initial commit of ebook 594HEADmain

2 files changed, 5356 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/old/twils10.txt b/old/twils10.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0e02702
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/twils10.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5356 @@
+Project Gutenberg Etext of Twilight Stories, by Various Authors
+
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
+the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!
+
+Please take a look at the important information in this header.
+We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
+electronic path open for the next readers.  Do not remove this.
+
+
+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
+
+**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*
+
+Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
+further information is included below.  We need your donations.
+
+
+Twilight Stories
+
+by Various Authors
+
+July, 1996  [Etext #594]
+
+
+Project Gutenberg Etext of Twilight Stories, by Various Authors
+*****This file should be named twils10.txt or twils10.zip******
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, twils11.txt.
+VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, twils10a.txt.
+
+
+We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance
+of the official release dates, for time for better editing.
+
+Please note:  neither this list nor its contents are final till
+midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
+The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
+Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
+preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
+and editing by those who wish to do so.  To be sure you have an
+up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes
+in the first week of the next month.  Since our ftp program has
+a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a
+look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a
+new copy has at least one byte more or less.
+
+
+Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
+
+We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
+fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take
+to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
+searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  This
+projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If our value
+per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
+million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text
+files per month:  or 400 more Etexts in 1996 for a total of 800.
+If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the
+total should reach 80 billion Etexts.
+
+The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
+Files by the December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion]
+This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
+which is only 10% of the present number of computer users.  2001
+should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it
+will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001.
+
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+
+All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/BU":  and are
+tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (BU = Benedictine
+University).  (Subscriptions to our paper newsletter go to BU.)
+
+For these and other matters, please mail to:
+
+Project Gutenberg
+P. O. Box  2782
+Champaign, IL 61825
+
+When all other email fails try our Executive Director:
+Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>
+
+We would prefer to send you this information by email
+(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail).
+
+******
+If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please
+FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives:
+[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type]
+
+ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu
+login:  anonymous
+password:  your@login
+cd etext/etext90 through /etext96
+or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information]
+dir [to see files]
+get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
+GET INDEX?00.GUT
+for a list of books
+and
+GET NEW GUT for general information
+and
+MGET GUT* for newsletters.
+
+**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor**
+(Three Pages)
+
+
+***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
+Why is this "Small Print!" statement here?  You know: lawyers.
+They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
+your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
+someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
+fault.  So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
+disclaims most of our liability to you.  It also tells you how
+you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
+
+*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
+By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
+this "Small Print!" statement.  If you do not, you can receive
+a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
+sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
+you got it from.  If you received this etext on a physical
+medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
+
+ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
+This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-
+tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor
+Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at
+Benedictine University (the "Project").  Among other
+things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
+on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
+distribute it in the United States without permission and
+without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth
+below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
+under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
+
+To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
+efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
+works.  Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
+medium they may be on may contain "Defects".  Among other
+things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
+disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
+codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
+But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
+[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this
+etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
+legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
+UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
+INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
+OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
+POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
+
+If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
+receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
+you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
+time to the person you received it from.  If you received it
+on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
+such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
+copy.  If you received it electronically, such person may
+choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
+receive it electronically.
+
+THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS".  NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
+TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
+PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
+
+Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
+the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
+above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
+may have other legal rights.
+
+INDEMNITY
+You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,
+officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost
+and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or
+indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:
+[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,
+or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.
+
+DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
+You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
+disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
+"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
+or:
+
+[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
+     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
+     etext or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
+     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
+     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
+     including any form resulting from conversion by word pro-
+     cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as
+     *EITHER*:
+
+     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
+          does *not* contain characters other than those
+          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
+          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
+          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
+          author, and additional characters may be used to
+          indicate hypertext links; OR
+
+     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
+          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
+          form by the program that displays the etext (as is
+          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
+          OR
+
+     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
+          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
+          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
+          or other equivalent proprietary form).
+
+[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
+     "Small Print!" statement.
+
+[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the
+     net profits you derive calculated using the method you
+     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
+     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
+     payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Benedictine
+     University" within the 60 days following each
+     date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)
+     your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.
+
+WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
+The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,
+scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty
+free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution
+you can think of.  Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg
+Association / Benedictine University".
+
+*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
+
+
+
+Scanned by Charles Keller for Tina with OmniPage Professional OCR
+software donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. Contact
+Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com>
+
+TWILIGHT STORIES
+
+BY MARGARET SYDNEY, SUSAN COOLIDGE, JOAQUIN MILLER, AUTHOR OF
+"JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN," MRS. AMY THERESE POWELSON, Etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+ We went to the show one night,
+  And it certainly was a great sight,
+           This tiger to see,
+           Fierce as he could be,
+  And roaring with all his might.
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS DAY.
+
+ The Christmas chimes are pealing high
+  Beneath the solemn Christmas sky,
+  And blowing winds their notes prolong
+      Like echoes from an angel's song;
+  Good will and peace, peace and good will
+      Ring out the carols glad and gay,
+  Telling the heavenly message still
+      That Christ the Child was born to-day.
+
+ In lowly hut and palace hall
+  Peasant and king keep festival,
+  And childhood wears a fairer guise,
+  And tenderer shine all mother-eyes;
+  The aged man forgets his years,
+      The mirthful heart is doubly gay,
+  The sad are cheated of their tears,
+      For Christ the Lord was born to-day.
+                          SUSAN COOLIDGE.
+
+
+     They sat on the curbing
+      In a crowded row--
+      Two little maids
+           And one little beau,--
+      Watching to see
+           The big Elephant go
+                By in the street parade;
+      But when it came past,
+           Of maids there were none,
+      For down a by-street
+           They cowardly run,
+      While one little beau
+           Made all manner of fun--
+                Of the Elephant he wasn't afraid.
+
+
+
+THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE TOWN.
+
+One hundred years' and one ago, in Boston, at ten of the clock
+one April night, a church steeple had been climbed and a lantern
+hung out.
+
+At ten, the same night, in mid-river of the Charles, oarsmen two,
+with passenger silent and grim, had seen the signal light
+out-swung, and rowed with speed for the Charlestown shore.
+
+At eleven, the moon was risen, and the grim passenger, Paul
+Revere, had ridden up the Neck, encountered a foe, who opposed
+his ride into the country, and, after a brief delay, rode on,
+leaving a British officer lying in a clay pit.
+
+At mid-night, a hundred ears had heard the flying horseman cry,
+"Up and arm.  The Regulars are coming out!"
+
+You know the story well.  You have heard how the wild alarm ran
+from voice to voice and echoed beneath every roof, until the men
+of Lexington and Concord were stirred and aroused with patriotic
+fear for the safety of the public stores that had been committed
+to their keeping.
+
+You know how, long ere the chill April day began to dawn, they
+had drawn, by horse power and by hand power, the cherished stores
+into safe hiding-places in the depth of friendly forest-coverts.
+
+There is one thing about that day that you have NOT heard and I
+will tell you now.  It is, how one little woman staid in the town
+of Concord, whence all the women save her had fled.
+
+All the houses that were standing then, are very old-fashioned
+now, but there was one dwelling-place on Concord Common that was
+old-fashioned even then!  It was the abode of Martha Moulton and
+"Uncle John." Just who "Uncle John" was, is not now known, but he
+was probably Martha Moulton's uncle.  The uncle, it appears by
+record, was eighty-five years old; while the niece was ONLY
+three-score and eleven.
+
+Once and again that morning, a friendly hand had pulled the
+latch-string at Martha Moulton's kitchen entrance and offered to
+convey herself and treasures away, but, to either proffer, she
+had said: "No, I must stay until Uncle John gets the cricks out
+of his back, if all the British soldiers in the land march into
+town."
+
+At last, came Joe Devins, a lad of fifteen years--Joe's two
+astonished eyes peered for a moment into Martha Moulton's
+kitchen, and then eyes and owner dashed into the room, to learn,
+what the sight he there saw, could mean.
+
+"Whew!  Mother Moulton, what are you doing?"
+
+"I'm getting Uncle John his breakfast to be sure, Joe," she
+answered.  "Have you seen so many sights this morning that you
+don't know breakfast, when you see it?  Have a care there, for
+hot fat WILL burn," as she deftly poured the contents of a pan,
+fresh from the fire, into a dish.
+
+Hungry Joe had been astir since the first drum had beat to arms
+at two of the clock.  He gave one glance at the boiling cream and
+the slices of crisp pork swimming in it, as he gasped forth the
+words, "Getting breakfast in Concord THIS morning!  MOTHER
+MOULTON, you MUST be crazy."
+
+"So they tell me," she said, serenely.  "There comes Uncle John!"
+she added, as the clatter of a staff on the stone steps of the
+stairway outrang, for an instant, the cries of hurrying and
+confusion that filled the air of the street.
+
+"Don't you know, Mother Moulton," Joe went on to say, "that every
+single woman and child have been carried off, where the
+Britishers won't find 'em?"
+
+"I don't believe the king's troops have stirred out of Boston,"
+she replied, going to the door leading to the stone staircase, to
+open it for Uncle John.
+
+"Don't believe it?" and Joe looked, as he echoed the words, as
+though only a boy could feel sufficient disgust at such want of
+common sense, in full view of the fact, that Reuben Brown had
+just brought the news that eight men had been killed by the
+king's Red-coats, in Lexington, which fact he made haste to
+impart.
+
+"I won't believe a word of it," she said, stoutly, "until I see
+the soldiers coming."
+
+"Ah!  Hear that!" cried Joe, tossing back his hair and swinging
+his arms triumphantly at an airy foe.  "You won't have to wait
+long.  THAT SIGNAL is for the minute men.  They are going to
+march out to meet the Red-coats.  Wish I was a minute man, this
+minute."
+
+Meanwhile, poor Uncle John was getting down the steps of the
+stairway, with many a grimace and groan.  As he touched the
+floor, Joe, his face beaming with excitement and enthusiasm,
+sprang to place a chair for him at the table, saying, "Good
+morning!" at the same moment.
+
+"May be," groaned Uncle John, "youngsters LIKE YOU may think it
+is a good morning, but I DON'T, such a din and clatter as the
+fools have kept up all night long.  If I had the power" (and now
+the poor old man fairly groaned with rage), "I'd make 'em quiet
+long enough to let an old man get a wink of sleep, when the
+rheumatism lets go."
+
+"I'm real sorry for you," said Joe, "but you don't know the news. 
+The king's troops, from camp, in Boston, are marching right down
+here, to carry off all our arms that they can find."
+
+"Are they?" was the sarcastic rejoined.  "It's the best news I've
+heard in a long while.  Wish they had my arms, this minute.  They
+wouldn't carry them a step farther than they could help, I know. 
+Run and tell them mine are ready, Joe."
+
+"But, Uncle John, wait till after breakfast, you'll want to use
+them once more," said Martha Moulton, trying to help him into the
+chair that Joe had placed on the white sanded floor.
+
+Meanwhile, Joe Devins had ears for all the sounds that penetrated
+the kitchen from out of doors, and he had eyes for the slices of
+well-browned pork and the golden hued Johnny-cake lying before
+the glowing coals on the broad hearth.
+
+As the little woman bent to take up the breakfast, Joe, intent on
+doing some kindness for her in the way of saving treasures,
+asked, "Shan't I help you, Mother Moulton?"
+
+"I reckon I am not so old that I can't lift a mite of cornbread,"
+she replied with chilling severity.
+
+"Oh, I didn't mean to lift THAT THING," he made haste to explain,
+"but to carry off things and hide 'em away, as everybody else has
+been doing half the night.  I know a first-rate place up in the
+woods.  Used to be a honey tree, you know, and it's just as
+hollow as anything.  Silver spoons and things would be just as
+safe in it--" but Joe's words were interrupted by unusual tumult
+on the street and he ran off to learn the news, intending to
+return and get the breakfast that had been offered to him.
+
+Presently he rushed back to the house with cheeks aflame and eyes
+ablaze with excitement.  "They're a coming!" he cried.  "They're
+in sight down by the rocks.  They see 'em marching, the men on
+the hill, do!"
+
+"You don't mean that its really true that the soldiers are coming
+here, RIGHT INTO OUR TOWN," cried Martha Moulton, rising in haste
+and bringing together with rapid flourishes to right and to left,
+every fragment of silver on the table.  Uncle John strove to hold
+fast his individual spoon, but she twitched it without ceremony
+out from his rheumatic old fingers, and ran next to the parlor
+cupboard, wherein lay her movable valuables.
+
+"What in the world shall I do with them," she cried, returning
+with her apron well filled with treasures, and borne down by the
+weight thereof.
+
+"Give 'em to me," cried Joe.  "Here's a basket, drop 'em in, and
+I'll run like a brush-fire through the town and across the old
+bridge, and hide 'em as safe as a weasel's nap."
+
+Joe's fingers were creamy; his mouth was half filled with
+Johnny-cake, and his pocket on the right bulged to its utmost
+capacity with the same, as he held forth the basket; but the
+little woman was afraid to trust him, as she had been afraid to
+trust her neighbors.
+
+"No!  No!" she replied, to his repeated offers.  "I know what
+I'll do.  You, Joe Devins, stay right where you are till I come
+back, and, don't you ever LOOK out of the window."
+
+"Dear, dear me!" she cried, flushed and anxious when she was out
+of sight of Uncle John and Joe.  "I WISH I'd given 'em to Col. 
+Barrett when he was here before daylight, only, I WAS afraid I
+should never get sight of them again."
+
+She drew off one of her stockings, filled it, tied the opening at
+the top with a string-plunged stocking and all into a pail full
+of water and proceeded to pour the contents into the well.
+
+Just as the dark circle had closed over the blue stockings, Joe
+Devin's face peered down the depths by her side, and his voice
+sounded out the words: "O Mother Moulton, the British will search
+the wells the VERY first thing.  Of course, they EXPECT to find
+things in wells!"
+
+"Why didn't you tell me before, Joe?   but now it is too late."
+
+"I would, if I'd known what you was going to do; they'd been a
+sight safer, in the honey tree."
+
+"Yes, and what a fool I've been--flung MY WATCH into the well
+with the spoons!"
+
+"Well, well!  Don't stand there, looking," as she hovered over
+the high curb, with her hand on the bucket.  "Everybody will
+know, if you do, there."
+
+"Martha!  Martha?" shrieked Uncle John's quavering voice from the
+house door.
+
+"Bless my heart!" she exclaimed, hurrying back over the stones.
+
+"What's the matter with your heart?" questioned Joe.
+
+"Nothing.  I was thinking of Uncle John's money," she answered.
+
+"Has he got money?" cried Joe.  "I thought he was poor, and you
+took care of him because you were so good"
+
+Not one word that Joe uttered did the little woman hear.  She was
+already by Uncle John's side and asking him for the key to his
+strong box.
+
+Uncle John's rheumatism was terribly exasperating.  "No, I won't
+give it to you!" he cried, "and nobody shall have it as long as
+I'm above ground."
+
+"Then the soldiers will carry it off," she said.
+
+"Let 'em!" was his reply, grasping his staff firmly with both
+hands and gleaming defiance out of his wide, pale eyes.  "YOU
+won't get the key, even if they do."
+
+At this instant, a voice at the doorway shouted the words, "Hide,
+hide away somewhere, Mother Moulton, for the Red-coats are in
+sight this minute!"
+
+She heard the warning, and giving one glance at Uncle John, which
+look was answered by another, "no, you won't have it," she
+grasped Joe Devins by the collar of his jacket and thrust him
+before her up the staircase, so quickly that the boy had no
+chance to speak, until she released her hold at the entrance to
+Uncle John's room.
+
+The idea of being taken prisoner in such a manner, and by a
+woman, too, was too much for the lad's endurance.  "Let me go!"
+he cried, the instant he could recover his breath.  "I won't hide
+away in your garret, like a woman, I won't.  I want to see the
+militia and the minute men fight the troops, I do."
+
+"Help me first, Joe.  Here, quick now; let's get this box out and
+up garret.  We'll hide it under the corn and it'll be safe," she
+coaxed.
+
+The box was under Uncle John's bed.
+
+"What's in the old thing any how?" questioned Joe, pulling with
+all his strength at it.
+
+The box, or chest, was painted red, and was bound about by
+massive iron bands.
+
+"I've never seen the inside of it," said Mother Moulton.  "It
+holds the poor old soul's sole treasure, and I DO want to save it
+for him if I can."
+
+They had drawn it with much hard endeavor, as far as the garret
+stairs, but their united strength failed to lift it.  "Heave it,
+now!" cried Joe, and lo!  it was up two steps.  So they turned it
+over and over with many a thudding thump; every one of which
+thumps Uncle John heard, and believed to be strokes upon the box
+itself to burst it asunder, until it was fairly shelved on the
+garret floor.
+
+In the very midst of the overturnings, a voice from below had
+been heard crying out, "Let my box alone!  Don't break it open. 
+If you do, I'll--I'll--" but, whatever the poor man MEANT to
+threaten as a penalty, he could not think of anything half severe
+enough to say and so left it uncertain as to the punishment that
+might be looked for.
+
+"Poor old soul!" ejaculated the little woman, her soft white
+curls in disorder and the pink color rising from her cheeks to
+her fair forehead, as she bent to help Joe drag the box beneath
+the rafter's edge.
+
+"Now, Joe," she said.  "we'll heap nubbins over it, and if the
+soldiers want corn they'll take good ears and never think of
+touching poor nubbins"; so they fell to work throwing corn over
+the red chest, until it was completely concealed from view.
+
+Then he sprang to the high-up-window ledge in the point of the
+roof and took one glance out.  "Oh, I see them, the Red- coats. 
+True's I live, there go the militia UP THE HILL.  I thought they
+was going to stand and defend.  Shame on 'em, I say." Jumping
+down and crying back to Mother Moulton, "I'm going to stand by
+the minute men," he went down, three steps at a leap, and nearly
+overturned Uncle John on the stairs, who, with many groans was
+trying to get to the defense of his strong box.
+
+"What did you help her for, you scamp," he demanded of Joe,
+flourishing his staff unpleasantly near the lad's head.
+
+" 'Cause she asked me to, and couldn't do it alone," returned
+Joe, dodging the stick and disappearing from the scene, at the
+very moment Martha Moulton encountered Uncle John.
+
+"Your strong box is safe under nubbins in the garret, unless the
+house burns down, and now that you are up here, you had better
+stay," she added soothingly, as she hastened by him to reach the
+kitchen below.
+
+Once there, she paused a second or two to take resolution
+regarding her next act.  She knew full well that there was not
+one second to spare, and yet she stood looking, apparently, into
+the glowing embers on the hearth.  She was flushed and excited,
+both by the unwonted toil, and the coming events.  Cobwebs from
+the rafters had fallen on her hair and home-spun dress, and would
+readily have betrayed her late occupation, to any discerning
+soldier of the king.
+
+A smile broke suddenly over her face, displacing for a brief
+second every trace of care.  "It's my only weapon, and I must use
+it," she said, making a stately courtesy to an imaginary guest
+and straightway disappeared within an adjoining room.  With
+buttoned door and dropped curtains the little woman made haste to
+array herself in her finest raiment.  In five minutes she
+reappeared in the kitchen, a picture pleasant to look at.  In all
+New England, there could not be a more beautiful little old lady
+than Martha Moulton was that day.  Her hair was guiltless now of
+cobwebs, but haloed her face with fluffy little curls of silvery
+whiteness, above which, like a crown, was a little cap of dotted
+muslin, pure as snow.  Her erect figure, not a particle of the
+hard-working-day in it now, carried well the folds of a sheeny,
+black silk gown, over which she had tied an apron as spotless as
+the cap.
+
+As she fastened back her gown and hurried away the signs of the
+breakfast she had not eaten, the clear pink tints seemed to come
+out with added beauty of coloring in her cheeks; while her hair
+seemed fairer and whiter than at any moment in her three-score
+and eleven years.
+
+Once more Joe Devins looked in.  As he caught a glimpse of the
+picture she made, he paused to cry out: "All dressed up to meet
+the robbers!  My, how fine you do look!  I wouldn't.  I'd go and
+hide behind the nubbins.  They'll be here in less than five
+minutes now," he cried, "and I'm going over the North Bridge to
+see what's going on there."
+
+"O Joe, stay, won't you?" she urged, but the lad was gone, and
+she was left alone to meet the foe, comforting herself with the
+thought, "They'll treat me with more respect if I LOOK
+respectable, and if I must die, I'll die good-looking in my best
+clothes, anyhow."
+
+She threw a few sticks of hickory-wood on the embers, and then
+drew out the little round stand, on which the family Bible was
+always lying.  Recollecting that the British soldiers probably
+belonged to the Church of England, she hurried away to fetch
+Uncle John's "prayer-book."
+
+"They'll have respect to me, if they find me reading that, I
+know," she thought.  Having drawn the round stand within sight of
+the well, and where she could also command a view of the
+staircase, she sat and waited for coming events.
+
+Uncle John was keeping watch of the advancing troops from an
+upper window.  "Martha," he called, "you'd better come up. 
+They're close by, now." To tell the truth, Uncle John himself was
+a little afraid; that is to say he hadn't quite courage enough to
+go down, and, perhaps, encounter his own rheumatism and the
+king's soldiers on the same stairway, and yet, he felt that he
+must defend Martha as well as he could.
+
+The rap of a musket, quick and ringing on the front door,
+startled the little woman from her apparent devotions.  She did
+not move at the call of anything so profane.  It was the custom
+of the time to have the front door divided into two parts, the
+lower half and the upper half.  The former was closed and made
+fast, the upper could be swung open at will.
+
+The soldier getting no reply, and doubtless thinking that the
+house was deserted, leaped over the chained lower half of the
+door.
+
+At the clang of his bayonet against the brass trimmings, Martha
+Moulton groaned in spirit, for, if there was any one thing that
+she deemed essential to her comfort in this life, it was to keep
+spotless, speckless and in every way unharmed, the great knocker
+on her front door.
+
+"Good, sound English metal, too," she thought, "that an English
+soldier ought to know how to respect."
+
+As she heard the tramp of coming feet she only bent the closer
+over the Book of Prayer that lay open on her knee.  Not one word
+did she read or see; she was inwardly trembling and outwardly
+watching the well and the staircase.  But now, above all other
+sounds, broke the noise of Uncle John's staff thrashing the upper
+step of the staircase, and the shrill tremulous cry of the old
+man defiant, doing his utmost for the defense of his castle.
+
+The fingers that lay beneath the book tingled with desire to box
+the old man's ears, for the policy he was pursuing would be fatal
+to the treasure in garret and in well; but she was forced to
+silence and inactivity.
+
+As the King's troops, Major Pitcairn at their head, reached the
+open door and saw the old lady, they paused.  What could they do
+but look, for a moment, at the unexpected sight that met their
+view; a placid old lady in black silk and dotted muslin, with all
+the sweet solemnity of morning devotion hovering about the tidy
+apartment and seeming to centre at the round stand by which she
+sat, this pretty woman, with pink and white face surmounted with
+fleecy little curls and crinkles and wisps of floating whiteness,
+who looked up to meet their gaze with such innocent
+prayer-suffused eyes.
+
+"Good morning, Mother," said Major Pitcairn, raising his hat.
+
+"Good morning, gentlemen and soldiers," returned Martha Moulton. 
+"You will pardon my not meeting you at the door, when you see
+that I was occupied in rendering service to the Lord of all." She
+reverently closed the book, laid it on the table, and arose, with
+a stately bearing, to demand their wishes.
+
+"We're hungry, good woman," spoke the commander, "and your hearth
+is the only hospitable one we've seen since we left Boston.  With
+your good leave I'll take a bit of this, and he stooped to lift
+up the Johnny-cake that had been all this while on the hearth.
+
+"I wish I had something better to offer you," she said, making
+haste to fetch plates and knives from the corner-cupboard, and
+all the while she was keeping eye-guard over the well.  "I'm
+afraid the Concorders haven't left much for you to-day," she
+added, with a soft sigh of regret, as though she really felt
+sorry that such brave men and good soldiers had fallen on hard
+times in the ancient town.  At the moment she had brought forth
+bread and baked beans, and was putting them on the table, a voice
+rang into the room, causing every eye to turn toward Uncle John. 
+He had gotten down the stairs without uttering one audible groan,
+and was standing, one step above the floor of the room,
+brandishing and whirling his staff about in a manner to cause
+even rheumatism to flee the place, while, at the top of his voice
+he cried out:
+
+"Martha Moulton, how DARE you FEED these--these--monsters--in
+human form!"
