WHO IS THIS BOY? Page 32.
 
 STORIES AND POEMS, 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 CAROLINE OILMAN, 
 
 AND 
 
 CAROLINE HOWARD JERVEY. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 LEE & SHEPARD. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 LEE, SHEPARD, & DILLINGHAM. 
 1872.-
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 
 
 By LEE & SHEPARD, 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed by ALFRED MCDGB & SON, 
 34 School Street, Boston, Mass.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN OF ALL AGES. 
 
 BY MRS. CAROLINE OILMAN. 
 
 FACE 
 
 The Bird's Nest n 
 
 Fanny II 
 
 The Plea for the Mouse 12 
 
 The Kite 12 
 
 Who made the Flowers 12 
 
 The Infant's Grave c 13 
 
 Talking Pertly 13 
 
 Call to Sunday School 14 
 
 The Sailor's Daughter ..;........ 14 
 
 Annie in the Graveyard . 14 
 
 The Schoolboy and his Eight Troubles 15 
 
 Evening Hymns ............21 
 
 Home Lectures 21 
 
 Youth ., 21 
 
 Of Such is the Kingdom of Heaven 22 
 
 The Child's Wish in June .23 
 
 The American Boy 23 
 
 What Would You Choose ?. . - .24 
 
 The Dumb Lunatic 28 
 
 Jairus' Daughter 28
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PACE 
 
 Invitation to a Bird 29 
 
 The Little Birds' Answer 29 
 
 New Year's Day 30 
 
 The Sleeping Baby : 30 
 
 Father Takes Me Up 30 
 
 The Boat 30 
 
 Poor Willie 31 
 
 Invitation to the Ant 31 
 
 The Ant's Answer 31 
 
 Who is this Boy ? . . . 32 
 
 Nancy Ray 32 
 
 "Jesus Took Little Children in His Arms" 32 
 
 The Youngest One 33 
 
 To a Butterfly at Church 33 
 
 Mother, What is Death ? 33 
 
 Wishes 34 
 
 Jephthah's Rash Vow 35 
 
 Thought on Zerlina Thorn 37 
 
 On the Christening of a Little Child 37 
 
 To ..." 38 
 
 The Mysterious Chair 38 
 
 Flight of the Muskoyco Indian ......... 40 
 
 Maiden and the Marine 41 
 
 The Child on the Ocean 42 
 
 Seventeen 42 
 
 Joshua's Courtship ........... 43 
 
 Mary Ann Gibbs of Stored 43 
 
 The Sentinel 48 
 
 Thoughts on the Portrait of Stuart's Washington 48
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 STORIES AND TALES FOR THE YOUNG. 
 BY MRS. CAROLINE OILMAN. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Holidays at the Plantation 51 
 
 The Boy Who Wished it would Rain Money 60 
 
 Punctuation . . 65 
 
 Master Dicky Bluff 67 
 
 A Little Girl that Bites her Nails 68 
 
 The New Scholar 69 
 
 Cinder Claws 71 
 
 St. Nicholas 73 
 
 The Masks 76 
 
 The Wagon Boy 85 
 
 A Sullivan's Island Story ..........87 
 
 The Young Mathematician . . 102 
 
 Tiny Telia 105 
 
 The May Day Wreath 107 
 
 The French Traveller 109 
 
 The Missionaries 115 
 
 Mr. Niblo, the Bashful Lecturer 128 
 
 The Young Conspirators . . . .139 
 
 Good Night 152 
 
 The Lost Mail 153 
 
 Mr. Inkliii . 166 
 
 FAIRY LAND, AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 BY MRS. CAROLINE H. JERVEY. 
 
 Fairy Land 177 
 
 Lost and Found 196 
 
 Thoughts About the Moon 197 
 
 What Becomes of Pins .......... 199
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Rich Child and the Poor Child 208 
 
 The Mouse Who Went to See the World 209 
 
 Nice Habits 218 
 
 Bad Temper and its Cure 219 
 
 Lillian 237 
 
 "I Wish I Had" 239 
 
 Our Father Who Art in Heaven 249 
 
 Morning and Evening Prayer . 249 
 
 The Wish Granted 250 
 
 The Little Garden 260 
 
 Ten Stops . 261 
 
 The School-Girl's Quarrel . . 261 
 
 The Wind 264 
 
 The Bird that Flew in through the Window 265 
 
 The Broken Necklace 266 
 
 Turn Away 283 
 
 The Fall from the Swing 284 
 
 Whitfield 290 
 
 Day and Night *.. 291
 
 OUR WELCOME TO YOUNG READERS. 
 
 BY MRS. CAROLINE OILMAN. 
 
 WHAT children come with busy 
 feet, 
 
 Our double offering now to greet ? 
 Here 's Eliza, here is Sue, 
 Here is bright-eyed Sarah, too ! 
 Here are Mary and Maria, 
 Here are Peter and Sophia ; 
 Here are Thomas and Amelia, 
 Here is Charles, and here Cornelia ; 
 Isaac, with his laughing eye, 
 And pleasant Julius standing by. 
 Here is David, here is Arthur, 
 Here are Rosamond and Martha, 
 Here are Benjamin and James, 
 'T is hard to think of all their names. 
 Here are Joe and Henrietta, 
 Here are George and Violetta ; 
 There Lois now extends her hands, 
 And Lilian for our welcome stands, 
 While Georgia turns her pretty head, 
 To find young Roland near her tread. 
 Matilda gently comes along. 
 While Philip, too, is in the throng. 
 Here are Catherine and Theresa, 
 Christiana and Louisa, 
 
 Esther and young Margaret, 
 Emeline and Harriet 
 Frederic and Adeline, 
 Justina sweet, and Valentine. 
 Here are Nathan and Eugene, 
 'While Archibald comes in between. 
 Here are Jane and Theodore, 
 Rosaline and Eleanor ; 
 Here are Lucy and Pamelia, 
 With Alonzo and Cecelia ; 
 Here is Henry close to Sam, 
 You can't think how confused I am. 
 Here comes Virginia and Stephen, 
 And Mary Ann to make it even. 
 Here is Charlotte, here is Ellen, 
 Here is Francis, here is Helen ; 
 Here's Rebecca, next to Ruth, 
 The children puzzle me in truth ! 
 Here is Clara with Susannah, 
 And Alexander following Hannah ; 
 Here 's Nathaniel come to meet me, 
 And Valeria runs to greet me, 
 Now Amanda trips before, 
 Daniel, and Emma, and some more ; 
 Robert and Ephraim skipping too,
 
 s 
 
 OUR WELCOME TO YOUNG READERS. 
 
 And Richard, with his " How d'ye do. 
 
 Octavius hastens full of fun, 
 
 Here Caroline and Julia run.* 
 
 See William and young Lydia meet, 
 
 And Abby close on Frances' feet 
 
 See Laura, Horace, Isabel, 
 
 Edward and John, I know them well, 
 
 Eugenia, Edith, Maurice, too, 
 
 And Alfred all of them in view. 
 
 Augustus and Elizabeth, 
 
 But stop and let me catch my breath ; 
 
 Here are Louis and Floranthe ; 
 
 Here are Agnes and lanthe, 
 
 Here is blushing Adelaide, 
 
 And Clarissa, the pretty maid. 
 
 Joanna too, and Amy, see, 
 
 'T is fortunate they all agree. 
 
 But listen, listen, what a noise ! 
 Here run another troop of boys ; 
 Andrew and Edmund shouting loud, 
 And Christopher to swell the crowd. 
 Edwin and Gilbert following on, 
 Bertha, too, and Jonathan. 
 Lawrence, Alice, Jacob, too, 
 And after Louis, master Hugh, 
 Owen, and Patrick ; are these all ? 
 Oh, no ; here Walter comes with Paul, 
 And hand in hand with little Annie, 
 My darling neighbor, black-eyed Fanny. 
 Now children, dear, go read your book, 
 And on the pretty pictures look ; 
 I hope you'll take as much delight in 
 Reading, as I have in writing.
 
 POEMS 
 
 FOR CHILDREN OF ALL AGES, 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE OILMAN.
 
 FANNY. Page 11.
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 THE BIRD'S NEST. 
 
 ON a bright and pleasant day, 
 John and James went out to play : 
 As they stopp'd a while to rest, 
 On a tree they spied a nest, 
 Pretty eggs were lying there, 
 Pretty eggs all placed with care. 
 
 " Come," says Johnny, with a laugh, 
 "You and I will each take half; 
 And the rest we'll give to Ann." 
 So towards the tree they ran. 
 
 Just then, upon a branch they heard 
 The fluttering of the mother-bird, 
 And a note that seem'd to say, 
 " Will you take my eggs away, 
 
 " When I've made my nest with care, 
 And put them all so nicely there ? 
 Oh, do not, pray, my nest destroy ! 
 Have pity on me, little boy. 
 
 " When you in the cradle lay, 
 
 No one took you far away, 
 
 Safe you were, and smit'd and smil'd, 
 
 A little bright and happy child. 
 
 " And your mother loved you so, 
 Better than you e'er can know. 
 Then do not take my nest away, 
 Little boy, I beg and pray." 
 
 John and James said not a word, 
 And their little hearts were stirr'd ; 
 They wip'd their eyes and went to play, 
 And felt quite happy all that day. 
 
 FANNY. 
 
 HRHERE'S not a little girl I meet, 
 -L Not even Sue or Annie, 
 That seems to me more fair and sweet 
 Than my young neighbor, Fanny. 
 
 'Tis not because her eyes are black, 
 And look so bright and funny ; 
 
 'Tis not because her breath is pure, 
 As new-mown hay or honey. 
 
 'Tis not because at dancing-school 
 
 Her step is light and airy, 
 Or that she skips about the house 
 
 Just like a little fairy.
 
 12 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 'Tis not because in Worcester 
 
 She learns a " monstrous " column ; 
 
 Nor that she sits in company 
 Sometimes quite still and solemn. 
 
 Nor is it that her little hands 
 
 She waves about so gaily, 
 When telling every artless thought 
 
 That fills her bosom daily. 
 
 It is because good-nature comes 
 To light each limb and feature, 
 
 That Fanny always seems to me 
 A charming little creature. 
 
 THE PLEA FOR THE MOUSE. 
 
 OH, ma, speak to my pussy and 
 kitty; 
 
 They are dragging all over the house, 
 Without any mercy or pity, 
 A poor little innocent mouse ! 
 
 I hate to see such wicked cunning, 
 
 For pussy allows it to go, 
 And just as the mouse thinks of run- 
 ning, 
 
 She catches and teases it so. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 My son, our old puss cannot reason, 
 And, therefore, she is not a sinner ; 
 
 Perhaps this is not hungry season, 
 And this teasing is . cooking her 
 dinner. 
 
 But when children, my darling, are 
 cruel, 
 
 And injure the brutes heaven made, 
 They sully the beautiful jewel, 
 
 That with a kind heart is inlaid. 
 
 THE KITE. 
 
 OH look at my kite, 
 In its airy flight ; 
 How gaily it flies, 
 Right up to the skies, 
 With its white breast stirr'd, 
 Just like a bird I 
 
 Pretty kite, pretty kite, 
 In your airy flight, 
 What do you spy, 
 In the bright blue sky ? 
 
 I wish I were you, 
 
 To be there, too, 
 
 Oh, then, how soon 
 
 I would peep at the moon, 
 
 And see the man there, 
 Who gives me a stare, 
 When I look up at night 
 At his beautiful light ! 
 
 WHO MADE THE FLOWERS? 
 A LITTLE child, who loves to see 
 xl. The bright sun shining clear, 
 Is often asking, " Where is He 
 Who placed the bright sun here ? " 
 
 She sees the moonlight's silver gleam, 
 And stars with twinkling ray, 
 
 And says, " Who made that gentle 
 
 beam, 
 Almost more fair than day ? " 
 
 She gathers for her mother dear 
 
 A blossom rich and fair, 
 And asks, " Who placed these colors 
 here, 
 
 And mixed them with such care ? "
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 'Tis God, my child, who will impart 
 More glorious objects still, 
 
 A temper mild, a feeling heart, 
 And strength to do His will. 
 
 THE INFANT'S GRAVE. 
 
 COME, mother, will you go and see 
 Where little brother lies ? 
 " I cannot, love, for if I should, 
 The tears would dim my eyes. 
 
 " Not yet, not yet I cannot gaze 
 
 Upon that chilly clod ! 
 Better it is for me to think 
 
 That he is with his God. 
 
 " A few short months, and grass will 
 
 grow 
 
 Over his little grave, 
 And then, perhaps, the churchyard 
 
 flower 
 Will spring and gently wave. 
 
 " Then will we go, and I will see 
 Where my sweet baby lies ; 
 
 For God will soothe my breaking heart, 
 And dry my weeping eyes." 
 
 M 
 
 TALKING PERTLY. 
 
 AMMA, I've lost my thimble, 
 
 And my spool has roll'd away : 
 My arms are aching dreadfully, 
 And I want to go and play. 
 
 I've spent the livelong morning, 
 Picking out this endless seam, 
 
 So many pieces in a shirt, 
 Is quite a foolish scheme. 
 
 If / could set the fashion, 
 
 I know what I would do ; 
 I'd not be troubling people, 
 
 And make them sit and sew. 
 
 I'd put some homespun on their necks, 
 
 And sew it all around ; 
 And make them look like cotton bags, 
 
 Placed endwise on the ground. 
 
 I hate to make these button-holes, 
 
 I do not love to stitch ; 
 My threads keep breaking all the time, 
 
 With just a little twitch. 
 
 There's Johnny playing marbles, 
 
 And Susan skipping rope ; 
 They have finished all their easy tasks, 
 
 While I must sit and mope. 
 
 I think, mamma, 'tis very hard, 
 That you should keep me here, 
 
 When the blue sky looks so temptingly, 
 And the sun is shining clear. 
 
 Mamma ! She's gone and left me, 
 And closely shut the door ; 
 
 Mamma, mamma, come back again ! 
 I will not grumble more. 
 
 Oh, dear, how foolish I have been ! 
 
 From dinner I must stay ; 
 Mamma, mamma, come back again ! 
 
 Forgive your child, I pray. 
 
 Alas, she's reached the balcony, 
 
 And means not to return ! 
 Oh, what a look she cast on me, 
 
 So sad and yet so stern !
 
 14 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 CALL TO SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 WAKE, sister, wake, 'tis a holy 
 day; 
 
 We must not linger here ; 
 The birds are up, and have soared away, 
 And are singing their anthems clear. 
 
 Young flowers have open'd their lovely 
 
 eyes, 
 
 And their rich perfume have given ; 
 And they fix their looks on the distant 
 
 skies, 
 
 As if they knew something of 
 Heaven. 
 
 We will go to the house of praise and 
 prayer, 
 
 The altar of youthful love ; 
 And Jesus in spirit will meet us there, 
 
 And bear our off 'ring above 1 . 
 
 Then wake, sister, wake, 'tis a happy 
 
 day; 
 
 Perchance from his blessed throng 
 Some youthful seraph has winged his 
 
 way, 
 To join in our Sunday-song. 
 
 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 SAFE rolls the the ship at anchor 
 now, 
 
 The sailor clears his anxious brow, 
 And with a deep, but silent vow 
 
 Blesses his little daughter. 
 
 His duty far has bid him roam, 
 Amid the dash of ocean foam, 
 But welcome now the sailor's home, 
 And she, his little daughter 1 
 
 Her velvet arm is o'er him thrown, 
 Her words breathe forth a gladsome 
 
 tone, 
 He feels that she is all his own, 
 
 The seaman's little daughter. 
 
 " Father you shall not quit your child, 
 And go upon the seas so wild, 
 For scarcely has my mother smiled 
 Upon her little daughter. 
 
 " We care not for the coral gay, 
 Nor costly shells when you're away ; 
 Dear father, with my mother stay, 
 
 And love your little daughter. 
 
 We hear the fierce wind rushing by, 
 And then my mother heaves a sigh; 
 And when it storms we sit and cry 
 My mother and your daughter." 
 
 Her head upon his shoulder lay, 
 He smoothed her silken ringlets' play, 
 She fell asleep in that sweet way, 
 The sailorls little daughter. 
 
 ANNIE IN THE GRAVEYARD. 
 
 SHE bounded o'er the graves 
 With a buoyant step of mirth ; 
 She bounded o'er the graves 
 Where the weeping willow waves, 
 Like a creature not of earth. 
 
 Her hair was blown aside, 
 
 And her eyes were glittering bright ; 
 Her hair was blown aside, 
 And her little hands spread wide, 
 
 With an innocent delight
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 She spelt the lettered word 
 
 That registers the dead, 
 She spelt the lettered word, 
 And her busy thoughts were stirred 
 
 With pleasure as s'.e read. 
 
 She stopped and culled a leaf 
 Left fluttering on a rose, 
 
 She stopped and culled a leaf 
 
 Pure monument of grief, 
 That in our churchyard grows. 
 
 She culled it with a smile, 
 
 'Twas near her sister's mound 
 She culled it with a smile, 
 And played with it awhile, 
 Then scattered it around. 
 
 I did not chill her heart 
 Nor turn its gush to tears ; 
 
 I did not chill her heart ; 
 
 Oh, bitter drops will start 
 Full soon in coming years. 
 
 THE SCHOOLBOY AND HIS EIGHT TROUBLES. 
 
 THE BOY IS COLD. 
 
 I THINK I might get near the grate, 
 My toes they grow colder and 
 
 colder; 
 
 I am sure I wish, early and late, 
 That L could be bigger and older. 
 
 There's grandma' stowed close by the 
 
 fire, 
 And she's managed to squeeze in my 
 
 brother; 
 
 Aunt Polly has got her desire, 
 And sits like a toast next to mother. 
 
 My teeth they all shake in my head, 
 And my hands are like skimm'd milk 
 so blue; 
 
 And my feet feel as if -they were dead, 
 And I'm sure I can 't tell what to do. 
 
 I have tried once or twice to go near, 
 And they cry out, " Oh, don't be a 
 baby, 
 
 Run about and you'll warm yourself, 
 
 dear ; " 
 
 They think I've no feeling then, may 
 be. 
 
 I just wish that from now till to-morrow 
 They and I could change fingers and 
 
 toes, 
 
 And then they'd find out to their sor- 
 row, 
 
 How a fellow must feel when he's 
 froze. 
 
 THE BOY'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 OH, mother, won't you speak to 
 Kate ? 
 
 I have not had enough to eat : 
 And when she spreads a little bread 
 She thinks she gives me such a treat. 
 
 I only wish I was a man, 
 To have my butter an inch thick,
 
 i6 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 And not be talking all the time, 
 
 How this and that will make me sick. 
 
 Poor little boys are sadly used, 
 They cannot have the thing they wish; 
 
 While grown-up people help themselves 
 To what they like from every dish. 
 
 As soon as I become a man, 
 I'll have a pie as tall as you, 
 
 With door and windows like a house, 
 And lin'd with plums all through and 
 through. 
 
 And I'll go in whene'er' I choose, 
 And sit as snug as Jacky Horner ; 
 
 And even Katey, though she's cross, 
 Shall sometimes come anu .at a cor- 
 ner. 
 
 My windows all with Mly made, 
 
 Like Boston glass shall glisten bright, 
 
 And sugar candy for the frames, 
 At every turn shall meet my sight. 
 
 My floors shall be of gingerbread, 
 Because that's pretty hard, you know, 
 
 Sanded all o'er with sugar plums, 
 Rolling about where'er I go. 
 
 And mother, Kate, my cellaret 
 
 Shall be all butter, shap'd with ice, 
 
 And then we'll see if I must fret 
 Because I want a little slice. 
 
 And mother, oh, she's gone away ! 
 
 And Katey, what, you've left me, 
 
 too? 
 I won't stand talking to the walls, 
 
 But go and find some work to do. 
 
 THE DRUMSTICK. 
 
 IT seems very strange, and I can't 
 make it out, 
 
 Why the drumstick is- given to me ; 
 I think I deserve a nice part of the fowl, 
 Yet forever the drumstick I see. 
 
 I pass the white meaj: to Miss Ander- 
 son's plate, 
 
 And old Mr. Rich takes the thighs ; 
 The side-bones go off at a terrible rate, 
 
 And the pinion to Sister Ann flics. 
 
 If I were to count all the drumsticks 
 
 I've had 
 
 Since the pap-spoon was taken away, 
 And I've sitten at table with women 
 
 and men, 
 You would hardly believe what I say. 
 
 'T is said that a part helps a part, and 
 I'm sure, 
 
 If that is the state of the case, 
 I think I can enter before very long 
 
 With " Bonnets of Blue " for a race. 
 
 I'm sure I'm not greedy, but really, papa, 
 If you give me the drumstick again, 
 
 Your son, in the place of a leg like 
 
 your own, 
 Will exhibit the shank of a crane. 
 
 THE NEW BOOTS. 
 
 /~~"*OME, mc.her, and look at these 
 V beautiful boots, 
 
 Just hear what an elegant creak ! 
 I declare, there's no word so sweet in 
 the world, 
 
 As that which a new boot can speak !
 
 OF ALL ACES. 
 
 Take care, sister Anna, don't come in 
 
 my way, 
 
 Run farther, you troublesome chit, 
 You would look at my boots ? Oh, very 
 
 well, dear, 
 Come and see how completely they fit. 
 
 Why, really, the child has a share of 
 
 good taste, 
 
 Just see her admiring gaze ! 
 Come, come, sister Nanny, and sit in 
 
 my lap, 
 Little children have such pretty ways. 
 
 Pray, mamma, don't look anxiously 
 
 down at my toes, 
 
 I assure you they don't hurt at all ; 
 They only look tight, as is often the 
 
 case, 
 
 I would not have bought them too 
 small. 
 
 Young Loring and I chose our boots 
 
 at one store, 
 
 His foot is the size of my own ; 
 But really, mamma, he bought .his so 
 
 large, 
 That he looks like a clown overgrown. 
 
 Hark ! Toney is coming, now don't 
 
 say a word, 
 
 Just see how his white eyes will shine. 
 Hear, Toney, my boy, what an elegant 
 
 creak 
 
 Proceeds from these new boots of 
 mine ! 
 
 Did you ever behold a fit more com- 
 plete ? 
 Why turn your big eyes to the wall ? 
 
 " He new, and he bright, Massa Johnny, 
 
 for true, 
 And pride neber feel pain at all." 
 
 OH, mamma, I am mortified, hurt 
 and ashamed, 
 
 And scarce can look up in your face : 
 Young Loring, who never could beat 
 
 me before, 
 Has beat me to day in a race. 
 
 You laugh ! I would thank you, ma', 
 
 never to laugh, 
 
 As you do when I speak in this style ; 
 I think I would sometimes prefer to 
 
 be whipped 
 Than to see that half-comical smile. 
 
 Well, mamma, we were walking just 
 
 out of the town, 
 When Loring proposed we should 
 
 run ; 
 You know what a fellow I am for a 
 
 race, 
 And I thought to have excellent fun. 
 
 So we started together, the boys look- 
 ing on, 
 
 My boots felt as tight as a vise ; 
 I hobbled and stumbled, just ready to 
 
 fall, 
 While Loring was off in a trice. 
 
 The boys shouted, "New boots, run, 
 
 new boots, hurrah ! " 
 Their ridicule went to my soul; 
 I hopped like a turkey, and was not 
 
 halfway, 
 When Loring was safe at the goal.
 
 i8 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN- 
 
 My toes were all cramp'd and my ankles 
 
 were sore, 
 
 And I made such a shocking grimace, 
 That Loring, though he's such a gen- 
 tleman, ma', 
 
 Could not help laughing out in my 
 face. 
 
 And big Billy Blackford took out his 
 
 hair comb, 
 
 And said, as he sat on the grass, 
 " Though yqur boots spoil your racing, 
 
 they'll serve a good turn, 
 And answer right well for a glass." 
 
 Pray, hand me my old boots, dear ma, 
 
 if you please, 
 
 And Toney, do stretch these a bit ; 
 No grinning, you rogue, they're scarcely 
 
 too small, 
 
 Just stretch them; I know they will 
 fit 
 
 THE BOY IN TROUBLE. 
 
 NOW look at this hat ! is it fit to 
 be seen, 
 
 All battered and tattered and torn ? 
 I can 't go to King street to get an ice- 
 cream, 
 I declare, it is not to be bornt. 
 
 Nay, mother, you need not be shaking 
 
 your head, 
 
 And looking as much as to say, 
 That you think I am careless, and all 
 
 about that, 
 In your solemn, but good-natur'd way. 
 
 I am sure that American hats are not 
 
 strong, 
 Or they never would wear out so 
 
 fast, 
 And here I must worry till Christmas, 
 
 you say, 
 / do n't think this old thing will last 
 
 To be sure, I have kicked it about for 
 
 a ball 
 
 And stuff d it with ginger cake, too ; 
 And once I let it drop into Bennett's 
 
 mill pond 
 While paddling in William's canoe. 
 
 And onoe, I remember, I felt very dry, 
 And just fill'd jt up at the pump ; 
 
 And once I was hunting with Dinah for 
 
 eggs, 
 And gave it a terrible thump. 
 
 I confess the two kittens did make it 
 
 their bed, 
 
 But then they were white as the snow, 
 And puss laid them carefully into the 
 
 hat, 
 So I could not refuse her, you know. 
 
 This dent on the top was an accident, 
 
 ma', 
 
 And that cut on the edge was an- 
 other ; 
 And this stain with the physic you gave 
 
 me one day, 
 
 And that hole, I got playing with 
 brother. 
 
 Master Robert call'd yesterday, dress'd 
 
 quite in style, 
 And asked me to go out to ride,
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 But I had to say no, for a terrible sight 
 My old hat would have been by his 
 side. 
 
 And Miss Emma came also, that sweet 
 
 little girl, 
 
 And I wanted to see her home so, 
 With her little straw bonnet, all trimm'd 
 
 up with blue, 
 But how shabby I look'd for a beau. 
 
 Oh, dear! I must wait as I have done 
 
 before, 
 
 Since dollars appear very few, 
 But I tell you when once I get rid of 
 
 this hat, 
 I mean to take care of the new. 
 
 NOT READY FOR SCHOOL. 
 
 IT) RAY, where is my hat? It is 
 JL taken away, 
 
 And my shoe-strings are all in a knot ! 
 I can't find a thing where it should be 
 to-day, 
 
 Though I've hunted in every spot 
 
 My si ate and my pencil nowhere can be 
 
 found, 
 Though I placed them as safe as can 
 
 be; 
 While my books and my maps are all 
 
 scattered around, 
 And hop about just like a flea. 
 
 Do, Rachel, just look for my atlas up 
 
 stairs, 
 My ^iisop is somewhere there, too ; 
 
 And, sister, just brush down these troub- 
 lesome hairs, 
 And, mother, just fasten my shoe. 
 
 And, sister, beg father to write an 
 
 excuse ; 
 
 But stop, he will only say " No " ; 
 And go on with a smile, and keep read- 
 ing the news, 
 While everything bothers me so. 
 
 My satchel is heavy, and ready to fall, 
 
 This old pop-gun is breaking my map ; 
 I'll have nothing* to do with the pop- 
 gun or ball, 
 
 There's no playing for such a poor 
 chap. 
 
 The town clock will strike in a minute, 
 
 I fear, 
 
 Then away to the foot I must sink ; 
 There, look at my Eaton has tumbled 
 
 down here, 
 And my Worcester's covered with ink. 
 
 I wish I 'd not lingered at breakfast the 
 
 last, 
 Though the toast and the butter were 
 
 fine ; 
 I think that our Edward must eat pretty 
 
 fast, 
 To be off when I haven't done mine. 
 
 Now Edward and Harry protest they 
 
 won't wait, 
 And . beat on the door with their 
 
 sticks ; 
 I suppose they will say / was dressing 
 
 too late ; 
 To-morrow, /'// be up at six.
 
 2O 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 IN TOO GREAT A HURRY. 
 
 NOW, mother, don't laugh, because 
 I've returned 
 
 Without a new hat on my head ; 
 I am sure I am weary us weary can be, 
 And puzzled enough, as you said. 
 
 In the first place, I went to those big- 
 looking stores, 
 Where the caps all so splendidly 
 
 shine ; 
 But the caps looked o stylish I could 
 
 not decide, 
 If a hat or a cap should be mine. 
 
 An elegant blue cap delighted me first, 
 Which I felt quite determined to 
 
 buy; 
 But just as I found that it fitted my 
 
 head, 
 A brown one attracted my eye. 
 
 I put on the brown, and it set like a T, 
 
 So I took out the money to pay ; 
 When Johnny came in, said, " Don't be 
 
 in haste ; 
 
 You have not been to Smith's store 
 to-day." 
 
 I looked at the pretty brown cap as he 
 
 spoke. 
 John urged, though I wanted to 
 
 linger ; 
 " Why the fashion at Smith's is as 
 
 handsome again," 
 
 And he snapped at my brown with 
 his finger. 
 
 So, mother, I thought I would look at 
 
 his choice, 
 
 For 'tis right to look out for the best ; 
 And an elegant sight I confess was dis- 
 played ; 
 
 There were black, brown, and blue, 
 and the rest. 
 
 I first tried on one, and then tried an- 
 other ; 
 One was large, and the other too 
 
 small ; 
 The clock then struck three, and I had 
 
 to come home 
 Without bringing any at all. 
 
 I know I was stubborn, and said I 
 
 would go, 
 
 But I've tried it enough to my sor- 
 row ; 
 So I hope you'll forgive me this time, 
 
 mother dear, 
 
 And I'll take what you choose me 
 to-morrow. 
 
 CANNOT WRITE POETRY. 
 
 MY paper is ruled very neat, 
 Father's made me an elegant 
 pen ; 
 I sit quite upright on my seat, 
 
 And have everything ready; what 
 then ? 
 
 I have scratched my head several times, 
 And nothing comes out of it yet ; 
 
 For my life I can't make out the 
 
 rhymes ; 
 Not a word can I think of but fret.
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 21 
 
 Dear mother, do help me a bit, 
 
 I'm puzzled, no matter, here 
 goes, 
 
 But how the right measure to hit, 
 I have a good subject, I know-s. 
 
 There was once a widow in trouble, 
 She was aged and old, and advanced; 
 
 Not a word can I think of but bubble, 
 And it won't do to say that she 
 danced. 
 
 A widow she was of great feeling, 
 Of great feeling this widow was she ; 
 
 'Twill be shocking to speak of her 
 
 squealing, 
 And how can I lug in a flea ! 
 
 This widow to woe was a votary, 
 Oh, mother ! you laugh at her woes, 
 
 And say I had better quit poetry, 
 Until I know how to write prose. 
 
 EVENING HYMN. 
 
 JHT'IS evening, and the skies 
 J. With starry lights are spread 
 
 How very fair the moonbeams rise, 
 And silver radiance shed ! 
 
 I will retire to rest, 
 
 'Neath Heaven's o'er-arching sky, 
 And feel my nightly visions blest, 
 
 For God is watching by. 
 
 And if the wing of death 
 
 Should sweep o'er my repose, 
 
 Resign'd, I'll yield to Him my breath, 
 And rise as Jesus rose. 
 
 HOME-SICKNESS. 
 
 THE morning sun shines brightly, 
 But it shineth not for me ; 
 The breeze is blowing lightly, 
 But my spirit is not free. 
 
 There's many a hand to meet me, 
 
 But mine is sadly given ; 
 I thank the friends who greet me, 
 
 But my heart is chilled and riven. 
 
 My former home was lowly, 
 And this is rich and rare ; 
 
 But to me 'tis melancholy, 
 And that was bright and fair. 
 
 I know here is much smiling^ 
 
 And graceful, easy mirth, 
 And ways of kind beguiling, 
 
 And words of gentle birth ; 
 
 And I try to check my sadness, 
 And look as bright as they, 
 
 And call a fitful gladness 
 To wile the long, long day. 
 
 If I could but see my mother, 
 And press her cheek to mine, 
 
 Or take my darling brother, 
 My arms about him twine. 
 
 If e'en my loving dog were here, 
 
 To eat from out my hand, 
 I think I should not shed a tear 
 
 Amid this stranger band. 
 
 I 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 SAW a streamlet flow, 
 With sparkles bright and free,
 
 22 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 Still dancing to and fro, 
 To meet the rolling sea. 
 
 It heeded not the rock, 
 
 Whose shadow frown'd about ; 
 It heeded not the shock 
 
 Of gnarl'd roots spreading out 
 
 And when a careless hand 
 Disturb'd its sparkling breast, 
 
 And loos'd its wavy band, 
 It dimpled into rest 
 
 On, on the streamlet went 
 Beneath the burning noon ; 
 
 And onward in content 
 Beneath the midnight moon. 
 
 And thus in gay delight 
 Does youth in beauty play " 
 
 Through visions of the night, 
 And pastimes of the day. 
 
 "OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM 
 OF HEAVEN." 
 
 OWHY should children fear 
 j When sickness dims the eye, 
 To spread their spirits' wings 
 And soar beyond the sky ; 
 Since Jesus Christ his word has given, 
 That such as they shall enter Heaven ? 
 
 Then weep not, parents dear, 
 
 Because we go above ; 
 We leave you here below 
 
 To seek our Father's love ; 
 For Jesus Christ his word has given, 
 That such as we shall enter Heaven. 
 
 Sigh not o'er our pale brows, 
 Where death has set his seal ; 
 
 Nor shrink at those chill hands 
 That have no power to feel ; 
 
 For Jesus Christ his word has given, 
 
 That such as vie shall enter Heaven. 
 
 Muse often on our graves, 
 
 But not in stern despair ; 
 Celestial thoughts will spring 
 
 And teach kind lessons there ; 
 And ask if Christ his word has given, 
 That parted friends shall enter Heaven. 
 
 Let our young playmates come, 
 And view the grassy mound, 
 
 And plant their early flowers, 
 As if 'twere happy ground ; 
 
 For Jesus Christ his word has given, 
 
 That such as they shall enter Heaven. 
 
 Let old men wander here, 
 
 And with a natural sigh, 
 Think why we've reached our home 
 
 When they are lingering by ; 
 And ask if Christ his word has given, 
 That their gray hairs shall enter 
 Heaven. 
 
 And let the wordly come, 
 
 Pause on their busy way, 
 And while a transient tear 
 
 Drops for our lifeless clay, 
 Ask their own hearts if Christ has 
 
 given 
 His word that they shall enter Heaven. 
 
 Let sinners come alone, 
 And bow down o'er our dust,
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 And crush each wicked thought, 
 
 And seek a better trust ; 
 For Christ to them sweet hope has 
 
 given, 
 That if repentant, theirs is Heaven. 
 
 We pray that all may come 
 
 This solemn truth to see 
 If dust to dust, then soul to soul, 
 
 Must be the great decree. 
 Where can so bless'd a spot be given 
 To learn of God and think of Heaven ? 
 
 THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE. 
 
 MOTHER, mother, the winds are 
 at play, 
 
 Prithee, let me be idle to-day. 
 Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie 
 Languidly under the bright blue sky. 
 
 See, how slowly the streamlet glides, 
 Look, how the violet roguishly hides ; 
 Even the butterfly rests on the rose, 
 And scarcely sips the sweets as he goe.s. 
 
 Poor Tray is asleep in the noonday sun, 
 And the flies go about him one by one; 
 And pussy sits near with a sleepy grace, 
 Without ever thinking of washing her 
 face. 
 
 There flies a bird to a neighboring tree, 
 But very lazily flieth he, 
 And he sits and twitters a gentle note, 
 That^carcely ruffles his little throat. 
 
 You bid me be busy ; but, mother, hear 
 How the humdrum grasshopper sound- 
 eth near, 
 
 And the soft west wind is so light in its 
 
 play, 
 It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. 
 
 I wish, oh, I wish I was yonder cloud, 
 That sails about with its misty shroud ; 
 Books and work I no more would view, 
 And I'd come and float, dear mother, 
 o'er you. 
 
 L 
 
 THE AMERICAN BOY. 
 OOK up, my young American, 
 
 Stand firmly on the earth, 
 Where noble deeds and mental power 
 Yield titles over birth. 
 
 A hallowed land thou claim'st, my boy, 
 
 By early struggles bought, 
 Heaped up with noble memories, 
 
 And wide, ay, wide as thought. 
 
 On the high Alleghany's range, 
 
 Awake thy joyous song ; 
 Then o'er our green savannas stray, 
 
 And gentler notes prolong. 
 
 Awake it 'mid the rushing peal, 
 
 Of old Niagara's voice, 
 Or by our ocean-rivers stand, 
 
 And in their might rejoice. 
 
 What though we boast no ancient tow- 
 ers, 
 
 Where ivied streamers twine ; 
 The laurel lives upon our shores ; 
 
 The laurel, boy, is thine. - 
 
 What though no "minster lifts its 
 
 cross," 
 Tinged by the sunset fire ?
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 Freely religion's voices swell 
 Round every village spire. 
 
 And who shall gaze on yon blue sea, 
 
 If thou must turn away, 
 When young Columbia's stripes and 
 stars 
 
 Are floating in the day ? 
 
 Who thunders louder when the strife 
 Of gathering war is heard ? 
 
 Who ranges farther when the call 
 Of commerce' voice is heard ? 
 
 What though on Cressy's distant field 
 
 Thy gaze may not be cast, 
 While through long centuries of blood 
 
 Rise spectres of the past ? 
 
 The future wakes thy dreamings high, 
 And thou a note mayest claim 
 
 Aspiring, which in after times 
 Shall swell the trump of fame. 
 
 Yet scenes are here for patriot thought : 
 Here sleep the good and brave ; 
 
 Here kneel, my boy, and altars raise 
 Above the martyr's grave. 
 
 On Moultrie's isle, on Bunker's height, 
 On Monmouth's bloody line, 
 
 On Eutaw's field, on Yorktown's bank, 
 Erect thy loyal shrine. 
 
 And when thou art told of knighthood's 
 
 shields, 
 
 And English battles won, 
 Look up, my boy, and breath one 
 
 word, 
 The name of WASHINGTON. 
 
 WHAT WOULD YOU CHOOSE. 
 
 CHOICE OF COUNTRIES. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 I WOULD cross the wide Atlantic, 
 And the clifis of England hail, 
 For there my country's fathers 
 
 First set their western sail. 
 I would view its domes and palaces, 
 
 And tread each learned hall, 
 And on the spot were Newton trod, 
 
 My foot should proudly fall 
 I would gaze upon its landscapes, 
 
 The dell and sunny glade, 
 And tread with awe the cloistered aisles, 
 
 Where Addison is laid. 
 
 LOUISA. 
 I would seek the Indian Ocean, 
 
 Where the sea-shell loves to grow, 
 Where the tints upon its bosom 
 
 In gorgeous beauty glow. 
 I would chase the parting billow 
 
 For treasures new and rare, 
 And with wreaths' of blushing coral 
 
 Entwine my waving hair. 
 
 % 
 
 CAROLINE. 
 
 I would be a ship's commander, 
 
 And find the northern pole, 
 While o'er untravellcd oceans
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 My venturous bark should roll ; 
 Or I'd seek untrodden islands, 
 
 Amid Antarctic seas, 
 And the standard of my country 
 
 Plant first before the breeze. 
 
 Oh, give me Carolina, 
 
 My dear, my native home ! 
 From her fair and sheltering borders 
 
 I ask not e'er to roam. 
 My school-mates here are playing, 
 
 My parents dear I see ; 
 Oh, give me Carolina, 
 
 She is dear enough for me ! 
 
 ANNA. 
 
 I do not know where England is, 
 
 Or any other place, 
 But I love to frolic with my puss, 
 
 And see her wash her face. 
 I '11 keep close by my baby-house, 
 
 And be very good all day, 
 If one I love will dress my dolls, 
 
 And let me have my way. 
 
 The whole broad earth is beautiful, 
 
 To minds attuned aright, 
 And wheresoe'er my feet have turned, 
 
 A smile has met my sight. 
 The city, with its bustling walk, 
 
 Its splendor, wealth and power, 
 A ramble by the river side, 
 
 A passing summer flower ; 
 The meadow green, the ocean's swell, 
 
 The forest waving free, 
 Are gifts of God, and speak in tones 
 
 Of kindliness to me. 
 
 And, oh ! where'er my lot is cast, 
 Where'er my footsteps roam, 
 
 If those I love are near to me, 
 I feel that spot my home. 
 
 CHOICE OF HOURS, 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 I LOVE to walk at twilight 
 When sunset nobly dies, 
 And see the parting splendor 
 That lightens up the skies, 
 And-call up old remembrances 
 Deep, dim as evening gloom, 
 Or look to heaven's promises, 
 Like starlight on a tomb. 
 
 LAURA. 
 
 I love the hour of darkness, 
 
 When I give myself to sleep, 
 And I think that holy angels 
 
 Their watch around me keep. 
 My dreams are light and happy, 
 
 As I innocently lie, 
 For my mother's kiss is on my cheek, 
 
 And my father's step is nigh. 
 
 MARY. 
 I love the social afternoon, 
 
 When lessons all are said, 
 Geography is laid aside, 
 
 And grammar put to bed ; 
 Then a walk upon the .battery 
 
 With a friend is very sweet, 
 And some money for an ice cream 
 
 To give that friend a treat. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 I love the Sabbath evening 
 
 When my dear ones sit around,
 
 26 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 And tell of all their feelings 
 By hope and fancy crowned ; 
 
 And though some plants are missing, 
 In that sweetly thoughtful hour, 
 
 I will not call them back again 
 To earth's decaying bower. 
 
 CHOICE OF PAINTINGS. 
 
 WILLIAM. 
 
 I CHOOSE the racked Ixion, 
 With his fierce and burning pain ; 
 I love to see the pencil's touch 
 Such awful mastery gain. 
 
 LADY. 
 Yet let the thrilling punishment 
 
 Its moral truth inspire, 
 And keep your spirit pure, my son, 
 
 Untouched by base desire. 
 
 LITTLE ELIZA. 
 I'll take the watermelon, 
 
 With seeds so black and nice, 
 And give my little playmates, 
 
 All round, a famous slice. 
 But oh ! 'tis but a picture, 
 
 And on a summer's day, 
 If they would not let me eat it. 
 
 I would wish it far away. 
 
 HENRY. 
 Give me the brave Napoleon, 
 
 With his war steed thundering by, 
 Where the snowy Alps majestical, 
 
 Look upward to the sky. 
 
 LADY. 
 Oh ! boy, that conqueror leaped o'er 
 
 hearts, 
 With reckless cravings too, 
 
 While his own was cold and tempest- 
 stirred, 
 As the mountain scene you view. 
 
 LITTLE JOHN. . 
 
 I choose the views of Liliput, 
 Where the tiny people play, 
 
 Looking with great astonishment, 
 At birds more large than they. 
 
 While two of them with all their might, 
 
 Attempt an egg to roll ; 
 And some are diving, quite alarmed, 
 
 Within a little bowL 
 
 GEORGE. 
 Oh ! give me Ariadne, 
 
 With her soft and dewy eye, 
 Her lip of glowing coral, 
 
 And her forehead fair and high. 
 I feel th' ^Egean breezes, 
 
 As they fan her braided hair, 
 And cool her chastened beauties, 
 
 Nor leave a dark tinge there. 
 
