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+ margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i0q { + display: block; + margin-left: 0.25em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i0h { + display: block; + margin-left: 0.50em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i1 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Child Life in Prose, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Child Life in Prose + +Author: Various + +Editor: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: December 2, 2010 [EBook #34549] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD LIFE IN PROSE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Christine Aldridge and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" height="499" alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> + +<hr /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 417px;"> +<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="417" height="500" alt="Little girl in a cap" title="Little girl in a cap" /> +</div> +<hr /> + + +<h1 class="title"><span class="smcap">Child Life in Prose.</span></h1> + +<p class="editor1">EDITED BY</p> + +<p class="editor2">JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.</p> + +<p class="illustr"><i>Illustrated.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/illustitle.jpg" width="250" height="270" alt="Children with dog" title="Children with dog" /> +</div> + +<p class="pub1">BOSTON:</p> +<p class="pub2">HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.</p> +<p class="pub3"><i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge.</i></p> + +<hr /> +<p class="center">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,<br /> +BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.,<br /> +in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington,</p> + +<p class="center">TWENTY THIRD IMPRESSION.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/frame.jpg" width="500" height="698" alt="Frame for text" title="Frame for text" /> + +<div class="frame"> +"We behold a child. Who is it? Whose is it? What is it? +It is in the centre of fantastic light, and only a dim revealed form +appears. It is God's own child, as all children are. The blood +of Adam and Eve, through how many soever channels diverging, +runs in its veins; and the spirit of the Eternal, which blows +everywhere, has animated it. It opens its eyes upon us, stretches +out its hands to us as all children do. Can you love it? It may +be heir of a throne,—does it interest you? Or of a milking-stool,—do +not despise it. It is a miracle of the All-working; it +is endowed by the All-gifted. Smile upon it, it will a smile give +back again; prick it, it will cry. Where does it belong? In +what zone or climate? It may have been born on the Thames or +the Amazon, the Hoang-ho or the Mississippi. It is God's child +still, and its mother's. It is curiously and wonderfully made. +The inspiration of the Almighty hath given it understanding. It +will look after God by how many soever names he may be called; +it will seek to know; it will long to be loved; it will sin and be +miserable; if it has none to care for it, it will die." + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Judd's</span> <i>Margaret</i>.</p> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> + +<p class="cap">The unexpectedly favorable reception of the poetical compilation +entitled "Child Life" has induced its publishers to call +for the preparation of a companion volume of prose stories and +sketches, gathered, like the former, from the literature of widely +separated nationalities and periods. Illness, preoccupation, and +the inertia of unelastic years would have deterred me from the +undertaking, but for the assistance which I have had from the lady +whose services are acknowledged in the preface to "Child Life." +I beg my young readers, therefore, to understand that I claim little +credit for my share in the work, since whatever merit it may have +is largely due to her taste and judgment. It may be well to admit, +in the outset, that the book is as much for child-lovers, who have +not outgrown their child-heartedness in becoming mere men and +women, as for children themselves; that it is as much <i>about</i> childhood, +as <i>for</i> it. If not the wisest, it appears to me that the happiest +people in the world are those who still retain something of the +child's creative faculty of imagination, which makes atmosphere +and color, sun and shadow, and boundless horizons, out of what +seems to prosaic wisdom most inadequate material,—a tuft of grass, +a mossy rock, the rain-pools of a passing shower, a glimpse of sky +and cloud, a waft of west-wind, a bird's flutter and song. For the +child is always something of a poet; if he cannot analyze, like +Wordsworth and Tennyson, the emotions which expand his being, +even as the fulness of life bursts open the petals of a flower, he +finds with them all Nature plastic to his eye and hand. The soul +of genius and the heart of childhood are one.</p> + +<p>Not irreverently has Jean Paul said, "I love God and little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> +children. Ye stand nearest to Him, ye little ones." From the +Infinite Heart a sacred Presence has gone forth and filled the earth +with the sweetness of immortal infancy. Not once in history +alone, but every day and always, Christ sets the little child in the +midst of us as the truest reminder of himself, teaching us the +secret of happiness, and leading us into the kingdom by the way +of humility and tenderness.</p> + +<p>In truth, all the sympathies of our nature combine to render +childhood an object of powerful interest. Its beauty, innocence, +dependence, and possibilities of destiny, strongly appeal to our sensibilities, +not only in real life, but in fiction and poetry. How +sweetly, amidst the questionable personages who give small occasion +of respect for manhood or womanhood as they waltz and +wander through the story of Wilhelm Meister, rises the child-figure +of Mignon! How we turn from the light dames and faithless cavaliers +of Boccaccio to contemplate his exquisite picture of the little +Florentine, Beatrice, that fair girl of eight summers, so "pretty in +her childish ways, so ladylike and pleasing, with her delicate features +and fair proportions, of such dignity and charm of manner as +to be looked upon as a little angel!" And of all the creations of +her illustrious lover's genius, whether in the world of mortals or in +the uninviting splendors of his Paradise, what is there so beautiful +as the glimpse we have of him in his <i>Vita Nuova</i>, a boy of nine +years, amidst the bloom and greenness of the Spring Festival of +Florence, checking his noisy merry-making in rapt admiration of +the little Beatrice, who seemed to him "not the daughter of mortal +man, but of God"? Who does not thank John Brown, of Edinburgh, +for the story of Marjorie Fleming, the fascinating child-woman, +laughing beneath the plaid of Walter Scott, and gathering +at her feet the wit and genius of Scotland? The labored essays +from which St. Pierre hoped for immortality, his philosophies, sentimentalisms, +and theories of tides, have all quietly passed into the +limbo of unreadable things; while a simple story of childhood keeps +his memory green as the tropic island in which the scene is laid, +and his lovely creations remain to walk hand in hand beneath the +palms of Mauritius so long as children shall be born and the hearts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +of youths and maidens cleave to each other. If the after story of +the poet-king and warrior of Israel sometimes saddens and pains +us, who does not love to think of him as a shepherd boy, "ruddy +and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look upon," +singing to his flocks on the hill-slopes of Bethlehem?</p> + +<p>In the compilation of this volume the chief embarrassment has +arisen from the very richness and abundance of materials. As a +matter of course, the limitations prescribed by its publishers have +compelled the omission of much that, in point of merit, may compare +favorably with the selections. Dickens's great family of ideal +children, Little Nell, Tiny Tim, and the Marchioness; Harriet +Beecher Stowe's Eva and Topsy; George MacDonald's quaint and +charming child-dreamers; and last, but not least, John Brown's Pet +Marjorie,—are only a few of the pictures for which no place has +been found. The book, of necessity, but imperfectly reflects that +child-world which fortunately is always about us, more beautiful +in its living realities than it has ever been painted.</p> + +<p>It has been my wish to make a readable book of such literary +merit as not to offend the cultivated taste of parents, while it +amused their children. I may confess in this connection, that, while +aiming at simple and not unhealthful amusement, I have been glad +to find the light tissue of these selections occasionally shot through +with threads of pious or moral suggestion. At the same time, I +have not felt it right to sadden my child-readers with gloomy narratives +and painful reflections upon the life before them. The lessons +taught are those of Love, rather than Fear. "I can bear," +said Richter, "to look upon a melancholy man, but I cannot look +upon a melancholy child. Fancy a butterfly crawling like a caterpillar +with his four wings pulled off!"</p> + +<p>It is possible that the language and thought of some portions of +the book may be considered beyond the comprehension of the class +for which it is intended. Admitting that there may be truth in +the objection, I believe with Coventry Patmore, in his preface to a +child's book, that the charm of such a volume is increased, rather +than lessened, by the surmised existence of an unknown amount +of power, meaning, and beauty. I well remember how, at a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +early age, the solemn organ-roll of Gray's Elegy and the lyric +sweep and pathos of Cowper's Lament for the Royal George moved +and fascinated me with a sense of mystery and power felt, rather +than understood. "A spirit passed before my face, but the form +thereof was not discerned." Freighted with unguessed meanings, +these poems spake to me, in an unknown tongue indeed, but, +like the wind in the pines or the waves on the beach, awakening +faint echoes and responses, and vaguely prophesying of wonders yet +to be revealed. John Woolman tells us, in his autobiography, that, +when a small child, he read from that sacred prose poem, the Book +of Revelation, which has so perplexed critics and commentators, +these words, "He showed me a river of the waters of life clear as +crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and the Lamb," and +that his mind was drawn thereby to seek after that wonderful +purity, and that the place where he sat and the sweetness of that +child-yearning remained still fresh in his memory in after life. +The spirit of that mystical anthem which Milton speaks of as "a +seven-fold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies," hidden +so often from the wise and prudent students of the letter, was felt, +if not comprehended, by the simple heart of the child.</p> + +<p>It will be seen that a considerable portion of the volume is devoted +to autobiographical sketches of infancy and childhood. It seemed +to me that it might be interesting to know how the dim gray dawn +and golden sunrise of life looked to poets and philosophers; and +to review with them the memories upon which the reflected light +of their genius has fallen.</p> + +<p>I leave the little collection, not without some misgivings, to the +critical, but I hope not unkindly, regard of its young readers. +They will, I am sure, believe me when I tell them that if my own +paternal claims, like those of Elia, are limited to "dream children," +I have catered for the real ones with cordial sympathy and tender +solicitude for their well-being and happiness.</p> + +<p class="sig">J. G. W.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap lpad">Amesbury</span>, 1873.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td class="tcoltop" colspan="3">STORIES OF CHILD LIFE.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"> </td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Little Annie's Ramble</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Nathaniel Hawthorne</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Why the Cow Turned Her Head Away</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Abby Morton Diaz</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Baby of the Regiment</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>T. W. Higginson</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Prudy Parlin</span></td><td class="tcol2">"<i>Sophie May</i>"</td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Walker's Betsey</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Helen B. Bostwick</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Rainbow-Pilgrimage</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Grace Greenwood</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">On White Island</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Celia Thaxter</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Cruise of the Dolphin</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>T. B. Aldrich</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">A Young Mahometan</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Mary Lamb</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Little Persian</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Juvenile Miscellany</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Boys' Heaven</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>L. Maria Child</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Bessie's Garden</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Caroline S. Whitmarsh</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">How the Crickets Brought Good Fortune</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>P. J. Stahl</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Paul and Virginia</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Bernardin de Saint Pierre</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Oeyvind and Marit</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Björnsterne Björnsen</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Boots at the Holly-Tree Inn</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Charles Dickens</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Amrie and the Geese</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Berthold Auerbach</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Robins</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>John Woolman</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Fish I didn't Catch</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>John G. Whittier</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Little Kate Wordsworth</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Thomas De Quincey</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">How Margery Wondered</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Lucy Larcom</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Nettle-Gatherer</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>From the Swedish</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Little Arthur's Prayer</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Thomas Hughes</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Faith and her Mother</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Elizabeth Stuart Phelps</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Open Door</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>John de Liefde</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Prince's Visit</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Horace Scudder</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tcoltop" colspan="3">FANCIES OF CHILD LIFE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Hen that hatched Ducks</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Harriet Beecher Stowe</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Blunder</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Louise E. Chollet</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Star-Dollars</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Grimm's Household Tales</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Immortal Fountain</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>L. Maria Child</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Bird's-Nest in the Moon</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>New England Magazine</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Dream-Children: a Revery</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Charles Lamb</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Ugly Duckling</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Hans Christian Andersen</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Poet and his Little Daughter</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Mary Howitt</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Red Flower</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>Madame De Gasparin</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">The Story without an End</span></td><td class="tcol2"><i>German of Carove</i></td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcoltop" colspan="3">MEMORIES OF CHILD LIFE.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Hans Christian Andersen</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Madame Michelet</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Jean Paul Richter</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Charles Lamb</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Hugh Miller</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Walter Scott</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Frederick Douglass</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tcol1"><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span></td><td class="tcol2"> </td><td class="tcol3"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p> +<h2><big>STORIES OF CHILD LIFE.</big></h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> +<h2>STORIES OF CHILD LIFE.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> +<h3>LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE.</h3> + + +<div class="figleft13" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/illus013.jpg" width="250" height="268" alt="D" title="D" /> +</div> + +<p>ing-dong! Ding-dong! +Ding-dong!</p> + +<p>The town-crier has rung +his bell at a distant corner, +and little Annie stands on +her father's door-steps, trying +to hear what the man with +the loud voice is talking +about. Let me listen too. O, he is +telling the people that an elephant, +and a lion, and a royal tiger, and a +horse with horns, and other strange +beasts from foreign countries, have +come to town, and will receive all +visitors who choose to wait upon them! Perhaps little Annie +would like to go. Yes; and I can see that the pretty child is +weary of this wide and pleasant street, with the green trees flinging +their shade across the quiet sunshine, and the pavements and +the sidewalks all as clean as if the housemaid had just swept them +with her broom. She feels that impulse to go strolling away—that +longing after the mystery of the great world—which many +children feel, and which I felt in my childhood. Little Annie +shall take a ramble with me. See! I do but hold out my hand, +and, like some bright bird in the sunny air, with her blue silk +frock fluttering upwards from her white pantalets, she comes +bounding on tiptoe across the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>Smooth back your brown curls, Annie; and let me tie on your +bonnet, and we will set forth! What a strange couple to go on +their rambles together! One walks in black attire, with a measured +step, and a heavy brow, and his thoughtful eyes bent down, +while the gay little girl trips lightly along, as if she were forced to +keep hold of my hand, lest her feet should dance away from the +earth. Yet there is sympathy between us. If I pride myself on +anything, it is because I have a smile that children love; and, on +the other hand, there are few grown ladies that could entice me +from the side of little Annie; for I delight to let my mind go +hand in hand with the mind of a sinless child. So come, Annie; +but if I moralize as we go, do not listen to me; only look about +you and be merry!</p> + +<p>Now we turn the corner. Here are hacks with two horses, and +stage-coaches with four, thundering to meet each other, and trucks +and carts moving at a slower pace, being heavily laden with barrels +from the wharves; and here are rattling gigs, which perhaps +will be smashed to pieces before our eyes. Hitherward, also, comes +a man trundling a wheelbarrow along the pavement. Is not little +Annie afraid of such a tumult? No: she does not even shrink +closer to my side, but passes on with fearless confidence,—a happy +child amidst a great throng of grown people, who pay the same +reverence to her infancy that they would to extreme old age. +Nobody jostles her; all turn aside to make way for little Annie; +and, what is most singular, she appears conscious of her claim to +such respect. Now her eyes brighten with pleasure! A street +musician has seated himself on the steps of yonder church, and +pours forth his strains to the busy town, a melody that has gone +astray among the tramp of footsteps, the buzz of voices, and the +war of passing wheels. Who heeds the poor organ-grinder? None +but myself and little Annie, whose feet begin to move in unison +with the lively tune, as if she were loath that music should be +wasted without a dance. But where would Annie find a partner? +Some have the gout in their toes, or the rheumatism in their joints; +some are stiff with age; some feeble with disease; some are so lean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +that their bones would rattle, and others of such ponderous size +that their agility would crack the flagstones; but many, many have +leaden feet, because their hearts are far heavier than lead. It is a +sad thought that I have chanced upon. What a company of +dancers should we be? For I, too, am a gentleman of sober footsteps, +and therefore, little Annie, let us walk sedately on.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus015.jpg" width="400" height="466" alt="Out for a walk, meeting the town-crier." title="Out for a walk, meeting the town-crier." /> +</div> + +<p>It is a question with me, whether this giddy child or my sage +self have most pleasure in looking at the shop windows. We love +the silks of sunny hue, that glow within the darkened premises of +the spruce dry-goods' men; we are pleasantly dazzled by the burnished +silver and the chased gold, the rings of wedlock and the +costly love-ornaments, glistening at the window of the jeweller; +but Annie, more than I, seeks for a glimpse of her passing figure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +in the dusty looking-glasses at the hardware stores. All that is +bright and gay attracts us both.</p> + +<p>Here is a shop to which the recollections of my boyhood, as well +as present partialities, give a peculiar magic. How delightful to +let the fancy revel on the dainties of a confectioner; those pies, +with such white and flaky paste, their contents being a mystery +whether rich mince, with whole plums intermixed, or piquant +apple, delicately rose-flavored; those cakes, heart-shaped or round, +piled in a lofty pyramid; those sweet little circlets, sweetly named +kisses; those dark, majestic masses, fit to be bridal loaves at the +wedding of an heiress, mountains in size, their summits deeply +snow-covered with sugar! Then the mighty treasures of sugar-plums, +white and crimson and yellow, in large glass vases; and +candy of all varieties; and those little cockles, or whatever they are +called, much prized by children for their sweetness, and more for +the mottoes which they enclose, by love-sick maids and bachelors! +O, my mouth waters, little Annie, and so doth yours; but we will +not be tempted, except to an imaginary feast; so let us hasten +onward, devouring the vision of a plum-cake.</p> + +<p>Here are pleasures, as some people would say, of a more exalted +kind, in the window of a bookseller. Is Annie a literary lady? +Yes; she is deeply read in Peter Parley's tomes, and has an increasing +love for fairy-tales, though seldom met with nowadays, and +she will subscribe, next year, to the Juvenile Miscellany. But, +truth to tell, she is apt to turn away from the printed page, and +keep gazing at the pretty pictures, such as the gay-colored ones +which make this shop window the continual loitering-place of children. +What would Annie think if, in the book which I mean to +send her on New Year's day, she should find her sweet little self, +bound up in silk or morocco with gilt edges, there to remain till +she become a woman grown, with children of her own to read +about their mother's childhood. That would be very queer.</p> + +<p>Little Annie is weary of pictures, and pulls me onward by the +hand, till suddenly we pause at the most wondrous shop in all the +town. O my stars! Is this a toyshop, or is it fairyland? For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +here are gilded chariots, in which the king and queen of the fairies +might ride side by side, while their courtiers, on these small horses, +should gallop in triumphal procession before and behind the royal +pair. Here, too, are dishes of china-ware, fit to be the dining-set +of those same princely personages when they make a regal banquet +in the stateliest hall of their palace, full five feet high, and +behold their nobles feasting adown the long perspective of the +table. Betwixt the king and queen should sit my little Annie, the +prettiest fairy of them all. Here stands a turbaned Turk, threatening +us with his sabre, like an ugly heathen as he is. And next +a Chinese mandarin, who nods his head at Annie and myself. +Here we may review a whole army of horse and foot, in red and +blue uniforms, with drums, fifes, trumpets, and all kinds of noiseless +music; they have halted on the shelf of this window, after +their weary march from Liliput. But what cares Annie for soldiers? +No conquering queen is she, neither a Semiramis nor a +Catharine; her whole heart is set upon that doll, who gazes at us +with such a fashionable stare. This is the little girl's true plaything. +Though made of wood, a doll is a visionary and ethereal +personage, endowed by childish fancy with a peculiar life; the +mimic lady is a heroine of romance, an actor and a sufferer in a +thousand shadowy scenes, the chief inhabitant of that wild world +with which children ape the real one. Little Annie does not +understand what I am saying, but looks wishfully at the proud +lady in the window. We will invite her home with us as we +return. Meantime, good by, Dame Doll! A toy yourself, you +look forth from your window upon many ladies that are also toys, +though they walk and speak, and upon a crowd in pursuit of toys, +though they wear grave visages. O, with your never-closing eyes, +had you but an intellect to moralize on all that flits before them, +what a wise doll would you be! Come, little Annie, we shall find +toys enough, go where we may.</p> + +<p>Now we elbow our way among the throng again. It is curious, +in the most crowded part of a town, to meet with living creatures +that had their birthplace in some far solitude, but have acquired a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +second nature in the wilderness of men. Look up, Annie, at that +canary-bird, hanging out of the window in his cage. Poor little +fellow! His golden feathers are all tarnished in this smoky sunshine; +he would have glistened twice as brightly among the summer +islands; but still he has become a citizen in all his tastes and +habits, and would not sing half so well without the uproar that +drowns his music. What a pity that he does not know how miserable +he is! There is a parrot, too, calling out, "Pretty Poll! +Pretty Poll!" as we pass by. Foolish bird, to be talking about +her prettiness to strangers, especially as she is not a pretty Poll, +though gaudily dressed in green and yellow. If she had said +"Pretty Annie," there would have been some sense in it. See +that gray squirrel, at the door of the fruit-shop, whirling round +and round so merrily within his wire wheel! Being condemned +to the treadmill, he makes it an amusement. Admirable philosophy!</p> + +<p>Here comes a big, rough dog, a countryman's dog in search of +his master; smelling at everybody's heels, and touching little +Annie's hand with his cold nose, but hurrying away, though she +would fain have patted him. Success to your search, Fidelity! +And there sits a great yellow cat upon a window-sill, a very corpulent +and comfortable cat, gazing at this transitory world, with +owl's eyes, and making pithy comments, doubtless, or what appear +such, to the silly beast. O sage puss, make room for me beside +you, and we will be a pair of philosophers!</p> + +<p>Here we see something to remind us of the town-crier, and his +ding-dong bell! Look! look at that great cloth spread out in the +air, pictured all over with wild beasts, as if they had met together +to choose a king, according to their custom in the days of Æsop. +But they are choosing neither a king nor a president, else we +should hear a most horrible snarling! They have come from the +deep woods, and the wild mountains, and the desert sands, and the +polar snows, only to do homage to my little Annie. As we enter +among them, the great elephant makes us a bow, in the best style +of elephantine courtesy, bending lowly down his mountain bulk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +with trunk abased and leg thrust out behind. Annie returns +the salute, much to the gratification of the elephant, who is certainly +the best-bred monster in the caravan. The lion and the +lioness are busy with two beef-bones. The royal tiger, the beautiful, +the untamable, keeps pacing his narrow cage with a haughty +step, unmindful of the spectators, or recalling the fierce deeds of +his former life, when he was wont to leap forth upon such inferior +animals, from the jungles of Bengal.</p> + +<p>Here we see the very same wolf,—do not go near him, Annie!—the +self-same wolf that devoured little Red Riding-Hood and her +grandmother. In the next cage, a hyena from Egypt, who has +doubtless howled around the pyramids, and a black bear from our +own forests, are fellow prisoners and most excellent friends. Are +there any two living creatures who have so few sympathies that +they cannot possibly be friends? Here sits a great white bear, +whom common observers would call a very stupid beast, though I +perceive him to be only absorbed in contemplation; he is thinking +of his voyages on an iceberg, and of his comfortable home in the +vicinity of the north pole, and of the little cubs whom he left rolling +in the eternal snows. In fact, he is a bear of sentiment. But +O, those unsentimental monkeys! the ugly, grinning, aping, chattering, +ill-natured, mischievous, and queer little brutes. Annie +does not love the monkeys. Their ugliness shocks her pure, +instinctive delicacy of taste, and makes her mind unquiet, because +it bears a wild and dark resemblance to humanity. But here is a +little pony, just big enough for Annie to ride, and round and +round he gallops in a circle, keeping time with his trampling hoofs +to a band of music. And here,—with a laced coat and a cocked +hat, and a riding-whip in his hand,—here comes a little gentleman, +small enough to be king of the fairies, and ugly enough to be +king of the gnomes, and takes a flying leap into the saddle. Merrily, +merrily plays the music, and merrily gallops the pony, and +merrily rides the little old gentleman. Come, Annie, into the +street again; perchance we may see monkeys on horseback there!</p> + +<p>Mercy on us, what a noisy world we quiet people live in! Did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +Annie ever read the Cries of London City? With what lusty +lungs doth yonder man proclaim that his wheelbarrow is full of +lobsters! Here comes another mounted on a cart, and blowing a +hoarse and dreadful blast from a tin horn, as much as to say +"Fresh fish!" And hark! a voice on high, like that of a muezzin +from the summit of a mosque, announcing that some chimney-sweeper +has emerged from smoke and soot, and darksome caverns, +into the upper air. What cares the world for that? But, welladay! +we hear a shrill voice of affliction, the scream of a little child, +rising louder with every repetition of that smart, sharp, slapping +sound, produced by an open hand on tender flesh. Annie sympathizes, +though without experience of such direful woe. Lo! the +town-crier again, with some new secret for the public ear. Will +he tell us of an auction, or of a lost pocket-book, or a show of +beautiful wax figures, or of some monstrous beast more horrible +than any in the caravan? I guess the latter. See how he uplifts +the bell in his right hand, and shakes it slowly at first, then with +a hurried motion, till the clapper seems to strike both sides at +once, and the sounds are scattered forth in quick succession, far +and near.</p> + +<p>Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!</p> + +<p>Now he raises his clear, loud voice, above all the din of the +town; it drowns the buzzing talk of many tongues, and draws +each man's mind from his own business; it rolls up and down the +echoing street, and ascends to the hushed chamber of the sick, and +penetrates downward to the cellar-kitchen, where the hot cook +turns from the fire to listen. Who, of all that address the public +ear, whether in church or court-house or hall of state, has such an +attentive audience as the town-crier? What saith the people's +orator?</p> + +<p>"Strayed from her home, a <span class="allcaps">LITTLE GIRL</span>, of five years old, in a +blue silk frock and white pantalets, with brown curling hair and +hazel eyes. Whoever will bring her to her afflicted mother—"</p> + +<p>Stop, stop, town-crier! The lost is found. O my pretty Annie, +we forgot to tell your mother of our ramble, and she is in despair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +and has sent the town-crier to bellow up and down the streets, +affrighting old and young, for the loss of a little girl who has not +once let go my hand! Well, let us hasten homeward; and as we +go, forget not to thank Heaven, my Annie, that, after wandering a +little way into the world, you may return at the first summons, +with an untainted and unwearied heart, and be a happy child +again. But I have gone too far astray for the town-crier to call +me back.</p> + +<p>Sweet has been the charm of childhood on my spirit, throughout +my ramble with little Annie! Say not that it has been a waste of +precious moments, an idle matter, a babble of childish talk, and a +revery of childish imaginations, about topics unworthy of a grown +man's notice. Has it been merely this? Not so; not so. They +are not truly wise who would affirm it. As the pure breath of +children revives the life of aged men, so is our moral nature +revived by their free and simple thoughts, their native feeling, their +airy mirth, for little cause or none, their grief, soon roused and +soon allayed. Their influence on us is at least reciprocal with ours +on them. When our infancy is almost forgotten, and our boyhood +long departed, though it seems but as yesterday; when life settles +darkly down upon us, and we doubt whether to call ourselves young +any more, then it is good to steal away from the society of bearded +men, and even of gentler woman, and spend an hour or two with +children. After drinking from those fountains of still fresh existence, +we shall return into the crowd, as I do now, to struggle onward +and do our part in life, perhaps as fervently as ever, but, for +a time, with a kinder and purer heart, and a spirit more lightly +wise. All this by thy sweet magic, dear little Annie!</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Nathaniel Hawthorne.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">WHY THE COW TURNED HER HEAD AWAY.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus022.jpg" width="500" height="536" alt="A little girl holds up a wisp of hay to Moolly Cow." title="A little girl holds up a wisp of hay to Moolly Cow." /> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">"Moolly Cow, your barn is warm, the wintry winds +cannot reach you, nor frost nor snow. Why are your +eyes so sad? Take this wisp of hay. See, I am holding it up? +It is very good. Now you turn your head away. Why do you +look so sorrowful, Moolly Cow, and turn your head away?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Little girl, I am thinking of the time when that dry wisp of +hay was living grass. When those brown, withered flowers were +blooming clovertops, buttercups, and daisies, and the bees and the +butterflies came about them. The air was warm then, and gentle +winds blew. Every morning I went forth to spend the day in +sunny pastures. I am thinking now of those early summer mornings,—how +the birds sang, and the sun shone, and the grass glittered +with dew! and the boy that opened the gates, how merrily +he whistled! I stepped quickly along, sniffing the fresh morning +air, snatching at times a hasty mouthful by the way; it was really +very pleasant! And when the bars fell, how joyfully I leaped +over! I knew where the grass grew green and tender, and hastened +to eat it while the dew was on.</p> + +<p>"As the sun rose higher I sought the shade, and at noonday +would lie under the trees chewing, chewing, chewing, with half-shut +eyes, and the drowsy insects humming around me; or perhaps +I would stand motionless upon the river's bank, where one might +catch a breath of air, or wade deep in to cool myself in the stream. +And when noontime was passed and the heat grew less, I went +back to the grass and flowers.</p> + +<p>"And thus the long summer day sped on,—sped pleasantly +on, for I was never lonely. No lack of company in those sunny +pasture-lands! The grasshoppers and crickets made a great stir, +bees buzzed, butterflies were coming and going, and birds singing +always. I knew where the ground-sparrows built, and all about +the little field-mice. They were very friendly to me, for often, +while nibbling the grass, I would whisper, 'Keep dark, little mice! +Don't fly, sparrows! The boys are coming!'</p> + +<p>"No lack of company,—O no! When that withered hay was +living grass, yellow with buttercups, white with daisies, pink with +clover, it was the home of myriads of little insects,—very, very +little insects. O, but they made things lively, crawling, hopping, +skipping among the roots, and up and down the stalks, so +happy, so full of life,—never still! And now not one left alive! +They are gone. That pleasant summer-time is gone. O, these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +long, dismal winter nights! All day I stand in my lonely stall, +listening, not to the song of birds, or hum of bees, or chirp of +grasshoppers, or the pleasant rustling of leaves, but to the noise of +howling winds, hail, sleet, and driving snow!</p> + +<p>"Little girl, I pray you don't hold up to me that wisp of hay. +In just that same way they held before my eyes, one pleasant morning, +a bunch of sweet clover, to entice me from my pretty calf!</p> + +<p>"Poor thing! It was the only one I had! So gay and +sprightly! Such a playful, frisky, happy young thing! It was a +joy to see her caper and toss her heels about, without a thought +of care or sorrow. It was good to feel her nestling close at my +side, to look into her bright, innocent eyes, to rest my head lovingly +upon her neck!</p> + +<p>"And already I was looking forward to the time when she +would become steady and thoughtful like myself; was counting +greatly upon her company of nights in the dark barn, or in roaming +the fields through the long summer days. For the butterflies +and bees, and all the bits of insects, though well enough in their +way, and most excellent company, were, after all, not akin to me, +and there is nothing like living with one's own blood relations.</p> + +<p>"But I lost my pretty little one! The sweet clover enticed me +away. When I came back she was gone! I saw through the bars +the rope wound about her. I saw the cart. I saw the cruel men +lift her in. She made a mournful noise. I cried out, and thrust +my head over the rail, calling, in language she well understood, +'Come back! O, come back!'</p> + +<p>"She looked up with her round, sorrowful eyes and wished to +come, but the rope held her fast! The man cracked his whip, the +cart rolled away; I never saw her more!</p> + +<p>"No, little girl, I cannot take your wisp of hay. It reminds +me of the silliest hour of my life,—of a day when I surely made +myself a fool. And on that day, too, I was offered by a little girl +a bunch of grass and flowers.</p> + +<p>"It was a still summer's noon. Not a breath of air was stirring. +I had waded deep into the stream, which was then calm and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +smooth. Looking down I saw my own image in the water. And +I perceived that my neck was thick and clumsy, that my hair was +brick-color, and my head of an ugly shape, with two horns sticking +out much like the prongs of a pitchfork. 'Truly, Mrs. Cow,' +I said, 'you are by no means handsome!'</p> + +<p>"Just then a horse went trotting along the bank. His hair was +glossy black, he had a flowing mane, and a tail which grew thick +and long. His proud neck was arched, his head lifted high. He +trotted lightly over the ground, bending in his hoofs daintily at +every footfall. Said I to myself, 'Although not well-looking,—which +is a great pity,—it is quite possible that I can step beautifully, +like the horse; who knows?' And I resolved to plod on no +longer in sober cow-fashion, but to trot off nimbly and briskly and +lightly.</p> + +<p>"I hastily waded ashore, climbed the bank, held my head high, +stretched out my neck, and did my best to trot like the horse, +bending in my hoofs as well as was possible at every step, hoping +that all would admire me.</p> + +<p>"Some children gathering flowers near by burst into shouts of +laughter, crying out, 'Look! Look!' 'Mary!' 'Tom!' 'What +ails the cow?' 'She acts like a horse!' 'She is putting on airs!' +'Clumsy thing!' 'Her tail is like a pump-handle!' 'O, I guess +she's a mad cow!' Then they ran, and I sank down under a tree +with tears in my eyes.</p> + +<p>"But one little girl stayed behind the rest, and, seeing that I was +quiet, she came softly up, step by step, holding out a bunch of +grass and clover. I kept still as a mouse. She stroked me with +her soft hand, and said,—</p> + +<p>"'O good Moolly Cow, I love you dearly; for my mother has +told me very nice things about you. Of course, you are not handsome. +O no, O no! But then you are good-natured, and so we all +love you. Every day you give us sweet milk, and never keep any +for yourself. The boys strike you sometimes, and throw stones, +and set the dogs on you; but you give them your milk just the +same. And you are never contrary like the horse, stopping when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +you ought to go, and going when you ought to stop. Nobody has +to whisper in your ears, to make you gentle, as they do to horses; +you are gentle of your own accord, dear Moolly Cow. If you do +walk up to children sometimes, you won't hook; it's only playing, +and I will stroke you and love you dearly. And if you'd like to +know, I'll tell you that there's a wonderful lady who puts you into +her lovely pictures, away over the water.'</p> + +<p>"Her words gave me great comfort, and may she never lack for +milk to crumb her bread in! But O, take away your wisp of hay, +little girl; for you bring to mind the summer days which are gone, +and my pretty bossy, that was stolen away, and also—my own +folly."</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Abby Morton Diaz.</i></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus026.jpg" width="400" height="269" alt="Cows on the farm." title="Cows on the farm." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE BABY OF THE REGIMENT.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">We were in our winter camp on Port Royal Island. It was +a lovely November morning, soft and spring-like; the +mocking-birds were singing, and the cotton-fields still white with +fleecy pods. Morning drill was over, the men were cleaning their +guns and singing very happily; the officers were in their tents, +reading still more happily their letters just arrived from home. +Suddenly I heard a knock at my tent-door, and the latch clicked. +It was the only latch in camp, and I was very proud of it, and +the officers always clicked it as loudly as possible, in order to +gratify my feelings. The door opened, and the Quartermaster +thrust in the most beaming face I ever saw.</p> + +<p>"Colonel," said he, "there are great news for the regiment. My +wife and baby are coming by the next steamer!"</p> + +<p>"Baby!" said I, in amazement. "Q. M., you are beside yourself." +(We always called the Quartermaster Q. M. for shortness.) +"There was a pass sent to your wife, but nothing was ever said +about a baby. Baby indeed!"</p> + +<p>"But the baby was included in the pass," replied the triumphant +father-of-a-family. "You don't suppose my wife would come down +here without her baby! Besides, the pass itself permits her to +bring necessary baggage; and is not a baby six months old necessary +baggage?"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear fellow," said I, rather anxiously, "how can you +make the little thing comfortable in a tent, amidst these rigors of +a South Carolina winter, when it is uncomfortably hot for drill at +noon, and ice forms by your bedside at night?"</p> + +<p>"Trust me for that," said the delighted papa, and went off +whistling. I could hear him telling the same news to three others, +at least, before he got to his own tent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>That day the preparations began, and soon his abode was a wonder +of comfort. There were posts and rafters, and a raised floor, +and a great chimney, and a door with hinges,—every luxury except +a latch, and that he could not have, for mine was the last that +could be purchased. One of the regimental carpenters was employed +to make a cradle, and another to make a bedstead high +enough for the cradle to go under. Then there must be a bit of +red carpet beside the bedstead; and thus the progress of splendor +went on. The wife of one of the colored sergeants was engaged to +act as nursery-maid. She was a very respectable young woman, the +only objection to her being that she smoked a pipe. But we +thought that perhaps Baby might not dislike tobacco; and if she +did, she would have excellent opportunities to break the pipe in +pieces.</p> + +<p>In due time the steamer arrived, and Baby and her mother were +among the passengers. The little recruit was soon settled in her +new cradle, and slept in it as if she had never known any other. +The sergeant's wife soon had her on exhibition through the neighborhood, +and from that time forward she was quite a queen among +us. She had sweet blue eyes and pretty brown hair, with round, +dimpled cheeks, and that perfect dignity which is so beautiful in +a baby. She hardly ever cried, and was not at all timid. She +would go to anybody, and yet did not encourage any romping from +any but the most intimate friends. She always wore a warm, long-sleeved +scarlet cloak with a hood, and in this costume was carried, +or "toted," as the soldiers said, all about the camp. At "guard-mounting" +in the morning, when the men who are to go on guard +duty for the day are drawn up to be inspected, Baby was always +there, to help to inspect them. She did not say much, but she +eyed them very closely, and seemed fully to appreciate their bright +buttons. Then the Officer-of-the-Day, who appears at guard-mounting +with his sword and sash, and comes afterwards to the +Colonel's tent for orders, would come and speak to Baby on his +way, and receive her orders first. When the time came for drill +she was usually present to watch the troops; and when the drum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +beat for dinner she liked to see the long row of men in each company +march up to the cook-house, in single file, each with tin cup +and plate.</p> + +<p>During the day, in pleasant weather, she might be seen in her +nurse's arms, about the company streets, the centre of an admiring +circle, her scarlet costume looking very pretty amidst the shining +black cheeks and neat blue uniforms +of the soldiers. At "dress-parade," +just before sunset, she was always +an attendant. As I stood before +the regiment, I could see the little +spot of red, out of the corner of my +eye, at one end of the long line of +men, and I looked with so much +interest for her small person, that, instead of saying at the proper +time, "Attention, Battalion! Shoulder arms!" it is a wonder +that I did not say, "Shoulder babies!"</p> + +<p><img src="images/illus029t.jpg" width="230" height="158" alt="Soldier holding child, regiment looks on." +title="Soldier holding child, regiment looks on." class="splitlt" /> +<img src="images/illus029b.jpg" width="471" height="342" alt="Soldier holding child, regiment looks on." +title="Soldier holding child, regiment looks on." class="splitlb" /> +</p> + +<p>Our little lady was very impartial, and distributed her kind looks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +to everybody. She had not the slightest prejudice against color, +and did not care in the least whether her particular friends were +black or white. Her especial favorites, I think, were the drummer-boys, +who were not my favorites by any means, for they were +a roguish set of scamps, and gave more trouble than all the grown +men in the regiment. I think Annie liked them because they +were small, and made a noise, and had red caps like her hood, and +red facings on their jackets, and also because they occasionally +stood on their heads for her amusement. After dress-parade the +whole drum-corps would march to the great flag-staff, and wait till +just sunset-time, when they would beat "the retreat," and then +the flag would be hauled down,—a great festival for Annie. +Sometimes the Sergeant-Major would wrap her in the great folds +of the flag, after it was taken down, and she would peep out very +prettily from amidst the stars and stripes, like a new-born Goddess +of Liberty.</p> + +<p>About once a month, some inspecting officer was sent to the +camp by the General in command, to see to the condition of everything +in the regiment, from bayonets to buttons. It was usually a +long and tiresome process, and, when everything else was done, I +used to tell the officer that I had one thing more for him to inspect, +which was peculiar to our regiment. Then I would send for +Baby to be exhibited; and I never saw an inspecting officer, old or +young, who did not look pleased at the sudden appearance of the +little, fresh, smiling creature,—a flower in the midst of war. And +Annie in her turn would look at them, with the true baby dignity +in her face,—that deep, earnest look which babies often have, and +which people think so wonderful when Raphael paints it, although +they might often see just the same expression in the faces of their +own darlings at home.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Annie seemed to like the camp style of housekeeping +very much. Her father's tent was double, and he used the front +apartment for his office, and the inner room for parlor and bedroom, +while the nurse had a separate tent and wash-room behind +all. I remember that, the first time I went there in the evening,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +it was to borrow some writing-paper; and while Baby's mother +was hunting for it in the front tent, I heard a great cooing and +murmuring in the inner room. I asked if Annie was still awake, +and her mother told me to go in and see. Pushing aside the canvas +door, I entered. No sign of anybody was to be seen; but a +variety of soft little happy noises seemed to come from some unseen +corner. Mrs. C. came quietly in, pulled away the counterpane +of her own bed, and drew out the rough cradle, where lay the little +damsel, perfectly happy, and wider awake than anything but a +baby possibly can be. She looked as if the seclusion of a dozen +family bedsteads would not be enough to discourage her spirits, +and I saw that camp life was likely to suit her very well.</p> + +<p>A tent can be kept very warm, for it is merely a house with a +thinner wall than usual; and I do not think that Baby felt the +cold much more than if she had been at home that winter. The +great trouble is, that a tent-chimney, not being built very high, +is apt to smoke when the wind is in a certain direction; and +when that happens it is hardly possible to stay inside. So we +used to build the chimneys of some tents on the east side, and +those of others on the west, and thus some of the tents were +always comfortable. I have seen Baby's mother running, in a hard +rain, with little Red-Riding-Hood in her arms, to take refuge with +the Adjutant's wife, when every other abode was full of smoke; +and I must admit that there were one or two windy days that +season when nobody could really keep warm, and Annie had to +remain ignominiously in her cradle, with as many clothes on as +possible, for almost the whole time.</p> + +<p>The Quartermaster's tent was very attractive to us in the evening. +I remember that once, on passing near it after nightfall, I +heard our Major's fine voice singing Methodist hymns within, and +Mrs. C.'s sweet tones chiming in. So I peeped through the outer +door. The fire was burning very pleasantly in the inner tent, and +the scrap of new red carpet made the floor look quite magnificent. +The Major sat on a box, our surgeon on a stool; "Q. M." and his +wife, and the Adjutant's wife, and one of the captains, were all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +sitting on the bed, singing as well as they knew how; and the +baby was under the bed. Baby had retired for the night,—was +overshadowed, suppressed, sat upon; the singing went on, and she +had wandered away into her own land of dreams, nearer to heaven, +perhaps, than any pitch their voices could attain. I went in and +joined the party. Presently the music stopped, and another officer +was sent for, to sing some particular song. At this pause the invisible +innocent waked a little, and began to cluck and coo.</p> + +<p>"It's the kitten," exclaimed somebody.</p> + +<p>"It's my baby!" exclaimed Mrs. C. triumphantly, in that tone +of unfailing personal pride which belongs to young mothers.</p> + +<p>The people all got up from the bed for a moment, while Annie +was pulled from beneath, wide awake, and placid as usual; and she +sat in one lap or another during the rest of the concert, sometimes +winking at the candle, but usually listening to the songs, with a +calm and critical expression, as if she could make as much noise +as any of them, whenever she saw fit to try. Not a sound did she +make, however, except one little soft sneeze, which led to an immediate +flood-tide of red shawl, covering every part of her but the +forehead. But I soon hinted that the concert had better be +ended, because I knew from observation that the small damsel +had carefully watched a regimental inspection and a brigade +drill on that day, and that an interval of repose was certainly +necessary.</p> + +<p>Annie did not long remain the only baby in camp. One day, +on going out to the stables to look at a horse, I heard a sound of +baby-talk, addressed by some man to a child near by, and, looking +round the corner of a tent, I saw that one of the hostlers had +something black and round, lying on the sloping side of a tent, +with which he was playing very eagerly. It proved to be his +baby,—a plump, shiny thing, younger than Annie; and I never +saw a merrier picture than the happy father frolicking with his +child, while the mother stood quietly by. This was Baby Number +Two, and she stayed in camp several weeks, the two innocents +meeting each other every day in the placid indifference that belonged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +to their years; both were happy little healthy things, and it +never seemed to cross their minds that there was any difference in +their complexions. As I said before, Annie was not troubled by +any prejudice in regard to color, nor do I suppose that the other +little maiden was.</p> + +<p>Annie enjoyed the tent-life very much; but when we were sent +out on picket soon after, she enjoyed it still more. Our head-quarters +were at a deserted plantation house, with one large parlor, +a dining-room and a few bedrooms. Baby's father and mother had +a room up stairs, with a stove whose pipe went straight out at the +window. This was quite comfortable, though half the windows +were broken, and there was no glass and no glazier to mend them. +The windows of the large parlor were in much the same condition, +though we had an immense fireplace, where we had a bright fire +whenever it was cold, and always in the evening. The walls of +this room were very dirty, and it took our ladies several days to +cover all the unsightly places with wreaths and hangings of evergreen. +In this performance Baby took an active part. Her +duties consisted in sitting in a great nest of evergreen, pulling +and fingering the fragrant leaves, and occasionally giving a little +cry of glee when she had accomplished some piece of decided +mischief.</p> + +<p>There was less entertainment to be found in the camp itself at +this time; but the household at head-quarters was larger than +Baby had been accustomed to. We had a great deal of company, +moreover, and she had quite a gay life of it. She usually made +her appearance in the large parlor soon after breakfast; and to +dance her for a few moments in our arms was one of the first daily +duties of each one. Then the morning reports began to arrive +from the different outposts,—a mounted officer or courier coming +in from each place, dismounting at the door, and clattering in with +jingling arms and spurs, each a new excitement for Annie. She +usually got some attention from any officer who came, receiving +with her wonted dignity any daring caress. When the messengers +had ceased to be interesting, there were always the horses to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +at, held or tethered under the trees beside the sunny piazza. After +the various couriers had been received, other messengers would be +despatched to the town, seven miles away, and Baby had all the +excitement of their mounting and departure. Her father was +often one of the riders, and would sometimes seize Annie for a +good-by kiss, place her on the saddle before him, gallop her round +the house once or twice, and then give her back to her nurse's arms +again. She was perfectly fearless, and such boisterous attentions +never frightened her, nor did they ever interfere with her sweet, +infantine self-possession.</p> + +<p>After the riding-parties had gone, there was the piazza still for +entertainment, with a sentinel pacing up and down before it; but +Annie did not enjoy the sentinel, though his breastplate and buttons +shone like gold, so much as the hammock which always hung +swinging between the pillars. It was a pretty hammock, with +great open meshes; and she delighted to lie in it, and have the +netting closed above her, so that she could only be seen through +the apertures. I can see her now, the fresh little rosy thing, in her +blue and scarlet wrappings, with one round and dimpled arm thrust +forth through the netting, and the other grasping an armful of +blushing roses and fragrant magnolias. She looked like those +pretty French bas-reliefs of Cupids imprisoned in baskets, and +peeping through. That hammock was a very useful appendage; it +was a couch for us, a cradle for Baby, a nest for the kittens; and +we had, moreover, a little hen, which tried to roost there every +night.</p> + +<p>When the mornings were colder, and the stove up stairs smoked +the wrong way, Baby was brought down in a very incomplete state +of toilet, and finished her dressing by the great fire. We found her +bare shoulders very becoming, and she was very much interested in +her own little pink toes. After a very slow dressing, she had a +still slower breakfast out of a tin cup of warm milk, of which she +generally spilt a good deal, as she had much to do in watching +everybody who came into the room, and seeing that there was no +mischief done. Then she would be placed on the floor, on our only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +piece of carpet, and the kittens would be brought in for her to +play with.</p> + +<p>We had, at different times, a variety of pets, of whom Annie +did not take much notice. Sometimes we had young partridges, +caught by the drummer-boys in trap-cages. The children called +them "Bob and Chloe," because the first notes of the male and +female sound like those names. One day I brought home an +opossum, with her blind bare little young clinging to the droll +pouch where their mothers keep them. Sometimes we had pretty +green lizards, their color darkening or deepening, like that of chameleons, +in light or shade. But the only pets that took Baby's fancy +were the kittens. They perfectly delighted her, from the first moment +she saw them; they were the only things younger than herself +that she had ever beheld, and the only things softer than +themselves that her small hands had grasped. It was astonishing +to see how much the kittens would endure from her. They could +scarcely be touched by any one else without mewing; but when +Annie seized one by the head and the other by the tail, and rubbed +them violently together, they did not make a sound. I suppose +that a baby's grasp is really soft, even if it seems ferocious, and so +it gives less pain than one would think. At any rate, the little animals +had the best of it very soon; for they entirely outstripped +Annie in learning to walk, and they could soon scramble away +beyond her reach, while she sat in a sort of dumb despair, unable +to comprehend why anything so much smaller than herself should +be so much nimbler. Meanwhile, the kittens would sit up and +look at her with the most provoking indifference, just out of arm's +length, until some of us would take pity on the young lady, and +toss her furry playthings back to her again. "Little baby," +she learned to call them; and these were the very first words +she spoke.</p> + +<p>Baby had evidently a natural turn for war, further cultivated by +an intimate knowledge of drills and parades. The nearer she +came to actual conflict the better she seemed to like it, peaceful as +her own little ways might be. Twice, at least, while she was with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +us on picket, we had alarms from the Rebel troops, who would +bring down cannon to the opposite side of the Ferry, about two +miles beyond us, and throw shot and shell over upon our side. Then +the officer at the Ferry would think that there was to be an attack +made, and couriers would be sent, riding to and fro, and the men +would all be called to arms in a hurry, and the ladies at head-quarters +would all put on their best bonnets, and come down stairs, +and the ambulance would be made ready to carry them to a place of +safety before the expected fight. On such occasions Baby was in +all her glory. She shouted with delight at being suddenly uncribbed +and thrust into her little scarlet cloak, and brought down +stairs, at an utterly unusual and improper hour, to a piazza with +lights and people and horses and general excitement. She crowed +and gurgled and made gestures with her little fists, and screamed +out what seemed to be her advice on the military situation, as +freely as if she had been a newspaper editor. Except that it was +rather difficult to understand her precise directions, I do not know +but the whole Rebel force might have been captured through her +plans. And, at any rate, I should much rather obey her orders +than those of some generals whom I have known; for she at +least meant no harm, and would lead one into no mischief.</p> + +<p>However, at last the danger, such as it was, would be all over, +and the ladies would be induced to go peacefully to bed again; and +Annie would retreat with them to her ignoble cradle, very much +disappointed, and looking vainly back at the more martial scene +below. The next morning she would seem to have forgotten all +about it, and would spill her bread and milk by the fire as if nothing +had happened.</p> + +<p>I suppose we hardly knew, at the time, how large a part of the +sunshine of our daily lives was contributed by dear little Annie. +Yet, when I now look back on that pleasant Southern home, she +seems as essential a part of it as the mocking-birds or the magnolias, +and I cannot convince myself that, in returning to it, I should +not find her there. But Annie went back, with the spring, to her +Northern birthplace, and then passed away from this earth before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +her little feet had fairly learned to tread its paths; and when I +meet her next it must be in some world where there is triumph +without armies, and where innocence is trained in scenes of peace. +I know, however, that her little life, short as it seemed, was a +blessing to us all, giving a perpetual image of serenity and sweetness, +recalling the lovely atmosphere of far-off homes, and holding +us by unsuspected ties to whatsoever things were pure.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>T. W. Higginson.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus037.jpg" width="300" height="312" alt="Little girl with kittens." title="Little girl with kittens." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">PRUDY PARLIN.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Prudy Parlin and her sister Susy, three years older, lived +in Portland, in the State of Maine.</p> + +<p>Susy was more than six years old, and Prudy was between three +and four. Susy could sew quite well for a girl of her age, and had +a stint every day. Prudy always thought it very fine to do just +as Susy did, so she teased her mother to let <i>her</i> have some patchwork +too, and Mrs. Parlin gave her a few calico pieces, just to +keep her little fingers out of mischief.</p> + +<p>But when the squares were basted together, she broke needles, +pricked her fingers, and made a great fuss; sometimes crying, and +wishing there were no such thing as patchwork.</p> + +<p>One morning she sat in her rocking-chair, doing what she +thought was a <i>stint</i>. She kept running to her mother with +every stitch, saying, "Will that do?" Her mother was very busy, +and said, "My little daughter must not come to me." So Prudy +sat down near the door, and began to sew with all her might; but +soon her little baby sister came along looking so cunning that +Prudy dropped her needle and went to hugging her.</p> + +<p>"O little sister," cried she, "I wouldn't have a horse come and +eat you up for anything in the world!"</p> + +<p>After this, of course, her mother had to get her another needle, +and then thread it for her. She went to sewing again till she +pricked her finger, and the sight of the wee drop of blood made +her cry.</p> + +<p>"O dear! I wish somebody would pity me!" But her +mother was so busy frying doughnuts that she could not stop to +talk much; and the next thing she saw of Prudy she was at the +farther end of the room, while her patchwork lay on the spice-box.</p> + +<p>"Prudy, Prudy, what are you up to now?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Up to the table," said Prudy. "O mother, I'm so sorry, but +I've broke a crack in the pitcher!"</p> + +<p>"What will mamma do with you? You haven't finished your +stint: what made you get out of your chair?"</p> + +<p>"O, I thought grandma might want me to get her <i>speckles</i>. I +thought I would go and find Zip too. See, mamma, he's so tickled +to see me he shakes all over—every bit of him!"</p> + +<p>"Where's your patchwork?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. You've got a double name, haven't you, doggie? +It's Zip Coon; but it isn't a <i>very</i> double name,—is it, +mother?"</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Parlin had finished her doughnuts, she said, "Pussy, +you can't keep still two minutes. Now, if you want to sew this +patchwork for grandma's quilt, I'll tell you what I shall do. +There's an empty hogshead in the back kitchen, and I'll lift you +into that, and you can't climb out. I'll lift you out when your +stint is done."</p> + +<p>"O, what a funny little house!" said Prudy, when she was +inside; and as she spoke her voice startled her,—it was so loud +and hollow. "I'll talk some more," thought she, "it makes such +a queer noise. 