+
+"Don't mind him, gentlemen, please don't," she made haste to say,
+"he's old, VERY old; eighty-five, his last birthday, and--a
+little hoity-toity at times," pointing deftly with her finger in
+the region of the reasoning powers in her own shapely head.
+
+Summoning Major Pitcairn by an offer of a dish of beans, she
+contrived to say, under covert of it:
+
+"You see, sir, I couldn't go away and leave him; he is almost
+distracted with rheumatism, and this excitement to-day will kill
+him, I'm afraid."
+
+Advancing toward the staircase with bold and soldierly front,
+Major Pitcairn said to Uncle John:
+
+"Stand aside, old man, and we'll hold you harmless."
+
+"I don't believe you will, you red-trimmed trooper, you," was the
+reply; and, with a dexterous swing of the wooden staff, he mowed
+off and down three military hats.
+
+Before any one had time to speak, Martha Moulton adroitly
+stooping, as though to recover Major Pitcairn's hat, which had
+rolled to her feet, swung the stairway-door into its place with a
+resounding bang, and followed up that achievement with a swift
+turn of two large wooden buttons, one high up, and the other low
+down, near the floor.
+
+"There!" she said, "he is safe out of mischief for awhile, and
+your heads are safe as well.  Pardon a poor old man, who does not
+know what he is about."
+
+"He seems to know remarkably well," exclaimed an officer.
+
+Meanwhile, behind the strong door, Uncle John's wrath knew no
+bounds.  In his frantic endeavors to burst the fastenings of the
+wooden buttons, rheumatic cramps seized him and carried the day,
+leaving him out of the battle.
+
+Meanwhile, a portion of the soldiery clustered about the door. 
+The king's horses were fed within five feet of the great brass
+knocker, while, within the house, the beautiful little old woman,
+in her Sunday-best-raiment, tried to do the dismal honors of the
+day to the foes of her country.  Watching her, one would have
+thought she was entertaining heroes returned from the achievement
+of valiant deeds, whereas, in her own heart, she knew full well
+that she was giving a little to save much.
+
+Nothing could exceed the seeming alacrity with which she fetched
+water from the well for the officers: and, when Major Pitcairn
+gallantly ordered his men to do the service, the little soul was
+in alarm; she was so afraid that "somehow, in some way or
+another, the blue stocking would get hitched on to the bucket."
+She knew that she must to its rescue, and so she bravely
+acknowledged herself to have taken a vow (when, she did not say),
+to draw all the water that was taken from that well.
+
+"A remnant of witchcraft!" remarked a soldier within hearing.
+
+"Do I look like a witch?" she demanded.
+
+"If you do," replied Major Pitcairn, "I admire New England
+witches, and never would condemn one to be hung, or burned,
+or--smothered."
+
+Martha Moulton never wore so brilliant a color on her aged cheeks
+as at that moment.  She felt bitter shame at the ruse she had
+attempted, but silver spoons were precious, and, to escape the
+smile that went around at Major Pitcairn's words, she was only
+too glad to go again to the well and dip slowly the high,
+over-hanging sweep into the cool, clear, dark depth below.
+
+During this time the cold, frosty morning spent itself into the
+brilliant, shining noon.
+
+You know what happened at Concord on that 19th of April in the
+year 1775.  You have been told the story, how the men of Acton
+met and resisted the king's troops at the old North Bridge, how
+brave Captain Davis and minute-man Hosmer fell, how the sound of
+their falling struck down to the very heart of mother earth, and
+caused her to send forth her brave sons to cry "Liberty, or
+Death!"
+
+And the rest of the story; the sixty or more barrels of flour
+that the king's troops found and struck the heads from, leaving
+the flour in condition to be gathered again at nightfall, the
+arms and powder that they destroyed, the houses they burned; all
+these, are they not recorded in every child's history in the
+land?
+
+While these things were going on, for a brief while, at mid-day,
+Martha Moulton found her home deserted.  She had not forgotten
+poor, suffering, irate Uncle John in the regions above, and, so,
+the very minute she had the chance, she made a strong cup of
+catnip tea (the real tea, you know, was brewing in Boston
+harbor).
+
+She turned the buttons, and, with a bit of trembling at her
+heart, such as she had not felt all day, she ventured up the
+stairs, bearing the steaming peace-offering before her.
+
+Uncle John was writhing under the sharp thorns and twinges of his
+old enemy, and in no frame of mind to receive any overtures in
+the shape of catnip tea; nevertheless, he was watching, as well
+as he was able, the motions of the enemy.  As she drew near he
+cried out:
+
+"Look out this window, and see!  Much GOOD all your scheming will
+do YOU!"
+
+She obeyed his command to look, and the sight she then saw caused
+her to let fall the cup of catnip tea and rush down the stairs,
+wringing her hands as she went and crying out:
+
+"Oh, dear!  what shall I do?  The house will burn and the box up
+garret.  Everything's lost!"
+
+Major Pitcairn, at that moment, was on the green in front of her
+door, giving orders.
+
+Forgetting the dignified part she intended to play, forgetting
+everything but the supreme danger that was hovering in mid-air
+over her home--the old house wherein she had been born, and the
+only home she had ever known--she rushed out upon the green, amid
+the troops, and surrounded by cavalry, and made her way to Major
+Pitcairn.
+
+"The town-house is on fire!" she cried, laying her hand upon the
+commander's arm.
+
+He turned and looked at her.  Major Pitcairn had recently learned
+that the task he had been set to do in the provincial towns that
+day was not an easy one; that, when hard pressed and trodden
+down, the despised rustics, in home-spun dress, could sting even
+English soldiers; and thus it happened that, when he felt the
+touch of Mother Moulton's plump little old fingers on his
+military sleeve, he was not in the pleasant humor that he had
+been, when the same hand had ministered to his hunger in the
+early morning.
+
+"Well, what of it?  LET IT BURN!  We won't hurt you, if you go in
+the house and stay there!"
+
+She turned and glanced up at the court-house.  Already flames
+were issuing from it.  "Go in the house and let it burn, INDEED!"
+thought she.  "He knows me, don't he?  Oh, sir!  for the love of
+Heaven won't you stop it?" she said, entreatingly.
+
+"Run in the house, good mother.  That is a wise woman," he
+advised.
+
+Down in her heart, and as the very outcome of lip and brain she
+wanted to say, "You needn't 'mother' me, you murderous rascal!"
+but, remembering everything that was at stake, she crushed her
+wrath and buttoned it in as closely as she had Uncle John behind
+the door in the morning, and again, with swift gentleness, laid
+her hand on his arm.
+
+He turned and looked at her.  Vexed at her persistence, and
+extremely annoyed at intelligence that had just reached him from
+the North Bridge, he said, imperiously, "Get away!  or you'll be
+trodden down by the horses!"
+
+"I CAN'T go!" she cried, clasping his arm, and fairly clinging to
+it in her frenzy of excitement.  "Oh stop the fire, quick, quick! 
+or my house will burn!"
+
+"I have no time to put out your fires," he said, carelessly,
+shaking loose from her hold and turning to meet a messenger with
+news.
+
+Poor little woman!  What could she do?  The wind was rising, and
+the fire grew.  Flame was creeping out in a little blue curl in a
+new place, under the rafter's edge, AND NOBODY CARED.  That was
+what increased the pressing misery of it all.  It was so unlike a
+common country alarm, where everybody rushed up and down the
+streets, crying "Fire!  fire!  f-i-r-e!" and went hurrying to and
+fro for pails of water to help put it out.  Until that moment the
+little woman did not know how utterly deserted she was.
+
+In very despair, she ran to her house, seized two pails, filled
+them with greater haste than she had ever drawn water before,
+and, regardless of Uncle John's imprecations, carried them forth,
+one in either hand, the water dripping carelessly down the side
+breadths of her fair silk gown, her silvery curls tossed and
+tumbled in white confusion, her pleasant face aflame with
+eagerness, and her clear eyes suffused with tears.
+
+Thus equipped with facts and feeling, she once more appeared to
+Major Pitcairn.
+
+"Have you a mother in old England?" she cried.  "If so, for her
+sake, stop this fire."
+
+Her words touched his heart.
+
+"And if I do--?" he answered.
+
+"THEN YOUR JOHNNY-CAKE ON MY HEARTH WON'T BURN UP," she said,
+with a quick little smile, adjusting her cap.
+
+Major Pitcairn laughed, and two soldiers, at his command, seized
+the pails and made haste to the court-house, followed by many
+more.
+
+For awhile the fire seemed victorious, but, by brave effort, it
+was finally overcome, and the court-house saved.
+
+At a distance Joe Devins had noticed the smoke hovering like a
+little cloud, then sailing away still more like a cloud over the
+town; and he had made haste to the scene, arriving in time to
+venture on the roof, and do good service there.
+
+After the fire was extinguished, he thought of Martha Moulton,
+and he could not help feeling a bit guilty at the consciousness
+that he had gone off and left her alone.
+
+Going to the house he found her entertaining the king's troopers
+with the best food her humble store afforded.
+
+She was so charmed with herself, and so utterly well pleased with
+the success of her pleading, that the little woman's nerves
+fairly quivered with jubilation; and best of all, the blue
+stocking was still safe in the well, for had she not watched with
+her own eyes every time the bucket was dipped to fetch up water
+for the fire, having, somehow, got rid of the vow she had taken
+regarding the drawing of the water.
+
+As she saw the lad looking, with surprised countenance, into the
+room where the feast was going on, a fear crept up her own face
+and darted out from her eyes.  It was, lest Joe Devins should
+spoil it all by ill-timed words.
+
+She made haste to meet him, basket in hand.
+
+"Here, Joe," she said, "fetch me some small wood, there's a good
+boy."
+
+As she gave him the basket she was just in time to stop the
+rejoinder that was issuing from his lips.
+
+In time to intercept his return she was at the wood-pile.
+
+"Joe," she said, half-abashed before the truth that shone in the
+boy's eyes, "Joe," she repeated, "you know Major Pitcairn ordered
+the fire put out, TO PLEASE ME, because I begged him so, and, in
+return, what CAN I do but give them something to eat.  Come and
+help me."
+
+"I won't," responded Joe.  "Their hands are red with blood. 
+They've killed two men at the bridge."
+
+"Who's killed?" she asked, trembling, but Joe would not tell her. 
+He demanded to know what had been done with Uncle John.
+
+"He's quiet enough, up-stairs," she replied, with a sudden spasm
+of feeling that she HAD neglected Uncle John shamefully; still,
+with the day, and the fire and everything, how could she help it? 
+but, really, it did seem strange that he made no noise, with a
+hundred armed men coming and going through the house.
+
+At least, that was what Joe thought, and, having deposited the
+basket of wood on the threshold of the kitchen door, he departed
+around the corner of the house.  Presently he had climbed a
+pear-tree, dropped from one of its overhanging branches on the
+lean-to, raised a sash and crept into the window.
+
+Slipping off his shoes, heavy with spring-mud, he proceeded to
+search for Uncle John.  He was not in his own room; he was not in
+the guest-chamber; he was not in any one of the rooms.
+
+On the floor, by the window in the hall, looking out upon the
+green, he found the broken cup and saucer that Martha Moulton had
+let fall.  Having made a second round, in which he investigated
+every closet and penetrated into the spaces under beds, Joe
+thought of the garret.
+
+Tramp, tramp went the heavy feet on the sanded floors below,
+drowning every possible sound from above; nevertheless, as the
+lad opened the door leading into the garret, he whispered
+cautiously: "Uncle John!  Uncle John!"
+
+All was silent above.  Joe went up, and was startled by a groan. 
+He had to stand a few seconds, to let the darkness grow into
+light, ere he could see; and, when he could discern outlines in
+the dimness, there was given to him the picture of Uncle John,
+lying helpless amid and upon the nubbins that had been piled over
+his strong box.
+
+"Why, Uncle John, are you dead?" asked Joe, climbing over to his
+side.
+
+"Is the house afire?" was the response.
+
+"House afire?  No! The confounded red-coats up and put it out."
+
+"I thought they was going to let me burn to death up here!"
+groaned Uncle John.
+
+"Can I help you up?" and Joe proffered two strong hands, rather
+black with toil and smoke.
+
+"No, no!  You can't help me.  If the house isn't afire, I'll
+stand it till the fellows are gone, and then, Joe you fetch the
+doctor as quick as you can."
+
+"YOU can't get a doctor for love nor money this night, Uncle
+John.  There's too much work to be done in Lexington and Concord
+to-night for wounded and dying men; and there'll be more of 'em
+too afore a single red-coat sees Boston again.  They'll be hunted
+down every step of the way.  They've killed Captain Davis, from
+Acton."
+
+"You don't say so!"
+
+"Yes, they have, and--"
+
+"I say, Joe Devins, go down and do- do something.  There's my
+niece, a-feeding the murderers!  I'll disown her.  She shan't
+have a penny of my pounds, she shan't!"
+
+Both Joe and Uncle John were compelled to remain in inaction,
+while below, the weary little woman acted the kind hostess to His
+Majesty's troops.
+
+But now the feast was spent, and the soldiers were summoned to
+begin their painful march.  Assembled on the green, all was
+ready, when Major Pitcairn, remembering the little woman who had
+ministered to his wants, returned to the house to say farewell.
+
+'Twas but a step to her door, and but a moment since he had left
+it, but he found her crying; crying with joy, in the very chair
+where he had found her at prayers in the morning.
+
+"I would like to say good-by," he said; "you've been very kind to
+me to-day."
+
+With a quick dash or two of the dotted white apron (spotless no
+longer) to her eye, she arose.  Major Pitcairn extended his hand,
+but she folded her own closely together, and said:
+
+"I wish you a pleasant journey back to Boston, sir."
+
+"Will you not shake hands with me before I go?"
+
+"I can feed the enemy of my country, but shake hands with him,
+NEVER!"
+
+For the first time that day, the little woman's love of country
+seemed to rise triumphant within her, and drown every impulse to
+selfishness; or was it the nearness to safety that she felt?  
+Human conduct is the result of so many motives that it is
+sometimes impossible to name the compound, although on that
+occasion Martha Moulton labelled it "Patriotism."
+
+"And yet I put out the fire for you," he said.
+
+"For your mother's sake, in old England, it was, you remember,
+sir."
+
+"I remember," said Major Pitcairn, with a sigh, as he turned
+away.
+
+"And for HER sake I will shake hands with you," said Martha
+Moulton.
+
+So he turned back, and across the threshold, in presence of the
+waiting troops, the commander of the expedition to Concord, and
+the only woman in the town, shook hands at parting.
+
+Martha Moulton saw Major Pitcairn mount his horse; heard the
+order given for the march to begin,--the march of which you all
+have heard.  You know what a sorry time the Red-coats had of it
+in getting back to Boston; how they were fought at every inch of
+the way, and waylaid from behind every convenient tree-trunk, and
+shot at from tree-tops, and aimed at from upper windows, and
+beseiged from behind stone walls, and, in short, made so
+miserable and harassed and overworn, that at last their depleted
+ranks, with the tongues of the men parched and hanging, were fain
+to lie down by the road-side and take what came next, even though
+it might be death.  And then THE DEAD they left behind them!
+
+Ah!  there's nothing wholesome to mind or body about war, until
+long, long after it is over, and the earth has had time to hide
+the blood, and send it forth in sweet blooms of liberty, with
+forget-me-nots springing thick between.
+
+The men of that day are long dead.  The same soil holds regulars
+and minute-men.  England, who over-ruled, and the provinces, that
+put out brave hands to seize their rights, are good friends
+to-day, and have shaken hands over many a threshold of hearty
+thought and kind deeds since that time.
+
+The tree of Liberty grows yet, stately and fair, for the men of
+the Revolution planted it well and surely.  God himself HATH
+given it increase.  So we gather to-day, in this our story, a
+forget-me-not more, from the old town of Concord.
+
+When the troops had marched away, the weary little woman laid
+aside her silken gown, resumed her homespun dress, and
+immediately began to think of getting Uncle John down-stairs
+again into his easy chair; but it required more aid than she
+could give to lift the fallen man.  At last Joe Devins summoned
+returning neighbors, who came to the rescue, and the poor nubbins
+were left to the rats once more.
+
+Joe climbed down the well and rescued the blue stocking, with its
+treasures unharmed, even to the precious watch, which watch was
+Martha Moulton's chief treasure, and one of very few in the town.
+
+Martha Moulton was the heroine of the day.  The house was
+beseiged by admiring men and women that night and for two or
+three days thereafter; but when, years later, she being older,
+and poorer, even to want, petitioned the General Court for a
+reward for the service she rendered in persuading Major Pitcairn
+to save the court-house from burning, there was granted to her
+only fifteen dollars, a poor little forget-me-not, it is true,
+but JUST ENOUGH to carry her story down the years, whereas, but
+for that, it might never have been wafted up and down the land.
+
+
+
+
+Sweep, sweep, sweep!  Up all this dirt and dust,      
+For Mamma is busy today and help her I surely must.   
+Everything now is spick and span; away to my play I will run.
+It will be such a 'sprise to Mamma to find all this work is done.
+
+
+
+THE CONQUEST OF FAIRYLAND.
+
+ There reigned a king in the land of Persia, mighty and     
+great was he grown,  
+On the necks of the kings of the conquered earth he builded up
+his throne.
+
+ There sate a king on the throne of Persia; and he was grown so   
+  proud  
+That all the life of the world was less to him than a passing     
+cloud.
+
+ He reigned in glory: joy and sorrow lying between his hands.  
+If he sighed a nation shook, his smile ripened the harvest of     
+lands.
+
+ He was the saddest man beneath the everlasting sky,  
+For all his glories had left him old, and the proudest king must  
+   die.
+
+ He who was even as God to all the nations of men,  
+Must die as the merest peasant dies, and turn into earth again.
+
+ And his life with the fear of death was bitter and sick and     
+accursed,  
+As brackish water to drink of which is to be forever athirst.
+
+ The hateful years rolled on and on, but once it chanced at noon 
+The drowsy court was thrilled to gladness, it echoed so sweet a   
+  tune.
+
+ Low as the lapping of tile sea, as the song of the lark is
+clear,  Wild as the moaning of pine branches; the king was fain
+to hear.
+
+ "What is the song, and who is the singer?" he said; "before     
+the throne  
+Let him come, for the songs of the world are mine, and all but    
+ this are known."
+
+ Seven mighty kings went out the minstrel man to find:  
+And all they found was a dead cyprus soughing in the wind.
+
+ And slower still, and sadder still the heavy winters rolled, 
+And the burning summers waned away, and the king grew very     
+old;
+
+ Dull, worn, feeble, bent; and once he thought, "to die  
+Were rest, at least." And as he thought the music wandered by.
+
+ Into the presence of the king, singing, the singer came,  
+And his face was like the spring in flower, his eyes were clear   
+   as flame.
+
+ "What is the song you play, and what the theme your praises     
+sing?    
+It is sweet; I knew not I owned a thing so sweet," said the weary 
+    king.
+
+ "I sing my country," said the singer, "a land that is sweeter
+than song."  
+"Which of my kingdoms is your country?  Thither would I along."
+
+ "Great, O king, is thy power, and the earth a footstool for thy  
+   feet;
+  But my country is free, and my own country, and oh, my country  
+   is sweet!"
+
+ As he heard the eyes of the king grew young and alive with fire 
+"Lo, is there left on the earth a thing to strive for, a thing to 
+    desire?
+
+ "Where is thy country?  tell me, O singer, speak thine innermost 
+    heart!   
+Leave thy music!  speak plainly!  Speak-forget thine art!"
+
+ The eyes of the singer shone as he sang, and his voice rang wild 
+    and free  
+As the elemental wind or the uncontrollable sobs of the sea.
+
+ "O my distant home!" he sighed; "Oh, alas!  away and afar  
+I watch thee now as a lost sailor watches a shining star.
+
+ "Oh, that a wind would take me there!  that a bird would set me  
+   down  
+Where the golden streets shine red at sunset in my father's town!
+
+ "For only in dreams I see the faces of the women there,  
+And fain would I hear them singing once, braiding their ropes     
+of hair.
+
+ "Oh, I am thirsty, and long to drink of the river of Life, and I 
+Am fain to find my own country, where no man shall die."
+
+ Out of the light of the throne the king looked down: as in the   
+  spring  
+The green leaves burst from their dusky buds, so was hope in the  
+   eyes of the king.
+
+ "Lo," he said, "I will make thee great; I will make thee mighty  
+   in sway  
+Even as I; but the name of thy country speak, and the place and   
+  the way."
+
+ "Oh, the way to my country is ever north till you pass the mouth 
+    of hell,  
+Past the limbo of dreams and the desolate land where shadows     
+dwell.
+
+ "And when you have reached the fount of wonder, you ford the     
+waters wan  
+To the land of elves and the land of fairies, enchanted     
+Masinderan."
+
+ The singer ceased; and the lyre in his hand snapped, as a cord,  
+   in twain;  
+And neither lyre nor singer was seen in the kingdom of Persia     
+again.
+
+ And all the nobles gazed astounded; no man spoke a word  
+Till the old king said: "Call out my armies; bring me hither a    
+ sword!"
+
+ As a little torrent swollen by snows is turned to a terrible
+stream,  
+So the gathering voices of all his countries cried to the king in 
+    his dream.
+
+ Crying, "For thee, O our king, for thee we had freely and     
+willingly died,  
+Warriors, martyrs, what thou wilt; not that our lives betide  
+
+"The worth of a thought to the king, but rather because thy rod  
+Is over our heads as over thine Is the changeless will of God.
+
+ "Rather for this we beseech thee, O master, for thine own sake   
+  refrain  
+From the blasphemous madness of pride, from the fever of     
+impious gain."
+
+ "You seek my death," the king thundered; "you cry, forbear     
+to save  
+The life of a king too old to frolic; let him sleep in the grave.
+
+ "But I will live for all your treason; and, by my own right
+hand!   
+I will set out this day with you to conquer Fairyland."
+
+ Then all the nations paled aghast, for the battle to begin 
+ Was a war with God, and a war with death, and they knew
+      the thing was sin.
+
+ Sick at heart they gathered together, but none denounced the     
+wrong,  
+For the will of God was unseen, unsaid, and the will of the king  
+   was strong.
+
+ So the air grew bright with spears, and the earth shook under
+the tread  
+Of the mighty horses harnessed for battle; the standards flaunted 
+    red.
+
+ And the wind was loud with the blare of trumpets, and every     
+house was void  
+Of the strength and stay of the house, and the peace of the land  
+   destroyed.
+
+ And the growing corn was trodden under the weight of armed     
+feet,  
+And every woman in Persia cursed the sound of a song too sweet,
+
+ Cursed the insensate longing for life in the heart of a sick old 
+    man;  
+But the king of Persia with all his armies marched on Masinderan.
+
+ Many a day they marched in the sun till their silver armour was  
+   lead  
+To sink their bodies into the grave, and many a man fell dead.
+
+ And they passed the mouth of hell, and the shadowy country     
+gray,  
+Where the air is mist and the people mist and the rain more     
+real than they.
+
+ And they came to the fount of wonder, and forded the waters     
+wan,  
+And the king of Persia and all his armies marched on Masinderan.
+
+ And they turned the rivers to blood, and the fields to a ravaged 
+    camp,  
+And they neared the golden faery town, that burned in the dusk    
+ as a lamp.
+
+ And they stood and shouted for joy to see it stand so nigh, 
+Given into their hands for spoil; and their hearts beat proud     
+and high.
+
+ And the armies longed for the morrow, to conquer the shining     
+town,  
+For there was no death in the land, neither any to strike them    
+ down.
+
+ The hosts were many in numbers, mighty, and skilled in the     
+strife,  
+And they lusted for gold and conquest as the old king lusted for  
+   life.
+
+ And, gazing on the golden place, night took them unaware,
+  And black and windy grew the skies, and black the eddying air
+
+ So long the night and black the night that fell upon their eyes, 
+They quaked with fear, those mighty hosts; the sun would never    
+ rise.
+
+ Darkness and deafening sounds confused the black, tempestuous    
+ air,
+  And no man saw his neighbor's face, nor heard his neighbor's    
+ prayer.
+
+ And wild with terror the raging armies fell on each other in     
+fight,
+The ground was strewn with wounded men, mad in the horrible night
+
+ Mad with eternal pain, with darkness and stabbing blows
+ Rained on all sides from invisible hands till the ground was red 
+    as a rose.