 MARIA. 
 I love the finished manliness, 
 
 That dwells on Bacchus' brow- - 
 Where Earth and Inspiration, 
 
 Seem boldly mingling now. 
 The sunny hue of India 
 
 Glows burning on his cheek, 
 And lights those lips so eloquent, 
 
 That ask not words to speak. 
 
 LADY. 
 Yes ! o'er the form that Guido limned 
 
 Our eyes enraptured stray, 
 And thrill with sudden joyousness, 
 
 As if 'twere new to-day.
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 Fine chain of soul-formed sympathy, 
 
 Electrical and strong, 
 Which, touched with by-gone intellect, 
 
 Through time is borne along. 
 
 I bless you, bright creations 
 
 Of painting's magic art, 
 Where classic dreams of poetry 
 
 In local beauty start. 
 Ye raise our cramped and earth-bound 
 souls 
 
 To his creative power, 
 Whose sacred touch omnipotent 
 
 Gives genius its high power. 
 
 CHOICE OF OCCUPATIONS. 
 JOHN. 
 
 I MEAN to be a soldier, 
 With uniform quite new ; 
 I wish they 'd let me have a drum, 
 
 And be a captain too ; 
 I would go amid the battle 
 
 With my broadsword in my hand, 
 And hear the cannon rattle, 
 And the music all so grand. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 My son, my son ! what if that sword 
 
 Should strike a noble heart, 
 And bid some loving father 
 
 From his little ones depart ! 
 
 LOUISA. 
 
 I mean to be a cottage girl, 
 And sit beside a rill, 
 
 And morn and eve my pitcher there 
 
 With purest water fill ; 
 And I'll train a lovely woodbine 
 
 Around my cottage door, 
 And welcome to my winter hearth 
 
 The wandering and the poor. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Louisa, dear, an humble mind 
 
 'Tis beautiful to see, 
 And you shall never hear a word, 
 
 To check that mind from me : 
 But ah '! remember, pride may dwell 
 
 Beneath the woodbine's shade ; 
 And discontent,, a sullen guest, 
 
 The cottage hearth invade. 
 
 CAROLINE. 
 I will be gay and courtly, 
 
 And dance away the hours ; 
 Music, and sport, and joy shall dwell 
 
 Beneath my fairy bowers ; 
 No heart shall ache with sadness 
 
 Within my laughing hall, 
 But the note of love and gladness 
 
 Re-echo to my call. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 O, children, sad it makes my soul 
 
 To hear your playful strain ; 
 I cannot bear to chill your youth 
 
 With images of pain. 
 Yet humbly take what God bestows, 
 
 And like his own fair flowers, 
 Look up in sunshine with a smile, 
 
 And gently bend in showers.
 
 28 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 THE DUMB LUNATIC. 
 
 FROM amid the crowd what unhal- 
 lowed tone, 
 
 AVhat voice in misery cried ? 
 It seemed like nature's lamenting moan 
 For reason's blessings denied. 
 
 Oh, behold that face with its pallid hue, 
 Like snowflakes at twilight's chime ; 
 
 And that eye so burning, yet rayless 
 
 too, 
 Like the moon in her waning time ! 
 
 And the youthful form that with early 
 
 pain 
 
 Has withered in boyhood's glow ; 
 And the tongue with motion so quiet 
 
 and vain, 
 And restless look of woe. 
 
 In anguish beside him his father stands 
 In a statelier mood of grief; 
 
 He is grasping closely those thin white 
 
 hands, 
 And eagerly asks relie 
 
 The disciples of Jesus cannot bless ; 
 
 He turns in anguish away, 
 And a smile of dark, unbelieving dis- 
 tress 
 
 Seems o'er his closed lips to stray. 
 
 But, behold ! the Saviour of men ap- 
 pears ! 
 
 A thrill to his chilled heart flies ; 
 His faith contends with decaying fears, 
 
 And the warm drops fill his eyes. 
 
 A few soothing words to a father's woe 
 Are breathed by that voice of power ; 
 
 Sweet as the flush of a mountain's flow, 
 In the blaze of a noontide hour. 
 
 A higher address of command is heard ! 
 
 Oh, what has that accent done ? 
 It has banished " the sickness of hope 
 deferred," 
 
 Has restored the maniac son. 
 
 JAIRUS' DAUGHTER. 
 
 lEY have watched her last and 
 -L quivering breath, 
 . And the maiden's soul has flown ; 
 They have wrapped her in the robes of 
 
 death, 
 And laid her dark and lone. 
 
 But the mother lingers still behind, 
 And weeps for that fallen flower. 
 
 Nay, start not, 'twas the passing 
 
 wind, 
 Those limbs have lost their power. 
 
 And tremble not at that cheek of snow, 
 Over which the faint light plays ; 
 
 'Tis only the curtain's crimson glow 
 Which thus deceives thy gaze. 
 
 Didst thou not close that expiring eye, 
 And feel the slow pulse decay ? 
 
 And did not thy lips receive the sigh 
 That bore her soul away ? 
 
 She lies on her couch all pale and 
 
 hushed, 
 
 And heeds not thy gentle tread ; 
 But is still as the spring flower by trav- 
 eller crush'd, 
 Which dies on its snowy bed.
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 Her mother has passed from that lonely 
 room, 
 
 And the maid is still and pale ; 
 Her ivory hand is as cold as the tomb, 
 
 Which soon her form shall veil. 
 
 Her mother retires with folded arms, 
 
 No tear attempts to flow ; 
 Her heart is shut to joys or harms, 
 
 And her head is bent in woe. 
 
 But listen ! what name salutes her ear ? 
 
 It comes to a heart of stone. 
 "Jesus," she cries, "has no power here, 
 
 My daughter's soul has flown ! " 
 
 He leads the way to that cold white 
 
 couch, 
 
 And bends o'er that senseless form ; 
 She breathes ! she breathes ! at his hal- 
 lowed touch 
 The maiden's hand is warm. 
 
 And the fresh blood shines with its 
 
 roseate hue, 
 And life spreads quick through her 
 
 frame ; 
 
 Her head is raised and her step is true, 
 And she murmurs her mother's name 
 
 INVITATION TO A BIRD. 
 
 LITTLE bird, come, 
 Quick to my home. 
 I'll give you to eat 
 Everything sweet ; 
 Sugar and cake 
 I'll save for your sake ; 
 Melon and plum 
 You shall have some. 
 
 A peach and a pear, 
 And everything rare ; 
 Some straw for your nest, 
 And what you like best, 
 A nice little house, 
 As snug as a mouse. 
 Come away from the tree 
 And live here with me. 
 I will give you a brush 
 
 To smooth down each feather. 
 And brother will hush 
 
 While we sing together. 
 Come away from the tree, 
 And live here with me. 
 
 THE LITTLE BIRD'S ANSWER. 
 
 I THANK you, my dear, 
 But I'd rather live here : 
 The skies they are fair 
 And I love the fresh air. 
 The trees they are green, 
 And I sit like a queen, 
 On a branch as it goes, 
 While the pleasant wind blows. 
 I've more on my table 
 To eat than I'm able, 
 For the very large field 
 My dessert does yield : 
 But come from your book, 
 With a good humor 'd look, 
 When with care you have read, 
 And your lesson is said ; 
 Sit under the tree, 
 With your sewing by me, 
 And this afternoon, 
 I'll sing you a tune.
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 NEW YEAR'S DAY. 
 
 WAKE and see the morning ray 
 This is happy New Year's day ! 
 View your toys and presents gay, 
 This is happy New Year's day ! 
 Brother,, sister, come and play, 
 This is happy "New Year's day ! 
 Father, mother, hear me say, 
 A happy, happy, New Year's day ! 
 Waiting maids ar d nurses gray, 
 To you a happy New Year's day ! 
 Friends at home, and friends away. 
 May you enjoy your New Year's day ! 
 And while I laugh, and skip, and play, 
 I'll thank God for the New Year's day. 
 
 H 
 
 THE SLEEPING BABY. 
 USII, hush, with your noise, 
 
 What a talking you keep, 
 You rude little boys, 
 Now the baby's asleep ! 
 
 Hushaby, baby. 
 
 Mamma has just told me 
 
 To stay quiet here, 
 And, oh, she will scold me, 
 
 If wakes baby dear. 
 
 Hushaby, baby. 
 
 How soft its white arm, 
 
 As it lies on its breast ! 
 Little baby, no harm 
 
 Shall come here while you rest. 
 
 Hushaby, baby. 
 
 My task has been given, 
 And I will be true, 
 
 And sister and Heaven 
 Will watch over you. 
 
 Hushaby, baby. 
 
 FATHER TAKES ME UP. 
 
 I LOVE my mother's gentle kiss, 
 I love to join my brother's play, 
 I love to walk with little sis, 
 
 And view the shops and pleasures gay. 
 
 I love my toys and books to see, 
 I love god-mother's silver cup, 
 
 But the best thing of things to me, 
 Is when my father takes me up, 
 
 Father, when I'm as tall as you, 
 And you are small like little sis, 
 
 I'll lay you on my shoulder too, 
 And let you feel how nice it is. 
 
 THE BOAT. 
 
 OH, see my little boat, 
 How prettily it glides ; 
 Like a bird it seems to float, 
 Press'd forward by the tides 
 By the tides. 
 
 The sky is shining brightly, 
 
 The fishes dart below, 
 While my little boat so lightly 
 
 Leaps onward as I row 
 
 As I row. 
 
 I would like to be a boat, 
 
 And live upon the sea ; 
 So merrily I'd float, 
 
 With nought to trouble me 
 Trouble me.
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 But should a storm come near, 
 And fill me with alarms, 
 
 I would row to mother, dear 
 My boat should be her arms 
 Mother's arms. 
 
 POOR WILLY. 
 
 POOR Willy, in play, 
 I am sorry to say, 
 His head did hit ; 
 To his mother he ran, 
 Like a little man, 
 
 Not minding it. 
 Then she rubb'd it well, 
 And a story did tell, 
 
 And kis's'd him too ; 
 Then back did he run, 
 To his little fun, 
 
 And so must you. 
 
 INVITATION TO THE ANT. 
 
 COME here, little ant, 
 For the pretty bird can't. 
 I want you to come, 
 And live at my home ; 
 
 I know you will stay, 
 And help me to play. 
 Stop making that hill, 
 Little ant, and be still. 
 
 Come, creep to my feet, 
 Here is sugar to eat. 
 Say, are you not weary, 
 My poor little deary, 
 
 With bearing that load, 
 Across the wide road ? 
 
 Leave your hill now, to me, 
 And then you shall see, 
 
 That by filling my hand, 
 I can pile up the sand, 
 And save you the pains, 
 Of bringing these grains. 
 
 THE ANT'S ANSWER. 
 
 STOP, stop, little miss, 
 No such building as this 
 Will answer for me, 
 As you plainly can see. 
 
 I take very great pains, 
 And place all the grains 
 As if with a tool, 
 By a carpenter's rule. 
 
 You have thrown the coarse sand 
 All out of your hand, 
 And so fill'd up my door, 
 That I can't find it more. 
 
 My King and my Queen 
 Are choked up within ; 
 My little ones too, 
 Oh, what shall I do ? 
 
 You have smother'd them all, 
 With the sand you let fall. 
 I must borrow or beg v 
 Or look for an egg.* 
 
 * When an ant's nest is disturbed, there 
 may be seen processions of ants bearing little 
 white eggs, for more than a day. Ants are 
 divided into worker*, fent'nels, etc., like bees, 
 and they have their king and queen, also.
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 To keep under my eye, 
 For help by and by, 
 A new house I must raise, 
 In a very few days, 
 
 Nor stand here and pine, 
 Because you 've spoilt mine. 
 For when winter days come, 
 I shall mourn for my home ; 
 
 So stand out of my way, 
 I have no time to play. 
 
 WHO IS THIS BOY? 
 
 I WILL write a little story 
 About a little boy ; 
 He is his father's comfort, 
 He is his mother's joy. 
 
 When we give a little errand, 
 He thinks of what is said, 
 
 Pulls down his little waistcoat, 
 And holds up his little head. 
 
 He holds his little fork 
 
 By the handle, as he should, 
 
 And never spills his coffee, 
 Nor drops about his food. 
 
 His face is very pleasant, 
 What he says is always true ; 
 
 Now, tell me, youngest reader, 
 If this little boy is you. 
 
 NANCY RAY. 
 
 MY bird is dead, 
 Said Nancy Ray ; 
 My bird is dead, 
 1 cannot play. 
 
 He sang so sweetly 
 
 Every day ; 
 He sings no more, 
 
 I cannot play. 
 
 Go put his cage 
 Far, far a%vay ; 
 
 I do not love 
 His cage to-day. 
 
 She wiped her eyes, 
 Poor Nancy Ray ! 
 
 And sat and sighed, 
 But could not play. 
 
 "JESUS TOOK LITTLE CHIL- 
 DREN IN HIS ARMS." 
 I WILL go to Jesus now, 
 His arms are open still for youth, 
 He will hear my early vow, 
 He will lead my heart to truth. 
 
 When I wake with morning light, 
 I will seek His blessed voice, 
 
 And when fall the shades of night, 
 He shall be my happy choice. 
 
 He will teach me how to pray, 
 He will teach me what to do ; 
 
 How to pass a holy day, 
 
 How to keep my God in view. 
 
 When my heart is faint and weak, 
 And some foolish fear alarms, 
 
 I my Saviour's word will seek, 
 He will hold me in his arms. 
 
 When a sinful thought comes by, 
 Or angry passions move my breast,'
 
 THE YOUNGEST ONE. Page 33.
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 33 
 
 I will bid the tempier fly; 
 In His arms again I'll rest. 
 
 Then happy will the moment prove, 
 When God shall call me up to 
 Heaven, 
 
 When Jesus folds me in his love, 
 And faults repented are forgiven. 
 
 THE YOUNGEST ONE. 
 
 I SAW a mother with her child, 
 And each with each appeared be- 
 guil'd ; 
 
 So tenderly they spake and smil'd, 
 I knew it was her youngest one. 
 
 She lean'd upon her mother's knee, 
 With look half tender and half free, 
 And oh, by that sweet liberty, 
 I knew it was her youngest one. 
 
 A whisper came with love o'erfraught, 
 Soon was returned the whispered 
 
 thought, 
 As though in this wide world were 
 
 nought 
 But her and her dear youngest one. 
 
 " Mother," she said, " you must not go 
 And leave your little girl, you know, 
 Because no other loves you so, 
 
 Like me, your darling youngest one." 
 
 I heard a promise and a kiss, 
 I saw a smile of trusting bliss, 
 Oh, nought can sever, after this, 
 The mother and her youngest one. 
 
 3 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY AT CHURCH. 
 
 T) UTTERFLY, butterfly why come 
 -D here ? 
 
 This is no bower for you ; 
 Go sip the honeydrop sweet and clear, 
 
 Or bathe in the morning dew. 
 
 This is the place to think of Heaven, 
 
 This is the place to pray ; 
 You have no sins to be forgiven, 
 
 Butterfly, go away. 
 
 I see God has touched you with beauti- 
 ful dyes, 
 And your motion is graceful and 
 
 light, 
 But the heart is the thing open now to 
 
 His eyes ; 
 The heart must be pure in His sight. 
 
 He has made us to love what is airy 
 
 and gay, 
 And I will not despise your bright 
 
 wings ; 
 But I must not be thinking about you 
 
 to-day, 
 It was given for holier things. 
 
 MOTHER, WHAT IS DEATH? 
 
 MOTHER, how still the baby 
 lies ! 
 
 I cannot hear his breath ; 
 I cannot see his laughing eyes, 
 They tell me this is death. 
 
 " My little work I thought to bring, 
 
 And sit down by his bed, 
 And pleasantly I tried to sing, 
 
 They hushed me, he is dead.
 
 34 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 " They say that he again will rise, 
 More beautiful than now, 
 
 That God will bless him in the skies, 
 Oh, mother, tell me how ! " 
 
 " Daughter, do you remember dear, 
 The cold dark thing you brought, 
 
 And laid upon the casement here, 
 A wither'd worm you thought ? 
 
 " I told you that Almighty power 
 Could break that wither'd shell, 
 
 And show you, in a future hour, 
 Something would please you well. 
 
 " Look at the chrysalis, my. love, 
 
 An empty shell it lies ; 
 Now raise your wandering thoughts 
 above, 
 
 To where yon insect flies ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, mamma, how very gay 
 
 Its wings of starry gold, - 
 And see ! it lightly flies away 
 
 Beyond my gentle hold. 
 
 " Oh, mother, now I know full well, 
 If God that worm can change, 
 
 And draw it from its broken cell, 
 On golden wings to range ; 
 
 " How beautiful will brother be, 
 When God shall give him wings, 
 
 Above this dying world to flee, 
 And live with heavenly things." 
 
 I 
 
 WISHES. 
 
 ANNA. 
 
 WISH I was a small bird, 
 Among the leaves to dwell, 
 
 To scale the sky in gladness, 
 
 Or seek the lonely dell. 
 My matin song should wake amid 
 
 The chorus of the earth, 
 And my vesper hymn ring gladly 
 
 The trill of careless mirth. 
 
 KLLEN. 
 I wish I was a floweret, 
 
 To blossom in the grove, 
 I'd spread my opening leaflets 
 
 Among the plants I love. 
 No hand would roughly cull me, 
 
 As I looked up to the sky ; 
 I silently should ope to life, 
 
 And quietly should die. 
 
 MARY. 
 I wish I was a goldfish, 
 
 To seek the sunny wave, 
 To part the gentle ripple, 
 
 And amid its coolness lave. 
 I would glide along delighted 
 
 Amid the coral way, 
 And when night came on in softness 
 
 Beneath the starbeam play. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Hush, hush, rojnantic prattlers, 
 
 You know not what you say, 
 When soul, the crown of mortals, 
 
 You would lightly throw away. 
 What is the songster's warble, 
 
 Or the floweret's blush refin'd 
 To the noble thought of Deity 
 
 Within your opening mind ?
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 35 
 
 JEPHTHAH'S RASH VOW. 
 
 JUDGES XI. 
 
 THE battle had ceased and the vic- 
 tory was won, 
 
 The wild cry of horror was o'er 
 Now rose in his glory .the bright beam- 
 ing sun, 
 And with him his journey the war chief 
 
 begun, 
 
 With a soul breathing vengeance no 
 more. 
 
 The foes of his country lay strewed on 
 
 the plain, 
 
 A tear stole its course to his eye, 
 But the warrior disdained every sem- 
 blance of pain, 
 He thought of his child, of his country 
 
 again, 
 
 And suppressed, while 'twas forming, 
 a sigh. 
 
 " Oh ! Father of Light ! " said the con- 
 quering chief, 
 
 " The vow which I made, I renew ; 
 'Twas thy powerful arm gave the wel- 
 come relie f, 
 
 When I called on thy name in the ful- 
 ness of grief, 
 
 And my hopes were but cheerless 
 and few. 
 
 " An offering of love will I pay at thy 
 
 fane, 
 
 An offering thou canst not despise ; 
 The first being I meet, when I welcome 
 
 again 
 
 The land of my fathers I left not in 
 
 vain, 
 
 With the flames on thy altar shall 
 rise." 
 
 Now hushed were his words, through 
 
 the far- spreading bands, 
 Naught was heard but the foot-fall 
 around, 
 
 Till his feet in glad tread press his own 
 native lands, 
 
 And to heaven are uplifted his con- 
 quering hands ; 
 
 Not a voice breaks the silence pro- 
 found. 
 
 Oh, listen ! at distance, what harmonies 
 
 sound, 
 
 And at distance what maiden ap- 
 pears ? 
 
 See, forward she conies with a light 
 springing bound, 
 
 And casts her mild eye in fond ecstasy 
 
 round, 
 
 For her parent is seen through hei 
 tears ! 
 
 Her harp's wildest chord gives a strain 
 
 of delight ; 
 
 A moment she springs to his arms ! 
 " My daughter ? Oh God ! " not the 
 
 horrors of fight, 
 While legion on legion against him 
 
 unite, 
 Could bring to his soul such alarms. 
 
 In horror he starts, as a fiend had ap- 
 peared, 
 His eyes in mute agony close.
 
 rOEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 His sword o'er his age-frosted forehead 
 
 is reared, 
 Which with scars from his many-fought 
 
 battles is seared, 
 Nor country nor daughter he knows. 
 
 But sudden conviction in quick flashes 
 
 told, 
 
 That his daughter was destined to die; 
 No longer could nature the hard strug- 
 gle hold, 
 
 His grief issued forth unrestrained, un- 
 controlled, 
 
 And glazed was his time-shrunken 
 eye. 
 
 His daughter is kneeling, and clasping 
 
 that form, 
 She ne'er touched but with transport 
 
 before ; 
 
 His daughter is watching the thunder- 
 ing storm, 
 'Whose quick flashing lightnings so 
 
 madly deform 
 A face beaming sunshine no more. 
 
 But how did that daughter, so gentle 
 
 and fair, 
 Hear the sentence that doomed her 
 
 to die ? 
 For a moment was heard a shrill cry of 
 
 despair 
 
 For a moment her eye gave a heart- 
 moving glare 
 For a moment her bosom heaved high. 
 
 It was but a moment the frenzy was 
 
 past, 
 She trustingly rushed to his arms, 
 
 And there, as a flower when chilled by 
 
 the blast, 
 Reclines on an oak while its fury may 
 
 last, 
 On his bosom she hushed her alarms. 
 
 Not an eye saw the scene but was 
 
 moistened in woe, 
 
 Not a voice could a sentence com- 
 mand ; 
 Down the soldier's rough cheek tears 
 
 of agony flow, 
 The sobs of the maiden rose mournful 
 
 and low, 
 Sad pity wept over the band. 
 
 But fled was the hope in the fair maid- 
 en's breast, 
 From her father's fond bosom she 
 
 rose ; 
 
 Stern virtue appeared in a manner con- 
 fessed, 
 She looked like a saint from the realms 
 
 of the blessed, 
 Not a mortal encircled with woes. 
 
 She turned from the group, and can I 
 
 declare 
 
 The hope and the fortitude given, 
 As she sunk on her knees with a soul- 
 breathing prayer, 
 That her father might flourish of angels 
 
 the care, 
 
 Till with glory he blossomed in 
 Heaven ? 
 
 Oh, comfort him, Heaven, when low in 
 
 the dust 
 My limbs arc inactively laid !
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 37 
 
 Oh, comfort him, Heaven, and let him 
 
 then trust, 
 That free and immortal the souls of 
 
 the just, 
 Are in beauty and glory arrayed ! " 
 
 The maiden arose, oh, I cannot portray 
 
 The devotion that glowed in her eye ; 
 
 Religion's sweet self in its light seemed 
 
 to play, 
 With the mildness of night, with the 
 
 glory of day 
 But 'twas pity that prompted her sigh. 
 
 " My father ! " the chief raised his agon- 
 ized head, 
 
 With a gesture of settled despair 
 " My father ! " thte words she would 
 
 utter had fled, 
 But the sobs that she heaved, and the 
 
 tears that she shed, 
 Told more than those words could 
 declare. 
 
 That weakness past o'er, and the maid- 
 en could say, 
 " My father for thee I can die." 
 
 The bands slowly moved on their sor- 
 rowful way, 
 
 But never again from that heart-break- 
 ing day, 
 
 Was a smile known to force its enliv- 
 ening ray 
 
 On the old chieftain's grief-stricken 
 eye. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON ZERLINA 
 THORN. 
 
 DROWNED AT TRENTON FALLS, 1836. 
 
 AND art thou gone, fair, graceful 
 child ? 
 I dreamed not 'mid this cataract wild 
 
 Thy form would lie, 
 When, like a bright and budding flower, 
 I met thee in a summer bower, 
 Life in thine eye. 
 
 I saw thee in the airy dance, 
 
 With floating step and kindling glance, 
 
 With happy brow. 
 A brother's arm around thee clung, 
 A parent's smile upon thee hung, 
 
 Where art thou now ? 
 
 Oh, cold and dark must be thy grave, 
 Love-nurtured one ! the dashing wave 
 
 Rocks thy death sleep ; 
 And o'er thy glazed and unclosed eye, 
 The high-heaved cliffs all frowningly 
 
 Their vigils keep. 
 
 But why repine, though summer dews 
 And flowers of soft and blended hues 
 
 Deck not thy sod ? 
 Thy spirit from the wave upsprings, 
 Scatters the white foam from its wings, 
 
 And soars to God. 
 
 ON THE CHRISTENING OF A 
 LITTLE CHILD. 
 
 THE man of God stood there, 
 His spirit bowed in prayer 
 Above the child ;
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 And she, with wondering eye, 
 Gazed on him earnestly, 
 Then brightly smiled. 
 
 Oh, sweet, devoted one, 
 With journey just begun 
 
 In life's rough day, 
 What path soe'er thou see, 
 May hovering prayer for thee 
 
 Still light thy way. 
 
 TO . 
 
 ON life's eventful sea 
 May thy light bark gently glide, 
 And the true wind blowing free, 
 Swell on the prosperous tide. 
 
 But should wild storms arise, 
 
 And waves in fury roll, 
 Look up to God's far skies. 
 
 Anchor on him thy souL 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS CHAIR; 
 
 OR, TWO O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. 
 
 [A Letter to a Friend.] 
 
 DEAR John, As you know all our 
 household affairs, 
 
 From the cellar beneath to the attic up- 
 stairs, 
 
 I am anxious to write of a recent tran- 
 saction, . 
 
 Which you may resolve to your own 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Last night, in the room where the silver 
 is kept, 
 
 And wherein the old lady and gentle- 
 man slept, 
 
 They were woke on a sudden by singu- 
 lar sounds, 
 
 For which they could fancy no plausible 
 grounds. 
 
 The noise issued forth from the large 
 
 rocking-chair, 
 Which, distinctly and loudly, as tongue 
 
 can declare, 
 Roll'd backwards and forwards full six 
 
 or eight times, 
 As St. Michael's resounded the two- 
 
 o'-clock chimes. 
 
 The old gentleman rose and explored 
 the whole room, 
 
 For a dim-twinkling light still pervaded 
 the gloom ; 
 
 He looked under the bed, 'and exam- 
 ined with care, , 
 
 In a very particular manner, the chair. 
 
 But no living being was anywhere 
 
 found, 
 The doors were both clos'd, silence 
 
 brooded around. 
 The mysterious chair was as quiet as 
 
 hush! 
 And the window was up but the height 
 
 of a brush. 
 
 You may say 'twas by fancy this whole 
 
 thing was done, 
 And so should / think, were it heard 
 
 but by one ; 
 Yet, as two were awoke by, and two 
 
 heard that rocking, 
 It is not a subject for doubt, sir, or 
 
 .mocking.
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 39 
 
 From that moment till daybreak, the 
 
 honored old pair 
 Were absorb'd in conjectures about 
 
 this affair ; 
 Not a wink of sweet slumber could 
 
 visit their eyes, 
 And they rose half an hour ere they 
 
 usually rise. 
 
 At breakfast we saw something weighed 
 
 on their minds, 
 For, when dear ones are troubled, how 
 
 quickly love finds ? 
 They were silent and pensive, and 
 
 heaved a few sighs, 
 Till we searched out the source, and 
 
 drew forth their replies. 
 
 When the matter was known, all of 
 course felt amazed, 
 
 Our coffee was slighted, our eyes were 
 upraised, 
 
 Neglected, the spoons in our hominy 
 stood, 
 
 And the waffles remained like unpop- 
 ular food. 
 
 But at length, when our silent aston- 
 ishment ceased, 
 
 Speculation, and talking, and guessing 
 increased ; 
 
 Every tongue in the group had a reason 
 to spare 
 
 For the wonderful feat of the rocking 
 arm-chair. 
 
 Louisa presumed that an earthquake 
 
 had passed, 
 And had caused it to vibrate so loud 
 
 and so fast 
 
 But how could that happen, when noth- 
 ing fell down 
 
 In the rest of the house, or the rest of 
 the town ? 
 
 Miss Carry was certain it must be a 
 thief, 
 
 Who had come for the silver, and van- 
 ished so brief; 
 
 But the doors and the chimney-board 
 all remained tight, 
 
 And no man could escape through that 
 window by flight. 
 
 Little Nannie was sure 'twas a ghost, 
 
 for her nurse 
 Had often informed her of such things 
 
 and worse ; 
 But we asked how a shade, without body 
 
 or weight, 
 Such material rockings and noise could 
 
 create. 
 
 Eliza believed that the chair, of itself, 
 Fell to moving without either spirit or 
 
 elf: 
 But, if so, Dame Nature has altered 
 
 her laws, 
 And effects must take place without 
 
 impulse or cause. 
 
 Old Nan, who stood solemnly brushing 
 
 the flies, 
 Being asked her opinion, slow raised 
 
 her black eyes ; 
 She could not guess the cause, but full 
 
 sartin was she 
 That old massa or missis some sorrow 
 
 must see.
 
 40 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 At last the whole family turned to your 
 
 friend, 
 And begged I would try their dilemma 
 
 to end ; 
 I had heard all their reasons ; I had, 
 
 too, my own, 
 Which with proper humility thus I 
 
 made known. 
 
 To me it appeared that the source of 
 
 dismay 
 Must have been a large cat, who was 
 
 prowling for prey ; 
 In the half-open window with ease she 
 
 might pass, 
 Without forcing the sash, or disturbing 
 
 the glass. 
 
 I presumed she had velvetly entered 
 
 the house, 
 And had searched round the room for a 
 
 rat or a mouse ; 
 Sprung up on the table, leaped down 
 
 on the chair, 
 Which of course began rocking with 
 
 violent air. 
 
 Puss, probably frightened, at least much 
 
 surprised. 
 Darted quick through the window, for 
 
 so I surmised, 
 Stole along the piazza, jumped off on 
 
 the ground, 
 Then forgot what had passed, and went 
 
 still prowling around. 
 
 As I ceased from explaining, I saw 
 every eye 
 
 Grow brighter with smiles, and the dis- 
 mals lay by ; 
 
 Our sensitive appetites quickened once 
 
 more, 
 And justice was done to the tables' 
 
 rich store. 
 
 Thus we all think the problem resolved 
 
 by a cat, 
 And persuaded we feel, if the cause 
 
 were not that, 
 The invisible agent who haunted that 
 
 room, 
 Must never be known till the bursting 
 
 of doom. 
 
 SAMUEL OILMAN, 
 
 Charleston, S. C., Sept., 1837. 
 
 FLIGHT OF THE MUSKOGEE 
 INDIAN. 
 
 ON the shore of Carolina an Indian 
 warrior stood, 
 
 A captive of the Shawnees, and red- 
 dened with their blood ; 
 Strange arts of varied torture his con- 
 querors tried in vain, 
 Like a rock that stands the billows, he 
 dashed them off again. 
 
 He shouted, and the echo shrill returned 
 
 the lengthened shriek, 
 I have rent you as the eagle rends the 
 
 dove within his beak, 
 And ye give me women's tortures; see, 
 
 I lightly cast them by, 
 As the spirit of the storm-cloud throws 
 
 the vapor from the sky.
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 " Ye are women ! " the wild echo came 
 
 wilder on the air 
 "/ will show a worthy trial for a Mus- 
 
 kogee to bear ; 
 Let me grasp a heated gun in this raw 
 
 and bloody hand, 
 And ye shall not see an eyelash move 
 
 to shame my father-land." 
 
 They gave the glowing steel. He took 
 it with a smile, 
 
 And held it as a plaything ; they stood 
 in awe the while ; 
 
 Then, springing like an antelope, he 
 brandished it around, 
 
 And toward the beetling eminence* up- 
 started with a bound. 
 
 One leap, and he is o'er ! fierce dashing 
 
 through the stream, 
 And his massy form lies floating 'neath 
 
 the clear and sunny beam ; 
 A hundred arrows sped at once, but 
 
 missed that warrior bold, 
 And his mangled arms, ere set of sun, 
 
 his little ones enfold. 
 
 MAIDEN AND THE MARINER. 
 
 THE toilet task was o'er ; 
 The satin slipper clasped the 
 modelled foot, 
 The white glove rested on the snowy 
 
 arm, 
 
 While Ella's heart beat lightly; light 
 her tread 
 
 * A bluff near Augusta, ninety feet high. 
 
 As down the steps with airy grace she 
 
 sprang 
 To greet the neighboring ball-room's 
 
 fairy scene, 
 Then bounded towards her carriage 
 
 and her laugh 
 Went ringing like a happy waterfall 
 
 Bursting from summer hills. 
 
 She nears the blaze 
 
 Of the saloon where sylph-like move- 
 ments wait 
 
 On music, as an echo on its sound, 
 
 Where eyes like midnight stars shine 
 joyously 
 
 From out the firmament of heart and 
 mind. 
 
 The carriage stops. Hark, a low plain- 
 tive voice ! 
 
 " Pity," it said, "the shipwrecked mar- 
 iner, 
 
 Who has no friend, no country, and no 
 home." 
 
 " Back, fellow,'' one exclaimed, " away, 
 away ! " 
 
 The vagrant was thrust off. With flow- 
 ing robes 
 
 White as the garb a new-made spirit 
 wears, 
 
 Fair Ella glided by. Again that voice ! 
 
 She paused. A shade came o'er her 
 sunny brow, 
 
 Soft as moon's vapor on a silver stream. 
 
 " That voice of woe will haunt my 
 thoughts," she said, 
 
 " Will mingle with the dance discord- 
 antly,
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 Should I still coldly turn mine ear 
 
 away; 
 
 And our dear William is a sailor, too ! 
 What if he need a pitying stranger's aid, 
 Yon rebel from our hearth ? God bless 
 
 the boy ! " 
 And here she heaved a sister's natural 
 
 sigh, 
 
 And turning to the mariner, she asked, 
 " Stranger, what wouldst thou ? Can I 
 
 aid thy need ? " 
 Bright fell the light upon the seaman's 
 
 coarse 
 And tattered garments. Brightly, too, 
 
 it shone 
 On Ella's flower-wreathed brow and 
 
 graceful form. 
 He paused. Ripe for the witcheries of 
 
 the dance, 
 E'en though her heart was touched with 
 
 sympathy, 
 The maiden's slippered foot kept eager 
 
 time 
 
 To the loud gush of harmony that filled 
 The new saloon, while her slight ivory 
 
 fan 
 
 Tapped on her open palm impatiently. 
 Nearer the seaworn veteran pressed, 
 
 and crossed 
 His hands upon his threadbare cloak 
 
 and bowed. 
 
 A moment Back he throws the rag- 
 ged robe, 
 And lo, a manly form in youth's fresh 
 
 glow, 
 
 And laughing eyes beneath the cluster- 
 ing curls 
 
 That hang in ripened fulness o'er his 
 
 brow. 
 Tis William, the gay wanderer ! and 
 
 he clasps 
 The youthful Ella to his brother heart. 
 
 THE CHILD ON THE OCEAN. 
 
 4 ' A /[OTHER, how small a thing 
 1V1 am I, 
 
 Rocked on the restless sea ! 
 I ask, when gazing on the sky, 
 
 Can God remember me ? 
 How solemnly the stars appear 
 
 Upon the broad blue deep ! 
 Their mighty songs I seem to hear 
 
 As they their vigils keep. 
 
 " How beautiful the moon to see 
 
 Walk proudly through the night, 
 Unshadowed by a single tree 
 
 To mar her queenly light ! 
 How brilliant is the track we mark, 
 
 As leaps our vessel on, 
 A rival light that cheers the dark 
 
 When stars and moon are gone ! 
 Mother, I am a feeble thing, 
 
 'Mid scenes so vast and bold." 
 " My child, your thoughts can o'er them 
 spring, 
 
 Your mind they cannot hold." 
 
 SEVENTEEN. 
 
 IN childhood, when my girlish view, 
 Glanced over life's unfading green, 
 Thoughts undefined, and bright and 
 
 new, 
 
 Would Wend with thee, sweet Sev- 
 enteen.
 
 'OF ALL AGES. 
 
 43 
 
 Restrained at twelve by matron care, 
 My walks prescribed, my movements 
 seen, 
 
 How bright the sun, how free the air, 
 Seemed circling round fair seventeen ! 
 
 Thirteen arrived ; but still my book, 
 My dress, were watched with aspect 
 keen, 
 
 Scarce on a novel might I look, 
 And balls must wait for seventeen. 
 
 Fourteen allowed the evening walk, 
 Where friendship's eye illumed the 
 scene ; 
 
 The long, romantic bosom talk, 
 That talk which glanced at seventeen. 
 
 The next revolving circle brought 
 A quicker pulse, yet graver mien ; 
 
 I read and practised, studied, thought, 
 For what ? To stop at seventeen. 
 
 Sixteen arrived ; that witching year 
 When youthful hearts like buds are 
 seen, 
 
 Ready to ope when first appear 
 The genial rays of seventeen. 
 
 They came ; have passed ; think not, 
 
 fair maids, 
 My hand shall draw that magic 
 
 screen ; 
 
 But this I urge, fill well your heads, 
 And guard your hearts, for seventeen. 
 
 JOSHUA'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 A NEW-ENGLAND BALLAD. 
 
 STOUT Joshua was a farmer's son, 
 And a pondering he sat 
 
 One night, when the faggots crackling 
 
 burned, 
 And purr'd the tabby cat. 
 
 Joshua was a well-grown youth, 
 
 As one might plainly see 
 By the sleeves that vainly tried to reach 
 
 His hands upon his knee. 
 
 His splay-feet stood all parrot-toed 
 
 In cowhide shoes array'd ; 
 And his hair seem'd cut across his brow 
 
 By rule and plummet laid. 
 
 And what was Joshua pondering on, 
 With his widely-staring eyes, 
 
 And his no'strils opening sensibly 
 To ease his frequent sighs ? 
 
 Not often will a lover's lips 
 
 The tender secret tell, 
 But out he spoke, before he thought, 
 
 " My gracious ! Nancy Bell ! " 
 
 His mother at her spinning-wheel, 
 Good woman, stood and spun, 
 
 And what," says she, " 's come over 
 
 you ? 
 Is't airnest, or is't fun ? " 
 
 Then Joshua gave a cunning look, 
 Half bashful and half sporting ; 
 
 " Now, what did father do," says he, 
 " When first he came a courting ? " 
 
 " Why, Josh, the first thing that he did," 
 With a knowing wink, says she, 
 
 " Was to come dressed up of a Sunday 
 
 night, 
 And cast sheep's eyes * at me." 
 
 * Tender glances.
 
 44 
 
 POEAfS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 Josh said no more, but straight went 
 
 out, 
 
 And sought a butcher's pen, 
 Where twelve fat sheep, for market 
 
 bound, 
 Had lately slaughtered been. 
 
 He bargained with a lover's zeal, 
 Obtained the wished-for prize, 
 
 And filled his pockets fore and aft 
 With twice twelve bloody eyes. 
 
 The next night was the happy time 
 When all New-England sparks, 
 
 Drest in their best go out to court 
 As spruce and gay as larks. 
 
 When floors are nicely sanded o'er, 
 When tins and pewter shine, 
 
 And milk-pans by the kitchen wall 
 Display their dainty line ; 
 
 While the new ribbon decks the waist 
 
 Of many a waiting lass, 
 Who steals a conscious look of pride 
 
 Towards her answering glass. 
 
 In pensive mood sat Nancy Bell ; 
 
 Of Joshua thought not she, 
 But of a hearty sailor lad 
 
 Across the distant sea. 
 
 Her arm upon the table rests, 
 Her hand supports her head, 
 
 When Joshua enters with a scrape, 
 And somewhat bashful tread. 
 
 No word he spake, but down he sat 
 
 And heav'd a doleful sigh ; 
 Then at the table took his aim 
 
 And roll'd a glassy eye. 
 
 Another and another flew 
 
 With quick and strong rebound, 
 
 They tumbled in poor Nancy's lap, 
 They fell upon the ground. 
 
 While Joshua smirk'd, and sigh'd, and 
 smirk'd 
 
 Between each tender aim, 
 And still the cold and bloody balls 
 
 In (rightful quickness came. 
 
 Until poor Nancy flew with screams 
 To shun the amorous sport, 
 
 And Joshua found to cast sheep^s eyes 
 Was not the way to court. 
 
 MARY ANNA GIBBES, of STONO, 
 Saved a boy's life during the Revolutionary 
 War. He was Col. Fenwick, afterwards 
 distinguished in the war of 1812. 
 
 STONO, on thy still banks 
 The roar of war is heard; 
 its thunders swell 
 
 And shake yon mansion, where domes- 
 tic love 
 
 Till now breathed simple kindness to 
 the heart ; 
 
 Where white-armed childhood twined 
 the neck of age, 
 
 Where hospitable cares lit up the 
 hearth, 
 
 Cheering the lonely traveller on his way. 
 
 A foe inhabits there, and they 
 depart, 
 
 The infirm old man and his fair house- 
 hold too, 
 
 Seeking another home. Home ! who 
 can tell
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 45 
 
 The touching power of that most sa- 
 cred word, 
 
 Save he who feels and weeps that he 
 has none ? 
 
 Among that group of midnight 
 
 exiles fled 
 Young Mary Anna, on whose youthful 
 
 cheek 
 But thirteen years had kindled up the 
 
 rose. 
 A laughing creature breathing heart 
 
 and love, 
 
 Yet timid as the fawn in Southern wilds. 
 E'en the night reptile on the dewy grass 
 Startled the maiden, and 'the silent stars 
 Troubled her mind. No time was there 
 
 for gauds 
 And toilette art in this quick flight of 
 
 fear. 
 
 Her glossy hair, damped by the mid- 
 night winds, 
 Lay on her neck dishevelled ; gathered 
 
 round 
 Her form in hurried folds clung her few 
 
 garments. 
 Now a quick thrilling sob, half grief, 
 
 half dread, 
 Came bursting from her heart, and 
 
 now her eyes 
 Glared forth as pealed the cannon ; then 
 
 beneath 
 Vheir drooping lids sad tears redundant 
 
 flowed. 
 
 But sudden, mid the group, a cry 
 arose 
 
 Femvick ! where is he ? " None re- 
 turned reply, 
 
 But a sharp piercing glance went out, 
 
 around, 
 Keen as a mother's towards her infant 
 
 child 
 When sudden danger lowers, and then 
 
 a shriek 
 From one, from all, burst forth, " He 
 
 is not here " 
 
 Poor boy ! he slept ; nor crash of hur- 
 rying guns 
 Nor impious curses, nor the warrior's 
 
 shout 
 Awoke his balmy rest ! He dreamed 
 
 such dreams 
 As float round childhood's couch of 
 
 angel faces 
 Peering through clouds, of sunny 
 
 rivulets 
 Where the fresh stream flows rippling 
 
 on, to waft 
 
 A tiny sail and of his rabbits white, 
 With eyes of ruby, and his tender 
 
 fawn's 
 Long delicate limbs, light tread and 
 
 graceful neck, 
 He slept unconscious. " Who shall 
 
 wake that sleep ? " 
 All shrink, for now th' artillery louder 
 
 roars ; 
 The frightened slaves crouch at their 
 
 master's side, 
 
 And he, infirm and feeble, scarce sus- 
 tains 
 
 His sinking weight. 
 
