady asked her
to join the Dorcas meeting.

“You can sew so beautifully,’’ she
said, “ You would be a great -acquisi-
tion -to our little gathering.

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THE GREENWOOD

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The compliment touched a tender
point. Mrs. Crook was proud of her
needlework, but to dedicate such skill
in sewing to making under-clothing for
the poorest of the poor: The idea was
monstrous !

Mrs. Crook answered civilly, that she
could not undertake to go backwards
and forwards to a room half a mile off.
It would be a waste of time. Besides,
though it was probably not the case in
that particular meeting, she had heard
that there was often a great deal of
gossip going on at such places. The
visitor was determined not to be of
fended, and she replied, gently, that
there was no chance of gossip, for, af-
ter a certain time had been given to
the actual business of the meeting,
such as planning, cutting out, and ap-
portioning work, one of the ladies read,
whilst the rest sewed. “But,” she
added, “if you are willing to help usa
little, and object to joining the meet-
ing at the room, perhaps you would
let me bring you something to be made
at home. There is always work for
every willing hand.”

‘Then Mrs. Crook drew herself up and
said she did not feel inclined to take in
sewing. She had her own to do, and
did it without requiring assistance, and
she thought it was better to teach the
lower classes to depend upon them-
selves than to go about pampering poor
people and encouraging idleness, as
many persons were so fond of doing now-
a-days. No doubt they thought they
were doing good, but, for her part, she be-
lieved that in many cases they did harm.

The visitor could have told tales ot
worn-out toilers, laboring almost night
and day to win bread for their children,
but unable to find either material for a
garment or time to make it. She could
have pleaded for the widow and the or-
phan, if there had seemed any feelings
to touch, any heart to stir. But Mrs.
Crook’s hard words and looks repelled
her, and she went her way, after a mere
“Good-morning. I am sorry yeu can-
not see your way to help us.”



No chance of widows weeping for the
loss of Mrs. Crook, or telling of her
almsdeeds and good works, or showing
the coats and garments made for them
by her active fingers!

It was the same when some adven-
turous collector called upon Mrs. Crook
to solicit a subscription. She had al-
ways something to say against the ob-
ject for which money was asked. If it
were for the sufferers by an accident in
a coal mine or for the unemployed at a
time of trade depression:

“Why don’t they insure their lives
like their betters? Why don’t they
save something, when they are getting
good wages? I am not going to en-
courage the thriftless, or help those
who might help themselves, if they
would think beforehand.”

At length every one gave up trying.
to enlist her services, or to obtain con-
tributions from her, for the support of
any good cause. And Mrs. Crook be-
stowed all her thoughts, her affections,
her time and her means, on the only
person she thought worthy of them all
—namely, Mrs. Crook herself.

AN EVENING SONG.



BY COUSIN ANNIE.



Twilight dews are gath’ring,
The bright day’s done;

Upon thy downy couch
Rest, little one.

Each tiny bird’s hieing
Home to its nest ;

-Each flower-head’s nodding
Upon its breast.

Be still now, little heart,
Until the morrow

Brings again its share
Of joy and sorrow.

May angels round thy couch
Be ever nigh,

And over thy slumbers chan
Their lullaby.










































































































































































































































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i

“Rut THEN.”

——————

It was a queer name for a little girl,
and it was not her real name—that was
Lizzie—but everybody called her “But
Then.” : :

“My real name is prettier, but then,
I like the other pretty well,” she said,
nodding her short, brown curls merrily.
And that sentence shows just how she
came by her name. :

If Willie complained that it was a

eS

miserable, rainy day, and they couldn't
play out of doors, Lizzie assented
brightly,—

“Ves; but then, it is a real nice day
to fix our scrap-books.”

When Kate fretted because they had
so far to walk to school, her little sis-
ter reminded her,—

“< But then, tt's all the way through the
woods, you gow, and that’s ever se

Da ?


























































































at THE PICNIC.
much nicer than walking on pavements
in a town.”

When even patient Aunt Barbara
pined a little because the rooms in the
new house were so few and small com-
pared with their old home, a rosy face
was quietly lifted to hers with the sug-
gestion,—

“But then, little rooms are the best
to cuddle all up together in, don’t you
think, Auntie?”

“Better call her ‘J.ittle But Then,’
and have done with it,” declared Bob,
half-vexed, half-laughing. ‘No matter
how .bad any thing is, she is always
ready with her ‘but then, and some
kind of consolation on the end of it.”

And so, though no one really in-
tended it, the new name began. There
were a_good many things that the
children missed in their new home.
Money could have bought them even
there; but if the money had not gone
first, their father would scarcely have
thought it necessary to leave his old
home. They had done what was best
under the circumstances; still the boys
felt rather inclined to grumble about it
one winter morning when they were
starting off to the village on an errand.

“Just look at all the snow going to
waste, without our having a chance to
enjoy it,” said Will; ‘and the ice too—
all because we couldn’t bring our sleds
with us when we moved.”

“But then, you might make one your-
self, you know. It wouldn’t be quite so
pretty, but it would be just as good,”
suggested Litt’e But Then.

“exactly what I mean to do as soon
as I get money enough to buy two or
three boards; but I haven’t even that
yet, and the winter is nearly half gone.”

“Tf we only had a sled to-day, Sis
could ride, and we could go on the
river,” said Bob. ‘It’s just as near
that way, and we could go faster.”

“Tt isa pity,” admitted the little girl.
“But then, lve thought of something
—that old chair in the shed! If we
turned it down, its back would be al-
most like runners, and se—”

B6



“Hurrah! that’s the very thing!”
interrupted the boys; and the old chair
was dragged out in a twinkling, and
carried down to the river. Then away
went the merry party, laughing and
shouting, on the smooth road between
the snowy hills, while Gyp followed,
frisking and barking, and seeming to
enjoy the fun as much as any of them.

“Now we'll draw our sled up here,
close under the bank, where nobody
will see it, and leave it while we go up
to the store,” said Bob, when they had
reached the village.

Their errand was soun done, and the
children ready to return; but as they
set forth Will pointed to a dark spot a
little way out on the ice.

“What is that? It looks like a great
bundle of clothes.”

It was a bundle that moved and
moaned as they drew near, and proved
to be a girl, a little bigger than Lizzie.
She looked up when they questioned
her, though her face was pale with
pain.

“JT slipped and fell on the ice,” she
explained, ‘(and I’m afraid ve broken
my leg, for it is all twisted under me,
and I can’t move it or get up. _Ilivein
the village. That’s my father’s carpen-
ter shop where you see the sign. I
could see it all the time, and yet I was
afraid I'd freeze here before any one
saw me. Oh dear! it doesn’t seem as
if I could lie here while you go for my
father.”

“Why, ree needn t,” began Bob;
but the girl shook her head.

“T can’t walk a step, and you two are
not strong enough to carry me all the
way. You'd let me fall, or you'd have
to keep stopping to rest; and putting
me down and taking me up again would
almost kill me.”

“Oh, but we'll only lift you into the
chair, just as carefully as we can, then
we can carry you easy enough,” said
Will.

And in that way the poor girl was
borne safely home; and the children
lingered long enough to bring the sur-
THE OAT,

Ss

\\\





geon and hear his verdict, that “ Young
bones don’t mind much being broken,
and she will soon be about again, as
well as ever.”

“But I don’t see how you happened
to have a chair so handy,” said her
father to thc boys. And when they ex-



LE Nee
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_“3UL THEN, IT’S ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS, YOU KNOW.”

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plained that they were using it fora
sled, he said, with a significant nod of
his head,—“Your sled, was it? Well,
I shall be surprised if my shop does
not turn you out a better slea than
that, just by way of thanks for your
kindness.”












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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WY
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GYLEL



WILL YOU RIDE?
“But then, wasn't it good that it was
only the old chair that we had to-day ?”
asked Little But Then, as she told
the story to Aunt Barbara at home.
“Oh Auntie, * had the nicest kind of a
time!”

“T believe you had,” answered Aunt
Parbara, smiling; ‘‘for a brave, sunny
spirit, that never frets over what it has
not, but always makes the best of what
it has where it is, is sure to havea good
time. It does not need to wait for it to
come—it has a factory for making it.”

















TTT
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—The following is an Arabic_proverb
taken from the mouth of an Oriental:
‘‘Men are four. 1. He who knows not,

and knows not he knows not. He is
a fool; shun him. 2. He who knows
not, and knows he knows not. He is

simple; teach him. 3. He who knows,
and knows not he knows. Heis asleep;
wake him. 4. He who knows, and
knows he knows. He is wise; follow
him.”







WHAT THE SNAIL SAID.

“You little chicks, tho’ you peck at
my dress,
I will not get angry at that;
I know you would gobble me up if you
could,

As quick as a worm or a gnat.”

Saye little snail, you had better go on,
They may try the same trick upon
you.”
“No, no,” said the snail, with his hard
coat of mail,

“T don’t care a rush if they do.

“Little girl, there’s no harm to cause
me alarm,
I'll sit here and watch them a spell,
But as soon as they pounce, I'll cheat
them at once,

By getting right into my shell.”

“But listen, wise snail, the old hen in
the coop
Has her ‘cye very closely on you;
Andif she gets out, it may put you
about,
Now mind, what I tell you is true.”

“But dear little girl, she is fast in her
house ;
No, no, she can’t touch me, no, no.
But if that respectable fowl should get

out,
Oho!”’ said the snail, “Oho!”


LAVINIA.
ONLY NOW AND THEN.

Think it no excuse, boys,
Merging into men,
That you do a wrong act
“Only now and then.”

Better to be careful
As you go along,
if you would be manly,

Capable and strong.

Many a wretched set, boys,
That one daily mects

Drinking from the beer-kegs,
Living in the streets,

Or at best, in quarters
Worse than any pen,

Once was dressed in broadcloth

Drinking now and then.

When you have a habit
That is wrong, you know,

Knock it off at once, lads,

_ With a sudden blow.

Think it no excuse, boys,
Merging into men,

That you do a wrong act

“Only now and then.”



A SERPENT AMONG THE
BOOKS.

One day, a gentleman in India went
into his library and took down a book
from the shelves. As he did so, he
felt a slight pain in his finger, like the
prick of a pin. He thought that a pin
had been stuck, by some careless _per-
son, in the cover of the book. But soon
his finger began to swell, then his arm,
and then his whole body, and in a few
days he died. It was not a pin among
the books, but a small and deadly ser-
pent. :

There are many serpents among the
books now-a-days ; they nestle in the
foliage of some of our most fascinating
literature ; they coil around the flowers
whose perfume intoxicates the senses.
People read and are charmed by the
plot of the story, and the skill with
which the characters are sculptured or
grouped, by the gorgeousness of the
wood-painting, and hardly feel the pin-
prick of the evil that is insinuated.
But it stings and poisons.

Let us watch against the serpents
and read only that which is healthy,
instructive and profitable.

Lek Bb MOd Ea

BY JULIA HUNT MOREHOUSE,

It was Judge Bellow’s big, fine house,
that stood on the corner by the park.
Every body knew that, but every body
did zo¢ know that the one little girl
who lived in that house was restless
and unhappy and often cross.

“Why do you roam about so, Nell?
Why don’t you settle down to some-
|

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i

IN











































A GAME OF TENNIS.
thing?” her mother asked, one bright,
spring day. :

“Oh, I am sick of every thing. I
have read all my books, and I hate my
piano. The croquet isn’t up, and there

is nobody to play with me, if it was.”

“Why don’t you find some kind of -

work to do?”

“That is just the trouble. There’s
nothing that needs to be done; ser-
vants for every thing ; and what does
crocheting amount to, and plastering
some little daubs of paint on some
plush! Why, I believe that little Dutch
girl that sells things out of her big
basket, on our corner, every morning,
is a good deal happier than I am. I
mean to ask her some time what makes
her so.”

* * *
* % *

A few weeks more and the hot sum-
mer came on, and Nell missed the little
Dutch girl on the corner. It really
worried her that the bright, womanly
face did not come any more, but she
supposed she had moved to ‘a better
stand or perhaps left the-city.

