human
Can you write me a poem about margaret field?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about margaret field:
  J. G. WOOD, S. W. LANDER, and others.
Cave at Benton's Ridge              _F. E. S._
Charlie's Escape
Charlie's Christmas
Daisy's Temptation
How Maggie paid the Rent
How Sweetie's "Ship came In"        _Margaret Field_
If; or, Bessie Green's Holiday
It takes Two to Make a Quarrel
Lace-making
Lion the Fire-dog                   _Benjamin Clarke_
Mrs. Pike's Prisoners               _M. R. W._
My Mother's Stories                 _E. E._
Neddy's Half Holiday
Nicolo's Little Friend              _H. A. F._
Orchard's Grandmother               _S. O. J._
Reginald's First School-Days
Stories about Dogs
Uncle John's School-Days
What Nelly gave Away
Working is Better than Wishing
All among the Hay
Answer to a Child's Question
Bird's Nest, The                    _Mary. N. Prescott_
Child's Petition
Child's Prayer
Children's Song
Counting Baby's Toes
Faithful unto Death; or, The Sentry
Little Home-body                    _Geo. Cooper_
Rigmarole about a Tea-Party
We should hear the Angels singing   _Kate Cameron_
What the Clock says
Willie's Prayer
still--do not you?
short; and we will call her so.
Grandmother did not know.
After admiring her apple a little more, Polly eats it in a most
"What now, Polly?"
children."
That was a happy thought. And Polly puts the seeds carefully on a
"Polly, my dear, are you sure you scattered all the seeds of your
The child reddened a little, and turned away.
"I don't know, grandmother. I think so; I wished to then."
hearing her husband's voice, and sure something undesirable had
happened.
"But I cannot go there now," said Mistress Brenton; "for cousin
Presently out came Mistress Brenton, carrying some bundles of
clothing, and a few little things besides, and wrapped in a great
childish questions.
through the pleasant days, Polly had been having a very enjoyable
mistress's dinner; and though she missed the garden, and the dead
floor, and half the earth was scattered in the folds of its
wrappings, and carefully replaced next morning.
But at last the voyage was ended; they saw land, and finally came
disappointment, turned to go back to the one who lay dead on the
"And you and I like your orchard's grandmother," said I.
So we filled the donkey-cart with them, and set forth for the
"Some one's in the pond!" cried Daisy.
"How do ye know?" said I, not removing my hat from my face.
"Cos I sees 'em with my own eyes."
I jumped up and looked. It was only a hat I saw. Gerald meanwhile
We could see a boy, apparently about Gerald's age, swimming and
The ice began to crack under him. He lay down on his stomach, and
"Keep up! Gerald will save you!" cried Daisy.
Up came the boy again.
"A scarf!" said Gerald, speaking for the first time.
I obeyed like a soldier.
"Throw it now!"
"Go ashore!" he roared like a sea captain.
"Now stand firm and give a hand!" said Gerald.
"O, Gerald, Gerald, I thought you'd be drowned!"
Gerald very gently put her clinging arms away from him, saying,
"Don't cry, Daisy. We have our hands full with this poor fellow."
I got the skates off the "poor fellow," and gave them to Daisy to
"Is he dead, Gery?" said I.
I remember well how dark it grew as we waded slowly and silently
expectation of supper, that made him acquit himself so honorably.
"Bluder an nouns," he exclaimed, "it is you, Mister Gery! An' yer
weeks, and one bright spring morning he died.
Touch the keys _lightly_,
Nellie, my dear:
The noise makes Johnnie
Impatient, I fear.
He looks very cross,
I am sorry to see--
Not looking at all
As a brother should be.
Whatever you're doing,
Bear this always in mind:
In all _little things_
Be both _thoughtful_ and _kind_.
The frost looked forth one still clear night,
And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the valley and over the height
In silence I'll take my way:
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they."
Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
In diamond beads; and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.
He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept:
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stept,
By the light of the moon were seen
Most beautiful things: there were flowers and trees;
There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees;
There were cities with temples and towers, and these
All pictured in silver sheen!
But he did one thing that was hardly fair:
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare--
"Now, just to set them a-thinking,
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three,
And the glass of water they've left for me
Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking."
I have a little picture;
Perchance you have one too.
Mine is not set in frame of gold;
'Tis first a bit of blue,
And then a background of dark hills--
A river just below,
Along whose broad, green meadow banks
The wreathing elm trees grow.
Upon an overhanging ridge
A little farm-house stands,
Whose owner, like the man of old,
Has builded "on the sands;"
And yet, defying storms and wind,
It stands there all alone,
And brightens up the landscape
With a beauty of its own.
Fairy-like my picture changes
As the seasons come and go.
Now it glows 'neath summer's kisses;
Now it sleeps 'mid winter's snow.
I can see the breath of spring-time
In the river's deeper blue,
And autumn seems to crown it
With her very brightest hue.
Ah. I'd not exchange my picture
For the choicest gem of art;
Yet I must not claim it wholly;
It is only mine in part;
For 'tis one of nature's sketches--
A waif from that Great Hand
Which hath filled our earth with models
Of the beautiful and grand.
Why are the blossoms
Such different hues?
And the waves of the sea
Such a number of blues?
So many soft greens
Flit over the trees?
And little gray shadows
Fly out on the breeze?
Why are the insects
So wondrously fair;
Illumining grasses
And painting the air?
You dear little shells,
O, why do you shine?
And feathery sea-weed
Grow fragile and fine?
Why are the meadows
Such gardens of grace,
With infinite beauty
In definite space?
Each separate grass
A world of delight?
O, food for the cattle,
Why are you so bright?
Why are our faces
Such lovable things,
With lips made for kisses,
And laughter that sings?
With eyes full of love,
That sparkle and gleam,
Through beautiful colors,
That change like a dream?
Think for a moment--
Look up to the sky;
Question your heart; it
Will answer the Why!
Bright is the glitter
Of beauty unfurled--
Boundless the love that
Has fashioned the world!
largest quill-feathers of the wing are entirely wanting.
distances with little effort. Others, like the sparrow and the
"Around the head
Of wandering swain the white-winged plover wheels
Her sounding flight, and then directly on
In long excursion skims the level lawn,
To tempt him from her nest."
Tiberius dying, his successor, Caligula, soon after not only set
West wind and sunshine
Braided together,
What is the one sign
But pleasant weather?
Birds in the cherry-trees,
Bees in the clover;
Who half so gay as these
All the world over?
Violets among the grass,
Roses regretting
How soon the summer 'll pass,--
Next year forgetting.
Buds sighing in their sleep,
"Summer, pray grant us
Youth, that its bloom will keep
Fragrance to haunt us!"
Rivulets that shine and sing,
Sunbeams abetting,--
No more remembering
Their frozen fretting.
Sweet music in the wind,
Sun in the showers;
All these we're sure to find
In summer hours.
"Please, Mr. Mate has _that_ cloud a silver lining?"
The question was asked by little Kate Vale, the daughter of an
"Has that cloud a silver lining?"
"Why do you ask me, Kate?" said the sailor.
Tom Bolton gave a short laugh.
brightness.
The mother, Mrs. Vale, who was standing near, leaning against the
And Mrs. Vale repeated the beautiful lines,--
"Yon clouds, a mass of sable shade
To mortals gazing from below,
By angels from above surveyed,
With universal brightness glow."
earthly trials.
Bolton's journey was to be much shorter, and his return much more
window a curious basket, made of some of the various nuts of the
country prettily strung together.
"That's just the thing to take my Mary's fancy," said the mate to
Great events often hang upon very small hooks. If Bolton had not
carelessly placed against it, happened to fall with a crash. The
himself in a strange place, and trying to think how he came to be
"The Albion sails at one!" cried the mate; and without so much as
bareheaded, Bolton rushed forth into the street, and, dizzy as he
bottom of the sea before ever I set eyes on it!"
Pale, haggard, and looking--as he was--greatly troubled, Bolton
"And don't take your accident so much to heart," softly whispered
"Of course I did. My wife and children are impatient to see me--"
I am a first-rate fairy--
"Good-Humor" is my name;
I use my wand where'er I go,
And make the rough ways plain;
And make the ugly faces shine,
The shrillest voices sweet,
The coarsest ore a golden mine,
The poorest lives complete.
I really am in doubt whether or not the young folks ought to be
You all know, that, as a general rule, people in America read too
But the selection is not all. If you expect to gain health and
How often we hear parents boast that their children are "great
The little coral-workers,
By their slow but constant motion,
Have built those pretty islands
In the distant dark-blue ocean;
And the noblest undertakings
Man's wisdom hath conceived
By oft-repeated efforts
Have been patiently achieved.
company, and was present at his first fire. After that time, he
attended no less than three hundred and thirty-two fires, and not
Whenever the fire bell rang, Lion was immediately on the alert,
But stay! Human eyes were not the only ones that took in that sad
perishing babe.
The crisis was a terrible one; an effort was made, an entry was
effected, and some of the men ventured some distance within the
burning pile, only to retrace their steps.
At this emergency, Lion dashed past the men, disappeared amid the
feat--which was witnessed by many--may be better imagined than
described.
Death came to him at length; for last year he died from injuries
received in the discharge of his self-imposed duties.
There are few of our readers who would not have liked to pat that
O, my princely flower, shall I never win
To your moated citadel within,
To your guarded thought?
The pansies are proud; but they show to me
Their purple velvets from over the sea,
With gold inwrought.
And they gently smile wherever we meet;
They seem to me like proud ladies sweet
From a foreign shore.
Wild primrose buds in my very hand
Their odorous evening stars expand,
And all their lore.
But your strange eyes gleam as they pass me by,
And seem to dream of a warmer sky,
Far over the sea.
butterflies in a garden}]
I come not when the earth is brown, and gray
The skies; I am no flower of a day,
No crocus I, to bloom and pass away;
No cowslip bright, or hyacinth that clings
Close to the earth, from whence it springs;
Nor tulip, gay as song birds' wings.
I am the royal rose, and all things fair
Grow fairer for my sake; the earth, the air,
Proclaim the coming of the flower most rare.
Green is the earth, and beautiful the sky,
And soft the breeze, that loves to linger nigh;
I am the rose, and who with me shall vie?
The earth is full of gladness, all in tune
With songs of birds; and now I come, O June,
To crown thee, month of beauty, with my bloom.
My dear little girl, with the flowers in your hair,
Stop singing a moment, and look over there;
While you are so safe in the sheltering fold,
With treasures of silver, and treasures of gold,
Just a few steps away, in a dark, narrow street,
With no pure, cooling drink, and no morsel to eat,
A poor girl is dying, no older than you;
Her lips were as red, and her eyes were as blue,
Her step was as light, and her song was as sweet,
And the heart in her bosom as merrily beat.
But now she is dying, so lonely and poor,
For famine and fever crept in at the door.
While you were so gay, in your beautiful dress,
With music and laughter, and friends to caress,
From the dawn to the end of the weariful day,
She was always at work, with no moment for play.
She saw you sometimes, but you seemed like a star
That gleamed in the distance, so dim and afar.
And often she wondered if God up above
Remembered the poor girl, in pity and love.
Ah, yes, _He remembered_, 'mid harpings and hymns,
And loud alleluias, and waving of wings,
He heard in _His_ heaven the sound of her tears,
And called her away while the sun of her years
Was yet in the east; now, she never will need
From you any more a compassionate deed.
Nay, some time, perhaps, from her home in the skies,
She will look back to see you with tears in your eyes,
For sooner or later we quiver with pain,
And down on us all drops the sorrowful rain.
She never will need you; but many bereft,
Hungry, and heart-sore, and homeless are left.
You can, if you will, from the place where you stand,
Reach downward to help them; the touch of your hand,
May waken within them, with magical power,
A hope that was dying. O, don't be afraid
The poor and the desolate spirit to aid.
The burdens are heavy that some one must bear,
You dear little girl with the flowers in your hair.
"Can they work fast?"
"It must be hard to do."
experienced women make the nicer sorts."
"What do they do with their lace when it is finished?"
trading-house to another until they are all sold."
"Do they get much for them?"
"I think I should rather have the house, mamma."
Ellen thought she should never see a piece of nice lace without
thinking over the matter, mamma went quietly on with her sewing.
Here, little folks, listen; I'll tell you a tale,
Though to shock and surprise you I fear it won't fail;
Of Master John Dawdle my story must be,
Who, I'm sorry to say, is related to me.
And yet, after all, he's a nice little fellow:
His eyes are dark brown and his hair is pale yellow;
And though not very clever or tall, it is true
He is better than many, if worse than a few.
But he dawdles at breakfast, he dawdles at tea--
He's the greatest small dawdle that ever could be;
And when in his bedroom, it is his delight
To dawdle in dressing at morning and night.
And oh! if you saw him sit over a sum,
You'd much wish to pinch him with finger and thumb;
And then, if you scold him, he looks up so meek;
Dear me! one would think that he hardly could speak.
Each morning the same he comes tumbling down,
And often enough is received with a frown,
And a terrible warning of something severe
Unless on the morrow he sooner appear.
But where does he live? That I'd rather not say,
Though, if truth must be told, I have met him to-day;
I meant just to pass him with merely a bow,
But he stopped and conversed for a minute or so.
"Well, where are you going?" politely said I;
To which he replied, with a groan and a sigh,
"I've been doing my Latin from breakfast till dinner,
And pretty hard work that is for a beginner."
"But now I suppose you are going to play
And have pleasure and fun for the rest of the day?"
"Indeed, but I'm not--there's that bothering sum;
And then there's a tiresome old copy to come."
"Dear me!" I replied, and I thought it quite sad
There should be such hard work for one poor little lad;
But just at that moment a lady passed by,
And her words soon made clear that mistaken was I:
"Now, then, Mr. Dawdle, get out of my way!
I suppose you intended to stop here all day;
The bell has done ringing, and yet, I declare,
Your hands are not washed, nor yet brushed is your hair."
"Ho, ho!" I exclaimed; "Mr. Dawdle, indeed!"
And I took myself off with all possible speed,
Quite distressed that I should for a moment be seen
With one who so lazy and careless had been.
So now, if you please, we will wish him good-bye;
And if you should meet him by chance, as did I,
Just bid him good-morning, and say that a friend
(Only don't mention names) hopes he soon may amend.