 There was a pause, a hush 
 So deep, that one could hear the forest 
 leaves
 
 4 6 
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 Flutter and drop between the war gun's 
 
 peal. 
 Then forward stood that girl, young 
 
 Mary Anna, 
 The tear dried up upon her cheek, the 
 
 sob 
 Crushed down, and in that high and 
 
 lofty tone 
 Which sometimes breathes the woman 
 
 in the child, 
 She said, "He shall not die" and turned 
 
 alone, 
 
 Alone ? oh, gentle girlhood, not alone 
 Art thou if. ONE watching above will 
 
 guard 
 Thee on thy way. Clouds shrouded up 
 
 the stars ; 
 On, on, she sped, the gun's broad glare 
 
 her beacon. 
 
 The wolf-growl sounded near, on, on- 
 ward still ; 
 
 The forest trees like warning spirits 
 moaned. 
 
 She pressed her hands against her 
 throbbing heart, 
 
 But faltered not ; the whizzing shot 
 went by, 
 
 Scarce heeded went ; passed is a weary 
 mile 
 
 With the light step a master spirit gives 
 
 On duty's road. But she has reached 
 her home. 
 
 Her home ? Is this her home at whose 
 fair gate 
 
 Stern foes in silence stand to bar her way? 
 
 That gate, which, from her infant child- 
 hood, leaped 
 
 On its wide hinges, glad at her return * 
 
 Before the sentinels she. trembling 
 stood, 
 
 And, with a voice whose low and ten- 
 der tones 
 
 Rose like the ringdove's in midsummer 
 storms, 
 
 She said, 
 " Please let me pass and seek a child 
 
 Who in my father's mansion has been 
 left 
 
 Sleeping, unconscious of the danger 
 near." 
 
 While thus she spake, a smile incredu- 
 lous 
 
 Stole o'er the face of one ; the other 
 cursed 
 
 And barred her from the way. 
 " O, sirs," she cried, 
 
 While from her upraised eyes the tears 
 streamed down, 
 
 And her small hands were clasped in 
 agony, 
 
 " Drive me not hence, I pray ! Until 
 to-night 
 
 I dared not stray beyond my nurse's 
 side 
 
 In the dim twilight; yet I now have come 
 
 Alone, unguarded, this far, dreary mile. 
 
 By darkness unappallcd ; a simple worm 
 
 Would often fright my heart and bid it 
 flutter ; 
 
 But now I've heard the wild wolfs hun- 
 gry growl 
 
 With soul undaunted, till to-night 
 I've shrunk 
 
 From men ; and soldiers ! scarcely dared 
 I look
 
 OF ALL AGES. 
 
 47 
 
 Upon their glittering arms ; but here I 
 come 
 
 And sue to you, men, warriors ; drive 
 me not 
 
 Away. He whom 'I seek is yet a child, 
 
 A prattling boy, and must he, must he 
 die? 
 
 Oh, if you love your children, let me 
 pass ! 
 
 You will not ? Then my strength and 
 hope are gone, 
 
 And I shall perish ere I reach my 
 friends." 
 
 And then she pressed her brow, as if 
 those hands 
 
 So soft and small could still her throb- 
 bing pulse. 
 
 The sentinels looked calmly on, like men 
 
 Whose blades had toyed with sorrow, 
 and made sport 
 
 Of woe. One step the maiden back- 
 ward took, 
 
 Lingering in thought, then hope, like a 
 soft flush 
 
 Of struggling twilight, kindled in her 
 eyes ; 
 
 She knelt before them and re-urged her 
 plea. 
 
 " Perchance you have a sister, sir, or 
 you, 
 
 A poor young thing like me ; if she 
 were here, 
 
 Kneeling like me before my country- 
 men, 
 
 They would not spurn her thus ! " 
 " Go, girl, pass on," 
 
 The softened voice of one replied ; nor 
 was 
 
 She checked, nor waited she to heat 
 repulse, 
 
 But darted through the avenue, attained 
 
 The hall, and, springing up the well- 
 known stairs, 
 
 With such a flight as the young eagle 
 takes 
 
 To gain its nest, she reached the quiet 
 couch, 
 
 Where in bright dreams the uncon- 
 scious sleeper lay. 
 
 Slight covering o'er the rescued boy 
 she threw, 
 
 And caught him in her arms. He knew 
 that chee*k, 
 
 Kissed it half waking, then around her 
 neck 
 
 His hands entwined, and dropped to 
 sleep agairu 
 
 She bore him onward, dreading now for 
 him 
 
 The shot that whizzed along and tore 
 the earth 
 
 In fragments by her side. She reached 
 the guards, 
 
 Who silent ope'd the gate, then hurried 
 on; 
 
 But, as she passed them, from her 
 heart burst forth, 
 
 " God bless you, gentlemen ! " then 
 urged her way ; 
 
 Those arms, whose heaviest load and 
 task had been 
 
 To poise her doll, and wield her child- 
 hood's toys, 
 
 Bearing the boy along the dangerous 
 road.
 
 POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 Voices at length she hears, her 
 friends are near ; 
 
 They meet, and, yielding up her pre- 
 cious charge, 
 
 She sinks upon her father's breast, in 
 doubt, 
 
 'Twixt smiles and tears. 
 
 THE SENTINEL. 
 
 SEE the sentinel ! When others 
 sleep, he watches, that no one may 
 disturb them. 
 
 When the night is dark, and the 
 winds are abroad, he walks alone. 
 When all the city sleeps, the sentinel 
 wakes and walks alone. 
 
 Perhaps he thinks of his children and 
 his home ; their eyes are closed in quiet 
 rest, but he walks alone. 
 
 The moon shines brightly on him, 
 the stars are his company. 
 
 Who guards the sentinel ? God 
 guards him. 
 
 MATTHEW 2 : 6. 
 
 WHEREIN, O, Bethlehem! doth 
 thy greatness lie ? 
 In warlike host, proud tower, or palace 
 
 high? 
 No ! a sweet babe's first slumber I 
 
 have seen, 
 
 And hence the cities own me as their 
 queen. S. G. 
 
 MATTHEW 2 : 18. 
 
 IN Kama there was heard a wail of 
 grief, 
 Rachel refusing solace or relief; 
 
 But Christian lands can show a sight 
 
 more rare, 
 A mourner comforted by thought and 
 
 prayer. 
 
 SAMUEL GILMAN. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE PORTRAIT 
 OF STUART'S WASHINGTON. 
 
 SEE, they advance and press around 
 Columbia's son ! 
 
 I joy to hear the murmured sound, 
 Tis he, 'tis Washington ! 
 
 Come on, fair boy, and thy young eye 
 
 Shall catch a ray, 
 Will teach thee how to act, cr die, 
 
 In danger's way. 
 
 Maiden, with feelings pure and warm, 
 
 Gaze on yon field ; 
 He fought to throw on woman's form 
 
 A soldier's shield. 
 
 Approach, old man ! reflected light 
 
 Shall beam on thee, 
 For thou wert with him in the fight, 
 
 And shouted, " Victory ! " 
 
 Yet, is't his martial bearing high 
 
 That charms us now ? 
 Is it the statesman's thoughtful eye 
 
 And manly brow ? 
 
 Not these alone, his moral worth 
 
 The spell imparts, 
 And make his noble throne on earth 
 
 His people's hearts.
 
 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE GILMAN.
 
 HOLIDAYS AT THE PLANTATION. -Page 51.
 
 HOLIDAYS AT THE PLANTATION. 
 
 A SOUTHERN STORY OF BYGONE TIMES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE Spring holidays had arrived, and George and Clara were 
 wild with joy at the idea of going into the country. They raced 
 about the house, caught their old black maumer around the neck, 
 and exclaimed, 
 
 " Good-by, old city ; good-by, books ! " 
 
 Clara was a careful girl, and laid her basket of books away neatly 
 and safely. She fancied that they were her children, and that she 
 was putting them to bed, and said, 
 
 " Hush ! lie still, Spelling Book ; be a good child, Geography, 
 and sleep beside Table Book, and do not wake him up. Look," 
 said she, as she saw that the cover of her Grammar was ragged, 
 "you have torn your frock, naughty Grammar. Here is my Bible ; 
 shall that go to sleep, too ? Oh, no, Bible dear,' I must have you in 
 the country, too." 
 
 George and Clara bade the town servants good-by. George 
 mounted his pony, calling his dog Fido to follow him, and Clara 
 sprang into the carriage with her parents, thinking she could ride 
 forever without being tired. 
 (50
 
 52 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 It was a bright April morning ; the sun shone, the birds sang, and 
 the flowers smelt sweetly. Clara was delighted for ten miles, and 
 then she grew weary. Her mother said, 
 
 " Sing some hymns and songs, Clara." 
 
 So Clara sang, and George cantered his little pony up to the side 
 of the carriage and sang too. While they were singing 
 
 " Where do children love to go, 
 When the wintry tempests blow ? 
 What is it attracts them so ? 
 
 Tis the Sabbath school," 
 
 they saw the woods on fire. The flames ran like snakes up the dry 
 trees and on the grass. Clara said to her father, 
 
 " May we ciy fire ? " 
 
 " Yes," said her father, " as loud as you please. " 
 
 " May Ben cry fire, too ? " said George. 
 
 When' his father said "Yes," George and Clara and little Ben, 
 who was behind the carriage, cried " fire ! fire ! fire ! " as loud as 
 they could roar ; and what with the cries and the laughter, the woods 
 rang again. 
 
 At one o'clock they all stopped to rest the horses and themselves 
 and dine. This is called a maroon. The servants spread a small 
 carpet on the grass, under a large oak, hung all about with green 
 vines and gray moss-like fringe. The children assisted in taking 
 the cold ham and fowl from the basket. Oh ! how nice every 
 mouthful tasted ! Fido jumped about merrily, and sometimes they 
 threw him a bone, for they were not fearful of greasing the grass. 
 
 " Mamma," said Clara, " I think this is as pretty as our dining- 
 room. The oak branches are our curtains, the sky is our ceiling, 
 the birds are our musicians, and they sing as prettily as sister Kate 
 at the piano-forte." 
 
 " Hush ! " said George ; see that rabbit crossing the road. Quick,
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 53 
 
 Jack, with my gun. Look ! the fellow is on the fence ; now he is 
 on that gum-tree ! " 
 
 The gun was. brought ; George fired and missed his aim, and the 
 merry party laughed at him. 
 
 " Never mind," said George ; " you shall see what I will do when 
 I get to Oak Hall. A fellow's hand shakes a little after riding." 
 
 When the servants had dined, they all set off quite refreshed. 
 Clara was almost asleep when they entered the avenue at twilight, 
 but was soon aroused by the bright glare of the bush-lights kindled 
 about the negro houses, which threw a cheerful light upon Oak Hall. 
 
 No wonder that Clara's sleepy eyes were opened by the bush- 
 lights, for they are brighter than a drawing-room lamp. The way 
 they are arranged, is this : A carpenter drives a stake into the 
 ground quite deep ; he then nails boards together, like an open box, 
 and fastens them on top of the stake, w^iich is about a yard from the 
 ground ; then he fills the box with earth. When night comes on, 
 one of the negroes lays a small heap of dry pine sticks on the earth 
 in the box, and sets fire to them, adding others as these are burnt 
 out. 
 
 " Here we are ! " shouted Clara ; " look, George, there is the tree 
 where you shot the pretty blue-bird. Don't shoot any more pretty 
 birds." 
 
 Clara did not say any more, for a turn in the road brought them 
 near to Oak Hall. A large number of negroes were awaiting their 
 arrival, and the little ones came leaping and skipping about the 
 bush-lights. 
 
 George and Clara found their aunt in the house, ready to welcome 
 them, and were delighted to see the sweet roses that their cousin 
 Eliza had laid upon their pillows. After supper they assembled at 
 prayers, and the servants who wished joined them. Clara took her 
 Bible to her room to read, and remembered that the same God 
 watched over her in the country as in the town.
 
 54 STORfES AND TALES 
 
 A light shower fell in the night, and when the children arose in 
 the morning, the trees, bushes, and- flowers looked bright as their 
 smiles. 
 
 After prayers, Clara kissed her parents and then ran into the 
 garden. The seeds were all up in her own bed, and the roses were 
 in full bloom. There was her seat beneath the cedar, and she 
 fancied the very same mocking-bird of the last season was singing 
 in its branches. 
 
 George and his cousin James called Clara to help them get ready 
 to go out gunning. Clara stitched up two odd looking things, 
 which she called hunting caps to save their city hats, and James put 
 on his j acket wrong side out, because his sleeve .was torn at the 
 elbow. When they were equipped, they looked like Robinson Cru- 
 soe and his man Friday. 
 
 They came home in three^ hours, with one solitary Kingfisher. 
 Clara mourned over its bright crest and glossy feathers, a little 
 while ; but when the boys asked her and Eliza to go to the fields 
 with them and cook it, she forgot to be sorry. 
 
 Ben carried salt and rice, and a sauce-pan to cook it in, and 
 Clara, with her sun-bonnet crushed all on one side, attended the 
 boys, while Fido capered by their side. When they reached the 
 field, they found a large oak tree, quite hollow in the trunk, though 
 it was green and beautiful above. There were ashes inside, where 
 the field negroes had been cooking. Ben struck a light, and gath- 
 ered some dry brush for kindling. George picked the bird. Clara 
 examined the rice, and James arranged the sauce-pan. Great was 
 the labor for that meal. They forgot water, and had to run to the 
 spring - they forgot a spoon, and were obliged to whittle a stick to 
 eat with. A gust of wind blew the dust and ashes into their eyes, 
 and many other troubles had they ; but they turned them all into 
 fun, and after a while the bird and rice were cooked, and they all 
 declared it was remarkably nice. It did not seem to take away
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 55 
 
 their appetites, though, for when the dinner horn blew, they all raced 
 home, and ate as much as if they had never cooked the little King^ 
 fisher. 
 
 Clara was very fond of seeing her mother give out fish, tobacco, 
 sugar, etc., from the store-room, and she followed her there after 
 dinner. 
 
 " When you are sixteen years old, you may help me," said her 
 mamma. 
 
 " Oh, mamma," said Clara, " I shall never live such a heap of 
 years ! " 
 
 While Clara's mother was giving the fish, tobacco, and other 
 things that she thought proper,, many of the negroes came with eggs, 
 groundnuts, poultry, and sweet potatoes, of their own raising, and 
 she gave them more articles in return. 
 
 " Mamma," said Clara, " these people put me in mind of the par- 
 able of the talents ; they all get their reward." 
 
 Clara then asked her mother if she might give the little negroes a 
 treat. Her mother said " Yes," and gave her biscuits and sugar, and 
 told her to go to the dairy-woman for milk. After Clara had made 
 all her arrangements, she went to the piazza and called out, 
 
 " Dick, La Fayette, Pompey, Cuff, Daphne, Dido and Moll, go and 
 tell all your broder and titter come, cause . I been have something 
 good for 'em." 
 
 Away they scampered, and came back with the rest, with their 
 wooden piggins. 
 
 Clara then told them to sit on the grass in a circle, while she stood 
 in the midst of them, giving most to those who had little infants in 
 their arms. They were all beginning to eat, when she said", " Stop ! " 
 
 ey obeyed her like so many soldiers' 
 
 " Get up," said she, " Make curchy." They understood her better 
 than some readers of this story, for the girls all made courtesies, and 
 the boys all scraped their right foot, or kissed their hands, while 
 some of them said,
 
 56 S TORIES AND TALES 
 
 "Tank you, my young missis." 
 
 Then Clara said, " Eat," and they began without delay, their 
 iron spoons clattering against the piggins. 
 
 George and Clara loved to go to the burial-ground where their little 
 baby sister lay. They could see the moss-covered brick wall from 
 the piazza, and the old cedar tree that stood in the centre. They 
 were not sad when they walked to the graveyard, but gathered flow- 
 ers, and chatted like birds. When they opened the gate, there 
 seemed some solemn feeling to come over them ; they went to a 
 white slab that was under the cedar and read the name, "JANE" ; 
 then they pulled up some weeds that grew near the tombstone, and 
 Clara said, 
 
 "I am not afraid of snakes here, brother. Look, George, our 
 lily is in bloom ! " 
 
 And, sure enough, there were two white blossoms beneath the old 
 cedar, and George said, 
 
 " It may be that our little sister is blooming just so in Heaven." 
 
 Then Clara stooped and pulled up another weed ; then they went 
 out and shut the gate softly. 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west when George and Clara returned 
 to the house, and they stood in the piazza with their father, seeing 
 how beautifully the trees looked as the light bade them good night. 
 
 Then the living creatures all about came to rest. First the horses 
 galloped up the avenue, as the little negroes clapped their hands and 
 shouted to make them go fast ; then the cows came to their pens. 
 
 Then came the geese walking along quite solemnly ; then followed 
 the sheep, and George threw them some corn ; then the ducks flew 
 across the green, quacking; then the little birds went to their nests, 
 and the crows to the high trees. 
 
 On a cluster of huge oaks, near the house, ran an immense grape- 
 vine. It twined up the limbs of one tree, then dropped down from 
 a vast height near to the ground, and then threw up its tendrils to
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 57 
 
 another. This was the children's favorite swing, and here came 
 George and Clara, with their cousins and a troop of little negroes. 
 
 After the little family had swung, they gave the little negroes a 
 turn ; and it was droll to see how the black babies, in their little 
 nurses' arms, tried not to be scared. They rolled up their eyes, 
 and all who were old enough to have teeth, showed them. 
 
 George was a rogue, and wished to swing them high and frighten 
 them ; but Clara and Eliza would not let him. They caught hold 
 of the swing and said, 
 
 " For shame, George ! You shall not frighten them ! See, little 
 Toney is crying ! He has as much feeling as you. Come here, 
 Toney, and we will protect you." 
 
 So Toney sidled up to the girls for protection, and wiped his nose 
 on his jacket sleeve, and did not cry any more ; and George con- 
 sented to put the rest in the swing gently, and be kind to them ; 
 and it was a pretty sight to see them standing in a circle, waiting 
 patiently for their turn to come, and to hear the shouts when any of 
 them went high, and the still louder shouts when they tumbled out 
 on the soft earth. 
 
 When the setting sun cast again a soft, yellow look over every- 
 thing about Oak Hall ; when the shadows of the last negroes who 
 had lingered over their tasks looked long as they came home to their 
 families, the children asked leave to go to the Frog Pond. 
 
 "Must you carry all these little negroes ? " said the father, looking 
 around on about twenty that stood waiting. 
 
 "O, yes!" they exclaimed, giving various reasons. "Pompey 
 must go, because 'he has a good bass voice for the bull-frog, and 
 Moll squeaked the best, and Dick was to take George's fishing- 
 tackle, etc., etc., etc. ; ancfc, as for all the rest, they must go wid dem 
 broder and titter." 
 
 So forth they all went to the Frog Pond, and George undertook to 
 marshal the party.
 
 58 STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 " You, mamma, and Clara, and cousin Eliza," said he, " must stand 
 together with these little negro girls, for treble, and squeak like one 
 pig. Father and cousin James, you must stand with the boys, for 
 bass. Pompey first, because he is used to it. There, that is right. 
 Now, mamma, and all the girls, call out, as loud as you can, Fried 
 bacon, fried bacon ; and father, we must say on our side of the pond, 
 as gruffly as we can, Tea-table, tea-table." 
 
 For some time the frogs were silent, and would not utter a sound. 
 Perhaps they were frightened at the shouts of laughter that mixed in 
 with " Fried bacon," and " Tea-table " ; but after a while they became 
 more sociable. A great bull-frog began, but his note was greeted 
 with such a roar of fun, that he could not get courage to go on. 
 
 " Now, father," said George, " you and the boys must grunt out, 
 Who marry my wife when I dead ? and mother and the girls must 
 say, Not me, not me, not me. Who take my fader wheri I dead ? 
 (Answer.) Not^me, not -me, not me. Who take my chillun when I 
 dead ? (Answer.) Not me, not me, not me. Who take my money 
 when I dead ? (Answer.) Me, me, me, me, me " 
 
 The frogs, not caring much for grammar, liked this very well, and 
 as the darkness increased, what with the noise of the frogs and the 
 children, George's mother had to stop her ears. 
 
 The stars now came out, and the merry party started homeward, 
 but through the walk, as Pompey now and then roared out, " Who 
 take my money when I dead ? " the children squeaked, " Me, me, me, 
 me." 
 
 NEGRO HYMNS. 
 
 The children loved to collect the little negroes and hear them 
 sing. The place they chose for the choir was beneath an orange 
 tree, near the piazza, where the bush-light^were brightly shining. 
 
 Children's concerts are very sweet as they sit dressed finely, in 
 grand halls, or fine churches ; but so is a negro concert under a 
 waving tree.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 59 
 
 There was a whispering among them for a few moments, after 
 Clara bade them sing, and then they began with a shout, 
 
 " Master Jesus is my Captain, 
 He is my all in all, 
 He give me grace to conquer", 
 And take me home to rest ! 
 I'm walking on to Jesus, 
 
 Hallelujah ! 
 
 I'm walking on to Jesus, 
 Hallelujah ! 
 
 George and Clara and their cousins grew drowsy, and the infants 
 fell asleep in their little nurses' arms. As the -singers separated, 
 each to their own hut, they sang, 
 
 " Don't you hear the gospel trumpet 
 Sound Jubilee?" 
 
 The children often went with their parents to visit the sick, and 
 Clara saved many a fourpence from sugar-plums to give her old 
 favorite, Maum Nelly. . 
 
 Maum Nelly. had been the 'nurse on the plantation, but was now 
 too infirm for that office. Her manners were soft and grave, and her 
 low courtesy almost graceful. She had always a present of eggs for 
 the children when they came from town. 
 
 She was now very feeble ; but as Clara entered her house, she 
 dusted the bench with her apron, and begged her to sit down. Af- 
 ter Clara was seated, Nelly paused a little, and then said, 
 
 " My journey most done, my little missis. De Lord ben very kind 
 to me. When Miss Clara come back again to Oak Hall, Maum 
 Nelly bones will lie yonder under de pine, but her soul will gone to 
 God Almighty. Me poor, weak creature, but de Lord Jesus bery 
 merciful^ praise Him." 
 
 Clara walked slowly back to the house, and thought much that 
 dav of her old friend.
 
 6O STORfES AND TALES 
 
 The day came for the children to return to school. It seemed a 
 sad thing to leave the beautiful country, with its wide fields and 
 green trees, the riding and fishing, for the dusty city. 
 
 All the people that were not at work came to bid them good-by. 
 They stood in a row, to let the carriage pass, and Clara saw Maum 
 Nelly standing at her door, with her apron to her eyes ; then Clara 
 remembered what she had said about lying beneath the pine-trees, 
 and she wanted to cry ; but the coachman cracked his whip, the car- 
 riage rolled on, and she began to think of the city. 
 
 THE BOY WHO WISHED IT WOULD RAIN MONEY. 
 
 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 " I WISH it would rain money," said Harry Merdon to his father. 
 
 " Why so ? " said Mr. Merdon. " You have clothes and food, and 
 a nice house to live in ; what more do you wish for ? " 
 
 " Oh, a thousand things ! " answered Harry. " A rocking-horse, 
 and a gold watch, and a library, and plenty of sugar things, and " 
 
 " Stop ! " said his father ; " that is enough for the present. You 
 are as restless as a great king the books tell about, who made him- 
 self master of all the countries about him, and then wept because 
 he had no more to conquer. Silly boy ! You have all your proper 
 wants gratified, and yet you are dissatisfied " ; and as Mr. Merdon 
 said this, he went into his office, and Harry walked on. 
 
 " I don't care," said Harry, " about the old king, Alexander, I be- 
 lieve they call him. I wish it would rain money." 
 
 It was a pleasant afternoon, and Harry, having permission to walk, 
 strolled out of the city. He was not contented with seeing the 
 pretty, fresh-looking grass spread out like a carpet, nor the setting
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 6 1 
 
 sun sailing like a balloon down the sky, nor with the fresh breeze, as 
 if unseen hands were fanning him, nor with the river lying like a 
 glass, showing the beautiful clouds over again ; no, no, Master Harry 
 cared for none of these things that God has given to his children so 
 kindly, but he went on saying, " Oh, dear, if it would only rain money ! " 
 
 While he was walking along, thinking about it, he saw a dark 
 cloud rising from the north. It moved so fast he could not help 
 watching it. At length it stopped over his head, and came down 
 slowly, and while he looked with his face upward, he felt 'something 
 fall on his forehead, and saw it drop on the earth. He stopped 
 to see what it was. He could hardly believe it to be true when he 
 found it was a sixpence, as 'bright and new as if it had just been 
 made in the mint. He clapped his hands, and skipped for joy. 
 
 " I will go straight home and show it to father and mother," said 
 he, " and then buy something nice, and divide with the children." 
 
 So he set off to go home. As he passed the market, he saw the 
 old woman sitting there with molasses candy and fresh cakes. 
 
 "I should like one of those cakes," said Harry to himself; but he 
 walked on, thinking he would tell his parents first how he came by 
 the money ; but at the corner of the street he saw another black 
 woman selling cakes. 
 
 He stopped. " I can buy a cake and carry a part of it home," 
 thought he, " and then tell the family about it." 
 
 So he bought it, and began to eat his share, and it was very nice 
 and sweet ; and alas ! before he reached home, he ate all the cake. 
 
 " I am ashamed to tell them about it," thought Harry, " because I 
 have been so selfish. Perhaps, if I walk out to-morrow, I shall see 
 some more money drop out of the cloud, and then I am sure I shall 
 carry it home and divide it." 
 
 Harry went home, but his thoughts were so full of his cloud-money, 
 that he was careless and disobedient, missed his lesson at school the 
 net day, and was very unhappy.
 
 62 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 As Harry was preparing to take his walk the next afternoon, it 
 began to rain so \yolently that he could not go. The foolish boy 
 became angry, and almost cried for vexation. His sister asked him 
 to play chess with her, and he began, but lost his patience, and of 
 course lost the game ; and when she said, " Checkmate," he rudely 
 told her that she cheated. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Harry ? " said Sue. " I never saw 
 you so cross before." 
 
 Harry Would not answer, but piled up the chess-men, and then 
 knocked them down. 
 
 Sue did not know that he had a " secret fault," or she could have 
 told what made him unhappy. We are'never very unhappy when we 
 can tell our troubles to some kind friend ; but Harry was ashamed to 
 tell his, even to his dear sister. 
 
 The clouds passed away, and the sun shone in time for Harry to 
 walk out. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said Sue.* Harry would not answer, but 
 hurried away. Again he visited the same spot, and again he forgot 
 the brightness and beauty of the grass and the trees after the shower. 
 He looked only at the north where his money-cloud had arisen be- 
 fore. 
 
 At length it came and rose slowly, and then faster and faster on 
 the blue sky, and hovered over him. 
 
 I hope it will not drop a foolish sixpence this time, thought Harry. 
 I should Jike a twelve and a half cent piece. 
 
 As he spoke, the cloud came slowly .down, and the very thing he 
 asked for dropped out of it a bright, new shilling. 
 
 Harry did not jump and dance, and give thanks as before ; he 
 looked very serious, and thought what he should do with the money. 
 
 "Of course," said he to himself, "I must carry it home." 
 
 On the green he saw some boys playing marbles. They were bigger 
 than he was, and he did not know them, but he just stopped to see 1 the
 
 FOR THE YOL'XG. 
 
 play. He was very much astonished when he found they played for 
 money, and when one of the boys took a quarter^ of a dollar from 
 another, he knew it was wrong. Alas, poor Harry, if you had only 
 then walked away and told your kind parents all that had happened 
 to you, you would have saved them many tears ; but no, Harry stood 
 looking at the game. At length one of the big boys saw the shilling 
 shining in his hand, and he began to talk with Harry, and urged 
 him to play. At first Harry said no, that it was wicked gambling, 
 and that his parents would be angry. The bad boys laughed, and 
 told him that his parents would not know anything about it, and 
 they coaxed, and" urged, and he said he would play. 
 
 He did. play, and the big boys won his shilling, then laughed at 
 him, and went away. 
 
 By this time, it was dark, and a sad walk had Harry, and he wept 
 as he went along ; but Harry's tears were not half so sad as those 
 of a parent who has a bad son. 
 
 Even now all might have been well had he gone home and told 
 his father and mother, and begged their pardon, and prayed to God 
 to be made better ; they would have put their arms about" his neck, 
 and said, " My son we forgive you," and he would have laid his head 
 down on his pillow and slept in peace ; " But how can I say it ? " 
 he told them a tie, and said he had been to see a friend. 
 
 They kissed him and bade him good night, but the kiss did not 
 comfort him. He sobbed upon his pillow alone, and said, " I am 
 wicked ! I am wicked ! " and he fell asleep, dreaming that a dark 
 cloud was bearing him away from his dear home. 
 
 I pity the child who dares not go to his mother when he rises 
 from his bed, and offer her a kiss. It is a sweet half hour when 
 coming down from the bed-rooms, with glossy hair and sparkling 
 eyes a circle of children gather round their parents wishing them a 
 kind good morning, telling all their thoughts, and looking as bright 
 as the sunshine.
 
 64 STORIES AND TALKS 
 
 But where is Harry Merdon ? Why is not his merry voice heard 
 among his brothers and sisters ? He sits in one corner of the room 
 sad and lonely, and when they speak to him he answers angrily. 
 He will not play battledore with Henry, nor look over the new book 
 of prints with Jane, and when his little sister Julia, of whom he has 
 always been so fond, comes near him, he pushes her roughly away. 
 So will children always do when they have been artful and done 
 those things which they ought not to have done, and they will never 
 be happy until they feel sorry and say so, and have been forgiven. 
 
 In the afternoon Harry was permitted to walk abroad. He went 
 with an eager step. " I will not ask for those small pieces of money 
 again," said he to himself. " Nothing less than dollars shall satisfy 
 me. Those good-for-nothing sixpences are not worth talking about. 
 I will buy a pony to begin with. Jack Stedman's father wants to 
 sell his, but his saddle is not good enough for a person who can get 
 money as I can for wishing. I will have another suit of clothes, 
 too, and see if I cannot cut a little figure at the races next winter." 
 
 Harry went on talking to himself until his spirits were quite 
 raised, and he forgot that he had told a lie. At length he came to 
 the spot where the cloud money always dropped. 
 
 " Now," he exclaimed, " I hope it will rain dollars " ; and no sooner 
 had he wished, than down came the dollars. One hit him on the eye 
 and hurt him so that he could not see ; another came tumbling down 
 on his nose and set it a bleeding ; as he was going to pick up some 
 from the ground there came such a shower of them on his knuckles 
 that they almost put his fingers out of joint, and he could not handle 
 them at all. His head began to ache with the thumps ; and at last 
 he roared out with pain. He was a sight to behold ; the blood was 
 streaming from his nose, his eyes were blood-shot, and his hands 
 were held up over his head to keep the dollars from killing him. 
 He could stand it no longer, but kicking up his heels he ran as fast 
 as his feet could carry him.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 65 
 
 The people who saw him thought he was crazy, and some boys 
 who were playing called out "stop thief" as he went racing by, for 
 nobody could believe he was a gentleman's son. The cry was 
 raised among the people in the street, who followed him screaming 
 " stop thief." 
 
 Poor Harry was terribly frightened, and glad he was when he 
 came to his own house. He rushed in at the door, and fell clown 
 with fear and fatigue. His mother went to him and laid him on a 
 bed, and bathed his face, and was surprised at his strange situation ; 
 then Harry confessed all and wept tears of real sorrow, and his 
 mother forgave and comforted him, and told him that God knows 
 best what is good for us, and that we ought not to seek for those 
 things, which he refuses, and she said, 
 
 " Be cheerful, Harry, and contented, and you will not wish for 
 those things that will injure you." 
 
 Then Harry became a wise boy, and never concealed anything 
 from his parents again. 
 
 PUNCTUATION. 
 
 COMMA COUNT ONE. 
 
 WHAT is that little dot with a tail to it ? and what is it for ? I see 
 it in all my books. 
 
 It is put there to make you read slowly, Louisa. Its name is a 
 comma, and when you see a comma in your book, you must stop 
 long enough to count one. Louisa will never read well, unless she 
 5
 
 66 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 looks at the commas. Big men and women look at the commas, 
 and stop long enough to count one. 
 
 How many commas are there in this piece ? Count them. Now 
 bring your slate and pencil, and make commas until you are weary. 
 
 PERIOD FULL STOP. 
 
 I HAVE counted the commas, ma'am, and Alfred has come to see 
 me, and we wish you to tell us what the little round dot is without a 
 tail. 
 
 Sit down, Alfred. Sit down, Louisa, and open a book. Look at 
 this (.) It is a period. If you do not stop and breathe when you 
 see periods, your reading will never please your father. You must 
 stop long enough to count four, or six. All the lawyers and minis- 
 ters have to stop and breathe when they see a period. They dare 
 not pass it by without doing so. What does a period look like, 
 Alfred? 
 
 Like a black pin's head broken off, ma'am. 
 
 How many periods are there in this piece ? Now take your slates 
 and see which can make the neatest period. Good-by. 
 
 SEMICOLON COUNT TWO. COLON COUNT THREE. 
 
 COME here, Thomas, and read these names. Colon : semicolon. 
 What does a colon (:) look like ? 
 
 A colon (:) looks like two periods. 
 
 You must stop long enough at a colon to count three. It is not 
 often used. 
 
 What does a semicolon (;) look like ?
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 6/ 
 
 It looks like a comma with a hat on. 
 
 Very well, Thomas. Mind that you pay great respect to your 
 semicolons. Semi means half. 
 Here is some poetry for you. 
 
 Whene'er I meet a comma (,) I'll think of saying one, 
 And two at semicolons (;) will be very pleasant fun ; 
 The colon (:) till I've counted three, my little mind will fix 
 At periods (.) I'll make a pause, and think of four or six. 
 
 THIS IS A NOTE OF INTERROGATION COUNT FOUR OR SIX. 
 
 WHAT a long word ! Spell it, John. In-ter-ro-ga-tion. 
 
 We use the note of interrogation when we write a question. How 
 are you, John ? Do you love to play ball ? 
 
 There are two notes of interrogation. I will make six. ? ? ? ? ? ? 
 What do they look like, John ? 
 
 They look like soldiers marching backwards, ma'am. 
 
 That is a nice boy. Now tell me how long you mean to stop at a 
 note of interrogation. 
 
 I will stop long enough to count four. 
 
 Good-by, Johnny. Go, make some on your slate. 
 
 MASTER DICKY BLUFF. 
 
 HE never takes off his hat in the house without being told. 
 When you are speaking he either interrupts you, or turns on his 
 heel and walks off. 
 
 He has been taught to use an oath.
 
 68 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 He fancies that he looks very manly when he stands outside the 
 church door at prayers. 
 
 He takes the best place at table, and sits down before any one 
 else. 
 
 He helps himself plentifully from the rarest dish. 
 
 He takes the wall from ladies and gentlemen when he meets them 
 in the street. 
 
 When on horseback he goes full gallop. 
 
 He was once seen with a cigar in his mouth. 
 
 He thinks it manly to talk loud at public places. 
 
 Who seizes on the eatables at a party before any one can be 
 helped ? Dicky Bluff. 
 
 Who follows the waiter and empties it ? Dicky Bluff. 
 
 Who thinks it very manly to kick and shuffle in dancing ? Dicky 
 Bluff. 
 
 Who likes to make a noise in the street ? Dicky Bluff. 
 
 Who amuses himself writing on fences ? Djcky Bluff. 
 
 Who breaks windows and pulls down blinds, lamps, and signs ? 
 Dicky Bluff. 
 
 A LITTLE GIRL THAT BITES HER NAILS. 
 
 WHAT are you eating, little Miss ? Nuts ? 
 
 No, ma'am. 
 
 Cake? 
 
 No, ma'am. 
 
 Sugar plums ? 
 
 No, ma'am. 
 
 Let me see your hands. Oh, for shame, you are eating your nails ! 
 Bring some bread for the little girl. Nails were not made to be 
 eaten. Next week we will see if the little girl has pretty nails on 
 her nice little fingers.
 
 THE NEW SCHOLAR. -Page 69.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 69 
 
 THE NEW SCHOLAR. 
 
 THE first Monday of January, 1820, Master Richard Homespun, 
 under the direction of his mamma, made the usual preparations for 
 entering an academy in a southern city of our Union. Richard was 
 fourteen years old, and well grown, a fact particularly perceptible, 
 as his tight sleeves only came to his wrist, and left his purple hands 
 fully exposed to anatomical observation. Nature had been singu- 
 larly bountiful to Richard in a thick, bushy head ; but, like most 
 overgrown populations, " each particular hair " could not have its due 
 attention, and the whole mass stuck up in turbulent strength. 
 
 Richard's mamma had given him various directions on his jour- 
 ney, with regard to his deportment. 
 
 " Dicky, my dear," said she, " you must be careful when you go 
 into school to hold up your head, and make your manners, or the 
 boys will laugh at you." 
 
 Richard was a good son, and promised to bow, little tninking . of 
 the tremendous difference there is between the dodge of a country 
 boy, and the sweeping curve of a city obeisance. 
 
 " And mind, Dicky, dear," said his mamma, " keep your new hat 
 safe, and don't get any dog-ears in your books ; and when you open 
 them, do it softly, and don't break the covers ; read so, my dear" ; 
 and Mrs. Homespun inserted her nose between the blue covers of a 
 spelling book. 
 
 Richard was a smart boy, and had been one of the best students 
 and kite-players at a country school ; but he felt in great trepidation 
 at the idea of encountering so many strangers, besides having had 
 hints of pumping and other school tricks. His mother kept him so 
 long on Monday arranging his collar, picking the threads off his 
 jacket, and smoothing his new hat, that the exercises of the school 
 had commenced before he entered.
 
 7O STORIES AND TALES 
 
 As soon as a face, accompanied by the insignia of a satchel, ap- 
 peared at the door, the school hum ceased, and every eye was fixed 
 upon him. He took off his hat, and, holding it straight before him, 
 gave an agitated jerk with his head, and scraped his foot with a fling 
 up backwards. 
 
 A smile, to say the least, spread over the young assembly. The 
 principal, who saw the gathering commotion, advanced to his coun- 
 try catechumen, and seated him where he would not be exposed to 
 the observation of the scholars. 
 
 There are few scenes where a good heart and regulated under- 
 standing are more conspicuous than in the ranks of a school on the 
 introduction of a new pupil. Whatever may be his appearance, a 
 perfectly well-bred boy will welcome a schoolmate to his new duties 
 with politeness. Who does not remember the moment when he first 
 entered the dreaded school-room ; how anxiously he cast a glance 
 around to see if there were any who meant to respect and love him 
 in that strange circle ? 
 
 The principal of the seminary, to which Richard was introduced, 
 was generous and kind. He saw by the boy's bright eyes that he 
 was intelligent, though awkward. After the exercises of the morn- 
 ing were over, he called on the class in which Richard had entered 
 to remain. 
 
 " Young gentlemen," said he, " allow me to introduce to you a new 
 schoolmate. He is a stranger, and will depend on you in some 
 measure for happiness, now that he is away from his home. I hope 
 that by your kindness you will make him feel that he is among 
 friends." 
 
 The boys looked a little disconcerted, for they had been planning a 
 hoax ; but better feelings prevailed. He was received, not as a butt, 
 but as an equal, and they learned that kindness was better than fun. 
 
 Some of these very boys are now voting for Mr. Homespun as 
 member to Congress.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 7 1 
 
 CINDERCLAWS. 
 
 ANOTHER CHRISTMAS DREAM. 
 
 SUSAN EGGLESTON'S fair cheek rested on her pillow, a few curls 
 strayed from her night-cap, and her breathing was like the motion 
 of a lily leaf on the smooth waters, when her mother went on tiptoe 
 into her room, opened her stocking and placed something within it ; 
 then casting a look of satisfied fondness on the little sleeper, she 
 touched her cheek with the lightest of kisses, and departed with a 
 mother's prayer of love. 
 
 . Susan dreamed that something 'descended slowly down the chim- 
 ney, covered with a sooty blanket, from which proceeded a female 
 voice, singing sweetly. When it had reached the hearth, she ob- 
 served four hooks let down by cords to the four corners of the 
 blanket, which carefully drew it up the chimney again, without scat- 
 tering a cinder. 
 
 Under this* singular canopy sat a small airy figure, in a glass 
 barouche drawn by eight peacocks, surrounded by numerous little 
 attendants. 
 
 "It would be very strange," thought Susan, "if this pretty crea- 
 ture should be Cinderclaws." 
 
 The little lady in the barouche was holding with some difficulty a 
 large wax doll, and as she fondly caressed it, her soft voice sang, 
 
 " Hush thee, my darling, 
 
 Thy journey was drear, 
 But I bring you to Susan, 
 And why should you fear ? " 
 
 There was a short consultation among the attendants, when a little 
 footman in scarlet livery, let down the steps like a flash, and taking 
 the lead of twenty others, bore with some difficulty and much wiping
 
 72 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 of brows, the doll to the stocking. Finding it impossible to get her 
 in, they laid her on the toilet-table, and returned to the barouche 
 with a flourish of little trumpets. 
 
 Another consultation followed, and the little people, darting about 
 like fire-flies, began to display the contents of the barouche. Swan, 
 fish, turkey and cat pincushions, thread-cases of all forms and colors, 
 implements of industry, from the silver-eyed needle to the gold in- 
 laid work-box, were successively unfolded, and, among other things, 
 Susan distinguished a nice box of French sugar-plums. As the 
 breath of Cinderclaws passed over them, everything looked fresher 
 and fairer. 
 
 Another whispering took place, and Susan heard the words, 
 
 "A dessert for Susan's dinner-party." 
 
 Quick as thought was arranged a small polished table, with plates 
 for twelve. A taper, colored with rain-bow hues, suddenly shot up 
 in the centre, by the side of an iced pyramid, on which was a wav- 
 ing flag, with the inscription 
 
 "A Merry Christmas and Happy New Year." 
 
 Fruits of every description, from the bead-like currant of the 
 North, to the beautiful pomegranate of the South, were deposited 
 in glass and silver dishes on the festive board. 
 
 " What are you placing there ? " said Cinderclaws suddenly, as the 
 waiters were busily arranging little decanters at the corners, and a 
 tiny little cordial stand at the head of the table. 
 
 " A little French cordial," answered one, consequentially. 
 
 A frown rose to the little brow of the fairy, like a thundercloud on 
 the blue sky. She rose suddenly, and stamping her small foot until 
 the barouche rang again, exclaimed, 
 
 "How dare you do this? If men turn brutes with stimulants, 
 leave at least temperance to the young. Bring here the poison," 
 she continued, her small voice rising in worthy indignation, " bring 
 it here, and away ! "
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 With both hands she grasped the bottles, and dashing them on 
 the hearth, shivered them to pieces, while the blushing liquid flowed 
 around. 
 
 The awe-struck attendants looked down in shame. A low whistle 
 sounded ; the blanket slowly descended, enveloping the barouche ; 
 the peacocks spread their wings, and Susan heard departing voices 
 chanting as the fairy, ascended. 
 
 " Wake ! wake ! bonny birds, 
 'Tis the dawning of day ; 
 We must flee from the city, 
 Mount, mount, and away." 
 
 i 
 
 " Papa," said Susan, as she caressed a beautiful doll he had given 
 her before breakfast, f ' I dreamed last night that Cinderclaws be- 
 longed to the Temperance Society." 
 " I hope it is true," said her father. 
 
 ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS DREAM. 
 
 ONE Christmas Eve, John Eggleston hung his stockings carefully 
 by the chimney corner, and after saying his prayers, fell asleep. 
 
 John dreamed that he was in bed, peeping at his stocking over the 
 bed clothes, when he saw a very pleasant-looking old gentleman 
 come down the chimney on a nice little pony, precisely like one 
 named Lightfoot, that his uncle Ben had promised to give him. It 
 was funny, indeed, to see the pony slide down feet foremost, and 
 John laughed out in his sleep ; but he laughed still louder when he 
 examined old Nicholas, the rider. 
 
 His hair was made of squibs, and as he came nearer and nearer 
 to the lamp that stood on the hearth, pop went off one of the crack-
 
 74 STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 ers, and then another. St. Nick was not a bit frightened, he only 
 rubbed his ears with his coat sleeve, patted the pony to keep him 
 quiet, and laughed till he showed the concave of his great mouth full 
 of sugar-plums. 
 
 John was excessively amused, and shouted so loud that his 
 mother thought he had the nightmare. He watched the old gentle- 
 man closely, and then looked at his stocking. It hung very conven- 
 iently. 
 
 " He can't put the pony in it," said he to himself, " and that is a 
 pity." 
 
 The old gentleman's pockets stuck out prodigiously, and he panted 
 *nd puffed as if he had been cudgelling an alligator. 
 
 " Well," said he, wiping the perspiration off his face, although it 
 was cold December, " if this is not hard work ! Sixty-five young- 
 sters have I called on the last hour. Hark ! the clock sounds down 
 the chimney, one, two ; I shall have a tough job to pop down all the 
 chimneys in the town before daylight. I wonder what this chap 
 would like for a Christmas present," continued he, eyeing the stock- 
 ing ; then putting his arms akimbo, he began to consider. 
 
 John's heart beat. 
 
 " Good Mr. Nicholas," said he to himself, " if you could only give 
 me that pony." 
 
 But he kept quite still ; for he saw the old man thrust his hands 
 into his tremendous pockets. 
 
 "Let me see," says old Nicholas ; "here is a jack-knife that I was 
 to have given to Tom Butler if he had not quarrelled with his sis- 
 ters. Hocus focus/" At this the stocking opened, and in went the 
 jack-knife. 
 
 It was the very thing John wanted. 
 
 Then the old man pulled from his pockets twine, tops, marbles, 
 dissected maps, books, sugar-plums, and divers other notions, all the 
 while talking to himself.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 75 
 
 " This lignumvitae top," said he, " is for Tim Barnwell, a clever 
 chap, who never tells lies. This line and fish-hook Master Troup 
 must have for his kind care of his father when he had the gout. 
 This annual was for William Wiley, but the lad kicked his brother 
 and called him a wicked name, so we will lay it by for Tom Trout." 
 
 John thought he could stay forever to see the old gentleman take 
 out his knick-knacks, and tell whom they were for ; but he began to 
 be a little frightened for his own stocking, when he recollected that 
 he had been remiss in his Latin the last quarter. 
 
 " I hope the old gentleman don't understand the classics," said 
 John to himself; but he stopped short, for this queer visitor held 
 the stocking up to his nose, saying, 
 
 " I think this lad loves gunpowder, by the smell." 
 
 He then took hold of his hair, and pulling out squibs by the 
 dozen, tied them up in parcels, and threw them into the stocking. 
 As fast as he pulled them off, new squibs appeared, and hung down 
 over his ears and forehead. 
 
 "This accounts for the noise **we hear on Christmas," thought 
 John. " I never knew before how squibs were made " ; and he had 
 to hold his sides for laughing, the old gentleman looked so droll. 
 
 As St. Nicholas was stooping over the light to put a new supply 
 into the stocking, a great number exploded, and the little pony giv- 
 ing a start, disappeared up the chimney. 
 
 John awoke ; it was just daybreak. He sprang out of bed, roused 
 all the family with his " Merry Christmas," ran to the stable, and what 
 should he see but uncle Ben's pony, with a bridle on his neck, on 
 which was pinned a piece of paper written, 
 
 " A Merry Christmas, with the pony, Lightfoot, for my nephew, 
 John. 
 
 * In all of the Southern States, fire-crackers and squibs are sent off at Christ- 
 mas time, as well as on the Fourth of July.
 
 76 STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 THE MASKS. 
 
 LUCILLA ARMORY, in her sixteenth year, was a lovely-looking 
 creature, flushed with youth and beauty, just between the woman 
 and the child. All hearts were taken by her at a glance, she was so 
 frank, witty, and sparkling. She led the enjoyments of the young, 
 and enlivened the gravity of the old ; was the prime leader of 
 games, and could guess conundrums like a sibyl ; was apt at every- 
 thing ; sang the last new songs, chatted phrases at French stores, 
 was admired, sought, and yet, alas ! dreaded, for Lucilla was a 
 liar ! I know it is a hard word to digest, but call it by what name 
 you will, whether white lying or black lying, disguise it in the " not 
 at home" of the busy housewife, or lounging novel reader, cover it 
 up with all the shades that Mrs. Opie can devise, still, like her, we 
 feel that lying is lying. 
 
 Lucilla's mother had imbibed !<*>se notions on this subject. If 
 her daughter's wit set a circle in a roar of laughter, or her prettiness 
 fascinated them, it was enough for her. Sometimes the idea of her 
 want of veracity startled her ; but she comforted herself by saying, 
 " Oh, Lucilla is so young ! what can be expected of a girl of fif- 
 teen ! " 
 
 Lucilla was always in extremes. It was either the coldest or the 
 warmest day she ever felt in her whole life ; a party was delightful 
 or it was horrible ; a young gentleman was either exquisitely charm- 
 ing or a stupid thing ; a young lady was a beauty or a fright. 
 
 This spirit of exaggeration, as it is apt to do with females, ex- 
 tended to numbers. Everything increased on her lips like Falstaft's 
 sixteen men in buckram ; tens were hundreds, and hundreds thou- 
 sands. 
 
 Helen Mortimer called on her one day.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 "Why were you not at the Bancrofts' party last night?" said 
 Lucilla. 
 
 " I was not invited," replied Helen. 
 
 " Oh, what a pity," said Lucilla ; " we had a divine evening. I 
 danced every time, and was invited six sets beforehand." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Helen. " I understood there was but one set 
 danced on account of the heat of the evening." 
 
 " Good heavens ! Helen," said Lucilla, " there were at least half a 
 dozen. I wish you had been there to have seen Miss Triptoe, from 
 New York. You know how vulgar it is to take steps ; well, this 
 belle cut such capers and leaped so high, that I bowed and nodded 
 to Miss Dwindle under her feet while she was up in the air." 
 
 Helen cried out, " Oh, Lucilla ! " 
 
 " It is a fact," said Lucilla ; " you may ask any of the girls. Oh, 
 by the way, have you seen Mary Donald's comb ? It beats the South 
 American ladies out and out. I declare to gracious, it is as high -as 
 grandmother's mahogany-backed chair, that was made before the old 
 war. Don't shake your head, E&elen. It was so high (measuring 
 from the floor with her hand). They say Mary Donald's mother 
 calls her children together and flogs them every morning before 
 breakfast, to keep them in order." 
 
 Helen colored deeply, " Mrs. Donald is a relation of ours, Lu- 
 cilla," said she, " and we think her a most estimable woman. It is 
 true that she assembles her family every morning, but it is to give 
 them an opportunity of attending religious worship." 
 
 "Good powers!" exclaimed Lucilla, "who would have thought 
 that you were related ! It must have been Mrs. " 
 
 " Stop," said Helen, " I will not listen to any more calumny. You 
 know that you are slandering, and that such remarks often fix a stain 
 on any individual which only time can wipe away." 
 
 Lucilla trotted her foot in some excitement, and took her turn to 
 blush. As Helen rose to go, she asked if she had seen her bell-ropes.
 
 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 " No, they are beautiful indeed," said Helen ; " how ingeniously 
 you have shaded them." 
 
 " I am glad you like them," said Lucilla ; " see how my finger is 
 marked with the needle." 
 
 At that moment her mother entered. 
 
 " What, Miss Helen," said she, " admiring my worsted work ? I 
 tried to persuade this lazy child to help me, but she would not." 
 
 Helen immediately took her leave. 
 
 Lucilla was passing her last quarter at a school, and her fine mind 
 was rapidly opening under all the advantages of education. 
 
 By some unwarrantable calumny, she had caused the disgrace of 
 a schoolmate, and the indignation of her class was so great she was 
 glad to return home. Towards twilight rjer parents were absent, 
 and as it was a sultry evening, she seated herself in the piazza.. 
 
 Absorbed in a kind of reverie, she was startled by the tread of 
 many feet, and lifting her eyes, she saw a procession of figures slowly 
 enter the porch, and arrange themselves against the balustrade, with 
 their faces towards her. A strange and horrible variety appeared 
 in their countenances. Some looked dark and sullen, others dis- 
 torted and malicious ; some turned half aside with a glance of tri- 
 umph, and others leered with gestures of disgusting familiarity. 
 The line extended to the extremity of the building, gradually soften- 
 ing from ferocity to beauty, and as her eyes recoiling from the nearer 
 bent to the most distant objects, distinguished a majestic form hold- 
 ing a torch, whose clear beautiful eyes seemed to penetrate her 
 thoughts. 
 
 A restless silence pervaded her followers, while the figure w.ith 
 the torch, approaching Lucilla with a firm and measured tread, 
 addressed her thus, 
 
 " I am Truth. Alas ! that I should be a stranger to one so young 
 and fair. These are my attendants, and though forbidding in aspect 
 they perform my will. All the shades of falsehood are represented
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 79 
 
 on these faces, from the first exaggerated word to the crime of slan- 
 der. They will follow you unseen j for slight offences the least 
 deformed will become visible, but should you injure any one, expect 
 to see their avenging eyes peering into yours in the domestic circle 
 and the sparkling ball-room." 
 
 As she said these words, some of the vilest faces turned eagerly 
 towards her as if already claiming her as their own. 
 
 " Before we part," said Truth, " let me warn you that your very 
 exclamations are deceitful. Whom do you address when you say, 
 ' My Heavens ! Great Goodness ! Good Gracious ! ' Do you invoke 
 the Deity ? You shudder, and say no. Beware, then, how you take 
 His name in vain, for such language belongs only to Him." 
 
 "Lucilla," continued she, "these are masks which terrify you. 
 When you conform to truth, you will know her followers and see 
 them as you do me." 
 
 Lucilla looked eagerly at her. Resplendent indeed was Truth. 
 Her torch, whose clear and steady beam was colored with variegated 
 rays, threw a glory over her form, and seemed to light the way 
 through her serene eyes to her very soul. A veil was thrown over 
 her graceful limbs, revealing with modesty their fine proportions. 
 Not an ornament was on her person, but there she stood glorious in 
 simple beauty. 
 
 " Authority, with grace 
 Of awfulness, was in her face." 
 
 Intently gazing on Lucilla, she remained awhile silent, then turn- 
 ing to the fantastic procession, she said, 
 
 "Ye know my signals. Calumnia, I wave my torch thrice and 
 again for thee ; Deceptia, thrice for thee ; Exaggeratia, twice for 
 thee ; Flatterania, one flash for thee ; disappear." 
 
 A momentary rush was heard, and Lucilla sat alone. 
 
 Lucilla retired to rest that night with a disturbed conscience;
 
 80 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 there was a dread at her heart that made her cling to her young 
 sister, who slept with her for companionship. 
 
 " I will be very careful of my words and conduct," thought she ; 
 but she did not pray nor look to. the " Rock of Ages " for aid. 
 
 She slept and forgot her resolutions ; forgot the God who never 
 sleeps. The sun rose bright and lovely, but no beam of thankful- 
 ness dwelt in her heart ; her form moved in strength and beauty, 
 but no gratitude breathed from her lips. Sleep was to her like night 
 oh a flower ; it tinged her cheek, enlivened her eye, but nothing 
 more. Oh, how dreadful is the sleep of the soul ! The bird may 
 spring aloft with its matin song thoughtless of its powers ; the leaf 
 may lie open to the sun unconscious who colors it with emerald 
 beauty ; the stream may glide in soft meanderings ignorant of Him 
 who<bids it rise in the mountains and rush to the -sea; but shall 
 they, whose young minds are fresh from the Creator, whose first leaf 
 of sin is almost unwritten, whose souls are capable of celestial sym- 
 pathy, shall they rise from sleep untouched by the thought of a 
 protecting Deity? 
 
 Lucilla repaired as usual to the academy, and by her application 
 gained the praise of her teachers. When the young ladies retired 
 at the customary hour of recess, she was attracted by a bead bag 
 which one of her schoolmates was embroidering. It was a libel on 
 taste ; the sheep were as tall as the men, a waterfall stood as still 
 as if the earth's attraction was suspended, and a shepherdess held 
 something which might have" been called a stick as well as a crook. 
 
 " My dear Sarah," said Lucilla, " what a pretty idea ! where did 
 you get that pattern ? Do draw it for me. I declare I shall not 
 rest until " 
 
 Before she could conclude her sentence a flash of light startled 
 her, and on recovering from the glare she saw the face of Flatter- 
 ania over Sarah's shoulder. Her head was fantastically ornamented 
 with feathers. She held a fan with a simper to her lips and nodded 
 and beckoned to Lucilha with an air of familiarity.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 8 1 
 
 Lucilla felt faint at this recognition and suddenly returning to her 
 desk pursued her studies in silence. 
 
 Lucilla was entertaining her friends one afternoon with an account 
 of her father's sumptuous style of Hying. 
 
 " We always have three courses, and invariably ice-cream," said 
 she, and busily talking, perceived not two flashes of light that played 
 through the apartment. " What allowance of spending money do 
 you have, Arabella ? " continued she to one of the girls. 
 
 " Twelve and a half cents a week," was the answer. 
 
 " Mercy ! how little," said Lucilla ; " my father gives me a dollar." 
 
 Two soft flashes of light crossed her eyes and revealed a figure 
 which she knew to be Exaggeratia. She held in her hand a mag- 
 nifying glass, and as she glided with rapid steps past Lucilla, the 
 frightened girl saw her own features enlarged to an immense size. 
 She was hushed in a moment and the figure disappeared. 
 
 A few days passed without a visit from her visionary rebukers, 
 until one evening Lucilla was desirous of wearing a ribbon-belt to a 
 party, to which her mother had objected. She dressed herself ac- 
 cording to her mother's wishes, but after bidding her good-by, ran 
 up-stairs softly to her drawer and taking the forbidden belt hastily 
 fastened it around her waist. Three flashes of light illuminated the 
 room, and a female figure appeared in whose countenance two faces 
 seemed joined together. 
 
 The two mouths spoke together, " Deception, Miss, at your service. 
 Have you any commands ? " 
 
 Lucilla threw down the belt in terror and wore the sash directed 
 by her mother. 
 
 Several articles had from time to time been missed from Mr. 
 Armory's premises, and suspicion fell on the house-servant, Amos, 
 who was familiar with the establishment. 
 
 The apprehensions of the family were again excited by the loss of 
 some silver spoons. Lucilla's lively imagination fixed at once on
 
 82 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 Amos as the thief, and from talking about it unhesitatingly, she be- 
 gan to believe that it was actually the case. Her assertions were so 
 positive, that Amos was regarded with distrust and aversion. 
 
 Her father questioned her on the subject, and said seriously, 
 
 " Lucilla, have you reason to believe that Amos is a thief? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir. Do you not remember the umbrella, the walking- 
 stick ? " and she went on enumerating other abstracted articles. 
 
 " But that is not to the point, my dear," said he ; " have you ever 
 seen Amos take what does not belong to him ? " 
 
 Oh, why did not Calumnia appear at this fatal moment ? 
 
 Lucilla hesitated, but her foolish and wicked love of excitement 
 was too strong, and she replied, 
 
 "Yes, father, very often ; but I did not like to tell you about it." 
 
 Amos was instantly summoned and committed to the work-house. 
 
 Lucilla had not calculated on this, for her feelings were tender 
 and she could not bear to have any one suffer. She burst into tears 
 and pleaded for the release of Amos with all the eloquence in her 
 power. She even suggested the idea of his innocence ; but Mr. 
 Armory, knowing her habit of prevarication, thought she spoke only 
 from impulse and would not heed her. 
 
 The grandmother of Amos had been a nurse in the family of Mr. 
 Armory for many years, until her intellect became disordered in her 
 old age ; but though her usefulness was gone, the strong ties of 
 child's nurse united her to the family. 
 
 Hagar was nearly seventy years old ; tall, erect, with eyes full of 
 that strange light that beams out from a disordered intellect like 
 phosphorescence from animal decay. Sometimes she* closed the 
 shutters of her apartment and addressed " the spirits " through small 
 crevices where the light entered. Sometimes she sat for hours on a 
 bench in the sun, with her hands clasped, reeling to and fro, singing 
 psalms. But Hagar's delight was her church. A nice wrapper, a 
 white handkerchief crossed over her bosom, and an apron pinned
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 83 
 
 on without injuring one of its starched folds, with a check turban 
 carefully tied over her gray hairs, formed her Sunday toilet. Slight- 
 ing the seats in the gallery, her favorite one was in the porch of the 
 broad aisle, where, sitting a little forward on a bench in the rear of 
 the first pew, she could see the preacher. When a hymn was com- 
 menced, she rose, clasped her hands and inclined her body forward ; 
 at the end of every verse she courtesied, bending lower and lower 
 until the close. Sometimes, particularly at the dismissal hymn, she 
 advanced with a measured step up the aisle, gently waving her 
 clasped hands, and courtesying, until led back by an observing friend. 
 
 Lucilla was a favorite of Hagar's, and possessed more control over 
 her than any other person. For some time after being informed of 
 her grandson's disgrace, her passions were unusually roused and 
 Lucilla was sent for to soothe her. The wretched girl herself needed 
 consolation, for conscience began to be busy. She went, however, 
 to Hagar's room one day and found her in the attitude of listening. 
 
 " Hush ! " said she, " don't you hear my boy ? " 
 
 Lucilla wept bitterly. 
 
 " Are you so sorry," said Hagar, "for a thief? " 
 
 " Amos ain't sorry for the old woman's gray hairs " ; and pushing 
 aside her cap, she showed the crisp, white curls that edged her fore- 
 head. 
 
 At this moment Amos entered after his punishment. He threw 
 himself on a bench with his head on his knees and groaned bitterly. 
 
 "Thief! thief!" screamed the old woman. 
 
 "I swear to heaven I'm not a thief, grandma," said the poor 
 fellow. 
 
 A servant suddenly rushed in and informed them that the real cul- 
 prit had been discovered and that Amos was innocent. 
 
 A wild scream of joy burst from Hagar at this intelligence and, 
 aiming to spring towards her grandson with extended arms, she fell. 
 The chords of life were broken, old Hagar was dead.
 
 84 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 Four vivid flashes of light illuminated her stiffened form, and 
 Calumnia, with a shout of triumph, stood beside her. In her shriv- 
 elled right hand she held a poisoned arrow and in the other a bleed- 
 ing heart 
 
 Wild with terror, Lucilla flew from the scene and weeping in her 
 father's arms confessed the crime of slander. 
 
 Months elapsed and Lucilla's character had changed from idle 
 trifling to thoughtful truth. She was sitting one evening in the 
 piazza reflecting on the past and seeking aid for the future, when 
 the masked figures of her former vision appeared before her. 
 
 " Lucilla," said Truth with a gentle tone, " I need not now tell 
 you who I am. You know me. Has my lesson been too severe ? 
 You will not think so if you are wholly mine." 
 
 She approached nearer to the now really lovely girl, lovely with 
 the beauty of soul, and gazed into her eyes. Lucilla shrank not ; 
 Truth laid her cool, firm hand against Lucilla's heart. It fluttered 
 not 
 
 " You are mine," said Truth ; and, saying this, she breathed a 
 breath as odorous as infancy's upon an adamantine seal and touched 
 it to Lucilla's coral lips, and then passed her hand with a slow and 
 gentle pressure on Lucilla's eyes. They opened on the visionary train 
 whose falling masks were revealing sweet, unclouded faces, reflected 
 in polished mirrors. There was no deformity now ; with chaste and 
 gentle motion they glided on and the smiling welcome they gave her 
 shone from mirror to mirror, until the beautiful vision passed away. 
 
 It was gone and the stars of evening looked pleasantly down on 
 Lucilla's placid soul. .
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 8$ 
 
 THE WAGON BOY. 
 
 ONE clear wintry Saturday, Richard Edwards accompanied his 
 father on a hunting excursion. They were unsuccessful, but com- 
 forted themselves with the jokes which good-natured sportsmen 
 make on each other when they return from the chase empty-handed. 
 They were a mile from any habitation, and had taken a short cut 
 through the woods, when Richard called 
 
 " Stop, father ; I hear sounds of distress." 
 
 Mr. Edwards reined in his horse and listened. 
 
 "I perceive nothing," said he, "but the forest birds that gather 
 at night-fall. But hark ! so, Fido, down boy," continued he to a 
 hound which was leaping up at his side. 
 
 A wild, but child-like sob of agony burst distinctly on their ears. 
 
 " We must look into this, Richard," said his father ; and starting 
 in the direction of the sound, he was followed by his son. 
 
 As they rode over the uncleared space, they heard at intervals the 
 same cry, and they were soon near enough to perceive the object 
 of their search. In one of the turnouts made through the woods 
 by wagoners, they perceived a country team ; and near it, extended 
 on the sand, lay a man with the cold, stern countenance of death, 
 while a youth of fifteen, kneeling on one side with his head resting 
 on the silent breast, sobbed as if his heart would break, and a dog 
 looked wistfully, as if he knew the helplessness of his master and 
 the anguish of the boy. 
 
 At the sound of footsteps, the youth sprang up. 
 
 " Sir," he cried, " can you save my father ? Save him, save him ! " 
 
 Mr. Edwards alighted from his horse and approached the body. 
 It had all the marks of death, the cold and shrunk countenance, 
 the appalling repose of mortality bereft of soul. The eyes of the
 
 86 STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 youth brightened with eager hope as Mr. Edwards felt the pulse and 
 breast of the deceased. There was no answering sympathy in his 
 look ; he shook his head mournfully, and said, " My poor fellow ! " 
 
 The wagon boy threw himself on the body of his father, and gave 
 that cry of deep and wailing sorrow that God allows to the crowded 
 heart to keep it from breaking. The cold wind swept by with a 
 wintry gust and seemed faintly to echo his subsiding moan. 
 
 Richard took his hand. 
 
 " We will try to comfort you, my poor lad," said he. 
 
 " Father, shall he go home with us ? " 
 
 " What, leave him ? " said the wagon boy, clinging to his father, 
 while a deep shuddering shook his frame. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Edwards gently, " you shall not leave him ; but 
 would it not relieve your mind to see him laid in a decent grave ? " 
 
 Mr. Edwards had touched a string that finds an answering chord 
 in every heart. 
 
 The wagon boy silently rose, passed his arm across his eyes, from 
 which the large tears still rolled, and, assisted by Mr. Edwards, placed 
 the body on the wagon. 
 
 The sad procession moved along and reached the ferry-boat in 
 time to pass to town. 
 
 Mr. Edwards was rich and generous. He clothed the wagon boy 
 in appropriate garments the following day, and walked with Richard 
 as mourner to the grave. The faithful dog mutely followed, and 
 when the wagon boy returned from the mournful ceremony, he laid 
 himself down by the side of the poor brute, and throwing his arms 
 around the animal, hid his swollen eyes upon his neck, as if he only 
 could understand his feelings. 
 
 For many days they tried to comfort him in vain, for religious 
 emotions were new to him ; but when Mr. Edwards explained to 
 him the resurrection and the life, and Richard read to him those 
 sublime and touching portions of Scripture which tell us that afflic-
 
 FOR THE YOUNG 8/ 
 
 tions are not of the dust, and that whom the Lord loveth he chas- 
 teneth, the wagon boy was comforted. He returned to his home 
 sad but resigned ; and Richard, too, was taught a reliance on Provi- 
 dence, that was often renewed when he rode by the spot where the 
 cry of the wagon boy first pierced his ear. 
 
 A SULLIVAN'S ISLAND STORY. 
 
 " FATHER says he will take us all to the island this afternoon," 
 said Edward Marion, with a shout that reached his sisters in the 
 third story of their residence. 
 
 None but those who have passed a languid August morning in 
 Charleston, S. C., can tell what an effort it costs to prepare a large 
 family for the four-o'clock steamer. But Mrs. Marion was a good 
 manager, and they were all in the carriage in season, with the loss 
 only of Sophia's mit, and Charlotte's basket for shells. John, who 
 was thinker-general for all the group, foreseeing this difficulty, had 
 provided a basket large enough for both, which was in the hands of 
 a bright-looking little colored boy, who, being just from the country, 
 wished to see " dem big boat what trow up fire." 
 
 When on board the steamer, Charlotte drew near her father and 
 whispered, " You promised you would tell us something about the 
 revolutionary war when we should go to the island." 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said her father, " and I will gladly keep my word. 
 You must first imagine all those large buildings on the wharves re- 
 moved, and fortifications placed along from South bay to Cooper 
 river." 
 
 " Did they pull down the stores, father ? " said Sophia. 
 
 " Yes, my daughter," answered Mr. Marion. " It is necessary to 
 place fortifications between the buildings of a city and the enemy. 
 You know the Charlestonians, in 1776, expected the British frigates
 
 88 STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 would come up to town. But stay, who is this old gentleman com- 
 ing on board ? Is it possible ! Captain Cowpens, I am most happy 
 to see you ! " and Mr. Marion shook hands cordially with the old 
 gentleman, whose bronzed face and suit of blue homespun indicated 
 an up-country farmer. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Marion," said the captain. " You see my eyes 
 are not so bad, but that I can recognize an old friend. I thought 
 to have ended my days at the High Hills ; but your steamboats and 
 your railroads have tempted me to come and take a look at what is 
 going on hereabouts. Ah, if General Lee could have had a steamer, 
 when he went from town to take a peep at Moultrie, in the fight of 
 '76, he would have been a happy fellow! " 
 
 " My dear children," said Mr. Marion, introducing them, " Captain 
 Cowpens is the very man to gratify you with anecdotes of the Revo- 
 lution. He has had real fighting, while I have only 
 
 1 Shouldered my cane, and told how fields were won.' " 
 
 " We should be delighted if he would tell us all about the war," 
 they exclaimed. 
 
 The old captain said, " Happy to gratify the young people. In- 
 quiring minds, hey ? Well, you must know there were lying off the 
 island several British vessels, full of Red Coats ; reg'lars, knowing 
 ones. Let me see," said he, counting on his fingers ; " there was the 
 Bristol, fifty guns ; the Experiment, fifty guns ; the Active, twenty- 
 eight guns ; the Solebay, twenty-eight guns ; the Syren, twenty-eight 
 guns ; the Acteon, twenty-eight guns ; the Sphinx, twenty-eight guns ; 
 the Friendship, twenty-six guns ; the Rangers' sloop and Thunder 
 Bomb, each eight guns. But what did we care for them ? General 
 Moultrie was not a man to start at " (Here the steam was raised 
 with its usual noise.) The captain, quite frightened, exclaimed, 
 " Hey ! what's that ? (Whizz, bizz, sizz !) Smoke and thunder ! 
 what's the matter?"
 
 FOR THE YOUNG 89 
 
 Charlotte, whispering to John, said, 
 
 " Captain Cowpens does not stand fire so well as he did in '76." 
 
 Captain Cowpens was too experienced a veteran to be long agi- 
 tated by noise and smoke. He gazed composedly on the dense 
 column, that rose like a living thing on the air, and floated off in 
 gentle circles on the distant sky, and then, nodding his head, as 
 much as to say, " this beats everything," sat down, with both hands 
 resting on his hickory cane. 
 
 After meditating a moment, he took a long pinch of snuff The 
 children wondered that any man could make a good-looking nose 
 such a receptacle. 
 
 " He was in the old war," said Edward, " and we must forgive him 
 everything." 
 
 " I suppose, boys," said Captain Cowpens, after he had diffused, 
 rather than removed the snuff on his face, and scattered it so freely 
 that black Billy who stood behind him began to sneeze : " I sup- 
 pose we must talk about '76. Do the young folks know anything 
 about General Lee ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Edward, promptly. "He was born in North 
 Wales, in Great Britain, and became an officer at the age of eleven. 
 He came to New York in 1773, to fight for the Americans. He was 
 made commander of the Southern forces, and inspired the people 
 with great confidence." 
 
 Captain Cowpens clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Very 
 well, my boy ; I like to see a lad with his wits about him. To be 
 sure his presence did put us in great spirits. Colonel Moultrie said 
 it was equal to a reinforcement of a thousand men. He was here, 
 there, and everywhere ; and though he was mighty quick-tempered, 
 we soon got used to that. I remember him well. He was a tall 
 man, and his face was not agreeable. When he chose, he could be 
 gentlemanly; but he was often coarse, and in his latter years, was 
 very slovenly in his dress. He said sharp things, and made enemies,
 
 9O STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 though those who are judges of such things called him a bright 
 scholar. He was a great lover of dogs, and often annoyed the ladies 
 with them. He had a poor opinion of Sullivan's Island, said there 
 was no way to retreat, and called it a " 
 
 "Oh! I remember," said Sophia; "he called it- 'a slaughter 
 pen.' " 
 
 " So he did, miss," continued the captain. He would have given 
 up the post if " 
 
 " What does giving up the post mean ? " asked Sophia. " What 
 do they do with posts in war ? " 
 
 " You little simpleton," said Captain Cowpens. " Do you not know 
 what a post is ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; " said Sophia, pertly, " I do. It is a long stick 
 that you drive into the ground." 
 
 " You little goose," said the captain. " You know, Miss Charlotte, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Charlotte ; " a military station, where soldiers 
 stay." 
 
 " Yes ; that is it, my dear," said the captain. " A post to drive 
 in the ground eh ? " chucking Sophia under the chin, who looked 
 rather offended. " Let me see, we were talking about General 
 Lee. Rutledge, President of the General Assembly of South Caro- 
 lina, would not let him give up the Island. Then General Lee 
 ordered a bridge to be made of empty hogsheads, after the- manner 
 of buoys, over to Haddrel's Point, where there was a good stand of 
 men. After the hogsheads were steadied, the workmen put planks 
 across them, the whole way. Colonel Clark set out from Haddrel's 
 with 200 men, and before they were half on, the hogsheads began 
 to sink lower and lower, and back they huddled, as fast as if the 
 enemy had been at their heels. 
 
 "Colonel Moultrie was as easy as possible, joked about the 
 bridge, and considered himself able to defend his post, eh, Miss
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 9 1 
 
 Sophy ? General Lee was very uneasy about the Island, and doubted 
 Colonel Moultrie's prudence. Even during the action on the 28th, 
 when the British were firing like vengeance, he came down from 
 town, and pointed two or three guns himself. But from that moment 
 he seemed to feel confidence, and said, ' Colonel, I see you are doing 
 very well here ; you have no occasion for me ; I will go up to town 
 again.' He left us, then, in the midst of a heavy fire. When he was 
 observed to be coming, Colonel Moultrie and several other officers 
 were smoking their pipes as they were giving orders ; but when 
 General Lee came into the post, they thought best to lay them down. 
 
 "After the 28th, Colonel Moultrie said that he and Lee were 
 bosom friends." . 
 
 " Father," said John, " Edward told us that General Lee was made 
 an officer at eleven years of age. How can that be ? " 
 
 "Persons of wealth and influence," replied his father, "secure 
 commissions and titles for their children, that they may enter the 
 sen-ice as soon as their education is completed." 
 
 " Can you tell us any thing more of General Lee," said Charlotte 
 to her father. 
 
 " My children," replied Mr. Marion ; " General Lee gained great 
 fame by his wisdom and bravery in conducting the southern cam- 
 paign ; but he has not left behind him a reputation to be envied. 
 How much superior is true goodness to bravery, though a good man 
 will generally be brave. General Lee was disgraced in the United 
 States army for disobedience of orders, misbehavior before the ene- 
 my and disrespect to General Washington. He retired to an 
 estate in Virginia, lived secluded in a small hovel and died in ob- 
 scurity. The part he took in securing our independence claims a 
 sigh at the thought of his lonely and distant grave. His last words 
 were, ' Stand by me, my brave grenadiers ! ' How much more 
 affecting, at that solemn moment, would have been an appeal to his 
 God, and an expression of trust in his Redeemer."
 
 92 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 There was silence in the little group as they reflected on Mr. 
 Marion's words, which was broken by John's exclaiming, " Castle 
 Pinckney, father ! how soon we are abreast of it ! " 
 
 " Heigh ! what is this ? " said Captain Cowpens. " That tight 
 piece of brick and mortar was not here in '76. Ah ! friend Marion, 
 these changes make us feel old." 
 
 Mr. Marion looked a little nervous at the word us, and rubbed his 
 hair, as if, like a blind man, he could feel colors. 
 
 Captain Cowpens could not take his eyes from Castle Pinckney ; 
 and a beautiful object it is, sitting like an ocean bird amid the noisy 
 solitude of dashing waters. 
 
 " I should love to live there," said Charlotte, whispering to her 
 mother, " and hear the music of the winds and waves." 
 
 " I remember," said the captain, after musing a little while, " they 
 used to say that there lived on that spot, before the year 1752, an 
 old man and his daughter, who kept a tea-house where parties of 
 pleasure resorted from Charleston to spend the evening and drink 
 tea; that the house was washed away by the gale of 1752, and the 
 old man certainly was drowned, and probably his daughter also." 
 
 " Its history since that period," said Mr. Marion, " is soon told. 
 It remained unoccupied from 1752 to 1780, when Charleston was 
 besieged by the British forces under the command of Sir Henry 
 Clinton, and they erected a battery under the supervision of Colonel 
 Moncricff, engineer, and called it Mud Fort. This fort, of course, 
 was held by the British as long as they held Charleston. After the 
 revolutionary war, in 1798, and during the administration of Mr. 
 Adams, in anticipation of a war in France, our government erected 
 a fort or castle and denominated it Castle Pinckney, in compliment 
 to Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, ambassador to France, who just 
 about that time returned home. Charles Pinckney was at the same 
 time governor of. South Carolina, but the compliment was paid to 
 the ambassador. This fort had not been built upon a stable founda-
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 93 
 
 tion, for it was some time aftenvards washed away. The present 
 fort, or castle, was built, in the year 1811, by Mr. John Gordon, a 
 resident of Charleston, and was erected in anticipation of a war with 
 Great Britain, which was declared the year after." 
 
 While he spoke, the good steamer darted on her way, and in a few 
 moments the boys thought of nothing else but their fishing tackle, 
 and the girls their prospect of picking up shells. 
 
 It was a languid afternoon in August when the Marions and Cap- 
 tain Cowpens visited the island. Edward's thermometer, a prize 
 from his teacher, stood at eighty-seven in the entry, although the 
 piazza was shaded by a spreading fig-tree. 
 
 All who had energy to move in the city were enjoying their sum- 
 mer recreations. Nurses were loitering, and children playing, in the 
 city square ; throngs crowding to the battery ; elderly ladies taking 
 quiet drives beyond the lines ; younger ones partalcing ice-creams, sit- 
 ting tete-a-tete in the arbors, or sipping the grateful refreshments with 
 unbonneted heads in their carriages ; schoolboys were rushing from 
 five-o'clock labors to their ponies, and our fair Di Vernons arranging 
 their round straw hats, or waving plumes, for their equestrian exer- 
 cises. 
 
 The steamboat afforded its customary motley groups, reclining 
 invalids, with their eyes shooting a sudden brilliancy as the sea- 
 breeze swept over their languid brows ; the sickly infant seizing the 
 first relished morsel ; the happy and healthy, who come to add an- 
 other tinge to a bright cheek or preserve one already glowing ; the 
 mechanic, generously recreating his industrious family ; the profes- 
 sional man, escaping from the stifling court-room, the chamber of 
 disease, or the secluded study, to feel the Atlantic breeze untainted 
 with human breathing, and gaze on the clear sky and unfettered sea, 
 all were there. It is not for us to enter on this innocent catalogue 
 those whose motives are gross and impure, the sensualist and the 
 gambler, who dare to sojourn where God's mercies pass by in purify-
 
 94 STORfES AND TALES 
 
 ing love, and whose stagnant souls are untouched with sensibility by 
 the wave or the breeze. 
 
 Captain Cowpens glanced from Fort Johnson to Haddrell's Point, 
 then to Sullivan's Island, and there his eyes rested with an American 
 gaze of delight on the beautiful flag waving from the citadel. 
 
 When he landed at the Cove, he said nothing, but with an ener- 
 getic stamp, thrust his cane into the sand as if to assure himself 
 that he stood again on that sacred spot. 
 
 The girls were disappointed in gathering shells as they strolled on 
 the beach. For several years they have been becoming more and 
 more infrequent, though occasionally an eye sharpened by concho- 
 logical skill, may detect a valuable one in the hollows on the beach, 
 at the back or eastern part of the island. 
 
 Charlotte picked up a buccinum, with the living animal in it ; but 
 when she recollectefl its slight value and the torture it would endure, 
 she laid it down on the beach again and with a generous pleasure 
 watched its uncouth motions on the smooth sand, until a friendly 
 wave with dancing steps came and bore it into the sea. 
 
 Captain Cowpens was overcome by the emotions that crowded on 
 his mind. He was trying to realize that the spot he now saw was the 
 " wilderness he remembered covered with live oak, myrtle and pal- 
 metto trees." 
 
 Mr t Marion took him gently by the arm, led him within the fort 
 and introduced him to the commanding officer. There, in the com- 
 modious and not inelegant dwelling, the old gentleman sat down, 
 and as he wiped his forehead, Sophia perceived that he passed his 
 handkerchief across his eyes to conceal a gathering tear. 
 
 The children were gratified with the military display at the fort, 
 and after satiating their curiosity returned to the beach. Mrs. 
 Marion once shook her head at John, as he stood behind a sentinel, 
 imitating his stiff attitude and shouldering her parasol like a gun. 
 
 The boys and girls shouted in the fulness of freedom as they re-
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 95 
 
 gained the beach. Black Billy put his feet carefully into the water 
 at the suggestion of the children, then a little farther and a little 
 farther, until finding it quite safe and feeling the ground firm beneath 
 his feet, he polled up his pantaloons and dashed in, singing and 
 dancing like a Merry Andrew. 
 
 How happy were they all ! True, there were no hills rising up to 
 meet the blue sky, no sloping fields winding gracefully to the shore, 
 no rocks stationed like guardians around our coasts, but oh ! how 
 much there was that was beautiful and glorious ! 
 
 Generous and warm-hearted youths, as you tread these level sands, 
 do you experience a blank for memory or a pause for hope ? Gentle 
 and light-hearted girls, are there not pleasures enough in the stirring 
 air and rushing wave ? Go, then, in your innocent joy ; gather rough 
 shells and throw them in the dark waters ; greet your conscious dog 
 as he comes dripping with his prize from the surge ; write sweet 
 names on the sand ; run and shout with careless laughter against 
 the breeze, or muse on those thoughts which come even to children 
 from the bounding sea ! 
 
 Some planks that had been washed up by the- waves formed a 
 pleasant seat for our little party, after they were joined on the beach 
 by Captain Cowpens and their parents. 
 
 " This is a nice time," said John, " for you to tell us some anec- 
 dotes, Captain Cowpens. I do not mean dates and such things, 
 those are bad enough in school." 
 
 " If I could hobble about the island," said the captain, " I should 
 like to see the spot where they tell me Captain Tufts used to live." 
 
 " Who was he ? " asked Sophia. 
 
 " A faithful old Massachusetts seaman," replied the captain, " who, 
 previous to the battle of Fort Moultrie, was sent in command of a 
 gunboat to attend to the sinking of some vessels in Hog-Island 
 channel, to prevent the British from using that pass to attack 
 Charleston.
 
 96 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 " The first night that Tufts took his station for this service, the 
 British sent one of their fleet, which anchored within gunshot and 
 kept up a smart fire on him. No particular damage was done, except 
 on an old hog, being the only soul wounded on board. This was the 
 commencement of hostilities with the British. 
 
 g 
 
 " On many occasions after, Tufts was serviceable throughout the 
 war. We borrowed two hundred pounds of powder during the 
 action of the 2 8th from his schooner lying behind the fort." 
 
 " At the end of the war," said Mr. Marion, " he was rewarded by 
 our State's allowing him the entire sovereignty of Sullivan's Island, 
 where, except the small garrison at the fort, he was for some time the 
 only resident. He made some money from his large flock of goats, 
 selling them to captains of vessels. He was called Governor Tufts, 
 a title of which the old gentleman was very proud. I have often 
 when a boy, seen Governor Tufts in his hut looking like Robinson 
 Crusoe. By carrying with you some wine and sugar, you might be 
 sure of procuring from his excellency a fresh syllabub." 
 
 " Father," said Charlotte, " was he buried here ? I should like to 
 find his grave." 
 
 " I have heard," said Edward, " that he lies among the Myrtles.* 
 Why, in the present fashion for monuments, cannot the youth of 
 South Carolina erect one to this old man ? General Moultrie was 
 elevated in society, and the name of the fort and island are his mon- 
 uments ; but poor Captain Tufts, who brunteS the first blow of the 
 enemy, the wild winds must blow over his solitary remains, and no 
 patriotic voice question where they lie ! " 
 
 " Right, boy, right," said Captain Cowpens, grasping his hands. 
 "You deserve to be a general." 
 
 "I think it was about here I stood," said the -old officer, in the 
 course of their afternoon drive, " when the British frigate Acteon, 
 
 * A wild, unoccupied piece of ground, where the dead are deposited on the 
 island.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 97 
 
 which had run aground on the 28th during her attempt to take the 
 right flank of the fort, was burnt and forsaken by her crew." 
 
 Captain Cowpens put himself in an oratorical position, and nearly 
 knocked off Mrs. Marion's bonnet with his cane, while he recited, 
 
 " Acteon thus, as ancient fables tell, . 
 By his own hounds pursued, expired and fell." 
 
 " While she was in flames," continued he more quietly, " Captain 
 Jacob Milligan boarded her a'nd coolly fired off three of her guns 
 at Sir Peter Parker's vessel ; then brought off the ship's bell and a 
 few other articles, and had scarcely left her, when she blew up. 
 Colonel Moultrie said, as a grand pillar of smoke issued from the 
 explosion and expanded itself at the top, ' that it formed the figure 
 of a palmetto tree.' Anyhow, it was a grand sight, not only then, 
 but when the smoke burst in a great blaze which burnt down to the 
 water's edge. 
 
 " In the defence of Sullivan's Island there was but one instance 
 of cowardice, though there were but three hundred and fifty troops, 
 all newly raised, and not one of them regularly educated for service 
 except Colonel Motte. The case was that of a soldier, whose nerves 
 would not allow him to stand on the platform during the severe can- 
 nonading and bombardment of the fort. By the articles of war, this 
 poor fellow should have been shot, but the officers were rendered 
 too good-natured by their success to resort to that extremity, and 
 changed, perhaps, to a severer punishment. They gave him up to 
 his comrades to do whatever they pleased with him. The soldiers 
 dressed him up in women's clothes, and after worrying him nearly 
 to death, drummed him out of the fort." 
 