One morning Nel) took a walk with
her teacher; a loug walk, for they
found themselves outside the city,
where there were open fields and every
house had green grass and trees close
around it.

“ What a little, Z¢¢7e house! That
one with the woodbine all over it—and
I do believe—yes, it really zs my little

Dutch girl scrubbing the steps,” and
away she bounded and was soon beside
the little worker.

“Oh! I’m so glad to find you again !
Why don’t you come to our corner any
more?”

“Baby’s been sick a long, good
time,” explained Lea, wiping her hands
on her apron. ‘Wont you ladies please
to walk in, if you please, ma'am?”

It was a queer little figure that
showed them into the cool, clean room ;
short and broad and dumpy. Her
shoes were coarse, her dress of faded



black, with a white kerchief at the
neck, so like an old woman. Her face
too, was short and broad ; her nose was
very short and her eyes very narrow.
So you see she was not pretty, but her .
face was all love and sunshine. She
sat down ona low stool and took up

the baby in such a dear, motherly way,

smoothing its hair and dress and kiss-
ing it softly.

“Vou don’t mean that you live here
all alone?” asked Nell.

“Oh, no; there is Hans and baby
and me, and there is old Mrs. Price in
the other part.”

“But your father and mother?”

“ Mother died a year ago. Oh, she
was one such good mother, but baby
came in her place. Baby looks like
mother, and now I have to be her little
mother, you see,” and she set the little
dumpling out upon her knee, with such
pride and tenderness.

“And your father ?”

The little Dutch girl dropped her
head and answered very low, “ Father
has been gone a long time. They say
he is shut up somewhere. He don't
come home any more.”

“Oh, how very dreadful! I don’t
see where you get money to buy things
with.”

“Hans is fifteen and works in a
shop. He gets some money, and_he
will get a good deal, by-and-by. The
rest / get from the flowers. You see
I raise them myself, mostly.”

“ But do you get enough for clothes
and playthings, and do you always
have enough to eat?” persisted Nell.

“7 don’t have any clothes. I make
over mother’s. We have Kitty for
playthings. Enough to eat? Baby
always has enough, don’t she, lovie ?”’
cuddling her up close.

A new world was opening up to Nell.

“Excuse me, but don’t you have any
pleasure trips, or birthday parties, ot
Christmas ?”

“No; I don’t just know what those
things are, but we have nice beef and
apples for dinner on Christmas.”



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































“And are you always happy as you
seem—really happy?”

The ‘little mother” opened her
eyes wide in wonder. ‘Why, of course.
What else should we be? Mother al-
ways told us it was wicked to be cross,
and that we must not fret much, even
over her going away to heaven.”

Nell did some hard thinking on her
way home, and being a sensible little
girl, she made up her mind that one

way to be happy is to be dusy, and not |

-only busy, but useful, and she set about
the new way in earnest.

She learned that it is possible to be
unselfish and happy axy where; she in
her wealthy home, and the “little
mother” in her one room, with her
baby and her flowers.

Lie eS Gage lb:

MRS, JEANE A. WARD.



She was her mother’s darling, and
a very good little girl in most things.
With her yellow hair, big blue eyes
and rosy cheeks; in the pretty blue
dress and red sash; nice little slip-
pers on her plump feet, she made the
whole house lively and bright, and
sometimes she made plenty of work
for every one in it, too, for she was a
terrible Nelly to scatter playthings.
The dolly would be on the chair, her

torn picture-books over the floor, her’

ball kicking about everywhere, and
her blocks any where.

What’could mother do with such a
girl? When she would talk to her,
Nelly would promise not to do so
any more, and would pick up the dolly
and the pictures, and the ball and the
blocks, and her other toys, and take
them to her own corner play-house and
fix them all in order, and be real good
for a little while.

But the ‘real good’ would last only





a little while and then out all would
come again, and Little Scatter would
have them around just as before.

That is the way she came to be given
that name, and she was old enough to
know she well deserved it, and to be
ashamed of it; yet she could no:
break off the bad habit.

She had a kind, good mother, whc
saw that she would have to, in some
way, cure her little daughter of such
slovenly habits or else she would grow
up to be a very careless, untidy woman,
and the mother was wise enough to
know that it is more easy to correct
such matters when children are young
than when they grow older.

She did not want to punish Nelly
severely, and so, whenever Little Scat-
ter had gotten all her toys over the
floor, tables, sofa and chairs, mamma
would call her and say :

“Now, Nelly, every thing you have
is lying about, it is time for my Little
Scatter to get gathered in close ;” and
then Miss Nelly would have to gc
close to the wall and be shut in by <
chair and stand there until mamma’s
watch said half an hour had passed.
This was very hard ona little girl that
loved to run around so much as Nelly
did, and though she knew she deserved
all the punishment, yet she used to beg
very hard and promise, but she always
had to stay the full time; then she
would come out, get her mamma’s kiss
and forgiveness, pick up her toys and
be happy.

It did not take many such punish-
ments before Nelly began to think
before she acted so carelessly, and in
a short time she was almost as neat
about such matters as she was sweet
and good in every thing else. If ever
there were afew of her things lying
about, mamma _ had only to call her
‘Little Scatter,’ to make her remem-
ber, and so hard did she try to correct
herself of this bad habit that in a few
months she and those about her almost
forgot that she had ever been known
by such an untidy name.




“GRANDMOTHER'S CLOCK,
GRANDMOTHER’S CLOCK.

It stands in the corner of Grandma's room;
From the ceiling it reaches the floor;

“Tick-tock,” it keeps saying the whole day long,
““Tick-tock,” and nothing more.

Grandma says the clock is old, like herself;
But dear Grandma is wrinkled and gray,

While the face of the clock is smooth as my hana,
And painted with flowers so gay! :

Backwards and forwards, this way and that,
You can see the big pendulum rock:

“Tick-tock,” it keeps saying the whole day long,
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!”

The clock never sleeps, and its hands never rest
As they slowly go moving around;

And it strikes the hours with a ding, ding, ding,
Ding

g, ding, and a whirring sound.

I wonder if this is the same old clock
That the mousie ran up in the night,

And played hide-and-seek till the clock struck one,
And then ran down in a fright.

Backwards and forwards, this way and that,
You can see the big pendulum rock;
“Tick-tock,” it keeps saying the whole day long,
“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!”
Nettie M. GARABRANT.

























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE TREES IN SILVER LAND.



O softly falling flakes of snow Such questions as he asks in vain

That fill the wintry air, — About the leaf-like snow!

A thickening cloud on every side, He might as well talk of the tides
Each flake a wonder rare. That strangely come and go.



“Who plants those fairy trees?” he
asks, :
“With tops that reach so high?”
Oh, answer, Garden of Delight,

All in the cloudy sky!

“Who shakes those trees and sends
their leaves
On field and wood and town?
Is it the Gardener living there,
Or winds that blow them down?”

- O child, look up and see yourself,
The clouds are Silver Land.
Who made those flakes, He scatters
them;
They fall-at His command.



They fall, they ‘melt, they come



fis again,
“Are they from trees in Silver Land?” And His.the gardener’s hand
My child is asking me. . That gently shakes the silver trees
He clapshis hands, he laughs, he begs, Which grow in Silver Land.

“One leaf from silver tree.” : Rev. Epwarp A. RAND.

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TO MEMORY DEAR,
“WANT A BITE?"



Suet














































































LINCOLN’S EARLY HOME.

SMALL BEGINNINGS.



Did you ever think of how lowly
was the start in life of many of our
great men? Read the pages of his-
tory and you will find that fully
seven out of ten of the great men
were really poor. Bonaparte used
to be a book agent, Gould was a
surveyor, Franklin was a printer,
Garfield worked on the tow path,
Lincoln was a rail splitter, Grant was
a tanner, Poe was always in financial
‘distress; Crome, the great artist, used
to pull hair from his cat’s tail to
make his brushes; Astor came to
New Vork with nothing as the
foundation of his fortunes. The list
is almost endless.

—s 16 us, there is much encourage-
Bi ,



ment in these facts. By looking inte
the lives of such men we find the
secret of success. Lincoln was a
poor Illinois farmer, with no vision-
ary dreams of his great future. He
was poor and unlearned. Of the
poverty he was not ashamed; of his
lack of learning he was by no means
satisfied. He resolved to gain
knowledge. He studied, studied
hard, and at a time in his life when
other men felt they had passed the
age of schooling. Of his work, we
find he always tried to give an
honest day’s labor; his motto was
to do well everything he put his
hands to. It was this trait of char-
acter that attracted the attention of








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































AN HVENING WALK,




GRANT’S HOUSE,

his neighbors, and this it was that
first started him on the road to
great success.

Look at the early days of Grant.
There was no indication of unusual
brightness in him. At West Point,
where he was sent to military school,
he did not stand at the head of his
classes. He only seemed an earnest
worker, with plenty of determination.
Later, when he lived on his little
Illinois farm, there was nothing
about him that pointed him out as
the future great general. It was
only when the great civil war broke
out that he had an opportunity to
show the kind of aman he was. His
only thought was to accomplish the



task assigned him, be it ever so diffi- | graph and other inventions.



NEAR ST. LOUIS.

cult. This natu-ally found him in
the line of promotion, and step by
step he climbed higher, earning by
hard work every step he gained, until
he reached the highest office in the
land.

Take Edison, the inventor. He
was only a tramp telegrapher, but he
was not satisfied with being anything
but the best, and many are the
stories of speed he attained in send-
ing or receiving messages. He was
inquisitive—wanted to know more
of the mysteries of the electricity
that carried his messages. He began
experimenting, and close by applica-
tion to his studies, has astonished
the world with his telephone, phono-










































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE TIRED TRAVELER.























































































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Now, these great men are not
merely the products of chance. Not
at all. Study each of them and you
will find they were workers, gaining
by just such struggles as you and I
can make. We may not reach such
distinction as these have reached, but
rest-assured there is just as great a
demand now as ever for good, earn-
est men, and earnest, successful
men grow from painstaking boys.
-The boy who, as clerk in the count-





ing-house, watches after the interests
of his employers, will be the coming:
merchant; the young man on the
farm who slights not the work assign-
ed him, will owna farm of his own.

Let this lesson make an impression.
The road to success may be rugged,
but it is not so steep but that enough
steps, if in the right direction, be
they ever so short, will in time carry
you a long way toward the top.







GARDEN OF THE GODS.



This, one of the grandest of
American natural sceneries, is lo-
cated along the Colorado River. The
river, in its years and years of flow-
ing, has washed out the soil, and
owing to the peculiar composition of
the ground has washed it away un-
evenly, and these standing peaks are

so numerous and so fantastic in
form, that this location has been
called the Garden of the Gods. It
is most impressive and inspiring
grandeur. A trip will well repay a
journey from the most remote parts -
of our country to see this view, only
a little of which is in the engraving.









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































YOUNG. ARTIST.



Albert, the-blacksmith’s son, will
be an artist some day. While other
boys are playing ball or skating, or
other amusements, Albert is using
his time making pictures. Heseems
to delight in it, and even when quite
a small boy, many were the scoldings
he received from his parents for a
too free use of his chalk and pencil,
leaving his rude drawings on wall
and fences; and in school his troubles
were only increased, for his books
always contained pictures, sometimes
of horses, or dogs, or of his friends.
This habit did not correspond with
his teachers’ ideas of tidiness, and
punishment followed punishment.
It did not help matters, though, and
his drawing continued. In time he
became quite apt and could make
pictures that very closely resembled
the objects he drew. His compan-
ions called him the “artist,” and they
would have him make pictures of
them. Some of his methods were
odd enough. To make an outline of
a boy’s face he would tack a piece of
paper on the side of a door in his
father’s: shop, and by placing the boy
between the paper and a lighted
lamp, would trace with pencil the
outline of the shadow as it fell on
_the paper. Soon he tried painting
with paint and brush. At first his
efforts were crude, and to anyone
less determined and enthusiastic,
discouraging. Not so to Albert.
"He worked along day after day, and
in time could paint well enough to

attract some notice in his little vil--

lage.