One day, about a year ago, the door of my sitting-room was thrown
"Here's Jim Peters, mother."
Before I had time to say anything, Harvey went on:
"No mother!" said I, in tones of pity.
"No, ma'am; he hasn't any mother. Have you, Jim?"
"No," answered the child.
"She's been dead ever so long; hasn't she, Jim?"
"Yes, ever since last winter," he said as he fixed his eyes, into
"Where do you live?" I asked.
"Round in Blake's Court," he replied.
"Old Mrs. Flint; but she doesn't want me."
"Poor child!" I could not help saying aloud.
I watched the poor little boy, as he and Harvey played during the
"And I love her," answered Jim, with a great throb in his throat,
Jesus says that we must love him.
Helpless as the lambs are we;
But He very kindly tells us
That our Shepherd He will be.
Heavenly Shepherd, please to watch us,
Guard us both by night and day;
Pity show to little children,
Who like lambs too often stray.
We are always prone to wander:
Please to keep us from each snare;
Teach our infant hearts to praise Thee
For Thy kindness and Thy care.
By the pass of the Great St. Bernard travellers cross the Pennine
For poor travellers and traders the hospice is really a place of
Whirlwinds, called "tourmentes," catch up this light snow, and
carrying it with blinding violence against the traveller, burying
Avalanches, too, are of frequent occurrence.
pass. They are generally accompanied in their search by dogs of a
sometimes unaided by man, to the hospice.
Another of these dogs, named "Barry," had served the St. Bernard
Convent during twelve years, and had saved the lives of fifteen
convent and fetch some of the monks.
"'You have got Sir Thomas Lander's big dog.'
"The man denied it.
Sir Thomas, after describing many of Bass's characteristics, then
"He took a particular fancy for one of the postmen who delivers
letters here, though he was not the man whom I have already had
whilst the man retired from the dog, by no means liking his
O wise little birds! how do you know
The way to go
Southward and northward, to and fro?
Far up in the ether piped they:
"We but obey
One who calleth us far away.
"He calleth and calleth year by year
Now there, now here;
Ever He maketh the way appear."
Dear little birds, He calleth me
Who calleth ye:
Would that I might as trusting be!
Come stand by my knee, little children,
Too weary for laughter or song;
The sports of the daylight are over,
And evening is creeping along;
The snow-fields are white in the moonlight,
The winds of the winter are chill,
But under the sheltering roof-tree
The fire shineth ruddy and still.
You sit by the fire, little children,
Your cheeks are ruddy and warm;
But out in the cold of the winter
Is many a shivering form.
There are mothers that wander for shelter,
And babes that are pining for bread;
Oh, thank the dear Lord, little children,
From whose tender hand you are fed.
Come look in my eyes, little children,
And tell me, through all the long day,
Have you thought of the Father above us,
Who guarded from evil our way?
He heareth the cry of the sparrow,
And careth for great and for small;
In life and in death, little children,
His love is the truest of all.
Now come to your rest, little children,
And over your innocent sleep,
Unseen by your vision, the angels
Their watch through the darkness shall keep;
Then pray that the Shepherd who guideth
The lambs that He loveth so well
May lead you, in life's rosy morning,
Beside the still waters to dwell.
Are dogs endowed with reason? As you grow up, you will spend many
It is but a few days since a dog in Vermont saved a house from
Here seems to be the manifestation of a desire to _learn from
observation_.
Touch not the tempting cup, my boy,
Though urged by friend or foe;
Dare, when the tempter urges most,
Dare nobly say, No--no!
The joyous angel from on high
Shall tell your soul the reason why.
Touch not the tempting cup, my boy;
In righteousness be brave;
Take not the first, a single step,
Towards a drunkard's grave;
The widow's groan, the orphan's sigh,
Shall tell your soul the reason why.
What could we without them,
Those flowers of life?
How bear all the sorrows
With which it is rife?
As long as they blossom,
Whilst brightly they bloom,
Our own griefs are nothing,
Forgotten our gloom.
We joy in the sunshine--
It sheds on them light;
We welcome the shower--
It makes them more bright;
On our pathway of thorns
They are thrown from above,
And they twine round about us,
And bless us with love.
Bright, beautiful flowers,
So fresh and so pure!
How could we without them
Life's troubles endure?
So guileless and holy,
Such soothers of strife,
What could we without them,
Sweet flowers of life?
respectable enough in its common way, but not as an equal or
"Who is it?" they asked. "How beautiful! how lovely!"
"Now then, Tom, lad, what's up? in trouble again?" asked a
good-natured sailor of his messmate, one snowy day on the wide
The boy was leaning moodily against the bulwarks of the vessel--a
Snow was falling heavily, but he did not heed it; he looked up,
however, at the approach of his friend, and answered,--
"I'm all right, Pearson; it isn't that. I was only wishing and
"Yes, he is a pretty little lad," said Pearson, returning the
relative of the captain, and it seemed that while Tom had been
It sounded very pleasant; but little Willy! he should never see
him--it would not do. Tom hesitatingly explained this to Carlo's
Softly, softly, little sister,
Touch those gayly-painted wings;
Butterflies and moths, remember,
Are such very tender things.
Softly, softly, little sister,
Twirl your limber hazel twig;
Little hands may harm a nestling
Thoughtlessly, as well as big.
Kindly pat the friendly dog;
Let your unmolesting mercy
Even spare the toad or frog.
Wide is God's great world around you:
Let the harmless creatures live;
Do not mar their brief enjoyment,
Take not what you cannot give.
Let your heart be warm and tender--
For the mute and helpless plead;
Pitying leads to prompt relieving,
Kindly thought to kindly deed.
To the yard, by the barn, came the farmer one morn,
And, calling the cattle, he said,
While they trembled with fright, "Now, which of you, last night,
Shut the barn door, while I was abed?"
Each one of them all shook his head.
Now the little calf Spot, she was down in the lot;
And the way the rest talked was a shame;
For no one, night before, saw her shut up the door;
But they said that she did,--all the same,--
For they always made her take the blame.
Said the horse (dapple gray), "I was not up that way
Last night, as I now recollect;"
And the bull, passing by, tossed his horns very high,
And said, "Let who may here object,
I say 'tis that calf I suspect!"
Then out spoke the cow, "It is terrible, now,
To accuse honest folks of such tricks."
Said the cock in the tree, "I'm sure 'twasn't me;"
And the sheep all cried, "Bah!" (There were six.)
"Now that calf's got herself in a fix!"
"Why, of course, we all knew 'twas the wrong thing to do."
Said the chickens. "Of course," said the cat;
"I suppose," cried the mule, "some folks think me a fool;
But I'm not quite so simple as that;
The poor calf never knows what she's at!"
Just that moment, the calf, who was always the laugh
And the jest of the yard, came in sight.
"Did you shut my barn door?" asked the farmer once more.
"I did, sir; I closed it last night,"
Said the calf; "and I thought that was right."
Then each one shook his head. "She will catch it," they said;
"Serve her right for her meddlesome way!"
Said the farmer, "Come here, little bossy, my dear!
You have done what I cannot repay,
And your fortune is made from to-day.
"For a wonder, last night, I forgot the door, quite;
And if you had not shut it so neat,
All my colts had slipped in, and gone right to the bin,
And got what they ought not to eat--
They'd have foundered themselves upon wheat."
Then each hoof of them all began loudly to bawl;
The very mule smiled; the cock crew;
"Little Spotty, my dear, you're a favorite here,"
They cried. "We all said it was you,
We were so glad to give you your due."
And the calf answered, knowingly, "Boo!"
Planting the corn and potatoes,
Helping to scatter the seeds,
Feeding the hens and the chickens,
Freeing the garden from weeds,
Driving the cows to the pasture,
Feeding the horse in the stall,--
We little children are busy;
Sure, there is work for us all.
Spreading the hay in the sunshine,
Raking it up when it's dry,
Picking the apples and peaches
Down in the orchard hard by,
Picking the grapes in the vineyard,
Gathering nuts in the fall,--
We little children are busy;
Yes, there is work for us all.
Sweeping, and washing the dishes,
Bringing the wood from the shed,
Ironing, sewing and knitting,
Helping to make up the beds,
Taking good care of the baby,
Watching her lest she should fall,--
We little children are busy;
Oh, there is work for us all.
Work makes us cheerful and happy,
Makes us both active and strong;
Play we enjoy all the better
When we have labored so long.
Gladly we help our kind parents,
Quickly we come to their call;
Children should love to be busy;
There is much work for us all.
"Eighteenpence a pair," was the answer.
enables them to move with greater ease and not so stiffly.
Chang Wang had to make a journey to Macao, down the great River
"Shall I hire a palanquin?" thought Chang Wang, stroking his thin
The rich trader shook his head, and the pigtail behind it--such a
"Birds'-nests soup, indeed!" exclaimed Ko; "why, Chang Wang never
gathers, they will enjoy."
"There is no such creature in all the land that the Great Wall
borders," replied Chang Wang.
philosopher in his way.
successful, but he is only fishing for others."
epicure, for she eats with many mouths."
I'm coming along with a bounding pace
To finish the work that Spring begun;
I've left them all with a brighter face,
The flowers in the vales through which I've run.
I have hung festoons from laburnum trees,
And clothed the lilac, the birch and broom;
I've wakened the sound of humming-bees,
And decked all nature in brighter bloom.
I've roused the laugh of the playful child,
And tired it out in the sunny noon;
All nature at my approach hath smiled,
And I've made fond lovers seek the moon.
For this is my life, my glorious reign,
And I'll queen it well in my leafy bower;
All shall be bright in my rich domain;
I'm queen of the leaf, the bud and the flower.
And I'll reign in triumph till autumn-time
Shall conquer my green and verdant pride;
Then I'll hie me to another clime
Till I'm called again as a sunny bride.
Oh how cold and miserable everything is! Hardly a thought to be
The coming of the post-bag had been scarcely noticed in the
summons had come that very morning calling them to Charlie's
grandmother, who was very ill, and that they were starting for
And Charlie thought it very beautiful as he stood at the door and
"Hark, the herald angels sing!" ringing in his ears.
The old church, with its high pews and country congregation made
Charlie feel that he must be dreaming. Surely it could not be
farmyard full of horses and dogs?
Nor was the evening after tea without its pleasure. When the snow
surrounded with statues. I will give you drink in glasses like
crystal, and food upon plates of silver."
"Very likely," responded Marcellin; "but our house is not half as
cottage--roses, violets, lilies, pansies. Do you suppose that our
departments of art and science. There are theatres, where skilful
"What shall I give you, then, to express my gratitude for your
services? Take this purse, filled with gold."
The hunter joyfully gave the cup to the happy shepherd boy, who,
This picture, as will be readily guessed, is the work of SALVATOR
The environs of Florence afforded him superior advantages in
pencil.
One day he had advanced farther than usual into the profound and
position is quite fine."
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"Ah, you jest with me! Have a care," said the other, coming still
All resistance was useless. And so, after having tried in vain to
companions, and given him authority over them. Famous among the
mountains for his audacious crimes, condemned many times to an
As he saw the captive approach, he asked the usual question,--
"Who are you?"
"Salvator Rosa, a Neapolitan painter, now resident of Florence."
"But my friends are not rich."
"He pays me for my pictures; but he will not pay my ransom."
"I don't know, my little friend."
"It is my sketch-book."
"A sketch-book? What is a sketch-book?"
"It is what I carry my pictures in."
"Pictures? O, do let me see them!"
"Yes, indeed; here they are."
familiar way with which both treated their new acquaintance, she
appeared to change her manner somewhat, and began to look at the
The woman was the wife of the chief. A daughter of an honorable
demanded by the chief.
pleasure to see the care which he took to instruct her children.
friends were deaf to his request for assistance, he received no
answer. He wrote repeatedly, but always with the same result.
running low, and Pietratesta saw in his captive one unprofitable
"Well?" he said, as if his question needed no other explanation.
"Nothing yet," responded Salvator Rosa, sadly.
"Wait a little longer. I will write again to-day."
Salvator, was absent, and her children in tears, she guessed the
painful truth.
"Where is Salvator?" she asked of the eldest.
"They have bound him, and carried him away," responded the child,
And, taking the hands of her little ones, who followed her with
unmoved, as if they had been statues cut from stone.
"Stop!" exclaimed a harsh voice.
"Why do you come here?" he asked, in an irritated voice.
"You know well enough," responded Sivora, without any sign of
patience he has instructed them in his art! See, they weep, as if
At length his evil genius got the control.
children; and you, comrades, despatch your your prisoner."
"Ah! is it so?" exclaimed Sivora, in a piercing voice, throwing
Salvator, motionless and rooted to the spot, in silence, full of
Astounded by that firmness and devotion, ashamed of his violence
"You wish it! He is free!"
"Go! go quickly! The tiger is only sleeping!"
If we only sought to brighten
Every pathway dark with care,
If we only tried to lighten
All the burdens others bear,
We should hear the angels singing
All around us, night and day;
We should feel that they were winging
At our side their upward way!
If we only strove to cherish
Every pure and holy thought,
Till within our hearts should perish
All that is with evil fraught,
We should hear the angels singing
All around us, night and day;
We should feel that they were winging
At our side their upward way!
If it were our aim to ponder
On the good that we might win,
Soon our feet would cease to wander
In forbidden paths of sin;
We should hear the angels singing
All around us, night and day;
We should feel that they were winging
At our side their upward way!
If we only did our duty,
Thinking not what it might cost,
Then the earth would wear new beauty
Fair as that in Eden lost;
We should hear the angels singing
All around us, night and day;
We should feel that they were winging
At our side their upward way!
"How we wish that we knew a hero!"
Say the children, pressing round;
"Will you tell us if such a wonder
In London streets can be found?"
I point from my study-window
At a lad who is passing by:
"My darlings, there goes a hero;
You will know his oft-heard cry."
"'Tis the chimney-sweep, dear father,
In his jacket so worn and old;
What can _he_ do that is brave and true,
Wandering out in the cold?"
Says Maudie, "I thought that a hero
Was a man with a handsome face."
"And I pictured him all in velvet dressed,
With a sword," whispered little Grace.
"Mine is only a 'sweeper,' children,
His deeds all unnoticed, unknown;
Yet I think he is one of the heroes
God sees and will mark for his own.