+
+ And, though he was longing for rest, none ventured to pause from 
+    the strife,
+ Lest haply another wound be his to poison his hateful life
+
+ And the king entreated death; and for peace the armies prayed; 
+But the gifts of God are everlasting, his word is not gainsaid;
+
+ Gold and battle are given the hosts, their boon is turned to a
+ban,
+  And the curse of the king is to reign forever in conquered     
+Masinderan.
+                                    A. MARY F. ROBINSON.
+
+
+
+ Handy Spandy, Jack-a-Dandy,      
+Loved plum cake and sugar candy;
+  He bought some at a grocer's shop
+      And out he come with a hop.
+                               hop,
+                                    hop.
+
+
+ Jocko is a monkey,
+      Dressed just like a clown;
+  With the grinding-organ man
+      He travels round the town.
+
+               Jocko, Jocko, climb a pole,
+                     Jocko climb a tree,
+                Jocko, Jocko, tip your cap,
+                     And make a bow to me.
+
+
+
+
+KENTUCKY BELLE.
+
+ Summer of 'sixty-three, sir, and Conrad was gone away--
+  Gone to the county-town, sir, to sell our first load of hay--
+  We lived in the log-house yonder, poor as ever you've seen; 
+Roschen there was a baby, and I was only nineteen.
+
+ Conrad, he took the oxen, but he left Kentucky Belle;
+  How much we thought of Kentucky, I couldn't begin to tell--
+  Came from the Blue-Grass country; my father gave her to me
+  When I rode north with Conrad, away from Tennessee.
+
+ Conrad lived in Ohio--a German he is, you know--
+The house stood in broad corn-fields, stretching on, row after
+row;
+The old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be  
+But I kept longing, longing, for the hills of Tennessee.
+
+ O, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill!
+  Clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that is never still
+  But the level land went stretching away to meet the sky--
+  Never a rise, from north to south, to rest the weary eye!
+
+ From east to west, no river to shine out under the moon, 
+Nothing to make a shadow in the yellow afternoon;
+  Only the breathless sunshine, as I looked out, all forlorn;
+  Only the "rustle, rustle," as I walked among the corn.
+
+ When I fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more,
+  But moved away from the corn-lands out to this river shore--
+  The Tuscarawas it's called, sir--off there's a hill, you see--
+  And now I've grown to like it next best to the Tennessee.
+
+ I was at work that morning.  Some one came riding like mad  
+Over the bridge and up the road--Farmer Rouf's little lad;  
+Bareback he rode; he had no hat; he hardly stopped to say;  
+"Morgan's men are coming, Frau; they're galloping on this way;
+
+ "I'm sent to warn the neighbors.  He isn't a mile behind;  
+He sweeps up all the horses--every horse that he can find;  
+Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan's terrible men,  
+With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen."
+
+ The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door; 
+The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor; 
+Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man, was gone; 
+Nearer, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on!
+
+ Sudden I picked up the baby, and ran to the pasture-bar; 
+"Kentuck!" I called; "Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far!   
+I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right,  
+And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight.
+
+ As I ran back to the log-house, at once there came a sound-- 
+The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground-- 
+Coming into the turnpike out from the White Woman Glen--
+  Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men.
+
+ As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm!   
+But still I stood in the doorway, with baby on my arm.   
+They came; they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped     
+along--  
+Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band six hundred strong.
+
+ Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through    
+ day;  
+Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away,  
+To the border-strip where Virginia runs up into the West,  
+To ford the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest.
+
+ On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance; 
+Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways    
+ glance;  
+And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain,  
+When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein.
+
+ Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face, 
+As he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place: 
+I gave him a cup, and he smiled--'twas only a boy, you see; 
+Faint and worn; with dim blue eyes, and he'd sailed on the     
+Tennessee.
+
+ Only sixteen he was, sir--a fond mother's only son--  
+Off and away with Morgan before his life had begun!   
+The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish     
+mouth;  
+And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South!
+
+ O, pluck was he to the backbone; and clear grit through and     
+through;  
+Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't
+do;  
+The boy was dying sir, dying, as plain as plain could be,  
+Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee.
+
+ But, when I told the laddie that I too was from the South, 
+Water came into his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth;
+ "Do you know the Blue-Grass country?" he wistfully began to say;
+Then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away.
+
+ I had him into the log-house, and worked and brought him to;  
+I fed him, and I coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do;  
+And, when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone, 
+Morgan's men were miles away, galloping, galloping on.
+
+ "O, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away!   
+Morgan, Morgan is waiting for me!  O, what will Morgan say?"  
+But I heard the sound of tramping, and kept him back from the     
+door--  
+The ringing sound of horses' hoofs that I had heard before.
+
+ And on, on came the soldiers--the Michigan cavalry--
+And fast they rode, and back they looked, galloping rapidly; 
+They had followed hard on Morgan's track; they had followed day
+and night;  
+But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight.
+
+ And rich Ohio sat startled through all these summer days;  
+For strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways; 
+Now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east,     
+now west,  
+Through river-valleys and corn-land farms, sweeping away her     
+best.
+
+ A bold ride and a long ride!  But they were taken at last;  
+They had almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast;  
+But the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the     
+ford,  
+And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword.
+
+ Well, I kept the boy till evening--kept him against his will-- 
+But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still; 
+When it was cool and dusky--you'll wonder to hear me tell--  
+But I stole down to the gully, and brought up Kentucky Belle.
+
+ I kissed the star on her forehead--my pretty, gentle lass--
+But I knew that she'd be happy, back in the old Blue-Grass:  
+A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all the money I had,  
+And Kentucky, pretty Kentucky, I gave to the worn-out lad.
+
+ I guided him to the southward, as well as I knew how:
+The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow;  
+And then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell;  
+And down the glen away she went, my lost Kentucky Belle!
+
+  When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high, 
+Baby and I were both crying--I couldn't tell him why--  
+But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall,  
+And a thin old horse with drooping head stood in Kentucky's     
+stall.
+
+ Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me,  
+He knew I couldn't help it--'twas all for the Tennessee;  
+But, after the war was over, just think what came to pass--  
+A letter, sir, and the two were safe back in the old Blue-Grass.
+
+  The lad got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle;
+And Kentuck she was thriving, and fat, and hearty, and well;  
+He cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or     
+spur; 
+Ah!  we've had many horses, but never a horse like her!
+                           CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.
+
+
+
+Moses was a camel that traveled o'er the sand.
+ Of the desert, fiercely hot, way down in Egypt-land;
+ But they brought him to the Fair,
+      Now upon his hump,
+           Every child can take a ride,
+                Who can stand the bumpity-bump.
+
+
+
+PROPHECIES.
+
+Little blue egg, in the nest snug and warm,
+ Covered so close from the wind and the storm,
+ Guarded so carefully day after day,
+ What is your use in this world now, pray?
+ "Bend your head closer; my secret I'll tell:
+ There's a baby-bird hid in my tiny blue shell."
+
+Little green bud, all covered with dew,
+ Answer my question and answer it true;
+ What were you made for, and why do you stay
+ Clinging so close to the twig all the day?
+ "Hid in my green sheath, some day to unclose,
+ Nestles the warm, glowing heart of a rose."
+
+Dear, little baby-girl, dainty and fair,
+ Sweetest of flowers, of jewels most rare,
+ Surely there's no other use for you here
+ Than just to be petted and played with, you dear!
+  "Oh, a wonderful secret I'm coming to know,
+ Just a baby like me, to a woman shall grow."
+
+Ah, swiftly the bird from the nest flies away,
+ And the bud to a blossom unfolds day by day,
+ While the woman looks forth in my baby-girl's eyes,
+ Through her joys and her sorrows, her tears and surprise--
+ Too soon shall the years bring this gift to her cup,
+ God keep her, my woman who's now growing up!  
+                    BY KATHRINE LENTE STEVENSON.
+
+
+
+ Who said that I was a naughty dog,
+      And could not behave if I tried?
+  I only chewed up Katrina's French doll,
+      And shook her rag one until it cried.
+
+
+
+ WHY HE WAS WHIPPED.
+
+He was seven years old, lived in Cheyenne, and his name was
+Tommy.  Moreover he was going to school for the first time in his
+life.  Out here little people are not allowed to attend school
+when they are five or six, for the Law says: "Children under
+seven must not go to school."
+
+But now Tommy was seven and had been to school two weeks, and
+such delightful weeks!  Every day mamma listened to long accounts
+of how "me and Dick Ray played marbles," and "us fellers cracked
+the whip." There was another thing that he used to tell mamma
+about, something that in those first days he always spoke of in
+the most subdued tones, and that--I am sorry to record it of any
+school, much more a Cheyenne school--was the numerous whippings
+that were administered to various little boys and girls.  There
+was something painfully fascinating about those whippings to
+restless, mischievous little Tommy who had never learned the art
+of sitting still.  He knew his turn might come at any moment and
+one night he cried out in his sleep: "Oh, dear, what will become
+of me if I get whipped!"  But as the days passed on and this
+possible retribution overtook him not, his fears gradually
+forsook him, and instead of speaking pitifully of "those poor
+little children who were whipped," he mentioned them in a causal
+off-hand manner as, "those cry-babies, you know?"  One afternoon
+mamma saw him sitting on the porch, slapping his little fat hand
+with a strap.  "Tommy, child, what in the world are you doing?"
+she asked.
+
+Into his pocket he thrust the strap, and the pink cheeks grew
+pinker still as their owner answered:
+
+"I--I--was just seeing--how hard I could hit my hand--without
+crying;" and he disappeared around the side of the house before
+mamma could ask any more questions.
+
+The next day Tommy's seatmate, Dicky Ray, was naughty in school,
+and Miss Linnet called him up, opened her desk, took out a little
+riding whip--it was a bright blue one--and then and there
+administered punishment.  And because he cried, when recess came,
+Tommy said: "Isn't Dick Ray just a reg'lar girl cry-baby?"  (He
+had learned that word from some of the big boys, but, mind you! 
+he never dared to say it before his mother.)
+
+Dick's face flushed with anger.  "Never you mind, Tommy Brown,"
+said he, "Just wait till you get whipped and we'll see a truly
+girl-cry-baby then, won't we, Daisy?"
+
+And blue-eyed Daisy, who was the idol of their hearts, nodded her
+curly little head in the most emphatic manner, and said she
+"wouldn't be one bit s'prised if he'd holler so loud that hey
+would hear him way down in Colorado."
+
+Tommy stood aghast!  for, really and truly, he wasn't quite so
+stony-hearted a little mortal as he appeared to be; he had been
+secretly rather sorry for Dick, but--he wanted Daisy to think
+that he himself was big and manly, and he had the opinion that
+this was just the way to win her admiration.  But all this time
+HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT DAISY DID--that Dick's pockets were full of
+sugar-plums; tiptop ones too, for Daisy had tasted them, and knew
+that little packets of them would from time to time find their
+way into her chubby hand.
+
+All the rest of the morning Tommy kept thinking, thinking,
+thinking.  One thing was certain: the present situation was not
+to be endured one moment longer than was absolutely necessary. 
+But what could he do?  Should he fight Dicky?  This plan was
+rejected at once, on high, moral grounds.  Well, then, supposing
+some dark night he should see Daisy on the street, just grab her,
+hold on tight and say: "Now, Daisy Rivers, I won't let you go
+till you promise you'll like me a great deal betterer than you do
+Dick Ray."  There seemed something nice about this plan, very
+nice; the more Tommy thought of it, the better he liked it; only
+there were two objections to it.  Firstly: Daisy never by any
+chance ventured out doors after dark.  Secondly: Neither did Tom.
+
+Both objections being insurmountable, this delightful scheme was
+reluctantly abandoned, and the thinking process went on harder
+than ever, till at last--oh, oh!  if he only dared!  What a
+triumph it would be!  But then he couldn't--yes, he could too. 
+Didn't she say that she "wouldn't be one bit s'prised if he
+hollered so loud that they would hear him way down in Colorado?"
+Colorado, indeed!  He'd show her there was one boy in the school
+who wasn't a girl-cry-baby!
+
+Yes, actually, foolish Tommy had decided to prove his manhood by
+being whipped, and that that interesting little event should take
+place that very afternoon!
+
+What did he do?   He whispered six times!
+
+Had it been any other child, he would surely have been punished;
+but Miss Linnet knew both Tommy and his mamma quite well, and
+therefore she knew also, quite well, that only a few days ago the
+one horror of Tommy's life had been the thought that he might
+possibly be whipped.  Then too, it was his first term at school,
+and hitherto he had been very good.  So she decided to keep him
+after school and talk to him of the sinfulness of bad conduct in
+general, and of whispering in particular.  This plan she
+faithfully carried out, and the little culprit's heart so melted
+within him that he climbed up on his teacher's lap, put his arms
+around her neck and kissed her, crying he would never be so
+naughty again.  He was just going to tell her all about Daisy,
+when in walked a friend of Miss Linnet's, so he went home
+instead.  The next morning he started for school with the firm
+determination to be a good child, and I really believe he would
+have been had not that provoking little witch of a Daisy marched
+past him in a very independent manner, her saucy nose away up in
+the air, and a scornful look in the pretty blue eyes.  It was
+more than flesh and blood could stand.  All Tom's good
+resolutions flew sky-high.
+
+When twelve o'clock came Miss Linnet's list of delinquents begun
+in this wise:
+
+WHISPER MARKS.  Thomas Brown  .   .   .   .   .  15 
+                Melinda Jones .   .   .   .   .  11
+
+There was great excitement among the little people.  How dared
+any one be so dreadfully bad!  Tommy's heart sank, sank, sank,
+when Miss Linnet said: "When school begins this afternoon I shall
+punish Tommy and Melinda."
+
+And she did!  She called them both up on the platform, made them
+clasp hands and stand with their backs against the blackboard,
+then wrote just above their heads:
+
+Thomas Brown and              Partners in disgrace.
+Melinda Jones                 15 plus 11 = 26.
+
+Oh, how mortified and ashamed Tommy was!  If only she had whipped
+him, or if it had been some other girl.  But MELINDA JONES!!!  
+At the end of ten minutes Miss Linnet let them take their seats;
+but Tommy's heart burned within him.  DAISY HAD LAUGHED WHEN HE
+STOOD THERE HOLDING MELINDA'S HAND!  There were deep crimson
+spots on Tommy's cheeks all that afternoon and a resolute,
+determined look in his bright brown eyes, but he was very still
+and quiet.
+
+Later in the day the children were startled by a sudden commotion
+on the other side of the room.  Daisy was writing on her slate
+and Melinda Jones, in passing to her seat, accidentally knocked
+it out of her hands; without a moment's hesitation, Daisy, by way
+of expressing her feelings, snatched her slate and promptly
+administered such a sounding "whack!" on Melinda's back and
+shoulders as brought a shriek of anguish from that poor, little
+unfortunate who began to think that if all the days of her life
+were to be like unto this day, existence would certainly prove a
+burden.
+
+Just about two minutes later Miss Linnet was standing by her
+desk, a ruler in one hand and Daisy's open palm in the other,
+while Daisy herself, miserable little culprit, stood white and
+trembling before her.  As she raised the ruler to give the first
+blow, Tommy sprang forward, placing himself at Daisy's side, put
+his open palm over hers, and with tears in his eyes, pleaded in
+this wise:
+
+"Please, Miss Linnet, whip me instead!  She is only just a little
+girl and I KNOW she'll cry, it will hurt her so!  I'd rather it
+would be me every time than Daisy--truly I won't cry.  Oh, please
+whip me!"
+
+And Miss Linnet did whip him, while Daisy, filled with remorse,
+clung to him sobbing as if her heart would break.  To be sure,
+somebody who ought to know, told me it was the lightest
+"feruling" ever child received; but Daisy and Tommy both assured
+their mothers that it was the "dreadfulest, cruelest, hardest
+whipping ever was."
+
+"And did my little man cry?" asked mamma.
+
+"No, indeed!  I stood up big as I could, looked at Daisy and
+smiled, 'cause I was so glad it wasn't her."
+
+Then that proud and happy mamma took him in her arms and kissed
+him; and right in the midst of the kissing in walked Daisy.
+
+"Would Tommy please come and take supper with her?"
+
+Of course he would, and they walked off hand in hand.  When they
+passed Dicky's house Tommy suggested.  "S'posing they forgive
+Dick and let him go 'long too."  And Daisy agreeing, they called
+that young gentleman out and magnanimously informed him that he
+was forgiven and might come and have supper with them.
+
+What in the world they had to forgive, nobody knows; but then, so
+long as forgiveness proved such an eminently satisfactory
+arrangement, all round--why, nobody need care.
+
+The children waited outside the gate while Dick coaxed his mother
+to let him go, and standing there, hand in hand, Daisy plucked up
+heart of grace and with very rosy cheeks and an air about her of
+general penitence, said something very sweet in a very small
+voice:
+
+"I'm sorry you were whipped, and oh, Tommy, I wish I hadn't said
+you'd holler!"
+                               Mrs. AMY TERESE POWELSON.
+
+
+
+ Baby thinks it fine,
+      In the summer-time,
+  To wade in the brook clear and bright.
+      But a big green frog
+  Jumped off of a log,
+      And gave
+           Baby Charlotte
+                quite a fright.
+
+
+
+THE THREE FISHERS.
+
+ Three fishers went sailing away to the West--
+      Away to the West as the sun went down;
+  Each thought on the woman who loved him best,
+      And the children stood watching them out of the town;
+  For men must work, and women must weep,
+  And there's little to earn and many to keep,
+           Though the harbor-bar be moaning.
+
+ Three wives sat up in the light-house tower
+      And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
+  They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
+      And the night-wrack came rolling up, ragged and brown.
+      But men must work and women must weep,
+  Though storms be sudden and waters deep,
+           And the harbor-bar be moaning.
+
+ Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
+      In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
+  And the women are weeping and wringing their hands,
+      For those who will never come back to the town;
+  For men must work, and women must weep--
+  And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep--
+           And good-by to the bar and its moaning.                
+               CHARLES KINGSLEY.
+
+
+
+Lion with your shaggy mane,
+ Tell me, are you wild or tame?
+ On little boys do you like to sup,
+ If I come near, will you eat me up?
+
+
+
+
+"APPLES FINKEY"--THE WATER-BOY.
+
+ "Apples Finkey!" Many a name
+  Has a grander sound in the roll of fame;
+
+ Many a more resplendent deed
+  Has burst to light in the hour of need;
+
+ But never a one from a truer heart,
+  Striving to know and to do its part.
+
+ Striving, under his skin of tan,
+  With the years of a lad to act like a man.
+
+ And who was "Apples?" I hear you ask.
+  To trace his descent were indeed a task.
+
+ Winding and vague was the family road--
+  And, perhaps, like Topsy, "he only growed."
+
+ But into the camp he lolled one noon,
+  Barefoot, and whistling a darky tune,
+
+ Into the camp of his dusky peers--
+  The gallant negro cavaliers--
+
+ The Tenth, preparing, at break o' day,
+  To move to the transport down in the bay.
+
+ Boom!  roared the gun--the ship swung free,
+  With her good prow turned to the Carib Sea.
+
+ "Pity it was, for the little cuss,
+  We couldn't take 'Apples' along with us,"
+
+ The trooper said, as he walked the deck,
+  And Tampa became a vanishing speck.
+
+ What's that?   A stir and a creak down there
+  In the piled-up freight--then a tuft of hair,
+
+ Crinkled and woolly and unshorn--
+  And out popped "Apples" "ez shore's yer born!"
+
+ Of course he wasn't provided for
+  In the colonel's roll or the rules of war;
+
+ But somehow or other the troop was glad
+  To welcome the little darky lad.
+
+ You know how our brave men, white and black,
+  Landed and followed the Spaniard's track;
+
+ And the Tenth was there in the very front,
+  Seeking and finding the battle's brunt.
+
+ Onward they moved through the living hell
+  Where the enemy's bullets like raindrops fell,
+
+ Down through the brush, and onward still
+  Till they came to the foot of San Juan hill--
+
+ Then up they went, with never a fear,
+  And the heights were won with a mad, wild cheer!
+
+ And where was "the mascot Finkey" then?
+  In the surging ranks of the fighting men!
+
+ Wherever a trooper was seen to fall,
+  In the open field or the chaparral;
+
+ Wherever was found a wounded man;
+  "Apples" was there with his water and can.
+
+ About him the shrapnel burst in vain--
+  He was up and on with his work again.
+
+ The sharpshooters rattled a sharp tattoo,
+  The singing mausers around him flew.
+
+ But "Apples" was busy--too busy to care
+  For the instant death and the danger there.
+
+ Many a parched throat burning hot,
+  Many a victim of Spanish shot,
+
+ Was blessed that day; ere the fight was won
+  Under the tropical, deadly sun,
+
+ By the cool drops poured from the water-can
+  Of the dusky lad who was all a man.
+
+ In the forward trenches, at close of day,
+  Burning with fever, "Finkey" lay.
+
+ He seemed to think through the long, wet night,
+  He still was out in the raging fight,
+
+ For once he spoke in his troubled sleep;
+  "I'se comin', Cap., ef my legs'll keep!"
+
+ Next day--and the next--and the next--he stayed
+  In the trenches dug by the Spaniard's spade,
+
+ For the sick and wounded could not get back
+  Over the mountainous, muddy track.
+
+ But the troopers gave what they had to give
+  That the little mascot might stick and live.
+
+ Over him many a dark face bent,
+  And through it all he was well content--
+
+ Well content as a soldier should
+  Who had fought his fight and the foe withstood.
+
+ Slowly these stern beleaguered men
+  Nursed him back to his strength again,
+
+ Till one fair day his glad eyes saw
+  A sight that filled him with pride and awe,
+
+ For there, as he looked on the stronghold down,
+  The flag was hoisted over the town,
+
+ And none in that host felt a sweeter joy
+  Than "Apples Finkey," the water-boy.
+                --JOHN JEROME ROONEY, in New York Sun.
+
+ Down at the pond in zero weather,
+  To have a fine skate
+           the girls and boys gather.
+  Even the Baby thinks it a treat,
+      But somehow cannot stay upon his feet.
+
+
+ Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
+  Stole a pig and away he run!
+      The pig was eat,
+      And Tom was beat,
+  And Tom went roaring down the street.
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S REPRIEVE.
+
+"I thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my Bennie to his country, that
+not a father in all this broad land made so precious a gift--no,
+not one.  The dear boy only slept a minute, just one little
+minute at his post; I know that was all, for Bennie never dozed
+over a duty.  How prompt and reliable he was!  I know he only
+fell asleep one little second--he was so young and not strong,
+that boy of mine.  Why, he was as tall as I, and only eighteen! 
+And now they shoot him because he was found asleep when doing
+sentinel duty.  "Twenty-four hours,' the telegram said, only
+twenty-fours hours.  Where is Bennie now?"
+
+"We will hope with his heavenly Father," said Mr. Allen
+soothingly.
+
+"Yes, yes; let us hope; God is very merciful!  'I should be
+ashamed, father,' Bennie said, 'when I am a man to think I never
+used this great right arm'--and he held it out proudly before
+me--'for my country when it needed it.  Palsy it, rather than
+keep it at the plow.' 'Go, then, my boy, and God keep you!' I
+said.  God has kept him, I think, Mr. Allen!" And the farmer
+repeated these last words slowly, as if in spite of his reason
+his heart doubted them.
+
+"Like the apple of the eye, Mr. Owen; doubt it not."
+
+Blossom sat near them listening with blanched cheek.  She had not
+shed a tear.  Her anxiety had been so concealed that no one had
+noticed it.  She had occupied herself mechanically in the
+household cares.  Now, she answered a gentle tap at the door,
+opening it to receive from a neighbor's hand a letter.  "It is
+from him," was all she said.
+
+It was like a message from the dead!  Mr. Owen took the letter,
+but could not break the envelope on account of his trembling
+fingers, and held it toward Mr. Allen, with the helplessness of a
+child.  The minister opened it and read as follows:
+
+"Dear Father:--When this reaches you I shall be in eternity.  At
+first it seemed awful to me, but I have thought so much about it
+that now it has no terror.  They say they will not bind me, nor
+blind me, but that I may meet death like a man.  I thought,
+father, that it might have been on the battle field, for my
+country, and that when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously;
+but to be shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it--to die
+for neglect of duty!  O, father!  I wonder the very thought does
+not kill me!  But I shall not disgrace you; I am going to write
+you all about it, and when I am gone you may tell my comrades.  I
+cannot, now.