About this time a great artist from
the city, spending the summer in this
part of the country, heard of Albert,
and by accident met him. Quick to
perceive the natural talent of the

~



boy, and being generously inclined,
he-offered to take him to his city
home and give him training in his
studio. The parents, though loth to
be separated from their son, saw here
an opportunity to educate him in his
favorite study, and so accepted the
offer.

You can well imagine Albert’s
surprise and delight when he first
entered the studio and saw the work
of the master. How the great paint-
ings filled him witn wonder. He
proved an apt student, a true artist,
and year after year worked with
patience and determination, and be-
came a noted painter.

He often’ thinks of his early days
—of the pictures he made in the old
blacksmith shop. He thinks, too, of
the years spent since then in attain-
ing prominence in his calling, but no —
regrets come to him.

The true story of how one boy
succeeded can be of use to others.
It only takes this same perseverance
and pluck to succeed in any other
calling. Had he complained because
he could not paint like the master,
and not been contented to study on
during these years, he could not now
lay claim to his present success and
eminence as an artist. Let others,
in reading. this, see in it an object,
and may it bring to them new resolve
to succeed in the life work they have
started on.

Life is what we make it, and nota
matter of chance. By marking out .
a future success we expect to ac-—
complish,—by sticking closely to this
one idea, and bending every energy
to attain it, we can come approxi- ©
mately near accomplishing our under-
takiag.


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MAKE CHILDHOOD SWEET.








A CHANCE WORD.

Ralph and Lily had one game of
which they never tired, and that was
“horses.” - It was really a convenient
game, for it could be played on wet or
fine days, in the nursery or on the
road. Perhaps it was best fun on the
road, “like real horses ;’’ but I am not
sure, for it was very delightful to sit on
the nursery table, with the box of bricks
for a coachman’s seat, and from ‘that
elevated position to drive the spirited
four horses represented by the four
chairs, to which the reins would be
fastened. :

One day—a fine day—the two chil-
dren were playing at their usual game
on the turnpike road, and waiting for
nurse, who had gone into a cottage
near by to speak to the washerwoman.
Nurse was a long time, and Ralph, who
was horse, was quite out of breath with
his long trot on the hard road. Lily
touched him up with the whip, but all
to no avail—he could run no-more.

“T’ve no breath left,” said the poor
horse, sinking down exhausted on a
heap of stones. :





Luly put down the whip and pattéd,

his head to encourage him. ‘Soh! soh!”’
she said, in as good an imitation as she
could manage of the way the groom
spoke to their father’s horse; “ you are
quite done, I sce. You must rest, and
have a handful of oats,” and she dived
into her pocket and produced a bit of bis-
cuit, which the horse ate with great sat-
isfaction, and soon professed himself
ready to goonagain. “Ah!” said Lily,
sagely, “I knew you'd be all right soon;
there’s nothing like food and kindness
for horses when they’re tired.”

A tinker, with a cart and a poor, ill-
ed beast harnessed to it, happened to
be passing, and heard the little girl’s
words. He stared after her, for she
seemed very small to speak so wisely,
and the tinker did not, of course, know
that she was only repeating what she
had heard her father say.

“Well, I’m dazed!” exclaimed the



tinker, looking after the children;
“wherever did little Missy learn that?”

He said no more then; but Lily’s
words stuck to him, and his poor horse
had reason to bless Lily for them, for
from that day forward he got, not only
more food, but more. kindness and
fewer blows, and so he became a better
horse, and the tinker the better man in
consequence.

AY eee DAN Gis

Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!

To dress ourselves up, as Grandma has
done.

See how we go! See how we go!

Forward and back, heel and toe.



Lighter than down, our feet come down

Mind all your steps, and hold out your
gown ;

Faster than that, whatever may hap,

Cherry red waist and blue speckled cap.

Hi! Master John!_ Ho! Master John!

Don’t go to sleep, while the music gocs
on;

Faster than that! Faster than that! _

Hold up your head, and flourish your
hat !

How she trips it along, that bright little
maid,

With her dainty blue skirt and spotted
brocade;

And that one in yellow, who wears the
red rose

How she keeps her mouth shut and
turns out her toes.

How they do spin! when they truly
begin;

Each dancer as airy and bright asa doll

While the music complete, keeps time
to their feet,

With its fiddle-dee-diddle and tol-de-
rol-ol |

Oh, it is fun! Oh, it is fun!

To dance, when every duty is done;
Forward and back, or all in a ring,

A quick little dance is a very gay thing.









































































































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OLD FOLKS AT HOME,
















VW OODGCROFT.



Woodcroft to be sold!—like a knell
of doom the words fell on our ears—it
could not be! Our dear old home, the
only one we children had ever known,
to be taken from us. We sat in the
bright little sitting-room, blankly look-
ing at one another, in dumb astonish-
ment. Louise, who was always the
thoughtful one, soon roused herself
from the stupor which seemed to have
come upon us all, and going over to the
lounge, began comforting —as best she
could, poor child—our gentle little
mother, upon whom this blow had fallen
most heavily. Presently she sat up,
and in. trembling tones told us, as we
clustered at her knee, the particulars
of our misfortune.

There were three of us—Louise, Cal
and I, who rejoiced in the quaint
eognomen oi Pen, named for a rich,



eccentric, old aunt, who had never left
me any money because she never died

“Now, Marmo, out with all the
trouble and let us share it,” ‘said mat-
ter-of-fact Cal. And then she told
how, after papa’s sudden death a year
before, she had discovered a mortgage
to be on the place, small, but now due
and no money to meet it; the creditor
was pressing, and the home to be sold.
We felt sad, but cheered her up, and
talked over ways and means as never
before.

“Even though he consents to re-
new it, where would the yearly interest
money come from,” she wailed.

We urged her to lie down and rest,
and, following Cal’s beckoning finger,
tip-toed out of the room.

“Now, girls,” said she, “something's
got to be done, and we’ve got to do it.”


























































































“A TRIBUTE TO YOUR GENIUS, LOU,” SAID I LIKE THE FAMOUS ARTIST

OF OLD, WHO PAINTED CHERRIES SO NATURALLY, THE BIRDS

FLEW DOWN AND PECKED AT THE CANVAS.”



One thing after another was proposed
and rejected; we knew, if the home
were sold, after the demands were met,
there would be but a mere pittance left
for four females to live on. Finally I
broke in:

“Girls, my brain is not usually fertile,
but a thought has been growing—we are
all well educated, but teaching is out of
the question, the supply is greater than
the demand, but Lou, here, is skilled
with pencil and brush, and Cal has a
genius for contrivance ; now why could
you not paint and decorate some of the
dainty trifles you often make as gifts,
and se//them. J always did havea no-
tion for cookery, which I shall proceed
to put in practice, dismissing the ser-
vants.” Having delivered this little
speech, I paused, breathless.

Cal clapped her hands, and Lou’s
brown eyes glowed. “Pen, you little
duck,” and Cal pounced on me in an
excess of joy.

“But, faltered Lou, “the mortgage.”

“T thought of that too—our lady-like
Louise shall go to that crusty old cred-
itor, and beg him to vevezw it, and with
what you girls earn and what we save
from the rent of the farm land (for we
must live economically) we will pay him
the interest promptly.” I will add, that
she did that very thing, and completely
won over the hard-hearted fellow with
her sweet, earnest manner.

So to work we went, and the sitting-
room was converted into a studio, lit-
tered with papers, books, gay ribbons
and glue-pots. But some exquisite cre-
ations came out of that chaos. I had
visited the aforesaid Aunt Pen the pre-
vious winter, in New York city, and
at the American Specialty House had
been enchanted with the many novel
and beautiful pieces of decorated work.
All would be entirely new in ¢#zs part
of the world, and our idea was, to take
orders from the near towns for their
Holiday trade. It was now only Ma
and we would have plenty of time. Cal,
who, with her brusque, honest ways, de-
termined face, and curly, short hair, was

=.

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| our man of business, took samples of

our work in to the various towns, re-
ceiving large orders in almost every
instance.

Happy and busy as bees we worked,
and began to feel quite important, as
the pile grew high, of white boxes, filled
with delicate satin souvenirs for wed-
ding and birthdays, Christmas tokens of
lovely design, little poems with dainty
painted covers, blotters and thought
books, beautifully decorated, all of
which found ready sale. The little
mother’s sad eyes began to brighten,
and Cal would say:

“Marmo, we can take care cz‘you al-
most as good as sons, can’t we?”

“God bless my daughters,” would be
the reply.

Louise had established her’ studio
under the old apple-tree cne warm
June day, and, running out to call her
to lunch, I found she had gone down in~
the garden, but I saw the cutest, pret-
tiest sight! I beckoned her to come
softly. There, on her sketch-book,
opened against the tree, and on which
“vas a_ half-finished painting of Lirds,
hopped around two brown sparrows,
peeping and twittering as contentedly
as possible. It was too cunning! as
though they had recognized their por-
traits and felt at home.

“A tribute to your genius, Lou,”
said I. Like the famous artist of old,
who painted cherries so naturally, the
birds flew down and pecked at the can-
vas.

“T fear I shall have to dispel the illu-
sion, dear. I guess they were more
eager to pick up some cake crumbs I
left than to admire my work.”

Readers, you will be glad to know
that the girls’ work continued success-
ful, and that the “crusty old creditor”
turned out a good friend, from sheer
admiration of their pluck and courage.










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OLLY AND MISTLETOE.

H
AUTUMN LEAVES, AND
WAS Kare bp:

ALEX DUKE BAILIE. .

“Oh, Bessie! I’ve such an idea, such
a good one, and so sure, you can’t think
how it came either, if you guessed and
tried for a week!”

“Child, you are always having ideas,

but they amount to nothing; you have.

enough to do at home, without con-
tinually fretting your head about what
you cannot carry out.”

“But, Bessie, this is just splendid,
and it came to me all of a sudden, and
I’m sure as sure can be that it is a real
good idea, Now wont you listen!”

“JT suppose I must, if I want any
peace; but I’m very tired, so if it is
like your latest—to catch fish and sell
them in the town, or to have your curls
cut-off and let some city hair-dresser
pay you for them—there will be no use
to tell it to me.”

“Taint neither, Bessie dear, its a
real clever idea, and I know you wont
say ‘no’ to it. I was looking over
some of the old picture papers this
morning, and I found a funny picture
of a gentleman that had gone fishing
with, oh! the greatest lot of lines, and
a fine rod, and a basket swung at his
back, and he looked ever so nice; but
he hadn’t caught any thing and he was
ashamed to go back to the city withan
empty basket ; and then there was an-
other picture where he was buying a
great string of fish from a_ bare-footed
little country boy, that had caught
them all, and had only a rough old
pole and an old line on it.” ‘

“So it zs the fishing idea again,”
said, Bessie, “but the present variation
does not improve on the last.”

“No, it just aint the fishing idea
any more; its this: you know all the
excursion parties that come up here,
are coming all the time now; well, the
ladies all gather autumn leaves, lots
and lots, handsful and handsful of

them. But they get tired of carrying
so many after a while, and by the time
they get ready to go back to the cars,
their leaves are thown away and they
are empty-handed. Now, just listen!
If I go to work and pick out the very
prettiest leaves and do them up in the
very sweetest bunches, and tie them so
they are easy to carry, and meet them
when they are starting home, I’m sure
they will buy them, just like the gen-
tleman did the fish from that boy.
Now, ain’t that a real good idea?”

“T believe there is something in it,
Katie,” answered the eldest sister.

“JT knew you would,” cried Katie,
joyously, “and may I try it?”

“Tf you will be very careful and not
talk too much to the people you know
nothing of, 1 have no objections; it
can do no harm, at all events,’ and
poor, tired Bessie sighed as she looked
at her bright young sister and thought
of the time when she too was young
and full of hope and gay spirits.

There was quite a family of these
Wilsons in the little house at the foot
of the mountains, in Pennsylvania.
The widowed mother, sickly and al-
most blind; Bessie, a young lady, the
eldest daughter, aged twenty-three,
who taught avery large school for very
small pay; then Katie not quite
twelve, and Robbie, the baby, the pet,
the boy, who was only five.