"Out there he looks eager and cheerful,
No matter how poorly he fares;
No sign that his young heart is heavy
With the weight of unchildish cares.
"Home means to him but a dingy room,
A father he shudders to see;
Alas for the worse than neglected sons
Who have such a father as he!
"And a mother who lies on a ragged bed,
So sick and worn and sad;
No friend has she but this one pale boy--
This poor little sweeper-lad,
"So rough to others, and all unskilled,
Yet to her most tender and true,
Oft waking with patient cheerfulness
To soothe her the whole night through.
"He wastes no time on his own scant meals,
But goes forth with the morning sun;
Never a moment is wasted
Till his long day's work is done.
"Then home to the dreary attic
Where his mother lies lonely all day,
Unheeding the boys who would tempt him
To linger with them and play.
"Because she is helpless and lonely,
He is doing a hero's part;
For loving and self-denying
Are the tests of a noble heart."
O, Robin, dear!
And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near.
The fireside for the cricket,
The wheat-stack for the mouse,
When trembling night winds whistle,
And moan all round the house.
The frosty way like iron,
The branches plumed with snow--
Alas! in winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
O, Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.
Three boys and two girls, in one old naked room, with only their
Though Harry was the oldest, yet _he_ was not very old. Just
clothes, and bright, hot fires, and, O, very much more to eat!
stories about the little flower people, and the good fairies, and
"And, when my ship comes in," Sweetie used to say, "I'll have the
"What is it, Sweetie?" whispered Willie.
"Coffee," said Sweetie, "and turkeys, and jelly, perhaps."
"I wish I had some," sighed Freddy, "I'm so cold and hungry!"
"Yes; that's nice," said the little fellow, hugging her tight.
"O, no, Freddy. I don't ever say it _will_ come, but it's nice to
"We'd buy a great white house, like this--wouldn't we, Sweetie?"
lovely Christmas gifts in the shop windows.' Then she'd say,
"I wish it was Christmas all the time," said Freddy, faintly.
When he was left alone again, he began to think,--
"Poor little things!" said he; and the tears stood in his eyes.
"Even if I propose to carry off this little girl of yours for a
while?" he asked; but, seeing the troubled look in the other
children's faces, he hastened to explain.
"I shouldn't wonder if you should ride in a carriage pretty often
"How did you know?"
"Know what?" said her friend, enjoying her bewilderment.
"A little bird told me," said he, and then was quiet.
Then he told her that he had overheard her conversation with her
"O, sir, I can't believe it. I am so happy!"
Mrs. Lawson, overwhelmed with joy, fainted. She soon recovered,
however, though Sweetie insisted on her lying on the soft lounge
A ship which brought for every day
A welcome hope, an added joy,
A something sweet to do or say,
And hosts of pleasures unalloyed,
Its cargo, made of pleasant cares,
Of daily duties to be done,
Of smiles and laughter, songs and prayers,
The glad, bright life of Happy Ones.
I have sailed my boat and spun my top,
And handled my last new ball;
I trundled my hoop till I had to stop,
And I swung till got a fall;
I tumbled my books all out of the shelves,
And hunted the pictures through;
I've flung them where they may sort themselves,
And now--I have nothing to do.
The tower of Babel I built of blocks
Came down with a crash to the floor;
My train of cars ran over the rocks--
I'll warrant they'll run no more;
I have raced with Grip till I'm out of breath;
My slate is broken in two,
So I can't draw monkeys. I'm tired to death
Because I have nothing to do.
I can see where the boys have gone to fish;
They bothered me, too, to go,
But for fun like that I hadn't a wish,
For I think it's mighty "slow"
To sit all day at the end of a rod
For the sake of a minnow or two,
Or to land, at the farthest, an eel on the sod:
I'd rather have nothing to do.
Maria has gone to the woods for flowers,
And Lucy and Rose are away
After berries. I'm sure they've been out for hours;
I wonder what makes them stay?
Ned wanted to saddle Brunette for me,
But riding is nothing new;
"I was thinking you'd relish a canter," said he,
"Because you have nothing to do."
I wish I was poor Jim Foster's son,
For he seems so happy and gay,
When his wood is chopped and his work all done,
With his little half hour of play;
He neither has books nor top nor ball,
Yet he's singing the whole day through;
But then he is never tired at all
Because he has nothing to do.
Charlie is one of the "big boys." Not _very_ big, either--just
I am coming! I am coming! sings the robin on the wing;
Soon the gates of spring will open; where you loiter I will sing;
I am coming! I am coming! sings the summer from afar;
And her voice is like the shining of some silver-mantled star;
grandmother--not such a grandmother as mine, anyway."
That evening, when the harvest-moon lifted its bright face to the
Such a pretty picture she made, too, with her light shawl draped
"Come here, Daisy," she said, presently. "Come to grandma."
"Hush, darling!" grandma said; "we are all tempted to do wrong
"No, no! Oh, grandma, forgive me!" sobbed the little voice from
grandma's bosom.
Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
The linnet and thrush say "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves and blossoms and sunny warm weather,
And singing and loving, all come back together.
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings and he sings, and for ever sings he,
"I love my love, and my love loves me."
strange indeed if her humble home had not seemed like a bit of
dropped candy-tuft, and phlox, and lady-slippers.
How happy she was at her work! Her cheeks were the color of ripe
Her sister Jennie, who sat sewing by the window, watched her with
"Is she not generous now, Jennie?" asked her mother.
She saw that her mother was smiling softly to herself.
"Did you ever think, dear Jennie, of the other garden which Nelly
"No, mother. What garden do you mean?"
But I doubt whether even the old Romans, with all their large
experience, ever beheld so strange and grotesque a "set-to" (I'm
sometimes.
By "hairn" Ben meant _heron_, the great blue heron of American
waters--_Ardea Herodias_ of the naturalists. And fisher, or
But he had found his intended victim a game one. The heron had a
Thus far the battle seemed favorable to the heron; but the fisher
attesting the prowess of the heron's powerful beak.
stopped, as if by magic.
"One or t'other has given in," muttered Ben.
writhing and snapping a few moments, stretched out--dead.
On the edge of the nest I saw several small perch, a frog, and a
All this while the old heron had stood at a little distance away,
Little Home-body is mother's wee pet,
Fairest and sweetest of housekeepers yet;
Up when the roses in golden light peep,
Helping her mother to sew and to sweep.
Tidy and prim in her apron and gown,
Brightest of eyes, of the bonniest brown;
Tiniest fingers, and needle so fleet,
Pattern of womanhood, down at my feet!
Little Home-body is grave and demure,
Weeps when you speak of the wretched and poor,
Though she can laugh in the merriest way
While you are telling a tale that is gay.
Lily that blooms in some lone, leafy nook;
Sly little hide-away, moss-sided brook;
Fairies are fine, where the silver dews fall;
Home fairies--these are the best of them all!
"We've had a good time, Tony, old fellow, haven't we?" said Neddy
they've just as much right to live as I have."
grasshoppers.
lacework finer than ever was worn by a queen.
Thou humblest bird that wings the air, the Master cares for thee;
His eye looks on thee from above, he notices thy fall;
And if he cares for such as thee, does he not care for all?
He feeds thee in the sweet spring-time, when skies are bright and
He feeds thee in the autumn-time, and in the winter too.
He leads thee through the pathless air, he guides thee in thy
flight;
He sees thee in the brightest day, and in the darkest night.
Oh, if his loving care attends a bird so mean and small,
Will he not listen to my voice when unto him I call?
Early on a cloudy April afternoon, many years ago, several little
"Don't let's go," whispered Mary Green, the oldest of the group.
After some whispering together, the little girls did as they were
Which prophetic words came very near being verified at the moment
imprisonment by pockets full of cakes and fruit, and sent home to
But Mrs. Pike's prisoners were heroines, in the estimation of the
The warrior waves his standard high,
His falchion flashes in the fray;
He madly shouts his battle-cry,
And glories in a well-fought day.
But Famine's at the city gate,
And Rapine prowls without the walls;
The city round lies desolate,
While Havoc's blighting footstep falls.
By ruined hearths, by homes defiled,
In scenes that nature's visage mar,
We feel the storm of passions wild,
And pluck the bitter fruit of war.
The cobweb hangs on Sword and belt,
The charger draws the gliding plow;
The cannons in the furnace melt,
And change to gentle purpose now;
The threshers swing their ponderous flails,
The craftsmen toil with cheerful might;
The ocean swarms with merchant sails,
And busy mills look gay by night;
The happy land becomes renowned,
As knowledge, arts, and wealth increase,
And thus, with plenty smiling round,
We cull the blessed fruits of peace.
"Oh, cherry-time is a merry time!"
We children used to say--
"The merriest throughout the year,
For all is bright and gay."
"Oh, cherry-time is a merry time!"
The air is fresh and sweet,
And fair flowers in the garden bloom,
And daisies 'neath our feet.
"Oh, cherry-time is a merry time!"
For hanging on the tree,
All round and glistening in the sun,
The pretty fruit we see.
"Oh, cherry-time is a merry time!"
Up in the tree so high
We children climbed, and, laughing, said,
"Almost into the sky."
"Oh, cherry-time is a merry time!"
The robins thought so too,
And helped themselves to "cherries ripe"
While wet with morning dew.
"Oh, cherry-time is a merry time!"
The sunshine and the showers
Of God's rich mercy fall on us
In happy childhood's hours.
"O, splendid, papa!" say they in chorus; "but how _can_ we have a
"Yes; and Patrick can help you," was the reply.
halted, and lifted them upon the track again. The earth was to be
embankment. As the first loads were overturned, Mr. Davy made his
The boys were delighted. All this excavating, laying out of
Pretty early that evening little Clarence crept into his mother's
The hollow in the pasture, I forgot to say, was half an acre in
"Time to be at work!" said Mr. Davy.
All the forenoon, as I watched them from my window, I saw the
repeatedly. The hod became too uneasy a burden for the boys'
shoulders, even though it was padded with sheep-skin.
themselves down in a trench behind a low rampart of earth.
"Let's elect Frank quartermaster," said Tommy; "then he'll go to
"Tell mother to send a big basketful, Frank. Soldiers get awful
hungry," said Percy.
Mamma was willing to issue rations in the field. "But," said she,
Patrick and Michael partook; but as they were absent directly
But I must hasten; for you will be anxious to know that the pond,
neighborhood. All the boys for a mile round were there to see.
answer.
hurried to the stable.
insensible to its beauty.
"Never mind, little trout," said Franky; "you are not going to be
My young readers may not know that fish breathe an element of the
A boat was in progress in Mr. Davy's tool-house. The boys watched
Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me;
Bless thy little lamb to-night;
Through the darkness be thou near me,
Keep me safe till morning light.
Through the day thy hand hath led me,
And I thank thee for thy care;
Thou hast warmed and fed and clothed me,
Listen to my evening prayer.
laughing in a low tone, as if he was very much pleased to see the
A remarkably quiet man did John Stocks seem in regard to general
running just opposite each other on the two different lines, the
"Were you not terribly afraid?" said Archy, who had been almost
breathless during the recital.
Merrily sang the children, as their mother softly played;
With eager, outstretched faces a pretty group they made;
Their clear and bird-like voices ran loudly through the air,
Till "Baby" heard the music, and crept from stair to stair,
That she might join the singers, and in their gladness share.
Dear, merry little warblers! I love to hear you, too;
Your fresh, unworldly feelings, your hearts so fond and true,
Give to your songs a sweetness that no other strains possess;
They soothe the harassed spirit when troubles thickly press,
And evoke the warm petition, "O GOD, OUR CHILDREN BLESS!"
How earnest Kate and Constance and Brother Willy look,
Counting up varied treasures, ship, bat and doll and book!
The three are very busy, and very happy too,
Trying to mend up old things to look almost like new.
The book was rather shabby, but Kate with paste and thread
Has made it firm and tidy, and rubbed it clean with bread.
And now, ere she resigns it, she lingers, glancing o'er
The pretty picture pages and well-known lines once more.
Constance has dressed the dolly--you see how nice it looks--
And all its things are fastened with little strings or hooks.
Boxes of beads and sweeties, and many a top and ball,
Saved for the coming Christmas; and who's to have them all?
Not their own merry playmates, bright girl and happy lad,
Who'll meet for winter pastime like them well fed and clad.
No; children in close alleys, or the large workhouse near,
And their own Christmas pleasures will seem more glad and sweet
For knowing such poor neighbors enjoy for once a treat.
He was a wee bit of a boy to carry the United States mail on his
The Point road was lonesome, and it must have been quite an hour
"All this" neither stirred nor spoke.
"Whoa! whoa, there!" called the driver to his horses.
"Bless the chick, if he isn't dead asleep," continued the driver,
"I've been asleep," said Que; and so he had.
"My bag's been and gone," continued Que; and so it had.
Que started towards the Point as fast as he could go, and
"Who are you?" asked the postmaster.
"Bag of wind!" said the postmaster, emphatically.
But when Que began to cry, which he did at once, the postmaster
couldn't stand that, for he had no children of his own, and his
"Did you have a good time, Que?"
"Was it fun?"
"Did you get anything for it?"
"Did you get tired?"
"Going to keep it up?"
"Can't I go next time?"
"Do you like it?"
"Did you see any boys?"
"Anybody give you a lift?"
"O, no, sir," said Que. "I haven't played at all;" which was very
"Did there seem to be many letters?" asked his mother; and be it
"Didn't notice, ma'am; the bag wasn't very heavy;" and it wasn't,
hay-carts and wagons, and particularly from the lath man. So, in
course of time, all the brothers' questions were satisfactorily
answered.
stand, on top of the hill with his bag.
itself away from the manner of carrying the bag.
"Wish I had something between me and the wind," sighed he.
The wind blew very strong.
didn't wonder at all, when he lay, a minute later, against a huge
reasoning was quite correct again. No one else had felt the gale.
"What are you doing here, sir?"
"Nothing," said Que.
"You've been asleep, sir."
"Yes, sir," said Que.
"What have you done with the mail-bag?"
"It is the mail-bag that's done with me," said Que.
course, will blow it.
The clock's loud tick
Says, "Time flies quick."
"Listen," says the chime;
"Make the most of time,
For remember, young and old,
Minutes are like grains of gold;
Spend them wisely, spend them well,
For their worth can no man tell."