'Old Mrs. Hogshead, I thought I'd come and see +you, and bring my work. I like your house, ma'am, only I should +think you'd want some windows. I s'pose you know who I am, +Mrs. Hogshead? My name is Prudy. My mother didn't put me +in here because I was a naughty girl, for I haven't done nothing—nor +nothing—nor nothing. Do you want to hear some singing?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'O, come, come away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">From labor now reposin';<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Let <i>busy Caro, wife of Barrow</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Come, come away!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Prudy, what's the matter?" said mamma, from the next +room.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you hear somebody singing?" said Prudy; "well, +'t was me."</p> + +<p>"O, I was afraid you were crying, my dear!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then I'll stop," said the child. "Now, Mrs. Hogshead, you +won't hear me singing any more,—it <i>mortifies</i> my mother very +much."</p> + +<p>So Prudy made her fingers fly, and soon said, "Now, mamma, +I've got it done, and I'm ready to be <i>took out</i>!"</p> + +<p>Just then her father came into the house. "Prudy's in the +hogshead," said Mrs. Parlin. "Won't you please lift her out, +father? I've got baby in my arms."</p> + +<p>Mr. Parlin peeped into the hogshead. "How in this world did +you ever get in here, child?" said he. "I think I'll have to take +you out with a pair of tongs."</p> + +<p>Prudy laughed.</p> + +<p>"Give me your hands," said papa. "Up she comes! Now, +come sit on my knee," added he, when they had gone into the parlor, +"and tell me how you climbed into that hogshead."</p> + +<p>"Mother dropped me in, and I'm going to stay there till I make +a bedquilt,—only I'm coming out to eat, you know."</p> + +<p>Mr. Parlin laughed; but just then the dinner-bell rang, and +when they went to the table, Prudy was soon so busy with her +roasted chicken and custard pie that she forgot all about the patchwork.</p> + +<p>Prudy soon tired of sewing, and her mother said, laughing, "If +Grandma Read has to wait for somebody's little fingers before she +gets a bedquilt, poor grandma will sleep very cold indeed."</p> + +<p>The calico pieces went into the rag-bag, and that was the last of +Prudy's patchwork.</p> + +<p>One day the children wanted to go and play in the "new +house," which was not quite done. Mrs. Parlin was almost afraid +little Prudy might get hurt, for there were a great many loose +boards and tools lying about, and the carpenters, who were at +work on the house, had all gone away to see some soldiers. But +at last she said they might go if Susy would be very careful of +her little sister.</p> + +<p>Susy meant to watch Prudy with great care, but after a while +she got to thinking of something else. The little one wanted to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +play "catch," but Susy saw a great deal more sport in building +block houses.</p> + +<p>"Now I know ever so much more than you do," said Susy. "I +used to wash dishes and scour knives when I was four years old, +and that was the time I learned you to walk, Prudy; so you +ought to play with me, and be goody."</p> + +<p>"Then I will; but them blocks is too big, Susy. If I had <i>a +axe</i> I'd chop 'em: I'll go get <i>a axe</i>." Little Prudy trotted off, and +Susy never looked up from her play, and did not notice that she +was gone a long while.</p> + +<p>By and by Mrs. Parlin thought she would go and see what the +children were doing; so she put on her bonnet and went over to +the "new house." Susy was still busy with her blocks, but she +looked up at the sound of her mother's footsteps.</p> + +<p>"Where is Prudy?" said Mrs. Parlin, glancing around.</p> + +<p>"I'm 'most up to heaven," cried a little voice overhead.</p> + +<p>They looked, and what did they see? Prudy herself standing +on the highest beam of the house! She had climbed three ladders +to get there. Her mother had heard her say the day before that +"she didn't want to shut up her eyes and die, and be all deaded +up,—she meant to have her hands and face clean, and go up to +heaven on a ladder."</p> + +<p>"O," thought the poor mother, "she is surely on the way to +heaven, for she can never get down alive. My darling, my darling!"</p> + +<p>Poor Susy's first thought was to call out to Prudy, but her +mother gave her one warning glance, and that was enough: Susy +neither spoke nor stirred.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Parlin stood looking up at her,—stood as white and still +as if she had been frozen! Her trembling lips moved a little, but +it was in prayer; she knew that only God could save the precious +one.</p> + +<p>While she was begging him to tell her what to do, a sudden +thought flashed across her mind. She dared not speak, lest the +sound of her voice should startle the child; but she had a bunch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +of keys in her pocket, and she jingled the keys, holding them up +as high as possible, that Prudy might see what they were.</p> + +<p>When the little one heard the jingling, she looked down and +smiled. "You goin' to let me have some cake and 'serves in the +china-closet,—me and Susy?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Parlin smiled,—such a smile! It was a great deal sadder +than tears, though Prudy did not know that,—she only knew that +it meant "yes."</p> + +<p>"O, then I'm coming right down, 'cause I like cake and +'serves. I won't go up to heaven till <i>bime-by</i>!"</p> + +<p>Then she walked along the beam, and turned about to come +down the ladders. Mrs. Parlin held her breath, and shut her eyes. +She dared not look up, for she knew that if Prudy should take +one false step, she must fall and be dashed in pieces!</p> + +<p>But Prudy was not wise enough to fear anything. O no. She +was only thinking very eagerly about crimson jellies and fruit-cake. +She crept down the ladders without a thought of danger,—no +more afraid than a fly that creeps down the window-pane.</p> + +<p>The air was so still that the sound of every step was plainly +heard, as her little feet went pat,—pat,—on the ladder rounds. +God was taking care of her,—yes, at length the last round was +reached,—she had got down,—she was safe!</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" cried Mrs. Parlin, as she held little Prudy close +to her heart; while Susy jumped for joy, exclaiming, "We've got +her! we've got her! O, ain't you so happy, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"O mamma, what you crying for?" said little Prudy, clinging +about her neck. "Ain't I your little comfort?—there, now, you +know what you <i>speaked</i> about! You said you'd get some cake +and verserves for me and Susy."</p> + +<p class="sig">"<i>Sophie May.</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">MRS. WALKER'S BETSEY.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">It is now ten years since I spent a summer in the little village +of Cliff Spring, as teacher in one of the public schools.</p> + +<p>The village itself had no pretensions to beauty, natural or architectural; +but all its surroundings were romantic and lovely. On +one side was a winding river, bordered with beautiful willows; +and on the other a lofty hill, thickly wooded. These woods, in +spring and summer, were full of flowers and wild vines; and a +clear, cold stream, that had its birth in a cavernous recess among +the ledges, dashed over the rocks, and after many windings and +plungings found its way to the river.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the hill wound the railroad track, at some points +nearly filling the space between the brook and the rocks, in others +almost overhung by the latter. Some of the most delightful walks +I ever knew were in this vicinity, and here the whole school would +often come in the warm weather, for the Saturday's ramble.</p> + +<p>It was on one of these summer rambles I first made the acquaintance +of Mrs. Walker's Betsey. Not that her unenviable reputation +had been concealed from my knowledge, by any means; but as +she was not a member of my department, and was a very irregular +attendant of any class, she had never yet come under my observation. +I gathered that her parents had but lately come to live in +Cliff Spring; that they were both ignorant and vicious; and that +the girl was a sort of goblin sprite,—such a compound of mischief +and malice as was never known before since the days of +witchcraft. Was there an ugly profile drawn upon the anteroom +wall, a green pumpkin found in the principal's hat, or an ink-bottle +upset in the water-bucket? Mrs. Walker's Betsey was the first +and constant object of suspicion. Did a teacher find a pair of +tongs astride her chair, her shawl extra-bordered with burdocks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +her gloves filled with some ill-scented weed, or her india-rubbers +cunningly nailed to the floor? half a hundred juvenile tongues +were ready to proclaim poor Betsey as the undoubted delinquent; +and this in spite of the fact that very few of these misdemeanors +were actually proved against her. But whether proved or not, she +accepted their sponsorship all the same, and laughed at or defied +her accusers, as her mood might be.</p> + +<p>That the girl was a character in her way, shrewd and sensible, +though wholly uncultured, I was well satisfied, from all I heard; +that she was sly, intractable, and revengeful I believed, I am sorry +to say, upon very insufficient evidence.</p> + +<p>One warm afternoon in July, the sun, which at morning had +been clouded, blazed out fiercely at the hour of dismissal. Shrinking +from the prospect of an unsheltered walk, I looked around the +shelves of the anteroom for my sunshade, but it was nowhere to +be found. I did not recollect having it with me in the morning, +and believed it had been left at the school-house over night. The +girls of my class constituted themselves a committee of search and +inquiry, but to no purpose. The article was not in the house or +yard, and then my committee resolved themselves into a jury, and, +without a dissenting voice, pronounced Mrs. Walker's Betsey guilty +of cribbing my little, old-fashioned, but vastly useful sunshade. +She had been seen loitering in the anteroom, and afterward running +away in great haste. The charge seemed reasonable enough, +but as I could not learn that Betsey had ever been caught in a +theft, or convicted of one, I requested the girls to keep the matter +quiet, for a few days at least: to which they unwillingly consented.</p> + +<p>"Remember, Miss Burke," said Alice Way, as we parted at her +father's gate, "you promised us a nice walk after tea, to the place +in the wood where you found the beautiful phlox yesterday. We +want you to guide us straight to the spot, please."</p> + +<p>"Yes," added Mary Graham, "and we will take our Botanies in +our baskets, and be prepared to analyze the flowers, you know."</p> + +<p>My assent was not reluctantly given; and when the sun was low<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +in the west we set forth, walking nearly the whole distance in the +shade of the hill. We climbed the ridge, rested a few moments, +and then started in search of the beautiful patch of Lichnidia—white, +pink, and purple—that I had found the afternoon previous +in taking a "short cut" over the hill to the house of a +friend I was wont to visit.</p> + +<p>"Stop, Miss Burke!" came in suppressed tones from half my +little group, as, emerging from a thicket, we came in sight of a queer +object perched upon a little mound, among dead stick and leaves. +It was a diminutive child, who, judging from her face alone, might +be ten or eleven years of age. A little brown, weird face it was, +with keen eyes peering out from a stringy mass of hair, that straggled +about distractedly from the confinement of an old comb.</p> + +<p>"<i>There</i>," whispered Matty Holmes, "there's Mrs. Walker's +Betsey, I do declare! She often goes home from school this way, +which is shorter; and now she is playing truant. She'll get a +whipping if her mother finds it out."</p> + +<p>"Miss Burke, Miss Burke!" cried Alice, "see what she has in +her hand!" I looked, and there, to be sure, was my lost parasol.</p> + +<p>"There, now! Didn't we say so!" "Don't she look guilty?" +"Weren't we right?" "Impudent thing!" were the whispered +ejaculations of my vigilance committee; but in truth the girl's +appearance was unconcerned and innocent enough. She sat there, +swaying herself about, opening and shutting the wonderful "instrument," +holding it between her eyes and the light to ascertain +the quality of the silk, and sticking a pin in the handle to try if +it were real ivory or mere painted wood.</p> + +<p>"Let's dash in upon her and see her scamper," was the next +benevolent suggestion whispered in my ear.</p> + +<p>"No," I said. "I wish to speak to her alone, first. All of you +stay here, out of sight, and I will return presently." They fell +back, dissatisfied, and contented themselves with peeping and listening, +while I advanced toward the forlorn child. She started a +little as I approached, thrust the parasol behind her, and then +pleasantly made room for me on the little hillock where she sat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, this <i>is</i> a nice place for a lounge," said I, dropping down +beside her; "just large enough for two, and softer than any <i>tête-à-tête</i> +in Mrs. Graham's parlor. Now I should like to know your +name?"—for I thought it best to feign ignorance of her antecedents.</p> + +<p>"Bets," was the ready reply.</p> + +<p>"Betsey what?"</p> + +<p>"Bets Walker, mother says, but I say Hamlin. That was +father's name. 'T ain't no difference, though; it's Bets any way."</p> + +<p>"Well, Betsey, what do you suppose made this little mound we +are sitting upon?" I asked, merely to gain time to think how best +to approach the other topic.</p> + +<p>"I don' know," she answered, looking up at me keenly. +"Maybe a rock got covered up and growed over, ever so far down. +Maybe an Injun's buried there."</p> + +<p>I told her I had seen larger mounds that contained Indian +remains, but none so small as this.</p> + +<p>"It might 'a' ben a baby, though," she returned, digging her +brown toes among the leaves and winking her eyelids roguishly. +"A papoose, you know; a real little Injun! I wish it had 'a' ben +me, and I'd 'a' ben buried here; I'd 'a' liked it first-rate! Only I +wouldn't 'a' wanted the girls should come and set over me. If I +didn't want so bad to get to read the books father left, I'd never +go to school another day." And her brow darkened again with +evil passions.</p> + +<p>"Did your own father leave you books?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, real good ones; only they're old, and tore some. +Mother couldn't sell 'em for nothin', so she lets me keep 'em. She +sold everything else." Then suddenly changing her tone, she +asked, slyly, "You hain't lost anything,—have you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered; "I see you have my sunshade."</p> + +<p>She held it up, laughing with boisterous triumph. "You left it +hanging in that tree yonder," she said, pointing to a low-branching +beech at a little distance. "It was kind o' careless, I think. +S'posing it had rained!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>Astonishment kept me silent. How could I have forgotten, +what I now so clearly recalled, my hanging the shade upon a +tree, the previous afternoon, while I descended a ravine for flowers? +I felt humiliated in the presence of the poor little wronged and +neglected child.</p> + +<p>For many days after this the girl did not come to school, nor did +I once see her, though I thought of her daily with increasing interest.</p> + +<p>During this time the principal of the school planned an excursion +by railroad to a station ten miles distant, to be succeeded by +a picnic on the lake shore. Great was the delight of the little +ones, grown weary of their unvaried routine through the exhausting +heats of July. Many were the councils called among the boys, +many the enthusiastic discussions held among the girls, and seldom +did they break up without leaving one or more subjects of controversy +unsettled. But upon one point perfect harmony of opinion +prevailed, and it was the only one against which I felt bound +strongly to protest: this was the decision that Mrs. Walker's +Betsey was quite unnecessary to the party, and consequently was +to receive no notice.</p> + +<p>"Why, Miss Burke! that <i>looking</i> girl!" cried Amy Pease, as I +remonstrated. "She hasn't a thing fit to wear,—if there were no +other reason!" I reminded her that Betsey had a very decent +basque, given her by the minister's wife, and that an old lawn skirt +of mine could be tucked for her with very little trouble. "But +she is such an awkward, uncouth creature! She would mortify us +to death!" interposed Hattie Dale.</p> + +<p>"She could carry no biscuits, nor cake, for she has no one to +bake them for her," said another. "She would eat enormously, +and make herself sick," objected little Nellie Day, a noted glutton.</p> + +<p>In vain I combated these arguments, offering to take crackers and +lemons enough for her share, and even urging the humanity of +allowing her to make herself sick upon good things for once in her +poverty-stricken life. Some other teachers joined me; but when +the question was put to vote among the scholars, it received a hurried +negative, as unanimous as it was noisy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And now I think of it," added Mattie Price, the principal's +daughter, "the Walkers are out of the corporation, and so Betsey +has no real right among us at all." This ended the matter.</p> + +<p>All the night previous to the great excursion, I suffered severely +from headache, which grew no better upon rising, and, as usual, +increased in violence as the sun mounted higher upon its cloudless +course. At half past nine, as the long train with its freight of +smiling and expectant little ones moved from the depot, I was +lying in a darkened room, with ice-bandages about my forehead, +and my feverish pillow saturated with camphor and hartshorn.</p> + +<p>The disappointment in itself was not much. I needed rest, and +the utter stillness was very grateful to my overtasked nerves. +Besides, the slight put upon poor Betsey had destroyed much of +the pleasure of anticipation. I lay patiently until two o'clock, +when, as I expected, the pain abated. At five, I was entirely free, +and feeling much in need of a walk in the fresh air, which a slight +shower had cooled and purified.</p> + +<p>Choosing the shaded route, I walked out upon the hill, ascending +by a gentle slope, and, book in hand, sat down under a tree, +alternately reading and gazing upon the sweet rural picture that +lay before me. Soon a pleasant languor crept over me. Dense +wood and craggy hill, green valley and gushing brook, faded from +sight and hearing, and I was asleep!</p> + +<p>Probably half an hour elapsed before I opened my eyes and +saw sitting beside me the same elfish little figure I had once before +encountered in the wood. The same stringy hair, the same sunburned +forehead and neck, the same tattered dress, the same wild, +weird-looking eyes. In one hand she held my parasol, opened in +a position to shade my face from a slanting sunbeam; with a small +bush in the other she was protecting me from mosquitoes and +other insect dangers.</p> + +<p>"Well done, little Genius of the Wood; am I to be always +indebted to you for finding what I lose!" I said, jumping up and +shaking my dress free from leaves.</p> + +<p>She laughed immoderately. "First you lose your shade in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +woods, and now you've gone and lost yourself! I guess you'll +have to keep me always," she giggled, trotting along beside me. "I +was mighty scared when I see you lying there, and the sun creeping +round through the trees, like a great red lion, going to spring +at you and eat you up. I thought you'd gone to the ride."</p> + +<p>I explained the cause of my detention, and saw that she looked +rather pleased; for, as I soon drew from her, she had been bitterly +disappointed in the affair, and felt her rejection very keenly. She +had come to this spot now for the sole purpose of peeping from behind +some rock or tree at the return of the merry company, which +would be at six o'clock.</p> + +<p>"I coaxed old Walker and his wife to let me have some green +corn and cucumbers, and I put on my best spencer and went to the +depot this morning, but none of 'em asked me to get in. Hal +Price kicked my basket over, too! I s'pose I wasn't dressed fine +enough. They all wore their Sunday things. I wish 't would rain +and spile 'em. I do—<i>so</i>!"</p> + +<p>I tried to console her, but she refused to listen, and went on +with a fierce tirade, enumerating sundry disastrous events which +she "wished would happen: she did <i>so</i>!" and giving vent to +many very unchristian but very childlike denunciations.</p> + +<p>All on a sudden she stopped, and we simultaneously raised our +heads and listened. It was a deep, grinding, crashing sound, as of +rocks sliding over and past each other; then a crackling, as of +roots and branches twisted and wrenched from their places; then a +jar, heavy and terrible, that reverberated through the forest, making +the earth quake beneath our feet, and all the leafy branches +tremble above us. We knew it instantly; there had been a heavy +fall of rock not far from us; and with one exclamation, we started +in the direction of the sound.</p> + +<p>The place was reached in a moment; an enormous mass of rock +and earth, in which many small trees were growing, had fallen +directly upon the railroad track, and that too at a point where the +stream wound nearest, and its bank made a steep descent upon the +other side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dreadful as the spectacle was to me through apprehension for +the coming train, I could only notice at that moment the wonderful +change in Mrs. Walker's Betsey. She leaped about among the +rocks, shrieking and wringing her hands; she grasped the uprooted +trees, tugging wildly at them till the veins swelled purple +in her forehead, and her flying hair looked as if every separate +fibre writhed with horror. I had imagined before what the aspect +of that strange little face might be in terror; now I saw it, and +knew what a powerful nature lay hidden in that cramped, undeveloped +form.</p> + +<p>This lasted but a moment, however. Then came to both the +soberer thought, What is to be done? It appeared that we were +sole witnesses of the accident; and though the crash might have +been heard at the village, who would think of a land slide? and +upon the railroad!</p> + +<p>Ten minutes must have elapsed before we could give the alarm, +and in less time than that the cars were due. In that speechless +breathless moment, before my duller ear perceived it, Betsey caught +the sound of the approaching train, deadened as it was by the hill +that lay between us. It was advancing at great speed; rushing +on,—all that freight of joyous human life,—rushing on to certain +destruction, into the very jaws of Death!</p> + +<p>I was utterly paralyzed! Not so Mrs. Walker's Betsey.</p> + +<p>"I'm agoin' to run and <i>yell</i>," she said, and was off upon the +instant. Screaming at the top of her voice, keeping near the +edge of the bank, where she could be soonest seen from the approaching +train, plunging through the underbrush, leaping over +rocks, she dashed on to meet the cars. "Fire! Fire! Murder! +Stop thieves! Hollo the house! Thieves! Mad dogs! Get out +of the way, Old Dan Tucker!" were only a few of the variations +of her warning voice.</p> + +<p>I followed as I could, seemingly in a sort of nightmare; wondering +why I did not scream, yet incapable of making a sound; +expecting every moment to fall upon the rocks, yet taking my steps +with a sureness and rapidity that astonished me even then.</p> + +<p>Betsey's next move was to run back to me and tear my shawl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +from my shoulders,—a light crape of a bright crimson color. +Then bending down a small sapling by throwing her whole +weight upon it, she spread the shawl upon its top and allowed +it to rebound. She called me to shake the tree, which I did +vigorously. It stood at an angle of the road, upon a bank +which commanded a long view, and was a most appropriate place +to erect a signal. Then leaping upon the track, she bounded +on like a deer, shouting and gesticulating with redoubled energy +now that the train appeared in sight.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus051.jpg" width="500" height="442" alt="Betsey on the tracks, signals the train." title="Betsey on the tracks, signals the train." /> +</div> + +<p>It was soon evident that the engineer was neither blind nor deaf, +for the brakes were speedily applied, and the engine was reversed. +Still it dashed on at fearful velocity, and Betsey turned and ran +back toward the obstructed place in an agony of excitement. +Gradually the speed lessened, the wheels obeyed their checks, and +when at last they came to a full stop the cow-catcher was within +four feet of the rock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>Many, seeing the danger, had already leaped off; many more, +terrified, and scarcely conscious of the real nature of the danger, +crowded the platforms, and pushed off those before them. It was +a scene of wildest confusion, in the midst of which my heart sent +up only the quivering cry of joy, "Saved, saved!" Betsey had +climbed half-way up the bank, and thrown herself exhausted upon +the loose gravel, with her apron drawn over her head. I picked +my way down to the train to assist the frightened children. Mr. +Price, the principal, was handing out his own three children, and +teachers and pupils followed in swarms.</p> + +<p>"Now, Miss Burke," said the principal, in a voice that grew +strangely tremulous as he looked at the frightful mass before him, +"I want to hear who it was that gave the alarm, and saved us from +this hideous fate. Was it you?" I believe I never felt a glow of +truer pleasure than then, as I answered quickly: "I had nothing +to do with saving you, Mr. Price. I take no credit in the matter. +The person to whom your thanks are due sits on the bank yonder,—Mrs. +Walker's Betsey!"</p> + +<p>Every eye wandered toward the crouching figure, who, with +head closely covered, appeared indifferent to everything. Mr. +Price opened his portemonnaie. "Here are ten dollars," he said, +"which I wish you to give the girl for myself and children. Tell +her that, as a school, she will hear from us again."</p> + +<p>I went to Betsey's side, put the money in her hand, and tried to +make her uncover her face. But she resolutely refused to do more +than peep through one of the rents in her apron, as the whole +school slowly and singly defiled past her in the narrow space between +the train and the bank. A more crestfallen multitude I +never saw, and the eyes that ventured to look upon the prostrate +figure as they passed within a few feet of her had shame and contrition +in their glances. Once only she whispered, as a haughty-looking +boy went past, "That's the boy that kicked over my +basket. I wish I'd 'a' let him gone to smash! I do—<i>so</i>!"</p> + +<p>The children climbed over the rocks and went to their homes +sadder and wiser for their lesson, and in twenty-four hours the +track was again free from all obstruction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>The principal, though a man but little inclined to look for the +angel side of such unprepossessing humanity as Mrs. Walker's +Betsey, had too strong a sense of justice, and too much gratitude +for his children's spared lives, not to make a very affecting appeal +to the assembled school on the day following. A vote to consider +her a member of the school, and entitled to all its privileges, met +with no opposition; and a card of thanks, drawn up in feeling +terms, received the signature of every pupil and teacher. A purse +was next made up for her by voluntary contributions, amounting +to twenty dollars; and to this were added a new suit, a quantity of +books, and a handsome red shawl, in which her brunette skin and +nicely combed jetty hair appeared to great advantage.</p> + +<p>Betsey bore her honors meekly, and, no longer feeling that she +was regarded as an intruder, came regularly to school, learned +rapidly, and in her neat dress and improved manners gradually became +an attractive, as she certainly was a most intelligent child.</p> + +<p>In less than a year her mother died, and her drunken step-father +removed to the far West, leaving her as a domestic in a worthy +and wealthy family in Cliff Spring.</p> + +<p>The privileges of school were still granted her, and amid the +surroundings of comfort and refinement the change from Mrs. +Walker's Betsey to Lizzie Hamlin became still more apparent. +She rapidly rose from one class to another, and is now employed +in the very school, and teaches the youngest brothers and sisters +of the very scholars who, ten years ago, voted her a "nuisance" +and a plague.</p> + +<p>There is truth in the old rhyme,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"It isn't all in bringing up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Let men say what they will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Neglect may dim a silver cup,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">It will be silver still!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig"><i>Helen B. Bostwick.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE RAINBOW-PILGRIMAGE.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus054.jpg" width="500" height="189" alt="A view of the rainbow." title="A view of the rainbow." /> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">One summer afternoon, when I was about eight years of age, +I was standing at an eastern window, looking at a beautiful +rainbow that, bending from the sky, seemed to be losing itself in +a thick, swampy wood about a quarter of a mile distant. We +had just had a thunder-storm; but now the dark heavens had +cleared up, a fresh breeze was blowing from the south, the rose-bushes +by the window were dashing rain-drops against the panes, +the robins were singing merrily from the cherry-trees, and all was +brighter and pleasanter than ever. It happened that no one was +in the room with me, then, but my brother Rufus, who was just +recovering from a severe illness, and was sitting, propped up with +pillows, in an easy-chair, looking out, with me, at the rainbow.</p> + +<p>"See, brother," I said, "it drops right down among the cedars, +where we go in the spring to find wintergreens!"</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Gracie," said my brother, with a very serious +face, "that, if you should go to the end of the rainbow, you would +find there purses filled with money, and great pots of gold and +silver?"</p> + +<p>"Is it truly so?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Truly so," answered my brother, with a smile. Now, I was a +simple-hearted child who believed everything that was told me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +although I was again and again imposed upon; so, without another +word, I darted out of the door and set forth toward the wood. My +brother called after me as loudly as he was able, but I did not +heed him. I cared nothing for the wet grass, which was sadly +drabbling my clean frock; on and on I ran; I was so sure that I +knew just where that rainbow ended. I remember how glad and +proud I was in my thoughts, and what fine presents I promised to +all my friends out of my great riches.</p> + +<p>So thinking, and laying delightful plans, almost before I knew +it I had reached the cedar-grove, and the end of the rainbow was +not there! But I saw it shining down among the trees a little +farther off; so on and on I struggled, through the thick bushes +and over logs, till I came within the sound of a stream which ran +through the swamp. Then I thought, "What if the rainbow +should come down right into the middle of that deep, muddy +brook!" Ah! but I was frightened for my heavy pots of gold +and silver, and my purses of money. How should I ever find +them there? and what a time I should have getting them out! I +reached the bank of the stream, and "the end was not yet." But +I could see it a little way off on the other side. I crossed the +creek on a fallen tree, and still ran on, though my limbs seemed +to give way, and my side ached with fatigue. The woods grew +thicker and darker, the ground more wet and swampy, and I found, +as many grown people had found before me, that there was rather +hard travelling in a journey after riches. Suddenly I met in my +way a large porcupine, who made himself still larger when he saw +me, as a cross cat raises its back and makes tails at a dog. Fearing +that he would shoot his sharp quills at me, and hit me all over, +I ran from him as fast as my tired feet would carry me.</p> + +<p>In my fright and hurry I forgot to keep my eye on the rainbow, +as I had done before; and when, at last, I remembered and looked +for it, it was nowhere in sight! It had quite faded away. When +I saw that it was indeed gone, I burst into tears; for I had lost all +my treasures, and had nothing to show for my pilgrimage but muddy +feet and a wet and torn frock. So I set out for home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>But I soon found that my troubles had only begun; I could not +find my way; I was lost. I could not tell which was east or +west, north or south, but wandered about here and there, crying +and calling, though I knew that no one could hear me.</p> + +<p>All at once I heard voices shouting and hallooing; but, instead +of being rejoiced at this, I was frightened, fearing that the Indians +were upon me! I crawled under some bushes, by the side of a +large log, and lay perfectly still. I was wet, cold, scared,—altogether +very miserable indeed; yet, when the voices came near, I +did not start up and show myself.</p> + +<p>At last I heard my own name called; but I remembered that +Indians were very cunning, and thought they might have found +it out some way; so I did not answer. Then came a voice +near me, that sounded like that of my eldest brother, who lived +away from home, and whom I had not seen for many months; +but I dared not believe the voice was his. Soon some one sprang +up on to the log by which I lay, and stood there calling. I could +not see his face; I could only see the tips of his toes, but by them +I saw that he wore a nice pair of boots, and not moccasins. Yet +I remembered that some Indians dressed like white folks. I knew +a young chief who was quite a dandy; who not only</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Got him a coat and breeches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And looked like a Christian man,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>but actually wore a fine ruffled shirt <i>outside of all</i>. So I still +kept quiet, till I heard shouted over me a pet name, which this +brother had given me. It was the funniest name in the world.</p> + +<p>I knew that no Indian knew of the name, as it was a little +family secret; so I sprang up, and caught my brother about the +ankles. I hardly think that an Onondaga could have given a +louder yell than he gave then; and he jumped so that he fell off +the log down by my side. But nobody was hurt; and, after kissing +me till he had kissed away all my tears, he hoisted me on to +his shoulder, called my other brothers, who were hunting in different +directions, and we all set out for home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>I had been gone nearly three hours, and had wandered a number +of miles. My brother Joseph's coming and asking for me had +first set them to inquiring and searching me out.</p> + +<p>When I went into the room where my brother Rufus sat, he +said, "Why, my poor little sister! I did not mean to send you off +on such a wild-goose chase to the end of the rainbow. I thought +you would know I was only quizzing you."</p> + +<p>Then my eldest brother took me on his knee, and told me what +the rainbow really was: that it was only painted air, and did not +rest on the earth, so nobody could ever find the end; and that +God had set it in the cloud to remind him and us of his promise +never again to drown the world with a flood.</p> + +<p>"O, I think <i>God's promise</i> would be a beautiful name for the +rainbow!" I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied my mother, "but it tells us something more +than that he will not send great floods upon the earth,—it tells +us of his beautiful love always bending over us from the skies. +And I trust that when my little girl sets forth on a pilgrimage to +find God's love, she will be led by the rainbow of his promise +through all the dark places of this world to 'treasures laid up in +heaven,' better, far better, than silver or gold."</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Grace Greenwood.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus057.jpg" width="300" height="190" alt="Sunset" title="Sunset" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">ON WHITE ISLAND.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus058.jpg" width="500" height="385" alt="White Island" title="White Island" /> +</div> + + +<p class="capword">I well remember my first sight of White Island, where we +took up our abode on leaving the mainland. I was scarcely +five years old; but from the upper windows of our dwelling in +Portsmouth I had been shown the clustered masts of ships lying +at the wharves along the Piscataqua River, faintly outlined against +the sky, and, baby as I was, even then I was drawn with a vague +longing seaward. How delightful was that long, first sail to the +Isles of Shoals! How pleasant the unaccustomed sound of the incessant +ripple against the boat-side, the sight of the wide water and +limitless sky, the warmth of the broad sunshine that made us +blink like young sandpipers as we sat in triumph, perched among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +the household goods with which the little craft was laden! It was +at sunset that we were set ashore on that loneliest, lovely rock, where +the lighthouse looked down on us like some tall, black-capped giant, +and filled me with awe and wonder. At its base a few goats were +grouped on the rock, standing out dark against the red sky as I +looked up at them. The stars were beginning to twinkle; the +wind blew cold, charged with the sea's sweetness; the sound of +many waters half bewildered me. Some one began to light the +lamps in the tower. Rich red and golden, they swung round in +mid-air; everything was strange and fascinating and new. We +entered the quaint little old stone cottage that was for six years our +home. How curious it seemed, with its low, whitewashed ceiling, +and deep window-seats, showing the great thickness of the walls +made to withstand the breakers, with whose force we soon grew +acquainted! A blissful home the little house became to the children +who entered it that quiet evening and slept for the first time +lulled by the murmur of the encircling sea. I do not think a +happier triad ever existed than we were, living in that profound +isolation. It takes so little to make a healthy child happy; and +we never wearied of our few resources. True, the winters seemed +as long as a whole year to our little minds, but they were pleasant, +nevertheless. Into the deep window-seats we climbed, and with +pennies (for which we had no other use) made round holes in the +thick frost, breathing on them till they were warm, and peeped out +at the bright, fierce, windy weather, watching the vessels scudding +over the intensely dark blue sea, all feather-white where the +short waves broke hissing in the cold, and the sea-fowl soaring +aloft or tossing on the water; or, in calmer days, we saw how the +stealthy Star-Islander paddled among the ledges, or lay for hours +stretched on the wet sea-weed, watching for wild-fowl with his +gun. Sometimes the round head of a seal moved about among +the kelp covered rocks.</p> + +<p>In the long, covered walk that bridged the gorge between the +lighthouse and the house we played in stormy days, and every +evening it was a fresh excitement to watch the lighting of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +lamps, and think how far the lighthouse sent its rays, and how +many hearts it gladdened with assurance of safety. As I grew +older, I was allowed to kindle the lamps sometimes myself. That +was indeed a pleasure. So little a creature as I might do that much +for the great world! We waited for the spring with an eager +longing; the advent of the growing grass, the birds and flowers +and insect life, the soft skies and softer winds, the everlasting +beauty of the thousand tender tints that clothed the world,—these +things brought us unspeakable bliss. To the heart of Nature +one must needs be drawn in such a life; and very soon I learned +how richly she repays in deep refreshment the reverent love of her +worshipper. With the first warm days we built our little mountains +of wet gravel on the beach, and danced after the sandpipers +at the edge of the foam, shouted to the gossiping kittiwakes that +fluttered above, or watched the pranks of the burgomaster gull, or +cried to the crying loons. The gannet's long white wings stretched +overhead, perhaps, or the dusky shag made a sudden shadow in +mid-air, or we startled on some lonely ledge the great blue heron +that flew off, trailing legs and wings, stork-like, against the clouds. +Or, in the sunshine on the bare rocks, we cut from the broad, +brown leaves of the slippery, varnished kelps, grotesque shapes of +man and bird and beast, that withered in the wind and blew +away; or we fashioned rude boats from bits of driftwood, manned +them with a weird crew of kelpies, and set them adrift on the great +deep, to float we cared not whither.</p> + +<p>We played with the empty limpet-shells; they were mottled +gray and brown, like the song-sparrow's breast. We launched +fleets of purple mussel shells on the still pools in the rocks, left by +the tide,—pools that were like bits of fallen rainbow with the +wealth of the sea, with tints of delicate sea-weed, crimson and +green and ruddy brown and violet; where wandered the pearly +eolis with rosy spines and fairy horns, and the large round sea-urchins, +like a boss upon a shield, were fastened here and there on +the rock at the bottom, putting out from their green, prickly spikes +transparent tentacles to seek their invisible food. Rosy and lilac<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +star-fish clung to the sides; in some dark nook perhaps a holothuria +unfolded its perfect ferns, a lovely, warm buff color, delicate as +frost-work; little forests of coralline moss grew up in stillness, gold-colored +shells crept about, and now and then flashed the silver-darting +fins of slender minnows. The dimmest recesses were +haunts of sea-anemones that opened wide their starry flowers to +the flowing tide, or drew themselves together, and hung in large, +half-transparent drops, like clusters of some strange, amber-colored +fruit, along the crevices as the water ebbed away. Sometimes we +were cruel enough to capture a female lobster hiding in a deep +cleft, with her millions of mottled eggs; or we laughed to see the +hermit-crabs challenge each other, and come out and fight a deadly +battle till the stronger overcame, and, turning the weaker topsy-turvy, +possessed himself of his ampler cockle-shell, and scuttled +off with it triumphant.</p> + +<p>I remember in the spring kneeling on the ground to seek the +first blades of grass that pricked through the soil, and bringing +them into the house to study and wonder over. Better than a +shop full of toys they were to me! Whence came their color? +How did they draw their sweet, refreshing tint from the brown +earth, or the limpid air, or the white light? Chemistry was not +at hand to answer me, and all her wisdom would not have dispelled +the wonder. Later the little scarlet pimpernel charmed me. +It seemed more than a flower; it was like a human thing. I +knew it by its homely name of poor-man's weather-glass. It was +so much wiser than I, for when the sky was yet without a cloud, +softly it clasped its little red petals together, folding its golden +heart in safety from the shower that was sure to come! How +could it know so much? Here is a question science cannot +answer. The pimpernel grows everywhere about the islands, in +every cleft and cranny where a suspicion of sustenance for its +slender root can lodge; and it is one of the most exquisite of +flowers, so rich in color, so quaint and dainty in its method of +growth. I never knew its silent warning fail. I wondered much +how every flower knew what to do and to be: why the morning-glory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +didn't forget sometimes, and bear a cluster of elder-bloom, +or the elder hang out pennons of gold and purple like the iris, or +the golden-rod suddenly blaze out a scarlet plume, the color of the +pimpernel, was a mystery to my childish thought. And why did +the sweet wild primrose wait till after sunset to unclose its pale +yellow buds; why did it unlock its treasure of rich perfume to +the night alone?</p> + +<p>Few flowers bloomed for me upon the lonesome rock; but +I made the most of all I had, and neither knew of nor desired +more. Ah, how beautiful they were! Tiny stars of crimson +sorrel threaded on their long brown stems; the blackberry +blossoms in bridal white; the surprise of the blue-eyed grass; the +crowfoot flowers, like drops of yellow gold spilt about among the +short grass and over the moss; the rich, blue-purple beach-pea, +the sweet, spiked germander, and the homely, delightful yarrow +that grows thickly on all the islands. Sometimes its broad clusters +of dull white bloom are stained a lovely reddish-purple, as if +with the light of sunset. I never saw it colored so elsewhere. +Dandelions, buttercups, and clover were not denied to us; though +we had no daisies nor violets nor wild roses, no asters, but gorgeous +spikes of golden-rod, and wonderful wild morning-glories, whose +long, pale ivory buds I used to find in the twilight, glimmering +among the dark leaves, waiting for the touch of dawn to unfold +and become each an exquisite incarnate blush,—the perfect color +of a South Sea shell. They ran wild, knotting and twisting about +the rocks, and smothering the loose boulders in the gorges with +lush green leaves and pink blossoms.</p> + +<p>Many a summer morning have I crept out of the still house +before any one was awake, and, wrapping myself closely from the +chill wind of dawn, climbed to the top of the high cliff called the +Head to watch the sunrise. Pale grew the lighthouse flame before +the broadening day as, nestled in a crevice at the cliff's edge, I +watched the shadows draw away and morning break. Facing the +east and south, with all the Atlantic before me, what happiness was +mine as the deepening rose-color flushed the delicate cloud-flocks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +that dappled the sky, where the gulls soared, rosy too, while the +calm sea blushed beneath. Or perhaps it was a cloudless sunrise +with a sky of orange-red, and the sea-line silver-blue against it, +peaceful as heaven. Infinite variety of beauty always awaited me, +and filled me with an absorbing, unreasoning joy such as makes the +song-sparrow sing,—a sense of perfect bliss. Coming back in the +sunshine, the morning-glories would lift up their faces, all awake, +to my adoring gaze. It seemed as if they had gathered the peace +of the golden morning in their still depths even as my heart had +gathered it.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Celia Thaxter.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus063.jpg" width="300" height="189" alt="A view of the island." title="A view of the island." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE CRUISE OF THE DOLPHIN.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Every Rivermouth boy looks upon the sea as being in some +way mixed up with his destiny. While he is yet a baby +lying in his cradle, he hears the dull, far-off boom of the breakers; +when he is older, he wanders by the sandy shore, watching the +waves that come plunging up the beach like white-maned sea-horses, +as Thoreau calls them; his eye follows the lessening sail as +it fades into the blue horizon, and he burns for the time when he +shall stand on the quarter-deck of his own ship, and go sailing +proudly across that mysterious waste of waters.</p> + +<p>Then the town itself is full of hints and flavors of the sea. +The gables and roofs of the houses facing eastward are covered +with red rust, like the flukes of old anchors; a salty smell pervades +the air, and dense gray fogs, the very breath of Ocean, periodically +creep up into the quiet streets and envelop everything. +The terrific storms that lash the coast; the kelp and spars, and +sometimes the bodies of drowned men, tossed on shore by the +scornful waves; the shipyards, the wharves, and the tawny fleet +of fishing-smacks yearly fitted out at Rivermouth,—these things, +and a hundred other, feed the imagination and fill the brain of +every healthy boy with dreams of adventure. He learns to swim +almost as soon as he can walk; he draws in with his mother's +milk the art of handling an oar: he is born a sailor, whatever he +may turn out to be afterwards.</p> + +<p>To own the whole or a portion of a row-boat is his earliest ambition. +No wonder that I, born to this life, and coming back to +it with freshest sympathies, should have caught the prevailing +infection. No wonder I longed to buy a part of the trim little +sail-boat Dolphin, which chanced just then to be in the market. +This was in the latter part of May.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>Three shares, at five or six dollars each, I forget which, had +already been taken by Phil Adams, Fred Langdon, and Binny +Wallace. The fourth and remaining share hung fire. Unless a +purchaser could be found for this, the bargain was to fall through.</p> + +<p>I am afraid I required but slight urging to join in the investment. +I had four dollars and fifty cents on hand, and the treasurer +of the Centipedes advanced me the balance, receiving my silver +pencil-case as ample security. It was a proud moment when I stood +on the wharf with my partners, inspecting the Dolphin, moored +at the foot of a very slippery flight of steps. She was painted +white with a green stripe outside, and on the stern a yellow dolphin, +with its scarlet mouth wide open, stared with a surprised expression +at its own reflection in the water. The boat was a great bargain.</p> + +<p>I whirled my cap in the air, and ran to the stairs leading down +from the wharf, when a hand was laid gently on my shoulder. I +turned, and faced Captain Nutter. I never saw such an old sharp-eye +as he was in those days.</p> + +<p>I knew he wouldn't be angry with me for buying a row-boat; +but I also knew that the little bowsprit suggesting a jib, and the +tapering mast ready for its few square yards of canvas, were trifles +not likely to meet his approval. As far as rowing on the river, +among the wharves, was concerned, the Captain had long since +withdrawn his decided objections, having convinced himself, by +going out with me several times, that I could manage a pair of +sculls as well as anybody.</p> + +<p>I was right in my surmises. He commanded me, in the most +emphatic terms, never to go out in the Dolphin without leaving +the mast in the boat-house. This curtailed my anticipated sport, +but the pleasure of having a pull whenever I wanted it remained. +I never disobeyed the Captain's orders touching the sail, though I +sometimes extended my row beyond the points he had indicated.</p> + +<p>The river was dangerous for sail-boats. Squalls, without the +slightest warning, were of frequent occurrence; scarcely a year +passed that six or seven persons were not drowned under the very +windows of the town, and these, oddly enough, were generally sea-captains,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +who either did not understand the river, or lacked the +skill to handle a small craft.</p> + +<p>A knowledge of such disasters, one of which I witnessed, consoled +me somewhat when I saw Phil Adams skimming over the +water in a spanking breeze with every stitch of canvas set. There +were few better yachtsmen than Phil Adams. He usually went +sailing alone, for both Fred Langdon and Binny Wallace were +under the same restrictions I was.</p> + +<p>Not long after the purchase of the boat, we planned an excursion +to Sandpeep Island, the last of the islands in the harbor. We +proposed to start early in the morning, and return with the tide in +the moonlight. Our only difficulty was to obtain a whole day's +exemption from school, the customary half-holiday not being long +enough for our picnic. Somehow, we couldn't work it; but +fortune arranged it for us. I may say here, that, whatever else I +did, I never played truant in my life.</p> + +<p>One afternoon the four owners of the Dolphin exchanged significant +glances when Mr. Grimshaw announced from the desk that +there would be no school the following day, he having just received +intelligence of the death of his uncle in Boston. I was sincerely +attached to Mr. Grimshaw, but I am afraid that the death of his +uncle did not affect me as it ought to have done.</p> + +<p>We were up before sunrise the next morning, in order to take +advantage of the flood tide, which waits for no man. Our preparations +for the cruise were made the previous evening. In the way +of eatables and drinkables, we had stored in the stern of the Dolphin +a generous bag of hardtack (for the chowder), a piece of pork +to fry the cunners in, three gigantic apple-pies (bought at Pettingil's), +half a dozen lemons, and a keg of spring-water,—the last-named +article we slung over the side, to keep it cool, as soon as we +got under way. The crockery and the bricks for our camp-stove +we placed in the bows with the groceries, which included sugar, +pepper, salt, and a bottle of pickles. Phil Adams contributed to +the outfit a small tent of unbleached cotton cloth, under which we +intended to take our nooning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p>We unshipped the mast, threw in an extra oar, and were ready +to embark. I do not believe that Christopher Columbus, when he +started on his rather successful voyage of discovery, felt half the +responsibility and importance that weighed upon me as I sat on +the middle seat of the Dolphin, with my oar resting in the row-lock. +I wonder if Christopher Columbus quietly slipped out +of the house without letting his estimable +family know what he was up to?</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus067.jpg" width="200" height="419" alt="Embarking on the Dolphin." title="Embarking on the Dolphin." /> +</div> + +<p>How calm and lovely the river +was! Not a ripple stirred on the +glassy surface, broken only by the +sharp cutwater of our tiny craft. The +sun, as round and red as an August +moon, was by this time peering above +the water-line.</p> + +<p>The town had drifted behind us, +and we were entering among the +group of islands. Sometimes we +could almost touch with our boat-hook +the shelving banks on either side. As +we neared the mouth of the harbor, +a little breeze now and then +wrinkled the blue water, shook the +spangles from the foliage, and gently +lifted the spiral mist-wreaths that +still clung alongshore. The measured +dip of our oars and the drowsy twitterings of the birds +seemed to mingle with, rather than break, the enchanted silence +that reigned about us.</p> + +<p>The scent of the new clover comes back to me now, as I recall +that delicious morning when we floated away in a fairy boat down +a river like a dream!</p> + +<p>The sun was well up when the nose of the Dolphin nestled +against the snow-white bosom of Sandpeep Island. This island, +as I have said before, was the last of the cluster, one side of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +being washed by the sea. We landed on the river side, the sloping +sands and quiet water affording us a good place to moor the boat.</p> + +<p>It took us an hour or two to transport our stores to the spot +selected for the encampment. Having pitched our tent, using the +five oars to support the canvas, we got out our lines, and went +down the rocks seaward to fish. It was early for cunners, but we +were lucky enough to catch as nice a mess as ever you saw. A +cod for the chowder was not so easily secured. At last Binny +Wallace hauled in a plump little fellow crusted all over with flaky +silver.</p> + +<p>To skin the fish, build our fireplace, and cook the dinner, kept us +busy the next two hours. The fresh air and the exercise had given +us the appetites of wolves, and we were about famished by the +time the savory mixture was ready for our clam-shell saucers.</p> + +<p>I shall not insult the rising generation on the seaboard by telling +them how delectable is a chowder compounded and eaten in this +Robinson Crusoe fashion. As for the boys who live inland, and +know naught of such marine feasts, my heart is full of pity for +them. What wasted lives! Not to know the delights of a clam-bake, +not to love chowder, to be ignorant of lobscouse!</p> + +<p>How happy we were, we four, sitting cross-legged in the crisp +salt grass, with the invigorating sea-breeze blowing gratefully +through our hair! What a joyous thing was life, and how far off +seemed death,—death, that lurks in all pleasant places, and was +so near!</p> + +<p>The banquet finished, Phil Adams drew forth from his pocket a +handful of sweetfern cigars; but as none of the party could indulge +without risk of becoming sick, we all, on one pretext or +another, declined, and Phil smoked by himself.</p> + +<p>The wind had freshened by this, and we found it comfortable to +put on the jackets which had been thrown aside in the heat of the +day. We strolled along the beach and gathered large quantities +of the fairy-woven Iceland moss, which, at certain seasons, is +washed to these shores; then we played at ducks and drakes, and +then, the sun being sufficiently low, we went in bathing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p>Before our bath was ended a slight change had come over the +sky and sea; fleecy-white clouds scudded here and there, and a +muffled moan from the breakers caught our ears from time to time. +While we were dressing, a few hurried drops of rain came lisping +down, and we adjourned to the tent to await the passing of the +squall.</p> + +<p>"We're all right, anyhow," said Phil Adams. "It won't be +much of a blow, and we'll be as snug as a bug in a rug, here in +the tent, particularly if we have that lemonade which some of you +fellows were going to make."</p> + +<p>By an oversight, the lemons had been left in the boat. Binny +Wallace volunteered to go for them.</p> + +<p>"Put an extra stone on the painter, Binny," said Adams, calling +after him; "it would be awkward to have the Dolphin give +us the slip and return to port minus her passengers."</p> + +<p>"That it would," answered Binny, scrambling down the rocks.</p> + +<p>Sandpeep Island is diamond-shaped,—one point running out +into the sea, and the other looking towards the town. Our tent +was on the river side. Though the Dolphin was also on the same +side, it lay out of sight by the beach at the farther extremity of +the island.</p> + +<p>Binny Wallace had been absent five or six minutes, when we +heard him calling our several names in tones that indicated distress +or surprise, we could not tell which. Our first thought was, +"The boat has broken adrift!"</p> + +<p>We sprung to our feet and hastened down to the beach. On +turning the bluff which hid the mooring-place from our view, we +found the conjecture correct. Not only was the Dolphin afloat, +but poor little Binny Wallace was standing in the bows with his +arms stretched helplessly towards us,—<i>drifting out to sea</i>!</p> + +<p>"Head the boat in shore!" shouted Phil Adams.</p> + +<p>Wallace ran to the tiller; but the slight cockle-shell merely +swung round and drifted broadside on. O, if we had but left a +single scull in the Dolphin!</p> + +<p>"Can you swim it?" cried Adams, desperately, using his hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +as a speaking-trumpet, for the distance between the boat and the +island widened momently.</p> + +<p>Binny Wallace looked down at the sea, which was covered with +white caps, and made a despairing gesture. He knew and we +knew, that the stoutest swimmer could not live forty seconds in +those angry waters.</p> + +<p>A wild, insane light came into Phil Adams's eyes, as he stood +knee-deep in boiling surf, and for an instant I think he meditated +plunging into the ocean after the receding boat.</p> + +<p>The sky darkened, and an ugly look stole rapidly over the broken +surface of the sea.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus070.jpg" width="450" height="426" alt="Binny Wallace waves farewell." title="Binny Wallace waves farewell." /> +</div> + +<p>Binny Wallace half rose from his seat in the stern, and waved +his hand to us in token of farewell. In spite of the distance, increasing +every instant, we could see his face plainly. The anxious expression +it wore at first had passed. It was pale and meek now, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +I love to think there was a kind of halo about it, like that which +painters place around the forehead of a saint. So he drifted away.</p> + +<p>The sky grew darker and darker. It was only by straining our +eyes through the unnatural twilight that we could keep the Dolphin +in sight. The figure of Binny Wallace was no longer visible, +for the boat itself had dwindled to a mere white dot on the black +water. Now we lost it, and our hearts stopped throbbing; and +now the speck appeared again, for an instant, on the crest of a +high wave.</p> + +<p>Finally it went out like a spark, and we saw it no more. Then +we gazed at each other, and dared not speak.</p> + +<p>Absorbed in following the course of the boat, we had scarcely +noticed the huddled inky clouds that sagged down all around us. +From these threatening masses, seamed at intervals with pale lightning, +there now burst a heavy peal of thunder that shook the +ground under our feet. A sudden squall struck the sea, ploughing +deep white furrows into it, and at the same instant a single piercing +shriek rose above the tempest,—the frightened cry of a gull +swooping over the island. How it startled us!</p> + +<p>It was impossible to keep our footing on the beach any longer. +The wind and the breakers would have swept us into the ocean if +we had not clung to each other with the desperation of drowning +men. Taking advantage of a momentary lull, we crawled up the +sands on our hands and knees, and, pausing in the lee of the +granite ledge to gain breath, returned to the camp, where we found +that the gale had snapped all the fastenings of the tent but one. +Held by this, the puffed-out canvas swayed in the wind like a balloon. +It was a task of some difficulty to secure it, which we did +by beating down the canvas with the oars.</p> + +<p>After several trials, we succeeded in setting up the tent on the +leeward side of the ledge. Blinded by the vivid flashes of lightning, +and drenched by the rain, which fell in torrents, we crept, +half dead with fear and anguish, under our flimsy shelter. Neither +the anguish nor the fear was on our own account, for we were +comparatively safe, but for poor little Binny Wallace, driven out to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +sea in the merciless gale. We shuddered to think of him in that +frail shell, drifting on and on to his grave, the sky rent with +lightning over his head, and the green abysses yawning beneath +him. We fell to crying, the three of us, and cried I know not +how long.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the storm raged with augmented fury. We were +obliged to hold on to the ropes of the tent to prevent it blowing +away. The spray from the river leaped several yards up the rocks +and clutched at us malignantly. The very island trembled with +the concussions of the sea beating upon it, and at times I fancied +that it had broken loose from its foundation, and was floating off +with us. The breakers, streaked with angry phosphorus, were +fearful to look at.</p> + +<p>The wind rose higher and higher, cutting long slits in the tent, +through which the rain poured incessantly. To complete the sum +of our miseries, the night was at hand. It came down suddenly, at +last, like a curtain, shutting in Sandpeep Island from all the world.</p> + +<p>It was a dirty night, as the sailors say. The darkness was +something that could be felt as well as seen,—it pressed down +upon one with a cold, clammy touch. Gazing into the hollow +blackness, all sorts of imaginable shapes seemed to start forth from +vacancy,—brilliant colors, stars, prisms, and dancing lights. +What boy, lying awake at night, has not amused or terrified himself +by peopling the spaces round his bed with these phenomena +of his own eyes?</p> + +<p>"I say," whispered Fred Langdon, at length, clutching my +hand, "don't you see things—out there—in the dark?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes,—Binny Wallace's face!"</p> + +<p>I added to my own nervousness by making this avowal; though +for the last ten minutes I had seen little besides that star-pale face +with its angelic hair and brows. First a slim yellow circle, like +the nimbus round the moon, took shape and grew sharp against the +darkness; then this faded gradually, and there was the Face, wearing +the same sad, sweet look it wore when he waved his hand to us +across the awful water. This optical illusion kept repeating itself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And I, too," said Adams. "I see it every now and then, outside +there. What wouldn't I give if it really was poor little +Wallace looking in at us! O boys, how shall we dare to go back +to the town without him? I've wished a hundred times, since +we've been sitting here, that I was in his place, alive or dead!"</p> + +<p>We dreaded the approach of morning as much as we longed for +it. The morning would tell us all. Was it possible for the Dolphin +to outride such a storm? There was a lighthouse on Mackerel +Reef, which lay directly in the course the boat had taken, +when it disappeared. If the Dolphin had caught on this reef, +perhaps Binny Wallace was safe. Perhaps his cries had been +heard by the keeper of the light. The man owned a life-boat, and +had rescued several people. Who could tell?</p> + +<p>Such were the questions we asked ourselves again and again, as +we lay in each other's arms waiting for daybreak. What an endless +night it was! I have known months that did not seem so long.</p> + +<p>Our position was irksome rather than perilous; for the day was +certain to bring us relief from the town, where our prolonged absence, +together with the storm, had no doubt excited the liveliest +alarm for our safety. But the cold, the darkness, and the suspense +were hard to bear.</p> + +<p>Our soaked jackets had chilled us to the bone. To keep warm, +we lay huddled together so closely that we could hear our hearts +beat above the tumult of sea and sky.</p> + +<p>We used to laugh at Fred Langdon for always carrying in his +pocket a small vial of essence of peppermint or sassafras, a few +drops of which, sprinkled on a lump of loaf-sugar, he seemed to +consider a great luxury. I don't know what would have become +of us at this crisis, if it hadn't been for that omnipresent bottle +of hot stuff. We poured the stinging liquid over our sugar, +which had kept dry in a sardine-box, and warmed ourselves with +frequent doses.</p> + +<p>After four or five hours the rain ceased, the wind died away to +a moan, and the sea—no longer raging like a maniac—sobbed +and sobbed with a piteous human voice all along the coast. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +well it might, after that night's work. Twelve sail of the Gloucester +fishing fleet had gone down with every soul on board, just outside +of Whale's-back Light. Think of the wide grief that follows +in the wake of one wreck; then think of the despairing women +who wrung their hands and wept, the next morning, in the streets +of Gloucester, Marblehead, and Newcastle!</p> + +<p>Though our strength was nearly spent, we were too cold to +sleep. Fred Langdon was the earliest to discover a filmy, luminous +streak in the sky, the first glimmering of sunrise.</p> + +<p>"Look, it is nearly daybreak!"</p> + +<p>While we were following the direction of his finger, a sound +of distant oars fell on our ears.</p> + +<p>We listened breathlessly, and as the dip of the blades became +more audible, we discerned two foggy lights, like will-o'-the-wisps, +floating on the river.