Three years before, their father had
been living, and they enjoyed all that
wealth could bring them. Suddenly
he sickened and di¢d, and then came
the dreadful knowledge that he left
nothing for his family; he was deeply
in debt to his partner, with whom he
had worked a large coal-mine, and this
Mr. Moore was what all people called
a “hard man,” he was old and crabbed,
and always wanted and would have
every cent coming to him. Bessie
was to have been married to his son,
Philip, but when poverty came to her,
the old man refused to let Philip see
her more, and the girl was too proud
to go into a family where she was not




























































































































































PROPHET.

THE WEATHER

mS
wanted, and, beside, she had her poor
mother, who had given up and failed
fast after her misfortunes, she had her
to look after. So Bessie taught school;
Katie attended to the little home into
which they had moved from the great
house on the hill, a noble little house-
keeper she was; Robbie did about as
he pleased and was well content with
life, except when neat Katie would
seize him and wash his face with plenty
of soap in his eyes, and comb his tan-
gled curls with a comb that “allus
pulled,” as he cried.

It was hard for them to pay the rent,
to get food and the many delicacies
Mrs. Wilson had always been used to,
and now needed more than ever. Bes-
sie’s small wages from her school were
taken, every cent, for these, and Katie
was continually bothering her young
head with “ideas” as to how she could
make money to help them all. The
autumn leaves were the latest, and it
really did seem as though there were
something in it.

The next day was Saturday, Bessie
was free from school duties, and so her
little sister had more time at her dis-
posal. Friday evening she and Rob-
bie gathered a great quantity of bright-
colored leaves; the next morning,
bright and early, they were out again ;
the little back porch was filled with
them.

With her own natural good taste,
aided by Bessie’s more cultivated judg-
ment, they made up many neat, beauti-
ful bunches of those bright-colored
droppings from the forest trees. These
she placed in a large but pretty basket
that once had been sent, filled with
rare fruit, to Bessie, from Philip, and
the older girl sighed when she gave
it to her sister.

Then Katie started, leaving Robbie
behind crying, and with a trembling
heart and a big lump in her throat, but
bravely as a little soldier, she made
her way to the path by which the ex-
cursion parties would have to return to
the cars. Soon they began to come

B8



along, all tired, trying to be merry
ladies and gentlemen.

Katie stood with her basket on her
arm. She did not know how pretty
she lookec, with her brown curls float-
ing out froin beneath her big sun-bon-
net, her pure white apron, her dark
dress which Bessie had made from one
of her own, with delicate bits of lace at
the wrists, a bright bit of ribbon about
her throat and a plain little breast-pin
clasping it. Wer big black eyes looked
longingly at the passers-by, her red
lips tried, many times, to utter some

» words that would heln her sell her

wares, but she could rot speak, she
could only hold up her hand and look
her wants.

“What lovely leaves!” cried a young
lady, “these of mine seem all faded by
the carrying, and I’m-tired. of the great
load anyhow,” and she threw away a
great lot tied round with her handker-
chief, and hastened toward the little
merchant.

“What a pretty girl,” said the young
man with her. :

“Flow much are these?” inquired
the lady. :

Bessie had not thought of what she
would ask for her bunches, and now,
between pleasure and fright, she could
not think of any price to put upon
them.

“Whatever you please, Miss,” she
faintly murmured.

“How lovely they are,’ said the
lady, and taking three bunches, she
gave two tothe young man with her, tell-
ing him: “Harry, you must carry
these, and pay the child,” the third
one she kept in her own hand.

The gentleman put his hand in his
pocket, drew it out, and dropped into
Katie’s basket a silver dollar.

The tears almost blinded the little
girl—tears of joy over her first success
—she could hardly see what the coin
was, but when she picked it up she
managed to stammer that she “had no
change.”

“Don’t want any, little one,” said







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A JUMPING ROPE MATCH. ai;
the young man pleasantly, “the sight
of you is worth all the money and
more.” Then the couple hurried
away.

But their stopping had attracted
many more, and a dozen bought of
Katie, and, though few were as gener-
ous as her first customers,.she soon
disposed of most of her stock at ten
cents a bunch, having gained courage
to fix and state her price. Quite a
number gave her more than that sum,
and she began to feel a.very rich little
girl, indeed. 5

More than half her stock was sold,
when an old gentleman and a young
lady came along. The lady, as usual,
was the first to, admire the bright
bunches, she took two, the old gentle-
man giving Katie fifty cents and tell-
ing her that “was right.” He seemed
a cross old man, but still spoke pleas-
antly.

“What’s your name, child?” he
asked.

“ Katie Wilson, sir,” replied the lit-
tle girl, faintly.

“Um! um! Come along Helen,”
said he, hastily, and hurried away.

These were the last of the excursion
parties, except an elderly lady having
in charge a dozen children, all dressed
alike; little ones from a soldiers’ or-
phan school, for whom some kind per-
son had provided a day’s pleasure.
They were tired and worn out with
romping, and dragged along slowly ;
they looked at Katie’s bright face and
longingly at the pretty leaves in her
basket. The girl’s heart was touched ;
timidly she held out a bunch to a little
boy who half stopped in front of her,
he took it eagerly; in a moment the
others were about her. By good for-
tune, she had enough .to give one to
each and an extra bunch to the lady.

With the thanks of these poor chil-

dren inher heart, an empty basket anda

happy jingle in her pocket she ran
nearly all the way home, burst in on
Bessie, put her arms about her neck
and sobbed for happiness,





When the elder sister at last suc
ceeded in calming her, she told the
whole story of her afternoon’s work.

Together they counted the money—
three dollars and cighty-five cents—
just think of it !

If ever there was a happy, excited
little girl, it was Katie that night. She
could not sleep or eat. When she had
to go to bed, she lay awake long, long
hours, thinking how se would buy
back the big house, hew mother should
have doctors and every thing she
needed, how Bessie should stop teach-
ing and have ahorse and little carriage,
and pretty dresses, and a_ piano, like
she used to, and how Robbie should go
to school and college and grow up to
be a great man and finally be Presi-
dent. She never thought of herself,
except that se was to do all this, and
when she fell asleep she dreamed the
whole thing over again, and that it had
turned out just as she planned.

All through the excursion season
Katie sold her leaves, and though she
never made as much as on the first
day, yet when people stopped coming
she had over one hundred dollars in
Bessie’s hands, all made by herself, all -
made by being up early and attending
to her household duties and working
hard so as to have her bunches ready
by the time that visitors were return-
ing to the train.

She was brave, and true, and unsel-
fish, and her reward was great.

It was one chill November evening,
toward Thanksgiving day, that she
and Robbie had wandered out among
the mountain paths; the little fellow
was wild as a colt and ran.here and
there until it was all Katie could do to
keep track of him. Finally she caught
him; both were tired out, and when
she looked around, to her great terror,
she could not make out just where they
were. They wandered along and at last
came to a road, but she did not know
which way to. go. Robbie was cross
and sleepy; she could not carry the
heavy boy, and he woud lay downs;

X









































































at last she let him rest. He dropped
by a fallen log and in a moment was
asleep. She covered him with a little
cloth cape she wore, and sat down be-
side him; her eyes were heavy, she
nodded, and very soon was as sound as
he.

Along the road came a thin, old, but
active man; he stepped out firmly and
aided his steps with a stout cane. It
was after dusk of the evening. He
spied something, in the gloom, on the
other side of the road, something un-
usual; he crossed over; it was a little
girl leaning against a big, fallen tree
and a small boy stretched on the
ground beside it; both were fast
asleep. He touched the girl’s shoulder ;
she sprang up. “Oh!” she gasped,
“don’t hurt Robbie! We weren't doing
any harm, indeed we weren't.”

“What are you doing hercany how?”

he inquired.
“ «Tt was Robbie, no, it was .ne, he
was so sleepy and so was I,and we
were just resting until we could start
and try to find home again.”

“Um! so you're lost, are you?”

“No, sir, 1 guess not, only—only we
don’t know the way.”

“Well, I should say that’s pretty
near being lost. Where do you live?
What’s your name?”

“We live in the old Mill cottage,
and my name’s Katie Wilson, and
Robbie's is Robert T. Wilson.

“Um! um! Yes; well, I know where
you live; come along, I’ll put you right.
Come! wake up here, youag man!”
and he gently poked Robbie with his
cane. But Robbie was sleepy and cross,
and cried and kicked, and it wasall Katie
could do to get him on his feet and
moving. Then as they went slowly
on, she holding her brother’s hand, her
own in that of the stranger, he asked
her: Weren’t you frightened to be out
all alone?”

“Why, no, sir,’ she answered, “I-

was frightened for mother and Bessie
being worried, but not for us; I just
said my prayers and covered Robbie,



and then I fell asleep and didn’t know
any thing until you woke me up.”

“Um! said your prayers, did you!”
and the old man stopped and looked
at her.

“See here, Katie!’ he said, in a
very gentle voice, “say your prayers
for me, I’d like to hear them.”

The child looked at him in astonish-
ment and trouble. Could it be that
the gentleman could not say his
prayers for himself, that he did not
pray himself! ‘Oh, sir!” she said,
with choking voice and tears in her
eyes, “I can’t say them to you, only to
Bessie or mother: It’s just God bless
mother, and Bessie and Robbie and me,
and take care of us in the night and
day, and—and that’s all, sir.”

“Well, never mind now, little Katie,
come along, we must get Robbie home
to the mother and Bessie soon, or
they'll think the bears have eaten you
both,” and the old man’s voice was
still more gentle, and he hurried as
fast as the little ones could go. He
knew the roads well, and in half an
hour they were on a path that the chil-
dren were well acquainted with, and
near home.

There was a cry of joy, and Bessie
sprang upon the little ones at a bend
in the road and gathered them in her
arms, and kissed and scolded and pet-
ted them, all at the same time.

The old gentleman hurried away as
soon as he saw they were safe; but he
did not go far ; he stepped back in the
dark and heard Katie tell the tale of
adventure and take all the blame her-
self, and excuse Robbie, and talk about
the kind gentleman who had found
them and brought them home, and
wonder where he had gone so quickly
before she had time to thank him. He
followed them at a distance; he saw
them enter their home, and he watched
outside until the lamp was lighted in
the little sitting-room; then he came
near the window and looked in; he
watched while the sick, half-blind
mother cried over her children ; he saw


TOMMY; WHAT HE DID, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.
pal, sweet-faced Bessie comforting all, |
he scood there an hour without notic- |
ing the cold and wind that grew about
him. «sle saw brave, hard-working
Bessie, and true Katie, and the little
boy, and the mother of all, kneel at
their chairs, and he thought he could
hear the prayers of thanks that came
from the hearts of all aud the lips of
the older sister, and he felt drops upon
his cheek, not rain, but tears—tears. It
had been many years since his eyes
had been wet with tears, but they
were there and they softened the heart
of “hard old man” Moore, and he
turned. away at last with a strange reso-
lution in his mind.

Three days after he was-in the sit-
ting-room of that cottage; with him
was his son Philip, by Philip’s side was
Bessie, looking ever so much younger
and prettier, and so, so happy, and
standing by the side of “hard old man”
Moore was little Katie, wondering to
see such an old man wipe the tears
from his eyes, wondering at the way
in which he held one arm close around
her, and wondering still more why he
should keep saying, all the time, “ You
did it, little Katie, you did it all.”

The Wilsons are comfortable and
happy now. Bessie is Mrs. Philip
Moore; the mother has doctors and
luxuries ; Robbie is at school and learn-
ing fast; Katie, our Katie, is learning
fast also, but she is still the same
Katie as of old; she did not have to

sell bunches of leaves another season;



but there are always great bouquets
of the beauties in the house, and old
Mr. Moore, “hard ”’ no longer, calls her
nothing but his little “Autumn Leaf.”



4

THE SPINNING LESSON.

MRS. S. J. BRIGHAM.

You will not mind, if I sit me down
And watch you spin, in your velvet
gown? |
You need not fear,
You can trust me here.
I think I can learn to spin, if I
Could watch you work. Will you let me

try? >

You spin and weave, but I cannot see
a :
Just how ’tis done, and it puzzles me.
For you have no loom
In your little room.
No silken skein, no spinning-wheel,

No bobbin and no winding reel.