Old Winter comes forth in his robe of white,
He sends the sweet flowers far out of sight,
He robs the trees of their green leaves quite,
And freezes the pond and the river;
He has spoiled the butterfly's pretty nest,
And ordered the birds not to build their nest,
And banished the frog to a four months' rest,
And makes all the children shiver.
Yet he does some good with his icy tread,
For he keeps the corn-seeds warm in their bed,
He dries up the damp which the rain had spread,
And renders the air more healthy;
He taught the boys to slide, and he flung
Rich Christmas gifts o'er the old and young,
And when cries for food from the poor were wrung,
He opened the purse of the wealthy.
We like the Spring with its fine fresh air;
We like the Summer with flowers so fair;
We like the fruits we in Autumn share,
And we like, too, old Winter's greeting:
His touch is cold, but his heart is warm;
So, though he brings to us snow and storm,
We look with a smile on his well-known form,
And ours is a gladsome meeting.
Treading on a pin in the sewing-room was another diversion in his
Now, all this is no uncommon experience for a small boy. I simply
"What's the matter?" she asked, gently.
Will bounced his hand down so hard on a tea-poy, two little terra
"O, don't preach!" persisted Will, gruffly.
scrap-book.
sulkily explained to his sighing sister, "it made his head buzz."
Emily gently suggested a French lesson as a corrective of this
"Hush up, and go ahead!" was Will's rude answer.
"Where's your stockings, Master Will,--the blue stripes?"
trouble Kathleen just then with the tidings. The blue-striped
"Aow! they pinch!"
grandmamma."
"Now, if you could only be as good as you're purty," exclaimed
"Don't pull so, Will; I shall drop my basket, and my spool and
thimble will roll away."
"I thought the machine sewed."
"Well, I'm glad I'm not a girl, to sit pricking my fingers, and
jabbing needles in and out all day."
Patience was not one of Will's virtues.
All the little knolls seemed to take up Will's sorrowful cry, and
"You must not tear or soil your clothes."
capacity for mending.
"Couldn't you pin it up nicely?" he inquired, in most insinuating
Emily burst into a merry laugh.
Will coughed to choke down a sob.
So this kind sister stitched, and taught unconsciously as she
stitched, lessons of love and patience, lessons of cheerful
helpfulness and sweet unselfishness, which Will never forgot.
"It's all finished now, the very last stitch; and now for the
stockings. Let me see the spots."
A little girl knelt down to pray
One morn. The mother said,
"My love, why do we ever say,
Give us our daily bread?
Why not ask for a week or more?"
The baby bent her head
In thoughtful mood towards the floor:
"We want it fresh," she said.
One sweet morning little Willie,
Springing from his trundle-bed,
Bounded to the vine-wreathed window
And put out his sunny head.
It was in the joyous spring-time,
When the sky was soft and fair,
And the blue-bird and the robin
Warbled sweetly everywhere.
In the field the lambs were playing,
Where the babbling brook ran clear;
To and fro, in leafy tree-tops,
Squirrels frisked without a fear.
In his ear his baby-brother
Baby-wonders tried to speak,
And the kiss of a fond mother
Rested on his dimpled cheek.
Zephyrs from the fragrant lilacs
Fanned his little rosy face,
And the heart's-ease, gemmed with dewdrops,
Smiled at him with gentle grace.
Gliding back with fairy footsteps,
Willie, dropping on his knees,
Softly prayed, "Dear God, I love you!
Make it always happy, please!"
grazing in the field beyond, and now and then lowing a friendly
Little Jack Tompkins stood under the beech trees, looking with
tear-stained face up into the branches. Suddenly I saw his face
It seems odd that a hole in one's begging basket should be an
advantage.
To be known by a characteristic name is of great advantage to a
beggar.
If Biddy, looking from the basement door, says to cook, "Och, an'
friendless and alone.
"O, dear," sighed Puppet, "_what_ a mean place you are!"
sighing, like herself, "O dear, O dear!"
"I'll try once more," said Puppet, tuning her guitar.
Then Puppet whistled to her guitar accompaniment a little "Bird
Waltz," and whirled on the pavement in time, till I doubt if she
A boy came dancing into the court, singing,--
"O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad!
O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad!"
And out and away from the city there were green fields.
horses in the city.
Puppet, leaning against the tree, ran her fingers over the guitar
Her thoughts must be far away, in a quiet and happy place, that
Puppet's harmonies should seem a part of that place.
Puppet was feeling very hungry. She would play the Fandango. That
"Dear me! a little girl with yellow hair, and I just to have been
"Ah, no, little girl! there is nothing the matter with your hair.
"What do you want?" asked the lady.
understand.
"Where is it, mum?"
"Where is what, child?"
"The child, mum." Puppet pointed to the tip-cart.
"Gone, my dear," said the lady, softly.
"Yes, I suppose so," said the lady, with a little shiver.
"What's your name? How could I have forgotten to ask your name?"
"That's a funny name. And where do you live?"
"Two or three miles away from here."
"Have you walked here to-day?"
"What should make the child walk so far, I wonder?"
"Money, mum, and things to eat."
"Have you eaten enough?"
"Yes. I must go home now, or I shall be late."
"O, yes, mum! Go as I came."
But was Puppet _sure_ that she knew the way?
But what was that? _That_ was certainly a child's cry.
The man looked sharply about.
He saw great haystacks of meadow hay out in the meadow, with the
"How came you there?"
"Sure enough, the prop."
"And I was so tired!"
"Poor child!"
"Well, well! We'll go home and get something to eat."
"Why, John, are you back? Dear me, if there isn't that same
"Please, mum, may I play with the cart?"
And because of her yellow hair, she might play with the cart.
"And she'd be _such_ a comfort!"
"If she didn't die by and by," said John.
John thought. And he thought that if she could stand that without
So Puppet and the guitar live with John and the gray-haired lady.
"Your dancing days are all over."
But the pines were quite different. They, the stately ones, stood
"Ho, ho!" laughed the maple and the birch behind their fluttering
inexcusable.
When the summer was ended, the maple began to put on her gorgeous
perked stiffly up above the snow; they had the air of expecting
somebody.
"Where are you going?" asked the giddy little birch of the pines,
wrapped in our warm winter furs."
carriages of all descriptions blocked the crossings, or drove
recklessly over the frozen pavement.
The old woman in the quilted black hood and shaggy cape, who had
The old dame was rubbing her mittened hands briskly together, and
Mike waved his Christmas boughs aloft in great glee.
"You bet I be!" whimpered Mike, pointing forlornly with his one
unoccupied finger to his bruised ankle.
By this time a crowd had gathered about the prostrate Mike, who,
straining their eyes in the dim twilight, and peering still more
"It's _my_ opinion," she said, with great pompousness, "that the
"May be it's St. Nicholas?" questioned Chrissy, spooning very
unsteadily, his eyes and his ears wide open.
headlong among the family group.
Ely was purple with wrath.
Alice now lighted the gas, Ely set the pretty pine tree carefully
frantically about it.
Then Alice, and Mabel, and Ely went up close to the fender, and
Now began the Christmas adorning of the little pine tree. Such
beautiful things as were hung upon it, and folded about it, and
festooned around it!
"I crawled in behind there to see if there mightn't be a place
somewhere for these," explained Ely, hastening for the torch, and
The four small Eliots, after pinning up their stockings by the
The night darkened and deepened, the stars moving on in a grand
roaring "Merry Christmas" in his ears.
"Hooray!" cried Mike, swinging his pillow; "that thafe of a chap
"Blissid be thim as saysonably remimbers the poor," sniffed Mrs.
"Merry Christmas. May I come in?"
Pat looked at Jim, and Jim looked at Mike, and all three,
open-mouthed, looked at the little golden head in the doorway.
She had emptied her little leathern bag, laid down her gifts on a
"Stay to dine to dinner?"
At the same time a small dancing jack, dangling from somewhere
A merry, merry Christmas to all the little "Merrys" who read this
I've a sweet little pet; she is up with the lark,
And at eve she's asleep when the valleys are dark,
And she chatters and dances the blessed day long,
Now laughing in gladness, now singing a song.
She never is silent; the whole summer day
She is off on the green with the blossoms at play;
Now seeking a buttercup, plucking a rose,
Or laughing aloud at the thistle she blows.
She never is still; now at some merry elf
You'll smile as you watch her, in spite of yourself;
You may chide her in vain, for those eyes, full of fun,
Are smiling in mirth at the mischief she's done;
And whatever you do, that same thing, without doubt,
Must the mischievous Annie be busied about;
She's as brown as a nut, but a beauty to me,
And there's nothing her keen little eyes cannot see.
She dances and sings, and has many sweet airs;
And to infant accomplishments adding her prayers,
I have told everything that the darling can do,
For 'twas only last summer her years numbered two.
She's the picture of health, and a southern-born thing
Just as ready to weep as she's ready to sing,
And I fain would be foe to lip that hath smiled
At this wee bit of song of the _dear little_ child.
much--was, as I said before, spoilt.
beautiful spot in which for a whole long day they were to amuse
unhappy again; _if_ I could stay here and not go back to London;
discontented at: "_If_ I were one of that lady's little girls, I
frequently in _their_ mouths as in _yours_.
But now the dinner is over, and the merry troop have dispersed
again--the boys eager to return to their game of cricket, and the
frequent use of the word "_if_."
But I have seen, and handled, too--and oh, the sight was funny!--
Two little girls of ten and twelve--I love them very much--
Once thought a tenant they would like for their new rabbit-hutch,
And home the furry tenant in their pony-carriage brought.
They petted, nursed and fondled it, and showed it every care,
And said before it went to bed its sheets of straw they'd air;
They also begged it very hard itself at home to make,
And hoped, although its bed was strange, it would not lie awake.
How happy was this Bunny white I really cannot tell,
But certainly it happy looked, and was extremely well;
When summer came, the little girls were taken to the sea,
And left their rabbit with the groom--a youth of twenty-three.
They bathed and dug upon the shore, and played with Cousin Jack;
They heard the band upon the sand, and rode on donkey-back.
Then home they came, and went at once to see their Bunny dear,
To stroke his ribs, and pat his head, and feel each wiry ear;
But oh! alas! they found him not--the rabbit was not there!
His hutch, like Mrs. Hubbard's shelf, was very, very bare.
"He's in the hot-house," George replied; "the gardener put him
there,
For he was growing thinner, miss, and losing all his hair."
They trotted to the garden then, and there the Bunny found,
And 'neath a vine beheld their pet reposing on the ground.
"Why, what is that?" they both exclaimed; "can that a rabbit be?
I never in my life before so strange a thing did see!"
They were surprised, and certainly the sight was strange to view,
Such fat he had, and lots of hair, they longed a bit to pull;
He was exactly like a ball of living cotton-wool.
No tailor ever did produce a coat so superfine,
'Twas white as snow, and very thick on stomach, chest and spine--
And oh! the hair was very long--as long as any sum!
A host of friends and neighbors came the funny sight to see,
To one and all a rabbit forced was quite a novelty;
And everybody petted him, and loved him very much,
And brought him goody-goodies for the larder in his hutch.
One day--and now my pen and ink the deepest mourning wear--
They let him out upon the lawn for exercise and air;
Seized Bunny by his woolly throat, and--you must guess the rest.
Boys, be up and doing,
For the day's begun;
Soon will come the noontide,
Then the set of sun;
At your tasks toil bravely
Till your work is done.
Let your hands be busy
In some useful way;
Don't neglect your study,
Don't forget your play;
There is time enough for each
Every blessed day.
Remarkable for its spire, the loftiest of St. Petersburg, is the
church of St. Peter and St. Paul. An anecdote connected with this
"Lofty, and light, and small,"
Having thought on these circumstances till his mind was made up,
Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world,
With the wonderful water around you curled,
And the wonderful grass on your breast--
World, you are beautifully dressed.
The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.
You friendly Earth, how far do you go,
With the wheat-fields that nod, and the rivers that flow,
With cities, and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
Ah, you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all!
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say,
"You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot;
You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"
Be quiet, good Tabby!
See how still you can be,
For I'm going to teach you
I'll show you the way
Mother reads it to me:
She looks very sober,
Fred says you can't learn,
But we'll show him that we
Can learn, if we please,
To what little May said
Tabby did not agree,
And I doubt if she learned
At the first sight of a giraffe, the spectator is struck by its
enormously long neck, and will naturally ask himself how it is
accordingly we find that the vertebræ of the shoulders send out
kaross, or any other article of apparel, he soaks a piece of the
ligament in water, and then beats it with a stone. This treatment
originally devoted.
Although the neck of the giraffe is so enormously long, it only
consists of seven vertebræ, as is indeed the rule throughout the
"It was something more than two years ago that here, in this spot
cowardly than humane course of escaping to the tents of some
Look! how the clouds are flying south!
The wind pipes loud and shrill!
And high above the white drifts stands
The snow-man on the hill.
Blow, wild wind from the icy north!
Here's one who will not fear
To feel thy coldest touch, or shrink
Thy loudest blast to hear!
Proud triumph of the school-boy's skill!
Far rather would I be
A winter giant, ruling o'er
A frosty realm, like thee,
And stand amidst the drifted snow,
Like thee, a thing apart,
Than be a man who walks with men,
But has a frozen heart!
persons.
completed. A nice, soft lining of fine grass or hair finishes the
Unlike most other birds, swallows often repair old nests, if the
locality forever. Where a number of families live together, their
plainer one of these years), my attention was called to a small
It would be interesting to know where these birds go as winter
A gentleman passing through a field observed a cow showing many
candles from the tallow, and the feet afford an oil adapted to a
We are but minutes--little things!
Each one furnished with sixty wings,
With which we fly on our unseen track,
And not a minute ever comes back.
We are but minutes; use, use us well,
For how we are used we must one day tell.
Who uses minutes has hours to use;
Who loses minutes whole years must lose.
It was a bitter cold day in the end of the month of January. The
thousand miles. Now that I am fairly awake, I will show you the
"O, you dear old pet!"
imaginable, as I once nearly found out to my cost.
"Such was the substance of the conversation when any two of the
residents met, varied, perhaps, by remarks as to whether old
"I found the walk into town, though very heavy, not so bad as I
"A few minutes there was a lull--a dead silence--when flash!
scramble pulled me out of my first trouble.
thoughts were anything but satisfactory.