 " I am glad of it," said John. 
 
 " One would think," said Mrs. Marion, with a smile, " that the 
 costume worn by Mrs. Motte, Mrs. Heyward, Mrs. Edwards, Mrs. 
 Brewton, Mrs. Elliot, Mrs. Pinckney,^ Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Shubrick, 
 Mrs. Izard, etc., would not be very disgraceful."
 
 98 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 Captain Cowpens received this rebuke with a respectful bow to 
 the lady and continued : " Poor M'Donald, one of our sergeants, 
 was mortally wounded. Did he flinch even then ? No ! he died 
 exhorting his comrades to continue steady in the cause of their 
 country." 
 
 " Your dog Caesar, John," said the captain, after alighting from 
 the carriage, "reminds me of one which amused some of us even in 
 the fight, by running after the cannon balls on the beach, as they 
 rebounded from the brick work of the lower part of the fort." 
 
 Sophia patted Caesar, saying, " He wags his tail as if he under- 
 stood you, sir." 
 
 " The most trying moment to our friends in town during the bat- 
 tle," continued the captain, " was that in which our flag was shot 
 away. They gave up all as lost ; but Sergeant Jasper, in the hottest 
 of the British fire, jumped on the beach, took up the flag, secured it 
 to the stump of the sponge-staff, gave three cheers while on the ram- 
 parts, and amidst a shower of balls returned to his duty on the plat- 
 form." 
 
 " My children," said Mrs. Marion, " while you admire this act of 
 heroism, let me tell you of an instance of Jasper's good sense, a quality 
 more desirable in our peaceful times. Governor Rutledge presented 
 him a sword, and offered him a commission. .The first he gratefully 
 accepted, but declined the last, saying, ' Were I made an officer, my 
 comrades would be blushing for my ignorance.* 
 
 "Mamma," said Charlotte, "are you not glad that Sullivan's 
 Island is called Moultrieville ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied her mother ; " but I should have preferred Moul- 
 trie's Isle." 
 
 Captain Cowpens was so much invigorated by the air and inter- 
 ested by the sight of the Islands, that he decided to remain for the 
 season. A convenient house on the front beach was selected for his 
 accommodation and Mr. Marion promised to visit him frequently.
 
 SATURDAY AFTERNOON. Pe 09.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 99 
 
 The children passed every Saturday with their old friend, who 
 entered into their amusements and was as ea^er as themselves for 
 the holiday. His fishing-boat was always cleaned with extra care, 
 and the boys' guns placed behind the door ready for their ramble 
 to the curlew-ground. Charlotte invariably protested against their 
 firing a single gun. She wondered they could have the heart to 
 disturb the flight of the birds, as she watched their airy processions 
 against the sky, now mingling as if for consultation, now extending 
 in a pencilled line, lengthening and lengthening until lost in the 
 viewless air. 
 
 As the season advanced, the visits of the Marions were limited 
 to the day-time, as a change of night-air is considered dangerous in 
 southern climates in the autumnal months. 
 
 One September morning, Mrs. Marion and- the children prepared 
 for their Saturday excursion, their father being prevented by business 
 from accompanying them. The steamboat had stopped running, and 
 with gay spirits they stepped on board a packet, delighted with the 
 change. 
 
 They found their old friend well and happy. He had been orna- 
 menting the fishing-boat even her oars were painted a bright 
 green, and she danced on the waves as if expecting her lively crew. 
 
 Nor had the young people been unmindful of him. Charlotte and 
 Sophia affectionately threw around his neck a watch-guard, the result 
 of their joint industry, on which was wrought, in glittering letters, 
 " 28th June, 1776." Edward had superintended the repairing of his 
 spectacles and John came drumming his fingers on a tortoise-shell 
 box, containing a present of best rappee. 
 
 They all entered the fishing-boat. Nature was as bright as their 
 feelings. A few large pillowy clouds rested beneath the heavens, 
 softening, but not obscuring the autumnal sun. The city, with its 
 spires, rose in the distance. The light-house, beautiful emblem of 
 hope and safety, towered on one side, and on the other the main,
 
 IOO STORIES AND TALES 
 
 with its level verdure, seemed like a fringe of green on the azure 
 horjzon. Pleasure-boats were darting from the cove ; the rocking 
 skiff of the fisherman lay easily on the waves and the majestic mer- 
 chantman passed through the channel with its freighted store. 
 
 Some there were, on that day, who with a prescient fear looked 
 round and fancied signs of evil, and the accustomed ear could detect 
 the roar of a distant swell upon the ocean. It blew freshly ; but 
 who, after the panting fervors of the heated south wind, would not 
 welcome that cooling breeze ? 
 
 The wind gradually, but not alarmingly, increased. The Marions 
 ate their late dinner with true Island gout, and not one want was felt 
 or expressed but that one so full of love in the domestic scene, 
 " Oh ! if father were only here ! " 
 
 As they sat at table passing innocent jokes on their fishing skill, 
 a sudden gust shook the slight tenement, and a drizzling rain began 
 to fall. They instantly prepared to return to town, but every moment 
 the wind rose and the sky became darker. They hurried, chilled 
 and alarmed, to the cove. There was evident anxiety among the 
 mariners ; a gale was apprehended and they declined the responsi- 
 bility of female passengers in their slight packets. 
 
 The disappointed party returned to the house in silence, for now 
 the rain began to pour in torrents and the building rocked like an 
 infant's cradle. 
 
 At the approach of night, Sophia was dreadfully alarmed, and as 
 each gust came with its roaring accompaniments of angry waves, she 
 screamed with terror. Mrs. Marion tried to soothe and reason with 
 her. It was in vain. Now her cheek was pale as death, and her 
 eyes seemed starting from their sockets ; and now the blood rushed 
 to her forehead, and she covered her eyes with her hands to shut 
 out the scene before her. 
 
 " Sophia," said her mother, sternly, " I will not suffer this violent 
 emotion. Conquer your feelings immediately, or you must leave me. 

 
 FOR THE YOUNG. IOI 
 
 Your unchristian violence is worse than the storm. God is with us. 
 Let us be prepared for his will, while deliberating on the best means 
 of safety." 
 
 Sophia, with a strong effort, conquered her feelings and only once, 
 but with what different -emotions, cried out, " If father were but 
 here ! " 
 
 How rapidly night came on ! They had hoped the storm would 
 lull at twilight ; but it rose and rose, and at length the waves, like 
 some living monster, lifted the piazza, beneath them. Moving masses 
 of ruins were seen floating on the white foam, while their voices 
 could scarcely be heard through the din and roar of the elements. 
 An able and faithful servant was summoned to accompany them to 
 the fort. He took Sophia in his arms, who lay there like a blighted 
 flower. Charlotte and John held to the skirts of his coat ; Captain 
 Cowpens, Mrs. Marion, and Edward with the remaining servants, 
 following closely behind. The darkness was intense and their way 
 lay thfough rising waves. 
 
 For a short time, a shout, a word of encouragement, even a jest 
 to attempt to conceal their alarm and to assure themselves of each 
 other's presence, were heard ; but this was soon hushed. At this 
 crisis there was an awful pause in the elements ; it seemed that 
 Nature was preparing a nervous heave, and clinging to each other, 
 they thought to die together. It came, the gale rushed thundering 
 on, roaring and raging over bursting waves. 
 
 That loving band were parted ; only Sophia and John reached the 
 fort in safety. 
 
 Bitter was that night ! sad the morning. Oh, thou bright and 
 glorious sun ! how could'st thou return smilingly on such a scene of 
 desolation ? 
 
 Mrs. Marion and Edward had regained each other, after that fear- 
 ful shock, and succeeding in reaching the piazza of a building, 
 which though but a wreck withstood the waves. Charlotte was
 
 102 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 protected by a fisherman. His boat, that had been washed far up 
 on the sands, he turned and made good shelter, though a rough one, 
 for the delicate and bewildered girl. 
 
 Their venerable friend, however, was nowhere to-be found. Alas ! 
 amid the sad discoveries of that day, with tearful eyes they recog- 
 nized his well-known form. Grasping his hickory cane, his gray 
 hairs wet with surf, and his eyes fixed in death, lay the veteran on 
 the beach. 
 
 As the soldiers raised him to bear him to the fort, the gold beads 
 of the watch-guard sparkled in the sun, and the date of "1776" 
 came to the eyes of the girls, through their blinding tears. 
 
 A mournful and respectful train was that which, with its military 
 escort, wound its way by the curlew-ground to the Myrtles where the 
 Island dead repose. The muffled drum, minglmg with the sounds 
 of air and sea, and the minute guns, with sad precision, told the tread 
 of death. Fit was the burial. Let the worldling be laid amid the 
 city's hum ; let the babe and the maiden rest beneath the green tree, 
 and flowers blossom over their graves ; but the hero of the South, 
 where can he find a better monument than those sands, or a holier 
 dirge than that which comes sweeping over the ocean, bringing 
 echoes of his fame ? 
 
 THE YOUNG MATHEMATICIAN. 
 
 LAURA SINCLAIR was an intelligent girl, studiously devoted to all 
 her lessons except arithmetic. 
 
 " O, mother ! " she would exclaim, " this is arithmetic day. How 
 I hate it." 
 
 " My daughter, do not make use of such expressions," said her 
 mother. "Nothing is wanting but attention and perseverance to 
 that study as agreeable as any other. If you pass over a rule
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. IO3 
 
 carelessly and say you understand it for want of energy to learn it, 
 you will continue ignorant of important principles. I speak with 
 feeling on this subject, for when I went to school a fine arith- 
 metician shared the same desk with me, and whenever I was 
 perplexed by a difficult sum, instead of applying to my teacher for 
 an explanation, I asked Amelia to do it for me. The consequence 
 is, that even now, I am obliged to refer to others in the most trifling 
 calculations. I expect much assistance from your perseverance, dear 
 Laura," continued she, affectionately taking her hand. 
 
 Laura's eyes looked a good resolution and she commenced the 
 next day putting it in practice. Instead of being angry because she 
 could not understand her figures, she tried to clear her brow to un- 
 derstand them better, and her tutor was surprised to find her mind 
 rapidly opening to comprehend the most difficult rules. She now 
 felt the pleasure of self-conquest, beside the enjoyment of her 
 mother's approbation, and for many years steadily gave herself up 
 to the several branches of mathematics. 
 
 Laura was the eldest of three children, who had been born to the 
 luxuries of wealth. Mr. Sinclair was a merchant of great respecta- 
 bility, but in the height of his supposed riches, one of those failures 
 took place which often occur in commercial transactions, and his 
 affairs became suddenly involved. A nervous temperament and a 
 delicate constitution were soon sadly wrought on by this misfortune. 
 Mr. Sinclair's mind, perplexed and harassed, seemed sinking under 
 the weight of anxiety. Laura was at this period sixteen years of 
 age ; her mind was clear and vigorous, and seemed ready like a 
 young fawn for its first bound. 
 
 One cold autumnal evening, the children with their wild gambols 
 were playing around the room, while Mr. Sinclair sat leaning his 
 head upon his hand over a table covered with papers. Mrs. Sinclair 
 was busily employed in sewing, and Laura, with her fingers between 
 the pages of a book, sat gazing at her father.
 
 104 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 " Those children distract me," said Mr. Sinclair, in a sharp ac- 
 cent 
 
 " Hush, Robert ; come here, Margaret," said Mrs. Sinclair gently, 
 and she took one on her lap and the other by her knee, and whis- 
 pering to them a little story calmed them to sleepiness and then 
 put them to bed. 
 
 When Mrs. Sinclair had left the room, Laura laid down her book 
 and stood by her father. 
 
 " Don't disturb me, child," said he roughly : " my head aches." 
 Then recollecting himself, he took her hand and continued, " Do not 
 feel hurt, my dear; my mind is perplexed by these complicated 
 accounts." 
 
 " Father," said Laura with 5. smile, " I think I can help you if you 
 will let me try." 
 
 " You ! my love," exclaimed her father ; " why these papers would 
 puzzle a wiser head than yours." 
 
 " I do not wish to boast, father," said Laura modestly, " but my 
 teacher said to-day " Laura hesitated. 
 
 "Well, what did he say?" asked Mr. Sinclair encouragingly. 
 
 " He said," answered Laura blushing deeply, " that I was a quicker 
 accountant than most men of business ; and I do believe, father," 
 continued she, earnestly, " that if you were to explain your papers to 
 me, I could help you." 
 
 Mr. Sinclair smiled incredulously ; but, unwilling to check his 
 daughter's wish for usefulness, he made some remarks and opened 
 his leger. Insensibly he found himself entering with her into the 
 labyrinth of numbers. Mrs. Sinclair came in on tip-toe and seated 
 herself softly at the table to sew. The accounts became more and 
 more complicated ; but Mr. Sinclair seemed to gain energy under the 
 clear quick eye of his child ; her unexpected sympathy inspired him 
 with new powers. Hour after hour passed away, and his spirits rose 
 at every chime of the clock.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 1 05 
 
 " Wife," said he, suddenly, " if this girl gives me aid like this, I 
 shall be in a new world to-morrow." 
 
 "My beloved child," said Mrs. Sinclair, pressing Laura's fresh 
 cheek to her own. 
 
 Twelve o'clock struck before Laura left her father, when she com- 
 mended herself to God and slept profoundly. The next morning, 
 after seeking His blessing, she repaired to Mr. Sinclair and sat by 
 him day after day, until his books were faithfully balanced. 
 
 " Father," said she, " you have tried me and find me worth some- 
 thing ; let me keep your books until you can afford a responsible 
 clerk, and give me a little salary to buy shells for my cabinet. 
 
 Mr. Sinclair accepted the proposition. Laura's cabinet increased 
 in beauty, and the finished female handwriting in his books and 
 papers was a subject of interest and curiosity to his mercantile 
 friends. 
 
 TINYTELLA. 
 
 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 ALICE SOMERS was an interesting girl, beloved by watchful and 
 affectionate parents. She was perfectly obedient and very useful. 
 No one was more just than Alice in distributing from the store-room, 
 or more adroit in the mysteries of the pantry. The servants knew 
 they could gain nothing by coaxing, though their young mistress was 
 ready to aid and advise them of her own free will. 
 
 Already, with ingenuity beyond her years, she could cut clothes 
 for her dolls, and her needle was a welcome sight among her young 
 acquaintances. She had but one fault ; that, alas ! was a great one. 
 She could not look cheerful unless she had her own way. It is true 
 she performed her duties faithfully ; but her bright eyes were often 
 clouded, and not a smile hovered on her lips. 
 
 One day, when Alice was gaily talking over a plate of nuts, her
 
 106 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 mother requested her assistance in sewing. She of course complied, 
 but a frown gathered on her brow. She took her work in one corner 
 of the room, and commenced sewing as if life depended on every 
 stitch. Mrs. Somers began to converse ; Alice was silent ; she re- 
 lated a laughable anecdote, not a smile illuminated her daughter's 
 countenance ; she asked her questions, monosyllables were the only 
 reply. Tired of this uncivil intercourse, Mrs. Somers withdrew to 
 another apartment. Alice sewed on with a face elongated beyond 
 all prettiness ; in other words, she was sulky. 
 
 Sitting in this uncomfortable state of mind, she felt gradually a 
 singular sensatiom on her chin, and on passing her hand over it, it 
 appeared longer than usual. She resumed her work, trying to look 
 unhappy, but her chin attracted her attention for it was certainly 
 lengthening. She dropped her work and felt it with both hands, 
 it pushed itself between them ; she tried to rise it was impossible ; 
 she attempted to call her mother, her voice seemed chained ; her 
 chin increased every moment, until at length she saw it. What a 
 moment of horror, a horror increased by the idea that this was a 
 punishment for ill-nature ! In dreadful alarm and perplexity she 
 gazed wildly around. 
 
 Suddenly she heard a soft fluttering, with delicate tinklings like 
 musical wings, and, gliding on a sunbeam, appeared a minute female 
 figure, which floated before her. Her form was chaste and symmet- 
 rical as the column of a seashell, her drapery was woven from hum- 
 ming-birds' plumage and dazzled the eyes of Alice, until they rested 
 on her tiny face, fair as a clematis's blossom peeping from its robe 
 of green. At every motion of her wings, a thousand little bells, 
 musically tuned, rang out a sweet melody, while her feet, white and 
 noiseless as the falling petal of a bay-flower, kept time in graceful 
 transitions to their soft harmony. 
 
 The music ceased, and a voice still sweeter, though piercing as 
 the cicada at summer's noon, addressed poor Alice :
 
 FOR THE YOUXG. IO/ 
 
 " I am Tinytella," it said, " the friend of youth. I know your 
 misfortune and its cause. There is but one cure, - the feeling and 
 smile of good-humor" 
 
 Her bright blue eyes looked full in Alice's face, her little mouth 
 dimpling like the water in a rose-vase when it receives flowers. 
 Alice smiled. Instantly the frightful deformity disappeared, and she 
 heard the bells of Tinytella tinkling on the distant air. 
 
 THE MAY-DAY WREATH. 
 
 ELVIRA ALLEN, a girl of extreme beauty, was receiving her edu- 
 cation at a boarding-school, where every possible attention was paid 
 to her moral and religious as well as intellectual habits. But though 
 intelligent and industrious, nothing could conquer her devotion to 
 her own personal attractions. The good sense of her teachers had 
 assisted in part to correct this fault of her character ; but, like all 
 efforts that are not founded on religious principle, it sprang up at 
 the spell of temptation. 
 
 A May-day celebration was to take place, and the school-girls were 
 all iri a glow of expectation. The day arrived, and a queen was to 
 be chosen. Who should it be ? 
 
 " It must be Ellen," said one. " How amiable and generous she 
 is ! Do you remember her assisting that old negro woman we met 
 on the road yesterday, and giving her all her cake, while we ate 
 ours ? " 
 
 " Ah, but Jane must be queen," said Susan Harrison. " She is so 
 lively that she will amuse us every moment while she is on her 
 throne ; and then she looks so grave all the time, and prims up her 
 mouth while we" are aching with laughter. Oh, I should love such 
 a funny queen." 
 
 " I know she 'is very droll," said another, " but she is not a perfect
 
 IO8 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 scholar. Elizabeth Glen never missed a lesson. She ought to be 
 queen." 
 
 " Oh, Elizabeth is too grave," said one. " I like Lucy Manson. 
 She is very religious, but always cheerful, and trying to make others 
 happy." 
 
 The argument ran quite high as each contended for her favorite, 
 until Alice Matthews clapped her hands and exclaimed, 
 
 "I know who will be a splendid queen, Elvira Allen. How 
 superbly she will look, sitting on her grassy throne with a wreath on 
 her white forehead." 
 
 The children, like other mortals, were fascinated by appearances, 
 and Elvira was proclaimed queen by acclamation. She retired to 
 her toilet, and the girls, after a little consultation, flocked to their 
 teacher. 
 
 " Have the goodness," they exclaimed, " to loan us the wreath you 
 were shewing Mrs. Lewis the other day. We wish Elvira to wear it 
 for her crown." 
 
 The consent was readily given. They rushed to Mrs. Warren's 
 dressing room, but the flowers were not there. Looking with dis-. 
 appointment at each other, they returned to their teacher with 
 exclamations of regret. The girls, preceded by Mrs. Warren, has- 
 tened to Elvira's room, to inform her of their intention and its failure, 
 and consult on a substitute for the May-day crown. 
 
 They entered abruptly, and found Elvira resplendent in conscious 
 beauty ; her eyes had the color of Heaven and its brightness ; her 
 form was graceful as the fringe tree, and her dress, arranged with a 
 view to contrast and effect, was rich as a catalpa blossom. And 
 what was that mantling glow upon- her cheeks, deep as the last look 
 the sun casts upon an evening sky ? Envy her not, ye lovers of 
 personal beauty. .That glow was guilt ; for twined among the ringlets 
 of her glossy hair, was the wreath sought for by her young compan- 
 ions.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. . 1 09 
 
 . The withering truth fell at the same moment on every mind. At 
 length Mrs. Warren, advancing to the culprit beauty, said, in a cold, 
 stern voice, . 
 
 " This wreath, Miss Allen, was to have been yours. Your play- 
 mates, proud of your personal attractions, thought that innocent 
 blossoms would grace your lovely face. My heart is sick, Elvira ; 
 sick and sorrowful." A large tear slowly rolled over her cheek as 
 she spoke, and the girls sobbed aloud. 
 
 " Keep the wreath, unhappy child," she continued, as. Elvira tore 
 it from her hair, " it may be a warning to you." 
 
 The May-day was passed in sadness and tears. 
 
 THE FRENCH TRAVELLER. 
 
 LOUISA and Cecilia Rutledge once loitered through the avenue of 
 their father'.* plantation. The morning was such an one as April 
 only knows at the South, where vegetation is almost seen to grow 
 under one's eye. Rich white clouds, kindly gathering over the 
 softened but not hidden sun, allowed them to gaze on the varied 
 hues which the spring, struggling with winter, was throwing through 
 sunshine and cloud, dew, shower, and breeze, over shrub and tree. 
 So picturesque was nature, that the fair- girls who gazed on it were 
 only lovelier from the souls that looked through their eyes. 
 
 Yet beautiful they were, when, in the energy of some sudden 
 thought, they stopped under the oaks, which, far as the eye could 
 reach, formed an arch of almost architectural fitness above them, 
 whose regularity was disturbed only by the gray moss floating in 
 garlands on the breeze ; and to an eye of love, a mother's eye, 
 that watched their receding forms, as in the security of solitude they 
 gave way to frolicsome spirits, they were indeed more fascinating 
 than inanimate nature.
 
 1 10 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 The mansion from which they were wandering was a fit residence 
 for such fair inmates. The hand of taste was in every department. 
 Wealth may heap up its luxuries, and the eye be sated and unallured ; 
 but let such an hand arrange but a flower, and it speaks a language 
 wealth can never learn. . 
 
 A branch from a rose-bush was trained at each window, whose 
 blossoms, without excluding the breeze, looked within on lips and 
 cheeks bright as their petals. Small vases of flowers were scattered 
 around, several fine old pictures covered the walls, and the boast of 
 modern art was not wanting. 
 
 A guitar, that delicious country friend, stood ready to beguile a 
 weary or hasten a happy hour, while its hostess, the presiding genius 
 of the scene, moved and looked like one whose aim was first a pure 
 intercourse with Heaven, and then a study of the happiness of 
 others. 
 
 One window of the sitting room was devoted to birds ; not to 
 caged birds, whose notes, however gay they may seem, carry to the 
 ear of the sentimentalist those of Sterne's starling, " I can't get out." 
 There was no imprisonment here ; a little ledge projected from this 
 window, where Cecilia spread rough rice every morning to attract 
 the feathered visitors. There the beautiful red-bird came fearlessly, 
 and others cautiously, and poised themselves on the stem of a shrub 
 that entered within the casement, and hulled the yellow rice-grains 
 with dexterous art, or listened with inclined head and peering eyes 
 to the soft tones of the guitar. 
 
 The sisters, Louisa and Cecilia, paused in their rambling talk 
 beneath a tree in the avenue, attracted by the notes of a mocking- 
 bird, which seemed pouring out its little soul in melody, and after 
 listening awhile resumed their conversation. 
 
 " I always told you, Louisa," said her sister, " that it would be of 
 no use to spoil your sweet eyes with writing French, and your pure 
 English in speaking it. With whom can you converse in French,
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. Ill 
 
 after having twisted your mouth and ideas with the idioms for so 
 many years ? The only French beau you are likely to see, is old 
 Cato, and his St. Domingo patois has not all the purity of 1'Acada- 
 mie Fran(;aise, and if you talk to the trees they will only make you 
 a Parisian bow." 
 
 " I feel no regret," answered Louisa, " for the time I have bestowed 
 on French, for I have conquered myself. I used to shrink, you well 
 know, from the effort of conversation, and I have often felt my cheeks 
 burn at the apprehension of a mistake ; but I never learned anything 
 that has not been of use to me." 
 
 " Oh, you are always reasoning," said Cecilia ; " you began when 
 very, young to get the start of me in the race of mind, though thanks 
 to brother Edward's teaching and these (putting forth her pretty feet), 
 I can beat you in the avenue." 
 
 So saying, she pointed to a distant tree as a goal, and off they 
 flew like the nymphs of Diana. Cecilia had, as usual, the advan- 
 tage, when, with glowing cheeks and fluttering hair, her sister reached 
 the appointed bound. 
 
 " I have run so fast, I am weary," said Louisa ; " ah, here is Ed- 
 ward with the barouche ! " 
 
 Edward was hailed, and she took her seat beside him, leaving 
 Cecilia to enjoy a botanical ramble. Allured by her fascinating 
 study, she wandered some distance on the main road, and was about 
 returning, when she heard a violent crash among the bushes, and 
 saw a pair of horses approaching at full gallop, drawing the' shattered 
 remains of a travelling carriage, to which the driver still clung. It 
 immediately occurred to her that there must be sufferers by the acci- 
 dent, perhaps in that vicinity, and she resumed her walk in the 
 direction from which the carriage came, until her attention was 
 arrested by groans. A few steps brought her to a female lying in 
 the road, whose dress indicated her to be a foreigner. Through the 
 agonized expression of her face, Cecilia immediately discerned the
 
 1 1 2 STOftfES AND TALES 
 
 cast of refinement which distinguishes the educated and the intel- 
 lectual. In her efforts to rise, her travelling turban had fallen from 
 her head, and her long dark hair was loosened from the comb that 
 confined it. By the difficulty of her movements, Cecilia soon com- 
 prehended that one of her limbs was fractured, and she hastened to 
 assist her ; but with an impatient motion, the lady pointed to the 
 forest, and in the French dialect seemed entreating aid for another. 
 
 All that Cecilia could comprehend was, that some one was missing. 
 She entered the woods, while the lady gazed after her with prayerful 
 eyes. Cecilia could find no one, and returned to the sufferer. The 
 unfortunate woman burst into tears, attempted to rise, then poured 
 forth pleadings of most impassioned and eloquent sorrow, clasping 
 Cecilia's hand in hers, and vainly attempting to make her compre- 
 hend the cause of her agony. 
 
 What would Cecilia have given at this moment for the knowledge 
 of the language she had despised ? With tearful eyes she attempted 
 to tell the stranger that she was going for assistance. A thousand 
 emotions distracted her, to leave the unhappy lady seemed the 
 only alternative, and she turned toward the avenue. 
 
 The agony of the traveller amounted to frenzy at seeing this, 
 and uttering every expression of entreaty of which the French lan- 
 guage is susceptible, she still pointed to the opposite woods. Ce- 
 cilia almost flew towards the house, not daring to look back, and at 
 every turn of the avenue, the wild entreaties of the traveller burst 
 on her ear, and rent her heart. On reaching the house, she found 
 the barouche at the door, 'and as well as her agitation would permit, 
 related the accident. Her brother and sister sprang into the car- 
 riage with her, and Edward drove at full speed. 
 
 " O, Louisa," said Cecilia, the tears streaming from her eyes, " had 
 I understoood her language, I might have saved this unfortunate 
 lady ; now, perhaps, we may be too late ! " 
 
 When they reached the sufferer, she had fainted, and her face, on
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 113 
 
 which the lines of distress were still visible, was pale as marble. 
 Edward took her gently in his arms, and lifted her to the barouche. 
 She was roused by her pain, and struggled to disengage herself. 
 
 " Do not take me away," she cried in French ; " Eugene is in the 
 forest ; I will die with him ! " 
 
 Louisa took her hand, and in a low voice said to her in the same 
 language, 
 
 " Dear madam, what distresses you? We are friends." 
 
 A smile of hope illuminated the face of the stranger at these 
 familiar accents. 
 
 " Thank God ! " she exclaimed, pressing Louisa's hand to her 
 heart, " you will find my child. Our horses were terrified by a deer 
 crossing the road, the carriage was upset, and Eugene and I thrown 
 at some distance from each other. I was so much injured as to be 
 incapable of raising myself. I called to him, he turned, smiling 
 roguishly, but went farther. I saw his little feet tottering through 
 the bushes until he disappeared." 
 
 Louisa translated her words to Cecilia, who darted, quick as 
 thought, to the wood, while the lady was conveyed home, soothed by 
 Louisa's gentle and familiar language. 
 
 Cecilia entered the forest with a beating heart, and was nearly dis- 
 couraged, when, after searching fruitlessly for some time, she saw 
 white garments by the roadside. She approached, but almost started 
 at the sweet apparition. A beautiful child slept there ; one hand 
 was thrown up amid his clustering hair, and the other was gently 
 moved by the motion of his beating breast, while near him a coiled 
 snake seemed preparing for a spring. 
 
 Though almost breathless with terror, Cecilia preserved her self- 
 command. She seized a dry branch, and thrashing the neighboring 
 bushes, alarmed the reptile, which rapidly glided away. 
 
 The noise awoke the child ; he raised his head, and brushing the 
 curls from his dark eyes, called,
 
 114 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 "Maman, chlre maman /" 
 
 Cecilia softly advanced towards him. 
 
 He moved his little lip in grief at the countenance of the stranger. 
 " Do not be afraid of me," said Cecilia ; " I will carry you to your 
 mamma." 
 
 The child gazed at her with increasing alarm, and hiding his face, 
 began to weep bitterly. Cecilia, perplexed and agitated, wept, too, 
 as the boy pushed her from him. 
 
 Louisa having committed the stranger to her mother's care, re- 
 turned with Edward in the barouche, to assist in the discovery of the 
 child. Her sister called them as she heard the approaching wheels, 
 and they were soon at her side. The boy still hiding his face 
 against a tree, refused to move. Louisa whispered to him ; the 
 child sprang to her arms with a laugh of joy. 
 
 During the slow recovery of the invalid, while Cecilia sat in silence 
 ready to perform the kind offices which require no words, the stran- 
 ger rewarded her with a languid smile ; but when Louisa, though 
 even sometimes inaccurately, spoke to her in her native tongue, her 
 eyes were lit up with joy and sympathy. 
 
 "What book is that you are studying so intently?" said Louisa one 
 day to her sister. 
 
 " A new phrase book," replied Cecilia, blushing ; " I am deter- 
 mined to get one of those real smiles that Madame bestows on you " ; 
 and turning to Eugene, she said, " Baisez mot, man petit." 
 
 The French boy did not wait a second bidding ; he caught her 
 round the neck and imprinted a hearty kiss on the lips of the smil- 
 ing American.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 1 15 
 
 THE MISSIONARIES. 
 
 A TALE OF SANIPIE. 
 
 ONE summer twilight, two girls yet in the opening bloom of life, 
 were resting on a rural seat by the borders of a Southern river. 
 The fingers of one rested between the closed leaves of a book, while 
 the glow of a communicated thought from its pages dwelt on her 
 abstracted countenance, and the other was pointing out the softening 
 glories of the western sky. An artist might have lingered near that 
 lovely spot. Above and around were spread the branches of an 
 oak from which the gray moss .hung quietly in the hush of nature, 
 sweeping the greensward below. A garden rich in flowers lay near 
 in front .of the white walls of the family mansion; an. amphitheatre 
 of woods enclosed the planted fields, forming a green curve in the 
 distance, stopping where the river, beautifully clear, came in with its 
 graceful flow at the foot of the oak in which one huge branch could 
 admire it sown glossy leaves and gray drapery. A warmly-tinted 
 sky broke in bright flickerings through the leaves and tinged the 
 stream, while the birds flitted to their nests with farewell strains. 
 The only other sounds that interrupted the stillness, were the flash 
 of an oar and the distant horn and chorus of the negroes. 
 
 " Look up, Isabel," said the speaking girl, " from that book to this 
 glorious sunset. It is worth a thousand volumes ! " 
 
 Isabel shook her head gravely, her downcast eyes bent upon the 
 turf at her feet. At length she sighed and said, 
 
 " Cousin Ellen, a solemn duty is pending over me which makes me 
 blind and deaf, even to these great natural manifestations of Deity. 
 I begin to feel a thrilling consciousness that I have no right to linger 
 over these scenes of my earthly joys. This book describes the 
 wants of the heathen, the poor heathen, who, when they look at
 
 Il6 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 nature, acknowledge no creating hand, and if they possess a friend, 
 clear to me as you are, Ellen, know nothing of that world where such 
 friendship shall be made brighter and unbroken through eternal 
 years." 
 
 A soft. and solemn depth was in the tones of the speaker and her 
 full, dark lids were wet with tears. 
 
 " And can you be willing to think for a moment of leaving your 
 home duties, your father and mother and little Rosalie, for an uncer- 
 tain sphere among the heathen ? " said Ellen, earnestly. 
 
 " There is nothing uncertain in the missionary's path," exclaimed 
 the enthusiast, as she rose and clasped her hands with an onward 
 gesture. " Every step he takes is heavenward ; every sorrow he 
 endures adds a gem to his immortal crown. Yes, dear garden, 
 where my childhood's foot has trod, skies that have so long looked 
 down upon me, birds that have sung to me from year to year, father, 
 mother, sister, farewell ! I must go." 
 
 " With which of these handsome students are you about to par- 
 take the crown of martyrdom ? " said Ellen, archly trying to suppress 
 a smile upon her lips. 
 
 "With Henry Clayborne, as his wedded wife," said Isabel with 
 dignity, scarce a blush tinging the delicate hue of her cheek. 
 
 Ellen turned a rosy hue ; a rush as of sudden winds sounded 
 through her brain ; but recovering instantly, she stooped to caress a 
 tame fawn that was browsing at her side, for the name was not the 
 one she feared to hear. 
 
 We will not penetrate the secrets of that young heart ; like many 
 others, it must feed itself in silent happiness and bide its time of joy. 
 
 Isabel, absorbed in the contemplation of her own lofty purposes, 
 did not observe the agitation of her cousin. These almost mascu- 
 line purposes belonged to a young and fragile being ; but it is won- 
 derful how feminine enthusiasm will bear up the frail and delicate 
 where seemingly stronger spirits fail. One who looked into her soft
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. I I/ 
 
 eyes, and noted Isabel's slight figure, would never dream that she 
 could leave the feathered nest of her childhood for the dangers of 
 the ocean and the hardships of an Indian exile. But such have 
 not studied the promptings of human will, coupled with strong 
 religious enthusiasm. 
 
 That evening Henry Clayborne came to hear his final sentence. 
 He felt what it would be, for Isabel's touching welcome told more 
 than words. It was not the downcast blush of common acceptance, 
 but the frank determined glow of a holy resolution. 
 
 " This kindness augurs well for me," he said, fondly, as he held 
 her confiding hand ; " but I have come resolved not to take advantage 
 of it. Better, dearest, is it for me to brave this wild path alone. I 
 leave neither father, mother, nor sister ; besides, I am a man who 
 can tread through dangers where your softer spirit will droop. I 
 could not bear to see this white brow sink beneath those sultry skies, 
 nor those tender feet fail in the wilderness ; but be my bride, and 
 with that claim upon you, I shall depart braced for danger. . But I 
 must go alone." 
 
 "You have been tempted, Henry," said the brave girl. "God 
 has withdrawn his countenance from you, or you would not talk so. 
 My parents will feel a pride in their missionary girl as friend after 
 friend gathers round in religious sympathy. Besides, Henry, who 
 should think of such ties when God calls ? We must tread the 
 waves at the voice of Jesus. His voice is near ; I hear it now. 
 Help, Lord, or we perish," she exclaimed, as her face glowed like an 
 angel's as she sank on her knees with clasped hands and prayerful 
 eyes. " Shall we sink while he is by ? Look on thy servants in this 
 hour of need ; the storm of temptation is near ; the billows rage ; 
 put forth thy hand to save." 
 
 Henry knelt beside her ; he caught the enthusiasm of his promised 
 bride ; his voice was not heard, but his lips moved. In those mo- 
 ments of stillness a sublime self-dedication had been made. They
 
 I\8 STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 bc*h rose. " We go together" he whispered, and folded her to his 
 heart. 
 
 There were busy preparations for the bridal and voyage. Re- 
 ligion, love, and friendship were active, as they heard the story of 
 the self-immolation of the young and beautiful girl. When friends 
 came to give their parting kiss, Rosalie's pretty eyes filled with tears, 
 but the gifts and novelty of preparation soon dried them up again. 
 A doubting cast of care was on the father's brow, but he bade God- 
 speed, and blessed his child. Ellen went through her duties, and if 
 she were sadder and paler than her wont, was it not for Isabel, her 
 dear friend and cousin, and would not her life soon beam with love 
 also ? And how fared it with the mother of the young exile ? She 
 busied herself, for she dared not be idle. She checked the struggling 
 sigh and wiped the gathering tears, and her short prayer for patience 
 and submission went up when none could hear. 
 
 Time sped ; how soon he fiies with moments counted by parting 
 friends ! and the bridal was to take place on the morrow, and the 
 departure on the succeeding day. One by one the family retired, 
 the mother last, for a troubled and restless emotion made her wake- 
 ful. As she sat alone the ticking of the clock seemed almost shrill 
 to her excited ear. She recalled the childish joy of Isabel when 
 she used to clap her hands at the revolving moon of the old time- 
 piece. There was the little chair in which Isabel had sought in vain 
 to rest her dimpled feet upon the floor. That room could almost 
 tell her history. There was the framed and faded sampler, the more 
 elaborate decorations of the pencil, the beloved piano-forte which 
 had soothed and brightened her yarious hours. Was it possible that 
 those dear hands might never touch its chords again ? There was 
 her work-box, the quiet, precious instrument over which a woman's 
 heart pours out its home emotions in most unconscious freedom. 
 She opened it with a trembling hand. How tasteful ! how judicious ! 
 Character was seen in all its combinations. It spoke of economy,
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 1 19 
 
 just arrangement and fancy, while little touches of the affections 
 peeped forth from its many compartments. As she gazed on these 
 things, her tears gushed forth, and she did not hear Isabel's footsteps, 
 until her arms were thrown around her. 
 
 " I would that you had not witnessed these emotions," said her 
 mother, almost coldly. " You have chosen your path and leave me 
 sadly to go down to mine. Strangers are to occupy the heart that I 
 have trained for eighteen years. But go. Console yourself as you 
 will ; midnight and tears are my portion." 
 
 Isabel clung to her mother beseechingly, the lofty look of heroism 
 almost driven from her brow. " Mother, your parents doted on you," 
 she said, falteringly, " as you on me, ^tnd yet you left their arms for 
 an earthly love. How much greater is the duty that calls me from 
 you, to give salvation to the lost and dying ! O, mother," she con- 
 tinued, grasping her hand with kindling eye, " should I die in this 
 enterprise, go boldly to the court of Heaven and ask for your child ! 
 How proud will be your joy to see the weak and humble girl you 
 nurtured in your bosom surrounded by the white-robed souls she 
 has rescued through Christ's mercy, perchance leading their hymns 
 in Heaven as she has on earth ! O, mother ! will they not greet 
 you with a new song of joy for yielding up your child? 'Welcome 
 thou, whose child has opened unto us the Book of Life ! ' ' 
 
 Her mother was awed and silenced.- She took the dear enthusiast 
 to her arms, stroked the falling hair from her glistening eyes, and 
 pressing that soft cheek to her bosom, said, 
 
 " I will resign thee ; God's will be done." 
 
 The bridal was over, the few guests had gone, and silence settled 
 on that little group, so soon to be severed by rolling seas. " Isabel 
 touched a few chords on the piano-forte. At first her hand trembled, 
 and Rosalie, who stood by looking wistfully, wiped her sister's cheek 
 with her little handkerchief. 
 
 Gradually her fingers became firm as her thoughts possessed them-
 
 I2O STORIES AND TALES 
 
 selves of her great mission, and her voice was full and deep as in 
 her freest moments, while she sang to the tune of the " Bride's Fare- 
 well " the touching verses of Mrs. Dana. 
 
 THE MISSIONARY'S FAREWELL. 
 
 FAREWELL, mother, Jesus calls me 
 
 Far away from home and thee ; 
 Earthly love no more enthralls, me, 
 
 When a bleeding cross I see. 
 Farewell, mother, do not pain me 
 
 By thine agonizing woe ; 
 Those fond arms cannot detain me, 
 
 Dearest mother, I must go. 
 
 Farewell, father, Oh, how tender 
 
 Are the chords that bind me here ! 
 Jesus ! help me to surrender 
 
 All I love, without a tear. 
 No, my Saviour ! wert thou tearless. 
 
 Leaning o'er the buried dead ? 
 At this hour, so sad and cheerless, 
 
 Shall not burning tears be shed ? 
 
 Farewell, sister, do not press me 
 
 To thy young and throbbing heart 
 Oh, no longer now distress me, . 
 
 Sister sister we must part ! 
 Farewell, pale and silent brother, 
 
 How I grieve to pain thee so ! 
 Father mother sister brother 
 
 jftsus calls Oh, let me go ! 
 
 Every heart was throbbing, every eye was gushing with tears, ex- 
 cept that of the rapt singer, who sat with upward look, like a bird 
 preparing to wing its homeward way to warmer skies. Rosalie had 
 been cradled in her sister's arms for three years ; that night was her
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 121 
 
 first banishment, and the child had sobbed herself to sleep in the 
 little crib assigned to her by her mother's bedside. 
 
 Isabel sought the slumberer alone, for the first time almost over- 
 powered by regrets stronger than religious duties. The little sleep- 
 er's face had resumed its tranquillity, but there was a deeper flush 
 than usual on her rounded cheek ; and as she stood by the bedside, 
 Isabel put softly aside the tangled hair on the pillow, which was wet 
 with her tears. Long and earnest and loving was the gaze of the 
 missionary's bride, and as she looked, the chest of the child stirred 
 with a trembling sob, like the heaving of a billow when the gale has 
 died away. Isabel severed one of those moist curls from its com- 
 panions, and placed it in her bosom, pressing her hand a moment on 
 her own throbbing breast. The struggle passed away, and kneeling 
 by the bedside, she whispered a prayer : " God and Father of inno- 
 cence," she said, " as I love the soul of this little child, so may I 
 love the souls of the young, benighted ones who are in the darkness 
 of heathenism. Let me crush every love which would call me from 
 Thee and my high destiny." 
 
 She rose from her knees, tearless in the might of holy resolution, 
 and bending over the little girl, kissed her hands and forehead ; then 
 looking upward, she said again, " God bless thee, young angel, and 
 teach me to save kindred souls." 
 
 There was one listener who drew her from that room. Could they 
 have known the prayer that was to be wrung from his heart in a few 
 short months, would they have gone forth as strong and earnest- 
 hearted as they were at that moment ? 
 
 The young bride at sea ! Who has not seen her gush of parting 
 sorrow dried slowly away, as one for whom she has left all stands 
 near to comfort her ? And she is comforted. The long, long day, 
 listless to others, is full of thought to her ; for he watches her steps, 
 her sighs, her smiles, his future and hers are one. She loves to 
 see the sunlit waves and the evening stars with him, and even the
 
 122 STOK/ES AND TALES 
 
 storm loses its terrors. Young bride, be it ever thus on the ocean 
 of life ! May thy trim ship* tread well the waters, the sky of heaven be 
 bright above thee, the winds waft thee kindly on, and he who holds 
 the helm be true ! 
 