Please tell me what you use instead ?
And where do you hide your shining
thread,
As soft as silk

And as white as milk?

I think, Mrs. Spider, it must be

\
; A secret, or you would answer me.




























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































xFOSTER PARENTS,
FOSTER PARENTS.

Strolling down back of the barn,
and seeing a fluttering of wings near
the ground, Fred and John discov-
ered, upon coming closer, that a poor
little bird had fallen from its nest in
the bough of a tree that stood near
them. The bird was young, too
young to fly, and seemed more dead
than alive from the fall. The boys
took up the bird, fondly caressed it,
stroked its feathers, and were glad to
see that it showed signs of life and
that it was only stunned by the fall
it had received. The boys were kind-
hearted, they were boys full of life,
the first-most in a race, in climbing a
hill they among the first who stood
on its top. Yet in all their sports
they were never cruel. So with the
bird, they only thought of how to
care for it. The tree was too tall to
climb with safety, and then they
were forbidden to climb this tree be-
cause John had once ventured to the
first of its branches and by some ac-
cident, such as will happen to boys,
he lost his hold and tumbled to the
ground and he still remembered the
days of pain it caused.

Said Fred, “ Why can we not take
the bird home and care for it?”

So, with this suggestion, they
brought it to the house and placed
it ina small basket. The basket was
one they used to carry their dinners
to school in, and, of course, this
could not be used to keep it in all
‘the time. John said, “It will be
best to make a cage for it. We can,
with our knives, soon whittle out
sticks for bars and with the saw and
some boards make a cage.” They
labored on this for two days, and
then, with Uncle Ben’s help, for he
could drive nails better than they,
the cage was completed. Some cot-
ton was shaped into a nest and the

bird was placed in it and the cage
was its home.

They fed it on berries and crumbs
and it grew rapidly. It soon learned
to perch onone of the boy’s fingers
and pick its fcod from his hand,
When it had eaten enough it would ©
fly to his shoulder and seem quite
contented. In due time it became
full grown, and though it seemed to
know and appreciate the attention
given it by the boys, yet it seemed

-to long for more freedom than the

little cage afforded. The boys no-
ticed this, and with sad hearts con-
cluded it would be cruel to keep it
confined and so gave it its freedom.
For some time it lingered around
the house, in branches of the trees,
but finally it flew away to the woods.

HAYMAKING.

Many a long hard-working day .
Life brings us! And many an hour
of play;

But they never come now together,
Playing at work, and working in play,
As they came to us children among

the hay,

In the breath of the warm June

weather.

Oft, with our little rakes at play,

Making believe at making hay,
With grave and steadfast endeavor;

Caught by an arm, and out of sight

Hurled and hidden, and buried light
In laughter and hay forever.



Now pass the hours of work and play
With a step more slow, and the sum.
mer’s day
Grows short, and more cold the
weather.
Calm is our work now, quiet our play,
We take them apart as best we may,
For they come no more together!

DoRA GREENWELL
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KARI: Gees

MAKING MAPLE SUGAR,










WINDOW GARDENING,



Many a home, now dark and cheer- | rice, oats and wheat. Then place it, for
less, might bemade bright andcheeryby | a week or ten days, in a shallow dish,
a few plants in the window, or bunches | in which a little water is constantly
of ferns and bright autumn leaves, | kept, and as the sponge will absorb
fastened on the wall, or on the pictures. | the moisture, the seeds will begin to

Homes cannot be made too bright | sprout before many days. When this
and home-like for the husband and the | has fairly taken place, the sponge may
children ; and these little things cost | be suspended by means of cords from
little or nothing, and add much to the | a hook in the top of the window where
general appearance. a little sun will enter. It will thus be-

A novel and pretty window ornament | come a mass of green, and can be kept
can be made in this way: Take a white | wet by merely immersing it in a bowl
sponge of large size, and sow it full of ! of water,



:0:

“CHEER UP*®







BY ANNA ELIZABETH C, KELLY.



“Oh, it is too bad; too bad! that pretty bird.” Poll hopped out and
mother should be so troubled for the | perched upon her finger and looked
want of a little money,” said Mabel. so knowingly at her, that it almost

“Cheer up! Cheer up!” rang out | broke down the resolution she had
a voice close at hand, “pretty Poll; | formed. -Mabel was accustomed to take
cheer up!” anda bright green parrot | Poll out and talk to her, and brother
with a yellow breast began to beat | Ben, who was an amateur photographer,
against the bars of his cage as if he | had taken a picture of the pretty pair,
would like to get out. so Polly was already immortalized. .

“That is a good omen, Polly,” said “Poor Ben! Poor Ben!” said Polly.
Mabel, as she rose and opened the | “‘On Linden when the sun was low’—
door of the cage, “but itis not Poll | ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Poor Ben! Poor
who ought to ‘cheer up’ but I, you ! Ben!” laughed and shouted Polly.

“






























































































































































































































































































THE TRYSTING PLACE,
“Poor Ben, indeed!” said Mabel,
“though the Ben you first heard about
was another Ben, and used to break
down with his recitation and be laughed
at. I wonder where he is now, and
whether he is dead, my brave soldier
uncle! If he were alive, and should
come back, what would he think to
find another Polly just like the one he
{eft behind, who has learned some of the
things his Polly used to say. Mamma
says your predecessor died of old age,
Polly; 1 wonder if that will be your
destiny. I shall never know; for | am
going to sell you to the lady up at the
hotel, who saw you hanging outside,
and wanted you for her little girl. She
said she would give me five dollars, and
when I refused she offered me ten. I
could not let you go, Polly, but now I
must. .1 must say ‘good-bye’ to you
now, Poll; for I shall never take you
out of the cage again.”

“Cheer up! cheer up!” sang Polly,
as Mabel put her back, and closing the
cage, left the room.

The boys were leaving the sitting:
room when she went down stairs, and
as Ben passed her, she said, ‘Do not
go to bed till I come up again. I want
to speak to you. Wait in my room.”

Mrs. Ross was getting ready to go up
to her room when Mabel entered.

“Are you going up, mamma?” said
she, “I will not keep you long; but I
want to tell you, that I think I know a
way for youto get some money. I wish
to keep it a secret for the present ; but
I think I can safely promise you some.
The last thing before I came down,
Polly called, ‘cheer up, cheer up,’ and
it is a good omen; so! say the same to
you, mamma.”

“Vou are a good girl, Mabel, but I
am afraid you are too sanguine. How
can you hope to succeed where i have
failed?”

“Vou will believe me when you see
the money, shall you not, mamma ree

“There would not be much merit in
that, dear, but I will ¢wst you, and
whatever happens I will believe you



did what you thought was right, and
that God does every thing for the best.”

“Thank you, mamma. Good night,
and pleasant dreams.”

“Good night, dear.”

Mabel went softly up stairs. “Ben,”

said she, when she reached her room,
but Ben had fallen asleep, and she had
to shake him up.

“What kept you?” said Ben, in a
sleepy tone.

“Why, I was not long, Ben. Do
you know the name of that little girl
who took such a fancy to Polly?”

“Ves,” said Ben. “It is Eva Granby.
What do you want to know for?”

«y shall tell you sometime; you are
too sleepy to talk to-night, so I shall
let you go. Good night, Ben.”

“Good night,” said Ben, not sorry to
be dismissed.

Mabel lay awake sometime. She was
sorry to part with her parrot, but after
all it was only a bird. Mamma and Ben
and Walt and dear little Joe should
not suffer that she might keep it.

She could hear the music, from the
great hotel on the hill, borne on the
breeze, and that, with the happy frame
of mind produced by the approval of
her conscience, soon had the effect of
sending her into a sound sleep, from
which she awoke in the morning, re-
freshed and quite happy. She went
about her accustomed duties with a
light heart and singing like a lark.
Mrs. Ross wondered, to hear her ;' what
could be the source of her high spirits.

She was on the alert for a chance to
put her plan into execution, and when
she found her mother occupied over
the details of the breakfast table, she
went up to her room, and covering the
parrot’s cage and herself with a light
water-proof cloak, which the chill of
of the May morning seemed to war-
rant; she went out of the house and
through the back gate, and took the
road to the hotel.

Mrs. Granby had just risen, and was
delighted that Mabel had come to
terms after all, as her little daughter

7
ly TZ =












































































































































































































had been longing for the parrot con-
tinually. Mabel told her story and
Mrs. Granby was deeply affected. She
promptly agreed to Mabel’s condition,
to sell her the bird back again, if she
could get together ten dollars of her
own to redeem it, and gave Mabel her
address in New York.

Mabel was at home again just as the
boys were getting their breakfast, and

_wondering what had become of her.
She said she had been taking a walk for
her health and refused to gratify them
further. : :

Soon they were through and went
out, and when she saw little Joe in the
swing, and Ben and Walt sitting on
the bench of Walt’s making, under the
apple-tree, and knew by their gestures
they were discussing Perry’s colt—she
drew from her pocket the crisp, bright,
ten-dollar bill, and laid it beside her
mother’s plate. Her mother’s fervent
“Thank God,” amply rewarded her for
the loss of her parrot.

“But, Mabel,” began Mrs. Ross—

“Now, mamma,” interrupted Mabel,
“you know you promised to trust me.
You will soon know all about it.”

Mabel went to school that day with
a happy heart.

That evening a portly, middle-aged
gentleman stood at the gate, and as she
looked up, he said :

«Can you tell me if this is Mrs.
Ross’s 2?”

“Ves, sir,” said Mabel, wondering
who he could be. As she turned and
faced him, he caught his breath quickly,
and exclaimed:

« Alice!”

Mabel’s heart gave a great bound.

“That is mamma’s name, mine is
Mabel.”

“Tead me to her,” he said, hoarsely.

Mabel quickly ran before him into
the house exclaiming :

“Oh, mamma! I think it is Uncle
Ben.”

Mrs: Ross would have fallen had she
not been caught by the strong arms of
the stalwart brother whom she had not

Fees sa

y



seen for twenty years. And then it aif
came out. Mabel’s secret was a secret
no longer.

Captain Ben Grayson, old soldier,
and retired ranch owner, had come
back after twenty years of life in the
west to hunt for his sister, his only
known relative, whom he had last seen
when she was a girl like Mabel. He
had been told a Miss Grayson had died
from the ravages of an epidemic that
swept through the school she had been
placed at ; and so, when the war ended,
he went out west instead of returning
to New York as he should have done
but for that false report. But he had
lately heard, from an old school-friend,
he had come across, that she was living,
had married, and become a widow, and
that was all the information he could
get.

By the simplest chance he had
stopped at Fairmount. Shortly after
rising that morning, he was startled by
a parrot hung outside the window of the
room next to his, calling out,—‘‘ Cheer
up! cheerup!” and shortly after,—* ‘On
Linden when the sun was low,’ ha!
ha! ha! ha! ha! Poor Ben!”

“Well,” said Uncle Ben, “you can
imagine the effect. I knew my parrot
could not be living yet; but I thought
to myself, ‘raz parrot must have learned
from my old one or from you, Alice,
and I hastened to make the acquaint-
ance of my next-door neighbor, and so
L have found you.”

And Mabel bought her parrot back
again, which was now doubly dear, as it
had been the means of finding Uncle
Ben. And quiet brother Ben was made
happy by an artist’s outfit, and had the
satisfaction of doing Mabel and the
parrot in colors, as he had long aga
done them with the camera.

When the last gift had been given.
the boys, witn sre accord, threw up
their hats and cried,—‘“ Hurrah, for Un-
cle Ben!”

As for Mrs. Ross, her measure of
happiness was full; she had her long:
lost brother Ben »- ~
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EFM

ee



(ae ce

Bees HOW ROTS AND PANS ARE MADE.


THE RUNAWAY.
BAR THEN VESSEES.



Spring time had come, with its blos

soms and birds; and Mrs. Rossitei

threw up the sash of the east window,
and pushed open the blinds, and drew
a long deep breath of morning air, and
morning sunshine. .