"Slowly a minute or two passed, but no reply to my communication.
"At the same time I caught a glimpse of a cluster of trees, whose
consequence of a severe frost-bite.
Spring has come back to us, beautiful spring!
Blue-birds and swallows are out on the wing;
Over the meadows a carpet of green
Softer and richer than velvet is seen.
Up come the blossoms so bright and so gay,
Giving sweet odors to welcome the May.
Sunshine and music are flooding the air,
Beauty and brightness are everywhere.
"No, sir," said Charley, "no more to-night."
"O, we must have a funny name, he's such a sorry looking feller!
Wouldn't you call him 'Bitters'?" said Charley.
"Bitters!" said Jim, with a laugh.
"Yes, that's bad enough."
So Bitters he was named; and next morning they won their mother's
Bitters seemed to take to his new admirers, and appeared quite
Now, Rube means to make the best dog in the world of Stephen--the
"He doesn't know Stevie is behind him, does he, ma? and now let's
purposely for dogs to admire.
Then the school-bell rang, and Fred's mother kissed him
Now the sun is sinking
In the golden west;
Birds and bees and children
All have gone to rest;
And the merry streamlet,
As it runs along,
With a voice of sweetness
Sings its evening song.
Cowslip, daisy, violet,
In their little beds,
All among the grasses,
Hide their heavy heads;
There they'll all, sweet darlings!
Lie in happy dreams
Till the rosy morning
Wakes them with its beams.
Stirred the fire,
Poked it out,
Fetched the coals,
Laid the wood,
Struck the match,
Made it blaze,
Kept the broom,
Swept the floor,
Laid the cloth,
Brought the tray,
Washed the plates,
Smoothed the salt,
Fetched the meat,
Rubbed the knife,
Found the fork,
Brought the milk,
Sent some cream,
Cut the bread,
Made the toast,
Poured out tea,
And they all were as happy as happy could be.
"So am I glad, though I don't expect any presents but a pair of
mittens."
"And so am I; but I shan't have any presents at all."
"I see it! I've found it!"
Kate and Bessy laughed.
confiding eyes, quick to feel and know a friend.
answered Tilly, as they parted.
Her eyes were full, and she felt _so_ poor as she went on alone
"Why, mother, what a big bowlful! I'm afraid you gave me all the
Such a poor little supper, and yet such a happy one! for love,
children danced and played.
"We must go to bed early; for we've only wood enough to last over
"What sort of a face was it?" asked Tilly's mother, coming back.
"A pleasant sort of face, I think; but I was so startled, I don't
When Tilly opened the door the next morning, she gave a loud cry,
"O, mother, did the fairies do it?" cried Tilly, pale with her
happiness, as she seized the basket while her mother took in the
bundle.
"For the little girl who loves her neighbor as herself."
"Mother, I really think my bird is a fairy bird, and all these
It is very difficult to catch coyotes in a trap, but they are
regions between the Mississippi and the Pacific, and in Southern
mess-number of several.
This breed of wolves is the most numerous of all the carnivora in
vegetables--in short, anything that will save them from death by
starvation.
starving coyotes attacked human beings; and more than one belated
plantation in good humor by means of his fiddle.
A wedding of colored people was about to come off on a plantation
pedestrian; no cart road existed for several miles round.
The profound solitude of this road must infallibly produce its
effect--that of fear or apprehension--on a being belonging to the
seemed momentarily to be augmented; it resembled an ant-heap seen
reaching this refuge restored him a portion of his courage.
manifested fresh marks of surprise, as if a charge of shot had
Orpheus in the olden times, or Ole Bull in ours.
Fortunately, the old man reached the cabin at the moment when the
deafening barks of the coyotes, and silenced them as if by
"The Lord ha' mussy on all!" he cried; "I am an eaten man!"
described. The old player was still continuing his involuntary
concert, with his eyes fixed on his deadly foes.
toilet, had turned white in the space of two hours.
Deep in a leafy dell we found,
When early Summer wove her crown,
A bird's nest on the mossy ground,
From blooming bough blown down.
Five pretty eggs, quite warm and white,
Were waiting for the brooding wing,
That from each shell there might take flight
A bird, to trill and sing.
The mother sat and grieved apart;
Her song had no rejoicing note.
The sorrow of her wounded heart
Seemed sobbing in her throat.
She thought of all the summer days,
With their sweet sunshine, yet to come;
Of fledgelings echoing God's praise,
This visit of the artist to their humble abode became the
likeness to the dear old lady in it, and mother felt sure her boy
Little Maria was the first to notice it. "Oh, mother," she cried,
The widow turned from her work to look.
pleased indeed to see him again. His judgment of the merits of
Robbie's work was such that Mr. Moring undertook to have the boy
Little Maria was busy braiding straw when this message came.
You're starting to-day on life's journey,
Along on the highway of life;
You'll meet with a thousand temptations;
Each city with evil is rife.
This world is a stage of excitement;
There's danger wherever you go;
But if you are tempted in weakness,
Have courage, my boy, to say NO!
Sadie's boudoir is a meadow,
Carpeted with blue-eyed grass;
Slender birches, rounded maples,
Frame her inlaid looking-glass.
Curtains woven up in cloud-land
Trail their fringes over all,
Shifting shadows gray and purple,
Which aerial elves let fall.
Hither Sadie, morn and evening,
Comes for water from the spring,
Pausing ere she fills her pitcher
Where the greenest mosses cling,--
Pausing where, as in a mirror,
She a wistful face beholds;
Magic mirror, for within it
Many a vision fair unfolds.
When the April clouds are driven
Over depths of azure skies,
Windows open into heaven,
And she sees her mother's eyes.
When she binds upon her forehead
Wreath of daisies twined with wheat,
Crown, with slippers on her feet.
When the glories of October,
Crimson maple, golden birch,
Make her mirror finer, richer,
Than stained windows of a church,--
She of golden-rod and aster
Weaves a garland for her hair,
Leans above the magic mirror,
Murmuring, "Mother called me fair."
But 'tis best when clouds are flying
O'er the clear blue April skies,
And through dreamy depths she gazes
Into heaven and mother's eyes.
Come back, come back together,
All ye fancies of the past,
Ye days of April weather,
Ye shadows that are cast
By the haunted hours before!
Come back, come back, my childhood;
Thou art summoned by a spell
From the green leaves of the wildwood,
From beside the charmed well,
For Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
The fields were covered over
With colors as she went;
Daisy, buttercup and clover
Below her footsteps bent;
Summer shed its shining store;
She was happy as she pressed them;
Beneath her little feet;
She plucked them and caressed them;
They were so very sweet;
They had never seemed so sweet before
To Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
How the heart of childhood dances
Upon a sunny day!
It has its own romances,
And a wide, wide world have they--
A world where Phantasie is king,
Made all of eager dreaming;
When once grown up and tall--
Now is the time for scheming--
Then we shall do them all!
Do such pleasant fancies spring
For Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore?
She seems like an ideal love,
The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,
As if she were our own--
A younger sister for the heart;
Like the woodland pheasant,
Her hair is brown and bright;
And her smile is pleasant,
With its rosy light.
Never can the memory part
With Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
Did the painter, dreaming
In a morning hour,
Catch the fairy seeming
Of this fairy flower?
Winning it with eager eyes
From the old enchanted stories,
Lingering with a long delight
On the unforgotten glories
Of the infant sight?
Giving us a sweet surprise
In Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore?
Too long in the meadow staying,
Where the cowslip bends,
With the buttercups delaying
As with early friends,
Did the little maiden stay.
Sorrowful the tale for us;
We, too, loiter 'mid life's flowers,
A little while so glorious,
So soon lost in darker hours,
All love lingering on their way,
Like Red Riding-Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
Presence of mind is one of the rarest, as it is one of the most
masculine virtue; but it is one that both sexes may profitably
"Why, grandmother, what do you mean?" cried Maggie, looking up in
So saying, Maggie stooped and kissed the withered cheek of that
"Dark's the night, dun's the sky with smoke;
Never more my guard they'll change;
Three hours ago I could crack my joke,
And now e'en the thought seems strange.
"Hark! the thunder bellows loud,
And the night's come down apace,
And the lava flame, through its sulphurous cloud,
Is ruddy on my face.
"With a crash did yon temple fall;
But ever, through all the din,
Shrill rose a death-wail o'er all,
The vestals' screams within.
"Men are running, away, away,
With tight zones up yonder street;
But a soldier of Rome must stay
At his post, as seems him meet.
"I remember my levying morn--
I remember my sacred vow;
And I'd hold it matter of scorn
In death's teeth to break it now.
"Jove! lava is all around--
It nears me with scorching breath;
It hisses along the ground
To my feet, and the hiss means--death.
"I've fought as a soldier should
'Neath many an alien sky,
And at home at my post I've stood
Amidst cowards, and now, to die.
"Great Mars, give me heart of grace
_Triarii_,[C] over the bowl
Say, 'He died with a smile on his face,
And glory in his soul'!"
O, master, no more of your lessons!
For a season we bid them good by,
And turn to the manifold teachings
Of ocean, and forest, and sky.
We must plunge into billow and breaker;
The fields we must ransack anew;
And again must the sombre woods echo
The glee of our merry-voiced crew.
From teacher's and preacher's dictation--
From all the dreaded lore of the books--
Escaped from the thraldom of study,
We turn to the babble of brooks;
We hark to the field-minstrels' music,
The lowing of herds on the lea,
The surge of the winds in the forest,
The roar of the storm-angered sea.
To the tree-tops we'll climb with the squirrels;
We will race with the brooks in the glens;
The rabbits we'll chase to their burrows;
The foxes we'll hunt to their dens;
The woodchucks, askulk in their caverns,
We'll visit again and again;
And we'll peep into every bird's nest
The copses and meadows contain.
For us are the blackberries ripening
By many a moss-covered wall;
There are bluehats enough in the thickets
To furnish a treat for us all;
In the swamps there are ground-nuts in plenty;
The sea-sands their titbits afford;
And, O, most delectable banquet,
We will feast at the honey-bee's board!
O, comrades, the graybeards assure us
That life is a burden of cares;
That the highways and byways of manhood
Are fretted with pitfalls and snares.
Well, school-days have _their_ tribulations;
Their troubles, as well as their joys.
Then give us vacation forever,
If we must forever be boys!
happened two or three times; the doctor was puzzled, and the
invention appeared a complete success; but at last all was
discovered.
The boys one evening began imprudently to play at "tossing in the
Unluckily, while he was in the room the rattle sounded again by
At ten o'clock at night the household was disturbed by the loud
schoolmaster. This was worse than all.
The dog has sometimes been called the "friend of man." This is
sharing every variation of climate and outward lot with the human
expecting that the lamed animal would be returned, and the price
"'Doctor, my dog; my dog, your doctor.'
wounds, which every instant grew more and more painful.
immortalized; so here you have his portrait, with the cap in his
Who rideth so late through the night-wind wild?
It is the father with his child;
He has the little one well in his arm,
He holds him safe, and he folds him warm.
"My son, why hidest thy face so shy?"
"Seest thou not, father, the Erl King nigh?
The Erlen King, with train and crown?"
"It is a wreath of mist, my son."
"Come, lovely boy, come go with me;
Such merry plays I will play with thee!
Many a bright flower grows on the strand,
And my mother has many a gay garment at hand."
"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
What the Erl King whispers in my ear?"
"Be quiet, my darling, be quiet, my child;
Through withered leaves the wind howls wild."
"Come, lovely boy, wilt thou go with me?
My daughters fair shall wait on thee,
My daughters their nightly revels keep,
They'll sing, and they'll dance, and they'll rock thee to sleep."
"My father, my father, and seest thou not
The Erl King's daughters in yon dim spot?"
"My son, my son, I see, and I know
'Tis the old gray willow that shimmers so."
"I love thee; thy beauty has ravished my sense;
And willing or not, I will carry thee hence."
"O, father, the Erl King now puts forth his arm--
O, father, the Erl King has done me harm."
The father shudders, he hurries on;
And faster he holds his moaning son;
He reaches his home with fear and dread,
And lo! in his arms the child was dead.
There was a young rabbit
Who had a bad habit--
Sometimes he would do what his mother forbid.
And one frosty day,
His mother did say,
"My child you must stay in the burrow close hid;
For I hear the dread sounds
Of huntsmen and hounds,
Who are searching around for rabbits like you;
Should they see but your head,
They would soon shoot you dead,
And the dogs would be off with you quicker than boo!"
But, poor foolish being!
When no one was seeing,
Looking out from his burrow to take a short play,
He hopped o'er the ground
With many a bound,
And looked around proudly, as if he would say,
Do I fear a man?
Now catch me who can!
So this young rabbit ran to a fine apple tree,
Where, gnawing the bark,
He thought not to hark
The coming of hunters, so careless was he.
Now, as rabbits are good
When roasted or stewed,
A man came along hunting rabbits for dinner;
He saw little bun,
Then raised his big gun,
And there he lay dead, the foolish young sinner.
pressed him every day.
As he stood thinking, not quite resolved to take one, there was a
"Come, stand in here, where it does not drip," cried the nurse,
drawing her away.
Nino peeped under his coat, to be sure his guitar had not been
Nino had thoughtlessly laid his hand on the barrel, and when the
grocer spoke, moved hastily away.
Nino's face flushed, and his eyes glittered; but when the child
handed him the apple, he smiled, touched his hat, and said,--
"Thankee, little lady."
His guitar was his only companion, and he treated it as if it was
friendless boy, in giving him an unselfish motive.
Nino murmured,--
"What is your name?" she asked.
"My name's Viola. Good by," she cried, as she ran in.
In the midst of this tumult of feeling the paper he had received
dropped out of his bosom, and striking his feet, recalled the
When Viola was restored, she began to ask for Nino.
remembered anything about him.
information they could get.
"O, I've found him! here he is--my dear Nino."
"You are going to come and live with us, and be my brother."
multiplied.
The sunshine is a glorious thing,
That comes alike to all,
Lighting the peasant's lowly cot,
The noble's painted hall.
The moonlight is a gentle thing;
It through the window gleams
Upon the snowy pillow where
The happy infant dreams;
It shines upon the fisher's boat
Out on the lovely sea,
Or where the little lambkins lie
Beneath the old oak tree.