</p> + +<p>Running down to the water's edge, we hailed the boats with all +our might. The call was heard, for the oars rested a moment in +the row-locks, and then pulled in towards the island.</p> + +<p>It was two boats from the town, in the foremost of which we +could now make out the figures of Captain Nutter and Binny +Wallace's father. We shrunk back on seeing <i>him</i>.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" cried Mr. Wallace, fervently, as he leaped from +the wherry without waiting for the bow to touch the beach.</p> + +<p>But when he saw only three boys standing on the sands, his eye +wandered restlessly about in quest of the fourth; then a deadly +pallor overspread his features.</p> + +<p>Our story was soon told. A solemn silence fell upon the crowd +of rough boatmen gathered round, interrupted only by a stifled +sob from one poor old man, who stood apart from the rest.</p> + +<p>The sea was still running too high for any small boat to venture +out; so it was arranged that the wherry should take us back to +town, leaving the yawl, with a picked crew, to hug the island until +daybreak, and then set forth in search of the Dolphin.</p> + +<p>Though it was barely sunrise when we reached town, there were +a great many people assembled at the landing, eager for intelligence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +from missing boats. Two picnic parties had started down +river the day before, just previous to the gale, and nothing had +been heard of them. It turned out that the pleasure-seekers saw +their danger in time, and ran ashore on one of the least exposed +islands, where they passed the night. Shortly after our own +arrival they appeared off Rivermouth, much to the joy of their +friends, in two shattered, dismasted boats.</p> + +<p>The excitement over, I was in a forlorn state, physically and +mentally. Captain Nutter put me to bed between hot blankets, +and sent Kitty Collins for the doctor. I was wandering in my +mind, and fancied myself still on Sandpeep Island: now I gave +orders to Wallace how to manage the boat, and now I cried because +the rain was pouring in on me through the holes in the tent. +Towards evening a high fever set in, and it was many days before +my grandfather deemed it prudent to tell me that the Dolphin had +been found, floating keel upwards, four miles southeast of Mackerel +Reef.</p> + +<p>Poor little Binny Wallace! How strange it seemed, when I +went to school again, to see that empty seat in the fifth row! +How gloomy the play-ground was, lacking the sunshine of his +gentle, sensitive face! One day a folded sheet slipped from my +algebra; it was the last note he ever wrote me. I couldn't read +it for the tears.</p> + +<p>What a pang shot across my heart the afternoon it was whispered +through the town that a body had been washed ashore at +Grave Point,—the place where we bathed. We bathed there no +more! How well I remember the funeral, and what a piteous +sight it was afterwards to see his familiar name on a small headstone +in the Old South Burying-Ground!</p> + +<p>Poor little Binny Wallace! Always the same to me. The rest +of us have grown up into hard, worldly men, fighting the fight of +life; but you are forever young, and gentle, and pure; a part of +my own childhood that time cannot wither; always a little boy, +always poor little Binny Wallace!</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>T. B. Aldrich.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">A YOUNG MAHOMETAN.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">The bedrooms in the old house had tapestry hangings, which +were full of Bible history. The subject of the one which +chiefly attracted my attention was Hagar and her son Ishmael. I +every day admired the beauty of the youth, and pitied the forlorn +state of his mother and himself in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>At the end of the gallery into which these tapestry rooms opened +was one door, which, having often in vain attempted to open, I concluded +to be locked. Every day I endeavored to turn the lock. +Whether by constantly trying I loosened it, or whether the door +was not locked, but only fastened tight by time, I know not; but, +to my great joy, as I was one day trying it as usual, it gave way, +and I found myself in this so long-desired room.</p> + +<p>It proved to be a very large library. If you never spent whole +mornings alone in a large library, you cannot conceive the pleasure +of taking down books in the constant hope of finding an entertaining +one among them; yet, after many days, meeting with nothing +but disappointment, it becomes less pleasant. All the books within +my reach were folios of the gravest cast. I could understand +very little that I read in them, and the old dark print and the +length of the lines made my eyes ache.</p> + +<p>When I had almost resolved to give up the search as fruitless, +I perceived a volume lying in an obscure corner of the room. I +opened it. It was a charming print; the letters were almost as +large as the type of the family Bible. Upon the first page I +looked into I saw the name of my favorite Ishmael, whose face +I knew so well from the tapestry in the antique bedrooms, and +whose history I had often read in the Bible.</p> + +<p>I sat myself down to read this book with the greatest eagerness. +I shall be quite ashamed to tell you the strange effect it had on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +me. I scarcely ever heard a word addressed to me from morning +till night. If it were not for the old servants saying, "Good +morning to you, Miss Margaret," as they passed me in the long +passages, I should have been the greater part of the day in as perfect +a solitude as Robinson Crusoe.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus077.jpg" width="500" height="412" alt="Miss Margaret reading in the library." title="Miss Margaret reading in the library." /> +</div> + +<p>Many of the leaves in "Mahometanism Explained" were torn +out, but enough remained to make me imagine that Ishmael was +the true son of Abraham. I read here, that the true descendants +of Abraham were known by a light which streamed from the +middle of their foreheads, and that Ishmael's father and mother +first saw this light streaming from his forehead as he was lying +asleep in the cradle.</p> + +<p>I was very sorry so many of the leaves were gone, for it was as +entertaining as a fairy tale. I used to read the history of Ishmael, +and then go and look at him in the tapestry, and then return to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +history again. When I had almost learned the history of Ishmael +by heart, I read the rest of the book, and then I came to the history +of Mahomet, who was there said to be the last descendant of +Abraham.</p> + +<p>If Ishmael had engaged so much of my thoughts, how much +more so must Mahomet! His history was full of nothing but +wonders from the beginning to the end. The book said that those +who believed all the wonderful stories which were related of Mahomet +were called Mahometans, and True Believers; I concluded +that I must be a Mahometan, for I believed every word I read.</p> + +<p>At length I met with something which I also believed, though I +trembled as I read it; this was that, after we are dead, we are to +pass over a narrow bridge, which crosses a bottomless gulf. The +bridge was described to be no wider than a silken thread; and all +who were not Mahometans would slip on one side of this bridge, and +drop into the tremendous gulf that had no bottom. I considered +myself as a Mahometan, yet I was perfectly giddy whenever I +thought of passing over this bridge.</p> + +<p>One day, seeing the old lady who lived here totter across the +room, a sudden terror seized me, for I thought how she would ever +be able to get over the bridge. Then, too, it was that I first +recollected that my mother would also be in imminent danger. I +imagined she had never heard the name of Mahomet, because, as +I foolishly conjectured, this book had been locked up for ages in +the library, and was utterly unknown to the rest of the world.</p> + +<p>All my desire was now to tell them the discovery I had made; +for I thought, when they knew of the existence of "Mahometanism +Explained," they would read it, and become Mahometans to insure +themselves a safe passage over the silken bridge. But it +wanted more courage than I possessed to break the matter to my +intended converts. I must acknowledge that I had been reading +without leave; and the habit of never speaking, or being spoken +to, considerably increased the difficulty.</p> + +<p>My anxiety on this subject threw me into a fever. I was so ill +that my mother thought it necessary to sleep in the same room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +with me. In the middle of the night I could not resist the +strong desire I felt to tell her what preyed so much on my mind. +I awoke her out of a sound sleep, and begged she would be so +kind as to be a Mahometan. She was very much alarmed;—she +thought I was delirious, and I believe I was; for I tried to +explain the reason of my request, but it was in such an incoherent +manner that she could not at all comprehend what I was talking +about.</p> + +<p>The next day a physician was sent for, and he discovered, by +several questions that he put to me, that I had read myself into a +fever. He gave me medicines, and ordered me to be kept very +quiet, and said he hoped in a few days I should be very well; +but as it was a new case to him, he never having attended a little +Mahometan before, if any lowness continued after he had removed +the fever, he would, with my mother's permission, take me home +with him to study this extraordinary case at leisure. He added, +that he could then hold a consultation with his wife, who was +often very useful to him in prescribing remedies for the maladies +of his younger patients.</p> + +<p>In a few days he fetched me away. His wife was in the carriage +with him. Having heard what he said about her prescriptions, +I expected, between the doctor and his lady, to undergo a +severe course of medicine, especially as I heard him very formally +ask her advice as to what was good for a Mahometan fever, the +moment after he had handed me into his carriage.</p> + +<p>She studied a little while, and then she said, a ride to Harlow +Fair would not be amiss. He said he was entirely of her opinion, +because it suited him to go there to buy a horse.</p> + +<p>During the ride they entered into conversation with me, and in +answer to their questions, I was relating to them the solitary +manner in which I had passed my time, how I found out the +library, and what I had read in that fatal book which had so +heated my imagination,—when we arrived at the fair; and Ishmael, +Mahomet, and the narrow bridge vanished out of my head in an +instant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>Before I went home the good lady explained to me very seriously +the error into which I had fallen. I found that, so far from +"Mahometanism Explained" being a book concealed only in this +library, it was well known to every person of the least information.</p> + +<p>The Turks, she told me, were Mahometans. And she said that, if +the leaves of my favorite book had not been torn out, I should have +read that the author of it did not mean to give the fabulous +stories here related as true, but only wrote it as giving a history +of what the Turks, who are a very ignorant people, believe concerning +Mahomet.</p> + +<p>By the good offices of the physician and his lady, I was carried +home, at the end of a month, perfectly cured of the error into +which I had fallen, and very much ashamed of having believed so +many absurdities.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Mary Lamb.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> +<img src="images/illus080.jpg" width="275" height="272" alt="A view of the old house." title="A view of the old house." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE LITTLE PERSIAN.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Among the Persians there is a sect called the Sooffees, and +one of the most distinguished saints of this sect was Abdool +Kauder.</p> + +<p>It is related that, in early childhood, he was smitten with the desire +of devoting himself to sacred things, and wished to go to Bagdad +to obtain knowledge. His mother gave her consent; and taking +out eighty deenars (a denomination of money used in Persia), she +told him that, as he had a brother, half of that would be all his +inheritance.</p> + +<p>She made him promise, solemnly, never to tell a lie, and then +bade him farewell, exclaiming, "Go, my son; I give thee to God. +We shall not meet again till the day of judgment!"</p> + +<p>He went on till he came near to Hamadan, when the company +with which he was travelling was plundered by sixty horsemen. +One of the robbers asked him what he had got. "Forty deenars," +said Abdool Kauder, "are sewed under my garment." The fellow +laughed, thinking that he was joking him. "What have you got?" +said another. He gave the same answer.</p> + +<p>When they were dividing the spoil, he was called to an eminence +where their chief stood. "What property have you, my +little fellow?" said he. "I have told two of your people already," +replied the boy. "I have forty deenars sewed up carefully in my +clothes." The chief desired them to be ripped open, and found the +money.</p> + +<p>"And how came you," said he, with surprise, "to declare so +openly what has been so carefully hidden?"</p> + +<p>"Because," Abdool Kauder replied, "I will not be false to my +mother, whom I have promised that I will never conceal the +truth."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Child!" said the robber, "hast thou such a sense of duty to +thy mother, at thy years, and am I insensible, at my age, of the +duty I owe to my God? Give me thy hand, innocent boy," he +continued, "that I may swear repentance upon it." He did so; +and his followers were all alike struck with the scene.</p> + +<p>"You have been our leader in guilt," said they to their chief, +"be the same in the path of virtue!" and they instantly, at his +order, made restitution of the spoil, and vowed repentance on the +hand of the boy.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Juvenile Miscellany.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus082.jpg" width="500" height="242" alt="Encounter with the sixty horsemen." title="Encounter with the sixty horsemen." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE BOYS' HEAVEN.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Harry and Frank had a hearty cry when an ill-natured +neighbor poisoned their dog. They dug a grave for their +favorite, but were unwilling to put him in it and cover him up +with earth.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus083.jpg" width="500" height="399" alt="Jip the dog." title="Jip the dog." /> +</div> + +<p>"I wish there was one of the Chinese petrifying streams near +our house," said Frank. "We could lay Jip down in it; and, +after a while, he would become a stone image, which we would +always keep for a likeness of him."</p> + +<p>Harry, who had been reading about the ancient Egyptians, remarked +that it was a great pity the art of embalming was lost.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Frank declared that a mummy was a hideous thing, and +that he would rather have the dead dog out of his sight forever, +than to make a mummy of him.</p> + +<p>"It seems very hard never to see him again," said Harry, with +a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"But perhaps Jip has gone to some dog-heaven; and when we +go to the boys' heaven, we may happen to see our old pet on the +way."</p> + +<p>"If he should get sight of us he would follow us," said Frank. +"He always liked us better than dogs. O yes, he would follow +us to the boys' heaven, of that you may be sure; and I don't +think boys would exactly like a heaven without any dogs. Mother, +what kind of a place <i>is</i> a boys' heaven?"</p> + +<p>His mother, who had just entered the room, knew nothing of +what they had been talking about; and, the question being asked +suddenly, she hardly knew what to answer.</p> + +<p>She smiled, and said, "How can I tell, Frank! You know I +never was there."</p> + +<p>"That makes no difference," said he. "Folks tell about a great +many things they never saw. Nobody ever goes to heaven till +they die; but you often read to us about heaven and the angels. +Perhaps some people, who died and went there, told others about +it in their dreams."</p> + +<p>"I cannot answer such questions, dear Harry," replied his +mother. "I only know that God is very wise and good, and that +he wills we should wait patiently and humbly till our souls grow +old enough to understand such great mysteries. Just as it is +necessary that you should wait to be much older before you can +calculate when the moon will be eclipsed, or when certain stars +will go away from our portion of the sky, and when they will +come back again. Learned men know when the earth, in its +travels through the air, will cast its long dark shadow over the +brightness of the moon. They can foretell exactly the hour and +the minute when a star will go down below the line which we +call the horizon, where the earth and the sky seem to meet; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +they know precisely when it will come up again. But if they +tried ever so hard, they could never make little boys understand +about the rising and the setting of the stars. The wisest of men +are very small boys, compared with the angels; therefore the +angels know perfectly well many things which they cannot +possibly explain to a man till his soul grows and becomes an +angel."</p> + +<p>"I understand that," said Harry. "For I can read any book; +but though Jip was a very bright dog, it was no manner of use to +try to teach him the letters. He only winked and gaped when I +told him that was A. You see, mother, I was the same as an +angel to Jip."</p> + +<p>His mother smiled to see how quickly he had caught her meaning.</p> + +<p>After some more talk with them, she said, "You have both +heard of Martin Luther, a great and good man who lived in Germany +a long time ago. He was very loving to children; and +once, when he was away from home, he wrote a letter to his little +son. It was dated 1530; so you see it is more than three hundred +years old. In those days they had not begun to print any books +for children; therefore, I dare say, the boy was doubly delighted +to have something in writing that his friends could read to him. +You asked me, a few minutes ago, what sort of a place the boys' +heaven is. In answer to your question, I will read what Martin +Luther wrote to his son Hansigen, which in English means Little +John. Any boy might be happy to receive such a letter. Listen +to it now, and see if you don't think so.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>To my little son, Hansigen Luther, grace and peace in Christ.</i></p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My heart-dear little Son</span>: I hear that you learn well and pray +diligently. Continue to do so, my son. When I come home I will bring +you a fine present from the fair. I know of a lovely garden, full of +joyful children, who wear little golden coats, and pick up beautiful +apples, and pears, and cherries, and plums under the trees. They +sing, and jump, and make merry. They have also beautiful little +horses with golden saddles and silver bridles. I asked the man that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +kept the garden who the children were. And he said to me, 'The +children are those who love to learn, and to pray, and to be good.' +Then said I, 'Dear sir, I have a little son, named Hansigen Luther. +May he come into this garden, and have the same beautiful apples and +pears to eat, and wonderful little horses to ride upon, and may he play +about with these children?' Then said he, 'If he is willing to learn, +and to pray, and to be good, he shall come into this garden; and Lippus +and Justus too. If they all come together, they shall have pipes, +and little drums, and lutes, and music of stringed instruments. And +they shall dance, and shoot with little crossbows.' Then he showed +me a fine meadow in the garden, all laid out for dancing. There hung +golden pipes and kettle-drums and line silver crossbows; but it was too +early to see the dancing, for the children had not had their dinner. I +said, 'Ah, dear sir, I will instantly go and write to my little son Hansigen, +so that he may study, and pray, and be good, and thus come into +this garden. And he has a little cousin Lena, whom he must also bring +with him.' Then he said to me, 'So shall it be. Go home, and write +to him.'</p> + +<p>"Therefore, dear little son Hansigen, be diligent to learn and to pray; +and tell Lippus and Justus to do so too, that you may all meet together +in that beautiful garden. Give cousin Lena a kiss from me. Herewith I +recommend you all to the care of Almighty God."</p></div> + +<p>The brothers both listened very attentively while that old letter +was read; and when their mother had finished it, Frank exclaimed, +"That must be a very beautiful place!"</p> + +<p>Harry looked thoughtfully in the fire, and at last said, "I +wonder who told all that to Martin Luther! Do you suppose an +angel showed him that garden, when he was asleep?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Frank. "But if there were small +horses there with golden saddles for the boys, why shouldn't Jip +be there, too, with a golden collar and bells?"</p> + +<p>"Now, wouldn't that be grand!" exclaimed Harry. And +away they both ran to plant flowers on Jip's grave.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>L. Maria Child.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">BESSIE'S GARDEN</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 439px;"> +<img src="images/illus087.jpg" width="439" height="500" alt="Bessie in her garden." title="Bessie in her garden." /> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">Above all things, Bessie loved flowers, but wild flowers most. +It seemed so wonderful to her that these frail things could +find their way up out of the dark ground, and unfold their lovely +blossoms, and all their little pointed leaves, without any one to +teach or help them.</p> + +<p>Who watched over the dear little wild flowers, all alone in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +field, and on the hillside, and down by the brook? Ah, Bessie +knew that her Heavenly Father watched over them; and she loved +to think he was smiling down upon her at the same time that his +strong, gentle hand took care of the flowers and of her at once. +And she was not wrong, for Bessie was a kind of flower, you +know.</p> + +<p>One day the little girl thought how nice it would be to have a +<i>wild</i> garden; to plant ever so many flowering things in one place, +and let them run together in their pretty way, until the bright-eyed +blossoms should gaze out from the whole tangled mass of beautiful +green leaves.</p> + +<p>So into the house she ran to find Aunt Annie, and ask her +leave to wander over on a shady hillside where wild flowers grew +thickest.</p> + +<p>Yes, indeed, she might go, Aunt Annie said; but what had she +to carry her roots and earth in while making the garden?</p> + +<p>O, Bessie said, she could take a shingle, or her apron.</p> + +<p>Aunt Annie laughed, and thought a basket would do better; +they must find one. So they looked in the closets and attics, +everywhere; but some of the baskets were full, and some were +broken, and some had been gnawed by mice; not one could they +find that was fit for Bessie's purpose.</p> + +<p>Then dear Aunt Annie poured out the spools and bags from a +nice large work-basket, and told Bessie she might have that for +her own, to fill with earth or flowers, or anything she chose.</p> + +<p>Pleased enough with her present, our young gardener went +dancing along through the garden,—Aunt Annie watched her +from the balcony,—dancing along,—and crept through a gap in +the hedge, and out into the field, that was starred all over with +dandelions, and down the hollow by the brook, and up on the hillside, +out of sight among the shady trees.</p> + +<p>And how she worked that afternoon,—singing all the while to +herself as she worked! How she heaped together the rich, dark +mould, and evened it over with her little hands! How she dug +up roots of violets, and grass, and spring-beauty, and Dutchmen's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +breeches, travelling back and forth, back and forth, never tired, +never ceasing her song.</p> + +<p>The squirrels ran up out of their holes to look at Bessie; the +birds alighted over her head and sang.</p> + +<p>While Bessie was bending over her garden so earnestly, thump! +came something all at once, something so cold and heavy! How +quickly she jumped upon her feet, upsetting her basket, and making +it roll down the hill, violet-roots and all!</p> + +<p>And then how she laughed when she saw a big brown toad that +had planted himself in the very centre of her garden, and stood +there winking his silly eyes, and saying, "No offence, I hope!"</p> + +<p>The squirrel chattered as if he were laughing too; the bird +sang, "Never mind, Bessie, never mind; pick up your violets, +and don't hurt the poor old toad!"</p> + +<p>"O no; it's God's toad; I shouldn't dare to hurt him," said +Bessie.</p> + +<p>Just at that moment she heard a bell ringing loudly from her +father's house. She knew it was calling her home; but how +could she leave her basket! She must look for that first; the +hillside was steep and tangled with +bushes, yet she must make her way +down and search for +the lost treasure.</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/illus089a.jpg" width="209" height="50" alt="Hillside tangled with bushes." title="Hillside tangled with bushes." class="splitrt" /> +<img src="images/illus089b.jpg" width="321" height="57" alt="Hillside tangled with bushes." title="Hillside tangled with bushes." class="splitrm" /> +<img src="images/illus089c.jpg" width="500" height="210" alt="Hillside tangled with bushes." title="Hillside tangled with bushes." class="splitrb" /> +</p> + +<p>"Waiting, waiting, waiting!" suddenly sang the bird, from out +of sight among the boughs; "waiting, Bessie," sang the bird.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"True enough," said Bessie; "perhaps I'm making my mother +or dear Aunt Annie wait,—and they are so good! I'd better let +the basket wait; take care of it, birdie!—and none of your +trampling down my flowers, Mr. Toad!" And she climbed back +again from bush to bush, and skipped along among the trunks of +the great tall trees, and out by the brook through the meadow, +hedge, garden,—up the steps, calling, "Mother, mother! Aunt +Annie! who wants me?"</p> + +<p>"I, dear," said her mother's voice; "I am going away for a +long visit, and if you had not come at once, I couldn't have bidden +my little girl good by." So Bessie's mother kissed her, and +told her to obey her kind aunt, and then asked what she would +like brought home for a present.</p> + +<p>"O, bring yourself, dear mother; come home all well and +bright," said Bessie, "and I won't ask any more." For Bessie's +mother had long been sick, and was going now for her health.</p> + +<p>Her mother smiled and kissed her. "Yes, I will bring that if +I can, but there must be something else; how would you like a +set of tools for this famous garden?"</p> + +<p>Bessie's eyes shone with joy. "What! a whole set,—rake, +and hoe, and trowel, such as the gardener uses?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly, only they'll be small enough for your little hands; and +there'll be a shovel besides, and a wheelbarrow, and a water-pot."</p> + +<p>So Bessie did not cry when her mother went away, though she +loved her as well as any one possibly could. She thought of all +the bright things, of the pleasant journey and the better health; +and then,—then of her pretty set of tools, and the handsome +garden they would make!</p> + +<p>It was too late to go back to the hill that evening; and on the +morrow Bessie awoke to find it raining fast. She went into her +Aunt Annie's room with such a mournful face. "O aunty, this +old rain!"</p> + +<p>"This new, fresh, beautiful rain, Bessie; what are you thinking +about? How it will make our flowers grow! and what a good +time we can have together in the house!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know it, Aunt Annie, but you'll think me so careless!"</p> + +<p>"To let it rain!"</p> + +<p>"No,—don't laugh, aunty,—to leave your nice basket out-of-doors +all night, and now to be soaked and spoiled in this—this—beautiful +rain." Bessie's countenance did not look as though the +beautiful rain made her very happy.</p> + +<p>And good Aunt Annie, seeing how much she was troubled, only +said, "You must be more careful, dear, another time; come and +tell me all about it. Perhaps my Bessie has some good excuse; I +can see it now in her eyes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, I have," said Bessie, wiping away her tears. +And the little girl crept close to her aunty's side, and told her +of her beautiful time the day before, and of the bird, and +squirrel, and toad; and how the basket rolled away down hill +in the steepest place, and then how the bell rang, and she couldn't +wait to find it.</p> + +<p>"And you did exactly right, dear," said Aunt Annie. "If you +had lingered, your mother would have had to wait a whole day, or +else go without seeing you. When I write, I shall tell her how +obedient you were, and I know it will please her more than anything +else I shall have to say."</p> + +<p>Dear Aunt Annie, she had always a word of excuse and of +comfort for every one! Bessie was too small to think much about +it then. She only pressed her little cheek lovingly against her +aunty's hand, and resolved that, when she grew up to a young +lady, she would be just as kind and ready to forget herself as +Aunt Annie was.</p> + +<p>Ah, it was not Bessie's lot to grow up to a woman in this world! +Before the ground was dry enough for her to venture out in search +of her basket, she was seized with a fever, and in a few days shut +up her sweet eyes, as the flowers shut their leaves together, and +never opened them again.</p> + +<p>Then the summer passed, and the grass grew green and faded, +and snow-flakes began to fall on a little grave; and Aunt Annie +quietly laid aside the set of garden tools that had come too late<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +for Bessie's use, and only made her mother feel sad and lonely +when she looked upon them now. And all this time, what had +become of the basket?</p> + +<p>As it fell from Bessie's hands that bright spring afternoon, it +had lodged in a grassy hollow, that was all wound about, like a +nest, with roots of the tall birch and maple trees; close among the +roots grew patches of the lovely scented May-flower; and all the +rest was long fine grass, with a tiny leaf or a violet growing here +and there.</p> + +<p>The roots in the basket dried away, and died for want of +water; but the earth that Bessie had dug with them was full of +little seeds, which had been hiding in the dark for years, awaiting +their chance to grow.</p> + +<p>Broader and darker grew the leaves on the shady boughs above, +higher and higher grew the grass, and all but hid Bessie's basket. +"Coming, coming, coming!" the bird sang in the boughs; but +Bessie never came.</p> + +<p>So the summer passed; and when autumn shook the broad +leaves from the trees, and some went whirling down the hill, and +some sailed away in the brook, some lodged in Bessie's basket; a +few to-day, and a few the next day, till the snow came, and it was +almost full to the brim.</p> + +<p>Sometimes there would come a hoar-frost, and then it was full +of sparkling flowers so airy that the first sunbeam melted them, +but none the less lovely for that; and they melted, and went down +among the leaves, and seed, and sand, and violet-roots.</p> + +<p>In spring the May-flowers perfumed the hollow with their sweet, +fresh breath; but no one gathered them. The leaves and the +grass nestled close to Bessie's basket, as if they remembered her; +and drops of rain dripped into it from the budding boughs, and +sparkled as they dropped, though they were full of tiny grains of +dust and seed; and thus another summer passed, and no one knew +what had become of Bessie's basket.</p> + +<p>The bird sang, "Coming, coming!" but she never came.</p> + +<p>So the third spring came round; and Aunt Annie was putting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +her closet in order one day, rolling up pieces, and clearing boxes, +and smoothing drawers, when she came upon a little bundle. It +was the bags, and work, and spools of thread—all old and yellow +now—which she had poured out that morning in spring, in order +to give the basket to her little niece.</p> + +<p>"Dear child!" said Aunt Annie, "why have I never looked +for the lost basket? The poor little garden must be swept away, +but it would be pleasant to go where her sweet footsteps trod on +that happy afternoon."</p> + +<p>So she went, all by herself, in the same direction which she had +watched Bessie take; and it seemed as if the little one were skipping +before her through the garden, the gate,—the gap in the +hedge was not large enough for Aunt Annie,—across the meadow +that shone again with starry dandelions, along by the brook, and +up the hill, till she was lost from sight among the trees.</p> + +<p>How sweet and fresh it was in the lonely wood, with the +birds, and the young leaves, and starry wild flowers, and patches +of pretty moss! Did Bessie wait here and rest? Did she climb +this rock for columbines? Did she creep to the edge of this bank, +and look over?</p> + +<p>So Aunt Annie seated herself to rest among the moss and roots +and leaves; she picked columbines, climbing by help of the slender +birch-trees; she went to the edge of the bank, and looked down +past all the trees, and stones, and flowers, to the little brook +below. And what do you think she saw?</p> + +<p>What do you think made the tears come in Aunt Annie's eyes +so quickly, though she seemed so glad they must have been tears +of joy?</p> + +<p>After a while Aunt Annie turned to go home. Why did she +put the boughs aside so gently, and step so carefully over the soft +moss, as if she feared making any sound. Can you think?</p> + +<p>She found Bessie's mother seated at work with a sad face, and +her back turned towards the window.</p> + +<p>"O," said Aunt Annie, "how dark the room is, with all these +heavy curtains! and how still and lonesome it seems here! You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +must come this moment and take a walk with me out in the sunshine; +it will do you good."</p> + +<p>Bessie's mother shook her head. "I don't care for sunshine to-day; +I would rather be lonely."</p> + +<p>Then Aunt Annie knelt by her sister, and looked up with those +sweet eyes none could ever refuse. "Not care for sun, because our +dear little Bessie has gone to be an angel! O, you must see the +field all over buttercups and dandelions, like a sky turned upside +down,—it would have pleased her so! and you must see the brook +and woods; and then I have such a surprise for you, you'll never +be sorry for laying aside your work."</p> + +<p>"Is it anything about Bessie?" the mother asked, as they went +down the steps, out into the bright, beautiful sunshine.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes! Everything makes you think of her to-day; I can +almost see her little footsteps in the grass. A bird somewhere in +the wood sung her very name,—and so sweetly, as if he loved +her,—'Bessie, Bessie, Bessie,' as if he were thinking of her all +the while!"</p> + +<p>They reached the wood soon, for Aunt Annie seemed in haste, +and hurried Bessie's mother on; though she had grown so happy +all at once, that she wanted to wait and look at everything,—the +little leaves in the ground, and the grass-blades, and clover, and +bees even, seemed to please her.</p> + +<p>When you find people sad, there is nothing in all the world so +good as to take them out in the sun of a summer day. You must +remember this; it is better than most of the Latin prescriptions +doctors write.</p> + +<p>When they were fairly within the wood, at the brow of the steep +bank, Aunt Annie parted the branches with both her hands, and +said, "You must follow me down a little way; come."</p> + +<p>O, as Aunt Annie looked back, it seemed as if she had brought +all the sunshine in her dear face! "Don't think of being afraid," +she said; "why, Bessie came down here once! I have found her +basket, I've found her beautiful garden!"</p> + +<p>Yes, that was the secret! You remember the spot into which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +Bessie's basket fell; all intertwined like a bird's-nest with roots +of the great tall trees; all green and soft with the fine grass that +grows in the woods. Here it had lain ever since. Here it was.—</p> + +<p>But you cannot think how changed! The violet-roots, the +leaves, dust, rain, frost, seed,—you remember how they filled it, +and withered to leave room for more, day by day, week by week.</p> + +<p>Now these had mingled together, and made rich earth; and the +seeds had grown, the tiny seeds, and were dear little plants and +flowers, that hung about the edge, and crept through the open-work +sides, with their delicate green leaves, and tendrils, and starry +blossoms!</p> + +<p>Violet, chickweed, anemone, spring-beauty, and dicentra, that +children call "Dutchman's breeches," with its pearly, drooping +flowers,—these had tangled into one lovely mass of leaves and +blossoms, just such as would have made our Bessie sing for joy.</p> + +<p>Yet you have not heard the best; Aunt Annie's footsteps on the +moss would not have disturbed these. Right in the midst of the +flowers in Bessie's basket a little gray ground-sparrow had built +her nest of hair and moss, and there she was hatching her eggs! +As they drew nearer, the little bird looked up at the ladies with +his bright brown eye, and seemed to say, "Don't hurt me; don't, +for Bessie's sake!"</p> + +<p>No, they would not hurt Bessie's bird for the whole wide world. +They went quietly home, and left him there watching for his mate, +who had flown up towards the sky to stretch her wings a little.</p> + +<p>Slowly, hand in hand, the sisters passed once more through the +wood. They could not bear to leave so sweet a place. And all +the while Bessie's bird sang to them his strange song, "Coming, +coming, coming!" They heard it till the wood was out of sight.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there are always good things coming as well as going," +Aunt Annie said, softly, "if we are patient and wait. The dear +child's basket has grown more useful and lovely because she lost +it that bright day."</p> + +<p>"And our lost darling?" Bessie's mother began to ask, and +looked in Aunt Annie's eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Our Bessie's flowers do not fade now; there is no cold winter +in heaven; she cannot lose her treasures there. And hasn't she +grown more useful and lovely, living among the angels all this +while?"</p> + +<p>Then, from afar in the woods, they heard the low, sweet voice, +that thrilled forth, "Coming, coming!" and Bessie's mother +smiled, and said, "She cannot come to us, but we soon shall go to +her; and O, our darling's hand in ours, how gladly shall we +walk in the Eternal Garden!"</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Caroline S. Whitmarsh.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus096.jpg" width="300" height="116" alt="Bessie's mother at peaceful rest." title="Bessie's mother at peaceful rest." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a +little cake which he had fancied in passing. He intended +it for a child whose appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed +to eat only by amusing him. He thought that such a pretty loaf +might tempt even the sick. While he waited for his change, a +little boy six or eight years old, in poor, but perfectly clean clothes, +entered the baker's shop. "Ma'am," said he to the baker's wife, +"mother sent me for a loaf of bread." The woman climbed upon +the counter (this happened in a country town), took from the +shelf of four-pound loaves the best one she could find, and put it +into the arms of the little boy.</p> + +<p>My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful +face of the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, +open countenance of the great loaf, of which he was taking the +greatest care.</p> + +<p>"Have you any money?" said the baker's wife.</p> + +<p>The little boy's eyes grew sad.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; +"but mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you +about it to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Run along," said the good woman; "carry your bread home, +child."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow.</p> + +<p>My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put +his purchase into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found +the child with the big loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way +home, standing stock-still behind him.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, +whom she also had thought to be fairly off. "Don't you like the +bread?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"O yes, ma'am!" said the child.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you +wait any longer, she will think you are playing by the way, and +you will get a scolding."</p> + +<p>The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed his +attention.</p> + +<p>The baker's wife went up to him, and gave him a friendly tap +on the shoulder. "What <i>are</i> you thinking about?" said she.</p> + +<p>"Ma'am," said the little boy, "what is it that sings?"</p> + +<p>"There is no singing," said she.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" cried the little fellow. "Hear it! Queek, queek, +queek, queek!"</p> + +<p>My friend and the woman both listened, but they could hear +nothing, unless it was the song of the crickets, frequent guests in +bakers' houses.</p> + +<p>"It is a little bird," said the dear little fellow; "or perhaps the +bread sings when it bakes, as apples do."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, little goosey!" said the baker's wife; "those are +crickets. They sing in the bakehouse because we are lighting the +oven, and they like to see the fire."</p> + +<p>"Crickets!" said the child; "are they really crickets?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, to be sure," said she, good-humoredly. The child's face +lighted up.</p> + +<p>"Ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, "I +would like it very much if you would give me a cricket."</p> + +<p>"A cricket!" said the baker's wife, smiling; "what in the world +would you do with a cricket, my little friend? I would gladly +give you all there are in the house, to get rid of them, they run +about so."</p> + +<p>"O ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please!" said the +child, clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. "They +say that crickets bring good luck into houses; and perhaps if we +had one at home, mother, who has so much trouble, wouldn't cry +any more."</p> + +<p>"Why does your poor mamma cry?" said my friend, who could +no longer help joining in the conversation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"On account of her bills, sir," said the little fellow. "Father +is dead, and mother works very hard, but she cannot pay them +all."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus099.jpg" width="300" height="311" alt="Child with the box of crickets and the great loaf." title="Child with the box of crickets and the great loaf." /> +</div> + +<p>My friend took the child, and with him the great loaf, into +his arms, and I really +believe he kissed them +both. Meanwhile the +baker's wife, who did not +dare to touch a cricket +herself, had gone into +the bakehouse. She +made her husband catch +four, and put them into +a box with holes in the +cover, so that they might +breathe. She gave the +box to the child, who +went away perfectly +happy.</p> + +<p>When he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave each +other a good squeeze of the hand. "Poor little fellow!" said they +both together. Then she took down her account-book, and, finding +the page where the mother's charges were written, made a +great dash all down the page, and then wrote at the bottom, +"Paid."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper all +the money in his pockets, where fortunately he had quite a sum +that day, and had begged the good wife to send it at once to the +mother of the little cricket-boy, with her bill receipted, and a note, +in which he told her she had a son who would one day be her joy +and pride.</p> + +<p>They gave it to a baker's boy with long legs, and told him to +make haste. The child, with his big loaf, his four crickets, and +his little short legs, could not run very fast, so that, when he +reached home, he found his mother, for the first time in many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +weeks with her eyes raised from her work, and a smile of peace +and happiness upon her lips.</p> + +<p>The boy believed that it was the arrival of his four little black +things which had worked this miracle, and I do not think he was +mistaken. Without the crickets, and his good little heart, would +this happy change have taken place in his mother's fortunes?</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>From the French of P. J. Stahl.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/illus100.jpg" width="250" height="324" alt="Branches with leaves" title="Branches with leaves." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus101.jpg" width="200" height="259" alt="Portrait of Bernardin de Saint Pierre." title="Portrait of Bernardin de Saint Pierre." /> +</div> + +<h3 class="chap">PAUL AND VIRGINIA.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">On the eastern coast of the mountain which rises above Port +Louis in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the +marks of former cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small +cottages. Those ruins are situated near the centre of a valley, +formed by immense rocks, and which opens only toward the north. +On the left rises the mountain, called the Height of Discovery, +whence the eye marks the distant sail when it first touches the +verge of the horizon, and whence the signal is given when a +vessel approaches the island. At the foot of this mountain stands +the town of Port Louis. On the right is formed the road, which +stretches from Port Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the +church bearing that name lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues +of bamboo, in the midst of a spacious plain; and the prospect +terminates in a forest extending to the farthest bounds of the +island. The front view presents the bay, denominated the Bay +of the Tomb; a little on the right is seen the Cape of Misfortune;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +and beyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the surface of which +appear a few uninhabited islands, and, among others, the Point +of Endeavor, which resembles a bastion built upon the flood.</p> + +<p>At the entrance of the valley which presents those various +objects, the echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the hollow +murmurs of the winds that shake the neighboring forests, and the +tumultuous dashing of the waves which break at a distance upon +the cliffs; but near the ruined cottages all is calm and still, and +the only objects which there meet the eye are rude steep rocks, +that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large clumps of trees grow +at their base, on their rifted sides, and even on their majestic tops, +where the clouds seem to repose. The showers, which their bold +points attract, often paint the vivid colors of the rainbow on their +green and brown declivities, and swell the sources of the little +river which flows at their feet, called the river of Fan-Palms.</p> + +<p>Within this enclosure reigns the most profound silence. The +waters, the air, all the elements, are at peace. Scarcely does the +echo repeat the whispers of the palm-trees spreading their broad +leaves, the long points of which are gently agitated by the winds. +A soft light illumines the bottom of this deep valley, on which +the sun shines only at noon. But even at break of day the rays +of light are thrown on the surrounding rocks; and their sharp +peaks, rising above the shadows of the mountain, appear like tints +of gold and purple gleaming upon the azure sky.</p> + +<p>Here two mothers, widowed by death and desertion, nursed +their children, with the sight of whom the mutual affection of the +parents acquired new strength.</p> + +<p>Madame de la Tour's child was named Virginia; her friend +Margaret's, Paul. They loved to put their infants into the same +bath, and lay them in the same cradle; and sometimes each +nursed at her bosom the other's babe.</p> + +<p>"My friend," said Madame de la Tour, "we shall each of +us have two children, and each of our children will have two +mothers."</p> + +<p>Nothing could exceed the attachment which these infants early<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +displayed for each other. If Paul complained, his mother pointed +to Virginia, and at that sight he smiled and was appeased. If any +accident befell Virginia, the cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster, +and then the dear child would suppress her complaints when +she found that Paul was unhappy. When I came hither, I used +to see them tottering along, holding each other by the hands and +under the arms, as we represent the constellation of the Twins. +At night these infants often refused to be separated, and were +found lying in the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms, pressed +close together, their hands thrown round each other's neck, and +sleeping locked in one another's arms.</p> + +<p>When they began to speak, the first names they learned to give +each other were those of brother and sister, and childhood knows +no softer appellation. Their education served to increase their +early friendship, by directing it to the supply of each other's +wants. In a short time, all that regarded the household economy, +the care of preparing the rural repasts, became the task of Virginia, +whose labors were always crowned with the praises and kisses of +her brother. As for Paul, always in motion, he dug the garden +with Domingo, or followed him with a little hatchet into the +woods; and if in his rambles he espied a beautiful flower, fine +fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the top of a tree, he would climb +up, and bring it home to his sister.</p> + +<p>When you met one of these children, you might be sure the +other was not far off. One day, as I was coming down the mountain, +I saw Virginia at the end of the garden, running toward the +house, with her petticoat thrown over her head, in order to screen +herself from a shower of rain. At a distance, I thought she was +alone; but as I hastened toward her, in order to help her on, I +perceived that she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely enveloped +in the same canopy, and both were laughing heartily at being +sheltered together under an umbrella of their own invention. +Those two charming faces placed within the swelling petticoat +recalled to my mind the children of Leda enclosed within the +same shell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 351px;"> +<img src="images/illus104.jpg" width="351" height="500" alt="Paul and Virginia on their mountain." title="Paul and Virginia on their mountain." /> +</div> + +<p>Their sole study was how to please and assist each other; for +of all other things they were ignorant, and knew neither how to +read nor write. They were never disturbed by inquiries about +past times, nor did their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of +their mountain. They believed the world ended at the shores of +their own island, and all their ideas and affections were confined +within its limits. Their mutual tenderness, and that of their +mothers, employed all the activity of their souls. Their tears had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +never been called forth by tedious application to useless sciences. +Their minds had never been wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous +to bosoms unconscious of ill. They had never been taught +not to steal, because everything with them was in common; or +not to be intemperate, because their simple food was left to their +own discretion; or not to lie, because they had no truth to conceal. +Their young imaginations had never been terrified by the +idea that God has punishments in store for ungrateful children, +since with them filial affection arose naturally from maternal fondness.</p> + +<p>Thus passed their early childhood, like a beautiful dawn, the +prelude of a bright day. Already they partook with their mothers +the cares of the household. As soon as the crow of the cock +announced the first beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and +hastened to draw water from a neighboring spring; then, returning +to the house, she prepared the breakfast. When the rising sun +lighted up the points of the rocks which overhang this enclosure, +Margaret and her child went to the dwelling of Madame de la +Tour, and offered up together their morning prayer. This sacrifice +of thanksgiving always preceded their first repast, of which they +often partook before the door of the cottage, seated upon the grass, +under a canopy of plantain; and while the branches of that delightful +tree afforded a grateful shade, its solid fruit furnished food +ready prepared by Nature; and its long glossy leaves, spread +upon the table, supplied the want of linen.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the most charming spot of this enclosure was that +which was called Virginia's Resting-place. At the foot of the +rock which bore the name of the Discovery of Friendship is a +nook, from whence issues a fountain, forming, near its source, a +little spot of marshy soil in the midst of a field of rich grass. At +the time Margaret brought Paul into the world, I made her a +present of an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and which +she planted on the border of this fenny ground, in order that the +tree might one day serve to mark the epoch of her son's birth. +Madame de la Tour planted another cocoa, with the same view, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +the birth of Virginia. These nuts produced two cocoa-trees, which +formed the only records of the two families: one was called Paul's +tree; the other, Virginia's tree. They both grew in the same +proportion as their two owners, a little unequally; but they +rose, at the end of twelve years, above the cottages. Already +their tender stalks were interwoven, and their young clusters +of cocoas hung over the basin of the fountain. Except this +little plantation, the nook of the rock had been left as it was +decorated by Nature. On its brown and moist sides large plants of +maidenhair glistened with their green and dark stars; and tufts of +wave-leaved hart's-tongue, suspended like long ribbons of purpled +green, floated on the winds. Near this grew a chain of the Madagascar +periwinkle, the flowers of which resemble the red gillyflower; +and the long-podded capsicum, the seed-vessels of which are of the +color of blood, and more glowing than coral. Hard by, the herb of +balm, with its leaves within the heart, and the sweet basil, which has +the odor of the gillyflower, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. +From the steep side of the mountain hung the graceful lianas, +like floating drapery, forming magnificent canopies of verdure +upon the sides of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured by the stillness +of those retreats, resorted thither to pass the night. At the +hour of sunset we could see the curlew and the stint skimming +along the sea-shore; the black frigate-bird poised high in air; +and the white bird of the tropic, which abandons, with the star +of day, the solitudes of the Indian Ocean. Virginia loved to rest +upon the border of this fountain, decorated with wild and sublime +magnificence. She often seated herself beneath the shade of the +two cocoa-trees, and there she sometimes led her goats to graze. +While she was making cheeses of their milk, she loved to +see them browse on the maidenhair which grew upon the +steep sides of the rock, and hung suspended upon one of its +cornices, as on a pedestal. Paul, observing that Virginia was +fond of this spot, brought thither, from the neighboring forest, +a great variety of bird's-nests. The old birds, following their +young, established themselves in this new colony. Virginia, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +certain times, distributed among them grains of rice, millet, and +maize. As soon as she appeared, the whistling blackbird, the amadavid +bird, the note of which is so soft, the cardinal, with its +plumage the color of flame, forsook their bushes; the paroquet, +green as an emerald, descended from the neighboring fan-palms; +the partridge ran along the grass; all came running helter-skelter +toward her, like a brood of chickens, and she and Paul delighted +to observe their sports, their repasts, and their loves.</p> + +<p>Amiable children! thus passed your early days in innocence, +and in the exercise of benevolence. How many times, on this +very spot, have your mothers, pressing you in their arms, blessed +Heaven for the consolations that you were preparing for their declining +years, and that they could see you begin life under such +happy auspices! How many times, beneath the shade of those +rocks, have I partaken with them of your rural repasts, which cost +no animal its life! Gourds filled with milk, fresh eggs, cakes of +rice placed upon plantain leaves, baskets loaded with mangoes, +oranges, dates, pomegranates, pine-apples, furnished at once the +most wholesome food, the most beautiful colors, and the most +delicious juices.</p> + +<p>The conversation was gentle and innocent as the repasts. Paul +often talked of the labors of the day and those of the morrow. He +was continually planning something useful for their little society. +Here he discovered that the paths were rough; there that the seats +were uncomfortable; sometimes the young arbors did not afford +sufficient shade, and Virginia might be better pleased elsewhere.</p> + +<p>In the rainy season the two families met together in the cottage, +and employed themselves in weaving mats of grass and baskets of +bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets were ranged along the walls +in the most perfect order; and near these instruments of agriculture +were placed its products,—sacks of rice, sheaves of corn, +and baskets of plantains. Some degree of luxury is usually +united with plenty, and Virginia was taught by her mother and +Margaret to prepare sherbet and cordials from the juice of the +sugar-cane, the lemon, and the citron.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>When night came, they all supped together by the light of a +lamp; after which Madame de la Tour or Margaret told stories of +travellers lost during the night in forests of Europe infested by +banditti; or of some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the tempest +upon the rocks of a desert island. To these recitals their +children listened with eager sensibility, and earnestly begged that +Heaven would grant they might one day have the joy of showing +their hospitality towards such unfortunate persons. At length the +two families would separate and retire to rest, impatient to meet +again the next morning. Sometimes they were lulled to repose +by the beating rains which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their +cottages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, which brought to +their ear the distant murmur of the waves breaking upon the +shore. They blessed God for their own safety, of which their +feeling became stronger from the idea of remote danger.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Bernardin de Saint Pierre.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus108.jpg" width="300" height="187" alt="Pumpkin vine and plants." title="Pumpkin vine and plants." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">OEYVIND AND MARIT.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus109.jpg" width="500" height="425" alt="Marit and the little goat on the brow of the hill, Oeyvind calls to them." title="Marit and the little goat on the brow of the hill, Oeyvind calls to them." /> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">Oeyvind was his name. A low barren cliff overhung the +house in which he was born; fir and birch looked down +on the roof, and wild-cherry strewed flowers over it. Upon this +roof there walked about a little goat, which belonged to Oeyvind. +He was kept there that he might not go astray; and Oeyvind carried +leaves and grass up to him. One fine day the goat +leaped down, and—away to the cliff; he went straight up, and +came where he never had been before. Oeyvind did not see him +when he came out after dinner, and thought immediately of the +fox. He grew hot all over, looked around about, and called, +"Killy-killy-killy-goat!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bay-ay-ay," said the goat, from the brow of the hill, as he +cocked his head on one side and looked down.</p> + +<p>But at the side of the goat there kneeled a little girl.</p> + +<p>"Is it yours, this goat?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Oeyvind stood with eyes and mouth wide open, thrust both +hands into the breeches he had on, and asked, "Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"I am Marit, mother's little one, father's fiddle, the elf in the +house, grand-daughter of Ole Nordistuen of the Heide farms, four +years old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights, I!"</p> + +<p>"Are you really?" he said, and drew a long breath, which he +had not dared to do so long as she was speaking.</p> + +<p>"Is it yours, this goat?" asked the girl again.</p> + +<p>"Ye-es," he said, and looked up.</p> + +<p>"I have taken such a fancy to the goat. You will not give it +to me?"</p> + +<p>"No, that I won't."</p> + +<p>She lay kicking her legs, and looking down at him, and then +she said, "But if I give you a butter-cake for the goat, can I +have him then?"</p> + +<p>Oeyvind came of poor people, and had eaten butter-cake only +once in his life, that was when grandpapa came there, and anything +like it he had never eaten before nor since. He looked up +at the girl. "Let me see the butter-cake first," said he.</p> + +<p>She was not long about it, took out a large cake, which she held +in her hand. "Here it is," she said, and threw it down.</p> + +<p>"Ow, it went to pieces," said the boy. He gathered up every +bit with the utmost care; he could not help tasting the very +smallest, and that was so good, he had to taste another, and, before +he knew it himself, he had eaten up the whole cake.</p> + +<p>"Now the goat is mine," said the girl. The boy stopped with +the last bit in his mouth, the girl lay and laughed, and the goat +stood by her side, with white breast and dark brown hair, looking +sideways down.</p> + +<p>"Could you not wait a little while?" begged the boy; his heart +began to beat. Then the girl laughed still more, and got up quickly +on her knees.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, the goat is mine," she said, and threw her arms round its +neck, loosened one of her garters, and fastened it round. Oeyvind +looked up. She got up, and began pulling at the goat; it would +not follow, and twisted its neck downwards to where Oeyvind +stood. "Bay-ay-ay," it said. But she took hold of its hair with +one hand, pulled the string with the other, and said gently, "Come, +goat, and you shall go into the room and eat out of mother's dish +and my apron." And then she sung,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come, boy's goat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Come, mother's calf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Come, mewing cat<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">In snow-white shoes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Come, yellow ducks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Come out of your hiding-place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Come, little chickens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Who can hardly go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Come, my doves<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">With soft feathers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">See, the grass is wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">But the sun does you good;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And early, early is it in summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">But call for the autumn, and it will come."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There stood the boy.</p> + +<p>He had taken care of the goat since the winter before, when it +was born, and he had never imagined he could lose it; but now it +was done in a moment, and he should never see it again.</p> + +<p>His mother came up humming from the beach, with wooden +pans which she had scoured: she saw the boy sitting with his legs +crossed under him on the grass, crying, and she went up to him.</p> + +<p>"What are you crying about?"</p> + +<p>"O, the goat, the goat!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; where is the goat?" asked his mother, looking up at +the roof.</p> + +<p>"It will never come back again," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! how could that happen?"</p> + +<p>He would not confess immediately.</p> + +<p>"Has the fox taken it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah, if it only were the fox!"</p> + +<p>"Are you crazy?" said his mother; "what has become of the +goat?"</p> + +<p>"Oh-h-h—I happened to—to—to sell it for a cake!"</p> + +<p>As soon as he had uttered the word, he understood what it was +to sell the goat for a cake; he had not thought of it before. His +mother said,—</p> + +<p>"What do you suppose the little goat thinks of you, when you +could sell him for a cake?"</p> + +<p>And the boy thought about it, and felt sure that he could never +again be happy in this world, and not even in heaven, he thought +afterwards. He felt so sorry, that he promised himself never +again to do anything wrong, never to cut the thread on the spinning-wheel, +nor let the goats out, nor go down to the sea alone. +He fell asleep where he lay, and dreamed about the goat, that it +had gone to Heaven; our Lord sat there with a great beard as in +the catechism, and the goat stood eating the leaves off a shining +tree; but Oeyvind sat alone on the roof, and could not +come up.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came something wet close up to his ear, and he +started up. "Bay-ay-ay!" it said; and it was the goat, who had +come back again.</p> + +<p>"What! have you got back?" He jumped up, took it by the +two fore-legs, and danced with it as if it were a brother; he pulled +its beard, and he was just going in to his mother with it, when he +heard some one behind him, and, looking, saw the girl sitting on +the greensward by his side. Now he understood it all, and let go +the goat.</p> + +<p>"Is it you, who have come with it?"</p> + +<p>She sat, tearing the grass up with her hands, and said,—</p> + +<p>"They would not let me keep it; grandfather is sitting up +there, waiting."</p> + +<p>While the boy stood looking at her, he heard a sharp voice from +the road above call out, "Now!"</p> + +<p>Then she remembered what she was to do; she rose, went over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +to Oeyvind, put one of her muddy hands into his, and, turning her +face away, said,—</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon!"</p> + +<p>But then her courage was all gone; she threw herself over the +goat, and wept.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better keep the goat," said Oeyvind, looking +the other way.</p> + +<p>"Come, make haste!" said grandpapa, up on the hill; and Marit +rose, and walked with reluctant feet upwards.</p> + +<p>"You are forgetting your garter," Oeyvind called after her. She +turned round, and looked first at the garter and then at him. At +last she came to a great resolution, and said, in a choked voice,—</p> + +<p>"You may keep that."</p> + +<p>He went over to her, and, taking her hand, said,—</p> + +<p>"Thank you!"