+
+"You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother I would look after her
+boy; and when he fell sick I did all I could for him.  He was not
+strong when he was ordered back into the ranks, and the day
+before that night, I carried all his luggage besides my own on
+our march.  Towards night we went in on double quick, and though
+the luggage began to feel very heavy, everybody else was tired,
+too; and as for Jemmie, if I had not lent him an arm now and then
+he would have dropped by the way.  I was all tired out when we
+came into camp, and then it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry.  I
+would take his place; but I was too tired, father.  I could not
+have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did
+not know it until--well, until it was too late."
+
+"God be thanked" interrupted Mr. Owen, reverently, "I knew Bennie
+was not the boy to sleep carelessly at his post."
+
+"They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve, 'time to write
+to you,' the good Colonel says.  Forgive him, Father, he only
+does his duty; he would gladly save me if he could; and do not
+lay my death against Jemmie.  The poor boy is heart-broken, and
+does nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die in my place.
+
+"I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom.  Comfort them,
+Father!  Tell them I die as a brave boy should, and that, when
+the war is over, they will not be ashamed of me, as they must be
+now.  God help me!  It is very hard to bear!  Good-bye, father,
+God seems near and dear to me; not at all as if he wished me to
+perish forever, but as if he felt sorry for his poor sinful,
+broken-hearted child, and would take me to be with him and my
+Savior in a better life."
+
+A deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen's heart.  "Amen," he said,
+solemnly, "amen."
+
+"To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows all coming
+home from the pasture, and precious little Blossom standing on
+the back stoop, waiting for me!  But I shall never, never come! 
+God bless you all!  Forgive your poor Bennie!"
+
+Late that night the door of the "back stoop" opened softly and a
+little figure glided out and down the footpath that led to the
+road by the mill.  She seemed rather flying than walking, turning
+her head neither to the right nor left, looking only now and then
+to heaven, and folding her hands is if in prayer.  Two hours
+later the same young girl stood at the mill depot, watching the
+coming of the night train; and the conductor, as he reached down
+to lift her into the car, wondered at the tear-stained face that
+was upturned toward the dim lantern he held in his hand.  A few
+questions and ready answers told him all; and no father could
+have cared more tenderly for his only child than he for our
+little Blossom.  She was on her way to Washington to ask
+President Lincoln for her brother's life.  She had stolen away,
+leaving only a note to tell them where and why she had gone.
+
+She had brought Bennie's letter with her; no good, kind heart
+like the President's could refuse to be melted by it.  The next
+morning they reached New York, and the conductor hurried her on
+to Washington.  Every minute, now, might be the means of saving
+her brother's life.  And so, in an incredibly short time, Blossom
+reached the Capitol and hastened to the White House.
+
+The president had just seated himself to his morning task of
+overlooking and signing important papers, when without one word
+of announcement the door softly opened, and Blossom, with
+down-cast eyes and folded hands, stood before him.
+
+"Well, my child," he said in his pleasant, cheerful tones, "what
+do you want so bright and early this morning?"
+
+"Bennie's life, sir," faltered Blossom.
+
+"Who is Bennie?"
+
+"My brother, sir.  They are going to shoot him for sleeping at
+his post."
+
+"O, yes," and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over the papers before him. 
+"I remember.  It was a fatal sleep.  You see, my child, it was a
+time of special danger.  Thousands of lives might have been lost
+by his culpable negligence."
+
+"So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely.  "But poor Bennie
+was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak.  He did the work of two,
+sir, and it was Jemmie's night, not his; but Jemmie was too
+tired, and Bennie never thought about himself that he was tired
+too."
+
+"What is this you say, child?  Come here, I do not understand,"
+and the kind man caught eagerly as ever at what seemed to be a
+justification of the offense.
+
+Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder and
+turned up the pale face toward his.  How tall he seemed!  And he
+was the President of the United States, too!  A dim thought of
+this kind passed for a minute through Blossom's mind, but she
+told her simple, straightforward story and handed Mr. Lincoln
+Bennie's letter to read.
+
+He read it carefully; then taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty
+lines, and rang his bell.
+
+Blossom heard this order: "Send this dispatch at once!"
+
+The President then turned to the girl and said: "Go home, my
+child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve his
+country's sentence even when it took the life of a child like
+that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too precious to be
+lost.  Go back, or--wait until tomorrow.  Bennie will need a
+change after he has so bravely faced death; he shall go with
+you."
+
+"God bless you, sir!" said Blossom; and who shall doubt that God
+heard and registered the request?
+
+Two days after this interview, the young soldier came to the
+White House with his little sister.  He was called into the
+President's private room and a strap fastened upon his shoulder. 
+Mr. Lincoln then said: "The soldier that could carry a sick
+comrade's baggage and die for the act so uncomplainingly deserves
+well of his country."  Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to
+their Green Mountain home.  A crowd gathered at the mill depot to
+welcome them back; and as Farmer Owen's hand grasped that of the
+boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was heard to say
+fervently:
+
+"The Lord be praised!"
+                              --From the New York Observer
+
+
+
+  If I had a horse I would call him "Gay,"
+      Feed and curry him well every day,
+  Hitch him up in my cart and take a ride,
+      With Baby Brother tucked in at my side.
+
+
+
+LITTLE BROWN THRUSHES.
+
+ Little brown thrushes at sunrise in summer
+      After the May-flowers have faded away,
+  Warble to show unto every new-comer
+      How to hush stars, yet to waken the Day:
+  Singing first, lullabies, then, jubilates,
+  Watching the blue sky where every bird's heart is;
+  Then, as lamenting the day's fading light,
+  Down through the twilight, when wearied with flight,
+  Singing divinely, they breathe out, "good-night!"
+
+ Little brown thrushes with birds yellow-breasted
+      Bright as the sunshine that June roses bring,
+  Climb up and carol o'er hills silver-crested
+      Just as the bluebirds do in the spring,
+  Seeing the bees and the butterflies ranging,
+  Pointed-winged swallows their sharp shadows changing;
+  But while some sunset is flooding the sky,
+  Up through the glory the brown thrushes fly,
+  Singing divinely, "good-night and good-by!"                     
+    BY Mrs. WHITON-STONE.
+
+
+ This tall Giraffe,
+    Measures ten feet and a half,
+      And I wonder if his neck
+        Of rubber is made.
+          Out of the sun
+            He thinks he has run
+               But only his feet
+                 Are in the shade.
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF THE EMPTY SLEEVE.
+
+Here, sit ye down alongside of me; I'm getting old and gray; 
+But something in the paper, boy, has riled my blood today.  
+To steal a purse is mean enough, the most of men agree; 
+But stealing reputation seems a meaner thing to me.
+
+A letter in the Herald says some generals allow 
+That there wa'n't no fight where Lookout rears aloft its shaggy
+brow; 
+But this coat sleeve swinging empty here beside me, boy, to-day,
+Tells a mighty different story in a mighty different way.
+
+When sunbeams flashed o'er Mission Ridge that bright November
+morn, 
+The misty cap on Lookout's crest gave token of a storm; 
+For grim King Death had draped the mount in grayish, smoky
+shrouds-- 
+Its craggy peaks were lost to sight above the fleecy clouds.
+
+Just at the mountain's rocky base we formed in serried lines,
+While lightning with its jagged edge played on us from the pines;
+The mission ours to storm the pits 'neath Lookout's crest that
+lay; 
+We stormed the very "gates of hell" with "Fighting Joe" that day.
+
+The mountain seemed to vomit flames; the boom of heavy guns
+Played to Dixie's music, while a treble played the drums:
+The eagles waking from their sleep, looked down upon the stars
+Slow climbing up the mountain side, with morning's broken bars.
+
+We kept our eyes upon the flag that upward led the way 
+Until we lost it in the smoke on Lookout side that day; 
+And then like demons loosed from hell we clambered up the crag,
+"Excelsior," our motto, and our mission, "Save the flag."
+
+In answer to the rebel yell we gave a ringing cheer; 
+We left the rifle-pits behind, the crest loomed upward near; 
+A light wind playing 'long the peaks just lifted death's gray
+shroud; 
+We caught the gleam of silver stars just breaking through the
+cloud.
+
+A shattered arm hung at my side that day on Lookout's crag, 
+And yet I'd give the other now to save the dear old flag.  
+The regimental roll when called on Lookout's crest that night 
+Was more than doubled by the roll Death called in realms of
+light.
+
+Just as the sun sank slowly down behind the mountain's crest,
+When mountain peaks gave back the fire that flamed along the
+west,
+Swift riding down along the ridge upon a charger white,
+Came "Fighting Joe," the hero now of Lookout's famous fight.
+He swung his cap as tears of joy slow trickled down his cheek,
+And as our cheering died away, the general tried to speak.
+
+He said, "Boys, I'll court-martial you, yes, every man that's
+here; 
+I said to take the rifle pits," we stopped him with a cheer, 
+"I said to take the rifle pits upon the mountain's edge, 
+And I'll court-martial you because--because you took the ridge"
+
+Then such a laugh as swept the ridge where late King Death had
+strode!  
+And such a cheer as rent the skies, as down our lines he rode! 
+I'm getting old and feeble, I've not long to live, I know, 
+But there WAS A FIGHT AT LOOKOUT.  I was there with "Fighting
+Joe."
+
+So these generals in the Herald, they may reckon and allow
+That there warn't no fight at Lookout on the mountain's shaggy
+brow,
+But this empty coat-sleeve swinging here beside me, boy, to-day
+Tells a mighty different tale in a mighty different way.          
+                          R.  L.  CARY, JR.
+
+
+
+ A race!  A race!  Which will win,
+  Thin little Harold or chubby Jim?
+  Surely not Harold for there he goes
+      Down so flat
+           he bumps his nose,
+  While Jimmy stops short.
+      The fat little elf,
+  Says he can't run a race
+      all by himself.
+
+
+
+FACING THE WORLD.
+
+"Glad I am, mother, the holidays are over.  It's quite different
+going back to school again when one goes to be captain--as I'm
+sure to be.  Isn't it jolly?"
+
+Mrs. Boyd's face as she smiled back at Donald was not exactly
+"jolly."  Still, she did smile; and then there came out the
+strong likeness often seen between mother and son, even when, as
+in this case, the features were very dissimilar.  Mrs. Boyd was a
+pretty, delicate little English woman: and Donald took after his
+father, a big, brawny Scotsman, certainly not pretty, and not
+always sweet.  Poor man!  he had of late years had only too much
+to make him sour.
+
+Though she tried to smile and succeeded, the tears were in Mrs.
+Boyd's eyes, and her mouth was quivering.  But she set it tightly
+together, and then she looked more than ever like her son, or
+rather, her son looked like her.
+
+He was too eager in his delight to notice her much.  "It is
+jolly, isn't it, mother?  I never thought I'd get to the top of
+the school at all, for I'm not near so clever as some of the
+fellows.  But now I've got my place; and I like it, and I mean to
+keep it; you'll be pleased at that, mother?"
+
+"I should have been if--if--" Mrs. Boyd tried to get the words
+out and failed, closed her eyes as tight as her mouth for a
+minute, then opened them and looked her boy in the face gravely
+and sadly.
+
+"It goes to my heart to tell you--I have been waiting to say it
+all morning, but, Donald, my dear, you will never go back to
+school at all."
+
+"Not go back; when I'm captain!  why, you and father both said
+that if I got to be that, I should not stop till I was
+seventeen--and now I'm only fifteen and a half.  O, mother, you
+don't mean it!  Father couldn't break his word!  I may go back!"
+
+Mrs. Boyd shook her head sadly, and then explained as briefly and
+calmly as she could the heavy blow which had fallen upon the
+father, and, indeed, upon the whole family.  Mr. Boyd had long
+been troubled with his eyes, about as serious a trouble as could
+have befallen a man in his profession--an accountant--as they
+call it in Scotland.  Lately he had made some serious blunders in
+his arithmetic, and his eyesight was so weak that his wife
+persuaded him to consult a first-rate Edinburgh oculist, whose
+opinion, given only yesterday, after many days of anxious
+suspense, was that in a few months he would become incurably
+blind.
+
+"Blind, poor father blind!" Donald put his hand before his own
+eyes.  He was too big a boy to cry, or at any rate, to be seen
+crying, but it was with a choking voice that he spoke next: "I'll
+be his eyes; I'm old enough."
+
+"Yes; in many ways you are, my son," said Mrs. Boyd, who had had
+a day and a night to face her sorrow, and knew she must do so
+calmly.  "But you are not old enough to manage the business; your
+father will require to take a partner immediately, which will
+reduce our income one-half.  Therefore we cannot possibly afford
+to send you to school again.  The little ones must go, they are
+not nearly educated yet, but you are.  You will have to face the
+world and earn your own living, as soon as ever you can.  My poor
+boy!"
+
+"Don't call me poor, mother.  I've got you and father and the
+rest.  And, as you say, I've had a good education so far.  And
+I'm fifteen and a half, no, fifteen and three-quarters-- almost a
+man.  I'm not afraid."
+
+"Nor I," said his mother, who had waited a full minute before
+Donald could find voice to say all this, and it was at last
+stammered out awkwardly and at random.  "No; I am not afraid
+because my boy has to earn his bread; I had earned mine for years
+as a governess when father married me.  I began work before I was
+sixteen.  My son will have to do the same, that is all."
+
+That day the mother and son spoke no more together.  It was as
+much as they could do to bear their trouble, without talking
+about it, and besides, Donald was not a boy to "make a fuss" over
+things.  He could meet sorrow when it came, that is, the little
+of it he had ever known, but he disliked speaking of it, and
+perhaps he was right.
+
+So he just "made himself scarce" till bedtime, and never said a
+word to anybody until his mother came into the boys' room to bid
+them good-night.  There were three of them, but all were asleep
+except Donald.  As his mother bent down to kiss him, he put both
+arms round her neck.
+
+"Mother, I'm going to begin to-morrow."
+
+"Begin what, my son?"
+
+"Facing the world, as you said I must.  I can't go to school
+again, so I mean to try and earn my own living."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I don't quite know, but I'll try.  There are several things I
+could be, a clerk--or even a message-boy.  I shouldn't like it,
+but I'd do anything rather than do nothing."
+
+Mrs. Boyd sat down on the side of the bed.  If she felt inclined
+to cry she had too much sense to show it.  She only took firm
+hold of her boy's hand, and waited for him to speak on.
+
+"I've been thinking, mother, I was to have a new suit at
+Christmas; will you give it now?  And let it be a coat, not a
+jacket.  I'm tall enough--five feet seven last month, and growing
+still; I should look almost a man.  Then I would go round to
+every office in Edinburgh and ask if they wanted a clerk.  I
+wouldn't mind taking anything to begin with.  And I can write a
+decent hand, and I'm not bad at figures; as for my Latin and
+Greek--"
+
+Here Donald gulped down a sigh, for he was a capital classic, and
+it had been suggested that he should go to Glasgow University and
+try for "the Snell" which has sent so many clever young Scotsmen
+to Balliol College, Oxford, and thence on to fame and prosperity. 
+But alas!  no college career was now possible to Donald Boyd. 
+The best he could hope for was to earn a few shillings a week as
+a common clerk.  He knew this, and so did his mother.  But they
+never complained.  It was no fault of theirs, nor of anybody's. 
+It was just as they devoutly called it, "The will of God."
+
+"Your Latin and Greek may come in some day, my boy," said Mrs.
+Boyd cheerfully.  "Good work is never lost.  In the meantime,
+your plan is a good one, and you shall have your new clothes at
+once.  Then, do as you think best."
+
+"All right; good-night, mother," said Donald, and in five minutes
+more was fast asleep.
+
+But, though he was much given to sleeping of nights--indeed, he
+never remembered lying awake for a single hour in his 
+life--during daytime there never was a more "wide awake" boy than
+Donald Boyd.  He kept his eyes open to everything, and never let
+the "golden minute" slip by him.  He never idled about--play he
+didn't consider idling (nor do I).  And I am bound to confess
+that every day until the new clothes came home was scrupulously
+spent in cricket, football, and all the other amusements which he
+was as good at as he was at his lessons.  He wanted "to make the
+best of his holidays," he said, knowing well that for him holiday
+time as well as school time was now done, and the work of the
+world had begun in earnest.
+
+The clothes came home on Saturday night, and he went to church in
+them on Sunday, to his little sister's great admiration.  Still
+greater was their wonder when, on Monday morning, he appeared in
+the same suit, looking quite a man, as they unanimously agreed,
+and almost before breakfast was done, started off, not saying a
+word of where he was going.
+
+He did not come back till the younger ones were all away to bed,
+so there was no one to question him, which was fortunate, for
+they might not have got very smooth answers.  His mother saw
+this, and she also forbore.  She was not surprised that the
+bright, brave face of the morning looked dull and tired, and that
+evidently Donald had no good news of the day to tell her.
+
+"I think I'll go to bed," was all he said.  "Mother, will you
+give me a 'piece' in my pocket to-morrow?  One can walk better
+when one isn't so desperately hungry."
+
+"Yes, my boy."  She kissed him, saw that he was warmed and
+fed--he had evidently been on his legs the whole day--then sent
+him off to his bed, where she soon heard him delightfully
+snoring, oblivious of all his cares.
+
+The same thing went on day after day, for seven days.  Sometimes
+he told his mother what had happened to him and where he had
+been, sometimes not; what was the good of telling?  It was always
+the same story.  Nobody wanted a boy or a man, for Donald,
+trusting to his inches and his coat, had applied for man's work
+also, but in vain.  Mrs. Boyd was not astonished.  She knew how
+hard it is to get one's foot into ever so small a corner in this
+busy world, where ten are always struggling for the place of one. 
+Still, she also knew that it never does to give in; that one must
+leave no stone unturned if one wishes to get work at all.  Also
+she believed firmly in an axiom of her youth--"Nothing is denied
+to well-directed labor." But it must be real hard "labor," and it
+must also be "well directed." So, though her heart ached sorely,
+as only a mother's can, she never betrayed it, but each morning
+sent her boy away with a cheerful face, and each evening received
+him with one, which, if less cheerful, was not less sympathetic,
+but she never said a word.
+
+At the week's end, in fact, on Sunday morning, as they were
+walking to church, Donald said to her: "Mother, my new clothes
+haven't been of the slightest good.  I've been all over
+Edinburgh, to every place I could think of--writers' offices,
+merchants' offices, wharves, railway-stations--but it's no use. 
+Everybody wants to know where I've been before, and I've been
+nowhere except to school.  I said I was willing to learn, but
+nobody will teach me; they say they can't afford it.  It is like
+keeping a dog, and barking yourself.  Which is only too true,"
+added Donald, with a heavy sigh.
+
+"May be," said Mrs. Boyd.  Yet as she looked up at her son--she
+really did look up at him, he was so tall--she felt that if his
+honest, intelligent face and manly bearing did not win something
+at last, what was the world coming to?  "My boy," she said,
+"things are very hard for you, but not harder than for others.  I
+remember once, when I was only a few years older than you,
+finding myself with only half a crown in my pocket.  To be sure
+it was a whole half-crown, for I had paid every half-penny I owed
+that morning, but I had no idea where the next half-crown would
+come from.  However, it did come.  I earned two pounds ten, the
+very day after that day."
+
+"Did you really, mother?" said Donald, his eyes brightening. 
+"Then I'll go on.  I'll not 'gang awa back to my mither,' as that
+old gentleman advised me, who objected to bark himself; a queer,
+crabbed old fellow he was too, but he was the only one who asked
+my name and address.  The rest of them--well, mother, I've stood
+a good deal these seven days," Donald added, gulping down
+something between a "fuff" of wrath and a sob.
+
+"I am sure you have, my boy."
+
+"But I'll hold on; only you'll have to get my boots mended, and
+meantime, I should like to try a new dodge.  My bicycle, it lies
+in the washing-house; you remember I broke it and you didn't wish
+it mended, lest I should break something worse than a wheel,
+perhaps.  It wasn't worth while risking my life for mere
+pleasure, but I want my bicycle now for use.  If you let me have
+it mended, I can go up and down the country for fifty miles in
+search of work--to Falkirk, Linlithgow, or even Glasgow, and I'll
+cost you nothing for traveling expenses.  Isn't that a bright
+idea, mother?"
+
+She had not the heart to say no, or to suggest that a boy on a
+bicycle applying for work was a thing too novel to be eminently
+successful.  But to get work was at once so essential and so
+hopeless, that she would not throw any cold water on Donald's
+eagerness and pluck.  She hoped too, that, spite of the
+eccentricity of the notion, some shrewd, kind-hearted gentleman
+might have sense enough to see the honest purpose of the poor lad
+who had only himself to depend upon.  For his father had now
+fallen into a state of depression which made all application to
+him for either advice or help worse than useless.  And as both he
+and Mrs. Boyd had been solitary orphans when they were married,
+there were no near relatives of any kind to come to the rescue. 
+Donald knew, and his mother knew too, that he must shift for
+himself, to sink or swim.
+
+So, after two days' rest, which he much needed, the boy went off
+again "on his own hook," and his bicycle, which was a degree
+better than his legs, he said, as it saves shoe-leather.  Also,
+he was able to come home pretty regularly at the same hour, which
+was a great relief to his mother.  But he came home nearly as
+tired as ever, and with a despondent look which deepened every
+day.  Evidently it was just the same story; no work to be had; or
+if there was work, it was struggled for by a score of fellows,
+with age, character, and experience to back them, and Donald had
+none of the three.  But he had one quality, the root of all
+success in the end, dogged perseverance.
+
+There is a saying, that we British gain our victories, not
+because we are never beaten, but because we never will see that
+we are beaten, and so go on fighting till we win.  "Never say
+die," was Donald's word to his mother night after night.  But she
+knew that those who never SAY die, sometimes DO die, quite
+quietly, and she watched with a sore heart her boy growing
+thinner and more worn, even though brown as a berry with constant
+exposure all day long to wind and weather, for it was now less
+autumn than winter.
+
+After a fortnight, Mrs. Boyd made up her mind that this could not
+go on any longer, and said so.  "Very well," Donald answered,
+accepting her decision as he had been in the habit of doing all
+his life.--Mrs. Boyd's children knew very well that whatever her
+will was, it was sure to be a just and wise will, herself being
+the last person she ever thought of.--"Yes, I'll give in, if you
+think I ought, for it's only wearing out myself and my clothes to
+no good.  Only let me have one day more and I'll go as far as
+ever I can, perhaps to Dunfermline, or even Glasgow."
+
+She would not forbid, and once more she started him off with a
+cheerful face in the twilight of the wet October morning, and sat
+all day long in the empty house--for the younger ones were now
+all going to school again--thinking sorrowfully of her eldest,
+whose merry school days were done forever.
+
+In the dusk of the afternoon a card was brought up to her, with
+the message that an old gentleman was waiting below, wishing to
+see her.
+
+A shudder ran through the poor mother, who, like many another
+mother, hated bicycles, and never had an easy mind when Donald
+was away on his.  The stranger's first word was anything but
+reassuring.
+
+"Beg pardon ma'am, but is your name Boyd, and have you a son
+called Donald, who went out on a bicycle this morning?"
+
+"Yes, yes!  Has anything happened?  Tell me quick!"
+
+"I'm not aware, ma'am, that anything has happened," said the old
+gentleman.  "I saw the lad at light this morning.  He seemed to
+be managing his machine uncommonly well.  I met him at the foot
+of a hill near Edinburgh Castle.  He had got off and was walking;
+so he saw me, and took off his cap.  I like respect, especially
+in a young fellow towards an old one."
+
+"Did he know you, for I have not that pleasure?" said Mrs. Boyd,
+polite, though puzzled.  For the old man did not look quite like
+a gentleman, and spoke with the strong accent of an uneducated
+person, yet he had a kindly expression, and seemed honest and
+well-meaning, though decidedly "canny."
+
+"I cannot say he knew me, but he remembered me, which was civil
+of him.  And then I minded the lad as the one that had come to me
+for work a week or two ago, and I took his name and address. 
+That's your son's writing?" he jumbled out and showed a scrap of
+paper.  "It's bona fide, isn't it?
+
+"And he really is in search of work?  He hasn't run away from
+home, or been turned out by his father for misconduct, or
+anything of that sort?  He isn't a scamp, or a ne'er-do-weel?"
+
+"I hope he doesn't look like it," said Mrs. Boyd, proudly.