The dewdrops on the summer morn
Sparkle upon the grass;
The village children brush them off,
That through the meadows pass.
There are no gems in monarchs' crowns
More beautiful than they;
And yet we scarcely notice them,
But tread them off in play.
The reason is this: she is such a pleasant, happy, kind,
Her mamma smiled. "It is only your uncle's fun," she said.
everybody love her.
"What is the matter, dear? What do you cry for?"
"Because they keep on laughing at me so," sobbed the child.
"Well, who can help laughing at her?" cried the girl who had been
And at this the children all burst out laughing afresh.
"I must go and speak to her first," said her mamma.
"Buy _me_ a new pair of boots!" said the child, with a look of
"Yes, if you like." And away they all went together to the
Christian woman--only the people called her _odd_.
There is another reason why I shall never forget Aunt Thankful.
It was a hot summer forenoon, and the windows were all open; the
The teacher looked up once more, and rapped on her desk quite
And they didn't wait long, either. In a minute or two the monkey
"Marcy on us," she said, as soon as she could find words, "what a
The poor lady proceeded to pick up her papers, and set matters to
Dinner was to be eaten at the healthy, good old-fashioned hour of
"Baby, Jelly, Tiny--Tiny, where's Bunch?"
coming here!"
The eyes of the Midgett girls glared at her and the insult.
"O, dear, what?" snapped Tiny, in such a hurry for a drumstick.
"Tiny, did you see anything on the front stoop when you came in?"
"O, any--any cats--any wildcats?"
"Wildcats--what are they?"
Tiny's courage began quickly to ooze away, and every bit of it
Of the Midgett tribe, there was no one at home but the two girls.
afternoon.
"Are my little sisters here?" asked Rosa.
"O my! how cramped up my neck is!" said Bunch.
"O, O, how hungry I am!" cried Tiny, remembering the drumsticks.
"I don't like it here, and I want to go home," sobbed Jelly.
"Well, get up, then, and le's hev dinner," said the Midgetts.
"O," shouted the children, "we don't want to go near any snakes!"
"Besides, we can't swim," said Tiny.
"Come on now," said they; "lift up your dresses, and come along."
"It's getting awful, awful dark," said Jelly.
"That's so," said Bunch, wondering, and looking up to see why the
impure water from the dainty ruffles at their throats to the very
withering glance at the Midgetts,--
"Never come to our house again for cold pieces."
cellar.
"Tiny," said Bunch, as they walked mournfully home, amid the
"No, nor a black man in the sewer," said Tiny.
"Nor a black snake in the closet," said Jelly.
Mirth is a medicine of life:
It cures its ills, it calms its strife;
It softly smooths the brow of care,
And writes a thousand graces there.
"May I sit with Susie, Miss Ware?" became a frequent request.
"Take half my apple, Susie."
golden harvests, passed swiftly away, and cold weather came.
"Fire! Fire! The school-house is on fire!"
"Run, children!" she said, hurriedly.
remembered their duty and kindness toward her, and gave her the
richest proof in their power of their thoughtful love. Not mere
"As ye would they should do to you, do ye to them."
Pepper Baker, don't you tell!
If you ever do, I'll-- Well,
I'll do something you'll remember
Till the last day of December.
Pepper, look me in the eye!
You must be as shy, as shy--
Play, you don't know where I'm going,
Don't know anything worth knowing!
When the bell for breakfast rings,
I will bring you cakes and things;
Don't go down till Ben calls, "Pupper,
Pupper; come and 'ave your supper!"
What I've told you no one knows,
Only you, and I, and Rose
(Maybe she has told her kitty),
No one else in Boston city.
Pepper, look at me, and say
With your eyes,--look straight this way,--
With your teeth, and mane so shaggy,
With your ears and tail so waggy,--
"I will never, never tell.
They may tie a ding-dong-bell
To my little tail so waggy,
Singe my ears and coat so shaggy.
"They may drown me in the well,
All because I will not tell."
That will do, you grim old Quaker!
I can trust you Pepper Baker.
Silver or golden, which is the best--
Which with God's love is most richly blest?
Which is the fairer I cannot tell,
Grandfather dear or my baby Bel.
The soft twilight hour, when shadows fall,
To little Bel seems the best of all;
Then grandfather lays aside his book;
He cannot resist the pleading look.
There's room for two in the great arm-chair;
His arms enfold her with loving care;
Upturned is a smiling, rosy face;
Two dimpled arms have found their place.
Sweet eyes of hazel, so clear and bright,
Look up with a happy, loving light;
The curls are golden that softly stray,
While breezes amid their sunshine play.
Little she dreams of sorrow and care;
Life is unknown, and to her seems fair.
As years roll by the face may grow old;
But the loving heart will never grow cold.
When the hand of Time on her head is laid,
The lustre of gold must surely fade;
But lovely is even a silver frost,
If truth and goodness have not been lost.
Pride and passion have left no trace
On the old man's placid, saintly face;
The journey so long is almost done--
The strife is over, the victory won.
The voice that speaks is gentle and deep;
Surely it means God's grace to keep.
Eyes like the heavens so darkly blue;
Surely God's love is shining through.
Forehead so noble, calm, and fair;
Surely God's peace is resting there.
The snowy locks are a silver crown;
Softly the blessing of God came down.
Silver or golden, which is the best--
Which with God's love is most richly blest?
Which is the fairer I cannot tell,
Grandfather dear or my baby Bel.
Step softly; the baby sleeps;
Drop the curtains, and close the door;
Baby sleeps, while mother weeps--
Sleeps, never to waken more.
Not a breath disturbs his repose;
The blossom he wears has forgotten to blow.
Once his two cheeks were red as a rose;
Now they are lilies, you know.
Morning will come, with its sweet surprise,
Waken the flowers, and scatter the dew;
But never again shall the baby's eyes
Watch the sunbeams break through.
Yet in heaven his morning is growing
To fairer dawning than ours has known--
A fountain of light forever flowing
Forth from the great white throne.
yellow linen, now fallen into lamentable holes. His trousers were
accommodation for any little bit of string, or morsel of coal, he
matches--to leave him much time for lingering about such tempting
maid-servants, who were far too fine for him to speak to.
ravenously; but he did not venture to go in.
The teacher turned down a dark, narrow street, where the rain had
splashed carelessly. They soon reached the school door; and Tim
attention.
"Who do you wish was here, Tim?" he asked.
newspaper, while a third ran off to fetch a cup of water, having
It looked like a feast to Tim. One of the boys lent him a pocket
"Ah, birdie, if I only had your wings!"
"Oh! That's what you mean? Our thoughts are our wings?"
"What a name for a dog, auntie!"
"Why, didn't you find Squanko quite enough for one dog?"
"His full name," said my aunt, loftily, "is Squanko Guy Edgerly
"What is he good for, aunt Patterson? Can he hunt?"
And we were, on the whole, pretty good friends, in spite of the
ignominiously, upon the floor.
similar arts, persuaded her to go up and remove the obnoxious
ungovernable, that he barked himself sheer off his foundation.
At table, my aunt always occupied what is termed an office chair.
chronic fear of his running away.
Squanko, put his curly head in at the doorway.
"Where's Squanko, Mrs. Patterson?"
"Gone to walk."
wrapped in his own blanket shawl, he was placed on the lounge, to
As his master opened the door to go into the garden, one evening,
uncle, coming home from the city, inquired for Squanko, only to
receive the sad reply,--
"No, Roy! We never--never shall see Squanko again."
Even Maud was much better dressed than herself, and looked very
Poor Polly, with all her efforts to be contented, and not to mind
Grandma read the look in a minute; and when Fanny said, with a
"Yes, my dear; you look just as I like to see a child of your age
cherry-colored wings on a stout little cherub.
"She might wear flowers; they always suit young girls," said Mrs.
"Ah, Tom, it's a good sign when you find time to think of giving
pleasure to your little girls."
And grandma patted her son's bald head as if he wasn't more than
eighteen.
proceeded to deliver the nosegays with as much grace as could be
velocipeding forever.
tears, bearing Tom's cap.
curls, and feathers was there.
"No, it isn't," answered the young lady, with a cool stare that
utterly quenched him.
"Oh, Fan told me you'd got curly hair and a funny nose, and kept
attentions.
"Ah," said Jack, turning to the keeper and spectators who stood
But here's a story of another sort. Some weeks ago a caravan was
All among the buttercups,
All among the hay!
Oh that spring would come again,
With its merry May!
Hasten summer's pleasant days,
Summer's pleasant hours;
Send us back the butterflies
And the pretty flowers.
Yes, bright days will come again,
Winter soon will go,
And the smiling sun shall melt
All this dreary snow.
Then beside the flowing stream
Merrily we'll play,
All among the buttercups,
All among the hay.
Among the whole school there were no two lads so closely knit in
pleasant sight, and also a good example, when two intelligent,
kind-hearted boys become friends. They show to others what a
disinterested and noble thing true friendship is. Thus, in their
schoolmaster, to remain. Strangely enough, the very week in which
"Why, Sid, what's this? Dear old fellow, what's the matter?" was
"His father's dead!"
Liverpool, to attend his father's funeral, there was no immediate
phrase,--"The youngster is on the right tack."
silence, and made the action truly noble.
So, like a pleasant morning that ends in clouds and gloom, the
As years went on great changes occurred in the firm that Sidney
comfortable, pleasant, and profitable evening may be spent."
"Yes, at the Dutch merchant's store; but I am English; my name is
rushed through Sidney's every vein, as he recognized his early
privilege.
"As to work, I've plenty for you to do."
"I can't continue to be a burden on you, Sid. I've no claim."
Walter was beginning to interrupt; but Sidney, raising his hand,
deprecatingly, said,--
admission.
Just exactly so it is the instinct of a dog or a cat to obey you
But I will not try to mix you up in this discussion now. You will
"Mother, mother!" with a prolonged _er_.
"Mary, where's mother?" and the children raced through the house,
"Here, Willie; what do you want?"
"Isn't it fun!" cried Ada, swinging on her mother's arm.
"That depends upon how you spend it," Mrs. Constant replied.
"Why, a holiday means to have fun, and do just what you please,"
asserted Willie.
"And not get any lessons," said Dolly, snipping the tape with her
"I hope you will have a pleasant day, and try to be good."
"Not too good, mother," expostulated Willie.
"No, only don't get into mischief."
"What shall we do first?" asked Ada.
For a short time the children remained in Mrs. Constant's room,
upsetting her baskets, tangling her silk, and plying her with
numberless questions.
"Won't you be home to dinner?" they asked in despairing chorus.
"Let us play with the dolls a little while," suggested Dolly.
"Let us have Blackhawk for the idol," cried Ada.
"The god is displeased; the sacrifice must cease," cried Ada, who
"Susanna and Posy are in the church; I don't want them burned."
"O, Willie, the floor is burned. Hurry, hurry!" cried Dolly.
clothes were wet and grimy.
"I don't believe she will as long as we did not burn any more,"
replied Willie, stepping back on the rest of the matches.
"Now they are safe," he cried. "Let us bury the pieces of the
village."
This was speedily done, and when the little craft had passed the
"At any rate, I'll help the pie," he declared.
"You may go now, Mary."
smile, and when the first pieces of pie were disposed of, Willie
The dam was nearly finished, and both were much excited with the
adjusting the last beam, when Ada shouted,--
"Here's Prig, and Blackhawk's out."
"Ay," said Bridget, "and it was Dolly herself left the door open,
"I didn't know Prig was there," sobbed Dolly.
"It's all Prig's fault," said Willie, "and I'll kill her."
"No, no," pleaded Dolly, with whom Prig was an especial favorite.
"There's mother."
"Mother, mother!"
"O, mother!" cried a mournful chorus.
Mrs. Constant soothed them, and sympathized.
The children went to bed early, as Mrs. Constant thought the
When one sees a harmless snake,
Lying torpid, scarce awake,
On a chilly morning,
Is it well his life to take
Without leave or warning?
Pretty brown and yellow snake,
Whom the sun doth gently wake
In the lap of nature,
Here is room for weed and brake--
Room for every creature.
Teach us, Nature, how to love,
Not the flower and bird alone,
Gracious man and woman--
Not the beautiful alone,
Whether brute or human.
Teach us, that we may not wound
Even a striped snake on the ground,
Sunshine all around him!
We will go without a sound--
Leave him as we found him.
Before the advent of man, and with him civilization, monkeys were
climates, and are very sensitive to cold.
nature. It perceives a benefactor in its attending physician, and
bleeding, it invariably stretches out its arm at the doctor's
approach, as if desiring to be bled again.
I recall a little verse my mother taught me one summer twilight,
But, alas, I have never taught it to my children; so many papers,
Ho! the jolly sailors,
Lounging into port!
Heave ahead, my hearties--
That's your lively sort!
Splendid sky above us,
Merrily goes the gale.
Stand by to launch away
Rag and paper sail!
Archie owns a schooner,
Jack a man-o'-war,
Charlie sails a match-box,
Dignified a yawl;
Breakers on the lee shore--
Look out for a squall!
Now we're bound for China--
That's across the pond;
When we go a-cruising
Many a mile beyond.
Man-o'-war is watching
A rakish-looking craft--
Kerchunk! goes a bullfrog
From his rushy raft.
There's a fleet of lilies
We go scudding round,--
Bumblebees for sailors,--
And they're fast aground.
Here's a drowning fly
In her satin dress.
All hands, about ship!
Signals of distress.
Argosies of childhood,
Laden down with joys,
Gunwale-deep with treasures!
Happy sailor boys,
May your merry ventures
All their harbors win,
And upon life's stormy sea
Every ship come in.
fright, and, worse still, farmer Jolly's round, good-natured face
"Bless the boy," cried Martha, "what have you been up to now?"
"Please, sir--please, sir," stammered the boy, "I thought the
nasty--the wasp I mean--was going to sting me."
Harry hastened out, looking very foolish, and feeling very much
Field-marshal Alexander Suvaroff, the commander-in-chief of the
Russian army during the reigns of Catharine II. and Paul I., was
thanks to his small stature and ugly face, as well as the extreme
Before one of his Italian campaigns, Suvaroff gathered together a
A few days later a great battle took place, in which the day went
"The general!" muttered they, slinking off.