</p> + +<p>"O, nothing to thank for!" she answered, but drew a long +sigh, and walked on.</p> + +<p>He sat down on the grass again. The goat walked about near +him, but he was no longer so pleased with it as before.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The goat was fastened to the wall; but Oeyvind walked about, +looking up at the cliff. His mother came out, and sat down by his +side; he wanted to hear stories about what was far away, for now +the goat no longer satisfied him. So she told him how once every +thing could talk: the mountain talked to the stream, and the +stream to the river, the river to the sea, and the sea to the sky; +but then he asked if the sky did not talk to any one; and the +sky talked to the clouds, the clouds to the trees, the trees to the +grass, the grass to the flies, the flies to the animals, the animals to +the children, the children to the grown-up people; and so it went +on, until it had gone round, and no one could tell where it had +begun. Oeyvind looked at the mountain, the trees, the sky, and +had never really seen them before. The cat came out at that +moment, and lay down on the stone before the door in the sunshine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What does the cat say?" asked Oeyvind, pointing. His +mother sang,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"At evening softly shines the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">The cat lies lazy on the stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Two small mice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Cream thick and nice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Four bits of fish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">I stole behind a dish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And am so lazy and tired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Because so well I have fared,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>says the cat.</p> + +<p>But then came the cock, with all the hens. "What does the +cock say?" asked Oeyvind, clapping his hands together. His +mother sang,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The mother-hen her wings doth sink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">The cock stands on one leg to think:<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">That gray goose<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Steers high her course;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">But sure am I that never she<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">As clever as a cock can be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Run in, you hens, keep under the roof to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">For the sun has got leave to stay away,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>says the cock.</p> + +<p>But the little birds were sitting on the ridge-pole, singing. +"What do the birds say?" asked Oeyvind, laughing.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dear Lord, how pleasant is life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">For those who have neither toil nor strife,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>say the birds.</p> + +<p>And she told him what they all said, down to the ant, who +crawled in the moss, and the worm who worked in the bark.</p> + +<p>That same summer, his mother began to teach him to read. He +had owned books a long time, and often wondered how it would +seem when they also began to talk. Now the letters turned into +animals, birds, and everything else; but soon they began to walk +together, two and two; <i>a</i> stood and rested under a tree, which was +called <i>b</i>; then came <i>e</i>, and did the same; but when three or four +came together, it seemed as if they were angry with each other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +for it would not go right. And the farther along he came, the +more he forgot what they were: he remembered longest <i>a</i>, which +he liked best; it was a little black lamb, and was friends with +everybody; but soon he forgot <i>a</i> also: the book had no more +stories, nothing but lessons.</p> + +<p>One day his mother came in, and said to him,—</p> + +<p>"To-morrow school begins, and then you are going up to the +farm with me."</p> + +<p>Oeyvind had heard that school was a place where many boys +played together; and he had no objection. Indeed, he was much +pleased. He had often been at the farm, but never when there was +school there; and now he was so anxious to get there, he walked +faster than his mother up over the hills. As they came up to the +neighboring house, a tremendous buzzing, like that from the water-mill +at home, met their ears; and he asked his mother what it +was.</p> + +<p>"That is the children reading," she answered; and he was +much pleased, for that was the way he used to read, before he +knew the letters. When he came in, there sat as many children +round a table as he had ever seen at church; others were sitting +on their luncheon-boxes, which were ranged round the walls; some +stood in small groups round a large printed card; the schoolmaster, +an old gray-haired man, was sitting on a stool by the chimney-corner, +filling his pipe. They all looked up as Oeyvind and his +mother entered, and the mill-hum ceased as if the water had suddenly +been turned off. All looked at the new-comers; the mother +bowed to the schoolmaster, who returned her greeting.</p> + +<p>"Here I bring a little boy who wants to learn to read," said his +mother.</p> + +<p>"What is the fellow's name?" said the schoolmaster, diving +down into his pouch after tobacco.</p> + +<p>"Oeyvind," said his mother; "he knows his letters, and can +put them together."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible!" said the schoolmaster; "come here, you +Whitehead!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Oeyvind went over to him: the schoolmaster took him on his +lap, and raised his cap.</p> + +<p>"What a nice little boy!" said he, and stroked his hair. Oeyvind +looked up into his eyes, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Is it at me you are laughing?" asked he, with a frown.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is," answered Oeyvind, and roared with laughter. At +that the schoolmaster laughed, Oeyvind's mother laughed; the +children understood that they also were allowed to laugh, and so +they all laughed together.</p> + +<p>So Oeyvind became one of the scholars.</p> + +<p>As he was going to find his seat, they all wanted to make room +for him. He looked round a long time, while they whispered and +pointed; he turned round on all sides, with his cap in his hand +and his book under his arm.</p> + +<p>"Now, what are you going to do?" asked the schoolmaster, +who was busy with his pipe again. Just as the boy is going to +turn round to the schoolmaster, he sees close beside him, sitting +down by the hearthstone on a little red painted tub, Marit, of the +many names; she had covered her face with both hands, and sat +peeping at him through her fingers.</p> + +<p>"I shall sit here," said Oeyvind, quickly, taking a tub and +seating himself at her side. Then she raised a little the arm +nearest him, and looked at him from under her elbow; immediately +he also hid his face with both hands, and looked at her from +under his elbow. So they sat, keeping up the sport, until she +laughed, then he laughed too; the children had seen it, and laughed +with them; at that, there rung out in a fearfully strong voice, which, +however, grew milder at every pause,—</p> + +<p>"Silence! you young scoundrels, you rascals, you little good-for-nothings! +keep still, and be good to me, you sugar-pigs."</p> + +<p>That was the schoolmaster, whose custom it was to boil up, but +calm down again before he had finished. It grew quiet immediately +in the school, until the water-wheels again began to go; +every one read aloud from his book, the sharpest trebles piped up, +the rougher voices drummed louder and louder to get the preponderance;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +here and there one shouted in above the others, and +Oeyvind had never had such fun in all his life.</p> + +<p>"Is it always like this here?" whispered he to Marit.</p> + +<p>"Yes, just like this," she said.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, they had to go up to the schoolmaster, and read; +and then a little boy was called to read, so that they were allowed +to go and sit down quietly again.</p> + +<p>"I have got a goat now, too," said she.</p> + +<p>"Have you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but it is not so pretty as yours."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you come oftener up on the cliff?"</p> + +<p>"Grandpapa is afraid I shall fall over."</p> + +<p>"But it is not so very high."</p> + +<p>"Grandpapa won't let me, for all that."</p> + +<p>"Mother knows so many songs," said he.</p> + +<p>"Grandpapa does, too, you can believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but he does not know what mother does."</p> + +<p>"Grandpapa knows one about a dance. Would you like to +hear it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, very much."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, you must come farther over here, so that the +schoolmaster may not hear."</p> + +<p>He changed his place, and then she recited a little piece of a +song three or four times over, so that the boy learned it, and that +was the first he learned at school.</p> + +<p>"Up with you, youngsters!" called out the schoolmaster. +"This is the first day, so you shall be dismissed early; but first +we must say a prayer, and sing."</p> + +<p>Instantly, all was life in the school; they jumped down from +the benches, sprung over the floor, and talked into each other's +mouths.</p> + +<p>"Silence! you young torments, you little beggars, you noisy +boys! be quiet, and walk softly across the floor, little children," +said the schoolmaster; and now they walked quietly, and took their +places; after which the schoolmaster went in front of them, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +made a short prayer. Then they sung. The schoolmaster began in +a deep bass; all the children stood with folded hands, and joined +in. Oeyvind stood farthest down by the door with Marit, and +looked on; they also folded their hands, but they could not sing.</p> + +<p>That was the first day at school.</p> + +<p class="sig">"<i>The Happy Boy.</i>"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus118.jpg" width="200" height="145" alt="Oeyvind and Marit walking." title="Oeyvind and Marit walking." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">BOOTS AT THE HOLLY-TREE INN.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Before the days of railways, and in the time of the old Great +North Road, I was once snowed up at the Holly-Tree Inn. +Beguiling the days of my imprisonment there by talking at one +time or other with the whole establishment, I one day talked with +the Boots, when he lingered in my room.</p> + +<p>Where had he been in his time? Boots repeated, when I asked +him the question. Lord, he had been everywhere! And what had +he been? Bless you, everything you could mention, a'most.</p> + +<p>Seen a good deal? Why, of course he had. I should say so, +he could assure me, if I only knew about a twentieth part of what +had come in <i>his</i> way. Why, it would be easier for him, he expected, +to tell what he hadn't seen than what he had. Ah! a +deal it would.</p> + +<p>What was the curiousest thing he had seen? Well! He didn't +know. He couldn't momently name what was the curiousest +thing he had seen,—unless it was a Unicorn,—and he see <i>him</i> +once at a Fair. But supposing a young gentleman not eight year +old was to run away with a fine young woman of seven, might I +think <i>that</i> a queer start? Certainly! Then that was a start as he +himself had had his blessed eyes on,—and he had cleaned the +shoes they run away in,—and they was so little that he couldn't +get his hand into 'em.</p> + +<p>Master Harry Walmers's father, you see, he lived at the Elmses, +down away by Shooter's Hill there, six or seven miles from Lunnon. +He was a gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held +his head up when he walked, and had what you may call Fire +about him. He wrote poetry, and he rode, and he ran, and he +cricketed, and he danced, and he acted, and he done it all equally +beautiful. He was uncommon proud of Master Harry as was his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +only child; but he didn't spoil him, neither. He was a gentleman +that had a will of his own, and a eye of his own, and that +would be minded. Consequently, though he made quite a companion +of the fine bright boy, and was delighted to see him so +fond of reading his fairy books, and was never tired of hearing +him say my name is Norval, or hearing him sing his songs about +Young May Moons is beaming love, and When he as adores thee +has left but the name, and that,—still he kept the command +over the child, and the child <i>was</i> a child, and it's very much to +be wished more of 'em was!</p> + +<p>How did Boots happen to know all this? Why, sir, through +being under-gardener. Of course I couldn't be under-gardener, +and be always about, in the summer time, near the windows on +the lawn, a mowing and sweeping, and weeding and pruning, and +this and that, without getting acquainted with the ways of the +family. Even supposing Master Harry hadn't come to me one +morning early, and said, "Cobbs, how should you spell Norah, if +you was asked?" and when I give him my views, sir, respectin' +the spelling o' that name, he took out his little knife, and he +begun a cutting it in print, all over the fence.</p> + +<p>And the courage of the boy! Bless your soul, he'd have +throwed off his little hat, and tucked up his little sleeves, and +gone in at a Lion, he would. One day he stops, along with her +(where I was hoeing weeds in the gravel), and says, speaking up, +"Cobbs," he says, "I like <i>you</i>." "Do you, sir? I'm proud to +hear it." "Yes, I do, Cobbs. Why do I like you, do you think, +Cobbs?" "Don't know, Master Harry, I am sure." "Because +Norah likes you, Cobbs." "Indeed, sir? That's very gratifying." +"Gratifying, Cobbs? It's better than millions of the +brightest diamonds, to be liked by Norah." "Certainly, sir." +"You're going away, ain't you, Cobbs?" "Yes, sir." "Would +you like another situation, Cobbs?" "Well, sir, I shouldn't object, +if it was a good 'un." "Then, Cobbs," says that mite, "you +shall be our Head Gardener when we are married." And he tucks +her, in her little sky-blue mantle, under his arm, and walks away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>Boots could assure me that it was better than a picter, and equal +to a play, to see them babies with their long bright curling hair, +their sparkling eyes, and their beautiful light tread, rambling +about the garden, deep in love. Boots was of opinion that the +birds believed they was birds, and kept up with 'em, singing to +please 'em. Sometimes they would creep under the Tulip-tree, and +would sit there with their arms round one another's necks, and +their soft cheeks touching, a reading about the Prince, and the +Dragon, and the good and bad enchanters, and the king's fair +daughter. Sometimes I would hear them planning about having +a house in a forest, keeping bees and a cow, and living entirely on +milk and honey. Once I came upon them by the pond, and heard +Master Harry say, "Adorable Norah, kiss me, and say you love +me to distraction, or I'll jump in head-foremost." On the whole, +sir, the contemplation o' them two babies had a tendency to make +me feel as if I was in love myself,—only I didn't exactly know +who with.</p> + +<p>"Cobbs," says Master Harry, one evening, when I was watering +the flowers; "I am going on a visit, this present midsummer, to +my grandmamma's at York."</p> + +<p>"Are you indeed, sir? I hope you'll have a pleasant time. I +am going into Yorkshire, myself, when I leave here."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to your grandmamma's, Cobbs?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. I haven't got such a thing."</p> + +<p>"Not as a grandmamma, Cobbs?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>The boy looks on at the watering of the flowers for a little +while, and then he says, "I shall be very glad indeed to go, +Cobbs,—Norah's going."</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right then, sir, with your beautiful sweetheart by +your side."</p> + +<p>"Cobbs," returns the boy, a flushing, "I never let anybody +joke about that when I can prevent them."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't a joke, sir,—wasn't so meant."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that, Cobbs, because I like you, you know, and +you're going to live with us,—Cobbs!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sir."</p> + +<p>"What do you think my grandmamma gives me, when I go +down there?"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't so much as make a guess, sir."</p> + +<p>"A Bank of England five-pound note, Cobbs."</p> + +<p>"Whew! That's a spanking sum of money, Master Harry."</p> + +<p>"A person could do a good deal with such a sum of money as +that. Couldn't a person, Cobbs?"</p> + +<p>"I believe you, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Cobbs," says that boy, "I'll tell you a secret. At Norah's +house they have been joking her about me, and pretending to +laugh at our being engaged. Pretending to make game of it, +Cobbs!"</p> + +<p>"Such, sir, is the depravity of human natur."</p> + +<p>The boy, looking exactly like his father, stood for a few minutes, +and then departed with, "Good night, Cobbs. I'm going in."</p> + +<p>If I was to ask Boots how it happened that I was a going +to leave that place just at that present time, well, I couldn't +rightly answer you, sir. I do suppose I might have stayed there +till now, if I had been anyways inclined. But you see, he was +younger then, and he wanted change. That's what I wanted,—change. +Mr. Walmers, he says to me, when I give him notice of +my intentions to leave, "Cobbs," he says, "have you anything to +complain of? I make the inquiry, because if I find that any of +my people really has anythink to complain of, I wish to make it +right if I can."</p> + +<p>"No, sir; thanking you, sir, I find myself as well sitiwated +here as I could hope to be anywheres. The truth is, sir, that I'm a +going to seek my fortun."</p> + +<p>"O, indeed, Cobbs?" he says; "I hope you may find it." +And Boots could assure me—which he did, touching his hair +with his bootjack—that he hadn't found it yet.</p> + +<p>Well, sir! I left the Elmses when my time was up, and Master +Harry, he went down to the old lady's at York, which old lady +were so wrapped up in that child as she would have give that child<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +the teeth out of her head (if she had had any). What does that +Infant do—for Infant you may call him, and be within the mark—but +cut away from that old lady's with his Norah, on a expedition +to go to Gretna Green and be married!</p> + +<p>Sir, I was at this identical Holly-Tree Inn (having left it +several times since to better myself, but always come back through +one thing or another), when, one summer afternoon, the coach +drives up, and out of the coach gets them two children. The +Guard says to our Governor, "I don't quite make out these little +passengers, but the young gentleman's words was, that they was to +be brought here." The young gentleman gets out; hands his lady +out; gives the Guard something for himself; says to our Governor, +"We're to stop here to-night, please. Sitting-room and two bedrooms +will be required. Mutton chops and cherry pudding for +two!" and tucks her, in her little sky-blue mantle, under his +arm, and walks into the house much bolder than Brass.</p> + +<p>Sir, I leave you to judge what the amazement of that establishment +was, when those two tiny creatures all alone by themselves +was marched into the Angel; much more so, when I, who had +seen them without their seeing me, give the Governor my views of +the expedition they was upon.</p> + +<p>"Cobbs," says the Governor, "if this is so, I must set off myself +to York and quiet their friends' minds. In which case you +must keep your eye upon 'em, and humor 'em, till I come back. +But before I take these measures, Cobbs, I should wish you to find +from themselves whether your opinions is correct." "Sir to you," +says I, "that shall be done directly."</p> + +<p>So Boots goes up stairs to the Angel, and there he finds Master +Harry on a e-normous sofa,—immense at any time, but looking +like the Great Bed of Ware, compared with him,—a drying the +eyes of Miss Norah with his pocket-hankecher. Their little legs +was entirely off the ground, of course; and it really is not possible +to express how small them children looked.</p> + +<p>"It's Cobbs! It's Cobbs!" cries Master Harry, and he comes +running to me and catching hold of my hand. Miss Norah, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +comes running to me on t'other side and catching hold of my +t'other hand, and they both jump for joy.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus124.jpg" width="500" height="408" alt="Master Harry and Miss Norah sitting on the e-normous sofa." title="Master Harry and Miss Norah sitting on the e-normous sofa." /> +</div> + +<p>"I see you a getting out, sir," says I. "I thought it was you. +I thought I couldn't be mistaken in your heighth and figure. +What's the object of your journey, sir?—Matrimonial?"</p> + +<p>"We are going to be married, Cobbs, at Gretna Green," returns +the boy. "We have run away on purpose. Norah has been in +rather low spirits, Cobbs; but she'll be happy, now we have +found you to be our friend."</p> + +<p>"Thank you sir, and thank <i>you</i>, miss, for your good opinion. +<i>Did</i> you bring any luggage with you, sir?"</p> + +<p>If I will believe Boots when he gives me his word and honor +upon it, the lady had got a parasol, a smelling-bottle, a round and +a half of cold buttered toast, eight peppermint drops, and a Doll's +hairbrush. The gentleman had got about half a dozen yards of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +string, a knife, three or four sheets of writing-paper folded up surprisingly +small, a orange, and a Chaney mug with his name on it.</p> + +<p>"What may be the exact natur of your plans, sir?" says I.</p> + +<p>"To go on," replies the boy,—which the courage of that boy +was something wonderful!—"in the morning, and be married +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Just so, sir. Would it meet your views, sir, if I was to accompany +you?"</p> + +<p>They both jumped for joy again, and cried out, "O yes, yes, +Cobbs! Yes!"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, if you will excuse my having the freedom to give +an opinion, what I should recommend would be this. I'm acquainted +with a pony, sir, which, put in a pheayton that I could +borrow, would take you and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, (driving +myself if you approved,) to the end of your journey in a very +short space of time. I am not altogether sure, sir, that this pony +will be at liberty till to-morrow, but even if you had to wait over +to-morrow for him, it might be worth your while. As to the small +account here, sir, in case you was to find yourself running at all +short, that don't signify; because I'm a part proprietor of this +inn, and it could stand over."</p> + +<p>Boots assures me that when they clapped their hands, and +jumped for joy again, and called him, "Good Cobbs!" and "Dear +Cobbs!" and bent across him to kiss one another in the delight +of their confiding hearts, he felt himself the meanest rascal, for +deceiving 'em, that ever was born.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you want just at present, sir?" I says, mortally +ashamed of myself.</p> + +<p>"We should like some cakes after dinner," answers Master +Harry, "and two apples—and jam. With dinner we should like +to have toast and water. But Norah has always been accustomed +to half a glass of currant wine at dessert. And so have I."</p> + +<p>"It shall be ordered at the bar, sir," I says.</p> + +<p>Sir, I has the feeling as fresh upon me at this minute of speaking +as I had then, that I would far rather have had it out in half<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +a dozen rounds with the Governor, than have combined with him; +and that I wished with all my heart there was any impossible place +where those two babies could make an impossible marriage, and +live impossibly happy ever afterwards. However, as it couldn't +be, I went into the Governor's plans, and the Governor set off for +York in half an hour.</p> + +<p>The way in which the women of that house—without exception—every +one of 'em—married <i>and</i> single—took to that boy +when they heard the story, is surprising. It was as much as could +be done to keep 'em from dashing into the room and kissing him. +They climbed up all sorts of places, at the risk of their lives, to +look at him through a pane of glass. And they were seven deep +at the keyhole.</p> + +<p>In the evening, I went into the room to see how the runaway +couple was getting on. The gentleman was on the window-seat, +supporting the lady in his arms. She had tears upon her face, +and was lying, very tired and half asleep, with her head upon his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, fatigued, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is tired, Cobbs; but she is not used to be away from +home, and she has been in low spirits again. Cobbs, do you +think you could bring a biffin, please?"</p> + +<p>"I ask your pardon, sir. What was it you—"</p> + +<p>"I think a Norfolk biffin would rouse her, Cobbs. She is very +fond of them."</p> + +<p>Well, sir, I withdrew in search of the required restorative, and +the gentleman handed it to the lady, and fed her with a spoon, +and took a little himself. The lady being heavy with sleep, and +rather cross, "What should you think, sir," I says, "of a chamber +candlestick?" The gentleman approved; the chambermaid went +first up the great staircase; the lady, in her sky-blue mantle, followed, +gallantly escorted by the gentleman; the gentleman embraced +her at her door, and retired to his own apartment, where I +locked him up.</p> + +<p>Boots couldn't but feel with increased acuteness what a base<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +deceiver he was, when they consulted him at breakfast (they had +ordered sweet milk-and-water, and toast and currant jelly, over +night) about the pony. It really was as much as he could do, he +don't mind confessing to me, to look them two young things in the +face, and think what a wicked old father of lies he had grown up +to be. Howsomever, sir, I went on a lying like a Trojan about the +pony. I told 'em that it did so unfort'nately happen that the +pony was half clipped, you see, and that he couldn't be took out +in that state, for fear it should strike to his inside. But that he'd +be finished clipping in the course of the day, and that to-morrow +morning at eight o'clock the pheayton would be ready. Boots's +view of the whole case, looking back upon it in my room, is, that +Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, was beginning to give in. She hadn't +had her hair curled when she went to bed, and she didn't +seem quite up to brushing it herself, and its getting in her eyes +put her out. But nothing put out Master Harry. He sat behind +his breakfast-cup, a tearing away at the jelly, as if he had been his +own father.</p> + +<p>In the course of the morning, Master Harry rung the bell,—it +was surprising how that there boy did carry on,—and said, in a +sprightly way, "Cobbs, is there any good walks in this neighborhood?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. There's Love Lane."</p> + +<p>"Get out with you, Cobbs!"—that was that there boy's expression,—"you're +joking."</p> + +<p>"Begging your pardon, sir, there really is Love Lane; and a +pleasant walk it is, and proud shall I be to show it to yourself and +Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior."</p> + +<p>"Norah, dear," says Master Harry, "this is curious. We really +ought to see Love Lane. Put on your bonnet, my sweetest darling, +and we will go there with Cobbs."</p> + +<p>Boots leaves me to judge what a Beast he felt himself to be, +when that young pair told him, as they all three jogged along together, +that they had made up their minds to give him two thousand +guineas a year as head gardener, on account of his being so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +true a friend to 'em. Well, sir, I turned the conversation as well +as I could, and I took 'em down Love Lane to the water-meadows, +and there Master Harry would have drowned himself in a half a +moment more, a getting out a water-lily for her,—but nothing +daunted that boy. Well, sir, they was tired out. All being so +new and strange to 'em, they was tired as tired could be. And +they laid down on a bank of daisies, like the children in the wood, +leastways meadows, and fell asleep.</p> + +<p>I don't know, sir,—perhaps you do,—why it made a man fit +to make a fool of himself, to see them two pretty babies a lying +there in the clear still sunny day, not dreaming half so hard when +they was asleep as they done when they was awake. But Lord! +when you come to think of yourself, you know, and what a game +you have been up to ever since you was in your own cradle, and +what a poor sort of a chap you are, after all, that's where it is! +Don't you see, sir?</p> + +<p>Well, sir, they woke up at last, and then one thing was getting +pretty clear to me, namely, that Mrs. Harry Walmerses, Junior's, +temper was on the move. When Master Harry took her round +the waist, she said he "teased her so"; and when he says, "Norah, +my young May Moon, your Harry tease you?" she tells him, +"Yes; and I want to go home!"</p> + +<p>A billed fowl and baked bread-and-butter pudding brought Mrs. +Walmers up a little; but I could have wished, I must privately +own to you, sir, to have seen her more sensible of the voice of +love, and less abandoning of herself to the currants in the pudding. +However, Master Harry, he kep' up, and his noble heart +was as fond as ever. Mrs. Walmers turned very sleepy about +dusk, and begun to cry. Therefore, Mrs. Walmers went off to +bed as per yesterday; and Master Harry ditto repeated.</p> + +<p>About eleven or twelve at night comes back the Governor in a +chaise, along with Mr. Walmers and a elderly lady. Mr. Walmers +says to our missis: "We are much indebted to you, ma'am, for +your kind care of our little children, which we can never sufficiently +acknowledge. Pray, ma'am, where is my boy?" Our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +missis says: "Cobbs has the dear child in charge, sir. Cobbs, +show Forty!" Then Mr. Walmers, he says: "Ah, Cobbs! I am +glad to see <i>you</i>. I understood you was here!" And I says: +"Yes, sir. Your most obedient, sir."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir," I adds, while unlocking the door; "I +hope you are not angry with Master Harry. For Master Harry is +a fine boy, sir, and will do you credit and honor." And Boots +signifies to me, that if the fine boy's father had contradicted him +in the state of mind in which he then was, he thinks he should +have "fetched him a crack," and took the consequences.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Walmers only says, "No, Cobbs. No, my good fellow. +Thank you!" and, the door being opened, goes in, goes up +to the bedside, bends gently down, and kisses the little sleeping +face. Then he stands looking at it for a minute, looking wonderfully +like it (they do say he ran away with Mrs. Walmers); and +then he gently shakes the little shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Harry, my dear boy! Harry!"</p> + +<p>Master Harry starts up and looks at his pa. Looks at me too. +Such is the honor of that mite, that he looks at me, to see whether +he has brought me into trouble.</p> + +<p>"I am not angry, my child. I only want you to dress yourself +and come home."</p> + +<p>"Yes, pa."</p> + +<p>Master Harry dresses himself quick.</p> + +<p>"Please may I"—the spirit of that little creatur,—"please, +dear pa,—may I—kiss Norah, before I go?"</p> + +<p>"You may, my child."</p> + +<p>So he takes Master Harry in his hand, and I leads the way with +the candle to that other bedroom, where the elderly lady is seated by +the bed, and poor little Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, is fast asleep. +There the father lifts the boy up to the pillow, and he lays his +little face down for an instant by the little warm face of poor little +Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, and gently draws it to him,—a sight +so touching to the chambermaids who are a peeping through the +door, that one of them calls out, "It's a shame to part 'em!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>Finally, Boots says, that's all about it. Mr. Walmers drove +away in the chaise, having hold of Master Harry's hand. The +elderly lady and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, that was never to +be (she married a captain, long afterwards, and died in India), +went off next day. In conclusion, Boots puts it to me whether I +hold with him in two opinions: firstly, that there are not many +couples on their way to be married who are half as innocent as +them two children; secondly, that it would be a jolly good thing +for a great many couples on their way to be married, if they could +only be stopped in time and brought back separate.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Charles Dickens.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 175px;"> +<img src="images/illus130.jpg" width="175" height="257" alt="Cupid" title="Cupid" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">AMRIE AND THE GEESE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Amrie tended the geese upon the Holder Green, as they +called the pasture-ground upon the little height by Hungerbrook.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant but a troublesome occupation. Especially +painful was it to Amrie, that she could do nothing to attach her +charge to her. Indeed, they were scarcely to be distinguished one +from another. Was it not true what Brown Mariann had said to +her as she came out of the Moosbrunnenwood?</p> + +<p>"Creatures that live in herds are all and every one stupid."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Amrie, "that this is what makes geese stupid; +they can do too many things. They can swim and run and fly, +but they can do neither well; they are not at home in the water, +nor on the ground, nor in the air; and therefore they are +stupid."</p> + +<p>"I will stand by this," said Mariann; "in thee is concealed an +old hermit."</p> + +<p>Amrie was often borne into the kingdom of dreams. Freely +rose her childish soul upward and cradled itself in unlimited +ether. As the larks in the air sang and rejoiced without knowing +the limits of their field, so would she soar away beyond the +boundaries of the whole country. The soul of the child knew +nothing of the limits placed upon the narrow life of reality. +Whoever is accustomed to wonder will find a miracle in every +day.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" she would say; "the cuckoo calls! It is the living +echo of the woods calling and answering itself. The bird sits +over there in the service-tree. Look up, and he will fly away. +How loud he cries, and how unceasingly! That little bird has a +stronger voice than a man. Place thyself upon the tree and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +imitate him; thou wilt not be heard so far as this bird, who is +no larger than my hand. Listen! Perhaps he is an enchanted +prince, and he may suddenly begin to speak to thee. Yes," she +continued, "only tell me thy riddle, and I will soon find the +meaning of it; and then will I disenchant thee."</p> + +<p>While Amrie's thoughts were wandering beyond all bounds, the +geese also felt themselves at liberty to stray away and enjoy the +good things of the neighboring clover or barley field. Awaking out +of her dreams, she had great trouble in bringing the geese back; +and when these freebooters returned in regiments, they had much +to tell of the goodly land where they had fed so well. There +seemed no end to their gossipping and chattering.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus132.jpg" width="500" height="181" alt="Geese fly over water and woods." title="Geese fly over water and woods." /> +</div> + +<p>Again Amrie soared. "Look! there fly the birds! No bird in +the air goes astray. Even the swallows, as they pass and repass, +are always safe, always free! O, could we only fly! How must +the world look above, where the larks soar! Hurrah! Always +higher and higher, farther and farther! O, if I could but fly!"</p> + +<p>Then she sang herself suddenly away from all the noise and +from all her thoughts. Her breath, which with the idea of +flying had grown deeper and quicker, as though she really hovered +in the high ether, became again calm and measured.</p> + +<p>Of the thousand-fold meanings that lived in Amrie's soul, Brown +Mariann received only at times an intimation. Once, when she +came from the forest with her load of wood, and with May-bugs +and worms for Amrie's geese imprisoned in her sack, the latter +said to her, "Aunt, do you know why the wind blows?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, child. Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have observed that everything that grows must move +about. The bird flies, the beetle creeps; the hare, the stag, the +horse, and all animals must run. The fish swim, and so do the +frogs. But there stand the trees, the corn, and the grass; they +cannot go forth, and yet they must grow. Then comes the wind, +and says, 'Only stand still, and I will do for you what others +can do for themselves. See how I turn, and shake, and bend +you! Be glad that I come! I do thee good, even if I make thee +weary.'"</p> + +<p>Brown Mariann only made her usual speech in reply, "I maintain +it; in thee is concealed the soul of an old hermit."</p> + +<p>The quail began to be heard in the high rye-fields; near Amrie, +the field larks sang the whole day long. They wandered here +and there and sang so tenderly, so into the deepest heart, it seemed +as though they drew their inspiration from the source of life,—from +the soul itself. The tone was more beautiful than that of +the skylark, which soars high in the air. Often one of the birds +came so near to Amrie that she said, "Why cannot I tell thee +that I will not hurt thee? Only stay!" But the bird was timid, +and flew farther off.</p> + +<p>At noon, when Brown Mariann came to her, she said, "Could I +only know what a bird finds to say, singing the whole day long! +Even then he has not sung it all out!"</p> + +<p>Mariann answered, "See here! A bird keeps nothing to himself, +to ponder over. But within man there is always something +speaking on, so softly! There are thoughts in us that talk, and +weep, and sing so quietly we scarcely hear them ourselves. Not +so with the bird; when his song is done, he only wants to eat or +sleep."</p> + +<p>As Mariann turned and went forth with her bundle of sticks, +Amrie looked after her, smiling. "There goes a great singing +bird!" she thought to herself.</p> + +<p>None but the sun saw how long the child continued to smile +and to think. Silently she sat dreaming, as the wind moved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +the shadows of the branches around her. Then she gazed at +the clouds, motionless on the horizon, or chasing each other +through the sky. As in the wide space without, so in the soul +of the child, the cloud-pictures arose and melted away.</p> + +<p>Thus, day after day, Amrie lived.</p> + +<p class="sig">"<i>The Little Barefoot.</i>"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/illus134.jpg" width="250" height="174" alt="A bundle of sticks and an axe." title="A bundle of sticks and an axe." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<div class="robins"> +<div class="head"> +<h3>THE ROBINS.</h3></div> +<div class="para"> +<p class="capword">A thing remarkable in my childhood was, that +once going to a neighbor's house, I saw on the +way a robin sitting on her nest, and as I went near +her she went off, but, having young ones, flew about, +and with many cries told her concern for them.</p></div></div> + +<p>I stood and threw stones at her, until, one striking her, +she fell down dead. At first I was pleased with the exploit, but +after a few minutes was seized with horror for having in a sportive +way killed an innocent creature while she was careful of her young. +I beheld her lying dead, and thought that these young ones, for +which she was so heedful, must now perish for want of their parent +to nourish them; and after some painful considerations on the subject, +I climbed up the tree, took all the young birds and killed +them, supposing that to be better than to leave them to pine +away and die miserably. I believed in this case that the Scripture +proverb was fulfilled: "The tender mercies of the wicked are +cruel."</p> + +<p>I then went on my errand, but for some hours could think of +little else than the cruelties I had committed, and was troubled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>He whose tender mercies are over all his works hath placed a +principle in the human mind which incites to goodness towards +every living creature; and this being singly attended to, we become +tender-hearted and sympathizing; but being frequently rejected, +the mind becomes shut up in a contrary disposition.</p> + +<p>I often remember the Fountain of Goodness which gives being +to all creatures, and whose love extends to the caring for the +sparrow; and I believe that where the love of God is verily perfected, +a tenderness toward all creatures made subject to us will be +felt, and a care that we do not lessen that sweetness of life in the +animal creation which their Creator intended for them.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>John Woolman.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus136.jpg" width="500" height="189" alt="Robins in the forest." title="Robins in the forest." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE FISH I DIDN'T CATCH.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Our old homestead (the house was very old for a new country, +having been built about the time that the Prince of +Orange drove out James the Second) nestled under a long range +of hills which stretched off to the west. It was surrounded by +woods in all directions save to the southeast, where a break in the +leafy wall revealed a vista of low green meadows, picturesque with +wooded islands and jutting capes of upland. Through these, a +small brook, noisy enough as it foamed, rippled, and laughed down +its rocky falls by our garden-side, wound, silently and scarcely +visible, to a still larger stream, known as the Country Brook. +This brook in its turn, after doing duty at two or three saw and +grist mills, the clack of which we could hear in still days across +the intervening woodlands, found its way to the great river, and +the river took it up and bore it down to the great sea.</p> + +<p>I have not much reason for speaking well of these meadows, or +rather bogs, for they were wet most of the year; but in the early +days they were highly prized by the settlers, as they furnished +natural mowing before the uplands could be cleared of wood and +stones and laid down to grass. There is a tradition that the hay-harvesters +of two adjoining towns quarrelled about a boundary +question, and fought a hard battle one summer morning in that +old time, not altogether bloodless, but by no means as fatal as the +fight between the rival Highland clans, described by Scott in +"The Fair Maid of Perth." I used to wonder at their folly, when +I was stumbling over the rough hassocks, and sinking knee-deep in +the black mire, raking the sharp sickle-edged grass which we used +to feed out to the young cattle in midwinter when the bitter cold +gave them appetite for even such fodder. I had an almost Irish +hatred of snakes, and these meadows were full of them,—striped,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +green, dingy water-snakes, and now and then an ugly spotted +adder by no means pleasant to touch with bare feet. There were +great black snakes, too, in the ledges of the neighboring knolls; +and on one occasion in early spring I found myself in the midst +of a score at least of them,—holding their wicked meeting of a +Sabbath morning on the margin of a deep spring in the meadows. +One glimpse at their fierce shining heads in the sunshine, +as they roused themselves at my approach, was sufficient to send +me at full speed towards the nearest upland. The snakes, equally +scared, fled in the same direction; and, looking back, I saw +the dark monsters following close at my heels, terrible as the +Black Horse rebel regiment at Bull Run. I had, happily, sense +enough left to step aside and let the ugly troop glide into the +bushes.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, the meadows had their redeeming points. In +spring mornings the blackbirds and bobolinks made them musical +with songs; and in the evenings great bullfrogs croaked and clamored; +and on summer nights we loved to watch the white +wreaths of fog rising and drifting in the moonlight like troops of +ghosts, with the fireflies throwing up ever and anon signals of +their coming. But the Brook was far more attractive, for it had +sheltered bathing-places, clear and white sanded, and weedy +stretches, where the shy pickerel loved to linger, and deep pools, +where the stupid sucker stirred the black mud with his fins. I +had followed it all the way from its birthplace among the pleasant +New Hampshire hills, through the sunshine of broad, open meadows, +and under the shadow of thick woods. It was, for the most +part, a sober, quiet little river; but at intervals it broke into a low, +rippling laugh over rocks and trunks of fallen trees. There had, +so tradition said, once been a witch-meeting on its banks, of six +little old women in short, sky-blue cloaks; and if a drunken +teamster could be credited, a ghost was once seen bobbing for eels +under Country Bridge. It ground our corn and rye for us, at its +two grist-mills; and we drove our sheep to it for their spring +washing, an anniversary which was looked forward to with intense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +delight, for it was always rare fun for the youngsters. Macaulay +has sung,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"That year young lads in Umbro<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Shall plunge the struggling sheep";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and his picture of the Roman sheep-washing recalled, when we +read it, similar scenes in the Country Brook. On its banks we +could always find the earliest and the latest wild flowers, from the +pale blue, three-lobed hepatica, and small, delicate wood-anemone, +to the yellow bloom of the witch-hazel burning in the leafless October +woods.</p> + +<p>Yet, after all, I think the chief attraction of the Brook to my +brother and myself was the fine fishing it afforded us. Our bachelor +uncle who lived with us (there has always been one of that +unfortunate class in every generation of our family) was a quiet, +genial man, much given to hunting and fishing; and it was one +of the great pleasures of our young life to accompany him on his +expeditions to Great Hill, Brandy-brow Woods, the Pond, and, +best of all, to the Country Brook. We were quite willing to work +hard in the cornfield or the haying-lot to finish the necessary day's +labor in season for an afternoon stroll through the woods and +along the brookside. I remember my first fishing excursion as if +it were but yesterday. I have been happy many times in my life, +but never more intensely so than when I received that first fishing-pole +from my uncle's hand, and trudged off with him through the +woods and meadows. It was a still sweet day of early summer; +the long afternoon shadows of the trees lay cool across our path; +the leaves seemed greener, the flowers brighter, the birds merrier, +than ever before. My uncle, who knew by long experience where +were the best haunts of pickerel, considerately placed me at the +most favorable point. I threw out my line as I had so often seen +others, and waited anxiously for a bite, moving the bait in rapid +jerks on the surface of the water in imitation of the leap of a +frog. Nothing came of it. "Try again," said my uncle. Suddenly +the bait sank out of sight. "Now for it," thought I; "here +is a fish at last." I made a strong pull, and brought up a tangle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +of weeds. Again and again I cast out my line with aching arms, +and drew it back empty. I looked to my uncle appealingly. +"Try once more," he said; "we fishermen must have patience."</p> + +<p>Suddenly something tugged at my line and swept off with it +into deep water. Jerking it up, I saw a fine pickerel wriggling in +the sun. "Uncle!" I cried, looking back in uncontrollable +excitement, "I've got a fish!" +"Not yet," said my uncle. As +he spoke there was a plash in +the water; I caught the arrowy +gleam of a scared fish shooting +into the middle of the stream; +my hook hung empty from the +line. I had lost my prize.</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/illus140t.jpg" width="265" height="161" alt="Man and boy fishing along a stream, the fish gets away." +title="Man and boy fishing along a stream, the fish gets away." class="splitrt" /> +<img src="images/illus140b.jpg" width="500" height="293" alt="Man and boy fishing along a stream, the fish gets away." +title="Man and boy fishing along a stream, the fish gets away." class="splitrb" /> +</p> + +<p>We are apt to speak of the sorrows of childhood as trifles in +comparison with those of grown-up people; but we may depend +upon it the young folks don't agree with us. Our griefs, modified +and restrained by reason, experience, and self-respect, keep the +proprieties, and, if possible, avoid a scene; but the sorrow of childhood, +unreasoning and all-absorbing, is a complete abandonment +to the passion. The doll's nose is broken, and the world breaks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +up with it; the marble rolls out of sight, and the solid globe rolls +off with the marble.</p> + +<p>So, overcome by my great and bitter disappointment, I sat +down on the nearest hassock, and for a time refused to be comforted, +even by my uncle's assurance that there were more fish in +the brook. He refitted my bait, and, putting the pole again in my +hands, told me to try my luck once more.</p> + +<p>"But remember, boy," he said, with his shrewd smile, +"never brag of catching a fish until he is on dry ground. I've +seen older folks doing that in more ways than one, and so making +fools of themselves. It's no use to boast of anything until it's +done, nor then either, for it speaks for itself."</p> + +<p>How often since I have been reminded of the fish that I did not +catch! When I hear people boasting of a work as yet undone, +and trying to anticipate the credit which belongs only to actual +achievement, I call to mind that scene by the brookside, and the +wise caution of my uncle in that particular instance takes the form +of a proverb of universal application: "<span class="smcap">Never brag of your +fish before you catch him.</span>"</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>John G. Whittier.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">LITTLE KATE WORDSWORTH.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">When I first settled in Grasmere, Catherine Wordsworth +was in her infancy, but even at that age she noticed me +more than any other person, excepting, of course, her mother. +She was not above three years old when she died, so that there +could not have been much room for the expansion of her understanding, +or the unfolding of her real character. But there was +room in her short life, and too much, for love the most intense to +settle upon her.</p> + +<p>The whole of Grasmere is not large enough to allow of any +great distance between house and house; and as it happened that +little Kate Wordsworth returned my love, she in a manner lived +with me at my solitary cottage. As often as I could entice her +from home, she walked with me, slept with me, and was my sole +companion.</p> + +<p>That I was not singular in ascribing some witchery to the nature +and manners of this innocent child may be gathered from +the following beautiful lines by her father. They are from the +poem entitled "Characteristics of a Child Three Years Old," dated, +at the foot, 1811, which must be an oversight, as she was not so +old until the following year.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Loving she is, and tractable, though wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And Innocence hath privilege in her<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And feats of cunning, and the pretty round<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Of trespasses, affected to provoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Mock chastisement, and partnership in play.<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And as a fagot sparkles on the hearth<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Not less if unattended and alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Than when both young and old sit gathered round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And take delight in its activity,—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +<span class="i0q">Even so this happy creature of herself<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Was all-sufficient. Solitude to her<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Was blithe society, who filled the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">With gladness and involuntary songs."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was this radiant spirit of joyousness, making solitude, for +her, blithe society, and filling from morning to night the air with +gladness and involuntary songs,—this it was which so fascinated +my heart that I became blindly devoted to this one affection.</p> + +<p>In the spring of 1812 I went up to London; and early in +June I learned by a letter from Miss Wordsworth, her aunt, that +she had died suddenly. She had gone to bed in good health about +sunset on June 4, was found speechless a little before midnight, +and died in the early dawn, just as the first gleams of morning +began to appear above Seat Sandel and Fairfield, the mightiest of +the Grasmere barriers,—about an hour, perhaps, before sunrise.</p> + +<p>Over and above my love for her, I had always viewed her as an +impersonation of the dawn, and of the spirit of infancy; and this, +with the connection which, even in her parting hours, she assumed +with the summer sun, timing her death with the rising of +that fountain of life,—these impressions recoiled into such a contrast +to the image of death, that each exalted and brightened the +other.</p> + +<p>I returned hastily to Grasmere, stretched myself every night on +her grave, in fact often passed the whole night there, in mere intensity +of sick yearning after neighborhood with the darling of my +heart.</p> + +<p>In Sir Walter Scott's "Demonology," and in Dr. Abercrombie's +"Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers," there are +some remarkable illustrations of the creative faculties awakened in +the eye or other organs by peculiar states of passion; and it is +worthy of a place among cases of that nature, that in many solitary +fields, at a considerable elevation above the level of the valleys,—fields +which, in the local dialect, are called "intacks,"—my eye +was haunted, at times, in broad noonday (oftener, however, in the +afternoon), with a facility, but at times also with a necessity, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +weaving, out of a few simple elements, a perfect picture of little +Kate in her attitude and onward motion of walking.</p> + +<p>I resorted constantly to these "intacks," as places where I was +little liable to disturbance; and usually I saw her at the opposite +side of the field, which sometimes might be at the distance of a +quarter of a mile, generally not so much. Almost always she carried +a basket on her head; and usually the first hint upon which +the figure arose commenced in wild plants, such as tall ferns, or +the purple flowers of the foxglove. But whatever these might be, +uniformly the same little full-formed figure arose, uniformly dressed +in the little blue bed-gown and black skirt of Westmoreland, and +uniformly with the air of advancing motion.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Thomas De Quincey.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> +<img src="images/illus144.jpg" width="275" height="263" alt="Standing at little Kate's resting place." title="Standing at little Kate's resting place." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">HOW MARGERY WONDERED.</h3> + +<p> +<img src="images/illus145t.jpg" width="500" height="201" alt="House atop a hill, bay in the background." +title="House atop a hill, bay in the background." class="splitlt" /> +<img src="images/illus145b.jpg" width="183" height="137" alt="House atop a hill, bay in the background." +title="House atop a hill, bay in the background." class="splitlb" /> +</p> + +<p><span style="font-size: 250%">O</span>ne bright morning, late in March, +little Margery put on her hood and +her Highland plaid shawl, and went trudging +across the beach. It was the first +time she had been trusted out alone, for +Margery was a little girl; nothing about +her was large, except her round gray eyes, +which had yet scarcely opened upon half a dozen springs and +summers.</p> + +<p>There was a pale mist on the far-off sea and sky, and up around +the sun were white clouds edged with the hues of pinks and violets. +The sunshine and the mild air made Margery's very heart +feel warm, and she let the soft wind blow aside her Highland +shawl, as she looked across the waters at the sun, and wondered!</p> + +<p>For, somehow, the sun had never looked before as it did to-day;—it +seemed like a great golden flower bursting out of its pearl-lined +calyx,—a flower without a stem! Or was there a strong +stem away behind it in the sky, that reached down below the sea, +to a root, nobody could guess where?</p> + +<p>Margery did not stop to puzzle herself about the answer to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +question, for now the tide was coming in, and the waves, little at +first, but growing larger every moment, were crowding up, along +the sand and pebbles, laughing, winking, and whispering, as they +tumbled over each other, like thousands of children hurrying home +from somewhere, each with its own precious little secret to tell. +Where did the waves come from? Who was down there under +the blue wall of the horizon, with the hoarse, hollow voice, urging +and pushing them across the beach to her feet? And what secret +was it they were lisping to each other with their pleasant voices? +O, what was there beneath the sea, and beyond the sea, so deep, so +broad, and so dim too, away off where the white ships, that looked +smaller than sea-birds, were gliding out and in?</p> + +<p>But while Margery stood still for a moment on a dry rock and +wondered, there came a low, rippling warble to her ear from a +cedar-tree on the cliff above her. It had been a long winter, and +Margery had forgotten that there were birds, and that birds could +sing. So she wondered again what the music was. And when +she saw the bird perched on a yellow-brown bough, she wondered +yet more. It was only a bluebird, but then it was the first bluebird +Margery had ever seen. He fluttered among the prickly +twigs, and looked as if he had grown out of them, as the cedar-berries +had, which were dusty-blue, the color of his coat. But +how did the music get into his throat? And after it was in his +throat, how could it untangle itself, and wind itself off so evenly? +And where had the bluebird flown from, across the snow-banks, +down to the shore of the blue sea? The waves sang a welcome to +him, and he sang a welcome to the waves; they seemed to know +each other well; and the ripple and the warble sounded so much +alike, the bird and the wave must both have learned their music +of the same teacher. And Margery kept on wondering as she +stepped between the song of the bluebird and the echo of the sea, +and climbed a sloping bank, just turning faintly green in the +spring sunshine.</p> + +<p>The grass was surely beginning to grow! There were fresh, +juicy shoots running up among the withered blades of last year,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +as if in hopes of bringing them back to life; and closer down she +saw the sharp points of new spears peeping from their sheaths. +And scattered here and there were small dark green leaves folded +around buds shut up so tight that only those who had watched +them many seasons could tell what flowers were to be let out of +their safe prisons by and by. So no one could blame Margery for +not knowing that they were only common things,—mouse-ear, dandelions, +and cinquefoil; nor for stooping over the tiny buds, and +wondering.</p> + +<p>What made the grass come up so green out of the black earth? +And how did the buds know when it was time to take off their +little green hoods, and see what there was in the world around +them? And how came they to be buds at all? Did they bloom +in another world before they sprung up here?—and did they +know, themselves, what kind of flowers they should blossom into? +Had flowers souls, like little girls, that would live in another world +when their forms had faded away from this?</p> + +<p>Margery thought she should like to sit down on the bank and +wait beside the buds until they opened; perhaps they would tell +her their secret if the very first thing they saw was her eyes watching +them. One bud was beginning to unfold; it was streaked +with yellow in little stripes that she could imagine became wider +every minute. But she would not touch it, for it seemed almost as +much alive as herself. She only wondered, and wondered!</p> + +<p>But the dash of the waves grew louder, and the bluebird had +not stopped singing yet, and the sweet sounds drew Margery's feet +down to the beach again, where she played with the shining +pebbles, and sifted the sand through her plump fingers, stopping +now and then to wonder a little about everything, until she heard +her mother's voice calling her, from the cottage on the cliff.</p> + +<p>Then Margery trudged home across the shells and pebbles with +a pleasant smile dimpling her cheeks, for she felt very much at +home in this large, wonderful world, and was happy to be alive, +although she neither could have told, nor cared to know, the +reason why. But when her mother unpinned the little girl's Highland<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +shawl, and took off her hood, she said, "O mother, do let me +live on the door-step! I don't like houses to stay in. What makes +everything so pretty and so glad? Don't you like to wonder?"</p> + +<p>Margery's mother was a good woman. But then there was all +the housework to do, and if she had thoughts, she did not often let +them wander outside the kitchen door. And just now she was +baking some gingerbread, which was in danger of getting burned in +the oven. So she pinned the shawl around the child's neck again, +and left her on the door-step, saying to herself, as she returned to +her work, "Queer child! I wonder what kind of a woman she +will be!"</p> + +<p>But Margery sat on the door-step, and wondered, as the sea +sounded louder, and the sunshine grew warmer around her. It +was all so strange, and grand, and beautiful! Her heart danced +with joy to the music that went echoing through the wide world +from the roots of the sprouting grass to the great golden blossom +of the sun.</p> + +<p>And when the round, gray eyes closed that night, at the first +peep of the stars, the angels looked down and wondered over Margery. +For the wisdom of the wisest being God has made ends in +wonder; and there is nothing on earth so wonderful as the budding +soul of a little child.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Lucy Larcom.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus148.jpg" width="400" height="210" alt="Sunset over the ocean, with flying birds." title="Sunset over the ocean, with flying birds." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE NETTLE-GATHERER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Very early in the spring, when the fresh grass was just appearing, +before the trees had got their foliage, or the beds +of white campanula and blue anemone were open, a poor little girl +with a basket on her arm went out to search for nettles.</p> + +<p>Near the stone wall of the churchyard was a bright green spot, +where grew a large bunch of nettles. The largest stung little +Karine's fingers. "Thank you for nothing!" said she; "but, +whether you like it or not, you must all be put into my basket."</p> + +<p>Little Karine blew on her smarting finger, and the wind followed +suit. The sun shone out warm, and the larks began to sing. As +Karine was standing there listening to the song of the birds, and +warming herself in the sun, she perceived a beautiful butterfly.</p> + +<p>"O, the first I have seen this year! What sort of summer +shall I have? Let me see your colors. Black and bright red. +Sorrow and joy in turn. It is very likely I may go supperless to +bed, but then there is the pleasure of gathering flowers, making +hay, and playing tricks." Remembrance and expectation made +her laugh.</p> + +<p>The butterfly stretched out its dazzling wings, and, after it had +settled on a nettle, waved itself backwards and forwards in the +sunshine. There was also something else upon the nettle, which +looked like a shrivelled-up light brown leaf. The sun was just +then shining down with great force upon the spot, and while she +looked the brown object moved, and two little leaves rose gently +up which by and by became two beautiful little wings; and behold, +it was a butterfly just come out of the chrysalis! Fresh life was +infused into it by the warm rays of the sun, and how happy +it was!</p> + +<p>The two butterflies must have been friends whom some unlucky<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +chance had separated. They flew about, played at hide-and-seek, +waltzed with each other, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying +themselves in the bright sunshine. One flew away three times +into a neighboring orchard. The other seated itself on a nettle to +rest. Karine went gently towards it, put her hands quickly over +it, and got possession both of the butterfly and the nettle. She +then put them into the basket, which she covered with a red cotton +handkerchief, and went home happy.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus150.jpg" width="450" height="293" alt="Karine watches the butterflies play among the nettles." title="Karine watches the butterflies play among the nettles." /> +</div> + +<p>The nettles were bought by an old countess, who lived in a +grand apartment, and had a weakness for nettle soup. Karine received +a silver piece for them. With this in her hand, the butterfly +in her basket, and also two large gingercakes which had been +given to her by the kind countess, the happy girl went into the +room where her mother and little brother awaited her. There +were great rejoicings over the piece of silver, the gingercakes, and +the butterfly.</p> + +<p>But the butterfly did not appear as happy with the children as +the children were with the butterfly. It would not eat any of the +gingerbread, or anything else which the children offered, but was +always fluttering against the window-pane, and when it rested on +the ledge it put out a long proboscis, drew it in again, and appeared +to be sucking something; however, it found nothing to suit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +its taste, so it flew about again, and beat its wings with such force +against the window-pane, that Karine began to fear it would come +to grief. Two days passed in this way. The butterfly would not +be happy.</p> + +<p>"It wants to get out," thought Karine; "it wants to find a +home and something to eat." So she opened the window.</p> + +<p>Ah, how joyfully the butterfly flew out into the open air! it +seemed to be quite happy. Karine ran after it to see which way +it took. It flew over the churchyard, which was near Karine's +dwelling. There little yellow star-like flowers of every description +were in bud; among them the spring campanula, otherwise called +the morning-star. Into the calyxes of these little flowers it thrust +its proboscis, and sucked a sweet juice therefrom; for at the bottom +of the calyx of almost every flower there is a drop of sweet juice +which God has provided for the nourishment of insects,—bees, +drones, butterflies, and many other little creatures.