“J think, Bridget,” she said, ‘that
we might venture to bring the house-
plants out-doors to-day. There can
hardly be another frost, this year.”

“Oh! may I help?” asked little
Charley, “Ill be very careful.”

“On that condition, that you be very
careful, you may bring the little ones,”
answered his mother.

The work progressed safely and
rapidly for awhile. Geraniums, roses,
fuchsias, heliotropes, and so follow-
ing, came forth in profusion, many in
bloom, and were placed in rows alone
the garden borders, ready to be trans-
ferred to the beds, for the summer. At
last the little ones were all brought by
Charley, and only larger ones remained.

“T’ll carry just this one big one,”
he said to himself: “I’m stronger
than mother thinks I am.” But the
pot full of earth, was heavier than Char-
ley had thought it, and before he
reached the place to set it down it had
grown very heavy indeed ; and, glad to
get it out of his aching arms as quickly
as possible, he placed it on the curb so
suddenly, that with a loud crash it
parted in the middle and lay in pieces
at his feet. Glancing quickly at his
mother and seeing in her face impend-
ing reproach, he forestalled it by ex-
claiming :

“Well, that pot broke itself very
easily. What's it made of, any how?”

The mother couldn't help but smile
at this attempted shifting of the blame
to the pot, but she answered, in a mo-
ment. gravely :

“The pot, Charley, was made of clay;
the same weak material from which
little boys are made; who, when they
forget to obey their mothers, are as

BO





likely to meet disaster as the earthen
pot.”

: Charley did’nt care just then to dis-
cuss disobedient boys, so he turned at
once to the subject of the pot.

“Made of clay,” he exclaimed, “well,
I’d like to see a man make a thing like
that of clay.”

“And so would I,” said sister Mary,
who, from an upper window, had lis-
tened to the conversation.

“And so you shall, if I have no fur-
ther reminders of this sort, that my
children are made of the same unreli-
able material.”

That afternoon, the three, started
for the pottery works. Mr. Sands, the
proprietor, kindly received them, and
fully explained all his processes. First
he pointed out what seemed to Charley
aheap of dry hard common dirt ;-tak-
ing alittle piece of this he dipped it
into a basin of water and then squeez-
ing and pressing it in his hand it soon
became soft, and plastic, so that it
could be wrought to any shape. He
then led the party to anothei room
where a young man was engaged in
thus softening large masses. He would
first crumble the hard earth into fine
pieces ; then wet and pack it together
into a “loaf,” so Charley called it, and
then raising it over his head throw it
again with all his might upon the table
before him until it became soft and
smooth through all its bulk. This, Mr.
Sands said, was called “ wedging the
clay,” and that it was now ready for
“throwing” into shape.

“Will it come into shape if you just
throw it ?” said Charley.

Mr. Sands laughed heartily at_ this,
and answered, “come and see;” and
taking up one of the softened “loaves,”
to use Charley’s word for them, he led
the way to the next room. The young
man who had been “wedging” now
followed:and placed himself at a large
wheel which was connected by a stran
or belt with a table at which Mr. Sands
seated himself.

Upon the table was another little






























































na
ff
al

Ru

























































A FAMILY PARTY,
EA

table, round and low, and upon this
Mr. Sands placed his “loaf.” Then
the young man began to turn the
wheel and the loaf began to spin round
very rapidly. Mr. Sands next pressed
his finger right through the middle of
the clay, so forming the hole which we
always see at the bottom of flower-
pots. Then, as it spun round, he
worked the clay gradually upwards and
sloped it outwards, using both hands,
and holding the edges with his fingers
and thumbs.

Before Charley could express his sur-
prise, the little roll of clay was changed
into a flower-pot. With a square iron
tool called a 7zb it was smoothed out-
side, and then the pot was lifted on a
board. One after another followed till
a long row was ready and they were
carried off to be dried.

“How do you know when to leave
off stretching it?” asked Mary of the
potter.

He laughed, and pointed to a small
iron gauge on the table. As soon as
the pot reached this he knew he must
leave off stretching it out. This iron
is of course put higher or lower ac-
cording to the size required.

“ Now I’ll make you a pitcher, mis-
sie,” said the good-natured man, and
with the same kind of clay, just round-
ing it a bit and giving a cunning little
pinch to form the spout, he made quite
a pretty jug.

“ Where’s the handle ?”” asked Char-
ey.

“Oh, that can’t go on yet, sir! We
must wait till the jug is dry, for we
could not press it tight enough to make
it stick.”

Bread-pans and washing-pans are
made in exactly the same way as flower-
pots, being moulded by the hand into
different forms. When the pots and
pans leave the potter's wheel they are
taken, as we saw, to dry, and great care
is required to keep them at a certain
heat, for if the frost gets to them now
they crack and are useless.

“Here’s a comical little pot!” ex-





claimed Charley, holding up a wee one,

“We call them long Toms,” said Mr.
Sands. “They are mostly used by nur-
sery-gardeners, because they take so_
little room.” .

“How long do they take to dry?”
asked Mary, looking longingly at her
little jug.. s

“About a day; so we will leave your
jug with the others, and go to the kiln
to see how they will be burnt to-mor-
row.” -

The kiln was round, with a big door-

- way, called a wicket.

The pots and pans are put inside,
great care being taken that they should
not touch each other, or they would
stick like loaves of bread. Pans are
first glazed with a mixture of blue or
redlead. The fire is burning below,
and there are holes to allow the flames
to pass upwards amongst the pottery.
When the kiln is full the wicket 1s
bricked up and daubed over with road-
mud,

“Fancy using such dirty stuff !”” said
Mary.

The manure in it makes it stick,
just as hair does in mortar. Clay would
crack with the heat. So you see, dear,
there’s nothing so dirty or so common
that it may not be of some use in the
world.”

“How do you know when they are
cooked enough?” asked Charley.

“T’ll show you,” said Mr. Sands, and
he immediately led us to a small door,
which opened some way up the kiln.

“This is called the crown,” said Mr.
Sands.

It was a flat surface, with four holes
which showed the red heat below, and
looked like litt)e volcanoes in a good
temper.

“Do you see those, iron rods hangin
like waiking-sticks in the furnace?
asked our guide. “ Well, those are
called zria/s, and at the end of each is
a lump of clay and glaze. If the glaze
is burnt enough we suppose that the
whole batch is done, but we sometimes
make a mistake and spoil a lot.”






































LEN

AK

AS
OG

ON NA
\\ =

SAS























ROGER AND KITTIE,
« What is done next?” asked Char-
le

allowed to cool gradually, and are then
ready for sale.”

By this time all were pretty well
tired, and so they said good morning to
Mr. Sands and went home.

“Mother,” said Charley, as they sat
down to dinner, “I shall ask how it’s
done oftener than ever, now, for I like
eoing over factories. What's tobe the
next one, I wonder.” :

- “Bread,” exclaimed Mary, as she cut
a big slice for herself. “Shall it be
bread, mother?”

“ Yes, if you like, but I propose we
go to see the flour made first. So the

next place we explore will be a flour-
mill.” E. M. W



BIRDIE’S BREAKFAST.



MRS. S. J. BRIGITAM.



Take your breakfast, little birdic.—
Cracker-crumbs, and seeds so yellow,
Bits of sponge-cake, sweet and mellow ;

Come quite near me ;

Do not fear me.
T can hear your happy twitter,
Although winter winds are bitter ;
Take your breakfast, little birdie.
Come! Oh, come and tell me birdie!
Adl night long the snow was falling ;
Long ago, I heard you calling;

Tell me, dearie,

Are you weary?
Can you sleep, when winds are blowing?
Frosts are biting, clouds are snowing ?
Come! Oh, come and tell me, birdie!

Take your food, and trust me, birdie ;
Daily food the Father giveth;
Bread to every thing that liveth.
Come quite near me;
Do not féar me.
Come each day, and bring your fellow,
For your bread, so sweet and mellow ;
Take your food, and trust me, birdie.

1

Ve
“Tf they are properly burnt, they are



A BATTLE.

Do you like accounts of battles?
Here is one for you. I shall have to
tell of a well-disciplined army, and some
hard fighting, as well as of a victory.

The scene is a quiet country district,
with fields and hedge-rows, not looking
a bit like. war and ‘bloodshed, and the
time is a summer afternoon, hot, for it
is July, and a haze is over the moun-
tains, which rise a little way behind,
as silent witnesses of the fray. The
sun begins to decline, and as the air
grows cooler the army has orders to
start. There isa short delay of prep-
arations, and then the warriors pour
forth ; not in confusion, but in a com-
pact, unbroken column, each keeping to
the ranks in perfect order, and never di-
verging from them. At first the army
follows the high road, but ere long
it passes through an opening in the
hedge, and crosses the field on the
other side. Still the soldiers march on,
never hindered, never straggling out of
place. It must have been a clever com-
mander-in-chief to have trained them
into such admirable obedience.

Presently a fortress rises before them
—that is the object of their expedition ;
rather, it is something within the cita-
del that they are sent to get, and have
it they wz Not without a struggle,
though, for the enemy is on guard, and
when he sees the hostile army ap-
proaching, he sallies out to battle. He
has no idea of surrendering without a
ficht for it.

The invaders gather up their forces
and charge bravely up the hill, and in
an instant, hand to hand, or something
very like it, the foes are locked together
in desperate conflict. Neither have
they any guns, but they carry sharp
weapons with them, and soon the field
is strewn with the dead and dying.

The fight thickens—the issue is
doubtful, but not long—the defenders
are routed, and the assailants press for-
ward to the citadel. Most skillful are

i










ESOME VISITOR.

& TROUBL



Senate












































































































































































































































































































































they, for with neither cannon nor bat-
tering-rams they speedily make a breach
in the walls, and in they rush, pouring
through the street and ‘anes of the de-
voted city. Yet they c 9 not destroy it
—they do not kill th: inhabitants—
they do not even stay within the walls
so hardly won. In avery short space
of time they return as they came, save
that each bears a portion of the spoil
for which they came. They form in
order once again, they march in line,
they regain their own quarters, but
saa one carrying—would you believe
it ?—a young slave.

Yes, the army did not care to con-
quer the strange city; the expedition
was organized solely and entirely that
they might steal the young and bring
them up in their own colony as slaves.
For, through the long influence of evil
habits, the race to which these war-
riors belong have lost their natural
powers, and so have now to be waited





on, fed, and altogether taken care of by
its slaves. With food before them they
would starve unless the slaves put it
into their mouths.

If they want to change their abode,
the slaves must make the new habita-
tion ready, and then carry their mas-
ters on their backs to reach it. If the
children have to be taken care of, the
slaves must be the nurses. In fact,
fighting is the one single thing they
can do, and that, as we have seen, they
do well. As the supply of slaves is
necessary to their existence, every now
and then they have to go and help
themselves in the way we have just
seen them do; and though ‘the idea of
slavery is abhorrent to every mind, we
must allow that they are brave soldiers,
and under excellent discipline.

Now, can you tell me who the sol-
diers are? Go back to your history sto-
ries and think. Some old Roman race,
perhaps, or the early inhabitants of






















































































A VISIT TO

et

R

And

BEAR-PIT.






Britain, when people knew no better?
Or some tribe of savages in America,
or the South Sea islands at the present
time? Nay, you must guess again, or
shall I tell you? Yes, you give it up.
Well, then, it is a people “not strong;”
small and insignificant, yet wise, for
this is what the Bible says, ‘Go to the
ANT, consider her ways and be wise.”
—Prov. vi: Io.

This race of warriors is none other
than the slave-keeping ant, (Polyergus
rufescens). I do not think you would
meet with it in our woods, but in Switz-
erland and other countries it is common.
Huber, who wrote so much about bees
and ants, first witnessed an attack near
Geneva. I should tell you that the
young which they carry off are the
larva or young grubs, which, trans-
ferred to the nests of the conquerors,
soon become ants, and live the rest of
their lives in serving them, and wait-
ing on them, as slaves or servants would
their masters.