+
+"No, ma'am; you're right, he doesn't.  He carries his character
+in his face which, maybe, is better than in his pocket.  It was
+that which made me ask his name and address, though I could do
+nothing for him."
+
+"Then you were the gentleman who told him you couldn't keep a dog
+and bark yourself?" said Mrs. Boyd, amused, and just a shade
+hopeful.
+
+"Precisely.  Nor can I.  It would have been cool impudence in a
+lad to come and ask to be taught his work first and then paid for
+it, if he hadn't been so very much in earnest that I was rather
+sorry for him.  I'm inclined to believe, from the talk I had with
+him at the foot of the brae to-day, that he is a young dog that
+would bark with uncommon little teaching.  Material, ma'am, is
+what we want.  I don't care for its being raw material, if it's
+only of the right sort.  I've made up my mind to try your boy."
+
+"Thank God!"
+
+"What did you say, ma'am?  But--I beg your pardon."
+
+For he saw that Mrs. Boyd had quite broken down.  In truth, the
+strain had been so long and so great that this sudden relief was
+quite too much for her.  She sobbed heartily.
+
+"I ought to beg your pardon," she said at last, "for being so
+foolish, but we have had hard times of late."
+
+And then, in a few simple words, she told Donald's whole story.
+
+The old man listened to it in silence.  Sometimes he nodded his
+head, or beat his chin on his stout stick as he sat; but he made
+no comment whatever, except a brief "Thank you, ma'am."
+
+"Now to business," continued he, taking out his watch; "for I'm
+due at dinner: and I always keep my appointments, even with
+myself.  I hope your Donald is a punctual lad?"
+
+"Yes.  He promised to be back by dark, and I am sure he will be. 
+Could you not wait?"
+
+"No.  I never wait for anybody; but keep nobody waiting for me. 
+I'm Bethune & Co., Leith Merchants--practically, old John
+Bethune, who began life as a message-boy, and has done pretty
+well, considering."
+
+He had, as Mrs. Boyd was well aware.  Bethune & Co. was a name so
+well known that she could hardly believe in her boy's good luck
+in getting into that house in any capacity whatever.
+
+"So all is settled," said Mr. Bethune, rising.  "Let him come to
+me on Monday morning, and I'll see what he is fit for.  He'll
+have to start at the very bottom--sweep the office, perhaps--I
+did it myself once--and I'll give him--let me see--ten shillings
+a week to begin with."
+
+" 'To begin with,' " repeated Mrs. Boyd, gently but firmly; "but
+he will soon be worth more.  I am sure of that."
+
+"Very well.  When I see what stuff he is made of, he shall have a
+rise.  But I never do things at haphazard; and it's easier going
+up than coming down.  I'm not a benevolent man, Mrs. Boyd, and
+you need not think it.  But I've fought the world pretty hard
+myself, and I like to help those that are fighting it.  Good
+evening.  Isn't that your son coming round the corner?  Well,
+he's back exact to his time, at any rate.  Tell him I hope he
+will be as punctual on Monday morning.  Good evening, ma'am."
+
+Now, if this were an imaginary story, I might wind it up by a
+delightful denoument of Mr. Bethune's turning out an old friend
+of the family, or developing into a new one, and taking such a
+fancy to Donald that he immediately gave him a clerkship with a
+large salary, and the promise of a partnership on coming of age,
+or this worthy gentleman should be an eccentric old bachelor who
+immediately adopted that wonderful boy and befriended the whole
+Boyd family.
+
+But neither of these things, nor anything else remarkable,
+happened in the real story, which, as it is literally true,
+though told with certain necessary disguises, I prefer to keep to
+as closely as I can.  Such astonishing bits of "luck" do not
+happen in real life, or happen so rarely that one inclines, at
+least, to believe very little in either good or ill fortune, as a
+matter of chance.  There is always something at the back of it
+which furnishes a key to the whole.  Practically, a man's lot is
+of his own making.  He may fail, for a while undeservedly, or he
+may succeed undeservedly, but, in the long run, time brings its
+revenges and its rewards.
+
+As it did to Donald Boyd.  He has not been taken into the house
+of Bethune & Co., as a partner; and it was long before he became
+even a clerk--at least with anything like a high salary.  For Mr.
+Bethune, so far from being an old bachelor, had a large family to
+provide for, and was bringing up several of his sons to his own
+business, so there was little room for a stranger.  But a young
+man who deserves to find room generally does find it, or make it. 
+And though Donald started at the lowest rung of the ladder, he
+may climb to the top yet.
+
+He had "a fair field, and no favor."  Indeed, he neither wished
+nor asked favor.  He determined to stand on his own feet from the
+first.  He had hard work and few holidays, made mistakes, found
+them out and corrected them, got sharp words and bore them,
+learnt his own weak points and--not so easily--his strong ones. 
+Still he did learn them; for, unless you can trust yourself, be
+sure nobody else will trust you.
+
+This was Donald's great point.  HE WAS TRUSTED.  People soon
+found out that they might trust him; that he always told the
+truth, and never pretended to do more than he could do; but that
+which he could do, they might depend upon his doing, punctually,
+accurately, carefully, and never leaving off till it was done. 
+Therefore, though others might be quicker, sharper, more "up to
+things" than he, there was no one so reliable, and it soon got to
+be a proverb in the office of Bethune & Co.--and other offices,
+too--"If you wish a thing done, go to Boyd."
+
+I am bound to say this, for I am painting no imaginary portrait,
+but describing an individual who really exists, and who may be
+met any day walking about Edinburgh, though his name is not
+Donald Boyd, and there is no such firm as Bethune & Co.  But the
+house he does belong to values the young fellow so highly that
+there is little doubt he will rise in it, and rise in every way,
+probably to the very top of the tree, and tell his children and
+grandchildren the story which, in its main features, I have
+recorded here, of how he first began facing the world.            
+    BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
+
+
+
+ We went to the Zoo the Leopard to see,
+  But found him an unsociable fellow.
+  He would not look at us or say where he bought
+  His polka-dot suit of yellow.
+
+
+
+ROBERT OF LINCOLN.
+
+ Merrily swinging on briar and weed,
+      Near to the nest of his little dame,
+  Over the mountain-side or mead,
+      Robert of Lincoln is telling his name;
+           Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  Snug and safe in that nest of ours,
+  Hidden among the summer flowers.
+                Chee, chee, chee.
+
+ Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed.
+      Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
+  White are his shoulders and white his crest,
+      Hear him calling his merry note:
+           Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
+  Sure there was never a bird so fine.
+                Chee, chee, chee.
+
+ Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
+      Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
+  Passing at home a quiet life,
+      Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
+           Bob-o'-l ink, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  Brood, kind creatures; you need not fear
+  Thieves and robbers while I am here.
+                Chee, chee, chee.
+
+ Modest and shy as a nun is she,
+      One weak chirp is her only note,
+  Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
+      Pouring boasts from his little throat:
+           Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  Never was I afraid of man;
+  Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.
+                Chee, chee, chee.
+
+ Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
+      Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!
+  There as the mother sits all day,
+      Robert is singing with all his might:
+           Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  Nice good wife, that never goes out,
+  Keeping house while I frolic about.
+                Chee, chee, chee.
+
+ Soon as the-little ones chip the shell
+      Six wide mouths are open for food;
+  Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
+      Gathering seed for the hungry brood.
+           Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  This new life is likely to be
+  Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
+                Chee, chee, chee.
+
+ Robert of Lincoln at length is made
+      Sober with work, and silent with care;
+  Off is his holiday garment laid,
+      Half forgotten that merry air,
+
+          Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  Nobody knows but my mate and I
+  Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
+                Chee, chee, chee.
+
+ Summer wanes; the children are grown;
+      Fun and frolic no more he knows;
+  Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;
+      Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
+           Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
+           Spink, spank, spink;
+  When you can pipe that merry old strain,
+  Robert of Lincoln, come back again.  
+               Chee, chee, chee.
+
+                    WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+
+ Riggity-rig,
+  Dance a jig,
+  Dance a Highland Fling;
+  Dance a Cake-walk,
+  Give us o Clog,
+  Or cut a  Pigeon's Wing.
+
+
+
+U.  S.  SPELLS US.
+
+ My papa's all dressed up to-day;
+      He never looked so fine;
+  I thought when I first looked at him 
+     My papa wasn't mine.
+
+ He's got a beautiful new suit
+      The old one was so old--  
+It's blue, with buttons, oh, so bright,
+      I guess they must be gold.
+
+ And papa's sort o' glad and sort
+      O' sad--I wonder why;
+  And ev'ry time she looks at him 
+     It makes my mamma cry.
+
+ Who's Uncle Sam?  My papa says
+      That he belongs to him;
+  But papa's joking, 'cause he knows 
+     My uncle's name is Jim.
+
+ My papa just belongs to me
+      And mamma.  And I guess
+  The folks are blind who cannot see
+      His buttons marked U. S.
+
+ U. S.  spells Us.  He's ours--and yet
+      My mamma can't help cry,
+  And papa tries to smile at me
+      And can't--I wonder why.
+
+                              ANON.
+
+
+
+ A dancing Bear came down the street;
+      The children all ran to see the treat;
+  Said the keeper: "Now, boys, come pay for your fun;
+      Give me a penny to buy Bruin a bun."
+
+
+
+"DIXIE" AND "YANKEE DOODLE."
+
+ I was born 'way down in "Dixie,"
+      Reared beneath the Southern skies,
+  And they didn't have to teach me
+      Every "Yankee" to despise.
+
+ I was but a country youngster
+      When I donned a suit of gray,
+  When I shouldered my old musket,
+      And marched forth the "Yanks" to slay.
+
+ Four long years I fought and suffered,
+      "Dixie" was my battle cry;
+  "Dixie" always and forever,
+      Down in "Dixie" let me die.
+
+ And to-night I'm down in "Dixie,"
+      "Dixie" still so grand and true;
+  But to-night I am appareled
+      In a uniform of blue.
+
+ And to-night the band is playing;
+      'Tis not "Dixie's" strains I hear,
+  But the strains of "Yankee Doodle"
+      Ring out strong and clear.
+
+ Long I listen to the music;
+      By my side a comrade stands;
+  He's a "Yank" and I'm a "Rebel,"
+      But we grasp each other's hands.
+
+ Here together we united
+      'Way down South in "Dixie" stand,
+  And my comrade whispers softly,
+      "There's no land like 'Dixie's land.' "
+
+ But my eyes are filled with teardrops,
+      Tears that make my heart feel glad;
+  And I whisper to my comrade:
+      " 'Yankee Doodle' ain't so bad."
+                         LAWRENCE PORCHER HEXT.
+
+
+
+ A game of marbles
+  We were having one day,
+  When Baby chanced
+      to come along that way.
+  Too little he was
+      to join our game,
+  But he pocketed our marbles
+      just the same.
+
+
+
+THE BAREFOOT BOY.
+
+ Blessings on thee, little man,
+  Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan;
+  With thy turned-up pantaloons,
+  And thy merry whistled tunes;
+  With thy red lip, redder still
+  Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
+  With the sunshine on thy face,
+  Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace!
+  From my heart I give thee joy;
+  I was once a barefoot boy.
+
+ Prince thou art--the grown-up man
+  Only is republican.
+  Let the million-dollared ride!
+  Barefoot, trudging at his side,
+  Thou hast more than he can buy,
+  In the reach of ear and eye:
+  Outward sunshine, inward joy.
+  Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
+
+ O!  for boyhood's painless play,
+  Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
+  Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
+  Knowledge never learned of schools:
+  Of the wild bee's morning chase,
+  Of the wild flower's time and place,
+  Flight of fowl, and habitude
+  Of the tenants of the wood;
+  How the tortoise bears his shell,
+
+ How the woodchuck digs his cell,
+  And the ground-mole sinks his well;
+  How the robin feeds her young,
+  How the oriole's nest is hung;
+  Where the whitest lilies blow,
+  Where the freshest berries grow,
+  Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
+  Where the wood grape's clusters shine;
+  Of the black wasp's cunning way,
+  Mason of his walls of clay,
+  And the architectural plans
+  Of gray hornet artisans!
+  For, eschewing books and tasks,
+  Nature answers all he asks;
+  Hand in hand with her he walks,
+  Face to face with her he talks
+  Part and parcel of her joy.
+  Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
+
+ O for boyhood's time of June,
+  Crowding years in one brief moon,
+  When all things I heard or saw,
+  Me, their master, waited for!
+  I was rich in flowers and trees,
+  Humming-birds and honey-bees;
+  For my sport the squirrel played,
+  Plied the snouted mole his spade;
+  For my taste the blackberry cone
+  Purpled over hedge and stone;
+  Laughed the brook for my delight,
+  Through the day and through the night;
+  Whispering at the garden wall,
+  Talked with me from fall to fall;
+
+ Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
+  Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
+  Mine, on bending orchard trees,
+  Apples of Hesperides!
+  Still, as my horizon grew,
+  Larger grew my riches too,
+  All the world I saw or knew
+  Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
+  Fashioned for a barefoot boy!
+
+ O!  for festal dainties spread,
+  Like my bowl of milk and bread,
+  Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
+  On the door-stone, gray and rude!
+  O'er me, like a regal tent,
+  Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent: 
+  Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
+  Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
+  While, for music, came the play
+  Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
+  And, to light the noisy choir,
+  Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
+  I was monarch; pomp and joy
+  Waited on the barefoot boy.
+
+ Cheerily then, my little man!
+  Live and laugh as boyhood can;
+  Though the flinty slopes be hard,
+  Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
+  Every morn shall lead thee through
+  Fresh baptisms of the dew;
+  Every evening from thy feet
+  Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
+
+ All too soon those feet must hide
+  In the prison-cells of pride,
+  Lose the freedom of the sod,
+  Like a colt's for work be shod,
+  Made to tread the mills of toil,
+  Up and down in ceaseless moil:
+  Happy if their track be found
+  Never on forbidden ground;
+  Happy if they sink not in
+  Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
+  Ah!  that thou couldst know thy joy,
+  Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
+               JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
+
+
+
+ Gallop, gallop!  far away.
+  Pony and I are going today.
+  Please get out of our way,
+  Don't ask us to stay;
+  We'll both come back
+  Some sunshiny day.
+
+
+
+BABOUSCKA.
+
+If you were a Russian child you would not watch to see Santa
+Klaus come down the chimney; but you would stand by the windows
+to catch a peep at poor Babouscka as she hurries by.
+
+Who is Babouscka?  Is she Santa Klaus' wife?
+
+No, indeed.  She is only a poor little crooked wrinkled old
+woman, who comes at Christmas time into everybody's house, who
+peeps into every cradle, turns back every coverlid, drops a tear
+on the baby's white pillow, and goes away very, very sorrowful.
+
+And not only at Christmas time, but through all the cold winter,
+and especially in March, when the wind blows loud, and whistles
+and howls and dies away like a sigh, the Russian children hear
+the rustling step of the Babouscka.  She is always in a hurry. 
+One hears her running fast along the crowded streets and over the
+quiet country fields.  She seems to be out of breath and tired,
+yet she hurries on.
+
+Whom is she trying to overtake?
+
+She scarcely looks at the little children as they press their
+rosy faces against the window pane and whisper to each other, "Is
+the Babouscka looking for us?"
+
+No, she will not stop; only on Christmas eve will she come
+up-stairs into the nursery and give each little one a present. 
+You must not think she leaves handsome gifts such as Santa Klaus
+brings for you.  She does not bring bicycles to the boys or
+French dolls to the girls.  She does not come in a gay little
+sleigh drawn by reindeer, but hobbling along on foot, and she
+leans on a crutch.  She has her old apron filled with candy and
+cheap toys, and the children all love her dearly.  They watch to
+see her come, and when one hears a rustling, he cries, "Lo!  the
+Babouscka!" then all others look, but one must turn one's head
+very quickly or she vanishes.  I never saw her myself.
+
+Best of all, she loves little babies, and often, when the tired
+mothers sleep, she bends over their cradles, puts her brown,
+wrinkled face close down to the pillow and looks very sharply.
+
+What is she looking for?
+
+Ah, that you can't guess unless you know her sad story.
+
+Long, long ago, a great many yesterdays ago, the Babouscka, who
+was even then an old woman, was busy sweeping her little hut. 
+She lived in the coldest corner of cold Russia, and she lived
+alone in a lonely place where four wide roads met.  These roads
+were at this time white with snow, for it was winter time.  In
+the summer, when the fields were full of flowers and the air full
+of sunshine and singing birds, Babouscka's home did not seem so
+very quiet; but in the winter, with only the snowflakes and the
+shy snow-birds and the loud wind for company, the little old
+woman felt very cheerless.  But she was a busy old woman, and as
+it was already twilight, and her home but half swept, she felt in
+a great hurry to finish her work before bedtime.  You must know
+the Babouscka was poor and could not afford to do her work by
+candle-light.
+
+Presently, down the widest and the lonesomest of the white roads,
+there appeared a long train of people coming.  They were walking
+slowly, and seemed to be asking each other questions as to which
+way they should take.  As the procession came nearer, and finally
+stopped outside the little hut, Babouscka was frightened at the
+splendor.  There were Three Kings, with crowns on their heads,
+and the jewels on the Kings' breastplates sparkled like sunlight. 
+Their heavy fur cloaks were white with the falling snow-flakes,
+and the queer humpy camels on which they rode looked white as
+milk in the snow-storm.  The harness on the camels was decorated
+with gold, and plates of silver adorned the saddles.  The
+saddle-cloths were of the richest Eastern stuffs, and all the
+servants had the dark eyes and hair of an Eastern people.
+
+The slaves carried heavy loads on their backs, and each of the
+Three Kings carried a present.  One carried a beautiful
+transparent jar, and in the fading light Babouscka could see in
+it a golden liquid which she knew from its color must be myrrh. 
+Another had in his hand a richly woven bag, and it seemed to be
+heavy, as indeed it was, for it was full of gold.  The third had
+a stone vase in his hand, and from the rich perfume which filled
+the snowy air, one could guess the vase to have been filled with
+incense.
+
+Babouscka was terribly frightened, so she hid herself in her hut,
+and let the servants knock a long time at her door before she
+dared open it and answer their questions as to the road they
+should take to a far-away town.  You know she had never studied a
+geography lesson in her life, was old and stupid and scared.  She
+knew the way across the fields to the nearest village, but she
+know nothing else of all the wide world full of cities.  The
+servants scolded, but the Three Kings spoke kindly to her, and
+asked her to accompany them on their journey that she might show
+them the way as far as she knew it.  They told her, in words so
+simple that she could not fail to understand, that they had seen
+a Star in the sky and were following it to a little town where a
+young Child lay.  The snow was in the sky now, and the Star was
+lost out of sight.
+
+"Who is the Child?" asked the old woman.
+
+"He is a King, and we go to worship him," they answered.  "These
+presents of gold, frankincense and myrrh are for Him.   When we
+find Him we will take the crowns off our heads and lay them at
+His feet.  Come with us, Babouscka!"
+
+What do you suppose?  Shouldn't you have thought the poor little
+woman would have been glad to leave her desolate home on the
+plains to accompany these Kings on their journey?
+
+But the foolish woman shook her head.  No, the night was dark and
+cheerless, and her little home was warm and cosy.  She looked up
+into the sky, and the Star was nowhere to be seen.  Besides, she
+wanted to put her hut in order--perhaps she would be ready to go
+to-morrow.  But the Three Kings could not wait; so when
+to-morrow's sun rose they were far ahead on their journey.  It
+seemed like a dream to poor Babouscka, for even the tracks of the
+camels' feet were covered by the deep white snow.  Everything was
+the same as usual; and to make sure that the night's visitors had
+not been a fancy, she found her old broom hanging on a peg behind
+the door, where she had put it when the servants knocked.
+
+Now that the sun was shining, and she remembered the glitter of
+the gold and the smell of the sweet gums and myrrh, she wished
+she had gone with the travelers.
+
+And she thought a great deal about the dear Baby the Three Kings
+had gone to worship.  She had no children of her own-- nobody
+loved her--ah, if she had only gone!  The more she brooded on the
+thought, the more miserable she grew, till the very sight of her
+home became hateful to her.
+
+It is a dreadful feeling to realize that one has lost a chance of
+happiness.  There is a feeling called remorse that can gnaw like
+a sharp little tooth.  Babouscka felt this little tooth cut into
+her heart every time she remembered the visit of the Three Kings.
+
+After a while the thought of the Little Child became her first
+thought at waking and her last at night.  One day she shut the
+door of her house forever, and set out on a long journey.  She
+had no hope of overtaking the Three Kings, but she longed to find
+the Child, that she too might love and worship Him.  She asked
+every one she met, and some people thought her crazy, but others
+gave her kind answers.  Have you perhaps guessed that the young
+Child whom the Three Kings sought was our Lord himself?
+
+People told Babouscka how He was born in a manger, and many other
+things which you children have learned long ago.  These answers
+puzzled the old dame mightily.  She had but one idea in her
+ignorant head.  The Three Kings had gone to seek a Baby.  She
+would, if not too late, seek Him too.
+
+She forgot, I am sure, how many long years had gone by.  She
+looked in vain for the Christ-child in His manger-cradle.  She
+spent all her little savings in toys and candy so as to make
+friends with little children, that they might not run away when
+she came hobbling into their nurseries.
+
+Now you know for whom she is sadly seeking when she pushes back
+the bed-curtains and bends down over each baby's pillow. 
+Sometimes, when the old grandmother sits nodding by the fire, and
+the bigger children sleep in their beds, old Babouscka comes
+hobbling into the room, and whispers softly, "Is the young Child
+here?"
+
+Ah, no; she has come too late, too late.  But the little children
+know her and love her.  Two thousand years ago she lost the
+chance of finding Him.  Crooked, wrinkled, old, sick and sorry,
+she yet lives on, looking into each baby's face--always
+disappointed, always seeking.  Will she find Him at last?
+
+
+
+
+  Come, Bossy, come Bossy!  Here I am with my cup,
+      Come give me some milk, rich and sweet.
+  I will pay you well with red clover hay,
+      The nicest you ever did eat.
+
+
+
+DAISIES.
+
+Daisies!
+
+ Low in the grass and high in the clover,
+  Starring the green earth over and over,
+  Now into white waves tossing and breaking,
+  Like a foaming sea when the wind is waking,
+  Now standing upright, tall and slender,
+  Showing their deep hearts' golden splendor;
+      Daintily bending,
+      Airily lending
+
+ Garlands of flowers for earth's adorning,
+  Fresh with the dew of a summer morning;
+  High on the slope, low in the hollow,
+  Where eye can reach or foot can follow,
+  Shining with innocent fearless faces
+  Out of the depths of lonely places,
+      Till the glad heart sings their praises
+           --Here are the daisies!
+           The daisies!
+
+               Daisies!
+   See them ebbing and flowing,
+  Like tides with the full moon going;
+  Spreading their generous largess free
+  For hand to touch and for eye to see;
+      In dust of the wayside growing,
+      On rock-ribbed upland blowing,
+      By meadow brooklets glancing,
+      On barren fields a-dancing,
+  Till the world forgets to burrow and grope,  
+And rises aloft on the wings of hope;
+           --Oh!  of all posies,           
+Lilies or roses,
+           Sweetest or fairest,           
+Richest or rarest,
+  That earth in its joy to heaven upraises,
+           Give me the daisies!
+
+ Why?  For they glow with the spirit of youth,
+  Their beautiful eyes have the glory of truth,
+  Down before all their rich bounty they fling
+  --Free to the beggar, and free to the king
+
+ Loving they stoop to the lowliest ways,
+  Joyous they brighten the dreariest days;
+  Under the fringe of their raiment they hide
+  Scars the gray winter hath opened so wide;
+           Freely and brightly-- 
+          Who can count lightly
+  Gifts with such generous ardor proffered,
+  Tokens of love from such full heart's offered,
+  Or look without glances of joy and delight
+  At pastures star-covered from morning till night,
+           When the sunshiny field ablaze is
+                With daisies!
+
+                    Daisies,
+                Your praise is,
+  That you are like maidens, as maidens should be,
+  Winsome with freshness, and wholesome to see,
+  Gifted with beauty, and joy to the eye,
+  Head lifted daintily--yet not too high--
+  Sweet with humility, radiant with love,
+  Generous too as the sunshine above,
+  Swaying with sympathy, tenderly bent
+  On hiding the scar and on healing the rent,
+  Innocent-looking the world in the face,
+  Yet fearless with nature's own innocent grace,
+  Full of sweet goodness, yet simple in art,
+  White in the soul, and pure gold in the heart
+  --Ah, like unto you should all maidenhood be
+  Gladsome to know, and most gracious to see;
+           Like you, my daisies!