</p> + +<p>The butterfly then flew to the bunch of nettles on the hill. +The large nettle which had stung Karine's finger now bore three +white bell-shaped flowers, which looked like a crown on the top +of the stalk, and many others were nearly out. The butterfly +drew honey from the white nettle-blossoms and embraced the +plant with its wings, as children do a tender mother.</p> + +<p>"It has now returned to its home," thought Karine, and she +felt very glad to have given the butterfly its liberty.</p> + +<p>Summer came. The child enjoyed herself under the lime-trees +in the churchyard, and in the meadows where she got the beautiful +yellow catkins, which were as soft as the down of the goslings, +and which she was so fond of playing with, also the young twigs +which she liked cutting into pipes or whistles. Fir-trees and +pines blossomed and bore fir-cones; the sheep and calves were +growing, and drank the dew, which is called the "Blessed Virgin's +hand," out of the trumpet moss, which with its small white and +purple cup grew on the steep shady banks.</p> + +<p>Karine now gathered flowers to sell. The nettles had long ago +become too old and rank, but the nettle butterflies still flew merrily +about among them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>One day Karine saw her old friend sit on a leaf, as if tired and +worn out, and when it flew away the child found a little gray egg +lying on the very spot where it had rested, whereupon she made a +mark on the nettle and the leaf.</p> + +<p>She forgot the nettles for a long time, and it seemed as if the +butterfly had also forgotten them, for it was there no more. +Larger and more beautiful butterflies were flying about there, +higher up in the air. There was the magnificent Apollo-bird, with +large white wings and scarlet eyes; also the Antiopa, with its beautiful +blue and white velvet band on the edge of its dark velvet +dress; and farther on the dear little blue glittering Zefprinner, and +many others.</p> + +<p>Karine gathered flowers, and then went into the hay-field to +work; still, it often happened that she and her little brother went +supperless to bed. But then their father played on the violin, and +made them forget that they were hungry, and its tones lulled them +to sleep.</p> + +<p>One day, when Karine was passing by the nettles, she stopped, +rejoiced to see them again. She saw that the nettles were a little +bent down, and, upon examination, found a number of small green +caterpillars, resembling those which we call cabbage-grubs, and +they seemed to enjoy eating the nettle leaves as much as the old +countess did her nettle soup. She saw that they covered the +exact spot where she had made a mark, and that the leaf was +nearly eaten up by the caterpillars, and Karine immediately +thought that they must be the butterfly's children. And so they +were, for they had come from its eggs.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" thought Karine, "if my little brother and I, who sometimes +can eat more than our father and mother can give us, could +become butterflies, and find something to eat as easily as these do, +would it not be pleasant?" She broke off the nettle on which the +butterfly had laid its eggs,—but this time she carefully wound her +handkerchief round her hand,—and carried it home.</p> + +<p>On her arrival there, she found all the little grubs had crawled +away, with the exception of one, which was still eating and enjoying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +itself. Karine put the nettle into a glass of water, and every +day a fresh leaf appeared. The caterpillar quickly increased in size, +and seemed to thrive wonderfully well. The child took great +pleasure in it, and wondered within herself how large it would be +at last, and when its wings would come.</p> + +<p>But one morning it appeared very quiet and sleepy, and would +not eat, and became every moment more weary, and seemed ill. +"O," said Karine, "it is certainly going to die, and there will +be no butterfly from it; what a pity!"</p> + +<p>It was evening, and the next morning Karine found with astonishment +that the caterpillar had spun round itself a sort of web, +in which it lay, no longer a living green grub, but a stiff brown +chrysalis. She took it out of the cocoon; it was as if enclosed in +a shell. "It is dead," said the child, "and is now lying in its +coffin! But I will still keep it, for it has been so long with us, +and at any rate it will be something belonging to my old favorite." +Karine then laid it on the earth in a little flower-pot which stood +in the window, in which there was a balsam growing.</p> + +<p>The long winter came, and much, very much snow. Karine +and her little brother had to run barefooted through it all. The +boy got a cough. He became paler and paler, would not eat anything, +and lay tired and weary, just like the grub of the caterpillar +shortly before it became a chrysalis.</p> + +<p>The snow melted, the April sun reappeared, but the little boy +played out of doors no more. His sister went out again to gather +nettles and blue anemones, but no longer with a merry heart. +When she came home, she would place the anemones on her little +brother's sick-bed. And as time went on, one day he lay there +stiff and cold, with eyes fast closed. In a word, he was dead. +They placed him in a coffin, took him to the churchyard, and laid +him in the ground, and the priest threw three handfuls of earth +over the coffin. Karine's heart was so heavy that she did not +heed the blessed words which were spoken of the resurrection +unto everlasting life.</p> + +<p>Karine only knew that her brother was dead, that she had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +longer any little brother whom she could play with, and love, +and be loved by in return. She wept bitterly when she thought +how gentle and good he was. She went crying into the meadows, +gathered all the flowers and young leaves she could find, and +strewed them on her brother's grave, and sat there weeping for +many hours.</p> + +<p>One day she took the pot with the balsam in it, and also the +chrysalis, and said, "I will plant the balsam on the grave, and +bury the butterfly's grub with my dear little brother." Again she +wept bitterly while she thought to herself: "Mother said that +my brother lives, and is happy with God; but I saw him lying in +the coffin, and put into the grave, and how can he then come back +again? No, no; he is dead, and I shall never see either of them +again."</p> + +<p>Poor little Karine sobbed, and dried her tears with the hand +that was free. In the other lay the chrysalis, and the sun shone +upon it. There was a low crackling in the shell, and a violent +motion within, and, behold! she saw a living insect crawl out, +which threw off its shell as a man would his cloak, and sat on +Karine's hand, breathing, and at liberty. In a short time wings +began to appear from its back. Karine looked on with a beating +heart. She saw its wings increase in size, and become colored in +the brightness of the spring sun. Presently the new-born butterfly +moved its proboscis, and tried to raise its young wings, and +she recognized her nettle butterfly. And when, after an hour, he +fluttered his wings to prepare for flight, and flew around the child's +head and among the flowers, an unspeakably joyful feeling came +over Karine, and she said, "The shell of the chrysalis has burst, +and the caterpillar within has got wings; in like manner is my +little brother freed from his mortal body, and has become an angel +in the presence of God."</p> + +<p>In the night she dreamed that her brother and herself, with +butterfly's wings, and joy beaming in their eyes, were soaring far, +far away, above their earthly home, towards the millions of bright +shining stars; and the stars became flowers, whose nectar they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +drank; and over them was a wondrous bright light, and they +heard sounds of music,—so grand and beautiful! Karine recognized +the tones she had heard on earth, when their father played +for her and her little brother in their poor cottage, when they +were hungry. But this was so much more grand! Yet it was so +beautiful, so exceedingly beautiful, that Karine awoke. A rosy +light filled the room, the morning dawn was breaking, and the +sun was looking in love upon the earth, reviving everything with +his gentleness and strength.</p> + +<p>Karine wept no more. She felt great inward joy. When she +again went to visit the nettles, and saw the little caterpillars crawling +on the leaves, she said in a low voice, "You only crawl now, +you little things! By and by you will have wings as well as I, +and you know not how glorious it will be at the last."</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>From the Swedish.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus155.jpg" width="450" height="284" alt="A host of angels in a sunbeam." title="A host of angels in a sunbeam." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">LITTLE ARTHUR'S PRAYER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">The little school-boys went quietly to their own beds, and +began undressing and talking to one another in whispers; +while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on +one another's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor +little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. +The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly +never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange +to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, +presently, with an effort, off it came, and then he paused and looked +at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed, talking and +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my face and +hands?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring; "that's your washhand-stand +under the window, second from your bed. You'll +have to go down for more water in the morning if you use it all." +And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from +between the beds out to his washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, +thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of +the room.</p> + +<p>On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing +and undressing, and put on his night-gown. He then looked +round more nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys +were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. +The light burned clear, the noise went on. It was a trying moment +for the poor little lonely boy; however, this time he did not +ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his +knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from his childhood, +to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth +the sorrows of the tender child, and the strong man in agony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 339px;"> +<img src="images/illus157.jpg" width="339" height="500" alt="Arthur kneeling and offering prayer in the busy room." title="Arthur kneeling and offering prayer in the busy room." /> +</div> + +<p>Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so +that his back was towards Arthur, and he did not see what had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then +two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big brutal fellow +who was standing in the middle of the room picked up a slipper, +and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young +shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot +he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who +had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Confound you, Brown; what's that for?" roared he, stamping +with pain.</p> + +<p>"Never mind what I mean," said Tom, stepping on to the floor, +every drop of blood in his body tingling; "if any fellow wants +the other boot, he knows how to get it."</p> + +<p>What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment +the sixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said. +Tom and the rest rushed into bed and finished their unrobing +there, and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the +candle in another minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting +their door with his usual "Good night, genl'm'n."</p> + +<p>There were many boys in the room by whom that little scene +was taken to heart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have +deserted the pillow of poor Tom. For some time his excitement, +and the flood of memories which chased one another through his +brain, kept him from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, +his heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from springing +out of bed and rushing about the room. Then the thought of his +own mother came across him, and the promise he had made at her +knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and +give himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the +pillow, from which it might never rise; and he lay down gently, +and cried as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen +years old.</p> + +<p>It was no light act of courage in those days for a little fellow to +say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later, when +Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables +turned; before he died, in the schoolhouse at least, and I believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +in the other houses, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom +had come to school in other times. The first few nights after he +came he did not kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in +bed till the candle was out, and then stole out and said his prayers, +in fear lest some one should find him out. So did many another +poor little fellow. Then he began to think that he might just as +well say his prayers in bed, and then that it did not matter whether +he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying down. And so it had come +to pass with Tom, as with all who will not confess their Lord before +men; and for the last year he had probably not said his +prayers in earnest a dozen times.</p> + +<p>Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was like to +break his heart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of +all others which he loathed was brought in and burned in on his +own soul. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, to his +God. How could he bear it? And then the poor little weak boy, +whom he had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had +done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do. The first +dawn of comfort came to him in vowing to himself that he would +stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and +help him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that +night. Then he resolved to write home next day and tell his +mother all, and what a coward her son had been. And then peace +came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next +morning. The morning would be harder than the night to begin +with, but he felt that he could not afford to let one chance slip. +Several times he faltered, for the Devil showed him first, all his +old friends calling him "Saint," and "Squaretoes," and a dozen +hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be misunderstood, +and he would only be left alone with the new boy; +whereas it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he +might do good to the largest number. And then came the more +subtle temptation, "Shall I not be showing myself braver than +others by doing this? Have I any right to begin it now? Ought +I not rather to pray in my own study, letting other boys know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +that I do so, and trying to lead them to it, while in public at least +I should go on as I have done?" However, his good angel was +too strong that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired +of trying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which had +been so strong, and in which he had found peace.</p> + +<p>Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his +jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, +and then in the face of the whole room he knelt down to pray. Not +five words could he say,—the bell mocked him; he was listening +for every whisper in the room,—what were they all thinking of +him? He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from +his knees. At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still small +voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican, "God be +merciful to me a sinner!" He repeated them over and over, +clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees comforted +and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. It was not +needed; two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his +example, and he went down to the great school with a glimmering +of another lesson in his heart,—the lesson that he who has conquered +his own coward spirit has conquered the whole outward +world; and that other one which the old prophet learned in the +cave at Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the still small +voice asked, "What doest thou here, Elijah?" that however we +may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King and Lord +of men is nowhere without his witnesses; for in every society, +however seemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have +not bowed the knee to Baal.</p> + +<p>He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be +produced by his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a +laugh when he knelt down, but this passed off soon, and one by +one all the other boys but three or four followed the lead.</p> + +<p class="sig">"<i>School-Days at Rugby.</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">FAITH AND HER MOTHER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Aunt Winifred went again to Worcester to-day. She +said that she had to buy trimming for Faith's sack.</p> + +<p>She went alone, as usual, and Faith and I kept each other company +through the afternoon,—she on the floor with her doll, I in +the easy-chair with Macaulay. As the light began to fall level on +the floor, I threw the book aside,—being at the end of a volume,—and, +Mary Ann having exhausted her attractions, I surrendered +unconditionally to the little maiden.</p> + +<p>She took me up garret, and down cellar, on top of the wood-pile, +and into the apple-trees; I fathomed the mysteries of Old +Man's Castle and Still Palm; I was her grandmother; I was her +baby; I was a rabbit; I was a chestnut horse; I was a watch-dog; +I was a mild-tempered giant; I was a bear, "warranted not to +eat little girls"; I was a roaring hippopotamus and a canary-bird; +I was Jeff Davis, and I was Moses in the bulrushes; and of what +I was, the time faileth me to tell.</p> + +<p>It comes over me with a curious, mingled sense of the ludicrous +and the horrible, that I should have spent the afternoon like a +baby and almost as happily, laughing out with the child, past and +future forgotten, the tremendous risks of "I spy" absorbing all my +present, while what was happening was happening, and what was +to come was coming. Not an echo in the air, not a prophecy in +the sunshine, not a note of warning in the song of the robins that +watched me from the apple-boughs.</p> + +<p>As the long, golden afternoon slid away, we came out by the +front gate to watch for the child's mother. I was tired, and, lying +back on the grass, gave Faith some pink and purple larkspurs, that +she might amuse herself in making a chain of them. The picture +that she made sitting there on the short dying grass—the light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +which broke all about her and over her at the first, creeping slowly +down and away to the west, her little fingers linking the rich, +bright flowers, tube into tube, the dimple on her cheek and the +love in her eyes—has photographed itself into my thinking.</p> + +<p>How her voice rang out, when the wheels sounded at last, and +the carriage, somewhat slowly driven, stopped!</p> + +<p>"Mamma, mamma! see what I've got for you, mamma!"</p> + +<p>Auntie tried to step from the carriage, and called me: "Mary, +can you help me a little? I am—tired."</p> + +<p>I went to her, and she leaned heavily on my arm, and we came +up the path.</p> + +<p>"Such a pretty little chain, all for you, mamma," began Faith, +and stopped, struck by her mother's look.</p> + +<p>"It has been a long ride, and I am in pain. I believe I will lie +right down on the parlor sofa. Mary, would you be kind enough +to give Faith her supper and put her to bed?"</p> + +<p>Faith's lip grieved.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary isn't <i>you</i>, mamma. I want to be kissed. You +haven't kissed me."</p> + +<p>Her mother hesitated for a moment; then kissed her once, +twice; put both arms about her neck, and turned her face to the +wall without a word.</p> + +<p>"Mamma is tired, dear," I said; "come away."</p> + +<p>She was lying quite still when I had done what was to be done +for the child, and had come back. The room was nearly dark. I +sat down on my cricket by her sofa.</p> + +<p>"Did you find the sack-trimming?" I ventured, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"I believe so,—yes."</p> + +<p>She drew a little package from her pocket, held it a moment, +then let it roll to the floor forgotten. When I picked it up, the +soft, tissue-paper wrapper was wet and hot with tears.</p> + +<p>"Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I never thought of the little trimming till the last minute. I +had another errand."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>I waited.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;"> +<img src="images/illus163.jpg" width="359" height="500" alt="Faith and her mother." title="Faither and her mother." /> +</div> + +<p>"I thought at first I would not tell you just yet. But I suppose +the time has come; it will be no more easy to put it off. I +have been to Worcester all these times to see a doctor."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>I bent my head in the dark, and listened for the rest.</p> + +<p>"He has his reputation; they said he could help me if anybody +could. He thought at first he could. But to-day—"</p> + +<p>The leaves rustled out of doors. Faith, up stairs, was singing +herself to sleep with a droning sound.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," she said at length, "I must give up and be sick +now; I am feeling the reaction from having kept up so long. He +thinks I shall not suffer a very great deal. He thinks he can +relieve me, and that it may be soon over."</p> + +<p>"There is no chance?"</p> + +<p>"No chance."</p> + +<p>I took both of her hands, and cried out, "Auntie, Auntie, +Auntie!" and tried to think what I was doing, but only cried out +the more.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mary!" she said; "why, Mary!" and again, as before, +she passed her soft hand to and fro across my hair, till by and by I +began to think, as I had thought before, that I could bear anything +which God, who loved us all,—who <i>surely</i> loved us all,—should +send.</p> + +<p>So then, after I had grown still, she began to tell me about it in +her quiet voice; and the leaves rustled, and Faith had sung herself +to sleep, and I listened wondering. For there was no pain in the +quiet voice,—no pain, nor tone of fear. Indeed, it seemed to me that +I detected, through its subdued sadness, a secret, suppressed buoyancy +of satisfaction, with which something struggled.</p> + +<p>"And you?" I asked, turning quickly upon her.</p> + +<p>"I should thank God with all my heart, Mary, if it were not +for Faith and you. But it <i>is</i> for Faith and you. That's all."</p> + +<p>When I had locked the front door, and was creeping up here to +my room, my foot crushed something, and a faint, wounded perfume +came up. It was the little pink and purple chain.</p> + +<p class="sig">"<i>The Gates Ajar.</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE OPEN DOOR.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Poor Mrs. Van Loon was a widow. She had four little children. +The eldest was Dirk, a boy of eight years.</p> + +<p>One evening she had no bread, and her children were hungry. +She folded her hands, and prayed to God; for she served the +Lord, and she believed that he loved and could help her.</p> + +<p>When she had finished her prayer, Dirk said to her, "Mother, +don't we read in the Bible that God sent ravens to a pious man to +bring him bread?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the mother, "but that's long, long ago, my +dear."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Dirk, "then the Lord may send ravens now. I'll +go and open the door, else they can't fly in."</p> + +<p>In a trice Dirk jumped to the door, which he left wide open, so +that the light of the lamp fell on the pavement of the street.</p> + +<p>Shortly after, the burgomaster passed by. The burgomaster is +the first magistrate of a Dutch town or village. Seeing the open +door, he stopped.</p> + +<p>Looking into the room, he was pleased with its clean, tidy appearance, +and with the nice little children who were grouped +around their mother. He could not help stepping in, and approaching +Mrs. Van Loon he said, "Eh, my good woman, why is your +door open so late as this?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Van Loon was a little confused when she saw such a well-dressed +gentleman in her poor room. She quickly rose and dropped +a courtesy to the gentleman; then taking Dirk's cap from his head, +and smoothing his hair, she answered, with a smile, "My little +Dirk has done it, sir, that the ravens may fly in to bring us +bread."</p> + +<p>Now, the burgomaster was dressed in a black coat and black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +trousers, and he wore a black hat. He was quite black all over, +except his collar and shirt-front.</p> + +<p>"Ah! indeed!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Dirk is right. Here +is a raven, you see, and a large one too. Come along, Dirk, and +I'll show you where the bread is."</p> + +<p>The burgomaster took Dirk to his house, and ordered his servant +to put two loaves and a small pot of butter into a basket. This he +gave to Dirk, who carried it home as quickly as he could. When +the other little children saw the bread, they began dancing and +clapping their hands. The mother gave to each of them a thick +slice of bread and butter, which they ate with the greatest relish.</p> + +<p>When they had finished their meal, Dirk went to the open +door, and, taking his cap from his head, looked up to the sky, and +said, "Many thanks, good Lord!" And after having said this, he +shut the door.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>John de Liefde.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> +<img src="images/illus166.jpg" width="275" height="446" alt="The burgomaster walking down the narrow street." title="The burgomaster walking down the narrow street." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE PRINCE'S VISIT.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">It was a holiday in the city, for the Prince was to arrive. As +soon as the cannon should sound, the people might know that +the Prince had landed from the steamer; and when they should +hear the bells ring, that was much the same as being told that +the Mayor and Aldermen and City Councillors had welcomed the +Prince, by making speeches, and shaking hands, and bowing, and +drinking wine; and that now the Prince, dressed in splendid +clothes, and wearing a feather in his cap, was actually on his way +up the main street of the city, seated in a carriage drawn by four +coal-black horses, preceded by soldiers and music, and followed by +soldiers, citizens in carriages, and people on foot. Now it was the +first time that a Prince had ever visited the city, and it might be the +only chance that the people ever would get to see a real son of a +king; and so it was universally agreed to have a holiday, and long +before the bells rang, or even the cannon sounded, the people were +flocking into the main street, well dressed, as indeed they ought to +be, when they were to be seen by a Prince.</p> + +<p>It was holiday in the stores and in the workshops, although +the holiday did not begin at the same hour everywhere. In the +great laundry it was to commence when the cannon sounded; and +"weak Job," as his comrades called him, who did nothing all day +long but turn the crank that worked a great washing-machine, and +which was quite as much, they said, as he had wits to do, listened +eagerly for the sound of the cannon; and when he heard it, he +dropped the crank, and, getting a nod from the head man, shuffled +out of the building and made his way home.</p> + +<p>Since he had heard of the Prince's coming, Job had thought +and dreamed of nothing else; and when he found that they were +to have a holiday on his arrival, he was almost beside himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +He bought a picture of the Prince, and pinned it up on the wall +over his bed; and when he came home at night, tired and hungry, +he would sit down by his mother, who mended rents in the clothes +brought to the laundry, and talk about the Prince until he could +not keep his eyes open longer; then his mother would kiss him +and send him to bed, where he knelt down and prayed the +Lord to keep the Prince, and then slept and dreamed of him, dressing +him in all the gorgeous colors that his poor imagination could +devise, while his mother worked late in her solitary room, thinking +of her only boy; and when she knelt down at night, she prayed +the Lord to keep him, and then slept, dreaming also, but with +various fancies; for sometimes she seemed to see Job like his dead +father,—strong and handsome and brave and quick-witted,—and +now she would see him playing with the children, or shuffling +down the court with his head leaning on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>To-day he hurried so fast that he was panting for want of breath +when he reached the shed-like house where they lived. His +mother was watching for him, and he came in nodding his head +and rubbing his warm face.</p> + +<p>"The cannon has gone off, mother," said he, in great excitement. +"The Prince has come!"</p> + +<p>"Everything is ready, Job," said his mother. "You will find +all your things in a row on the bed." And Job tumbled into his +room to dress himself for the holiday. Everything was there as +his mother had said; all the old things renewed, and all the new +things pieced together that she had worked on so long, and every +stitch of which Job had overlooked and almost directed. If there +had but been time to spare, how Job would have liked to turn +round and round before his scrap of looking-glass; but there was +no time to spare, and so in a very few minutes he was out again, +and showing himself to his mother.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it splendid!" said he, surveying himself from top to +toe, and looking with special admiration on a white satin scarf +that shone round his throat in dazzling contrast to the dingy +coat, and which had in it an old brooch which Job treasured as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +apple of his eye. Job's mother, too, looked at them both; and +though she smiled and did not speak, it was only—brave woman!—because +she was choking, as she thought how the satin was the +last remnant of her wedding-dress, and the brooch the last trinket +left of all given to her years back.</p> + +<p>"If you would only have let me wear the feather, mother!" said +Job, sorrowfully, in regretful remembrance of one he had long +hoarded, and which he had begged hard to wear in his hat.</p> + +<p>"You look splendidly, Job, and don't need it," said she, cheerfully; +"and, besides, the Prince wears one, and what would he +think if he saw you with one, too?"</p> + +<p>"Sure enough," said Job, who had not thought of that before; +and then he kissed her and started off, while she stood at the door +looking anxiously after him. "I don't believe," said he, aloud, as +he went up the court, "that the Prince would mind my wearing a +feather; but mother didn't want me too. Hark! there are the +bells! Yes, he has started!" And Job, forgetting all else, +pushed eagerly on. It was a long way from the laundry to his +home, and it was a long way, too, from his home to the main +street; and so Job had no time to spare if he would get to the +crowd in season to see the grand procession, for he wanted to see it +all,—from the policemen, who cleared the way, to the noisy omnibuses +and carts that led business once more up the holiday streets.</p> + +<p>On he shambled, knocking against the flag-stones, and nearly +precipitating himself down areas and unguarded passage-ways. He +was now in a cross street, which would bring him before long into +the main street, and he even thought he heard the distant music +and the cheers of the crowd. His heart beat high, and his face +was lighted up until it really looked, in its eagerness, as intelligent +as that of other people quicker witted than poor Job. And +now he had come in sight of the great thoroughfare; it was yet +a good way off, but he could see the black swarms of people that +lined its edges. The street he was in was quiet, so were all the +cross streets, for they had been drained of life to feed the great artery +of the main street. There, indeed, was life! upon the sidewalks;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +packed densely, flowing out in eddies into the alleys and cross +streets, rising tier above tier in the shop-fronts, filling all the upper +windows, and fringing even the roofs. Flags hung from house to +house, and sentences of welcome were written upon strips of canvas. +And if one at this moment, when weak Job was hurrying +up the cross street, could have looked from some house-top down +the main street, he would have seen the Prince's pageant coming +nearer and nearer, and would have heard the growing tumult of +brazen music, and the waves of cheers that broke along the lines.</p> + +<p>It was a glimpse of this sight, and a note of this sound, +that weak Job caught in the still street, and with new ardor, +although hot and dusty, he pressed on, almost weeping at thought +of the joy he was to have. "The Prince is coming," he said, +aloud, in his excitement. But at the next step, Job, recklessly +tumbling along, despite his weak and troublesome legs, struck +something with his feet, and fell forward upon the walk. He +could not stop to see what it was that so suddenly and vexatiously +tripped him up, and was just moving on with a limp, when he +heard behind him a groan and a cry of pain. He turned and saw +what his unlucky feet had stumbled over. A poor negro boy, +without home or friends, black and unsightly enough, and clad in +ragged clothing, had sat down upon the sidewalk, leaning against +a tree, and, without strength enough to move, had been the unwilling +stumbling-block to poor Job's progress. As Job turned, the +poor boy looked at him beseechingly, and stretched out his hands. +But even that was an exertion, and his arms dropped by his side +again. His lips moved, but no word came forth; and his eyes +even closed, as if he could not longer raise the lids.</p> + +<p>"He is sick!" said Job, and looked uneasily about. There was +no one near. "Hilloa!" cried Job in distress; but no one heard +except the black, who raised his eyes again to him, and essayed to +move. Job started toward him.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah! hurrah!" sounded in the distant street. The roar +of the cheering beat against the houses, and at intervals came gusts +of music. Poor Job trembled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The Prince is coming," said he; and he turned as if to run. +But the poor black would not away from his eyes. "He might +die while I was gone," said he, and he turned again to lift him up. +"He is sick!" he said again. "I will take him home to mother!"</p> + +<p>"Hurrah! hurrah! there he is! the Prince! the Prince!" +And the dull roar of the cheering, which had been growing louder +and louder, now broke into sharp ringing huzzas as the grand +procession passed the head of the cross street. In the carriage +drawn by four coal-black horses rode the Prince; and he was +dressed in splendid clothes and wore a feather in his cap. The +music flowed forth clearly and sweetly. "God save the king!" it +sang, and from street and window and house-top the people +shouted and waved flags. Hurrah! hurrah!</p> + +<p>Weak Job, wiping the tears from his eyes, heard the sound from +afar, but he saw no sight save the poor black whom he lifted from +the ground. No sight? Yes, at that moment he did. In that +quiet street, standing by the black boy, poor Job—weak Job, +whom people pitied—saw a grander sight than all the crowd in +the brilliant main street.</p> + +<p>Well mightst thou stand in dumb awe, holding by the hand the +helpless black, poor Job! for in that instant thou didst see +with undimmed eyes a pageant such as poor mortals may but +whisper,—even the Prince of Life with his attendant angels +moving before thee; yes, and on thee did the Prince look with +love, and in thy ears did the heavenly choir and the multitudinous +voices of gathered saints sing, for of old were the words written, +and now thou didst hear them spoken to thyself,—</p> + +<p>"<i>Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my +brethren, ye have done it unto me.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>For whosoever shall receive one of such children in my name, +receiveth me.</i>"</p> + +<p>Weak Job, too, had seen the Prince pass.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Horace Scudder.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<h2><big>FANCIES OF CHILD LIFE.</big></h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> +<h2>FANCIES OF CHILD LIFE.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> +<h3>THE HEN THAT HATCHED DUCKS.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Once there was a nice young hen that we will call Mrs. Feathertop. +She was a hen of most excellent family, being a +direct descendant of the Bolton Grays, and as pretty a young fowl +as you should wish to see of a summer's day. She was, moreover, +as fortunately situated in life as it was possible for a hen to be. +She was bought by young Master Fred Little John, with four or +five family connections of hers, and a lively young cock, who was +held to be as brisk a scratcher and as capable a head of a family as +any half-dozen sensible hens could desire.</p> + +<p>I can't say that at first Mrs. Feathertop was a very sensible hen. +She was very pretty and lively, to be sure, and a great favorite with +Master Bolton Gray Cock, on account of her bright eyes, her finely +shaded feathers, and certain saucy dashing ways that she had, +which seemed greatly to take his fancy. But old Mrs. Scratchard, +living in the neighboring yard, assured all the neighborhood that +Gray Cock was a fool for thinking so much of that flighty young +thing,—that she had not the smallest notion how to get on in life, +and thought of nothing in the world but her own pretty feathers. +"Wait till she comes to have chickens," said Mrs. Scratchard. +"Then you will see. I have brought up ten broods myself,—as +likely and respectable chickens as ever were a blessing to society, +—and I think I ought to know a good hatcher and brooder when +I see her; and I know <i>that</i> fine piece of trumpery, with her white +feathers tipped with gray, never will come down to family life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +<i>She</i> scratch for chickens! Bless me, she never did anything in all +her days but run round and eat the worms which somebody else +scratched up for her!"</p> + +<p>When Master Bolton Gray heard this he crowed very loudly, +like a cock of spirit, and declared that old Mrs. Scratchard was envious +because she had lost all her own tail-feathers, and looked more +like a worn-out old feather-duster than a respectable hen, and that +therefore she was filled with sheer envy of anybody that was young +and pretty. So young Mrs. Feathertop cackled gay defiance at +her busy rubbishy neighbor, as she sunned herself under the +bushes on fine June afternoons.</p> + +<p>Now Master Fred Little John had been allowed to have these +hens by his mamma on the condition that he would build their +house himself, and take all the care of it; and, to do Master Fred +justice, he executed the job in a small way quite creditably. He +chose a sunny sloping bank covered with a thick growth of bushes, +and erected there a nice little hen-house, with two glass windows, +a little door, and a good pole for his family to roost on. He made, +moreover, a row of nice little boxes with hay in them for nests, +and he bought three or four little smooth white china eggs to put +in them, so that, when his hens <i>did</i> lay, he might carry off their +eggs without their being missed. The hen-house stood in a little +grove that sloped down to a wide river, just where there was a +little cove which reached almost to the hen-house.</p> + +<p>This situation inspired one of Master Fred's boy advisers with a +new scheme in relation to his poultry enterprise. "Hullo! I say, +Fred," said Tom Seymour, "you ought to raise ducks,—you've +got a capital place for ducks there."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—but I've bought <i>hens</i>, you see," said Freddy; "so it's +no use trying."</p> + +<p>"No use! Of course there is! Just as if your hens couldn't +hatch ducks' eggs. Now you just wait till one of your hens +wants to set, and you put ducks' eggs under her, and you'll have a +family of ducks in a twinkling. You can buy ducks' eggs, a plenty, +of old Sam under the hill; he always has hens hatch his ducks."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>So Freddy thought it would be a good experiment, and informed +his mother the next morning that he intended to furnish the ducks +for the next Christmas dinner; and when she wondered how he +was to come by them, he said, mysteriously, "O, I will show you +how!" but did not further explain himself. The next day he +went with Tom Seymour, and made a trade with old Sam, and gave +him a middle-aged jack-knife for eight of his ducks' eggs. Sam, by +the by, was a woolly-headed old negro man, who lived by the pond +hard by, and who had long cast envying eyes on Fred's jack-knife, +because it was of extra-fine steel, having been a Christmas present +the year before. But Fred knew very well there were any number +more of jack-knives where that came from, and that, in order to +get a new one, he must dispose of the old; so he made the trade +and came home rejoicing.</p> + +<p>Now about this time Mrs. Feathertop, having laid her eggs daily +with great credit to herself, notwithstanding Mrs. Scratchard's +predictions, began to find herself suddenly attacked with nervous +symptoms. She lost her gay spirits, grew dumpish and morose, +stuck up her feathers in a bristling way, and pecked at her neighbors +if they did so much as look at her. Master Gray Cock was +greatly concerned, and went to old Doctor Peppercorn, who looked +solemn, and recommended an infusion of angle-worms, and said he +would look in on the patient twice a day till she was better.</p> + +<p>"Gracious me, Gray Cock!" said old Goody Kertarkut, who +had been lolling at the corner as he passed, "a'n't you a fool?—cocks +always are fools. Don't you know what's the matter with +your wife? She wants to set,—that's all; and you just let her +set! A fiddlestick for Doctor Peppercorn! Why, any good old +hen that has brought up a family knows more than a doctor about +such things. You just go home and tell her to set, if she wants +to, and behave herself."</p> + +<p>When Gray Cock came home, he found that Master Freddy had +been before him, and established Mrs. Feathertop upon eight nice +eggs, where she was sitting in gloomy grandeur. He tried to make +a little affable conversation with her, and to relate his interview<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +with the Doctor and Goody Kertarkut, but she was morose and +sullen, and only pecked at him now and then in a very sharp, unpleasant +way; so, after a few more efforts to make himself agreeable, +he left her, and went out promenading with the captivating +Mrs. Red Comb, a charming young Spanish widow, who had just +been imported into the neighboring yard.</p> + +<p>"Bless my soul!" said he, "you've no idea how cross my +wife is."</p> + +<p>"O you horrid creature!" said Mrs. Red Comb; "how little you +feel for the weaknesses of us poor hens!"</p> + +<p>"On my word, ma'am," said Gray Cock, "you do me injustice. +But when a hen gives way to temper, ma'am, and no longer meets +her husband with a smile,—when she even pecks at him whom +she is bound to honor and obey—"</p> + +<p>"Horrid monster! talking of obedience! I should say, sir, you +came straight from Turkey!" And Mrs. Red Comb tossed her head +with a most bewitching air, and pretended to run away, and old +Mrs. Scratchard looked out of her coop and called to Goody Kertarkut,—</p> + +<p>"Look how Mr. Gray Cock is flirting with that widow. I always +knew she was a baggage."</p> + +<p>"And his poor wife left at home alone," said Goody Kertarkut. +"It's the way with 'em all!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Dame Scratchard, "she'll know what real life +is now, and she won't go about holding her head so high, and +looking down on her practical neighbors that have raised families."</p> + +<p>"Poor thing, what'll she do with a family?" said Goody Kertarkut.</p> + +<p>"Well, what business have such young flirts to get married," +said Dame Scratchard. "I don't expect she'll raise a single chick; +and there's Gray Cock flirting about fine as ever. Folks didn't +do so when I was young. I'm sure my husband knew what treatment +a setting hen ought to have,—poor old Long Spur,—he +never minded a peck or so now and then. I must say these modern +fowls a'n't what fowls used to be."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meanwhile the sun rose and set, and Master Fred was almost +the only friend and associate of poor little Mrs. Feathertop, whom +he fed daily with meal and water, and only interrupted her sad reflections +by pulling her up occasionally to see how the eggs were +coming on.</p> + +<p>At last "Peep, peep, peep!" began to be heard in the nest, and +one little downy head after another poked forth from under the +feathers, surveying the world with round, bright, winking eyes; +and gradually the brood was hatched, and Mrs. Feathertop arose, a +proud and happy mother, with all the bustling, scratching, care-taking +instincts of family life warm within her breast. She +clucked and scratched, and cuddled the little downy bits of things +as handily and discreetly as a seven-year-old hen could have done, +exciting thereby the wonder of the community.</p> + +<p>Master Gray Cock came home in high spirits and complimented +her; told her she was looking charmingly once more, and said, +"Very well, very nice!" as he surveyed the young brood. So +that Mrs. Feathertop began to feel the world going well with her,—when +suddenly in came Dame Scratchard and Goody Kertarkut +to make a morning call.</p> + +<p>"Let's see the chicks," said Dame Scratchard.</p> + +<p>"Goodness me," said Goody Kertarkut, "what a likeness to +their dear papa!"</p> + +<p>"Well, but bless me, what's the matter with their bills?" said +Dame Scratchard. "Why, my dear, these chicks are deformed! +I'm sorry for you, my dear, but it's all the result of your inexperience; +you ought to have eaten pebble-stones with your meal +when you were setting. Don't you see, Dame Kertarkut, what +bills they have? That'll increase, and they'll be frightful!"</p> + +<p>"What shall I do?" said Mrs. Feathertop, now greatly alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Nothing as I know of," said Dame Scratchard, "since you +didn't come to me before you set. I could have told you all +about it. Maybe it won't kill 'em, but they'll always be deformed."</p> + +<p>And so the gossips departed, leaving a sting under the pinfeathers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +of the poor little hen mamma, who began to see that her +darlings had curious little spoon-bills different from her own, and +to worry and fret about it.</p> + +<p>"My dear," she said to her spouse, "do get Doctor Peppercorn to +to come in and look at their bills, and see if anything can be done."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus180.jpg" width="450" height="457" alt="The parents, gossips, Doctor and babies gathered." title="The parents, gossips, Doctor and babies gathered." /> +</div> + +<p>Doctor Peppercorn came in, and put on a monstrous pair of +spectacles, and said, "Hum! Ha! Extraordinary case,—very +singular!"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see anything like it, Doctor?" said both parents, +in a breath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've read of such cases. It's a calcareous enlargement of the +vascular bony tissue, threatening ossification," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"O, dreadful!—can it be possible?" shrieked both parents. +"Can anything be done?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I should recommend a daily lotion made of mosquitoes' +horns and bicarbonate of frogs' toes, together with a powder, to be +taken morning and night, of muriate of fleas. One thing you +must be careful about: they must never wet their feet, nor drink +any water."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, Doctor, I don't know what I <i>shall</i> do, for they seem +to have a particular fancy for getting into water."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a morbid tendency often found in these cases of bony +tumification of the vascular tissue of the mouth; but you must +resist it, ma'am, as their life depends upon it." And with that +Doctor Peppercorn glared gloomily on the young ducks, who were +stealthily poking the objectionable little spoon-bills out from under +their mother's feathers.</p> + +<p>After this poor Mrs. Feathertop led a weary life of it; for the +young fry were as healthy and enterprising a brood of young ducks +as ever carried saucepans on the end of their noses, and they most +utterly set themselves against the doctor's prescriptions, murmured +at the muriate of fleas and the bicarbonate of frogs' toes, and took +every opportunity to waddle their little ways down to the mud and +water which was in their near vicinity. So their bills grew larger +and larger, as did the rest of their bodies, and family government +grew weaker and weaker.</p> + +<p>"You'll wear me out, children, you certainly will," said poor +Mrs. Feathertop.</p> + +<p>"You'll go to destruction,—do ye hear?" said Master Gray +Cock.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see such frights as poor Mrs. Feathertop has +got?" said Dame Scratchard. "I knew what would come of <i>her</i> +family,—all deformed, and with a dreadful sort of madness, which +makes them love to shovel mud with those shocking spoon-bills of +theirs."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a kind of idiocy," said Goody Kertarkut. "Poor things! +they can't be kept from the water, nor made to take powders, and +so they get worse and worse."</p> + +<p>"I understand it's affecting their feet so that they can't walk, +and a dreadful sort of net is growing between their toes; what a +shocking visitation!"</p> + +<p>"She brought it on herself," said Dame Scratchard. "Why +didn't she come to me before she set? She was always an upstart, +self-conceited thing, but I'm sure I pity her."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the young ducks throve apace. Their necks grew +glossy like changeable green and gold satin, and though they +would not take the doctor's medicine, and would waddle in the +mud and water,—for which they always felt themselves to be very +naughty ducks,—yet they grew quite vigorous and hearty. At +last one day the whole little tribe waddled off down to the bank +of the river. It was a beautiful day, and the river was dancing +and dimpling and winking as the little breezes shook the trees that +hung over it.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the biggest of the little ducks, "in spite of Doctor +Peppercorn, I can't help longing for the water. I don't believe it +is going to hurt me,—at any rate, here goes." And in he +plumped, and in went every duck after him, and they threw out +their great brown feet as cleverly as if they had taken rowing lessons +all their lives, and sailed off on the river, away, away, among +the ferns, under the pink azalias, through reeds and rushes, and +arrow-heads and pickerel-weed, the happiest ducks that ever were +born; and soon they were quite out of sight.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Feathertop, this is a dispensation," said Mrs. +Scratchard. "Your children are all drowned at last, just as I +knew they'd be. The old music-teacher, Master Bullfrog, that +lives down in Water-Dock Lane, saw 'em all plump madly into the +water together this morning; that's what comes of not knowing +how to bring up a family."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Feathertop gave only one shriek and fainted dead away, +and was carried home on a cabbage-leaf, and Mr. Gray Cock was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +sent for, where he was waiting on Mrs. Red Comb through the +squash-vines.</p> + +<p>"It's a serious time in your family, sir," said Goody Kertarkut, +"and you ought to be at home supporting your wife. Send for +Doctor Peppercorn without delay."</p> + +<p>Now as the case was a very dreadful one, Doctor Peppercorn +called a council from the barn-yard of the Squire, two miles off, +and a brisk young Doctor Partlett appeared, in a fine suit of brown +and gold, with tail-feathers like meteors. A fine young fellow he +was, lately from Paris, with all the modern scientific improvements +fresh in his head.</p> + +<p>When he had listened to the whole story, he clapped his spur +into the ground, and, leaning back, laughed so loud that all the +cocks in the neighborhood crowed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Feathertop rose up out of her swoon, and Mr. Gray Cock +was greatly enraged.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, sir, by such behavior in the house of +mourning?"</p> + +<p>"My dear sir, pardon me,—but there is no occasion for mourning. +My dear madam, let me congratulate you. There is no harm +done. The simple matter is, dear madam, you have been under a +hallucination all along. The neighborhood and my learned friend +the doctor have all made a mistake in thinking that these children +of yours were hens at all. They are ducks, ma'am, evidently +ducks, and very finely formed ducks, I dare say."</p> + +<p>At this moment a quack was heard, and at a distance the whole +tribe were seen coming waddling home, their feathers gleaming in +green and gold, and they themselves in high good spirits.</p> + +<p>"Such a splendid day as we have had!" they all cried in a +breath. "And we know now how to get our own living; we can +take care of ourselves in future, so you need have no further +trouble with us."</p> + +<p>"Madam," said the Doctor, making a bow with an air which +displayed his tail-feathers to advantage, "let me congratulate you +on the charming family you have raised. A finer brood of young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +healthy ducks I never saw. Give claw, my dear friend," he said, +addressing the elder son. "In our barn-yard no family is more +respected than that of the ducks."</p> + +<p>And so Madam Feathertop came off glorious at last; and when +after this the ducks used to go swimming up and down the river like +so many nabobs among the admiring hens, Doctor Peppercorn used +to look after them and say, "Ah! I had the care of their infancy!" +and Mr. Gray Cock and his wife used to say, "It was our system +of education did that!"</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Harriet Beecher Stowe.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> +<img src="images/illus184.jpg" width="275" height="180" alt="A Rooster on a fence." title="A Rooster on a fence." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;"> +<img src="images/illus185.jpg" width="405" height="500" alt="Blunder sitting on the Wishing-Gate." title="Blunder sitting on the Wishing-Gate." /> +</div> + +<h3 class="chap">BLUNDER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Blunder was going to the Wishing-Gate, to wish for a pair +of Shetland ponies, and a little coach, like Tom Thumb's. +And of course you can have your wish, if you once get there. But +the thing is, to find it; for it is not, as you imagine, a great gate, +with a tall marble pillar on each side, and a sign over the top, like +this, WISHING-GATE,—but just an old stile, made of three +sticks. Put up two fingers, cross them on the top with another +finger, and you have it exactly,—the way it looks, I mean,—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +worm-eaten stile, in a meadow; and as there are plenty of old +stiles in meadows, how are you to know which is the one?</p> + +<p>Blunder's fairy godmother knew, but then she could not tell him, +for that was not according to fairy rules and regulations. She +could only direct him to follow the road, and ask the way of the +first owl he met; and over and over she charged him, for Blunder +was a very careless little boy, and seldom found anything, "Be +sure you don't miss him,—be sure you don't pass him by." And +so far Blunder had come on very well, for the road was straight; +but at the turn it forked. Should he go through the wood, or turn +to the right? There was an owl nodding in a tall oak-tree, the +first owl Blunder had seen; but he was a little afraid to wake him +up, for Blunder's fairy godmother had told him that this was a +great philosopher, who sat up all night to study the habits of frogs +and mice, and knew everything but what went on in the daylight, +under his nose; and he could think of nothing better to say to +this great philosopher than "Good Mr. Owl, will you please show +me the way to the Wishing-Gate?"</p> + +<p>"Eh! what's that?" cried the owl, starting out of his nap. +"Have you brought me a frog?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Blunder, "I did not know that you would like one. +Can you tell me the way to the Wishing-Gate?"</p> + +<p>"Wishing-Gate! Wishing-Gate!" hooted the owl, very angry. +"Winks and naps! how dare you disturb me for such a thing as +that? Do you take me for a mile-stone! Follow your nose, sir, +follow your nose!"—and, ruffling up his feathers, the owl was +asleep again in a moment.</p> + +<p>But how could Blunder follow his nose? His nose would turn +to the right, or take him through the woods, whichever way his +legs went, and "what was the use of asking the owl," thought +Blunder, "if this was all?" While he hesitated, a chipmunk +came skurrying down the path, and, seeing Blunder, stopped short +with a little squeak.</p> + +<p>"Good Mrs. Chipmunk," said Blunder, "can you tell me the +way to the Wishing-Gate?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't, indeed," answered the chipmunk, politely. "What +with getting in nuts, and the care of a young family, I have so +little time to visit anything! But if you will follow the brook, +you will find an old water-sprite under a slanting stone, over which +the water pours all day with a noise like wabble! wabble! who, I +have no doubt, can tell you all about it. You will know him, for +he does nothing but grumble about the good old times when a +brook would have dried up before it would have turned a mill-wheel."</p> + +<p>So Blunder went on up the brook, and, seeing nothing of the +water-sprite, or the slanting stone, was just saying to himself, "I +am sure I don't know where he is,—I can't find it," when he +spied a frog sitting on a wet stone.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Frog," asked Blunder, "can you tell me the way to the +Wishing-Gate?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot," said the frog. "I am very sorry, but the fact is, I +am an artist. Young as I am, my voice is already remarked at our +concerts, and I devote myself so entirely to my profession of +music, that I have no time to acquire general information. But in +a pine-tree beyond, you will find an old crow, who, I am quite +sure, can show you the way, as he is a traveller, and a bird of an +inquiring turn of mind."</p> + +<p>"I don't know where the pine is,—I am sure I can never find +him," answered Blunder, discontentedly; but still he went on +up the brook, till, hot and tired, and out of patience at seeing +neither crow nor pine, he sat down under a great tree to rest. +There he heard tiny voices squabbling.</p> + +<p>"Get out! Go away, I tell you! It has been knock! knock! +knock! at my door all day, till I am tired out. First a wasp, and +then a bee, and then another wasp, and then another bee, and now +<i>you</i>. Go away! I won't let another one in to-day."</p> + +<p>"But I want my honey."</p> + +<p>"And I want my nap."</p> + +<p>"I will come in."</p> + +<p>"You shall not."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are a miserly old elf."</p> + +<p>"And you are a brute of a bee."</p> + +<p>And looking about him, Blunder spied a bee, quarrelling with a +morning-glory elf, who was shutting up the morning-glory in his +face.</p> + +<p>"Elf, do you know which is the way to the Wishing-Gate?" +asked Blunder.</p> + +<p>"No," said the elf, "I don't know anything about geography. +I was always too delicate to study. But if you will keep on in +this path, you will meet the Dream-man, coming down from fairyland, +with his bags of dreams on his shoulder; and if anybody +can tell you about the Wishing-Gate, he can."</p> + +<p>"But how can I find him?" asked Blunder, more and more impatient.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I am sure," answered the elf, "unless you should +look for him."</p> + +<p>So there was no help for it but to go on; and presently Blunder +passed the Dream-man, asleep under a witch-hazel, with his bags +of good and bad dreams laid over him to keep him from fluttering +away. But Blunder had a habit of not using his eyes; for at home, +when told to find anything, he always said, "I don't know where +it is," or, "I can't find it," and then his mother or sister went +straight and found it for him. So he passed the Dream-man without +seeing him, and went on till he stumbled on Jack-o'-Lantern.</p> + +<p>"Can you show me the way to the Wishing-Gate?" said Blunder.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, with pleasure," answered Jack, and, catching up his +lantern, set out at once.</p> + +<p>Blunder followed close, but, in watching the lantern, he forgot +to look to his feet, and fell into a hole filled with black mud.</p> + +<p>"I say! the Wishing-Gate is not down there," called out Jack, +whisking off among the tree-tops.</p> + +<p>"But I can't come up there," whimpered Blunder.</p> + +<p>"That is not my fault, then," answered Jack, merrily, dancing +out of sight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>O, a very angry little boy was Blunder, when he clambered out +of the hole. "I don't know where it is," he said, crying; "I can't +find it, and I'll go straight home."</p> + +<p>Just then he stepped on an old, moss-grown, rotten stump; and +it happening, unluckily, that this rotten stump was a wood-goblin's +chimney, Blunder fell through, headlong, in among the pots and +pans, in which the goblin's cook was cooking the goblin's supper. +The old goblin, who was asleep up stairs, started up in a fright at +the tremendous clash and clatter, and, finding that his house was +not tumbling about his ears, as he thought at first, stumped down +to the kitchen to see what was the matter. The cook heard him +coming, and looked about her in a fright to hide Blunder.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" cried she. "If my master catches you, he will +have you in a pie. In the next room stands a pair of shoes. Jump +into them, and they will take you up the chimney."</p> + +<p>Off flew Blunder, burst open the door, and tore frantically about +the room, in one corner of which stood the shoes; but of course +he could not see them, because he was not in the habit of using +his eyes. "I can't find them! O, I can't find them!" sobbed +poor little Blunder, running back to the cook.</p> + +<p>"Run into the closet," said the cook.</p> + +<p>Blunder made a dash at the window, but—"I don't know where +it is," he called out.</p> + +<p>Clump! clump! That was the goblin, half-way down the +stairs.</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious mercy me!" exclaimed cook. "He is coming. +The boy will be eaten in spite of me. Jump into the meal-chest."</p> + +<p>"I don't see it," squeaked Blunder, rushing towards the fireplace. +"Where is it?"</p> + +<p>Clump! clump! That was the goblin at the foot of the stairs, +and coming towards the kitchen door.</p> + +<p>"There is an invisible cloak hanging on that peg. Get into +that," cried cook, quite beside herself.</p> + +<p>But Blunder could no more see the cloak than he could see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +shoes, the closet, and the meal-chest; and no doubt the goblin, +whose hand was on the latch, would have found him prancing +around the kitchen, and crying out, "I can't find it," but, fortunately +for himself, Blunder caught his foot in the invisible cloak, +and tumbled down, pulling the cloak over him. There he lay, +hardly daring to breathe.</p> + +<p>"What was all that noise about?" asked the goblin, gruffly, coming +into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Only my pans, master," answered the cook; and as he could +see nothing amiss, the old goblin went grumbling up stairs again, +while the shoes took Blunder up chimney, and landed him in a +meadow, safe enough, but so miserable! He was cross, he was +disappointed, he was hungry. It was dark, he did not know the +way home, and, seeing an old stile, he climbed up, and sat down +on the top of it, for he was too tired to stir. Just then came along +the South Wind, with his pockets crammed full of showers, and, +as he happened to be going Blunder's way, he took Blunder home; +of which the boy was glad enough, only he would have liked it +better if the Wind would not have laughed all the way. For +what would you think, if you were walking along a road with a +fat old gentleman, who went chuckling to himself, and slapping +his knees, and poking himself, till he was purple in the face, when +he would burst out in a great windy roar of laughter every other +minute?</p> + +<p>"What <i>are</i> you laughing at?" asked Blunder, at last.</p> + +<p>"At two things that I saw in my travels," answered the Wind;—"a +hen, that died of starvation, sitting on an empty peck-measure +that stood in front of a bushel of grain; and a little boy +who sat on the top of the Wishing-Gate, and came home because +he could not find it."</p> + +<p>"What? what's that?" cried Blunder; but just then he found +himself at home. There sat his fairy godmother by the fire, her +mouse-skin cloak hung up on a peg, and toeing off a spider's-silk +stocking an eighth of an inch long; and though everybody else +cried, "What luck?" and, "Where is the Wishing-Gate?" she sat +mum.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know where it is," answered Blunder. "I couldn't +find it";—and thereon told the story of his troubles.</p> + +<p>"Poor boy!" said his mother, kissing him, while his sister ran +to bring him some bread and milk.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is all very fine," cried his godmother, pulling out her +needles, and rolling up her ball of silk; "but now hear my story. +There was once a little boy who must needs go to the Wishing-Gate, +and his fairy godmother showed him the road as far as the +turn, and told him to ask the first owl he met what to do then; +but this little boy seldom used his eyes, so he passed the first owl, +and waked up the wrong owl; so he passed the water-sprite, and +found only a frog; so he sat down under the pine-tree, and never +saw the crow; so he passed the Dream-man, and ran after Jack-o'-Lantern; +so he tumbled down the goblin's chimney, and couldn't +find the shoes and the closet and the chest and the cloak; and so +he sat on the top of the Wishing-Gate till the South Wind +brought him home, and never knew it. Ugh! Bah!" And +away went the fairy godmother up the chimney, in such deep disgust +that she did not even stop for her mouse-skin cloak.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Louise E. Chollet.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">STAR-DOLLARS.