How extraordinary !
for their own kind? Are they happy
in their bondage? We do not know,
but as far as we can judge they ren-
der a willing and cheerful service, for-
getting themselves in what they do for
others. Then, of course, they are happy ;
we‘need not repeat the question; we
are only lost in wonder at this strange
and interesting page in Nature’s book.

M. ik. M.

Do they pine

GRACE DARLING, THE
HEROINE.

I presume most of you have heard of
Grace Darling, the breve girl who lived
with her father and mother at Long-
stone light-house. On the 6th of Sep-
tember, 1838, there was a terrible storm,



and W. Darling, knowing wel. that
there would be many wrecks, and much
sorrow on the sea that dark, tempest-
uous night, waited for daybreak; and
when at last it came, he went to look
out. About a mile away he saw a ship
in great distress, but the storm was so
awful he had hardly courage to venture
through it for their relief. His daugh-
ter Grace, who was watching the wreck
through a glass, could no longer bear
to see the poor fellows clinging to the
piece of wreck which remained on the
rocks where it had been broken, and
make no effort to help them. She
knew they must be lost. So she im-
plored her father to launch the life-
boat and let her go with him to the res-
cue. He consented, and father and
daughter, she taking the oars while he
steered, went pulling away for the
wreck ; and I can fancy how the poor
fellows watched the life-boat like a
speck on the waters, counting each
minute as it neared them, then fearing,
as it seemed to be almost lost amid the
mountains of hissing and boiling waves,
lest it should never come to them at
all. But at last they are alongside; the
sufferers hesitate not a moment, but
jump for the life-boat, and so nine pre-
cious lives were saved from a watery
grave,

Every one-sang the praises of brave
Grace Darling. A sum of $3,500 was
presented to her as a testimonial, and
she was invited to dine with the Duke
of Northumberland. She died at the
carly age of twenty-seven, of consump-
tion,

Now, my readers cannot all be Grace ~
Darling, but they can come to the help
of the perishing ; those that are weary
and ready to die. They can all do
something, by working, by little efforts
of self-derial, and by praying for those
who are in dar ger of being lost; and
then one day they will hear those won-
derful words, “Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto the least of these, ye have
done it unto me.”
worth having indeed!
















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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WHAT JACK DID,


ONLY A BOY.

Only a boy with his noise and fun,
The veriest mystery under the sun;
As brimful of mischief and wit and
glee,
As ever a human frame can be,
And as hard to manage as — what ! ah
me!
’Tis hard to tell,
Yet we love him well.

Only a boy with his fearful tread,
Who cannot be driven, must be led!
Who troubles the neighbors’ dogs and
cats,
And tears more clothes and spoils
more hats,
Loses more kites and tops and bats
Than would stock a store
For a week or more,

Only a boy with his wild, strange ways,
With his idle hours or his busy days,
With his queer remarks and his odd
replies,
Sometimes foolish and sometimes
wise,
Often brilliant for one of his size,
As a meteor hurled
From the planet world.

Only a boy, who may be a man
If nature goes on with her first great
plan
If intemperance or some fatal snare,
Conspires not to rob us of this our heir,
Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our
care,
Our torment, our joy!
« Only a boy!”



BIRD NEEDLEWORK.

MAY R. BALDWIN.
rapracraet “

There is a class of workers in India.
who have always held to needlework,
useful and ornamental, through the
changes of the long years, and have
never had the help of machines.

These workers are “Tailor Birds.”
Specimens of their handiwork have ex-
cited the admiration of many travelers
in the country where they are found.

Their needlework is seen in the con-
struction of their nests, which vary in
size and appearance.

The beak of the bird answers for a
needle ; and for thread—and this is the
wonderful thing about the sewing—
they use the silken spiders’ webs.
‘These threads are made secure by fas-
tening them with silken buttons, made
py twisting the ends. Think of that!
spiders’ webs for thread! How mar-
velous would the work of the fair ladies
all over the land seem, if the door
screens and the window hangings and
the dresses and the laces were deco-
rated with designs worked with spi-
der’s web thread!

Sometimes, it is true, these oirds use
the silk from cocoons for their work,
and even such common material as bits
of thread and wool are used. One
traveler states that he has seen a bird
watch a native tailor as he sewed under
a covered veranda; and, when he had
left his work for a while, the watchful
bird flew to the place, gathered some
of the threads quickly, and then flew
away with his unlawful prize to use it
in sewing together the leaves for his
nest.

Imagine one of these bird homes.
Could any thing be more fairy-lke?
The leaves are joined, of course, to the
tree by their own natural fastenings.
But who taught the first bird home-
maker how to bring the leaves together?
And who gave the first lessons in sew-
ing? And how did it come to choose














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A COOL DRINK
its delicate spider web thread and twist
it into strength, and fasten it with
silken buttons? :

The great art leader, John Ruskin,
who has written so many books to
teach people that all beautiful things
have their use, and that things that are
not truthful can never be beautiful,
would say, I think, that the workman-
ship upon the tailor bird’s nest exactly
fitted his idea of the “true and the
beautiful,’ because there is no orna-
ment which has not its use. The silk
buttons are not placed there for show ;
they fasten the silken lacing.

We could not say as much for many
a fine lady’s dress, where dozens of
buttons that fasten nothing are seen.

Fibee Wee Aa Gi N Pee VEAIN:

Some amusing stories are tcid of the
wit and wisdom of London school chil-
dren. A class of boys in a Board
School was being examined orally in
Scripture. The history of Moses had
been for some time a special study, and
one of the examiners asked,—- ‘ What
would you say of the general cl.aracter
of Moses ?”

“Te was meek,” said one boy.

“ Brave,” said another.

“Tearned,” added a third boy.

“Please, sir,” piped forth a pale-faced,
neatly-dressed lad; ‘he was a gentle-
man !”

“A gentleman!” asked the examiner.
“How do you make that out?”

The boy promptly replied, in the
same thin, nervous voice,—“ Please,
sir, when the daughters of Jethro went
to the well to draw water, the shepherds
came and drove them away; and Moses
helped the daughters of Jethro, and
said to the shepherds,—‘ Ladies first,
please, gentlemen.’”

belicved it could not be genuine.



TIME, POR BED:

Ding-dong! ding-dong!
The bells are ringing for bed, Johnnie—
The bells are ringing for bed.
I see them swing,
I hear them ring,
And I see you nod your head.

The bells are ringing for bed, Johnnie—
They are ringing soft and slow ;
And while they ring,
And while they swing,
It’s off to bed we’ll go.

Tate VINE OE Or Ay GOO
NAME.



Samucl Appleton, a distinguished
Boston merchant, was once sued for a
note, found among the papers of a de-
ceased merchant tailor, and signed with
his name. The handwriting was ex-
actly like his own, but he declared it to
be a forgery, albeit his own brother
said he could not positively say it was
not Mr. Appleton’s writing, though he
The
Judge was against Mr. Appleton, but
the jury found a verdict in his favor,
because they were confident that noth-
ing could induce him to dispute the
payment of a note unless certain that
he did not owe it. Some years later
Mr. Appleton discovered proof that the
actual signer of the note was a ship-
master of the same name, who had been
dead many years. ‘Thus, the finding of
the jury was justified. It was based on
his good reputation, and it illustrates
the truth of the proverb, which says:
“A good name is rather to be chosen
than great riches.” .The root of Mr.
Appleton’s good name was his good
conduct. He was honest and honor-
able in all things,


ESSENGER

ED M

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Le:

ES ow

(fl.
7

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THE WI



































i ——— h SS SSS
———= ZZ
=



lta Chae le ed etmtame ae


JOHNNY’S GARDEN.



Johnny had a garden plot,
And set it all in order,

But jet it run to grass and weeds,
Which covered bed and border.

Iwo stalking sun-flowers reared their
heads,
So firmly were they rooted,
And Johnny, as he looked at them,

Was any thing but suited.

Two children small, looked up and said,
Oh, Mister, beg your pardon!
Or, if you will not answer that,
Say, sonny, where’s your garden
“What dye call those two large flowers?
An’ what'll ye take, an’ sell em?
You'd better put a ladder up,

So folks our size can smell ’em.

“We heard old Mrs. Grubber say,
‘That spot ye needn't covet ;
He’d better turn it into hay,
Or make a grass-plot of it.”

But Johnny never answered back,
But went and dug it over,

And soon again, his sprouting seeds,

He plainly could discover.

He said, “I'll have a garden yet,
And make a little money;
I never liked those Podger twins,—

They try to be so funny.”

BOY BILLY AND THE
RABBIT
Billy, boy! Billy, boy!
He was his mother's joy,
But he couldn’t shoot an arrow worth 2
cent ;
And a rabbit almost laughed
As she watched the flying shaft,
And the place upon the target where it
went.

The rabbit’ passing by,
So very soft and sly,
Took Billy for a hunter gaily dressed;
But when she came anear,
She said, “’Tis_very clear
It’s safe enough to stay and take a
rest.”

Said the rabbit, “Billy, boy,
You never will annoy
Anybody, by your shooting at a mark;
With an arrow and a bow,
I just would like to show,
I can reach the bull’s-eye nearer in the
dark.”

Just then an arrow flew,
That pierced it thro’ and thro’
Which made Miss Bunny start, and
jump, sky high!
She cried, ‘‘Oh, dear!
It’s safer in the rear;
And scampered off and never said,—
“Good-bye.”

Oh, dear!

”

“You see the reason why,
’*Tis always best to try,
Tho’ others laugh and slander all the
same ;
For be it late or soon,



They'll always change their tune,
When they sce your arrow doesn’t mis..
its aim,














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Loa
lh








AC Bild SE ORY.

HOPE LEDYARD.

Six eager faces, all crowding around
to “see the picture!” Four of the faces
belong to girls—Edith and Mamie,
Birdie and Jeanie, while Al and Dick,
who are pretty big boys, “over ten,”
lean over the back of the chair.

“ F[¢’s had a good catch,” says Al.

“ Ffe’s not caught those,” says Dick,
while the girls look first at the picture
and then at the boys.
fellow standing up in the boat is his
father. The men have caught the fish
and the boy takes them to sell. Why,
a fish as big as one of those fellows
could pull a boy right into the water,
easy |”’

“My brother Dick knows,” whispers
Jeanie, proudly. “He took me fishing
once and I caught two fish.”

The little ‘girls look as if they could
hardly believe this, so Jeanie pulls
maimima’s arm and asks, “Didn't I catch
two fish last summer?”

“Indeed she did,” says Dick, before
mamma has time to answer. “She
caught two sun-fish. I never saw any
one do it better. Mother fried ’em for
her dinner, too.”

“My sister goes toa cooking school
and learns to bake fish,” says Edith,
“and she is teaching me at home. I
know the verse about cooking fish.”

We all begged Edith to say the
verse, so, after a little coaxing, she
repeated :

“Our lesson is fish, and in every dish

We would like to meet our teacher's
wish.

But many men have many minds,

There are many fishes of many kinds ;

So we only learn to boil and bake,

To broil and fry, and make a fish-cake,

And trust this knowledge will carry us
through

When othc= fishes we have to ‘do.”’

B10

?

“T guess that



Edith is a little orphan girl who lives
with her grandmother and sister Min-
nie. We are all so interested about
the cooking class, that she tells us
about how they learn to bake bread.

“T mixed the bread last Friday night
and made some biscuit in the morning,
and if I hadn’t forgotten the salt they
would have been splendid. I dont
remember all the verses about bread,

‘ but one verse is:

‘Now you place it in the bread bowl,
A smooth and nice dough ball,

Last, a towel and a cover,
And at night that’s all.

But when morning calls the sleeper
From her little bed,

She can make our breakfast biscuit
From that batch of bread.’”’

“Well, it’s girls’ work to cook and
boys’ work to catch,” said Al, who was
getting tired of hearing verses.

“Jeanie did some catching before she
was five years old, and you forget how
nicely papa cooked the breakfast when
you were camping out last summer.”

“T suppose his cooking, like Jeanie’s
fishing, was just an accident.”

“No, indeed! Good cooking has to
be learned,” I said, and this picture
makes me think of the first fish I had
to cook, and what a foolish girl I had.”