+                               M.  E.  B
+
+
+
+ Sing a song of sixpence,
+      A pocket full of rye;
+  Four-and-twenty blackbirds
+      Baked into a pie.
+  When the pie was opened
+      The birds began to sing.
+  Wasn't that a dainty dish
+      To set before the King?
+
+ The King was in the parlor
+      Counting out his money;
+  The Queen was in the kitchen
+      Eating bread and honey;
+  The maid was in the garden
+      Hanging up the clothes,
+  There came a little blackbird
+      And picked off her nose.
+
+
+
+DRIVING HOME THE COWS.
+
+ Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass,
+      He turned them into the river lane;
+  One after another he let them pass,
+      Then fastened the meadow bars again.
+
+ Along by the willows and over the hill
+      He patiently followed their sober pace--
+  The merry whistle for once was still
+      And something shadowed the sunny face.
+
+ Only a boy, and his father had said
+      He never could let his youngest go,
+  Two already were lying dead
+      Under the feet of the trampling foe.
+
+ But, after the evening work was done,
+      And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp,
+  Over his shoulder he slung his gun
+      And stealthily followed the footpath damp.
+
+ Across the clover and through the wheat,
+      With resolute heart and purpose grim,
+  Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
+      And the blind bat's flitting startled him.
+
+ Thrice since then have the lanes been white
+      And the orchards sweet with apple bloom,
+  And now when the cows came back at night
+      The feeble father drove them home;
+
+ For news had come to the lonely farm
+      That three were lying where two had lain,
+  And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm
+      Could never lean on a son's again.
+
+ The summer day grew cool and late,
+      He went for the cows when his work was done,
+  But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
+      He saw them coming, one by one.
+
+ Brindle and Ebony, Speckle and Bess,
+      Tossing their horns in the evening wind,
+  Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,
+      But who was it following close behind?
+
+ Loosely swung in the idle air
+      The empty sleeve of army blue,
+  And worn and pale through its crisped hair
+      Looked out a face that the father knew.
+
+ For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn
+      And yield their dead to life again,  
+And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn 
+     In golden glory at last may wane.
+
+ The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes,
+      For the hearts must speak when the lips are dumb,
+  And under the silent evening skies
+      Together they followed the cattle home.
+
+                                   KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.
+
+
+
+ To and fro,
+ See us go!
+  Up so high,
+      Down so low;
+  Now quite fast,
+      Now real slow.
+  Singing,
+      Swinging,
+  This is the way,
+      to get
+           fresh air
+  In a
+      pleasant
+           way.
+
+
+
+THE BABY'S KISS.
+
+AN INCIDENT OF THE CIVIL WAR.
+
+ Rough and ready the troopers ride,
+  Pistol in holster and sword by side;
+  They have ridden long, they have ridden hard,
+  They are travel-stained and battle-scarred;
+  The hard ground shakes with their martial tramp,
+  And coarse is the laugh of the men of the camp.
+
+ They reach the spot where a mother stands
+  With a baby shaking its little hands,
+  Laughing aloud at the gallant sight
+  Of the mounted soldiers, fresh from the fight.
+  The captain laughs out, "I will give you this,
+  A bright piece of gold, your baby to kiss."
+
+ "My darling's kisses cannot be sold,
+  But gladly he'll kiss a soldier bold."
+  He lifts up the babe with a manly grace,
+  And covers with kisses its smiling face.
+  Its rosy cheeks and its dimpled charms,
+  And it crows with delight in the soldier's arms.
+
+ "Not all for the captain," the troopers call;
+  "The baby, we know, has a kiss for all."
+  To each soldier's breast the baby is pressed  
+  By the strong rough men, and kissed and caressed.
+  And louder it laughs, and the lady's face
+  Wears a mother's smile at the fond embrace.
+
+ "Just such a kiss," cried one warrior grim,
+  "When I left my boy I gave to him;"
+  "And just such a kiss on the parting day,
+  I gave to my girl as asleep she lay."
+  Such were the words of these soldiers brave,
+  And their eyes were moist when the kiss they gave.              
+                           ANON.
+
+
+
+ "Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?" 
+     "Yes sir, yes sir three bags full;
+      One for my master and one for my dame,
+  And one for the little boy who lives in the lane.
+
+
+ Tommy Bangs looks quite smart,
+      Driving along in his new goat cart,
+  But Tommy's not one of your selfish boys,
+      With every baby he shares his joys,
+           Takes them to ride and lets them drive,
+                Of course, they like Tommy
+                           The best boy alive.
+
+
+
+THE LOST DIAMOND SNUFF BOX.
+
+The grand old kingdom of England, in the course of the mossy
+centuries you can count over its head, has had its times of gloom
+and depression at dangers that looked near, and its times of
+shouting and rejoicing over dangers its brave men have driven
+away quite out of sight again.
+
+One of the deepest seasons of gloom was when the French Emperor,
+Napoleon, had conquered one country after another, until there
+was scarcely anything but England left to attack; and one of the
+proudest times of rejoicing was when the "Iron Duke" Wellington,
+and the bluff old Prussian, Blucher, met him at Waterloo,
+defeated his armies and drove him from the field.  There were
+bonfires, and bell-ringings then, and from that day onward
+England loved and cherished every man who had fought at
+Waterloo--from the "Duke" himself down to the plainest private,
+every one was a hero and a veteran.
+
+In one of the humblest houses of a proud nobleman's estate, a
+low, whitewashed cottage, one of these veterans lived not so very
+many years ago.  He had fought by his flag in one of the most
+gallant regiments until the last hour of the battle, and then had
+fallen disabled from active service for the rest of his life.
+
+That did not seem to be of so very great consequence though, just
+now; for peace reigned in the land, and with his wife and two
+beautiful daughters to love, his battles to think over, and his
+pension to provide the bread and coffee, the old soldier was as
+happy as the day was long.  It made no difference that the bread
+and the coffee were both black, and the clothes of the veteran
+were coarse and seldom new.
+
+"Ho, Peggy!" he used to say to his wife, "my cloak is as fine as
+the one the 'Iron Duke' wore when they carried me past him just
+as the French were breaking; and as for the bread, only a veteran
+knows how the recollection of victory makes everything taste
+sweet!"
+
+But it seemed as if the old soldier's life was going to prove
+like his share in that great day at Waterloo--success and victory
+till the end had nearly come, and then one shot after another
+striking him with troubles, he could never get over.
+
+The first came in the midst of the beautiful summer days, when
+the bees droned through the delicious air, the rose-bush was in
+full bloom, and the old soldier sat in the cottage door reveling
+in it all.  A slow, merciless fever rose up through the soft
+air--it did not venture near the high ground where the castle
+stood, but it crept noiselessly into the whitewashed cottage, one
+night, and the soldier's two daughters were stricken down.  This
+was the beginning of terrible trouble to the veteran of Waterloo. 
+Not that he minded watching, for he was used to standing sentry
+all night, and as for nursing, he had seen plenty in the
+hospital; but to see his daughters suffering--that was what he
+could not bear!
+
+And worst of all, between medicines and necessaries for the sick,
+the three months' pension was quite used up, and when the old
+soldier's nursing had pulled through the fierceness of the fever,
+there was nothing but black bread left in the house--and black
+bread was almost the same as no bread at all to the dainty
+appetities the fever had left; and that was what he had to think
+of, and think of, as he sat in the cottage door.
+
+"Bah!" said the old soldier, with something more like a groan
+than was ever heard from him while his wounds were being dressed,
+"I could face all the armies of Napoleon better than this!"
+
+And he sat more and more in the cottage door, as if that could
+leave the trouble behind; but it stood staring before him, all
+the same, till it almost shut the rosebush and the bees out of
+sight.  But one morning a tremendous surprise came to him like a
+flash out of the sky!  He heard the sound of galloping troops,
+and he pricked up his ears, for that always made him think of a
+cavalry charge.
+
+"Who goes there?" he cried; but without answering his challenge
+the sound came nearer and nearer, and a lackey in full livery
+dashed up to the door, and presented him with a note sealed with
+the blood-red seal of the castle arms.  It was an invitation to
+dine at the castle with a company of noblemen and officers of the
+army.  His lordship, who had also fought at Waterloo, had just
+learned that a comrade was living on his estate, and made haste
+to do him honor, and secure a famous guest for his dinner party.
+
+The old soldier rose up proudly, and gave the lackey a military
+salute.
+
+"Tell his lordship," he said, "that I shall report myself at
+headquarters, and present my thanks for the honor he has done
+me."
+
+The lackey galloped off, and the veteran pushed his chair over
+with his wooden leg, and clattered across the cottage floor.
+
+"Ho, Peggy!" he cried, "did I not say that luck comes and trouble
+flies if you only face the enemy long enough?  This is the
+beginning of good things, I tell you!  A hero of Waterloo, and
+fit to dine with lords and generals, will certainly have other
+good fortune coming to him, till he can keep his wife and
+daughters like princesses.  Just wait a bit and you shall see!"
+and he turned hastily away, for his heart came up in his throat
+so that he could not speak.
+
+All the rest of that day he sat in the door, brushing and darning
+and polishing his stained uniform.  It had lain abandoned on the
+shelf for many a year, but before night every button was shining
+like gold, the scarlet cloth was almost fresh once more, and the
+old soldier, wrapped in his faithful cloak, was making his way
+joyfully across the heathery moors to the castle quite at the
+other side.
+
+But when he had fairly reached it, and the servant had shown him
+into the drawing-room, his heart almost failed him for a moment. 
+Such splendor he had never seen before--a thousandth part would
+have bought health and happiness for the dear ones he had left
+with only his brave goodbye and a fresh rose-bud to comfort them!
+
+However, what with the beautiful ladies of the castle gathering
+round him to ask questions about the battle, and with a seat near
+his lordship's right hand at dinner, he soon plucked up again,
+and began to realize how delightful everything was.  But that was
+the very thing that almost spoiled the whole again, for when he
+saw his plate covered with luxuries and delicacies more than he
+could possibly eat, the thought of the black bread he had left at
+the cottage brought the tears rushing to his eyes.
+
+But, "Tut!" he said to himself in great dismay, "what an
+ungrateful poltroon his lordship will think he has brought here!"
+and he managed to brush them off while no one was looking.
+
+It was delicious, though, in spite of everything, and after a
+while the wine began to flow--that warmed his very heart-- and
+then he heard his lordship calling to a servant to bring him
+something from his private desk, saying:
+
+"Gentlemen, I am about to show you the proudest treasure I
+possess.  This diamond snuff-box was presented to me by the stout
+old Blucher himself, in remembrance of service I was able to
+perform at Waterloo.  Not that I was a whit worthier of it than
+the brave fellows under my command--understand that!"
+
+How the diamonds glistened and gleamed as the box was passed from
+hand to hand!  As if the thickest cluster of stars you ever saw,
+could shine out in the midst of a yellow sunset sky, and the
+colors of the rainbow could twinkle through them at the same
+time!  It was superb, but then that was nothing compared to the
+glory of receiving it from Blucher!
+
+Then there was more wine and story-telling, and at last some
+asked to look at the snuff-box again.
+
+"Has any one the snuff-box at present?" asked his lordship,
+rather anxiously, for as he turned to reach it no snuff-box was
+to be seen.
+
+No one said "yes," for everyone was sure he had passed it to his
+neighbor, and they searched up and down the table with
+consternation in their faces, for the snuff-box could not have
+disappeared without hands, but to say so was to touch the honor
+of gentlemen and soldiers.
+
+At last one of the most famous officers rose from his seat:
+
+"My lord, he said, "a very unlucky accident must have occurred
+here.  Some one of us must have slipped the box into his pocket
+unconsciously, mistaking it for his own.  I will take the lead in
+searching mine, if the rest of the company will follow!"
+
+"Agreed!" said the rest, and each guest in turn went to the
+bottom of one pocket after another, but still no snuff-box, and
+the distress of the company increased.  The old soldier's turn
+came last, and with it came the surprise.  With burning cheeks
+and arms folded closely across his breast he stood up and
+confronted the company like a stag at bay.
+
+"No!" he exclaimed, "no one shall search my pockets!  Would you
+doubt the honor of a soldier?"
+
+"But we have all done so," said the rest, "and every one knows it
+is the merest accident at the most." But the old soldier only
+held his arms the tighter, while the color grew deeper in his
+face.  In his perplexity his lordship thought of another
+expedient.
+
+"We will try another way, gentlemen," he said, "I will order a
+basket of bran to be brought, and propose that each one in turn
+shall thrust his hand into the bran.  No one shall look on, and
+if we find the box at last, no one can guess whose hand placed it
+there."
+
+It was quickly done, and hand after hand was thrust in, until at
+last came the old soldier's turn once more.  But he was nowhere
+to be seen.
+
+Then, at last the indignation of the company broke forth.
+
+"A soldier, and a hero of Waterloo, and willing to be a thief!"
+and with their distress about the affair, and his lordship's
+grief at his loss, the evening was entirely spoiled.
+
+Meantime the old soldier, with his faithful cloak wrapped closely
+round him once more, was fighting his way through the sharp winds
+and over the moors again.  But a battle against something a
+thousand times sharper and colder was going on in his breast.
+
+"A thief!" he was saying over and over to himself, "me, who
+fought close to the side of the 'Iron Duke'!  And yet, can I look
+one of them in the face and tell him he lies?"
+
+The walk that had been gone over so merrily was a terrible one to
+retrace, and when the cottage was reached, instead of the pride
+and good luck the poor invalids had been watching for, a gloom
+deadlier than the fever followed him in.  He sat in the doorway
+as he used, but sometimes he hung his head on his breast, and
+sometimes started up and walked proudly about, crying--
+
+"Peggy!  I say no one shall call me a thief!  I am a soldier of
+the Iron Duke!"
+
+But they did call him a thief, though, for a very strange thing,
+after his lordship had sorrowfully ordered the cottage and little
+garden spot to be searched no box was found, and the gloom and
+the mystery grew deeper together.
+
+Good nursing could not balance against trouble like this; the
+beautiful daughters faded and died, the house was too gloomy to
+stay inside, and if he escaped to the door, he had to hear the
+passers say--
+
+"There sits the soldier who stole the Blucher diamonds from his
+host!"
+
+And as if this was not enough, one day the sound of hoofs was
+heard again, and a rider in uniform clattered up to the door
+saying:
+
+"Comrade, I am sent to tell you that your pension is stopped! 
+His Majesty cannot count a thief any longer a soldier of his!"
+
+After this the old soldier hardly held up his head at all, and
+his hair, that had kept black as a coal all these years, turned
+white as the moors when the winter snows lay on them.
+
+"Though that is all the same, Peggy," he used to say, "for it is
+winter all the year round with me!  If I could only die as the
+old year does!  That would be the thing!"
+
+But long and merciless as the winter is, spring does come at
+last, if we can but live and fight our way through the storms and
+cold.
+
+One night a cry of fire roused all the country-side.  All but the
+old soldier.  He heard them say the castle was burning, but what
+was that to him?  Nothing could burn away the remembrance that he
+had once been called a thief within its walls!  But the next
+morning he heard a step--not a horse's hoof this time, but a
+strong man walking hastily towards him.
+
+"Where is the veteran of Waterloo?" asked his lordship's voice,
+and when the old soldier stepped forward, he threw his arms about
+his neck with tears and sobs.
+
+"Comrade," he said, "come up to the castle!  The snuff-box is
+found, and I want you to stand in the very room where it was lost
+while I tell everyone what a great and sorrowful wrong a brave
+and honest soldier has suffered at my hands!"
+
+It did not take many words to explain.  In the first alarm of
+fire the butler had rushed to the plate-closet to save the
+silver.
+
+"Those goblets from the high shelf!  Quick!" he said, to the
+footman who was helping him, and with the haste about the goblets
+something else came tumbling down.
+
+"The lost diamond snuff-box!" cried the butler.  "That stupid
+fellow I dismissed the day it disappeared, must have put it there
+and forgotten all about it!"
+
+The fire was soon extinguished, but not a wink of sleep could his
+lordship get until he could make reparation for the pitiful
+mistake about the box; and once more the old soldier made his way
+across the moors, even the wooden leg stepping proudly as he went
+along, though now and then, as the old feeling came over him, his
+white head would droop for a moment again.
+
+The servants stood aside respectfully as he entered the castle,
+and they and the other guests of that unlucky day gathered round
+him while his lordship told them how the box had been found and
+how he could not rest until forgiven by the brave hero he had so
+unjustly suspected of wrong.
+
+"And now," said the company, "will you not tell us one thing
+more?  Why did you refuse to empty your pockets, as all the rest
+were willing to do?"
+
+"Because," said the old soldier sorrowfully, "because I WAS a
+thief, and I could not bear that anyone should discover it!  All
+whom I loved best in the world were lying sick at home, starving
+for want of the delicacies I could not provide, and I felt as if
+my heart would break to see my plate heaped with luxuries while
+they had not so much as a taste!  I thought a mouthful of what I
+did not need might save them, and when no one was looking I
+slipped some choice bits from my plate between two pieces of
+bread and made way with them into my pocket.  I could not let
+them be discovered for a soldier is too proud to beg, but oh, my
+lord, he can bear being called a thief all his life better than
+he can dine sumptuously while there is only black bread at home
+for the sick and weak whom he loves!"
+
+Tears came streaming from the old soldier's listeners by this
+time, and each vied with the other in heaping honors and gifts in
+place of the disgrace suffered so long; but all that was
+powerless to make up for the past.
+
+Two good lessons may be learned from the story: Never believe any
+one guilty who is not really proved to be so.  Never let false
+shame keep you from confessing the truth, whether trifling or of
+importance.
+
+
+
+ What are the children doing today,
+      Down on the nursery floor,
+  That baby laughter and crows of delight
+      Float through the open door?
+  Watching Don's top
+           spinning around,
+  Making that queer little
+           whirring sound.
+
+
+ This big Reindeer must have run away
+      From Santa Claus and his Christmas sleigh.
+  Do you think if I should take him back
+      A present I would get out of Santa's pack?
+
+
+
+ THE AMERICAN FLAG.
+
+ When freedom from her mountain height
+      Unfurled her standard to the air,
+  She tore the azure robe of night,
+      And set the stars of glory there.
+  She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
+  The milky baldric of the skies,
+  And striped its pure celestial white
+  With streakings of the morning light;
+  Then from his mansion in the sun,
+  She called her eagle bearer down,
+  And gave into his mighty hand
+  The symbol of her chosen land.
+
+ Majestic monarch of the cloud,
+      Who rears't aloft thy regal form,
+  To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
+  And see the lightning-lances driven,
+      When strive the warriors of the storm,
+  And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven--
+  Child of the sun!  to thee is given
+      To guard the banner of the free,
+  To hover in the sulphur smoke,
+  To ward away the battle stroke,
+  And bid its blendings shine afar,
+  Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
+      The harbingers of victory!
+
+ Flag of the brave!  thy folds shall fly,
+  The sign of hope and triumph high,
+ When speaks the signal trumpet tone,
+  And the long line comes gleaming on.
+  Ere yet the life-blood warm and wet
+  Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
+  Each soldier's eyes shall brightly turn
+  To where thy sky-born glories burn;
+  And, as his springing steps advance,
+  Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
+  And when the cannon's mouthings loud
+  Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
+  And gory sabers rise and fall
+  Like darts of flame on midnight's pall,
+  Then shall thy meteor glances glow,
+      And cowering foes shall sink beneath
+  Each gallant arm that strikes below
+      That lovely messenger of death.
+
+ Flag of the seas!  On ocean wave
+  Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
+  When death, careering on the gale,
+  Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
+  And frightened waves rush wildly back
+  Before the broadside's reeling rack
+  Each dying wanderer of the sea
+  Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
+  And smile to see thy splendors fly
+  In triumph o'er his closing eye.
+
+ Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
+      By angel hands to valor given;
+  Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
+      And all thy hues were born in heaven.
+  Forever float that standard sheet!
+      Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
+  With freedom's soil beneath our feet,
+      And freedom's banner streaming o'er us?                     
+     JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
+
+
+
+ We will swing the rope for Baby dear,
+      So jump, jump, jump!
+  That you will trip her up I fear,
+      But jump, jump, jump!
+           Swing it easy and low,
+           Steady and slow,
+      Or down the dear tot will go.
+
+
+ A crafty Fox crept forth one day
+  And over the hills he scampered away
+      In search of a fine, fat hen;
+  But old dog Sport was keeping guard,
+  When Fox leaped into our chicken yard,
+      And chased him back to his den.
+
+
+
+ AUNT POLLY SHEDD'S BRIGADE.
+
+"Something about the Battle of Hampden?"  Grandma took off her
+spectacles and wiped them reflectively  "It seems to me already I
+have told you everything worth telling; but there!" in a sudden
+burst of recollection, "did I ever tell you about Aunt Polly
+Shedd's Brigade?  That was quite an affair to those of us that
+belonged to it!"
+
+"Oh, no!  do tell us about it!" called out the three childish
+voices in chorus; and Grandma only waited to knit by the seam
+needle.
+
+"I've told you all about it so many times that I don't need to
+describe again that dreadful morning when the British man-of-war
+came up the river and, dropping her anchor just opposite our
+little village of Hampden, sent troops ashore to take possession
+of the place in the King's name.  So what I am going to tell you
+now is how, and where, we youngsters spent the three days that
+the British occupied our houses.  I was about twelve years old at
+the time.  I remember that it was just as we were getting up from
+the breakfast-table that one of our neighbors, Sol Grant, old
+General Grant's youngest son, rushed in without knocking, his
+face as white as a sheet, and his cap on hind-side before, and
+called out hurriedly:
+
+" 'Mr. Swett, if you love your family, for God's sake find a
+place of safety for 'em!  The British are coming ashore--three
+boat-loads of 'em, armed to the teeth--and they won't spare man,
+woman nor child!
+
+"Mother's face grew very pale, but she stepped quietly around,
+with her baby on her arm, close to where father was standing, and
+laid one hand on his arm, while she said, in a firm, clear voice:
+
+"'MY place is with you, Benjamin, but we must think of some place
+of safety for the children.  Where can they go?'
+
+"Sol was just rushing out of the door as unceremoniously as he
+had rushed in, but he stopped when he heard her ask that, long
+enough to say:
+
+" 'I forgot to tell you that Aunt Polly Shedd will take all the
+children put in her charge out to Old Gubtil's; that's so out of
+the way they won't be disturbed, 'specially as the old man's a
+Tory himself.'
+
+"Mother kissed us all round, with a smile on her face that
+couldn't quite hide the tears with which her dear eyes were
+filled, and as she hastily bundled us in whatever garment came to
+hand, she bade us be good children, and make Aunt Polly and the
+Gubtils as little trouble as possible.  Then we followed father
+out-of-doors and into the school-house yard where a score or more
+of children were already gathered--still as mice for intense
+terror.  Aunt Polly, in her big green calash, and a pillow-case
+of valuables under one arm, was bustling to and fro, speaking an
+encouraging or admonitory word, as the case might be, and wearing
+upon her pinched, freckled little face such a reassuring smile
+that I soon felt my own courage rise and, dashing back the tears
+that had filled my eyes a moment before, I busied myself in
+pinning little Sally's blanket more closely about her neck and
+setting the faded sunbonnet upon the tangled curls that had not
+yet had their customary morning's dressing.
+
+" 'Come, children,' called out Aunt Polly cheerily, 'you're all
+here now, and we'll start right off.  I'll go ahead, an' all you
+little ones had best keep close to me; the bigger ones can come
+along behind.'
+
+"Obedient to her order we started, following her steps across the
+road by the beeches, and up by the grocery store where a crowd of
+excited men were congregated, talking loudly with wild
+gesticulations, while farther down, toward the shore, we could
+catch glimpses, through the thick morning fog, of the blue
+uniforms of our militia company that had been summoned in hot
+haste to defend the town.  As we filed past, I remember I heard
+one of the men on the grocery steps speak:
+
+" 'I tell you they won't leave one stone on another if they get
+possession of the town, and they'll impress all the able-bodied
+men and all the big boys into the King's service besides.'
+
+"A cold shiver ran over me and I caught so hard at little Sally's
+hand that the child cried out with pain, and Aunt Polly said
+anxiously:
+
+" 'Hurry up, dears!  'Tain't much more'n a mile out to Gubtil's,
+and you'll have a good nice chance to rest after we get there.'