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Once upon a time there was a little girl whose father and +mother were dead; and she became so poor that she had no +roof to shelter herself under, and no bed to sleep in; and at last +she had nothing left but the clothes on her back, and a loaf of +bread in her hand, which a compassionate person had given to her.</p> + +<p>But she was a good and pious little girl, and when she found +herself forsaken by all the world, she went out into the fields, +trusting in God.</p> + +<p>Soon she met a poor man, who said to her, "Give me something +to eat, for I am so hungry!" She handed him the whole loaf, and +with a "God bless you!" walked on farther.</p> + +<p>Next she met a little girl crying very much, who said to her, +"Pray give me something to cover my head with, for it is so +cold!" So she took off her own bonnet, and gave it away.</p> + +<p>And in a little while she met another child who had no cloak, +and to her she gave her own cloak! Then she met another who +had no dress on, and to this one she gave her own frock.</p> + +<p>By that time it was growing dark, and our little girl entered a +forest; and presently she met a fourth maiden, who begged something, +and to her she gave her petticoat. "For," thought our +heroine, "it is growing dark, and nobody will see me; I can give +away this."</p> + +<p>And now she had scarcely anything left to cover herself. But +just then some of the stars fell down in the form of silver dollars, +and among them she found a petticoat of the finest linen! And +in that she collected the star-money, which made her rich all the +rest of her lifetime.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Grimm's Household Tales.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN.</h3> + +<p> +<img src="images/illus193t.jpg" width="183" height="328" alt="Fairies, the Immortal Fountain and the Grotto." +title="Fairies, the Immortal Fountain and the Grotto." class="splitlt" /> +<img src="images/illus193b.jpg" width="419" height="172" alt="Fairies, the Immortal Fountain and the Grotto." +title="Fairies, the Immortal Fountain and the Grotto." class="splitlb" /> +</p> + +<p><span style="font-size: 250%">I</span>n ancient times two little princesses +lived in Scotland, one of whom was +extremely beautiful, and the other dwarfish, +dark colored, and deformed. One +was named Rose, and the other Marion. +The sisters did not live happily +together. Marion hated Rose because +she was handsome and everybody +praised her. She scowled, and her +face absolutely grew black, when anybody +asked her how her pretty little +sister Rose did; and once she was +so wicked as to cut off all her glossy +golden hair, and throw it in the fire. +Poor Rose cried bitterly about it, but +she did not scold, or strike her sister; +for she was an amiable, gentle little +being as ever lived. No wonder all +the family and all the neighbors disliked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +Marion, and no wonder her face grew uglier and uglier +every day. The Scotch used to be a very superstitious people; +and they believed the infant Rose had been blessed by the Fairies, +to whom she owed her extraordinary beauty and exceeding goodness.</p> + +<p>Not far from the castle where the princesses resided was a deep +grotto, said to lead to the Palace of Beauty, where the queen of +the Fairies held her court. Some said Rose had fallen asleep there +one day, when she had grown tired of chasing a butterfly, and +that the queen had dipped her in an immortal fountain, from which +she had risen with the beauty of an angel.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> Marion often asked +questions about this story; but Rose always replied that she had +been forbidden to speak of it. When she saw any uncommonly +brilliant bird or butterfly, she would sometimes exclaim, "O, +how much that looks like Fairy Land!" But when asked what +she knew about Fairy Land she blushed, and would not answer.</p> + +<p>Marion thought a great deal about this. "Why cannot I go to +the Palace of Beauty?" thought she; "and why may not I bathe +in the Immortal Fountain?"</p> + +<p>One summer's noon, when all was still save the faint twittering +of the birds and the lazy hum of the insects, Marion entered the +deep grotto. She sat down on a bank of moss; the air around +her was as fragrant as if it came from a bed of violets; and with +the sound of far-off music dying on her ear, she fell into a gentle +slumber. When she awoke, it was evening; and she found herself +in a small hall, where opal pillars supported a rainbow roof, the +bright reflection of which rested on crystal walls, and a golden +floor inlaid with pearls. All around, between the opal pillars, +stood the tiniest vases of pure alabaster, in which grew a multitude +of brilliant and fragrant flowers; some of them, twining +around the pillars, were lost in the floating rainbow above. The +whole of this scene of beauty was lighted by millions of fire-flies,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +glittering about like wandering stars. While Marion was wondering +at all this, a little figure of rare loveliness stood before her. +Her robe was of green and gold; her flowing gossamer mantle +was caught upon one shoulder with a pearl, and in her hair was a +solitary star, composed of five diamonds, each no bigger than a +pin's point, and thus she sung:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Fairy Queen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hath rarely seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creature of earthly mould<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Within her door,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On pearly floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inlaid with shining gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mortal, all thou seest is fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Quick thy purposes declare!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>As she concluded, the song was taken up, and thrice repeated +by a multitude of soft voices in the distance. It seemed as if +birds and insects joined in the chorus,—the clear voice of the +thrush was distinctly heard; the cricket kept time with his tiny +cymbal; and ever and anon, between the pauses, the sound of a +distant cascade was heard, whose waters fell in music.</p> + +<p>All these delightful sounds died away, and the Queen of the +Fairies stood patiently awaiting Marion's answer. Courtesying low, +and with a trembling voice, the little maiden said,—</p> + +<p>"Will it please your Majesty to make me as handsome as my +sister Rose."</p> + +<p>The queen smiled. "I will grant your request," said she, "if +you will promise to fulfil all the conditions I propose."</p> + +<p>Marion eagerly promised that she would.</p> + +<p>"The Immortal Fountain," replied the queen, "is on the top +of a high, steep hill; at four different places Fairies are stationed +around it, who guard it with their wands. None can pass them +except those who obey my orders. Go home now: for one week +speak no ungentle word to your sister; at the end of that time +come again to the grotto."</p> + +<p>Marion went home light of heart. Rose was in the garden, +watering the flowers; and the first thing Marion observed was that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +her sister's sunny hair had suddenly grown as long and beautiful +as it had ever been. The sight made her angry; and she was just +about to snatch the water-pot from her hand with an angry expression, +when she remembered the Fairy, and passed into the castle +in silence.</p> + +<p>The end of the week arrived, and Marion had faithfully kept +her promise. Again she went to the grotto. The queen was feasting +when she entered the hall. The bees brought honeycomb +and deposited it on the small rose-colored shells which adorned +the crystal table; gaudy butterflies floated about the head of the +queen, and fanned her with their wings; the cucullo, and the +lantern-fly stood at her side to afford her light; a large diamond +beetle formed her splendid footstool, and when she had supped, +a dew-drop, on the petal of a violet, was brought for her royal +fingers.</p> + +<p>When Marion entered, the diamond sparkles on the wings of +the Fairies faded, as they always did in the presence of anything +not perfectly good; and in a few moments all the queen's attendants +vanished, singing as they went:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Fairy Queen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hath rarely seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creature of earthly mould<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Within her door,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On pearly floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inlaid with shining gold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Mortal, hast thou fulfilled thy promise?" asked the queen.</p> + +<p>"I have," replied the maiden.</p> + +<p>"Then follow me."</p> + +<p>Marion did as she was directed, and away they went over beds +of violets and mignonette. The birds warbled above their heads, +butterflies cooled the air, and the gurgling of many fountains came +with a refreshing sound. Presently they came to the hill, on the +top of which was the Immortal Fountain. Its foot was surrounded +by a band of Fairies, clothed in green gossamer, with their ivory +wands crossed, to bar the ascent. The queen waved her wand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +over them, and immediately they stretched their thin wings and +flew away. The hill was steep, and far, far up they went; and +the air became more and more fragrant, and more and more distinctly +they heard the sound of waters falling in music. At length +they were stopped by a band of Fairies clothed in blue, with their +silver wands crossed.</p> + +<p>"Here," said the queen, "our journey must end. You can go +no farther until you have fulfilled the orders I shall give you. Go +home now; for one month do by your sister in all respects as you +would wish her to do by you, were you Rose and she Marion."</p> + +<p>Marion promised, and departed. She found the task harder +than the first had been. She could not help speaking; but when +Rose asked her for any of her playthings, she found it difficult to +give them gently and affectionately, instead of pushing them along. +When Rose talked to her, she wanted to go away in silence; and +when a pocket-mirror was found in her sister's room, broken into +a thousand pieces, she felt sorely tempted to conceal that she did +the mischief. But she was so anxious to be made beautiful, that +she did as she would be done by.</p> + +<p>All the household remarked how Marion had changed. "I love +her dearly," said Rose, "she is so good and amiable."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said a dozen voices.</p> + +<p>Marion blushed deeply, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. +"How pleasant it is to be loved!" thought she.</p> + +<p>At the end of the month, she went to the grotto. The Fairies +in blue lowered their silver wands and flew away. They travelled +on; the path grew steeper and steeper; but the fragrance of the +atmosphere was redoubled, and more distinctly came the sound +of the waters falling in music. Their course was stayed by a troop +of Fairies in rainbow robes, and silver wands tipped with gold. +In face and form they were far more beautiful than anything +Marion had yet seen.</p> + +<p>"Here we must pause," said the queen; "this boundary you +cannot yet pass."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked the impatient Marion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because those must be very pure who pass the rainbow Fairies," +replied the queen.</p> + +<p>"Am I not very pure?" said the maiden; "all the folks in +the castle tell me how good I have grown."</p> + +<p>"Mortal eyes see only the outside," answered the queen, "but +those who pass the rainbow Fairies must be pure in thought, as +well as in action. Return home; for three months never indulge +an envious or wicked thought. You shall then have a sight of +the Immortal Fountain." Marion was sad at heart; for she knew +how many envious thoughts and wrong wishes she had suffered +to gain power over her.</p> + +<p>At the end of three months, she again visited the Palace of +Beauty. The queen did not smile when she saw her; but in +silence led the way to the Immortal Fountain. The green Fairies +and the blue Fairies flew away as they approached; but the rainbow +Fairies bowed low to the queen, and kept their gold-tipped +wands firmly crossed. Marion saw that the silver specks on their +wings grew dim; and she burst into tears. "I knew," said the +queen, "that you could not pass this boundary. Envy has been +in your heart, and you have not driven it away. Your sister has +been ill, and in your heart you wished that she might die, or rise +from the bed of sickness deprived of her beauty. Be not discouraged; +you have been several years indulging in wrong feelings, +and you must not wonder that it takes many months to +drive them away."</p> + +<p>Marion was very sad as she wended her way homeward. When +Rose asked her what was the matter, she told her she wanted to +be very good, but she could not. "When I want to be good, I +read my Bible and pray," said Rose; "and I find God helps me +to be good." Then Marion prayed that God would help her to be +pure in thought; and when wicked feelings rose in her heart, she +read her Bible, and they went away.</p> + +<p>When she again visited the Palace of Beauty, the queen smiled, +and touched her playfully with the wand, then led her away to +the Immortal Fountain. The silver specks on the wings of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +rainbow Fairies shone bright as she approached them, and they +lowered their wands, and sung, as they flew away:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mortal, pass on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the goal is won,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For such, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the will of the queen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass on! pass on!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And now every footstep was on flowers, that yielded beneath +their feet, as if their pathway had been upon a cloud. The delicious +fragrance could almost be felt, yet it did not oppress the +senses with its heaviness; and loud, clear, and liquid came the +sound of the waters as they fell in music. And now the cascade +is seen leaping and sparkling over crystal rocks; a rainbow arch +rests above it, like a perpetual halo; the spray falls in pearls, +and forms fantastic foliage about the margin of the Fountain. It +has touched the webs woven among the grass, and they have become +pearl-embroidered cloaks for the Fairy queen. Deep and +silent, below the foam, is the Immortal Fountain! Its amber-colored +waves flow over a golden bed; and as the Fairies bathe in +it, the diamonds on their hair glance like sunbeams on the waters.</p> + +<p>"O, let me bathe in the fountain!" cried Marion, clasping her +hands in delight. "Not yet," said the queen. "Behold the +purple Fairies with golden wands that guard its brink!" Marion +looked, and saw beings lovelier than any her eye had ever rested +on. "You cannot pass them yet," said the queen. "Go home; +for one year drive away all evil feelings, not for the sake of bathing +in this Fountain, but because goodness is lovely and desirable +for its own sake. Purify the inward motive, and your work is done."</p> + +<p>This was the hardest task of all. For she had been willing to +be good, not because it was right to be good, but because she +wished to be beautiful. Three times she sought the grotto, and +three times she left in tears; for the golden specks grew dim at +her approach, and the golden wands were still crossed, to shut her +from the Immortal Fountain. The fourth time she prevailed. +The purple Fairies lowered their wands, singing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou hast scaled the mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go, bathe in the Fountain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise fair to the sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As an angel of light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go, bathe in the Fountain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Marion was about to plunge in, but the queen touched her, +saying, "Look in the mirror of the waters. Art thou not already +as beautiful as heart can wish?"</p> + +<p>Marion looked at herself, and saw that her eye sparkled with +new lustre, that a bright color shone through her cheeks, and +dimples played sweetly about her mouth. "I have not touched +the Immortal Fountain," said she, turning in surprise to the queen. +"True," replied the queen, "but its waters have been within your +soul. Know that a pure heart and a clear conscience are the only +immortal fountains of beauty."</p> + +<p>When Marion returned, Rose clasped her to her bosom, and +kissed her fervently. "I know all," said she, "though I have +not asked you a question. I have been in Fairy Land, disguised as +a bird, and I have watched all your steps. When you first went +to the grotto, I begged the queen to grant your wish."</p> + +<p>Ever after that the sisters lived lovingly together. It was the +remark of every one, "How handsome Marion has grown! The +ugly scowl has departed from her face; and the light of her eye +is so mild and pleasant, and her mouth looks so smiling and good-natured, +that to my taste, I declare, she is as handsome as Rose."</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>L. Maria Child.</i></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> There was a superstition that whoever slept on fairy ground was carried away +by the fairies.</p></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE BIRD'S-NEST IN THE MOON.</h3> + + +<p class="capword">I love to go to the Moon. I never shake off sublunary cares +and sorrows so completely as when I am fairly landed on that +beautiful island.<a name="FNanchor_A_2" id="FNanchor_A_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_2" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> A man in the Moon may see Castle Island, the +city of Boston, the ships in the harbor, the silver waters of our +little archipelago, all lying, as it were, at his feet. There you may +be at once social and solitary,—social, because you see the busy +world before you; and solitary because there is not a single creature +on the island, except a few feeding cows, to disturb your repose.</p> + +<p>I was there last summer, and was surveying the scene with my +usual emotions, when my attention was attracted by the whirring +wings of a little sparrow, that, in walking, I had frightened from +her nest.</p> + +<p>This bird, as is well known, always builds its nest on the +ground. I have seen one, often, in the middle of a cornhill, curiously +placed in the centre of the five green stalks, so that it was +difficult, at hoeing time, to dress the hill without burying the +nest.</p> + +<p>This sparrow had built hers beneath a little tuft of grass more +rich and thickset than the rest of the herbage around it. I cast +a careless glance at the nest, saw the soft down that lined it, the +four little speckled eggs which enclosed the parents' hope. I +marked the multitude of cows that were feeding around it, one +tread of whose cloven feet would crush both bird and progeny into +ruin.</p> + +<p>I could not but reflect on the dangerous condition to which the +creature had committed her most tender hopes. A cow is seeking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +a bite of grass; she steps aside to gratify that appetite; she treads +on the nest, and destroys the offspring of the defenceless bird.</p> + +<p>As I came away from the island, I reflected that this bird's situation, +in her humble, defenceless nest, might be no unapt emblem +of man in this precarious world. What are diseases, in their countless +forms, accidents by flood and fire, the seductions of temptation, +and even some human beings themselves, but so many huge +cows feeding around our nest, and ready, every moment, to crush +our dearest hopes, with the most careless indifference, beneath their +brutal tread?</p> + +<p>Sometimes, as we sit at home, we can see the calamity coming +at a distance. We hear the breathing of the monster; we mark +its great wavering path, now looking towards us in a direct line, +now capriciously turning for a moment aside. We see the swing +of its dreadful horns, the savage rapacity of its brutal appetite; +we behold it approaching nearer and nearer, and it passes within a +hairbreadth of our ruin, leaving us to the sad reflection that another +and another are still behind.</p> + +<p>Poor bird! Our situations are exactly alike.</p> + +<p>The other evening I walked into the chamber where my children +were sleeping. There was Willie, with the clothes half kicked +down, his hands thrown carelessly over his head, tired with play, +now resting in repose; there was Jamie with his balmy breath and +rosy cheeks, sleeping and looking like innocence itself. There was +Bessie, who has just begun to prattle, and runs daily with tottering +steps and lisping voice to ask her father to toss her into the air.</p> + +<p>As I looked upon these sleeping innocents, I could not but regard +them as so many little birds which I must fold under my +wing, and protect, if possible, in security in my nest.</p> + +<p>But when I thought of the huge cows that were feeding around +them, the ugly hoofs that might crush them into ruin, in short, +when I remembered <i>the bird's-nest in the Moon</i>, I trembled and +wept.</p> + +<p>But why weep? Is there not a special providence in the fall of +a sparrow?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is very possible that the nest which I saw was not in so dangerous +a situation as it appeared to be. Perhaps some providential +instinct led the bird to build her fragile house in the ranker grass, +which the kine never bite, and, of course, on which they would +not be likely to tread. Perhaps some kind impulse may guide +that species so as not to tread even on a bird's-nest.</p> + +<p>There is a merciful God, whose care and protection extend over +all his works, who takes care of the sparrow's children and of +mine. <i>The very hairs of our head are all numbered.</i></p> + +<p class="sig"><i>New England Magazine.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus203.jpg" width="500" height="223" alt="Looking out from Moon Island, sailboats." title="Looking out from Moon Island, sailboats." /> +</div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_2" id="Footnote_A_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_2"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Moon Island, in Boston harbor.</p></div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">DREAM-CHILDREN: A REVERY.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">Children love to listen to stories about their elders when +<i>they</i> were children; to stretch their imagination to the conception +of a traditionary great-uncle or grandame, whom they +never saw. It was in this spirit that my little ones crept about +me the other evening to hear about their great-grandmother Field, +who lived in a great house in Norfolk (a hundred times bigger +than that in which they and papa lived) which had been the scene—so, +at least, it was generally believed in that part of the country—of +the tragic incidents which they had lately become familiar with +from the ballad of the Children in the Wood. Certain it is that +the whole story of the children and their cruel uncle was to be +seen fairly carved out in wood upon the chimney-piece of the great +hall, the whole story down to the Robin Redbreasts! till a foolish +rich person pulled it down to set up a marble one of modern invention +in its stead, with no story upon it.—Here Alice put out +one of her dear mother's looks, too tender to be called upbraiding.</p> + +<p>Then I went on to say how religious and how good their great-grandmother +Field was, how beloved and respected by everybody, +though she was not indeed the mistress of this great house, but +had only the charge of it (and yet, in some respects, she might be +said to be the mistress of it too), committed to her by the owner, +who preferred living in a newer and more fashionable mansion +which he had purchased somewhere in the adjoining county; but +still she lived in it in a manner as if it had been her own, and kept +up the dignity of the great house in a sort while she lived, which +afterwards came to decay, and was nearly pulled down, and all its +old ornaments stripped and carried away to the owner's other +house, where they were set up, and looked as awkward as if some +one were to carry away the old tombs they had seen lately at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +Abbey, and stick them up in Lady C.'s tawdry gilt drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Here John smiled, as much as to say, "That would be foolish indeed." +And then I told how, when she came to die, her funeral +was attended by a concourse of all the poor, and some of the +gentry, too, of the neighborhood for many miles round, to show +their respect for her memory, because she had been such a good +and religious woman; so good, indeed, that she knew all the +Psaltery by heart, ay, and a great part of the Testament besides.—Here +little Alice spread her hands.</p> + +<p>Then I told what a tall, upright, graceful person their great-grandmother +Field once was; and how in her youth she was +esteemed the best dancer,—here Alice's little right foot played +an involuntary movement, till, upon my looking grave, it desisted,—the +best dancer, I was saying, in the county, till a cruel disease, +called a cancer, came, and bowed her down with pain; but it +could never bend her good spirits, or make them stoop, but they +were still upright, because she was so good and religious.</p> + +<p>Then I told how she was used to sleep by herself in a lone +chamber of the great lone house; and how she believed that an +apparition of two infants was to be seen at midnight gliding up +and down the great staircase near where she slept, but she said +"those innocents would do her no harm"; and how frightened I +used to be, though in those days I had my maid to sleep with me, +because I was never half so good or religious as she,—and yet I +never saw the infants.—Here John expanded all his eyebrows and +tried to look courageous.</p> + +<p>Then I told how good she was to all her grandchildren, having +us to the great house in the holidays, where I in particular used +to spend many hours by myself, in gazing upon the old busts of +the twelve Cæsars, that had been Emperors of Rome, till the old +marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be turned into +marble with them; how I never could be tired with roaming about +that huge mansion, with its vast empty rooms, with their worn-out +hangings, fluttering tapestry, and carved oaken panels, with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +gilding almost rubbed out,—sometimes in the spacious old-fashioned +gardens, which I had almost to myself, unless when +now and then a solitary gardening man would cross me,—and +how the nectarines and peaches hung upon the walls, without +my ever offering to pluck them, because they were forbidden fruit, +unless now and then,—and because I had more pleasure in +strolling about among the old melancholy-looking yew-trees, or +the firs, and picking up the red berries, and the fir-apples, which +were good for nothing but to look at,—or in lying about upon +the fresh grass with all the fine garden smells around me,—or +basking in the orangery, till I could almost fancy myself +ripening too, along with the oranges and the limes in that grateful +warmth,—or in watching the dace that darted to and fro in +the fish-pond, at the bottom of the garden, with here and there a +great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state, +as if it mocked at their impertinent friskings; I had more pleasure +in these busy-idle diversions than in all the sweet flavors of +peaches, nectarines, oranges, and such-like common baits of children.—Here +John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of +grapes, which, not unobserved by Alice, he had meditated dividing +with her, and both seemed willing to relinquish them for the +present as irrelevant.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus206.jpg" width="450" height="263" alt="Lying about on the fresh grass under the trees." title="Lying about on the fresh grass under the trees." /> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, in a somewhat more heightened tone, I told how, though +their great-grandmother Field loved all her grandchildren, yet +in an especial manner she might be said to love their uncle, +John L——, because he was so handsome and spirited a youth, +and a king to the rest of us; and instead of moping about +in solitary corners, like some of us, he would mount the most +mettlesome horse he could get, when but an imp no bigger than +themselves, and make it carry him half over the county in a +morning, and join the hunters when there were any out; and +yet he loved the old great house and gardens too, but had too much +spirit to be always pent up within their boundaries; and how their +uncle grew up to man's estate as brave as he was handsome, to the +admiration of everybody, but of their great-grandmother Field +most especially; and how he used to carry me upon his back, when +I was a lame-footed boy,—for he was a good bit older than me,—many +a mile, when I could not walk for pain; and how in after +life he became lame-footed too, and I did not always (I fear) make +allowances enough for him when he was impatient and in pain, nor +remember sufficiently how considerate he had been to me when I +was lame-footed; and how when he died, though he had not been +dead an hour, it seemed as if he had died a great while ago, such +a distance there is betwixt life and death; and how I bore his +death, as I thought, pretty well at first, but afterwards it haunted and +haunted me; and though I did not cry or take it to heart as some +do, and as I think he would have done if I had died, yet I missed +him all day long, and knew not till then how much I had loved +him. I missed his kindness, and I missed his crossness, and wished +him to be alive again, to be quarrelling with him (for we quarrelled +sometimes), rather than not have him again, and was as uneasy +without him as he their poor uncle must have been when the +doctor took off his limb.</p> + +<p>Here the children fell a-crying, and asked if their little mourning +which they had on was not for their Uncle John; and they looked +up, and prayed me not to go on about their uncle, but to tell them +some stories about their pretty dead mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then I told how, for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes +in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice +W——n; and, as much as children could understand, I explained to +them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant in maidens,—when +suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the first Alice +looked out at her eyes with such a reality of representment +that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or +whose that bright hair was; and while I stood gazing, both the +children gradually grew fainter to my view, receding, and still receding, +till nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in +the uttermost distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed +upon me the effects of speech: "We are not of Alice, nor of thee, +nor are we children at all. The children of Alice call Bartrum +father. We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We +are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious +shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence and a +name";—and immediately awaking, I found myself quietly +seated in my bachelor arm-chair, where I had fallen asleep, with +the faithful Bridget unchanged by my side,—but John L—— (or +James Elia) was gone forever.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Charles Lamb.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> +<img src="images/illus209.jpg" width="475" height="300" alt="Swans in a pond. People watching." title="Swans in a pond. People watching." /> +</div> + +<h3 class="chap">THE UGLY DUCKLING.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">It was beautiful in the country; it was summer-time; the +wheat was yellow; the oats were green, the hay was stacked +up in the green meadows, and the stork paraded about on his long +red legs, discoursing in Egyptian, which language he had learned +from his mother. The fields and meadows were skirted by thick +woods, and a deep lake lay in the midst of the woods. Yes, it +was indeed beautiful in the country! The sunshine fell warmly on +an old mansion, surrounded by deep canals, and from the walls +down to the water's edge there grew large burdock-leaves, so high +that children could stand upright among them without being perceived. +This place was as wild and unfrequented as the thickest +part of the wood, and on that account a duck had chosen to make +her nest there. She was sitting on her eggs; but the pleasure she +had felt at first was now almost gone, because she had been there +so long, and had so few visitors, for the other ducks preferred +swimming on the canals to sitting among the burdock-leaves gossiping +with her.</p> + +<p>At last the eggs cracked, one after another, "Tchick! tchick!" +All the eggs were alive, and one little head after another peered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +forth. "Quack, quack!" said the Duck, and all got up as well +as they could; they peeped about from under the green leaves; +and as green is good for the eyes, the mother let them look as long +as they pleased.</p> + +<p>"How large the world is!" said the little ones, for they found +their present situation very different from their former confined +one, while yet in the egg-shells.</p> + +<p>"Do you imagine this to be the whole of the world?" said the +mother; "it extends far beyond the other side of the garden to +the pastor's field; but I have never been there. Are you all +here?" And then she got up. "No, not all, but the largest egg +is still here. How long will this last? I am so weary of it!" +And then she sat down again.</p> + +<p>"Well, and how are you getting on?" asked an old Duck, who +had come to pay her a visit.</p> + +<p>"This one egg keeps me so long!" said the mother, "it will not +break. But you should see the others! they are the prettiest little +ducklings I have seen in all my days; they are all like their +father,—the good-for-nothing fellow, he has not been to visit me +once!"</p> + +<p>"Let me see the egg that will not break!" said the old Duck; +"depend upon it, it is a turkey's egg. I was cheated in the same +way once myself, and I had such trouble with the young ones; for +they were afraid of the water, and I could not get them there. I +called and scolded, but it was all of no use. But let me see the +egg. Ah, yes! to be sure, that is a turkey's egg. Leave it, and +teach the other little ones to swim."</p> + +<p>"I will sit on it a little longer," said the Duck. "I have been +sitting so long that I may as well spend the harvest here."</p> + +<p>"It is no business of mine," said the old Duck, and away she +waddled.</p> + +<p>The great egg burst at last. "Tchick! tchick!" said the little +one, and out it tumbled; but O, how large and ugly it was! +The Duck looked at it. "That is a great, strong creature," said +she; "none of the others are at all like it. Can it be a young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +turkey-cock? Well, we shall soon find out; it must go into the +water, though I push it in myself."</p> + +<p>The next day there was delightful weather, and the sun shone +warmly upon the green leaves when Mother Duck with all her +family went down to the canal; plump she went into the water. +"Quack, quack!" cried she, and one duckling after another +jumped in. The water closed over their heads, but all came up +again, and swam together in the pleasantest manner; their legs +moved without effort. All were there, even the ugly, gray one.</p> + +<p>"No! it is not a turkey," said the old Duck; "only see how +prettily it moves its legs! how upright it hold itself! it is my own +child: it is also really very pretty, when one looks more closely at it. +Quack! quack! now come with me, I will take you into the world, +introduce you in the duck-yard; but keep close to me, or some +one may tread on you; and beware of the cat."</p> + +<p>So they came into the duck-yard. There was a horrid noise; +two families were quarrelling about the remains of an eel, which +in the end was secured by the cat.</p> + +<p>"See, my children, such is the way of the world," said the +Mother Duck, wiping her beak, for she, too, was fond of eels. +"Now use your legs," said she; "keep together, and bow to the old +duck you see yonder. She is the most distinguished of all the fowls +present, and is of Spanish blood, which accounts for her dignified +appearance and manners. And look, she has a red rag on her leg! +that is considered extremely handsome, and is the greatest distinction +a duck can have. Don't turn your feet inwards; a well-educated +duckling always keeps his legs far apart, like his father and +mother, just so,—look! now bow your necks, and say, 'quack.'"</p> + +<p>And they did as they were told. But the other ducks who were +in the yard looked at them, and said aloud, "Only see! now we +have another brood,—as if there were not enough of us already; +and fie! how ugly that one is! we will not endure it." And immediately +one of the ducks flew at him, and bit him in the neck.</p> + +<p>"Leave him alone," said the mother; "he is doing no one any +harm."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, but he is so large, and so strange-looking, and therefore +he shall be teased."</p> + +<p>"These are fine children that our good mother has," said the old +Duck with the red rag on her leg. "All are pretty except one, +and that has not turned out well; I almost wish it could be hatched +over again."</p> + +<p>"That cannot be, please your highness," said the mother. "Certainly +he is not handsome, but he is a very good child, and swims +as well as the others, indeed rather better. I think he will grow +like the others all in good time, and perhaps will look smaller. +He stayed so long in the egg-shell, that is the cause of the difference"; +and she scratched the Duckling's neck, and stroked his +whole body. "Besides," added she, "he is a drake; I think he +will be very strong, therefore it does not matter, so much; he will +fight his way through."</p> + +<p>"The other ducks are very pretty," said the old Duck. "Pray +make yourselves at home, and if you find an eel's head you can +bring it to me."</p> + +<p>And accordingly they made themselves at home.</p> + +<p>But the poor little Duckling who had come last out of its egg-shell, +and who was so ugly, was bitten, pecked, and teased by both +Ducks and Hens. "It is so large!" said they all. And the Turkey-cock, +who had come into the world with spurs on, and therefore +fancied he was an emperor, puffed himself up like a ship in +full sail, and marched up to the Duckling quite red with passion. +The poor little thing scarcely knew what to do; he was quite distressed +because he was so ugly, and because he was the jest of the +poultry-yard.</p> + +<p>So passed the first day, and afterwards matters grew worse and +worse; the poor Duckling was scorned by all. Even his brothers +and sisters behaved unkindly, and were constantly saying, "The +cat fetch thee, thou nasty creature!" The mother said, "Ah, if +thou wert only far away!" The Ducks bit him, the Hens pecked +him, and the girl who fed the poultry kicked him. He ran over +the hedge; the little birds in the bushes were terrified. "That is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +because I am so ugly," thought the Duckling, shutting his eyes, +but he ran on. At last he came to a wide moor, where lived some +Wild Ducks; here he lay the whole night, so tired and so comfortless. +In the morning the Wild Ducks flew up, and perceived +their new companion. "Pray, who are you?" asked they; and +our little Duckling turned himself in all directions, and greeted +them as politely as possible.</p> + +<p>"You are really uncommonly ugly!" said the Wild Ducks; +"however, that does not matter to us, provided you do not marry +into our families." Poor thing! he had never thought of marrying; +he only begged permission to lie among the reeds and drink +the water of the moor.</p> + +<p>There he lay for two whole days; on the third day there came +two Wild Geese, or rather Ganders, who had not been long out of +their egg-shells, which accounts for their impertinence.</p> + +<p>"Hark ye!" said they, "you are so ugly that we like you infinitely +well; will you come with us, and be a bird of passage? +On another moor, not far from this, are some dear, sweet Wild +Geese, as lovely creatures as have ever said 'hiss, hiss.' You are +truly in the way to make your fortune, ugly as you are."</p> + +<p>Bang! a gun went off all at once, and both Wild Geese were +stretched dead among the reeds; the water became red with blood; +bang! a gun went off again; whole flocks of wild geese flew up +from among the reeds, and another report followed.</p> + +<p>There was a grand hunting party; the hunters lay in ambush all +around; some were even sitting in the trees, whose huge branches +stretched far over the moor. The blue smoke rose through the +thick trees like a mist, and was dispersed as it fell over the water; +the hounds splashed about in the mud, the reeds and rushes bent +in all directions; how frightened the poor little Duck was! he +turned his head, thinking to hide it under his wings, and in a +moment a most formidable-looking dog stood close to him, his +tongue hanging out of his mouth, his eyes sparkling fearfully. He +opened wide his jaws at the sight of our Duckling, showed him +his sharp white teeth, and splash, splash! he was gone,—gone +without hurting him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>.</p> + +<p>"Well! let me be thankful," sighed he; "I am so ugly that +even the dog will not eat me."</p> + +<p>And now he lay still, though the shooting continued among the +reeds, shot following shot.</p> + +<p>The noise did not cease till late in the day, and even then the +poor little thing dared not stir; he waited several hours before he +looked around him, and then hastened away from the moor as fast +as he could; he ran over fields and meadows, though the wind was +so high that he had some difficulty in proceeding.</p> + +<p>Towards evening he reached a wretched little hut, so wretched +that it knew not on which side to fall, and therefore remained +standing. The wind blew violently, so that our poor little Duckling +was obliged to support himself on his tail, in order to stand +against it; but it became worse and worse. He then remarked +that the door had lost one of its hinges, and hung so much awry +that he could creep through the crevice into the room, which he +did.</p> + +<p>In this room lived an old woman, with her Tom-cat and her +Hen; and the Cat, whom she called her little son, knew how to +set up his back and purr; indeed, he could even emit sparks when +stroked the wrong way. The Hen had very short legs, and was +therefore called "Cuckoo Short-legs"; she laid very good eggs, +and the old woman loved her as her own child.</p> + +<p>The next morning the new guest was perceived. The Cat began +to mew and the Hen to cackle.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" asked the old woman, looking round; +however, her eyes were not good, so she took the young Duckling +to be a fat Duck who had lost her way. "This is a capital catch," +said she; "I shall now have ducks' eggs, if it be not a drake: we +must try."</p> + +<p>And so the Duckling was put to the proof for three weeks, but +no eggs made their appearance.</p> + +<p>Now the Cat was the master of the house, and the Hen was the +mistress, and they used always to say, "We and the world," for +they imagined themselves to be not only the half of the world,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +but also by far the better half. The Duckling thought it was possible +to be of a different opinion, but that the Hen would not allow.</p> + +<p>"Can you lay eggs?" asked she.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"> +<img src="images/illus215.jpg" width="394" height="500" alt="The Old Woman, the Cat, the Hen and the Duckling in the hut." title="The Old Woman, the Cat, the Hen and the Duckling in the hut." /> +</div> + +<p>"Well, then, hold your tongue."</p> + +<p>And the Cat said, "Can you set up your back? can you purr?"</p> + +<p>"No."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, then, you should have no opinion when reasonable persons +are speaking."</p> + +<p>So the Duckling sat alone in a corner, and was in a very bad +humor; however, he happened to think of the fresh air and bright +sunshine, and these thoughts gave him such a strong desire to swim +again, that he could not help telling it to the Hen.</p> + +<p>"What ails you?" said the Hen. "You have nothing to do, +and therefore brood over these fancies; either lay eggs or purr, +then you will forget them."</p> + +<p>"But it is so delicious to swim!" said the Duckling; "so +delicious when the waters close over your head, and you plunge +to the bottom!"</p> + +<p>"Well, that is a queer sort of pleasure," said the Hen; "I +think you must be crazy. Not to speak of myself, ask the Cat—he +is the most sensible animal I know—whether he would like +to swim, or to plunge to the bottom of the water. Ask our mistress, +the old woman,—there is no one in the world wiser than +she; do you think she would take pleasure in swimming, and in +the waters closing over her head?"</p> + +<p>"You do not understand me," said the Duckling.</p> + +<p>"What, we do not understand you! So you think yourself +wiser than the Cat and the old woman, not to speak of myself. +Do not fancy any such thing, child, but be thankful for all the +kindness that has been shown you. Are you not lodged in a +warm room, and have you not the advantage of society from which +you can learn something? But you are a simpleton, and it is +wearisome to have anything to do with you. Believe me, I wish +you well. I tell you unpleasant truths, but it is thus that real +friendship is shown. Come, for once give yourself the trouble to +learn to purr, or to lay eggs."</p> + +<p>"I think I will go out into the wide world again," said the +Duckling.</p> + +<p>"Well, go," answered the Hen.</p> + +<p>So the Duckling went. He swam on the surface of the water, +he plunged beneath, but all animals passed him by on account of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +his ugliness. And the autumn came, the leaves turned yellow and +brown, the wind caught them and danced them about, the air was +very cold, the clouds were heavy with hail or snow, and the raven +sat on the hedge and croaked, the poor Duckling was certainly +not very comfortable!</p> + +<p>One evening, just as the sun was setting with unusual brilliancy, +a flock of large, beautiful birds rose from out the brushwood; +the Duckling had never seen anything so beautiful before; their +plumage was of a dazzling white, and they had long slender necks. +They were swans; they uttered a singular cry, spread out their +long, splendid wings, and flew away from these cold regions to +warmer countries, across the open sea. They flew so high, so very +high! and the little Ugly Duckling's feelings were so strange; he +turned round and round in the water like a mill-wheel, strained +his neck to look after them, and sent forth such a loud and strange +cry that it almost frightened himself. Ah! he could not forget +them, those noble birds! those happy birds! When he could see +them no longer, he plunged to the bottom of the water, and when +he rose again was almost beside himself. The Duckling knew not +what the birds were called, knew not whither they were flying, +yet he loved them as he had never before loved anything; he +envied them not, it would never have occurred to him to wish +such beauty for himself; he would have been quite contented if +the ducks in the duck-yard had but endured his company,—the +poor, ugly animal!</p> + +<p>And the winter was so cold, so cold! The Duckling was obliged +to swim round and round in the water, to keep it from freezing; +but every night the opening in which he swam became smaller and +smaller; it froze so that the crust of ice crackled; the Duckling +was obliged to make good use of his legs to prevent the water +from freezing entirely; at last, wearied out, he lay stiff and cold +in the ice.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning there passed by a peasant, who saw him, +broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and brought him +home to his wife.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>He now revived; the children would have played with him, +but our Duckling thought they wished to tease him, and in his +terror jumped into the milk-pail, so that the milk was spilled +about the room; the good woman screamed and clapped her +hands; he flew thence into the pan where the butter was kept, +and thence into the meal-barrel, and out again, and then how +strange he looked!</p> + +<p>The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs, the +children ran races with each other trying to catch him, and laughed +and screamed likewise. It was well for him that the door stood +open; he jumped out among the bushes into the new-fallen snow,—he +lay there as in a dream.</p> + +<p>But it would be too melancholy to relate all the trouble and +misery that he was obliged to suffer during the severity of the +winter. He was lying on a moor among the reeds, when the sun +began to shine warmly again, the larks sang, and beautiful spring +had returned.</p> + +<p>And once more he shook his wings. They were stronger than +formerly, and bore him forwards quickly, and, before he was well +aware of it, he was in a large garden where the apple-trees stood +in full bloom, where the syringas sent forth their fragrance, and +hung their long green branches down into the winding canal. O, +everything was so lovely, so full of the freshness of spring! And +out of the thicket came three beautiful white Swans. They displayed +their feathers so proudly, and swam so lightly, so lightly! +The Duckling knew the glorious creatures, and was seized with a +strange melancholy.</p> + +<p>"I will fly to them, those kingly birds!" said he. "They will +kill me, because I, ugly as I am, have presumed to approach them. +But it matters not; better to be killed by them than to be bitten +by the ducks, pecked by the hens, kicked by the girl who feeds +the poultry, and to have so much to suffer during the winter!" +He flew into the water, and swam towards the beautiful creatures; +they saw him and shot forward to meet him. "Only kill me," +said the poor animal, and he bowed his head low, expecting death;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +but what did he see in the water? He saw beneath him his own +form, no longer that of a plump, ugly, gray bird,—it was that of +a Swan.</p> + +<p>It matters not to have been born in a duck-yard, if one has +been hatched from a Swan's egg.</p> + +<p>The good creature felt himself really elevated by all the troubles +and adversities he had experienced. He could now rightly estimate +his own happiness, and the larger Swans swam around him, +and stroked him with their beaks.</p> + +<p>Some little children were running about in the garden; they +threw grain and bread into the water, and the youngest +exclaimed, "There is a new one!" the others also cried out, +"Yes, there is a new Swan come!" and they clapped their hands, +and danced around. They ran to their father and mother, bread +and cake were thrown into the water, and every one said, "The +new one is the best, so young and so beautiful!" and the old +Swans bowed before him. The young Swan felt quite ashamed, and +hid his head under his wings; he scarcely knew what to do, he was +all too happy, but still not proud, for a good heart is never proud.</p> + +<p>He remembered how he had been persecuted and derided, and +he now heard every one say he was the most beautiful of all +beautiful birds. The syringas bent down their branches towards +him low into the water, and the sun shone so warmly and brightly,—he +shook his feathers, stretched his slender neck, and in the joy +of his heart said, "How little did I dream of so much happiness +when I was the ugly, despised Duckling!"</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Hans Christian Andersen.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE POET AND HIS LITTLE DAUGHTER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">It was a June morning. Roses and yellow jasmine covered the +old wall in the Poet's garden. The little brown mason bees +flew in and out of their holds beneath the pink and white and +yellow flowers. Peacock-butterflies, with large blue eyes on their +crimson velvet wings, fluttered about and settled on the orange-brown +wall-flowers. Aloft, in the broad-leaved sycamore-tree, the +blackbird was singing as if he were out of his senses for joy; his +song was as loud as any nightingale, and his heart was glad, because +his young brood was hatched, and he knew that they now +sat with their little yellow beaks poking out of the nest, and thinking +what a famous bird their father was. All the robins and tomtits +and linnets and redstarts that sat in the trees of the garden +den shouted vivas and bravuras, and encored him delightfully.</p> + +<p>The Poet himself sat under the double-flowering hawthorn, +which was then all in blossom. He sat on a rustic seat, and his +best friend sat beside him. Beneath the lower branches of the +tree was hung the canary-bird's cage, which the children had +brought out because the day was so fine, and the little canary loved +fresh air and the smell of flowers. It never troubled him that +other birds flew about from one end of the garden to the other, or +sat and sung on the leafy branches, for he loved his cage; and +when the old blackbird poured forth his grand melodies, the little +canary sat like a prince in a stage-box, and nodded his head, and +sang an accompaniment.</p> + +<p>One of the Poet's children, his little daughter, sat in her own +little garden, which was full of flowers, while bees and butterflies +flitted about in the sunshine. The child, however, was not noticing +them; she was thinking only of one thing, and that was the +large daisy-root which was all in flower; it was the largest daisy-root<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +in the whole garden, and two-and-fifty double pink-and-white +daisies were crowded upon it. They were, however, no longer +daisies to the child's eyes, but two-and-fifty +little charity children in green stuff +gowns, and white tippets, and white linen +caps, that had a holiday given them. She +saw them all, with their pink cheeks and +bright eyes, running in a group and talking +as they went; the hum of the bees +around seeming to be the pleasant sound +of their voices. The child was happy to +think that two-and-fifty charity children +were let loose from school to run about in +the sunshine. Her heart went with them, +and she was so full of joy that she started +up to tell her father, who was sitting with +his best friend under the hawthorn-tree.</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/illus221t.jpg" width="162" height="444" alt="Flowers and plants growing up a tree trunk." +title="Flowers and plants growing up a tree trunk." class="splitlt" /> +<img src="images/illus221b.jpg" width="280" height="156" alt="Flowers and plants growing up a tree trunk." +title="Flowers and plants growing up a tree trunk." class="splitlb" /> +</p> + +<p>Sad and bitter thoughts, however, just +then oppressed the Poet's heart. He had +been disappointed where he had hoped for +good; his soul was under a cloud; and as +the child ran up to tell him about the +little charity children in whose joy she +thought he would sympathize, she heard +him say to his friend, "I have no longer +any hope of human nature now. It is a +poor miserable thing, and is not worth +working for. My +best endeavors have +been spent in its service,—my +youth +and my manhood's +strength, my very +life,—and this is +my reward! I will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +no longer strive to do good. I will write for money alone, as others +do, and not for the good of mankind!"</p> + +<p>The Poet's words were bitter, and tears came into the eyes of +his best friend. Never had the child heard such words from her father +before, for he had always been to her as a great and good angel.</p> + +<p>"I will write," said he, "henceforth for money, as others do, +and not for the good of mankind."</p> + +<p>"My father, if you do," said the child, in a tone of mournful +indignation, "I will never read what you write! I will trample +your writings under my feet!"</p> + +<p>Large tears rolled down her cheeks, and her eyes were fixed on +her father's face.</p> + +<p>The Poet took the child in his arms and kissed her. An angel +touched his heart, and he now felt that he could forgive his bitterest +enemies.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you a story, my child," he said, in his usually mild +voice.</p> + +<p>The child leaned her head against his breast, and listened.</p> + +<p>"Once upon a time," he began, "there was a man who dwelt in +a great, wide wilderness. He was a poor man, and worked very +hard for his bread. He lived in a cave of a rock, and because the +sun shone burning hot into the cave, he twined roses and jessamines +and honeysuckles all around it; and in front of it, and on +the ledges of the rock, he planted ferns and sweet shrubs, and +made it very pleasant. Water ran gurgling from a fissure in the +rock into a little basin, whence it poured in gentle streams through +the garden, in which grew all kinds of delicious fruits. Birds +sang in the tall trees which Nature herself had planted; and little +squirrels, and lovely green lizards, with bright, intelligent eyes, +lived in the branches and among the flowers.</p> + +<p>"All would have gone well with the man, had not evil spirits +taken possession of his cave. They troubled him night and day. +They dropped canker-blight upon his roses, nipped off his jasmine +and honeysuckle-flowers, and, in the form of caterpillars and blight, +ate his beautiful fruits.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It made the man angry and bitter in his feelings. The flowers +were no longer beautiful to him, and when he looked on them he +thought only of the canker and the caterpillar.</p> + +<p>"'I can no longer take pleasure in them,' he said; 'I will leave +the cave, and go elsewhere.'</p> + +<p>"He did so; and travelled on and on, a long way. But it was +a vast wilderness in which he dwelt, and thus it was many and +many a weary day before he came to a place of rest; nor did he +know that all this time the evil spirits who had plagued him so in +his own cave were still going with him.</p> + +<p>"But so they were. And they made every place he came to +seem worse than the last. Their very breath cast a blight upon +everything.</p> + +<p>"He was footsore and weary, and very miserable. A feeling +like despair was in his heart, and he said that he might as well die +as live. He lay down in the wilderness, so unhappy was he, and +scarcely had he done so, when he heard behind him the pleasantest +sound in the world,—a little child singing like a bird, because her +heart was innocent and full of joy; and the next moment she +was at his side.</p> + +<p>"The evil spirits that were about him drew back a little when +they saw her coming, because she brought with her a beautiful +company of angels and bright spirits,—little cherubs with round, +rosy cheeks, golden hair, and laughing eyes between two dove's +wings as white as snow. The child had not the least idea that +these beautiful spirits were always about her; all she knew was +that she was full of joy, and that she loved above all things to do +good. When she saw the poor man lying there, she went up to +him, and talked to him so pityingly, and yet so cheerfully, that he +felt as if her words would cure him. She told him that she lived +just by, and that he should go with her, and rest and get well in +her cave.</p> + +<p>"He went with her, and found that her cave was just such a +one as his own, only much smaller. Roses and honeysuckles and +jasmine grew all around it; and birds were singing, and goldfish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +were sporting about in the water; and there were beds of +strawberries, all red and luscious, that filled the air with fragrance.</p> + +<p>"It was a beautiful place. There seemed to be no canker nor +blight on anything. And yet the man saw how spiders had woven +webs like the most beautiful lace from one vine-branch to another; +and butterflies that once had been devouring caterpillars were +flitting about. Just as in his own garden, yellow frogs were +squatted under the cool green strawberry leaves. But the child +loved both the frogs and the green lizards, and said that they did +her no harm, and that there were plenty of strawberries both for +them and for her.</p> + +<p>"The evil spirits that had troubled the man, and followed him, +could not get into the child's garden. It was impossible, because +all those rosy-cheeked cherubs and white-robed angels lived there; +and that which is good, be it ever so small, is a great deal stronger +than that which is evil, be it ever so large. They therefore sat +outside and bit their nails for vexation; and as the man stayed a +long time with the child, they got so tired of waiting that a good +number of them flew away forever.</p> + +<p>"At length the man kissed the child and went back to his own +place; and when he got there he had the pleasure of finding that, +owing to the evil spirits having been so long away, the flowers and +fruits had, in great measure, recovered themselves. There was +hardly any canker or blight left. And as the child came now very +often to see him,—for, after all, they did not live so very far apart, +only that the man had wandered a long way round in the wilderness,—and +brought with her all the bright company that dwelt +with her, the place was freed, at least while she stayed, from the +evil ones.</p> + +<p>"This is a true story, a perfectly true story," added the Poet, +when he had brought his little narrative to an end; "and there are +many men who live like him in a wilderness, and who go a long +way round about before they can find a resting-place. And happy +is it for such when they can have a child for their neighbor; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +our Divine Master has himself told us that blessed are little children, +and that of such is the kingdom of heaven!"</p> + +<p>The Poet was silent. His little daughter kissed him, and then, +without saying a word about the little charity children, ran off to +sit down beside them again, and perhaps to tell them the story +which her father had just related to her.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Mary Howitt.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus225.jpg" width="400" height="266" alt="Little girl walking." title="Little girl walking." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">THE RED FLOWER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">What it was, where it grew, I should find it difficult to tell +you. I had seen it once, when a little child, in a stony +road, among the thorns of a hedge; and I had gathered it. Ah! +that was certain! It waved at the end of a long stalk; its petals +were of a flame-like red; its form was unlike anything known, +resembling somewhat a censer, from which issued golden stamens.</p> + +<p>Since those earliest days, I had often sought it, often asked for +it. When I mentioned it, people laughed at me. I spoke of the +flower no more, but I sought for it still.</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" Experience writes the word in the dictionary +of the man. In the child's vocabulary, it has no existence. The +marvellous to him is perfectly natural. Things which he sees +to be beautiful arrange themselves along his path; why should he +have a doubt of this or of that? By and by, exact bounds will +limit his domain. A faint line, then a barrier, then a wall: erelong +the wall will rise and surround the man,—a dungeon from +which he must have wings to escape.</p> + +<p>Around the child are neither walls nor boundary lines, but a +limitless expanse, everywhere glowing with beautiful colors. In +the far-off depths, reality mingles with revery. It is like an ocean +whose blue waves glimmer and sparkle on the horizon, where they +kiss the shores of enchanted isles.</p> + +<p>I sought the red flower. Have you never searched for it too?</p> + +<p>This morning, in the spring atmosphere, its memory came back +to my heart. It seemed to me that I should find it; and I walked +on at random.</p> + +<p>I went through solitary footpaths. The laborers had gone to +their noonday repose. The meadows were all in bloom. Weeds, +growing in spite of wind and tide spread a golden carpet beside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +the rose-colored meadow-grass. In the wet places were tangles of +pale blue forget-me-nots; beyond them, tufts of the azure veronica, +and over the stream hung the straw-colored lotus. Under the +grain, yet green, corn-poppies were waving. With every breeze a +scarlet wave arose, swelled, and vanished.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 385px;"> +<img src="images/illus227.jpg" width="385" height="500" alt="Butterflies, plants, flowers, insects and a stream." title="Butterflies, plants, flowers, insects and a stream." /> +</div> + +<p>Blue butterflies danced before me, mingling and dispersing like +floating flower-petals in the air. Under the umbelled plants was +a pavement of beetles, of black and purple mosaic. On the tufts +of the verbena gathered insects with shells blazoned like the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +escutcheons of the knights of the Middle Ages. The quail was +calling in the thickets; three notes here, and three there. I found +myself on the skirt of a pine forest, and I seated myself on the grass.</p> + +<p>The red flower! I thought of it no longer. The butterflies +had carried it away. I thought how beautiful life is on a spring +morning; what happiness it is to open the lips and inhale the +fresh air; what joy to open the eyes and behold the earth in her +bridal robes; what delight to open the hands and gather the sweet-smelling +blossoms. Then I thought of the God of the heavens, +that, arching above me, spoke of his power. I thought of the +Lord of the little ones,—of the insects that, flitting about me, +spoke of his goodness. All these accents awoke a chord in harmony +with that which burst forth from the blossoming meadows.</p> + +<p>I arose, and came to a recess in the shadowy edge of the forest.</p> + +<p>As I walked, something glowed in the grass; something dazzled +me; something made my heart throb. It was the red flower!</p> + +<p>I seized it. I held it tightly in my hand. It was the flower; +yes, it was the same, but with a strange, new splendor. I possessed +it, yet I dared not look upon it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I felt the blossom tremble in my fingers. They loosened +their grasp. The flower dilated. It expanded its carnation +petals, slightly tinged with green; it spread out a purple calyx; +two stamens, two antennæ, vibrated a moment. The blossom quivered; +some breath had made it shudder; its wings unfolded. As I +gazed, it fluttered a little, then rose in a golden sunbeam; its colors +played in the different strata of the air, the roseate, the azure, the +ether; it disappeared.</p> + +<p>O my flower! I know whither thou goest and whence thou +comest! I know the hidden sources of thine eternal bloom. I know +the Word that created thee; I know the Eden where thou growest!</p> + +<p>Winged flower! he who falters in his search for thee will never +find thee. He who seeks thee on earth may grasp thee, but will +surely lose thee again. Flower of Paradise, thou belongest only +to him who searches for thee where thou hast been planted by the +hand of the Lord.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>Madame De Gasparin.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus229.jpg" width="400" height="294" alt="Little child sleeping surrounded by flowers." title="Little child sleeping surrounded by flowers." /> +</div> + +<h3 class="chap">THE STORY WITHOUT AN END.</h3> + + +<p class="section">I.