“Oh, mamma’s going to tell us a
story about when_ she was a girl,”
Jeanie exclaims. So all take scats—
Jeanie on my lap, the boys on the two
arms of my chair, and the three little
sisters on Chairs or footstools.

Not about when I was a girl, but
about when I was a very young wife.

You boys know that I had always
lived ina big house in the city, where
the servants did all the cooking and
such work, while I practiced music
or studied or visited my Sunday-school
scholars. I was just as fond of them
in those days as I am now. Well!
EH?



NGUAG

NO LA

HAVE THEY




Your papa took me to a dear little
house, far, far away, near Lake George.
I had a very young girl to help me
about the house, who did not know
any thing about cooking. I thought I
knew a good deal, for I had learned to
bake bread, and roast meat and make a
cup of tea or coffee. I had just as
much fun keeping house in that little
cottage as Jeanie has playing house up
stairs. But one day papa went off ina
hurry and forgot to ask me what I
wanted for dinner. He was to bring a
centleman home that day and I hoped
he would send me a good dinner.

About ten o’clock Annie, my little
servant, came to me and said, ‘Oh;
ma’am, the butcher's here with a beau-
tiful fish the master has sent for the
meat.”

“A fish! Annie, do you know how
to cook fish?” I said.

“No, ma’am. Only it’s fried they
mostly has ’em.”’

I went into the kitchen and there lay
a beautiful trout—too pretty to eat, it
seemed to me. Certainly too pretty to
be spoiled by careless cooking. So I
took my receipt book and after reading
carefully, I stuffed the pretty fish and
laid him-in a pan all ready for the
oven, and told Annie to put it in at
eleven o'clock.

I was pretty tired, so I lay down
for a little nap, and had just dropped
asleep when Annie came into the room,
wringing her hands and saying, “Oh,
ma’am! Oh, ma’am! What’ll I do in
the world?”

It seems that she had taken the fish
out of the safe and put it, pan and all,
on the table, and then, remembering I
had told her to sprinkle a little pepper
on it, she went to the closet for her
pepper-box, and when she came back,
the pan was empty! :

“The cat stole it, Annie,” I said.

“Indade and she didn’t. The inno-
cent cratur was lyin’ on my bed and
the door shut.”

_ I tried to quiet the girl; but I told
her at last she could go home that



night, only she must dry her eyes and
run to the butcher’s for a steak, for the
master would be home witha strange
gentleman in half an hour. We man-
aged to get the steak cooked, and papa
tried to laugh Annie out of the notion
of a ghost stealing our beautiful fish,
but the girl would not smile and was
*afraid to be left alone in the kitchen.
So after tea she packed up her things
and was to take the stage to the depot ;
for Annie lived a long way off.

Just before the stage came as I was
standing at the gate, my eyes full of
tears at losing my nice little servant all
on account of a fish, I saw the lady who
lived across the way open her gate and
come toward our house. I saw the
stage stop a few doors off as she came
to our gate and bowing to me said:

“Excuse me, we are strangers, but
did you lose a fine trout to-day?”

She must have thought me mad, for
I rushed into the house and called:
“Annie, Annie, I’ve found the fish!
Now put your things back in the bureau,
you silly girl.”

Then I went back and invited my
neighbor in, telling her about Annie’s
fright.

“Why, it was our Nero—our great
dog! Iwas away at my mother’s or I
would have brought it back, for I was
sure it belonged to you. Nero must
have slipped in, nabbed the fish, and
brought it to our house. He laid it on
the kitchen floor, as if he had done
a very good deed, my girl tells me,
and she, foolish thing, thought he had
brought it from my mother’s, and
cooked it.”

We had a hearty laugh at our stupid
servants, and were great friends from
that day, and I never see a picture of
fish for sale, but I think of my first
trout, which I prepared for dinner with
such care, but never tasted. Annie
never dared say “ghosts” after that,
and lived with us till Dick was three
years old. But there is papa, and these
little girls must have a piece of cake
and run home,

oem
SSN
= \

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a





EED.

ELLY SE

A LIV

i i a ae te eel he adlam
THE AFRICAN SLAVE
BOY.



There are few who have not heard -

or read of the great traveler, Sir Samuel
Baker, who found his way into the heart
of Afriza, and whose brave wife accom-
panied him in all his perilous journeys.
The natives, when they found how kind
he was, and how interested in trying to
help them, called him the Great White
Man.

One day, after traveling a long dis-
tance, Sir Samuel and Lady Baker were
sitting, in the cool of the evening, in
front of their tent, enjoying a cup of
tea in their English fashion, when a
little black boy suddenly ran into the
‘courtyard, and throwing himself at
Lady Baker’s feet raised his hands to-
ward her, and gazed imploringly into
her face. :

The English lady thought that the
little lad was hungry, and hastened to
offer him food; but he refused to eat,
and began, with sobs and tears, to tell
his tale. He was not hungry, but he
wanted to stay with the white lady and
be her slave.

In broken accents he related how
cruelly he had been treated by the mas-
ter, who stole him from his parents
when he was quite a little boy; how he
made him earn money for him, and
beat him because he was too small to
undertake the tasks which were sct
him. He told how he and some other
boys had crept out of the slave-hut at
night and found their way to English
Mission House, because they had heard
of the white people, who were kind to
the blacks.

Then little Saat, for that was his
name, made Lady Baker understand
how much he loved the white people,
and haw he wished to be her little
slave, She told him kindly that she
neede:k no slave-boy, and that he must
go back to his rightful master. But lit-
tle Saat said, ‘No, he had no master ne
and explained that the Missionaries had



taught him a great deal, and then sent
him, with some other lads, to Egypt, to
heip in the Mission work.

Unfortunately, his companicns had
soon forgotten the good things they
had been taught, and behaved so badly
that the Missionaries in Egypt refused
to keep them, and turned them out, to -
find their way back as best they might
to their own people; but Saat had no
people of his own, and he never rested
until he succeeded in finding the Great
White Man of whom he had heard so
much. |

Lady Baker’s kind heart was touched. |
She determined to keep the little black
boy and train him to be her own at-
tendant. He accompanied the travel-
ers upon their wonderful journey to the
Source of the Nile, and his attachment
to his mistress was very touching.





CLIMBING.

The ivy, while climbing, preserves
its pointed leaf, but when it has reached
the top of its support it spreads out
into a bushy head and produces only
rounded and unshapely leaves.

The ivy, climbing upward on the tower,
In vigorous life its shapely tendrils
weaves, :
But, resting on the summit, forms a
bower,
And sleeps, a tangled mass of shape-
less leaves.

“So we, while striving, climb the up-

ward way,
And shape by enterprise our inner

lives ;
But when, on some low rest we idly
stay,
Our purpose, losing point no longer
strives,

Extxiior Srock.
: ANA NN

/ ENT AN

THE EAGLE.





a ea eee eee
WAIF’S ROMANCE.

Several years ago the beautiful
Shenandoah valley in West Virginia
was the scene of a great freshet. The
river overflowed its banks, and the
usually placid stream became a mighty
torrent, rushing along with frightful
velocity, carrying away houses, barns
and cattle. Buildings were washed
from their foundations by the resistless
current, and. sent whirling down the
stream with the terrified occupants
clinging to the roofs. They had not
had timely warning, and many perished,
while whole flocks of sheep, and hun-
dreds of cows, horses and oxen were
drowned. The writer visited the val-
ley several years afterward, and could
see articles of clothing and even furni-
ture still lodged in the branches of
trees, where they had been caught and
lodged by the receding waters, twenty
feet from the ground.

During this visit a most interesting
story was told of a poor little kitten
who lost home and friends, and was
carried by the surging flood far away
to find a2 new home and a genuine
lover. It is a true romance of the
flood, and it has never been told in
print sofar. Forall gentle lovers of ani-
mals, this beautiful romance of Woggy
and Waif is given to the world.

In this beautiful valley there lived
a lovely family, consisting of father,
mother and two children. [edwin was
a tall and manly Jad of sixteen, and
Ilorence was one year younger. They
were children of refined and cultivated
parents, and the members of this little
home circle displayed such charming
affection and thoughtfulness in their in-
tercourse with each other, that it was
beautiful to behold. IEdwin was pas-
sionately fond of cut-ofdoor sports,
and Florence had a deep love for all
that was beautiful and interesting in
nature. She loved animals, birds and
flowers, and it was her delight to ram-
hle with her brother through the

-mistress, and, though he was



woods, gathering the modest wild flow-
ers, or the delicate maiden hair ferns.
She took great delight in pets of all
kinds, and had numerous rabbits, birds
and squirrels that her brother had trap-
ped; she made them all love her ; even
the tiniest bird or animal can appre-
ciate’*tenderness and kindness; and
Florence’s pure little heart was over-
flowing with love and kindness toward
all God’s dumb creatures.

The constant companion of the
brother and sister in their rambles
was a very frolicsome and handsome
dog, which was so remarkable for
sagacity and intelligence, that he
was known through all the country
side; he was devoted to his young

y not
a very large animal; he had enough
cf the Shepherd’s breed in him to
make him very fierce and courage-
ous in her. defense whenever she
seemed to need it.

At the time of the great freshet, a
homeless family, whose house had been
swept away by the flood, had been har-
bored at Florence’s home. Her
time and mind was fully occupied by
her additional home duties, which to
her gentle nature, were labors of love,
even if the overflowed valley had _pre-
sented her accustomed excursions ;
but not so with Woggy, he had no
duties to keep him, and no wet ground
or body of water could keep him from
taking his usual runs about the coun-
try. For several days after the great
flood, he was noticed to leave the house
rocularly in the morning and not re-
turn until evening. This was some-
thing unusual; generally his runs were

finished in one or two hours ; but when

he was observed one day to take in his
mouth the best part of his breakfast
and trot off with it; Edwin’s curiosity
was excited, and he resolved to unravel
the mystery of Woggy’s regular ab-
sences; he followed his tracks over the
wet ground for nearly two miles, until
he came to a good sized pond left by
the receeding waters in a heNow near




































































































































































































































































































































































































































FEEDING CHIPPY.
the river. The first thing that at-
tracted his attention was a partially
submerged fir tree near the center of
the ford, and lodged against it was a
chicken coop. Were there chickens
in it, do you ask? No; if there had
been when the angry waves picked it
up there were none now, but instead,
the sweetest little £2¢/e you ever saw ;
;nd crouched down on the trunk of the
tree, with his aristocratic paws resting
on the end of the coop, was the myste-
rious Wogey, gravely contemplating the
kitten, as it minced at the food the gen-
erous dog had brought it. How proud
Edwin felt of Woggy as he looked and
understood the scene. How Woggy,
in his solitary rambles, must have dis-
covered the forlorn kitten, who had
been suddenly torn from her home, far
up the valley perhaps, and borne, half
drowned and thoroughly frightened,
on the rushing torrent, until her box,
in which the rising waters had found
her taking her afternoon nap, had
lodged against the tree. Edwin wanted
to rescue her, and take her home.
This was his first impulse, but how?
The pond was wide and deep, and he
had no boat, nor any other means of
reaching her; so he decided to wait
until the water got lower, until he
could devise some plan. He returned
home in great amazement, and told the
story of Woggy’s wonderful doings.
Florence was all excitement and sym-
pathy ina moment, and wanted to go
at once but could not. But what a
delicious hugging and petting Woggy
got when he returned home that night,
When Edwin found them, the kitten
was smuggled up as close to her brute
protector as the. slats would allow ;
she would put her tongue through and
lick his paws, which process seemed to
give him the liveliest satisfaction. Ed-
win whistled to him to come home
with him, but he only wagged his
bushy tail and looked at his frail charge
as muchas to say, “I can’t go just
now.” Just think of the idea of pro-
tection entering the head of a dog!

but it did. Some animals seem almost
to reason. We all know a perfect hor-
ror of water all cats have, they will not
go into water voluntarily. This poor
little thing, surrounded by water, must
have died of starvation had not kind-
hearted Wogegy found and cared for
her.

The next day, Edwin, provided with
a long board and other means of rescu-
ing the distressed stranger, started for
the pond