+
+"Just then the martial music of a fife and drum announced the
+landing of the enemy's troops, and I tell you it quickened the
+lagging footsteps of even the youngest child into a run, and we
+just flew, helter-skelter, over the rough, little-used road that
+led to the Gubtil farm.  Aunt Polly's gentle tones were unheeded. 
+All she could do was to carry the weakest in her arms over all
+the worst places, with a word of cheer, now and then, to some
+child who was not too much frightened to heed it.
+
+"What a haven of safety the low, unpainted old farm-house looked
+to us, as we rushed, pell-mell, into the dooryard, never
+noticing, in our own relief, the ungracious scowl with which the
+master and mistress of the house regarded our advent.
+
+"Aunt Polly soon explained matters, taking care to assure the
+inhospitable pair that our parents would amply recompense them
+for the trouble and expense we must, of course, be to them.
+
+"The farmer held a whispered consultation with his wife, and I
+remember well his harsh, loud tones as he came back to Aunt
+Polly:
+
+" 'They'll HAVE to stay, I s'pose; there don't seem no help for
+it now.  There's pertaters in the cellar, an' they can roast an'
+eat what they want.  I'll give 'em salt an' what milk an' brown
+bread they want, an' that's what they'll have to live on for the
+present.  As for housin' 'em, the boys can sleep on the hay in
+the barn, an' the girls can camp down on rugs an' comforters on
+the kitchen floor.  that's the best I can do, an' if they ain't
+satisfied they can go furder.'
+
+"I remember just how he looked down at the troubled, childish
+faces upturned to his own, as if half hoping we might conclude to
+wander yet farther away from our imperilled homes; but Aunt Polly
+hastened to answer:
+
+" 'Oh, we'll get along nicely with milk for the little ones, and
+potatoes and salt for the big boys and girls, and we won't
+trouble you any more nor any longer than we can help, Mr.
+Gubtil.'
+
+"She stood upon the door-stone beside him as she spoke, a little,
+bent, slightly deformed figure, with a face shrivelled and faded
+like a winter-russet apple in spring-time, and a dress patched
+and darned till one scarcely could tell what the original was
+like, in a striking contrast to the tall, broad-shouldered, hale
+old man, whose iron frame had defied the storms of more than
+seventy winters; but I remember how he seemed to me a mere pigmy
+by the side of the generous, large-hearted woman whose tones and
+gestures had a protectiveness, a strength born of love and pity,
+that reassured us trembling little fugitives in spite of our
+ungracious reception.  We felt that Aunt Polly would take care of
+us, let what would come.
+
+"The hours dragged slowly away.  Aunt Polly told us that the
+distant firing meant that our men had not retreated without an
+effort to defend the village.  When this firing ceased, we began
+to watch and hope that some message would come from our fathers
+and mothers.  But none came.  We wondered among our little selves
+if they all had been put to death by the British, and even the
+oldest among us shed some dreary tears.
+
+"Dan Parsons, who was the biggest boy among us and of an
+adventurous turn, went in the gathering twilight gloom down as
+near the village as he dared.  He came shivering back to us with
+such tales of vague horror that our very hearts stopped beating
+while we listened.
+
+" 'I crep' along under the shadder of the alders and black-berry
+bushes,' he began, ' 'til I got close ter De'con Milleses house. 
+'Twas as still as death 'round there, but jest as I turned the
+corner by the barn I see somethin' gray a-flappin' and
+a-flutterin' jest inside the barn door.  I stopped, kind o'
+wonderin' what it could be, when all at once I thought I should
+'a' dropped, for it came over me like a flash that it might be'--
+
+" 'What, what, Dan?' cried a score of frightened voices; and Dan
+replied solemnly:
+
+" 'THE OLD DEACON'S SKULP!'
+
+" 'Oh dear!  oh dear!' sobbed the terrified chorus.
+
+"Aunt Polly could do nothing with us; and little Dolly Miles, the
+deacon's granddaughter, burst into a series of wild lamentations
+that called Farmer Gubtil to the door to know the cause of the
+commotion.
+
+" 'What's all this hullabaloo about?' he asked crossly; and when
+he had heard the story he seized Dan and shook him till his teeth
+chattered.
+
+" 'What do you mean by tellin' such stuff an' scarin' these young
+ones ter death?' he demanded.
+
+"Dan wriggled himself from his grasp and looked sulkily defiant:
+
+" 'I didn't say 'TWAS that,' he muttered.  'I said it MIGHT be,
+an' p'r'aps 'twas; or it might 'a' been the deacon's old mare
+switchin' 'er tail ter keep off the flies.  I'm sure _I_ don't
+know which 'twas.  But girls are always a-squealin' at nothin'.'
+
+"And with this parting fling at us tearful ones, Dan turned in
+the direction of the barn; but I was too anxious to hear from
+father and mother to let him go without a word more.  'Dan,' I
+whispered with my hand on his arm, 'did you see or hear anything
+of OUR folks?'
+
+" 'No!' was the rather grump reply; 'after what I saw at the
+deacon's I didn't want ter ventur' furder, but from there I could
+see 'em lightin' fires in the village, an' I don't doubt by this
+time that most o' the houses is in flames.'
+
+"With this comforting assurance Dan went off to his bed upon the
+haymow, and I crept back into the house and laid my tired head
+down upon Aunt Polly's motherly lap, where, between my sobs, I
+managed to tell what Dan had told me.
+
+Aunt Polly laid a caressing hand upon my hair: 'La, child,' said
+she soothingly, 'don't you worry yourself a bit over Dan Parson's
+stories.  That boy was BORN to tell stories.  The Britishers are
+bad enough, but they ain't heathen savages, an' if the town has
+surrendered, as I calc'late it has, the settlers will be treated
+like prisoners o' war.  There won't be no sculpin' nor burnin' o'
+houses--no, dear.  And now,' giving me a little reassuring pat,
+'you're all tired out, an' ought ter be asleep.  I'll make up a
+bed on this rug with a cushion under your head, an' my big plaid
+shawl over you, an' you'll sleep jest as sound as if you was ter
+home in your own trundle-bed.'
+
+"Little Sally shared my rug and shawl, and Aunt Polly, gently
+refusing the ungracious civility of the old couple, who had
+offered her the use of their spare bedroom, after seeing every
+little, tired form made as comfortable as possible with quilts
+and blankets from the farmwife's stores, laid herself down upon
+the floor beside us, after commending herself and us to the God
+she loved and trusted, raised her head and spoke to us once more
+in her sweet, hopeful, quavering old tones:
+
+" 'Good night, dears!  Go to sleep and don't be a bit afraid.  I
+shouldn't wonder if your folks come for you in the mornin'.'
+
+"What comfort there was in her words!  And even the very little
+ones, who had never been away from their mothers a night before
+in their lives, stopped their low sobbing and nestled down to
+sleep, sure that God and Aunt Polly would let no harm come to
+them.
+
+"The next day passed slowly and anxiously for us all.  From a
+stray traveller Aunt Polly learned that the village was still in
+the hands of the British and--what was no little comfort to us
+--that no violence had been done to the place or its inhabitants. 
+Some of the older boys were for venturing to return, but Aunt
+Polly held them back with her prudent arguments.  If their
+parents had considered it safe for them to come home they would
+have sent for them.  The British, she said, had been known to
+impress boys, as well as men, into service, and the wisest way
+was to keep out of their sight.
+
+"The gentle, motherly advice prevailed, and even Dan Parsons
+contented himself with climbing the tallest trees in the
+vicinity, from which he could see the chimneys of several of the
+nearest houses.  From these pinnacles he would call out to us at
+intervals:
+
+" 'The smoke comin' out o' Deacon Mileses chimly has a queer
+look, somethin' like burnin' feathers I shouldn't wonder a mite
+if them Britishers was burnin' up his furnitoor!  Sam Kelly's
+folks hain't had a spark o' fire in their fireplace to-day.  Poor
+critters!  Mebbe there ain't nobody left ter want one.'
+
+"With these dismal surmises, Dan managed to keep our forlorn
+little flock as uncomfortable as even he could wish; and as the
+second night drew on, I suppose the homesickness of the smaller
+ones must have been pitiful to see.  Aunt Polly patted and
+cuddled the forlorn little things to the best of her ability, but
+it was past midnight before the last weary, sobbing baby was
+fairly asleep, while all night long one or another would start up
+terrified from some frightful dream, to be soothed into quiet by
+the patient motherly tenderness of their wakeful protector.
+
+"Next morning the brow of the farmer wore an ominous frown, and
+his wife, as she distributed to each the scant measure of brown
+bread and milk remarked, grudgingly, that she should think 'twas
+'bout time that her house was cleared of a crowd o' hungry,
+squallin' young ones; and then Mr. Gubtil took out his
+account-book and wrote down the name of each child, with an
+estimate of the amount of bread, milk and potatoes consumed by
+each.  He did this with the audible remark that 'if folks thought
+he was a-feedin' an' a-housin' their young ones for nothin'
+they'd find themselves mightily mistaken.'
+
+"The third morning dragged slowly away.  Dinner was over and
+still no message for us forlorn little ones.  At last Aunt Polly
+slowly arose from her seat upon the doorstep, with the light of a
+strong, courageous resolve on her little face.
+
+"Children!' she called loudly, and after we had gathered at her
+call, she spoke to us with an encouraging smile:
+
+" 'I've made up my mind that 'twon't be best for us to stay here
+another night.  We're in the way, and the little ones would be
+better off at home with their mothers.  We know that the fightin'
+is all over, and I don't believe the English soldiers'll be bad
+enough to hurt a lot o' little helpless children, 'specially if
+they're under a flag o' truce.'
+
+"Here she drew a handkerchif from her pocket.  This she fastened
+carefully to a stick.  Then putting it into the hands of my
+brother Ben, a well-grown lad of twelve, she went on with her
+directions:
+
+" 'We'll form in procession, just as we came, and you, Benjie,
+may march at the head with this white flag a-wavin' to let them
+know that we come in peace.  I'll follow next with the biggest
+boys, and the girls, with the little ones, must keep behind where
+it's safest.'
+
+"Perhaps it was the contagion of Aunt Polly's cheerful courage,
+but more likely it was the blessed hope of seeing home and father
+and mother again, that made the little folks so prompt to obey
+her directions.  We formed ourselves in line in less time than it
+takes to tell about it; we elder girls took charge of the wee
+ones who were so rejoiced to leave the inhospitable roof of the
+Gubtils' that they forgot all their fears of the terrible
+English, and trotted along as blithely over the deserted road as
+if not a fear had ever terrified their childish hearts, and as if
+English soldiers were still simply those far-off monsters that
+had served as bugbears to frighten them now and then into
+obedience to maternal authority.
+
+"The Gubtils watched us off without a word of encouragement or
+friendliness.  Aunt Polly walked close behind the flag-bearer
+with a firm step, but I could see that she was very pale, and
+when we came to descend the little hill that led into the
+village, and when just at its foot, where then stood the grocery
+of old Penn Parker, we caught a glimpse of the scarlet uniforms
+of several soldiers loafing about--then even we children could
+see that her steps faltered; and I remember I thought she was
+fearful of some violence.
+
+"But the next moment she was walking steadily along again as if
+no thought of danger or retreat had ever entered her mind; and as
+we came opposite the grocery and a tall man in an officer's
+uniform strolled out toward us with a curious, questioning look
+upon his handsome face, she gave the word of command to her
+little brigade in a voice as clear as a bell:
+
+" 'Halt, children!'
+
+"We all stood still as mice, eying the stranger with looks in
+which fear and admiration were probably curiously blended, while
+Aunt Polly, taking the white flag from her color-bearer, advanced
+with a firm front to meet the foe who now, reinforced by several
+men, stood beside the way, evidently wondering what this queer
+parade was about.
+
+" 'Sir!' and Aunt Polly's voice trembled perceptibly but she
+waved the white flag manfully under his very nose, 'sir, I demand
+a safe passage for these innocent children to their different
+homes.'
+
+"The officer stared, and his mouth twitched mischievously as if
+he had hard work to keep from laughing outright.  But he was a
+gentleman; and when he spoke, he spoke like one.
+
+" 'My good woman,' he said kindly, 'these children are nothing to
+me.  If you wish permission for them to go to their own homes you
+are welcome to it, though in what way the matter concerns me I
+must confess I am at a loss to imagine."
+
+Then, and not till then, Aunt Polly broke down and sobbed aloud:
+
+" 'Run, children,' she cried as soon as she could speak; 'go home
+just as fast as you can scud; an' tell your folks,' she added
+with a gust of gratitude, 'that there's worse folks in the world
+than an Englishman.'
+
+"You may be sure that we waited for no further urging; and as we
+flew, rather than ran, in the direction of our different homes, I
+heard the irrepressible burst of laughter with which the officer
+and his men received the grateful spinster's compliment which, to
+the day of her death, she loved to repeat whenever she told the
+thrilling story of her adventure with the English officer, 'when
+Hampden was took by the British in 1814;' always concluding with
+this candid admission:
+
+" 'An' really, now, if he'd 'a' been anybody but an Englishman,
+an' an inimy, I should 'a' said that I never sot eyes on a
+better-built, more mannerly man, in all my born days.' "
+
+
+
+  Heigho!  Baby Mine!
+  Now where are you creeping,
+  With such a rapid pace
+      across the nursery floor?
+  Only out to Mamma
+      who'll give you royal greeting,
+           With coddling and petting
+                and kisses
+                     galore.
+
+
+ CORINNE'S MUSICALE.
+
+ Inside of me says I am naughty,
+      But truly, I know I am not;
+  For if Brother Joe could see me
+      Right in this very same spot,
+  He'd let me do just
+           what I'm doing,
+      I'm very sure; that is,
+           perhaps.   Oh dear!  however do
+           big folks
+      Hold this thing
+           straight in their
+           laps?
+
+ It slips, an' it slips, an'
+           it slips,
+      You naughty old
+           Banjo, oh dear!
+
+ Is he coming?  then what
+           will he do
+      To find me sitting up
+           here!   Ho, ho!  'twas a mouse
+           --how silly      
+An' frightened I've actually been;  
+For he'd say, "If you hold it quite still,      
+You may take it, I'm willing, Corinne!"
+
+ I know: so now I'll begin it;
+      How does he go "tum-ty tum ting,"
+  An' make such beautiful tunes;
+      Too lovely for anything?
+  I ain't a bit 'fraid they may hear,
+      --The house-people 'way off below--
+  Me playing in Brother Joe's room,
+      Still I better be careful, you know.
+
+ If they didn't say 'twas amusing,
+      I sh'd think 'twas stupid to play,
+  To tug at such tiresome strings
+      An' make them come over this way;
+  But it must be delightful.  I'll pull
+      A very fine tune at first;
+  Now, "tum-ty ting tw-a-n-g!"
+      It sound's as if something had burst!
+
+ That string must 'a' truly been cracked,
+      Don't you s'pose?  or moth-eaten, p'raps;
+  'Tisn't pleasant to practice, I'm sure,
+      But forlorn, when anything flaps.
+  So I guess I have finished; hark, hark!
+      He really IS coming--Oh my!  
+ Now, Banjo, I know mamma wants me,
+      An' so I must bid you good-by!
+                     MARGARET SIDNEY.
+
+
+
+  Mr. Bunny was a rabbit,
+  Mr. Bunny was a thief!
+  He hopped into my garden
+      And stole a cabbage leaf.
+
+ He ate up all my parsnips
+      Without asking if he may,
+  And when I tried to catch him
+      Kicked up his heels
+           and ran away.
+
+
+
+BARBARA FRIETCHIE.
+
+ Up from the meadows rich with corn,
+  Clear in the cool September morn,
+
+ The clustered spires of Frederick stand
+  Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
+
+ Round about them orchards sweep,
+  Apple and peach-tree fruited deep,
+
+ Fair as a garden of the Lord
+  To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
+
+ On that pleasant morn of the early fall,
+  When Lee marched over the mountain-wall--
+
+ Over the mountains winding down,
+  Horse and foot, into Frederick town--
+
+ Forty flags with their silver stars,
+  Forty flags with their crimson bars,
+
+ Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
+  Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
+
+ Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
+  Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
+
+ Bravest of all in Frederick town,
+  She took up the flag the men hauled down:
+
+ In her attic window the staff she set,
+  To show that one heart was loyal yet.
+
+ Up the street came the rebel tread,
+  Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
+
+ Under his slouched hat, left and right,
+  He glanced: the old flag met his sight.
+
+ "Halt"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast,
+  "Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast.
+
+ It shivered the window, pane and sash;
+  It rent the banner with seam and gash.
+
+ Quick as it fell from the broken staff,
+  Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
+
+ She leaned far out on the window sill,
+  And shook it forth with a royal will.
+
+ "Shoot if you must this old gray head,--
+  But spare your country's flag," she said.
+
+ A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
+  Over the face of the leader came;
+
+ The nobler nature within him stirred
+  To life at that woman's deed and word.
+
+ "Who touches a hair of yon gray head
+  Dies like a dog!  March on!" he said.
+
+ All day long through Frederick street
+  Sounded the tread of marching feet.
+
+ All day long that free flag tossed
+  Over the heads of the rebel host;
+
+ Ever its torn folds rose and fell
+  On the loyal winds that loved it well;
+
+ And through the hill-gaps, sunset light
+  Shone over it with a warm good-night.
+
+ Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
+  And the rebel rides on his raids no more.
+
+ Honor to her!--and let a tear
+  Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
+
+ Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
+  Flag of Freedom and Union wave!
+
+ Peace, and order, and beauty, draw
+  Round thy symbol of light and law;
+
+ And ever the stars above look down
+  On thy stars below at Frederick town!
+
+               JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
+
+
+
+ A sturdy cow-boy I would be
+      And chase this buffalo out in the West.
+  An Indian pony I know I could ride,
+      And "round up" with all the rest.
+
+
+
+ SHERIDAN'S RIDE.
+
+(Used by special arrangement with J. B. Lippincott Company,
+Philadelphia, publisher of Mr. Read's Poems.)
+
+ Up from the South at break of day,
+  Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
+  The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
+  Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
+  The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
+  Telling the battle was on once more,
+  And Sheridan twenty miles away.
+
+ And wilder still those billows of war
+ Thundered along the horizon's bar,
+  And louder yet into Winchester rolled
+  The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
+  Making the blood of the listener cold
+  As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
+  And Sheridan twenty miles away.
+
+ But there is a road from Winchester town,
+  A good, broad highway leading down;
+  And there through the flash of the morning light,
+  A steed as black as the steeds of night,
+  Was seen to pass as with eagle's flight--
+  As if he knew the terrible need,
+  He stretched away with the utmost speed;
+  Hills rose and fell--but his heart was gay,
+  With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
+    Still sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South,
+  The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,
+
+ Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,
+  Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster;
+  The heart of the steed and the heart of the master,
+  Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,  
+Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
+  Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
+  With Sheridan only ten miles away.
+
+ Under his spurning feet the road
+  Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed;
+  And the landscape sped away behind
+  Like an ocean flying before the wind.
+  And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
+  Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire,
+  But lo!  he is nearing his heart's desire--
+  He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
+  With Sheridan only five miles away.
+
+ The first that the General saw were the groups
+  Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;
+  What was done--what to do--a glance told him both,
+  And striking his spurs with a terrible oath,
+  He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs,
+  And the wave of retreat checked its course there because
+  The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
+  With foam and with dust the black charger was gray,  
+By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play,
+  He seemed to the whole great army to say,
+  "I have brought you Sheridan all the way
+  From Winchester down to save the day!"
+
+ Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan!
+   Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man!
+
+ And when their statues are placed on high
+  Under the dome of the Union sky--
+  The American soldiers' Temple of Fame--
+  There with the glorious General's name
+  Be it said in letters both bold and bright:
+  "Here is the steed that saved the day  
+By carrying Sheridan into the fight,  
+From Winchester--twenty miles away!" 
+                    T.  B.  READ.
+
+
+
+ See-saw, Margery Daw,
+      Jenny shall have a new master,
+  She shall have but a penny a day,
+      Because she can't work any faster.
+
+
+ An old Hippopotamus lived on the Nile,
+  If she hasn't gone away, she's been there quite a while.
+  She gives all her children a ride on her back,
+  Broad enough to accommodate the whole scrambling pack.
+
+
+
+ THE CHILDREN'S HOUR
+
+ Between the dark and daylight,
+      When the night is beginning to lower,
+  Comes a pause in the day's occupations
+      That is known as the Children's Hour.
+
+ I hear in the chamber above me
+      The patter of little feet,
+  The sound of a door that is opened,
+      And voices soft and sweet.
+
+ From my study I see in the lamp-light,
+      Descending the broad hall-stair,
+  Grave Alice and laughing Allegra,
+      And Edith with golden hair.
+
+ A whisper, and then a silence;
+      Yet I know by their merry eyes
+  They are plotting and planning together
+      To take me by surprise.
+
+ A sudden rush from the stairway,
+      A sudden raid from the hall!
+  By three doors left unguarded
+      They enter my castle wall!
+
+ They climb up into my turret,
+      O'er the arms and back of my chair;
+  If I try to escape, they surround me,
+      They seem to be everywhere.
+
+ They almost devour me with kisses;
+      Their arms about me entwine,
+  Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
+      In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
+
+ Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
+      Because you have scaled the wall,
+  Such an old Mustache as I am
+      Is not a match for you all?
+
+ I have you fast in my fortress,
+      And will not let you depart,
+  But put you down in the dungeon,
+      In the round-tower of my heart.
+
+ And there I will keep you forever,
+      Yes, forever and a day,
+  Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
+      And moulder in dust away.
+                     HENRY W.  LONGFELLOW.
+
+
+
+ I will dig me a garden and plant it with seeds,
+      I will hoe and water it and keep down the weeds;
+  Then perhaps some of these bright summer days,
+      To mamma I can carry big boquets.
+
+
+
+
+CARYL'S PLUM.
+
+           "He put in his thumb
+           And pulled out a plum."
+
+So sang Caryl over the stairs.
+
+"Now if HE pulled out a plum, why shouldn't SHE?" she said to
+herself, halting a bit by the landing window.  "And a good big
+plum too--nice and juicy.  O Aunt Sylvia, Aunt Sylvia!"
+
+She fairly hugged herself in glee, then drew one long breath and
+dashed on to her own poor little room.  
+
+"Oh, you here, Viny?" she exclaimed in surprise as she flung open
+the door.
+
+A small figure rose to a perpendicular position in front of the
+old bureau, while a shoving-to of the under drawer proclaimed
+some attention having been paid to the pretty laces, ribbons, and
+various other adornments packed away for safe keeping.
+
+Caryl remembered leaving the key in the drawer after taking out a
+bit of lavender ribbon the night before for Aunt Sylvia's cap.
+
+"What have you been doing?" she asked sharply; and taking hold of
+the small wiry shoulder, she looked down into a little black face
+whose eyes were staring solemnly into the farthest corner of the
+room.
+
+"Ben doin'?" repeated Viny, scared almost to death inwardly, but
+preserving a cool exterior.  "Nothin', only shettin' the draw';
+plaguey thing wouldn't stay put.  Tore my dress," she added
+mumblingly to fill out the pause.
+
+"Where?" said Caryl, looking sharply at her.
+
+"Dar," said Viny, with a violent twist, so that she could compass
+the back breadths of her blue gingham frock, and she pointed
+abruptly to a cat-a-cornered rent.
+
+"Oh, no, you didn't," contradicted Caryl, looking her through and
+through, and giving her a small shake, "tear that either; I heard
+Maum Patty scold you yesterday for letting Jip bite it and snip
+out a piece."
+
+"Well, somefin tore," said Viny.  "I donno whar 'tis, but it's
+somewhars.  A mighty smart tare, too, Miss Ca."
+
+"I'll lock, and lock, and lock," declared the young girl, now
+down on her knees before her precious drawer, "before I run the
+chance of your rummaging fingers getting here again.  Now then,
+Viny!"
+
+"Yes'm," said the little black girl obsequiously, and rolling her
+eyes to all quarters; "Oh, yes'm!"
+
+"We are going to move, Viny," said her young mistress, taking the
+key out of its lock, and turning her back on drawers and
+contents, to sit on the floor with hands folded in her lap while
+she watched the effect of her words.
+
+"MOVE?" echoed Viny with a start; "Oh, lawks!  whatever's dat,
+Miss?"