"Your highness' own self taught me," answered the grenadier. "I
sergeant to-morrow, and a right good one you'll make!"
And the next day he made good his word.
Our dog Ponto is a knowing old fellow. It is as good as a show to
One day, a few years ago, Ponto was missing. He had been about as
"Do you know where he is now?" I asked.
"Was he much hurt?"
"Considerable, I guess."
"Hark!" said one.
We all listened.
"I thought I heard a knock at the hall door."
"Only the wind," was replied.
"Yes; there it is again."
"Hullo!" I repeated; and in response heard a clear boyish voice
exclaiming,--
"Belated tramper."
"Well, walk up, Mr. Tramper, where we can see what you are."
sugar-camp.
"Where from?" demanded the taller of the two.
"Head of Chesuncook. Going to Bangor. Can I stay here to-night?"
"Of course you can. Had any supper?"
"Not a mouthful."
"Enough for one, I guess," said Zeke; and, taking a bucket and a
mouthful.
The boys were now preparing their night's wood.
rolled up in an old coverlet, and knew very little till, hearing
"Old scamp!" exclaimed Zeke. "What work he's made here!"
"All this sugar gone--spoiled!" cried Sam.
"What is it?" said I, going out to them. "What's the matter?"
"Why," said Sam, turning and laughing in spite of his vexation,
"What in the world ate all that?" cried I.
"Tremendous fellow, too," said Sam. "Look at those tracks!"
"Your party?"
"Don't know," said I, still thinking of the bear.
"O, I don't think he'll meddle with us," said Sam, guessing at my
No one is apt to be a great coward after the sun is up. Thus
"Let's do the thing up in style now," said Sam.
sap-buckets with clean snow, crowded down hard to make the
"sheep-skins" on, we were ready for our company.
considerable distance, was not repeated. Indeed, in the merriment
There we began to discover that the bear was not after us, and
gradually came to a halt. After getting breath, however, we kept
procured, and, rallying out Mr. Bubar and Mr. Murch, senior, with
Another very decided difference lies in the teeth. These enormous
The African elephant is more hunted than the Asiatic species, and
return to civilization.
consume daily is almost appalling.
The teeth of the elephant, too, are valuable, and are made into
elephant's cunning. The scent or sight of a human being at the
distance of a mile will send a herd of powerful male elephants on
It will engage in deadly battle with its own species, or with the
straps. A well-known hunter said that the character of elephant's
"Carl," said the duke, "you play, and we will sing."
And they sang this song:--
"Take courage, bird;
Our Father says,
In winter's storms
And summer's rays
You have no barns,
You sow no wheat,
But God will give you bread to eat."
"In a few days your husband will be beheaded."
It was late at night, and she did not know where she would sleep.
"Good mistress, you are in danger every moment of being arrested.
children safely over the river. Run--let us run for life."
"Run," said he, "for your life is in danger."
student, and repeated his lessons every evening to his mother.
"Mother, this bird is very much like the one that our dear, sweet
Carl was a natural musician, just as his father was, and would
despaired of her life, and said,--
through which the different members had passed.
"What little girl?" asked the duke.
"Take courage, bird;
Our Father says,
In winter's storms
And summer's rays
You have no barns,
You sow no wheat,
But God will give you bread to eat."
Lillie was astounded at again hearing that sweet melody, and she
The little bird went over it two or three times, and the father
"You are right, my dear child. That is the melody--not a note is
Richard said in reply,--
Then Richard said,--
"I will do so if you wish," he answered.
Richard then told him to report as soon as possible what he had
learned.
That afternoon, about five o'clock, the young man was brought to
"Where was it you found it?" said the duke.
"Did you ever see the boy yourself?" inquired the duke.
"Yes, I saw the boy going to school."
Two years passed on, and peace and quiet were again restored to
France. The duke and his family were permitted to return to his
castle, and the government made him ample reparation for all the
The duchess, and Carl, and Lillie all answered with one voice,--
"We must sing our bird song."
"Take courage, bird;
Our Father says,
In winter's storms
And summer's rays
You have no barns,
You sow no wheat,
But God will give you bread to eat."
Not all the streets that London builds
Can hide the sky and sun,
Shut out the winds from o'er the fields,
Or quench the scent the hay swath yields
All night, when work is done.
And here and there an open spot
Lies bare to light and dark,
Where grass receives the wanderer hot,
Where trees are growing, houses not;
One is the Regent's Park.
Soft creatures, with ungentle guides,
God's sheep from hill and plain,
Are gathered here in living tides,
Lie wearily on woolly sides,
Or crop the grass amain.
And from the lane, and court, and den,
In ragged skirts and coats,
Come hither tiny sons of men,
Wild things, untaught of book or pen,
The little human goats.
One hot and cloudless summer day,
An overdriven sheep
Had come a long and dusty way;
Throbbing with thirst the creature lay,
A panting, woollen heap.
But help is nearer than we know
For ills of every name;
Ragged enough to scare the crow,
But with a heart to pity woe,
A quick-eyed urchin came.
Little he knew of field or fold,
Yet knew enough; his cap
Was just the cap for water cold--
He knew what it could do of old;
Its rents were few, good hap!
Shaping the brim and crown he went,
Till crown from brim was deep.
The water ran from brim and rent;
Before he came the half was spent--
The half, it saved the sheep.
O, little goat, born, bred in ill,
Unwashed, ill-fed, unshorn!
Thou meet'st the sheep from breezy hill,
Apostle of thy Saviour's will,
In London wastes forlorn.
Let others say the thing they please,
My faith, though very dim,
Thinks He will say who always sees,
In doing it to one of these
Thou didst it unto him.
Come, children, leave your playing,
And gather round my knee,
And I'll tell you a little story:
Away across the sea,
In a meadow where the mosses
And the grass were frozen brown,
Three little maids sat milking
One day as the sun went down--
Not cows, but goats of the mountain;
And before their pails were full,
The winds, they pierced like needles
Through their gowns of heavy wool.
And as one hand, then the other,
They tried to warm in their laps,
The bitter weather froze their breath
Like fur about their caps.
And so, as they sat at their milking,
They grew as still as mice,
Save when the stiff shoes on their feet
Rattled like shoes of ice.
At last out spoke the youngest
As she blew on her finger-nails:
I have planned a plan, sweet sisters:
Let us take our milking-pails,
And go to the side of the mountain
As fast as we can go,
And heap them up to the very top
From the whitest drifts of snow;
And let us build in the meadow
Where we will milk our goats at night
A house to keep us from the cold,
With walls all silver white.
We will set the door away from the wind.
The floor we will heap with moss,
And gather little strips of ice
And shingle the roof across.
Then all the foolish maidens,
They emptied their pails on the ground,
And bounded up the mountain-side
As fast as they could bound,
And came again to the meadow
With pails heaped high with snow,
And so, through half the night, the moon
Beheld them come and go.
But when with the daybreak roses
The silver walls shone red,
The three little foolish maidens
Were lying cold and dead.
The needles of the frost had sewed
Into shrouds their woollen coats,
And with cheeks as white as the ice they lay
Among their mountain goats.
expected."
"Yes, you are quite rich."
answer. I can't make it come out twice alike."
"Where did you get that gold piece?"
Father laughed.
sun-burned, that she would give me another dollar; and she did."
"Where did the remainder come from?"
"Mostly from you, papa. You are always giving me money. These two
asked.
Father glanced at the little pile, and smilingly said,--
"And may I spend it just as I please?"
"O, I should like it very much!" I quickly exclaimed, clapping my
lonely without each other."
I felt his warm, loving kiss upon my cheek as he folded me to his
motherless; but a double portion of pity and tenderness had been
everything had an ever-increasing attraction, far exceeding any
pleasures to be found within the limits of the crowded city.
The prospect of another visit to Woodville filled my heart with
intense delight.
A week passed, and on one of the sunniest and freshest of June
streams and rich green fields and meadows.
We expected to reach grandmother's that evening. I had written to
miscalculation our train was a minute too late. Father and I were
"Are you much hurt?" she tenderly inquired, gazing upon me in
undisguised anxiety.
"What's the matter? Where am I?" I cried, springing up and gazing
"My father! my father!" I cried.
"You shall see him soon," soothingly answered the gentleman by my
"He is dead!" I shrieked, springing towards him, and convulsively
"He is stunned, _not_ dead, my child," said the physician, kindly
In spite of his soothing words and tones, I read the truth in his
The accident had occurred but a few rods from the station; and as
I had not left my father's bedside, till the low, indistinct
"There is life yet," said he. "I thought once he had ceased to
breathe."
"And you are quite sure he does?" she inquired.
I shuddered and ran out to them.
"You think he will die!" I cried, seizing grandmother's hand with
The prospect of being deprived of my only surviving parent almost
suffering, or death in the world.
"A faint pulse," he said, turning towards grandmother.
Suddenly he opened his eyes and gazed feebly around.
June went out and July came in. We had been nearly a month in
He was now able to go out, and we took many long rides together,
departure.
contribution-box, and my heart beat violently.
I drew out my handkerchief from my pocket, and hurriedly began to
"Don't let him slip by me," I whispered so loudly to father as to
wonderingly at me. "I've something to put in."
Another prodigious effort, and the knot yielded.
The man passed the box first to father, and he put in a bill. He
As I tramped over a stony path,
One cloudy morning early,
I learned the only way to step,
To keep from being surly.
Don't hurry, and stride, and come down hard
Upon the rolling pebbles,
But lightly step; and that's the way
To charm all kinds of rebels.
Don't hurry, and stride, and come down hard,
Even on troublesome people;
But carry your feet, and tread on air,
As though you lived on a steeple.
There are rolling stones in every path,
And rocks with jagged edges,
Which, if we gently touch, may turn
To flowers and bending sedges.
The Bactrian camel may be at once known by the two humps upon its
For the plough the camel is never employed, not because it is not
Sometimes, however, the Bactrian camel is employed as a beast of
burden, the bales being slung at each side, and the water-skins
suspended below the belly. When the animal is employed for this
camel.
valuable branch of the artillery.
sometimes to lame themselves completely by the hind legs slipping
cruelly with the sharp edges of the broken ice.
For the cold weather itself this species of camel cares little,
Dissimilar in external appearance as are the Bactrian and Arabian
anatomist can decide upon the species to which a skeleton has
belonged. The legs of the Bactrian species are rather shorter in
proportion than those of the Arabian animal, and in them lies the
The specimen in the Zoölogical Gardens is called "Jenny" by the
unfortunately killed. The deserted little one ran about among the
What so sweet as summer,
When the sky is blue,
And the sunbeams' arrows
Pierce the green earth through?
What so sweet as birds are,
Putting into trills
The perfume of the wild-rose,
The murmur of the rills?
What so sweet as flowers,
Clovers white and red,
Where the brown bee-chemist
Finds its daily bread?
What so sweet as sun-showers,
When the big cloud passes,
And the fairy rainbow
Seems to touch the grasses?
What so sweet as winds are,
Blowing from the woods,
Hinting in their music
Of dreamy solitudes?
Rain, and song, and flower,
When the summer's shine
Makes the green earth's beauty
Seem a thing divine.
Dear little bare feet,
Dimpled and white,
In your long night-gown
Wrapped for the night,
Come let me count all
Your queer little toes,
Pink as the heart
Of a shell or a rose.
One is a lady
That sits in the sun;
Two is a baby,
And three is a nun;
Four is a lily
With innocent breast,
And five is a birdie
Asleep on her nest.
There was a short way to them, right across between two great
"I guess I can get through. Little girls must be brave!" And she
hands, arms and feet and two great rents in her dress.
"How in the world did you come in there among the briars?" asked
"It was the nearest way to the raspberries," she answered.
Her mother smiled, but presently looked grave.
"You were not doing wrong in trying to get them."
"Isn't that the same as duty?"
"Then you see it was not duty."
"Please tell me exactly what is meant by duty, mamma."
ourselves through unnecessary obstacles, it is not bravery or
fortitude, but vanity and silly rashness."
Under the pear trees one August day,
In the long-ago and the far-away,
Four little children rested from play,
Cheering the hours with childish chat,
Now laughing at this or shouting at that,
Till a golden pear fell straight in Fred's hat.
"I'm lucky," he cried as he hastened to eat
The mellow pear so juicy and sweet;
"If I tried for a week, that couldn't be beat."
Then Tom and Jenny and Mary spread
Their hats and aprons wide, and said,
"We can catch pears as well as Fred."
Then long and patient they sat, and still,
Hoping a breeze from over the hill
Their laps with the golden fruit would fill.
Till, weary of waiting, Tom said with a sneer,
"I could gather a _bushel_ of pears, 'tis clear,
While idly we _wait_ for a _windfall_ here."
Then up the tree he sprang, and the power
Of his sturdy arm soon sent a shower
Of yellow fruit as a golden dower.
It was long ago, that August day
When four little children rested from play
Under the pear trees far away.
And the children, older and wiser now,
With furrows of care on either brow,
Have not forgotten the lesson, I trow--
The lesson they learned on that August day,
That for having our wishes the surest _way_
Is to _work_, and in _earnest_, without _delay_.
All agreed it would be fun, and Phil was deputized to ask Miss
Walters, and with her complete the arrangements.
"Fudge!" said Ella Barton; "I'm not going to get any of that old
hay--would you, Miss Walters?"
"Where can we get the bayberries?" said Fred, coming up.
Off went Fred's hat high in the air. "Hurrah for the pie! I'll
certainly go, if you'd like to have me."
lilac-colored or light purple flower.
"O, that's Arethusa," said the teacher; "it is very beautiful."
"What fine specimens!" said Miss Walters.
They found Pogonias and buds of Calopogon,--pretty pinkish
On the edge of an overgrown ditch near by they found very nice
specimens of Andromeda.
monster approached, Perseus, assisted by the gods, killed him,
delivered Andromeda, and afterwards married her."
Specimens multiplied. Each little group found something new.
Trilliums, remarkable for having leaves, sepals, petals, and
twisted foot, called so because its foot, or pedicel, is twisted.
"Is it the opposite of 'loose'?"
"Is it what you are sometimes?"
"It is not 'bright.'"
"Thank you; it is not 'fright.'"
"Is it what we are all wishing for?"