 It was sweet to hear the hymns that rose from time to time from 
 the young missionaries in the hofy joy of their souls. Isabel's voice 
 kindled in rapt delight until the roughest sailor paused and caught 
 the religious glow. There was little to try the fortitude of the pas- 
 sengers in the voyage, which was marked by the common incidents 
 of sea-life, until they entered the Kay of Bengal. The day previous 
 had been oppressive, and there was a stagnation in the air, as if its 
 circulation had suddenly been suspended ; and on the following morn- 
 ing, the experienced commander reefed his sails, though the wind, as 
 yet, threatened in light gusts. A yellow haze loomed athwart the 
 sun, which was strangely reflected in the gurgling waters ; this as- 
 pect continued through the morning. Henry and Isabel observed a 
 change in the countenances of the seamen, which at first they could 
 not understand ; but, as they continued to gaze, there was a mystery 
 in the stillness, as if the foot of the Eternal might be treading on 
 his wonderful watery creation. After a few hours, a steady gale com- 
 menced, gigantic clouds rolled like troubled spirits through the air, 
 and Isabel shrank nearer to her husband. At twilight, the hurricane 
 began, and the chafed ship, like a living thing, now sank as in 
 despair, now leaped over the swelling billows. The missionaries 
 summoned the strength of their souls, and awaited God's will in 
 silence. It was a night of fearful anxiety. No one slept but Isabel, 
 who, leaning on her husband's shoulder, dreamed sweetly of her 
 oaken seat beside the river, and was only startled when the cap- 
 tain's voice was heard through the deep tones of the trumpet, and 
 overtopped the gale. Suddenly a heavy sea struck the ship astern, 
 and the waters rushed into the cabin. The shock was tremendous. 
 Henry bore his dripping charge in his arm to the captain's cabin.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 12$ 
 
 She was quite insensible, her lips were blue, and her frame was 
 rigid. Henry chafed her cold hands, wrung the damp from her 
 hair, and gave her restoratives. She opened her eyes at length, 
 spoke his name, and laid her head on his shoulder, like a glad 
 child. 
 
 "We will die together," whispered she; "and though we are not 
 God's favored instruments, He will carry on the good work by other 
 hands." 
 
 And now the uproar on deck became terrific ; huge billows burst 
 over the bows of the ship, writhing and spouting, and glittering with 
 phosphoric light, while the lightning darted and flashed over the 
 ocean. The captain lost his assumed calmness, and his wild oaths 
 sounded across the storm like the shouts of a demon. Isabel shud- 
 dered at the impiety which could thus brave heaven, when seemingly 
 so near its final judgment. 
 
 At this period the vessel was inert and powerless, drifting like a 
 disabled swan on the waters. Isabel sat with Henry, each praying 
 silently. At length the welcome sound of relief was heard, the ves- 
 sel righted, and the waves rushed like released prisoners from the 
 deck. The morning rose in beauty, and soon the lines of green, so 
 dear to the landsman's heart, opened on the view. 
 
 " Is your heart still strong, beloved ? " said Henry. " Are there 
 no yearnings for friends and home ? " 
 
 Isabel smiled, and pressed Henry's hand. 
 
 " The Lord has not preserved me from a watery grave that I should 
 bear a faltering heart. I feel strong in His arm ; let Him lead me 
 where He will, so I can aid His cause." 
 
 Isabel's emotions, as she neared the shores of Hindostan, were 
 almost dream-like, and she asked herself, as objects of strange novelty 
 met her eye, 
 
 " What am I who have ventured thus ? An atom among the ocean. 
 But the Lord careth even for the sparrow."
 
 124 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 The new perfume from the flowers was among the first things that 
 spoke to her of her distant" home. 
 
 " I have to remember," she said, " that the same God scented these 
 rich blossoms who gave the odor to my garden rose ; let me not for- 
 get that he, too, is the God of the heathen as well as Christian 
 souls." 
 
 They were touched by the picturesque beauty of the scene as they 
 sailed up one of the mouths of the Ganges. Hindoo cottages, like 
 haystacks, without chimneys or windows, clustered beneath luxuri- 
 ant trees, contrasted in their rudeness with the more elaborate 
 pagodas. Wide fields of rice, and grass of exquisite verdure, were 
 spread around, while herds of cattle fed on the banks of the river. 
 But a glance at the inhabitants concentrated the thoughts of the 
 missionaries, and fixed them on the worth of human souls. They 
 were willing, in the devotion of their feelings, to enter one of those 
 hovels and begin at once the work of salvation. But new objects 
 arrested their attention as they journeyed to the seat of the mission. 
 A bridegroom, about ten years of age, was carried in a palanquin 
 crowned with flowers, followed by a procession with musical instru- 
 ments. Tears started to Isabel's eyes, as they followed this idle 
 pageant, at the thought of the rational and simple rites of her own 
 betrothal. 
 
 The next object that called prayer deep from the souls of the 
 strangers, was the worship of Juggernaut, the wooden idol, before 
 which multitudes assembled with overwhelming shouts. Henry and 
 Isabel cast down their eyes at the sacrilege, and remembered the 
 simple church at home, where spiritual prayers were the choicest 
 gift to heaven. Their curiosity was attracted by a rude kind of 
 basket suspended from a tree. On looking within, they discovered 
 the partially-devoured remains of a little child. Isabel shuddered 
 and thought of her own childhood and little Rosalie pillcrwed upon 
 her mother's bosom.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 But the most horrible scene to Isabel in this memorable journey 
 was the sacrifice of a widow. In vain the* missionaries tried to move 
 away from "that harrowing scene ; there was a spell, even a fascina- 
 tion in its terrors, that chained them to the spot, and Isabel, sick at 
 heart, looked on. A grave was dug near the river, and after a few 
 unintelligible rites, the widow took a formal leave of her friends and 
 descended into the chamber of death. It may be that she was stu- 
 pefied with opium, for there was a mechanical insensibility about her 
 that seemed scarcely human. As soon as she reached the bottom 
 of the pit, by means of a rude ladder, she was left %lone with the 
 body of her husband, in a revolting state of decay, which she 
 embraced and clasped to her bosom, and then gave the signal for 
 the last act of this shocking scene to commence. The earth was 
 deliberately thrown upon her, while two persons descended into the 
 grave and trampled it tightly round the self-devoted sacrifant. Dur- 
 ing this tardy and frightful process, the doomed woman sat an uncon- 
 cerned spectator, caressing the corpse, and she had an expression 
 of almost sublime triumph as the earth embraced her body. The 
 hands of her own children aided in this terrible rite ; and when all 
 but her head was covered, the nearest relatives danced over the 
 inhumed body, and covered the whole from sight. 
 
 Before the termination of this scene, Isabel, who had lingered with- 
 infatuated interest, fainted. On recovering, she said to Henry, 
 
 " Assist me, my husband, to hate the meaning of this act more 
 than I do. Again and again I thought I co'uld bear to die thus with 
 you, rather than live without you. Will God forgive my idolatry ? " 
 
 At length the young missionaries reached their home, home? 
 And was this the abode of the delicate Isabel ? The late inmates 
 had died of the fever, and no kind hand had arranged the few relics 
 that remained. The dwelling consisted of two rooms made of bam- 
 boo and tnatch, and an air of desolation pervaded everywhere. Day 
 after day Isabel labored with those hands so unused to toil, until an
 
 126 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 air of comfort wrought its charm around her. Then her love for the 
 beautiful broke forth. She trained the native shrubbery around the 
 dwelling, and planted a spot on which her husband's eye might grate- 
 fully repose as he sat at his daily studies ; but alas ! hunger and heat 
 and debility often took from her the power of more than necessary 
 effort. Nothing is more wearing to an ardent person, who sacrifices 
 everything for spiritual good, than to find himself trammelled down 
 to the physical wants of life. Isabel felt this pressure a trial almost 
 more than she could bear, and it was a day of. prayerful thanksgiving 
 for her when she -was permitted by another's services to assist her 
 husband in teaching. His labors were lightened by her active spirit, 
 and it was a blessing to her soul to toil with him and listen to his 
 earnest voice as he preached of salvation. How beautiful he was to 
 her, as he stood with earnest eyes and gestures, breaking the bread 
 of life to the benighted souls around them ! and then, when evening 
 came, they inhaled the perfume of their garden while sitting at their 
 door and talking of their old home. Were they happy ? Troubled 
 thoughts and forebodings sometimes shot through their minds like 
 an ice-bolt, for death might come and sunder them ; conversions 
 were slow ; brutish ignorance baffled their dearest hopes ; the seed 
 which they planted seemed thrown on stony hearts, but their faith 
 was firm. Strong prayer went up daily, hourly, from the temple of 
 their hearts, though all others were closed against them ; faith looked 
 with her bright, keen glance beyond the present hour, and showed 
 them precious souls redeemed by their toils. 
 
 In the midst of these emotions, Henry was seized with the fever 
 of the climate. Poor Isabel left all for him. Night and day she 
 bent over his pillow and forgot it was wrong to idolize an earthly 
 form. All memory and hope were lost in the present thought of his 
 possible death, but. he recovered. How sweet it was to present 
 him the first fruits of their little garden, and to bring him, one by 
 one, his manuscripts and books ; to see the faint glow of health kindle
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. . 12J 
 
 on his cheek, to aid his faltering steps, to feel the cool hand which 
 had so lately burned and throbbed beneath her touch ! Isabel sat 
 at his feet, and looked and looked until tears started to her eyes for 
 love and joy. 
 
 One evening Henry was summoned to his wife's apartment. She 
 had given birth to a boy. The little one lived but to receive a 
 father's first and last blessing, before his perfect features settled to 
 repose. And Isabel seemed departing, too ; her loving eye grew 
 dim, the sweet voice lowered, and she called for her little lifeless 
 baby, and took it into her arms and said, 
 
 " Henry, if I die, take care of the lambs for the sake of my Rosa- 
 lie and this little child. It is my last request." 
 
 And kissing her baby, she gave him back to his father's arms, and 
 gently closed her eyes. But God had not willed that these two 
 noble souls should yet be parted, for their double work was not fin- 
 ished. After a night of quiet wakefulness, Isabel fell into a deep 
 sleep ; and when she awoke, Henry felt that she was to return to 
 duty with him ; and in his turn, he had the sweet delight of minister- 
 ing to her wants, and supplying her needs. 
 
 One evening, seated at the same door that was now so sacred to 
 them, they were talking of their future, and saying how great their 
 thankfulness was for renewed health and strength ; but that if some 
 way could only be made plain to them, practically, for carrying 
 out their plans for the children and youth of India, it would raise 
 them up at once to their highest dreams. Some letters were handed 
 them, and to Isabel's delight, she read the following : 
 
 " DEAREST SISTER : We all heard of your illness and recovery, and 
 can only say, thank God ! Oh, if I could have seen my little nephew 
 once', but your life is spared ! Since hearing that you and brother 
 Henry were to teach little children, and establish schools, and help 
 the women of India, mamma and cousin Ellen, and several other
 
 128 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 ladies, have formed a society to send you out - money and books reg- 
 ularly ; and several of us school girls are going to have a. fair, so as 
 to send you a heap of money at once, and this is on purpose for the 
 little sewing-girls. Hoping this good news will make you strong and 
 well, I am your own 
 
 "ROSALIE." 
 
 After reading this letter* aloud, the missionaries remained silent 
 for a few moments, struggling with their emotions ; and when they 
 could again speak, it was to renew their vows of fidelity to the cause 
 to which they had devoted their lives. But now they had faith as 
 well as hope to cheer them, for they had found by experience that 
 the true life of the missionary was to obey Christ's injunctions, 
 
 "FEED MY LAMBS." 
 
 MR. NIBLO. 
 
 THE BASHFUL LECTURER. 
 
 FROM childhood I was a passionate lover of science. I tore my 
 drum to pieces to examine its internal mysteries ; my kites were the 
 envy and wonder of my schoolmates, so trimly were they cut and 
 so nicely balanced ; and as they soared above all others, I felt an 
 exaltation, a prophecy of eminence. My greatest delight was chem- 
 istry ; it even rivalled the love I felt for a fair little girl, a blue-eyed 
 neighbor, who loved me in spite of my soiled face and dyed fingers. 
 She was a singular contrast to the young experimenter, whom she 
 occasionally honored with a visit in his would-be laboratory; for 
 there was a purity in her air, as if no stain of earth could dwell on 
 her ; the rose-tint on her cheek paled off to a transparent white 
 around her chin and throat ; her pencilled eyebrows lay in light
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 12<) 
 
 arches on her serene forehead ; her flaxen hair fell like a fleecy 
 cloud over her cambric dress which emulated snow, and her hands, 
 how like unsunned alabaster they gleamed beside mine ! Her 
 teacher once described her thus. I was jealous of that man. 
 
 " Behold the pupil nymph to me consigned, 
 The honored guardian of her opening mind, 
 In all the bloom and sweetness of eleven 
 Healtlj, spirit, grace, intelligence and heaven ! 
 With beauty that so ravishingly warms, 
 It seems the focus of all nature's charms. 
 Yes ! rival rays come rushing from the sky, 
 Contending which shall glisten in her eye, 
 And anxious zephyrs play her lips around, 
 Soft suing to be moulded into sound. 
 While still, from each exuberant motion, darts 
 A winning multitude of artless arts. 
 And then, such softness with such smartness joined, 
 So pure a heart, with such a knowing mind ; 
 So very docile in her wildest mood, 
 Bad by mistake, and without effort, good ; 
 So broken hearted when my frown dismays, 
 So humbly thankful when I please to praise : 
 So circumspect, so fearful to offend, 
 And at a glance so ready to attend ; 
 With memory strong and wjth perception bright, 
 Her words and deeds so uniformly right, 
 That scarce one foible disconcerts my aims, 
 And care and trouble do not name their names ! 
 But, yes ! I have one anxious, sacred care, 
 I have one ceaseless burden of my prayer, 
 'Tis this ; Great God ! oh, teach me to be just 
 To this dear charge committed to my trust ! " 
 
 S. GILMAN. 
 
 Well, this bright creature who could waken such a burst of en- 
 thusiasm in a pedagogue, was the chosen one of my boyhood ; but I 
 9
 
 130 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 was destined to lose her early. It was her habit frequently to peep 
 into my laboratory and ask her sweet questions about the mysteries 
 of my craft. One day she advanced farther than usual ; tucking 
 aside her snowy dress, and stepping on tiptoe for fear of soiling her 
 trim white stockings, she stood amid my crucibles as unharmed as 
 asbestos in a flame, her light hair falling backward, and her blue 
 eyes upturned in pretty curiosity. I had been preparing oxygen gas 
 from chlorate of potash, in a small glass retort over an Argand 
 lamp, by which method it can be obtained much purer than by any 
 other way. The operation was successfully proceeding, and the 
 steady flame of the lamp continued to evolve the gas, as it gradu- 
 ally escaped through the neck of the retort, and rose in brilliant 
 globules under the water in which the receiver stood. Intensely 
 occupied in watching the decomposition of the salt, I started at the 
 sweet tone of her silvery voice, and as I eagerly advanced towards 
 her, with my eyes grimmed and bleared with smoke and heat, and 
 extended my stained hand to welcome her, the flame unnoticed rose 
 too high, the glass shivered into fragments, and the hot contents fell 
 hissing around her. She shrank back to avoid the broken pieces, 
 when a curl of her beautiful hair caught in the blaze of a lamp near 
 her. My first impulse was to throw over her a diluted solution of 
 nitrate of silver (indelible ink). 
 
 The flame was instantly extinguished, but such an object as the 
 poor child presented ! The fast-blackening liquid fell dripping from 
 her fair locks, and ran down her face and garments, even to the 
 little foot that had just before trodden so daintily. The lovely girl's 
 self-possession vanished, and roaring with terror, she flew from the 
 apartment alarming the neighborhood with screams. This was her 
 last visit to my laboratory, or even to my home ; she became shy, 
 and avoided me. I soon entered college, and when I returned, four 
 years after, my blue-eyed beauty was a bride. 
 
 My absorption in technical books began to give an awkward and
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 13! 
 
 restrained tone to my manners and conversation, while a want of 
 sympathy with those around me made me unsocial ; a burning love 
 of science, however, and a hope that I might individually enlighten 
 the world, buoyed me up with a silent kind of vanity. With these 
 feelings, I saw my home. What wonder that I should rush to my 
 little laboratory with intense interest. Parental fondness had kept 
 the spot sacred ; there stood the furnace and the crucibles, and 
 placed neatly, on one side of the apartment, the nameless articles I 
 had used as expedients in my experiments abstracted from the 
 kitchen and store-room, for which I had been sometimes punished 
 and sometimes praised. There was the very spot, too, on which 
 my first love had been inundated with that fatal nitrate. 
 
 I smiled, but it was sadly, and I began in earnest my more manly 
 and scientific arrangements. I almost hoped such blue eyes as hers 
 might look on me again. But I soon forgot that vision, and from 
 that period my whole soul seemed centred in this apartment. I 
 rushed to it with the first dawn of light, and the night lamps of 
 heaven were forgotten for its fitful rays. Such strong and passion- 
 ate love cannot long keep within a narrow channel, it will burst 
 forth, and fertilize or destroy. Without power to utter in conver- 
 sation the deep stirrings of my thoughts, I resolved to lecture, to 
 throw myself on the public ; it seemed to me that' I should be stim- 
 ulated by numbers, and I was confident that in a mixed audience 
 some hearts would beat responsive to the enlightened hopes of mine. 
 Confirmed in this opinion, by the advice of my family, I commenced 
 writing a course of Lectures on Chemistry. I had never tried my 
 powers of elocution beyond the college walls, and the themes there 
 having no immediate interest for me, were sufficient excuse to my 
 mind for any deficiency of grace or power. The moment I began 
 to write, an ambitious thrill ran through me, and I poured out on 
 paper, paragraphs that I thought would go with the force of light 
 and sound through my audience.
 
 132 STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 The morning of the day on which my introductory lecture was to 
 be delivered, arrived. I read and re-read the advertisement inserted 
 by my father, till I trembled and glowed like a girl. I revised my 
 lecture for the last time, and inserted here and there slips of paper 
 containing additional notes. 
 
 The evening came, and I stood before a crowded audience of 
 partial townsmen. If my readers are interested in this moment, 
 they will like to know of my appearance. I was twenty four years 
 of age, spare, and of middle size, pale, with somewhat sharp fea- 
 tures ; my eyes were always thought remarkable ; they were of a 
 light blue, of a singular, piercing expression, so penetrating that 
 they often attracted attention in a crowd ; and yet, strange to tell, I 
 could never fix them on a woman's face. I felt like a startled deer 
 when a woman's eye met mine ; but this peculiarity was compensated 
 by quickness of motion that made me see without seeming to ob- 
 serve. My hands were delicately formed, and my thin hair was 
 scattered on a high forehead. I had read my lecture frequently 
 aloud in my own apartment. I had half fancied that the walls shook 
 under the power of my language, and that the spirits of Bacon 
 Priestly, Lavoisier, and Black, were bending down in angelic sym- 
 pathy. Thus prepared, I stood before the audience, but in how 
 different a frame! -as I glanced around, I felt myself the merest 
 atom. I forgot the bow that I had made twenty times before my 
 mirror, my eyes began to swim, my teeth to chatter ; the rustling of 
 the first blank leaf that I turned, sounded like thunder. I began to 
 speak ; my voice seemed to have descended jtwo feet in my system. 
 I lisped, I mumbled out one page, two pages, without raising my 
 eyes ; then came a reference to one of my interlocutory notes ; it 
 had slipped out ; I could not find it. In searching for it, I lost my 
 place, began three wrong sentences, and attempted to extemporize. 
 It was in vain, and crushing my manuscript in my hand, I retreated 
 from the hall, hurried through the streets, and locked myself in my
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 133 
 
 own chamber. There I trod the floor like a frantic man, until 
 tears, gushing freely as a schoolboy's, came to my relief. I left my 
 native town the next day. 
 
 But better hopes came over me. I condemned myself for at- 
 tempting a lecture without experiments ; they would have aided me, 
 I thought. Attention would have been drawn away from myself to 
 them, and I gradually came to the resolution of pronouncing the 
 same course of lectures among strangers, with whom I flattered my- 
 self I should be more at ease. With this view I visited a neigh- 
 boring city, and without delivering letters or seeking patronage, 
 issued an advertisement. Of all seemingly simple things, an adver- 
 tisement is the most difficult and perplexing. To advance one's 
 claims sufficiently without an air of self-importance, to combine 
 one's meaning in a few words, and those few the right ones, is no 
 small task. Few who glance over the columns of a daily print, are 
 aware of the waste of paper, the biting of nails, and the knitting of 
 brows that have attended the concocting of those concise looking 
 squares. 
 
 My advertisement appeared : 
 
 " MR. NIBLO, from Hdiuletown, respectfully informs the inhabitants 
 of Cityville that he proposes commencing a Course of Lectures on Chem- 
 istry, and kindred subjects, illustrated by various interesting experiments, 
 beginning with an introductory Essay, on Thursday evening, which 
 will be gratuitous" 
 
 Here was no trick or cant, no forced comet-tail of patrons' names, 
 following the announcement. My hearers would come from the 
 pure love of science. I breathed hard, but commenced conveying 
 my apparatus to the lecturing hall. On the way I broke a retort of ' 
 great value and rarity. The two next days were employed in vain 
 endeavors to supply its place. Every lecturer will sympathize with 
 me in the horror I felt at the prospect of saying to my audience, in 
 the midst of a brilliant experiment, " This should be so and so, ladies
 
 134 STOK/ES AA'D TALES 
 
 and gentlemen," instead of, "This is." In the meantime, I was 
 stimulated and comforted by the daughter of my hostess, an intelli- 
 gent girl, who possessed that class of frank, bright manners, that 
 save a bashful man an effort, and insensibly put him at his ease. 
 
 Lucia Breck had just passed her girlhood, without laying aside 
 her simplicity. Her feelings and thoughts gushed out like a full 
 stream ; they were scarcely wise thoughts, but I delighted in their 
 freshness ; and if ever she bordered on silliness, a just taste brought 
 her back again. Her eyes were dark and glittering, and her brown 
 hair lay smoothly on her forehead. Her rounded form spoke of 
 youth and health, and her cheek was mottled with "eloquent 
 blood." Impetuous and self-confident, she sometimes startled 
 those who loved her, who forgot how soon the world trammels the 
 exuberance which to me was delicious from its spontaneousness. 
 
 I scarcely knew how, but Lucia was often by my side, aiding me 
 in my preparations, and chatting away without looking at me. Her 
 needle was usually in her hand, and she seemed to talk as much to 
 that as to me. Thursday evening arrived. Lucia, sweet creature, 
 sprang about like a fawn ; her eyes glittered with expression, and 
 her jests and laughter rang out like silver bells. We went with her 
 mother to the hall. I had visited it repeatedly by daylight, but 
 never at night. As we entered we were struck with "the dim, dis- 
 astrous twilight." A few tallow candles, like sleepy sentinels, were 
 placed in tin hoops against the walls, and two ornamented the desk 
 where I was to stand. Who has not felt the chill of a badly-lighted 
 apartment, as the forms glide in and out like spectres ? As it was 
 too late to remedy the evil, my object was to attract immediate at-- 
 ' tention to my experiments. The stillness was awful, broken only 
 by the tinkling of the glasses in my trembling hand. 
 
 " Now, ladies and gentlemen," said I, "observe this receiver. It 
 is filled with a very peculiar gas. It has hitherto borne the name of 
 oxymuriatic acid gas ; but you will yet perceive its pale yellow-green
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 135 
 
 color, which has gained it from Sir Humphrey Davy, the name of 
 chlorine. I shall insert this small piece of phosphorus into the 
 vessel, and you will perceive an instantaneous and brilliant combus- 
 tion." Alas !_for me. I had forgotten, in my hurry, that chlorine is 
 rapidly absorbed by cold water, and I had been so long detained by 
 the slow dropping in of the audience, that the water with which I 
 had filled the pneumatic cisterns was entirely chilled. I might 
 have noticed that the gas had disappeared but for the dimness of 
 the light. Ignorant of this, and too much embarrassed to feel if the 
 water was warm or not, I desperately inserted the slight stick of 
 phosphorus which I had a thousand times admired. In vain ; dark 
 and quiet all remained. This was a sad failure. My assumed con- 
 fidence vanished, and I stammered out a few words, endeavoring to 
 explain. The audience, disappointed as they were, were too good- 
 natured to manifest any strong signs of disapprobation. 
 
 I determined then to recover my fast-sinking credit, by a very 
 beautiful and critical experiment by the union of the gases which 
 are the constituents of water. Oxygen and hydrogen in their proper 
 proportions, had been prepared beforehand, in a tall glass tube. 
 The wire from the voltaic battery had been introduced, and I flat- 
 tered myself there could be no failure here. Again, I called the 
 attention of my audience. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, I wish to show you an interesting and 
 exceedingly beautiful experiment ; you know what are the constituent 
 parts of water ; they are mixed in this tube " (here I held up the 
 tube apparently empty, but filled with the invisible gases), " in their 
 proper proportions and gaseous form ; I shall explode them by 
 a spark from the battery, and you will see a small portion of 
 water produced by the reunion of the gases." Unfortunately, in 
 replacing the tube, I permitted the gases to make their escape. 
 Unconscious of this, I applied my freshly-charged Leyden vial to 
 the eudiometer. A spark shot from one wire to the other across the 
 tube, but no explosion followed.
 
 136 STOX/F.S AND TALES 
 
 The audience looked and listened with all their might ; nothing 
 was visible but empty vessels ; my trembling touch had caused the 
 gas to escape, and the experiment was a nullity. Some lecturers 
 possess the happy faculty of filling up with fluent remarks, or jests, 
 such awful failures ; but I was overwhelmed, and as the tube, freed 
 from its pent-up gas, shook in my trembling hand, my heart sank 
 within me, and I dashed it away. Just at this crisis I heard an 
 hysterical giggle from Lucia. I was angry enough to have put her 
 into the air-pump. 
 
 Utterly defeated in this effort, I turned my attention to the elec- 
 tric machine. My audience gathered in a circle, hand-in-hand. I 
 applied the battery. Not a start not an exclamation ! My wires 
 were as innocent as lambs ; my audience looked at me between 
 curiosity and ridicule, and retired to their seats, and again Lucia's 
 laugh met my ear. At this crisis, one of those annoyances com- 
 monly called a thief, took possession of one my tallow candles. It 
 sank rapidly until the flame reached the paper which enveloped it 
 at the socket. I had no extinguisher, and was obliged to stop in 
 the midst of a sentence to puff and blow at the increasing blaze. I 
 forbear to describe the utter forlornity of my feelings and appear- 
 ance as I stood before the upshooting rays of that dying candle. I 
 dismissed my audience, and almost clutching Lucia's passive arm, 
 returned home. 
 
 It was necessary that an effort should be made to secure an audi- 
 ence for the next lecture, after that failure. I laid aside my noble 
 disdain of patronage, and. examining my letters of introduction, 
 selected those which were addressed to the most influential persons, 
 and calling on them, requested their advice. I was courteously 
 received by all, and allowed to use names at discretion. Friendly 
 hands greeted me, and cordial bows dismissed me with wishes and 
 prophecies of success. I inserted costly advertisements with the 
 formerly despised comet-tail of patrons, and determining that the
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 137 
 
 hall should be well lit, spared no pains or expense for the perfect 
 illumination. Lucia was sure that all would go off well. 
 
 " You wanted nothing but light," said* she, " to have made the 
 last lecture capital ; besides, people knew that the matter of an 
 introductory lecture will be repeated in the course, and they are less 
 
 anxious to attend. I am sure I saw Mr. , and Mr. in one 
 
 corner, on Thursday, but then it was so dark. But, dear Mr. Niblo, 
 we will have a glorious time to-morrow ! " 
 
 Sweet Lucia ! 
 
 The evening came. I started, with Lucia on my arm, ten min- 
 utes before the time. We saw the brilliant lights of the hall spark- 
 ling up as we turned the square, and they burst upon us as we 
 entered the hall, while the polished brass of my apparatus shone in 
 their beams. 
 
 "Give me a front seat," whispered Lucia, "where I can see and 
 hear without being crowded." 
 
 I seated her, and went behind the desk to look, for the hundredth 
 time, if all was in order. The clock struck eight, the appointed 
 hour. No one appeared. Twice I was deceived by the door- 
 keeper's reconnoitring. Quarter past- eight. Not a soul. I could 
 not look at Lucia Half past eight. An old gentleman entered 
 and took his seat at a distance. He blew his nose. Mercy, how it 
 reverberated ! Another quarter of an hour elapsed. I dismissed 
 the old gentleman, who claimed his money of the door-keeper, and 
 Lucia almost led me home. 
 
 A few of my acquaintances rallied ; they knew that my expenses 
 had been great, and by dint of puffing and appealing, with a promise 
 that I should exhibit some transparencies, a lecture was got up by 
 subscription. A breeze was given by some leading people adding 
 their names, and on the first of March, 18 , I stood before a large 
 and fashionable audience. My experiments were brilliant, and 
 Lucia's eyes were as bright as phosphorus. Applause ran through
 
 138 STOKfES AND TALES 
 
 the apartment at my success. I forgot my diffidence, threw by my 
 notes, and poured forth the tribute to science which had been 
 burning like silent fire in -my bosom. 
 
 " And now, ladies and gentlemen," I said, in a voice of unhesi- 
 tating dignity, " let me call your attention to a beautiful experiment, 
 which, though of secondary importance in science, is still attractive, 
 like the gems which glitter over the brows of the fair." 
 
 With this flourish, \ directed their attention to a union which I 
 was about to make of nitrate of ammonia and chlorine, and which I 
 expected would prove a very beautiful experiment, but which re- 
 quires peculiar care ; for, after being together for a long time, a 
 highly-explosive substance forms, which detonates with great vio- 
 lence upon the contact of any oil. Unfortunately, a small portion 
 of oil adhered to the rod which I introduced, and a most terrible 
 explosion followed. A jar of sulphuretted hydrogen stood near, 
 and its contents were liberally diffused, filling the room with appal- 
 ling odors. 
 
 Splinters of glass with the colored mixture spirted around the 
 apartment. In an instant the jetty broadcloth of gentlemen and 
 rich silk of the ladies shared a common fate ; groans of fright and 
 disgust, screams and laughter, mingled discordantly ; friend scarcely 
 recognized friend, as the vile preparation adhered to their faces. I 
 flew to Lucia ; her new bonnet, her only silk frock, were ruined. 
 As we walked home in silence, her good nature was fairly overcome ; 
 and when we reached the door, she flung herself angrily from my 
 arm, exclaiming, that she " wished chemistry was in the Dead Sea." 
 I said Amen, and retreated to my chamber in despair. 
 
 I am far from wishing, by the above narration of my calamitous 
 debut as a lecturer, to intimidate others. Many years have rolled 
 away since that disastrous experience, and crowded audiences have 
 testified to my success. The name of Dr. Niblo is not unknown in
 
 t FOR THE YOUNG. 139 
 
 foreign academies, while he reaps at home the advantages of a suc- 
 cessful professorship ; while another Lucia, a pretty fairy, with eyes 
 like her mother's, and the same round and merry laugh, wipes his 
 spectacles and hangs upon his arm. C. G. 
 
 THE YOUNG CONSPIRATORS. 
 
 At the revolution in Naples, in 1779, two young brothers were condemned to 
 death, and upon the entreaties of the mother for their lives, the king's attorney 
 told her she could choose between them. 
 
 THE flames of Vesuvius were hidden in a bright morning sun that 
 lay in glory on the noble bay at its feet, when two Neapolitan boys 
 were seen issuing from a vine-clad way, removed from the populous 
 city. They were followed by an attendant bearing a basket of fruit, 
 and their laugh rang free and wild upon the morning air, its hilarity 
 tempered by the grace of courtesy. They were brothers, alike, yet 
 differing. When the laugh was past, a tender thoughtfulness, as 
 when a cloud presses on dying sunbeams, shaded" the face of the 
 younger ; while lines of light, like the twilight of their own clime, 
 lingered upon that of the elder. Amid the play of youthful fancies 
 was mingled a classic, softened grace, called out by the nature of 
 their studies, the ancient ruins around them, and a yet softer impulse 
 that urged them towards a widowed mother, for whose morning meal 
 they had selected the choicest of fruits. Rosalba de Soria, who 
 awaited her sons' return at the door of her villa, stood in the glow 
 of perfect, matronly beauty, for the sorrow of the widow had had 
 compensations in the mother's love. Ferdinand, the elder youth, 
 pressed her extended hand, while Lorenzo received her kiss on his 
 ready lips.
 
 I4O STOKIES AND TALES 
 
 
 
 The education of the boys, though conducted in retirement, did 
 not prevent familiarity with the scenes of classic interest around 
 them. They glided on the beautiful bay, with its garden-like bor- 
 ders, where vineyards, groves and villages blend in delightful har- 
 mony, and they saw the skiffs darting from shore to shore, or pleasure 
 barques with ornamental streamers and musical accompaniments, 
 glancing like summer birds in plumage and sound. 
 
 They climbed to the heights that overlook the delicious country 
 of Campania Felix, and their eyes wandered far over islands and 
 seas. Sometimes Rosalba paused with them at the tomb of Virgil, 
 awakening the love of poetry in their souls ; sometimes they sojourned 
 at Pozzuoli, where the grandeur of the sea beyond rivalled the open- 
 ing glory of countless flowers at their feet ; or, the wonders of Her- 
 culaneum and Pompeii attracted their curious regards. But the most 
 delightful enjoyment was to sit with Rosalba in the balcony of their 
 villa, and listen to the story of their brave father, while the stars 
 twinkled above, and Vesuvius threw out its fires on the darkened 
 sky. 
 
 Nor were they debarred access to the populous city, where their 
 little knowledge of the world received an increase. The great street 
 of the Toledo, itself a world, formed an exciting contrast to the 
 romantic seclusion of their home. The following description will 
 reveal the animated scene which was such a fascination to the young 
 students : 
 
 " The great street of the Toledo presents the most amusing scene. 
 Every one has a costume as peculiar to himself as if attending a 
 masked ball. The sun flung bright lights here and there, while the 
 lofty htmses cast their shadows in other quarters. A merry fellow, 
 with a dozen tamborines arranged and perched upon his head, while 
 he played on another, dressed in a cloth cap, round jacket, blue 
 waistcoat and red-striped trousers, invited the world to buy a be- 
 guiler of tears for the baby at home. Next, a green-grocery man
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 14! 
 
 caught the eye ; his donkey is laden with a mat sack balanced on 
 both sides with large mouths, where cabbages, cauliflowers, salads 
 and celery are heaped in verdant abundance. A sugar-loafed hat, 
 flatted at the top, is over a worsted cap. His swarthy face and neck 
 defy the sun. A pipe in his mouth, red vest and short calico 
 breeches complete his apparel. No stockings hath he, nor shoe, 
 nor sandal. He and his donkey seem to be brothers. A pious 
 piper begins the labors of the day before some shrine of the Virgin, 
 where a lamp is burning. His instrument of three tubes derives its 
 melody from a bag of wind, which he fills from his own lungs. His 
 pointed hat is clapped on the top of his bag while he plays his pro- 
 pitiating prayer for success. His night-cap is displayed on his inno- 
 cent cerebellum, his curly hair flowing beneath, and showing -off his* 
 ruddy, distended cheek. His green coat, sleeveless mantle, ash-col- 
 ored breeches, and linen wrapped round his legs for stockings, shows 
 that he has not been blowing to the shrine in vain ; for he looks a 
 very respectable tradesman in his way, and need not be ashamed of 
 his profession. 
 
 "Venders of roast chestnuts are numerous in the Toledo. They 
 have prescriptive stations where they fix their stalls, within which a 
 small charcoal fire burns and gives its heat to a basket filled with 
 the fruit, placed on the top, and covered with a blanket to keep the 
 nuts hot. These people are a thrifty set, and well-dressed. The 
 man has a red worsted cap, silk handkerchief round his neck, yellow 
 vest, green round jacket, pants of blue ; clean white stockings, neat 
 shoes, a stool to stand on, and one to sit upon, as business or relaxa- 
 tion may require. He cries out his wares at the pitch of his voice, 
 holding his left hand to his cheek to render it louder. 
 
 " But have you seen the melon man ? There is a picture of inde- 
 pendence. A ragged suit of loose trousers, pretty good vest, yellow 
 or sky blue, and part of a shirt, are all that he requires. A long 
 board is balanced on his head, displaying the fruit blushing in its
 
 142 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 slices ; and on the palm of his left hand, equally poised, is a shorter 
 board, exhibiting another sample of his merchandise, while in his 
 right hand he waves a sprig of myrtle. 
 
 " \Vho is he with that snug capote and hood, and pretty little bask- 
 ets piled up under his arm, running along barelegged ? A fisher- 
 man who sells the most delicate fresh herring in the world, just taken 
 from the bay. The bottle vender, whom he has almost knocked 
 down in his haste, is a still greater curiosity. Long wooden pins are 
 stuck all round the edge of his basket, on which very thin flasks 
 with long necks for oil or wine are attached. He looks like a high 
 priest of Bacchus, with his merry face, always sure of a market, for 
 the flasks are so speedily broken open that he can scarcely supply 
 all of his customers. 
 
 " The Segretario is another picture. Seated at his table in a quiet 
 corner of the street, with a wise-looking hat shading his gray locks, 
 spectacles on his nose, paper, pens, ink-bottles, and and wafers in 
 due order before him, he waits to indite a petition, or a love-letter, 
 or a letter from a sailor to his mother, or from a creditor to a debtor, 
 or a law paper, or a memorandum. He is prompt, methodical, con- 
 fidential, and a valuable sort of person, who attracted my particular 
 respect on account of the unwearied patience with which he waited 
 for his customers who were too few and far between. 
 
 " The pride of Toledo, in their own opinion, at least, are the money- 
 changers. They are generally females, who display their riches in 
 the ornaments on their persons. The braided hair is tied under a 
 dashing silk handkerchief, knotted in front coquettishly. The broad 
 forehead, sharp eye and intelligent face show that if her ladyship 
 makes any mistake in the reckoning, it will not be to her loss. She 
 sits there before her strong box, on the top of which are little bask- 
 ets filled with silver or copper coins. A pair of real gold rings 
 dangle from -her ears. Her open neck displays a pearl necklace. 
 A velvet spencer, chintz gown, silk apron, and fingers covered with
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 143 
 
 rings, attract customers on all sides. The itinerant trader, who dis- 
 poses of "his stock early, and is laden with copper pence, changes his 
 into silver at her table, on which she receives her small commission. 
 The shop dealers that want accommodation in either way, coppers, 
 gold, or silver, are sure of finding all they want at the money- 
 changer's stall. An umbrella fixed on her counter ' forms a canopy 
 over her head, to protect her highness from the sun. 
 
 " Not quite so opulent, but much more captivating, are the female 
 venders of fried fish, magnificent women, fresh from the seaside. 
 You will know them by their yellow kerchiefs, gypsy faces, snow- 
 white sleeves tucked up their beautiful arms, and their red aprons 
 and blue gowns. Of these syrens let the fish-eater beware ! 
 
 "With an earthen pan and charcoal fire she browns and cooks her 
 soles and herring, taking the live fish from her basket of dried flags 
 at her side. Her bony figure seated on a stool and her well-dressed 
 feet peeping from beneath her long petticoat, St. Anthony himself 
 would not refuse to take a fry or two from those clean taper fingers. 
 She holds the fish on a skewer, and turns the little martyr round and 
 round until he is done to a turn, the mouth watering while the fra- 
 grant odor breathes around. 
 
 "The egg woman is a more quiet kind of body, though she seems 
 to be sitting for her picture, dressed in her tidy green apron, russet 
 gown, and linen sleeves, and her ruby kerchief thrown back over 
 her head. Next comes, shouting his ' Oil to sell ! ' a great farmer- 
 looking boy, in a gay straw hat. A goaf-skin sack of oil is tied 
 round his left shoulder, through the tail of which the smooth liquid 
 descends into a brass measure for the customers whom he serves. 
 
 " The porters, waiting for jobs, with their picturesque dress and long 
 pipes in their mouths, form a kingdom among themselves. He holds 
 his oblong square flag-basket always ready for the bundles of his 
 employers. At every corner of the street macaroni is served from 
 morning until night, hot or cold, in its own plain soup, or mingled
 
 144 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 with a savory stew boiled or baked, or in cakes, or in elongated 
 ropes of about a mile in length. When graced by the soup it is 
 most popular. It is handed smoking hot to the ragged customer, 
 who, without any ceremony, takes up the macaroni between his 
 fingers, and introducing the extremities of three or four ropes at 
 once into his thorax lifts his hands high in air and the whole dishful 
 vanishes in a trice. The soup is drank at discretion with a wooden 
 spoon, or out of the dish itself, the latter mode being generally 
 preferred. The water-vender is met everywhere and at all hours. 
 The ice-man is more stationary, but equally persevering. Here, the 
 female restorer of old chairs is busy with her rushes. There, the 
 smirking milliner's maid is tripping it with the band-box in her hand ; 
 she is wholly French, and out of keeping with her trim cap and 
 ribbons with the rest of the scene. Every one lives in the street. 
 The bakers' shop is so open that everything within is public. It is 
 the same with the tinman who incessantly hammers ; the blacksmith 
 whose bellows are always blowing and urging up a fierce fire, and 
 whose anvil never rests a moment. 
 
 "All the gay shops are in the Toledo. All the pretty women of 
 Naples show off in the Toledo. There the idler lounges, there the 
 merchants meet, there the military men ride or walk up and down 
 in their splendid uniforms." 
 
 Yet amid this gay and brilliant population floated the seed of 
 those revolutions which have so often marked the political history 
 of Naples. 
 
 On one occasion Lorenzo was purchasing at a stall .in this busy 
 scene. Ferdinand's attention was arrested by an individual, who, 
 unseen to others, beckoned him apart. A cloak and slouched hat 
 concealed his face and figure ; but his piercing eyes shot through the 
 folds. Ferdinand obeyed the summons, warned to silence by the 
 uplifted finger of the stranger. Withdrawing just far enough to 
 keep Lorenzo in view he uttered a few words to the listening youth.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 145 
 
 A flush *of surprise lit up Ferdinand's face, followed by an air of 
 intense interest and chained attention until Lorenzo turned inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Remember," said the stranger, fixing his piercing eye upon the 
 boy, " trust, secrecy" and he disappeared in the crowd. 
 
 From that moment a thoughtful expression gathered on Ferdi- 
 nand's brow, something which gave it the stamp of manhood. 
 The quiet of his home was no longer attractive ; the Toledo alone 
 engaged his thoughts, and when there, his restless eyes seemed in 
 search of some one. At the same hour, on the spot, the next week, 
 the stranger appeared. Ferdinand, already taught the language of 
 deception, beguiled his brother to a distance. Then followed whis- 
 pered, emphatic words, and the keen eyes of the stranger seemed 
 to search the innermost soul of the youth as his parting words were, 
 "trust, secrecy" 
 
 The next day Lorenzo went alone to the Toledo, and as he strolled 
 carelessly along, glancing at the sights around him, he felt a slight 
 but emphatic touch upon his shoulder. He turned, and the stranger's 
 eyes were upon him. His first feeling was to escape ; but a deep 
 voice of authority said, "Follow me, for your country demands 
 you." 
 