+
+"Why, go to a new place," said Caryl, laughing in spite of
+herself.  "For mercy's sake, child, do take your eyes in!  It'll
+be very fine, Viny, oh, so fine!" she cried enthusiastically.
+
+"An' lib here nebber no mo'?" cried the little black figure in a
+shrill scream; "wot, an' hev no leaky sink dat keps me a-swashin'
+and a-swashin', an' no old ruf dat lets in hull buckets full o'
+water onter de bed, an'--"
+
+"No," said Caryl, interrupting the steady stream of invective
+against the old heuse, "everything's to be as new and nice and
+neat as a pin, Viny--sinks and everything else; you can't begin
+to think how splendid it's to be!"
+
+"I'm goin' to tell gramma," cried Viny, wholly off her balance,
+"dis berry same minnit.  Lawks!  but won't she be tickled to
+leave the ole shell!  Den I'll git my bunnet an' go wid yer, Miss
+Ca, in tree shakes of a lobster's whisker!"
+
+She scampered in the greatest excitement to the door, when a
+detaining pull on the end of her long apron, brought her to a
+full stop.
+
+"You are crazy, child!" exclaimed Caryl, bursting into a laugh
+and holding her fast.  "We can't go this moment, no matter how
+bad the old house is.  Listen, Viny!"
+
+But the small figure flung itself into a heap on the floor so
+suddenly that she nearly pulled her young mistress with her,
+while the little black hands clapped themselves over the bead
+like eyes, wail after wail of disappointment making the room to
+ring.
+
+"Will you STOP!" cried Caryl in perfect despair.  "Aunt Sylvia's
+head will snap with your noise!  If you don't stop crying, Viny,
+you sha'n't go when the rest of us are ready to move, so there,
+now."
+
+Threats had the power to do what nothing else could.  Viny wiped
+off all the tears with the backs of her grimy little paws, gave
+two or three concluding sniffs, sat up straight, and was
+immediately all right for further developments.
+
+"Now then"--Caryl pointed off her sentences briskly on the tips
+of her rosy fingers--"you must try to help--well, an awful great
+deal, Viny, yourself, or else it can't be a moving for any single
+one of us."
+
+Viny's eyes widened fearfully, but she didn't stir.
+
+"If you will take care--mind!  SPLENDID care of Aunt Sylvia every
+morning," said Caryl slowly and with extreme empressment-- "watch
+and get her everything she wants, not wait for her to ask for
+anything, then I can go off down street and make lots and lots of
+money, Viny.  Think of that, lots and lots!  Then we can move,
+and Aunt Sylvia will maybe get well."
+
+Caryl's gray eyes were only a thought less big than those of her
+small black audience, who presently caught the infectious
+enthusiasm and emitted several lusty crows.
+
+"Jiminy--oh, I DIDN'T say it--I didn't--I didn't!  O Jiminy, I
+didn't--I didn't--O Jimmy, I--"
+
+"Stop saying it, then," exclaimed her young mistress decidedly,
+and enforcing her words by a vigorous shake.
+
+"Oh, I didn't--I will--O Jiminy!  yes, I will!" cried the little
+black delinquent, the full tide of original sin taking an unfair
+advantage of her excitement to engulf her.  "Oh--er--
+oh--er--r--"
+
+Caryl came to her rescue by giving her a new idea.
+
+"See how splendid you can be, Viny dear," she said kindly.  "You
+can be such a good little helper, so that part of the new home
+will be of your getting; for I never could have the chance to
+earn anything if you didn't take my place and be Aunt Sylvia's
+nurse."
+
+"I know how," said Viny, perfectly overcome with the greatness
+thrust upon her; "it's to slip crickets under her feet to put her
+toes onter.  I'll slip 'em all day.  An' it's to wipe her specs,
+an' to say yes, no, an' to--"
+
+"To be good," finished Caryl solemnly; "that comprehends the
+whole business."
+
+"To be good," repeated the small nurse yet more solemnly, "an' to
+compren' the whole bus'ness; I will."
+
+"You are a ridiculous child," cried Caryl impatiently; "I don't
+really suppose you are fit to be trusted, but then, it's the only
+thing to try."
+
+Viny, having been duly elected to office, considered her honors
+settled, so she was little disturbed by any opinions that might
+be held concerning her.  Therefore she squatted and wriggled in
+great delight, grinning at every word that fell from her young
+mistress' lips.
+
+"You see, Viny," Caryl was saying, beginning on her confidence,
+"I've got an order to teach the little Grant girls how to paint,
+and if I can run down there two hours every morning, I'm to have
+twenty-five dollars, and Madam Grant is going to give it to me in
+advance; that is, after the first quarter.  Think, Viny,
+TWENTY-FIVE dollars!  That's what we want to move with into
+Heart's Delight!"
+
+This was the upstairs southwest corner of a little cottage that
+for a year or more had been the desideratum of the young girl's
+highest hopes that had to wear themselves out in empty longings,
+the invalid's scanty exchequer only sufficing for doctor's bills
+and similar twelvemonth, along with several other broken-down
+lodgers whose slender means compelled them to call this place
+"home"--this place where never a bit of sunshine seemed to come;
+where even the birds hated to stop for a song as they flew
+merrily over the tree-tops.  And no wonder.  The trees were
+scraggy, loppy old things hanging down in dismal sweep over the
+leaky roof and damp walls.  They had to stay--the lodgers, but
+the birds and the sunshine tossed off the whole responsibility of
+life in such a gloomy old home, and flitted to gayer quarters. 
+But now, what if Heart's Delight could really be theirs!
+
+"Yer goin' ter tell 'em how to paint dem tings yer daub?" broke
+in Viny, and snapping off this delightful thought.
+
+"You shouldn't speak so, child," said Caryl with the greatest
+dignity; "it's very fine work, and you couldn't possibly
+understand it.  It's art, Viny."
+
+"Ho, ho!" laughed the small black figure, nowise impressed and
+cramming her stumpy fingers up to her mouth to keep the laugh in
+as she saw her young mistress' displeasure.  "It's an awful old
+dirty muss, an' I wish I could do it," she added under her
+breath.
+
+"And I shall begin tomorrow," declared Caryl with still greater
+dignity, and drawing herself to her full height.  "Aunt Sylvia
+says she'll try you.  Now you'll be good, won't you?" she added
+anxiously.  "It's only for two hours a day, Viny."
+
+"I'll be good," declared Viny, " 'strue's I live an' breeve."
+Meanwhile the darkest of plans ran riot in her little black head.
+
+"Heart's Delight--Heart's Delight!" sang Caryl's happy voice all
+that day; and like St. Patrick's poor imprisoned snake, she began
+to feel that to-morrow would never come.
+
+But hours come and go, and Caryl awoke the next morning, the
+brightest, cheeriest morning that ever called a happy girl out of
+bed.
+
+"Aunt Sylvia won't have many more days in that dark little room
+of hers," she cried to herself, throwing on her clothes rapidly. 
+"Oh, dear, where ARE the pins?  I can't bear to wait a minute any
+more than Viny, when I think of that dear lovely nest, and the
+bay-window, and all that sunshine.  I'll always have it full of
+flowers, and the bird shall sing all the time, and--and-- and--"
+
+The rest was lost in a dash of cold water over the rosy face, and
+Caryl soon presented herself at her aunt's bedside.
+
+"I'll do well enough while you are gone," said her aunt, smiling
+up from the pillows into the bright face above hers.  "Now you're
+not to worry about me in the least, for you cannot do justice to
+yourself if your mind is troubled.  Remember, Caryl, and be
+thorough in your efforts to teach your little pupils."
+
+"And Madam Grant is going to buy some of my panels and little
+plaques, I almost know," cried Caryl, bustling around for her
+aunt's long woolen wrapper and her day slippers, "for she told me
+she should want to see them some time.  Then, Auntie-- oh, then!"
+
+The young girl in her eagerness climbed upon the old bed to lay
+her fresh young cheek against the pale thin one.  How she longed
+to put brightness into the poor invalid's life!
+
+"Remember," said Aunt Sylvia lightly, to hide the tears in her
+voice, "your fortune's to be made.  Only be prompt and thorough,
+and put your whole mind to your work.  That is the secret of
+success."
+
+"I will, Auntie, oh, I WILL!" cried Caryl happily, "and Viny will
+do well, I guess," she added, the gleeful tones dropping down
+with an anxious note.
+
+"Viny will prove a capital little nurse, I expect," said Miss
+Sylvia cheerfully; "now the day won't wait, Caryl, so get your
+old auntie up."
+
+"My old auntie is just LOVELY," cried the girl, hopping off from
+the bed, and flying around merrily, well pleased at last when the
+invalid was in her chair, to see a little faint, pink color
+stealing up the wan cheek.
+
+"The best cap, Aunt Sylvia--the best cap!" she cried, running for
+the one with the fresh lavender ribbons.
+
+"What an extravagant puss!" exclaimed Aunt Sylvia, willing to
+humor the gay little heart, and tapping her cheek as the young
+girl settled the cap on the lovely gray hair.
+
+"Everything must be best to-day," cried Caryl recklessly.  "It's
+all fresh and new and fine!  All the world is made just for us."
+
+Maum Patty saw Caryl run down the dirty little brick path that
+served for all the lodgers in the old house as a walk to the
+broken-down gate, with her color-box under her arm, and her
+little roll of pictures in her hand, and heaved a sigh from her
+ample bosom.
+
+"Dat chile can't make no fortin' like she's a-tinkin' of, but
+laws!  let her try.  Here, yer Viny, yer, be off up to de Missis'
+room.  Scat now!  De pore lettle lamb," she mourned, as her
+hopeful grandchild unwillingly dragged her recreant feet off to
+her duties, leaving her grandmother to pursue her reflections in
+peace, "it mos' busts my heart to see her a-workin' an' de Missis
+keepin' up an' pretendin' she's as fine as a queen.  'Twarn't so
+in ole Patty's day.  Den dar wos plenty-pies and turkeys.  Lors,
+what stumpers!  An' hull bar'ls o' flour, an' sugar, an' a
+creation sight of eberyting in de beyeutiful house, an' now look
+at dis ole shell!"
+
+Maum Patty tossed her turban in intense scorn at each of the dark
+soot-begrimed walls of the place called kitchen.
+
+"Missis ud feel more like folks," she said at each disdainful
+scrutiny, "an' like as not git well, ef we cud cut sticks inter
+anudder home.  Ef de chile only CUD do it!"
+
+She peered anxiously down the dirty little brick walk again, then
+fetched a still longer sigh.
+
+"I don't darst to!" she declared in a mighty burst at last.  "I
+don't, cos wot ud keep us all from the pore-'us den.  It's every
+speck I kin do ter keep along of de Miss an' Car'l an' take keer
+of 'em wi'dout a cent o' pay; I don't darst tech my stockin' bag
+in de bank."
+
+Maum Patty always spoke of her scanty savings deposited in the
+neighboring bank, in this way, fondly supposing them in the
+original condition in which ten years ago, she had taken them
+there for future shield against sickness and old age.
+
+Meantime the little black nurse had begun her work.
+
+Peering around Miss Sylvia's half-closed door, Viny exclaimed to
+herself, "Umph!  she don't want me; guess she's a'readin' now. 
+I'll git into Miss Ca's room an' try on all her clo'es an'
+pertend I'm makin' calls, an' peek inter ebery single place whar
+I kin, an' I'll be a lady, an' dar sha'n't no one scold Viny."
+
+"Viny," called Miss Sylvia's soft voice, hearing a rustle at the
+door.
+
+"Dat's Jip she's a-talkin' ter, I reckon," said Viny, stealing
+off on her tiptoes down the hall, and sticking her fingers in her
+ears that she might hear no more troublesome conscience calls; "I
+seen him on de rug when I peeked in de crack.  Now den-- Whoop,
+says I, WHOOP!"
+
+She was safe now in Caryl's room, where the first thing she did
+was to indulge in a series of somersaults over the floor, and
+also, for variety, over the neat little white bed.  These
+afforded her intense comfort.  When she came up bright and
+shining after this celebration of her independence, she drew
+herself up with a serious face and proceeded at once to stern
+business.
+
+"Two hours ain't long," she observed wisely, "an' I mus' be back
+some of de time.  Jiminy!  she's forgot de key again!"  In truth,
+Caryl in her great excitement of hunting for some pictures packed
+away in her precious drawer, had forgotten to pocket the key that
+protected her few treasures.
+
+Ruthlessly, then, they were pulled out and overhauled, while Viny
+reveled in each new discovery, chattering softly to herself in
+glee.  She tied on all the bright bits of ribbons she could lay
+her hands on, to the little tiny tails adorning her head.  She
+twisted with great difficulty into a delicate white spenser that
+Caryl's mother had worn when a girl, saved for its tender
+reminiscence, and for the soft, fine old lace that would be of
+use to the young daughter by and by.  Viny was nowise disturbed
+in her enjoyment at certain ominous crackings and creakings that
+proclaimed the giving way of the delicate material.  Arrayed at
+last to her satisfaction, although the lace did hang down in some
+shreds where her impatient fingers had clutched it, she whirled
+and whirled in front of the old-fashioned glass with many
+grimaces, trying the effect of her new costume.
+
+"I want sumfin to shine," she said at last, tired of this; "jew-
+EL-lery an' stuns.  Le's see ef she's got any."
+
+Now in one corner of Caryl's drawer was a small black box;
+unfortunately, the lock was broken in childhood, and there had
+been no money to spare for repairs of anything of that sort, so
+she had tied it securely with the strongest of twine, and written
+on the cover in big schoolgirl hand the words, "DON'T ANY ONE
+DARE TO TOUCH!"  Although Viny was unable to decipher the writing
+in the least, it was fun enough to attack the string, which
+presently succumbed to the violent onslaught of tooth and nail,
+and the precious, precious bits of brightness were soon at the
+mercy of the little black fingers.
+
+Maum Patty was droning away in the kitchen some old Methodist
+hymns.  Viny was dimly conscious of a faint call from the
+invalid's room, as she drew out in the utmost delight an
+old-fashioned brooch with a green centre around which were some
+little sparkling things.
+
+She couldn't even say "Jiminy!" but simply held the pretty thing
+which seemed glad of its freedom from solitary confinement, and
+thus delighted to sparkle more than ever in its resting-place in
+the little black hand.  With trembling fingers she fastened it
+into the centre of the lace spenser, above her naughty little
+bosom, hurrying to the glass to do so, and had just taken one
+look, when a low cry of distress struck upon her ear.
+
+It filled her whole soul with dismay, rooting her like a little
+frozen thing to the spot.  It was Miss Sylvia, she knew.
+
+With one mighty effort she tore herself from the spot, and rushed
+headlong into the hall.  "Oh--oh--OH!" came from the invalid's
+room.
+
+At that Viny wrung her hands and writhed in dire distress.
+
+"She's a-dyin'!" she gasped, her knees knocking together in a
+lively manner; "I don't darst to look--I don't!--I've killed
+her!" And the whole flood of remorse sweeping her very soul, she
+turned and scuttled down the crooked little stairs and into the
+street.
+
+"A doctor!" was all her thought.  She remembered hearing Caryl
+say he lived in a big brown house that had lots of flowers in the
+windows.  But where upon the face of the earth the house was
+situated, Viny knew no more than a bird.  However, she must get
+him, so she dashed blindly on, turning the first corner to run
+headlong into the arms of a portly old lady who was placidly
+enjoying the fresh air and sunshine at the same time that she
+displayed her rich street attire.
+
+"Oh, my goodness!" cried the old lady, startled out of all fine
+speeches by the collision, and jumping in fright to the extreme
+edge of the curbstone.  Then seeing the cause, she cried in
+anger, "You miserable, dirty little thing you, you ve nearly
+killed me!"
+
+At the word "killed," Viny began to dance in terror on the
+sidewalk.  "I know it," she cried, "oh, dear, I know it!  she's
+dead, an' grandma 'll beat me."
+
+"And if you don't know any better," cried the old lady, vainly
+trying to settle her gray puffs as they were before, "than to run
+into people in this way, I'll have you arrested, I will!"
+
+At this Viny was completely overcome.  Her guilty conscience
+pictured all sorts of punishments; worse, far worse, than
+"grandma's" judgments, and, falling on her knees, she grasped the
+old lady's black satin gown and implored for mercy.
+
+The old lady, now her attention was drawn off from her own
+annoyance, settled her eyes on the brooch half concealed by a
+fold of the little lace spenser.
+
+"You wicked, bad child!" she exclaimed, seizing her arm and
+pouncing one stiffly gloved hand on the sparkling brooch; "you've
+stolen that!  It's bad enough to be run into by a dirty little
+thing fresh from Bedlam, without being wicked into the bargain. 
+That's TOO much!"
+
+The little black figure being too wretched to hear this tirade,
+could only mumble and wail and wriggle closer and closer into the
+folds of the rich gown.
+
+"Get out of my dress!" cried the old lady excitedly.  "Here, I'll
+call the police; if you don't let go of me this instant!  Stop, I
+say!  Po-o-lice!"
+
+Viny gave one violent jerk that brought her up to her feet, and
+with eyes distended in terror, started in wild despair across the
+street.  A pair of handsome bays were coming in their best step
+down from the Square, drawing a carriage full of people who
+seemed in the very best of spirits.
+
+"WHOA-A!"  A click, a rapid pull-up with all Thomas's best
+strength, and the horses fell back on their haunches just in time
+for the little lithe figure to dart under their pawing hoofs and
+be saved!  Everybody leaned out of the carriage for a glimpse of
+the child.
+
+"Why--why"-- A young girl's face paled, while the gray eyes
+flashed, and with one spring she was out and rushing after the
+small flying figure who in her fright had turned to flee the
+other way.
+
+"Look out, Caryl!" called the others in the carriage after her.
+
+"Oh, she'll be killed," moaned a little girl leaning out as far
+as she dared over the wheels.
+
+"And then she can't ever get into the pretty new house," wailed
+another.  "Oh, what shall we do!  Come back, Bessie!" she cried,
+tugging at her sister's skirts.  "Grandmamma, make her come into
+the carriage, I can't hold her!"
+
+But a crowd of people surging up around them at this moment, took
+off all attention from Bessie and everybody else but the little
+fugitive and her kind pursuer.  Caryl made her way through the
+crowd with flushed face, her little brown hat hanging by its
+strings around her neck, pantingly dragging after her the little
+black girl.
+
+"It's our Viny," she said, "and something is the matter with Aunt
+Sylvia!  Oh, Madam Grant!"
+
+"My poor child," said a sweet-faced woman, reaching out a kind
+arm, while the children seized hold of Caryl at every available
+point, between them dragging her and her charge into shelter,
+"don't be troubled.  Drive just as fast as you can, Thomas, to
+No. 27, you know," she commanded hurriedly.
+
+Then the first thing Caryl did was to turn upon Viny and unhook
+the precious brooch as a low sob came from her white lips.  "If
+it had been lost!"
+
+A soft hand stole under the little brown cloak to clasp her own;
+but Madam Grant said never a word.  She knew what the young
+girl's heart was too full for speech; that the mother's brooch
+would speak more tenderly than ever she could, of forgiveness to
+the little ignorant black girl.
+
+The children were all eyes at Viny and her costume, but they said
+never a word while she howled on steadily, only ejaculating in an
+occasional gust, "O Miss Sylvy--Miss Sylvy!"
+
+Caryl, white as a sheet, rushed out of the carriage and into the
+old lodging house the instant the horses paused by the broken
+gate.  Maum Patty was singing in the little kitchen the refrain
+she never indulged in except in her most complacent moods. 
+Flinging wide the door, Caryl panted out, "Oh, what is it!  Tell
+me at once!"
+
+"Lawks!" exclaimed Maum Patty, startled from her peaceful
+enjoyment, and turning so suddenly in the old calico-covered
+chair that she sent her spectacles spinning into the middle of
+the floor.  "Massy, how yer look!  Tain't wurth it--don't!  He
+hain't spile't it; I stopped him," she added exultingly.
+
+"Stopped what?" echoed Caryl in bewildered distress.  "Oh, do
+tell me!  Is'nt Aunt Sylvia sick?  Tell me, Maum Patty," she
+pleaded.  And she grasped the old woman's arm in an agony of
+suspense.
+
+"Massy, no!" declared Maum Patty in her most cheery tones, "she's
+ben a-laughin' fit to kill herself, an' I don't wonder, for the
+little rascal looked as cunnin' as an imp.  But I stopped him I
+stopped him!" she added triumphantly.
+
+Caryl had no strength to ask further, nor to stir.  The reaction
+was too great, and she leaned up against the door for support.
+
+"He shuck it, an' shuck it," said the old woman, laughing
+immoderately.  "Laws, how he shuck it--dat Jip did--yer aunt's
+beyeutiful cap with the new puppel ribbons!   Ye see it tumbled
+off; I dunno wedder she sneezed, or wot she did, but anyway, it
+tumbled off on de flo', and dat little pison scamp jumped up from
+his rug an' cotched it, an' she a-callin' an'a-callin, fit ver
+die--I'll snake dat Viny w'en I gets her.--Lawks, but I couldn't
+help it!   I laughed till I cried to see dat dog carry on. 
+Luckily I run up just when I did to pay my 'specs to de Missis,
+for--I stopped him, I stopped him," she brought herself up to
+declare, wiping her eyes.
+
+"Viny," said Caryl, in her little room, an hour after, when
+everything had been confessed and forgiven; when the delightful
+story had all come out, how they were really and truly to move
+that very afternoon; how Madam Grant had paid the rent in advance
+for the sunny rooms in the little cottage, and they were just
+driving around to surprise Aunt Sylvia when they witnessed Viny's
+escapade; how the carriage was to come before very long to take
+dear Aunt Sylvia to her longed-for refuge; how the price of the
+lessons was to go for new furniture; how everything for the rest
+of their lives was to be cheery, winsome, and bright to the very
+last degree--when it was all finished, Caryl looked kindly down
+into the sorry little black face--"Yes, Viny," she said with the
+happiest little laugh, "I shall have to forgive you, for it's the
+last naughty thing that you will ever do in the old home."        
+                           MARGARET SIDNEY.
+
+  Ole King Cole  Was a merry old soul,
+      And a merry old soul was he;
+  He called for his pipe,
+  And he called for his bowl,
+      And he called for his fiddlers three.
+
+  "Ding Dong bell!   Pussy's in the well!"
+      "Who put her in?''
+      "Little Tommy Green.''           
+"Who pulled her out?''           
+"Big Jack Stout.''
+                "What a naughty act was that,
+                To drown poor Pussy Cat!''
+
+
+
+ OUR TWO OPINIONS.
+
+ Us two wuz boys when we fell out--
+      Nigh to the age uv my youngest now;
+  Don't rec'lect what t'wuz about,
+      Some small deef'rence, I'll allow;
+  Lived next neighbors twenty years,
+      A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim,--
+  He havin' his opinyin uv me,
+      'Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him.
+
+ Grew up together 'nd wouldn't speak,
+      Courted sisters 'nd married' em, too;
+  'Tended same meetin' house onct a week,
+      A-hatin' each other through 'nd through!
+  But when Abe Linkern asked the West
+      F'r soldiers, we answered--me 'nd Jim--
+  He havin' his opinyin uv me,
+      'Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him.
+
+ But down in Tennessee one night
+      There wuz sounds uv firin' far away,
+  'Nd the Sergeant allowed ther'd be a fight
+      With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day;
+  'Nd as I wuz thinkin' of Lizzie 'nd home,
+      Jim stood afore me, long and slim--
+  He havin' his opinyin uv me,
+      'Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him.
+
+ Seemed like we knew ther wuz goin' to be
+      Serious trouble f'r me and him;
+ Us two shuck hands, did Jim 'nd me.
+      But nearer a word from me or Jim!
+  He went his way, 'nd I went mine,
+      'Nd into the battle's roar went we--
+  I havin' my opinyin uv Jim,
+      'Nd he havin' his opinyin uv me.
+
+ Jim never came back from the war again,
+      But I haint forgot that last, last night,
+  When, waitin' fur orders, us two men
+      Made up, 'nd shook hands afore the fight
+  'Nd after it all, its soothin' to know
+      That here be I, 'nd yonder's Jim--
+  He havin' his opinyin uv me,      
+      'Nd I havin' my opinion uv him.
+                          EUGENE FIELD.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of Twilight Stories, by Various Authors
+
diff --git a/old/twils10.zip b/old/twils10.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3855e84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/twils10.zip