This was greeted with a shout, and committee number one,
"The grandmother was just as cross as she could be, and poor
little--let's see, what shall I call her?"
"Well, one day little Daisy felt so sad and lonely, and her
grandmother had been so cross, that she said to the little yellow
wounded my feelings very much.'
"Just then a woman came to the door, and said, 'I have heard your
"'Ah, wouldn't that be pleasant!' said Daisy; and she was just
princess's feet, vowing love and fidelity untold.
Millie's story was greeted with shouts of applause and flattering
"O, don't go yet!" shouted Phil from the wood-pile. "We've wood
enough for an hour yet. Seven o'clock's awful early."
delightful day.
Happening to cross it a year ago last autumn, in company with Rod
Old hunters are always telling the young sportsman about the
marvellous properties of shaving-soap made from hare's tallow and
"Some large animal," said I.
The last two traps were not sprung.
We were near the edge of the cranberry flat; and just as Rod was
"Hark!" whispered Rod; "something out there. The bear, perhaps."
hideous moans.
"Then there's the meat," said I.
lands.
"We may surprise a bear or a lynx at the carcass," said Rod.
unobserved. Pausing a moment to listen, the clank of a chain came
"Game!" whispered Rod.
yellow bird, uttering a savage scream.
"Shall we fire on them?" said I.
Presently the bear--a great, clumsy-looking fellow--came out into
The great bird circled slowly several times, then stooped, almost
We blazed away. With a wild shriek the eagle came tumbling down
dragging the eagle.
"Never saw one like it," exclaimed he. "I mean to take it down to
The green earth sends her incense up
From many a mountain shrine;
From folded leaf and dewy cup,
She pours her sacred wine.
The mists above the morning rills
Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar curtains of the hills
Are sunset's purple air.
prairies.
From the Mississippi, at Sauk Rapids, we struck about north-west
justified the means in this case.
horse's speed towards us, and five Indians in hot pursuit of him.
On leaving camp in the morning, he had gone in search of the dead
He stalked the herd for some distance, until he thought himself
bloodthirsty savages.
One step and then another,
And the longest walk is ended;
One stitch and then another,
And the largest rent is mended.
One brick upon another,
And the highest wall is made;
One flake upon another,
And the deepest snow is laid.
"I will! and I! and I!" responded nearly all the boys.
"Why won't you join us?" asked Walter of these two.
"'There was a curly-headed boy
Who never told a lie;
He knew a trick worth two of that:
That was the reason why.'
"What a milksop the fellow is!" cried out one of the boys.
"A stupid little muff!" cried another.
"Am I?" cried Willie, his temper now fully roused; "I'll show you
Harrison burst out laughing: "Fancy me fighting with a little
cock-sparrow like you! I should like to see myself!"
"Let's go and see," Philip said, in reply.
At this moment the dog, being turned back once more, disappeared,
"We must carry it home," he said to Philip, after they had vainly
Willie's arms.
A year or two after he had left school Willie's parents went with
Walter's exploits more the result of foolhardiness than bravery.
"Rather rough for rowing," Willie called out as he passed, "but I
"How precious careful you are over yourself!" replied Walter.
difficulty in reaching the spot where Walter had but a moment ago
growling of the polar bears.
"That's about what it is, miss," answered the old seaman.
"Do you think the people are drowned?" I inquired, anxiously.
"Well," replied Captain Bounce, casting, as I thought, rather a
"Perhaps they may have had boats," I said, meekly. "Do you think
boats could have reached the shore in such a storm?"
As he spoke my brother-in-law came on deck, and also took a look
Great numbers of the poorer Parsees are clerks in the government
The Parsee sepulchres are of so peculiar a character as to merit
element, fire, would be rendered impure.
head-dress, which contests the palm of ugliness with its English
weeping, and rocking her baby at the same time. "Your husband is
dead; he fell from a ladder, and it killed him. It is a great
misfortune for you and your family; but crying won't help you."
"My poor George!" said the woman.
"What are you saying, Jacques?" inquired Genevieve.
"That I am good for nothing. My uncle was right."
"Yes, if--" said the boy.
But he left the sentence unfinished, and his mother was too much
"Without crutches, Mademoiselle Emilie!"
"And mademoiselle believes that she is entirely cured?"
"Certainly, Jacques. Only think, I was worse than you are! Stop,
"Perhaps your uncle does not know any better than our doctor. But
"But it is not at all likely that they were obliged to earn their
"Ah, I shall be too old then, or dead--who knows?"
"It is impossible, mademoiselle. I cannot give away your tickets
without leave from your father."
"Leave from my father, who is not here!" cried Emilie. "He is in
Martinique. Before we could get an answer--O, dear! O, dear!"
"But what money have you to pay with?"
"But you must ride in my carriage."
"Haven't you any Sunday clothes?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, but they are very little better."
"They must be cleaner, certainly. Go and put them on. Hurry!"
workwoman, and not to the quality of the cloth which made his
garments.
inscriptions to explain the object of the edifice.
physical development, but for moral and intellectual strength.
But let us return to little Emilie, when the coach stopped at the
He came forward to speak to Emilie, and his eye fell upon poor
Jacques, who was overcome with emotion at seeing a school where
Before the colonel had time to ask who this boy was,--for he knew
"I can walk without crutches now, colonel."
"And I have grown almost an inch in six months. O, I am so much
obliged to you, colonel!"
"You mean to my gymnasium, my dear child."
necessary that he should be able to stand alone."
All the time that M. Amoros was examining Jacques, rolling up the
"What?" said the kind man, continuing his examination.
considering the best way to cure him, to pay much attention to
Emilie's words.
The colonel could not restrain his mirth at the idea of Emilie
wishing to pay him for a kind action, which his generous heart
prompted him to do without any persuasion.
mystery.
physical beauty and grace which only spring from a fine muscular
M. Amoros not only gave health and strength to the pupils of his
After the first moments of delight, the young girl turned to her
deliverer. An exclamation of surprise fell from their lips.
"Yes, thanks to Colonel Amoros," said the workman.
"Thanks to Mademoiselle Emilie," said Jacques, heaving a sigh.
"I have brought your dinner, father,"
The blacksmith's daughter said,
As she took from her arm the kettle,
And lifted its shining lid.
"There is not any pie or pudding;
So I will give you this;"
And upon his toil-worn forehead
She left the childish kiss.
The blacksmith took off his apron,
And dined in happy mood,
Wondering much at the savor
Hid in his humble food,
While all about him were visions
Full of prophetic bliss;
But he never thought of the magic
In his little daughter's kiss.
While she, with her kettle swinging,
Merrily trudged away,
Stopping at sight of a squirrel,
Catching some wild bird's lay,
O, I thought, how many a shadow
Of life and fate we would miss,
If always our frugal dinners
Were seasoned with a kiss!
"Honor thy father and thy mother."
Father and mother! sacred names and dear;
The sweetest music to the infant ear,
And dearer still to those, a joyous band,
Who sport in childhood's bright enchanted land.
And when, as years roll on, night follows day,
The young wax old and loved ones pass away,
Through mists of time yet holier and more dear,
"Father and mother" sound to memory's ear.
The days, the hours, the moments as they speed,
Each crowned by loving thought or word or deed,
Oh, heart's long-suffering, self-denying! sure
Earth holds no love more true, and none so pure.
Thou happy child whom a good God hath given
A parents' shelt'ring home, that earthly heaven,
Where ceaseless care, where tireless love and true,
Nurse thy young life as flowers are nursed by dew.
E'en as the flowers, for the dear debt they owe,
Bloom, and sweet odors in rich meed bestow,
Let the fair blossoms of thy love and duty
Cluster about thy home in fragrant beauty.
Never from eye or lip be seen or heard
The sullen glance or the rebellious word,
And never wilfully or heedless pain
The tender hearts that cannot wound again.
But fond caress, sweet smile and loving tone,
Obedience prompt and glad, be thine alone,
For filial love, like mercy, is twice blest;
While to the parent of earth's joys the best,
Richer than treasures of the land or sea,
It wins God's blessing, O my child, for thee!
One frosty morning in January two delicate-looking children were
against him.
"It would not be so bad then," sighed Alice.
"Have any of you fellows got a knife? I want to cut this piece of
Some of the boys laughed. One of them, however, murmured, in an
undertone, "What a great shame!"
Reginald's color rose. He walked straight up to Thompson:
"Will you please to give me my knife again?"
Thompson looked surprised:
"I lent it to you to cut the string."
"You did not say so."
"Oh!" said Thompson, coolly; "you're a sneak, are you?"
Reginald looked up.
"It's mean and unfair," he said.
"Barton. And yours?"
"Murray's enough, without the other."
"I should like you to be my friend."
advice about the knife. Will you?"
But Barton was not prepared for his manner of carrying out the
decision. To his great surprise, Reginald marched straight up to
Thompson stared, half in astonishment, half in anger. "You're too
"If I can't get it one way, I will another," thought he; and he
At that moment Reginald drew near.
"I should!" answered Reginald, warmly.
"Ah! it's a bad state of feeling. If the knife causes such wicked
"Murray's in the river!"
And they pointed to the spot where the poor boy had sunk.
Then a whisper went round, "It was his father."
Then a whispered question, "Is he dead?"
And Thompson shuddered as he heard it.
But Reginald did not die; he opened his eyes to find his father
completely recovered his health.
And this time Rover was to go with his young master.
And Thompson returned to Dr. Field's a better and a wiser boy. He
We've called our young puss Cleopatra;
'Twas grandpa who named her like that.
He says it means "fond of good living"--
A queer enough name for a cat!
She leads the most lovely existence,
And one which appears to enchant;
Asleep in the sun like a snow-flake
That tries to get melted and can't;
Or now and then languidly strolling
Through plots of the garden, to steal
On innocent grasshoppers, crunching
Her cruel and murderous meal!
Or lapping from out of her saucer--
The dainty and delicate elf!--
With appetite spoiled in the garden,
New milk that's as white as herself.
Dear, dear! could we only change places,
You'd think it hard work, Cleopatra,
To live, as the moments went by.
Ah! how would you relish, I wonder,
To sit in a school-room for hours?
You'd find it less pleasant, I fancy,
Than murdering bugs in the flowers.
She sat in her eternal house,
The sovereign mother of mankind;
Before her was the peopled world,
The hollow night behind.
"Below my feet the thunders break,
Above my head the stars rejoice;
But man, although he babbles much,
Has never found a voice.
"Ten thousand years have come and gone,
And not an hour of any day
The things he could not say.
"It shall be so no more," she said;
And then, revolving in her mind,
She thought, "I will create a child
Shall speak for all his kind."
It was the spring-time of the year,
And, lo! where Avon's waters flow,
The child, her darling, came on earth
Three hundred years ago.
There was no portent in the sky,
No cry, like Pan's, along the seas,
Nor hovered round his baby mouth
The swarm of classic bees.
What other children were he was;
If more, 'twas not to mortal ken;
The being likest to mankind
Made him the man of men.
Before he came, his like was not,
Nor left he heirs to share his powers.
The mighty mother sent him here
To be her voice and ours;
To be her oracle to man;
To be what man may be to her;
Between the Maker and the made
The best interpreter.
Both sword and guns are strong, no doubt,
And so are tongue and pen,
And so are sheaves of good bank-notes,
To sway the souls of men;
But guns and swords, and gold and thought,
Though mighty in their sphere,
Are often poorer than a smile,
And weaker than a tear.
But Nicolo, a boy some years older than herself, looked far from
bright or happy; he was lying full length on the ground in the
sunlight; but his face was overcast and melancholy.
Mother has done with me, and we can make some music together."
But Nicolo shook his head, though he smiled at his little friend.
"Tiresome, bad man!" broke forth the little girl. "He has been
But she went on, more excitedly:--
"Get up this moment, Nicolo, and come in with me. We will play
herself at the piano, while in the distance sat Nicolo's father,
gloomily watching the pair.
"Begin," said Gianetta, "and tell me when I play wrongly."
But for such a mere child, Gianetta played with marvellous
"Take me home now," said the little girl.
So Nicolo went, and, though tossed with fever, his little friend
"Is it the violin?" asked Nicolo, softly.
She smiled again, and Nicolo fetched his treasure.
"A sleeping song?" he questioned.
That night Nicolo sat beside the dead body of his little friend.
Did he do so?
O thou above,
From whose great love
The world all good receives,
Make me as bright
With thy blessed light
As a rose with all her leaves.
Wash me as clean
From every sin,
O pitiful, pitiful One;
And make me shine
With thy grace divine,
Like a lily with the sun.
Take pride away,
Dear Lord, I pray,
And make me pure and true,
On thy living bread,
As the daisy is fed on the dew.
Help me still
To do thy will
Till life has passed away,
And in the dark
To sing like a lark
At the golden gate of the day.
Neddy was a nice boy, as my little girl said. He was bright and
active, kind-hearted and generous. I never saw him do a mean or
struggling boy firmly by the arm.
"Wait a moment, John. Maybe, after I've said a word to Mr. Jonas,
because I want you."
By the time I had said this the thoughts of Mr. Jonas had become
"Let the boy go now," I added. "After school come and see me, and
"What is that?" he asked.
"If old Mrs. Oram brings Neddy back to-day, don't punish him."
"Very well. It shall be as you say," answered the schoolmaster.
"Did Neddy come back to school?" I asked.
Mr. Jonas shook his head gravely.
She stopped on seeing Mr. Jonas; her face, that had been a little
"My fault!" said the schoolmaster, in a startled voice.
"Brave talk for my timid little girl, Mr. Jonas," I said, in an
undertone, "but all true, I'm afraid."
"What is true?" he asked, looking bewildered.
When Neddy Oram, who was only ten years old, escaped from the
"Grandmother Oram will find you out up here and take you back to
school, and Mr. Jonas will switch you half to death."
I am sorry to say that Neddy, who was not only angry with his
At sight of the boy the heifer, scared by his sudden appearance,
played truant on the day before!
branches. All was dim and shadowy.
pressure as if a hand were laid on his breast; he could scarcely
In his weakness and exhaustion the poor boy found strength and
As soon as he had done this the dreadful fear from which he was
And now, for the first time, Neddy felt hungry. So he opened the
lanterns in their hands.
"My poor, poor boy!" said the schoolmaster again, laying his hand
merely adding, as he turned to leave, "We found him asleep in the