</p> + +<p>There was once a child who lived in a little hut, and in the +hut there was nothing but a little bed, and a looking-glass +which hung in a dark corner. Now the child cared nothing at all +about the looking-glass, but as soon as the first sunbeam glided +softly through the casement and kissed his sweet eyelids, and the +finch and the linnet waked him merrily with their morning songs, +he arose and went out into the green meadow. And he begged +flour of the primrose, and sugar of the violet, and butter of the +buttercup; he shook dew-drops from the cowslip into the cup of +a harebell; spread out a large lime-leaf, set his little breakfast +upon it, and feasted daintily. Sometimes he invited a humming-bee, +oftener a gay butterfly, to partake of his feast; but his favorite +guest was the blue dragon-fly. The bee murmured a good deal, +in a solemn tone, about his riches; but the child thought that if +<i>he</i> were a bee, heaps of treasure would not make him gay and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +happy; and that it must be much more delightful and glorious to +float about in the free and fresh breezes of spring, and to hum +joyously in the web of the sunbeams, than, with heavy feet and +heavy heart, to stow the silver wax and the golden honey into +cells.</p> + +<p>To this the butterfly assented; and he told how, once on a time, +he too had been greedy and sordid; how he had thought of nothing +but eating, and had never once turned his eyes upwards to the +blue heavens. At length, however, a complete change had come +over him; and instead of crawling spiritless about the dirty earth, +half dreaming, he all at once awaked as out of a deep sleep. And +now he could rise into the air; and it was his greatest joy sometimes +to play with the light, and to reflect the heavens in the +bright eyes of his wings; sometimes to listen to the soft language +of the flowers, and catch their secrets. Such talk delighted the +child, and his breakfast was the sweeter to him, and the sunshine +on leaf and flower seemed to him more bright and cheering.</p> + +<p>But when the bee had flown off to beg from flower to flower, +and the butterfly had fluttered away to his playfellows, the dragon-fly +still remained poised on a blade of grass. Her slender and +burnished body, more brightly and deeply blue than the deep blue +sky, glistened in the sunbeam; and her net-like wings laughed at +the flowers because <i>they</i> could not fly, but must stand still and +abide the wind and the rain. The dragon-fly sipped a little of the +child's clear dew-drops and blue-violet honey, and then whispered +her winged words. And the child made an end of his repast, +closed his dark blue eyes, bent down his beautiful head, and listened +to the sweet prattle.</p> + +<p>Then the dragon-fly told much of the merry life in the green +wood,—how sometimes she played hide-and-seek with her playfellows +under the broad leaves of the oak and the beech trees; +or hunt-the-hare along the surface of the still waters; sometimes +quietly watched the sunbeams, as they flew busily from moss to +flower and from flower to bush, and shed life and warmth over all. +But at night, she said, the moonbeams glided softly around the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +wood, and dropped dew into the mouths of all the thirsty plants; +and when the dawn pelted the slumberers with the soft roses of +heaven, some of the half-drunken flowers looked up and smiled, +but most of them could not so much as raise their heads for a long, +long time.</p> + +<p>Such stories did the dragon-fly tell; and as the child sat motionless, +with his eyes shut, and his head rested on his little hand, +she thought he had fallen asleep; so she poised her double wings +and flew into the rustling wood.</p> + + +<p class="section">II.</p> + +<p>But the child was only sunk into a dream of delight, and was +wishing <i>he</i> were a sunbeam or a moonbeam; and he would have +been glad to hear more and more, and forever. But at last, as all +was still, he opened his eyes and looked around for his dear guest, +but she was flown far away; so he could not bear to sit there any +longer alone, and he rose and went to the gurgling brook. It +gushed and rolled so merrily, and tumbled so wildly along as it +hurried to throw itself head-over-heels into the river, just as if the +great massy rock out of which it sprang were close behind it, and +could only be escaped by a break-neck leap.</p> + +<p>Then the child began to talk to the little waves, and asked them +whence they came. They would not stay to give him an answer, +but danced away, one over another, till at last, that the sweet +child might not be grieved, a drop of water stopped behind a piece +of rock. From her the child heard strange histories; but he could +not understand them all, for she told him about her former life, and +about the depths of the mountain.</p> + +<p>"A long while ago," said the drop of water, "I lived with my +countless sisters in the great ocean, in peace and unity. We had +all sorts of pastimes; sometimes we mounted up high into the air, +and peeped at the stars; then we sank plump down deep below, +and looked how the coral-builders work till they are tired, that +they may reach the light of day at last. But I was conceited,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +and thought myself much better than my sisters. And so one +day, when the sun rose out of the sea, I clung fast to one of his +hot beams, and thought that now I should reach the stars, and +become one of them. But I had not ascended far, when the sunbeam +shook me off, and, in spite of all I could say or do, let me +fall into a dark cloud. And soon a flash of fire darted through +the cloud, and now I thought I must surely die; but the whole +cloud laid itself down softly upon the top of a mountain, and so I +escaped with my fright and a black eye. Now I thought I should +remain hidden, when all on a sudden, I slipped over a round pebble, +fell from one stone to another, down into the depths of the +mountain, till at last it was pitch dark, and I could neither see nor +hear anything. Then I found, indeed, that 'pride goeth before a +fall,' resigned myself to my fate, and, as I had already laid aside +all my unhappy pride in the cloud, my portion was now the salt +of humility; and after undergoing many purifications from the +hidden virtues of metals and minerals, I was at length permitted +to come up once more into the free cheerful air; and now will I +run back to my sisters, and there wait patiently till I am called to +something better."</p> + +<p>But hardly had she done when the root of a forget-me-not +caught the drop of water by her hair, and sucked her in, that she +might become a floweret, and twinkle brightly as a blue star on +the green firmament of earth.</p> + + +<p class="section">III.</p> + +<p>The child did not very well know what to think of all this; +he went thoughtfully home, and laid himself on his little bed; +and all night long he was wandering about on the ocean, and +among the stars, and over the dark mountain. But the moon +loved to look on the slumbering child, as he lay with his little +head softly pillowed on his right arm. She lingered a long time +before his little window, and went slowly away to lighten the +dark chamber of some sick person. As the moon's soft light lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +on the child's eyelids, he fancied he sat in a golden boat, on a +great, great water; countless stars swam glittering on the dark +mirror. He stretched out his hand to catch the nearest star, but +it vanished, and the water sprayed up against him. Then he saw +clearly that these were not the real stars; he looked up to heaven, +and wished he could fly thither. But in the mean time the moon +had wandered on her way; and now the child was led in his +dream into the clouds, and he thought he was sitting on a white +sheep, and he saw many lambs grazing around him. He tried to +catch a little lamb to play with, but it was all mist and vapor; +and the child was sorrowful, and wished himself down again in +his own meadow, where his own lamb was sporting gayly about.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the moon was gone to sleep behind the mountains, +and all around was dark. Then the child dreamed that he fell +down into the dark, gloomy caverns of the mountain; and at that +he was so frightened that he suddenly awoke, just as Morning +opened her clear eye over the nearest hill.</p> + + +<p class="section">IV.</p> + +<p>The child started up, and, to recover himself from his fright, +went into the little flower-garden behind his cottage, where the +beds were surrounded by ancient palm-trees, and where he knew +that all the flowers would nod kindly at him. But, behold, the +tulip turned up her nose, and the ranunculus held her head as +stiffly as possible, that she might not bow good-morrow to him. +The rose, with her fair round cheeks, smiled, and greeted the child +lovingly; so he went up to her and kissed her fragrant mouth. +And then the rose tenderly complained that he so seldom came +into the garden, and that she gave out her bloom and her fragrance +the livelong day in vain; for the other flowers could not see +her because they were too low, or did not care to look at her because +they themselves were so rich in bloom and fragrance. But she was +most delighted when she glowed in the blooming head of a child, +and could pour all her heart's secrets to him in sweet odors.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>Among other things, the rose whispered in his ear that she was +the fulness of beauty.</p> + +<p>And in truth the child, while looking at her beauty, seemed to +have quite forgotten to go on, till the blue larkspur called to him, +and asked whether he cared nothing more about his faithful friend; +she said that she was unchanged, and that even in death she +should look upon him with eyes of unfading blue.</p> + +<p>The child thanked her for her true-heartedness, and passed on +to the hyacinth, who stood near the puffy, full-cheeked, gaudy +tulips. Even from a distance the hyacinth sent forth kisses to him, +for she knew not how to express her love. Although she was not +remarkable for her beauty, yet the child felt himself wondrously +attracted by her, for he thought no flower loved him so well. +But the hyacinth poured out her full heart and wept bitterly, +because she stood so lonely; the tulips indeed were her countrymen, +but they were so cold and unfeeling that she was ashamed +of them. The child encouraged her, and told her he did not think +things were so bad as she fancied. The tulips spoke their love in +bright looks, while she uttered hers in fragrant words; that these, +indeed, were lovelier and more intelligible, but that the others were +not to be despised.</p> + +<p>Then the hyacinth was comforted, and said she would be content; +and the child went on to the powdered auricula, who, in her +bashfulness, looked kindly up to him, and would gladly have given +him more than kind looks had she had more to give. But the +child was satisfied with her modest greeting; he felt that he was +poor too, and he saw the deep, thoughtful colors that lay beneath +her golden dust. But the humble flower, of her own accord, sent +him to her neighbor, the lily, whom she willingly acknowledged +as her queen. And when the child came to the lily, the slender +flower waved to and fro, and bowed her pale head with gentle +pride and stately modesty, and sent forth a fragrant greeting to +him. The child knew not what had come to him; it reached his +inmost heart, so that his eyes filled with soft tears. Then he +marked how the lily gazed with a clear and steadfast eye upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +sun, and how the sun looked down again into her pure chalice, +and how, amid this interchange of looks, the three golden threads +united in the centre. And the child heard how one scarlet lady-bird +at the bottom of the cup said to another, "Knowest thou not +that we dwell in the flower of heaven?" and the other replied, +"Yes, and now will the mystery be fulfilled."</p> + +<p>And as the child saw and heard all this, the dim image of his +unknown parents, as it were veiled in a holy light, floated before +his eyes; he strove to grasp it, but the light was gone, and the +child slipped, and would have fallen, had not the branch of a +currant-bush caught and held him; he took some of the bright +berries for his morning's meal, and went back to his hut and +stripped the little branches.</p> + + +<p class="section">V.</p> + +<p>In the hut he stayed not long, all was so gloomy, close, and +silent within; and abroad everything seemed to smile, and to +exult in the clear and unbounded space. Therefore the child went +out into the green wood, of which the dragon-fly had told him +such pleasant stories. But he found everything far more beautiful +and lovely even than she had described it; for all about, wherever +he went, the tender moss pressed his little feet, and the delicate +grass embraced his knees, and the flowers kissed his hands, and +even the branches stroked his cheeks with a kind and refreshing +touch, and the high trees threw their fragrant shade around +him.</p> + +<p>There was no end to his delight. The little birds warbled, and +sang, and fluttered, and hopped about, and the delicate wood-flowers +gave out their beauty and their odors; and every sweet +sound took a sweet odor by the hand, and thus walked through +the open door of the child's heart, and held a joyous nuptial dance +therein. But the nightingale and the lily of the valley led the +dance; for the nightingale sang of naught but love, and the lily +breathed of naught but innocence, and he was the bridegroom and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +she was the bride. And the nightingale was never weary of +repeating the same thing a hundred times over, for the spring of +love which gushed from his heart was ever new; and the lily +bowed her head bashfully, that no one might see her glowing +heart. And yet the one lived so solely and entirely in the other, +that no one could see whether the notes of the nightingale were +floating lilies, or the lilies visible notes, falling like dew-drops from +the nightingale's throat.</p> + +<p>The child's heart was full of joy even to the brim. He set +himself down, and he almost thought he should like to take root +there, and live forever among the sweet plants and flowers, and so +become a true sharer in all their gentle pleasures. For he felt a +deep delight in the still, secluded twilight existence of the mosses +and small herbs, which felt not the storm, nor the frost, nor the +scorching sunbeam, but dwelt quietly among their many friends +and neighbors, feasting in peace and good-fellowship on the dew +and cool shadows which the mighty trees shed upon them. To +them it was a high festival when a sunbeam chanced to visit their +lowly home; whilst the tops of the lofty trees could find joy and +beauty only in the purple rays of morning or evening.</p> + + +<p class="section">VI.</p> + +<p>And as the child sat there, a little mouse rustled from among +the dry leaves of the former year, and a lizard half glided from a +crevice in the rock, and when they saw that he designed them no +evil, they took courage and came nearer to him.</p> + +<p>"I should like to live with you," said the child to the two little +creatures, in a soft, subdued voice, that he might not frighten +them. "Your chambers are so snug, so warm, and yet so shaded, +and the flowers grow in at your windows, and the birds sing you +their morning song, and call you to table and to bed with their +clear warblings."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the mouse, "it would be all very well if all the +plants bore nuts and mast, instead of those silly flowers; and if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +were not obliged to grub under ground in the spring, and gnaw +the bitter roots, whilst they are dressing themselves in their fine +flowers, and flaunting it to the world, as if they had endless stores +of honey in their cellars."</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue!" interrupted the lizard, pertly; "do you +think, because you are gray, that other people must throw away +their handsome clothes, or let them lie in the dark wardrobe under +ground, and wear nothing but gray too? I am not so envious. The +flowers may dress themselves as they like for all me; they pay for it +out of their own pockets, and they feed bees and beetles from their +cups; but what I want to know is, of what use are birds in the +world? Such a fluttering and chattering, truly, from morning +early to evening late, that one is worried and stunned to death, and +there is never a day's peace for them. And they do nothing, only +snap up the flies and the spiders out of the mouths of such as I. +For my part, I should be perfectly satisfied, provided all the birds +in the world were flies and beetles."</p> + +<p>The child changed color, and his heart was sick and saddened +when he heard their evil tongues. He could not imagine how +anybody could speak ill of the beautiful flowers, or scoff at his +beloved birds. He was waked out of a sweet dream, and the +wood seemed to him a lonely desert, and he was ill at ease. +He started up hastily, so that the mouse and the lizard shrank +back alarmed, and did not look around them till they thought +themselves safe out of the reach of the stranger with the large +severe eyes.</p> + + +<p class="section">VII.</p> + +<p>But the child went away from the place; and as he hung down +his head thoughtfully, he did not observe that he took the wrong +path, nor see how the flowers on either side bowed their heads to +welcome him, nor hear how the old birds from the boughs and +the young from the nests cried aloud to him, "God bless thee, our +dear little prince!" And he went on and on, farther and farther +into the deep wood; and he thought over the foolish and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +heartless talk of the two selfish chatterers, and could not understand +it. He would fain have forgotten it, but he could not. And +the more he pondered, the more it seemed to him as if a malicious +spider had spun her web around him, and as if his eyes were +weary with trying to look through it.</p> + +<p>And suddenly he came to a still water, above which young +beeches lovingly intwined their arms. He looked in the water, +and his eyes were riveted to it as if by enchantment. He could +not move, but stood and gazed in the soft, placid mirror, from the +bosom of which the tender green foliage, with the deep blue heavens +between, gleamed so wondrously upon him. His sorrow was +all forgotten, and even the echo of the discord in his little heart +was hushed. That heart was once more in his eyes; and fain +would he have drunk in the soft beauty of the colors that lay +beneath him, or have plunged into the lovely deep.</p> + +<p>Then the breeze began to sigh among the tree-tops. The child +raised his eyes and saw overhead the quivering green, and the deep +blue behind it, and he knew not whether he were awake or dreaming; +which were the real leaves and the real heavens,—those in +the heights above, or in the depths beneath? Long did the child +waver, and his thoughts floated in a delicious dreaminess from one +to the other, till the dragon-fly flew to him in affectionate haste, +and with rustling wings greeted her kind host. The child returned +her greeting, and was glad to meet an acquaintance with +whom he could share the rich feast of his joy. But first he asked +the dragon-fly if she could decide for him between the upper and +the nether,—the height and the depth. The dragon-fly flew +above, and beneath, and around; but the water spake: "The +foliage and the sky above are not the true ones; the leaves wither +and fall; the sky is often overcast, and sometimes quite dark." Then +the leaves and the sky said, "The water only apes us; it must +change its pictures at our pleasure, and can retain none." Then +the dragon-fly remarked that the height and the depth existed +only in the eyes of the child, and that the leaves and the sky +were true and real only in his thoughts; because in the mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +alone the picture was permanent and enduring, and could be +carried with him whithersoever he went.</p> + +<p>This she said to the child; but she immediately warned him +to return, for the leaves were already beating the tattoo in the +evening breeze, and the lights were disappearing one by one in +every corner.</p> + +<p>Then the child confessed to her with alarm that he knew not how +he should find the way back, and that he feared the dark night +would overtake him if he attempted to go home alone; so the +dragon-fly flew on before him, and showed him a cave in the rock +where he might pass the night. And the child was well content; +for he had often wished to try if he could sleep out of his accustomed +bed.</p> + + +<p class="section">VIII.</p> + +<p>But the dragon-fly was fleet, and gratitude strengthened her +wings to pay her host the honor she owed him. And truly, in +the dim twilight, good counsel and guidance were scarce. She +flitted hither and thither without knowing rightly what was to be +done; when, by the last vanishing sunbeam, she saw hanging on +the edge of the cave some strawberries who had drunk so deep of +the evening red that their heads were quite heavy. Then she +flew up to a harebell who stood near, and whispered in her ear +that the lord and king of all the flowers was in the wood, and +ought to be received and welcomed as beseemed his dignity. +Aglaia did not need that this should be repeated. She began to +ring her sweet bells with all her might, and when her neighbor +heard the sound, she rang hers also; and soon all the harebells, +great and small, were in motion, and rang as if it had been for +the nuptials of their mother earth herself with the prince of the +sun. The tone of the bluebells was deep and rich, and that of +the white, high and clear, and all blended together in a delicious +harmony.</p> + +<p>But the birds were fast asleep in their high nests, and the ears +of the other animals were not delicate enough, or were too much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +overgrown with hair, to hear them. The fire-flies alone heard the +joyous peal, for they were akin to the flowers, through their common +ancestor, light. They inquired of their nearest relation, the +lily of the valley, and from her they heard that a large flower had +just passed along the footpath more blooming than the loveliest +rose, and with two stars more brilliant than those of the brightest +fire-fly, and that it must needs be their king. Then all the fire-flies +flew up and down the footpath, and sought everywhere till at +length they came, as the dragon-fly had hoped they would, to the +cave.</p> + +<p>And now, as they looked at the child, and every one of them +saw itself reflected in his clear eyes, they rejoiced exceedingly, +and called all their fellows together, and alighted on the bushes +all around; and soon it was so light in the cave that herb and +grass began to grow as if it had been broad day. Now, indeed, +was the joy and triumph of the dragon-fly complete. The child +was delighted with the merry and silvery tones of the bells, and +with the many little bright-eyed companions around him, and with +the deep red strawberries which bowed down their heads to his +touch.</p> + + +<p class="section">IX.</p> + +<p>And when he had eaten his fill, he sat down on the soft moss, +crossed one little leg over the other, and began to gossip with the +fire-flies. And as he so often thought on his unknown parents, he +asked them who were their parents. Then the one nearest to him +gave him answer; and he told how that they were formerly +flowers, but none of those who thrust their rooty hands greedily +into the ground and draw nourishment from the dingy earth only +to make themselves fat and large withal; but that the light was +dearer to them than anything, even at night; and while the other +flowers slept, they gazed unwearied on the light, and drank it in +with eager adoration,—sun, and moon, and starlight. And the +light had so thoroughly purified them, that they had not sucked +in poisonous juices like the yellow flowers of the earth, but sweet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +odors for sick and fainting hearts, and oil of potent ethereal virtue +for the weak and the wounded; and at length, when their autumn +came, they did not, like the others, wither and sink down, leaf and +flower, to be swallowed up by the darksome earth, but shook off +their earthly garment, and mounted aloft into the clear air. But +there it was so wondrously bright that, sight failed them; and +when they came to themselves again, they were fire-flies, each sitting +on a withered flower-stalk.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus241.jpg" width="350" height="269" alt="Child surrounded by fireflies and dragonflies and flowers." title="Child surrounded by fireflies and dragonflies and flowers." /> +</div> + +<p>And now the child liked the bright-eyed flies better than ever; +and he talked a little longer with them, and inquired why they +showed themselves so much more in spring. They did it, they +said, in the hope that their gold-green radiance might allure their +cousins, the flowers, to the pure love of light.</p> + + +<p class="section">X.</p> + +<p>During this conversation, the dragon-fly had been preparing a +bed for her host. The moss upon which the child sat had grown +a foot high behind his back, out of pure joy; but the dragon-fly +and her sisters had so revelled upon it, that it was laid at its +length along the cave. The dragon-fly had awakened every spider<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +in the neighborhood out of her sleep, and when they saw the +brilliant light they had set to work spinning so industriously that +their web hung down like a curtain before the mouth of the cave. +But as the child saw the ant peeping up at him, he entreated +the fire-flies not to deprive themselves any longer of their merry +games in the wood on his account. And the dragon-fly and her +sisters raised the curtain till the child had lain him down to rest, +and then let it fall again, that the mischievous gnats might not get +in to disturb his slumbers.</p> + +<p>The child laid himself down to sleep, for he was very tired; +but he could not sleep, for his couch of moss was quite another +thing than his little bed, and the cave was all strange to him. He +turned himself on one side and then on the other, and, as nothing +would do, he raised himself and sat upright, to wait till sleep +might choose to come. But sleep would not come at all; and the +only wakeful eyes in the whole wood were the child's. For the +harebells had rung themselves weary, and the fire-flies had flown +about till they were tired, and even the dragon-fly, who would +fain have kept watch in front of the cave, had dropped sound +asleep.</p> + +<p>The wood grew stiller and stiller, here and there fell a dry leaf +which had been driven from its old dwelling-place by a fresh one, +here and there a young bird gave a soft chirp when its mother +squeezed it in the nest; and from time to time a gnat hummed +for a minute or two in the curtain, till a spider crept on tiptoe +along its web, and gave him such a gripe in the windpipe as soon +spoiled his trumpeting. And the deeper the silence became, the +more intently did the child listen, and at last the slightest sound +thrilled him from head to foot. At length, all was still as death +in the wood; and the world seemed as if it never would wake +again. The child bent forward to see whether it were as dark +abroad as in the cave, but he saw nothing save the pitch dark +night, who had wrapped everything in her thick veil. Yet as he +looked upwards his eyes met the friendly glance of two or three +stars; and this was a most joyful surprise to him, for he felt himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +no longer so entirely alone. The stars were indeed far, far +away, but yet he knew them, and they knew him; for they looked +into his eyes.</p> + +<p>The child's whole soul was fixed in his gaze; and it seemed to +him as if he must needs fly out of the darksome cave thither, +where the stars were beaming with such pure and serene light; +and he felt how poor and lowly he was when he thought of their +brilliancy; and how cramped and fettered, when he thought of +their free unbounded course along the heavens.</p> + + +<p class="section">XI.</p> + +<p>But the stars went on their course, and left their glittering +picture only a little while before the child's eyes. Even this +faded, and then vanished quite away. And he was beginning to +feel tired, and to wish to lay himself down again, when a flickering +will-o'-the-wisp appeared from behind a bush,—so that the +child thought, at first, one of the stars had wandered out of its +way and had come to visit him, and to take him with it. And the +child breathed quick with joy and surprise, and then the will-o'-the-wisp +came nearer, and set himself down on a damp mossy +stone in front of the cave, and another fluttered quickly after him, +and sat down over against him, and sighed deeply, "Thank God, +then, that I can rest at last!" "Yes," said the other, "for that +you may thank the innocent child who sleeps there within; it was +his pure breath that freed us." "Are you, then," said the child, +hesitatingly, "not of yon stars which wander so brightly there +above?" "O, if we were stars," replied the first, "we should pursue +our tranquil path through the pure element, and should leave +this wood and the whole darksome earth to itself." "And not," +said the other, "sit brooding on the face of the shallow pool."</p> + +<p>The child was curious to know who these could be who shone +so beautifully and yet seemed so discontented. Then the first +began to relate how he had been a child too, and how, as he grew +up, it had always been his greatest delight to deceive people and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +play them tricks, to show his wit and cleverness. He had always, +he said, poured such a stream of smooth words over people, and +encompassed himself with such a shining mist, that men had been +attracted by it to their own hurt.</p> + +<p>But once on a time there appeared a plain man who only spoke +two or three simple words, and suddenly the bright mist vanished, +and left him naked and deformed, to the scorn and mockery of the +whole world. But the man had turned away his face from him in +pity, while he was almost dead with shame and anger. And when +he came to himself again, he knew not what had befallen him, +till at length he found that it was his fate to hover, without rest or +change, over the surface of the bog as a will-o'-the-wisp.</p> + +<p>"With me it fell out quite otherwise," said the first; "instead +of giving light without warmth, as I now do, I burned without +shining. When I was only a child, people gave way to me in +everything, so that I was intoxicated with self-love. If I saw any +one shine, I longed to put out his light; and the more intensely +I wished this, the more did my own small glimmering turn back +upon myself, and inwardly burn fiercely while all without was +darker than ever. But if any one who shone more brightly would +have kindly given me of his light, then did my inward flame burst +forth to destroy him. But the flame passed through the light and +harmed it not: it shone only the more brightly, while I was +withered and exhausted. And once upon a time I met a little +smiling child, who played with a cross of palm branches, and +wore a beaming coronet around his golden locks. He took me +kindly by the hand, and said, 'My friend, you are now very +gloomy and sad, but if you will become a child again, even as I +am, you will have a bright circlet such as I have.' When I heard +that, I was so angry with myself and with the child that I was +scorched by my inward fire. Now would I fain fly up to the sun +to fetch rays from him, but the rays drove me back with these +words: 'Return thither whence thou camest, thou dark fire of +envy, for the sun lightens only in love; the greedy earth, indeed, +sometimes turns his mild light into scorching fire. Fly back,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +then, for with thy like alone must thou dwell!' I fell, and when I +recovered myself I was glimmering coldly above the stagnant +waters."</p> + +<p>While they were talking, the child had fallen asleep; for he +knew nothing of the world, nor of men, and he could make nothing +of their stories. Weariness had spoken a more intelligible language +to him; <i>that</i> he understood, and had fallen asleep.</p> + + +<p class="section">XII.</p> + +<p>Softly and soundly he slept till the rosy morning clouds stood +upon the mountain, and announced the coming of their lord the +sun. But as soon as the tidings spread over field and wood, the +thousand-voiced echo awoke, and sleep was no more to be thought +of. And soon did the royal sun himself arise; at first his dazzling +diadem alone appeared above the mountains; at length he +stood upon their summit in the full majesty of his beauty, in +all the charms of eternal youth, bright and glorious, his kindly +glance embracing every creature of earth, from the stately oak +to the blade of grass bending under the foot of the wayfaring man.</p> + +<p>Then arose from every breast, from every throat, the joyous +song of praise; and it was as if the whole plain and wood were +become a temple, whose roof was the heaven, whose altar the +mountain, whose congregation all creatures, whose priest the sun.</p> + +<p>But the child walked forth and was glad; for the birds sang +sweetly, and it seemed to him as if everything sported and danced +out of mere joy to be alive. Here flew two finches through the +thicket, and, twittering, pursued each other; there the young +buds burst asunder, and the tender leaves peeped out, and expanded +themselves in the warm sun, as if they would abide in his +glance forever; here a dew-drop trembled, sparkling and twinkling +on a blade of grass, and knew not that beneath him stood a +little moss who was thirsting after him; there troops of flies flew +aloft, as if they would soar far over the wood; and so all was life +and motion, and the child's heart joyed to see it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>He sat down on a little smooth plot of turf, shaded by the +branches of a nut-bush, and thought he should now sip the cup of +his delight drop by drop. And first he plucked down some brambles +which threatened him with their prickles; then he bent aside +some branches which concealed the view; then he removed the +stones, so that he might stretch out his feet at full length on the +soft turf; and when he had done all this, he bethought himself +what was yet to do; and as he found nothing he stood up to look +for his acquaintance, the dragon-fly, and to beg her to guide him +once more out of the wood into the open field. About midway +he met her, and she began to excuse herself for having fallen +asleep in the night. The child thought not of the past, were it +even but a minute ago, so earnestly did he now wish to get out +from among the thick and close trees; for his heart beat high, and +he felt as if he should breathe freer in the open ground. The +dragon-fly flew on before, and showed him the way as far as +the outermost verge of the wood, whence the child could espy +his own little hut, and then flew away to her playfellows.</p> + + +<p class="section">XIII.</p> + +<p>The child walked forth alone upon the fresh dewy cornfield. +A thousand little suns glittered in his eyes, and a lark soared, warbling, +above his head. And the lark proclaimed the joys of the +coming year, and awakened endless hopes, while she soared circling +higher and higher, till at length her song was like the soft +whisper of an angel holding converse with the spring under the +blue arch of heaven.</p> + +<p>The child had seen the earth-colored little bird rise up before him, +and it seemed to him as if the earth had sent her forth from her +bosom as a messenger to carry her joy and her thanks up to the +sun, because he had turned his beaming countenance again upon +her in love and bounty. And the lark hung poised above the +hope-giving field, and warbled her clear and joyous song.</p> + +<p>She sang of the loveliness of the rosy dawn, and the fresh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +brilliancy of the earliest sunbeams; of the gladsome springing of +the young flowers, and the vigorous shooting of the corn; and her +song pleased the child beyond measure. But the lark wheeled in +higher and higher circles, and her song sounded softer and sweeter.</p> + +<p>And now she sang of the first delights of early love, of wanderings +together on the sunny fresh hill-tops, and of the sweet pictures +and visions that arise out of the blue and misty distance. +The child understood not rightly what he heard, and fain would +he have understood, for he thought that even in such visions must +be wondrous delight. He gazed aloft after the unwearied bird, but +she had disappeared in the morning mist.</p> + +<p>Then the child leaned his head on one shoulder to listen if he +could no longer hear the little messenger of spring; and he could +just catch the distant and quivering notes in which she sang of +the fervent longing after the clear element of freedom; after the +pure all-present light; and of the blessed foretaste of this desired +enfranchisement, of this blending in the sea of celestial happiness.</p> + +<p>Yet longer did he listen, for the tones of her song carried him +there, where, as yet, his thoughts had never reached, and he felt +himself happier in this short and imperfect flight than ever he +had felt before. But the lark now dropped suddenly to the earth, +for her little body was too heavy for the ambient ether, and her +wings were not large nor strong enough for the pure element.</p> + +<p>Then the red corn-poppies laughed at the homely-looking bird, +and cried to one another and to the surrounding blades of corn in a +shrill voice, "Now, indeed, you may see what comes of flying so +high, and striving and straining after mere air; people only lose +their time, and bring back nothing but weary wings and an empty +stomach. That vulgar-looking, ill-dressed little creature would +fain raise herself above us all, and has kept up a mighty noise. +And now, there she lies on the ground, and can hardly breathe, +while we have stood still where we are, sure of a good meal, and +have stayed like people of sense where there is something substantial +to be had; and in the time she has been fluttering and +singing, we have grown a good deal taller and fatter."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + +<p>The other little red-caps chattered and screamed their assent so +loud that the child's ears tingled, and he wished he could chastise +them for their spiteful jeers; when a cyane said, in a soft voice, +to her younger playmates, "Dear friends, be not led astray by +outward show, nor by discourse which regards only outward show. +The lark is indeed weary, and the space into which she has soared +is void; but the void is not what the lark sought, nor is the +seeker returned empty home. She strove after light and freedom, +and light and freedom has she proclaimed. She left the earth +and its enjoyments, but she has drunk of the pure air of heaven, +and has seen that it is not the earth, but the sun, that is steadfast. +And if earth has called her back, it can keep nothing of her but +what is its own. Her sweet voice and her soaring wings belong +to the sun, and will enter into light and freedom long after the +foolish prater shall have sunk and been buried in the dark prison +of the earth."</p> + +<p>And the lark heard her wise and friendly discourse, and, with +renewed strength, she sprang once more into the clear and beautiful +blue.</p> + +<p>Then the child clapped his little hands for joy that the sweet +bird had flown up again, and that the red-caps must hold their +tongues for shame.</p> + + +<p class="section">XIV.</p> + +<p>And the child was become happy and joyful, and breathed +freely again, and thought no more of returning to his hut; for +he saw that nothing returned inwards, but rather that all strove +outwards into the free air,—the rosy apple-blossoms from their +narrow buds, and the gurgling notes from the narrow breast of the +lark. The germs burst open the folding doors of the seeds, and +broke through the heavy pressure of the earth in order to get at +the light; the grasses tore asunder their bands and their slender +blades sprang upward. Even the rocks were become gentle, and +allowed little mosses to peep out from their sides, as a sign that +they would not remain impenetrably closed forever. And the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +flowers sent out color and fragrance into the whole world, for they +kept not their best for themselves, but would imitate the sun and +the stars, which poured their warmth and radiance over the spring. +And many a little gnat and beetle burst the narrow cell in which +it was inclosed, and crept out slowly, and, half asleep, unfolded +and shook its tender wings, and soon gained strength, and flew +off to untried delights. And as the butterflies came forth from +their chrysalids in all their gayety and splendor, so did every humbled +and suppressed aspiration and hope free itself, and boldly +launch into the open and flowing sea of spring.</p> + +<p class="sig"><i>German of Carove.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus249.jpg" width="200" height="294" alt="Butterfly on the edge of a fountain." title="Butterfly on the edge of a fountain." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> +<h2><big>MEMORIES OF CHILD LIFE.</big></h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> +<h2>MEMORIES OF CHILD LIFE.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> +<h3>HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN,</h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">POET AND NOVELIST OF DENMARK.</p> + + +<p class="cap">My life is a lovely story, happy and full of incident. If, +when I was a boy, and went forth into the world poor and +friendless, a good fairy had met me and said, "Choose now thy +own course through life, and the object for which thou wilt strive, +and then, according to the development of thy mind, and as +reason requires, I will guide and defend thee to its attainment," +my fate could not, even then, have been directed more happily, +more prudently, or better. The history of my life will say to the +world what it says to me,—There is a loving God, who directs +all things for the best.</p> + +<p>In the year 1805 there lived at Odense, in a small mean room, +a young married couple, who were extremely attached to each +other; he was a shoemaker, scarcely twenty-two years old, a man +of a richly gifted and truly poetical mind. His wife, a few years +older than himself, was ignorant of life and of the world, but +possessed a heart full of love. The young man had himself made +his shoemaking bench, and the bedstead with which he began +housekeeping; this bedstead he had made out of the wooden +frame which had borne only a short time before the coffin of the +deceased Count Trampe, as he lay in state, and the remnants of +the black cloth on the wood-work kept the fact still in remembrance.</p> + +<p>Instead of a noble corpse, surrounded by crape and waxlights, +here lay, on the 2d of April, 1805, a living and weeping child,—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +was myself, Hans Christian Andersen. During the first +day of my existence my father is said to have sat by the bed and +read aloud in Holberg, but I cried all the time. "Wilt thou go to +sleep, or listen quietly?" it is reported that my father asked in +joke; but I still cried on; and even in the church, when I was +taken to be baptized, I cried so loudly that the preacher, who was +a passionate man, said, "The young one screams like a cat!" +which words my mother never forgot. A poor emigrant, Gomar, +who stood as godfather, consoled her in the mean time by saying +that, the louder I cried as a child, all the more beautifully should I +sing when I grew older.</p> + +<p>Our little room, which was almost filled with the shoemaker's +bench, the bed, and my crib, was the abode of my childhood; the +walls, however, were covered with pictures, and over the workbench +was a cupboard containing books and songs; the little +kitchen was full of shining plates and metal pans, and by means +of a ladder it was possible to go out on the roof, where, in the +gutters between it and the neighbor's house, there stood a great +chest filled with soil, my mother's sole garden, and where she +grew her vegetables. In my story of the "Snow Queen" that +garden still blooms.</p> + +<p>I was the only child, and was extremely spoiled; but I continually +heard from my mother how very much happier I was than +she had been, and that I was brought up like a nobleman's child. +She, as a child, had been driven out by her parents to beg; and +once, when she was not able to do it, she had sat for a whole day +under a bridge and wept.</p> + +<p>My father gratified me in all my wishes. I possessed his whole +heart; he lived for me. On Sundays he made me perspective-glasses, +theatres, and pictures which could be changed; he read to +me from Holberg's plays and the "Arabian Tales"; it was only +in such moments as these that I can remember to have seen him +really cheerful, for he never felt himself happy in his life and as +a handicraftsman. His parents had been country people in good +circumstances, but upon whom many misfortunes had fallen,—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +cattle had died; the farm-house had been burned down; and, +lastly, the husband had lost his reason. On this the wife had +removed with him to Odense, and there put her son, whose mind +was full of intelligence, apprentice to a shoemaker; it could not be +otherwise, although it was his ardent wish to attend the grammar +school, where he might learn Latin. A few well-to-do citizens had +at one time spoken of this, of clubbing together to raise a sufficient +sum to pay for his board and education, and thus giving him +a start in life; but it never went beyond words. My poor father +saw his dearest wish unfulfilled; and he never lost the remembrance +of it. I recollect that once, as a child, I saw tears in his +eyes, and it was when a youth from the grammar school came to +our house to be measured for a new pair of boots, and showed us +his books and told us what he learned.</p> + +<p>"That was the path upon which I ought to have gone!" said +my father, kissed me passionately, and was silent the whole +evening.</p> + +<p>He very seldom associated with his equals. He went out into +the woods on Sundays, when he took me with him; he did not +talk much when he was out, but would sit silently, sunk in deep +thought, whilst I ran about and strung strawberries on a bent, or +bound garlands. Only twice in the year, and that in the month +of May, when the woods were arrayed in their earliest green, did +my mother go with us; and then she wore a cotton gown, which +she put on only on these occasions and when she partook of the +Lord's Supper, and which, as long as I can remember, was her +holiday gown. She always took home with her from the wood a +great many fresh beech boughs, which were then planted behind +the polished stone. Later in the year sprigs of St. John's wort +were stuck into the chinks of the beams, and we considered their +growth as omens whether our lives would be long or short. Green +branches and pictures ornamented our little room, which my +mother always kept neat and clean; she took great pride in always +having the bed linen and the curtains very white.</p> + +<p>One of my first recollections, although very slight in itself, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +for me a good deal of importance, from the power by which the +fancy of a child impressed it upon my soul; it was a family festival, +and can you guess where? In that very place in Odense, +in that house which I had always looked on with fear and trembling, +just as boys in Paris may have looked at the Bastile,—in the +Odense house of correction.</p> + +<p>My parents were acquainted with the jailer, who invited them +to a family dinner, and I was to go with them. I was at that +time still so small that I was carried when we returned home.</p> + +<p>The House of Correction was for me a great storehouse of +stories about robbers and thieves; often I had stood, but always at +a safe distance, and listened to the singing of the men within and +of the women spinning at their wheels.</p> + +<p>I went with my parents to the jailer's; the heavy iron-bolted +gate was opened and again locked with the key from the rattling +bunch; we mounted a steep staircase,—we ate and drank, and +two of the prisoners waited at the table; they could not induce +me to taste of anything, the sweetest things I pushed away; my +mother told them I was sick, and I was laid on a bed, where I +heard the spinning-wheels humming near by and merry singing, +whether in my own fancy or in reality I cannot tell; but I know +that I was afraid, and was kept on the stretch all the time; and +yet I was in a pleasant humor, making up stories of how I had +entered a castle full of robbers. Late in the night my parents +went home, carrying me; the rain, for it was rough weather, dashing +against my face.</p> + +<p>Odense was in my childhood quite another town from what it +is now, when it has shot ahead of Copenhagen, with its water +carried through the town, and I know not what else! Then it was +a hundred years behind the times; many customs and manners +prevailed which long since disappeared from the capital. When +the guilds removed their signs, they went in procession with flying +banners and with lemons dressed in ribbons stuck on their swords. +A harlequin with bells and a wooden sword ran at the head; one +of them, an old fellow, Hans Struh, made a great hit by his merry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +chatter and his face, which was painted black, except the nose, +that kept its genuine red color. My mother was so pleased with +him that she tried to find out if he was in any way related to us; +but I remember very well that I, with all the pride of an aristocrat, +protested against any relationship with the "fool."</p> + +<p>In my sixth year came the great comet of 1811; and my +mother told me that it would destroy the earth, or that other +horrible things threatened us. I listened to all these stories and +fully believed them. With my mother and some of the neighboring +women I stood in St. Canut's Churchyard and looked at +the frightful and mighty fire-ball with its large shining tail.</p> + +<p>All talked about the signs of evil and the day of doom. My +father joined us, but he was not of the others' opinion at all, and +gave them a correct and sound explanation; then my mother +sighed, the women shook their heads, my father laughed and went +away. I caught the idea that my father was not of our faith, and +that threw me into a great fright. In the evening my mother and +my old grandmother talked together, and I do not know how she +explained it; but I sat in her lap, looked into her mild eyes, and +expected every moment that the comet would rush down, and the +day of judgment come.</p> + +<p>The mother of my father came daily to our house, were it only +for a moment, in order to see her little grandson. I was her joy +and her delight. She was a quiet and most amiable old woman, +with mild blue eyes and a fine figure, which life had severely tried. +From having been the wife of a countryman in easy circumstances +she had now fallen into great poverty, and dwelt with her feeble-minded +husband in a little house, which was the last poor remains +of their property. I never saw her shed a tear; but it made all +the deeper impression upon me when she quietly sighed, and told +me about her own mother's mother,—how she had been a rich, +noble lady, in the city of Cassel, and that she had married a +"comedy-player,"—that was as she expressed it,—and run away +from parents and home, for all of which her posterity had now to +do penance. I never can recollect that I heard her mention the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +family name of her grandmother; but her own maiden name was +Nommesen. She was employed to take care of the garden belonging +to a lunatic asylum; and every Sunday evening she brought us +some flowers, which they gave her permission to take home with +her. These flowers adorned my mother's cupboard; but still they +were mine, and to me it was allowed to put them in the glass of +water. How great was this pleasure! She brought them all to me; +she loved me with her whole soul. I knew it, and I understood it.</p> + +<p>She burned, twice in the year, the green rubbish of the garden; +on such occasions she took me with her to the asylum, and I lay +upon the great heaps of green leaves and pea-straw; I had many +flowers to play with, and—which was a circumstance upon which +I set great importance—I had here better food to eat than I could +expect at home.</p> + +<p>All such patients as were harmless were permitted to go freely +about the court; they often came to us in the garden, and with +curiosity and terror I listened to them and followed them about; +nay, I even ventured so far as to go with the attendants to those +who were raving mad. A long passage led to their cells. On one +occasion, when the attendants were out of the way, I lay down +upon the floor, and peeped through the crack of the door into one +of these cells. I saw within a lady almost naked, lying on her +straw bed; her hair hung down over her shoulders, and she sang +with a very beautiful voice. All at once she sprang up, and threw +herself against the door where I lay; the little valve through +which she received her food burst open; she stared down upon +me, and stretched out her long arm toward me. I screamed for +terror,—I felt the tips of her fingers touching my clothes,—I was +half dead when the attendant came; and even in later years that +sight and that feeling remained within my soul.</p> + +<p>I was very much afraid of my weak-minded grandfather. Only +once had he ever spoken to me, and then he had made use of the +formal pronoun, "you." He employed himself in cutting out of +wood strange figures,—men with beasts' heads and beasts with +wings; these he packed in a basket and carried them out into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +country, where he was everywhere well received by the peasant-women, +because he gave to them and their children these strange +toys. One day, when he was returning to Odense, I heard the +boys in the street shouting after him; I hid myself behind a flight +of steps in terror, for I knew that I was of his flesh and blood.</p> + +<p>I very seldom played with other boys; even at school I took +little interest in their games, but remained sitting within doors. +At home I had playthings enough, which my father made for me. +My greatest delight was in making clothes for dolls, or in stretching +out one of my mother's aprons between the wall and two sticks +before a currant-bush which I had planted in the yard, and thus +to gaze in between the sun-illumined leaves. I was a singularly +dreamy child, and so constantly went about with my eyes shut, as +at last to give the impression of having weak sight, although the +sense of sight was especially cultivated by me.</p> + +<p>An old woman-teacher, who had an A B C school, taught me +the letters, to spell, and "to read right," as it was called. She +used to have her seat in a high-backed arm-chair near the clock, +from which at every full stroke some little automata came out. +She made use of a big rod, which she always carried with her. +The school consisted mostly of girls. It was the custom of the +school for all to spell loudly and in as high a key as possible. The +mistress dared not beat me, as my mother had made it a condition +of my going that I should not be touched. One day having got a +hit of the rod, I rose immediately, took my book, and without +further ceremony went home to my mother, asked that I might go +to another school, and that was granted me. My mother sent me +to Carsten's school for boys; there was also one girl there, a little +one somewhat older than I; we became very good friends; she +used to speak of the advantage it was to be to her in going into +service, and that she went to school especially to learn arithmetic, +for, as her mother told her, she could then become dairy-maid in +some great manor.</p> + +<p>"That you can become in my castle when I am a nobleman!" +said I; and she laughed at me, and told me that I was only a poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +boy. One day I had drawn something which I called my castle, +and I told her that I was a changed child of high birth, and that +the angels of God came down and spoke to me. I wanted to +make her stare as I did with the old women in the hospital, but +she would not be caught. She looked queerly at me, and said to +one of the other boys standing near, "He is a fool, like his grandpapa," +and I shivered at the words. I had said it to give me an +air of importance in their eyes; but I failed, and only made them +think that I was insane like my grandfather.</p> + +<p>I never spoke to her again about these things, but we were no +longer the same playmates as before. I was the smallest in the +school, and my teacher, Mr. Carsten, always took me by the hand +while the other boys played, that I might not be run over; he +loved me much, gave me cakes and flowers, and tapped me on the +cheeks. One of the older boys did not know his lesson, and was +punished by being placed, book in hand, upon the school-table, +around which we were seated; but seeing me quite inconsolable at +this punishment, he pardoned the culprit.</p> + +<p>The poor old teacher became, later in life, telegraph-director at +Thorseng, where he still lived until a few years since. It is said +that the old man, when showing the visitors around, told them +with a pleasant smile, "Well, well, you will perhaps not believe +that such a poor old man as I was the first teacher of one of our +most renowned poets!"</p> + +<p>Sometimes, during the harvest, my mother went into the field to +glean. I accompanied her, and we went, like Ruth in the Bible, +to glean in the rich fields of Boaz. One day we went to a place +the bailiff of which was well known for being a man of a rude and +savage disposition. We saw him coming with a huge whip in his +hand, and my mother and all the others ran away. I had wooden +shoes on my bare feet, and in my haste I lost these, and then the +thorns pricked me so that I could not run, and thus I was left +behind and alone. The man came up and lifted his whip to strike +me, when I looked him in the face and involuntarily exclaimed, +"How dare you strike me, when God can see it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> + +<p>The strong, stern man looked at me, and at once became mild; +he patted me on my cheeks, asked me my name, and gave me +money.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 382px;"> +<img src="images/illus261.jpg" width="382" height="500" alt="Hans Christian telling his mother of the man and the money." title="Hans Christian telling his mother of the man and the money." /> +</div> + +<p>When I brought this to my mother and showed it her, she +said to the others, "He is a strange child, my Hans Christian; +everybody is kind to him. This bad fellow even has given him +money."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">MADAME MICHELET,</h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">FRENCH AUTHOR, WIFE OF THE WELL-KNOWN WRITER, MICHELET.</p> + + +<p class="cap">Among my earliest recollections, dating (if my memory deceive +me not) from the time when I was between the ages +of four and five, is that of being seated beside a grave, industrious +person, who seemed to be constantly watching me. Her beautiful +but stern countenance impressed one chiefly by the peculiar expression +of the light blue eyes, so rare in Southern Europe. Their +gaze was like that which has looked in youth across vast plains, +wide horizons, and great rivers. This lady was my mother, born +in Louisiana, of English parentage.</p> + +<p>I had constant toil before me, strangely unbroken for so young +a child. At six years of age, I knit my own stockings, by and +by my brothers' also, walking up and down the shady path. I did +not care to go farther; I was uneasy if, when I turned, I could +not see the green blind at my mother's window.</p> + +<p>Our lowly house had an easterly aspect. At its northeast +corner, my mother sat at work, with her little people around her; +my father had his study at the opposite end, towards the south. +I began to pick up my alphabet with him; for I had double tasks. +I studied my books in the intervals of sewing or knitting. My +brothers ran away to play after lessons; but I returned to my +mother's work-room. I liked very well, however, to trace on my +slate the great bars which are called "jambages." It seemed to +me as if I drew something, from within myself, which came to the +pencil's point. When my bars began to look regular, I paused +often to admire what I had done; then, if my dear papa would +lean towards me, and say, "Very well, little princess," I drew +myself up with pride.</p> + +<p>My father had a sweet and penetrating voice; his dark complexion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +showed his Southern origin, which also betrayed itself in +the passionate fire of his eyes, dark, with black lashes, which +softened their glance. With all their electric fire, they were not +wanting in an indefinable expression of tenderness and sweetness. +At sixty years of age, after a life of strange, and even tragic, incidents, +his heart remained ever young and light, benevolent to all, +disposed to confide in human nature,—sometimes too easily.</p> + +<p>I had none of the enjoyments of city-bred children, and less still +of that childish wit which is sure to win maternal admiration for +every word which falls from the lips of the little deities. Mother +Nature alone gave me a welcome, and yet my early days were not +sad; all the country-side looked so lovely to me.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus263.jpg" width="500" height="258" alt="Sunrise over the fields, farmers at work." title="Sunrise over the fields, farmers at work." /> +</div> + +<p>Just beyond the farm lay the cornfields which belonged to us; +they were of no great extent, but to me they seemed infinite. +When Marianne, proud of her master's possessions, would say, +"Look, miss, there, there, and farther on,—all is yours," I was +really frightened; for I saw the moving grain, undulating like the +ocean, and stretching far away. I liked better to believe that the +world ended at our meadow. Sometimes my father went across +the fields to see what the reapers were doing, and then I hid my +face in Marianne's apron, and cried, "Not so far, not so far! papa +will be lost!"</p> + +<p>I was then five years old. That cry was the childish expression +of a sentiment, the shadow of which gained on me year by year,—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +fear that I might lose my father. I desired to please, to be +praised, and to be loved. I felt so drawn towards my mother, +that I sometimes jumped from my seat to give her a kiss; but +when I met her look, and saw her eyes, pale and clear as a silvery +lake, I recoiled, and sat down quietly. Years have passed, and +yet I still regret those joys of childhood which I never knew,—a +mother's caresses. My education might have been so easy; my +mother might have understood my heart,—a kiss is sometimes +eloquent; and in a daily embrace she would perhaps have guessed +the thoughts I was too young to utter, and would have learned +how faithfully I loved her.</p> + +<p>No such freedom was allowed us. The morning kiss and familiar +speech with one's parents are permitted at the North, but are +less frequent in the South of France. Authority overshadows +family affection. My father, who was an easy man and loved to +talk, might have disregarded such regulations; but my mother +kept us at a distance. It made one thoughtful and reserved to +watch her going out and coming in, with her noble air, severe and +silent. We felt we must be careful not to give cause for blame.</p> + +<p>My mother could spin like a fairy. All winter she sat at her +wheel; and perhaps her wandering thoughts were soothed by the +gentle monotonous music of its humming. My father, seeing her +so beautiful at her work, secretly ordered a light, slender spinning-wheel +to be carved for her use, which she found one morning at +the foot of her bed. Her cheek flushed with pleasure; she scarcely +dared to touch it, it looked so fragile. "Do not be afraid," said +my father; "it looks fragile, but it can well stand use. It is +made of boxwood from our own garden. It grew slowly, as all +things do that last. Neither your little hand nor foot can injure +it." My mother took her finest Flanders flax, of silvery tresses +knotted with a cherry-colored ribbon. The children made a circle +round the wheel, which turned for the first time under my mother's +hands. My father was watching, between smiles and tears, to see +how dexterously she handled the distaff. The thread was invisible, +but the bobbin grew bigger. My mother would have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +contented if the days had been prolonged to four-and-twenty +hours, while she was sitting by her beautiful wheel.</p> + +<p>When we rose in the morning, we said a prayer. We knelt together; +my father standing, bareheaded, in the midst. After that, +what delight it was to run to the hill-top, to meet the first rays of +the sun, and to hear our birds singing little songs about the welcome +daylight! From the garden, the orchard, the oaks, and from the +open fields, their voices were heard; and yet, in my heart, I hid +more songs than all the birds in the world would have known how +to sing. I was not sad by nature. I had the instincts of the lark, +and longed to be as happy. Since I had no wings to carry me up +to the clouds, I would have liked to hide myself like him among +the tall grain and the flax.</p> + +<p>One of my great enjoyments was to meet the strong south-winds +that came to us from the ocean. I loved to struggle with the +buffets of the blast. It was terrible, but sweet, to feel it tossing +and twisting my curls, and flinging them backward. After these +morning races on the hills, I went to visit the wild flowers,—weeds +that no one else cherished; but I loved them better than +all other plants. Near the water, in little pools hollowed by the +rains in stormy weather, on the border of the wood, sprang up, +flourished, and died, forests of dwarf proportions; white, transparent +stars; bells full of sweet odors. All were mysterious and +ephemeral; so much the more did I prize and regret them.</p> + +<p>If I indeed had the merry disposition of the lark, I had also his +sensitive timidity, that brings him sometimes to hide between the +furrows in the earth. A look, a word, a shadow, was enough to +discourage me. My smiles died away, I shrunk into myself, and +did not dare to move.</p> + +<p>"Why did my mother choose three boys, rather than three +girls, after I was born?" This problem was often in my mind. +Boys only tear blouses, which they don't know how to mend. If +she had only thought how happy I would be with a sister, a dear +little sister! How I should have loved her,—scolded her sometimes, +but kissed her very often! We should have had our work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +and play together, thoroughly independent of all those gentlemen,—our +brothers.</p> + +<p>My eldest sister was too far from my age. There seemed to be +centuries between us. I had one friend,—my cat, Zizi; but she +was a wild, restless creature, and no companion, for I could scarcely +hold her an instant. She preferred the roof of the house to my +lap.</p> + +<p>I became very thoughtful, and said to myself, "How shall I get +a companion? and how do people make dolls?" It did not occur +to me, who had never seen a toy-shop, that they could be purchased +ready-made. My chin resting on my hand, I sat in meditation, +wondering how I could create what I desired. My passionate +desire overruled my fears, and I decided to work from my +own inspiration.</p> + +<p>I rejected wood, as too hard to afford the proper material for my +dolly. Clay, so moist and cold, chilled the warmth of my invention. +I took some soft, white linen, and some clean bran, and +with them formed the body. I was like the savages, who desire a +little god to worship. It must have a head with eyes, and with +ears to listen; and it must have a breast, to hold its heart. All +the rest is less important, and remains undefined.