 Lorenzo shook off his fear, and with curiosity followed the figure, 
 who, threading the crowd, led him to a retired spot. Whatever the 
 uttered words were, they took deep hold of the sensitive boy, and 
 as the stranger on departing uttered the watchwords, " trust, secrecy" 
 Lorenzo laid his hand upon his throbbing breast and responded with 
 a prayer. 
 
 From that day there was a struggle in his hitherto calm existence, 
 that shook its very depths. He became reserved to Ferdinand, but 
 a deeper tenderness characterized his manner to his mother, mingled 
 'with a fitfulness and impetuosity that almost alarmed her. He fol- 
 lowed her footsteps like one whom he feared to lose. 
 10
 
 146 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 
 It was one of those bright nights that woo to watchfulness rather 
 
 than to slumber, when Ferdinand leaned from his casement, and 
 looked upon the moonlit scene. But it was not the softness of 
 night's smile that wooed him to where the moonlight decked the 
 meanest leaf with a diamond glitter ; nor was the glow on his beard- 
 less cheek awakened by its mellow hue, "trust, secrecy" were 
 whispered by a muffled figure retreating through the shrubbery, while 
 Ferdinand held his breath to hear. He glanced hurriedly at Lo- 
 renzo, who lay wrapt in the innocent beauty of sleep. While Ferdi- 
 nand looked, a troubled smile crossed trie lips of the dreamer, and 
 he whispered, "trust, secrecy." His tones were low and soft as a 
 woman's first answer to love, but they darted through his brother's 
 ear like a thunder-clap. His first impulse was to arouse and tax him 
 as a listener ; but the profoundness of his repose contradicted this 
 belief, and he left him to his slumbers while with mingled emotions 
 he sought his own rest. 
 
 At the same hour on the following night, the stranger appeared. 
 
 " Our secret is known," said Ferdinand. 
 
 " How ? " cried the stranger, grasping a dagger beneath his cloak. 
 
 " Lorenzo whispered the watchword in his sleep," said his brother. 
 
 " Noble boys ! " exclaimed the man, a smile crossing his dark 
 countenance, like a ray struggling through a cloud. " No trust is 
 betrayed. I have confided to him that I might trust you both. The 
 time draws near for action." 
 
 " But he is so young," hesitated Ferdinand ; " and our mother, 
 how can we risk her happiness ? " 
 
 " It is a woman's fate to yield and suffer," said the stranger, 
 moodily. " I, too, have ties to rend " ; and his thrilling sigh sounded 
 in the stillness. " Awaken Lorenzo." 
 
 Ferdinand went to the bedside and touched the slumberer's arm. 
 His was the delicious repose of youth, which clung to him like a 
 garment.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 " Lorenzo, Lorenzo, awake ! " 
 
 The boy turned languidly, half opened his eyes, and throwing his 
 arm over his head again, fell asleep. 
 
 " Trusf, secrecy" whispered Ferdinand in his ear. 
 
 The word was like flame to the mine ; he started wildly from the 
 bed, planted his foot firmly upon the floor, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Ready ! " 
 
 Ferdinand drew his arm within his own, and in a few moments 
 they were in a recess of the garden with the stranger. 
 
 There was an expression Of anxiety and alarm on the countenance 
 of the youths as he unfolded his plans. 
 
 " It is robbery," murmured Lorenzo ; " robbery of a mother, too." 
 
 " Things have a different name under different circumstances, 
 young gentlemen," said the stranger. " History will call the deed 
 patriotism. The noble band who have resolved to rescue the state 
 from oppression, have^worn that none of the softer affections shall 
 stand between them and their country. If you drive away these 
 boyish feelings, and procure me the paper from your mother's cab- 
 inet, you aid in that for which heroes have sacrificed more than 
 paltry gold. And, remember," he continued, while a flickering 
 moonbeam brought out the aggravated expression of a sinister coun- 
 tenance, " that you are pledged, known, to me. If our party succeed, 
 and success is almost as certain as that the skies are above us, 
 your mother will be elevated to the rank that she deserves. If, how- 
 ever, you stop in this movement, and I betray you, as I swear to 
 heaven I will, she will be implicated ; for who will believe, boys as 
 you are, that you act voluntarily ? " 
 
 Sad it is to unloose the first strong link of filial sympathy, when 
 no contact with the world has dimmed the brightness and beauty of 
 the chain. How often, through the long day that followed that night, 
 tears started to Lorenzo's eyes, and groans, in the solitude of his 
 chamber, burst /rom Ferdinand's heart !
 
 148 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 Darkness came, how unlike the starry nights of innocent days ! 
 Every wind seemed to murmur, every leaf seemed to swell the word 
 "treachery, treachery." 
 
 Their mother slept ; their beautiful and good mother, who had 
 nursed them at her breast, who had watched, not betrayed, their 
 slumbers, who had taught their lips to pray against temptation. The 
 cabinet to which the stranger referred was in a dressing-room next to 
 her sleeping apartment. They went together with the hurried step 
 of young deception. As they passed her door, the moonbeams re- 
 vealed her form, they faltered, a voice, low beneath the case- 
 ment, was heard thrilling " trust, secrecy" They delayed no longer ; 
 the spring yielded to their touch, and the pap'er was soon eagerly 
 grasped by the stranger. 
 
 A few weeks rolled away. Rumors were abroad of danger to the 
 State. Many individuals were seized on suspicion of conspiracy. 
 Rosalba knew not why, but there seemed something like a blight on 
 her once cheerful household. A haughty defiance sat on Ferdinand's 
 brow as he read the papers of the day, while the healthy glow on 
 Lorenzo's cheek faded, or was brilliant with a sudden flush. Ro- 
 salba watched her boys as a mother will watch the casket where her 
 heart's treasures are enshrined. She felt that the bitter moment had* 
 come when parental sympathy was unasked, when the moorings of 
 youthful confidence were severed, and the barque thrust forth on life's 
 wide sea alone. She stood like a wintry tree deserted by sunshine. 
 
 There had been a tranquil day, undisturbed by rumor or appre- 
 hension, and at twilight Rosalba and her sons sat in their favorite 
 bower. Something of the lovely confidence of the past was restored. 
 Lorenzo leaned with his arm around his mother's neck, and Ferdi- 
 nand threw himself on the turf at her feet, his flashing eyes softened 
 by her gentle smiles. 
 
 " How like your father you are growing," said she, as she pressed 
 her lips on his forehead.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 "I shall be jealous, mother," said Lorenzo, "for I call such kisses 
 mine." And he turned her cheek with his hand until it came in 
 contact with his own. 
 
 They were interrupted by strange voices, and suddenly there stood 
 before the group several officers of police, who arrested the boys 
 as prisoners of state. Rosalba sat for a moment like one in a 
 dream. 
 
 "This is some strange mistake," at length she said to them. 
 " These are mere children, and have scarcely ever wandered from 
 my side." 
 
 The men showed their orders, they were definite, the individuals 
 could not be mistaken, and they were charged with conspiracy. 
 
 Rosalba turned from the men and wildly urged the boys to assert 
 their innocence. Her heart sank within her at their statue-like 
 silence. The movements of revolutionary periods are rapid and 
 decided. They were conveyed to prison before her eyes, and soon 
 sentenced to death. 
 
 Rosalba hastened to the authorities, and with tears and prayers, 
 implored their pardon. The answer was, that one could be saved, 
 and she might choose between them. 
 
 She repaired to the prison, broken-hearted. They were in differ- 
 ent cells. As she entered the first, the light through the grating fell 
 strongly on Ferdinand, and now flashed forth to her sight in stronger 
 lines the likeness to his father. Those deep full eyes were his ; that 
 forehead and retreating curls were his ; the compressed lip and 
 manly bearing were his ; and his, too, the smile that was to be so soon 
 extinguished forever. She sank into his arms. 
 
 Ferdinand supported her to his wretched pallet, kissed her cold 
 cheek, upon which his big tears fell fast, and bade her be comforted. 
 
 " Comfort ! O, God ! comfort ! " shrieked the widow, in the first 
 paroxysm of hopeless wretchedness ; " where, where, but in the 
 grave with my children ? " and hiding her face in her son's bosom,
 
 150 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 her sobs were so strong and wild that he feared her heart was 
 breaking? 
 
 " Listen to me, mother, listen to me," he said in tremulous tones, 
 "and I will tell you what will comfort you, the memory of what a 
 good parent you have been, from the first moment I nestled in your 
 arms until this dark hour. How you have warned and guided us, 
 and sacrificed your wishes to ours ! You have been a true mother 
 to me, God knows ; you have been an angel watching my path, my 
 own, own mother ; " and as he said this, he knelt and bowed his head 
 to her lap, and hid his face there. 
 
 She spoke not ; she even shook him off in her agony ; the waves 
 were rolling over her soul, and her life-star was gone. 
 
 He drew her gently towards him, and soothingly pressed her hands 
 in his. 
 
 " Since I left you, mother, I have had a dream, a strange but 
 sweet dream. I have not thought much of Heaven before ; but I 
 am sure I was there in my dreams. We were all there, all four, 
 and you and father were so young and beautiful. There was a light 
 around you, and you seemed too glorious to Lorenzo and me, until we 
 heard you say, ' My children. 1 O, mother, there were no tears in that 
 heaven, no death ! " and his voice faltered, a shudder went over 
 his frame, and he was silent. 
 
 " Death, death ! " almost screamed Rosalba, " why did you not die 
 in your cradle ? I could have closed your eyes softly, and crossed 
 your hands upon your breast, and strewn your grave with flowers ; 
 now, now " 
 
 There was a pause of passionate sorrow. Ferdinand knelt still at 
 his mother's feet, and gazed into her face with a look of pleading. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother, for mercy's sake, be composed, or I shall 
 go wild, too;" and he pressed his hands to his head. "Mother, 
 you forget that I must be strengthened for this great trial, and our 
 poor Lorenzo, too."
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 151 
 
 Rosalba turned on him such a gaze of mournful admiration, as we 
 give the meteor darting to sudden extinguishment. Lorenzojs name 
 subdued her ; it was not a moment for words, but turning from Fer- 
 dinand she knelt before a rude crucifix inserted in the wall, offered 
 a silent prayer, and kissing him, passed to the cell of his brother. 
 As she entered, Lorenzo rushed to her with such a scream of joy and 
 fear that the empty vaults sent back the sound. 
 
 " You have come to save me, mother," he cried. " I knew you 
 would not let your poor boy die ! " 
 
 Rosalba turned aside in agony. He followed her beseechingly. 
 
 " Look at me, mother. I am your own, your youngest one. Here," 
 said he, throwing back the glossy hair that shaded his features, " here 
 is your likeness. My father loved me because I looked like you, 
 you would not have me die ! " and he threw his arms around her 
 neck and nestled as a bird beneath the parent's wing. 
 
 Rosalba sat upon the damp floor and took the boy to her heart as 
 in days of infancy. She wiped away his gushing tears and uttered 
 soft tones of endearment. 
 
 " You will save me then, my mother ? " he asked, wildly. 
 
 " I can save one of you," she whispered, almost inaudibly. ' The 
 sentence is, that one of you may live if I will choose him." 
 
 Lorenzo sprang from her anus and threw himself at her feet. 
 
 " You will save me, me" he cried, vehemently. " I am too young 
 to die. Mother, my heart will break with terror if you say I must 
 die. O, mother, I think of it, I dream of it. I am afraid ; I am 
 crazy ; save me, save your poor, poor Lorenzo," and he clung to her 
 with a piercing look of entreaty. 
 
 The agonized mother turned upon him with a kind of fierceness 
 and almost shouted in his ear, 
 
 " You say that Ferdinand is to die ? / will it not. Thank God 
 it rests not with, me ; I am guiltless ! " and she stamped the narrow 
 cell with almost maniac footsteps.
 
 152 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 " I said it not, mother," replied the boy mournfully. Ferdinand 
 must live, and I will go. It is fearful, but I must go," and with a 
 frightened look he swooned away. 
 
 Three days and nights Rosalba passed in alternate visits to her 
 children. She ate no food nor slept. The keeper's eyes moistened 
 as she passed to and fro. Sometimes, in the horror of despair, she 
 threw herself down in the dark passage and beat the impassive stones 
 with her delicate hands. Sometimes she knelt, and gazed upon the 
 crucifix, as if asking aid from Heaven. Now, low unuttered sounds 
 escaped her, as if her reason had fled. She shed no tears. Suffer- 
 ing had gone deeper than their fount. 
 
 On the fourth day an eager crowd gathered to the execution of 
 two youths. At the closing moment, when there was a hush in the 
 multitude, a shriek went up from among the spectators so piercing, 
 wild, and unearthly, that many a sleeper started that night in his 
 dreams, as he remembered it. When the populace dispersed, a 
 senseless female form was discovered closely enveloped in a veil. 
 The pulse of life had ceased to beat in that fair and gentle bosom, 
 on which was discovered the miniature likeness of two beautiful 
 boys embracing, and a braid of dark hair encircling the name of 
 Rosalba De Soria. 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 Good night, mamma ; good night, papa ; 
 
 I 'm going now to sleep ; 
 Your little boy will say his prayers, 
 
 And God his soul will keep.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 153 
 
 THE LOST MAIL. 
 
 A TALE OF THE FOREST. 
 
 MY cousin Lewis Walpole, from the earliest childhood, was re- 
 markable for finding things. 
 
 His companions thought he enjoyed what is commonly called 
 good luck, but a closer philosophy might say he was particularly 
 observing. He once found two letters in a morning walk, the re- 
 ward for which filled his pocket with spending-money for a year ; 
 and as we were rambling together one day, he brought up from the 
 mud on his ratan a gold ring. It was a plain ring, with two initials, 
 and though no immediate reward followed, it introduced him to a 
 friendship which was like golden apples for the rest of his days. 
 
 Once I stepped on a bit of dirty paper ; Lewis followed me, 
 picked it up and laid it in his little snug pocket-book. Six weeks 
 after, an advertisement appeared, offering three hundred dollars' 
 reward for that very bit of paper, which was the half of a note worth 
 as many thousands. 
 
 It seemed to me that pins sprang from the earth for Lewis, for he 
 was never without a row of them in his waistcoat. 
 
 If an old lady was in want of one, Lewis was always ready, and 
 then his head was patted, and he was treated to tit-bits. If a pretty 
 girl's shawl was to be fastened, behold Lewis' pin came forth, and 
 then such a beautiful smile beamed upon him ! If a child was in 
 danger of losing her bonnet, Lewis' offered pin was seized, and he 
 was caressed with lips and eyes, for her preservation from a mater- 
 nal chiding. 
 
 Cousin Lewis, sometime since, removed to the far West, and I, 
 his senior by a dozen years (though he was a stricken bachelor), 
 went with him to darn his stockings and keep his hearth clean. We
 
 154 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 called our log-house Sparrownest, and in one way and another made 
 it as cosey as heart could wish. What could poor cousin Lewis find 
 now, in his wide fields and vast forests ? Not pins, certainly ; but 
 one day, twenty miles from home, he did find in the wild woods a 
 strange thing, a pretty Irish girl about sixteen years old, all alone, 
 wringing her hands and sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 
 Cousin Lewis dismounted (he was a noble horseman), and offered 
 her assistance. The poor child only wept the more, crying out, 
 
 " And isn't it alone in the wide world that I am ? " 
 
 It was an awkward business ; but cousin Lewis knew better than 
 anybody how to do a kindness, so he wiped her eyes, soothed her, 
 and bade her be of good cheer ; then took her up on his saddle, and 
 brought her home. 
 
 "What big bundle has 'cousin Lewis brought home? " thought I, 
 as he rode up to the door in the twilight ; and great was my astonish- 
 ment to see a red-cheeked girl slip down from the saddle, with a 
 shame-faced look. I bestirred myself and got supper, for the child 
 was cold and hungry. When her appetite was appeased, (she ate a 
 whole chicken, poor thing !) she began to cry. 
 
 " What can I do for you, my child ? " said I. 
 
 " And isn't it of my father I'm thinkin' ? " said she, sobbing and 
 wringing her hands. " There were twenty of us, big and little, in 
 the wagon, and him in the front one. It was with a clever old lady 
 I was, in the after one, we to take the charge of one another, ye 
 mind. And when the 'orses was stopped for wathering, I minded 
 to go and gather some flowers I had never seen in my own counthry. 
 So I sated myself down to pull some flowers, and a bit weed there- 
 about looked like the shamrock, and I fell a thinkin'; a kind of 
 the 'dream came upon me, and I was at play with Kathleen and the 
 girls, and thin we were for throwin' peat at Dermot, and Dermot 
 made as if to kiss me, the impudent , and I slapped him on the 
 face, and thin I knew no thin' more until I started up and found
 
 mm 
 
 . YZ^~~s? <T'< ''f*"^Z=35!?S&& : ' 
 
 DORA. Page 155.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 155 
 
 myself alone. The wagons were gone, the owls were hootin', and 
 the night comin' on. Then I shouted, and cried, and raved, and 
 ran till my feet failed me, and my heart was jist like to break in 
 two, when the masther (here she made a low courtesy to cousin 
 Lewis), came along like the light on a dark night, and took com- 
 passion on the poor girl ; and she will love him all her days for his 
 goodness, she will." 
 
 With that, cousin Lewis took out his pocket-handkerchief, and I 
 punched the fire. 
 
 So Dora became one of us, and she sang about Sparrownest like 
 a young bird, with a natural sigh now and then for her father. 
 
 Did cousin Lewis find anything else in the forest ? Listen. As 
 he was riding on horseback, in his deliberate way, on the far out- 
 skirts of his fields, he saw something white scattered among the 
 green herbage. He spurred his horse toward the spot. It was 
 strewed with letters, which were dashed with mud and rain. Cousin 
 Lewis alighted, and quietly deposited them all in his saddle-bags. 
 
 Dora and I had made a blazing fire, for the night was chilly ; and 
 while I was knitting, she trod about with a light step, laying the 
 cloth for supper, and singing an Irish air about " Dermot, my dear." 
 When cousin Lewis came in, she sprang -towards him with such joy, 
 and hung his hat on the peg, and put his heavy saddle-bags in one 
 corner, and brought him water to bathe his hands, and helped to 
 draw off his great boots. He looked very fondly on her. You would 
 not have thought he was so much older than she, for his hair was 
 curling, and black as the raven ; mine has been gray for many years. 
 
 At supper cousin Lewis told us about the letters. I confess, old 
 as I am, I could scarcely keep my hands from the saddle-bags, and 
 I thought Dora would have torn them open. 
 
 " We shall have a rainy day to-morrow," said cousin Lewis, in his 
 quiet way, " and will want amusement ; beside, our Yankee clock 
 points to bedtime."
 
 156 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 " Masther, clear," said Dora, imploringly, " the letthers will not 
 slape a wink for wanting to be read." 
 
 " We must keep them locked up, my love, as we do restless chil- 
 dren," said cousin Lewis, and I think I saw him kiss the hand that 
 struggled to take the key of the saddle-bags away from him. No 
 wonder he felt young, for he was very straight and graceful. 
 
 The next morning, when we assembled at breakfast, the rain 
 descended in that determined style which announces a regular out- 
 pouring for the day. 
 
 Dora and I glanced at the saddle-bags ; cousin Lewis smiled. 
 
 "Have you settled it with your conscience," said he, "whether 
 those letters should be read ? There has evidently been a mail 
 robbery." 
 
 " You would n't in rason be after sendin' the letthers away, poor 
 things," said Dora, " when they were left in the forests. And it 
 wasn't that ye did to me, anyhow ! " 
 
 Cousin Lewis looked down and sighed, and smiled. I could not 
 tell whether he was thinking of the letters, or Dora ; but I noticed, 
 when he smiled, how white and even his teeth were. 
 
 After some discussion we decided that no seal was to be broken 
 where the superscription was legible, but that it was right and 
 proper that we should constitute ourselves a committee to decide 
 which of them were in a state to return to the post-office. Cousin 
 Lewis was appointed reader. While he gave us the contents of the 
 following, Dora amused herself by treading on Carlo's paw, who 
 looked up in her face and whimpered. 
 
 The date was erased. 
 
 "DEAR JUDGE: You will be surprised to learn that . . . 
 has taken the field against us. What will European cabinets say 
 when such addle-headed fellows form a part of our government? 
 B is up and doing. You must be on the alert, and circumvent
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 157 
 
 these movements, if possible. The secretaryship may yet be secured 
 by a general canvassing. T. and J. are fit tools. Take care of S., 
 and give a sop to old Cerberus on the island. Keep the date in 
 mind, as " 
 
 The rest of the writing was obliterated. The next letter made 
 Dora stop playing with Carlo's paw. 
 
 " PHILADELPHIA, ETC. 
 
 " DEAR RUSSELL : I received the books safely, and thank you. 
 After looking them over, I had an odd dream, and was awakened 
 with my own excessive laughter. It is utterly preposterous that a 
 staid lawyer, half a century old, should be dreaming such dreams. 
 
 " I dreamed that I was blowing soap-bubbles out of a clay pipe, a 
 thing I have not done since you and I were boys at Fishkill. One 
 after another they floated off, poetically enough ; now rising grace- 
 fully in the sunbeams, and now exploding softly on the turf at my 
 feet. At length, one, the king of the rest, grew and grew at the end 
 of my pipe, until it became as large as a wash-basin* It fell, and 
 lay rolling about, offering beautiful prismatic hues to the eye, when, 
 presently, a little square-nosed pig came grunting towards it. Twice 
 he smelled it, and tried to turn it, but retreated as it rolled towards 
 him. Again he seemed to gather up his courage, and thrusting his 
 square snout against it, it exploded with a noise like a pistol. Little 
 Squarenose ran as if for life and death, and I awoke in a positive 
 perspiration with excess of laughter. 
 " Interpretation of 
 
 " Your, 
 
 "JAMES COL ." 
 
 Dora shouted with glee at this droll description, and her interest 
 was kept awake by the following, written evidently by a relation of a 
 certain popular character :
 
 158 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 " MRS SIPPI 
 " WEST END OF A MERRY K. 
 
 " DEAR VELLER : Wot with my see sickness and warious causes, 
 it's bin utterly onpossible for me to rite to you, tho' it warnt for want 
 of thinkin' on you, as the thief said to the constable. Wos you eve 
 see sick, cozen Veller ? If you wos, you would say that you felt in 
 the sitivation of a barrel of licker, that's rolled over and over agin - 
 its vill. 
 
 "A most mortifyin' thing happened a board the wessel. You 
 know, my lovin' cozen, the jar of baked beans you put aboard for 
 my private eatin'. Wot should the stewhard do, but set it atop of 
 three basins in my stated-room, and won day wen the ladies wos 
 eatin' lunch, there came an awful lurch of the see, the wich burstin' 
 open my door, driv the whole concern into the cabin. The beans 
 w^as mouldy beyond account, and smelt werry wilely, as the pig said 
 wen he vent to his neighbor's pen. The beans was awfully griddle 
 about the floor under the ladies' feet, who scrambled up into the 
 cheers. I put my head out of my birth to explain, and was taken 
 with an awful qualm in the midst of a pology. 
 
 " Give my love to Miss , and tell her the Merrycans have 
 
 been quite shy of my letter of introduction from her. I'm jealous 
 she did n't move in sich respectable society as me, or else she made 
 a mistake, as the dissector said wen he got hold of a live body. I 
 ain't seen a drunken lady, nor a young woman married to her grand- 
 father, nor a hypocritical parson since I left the wessel. 
 
 " I will write agin as ever I get to Miss Sore-Eye. 
 
 " Your loven cozen, TIMOTHY." 
 
 It may well be imagined that Sparrownest rang with our mirth, 
 for little matters move one in the country. Dora laughed until she 
 cried ; but her mood was soon changed when cousin Lewis, in his 
 pathetic tones, read the next letter.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 159 
 
 " FATHER : I take my pen in desperation, not in hope ; and yet, 
 perhaps, when you know that the body of my child lies beside me 
 without my having the means .to buy him a shroud, you may relent. 
 Poor Edward is stretched on his hard mattress beside the boy, and 
 his hollow cough rings fearfully through the empty room. O, fa- 
 ther, if he had but that old sofa you banished to the garret on the 
 night of my birth-day ball ! You will think' me crazy to say so, but 
 you are a murderer, father. My boy died for want of nourishment, 
 and you are murdering Edward too ! the best, the noblest . 
 O, heaven ! to think of the soft beds in your vacant rooms, and 
 the gilt-edged cups from which you drink your odorous tea, with that 
 white sugar sparkling like diamonds ! I have just given poor Ed- 
 ward his nauseous draft in a tin vessel. I have not had time to 
 cleanse it since my baby was ill. 
 
 " My baby, how tranquilly he rests ! Would that Edward and. I 
 might lie down beside him ! 
 
 " Father, will God treat his erring children as you do ? ' Like as 
 a father pitieth his children.' 
 
 " O, Father in heaven, art thou like mine ? " 
 
 " A change has come upon Edward, father ; he is dying 
 
 dead." 
 
 Dora laid her head upon the table in tears, but she soon wiped 
 her eyes and listened with feminine interest to another letter. 
 
 " NEW YORK. 
 
 " DEAR ISABEL : You must not fail to.be here on the 2ist of next 
 month as my first bridesmaid. I can take no excuse. My dress is 
 perfect ; papa imported it for me. There is and shall be no copy in 
 the city. The pearls, too, are exquisitely unique. You can form 
 some judgment of what will be necessary for your own dress by 
 mine. Of course you must be less elegant than the bride.
 
 l6o STOK/ES AND TALES 
 
 " Frock, with lace trimmings, etc. . . . $150 oo 
 
 "Veil 50 oo 
 
 '* Pocket handkerchief (the divine thing) . . 20 oo 
 
 " Embroidered gloves ..... 3 oo 
 
 " Satin boots 12 50 
 
 " Stockings 5 oo 
 
 " Embroidered scarf. . . . . . 10 oo 
 
 " Set of pearls 200 oo 
 
 " Bouquet of natural flowers . . . . 5 oo 
 
 " Come, dearest Isabel, and witness my dress and my felicity ! 
 
 " Your own ELEANOR. 
 
 " P. S. You know you must appear with me on Sunday. Mam- 
 ma has bought me a heaven of a bonnet with feathers." 
 
 
 
 Dora rolled up her eyes. " And is n't it feathers that 's to make 
 that bird ? " said she. Upon which she began to speculate on her 
 own wants, if she should be married, and decided that ten dollars 
 would be an ample dower for her. Cousin Lewis, appropriately 
 enough, though accidentally, hit upon a letter of good advice to a 
 bride. 1 was very much disconcerted, however, at the third para- 
 graph, to see Dora begin to nod ; at the fourth, her hands fell in 
 her lap, and her ball of thread rolled on the floor ; at the fifth, her 
 head sank on her shoulder, and cousin Lewis had to support her 
 with his left arm. 
 
 " Don't disturb the poor child," said he, kindly, as I began to 
 shake her. 
 
 " But cousin Lewis," said I, " it is a pity she should lose such 
 excellent advice, particularly if she should marry a parson." 
 
 " You know nothing about these matters, Rachel," said cousin 
 Lewis, sharply. " 1 will tell her all the advice to morrow."
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. l6l 
 
 So his left arm continued to keep her from falling, and he read 
 on : 
 
 " MY DEAR MARY : You ask for advice on the new scenes of 
 duty which you have entered. I thank you for the implied com- 
 pliment contained in such a request. Having watched your growth 
 from the moment that you first blessed the eyes of your fond pa- 
 rents to this time, when, with conscientious resolutions, and warm 
 affections, you have become the wife of a clergyman, it is with no 
 little interest that I answer it. 
 
 " You feel, doubtless, better than I can express, how necessary is 
 true piety to the happiness of one whose husband is devoted to the 
 cause of Christ. Beautiful is the spectacle, where confiding hearts' 
 move in pious sympathy, pleased with earth, yet looking towards 
 heaven ; and when the wave of sorrow comes (as come it must), 
 and rushes over their souls together, bending but a moment with 
 the shock, and then, with a common impulse, resuming their upward 
 view. 
 
 " Yet I would warn you, in the enthusiasm of your aims at reli- 
 gious duty, not to involve yourself in your husband's sphere. Many 
 young ladies, when wedded to clergymen, have made themselves 
 unhappy by extending too widely the circle of their cares. Ardent 
 in the cause of the Master they profess to follow, they imagine that 
 they must devote their time and powers to the flock over which their 
 husband presides. By degrees, family cares press on and crowd 
 their time, and they lose their equanimity of temper amid conflict- 
 ing duties. 
 
 " A minister's wife -should show by her deportment that she is one 
 of his flock, and not a leader. A constant and respectful attend- 
 ance on his ministry, and a deportment which marks that her 
 thoughts are 
 
 ' For God, through him,' 
 II
 
 1 62 STOJRIES AND TALES 
 
 will secure for her a quiet influence over the minds of his people. 
 She should seem not to be first, even in good works, but skilfully 
 and delicately promote the cause of truth through others. 
 
 " The best service you can render his people will be to make your 
 husband's home happy ; then will he go forth prepared to sympa- 
 thize with them, and his free spirit will range over his wide sphere 
 of duty in religious joy. Remember, that in common with all men, 
 
 " ' A something of submission, of respect, 
 Obedience, kindness personal, he loves. 
 A slighter service so adorn'd will please 
 Him more, than wanting this, a greater would. 
 
 Goethe? 
 
 " Be not cold to his peculiar taste ; if he loves books, cultivate 
 literature, that he may find your intellectual improvement keeping 
 pace in a measure with his own. If music attract him, forward, 
 either in yourself, or those around you, an accomplishment which 
 may soothe his weariness, or beguile his care ; and while you faith- 
 fully study your domestic duties, either in the preservation of neat- 
 ness and order in your household, or with your needle, by his side, 
 let him see that mind is still ' lord of the ascendant.' 
 
 " I say to you, what I would say to all young wives, cultivate a 
 gentle temper. You have a sweet disposition : thank God for it, as 
 the best dower for married life. 
 
 " Riches, accomplishments, intellect, fade all away before the 
 genuine smile of good nature. But do not trust to the gift of a 
 sweet temper. None but a woman can know the wear and tear of 
 feeling produced by the minute details of household care. Pray 
 and strive for gentleness, and ' the soft answer which turneth away 
 wrath.' Be willing not to have your own way. The contest for 
 power is always a losing one for woman. 
 
 " ' Obedience 
 " Is her best duty.'
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 163 
 
 " In obtaining power, she may chance to lose the sway of stronger 
 affection. 
 
 " Farewell, dear Mary. May the God who has blessed you thus 
 far, sanctify and accept the offering of the talents which you and 
 yours have laid before him. 
 
 " Your affectionate aunt, 
 
 " CAROLINE." 
 
 As cousin Lewis' voice ceased, after reading this certainly excel- 
 lent letter, Dora started and rubbed her eyes ; it was not many 
 minutes, however, before her sympathies were excited and her 
 fingers beating time on the table to the musical jingle of the follow- 
 ing girlish epistle : 
 
 " CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 
 " I ought to make excuses due, 
 
 Dear Julia, for not writing you, 
 
 Since, with a kindness prompt and free, 
 
 You gave your charming thoughts to me. 
 
 But I abominate excuses, 
 
 And rank them among mere abuses, 
 
 As they come marching full and round 
 
 To tinkling instruments of sound, 
 
 Without a particle of feeling, 
 
 Mere drapery for the heart's concealing. 
 
 Your letter was delightful to me, 
 
 And made a pleasant thrill run through me, 
 
 Like that we feel in smelling flowers, 
 
 Or when we listen to soft showers 
 
 That fall upon a sultry day, 
 
 And chase our languid thoughts away. 
 So you are reading Anacharsis ! 
 
 How well kept up that learned farce is, 
 
 Showing us sages, states, and kings, 
 
 Familiarly as common things. 
 
 Stationed once more in this retreat, 
 
 Where leisure and excitement meet ;
 
 164 STOK7ES AND TALES 
 
 Where studious pleasures, happy, calm, 
 
 Show life with every softer charm. 
 
 Nothing disturbs seclusion's hour, 
 
 Which hovers with its tranquil power ; 
 
 Save transient visitors, who seem 
 
 Like shooting-stars with brilliant gleam, 
 
 That dart from out a distant sphere, 
 
 Delight my gaze and disappear. 
 
 The Boston question, What's the news ? 
 
 Is only answered by reviews, 
 
 Or weekly papers, letting out 
 
 The bus'ness that the world 's about 
 
 While the " last book " unfolds its page 
 
 Of interest in this bookish age. 
 
 Charles Lamb, amid some random start, 
 
 Throws out sweet whispers to my heart ; 
 
 While Bulwer's strong yet poison'd bowl 
 
 I quaff until my senses roll. 
 
 Not to his hand the task is given 
 
 To lift the erring soul to Heaven ; 
 
 Tartarean darkness fills the soul 
 
 That yields to his unsound control. 
 
 " Some graver things than these I find 
 
 Daily to occupy my mind. 
 
 Theology, with critic eye, 
 
 Causes my lingering doubts to fly ; 
 
 And history, with reflecting pen, 
 
 Teaches of empires and of men. 
 
 " Then I have evening reveries 
 
 In gazing on the changing skies ; 
 
 And walks, where, as I look abroad, 
 
 My soul springs forward to its God. 
 
 Nor even lonely am I then, 
 
 Though straying from the haunts of men ; 
 
 The breeze lifts up a pleasant voice, 
 
 The streams in whispers say, Rejoice ! 
 
 And Nature's tone, wherever given. 
 
 Thrills me like Nature's God in heaven.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 165 
 
 " But how I've written off my time, 
 Led by the marching step of rhyme ! 
 Forgive this light and careless letter, 
 Which leaves me still a heavy debtor 
 To you for yours, with its completeness, 
 Finished, epistolary neatness. 
 And now, with kind remembrance true, 
 Receive, dear girl, a warm adieu. 
 
 EMILY." 
 
 "And isn't it nice, that?" said Dora, clapping her hands. 
 " Och, but it dances like Dermot to old O'Connor's harp." 
 
 And now the impatient girl's fingers were again thrust into the 
 saddle-bags ; but as she drew out several letters, I observed that the 
 superscription on one arrested her attention. She became very 
 pale, broke the seal impetuously, and glanced at the signature. A 
 joyous flush came over her cheeks ; she danced about, waving the 
 letter in the air, caught me round the neck and kissed me, and 
 threw herself into cousin Lewis' arms in a passion of tears. When 
 she could speak, she sobbed out, 
 
 " And isn't it father's own hand writhing, darling ? And isn't he 
 at Louisville, weeping for his own Dora ? And will not the mas- 
 ther " (here she disengaged herself from cousin Lewis, and stood 
 before him with her accustomed courtesy) " take poor Dora to the 
 father that's her own ? " 
 
 Cousin Lewis was startled. 
 
 " I had hoped," said he, gravely, " that is, cousin Rachel and I, 
 had hoped, that Sparrownest would have been your home for life, 
 Dora." 
 
 Dora looked down, embarrassed, for my cousin Lewis' eyes were 
 fixed upon her, and they were very black and sparkling, though he 
 was a stricken bachelor. 
 
 I withdrew towards the window, but did not altogether look away.
 
 1 66 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 I saw cousin Lewis take Dora's hand ; I saw Dora blush all up to 
 the eyebrows ; I heard Cousin Lewis speak in a pleading tone. 
 One would not have thought him an old bachelor by his voice. I 
 saw little Dora tremble ; her heart seemed starting from her bosom, 
 and she began to cry. 
 
 " I will not distress you," said cousin Lewis, tenderly. " Tell me 
 all your feelings as you are wont to do. Can you love me, and be 
 my wedded wife ? " 
 
 Dora looked up through her tears. Her eyes shone sweetly. 
 
 " I will love the masther to the day of my death, and after," said 
 she ; " but thin I will love Dermot better, and it is a sin is that." 
 
 Cousin Lewis dropped her hand abruptly, and left the room. He 
 stayed away an hour, and then calmly prepared for Dora's journey. 
 And now I never hear him speak her name. 
 
 MR. INKLIN: 
 
 OR, THE MAN OF LEISURE A MAN OF MISCHIEF. 
 
 MRS. SHERIDAN, a happy wife and mother, having concluded the 
 bustle of a housekeeper's morning, ascended to her bedroom with 
 the agreeable consciousness of a neat parlor and pantry, and com- 
 menced the important business of cutting out a piece of linen. The 
 smooth surface of a well-made bed was appropriated to this some- 
 what intricate process, on which, humble as it seems, the happiness 
 of one's husband greatly depends. There is scarcely a more forlorn 
 or pitiable object in the universe, than a man who, putting on a new 
 shirt, perceives some radical defect, with the awful consciousness 
 that nine,' fifteen or twenty more are cut upon the same pattern. It 
 so happened that Mr. Sheridan had detected, almost with com- 
 placency, the incipient decay of a set of shirts that had kept his
 
 FOR 'THE YOUNG. 167 
 
 neck in a vise for 3 year and a half, and with many injunctions to 
 his wife to be merciful, had purchased a piece of new linen. 
 
 Mrs. Sheridan began her work with a light heart, and, humming a 
 low tune, placed the various pieces on different parts of the bed in 
 the most systematic manner. It is delightful to create; and the 
 humble evolutions of the needle and scissors have healed many a 
 wounded heart ; but to work for those we love gives an added charm 
 to this seemingly humble employment ' Mrs. Sheridan went trip- 
 ping lightly round the bed to the growing tumuli of gussets, wrist- 
 bands, etc., looking back to her life of placid duty, where even the 
 clouds that had sometimes shaded her path, were tinged with the 
 light of love and hope. 
 
 She had not advanced far in the progress of her work, when a 
 ring at the door-bell was heard, and a visitor announced. She 
 smoothed down the border of her pretty morning cap, and with a 
 sorrowful parting glance at the bed, descended to the parlor. 
 
 The visitor was Mr. Inklin, a broken merchant, who had contrived 
 to save just enough for his support, without energy to strike into new 
 plans, though it was his intention to enter upon some occupation at 
 a future day. Mr. Inklin had no gift in conversation ; his voice was 
 an anodyne, and his sleepy eyes seemed wandering to the ends of 
 the earth. Nothing is so chilling in conversation as an unanswering 
 eye. Besides this unfixed look, he kept up perpetually a grunting 
 kind of affirmative which destroyed the hope that a difference of 
 opinion might stimulate his ideas. He dressed well, and made great 
 use of his watch-key. Most men of leisure do. 
 
 The man of leisure sat down composedly, remarking that the day 
 was fine. 
 
 Mrs. Sheridan assented, and tried to recollect if she had stuck a 
 pin as a guide where she had drawn the last thread in the linen. 
 
 Mr. Inklin enlarged upon the weather. 
 
 " It had been warm," he asserted, " perhaps warmer than it was
 
 1 68 STOK/ES AN> TALES 
 
 that time twelvemonth. Warm weather agreed with him. He 
 thought it might last a few days longer, it was apt to in June." 
 
 Mrs. Sheridan looked towards him as he spoke, but it was silently 
 to observe that his shirt collar was more pointed than Mr. Sheri- 
 dan's. 
 
 " You have a quiet time," said the man of leisure, " with the chil- 
 dren all at school." 
 
 " Yes, sir, very quiet," said Mrs. Sheridan, falling into a reverie, 
 as she thought how well it was adapted to cutting out shirts. 
 
 Mr. Inklin went through the commonplace manner of morning 
 visitors, with many a resting-place between, until he remarked that 
 " the wind was rising." 
 
 Mrs. Sheridan had observed it too, with a feeling of dismay at the 
 prospect of the commingling of all her shirt elements. 
 
 The man of leisure stayed an hour (he liked a morning visit one 
 hour long), and then exclaiming, as the hand of his watch turned the 
 expected point, " bless my soul, past twelve o'clock," made his bow 
 and departed. 
 
 Mrs. Sheridan went to her chamber. The wind was whirling neck, 
 sleeve, and flap gussets in unceremonious heaps ; and collars, wrist- 
 bands, and facings were dancing in eddies on the floor. In her agi- 
 tation she lost the important boundary pin, and an error occurred in 
 her calculations. The shirts were made, but for eighteen months 
 her husband never took one from his drawer but with a nervous 
 shudder, or a suppressed execration. 
 
 THE MAN OF LEISURE IN A COUNTING-HOUSE. 
 
 The man of leisure next visited the counting-room of B & Co., 
 and socially seating himself on a barrel, hoped he should not prevent 
 the head clerk, who was his acquaintance, from writing. 
 
 " Not at all," said the polite clerk, putting his pen behind his ear 
 with a constrained air.
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 169 
 
 " Pray don't stop on my account," said Mr. Inklin, with a patron- 
 izing smile. 
 
 The clerk returned to his accounts and letters, while the man of 
 leisure described with somewhat more animation than usual, some 
 herring he had eaten for breakfast. The clerk made an error in a 
 figure, which cost Messrs. B & Co. one week to rectify, and one of 
 the correspondents of the firm was shortly after surprised with the 
 announcement by letter, that an hundred bales of pickled herring 
 would shortly be forwarded to order. 
 
 THE MAN OF LEISURE AND HIS MINISTER. 
 
 It was Saturday night, and the Rev. Dr. Ingram sat in his study 
 with his sheets before him, commentators and lexicons around him, 
 and a well-mended pen in hand, when the man of leisure was an- 
 nounced. He entered slowly and almost diffidently, so that the 
 compression of the Dr.'s brow produced by the interruption gave 
 way to an open smile of encouragement. I have mentioned that 
 Mr. Inklin was taciturn, and not only that, but that he threw an 
 opiate over the minds of his associates. There were long pauses in 
 that long hour, and the good words of the clergyman fell on barren 
 ground. At length Mr. Inklin arose, saying, " I fear I have broken 
 the thread of your argument, sir." 
 
 And broken it was. Dr. Ingram retouched the nib of his pen, 
 listlessly turned the pages of Clark, Rosenmueller, Grotius, etc., 
 rubbed his forehead, took two or three turns across the room, and 
 threw himself on a seat in despair. The impetus was gone, the 
 argument was frittered away ; he stole off to bed, and dreamed that 
 a thirty-two pounder was resting on his chest, with the man of leisure 
 surmounting it. 
 
 THE MAN OF LEISURE AND A PRETTY GIRL. 
 The man of leisure called on Monday on Miss Emma Roberts, 
 a pretty, blooming girl of seventeen. Emma was clear-starching.
 
 1 70 STOKfES AND TALES 
 
 Talk about the trials of men ! What have they to annoy them in 
 comparison to the mysteries of clear-starching ? Alas, how seldom 
 clear ! Emma was going on in the full tide of success, indulging in 
 the buoyant thoughts of her age ; there was a soft light about her 
 eye, as she drew out the edge of a fichu, or clapped it with her small 
 hands, as if they felt the impulse of young hopes. 
 
 " I am sure Harry Bertram looked at this collar last Sunday ; I 
 wonder if he liked it," thought she, and a gentle sigh rustled the 
 folds of the morning-robe on her bosom. Just then the door-bell 
 sounded, and the man of leisure walked into the sitting-room, where 
 Emma, with a nice establishment of smoothing-irons, etc., had en- 
 sconced herself for the morning. 
 