</p> + +<p>I worked after this fashion, and rounded my doll's head by +tying it firmly. There was a clearly perceptible neck,—a little +stiff, perhaps; a well-developed chest; and then came vague +drapery, which dispensed with limbs. There were rudiments of +arms,—not very graceful, but movable; indeed, they moved of +themselves. I was filled with admiration. Why might not the +body move? I had read how God breathed upon Adam and Eve +the breath of life; with my whole heart and my six years' strength +I breathed on the creature I had made. I looked; she did not +stir. Never mind. I was her mother, and she loved me; that +was enough. The dangers that menaced our mutual affection only +served to increase it. She gave me anxiety from the moment of +her birth. How and where could I keep her in safety? Surrounded +by mischievous boys, sworn enemies to their sisters' dolls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +I was obliged to hide mine in a dark corner of a shed, where the +wagons and carriages were kept. After being punished, I could +conceive no consolation equal to taking my child to bed with me. +To warm her, I tucked her into my little bed, with the friendly +pussy who was keeping it warm for me. At bedtime, I laid her on +my heart, still heaving with sobs; and she seemed to sigh too. If +I missed her in the night, I became wide awake; I hunted for +her, full of apprehension. Often she was quite at the bottom of +the bed. I brought her out, folded her in my arms, and fell asleep +happy.</p> + +<p>I liked, in my extreme loneliness, to believe that she had a living +soul. Her grandparents were not aware of her existence. +Would she have been so thoroughly my own, if other people had +known her? I loved better to hide her from all eyes.</p> + +<p>One thing was wanting to my satisfaction. My doll had a +head, but no face. I desired to look into her eyes, to see a smile +on her countenance that should resemble mine. Sunday was the +great holiday, when everybody did what they liked. Drawing +and painting were the favorite occupations. Around the fire, in +winter time, the little ones made soldiers; while my elder brother, +who was a true artist, and worked with the best colors, painted +dresses and costumes of various sorts. We watched his performances, +dazzled by the marvels which he had at his finger-ends.</p> + +<p>It was during this time of general preoccupation that my +daughter, carefully hidden under my apron, arrived among her +uncles. No one noticed me; and I tried, successfully, to possess +myself of a brush, with some colors. But I could do nothing +well; my hand trembled, and all my lines were crooked. Then I +made an heroic resolution,—to ask my brother's assistance boldly. +The temptation was strong, indeed, which led me to brave the +malice of so many imps. I stepped forward, and, with a voice +which I vainly endeavored to steady, I said, "Would you be so +kind as to make a face for my doll?" My eldest brother seemed +not at all surprised, but took the doll in his hands with great +gravity, and examined it; then, with apparent care, chose a brush.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +Suddenly he drew across her countenance two broad stripes of red +and black, something like a cross; and gave me back my poor +little doll, with a burst of laughter. The soft linen absorbed the +colors, which ran together in a great blot. It was very dreadful. +Great cries followed; everybody crowded round to see this wonderful +work. Then a cousin of ours, who was passing Sunday +with us, seized my treasure, and tossed it up to the ceiling. It +fell flat on the floor. I picked it up; and, if the bad boy had not +taken flight, he would have suffered, very likely, from my resentment.</p> + +<p>Sad days were in store for us. My child and I were watched in +all our interviews. Often was she dragged from her hiding-places +among the bushes and in the high grass. Everybody made war +upon her,—even Zizi, the cat, who shared her nightly couch. +My brothers sometimes gave the doll to Zizi as a plaything; and, +in my absence, even she was not sorry to claw it, and roll it about +on the garden walks. When I next found it, it was a shapeless +bunch of dusty rags. With the constancy of a great affection, I +remade again and again the beloved being predestined to destruction; +and each time I pondered how to create something more +beautiful. This aiming at perfection seemed to calm my grief. I +made a better form, and produced symmetrical legs (once, to my +surprise, the rudiment of a foot appeared); but the better my work +was, the more bitter the ridicule, and I began to be discouraged.</p> + +<p>My doll, beyond a doubt, was in mortal peril. My brothers +whispered together; and their sidelong glances foreboded me no +good. I felt that I was watched. In order to elude their vigilance, +I constantly transferred my treasure from one hiding-place +to another; and many nights it lay under the open sky. What +jeers, what laughter, had it been found!</p> + +<p>To put an end to my torments, I threw my child into a very +dark corner, and feigned to forget her. I confess to a shocking +resolution; for an evil temptation assailed me. But, if self-love +began to triumph over my affection for her, it was but as a momentary +flash, a troubled dream. Without the dear little being, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +should have had nothing to live for. It was, in fact, my second +self. After much searching, my unlucky doll was discovered. Its +limbs were torn off without mercy; and the body, being tossed +up into an acacia-tree, was stuck on the thorns. It was impossible +to bring it down. The victim hung, abandoned to the autumnal +gales, to the wintry tempests, to the westerly rains, and to +the northern snows. I watched her faithfully, believing that the +time would come when she would revisit this earth.</p> + +<p>In the spring, the gardener came to prune the trees. With tears +in my eyes, I said, "Bring me back my doll from those branches." +He found only a fragment of her poor little dress, torn and faded. +The sight almost broke my heart.</p> + +<p>All hope being gone, I became more sensitive to the rough treatment +of my brothers; and I fell into a sort of despair. After my +life with <i>her</i> whom I had lost; after my emotions, my secret joys +and fears,—I felt all the desolation of my bereavement. I longed +for wings to fly away. When my sister excluded me from her +sports with her companions, I climbed into the swing, and said to +the gardener, "Jean, swing me high,—higher yet: I wish to fly +away." But I was soon frightened enough to beg for mercy.</p> + +<p>Then I tried to lose myself. Behind the grove which closed in +our horizon stretched a long slope, undulating towards a deep cut +below. With infinite pains, I surmounted all obstacles, and gained +the road. How far, far away from home I felt! My heart was +beating violently. What sorrow this would give to my dear +father! Where should I sleep? I should never dare to ask shelter +at a farm-house, much less lie down among the bushes, where +the screech-owls made a noise all night. So, without further reflection, +I returned home.</p> + +<p>Animals are happier. I wished to be little Lauret, the gold-colored +ox, who labors so patiently, and comes and goes all day +long. Or I'd like to be Grisette or Brunette, the pretty asses who +are mother's pets.</p> + +<p>After all, who would not like to be a flower? However, a +flower lives but a very little while: you are cut down as soon as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +born. A tree lasts much longer. Yet what a bore it must be to +stay always in one place! To stand with one's foot buried in the +ground,—it is too dreadful; the thought worried me when I was +in bed, thinking things over.</p> + +<p>I would have been a bird, if a good fairy had taken pity on me. +Birds are so free, so happy, they sing all day long. If I were a +bird, I would come and fly about our woods, and would perch on +the roof of our house. I would come to see my empty chair, my +place at table, and my mother looking sad; then, at my father's +hour for reading, alone in the garden, I would fly, and perch on +his shoulder, and my father would know me at once.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus270.jpg" width="400" height="240" alt="Plants, flowers, butterfly and birds with farm in background." title="Plants, flowers, butterfly and birds with farm in background." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p> +<img src="images/illus271t.jpg" width="417" height="303" alt="View of Woods" +title="View of Woods" class="splitrt" /> +<img src="images/illus271b.jpg" width="116" height="197" alt="View of Woods" +title="View of Woods" class="splitrb" /> +</p> + +<h3 class="chap noclear"><span class="nowrap">JEAN PAUL RICHTER,</span></h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">ONE OF THE GREAT AUTHORS OF GERMANY.</p> + + +<p><span style="font-size: 250%">I</span>t was in the year 1763 that I came into the +world, in the same month that the golden and +gray wagtail, the robin-redbreast, the crane, and +the red-hammer came also; and, in case anybody +wished to strew flowers on the cradle of the new-born, +the spoonwort and the aspen hung out their +tender blossoms,—on the 20th of March, in the +early morning. I was born in Wunsiedel, in the highlands of the +Fitchtelbirge. Ah! I am glad to have been born in thee, little +city of the mountains, whose tops look down upon us like the heads +of eagles, and where we can glance over villages and mountain +meadows, and drink health at all thy fountains!</p> + +<p>To my great joy I can call up from my twelfth or, at farthest, +my fourteenth month of age one pale little remembrance, like an +early and frail snow-drop, from the fresh soil of my childhood. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +recollect that a scholar loved me much, and carried me about in his +arms, and took me to a great dark room and gave me milk to drink.</p> + +<p>In 1765 my father was appointed minister to Joditz, where I +was carried in a girl's cap and petticoat. The little Saale River, +born like myself in the Fitchtelbirge, ran with me to Joditz, as it +afterwards ran after me to Hof when I removed there. A small +brook traverses the little town, that is crossed on a plank as I +remember. The old castle and the pastor's house were the two +principal buildings. There was a school-house right opposite the +parsonage, into which I was admitted, when big enough to wear +breeches and a green taffety cap. The schoolmaster was sickly +and lean, but I loved him, and watched anxiously with him as he +lay hid behind his birdcage placed in the open window to catch +goldfinches, or when he spread a net in the snow and caught a +yellow-hammer.</p> + +<p>My life in Joditz was very pleasant, all the four seasons were +full of happiness. I hardly know which to tell of first, for each +is a heavenly introduction to the next; but I will begin with winter. +In the cold morning my father came down stairs and learned his +Sunday sermon by the window, and I and my brother carried the +full cup of coffee to him,—and still more gladly carried it back +empty, for we could pick out the unmelted sugar from the bottom. +Out of doors, the sky covered all things with silence,—the brook +with ice, the village roofs with snow; but in our room there +was warm life,—under the stove was a pigeon-house, on the windows +goldfinch-cages; on the floor was the bull-dog and a pretty +little poodle close by. Farther off, at the other end of the house, +was the stable, with cows and pigs and hens. The threshers we +could hear in the court-yard beating out the grain.</p> + +<p>In the long twilight our father walked back and forth, and we +trotted after him, creeping under his nightgown, and holding on +to his hands if we could reach them. At the sound of the vesper-bell +we stood in a circle and chanted the old hymn,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dis finstre Nacht bricht stark herein."<br /></span> +<span class="i0h">"The gloomy night is gathering in."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> + +<p>The evening chime in our village was indeed the swan-song of +the day, the muffle of the over-loud heart, calling from toil and +noise to silence and dreams. Then the room was lit up, and the +window-shutters bolted, and we children felt all safe behind them +when the wind growled and grumbled outside, like the <i>Knecht +Ruprecht</i>, or hobgoblin. Then we could undress and skip up and +down in our long trailing nightgowns. My father sat at the long +table studying or composing music. Our noise did not disturb +the inward melody to which he listened as we sat on the table or +played under it.</p> + +<p>Once a week the old errand-woman came from Hof with fruit and +meats and pastry-cakes. Sometimes the housemaid brought her +distaff into the common room of an evening, and told us stories +by the light of a pine-torch. At nine o'clock in the evening I +was sent to the bed which I shared with my father. He sat up until +eleven, and I lay wide awake, trembling for fear of ghosts, until he +joined me. For I had heard my father tell of spiritual appearances, +which he firmly believed he had himself seen, and my imagination +filled the dark space with them.</p> + +<p>When the spring came, and the snows melted, we who had been +shut up in the parsonage court were set free to roam the fields and +meadows. The sweet mornings sparkled with undried dews. I +carried my father's coffee to him in his summer-house in the garden. +In the evening we had currants and raspberries from the +garden at our supper before dark. Then my father sat and smoked +his pipe in the open air, and we played about him in our nightgowns, +on the grass, as the swallows did in the air overhead.</p> + +<p>The most beautiful of all summer birds, meanwhile, was a tender, +blue butterfly, which, in this beautiful season, fluttered about me, +and was my first love. This was a blue-eyed peasant-girl of my +own age, with a slender form and an oval face somewhat marked +with the small-pox, but with the thousand traits that, like the +magic circles of the enchanter's wand, take the heart a prisoner. +Augustina dwelt with her brother Romer, a delicate youth, who +was known as a good accountant, and as a good singer in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +choir. I played my little romance in a lively manner, from a +distance, as I sat in the pastor's pew in the church, and she in the +seat appropriated to women, apparently near enough to look at +each other without being satisfied. And yet this was only the +beginning; for when, at evening, she drove her cow home from +the meadow pasture, I instantly knew the well-remembered sound +of the cow-bell, and flew to the court wall to see her pass, and +give her a nod as she went by; then ran again down to the gateway +to speak to her, she the nun without, and I the monk +within, to thrust my hand through the bars (more I durst not do, +on account of the children without), in which there was some little +dainty sugared almonds, or something still more costly, that I had +brought for her from the city. Alas! I did not arrive in many +summers three times to such happiness as this. But I was obliged +to devour all the pleasures, and almost all the sorrows, within my +own heart. My almonds, indeed, did not all fall upon stony +ground, for there grew out of them a whole hanging-garden in my +imagination, blooming and full of sweetness, and I used to walk +in it for weeks together. The sound of this cow-bell remained +with me for a long time, and even now the blood in my old heart +stirs when this sound hovers in the air.</p> + +<p>In the summer, I remember the frequent errands that I, with a +little sack on my back, made to my grandparents in the city of +Hof, to bring meat and coffee and things that could not be had in +the village. The two hours' walk led through a wood where a brook +babbled over the stones. At last the city with its two church-towers +was seen, with the Saale shining along the level plain. I +remember, on my return one summer afternoon, watching the +sunny splendor of the mountain-side, traversed by flying shadows +of clouds, and how a new and strange longing came over me, of +mingled pain and pleasure,—a longing which knew not the name +of its object,—the awakening and thirsting of my whole nature +for the heavenly gifts of life.</p> + +<p>After the first autumn threshing I used to follow the traces of +the crows in the woods, and the birds going southward in long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +procession, with strange delight. I loved the screams of the wild +geese flying over me in long flocks. In the autumn evenings the +father went with me and Adam to a potato-field lying on the other +side of the Saale. One boy carried a hoe upon his shoulder, the +other a hand-basket; and while the father dug as many new potatoes +as were necessary for supper, and I gathered them from the ground +and threw them into the basket, Adam gathered the best nuts +from the hazel-bushes. It was not long before Adam fell back +into the potato-beds, and I in my turn climbed the nut-tree. Then +we returned home, satisfied with our nuts and potatoes, and enlivened +by running for an hour in the free, invigorating air; every +one may imagine the delight of returning home by the light of +the harvest festivals.</p> + +<p>Wonderfully fresh and green are two other harvest flowers, preserved +in the chambers of my memory, and both are indeed trees. +One was a full-branched muscatel pear-tree in the pastor's court-yard, +the fall of whose splendid hanging fruit the children sought +through the whole autumn to hasten; but at last, upon one of the +most important days of the season, the father himself reached the +forbidden fruit by means of a ladder, and brought the sweet +paradise down, as well for the palates of the whole family as for +the cooking-stove.</p> + +<p>The other, always green, and yet more splendidly blooming, +was a smaller tree, taken on St. Andrew's evening from the old +wood, and brought into the house, where it was planted in water +and soil in a large pot, so that on Christmas night it might have +its leaves green when it was hung over with gifts like fruits and +flowers.</p> + +<p>In my thirteenth year my father was appointed pastor of Swarzenbach, +also on the Saale River, a large market town, and I had +to leave Joditz, dear even to this day to my heart. Two little +sisters lie in its graveyard. My father found there his fairest +Sundays, and there I first saw the Saale shining with the morning +glow of my life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">CHARLES LAMB,</h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">GENIAL ENGLISH ESSAYIST.</p> + + +<p class="cap">From my childhood I was extremely inquisitive about witches +and witch-stories. My maid, and legendary aunt, supplied +me with good store. But I shall mention the accident +which directed my curiosity originally into this channel. In my +father's book-closet, the "History of the Bible," by Stackhouse, +occupied a distinguished station. The pictures with which it +abounds—one of the ark, in particular, and another of Solomon's +Temple, delineated with all the fidelity of ocular admeasurement, as +if the artist had been upon the spot—attracted my childish attention. +There was a picture, too, of the Witch raising up Samuel, +which I wish that I had never seen. Turning over the picture of +the ark with too much haste, I unhappily made a breach in its +ingenious fabric, driving my inconsiderate fingers right through +the two larger quadrupeds,—the elephant and the camel,—that +stare (as well they might) out of the last two windows next the +steerage in that unique piece of naval architecture. The book was +henceforth locked up, and became an interdicted treasure. With +the book, the <i>objections</i> and <i>solutions</i> gradually cleared out of my +head, and have seldom returned since in any force to trouble me.</p> + +<p>But there was one impression which I had imbibed from Stackhouse, +which no lock or bar could shut out, and which was +destined to try my childish nerves rather more seriously. That +detestable picture!</p> + +<p>I was dreadfully alive to nervous terrors,—the night-time, +solitude, and the dark. I never laid my head on my pillow, I +suppose, from the fourth to the seventh or eighth year of my life,—so +far as memory serves in things so long ago,—without an +assurance, which realized its own prophecy, of seeing some frightful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +spectre. Be old Stackhouse then acquitted in part, if I say that, +to his picture of the Witch raising up Samuel, (O that old man +covered with a mantle!) I owe, not my midnight terrors, the +horror of my infancy, but the shape and manner of their visitation. +It was he who dressed up for me a hag that nightly sat upon +my pillow,—a sure bedfellow, when my aunt or my maid was +far from me. All day long, while the book was permitted me, I +dreamed waking over his delineation, and at night (if I may use so +bold an expression) awoke into sleep, and found the vision true. +I durst not, even in the daylight, once enter the chamber where I +slept, without my face turned to the window, aversely from the +bed, where my witch-ridden pillow was. Parents do not know +what they do when they leave tender babes alone to go to sleep in +the dark. The feeling about for a friendly arm, the hoping for a +familiar voice when they awake screaming, and find none to soothe +them,—what a terrible shaking it is to their poor nerves! The +keeping them up till midnight, through candlelight and the unwholesome +hours, as they are called, would, I am satisfied, in a +medical point of view, prove the better caution. That detestable +picture, as I have said, gave the fashion to my dreams,—if dreams +they were,—for the scene of them was invariably the room in +which I lay.</p> + +<p>The oldest thing I remember is Mackery End, or Mackarel +End, as it is spelt, perhaps more properly, in some old maps of +Hertfordshire, a farm-house, delightfully situated within a gentle +walk from Wheathampstead. I can just remember having been +there, on a visit to a great-aunt, when I was a child, under the +care of my sister, who, as I have said, is older than myself by +some ten years. I wish that I could throw into a heap the remainder +of our joint existences, that we might share them in equal +division. But that is impossible. The house was at that time in +the occupation of a substantial yeoman, who had married my +grandmother's sister. His name was Gladman. More than forty +years had elapsed since the visit I speak of; and, for the greater +portion of that period, we had lost sight of the other two branches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +also. Who or what sort of persons inherited Mackery End,—kindred +or strange folk,—we were afraid almost to conjecture, but +determined some day to explore.</p> + +<p>We made an excursion to this place a few summers ago. By +a somewhat circuitous route, taking the noble park at Luton in +our way from Saint Alban's, we arrived at the spot of our anxious +curiosity about noon. The sight of the old farm-house, though +every trace of it was effaced from my recollection, affected me with +a pleasure which I had not experienced for many a year. For +though <i>I</i> had forgotten it, <i>we</i> had never forgotten being there +together, and we had been talking about Mackery End all our +lives, till memory on my part became mocked with a phantom of +itself, and I thought I knew the aspect of a place, which, when +present, O how unlike it was to <i>that</i> which I had conjured up so +many times instead of it!</p> + +<p>Still the air breathed balmily about it; the season was in the +"heart of June," and I could say with the poet,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But thou, that didst appear so fair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To fond imagination,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost rival in the light of day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her delicate creation!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Journeying northward lately, I could not resist going some few +miles out of my road to look upon the remains of an old great +house with which I had been impressed in infancy. I was apprised +that the owner of it had lately pulled it down; still I had +a vague notion that it could not all have perished, that so much +solidity with magnificence could not have been crushed all at once +into the mere dust and rubbish which I found it.</p> + +<p>The work of ruin had proceeded with a swift hand, indeed, and +the demolition of a few weeks had reduced it to—an antiquity.</p> + +<p>I was astonished at the indistinction of everything. Where had +stood the great gates? What bounded the court-yard? Whereabout +did the outhouses begin? A few bricks only lay as representatives +of that which was so stately and so spacious.</p> + +<p>Had I seen these brick-and-mortar knaves at their process of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +destruction, I should have cried out to them to spare a plank at +least out of the cheerful storeroom, in whose hot window-seat I +used to sit and read Cowley, with the grass-plot before, and the +hum and flappings of that one solitary wasp that ever haunted it +about me,—it is in mine ears now, as oft as summer returns; or +a panel of the yellow-room.</p> + +<p>Why, every plank and panel of that house for me had magic in +it! The tapestried bedrooms,—tapestry so much better than +painting,—not adorning merely, but peopling, the wainscots, at +which childhood ever and anon would steal a look, shifting its +coverlid (replaced as quickly) to exercise its tender courage in a +momentary eye-encounter with those stern bright visages, staring +back in return.</p> + +<p>Then, that haunted room in which old Mrs. Brattle died, whereinto +I have crept, but always in the daytime, with a passion of +fear; and a sneaking curiosity, terror-tainted, to hold communication +with the past. <i>How shall they build it up again?</i></p> + +<p>It was an old deserted place, yet not so long deserted but that +traces of the splendor of past inmates were everywhere apparent. +Its furniture was still standing, even to the tarnished gilt leather +battledores and crumbling feathers of shuttlecocks in the nursery, +which told that children had once played there. But I was a +lonely child, and had the range at will of every apartment, knew +every nook and corner, wondered and worshipped everywhere.</p> + +<p>The solitude of childhood is not so much the mother of thought, +as it is the feeder of love, and silence, and admiration. So strange +a passion for the place possessed me in those years, that though +there lay—I shame to say how few roods distant from the mansion,—half +hid by trees, what I judged some romantic lake, such was +the spell which bound me to the house, and such my carefulness +not to pass its strict and proper precincts, that the idle waters lay +unexplored for me; and not till late in life, curiosity prevailing +over elder devotion, I found, to my astonishment, a pretty brawling +brook had been the unknown lake of my infancy. Variegated +views, extensive prospects,—and those at no great distance from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +the house,—I was told of such,—what were they to me, being +out of the boundaries of my Eden? So far from a wish to roam, +I would have drawn, methought, still closer the fences of my +chosen prison, and have been hemmed in by a yet securer cincture +of those excluding garden walls. I could have exclaimed with that +garden-loving poet,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Curl me about, ye gadding vines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And O, so close your circles lace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">That I may never leave this place!<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">But, lest your fetters prove too weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Ere I your silken bondage break,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Do you, O brambles! chain me too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">And, courteous briers, nail me through."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I was here as in a lonely temple. Snug firesides,—the low-built +roof,—parlors ten feet by ten,—frugal boards, and all the +homeliness of home,—these were the condition of my birth, +the wholesome soil which I was planted in. Yet, without impeachment +to their tenderest lessons, I am not sorry to have had +glances of something beyond; and to have taken, if but a peep, +in childhood, at the contrasting accidents of a great fortune.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">HUGH MILLER,</h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">SCOTTISH GEOLOGIST AND AUTHOR.</p> + + +<p class="capword">I was born on the tenth day of October, 1802, in the low, +long house built by my great-grandfather.</p> + +<p>My memory awoke early. I have recollections which date several +months before the completion of my third year; but, like +those of the golden age of the world, they are chiefly of a mythologic +character.</p> + +<p>I retain a vivid recollection of the joy which used to light up +the household on my fathers arrival; and how I learned to distinguish +for myself his sloop when in the offing, by the two slim +stripes of white that ran along her sides and her two square topsails.</p> + +<p>I have my golden memories, too, of splendid toys that he used +to bring home with him,—among the rest, of a magnificent four-wheeled +wagon of painted tin, drawn by four wooden horses and +a string; and of getting it into a quiet corner, immediately on its +being delivered over to me, and there breaking up every wheel +and horse, and the vehicle itself, into their original bits, until not +two of the pieces were left sticking together. Further, I still +remember my disappointment at not finding something curious +within at least the horses and the wheels; and as unquestionably +the main enjoyment derivable from such things is to be had in the +breaking of them, I sometimes wonder that our ingenious toymen +do not fall upon the way of at once extending their trade, and +adding to its philosophy, by putting some of their most brilliant +things where nature puts the nut-kernel,—inside.</p> + +<p>Then followed a dreary season, on which I still look back in +memory as on a prospect which, sunshiny and sparkling for a +time, has become suddenly enveloped in cloud and storm. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +remember my mother's long fits of weeping, and the general gloom +of the widowed household; and how, after she had sent my two +little sisters to bed, and her hands were set free for the evening, she +used to sit up late at night, engaged as a seamstress, in making +pieces of dress for such of the neighbors as chose to employ her.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus282.jpg" width="450" height="305" alt="Family stands on shore looking out at a stormy sea." title="Family stands on shore looking out at a stormy sea." /> +</div> + +<p>I remember I used to wander disconsolately about the harbor at +this season, to examine the vessels which had come in during the +night; and that I oftener than once set my mother a-crying by +asking her why the shipmates who, when my father was alive, +used to stroke my head, and slip halfpence into my pockets, never +now took any notice of me, or gave me anything. She well knew +that the shipmasters—not an ungenerous class of men—had +simply failed to recognize their old comrade's child; but the +question was only too suggestive, notwithstanding, of both her +own loss and mine. I used, too, to climb, day after day, a grassy +knoll immediately behind my mother's house, that commands a +wide reach of the Moray Frith, and look wistfully out, long after +every one else had ceased to hope, for the sloop with the two +stripes of white and the two square topsails. But months and +years passed by, and the white stripes and the square topsails I +never saw.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>I had been sent, previous to my father's death, to a dame's +school. During my sixth year I spelled my way, under the dame, +through the Shorter Catechism, the Proverbs, and the New Testament, +and then entered upon her highest form, as a member of +the Bible class; but all the while the process of acquiring learning +had been a dark one, which I slowly mastered, with humble +confidence in the awful wisdom of the schoolmistress, not knowing +whither it tended, when at once my mind awoke to the +meaning of the most delightful of all narratives,—the story of +Joseph. Was there ever such a discovery made before? I actually +found out for myself, that the art of reading is the art of finding +stories in books; and from that moment reading became one of +the most delightful of my amusements.</p> + +<p>I began by getting into a corner on the dismissal of the school, +and there conning over to myself the new-found story of Joseph +nor did one perusal serve; the other Scripture stories followed,—in +especial, the story of Samson and the Philistines, of David and +Goliah, of the prophets Elijah and Elisha; and after these came +the New Testament stories and parables.</p> + +<p>Assisted by my uncles, too, I began to collect a library in a box +of birch-bark about nine inches square, which I found quite large +enough to contain a great many immortal works,—"Jack the +Giant-Killer," and "Jack and the Bean-Stalk," and the "Yellow +Dwarf," and "Bluebeard," and "Sinbad the Sailor," and "Beauty +and the Beast," and "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp," with +several others of resembling character.</p> + +<p>Old Homer wrote admirably for little folks, especially in the +Odyssey; a copy of which, in the only true translation extant,—for, +judging from its surpassing interest and the wrath of +critics, such I hold that of Pope to be,—I found in the house of +a neighbor. Next came the Iliad; not, however, in a complete +copy, but represented by four of the six volumes of Bernard +Lintot. With what power, and at how early an age, true genius +impresses! I saw, even at this immature period, that no other +writer could cast a javelin with half the force of Homer. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +missiles went whizzing athwart his pages; and I could see the +momentary gleam of the steel ere it buried itself deep in brass +and bull-hide.</p> + +<p>I next succeeded in discovering for myself a child's book, of +not less interest than even the Iliad, which might, I was told, be +read on Sabbaths, in a magnificent old edition of the "Pilgrim's +Progress," printed on coarse whity-brown paper, and charged with +numerous woodcuts, each of which occupied an entire page, that, +on principles of economy, bore letter-press on the other side. And +such delightful prints as they are! It must have been some such +volume that sat for its portrait to Wordsworth, and which he so +exquisitely describes as</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Profuse in garniture of wooden cuts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Strange and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Sharp-knee'd, sharp-elbow'd, and lean-ankled too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">With long and ghastly shanks,—forms which, once seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0q">Could never be forgotten."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I quitted the dame's school at the end of the first twelvemonth, +after mastering that grand acquirement of my life,—the art of +holding converse with books; and was transferred to the grammar +school of the parish, at which there attended at the time about a +hundred and twenty boys, with a class of about thirty individuals +more, much looked down upon by the others, and not deemed +greatly worth the counting, seeing that it consisted only of +<i>lassies</i>.</p> + +<p>One morning, having the master's English rendering of the day's +task well fixed in my memory, and no book of amusement to read, +I began gossiping with my nearest class-fellow, a very tall boy, +who ultimately shot up into a lad of six feet four, and who on +most occasions sat beside me, as lowest in the form save one. I +told him about the tall Wallace and his exploits; and so effectually +succeeded in awakening his curiosity, that I had to communicate +to him, from beginning to end, every adventure recorded by +the blind minstrel.</p> + +<p>My story-telling vocation once fairly ascertained, there was, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +found, no stopping in my course. I had to tell all the stories I had +ever heard or read. The demand on the part of my class-fellows was +great and urgent; and, setting myself to try my ability of original +production, I began to dole out to them long extempore biographies, +which proved wonderfully popular and successful. My heroes were +usually warriors like Wallace, and voyagers like Gulliver, and dwellers +in desolate islands like Robinson Crusoe; and they had not +unfrequently to seek shelter in huge deserted castles, abounding in +trap-doors and secret passages, like that of Udolpho. And finally, +after much destruction of giants and wild beasts, and frightful encounters +with magicians and savages, they almost invariably succeeded +in disentombing hidden treasures to an enormous amount, or +in laying open gold mines, and then passed a luxurious old age, like +that of Sinbad the Sailor, at peace with all mankind, in the midst +of confectionery and fruits.</p> + +<p>With all my carelessness, I continued to be a sort of favorite with +the master; and when at the general English lesson, he used to +address to me little quiet speeches, vouchsafed to no other pupil, +indicative of a certain literary ground common to us, on which the +others had not entered. "That, sir," he has said, after the class +had just perused, in the school collection, a "Tatler" or "Spectator,"—"that, +sir, is a good paper; it's an Addison"; or, "That's one +of Steele's, sir"; and on finding in my copy-book, on one occasion, +a page filled with rhymes, which I had headed "Poem on Peace," +he brought it to his desk, and, after reading it carefully over, +called me up, and with his closed penknife, which served as a +pointer, in one hand, and the copy-book brought down to the level +of my eyes in the other, began his criticism. "That's bad grammar, +sir," he said, resting the knife-handle on one of the lines; "and +here's an ill-spelled word; and there's another; and you have not +at all attended to the punctuation; but the general sense of the +piece is good,—very good, indeed, sir." And then he added, +with a grim smile, "<i>Care</i>, sir, is, I dare say, as you remark, a very +bad thing; but you may safely bestow a little more of it on your +spelling and your grammar."</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus286.jpg" width="500" height="465" alt="Man sitting on a rock, surrounded by dogs." title="Man sitting on a rock, surrounded by dogs." /> +</div> + +<h3 class="chap">WALTER SCOTT,</h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">POET, HISTORIAN, AND NOVELIST OF SCOTLAND.</p> + + +<p class="cap">It was at Sandy Knowe, at the home of my father's father, that I +had the first knowledge of life; and I recollected distinctly that +my situation and appearance were a little whimsical. I was lame, +and among the old remedies for lameness some one had recommended +that, as often as a sheep was killed for the use of the family, +I should be stripped and wrapped up in the warm skin as it was +taken from the carcass of the animal. In this Tartar-like dress I +well remember lying upon the floor of the little parlor of the farm-house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +while my grandfather, an old man with snowy hair, tried to +make me crawl. And I remember a relation of ours, Colonel +MacDougal, joining with him to excite and amuse me. I recollect +his old military dress, his small cocked hat, deeply laced, embroidered +scarlet waistcoat, light-colored coat, and milk-white locks, +as he knelt on the ground before me, and dragged his watch along +the carpet to make me follow it. This must have happened about +my third year, for both the old men died soon after. My grandmother +continued for some years to take charge of the farm, assisted +by my uncle Thomas Scott. This was during the American war, +and I remember being as anxious on my uncle's weekly visits (for +we had no news at another time) to hear of the defeat of Washington, +as if I had some personal cause for hating him. I got a +strange prejudice in favor of the Stuart family from the songs and +tales I heard about them. One or two of my own relations had +been put to death after the battle of Culloden, and the husband +of one of my aunts used to tell me that he was present at their +execution. My grandmother used to tell me many a tale of Border +chiefs, like Watt of Harden, Wight Willie of Aikwood, Jamie +Telfer of the fair Dodhead. My kind aunt, Miss Janet Scott, +whose memory will always be dear to me, used to read to me with +great patience until I could repeat long passages by heart. I learned +the old ballad of Hardyknute, to the great annoyance of our almost +only visitor, Dr. Duncan, the worthy clergyman of the parish, who +had no patience to have his sober chat disturbed by my shouting +for this ditty. Methinks I see now his tall, emaciated figure, +legs cased in clasped gambadoes, and his very long face, and hear +him exclaim, "One might as well speak in the mouth of a cannon +as where that child is!"</p> + +<p>I was in my fourth year when my father was told that the +waters of Bath might be of some advantage to my lameness. My +kind aunt, though so retiring in habits as to make such a journey +anything but pleasure or amusement, undertook to go with me to +the wells, as readily as if she expected all the delight the prospect +of a watering-place held out to its most impatient visitors. My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +health was by this time a good deal better from the country air at +my grandmother's. When the day was fine, I was carried out and +laid beside the old shepherd among the crags and rocks, around +which he fed his sheep. Childish impatience inclined me to struggle +with my lameness, and I began by degrees to stand, walk, and +even run.</p> + +<p>I lived at Bath a year without much advantage to my lameness. +The beauties of the Parade, with the river Avon winding around +it, and the lowing of the cattle from the opposite hills, are warm +in my recollection, and are only exceeded by the splendors of a +toy-shop near the orange grove. I was afraid of the statues in the +old abbey church, and looked with horror upon the image of Jacob's +ladder with its angels.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>My mother joined to a light and happy temper of mind a strong +turn for poetry and works of imagination. She was sincerely +devout, but her religion, as became her sex, was of a cast less +severe than my father's. My hours of leisure from school study +were spent in reading with her Pope's translation of Homer, which, +with a few ballads and the songs of Allan Ramsay, was the first +poetry I possessed. My acquaintance with English literature +gradually extended itself. In the intervals of my school-hours I +read with avidity such books of history or poetry or voyages and +travels as chance presented, not forgetting fairy-tales and Eastern +stories and romances. I found in my mother's dressing-room +(where I slept at one time) some odd volumes of Shakespeare, nor +can I forget the rapture with which I sat up in my shirt reading +them by the firelight.</p> + +<p>In my thirteenth year I first became acquainted with Bishop +Percy's "Reliques of Ancient Poetry." As I had been from infancy +devoted to legendary lore of this nature, and only reluctantly withdrew +my attention, from the scarcity of materials and the rudeness +of those which I possessed, it may be imagined, but cannot be +described, with what delight I saw pieces of the same kind which +had amused my childhood, and still continued in secret the Delilahs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +of my imagination, considered as the subject of sober research, +grave commentary, and apt illustration, by an editor who showed +his poetical genius was capable of emulating the best qualities of +what his pious labor preserved. I remember well the spot where +I read these volumes for the first time. It was beneath a huge +platanus-tree, in the ruins of what had been intended for an old-fashioned +arbor in the garden adjoining the house. The summer +day sped onward so fast that, notwithstanding the sharp appetite +of thirteen, I forgot the hour of dinner, was sought for with +anxiety, and was found still entranced in my intellectual banquet. +To read and to remember was in this instance the same thing, and +henceforth I overwhelmed my schoolfellows, and all who would +hearken to me, with tragical recitations from the ballads of Bishop +Percy. The first time, too, I could scrape a few shillings together, +which were not common occurrences with me, I bought unto myself +a copy of these beloved volumes; nor do I believe I ever +read a book half so frequently or with half the enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>To this period also I can trace distinctly the awaking of that +delightful feeling for the beauties of natural objects which has +never since deserted me. The neighborhood of Kelso, the most +beautiful, if not the most romantic, village in Scotland, is eminently +calculated to awaken these ideas. It presents objects, not only +grand in themselves, but venerable from their association. The +meeting of two superb rivers, the Tweed and the Teviot, both renowned +in song; the ruins of an ancient abbey; the more +distant vestiges of Roxburgh Castle; the modern mansion of +Fleurs, which is so situated as to combine the ideas of ancient +baronial grandeur with those of modern taste,—are in themselves +objects of the first class; yet are so mixed, united, and melted +among a thousand other beauties of a less prominent description, +that they harmonize into one general picture, and please rather by +unison than by concord.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">FREDERIC DOUGLASS,</h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">THE SLAVE-BOY OF MARYLAND, NOW ONE OF THE ABLEST CITIZENS +AND MOST ELOQUENT ORATORS OF THE UNITED STATES.</p> + + +<p class="capword">I was born in what is called Tuckahoe, on the eastern shore +of Maryland, a worn-out, desolate, sandy region. Decay and +ruin are everywhere visible, and the thin population of the place +would have quitted it long ago, but for the Choptauk River, which +runs through, from which they take abundance of shad and herring, +and plenty of fever and ague. My first experience of life +began in the family of my grandparents. The house was built of +logs, clay, and straw. A few rough fence-rails thrown loosely over +the rafters answered the purpose of floors, ceilings, and bedsteads. +It was a long time before I learned that this house was not my +grandparents', but belonged to a mysterious personage who was +spoken of as "Old Master"; nay, that my grandmother and her +children and grandchildren, myself among them, all belonged to +this dreadful personage, who would only suffer me to live a few +years with my grandmother, and when I was big enough would +carry me off to work on his plantation.</p> + +<p>The absolute power of this distant Old Master had touched +my young spirit with but the point of its cold cruel iron, yet it +left me something to brood over. The thought of being separated +from my grandmother, seldom or never to see her again, haunted +me. I dreaded the idea of going to live with that strange Old +Master whose name I never heard mentioned with affection, but +always with fear. My grandmother! my grandmother! and the +little hut and the joyous circle under her care, but especially <i>she</i>, +who made us sorry when she left us but for an hour, and glad on +her return,—how could we leave her and the good old home!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the sorrows of childhood, like the pleasures of after-life, are +transient. The first seven or eight years of the slave-boy's life are +as full of content as those of the most favored white children of +the slaveholder. The slave-boy escapes many troubles which vex +his white brother. He is never lectured for improprieties of behavior. +He is never chided for handling his little knife and fork +improperly or awkwardly, for he uses none. He is never scolded +for soiling the table-cloth, for he takes his meals on the clay floor. +He never has the misfortune, in his games or sports, of soiling or +tearing his clothes, for he has almost none to soil or tear. He is +never expected to act like a nice little gentleman, for he is only a +rude little slave.</p> + +<p>Thus, freed from all restraint, the slave-boy can be, in his life +and conduct, a genuine boy, doing whatever his boyish nature +suggests; enacting, by turns, all the strange antics and freaks +of horses, dogs, pigs, and barn-door fowls, without in any manner +compromising his dignity or incurring reproach of any sort. He +literally runs wild; has no pretty little verses to learn in the nursery; +no nice little speeches to make for aunts, uncles, or cousins, +to show how smart he is; and, if he can only manage to keep out +of the way of the heavy feet and fists of the older slave-boys, he +may trot on, in his joyous and roguish tricks, as happy as any +little heathen under the palm-trees of Africa.</p> + +<p>To be sure, he is occasionally reminded, when he stumbles in +the way of his master,—and this he early learns to avoid,—that +he is eating his <i>white bread</i>, and that he will be made to <i>see +sights</i> by and by. The threat is soon forgotten, the shadow +soon passes, and our sable boy continues to roll in the dust, or +play in the mud, as best suits him, and in the veriest freedom. If +he feels uncomfortable, from mud or from dust, the coast is clear; +he can plunge into the river or the pond, without the ceremony of +undressing or the fear of wetting his clothes; his little tow-linen +shirt—for that is all he has on—is easily dried; and it needed +washing as much as did his skin. His food is of the coarsest +kind, consisting for the most part of corn-meal mush, which often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +finds its way from the wooden tray to his mouth in an oyster-shell. +His days, when the weather is warm, are spent in the pure, open +air and in the bright sunshine. He eats no candies; gets no +lumps of loaf-sugar; always relishes his food; cries but little, for +nobody cares for his crying; learns to esteem his bruises but +slight, because others so think them.</p> + +<p>In a word, he is, for the most part of the first eight years of his +life, a spirited, joyous, uproarious, and happy boy, upon whom +troubles fall only like water on a duck's back. And such a boy, so +far as I can now remember, was the boy whose life in slavery I +am now telling.</p> + +<p>I gradually learned that the plantation of Old Master was +on the river Wye, twelve miles from Tuckahoe. About this +place and about that queer Old Master, who must be something +more than man and something worse than an angel, I was eager to +know all that could be known. Unhappily, all that I found out +only increased my dread of being carried thither. The fact is, +such was my dread of leaving the little cabin, that I wished to +remain little forever; for I knew, the taller I grew, the shorter my +stay. The old cabin, with its rail floor and rail bedsteads up +stairs, and its clay floor down stairs, and its dirt chimney and +windowless sides, and that most curious piece of workmanship of +all the rest, the ladder stairway, and the hole curiously dug in +front of the fireplace, beneath which grandmammy placed the +sweet potatoes to keep them from the frost, was <span class="allcaps">MY HOME</span>,—the +only home I ever had; and I loved it, and all connected with it. +The old fences around it, and the stumps in the edge of the woods +near it, and the squirrels that ran, skipped, and played upon them, +were objects of interest and affection. There, too, right at the +side of the hut, stood the old well, with its stately and skyward-pointing +beam, so aptly placed between the limbs of what had +once been a tree, and so nicely balanced, that I could move it up +and down with only one hand, and could get a drink myself without +calling for help. Where else in the world could such a well +be found, and where could such another home be met with?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +Down in a little valley, not far from grandmamma's cabin, stood a +mill, where the people came often, in large numbers, to get their +corn ground. It was a water-mill; and I never shall be able to +tell the many things thought and felt while I sat on the bank +and watched that mill, and the turning of its ponderous wheel. +The mill-pond, too, had its charms; and with my pin-hook and +thread line I could get <i>nibbles</i>, if I could catch no fish. But, in +all my sports and plays, and in spite of them, there would, occasionally, +come the painful foreboding that I was not long to remain +there, and that I must soon be called away to the home of +Old Master.</p> + +<p>I was <span class="allcaps">A SLAVE</span>,—born a slave; and though the fact was strange +to me, it conveyed to my mind a sense of my entire dependence +on the will of <i>somebody</i> I had never seen; and, from some cause +or other, I had been made to fear this Somebody above all else on +earth. Born for another's benefit, as the <i>firstling</i> of the cabin +flock I was soon to be selected as a meet offering to the fearful +and inexorable Old Master, whose huge image on so many occasions +haunted my childhood's imagination. When the time of my +departure was decided upon, my grandmother, knowing my fears, +and in pity for them, kindly kept me ignorant of the dreaded +event about to happen. Up to the morning (a beautiful summer +morning) when we were to start, and, indeed, during the whole +journey,—a journey which, child as I was, I remember as well as +if it were yesterday,—she kept the sad fact hidden from me. +This reserve was necessary, for, could I have known all, I should +have given grandmother some trouble in getting me started. As +it was, I was helpless, and she—dear woman!—led me along +by the hand, resisting, with the reserve and solemnity of a priestess, +all my inquiring looks to the last.</p> + +<p>The distance from Tuckahoe to Wye River, where Old Master +lived, was full twelve miles, and the walk was quite a severe +test of the endurance of my young legs. The journey would have +proved too hard for me, but that my dear old grandmother—blessings +on her memory!—afforded occasional relief by "toting"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +me on her shoulder. My grandmother, though old in years,—as +was evident from more than one gray hair, which peeped from +between the ample and graceful folds of her newly-ironed bandanna +turban,—was marvellously straight in figure, elastic, and muscular. +I seemed hardly to be a burden to her. She would have "toted" +me farther, but that I felt myself too much of a man to allow it, +and insisted on walking. Releasing dear grandmamma from carrying +me did not make me altogether independent of her, when +we happened to pass through portions of the sombre woods which +lay between Tuckahoe and Wye River. She often found me +increasing the energy of my grip, and holding her clothing, lest +something should come out of the woods and eat me up. Several +old logs and stumps imposed upon me, and got themselves taken +for wild beasts. I could see their legs, eyes, and ears till I got +close enough to them to know that the eyes were knots, washed +white with rain, and the legs were broken boughs, and the ears +only fungous growths on the bark.</p> + +<p>As the day went on the heat grew; and it was not until the +afternoon that we reached the much-dreaded end of the journey. +I found myself in the midst of a group of children of many colors,—black, +brown, copper-colored, and nearly white. I had not seen +so many children before. Great houses loomed up in different +directions, and a great many men and women were at work in the +fields. All this hurry, noise, and singing was very different from +the stillness of Tuckahoe. As a new-comer, I was an object of +special interest; and, after laughing and yelling around me, and +playing all sorts of wild tricks, the children asked me to go out and +play with them. This I refused to do, preferring to stay with +grandmamma. I could not help feeling that our being there boded +no good to me. Grandmamma looked sad. She was soon to lose +another object of affection, as she had lost many before. I knew +she was unhappy, and the shadow fell on me, though I knew not +the cause.</p> + +<p>All suspense, however, must have an end, and the end of mine +was at hand. Affectionately patting me on the head, and telling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +me to be a good boy, grandmamma bade me to go and play with +the little children. "They are kin to you," said she; "go and +play with them." Among a number of cousins were Phil, Tom, +Steve, and Jerry, Nance and Betty.</p> + +<p>Grandmother pointed out my brother and sisters who stood in +the group. I had never seen brother nor sisters before; and +though I had sometimes heard of them, and felt a curious interest +in them, I really did not understand what they were to me, or I +to them. We were brothers and sisters, but what of that? Why +should they be attached to me, or I to them? Brothers and +sisters we were by blood, but <i>slavery</i> had made us strangers. I +heard the words "brother" and "sisters," and knew they must mean +something; but slavery had robbed these terms of their true meaning. +The experience through which I was passing, they had +passed through before. They had already learned the mysteries of +Old Master's home, and they seemed to look upon me with a certain +degree of compassion; but my heart clave to my grandmother. +Think it not strange that so little sympathy of feeling existed +between us. The conditions of brotherly and sisterly feeling +were wanting; we had never nestled and played together. My +poor mother, like many other slave-women, had many children, +but <span class="allcaps">NO FAMILY</span>! The domestic hearth, with its holy lessons and +precious endearments, is abolished in the case of a slave-mother +and her children. "Little children, love one another," are words +seldom heard in a slave-cabin.</p> + +<p>I really wanted to play with my brother and sisters, but they +were strangers to me, and I was full of fear that grandmother +might leave without taking me with her. Entreated to do so, +however, and that, too, by my dear grandmother, I went to the +back part of the house, to play with them and the other children. +<i>Play</i>, however, I did not, but stood with my back against the +wall, witnessing the mirth of the others. At last, while standing +there, one of the children, who had been in the kitchen, ran up to +me, in a sort of roguish glee, exclaiming, "Fed, Fed! grandmammy +gone! grandmammy gone!" I could not believe it;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +yet, fearing the worst, I ran into the kitchen, to see for myself, +and found it even so. Grandmamma had indeed gone, and was +now far away, clean out of sight. I need not tell all that happened +now. Almost heartbroken at the discovery, I fell upon +the ground, and wept a boy's bitter tears, refusing to be comforted.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus296.jpg" width="450" height="308" alt="Workers in a field." title="Workers in a field." /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> +<h3 class="chap">CHARLES DICKENS,</h3> + +<p class="authwhat center">FIRST NOVELIST OF THE PERIOD.</p> + + +<p class="capword">I have been looking on, this evening, at a merry company +of children assembled round that pretty German toy, a +Christmas tree.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus297.jpg" width="450" height="448" alt="Family gathered around Christmas tree." title="Family gathered around Christmas tree." /> +</div> + +<p>Being now at home again, and alone, the only person in the +house awake, my thoughts are drawn back, by a fascination which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +I do not care to resist, to my own childhood. Straight in the +middle of the room, cramped in the freedom of its growth by no +encircling walls or soon-reached ceiling, a shadowy tree arises; +and, looking up into the dreamy brightness of its top,—for I +observe in this tree the singular property that it appears to grow +downward towards the earth,—I look into my youngest Christmas +recollections.</p> + +<p>All toys at first, I find. But upon the branches of the tree, +lower down, how thick the books begin to hang! Thin books, in +themselves, at first, but many of them, with deliciously smooth +covers of bright red or green. What fat black letters to begin +with!</p> + +<p>"A was an archer, and shot at a frog." Of course he was. He +was an apple-pie also, and there he is! He was a good many +things in his time, was A, and so were most of his friends, except +X, who had so little versatility that I never knew him to get +beyond Xerxes or Xantippe: like Y, who was always confined +to a yacht or a yew-tree; and Z, condemned forever to be a zebra +or a zany.</p> + +<p>But now the very tree itself changes, and becomes a bean-stalk,—the +marvellous bean-stalk by which Jack climbed up to the +giant's house. Jack,—how noble, with his sword of sharpness +and his shoes of swiftness!</p> + +<p>Good for Christmas-time is the ruddy color of the cloak in which, +the tree making a forest of itself for her to trip through with +her basket, Little Red-Riding-Hood comes to me one Christmas +eve, to give me information of the cruelty and treachery of that +dissembling wolf who ate her grandmother, without making any +impression on his appetite, and then ate her, after making that +ferocious joke about his teeth. She was my first love. I felt +that if I could have married Little Red-Riding-Hood, I should +have known perfect bliss. But it was not to be, and there was +nothing for it but to look out the wolf in the Noah's Ark there, +and put him late in the procession on the table, as a monster who +was to be degraded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 370px;"> +<img src="images/illus299.jpg" width="370" height="500" alt="Little Red-Riding-Hood" title="Little Red-Riding-Hood" /> +</div> + +<p>O the wonderful Noah's Ark! It was not found seaworthy +when put in a washing-tub, and the animals were crammed in at +the roof, and needed to have their legs well shaken down before they +could be got in even there; and then ten to one but they began<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +to tumble out at the door, which was but imperfectly fastened with +a wire latch; but what was that against it?</p> + +<p>Consider the noble fly, a size or two smaller than the elephant; +the lady-bird, the butterfly,—all triumphs of art! Consider the +goose, whose feet were so small, and whose balance was so indifferent +that he usually tumbled forward and knocked down all +the animal creation! consider Noah and his family, like idiotic +tobacco-stoppers; and how the leopard stuck to warm little fingers; +and how the tails of the larger animals used gradually to resolve +themselves into frayed bits of string.</p> + +<p>Hush! Again a forest, and somebody up in a tree,—not Robin +Hood, not Valentine, not the Yellow Dwarf,—I have passed him +and all Mother Bunch's wonders without mention,—but an +Eastern king with a glittering scymitar and turban. It is the +setting-in of the bright Arabian Nights.</p> + +<p>O, now all common things become uncommon and enchanted +to me! All lamps are wonderful! all rings are talismans! Common +flower-pots are full of treasure, with a little earth scattered +on the top; trees are for Ali Baba to hide in; beefsteaks are to +throw down into the Valley of Diamonds, that the precious stones +may stick to them, and be carried by the eagles to their nests, +whence the traders, with loud cries, will scare them. All the +dates imported come from the same tree as that unlucky one, with +whose shell the merchant knocked out the eye of the genii's invisible +son. All olives are of the same stock of that fresh fruit +concerning which the Commander of the Faithful overheard the +boy conduct the fictitious trial of the fraudulent olive-merchant. +Yes, on every object that I recognize among those upper branches +of my Christmas tree I see this fairy light!</p> + +<p>But hark! the Waits are playing, and they break my childish +sleep! What images do I associate with the Christmas music as I +see them set forth on the Christmas tree! Known before all the +others, keeping far apart from all the others, they gather round my +little bed. An angel, speaking to a group of shepherds in a field; +some travellers, with eyes uplifted, following a star; a baby in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +manger; a child in a spacious temple, talking with grave men; a +solemn figure with a mild and beautiful face, raising a dead girl by +the hand; again, near a city gate, calling back the son of a widow, +on his bier, to life; a crowd of people looking through the opened +roof of a chamber where he sits, and letting down a sick person on a +bed, with ropes; the same, in a tempest, walking on the waters in a +ship; again, on a sea-shore, teaching a great multitude; again, with +a child upon his knee, and other children around; again, restoring +sight to the blind, speech to the dumb, hearing to the deaf, health +to the sick, strength to the lame, knowledge to the ignorant; +again, dying upon a cross, watched by armed soldiers, a darkness +coming on, the earth beginning to shake, and only one voice +heard, "Forgive them, for they know not what they do!"</p> + +<p>Encircled by the social thoughts of Christmas time, still let the +benignant figure of my childhood stand unchanged! In every +cheerful image and suggestion that the season brings, may the +bright star that rested above the poor roof be the star of all the +Christian world!</p> + +<p>A moment's pause, O vanishing tree, of which the lower boughs +are dark to me yet, and let me look once more. I know there are +blank spaces on thy branches, where eyes that I have loved have +shone and smiled, from which they are departed. But, far above, +I see the Raiser of the dead girl and the widow's son,—and God +is good!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h4>THE END.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="tr"> +<h4>Transcriber's Notes</h4> + +<p>1. Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without comment and +include missing or end of sentence comma and period errors and missing +or misplaced quotation marks.</p> + +<p>2. Illustrations falling within the middle of a paragraph have been +relocated to the beginning or end of the paragraph.</p> + +<p>3. Footnotes, (two) have been moved to the end of the chapter.</p> + +<p>4. On the Title Page, the words "Illustrated" and "The Riverside Press, +Cambridge" were printed in Gothic Font which has not been duplicated in this +e-text.</p> + +<p>5. Spelling Corrections:</p> +<ul class="IX"> +<li>p. 120, "wery" to "very" (and it's very much to be)</li> +<li>p. 128, "arter" to "after" (after all, that's where)</li> +<li>p. 128, "biled" to "billed" (A billed fowl and)</li> +<li>p. 128, "woice" to "voice" (the voice of love)</li> +<li>p. 168, "Joe" to "Job" (29) (And Job tumbled into his)</li> +<li>p. 275, "pototo" to "potato" (4) (a potato-field)</li> +<li>p. 277, "familar" to "familiar" (3) (a familiar voice)</li></ul> + +<p>6. Suspected mispellings retained as possible alternate spellings of the + time:</p> +<ul class="IX"> +<li>"amadavid bird" (amadavat bird)</li> +<li>"azalias" (azaleas)</li> +<li>"gayety" (gaiety)</li> +<li>"Mackarel" (Mackerel)</li> +<li>"plash" (splash)</li> +<li>"scymitar" (scimitar)</li> +<li>"skurrying" (scurrying)</li></ul> + +<p>7. Printer Error corrections:</p> +<ul class="IX"> +<li>p. 109, removed duplicate "carried" (Oeyvind carried leaves)</li></ul> + +<p>8. Word variations retained in the text which vary by author:</p> +<ul class="IX"> +<li>"fireflies" and "fire-flies"</li> +<li>"flagstones" and "flag-stones"</li> +<li>"nightgown" and "night-gown"</li> +<li>"Red Riding-Hood" and "Red-Riding-Hood"</li> +<li>"schoolhouse" and "school-house"</li> +<li>"toyshop" and "toy-shop"</li></ul> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Child Life in Prose, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD LIFE IN PROSE *** + +***** This file should be named 34549-h.htm or 34549-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/4/34549/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Christine Aldridge and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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