 " You won't mind a friend's looking in upon you," said Mr. Inklin, 
 with an at-home air. 
 
 Emma blushed, loosened the strings of her apron, gave a glance 
 at her starched fingers, and saying, 
 
 " Take a seat, sir, suspended her work with the grace of natural 
 politeness. In the mean while, the starch grew cold, and the irons 
 were overheated. 
 
 Emma was not loquacious, and the dead pauses were neither few 
 nor far between. Emma, rendered desperate, renewed her opera- 
 tions, but with diminished ardor; her clapping was feeble as the 
 applause to an unpopular orator, she burnt her fingers, her face be- 
 came flushed, and by the time the man of leisure had sat out his 
 hour, a gray hue had settled over her muslins, and an indelible 
 smutch disfigured Harry Bertram's collar. 
 
 Mr. Inklin soon called again, and met Harry Bertram. It was no 
 influence of coquetry ; but Emma rallied her powers and talked more 
 to Mr. Inklin than to Harry, a modest youth, thrown somewhat into 
 the shade by the veteran visitor, who outstayed him. Harry, who 
 was not a man of leisure, could not call for several days ; when he 
 did, Mr. Inklin had " dropped in " before him, and was twisting his
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. IJl 
 
 watch-key with his cold, wandering eyes and everlasting affirma- 
 tives. 
 
 Emma sewed industriously, and her dark lashes concealed her 
 eyes. Her cheeks were beautifully flushed, but for whom ? 
 
 Mr. Inklin toyed with her work-box, without seeming to know that 
 he was touching what Harry thought a shrine. 
 
 Harry looked a little fierce, and bade good-night abruptly. 
 
 Emma raised her soft eyes with a look that ought to have detained 
 a reasonable man ; but he was prepossessed, and the kind glance was 
 lost. Emma wished Mr. Inklin at the bottom of the sea ; but there 
 he sat, looking privileged, because he was a man of leisure. 
 
 The fastening of the windows reminded him that it was time to 
 go, for he did not limit his evening calls to an hour. Emma went 
 to her bedroom. She was just ready to cry ; but a glance at her 
 mirror showed such bright cheeks that it stopped the tears, and she 
 fell into a passion. She tied her nightcap into a hard knot, and 
 broke the string in a pet. 
 
 " Harry Bertram is a fool ! " said she, "to let that stick of a man 
 keep him from me. I wish I could change places with him " ; and 
 sitting down on a low seat, she trotted her foot and heaved some 
 deep sighs. 
 
 The man of leisure "just called in " twice a week for three months. 
 Report was busy. Harry's pride was roused. He offered himself 
 to another pretty girl, and was accepted. 
 
 Emma's bright cheek faded, her step grew slow, and her voice was 
 no longer heard in its gay carol from stair to stair. She was never 
 talkative, but now she was sad. Mr. Inklin continued to " drop in " ; 
 his heart was a little love-touched, but then there was " time enough." 
 One evening he came with a bit of news. 
 
 " I have brought you a bit of Harry Bertram's wedding-cake," 
 said he to Emma. 
 
 Emma turned pale, then red, and burst into tears.
 
 172 STORIES AND TALES 
 
 The man of leisure was concerned. 
 
 Emma looked very prettily as she struggled with her feelings, 
 while the tears dried away ; and he offered her his heart and hand. 
 
 " I would sooner lie down in my grave than marry you ! " said the 
 gentle Emma, in a voice so loud that Mr. Inklin started ; and rush- 
 ing to her own apartment, the china rang in the closet as she slammed 
 the door. Mr. Inklin was astonished. Poor Emma covered up her 
 heart, and smiled again ; but she never married, nor ever destroyed a . 
 little flower that Harry Bertram gave her when it was right for her to 
 love and hope. 
 
 The man of leisure bore her refusal with philosophy, and continued 
 to " drop in." 
 
 THE MAN OF LEISURE AND THE PALE BOY. 
 
 " You'll please not to forget to ask the place for me, sir," said a 
 pale, blue-eyed boy, as he brushed the coat of the man of leisure 
 at his lodgings. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mr. Inklin. " I shall be going that way in a 
 day or two." 
 
 " Did you ask for the place for me, yesterday ? " said the pale boy, 
 on the following day, with a quivering lip, as he performed the same 
 office. 
 
 " No," was the answer. " I was busy ; but I will to-day." 
 
 " God help my poor mother ! " murmured the boy, and gazed list- 
 lessly on the cent Mr. Inklin laid in his hand. 
 
 The boy went home. He ran to the hungry children with the loaf 
 of bread he had earned by brushing the gentlemen's coats at the 
 hotel. 
 
 They shouted with joy, and his mother held -out her emaciated 
 hand for a portion, while a sickly smile flitted across her face. 
 
 " Mother, dear," said the boy ; " Mr. Inklin thinks he can get me 
 the place, and I shall have three meals a day, only think, mother,
 
 FOR THE YOUNG. 173 
 
 three meals ! and it won't take me three minutes to run home and 
 share it with you." 
 
 The morning came, and the pale boy's voice trembled with eager- 
 ness as he asked Mr. Inklin if he had applied for the place. 
 
 " Not yet," said the man of leisure ; " but there is time enough." 
 
 The cent that morning was wet with tears. Another morning 
 arrived. 
 
 " It is very thoughtless in the boy to be so late," said Mr. Inklin. 
 " Not a soul here to brush my coat." 
 
 The child came at length, his face swollen with weeping. 
 
 " I am sorry to disappoint you," said the man of leisure, " but the 
 place in Mr. C 's store was taken up yesterday." 
 
 The boy stopped brushing and burst afresh into tears. 
 
 " I don't care now," said he, sobbing ; " we may as well starve 
 Mother is dead." 
 
 The man of leisure was shocked, and he gave the pale boy a 
 dollar. 
 
 THE MAN OF LEISURE ON A DEATH-BED. 
 
 Mr. Inklin was taken ill.- He had said often that he thought re- 
 ligion might be a good thing and he meant to look into it. An 
 anxious friend brought a clergyman to him. He spoke tenderly but 
 seriously to the sufferer, of eternal truths. 
 
 " Call to-morrow," said the man of leisure, " and we will talk about 
 these matters." 
 
 That night the man of leisure died>
 
 FAIRY -LAND 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE H. JERVEY.
 
 FAIRY-LAND; 
 
 OR, 
 
 JESSIE AND HER KITTEN. 
 
 GIVE me your whole attention. Open those large, blue eyes, 
 not too wide, for they frighten me, and who ever heard of violets 
 frightening anybody ? Let me see those bright lips parted in expec- 
 tation, and those hands clasped, as if waiting for my words, and 
 listen to me. 
 
 This is a regular fairy story, none of your true and true stories, 
 but something as fanciful as a bird in its flight, or a comet in its 
 course, or anything zigzag and unreal in the world. 
 
 Said little Jessie Harding, one day to her mother, " Mamma, may 
 I take my kitten and go into the woods ? " 
 
 " Yes, my love ; but come back before twelve to help me tie up 
 my creepers on the arbors, and before your papa will miss his little 
 Jessie." 
 
 "Yes, mamma," said Jessie ; " I am only going to jteach my mock- 
 ing-bird a new song, and to wash my kitten, and to gather some wild 
 flowers, and to " 
 
 "Very well, dear," said the mother; "go." 
 
 And Jessie went with her kitty to the deep, still, dark, green 
 12 177
 
 178 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 woods. Did she ever come back again ? The kitty did. If you 
 shut your blue eyes a minute you can see her in imagination, as she 
 runs with her kitten in her arms to the fresh, cool stream. 
 
 She looks almost like a fairy, for her step is so l : ght that she 
 scarce touches the ground. Her white dress is carefully tucked up 
 at the sides, for a neat little girl she is, and her voice rings out a 
 childish song of happiness and glee. The kitty did not like the 
 washing much ; but Jessie was very determined, and scolded or 
 coaxed her until it was all over. 
 
 " My dear Arabella Victoria Marie Antoinette (that was the kit- 
 ten's name), you are behaving in a very shameful manner," she said ; 
 "it is some weeks since you have been washed, and I am washed 
 every day ; you must not scratch me, you' naughty thing, or I must 
 duck you, and then you may be drowned ! No, you shall not be 
 drowned ; there, you are almost clean ; just let me wash this disa- 
 greeable black spot from your head, and all will be over." 
 
 The kitty came out of the stream looking very miserable, and as 
 if life were a thing not at all to be desired ; but Jessie rubbed her 
 white and black sides quite dry, and wrapped her in a shawl, and 
 the kitten slept as quietly as a tired child. 
 
 Jessie then took off her shoes and stockings, and sitting on the 
 bank, dipped her white and dimpled feet into the glad waters and 
 laughed because she had achieved so great a thing as kitty's 
 bath. 
 
 "My!" said she, clapping her hands, "didn't she kick, and 
 didn't she struggle, and didn't I wash her infamous eyes and her 
 disgraceful ears ! Come feet, the water is very pleasant, no doubt, 
 but home you must go." 
 
 "But home you must not go" said a voice near her, about as loud 
 as the sound of a guitar. "You must fly over the three perils, for 
 our queen has fallen in love with you, and has a seat prepared for 
 you on her ivory throne, and has sent me to bring you to her ! "
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 179 
 
 Jessie looked up and saw peering into her face a fair}' ! Her 
 heart beat violently when she beheld the impudent little creature 
 seated in a bell -shaped flower, rocking away like a child in a swing, 
 and uttering these bold words. Her heart beat quick, but she gazed 
 steadfastly at the fairy queen's messenger, until the rocking motion 
 made her quite sea-sick. 
 
 He was a gay-looking little fellow, with a rose-leaf twisted into a 
 cocked hat, and a jacket of rose-leaves buttoned with dew drops. 
 He had a reckless, determined air about him -which made Jessie 
 tremble even while she gazed. However, she returned his glance 
 boldly, and quietly wiping her feet in her apron, she put on her shoes 
 and stockings and took up her kitty to go. 
 
 " Put down the kitten," said the fairy. 
 
 " I would like to oblige you," said Jessie, " but I must be at home 
 to give papa his lunch, and I have remained here too long already." 
 
 " So you won't go when our queen invites you ? " replied the fairy. 
 " You had better come, for she has ordered a bed of humming-bird's 
 down for your ladyship, and a cup of coffee made from ground 
 pearls. If you will not come of your own accord, I must bring you 
 by force." 
 
 Jessie was frightened now, and clasping her kitten more closely 
 in her arms, she prepared to run home ; her home so quiet and in- 
 viting, where her parents were listening for her welcome step, and 
 watching for her beaming smile. 
 
 As the fairy perceived her intention, he turned a summerset over 
 the branch and stood directly in her path. 
 
 " Stir not a step at your peril," said he, sternly ; and Jessie's feet 
 refused to move at her will. He looked with his bold, bright eyes 
 at the kitten, and Arabella Victoria Marie Antoinette dropped from 
 her sheltering arms and sped onwards with trot, canter and gallop 
 towards that home where Jessie's parents were listening for her 
 welcome step, and watching for her beaming smile.
 
 180 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Jessie tried to follow, but the fairy's spell was over her, and she 
 could not move a limb nor speak. He cruelly produced a gold 
 chain which clanked as he wound it about her white and delicate 
 arms, and binding her wrists so tightly together that it hurt her 
 tender flesh, he drew her onward and onward to the habitation of 
 the queen of the fairies. 
 
 Whether it was in earth, or sea, or air, Jessie knew not ; but she 
 followed her guide blindly, with her white eyelids, which he had 
 breathed upon, closed upon her once smiling eyes. There were two 
 words in her heart which she tried in .vain to utter ; they were 
 papa and mamma ; and she thought of their intense sorrow at seeing 
 the kitten return alone ; their desperate search through the woods ; 
 their useless search through the world, and their agonizing imagin- 
 ing that she might be sleeping in death beneath the deep waters of 
 the leaping stream. 
 
 But this mattered not, nor stopped her in her onward course. 
 She knew the fairy's chain galled and tore her soft arms, but she did 
 not care for that; she only cared for her home, so quiet and in- 
 viting, where her parents were listening for her welcome step, and 
 watching for her beaming smile. 
 
 Sometimes she felt that the air was hot, sometimes, cold. Some- 
 times she knew that it was dark, and again a light appeared to beam 
 around ; but she feared no changes save the sad change in her poor 
 pafents' hearts. 
 
 Suddenly the bold fairy stopped, and, coming near her, breathed 
 on her shoulders. Two wings instantly sprung from them, and, still 
 guided by the chain, she and her companion soared aloft and on- 
 ward, and then alighted at a brass gate, double-locked. As the fairy 
 knocked three times, Jessie's eyes opened, and she looked around 
 her. The immense brazen gates creaked on their ponderous hinges, 
 and groaned like sick giants. They seemed a boundary to an inner 
 and an outer world, and as she entered and they closed upon her, 
 Jessie felt as one would who enters alive into a grave.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. l8l 
 
 On an ivory throne sat the fairy queen, as beautiful as the day. 
 Her sweet breath perfumed the air like a thousand violets, and her 
 haughty and determined bearing was an embodiment of majesty. 
 She smiled as she beheld Jessie ; but the smile, so much like heat 
 lightning over the heaven of her face, was exchanged for an expres- 
 sion of anger too terrible to be borne. 
 
 " Slave ! " said she, glancing sternly at the fairy who had so cru- 
 elly obeyed her mandate, " is this the way to execute my commands ? 
 Did I order you to drag this mortal, whose presence I so coveted, 
 into my court like a felon ? Fie ! " continued she, with increasing 
 anger, stamping her tiny foot, "you so-called protector of injured 
 innocence, you mirror of chivalry, begone ! What, ho, guards ! con- 
 fine that fellow for life in the east beehive prison ! " 
 
 Jessie pleaded for her late companion, but in vain ; and she felt 
 that the little queen's mandate was as unalterable as the laws of the 
 Medes and Persians. 
 
 Oh, the dreary, dreary days in the golden jail of fairy-land ! How 
 leaden were the wings upon which they slowly sped ! And yet the 
 queen did everything to chase away the deep and settled gloom 
 which shaded the face of the little maiden. She gathered gorgeous 
 jewels, which grew in clusters like flowers, for the new favorite ; she 
 culled flowers more exquisite than tongue can tell, and wove them 
 into chaplets for her hair. Balls were given in her honor, where 
 everything bright and beautiful tempted her to return once more to 
 her gay mood.. But alas ! her young head drooped, and, spite of 
 love, devotion and pleasure, her home-sick heart sighed for the sim- 
 ple pleasures of her country life. Night after night the stranger 
 devised some plan of escape from those enchanted regions, but the 
 morning's dawn told her how useless they were. Besides the brazen 
 gate which guarded fairy-land, the three perils arose to her imagina- 
 tion to shut out heaven from her view, and she knew that if she 
 attempted to escape, death would be the .penalty.
 
 1 82 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 One day the fairy queen, blushing like a rich rosebud, called her 
 into her presence and said these words : 
 
 " Jessie, I am going to be married to the most powerful and no- 
 blest of fairies. Hitherto, I have found no one worthy of my heart; 
 but now," added the exquisite creature, hiding her face in a sprig of 
 Indian creeper, "I have found the idol of my dream, and I am go- 
 ing tp link my fate with his. We are to meet in my enchanted 
 castle, some leagues distant, and, as no mortal has ever been per- 
 mitted to witness such a ceremony as the nuptials of a fairy, I must 
 leave you here almost alone. Only two guards will remain ; also, 
 the prisoner in the beehive. He endures tortures every day, accord- 
 ing to my commands ; and remember, when I am roused, if my wrath 
 is so terrible to my own kind, it is worse than terrible to a mortal 
 who offends me. I love you, Jessie, and would keep you with me 
 always. After a time your deep grief will subside into contentment, 
 your contentment into happiness, and you will become like one of 
 us. Beware, I say again, of attempting to escape. It is useless, 
 utterly useless ; for beside the brazen gate, which can only open to 
 my fairy lock-keeper, yonder yawns the sea of fire which encircles 
 this isle ; next to that, the mountain of ice ; beyond that, the garden 
 of fruit, guarded by monster giants, whose frowns alone create insen- 
 sibility. When I return home with my heart's delight, my chosen 
 love, I shall study your happiness more than ever, and I shall teach 
 him to love my Jessie, too." 
 
 " Oh, queen ! " said Jessie, passionately, and falling at the fairy's 
 feet ; " I thank you for all your kindness, but I am not happy here, 
 and I never can be happy ; night after night I weep whole rivers of* 
 tears ; night after night I pray that your hard heart may be softened 
 and that you will allow me to return to my own home. Oh, if you 
 would only let me go back, I would thank you so much, and I would 
 tell them how good and kind you were, and how so great a queen, 
 made herself more noble still by such a kind action."
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 183 
 
 " Silence," answered the fairy, sternly, uttering the first harsh 
 words that she had ever done to Jessie"; " a whole lifetime of 
 prayers and tears is of no avail. Here you are, and here you must 
 remain, for my commands are not to be disputed ; and as a warning, 
 I will tell you the fate of the only mortal beside yourself, who has 
 ever been within these gates. I loved, as I do you, a bright, brave, 
 frank boy, some summers older than you are, and I had him brought 
 hither. As he entered my dominions, his sweet smiles faded, and 
 the demon of discontent disfigured his lovely face. I warned him, 
 but my kindness was not appreciated. My love changed to hate, 
 and he is chained in the garden of fruit, guarded by my monster 
 giants. Beware of the like fate ! " 
 
 Jessie could only weep at this terrible tale, and when the queen 
 motioned her to kneel upon the first step of her throne that she 
 might kiss her brow, she did so ; but she neither felt nor cared how 
 great an honor it was to be kissed by a fairy queen. 
 
 Then the gorgeous train departed, and Jessie was left alone with 
 the two guards and the prisoner in the bee-hive. She had heard 
 many secrets since her sojourn in fairy-land. She had seen flowers 
 growing ; she .had learned how to put seed into the ground which 
 in one day would spring into a plant and bear glorious blossoms j 
 she knew in what plants the fiercest poisons were centred ; and the 
 different power of poisons were known to her also, from those which 
 would create insensibility, to those which would cause instant 
 death. 
 
 When the bridal train went, she remembered these things and her 
 little brain was perplexed in finding out how to turn them to advan 
 tage. She knew that a mortal could never cause the death of a 
 fairy, nor did her tender heart desire such an evil ; but she hoped to 
 be able to create insensibility, and she hastened to gather the flowers 
 of a certain kind, and to distil them for her purpose. This she was 
 only enabled to do at night, when the guards were resting from their
 
 1 84 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 labors of the day, and when they thought that she was secure in 
 sleep herself. 
 
 At last, in these stolen moments of trembling anxiety, she com- 
 pleted her work, and when it was over, prepared to put her schemes 
 into execution. What was her work to be ? Let me tell you. 
 
 Jessie took the precious vial which contained the liquid, and in 
 the deep silence of night, proceeded to the sleeping bower of the 
 drowsy guards. Her light tread did not awaken them. You might 
 have seen her eyes glisten like diamonds, as she carefully, but with 
 trembling hands, poured a drop of the enchanted liquid upon each 
 eyelid of the sleepers. You might have seen her placid smile of 
 content, as she heard the deep-drawn sigh of each fairy, which 
 assured her by the knowledge she had of the poison, that it had 
 taken sure effect, and that they would remain insensible for many 
 nights and days. 
 
 But alas ! her case was hopeless still, and she was almost sorry 
 for what she had done, for there, towering up before her, were those 
 fatal gates, and she sat down and wept at her own forlorn state. 
 
 Suddenly she dried her eyes, for she remembered the beehive 
 fairy. She could not attempt to escape and leave him in misery ; 
 so she formed the worthy and benevolent design of rescuing him 
 from his captivity. She ran towards the prison, and heard the poor 
 little fellow's groans before she had quite reached the place. 
 
 " Little sufferer," said she, as she approached the formidable 
 hive, "can I do anything for you?" 
 
 " Who is that," answered a forlorn voice, " who speaks so kindly ? 
 I have not heard a word of kindness for a long time." 
 
 " It is I," answered Jessie, " who have come to free you ; and if 
 you promise not to thwart me in my plan of attempting to escape, I 
 will let you out of this miserable dungeon." 
 
 " Oh ! " answered the fair)', falling upon his knees, " this is really 
 rendering good for evil. I solemnly declare to you, that if you will
 
 AND OTHER' TALES. 185 
 
 have the goodness to liberate me, I will not only thank you and be 
 eternally grateful, but I will assist you to escape ; and I, who would 
 not be safe here longer, for my doom on the return of the queen 
 would be death, will go with you and help you along on your peril- 
 ous path j and then when you are safe at home, I will wing my way 
 over mountains and seas, and will find a haven of rest in some fairy 
 tribe in distant lands." 
 
 Jessie was too overjoyed to speak, and she silently drew the bolt 
 "of the terrible beehive, not without some danger for herself from 
 the infuriated tenants, and there the once bright and gentlemanly 
 fairy stood before her, his gay apparel stained and disfigured, and 
 his whole appearance altered. He again bent his knee to Jessie, 
 and said, in accents of gallantry : 
 
 " You alone do I acknowledge as my queen ; you alone will I 
 guide or follow, as the case may be, to the ends of the earth." 
 
 The fairy had unfortunately lost the power of flying, for the wings 
 which had formerly glittered on his shoulders were bruised and use- 
 less ; so the little mortal and he consulted together with earnest 
 intent for a means of escape. 
 
 " If we could only get over those brazen gates," said the fairy, 
 " half the difficulty would be over ; but alas ! there they stand at 
 the very beginning of our journey, and it is impossible to pass them 
 by, as the keeper who opened them for our entrance has gone with 
 the queen to her marriage." 
 
 " Ah," said Jessie, " then all is in vain, and we must remain here, 
 subject to the queen's wrath when she returns ! " 
 
 As the little maiden said these words, she leaned heavily against 
 the tall, brazen structure, grief-bowed and despondent ; but her 
 whole frame shook with pleasure as she felt the gates yield a little 
 to the pressure of her light form. The fairy perceived this also, and 
 upon examining them more particularly, they found that the gates 
 were not locked at all, and that the keeper, in the hurry of his
 
 1 86 FAIR Y-LAND 
 
 departure, must have forgotten to do his last duty. Then, with glad 
 hearts, they opened the gate upon its groaning hinges, and gliding 
 out, found themselves still in fairy-land, but out in the broad, uncul- 
 tivated fields. 
 
 Next came the sea of fire. When Jessie saw this roaring element, 
 this ocean of flame, raging and boiling up near her, she burst into 
 a passion of tears. Life seemed very dark to the child, and she 
 almost wished herself safe again in the palace ; but it was too late 
 to retrace her path, for the rage of the queen was more terrible than 
 a whole universe of fire. 
 
 The fairy, at least, knew what to do ; for he told Jessie that hid- 
 den in an immense tree, near the bank of the stream, was a boat 
 made of asbestos. He told her, too, that this was a kind of wood 
 upon which fire had no effect, and that it was used by inferior fairies 
 who came to visit them, who could not fly, or for those of their own 
 kind who had accidentally injured their plumes. 
 
 Of course his strength was not much, for he was weakened by 
 his long confinement, but his will was great, and he assisted Jes- 
 sie to draw the boat with its two asbestos oars to the brink ; and 
 never was vessel launched with more rejoicing. 
 
 It was a terrible thing to Jessie to find herself upon that strange, 
 sea, almost parched with the overpowering heat ; but the watchwords, 
 father and-mother ! nerved her heart and her arm, and the mute 
 couple soon found themselves over the narrow sea, and at the oppo- 
 site shore. 
 
 It was an easy thing to climb up the low banks ; and setting the 
 boat adrift, they watched it for a moment float down the fiery stream. 
 The fairy proposed giving nine cheers, but Jessie only offered up a 
 silent prayer of gratitude, and went onward on her journey. 
 
 It was a day's travel from the river of flames to the mountain of 
 ice, and the new companions trudged bravely along the same road. 
 The fairy entertained Jessie with all the adventures of his life, and
 
 AND OTAER TALES. 
 
 I8 7 
 
 I can assure you that some were as strange as the one in which they 
 were now engaged. He had been a wild fellow, and he was a merry 
 and agreeable one. It was to Jessie's advantage that she had such 
 a tireless companion with her ; for, had she been alone, her spirits 
 must have died within her, and she would have become faint in the 
 way. She said all the prayers she knew to the fairy, into whose 
 breast she hoped to instil some portion of gratitude for their escape ; 
 but alas ! he only laughed or sung,- and Jessie smiled through her 
 tears at his antics. His voice was very sweet and flute-like, and 
 this was his favorite song, not very good poetry by the by : 
 
 " Through the brass gate, 
 
 Over the sea, 
 Nothing can stop 
 
 Jessie and me. 
 
 She with her gentle step, 
 
 I with my bold, 
 Onward we'll go 
 
 Through heat and the cold. 
 
 Over the mountain 
 
 Covered with ice, 
 Through the broad garden 
 
 We'll bound in a trice. 
 
 Then through the woods, 
 By the old woodland stream, 
 
 We'll find ourselves walking 
 Like folks in a dream. 
 
 Then the white cottage 
 
 We'll spy through the trees, 
 
 No more we'll be prey 
 No monsters of bees. 
 
 She to her mother 
 
 With arms wide spread out ; 
 She to her father, 
 
 With glad joyous shout. 
 
 I, to the ends of the 
 
 Broad eartfi will go, 
 Feeling the sadness 
 
 The desolate know. 
 
 Will mourn like a dove 
 Bereft of its mate " 
 
 Jessie was always so affected at this point, that she never heard 
 the end of the song ; for she invariably requested the fairy to stop 
 before the verse was ended; which request, with his usual politeness, 
 he granted. 
 
 But at last, serious times came, and all singing was suspended ; 
 for there before them, like a huge looking-glass for giants and mon-
 
 1 88 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 sters, rose the tall mountain of ice. How were they to cross it ? 
 They themselves did not know for some time, but at last they found 
 a way. 
 
 Jessie began as usual to cry, but the bold fairy kissed her flushed 
 cheek, and told her to be comforted, and he would go in search of 
 something with which to scale the mountain. He remained away 
 so long that Jessie thought he would never return, and she was just 
 about to give up in despair when she discovered him at a little dis- 
 tance, trailing along a kind of walking-stick, with a mournful coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "Alas, Jessie," said he, "I can find nothing but this, and your 
 shoes are so slippery that you will never be able to climb the moun- 
 tain, and we must lie down here and die ! " 
 
 Jessie felt in her pocket for her handkerchief (the usual refuge for 
 the distressed), and a gleam of joy lighted up her countenance. 
 
 She had exchanged the elegant clothes the queen had given her 
 for those made by her mother, and which she had on when the fairy 
 found her by the stream. In the pocket, then, of this homely dress 
 she felt a hard substance, and drawing it out discovered that it was 
 a package of tacks which her father had given her, together with a 
 little hammer, to make a cart which her kitten was to draw. 
 
 The desperate are always fruitful in inventions, and she called the 
 fairy and told him her plan. It was this : to insert these little nails 
 firmly in her shoes so that they might cling to the ice, and with the 
 staff, she hoped they might scale the mountain. 
 
 Nor was she mistaken. But how was the fairy to ascend ? His 
 wings had not quite grown out and he could only fly a short dis- 
 tance ; but Jessie volunteered to have him perch on her shoulder, 
 which the little fellow gladly did ; nor did she regret her offer at all, 
 for when she was weary he cheered her, and when sad he encour- 
 aged her, until they arrived at the summit of the ice mountain. 
 
 They stopped for a while to look at the prospect. It was per-
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 189 
 
 fectly sublime. Trees of the richest dyes, birds of the gayest 
 plumage colored the landscape. The golden sunlight played over 
 the palace of fairy-land, which glittered with its thousand jewels. 
 The sea of fire wound like a burnished thread through the wood- 
 lands, while the garden of fruit, although distant, sent its exquisite 
 perfume all around. 
 
 Jessie gazed quite delighted, and seemed inclined to remain there 
 forever ; but the fairy reminded her that they still had a great peril 
 before them. " And," said he, shaking his head and shutting his 
 eyes, as near-sighted people do in order to see better, " I distinguish 
 something that looks like the bridal train yonder in the distance, 
 and we must be up and going." 
 
 It was an easy matter to descend the mountain. They slid very 
 quietly down to the bottom, and although Jessie was almost frozen 
 to death, and though her cheeks and her little nose were as rosy as 
 the red clouds over the lake of fire, her heart kept her body warm, 
 for that was burning with the love of the dear ones at home. 
 
 At the foot of the mountain the fairy brought Jessie some water, 
 in one of her shoes, for refreshment, and a few bright-looking apples 
 he had gathered from one of a group of rich green trees. Jessie 
 took the proffered gifts with great willingness, for the little bag of 
 provisions she had brought from fairy-land had nearly given out. 
 Indeed, it was so long since her companion had tasted anything like 
 tolerable food in his prison, that he ate too voraciously of her store 
 to enable the supply to last very long. 
 
 After a short nap under the inviting cluster of apple-trees, which 
 refreshed Jessie very much, she looked towards the last and worst 
 peril, the garden of fruit-trees, and then up to heaven, and took the 
 first step towards the dreaded spot. It was a whole day's journey 
 to this place, and you may be sure that the travellers made a thou- 
 sand plans to overcome the dangers which awaited them ; but in vain. 
 Nothing would answer ; and even the fairy seemed in despair. He
 
 IQO FAIRY-LAND 
 
 looked at his wings, now grown quite respectable, and he looked at 
 Jessie and shook his head. 
 
 <r No ! even if I could fly," said he, "she would be left to be de- 
 voured by the giants, and I must not suffer that. Oh, no ! I could 
 not leave this gentle and generous mortal to perish here ; and yet 
 my wings have grown finely, and I dare say I might fly. I will try. 
 Her feelings will be dreadful when she sees me about to leave her. 
 It is too painful to think of" ; and this brave, bold coxcomb, spread 
 abroad his small wings of purple and gold, and soaring up into the 
 air, gave one thought to liberty and a happy home in distant lands, 
 and another to the child who stood looking up with wonder in her 
 innocent eyes, and in a minute more he was by her side. 
 
 Poised, for an instant, between heaven and earth, the noble fairy 
 formed the resolution, for the sake of Jessie, not to go. He placed 
 his white and dainty finger upon his brow for an instant, as if in 
 deep thought, and then said to his companion, as if struck with a 
 new idea, 
 
 " Have you the vial, and is there any more poison in it ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jessie, gladly, holding up the vial which she had in 
 her bosom, " enough to make twenty giants insensible, if it could 
 have such an effect." 
 
 "Certainly it would." returned the fairy ; " and you know that they 
 always sleep standing at the entrance of the garden, in order to be 
 better prepared againsf intruders. This is my plan : I will take the 
 vial, and, while they slumber, fly near enough, with noiseless wing, 
 to drop some of the liquid upon the eyes of each ; and, if all pros- 
 pers, we shall be free. But remember, my little lady, that this is an 
 undertaking of great danger, and it will require the boldness of a 
 Bonaparte, the skill of a Wellington, the caution of a Washington, 
 and the everything of a fairy ; and it must be done in the night, 
 when the giants are dreaming of breakfasts of little children, din- 
 ners of boys and girls, and suppers of men and women. We can
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 191 
 
 hear their snores, and we shall know by that when to approach. If 
 the plan succeeds, they will remain for some time insensible, as if 
 they were dead ; and when they awake, hurrah ! we shall be far, far 
 away from their dominions. Do you fully appreciate, madam," con- 
 tinued the fairy, bowing, " the dangers that I undertake for you, and 
 the way in which I risk my most precious life for your sake ? " 
 
 Jessie turned away to hide a smile, and then, with a lovely grace, 
 thanked her companion for all his trouble. It was really a most 
 peculiar undertaking ; but as they heard the snore of the giants 
 beat the air like thunder, the fairy bade Jessie an affectionate fare- 
 well, and mounting high in the air, with the precious vial in his 
 hands, was soon out of sight. 
 
 Thump, thump, thump, went Jessie's heart as she stood behind a 
 tree, as if that could shield her from the rage of a giant, and she 
 trembled so that she wished the ground might open and take her in. 
 She clasped the tree with her shaking hands, and, closing her eyes, 
 awaited her doom. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! what is that sound, like an earthquake, that stuns 
 her where she stands? And, hark! yet another, and a groan that 
 seems like the voice of a multitude ! Jessie could bear it no longer, 
 and giving one long and hopeless scream, fell upon the earth 
 fainting. 
 
 When she recovered from her death-like swoon, she opened her 
 eyes upon the fairy, who was bending over her, with anxious looks, 
 and sprinkling water upon her white face. He clasped his little 
 fingers, with an air of gratitude and, bending on one knee before 
 her, said : 
 
 " Queen of the woodlands, we are free ! But your majesty cannot 
 praise me too much for my valor and discretion. Yes, / dropped 
 the liquid upon their eyes ; / saw them fall, and / flew here to tell 
 jou the tale, and 
 
 To take you home to your parents' arms, 
 Where you shall be safe and free from alarms."
 
 192 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Oh ! how exquisite the dawning of that clay was to our little 
 flower, Jessie ! Hope raised her bowed head ; hope directed her 
 willing steps ; hope nerved her tired frame ; and her voice burst 
 forth into song, as she entered that delicious garden, the garden of 
 fruits. She turned away her head from the prostrate giants, not 
 caring to look upon anything so repulsive and disagreeable, and her 
 light feet kept time to the music which her voice uttered : 
 
 " Mother, mother, I come to thee, 
 Open thine arms to welcome me ; 
 Press me to thy yearning breast, 
 And let me there delighted rest. 
 Mother, I come to thee ! 
 
 " Father, father, with voice so mild, 
 
 Welcome, welcome thy truant child ; 
 
 Let me ne'er leave the home I love, 
 
 Till called to the brighter one above. 
 
 Father, I come to thee ! 
 
 " My flowers, my birds, my kitten dear, 
 For you has been shed the bitter tear : 
 No more shall I pine, or murmur, or sigh, 
 As my steps*to the portal of home draw nigh. 
 Sweet home, I come to thee." 
 
 As Jessie sung the last line of that song, which gushed out of her 
 heart like the trill of a bird, a voice took up the measure, but in a 
 tone so sad, so broken, that the tears streamed down her face as 
 she stopped to listen. It said : 
 
 " Sweet home, sweet home ! no more, no more 
 Shall I see the home that I adore ! 
 My mother's prayer, my mother's smile, 
 In dreams alone my heart beguile. 
 Mother and home, good-by.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 193 
 
 " I have been years imprisoned here 
 My youthful heart is old and sere : 
 I ask not joy, and the whole world's charms, 
 But only death in my mother's arms. 
 Mother and home, good-by." 
 
 Could Jessie hear that song, and not search for the broken heart 
 which uttered it ? I think not. The warm tears stole down her 
 cheeks, and her hand stayed from gathering a golden apple which 
 hung temptingly near her. She looked above, below, and around, 
 and at last, chained to a luxuriant nectarine tree, whose fruit was 
 too high to be reached by his emaciated hands, she saw the being 
 from whose despairing soul that song had issued, the veritable boy 
 who had so incurred the fairy queen's anger, with his dark eyes cast 
 down in despondency, and the fresh morning air playing with his 
 damp curls. 
 
 Was there ever such a bound as that which Jessie gave to his 
 side ? Was there ever such a pitying look as that which she cast 
 upon the chained child ? Never ! But, then, was there ever such 
 joy on any human face when he told her that the key which unlocked 
 the chain was hidden under a large stone near ? I must say again, 
 never I Jessie lifted it; how, I do not know, for it was a very 
 heavy stone ; but we can do great things sometimes when urged on 
 by love ; and, while the fairy ate, with inexpressible satisfaction, the 
 choicest of golden pippins, she set the prisoner at liberty. 
 
 And how did the boy act when he felt the great load taken from 
 his heart, and his body unshackled ? First, he thanked God, and 
 then, opening wide his freed arms, welcomed Jessie to them, as a 
 brother would a sister ; but the fairy would not let them ask or 
 answer any questions within the precincts of fairy-land. 
 
 And then they began to travel in good earnest, never stopping to 
 gather one of the golden apples which tempted them on their way, 
 13
 
 194 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 but only looking with admiring eyes upon the rich green foliage 
 which clothed the glistening fruit with greater beauty. 
 
 Of the trio, the fairy showed the most happiness, for he was here, 
 and there, and everywhere, talking, laughing, and singing ; but I am 
 sorry to say that the burden of his song was always his own bravery 
 or his own beauty. The joy of the others was more subdued and 
 heartfelt the nearer they advanced towards the magic spot of home. 
 
 Jessie learned that the boy's name was Ernest, and that he lived 
 a few miles from her father's cottage. She vaguely remembered a 
 poor, desolate widow, who, a long time ago, had come to the home- 
 stead to inquire after her lost child, and her hopeless and despairing 
 glance still remained on her memory. 
 
 And has Jessie, indeed, so nearly reached the end of her home- 
 ward journey ; and is that indeed the stream where she was torn 
 away from all that was dear in life ? Truly she has ; but the fairy is 
 no more thejje beside her like a tyrant urging her on her way 
 towards fairy-land ; but as a suppliant on one knee before her, he 
 implores her in the most affecting manner to forgive him, actually 
 forcing a tear into each eye. And Jessie freely forgives him all. 
 
 My little reader, have you ever been tired and sleepy, and have 
 you found rest and sleep, at hornet Has unkindness made you 
 miserable, and have you found sympathy and happiness, at home 1 } 
 Then you may know how, in a small degree, to sympathize with 
 those children who stood one night their long journey over 
 looking through the window of the cottage at the scene within. 
 
 I shall look with them, and tell you what they saw and heard. 
 The soiled, white muslin, which draped the casement, shaded them 
 from view, and they listened as for their lives. 
 
 They saw a poor fire burning upon the hearth, and a group of 
 three around it, Jessie's father and mother, and the childless 
 widow, who had been so long robbed of her son. They saw a look 
 of care on the brow of each, as they conversed together. Jessie's
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 195 
 
 flower-pot graced the low mantle ; but alas, the flowers were withered 
 and uncared for. Cages were there, too, but the birds had long 
 since pined and died, while a solemn-looking cat moved about 
 uneasily and unnoticed. The father heaved a long,, deep sigh, 
 the widow sobbed aloud, while the wife silently wiped her tears 
 away. 
 
 " It is of no use," said the father, at last, " to give up to this 
 deep, deep grief any more. The loss of my child should not make 
 an idler of me. ^ I must not waste my years unprofitably, but must 
 go about my daily concerns and try to make the cottage more com- 
 fortable, and the farm more productive, for those who are dependent 
 upon me. Wife and neighbor, I am ashamed of these tears, and 
 will begin to-morrow to work in truth." 
 
 " Yes," replied the widow, " as you say, its no use to sorrow ; for 
 God's will must be done. A brother and a sister have you been to 
 me since you met me in our mutual search for our children, and 
 God will reward you for offering a home to the stricken and broken- 
 hearted." 
 
 And Jessie's mother said nothirig but, " My child ! my child ! my 
 child ! " 
 
 " It is all dark and mysterious," said the father, " and some day, 
 here or hereafter, we shall know more about it ; " and then a tender 
 recollection overcame his manliness, and he sobbed, "yes, here, 
 night after night, in these arms did her gentle form rest, her willing 
 feet were never tired of doing for others, and her sweet voice glad- 
 dened the hardest heart." 
 
 And then the widow passionately exclaimed, " O, my lost, lost 
 Ernest ! how often in illness have you been my help and stay ; how 
 often did your hand smooth my pillow or my throbbing head ; how 
 often would the music of your voice lull me to sleep, or cheer me 
 with accents of joy and hope. Ernest, come back once more to 
 say ' good-by,' and I will be willing to part with you forever. But
 
 196 
 
 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 why do I dwell on that which never again can be ? Hush, heart ; 
 hush, rebellious heart." 
 
 And Jessie's mother said naught but " My child ! my child ! my 
 child ! " 
 
 There was a knock at that cottage door, and the boy and girl 
 stood before them in all their youth and beauty. Poor parents ! 
 poor, deluded parents ! they thought that it was a dreara come to 
 mock them, and they smiled at each other and at the blessed vision, 
 afraid to move, lest they should disturb the exquisite loveliness of 
 that phantom picture. But ah ! it was no dream, husband, wife, and 
 widow ; those children were human, and yours, and to your hearts 
 you took them, and perfect joy and perfect love spread their white 
 wings over that humble cottage. 
 
 When all the rapture of the meeting was over, then came the story 
 of the adventures of each ; and the fairy received the thanks and 
 admiration of all to his heart's content. His relation of all that 
 had happened was listened to with great reverence, and nobody 
 blamed him for making himself the hero, and everybody loved him 
 for his daring and constancy. Even Arabella Victoria Marie An- 
 toinette, when he had ended all that he had to say, gave a mew of 
 approbation, and rubbed her silken sides against this most potent 
 hero. 
 
 The end of my story is, that that night the fairy disappeared from 
 the happy group, and was seen no more. 
 
 LOST AND FOUND. 
 
 ON a bright, soft autumn day, 
 Two glad children took their way 
 To the woods through pleasant fields, 
 Just to see the bird's-nests there, 
 And to taste the berries rare 
 
 That the shaded valley yields ;
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 1 97 
 
 Just to see the pretty flowers 
 In their quiet woodland bowers, 
 
 Or the trees' deep, changing green; 
 Or to look at azure skies 
 With their own blue, tender eyes, 
 
 And the glittering sunlight's sheen. 
 
 But, alas ! when the first star 
 In the twilight beamed afar, 
 
 Sad, feet-wearied, worn and tost, 
 Down they sank forlorn and cold, 
 And the truth all trembling told, 
 
 That they knew that they were lost. 
 
 Lost, and weeping bitter tears, 
 Lost, and growing wild with fears, 
 
 Sinking hopeless on the ground ! 
 Hark ! a voice comes on the air : 
 Has a mother traced them there ? 
 
 Yes! give them joy, they're found '! 
 
 THOUGHTS ABOUT THE MOON. 
 
 OH, saw you the moon as she gleamed in the west 
 
 When the stillness of eve gave a feeling of rest, 
 
 Like a slight silver thread on the soft glowing skies, 
 
 Down floating serene where the setting sun dies ? 
 
 As you gazed on her waving so clear and so bright, 
 
 Oh, throbbed not your heart, as mine throbbed, with delight ? 
 
 An did you not see near her brightness a star, 
 A beautiful jewel in twilight afar ? 
 Oh, I wished for the crescent, so rich and so rare, 
 To crown the soft waves of a sweet maiden's hair ; 
 Oh, I longed for the star's burning ray in the west 
 To place as a brooch on her pure and white breast.
 
 198 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 A thousand such fancies came into my mind 
 Each night as I saw her more clearly defined ; 
 Till over the world she uprose like a car, 
 And I yearned to be sailing wit.iin her afar 
 With one that I love in the clear azure even, 
 With one that I love, in the moonlighted heaven. 
 
 Then rounder and brighter and rounder she seemed; 
 More golden and larger and orb-like she beamed, 
 Into life sprang each tree as she looked upon earth, 
 And to numberless dew-drops her brightness gave birth ; 
 And she walked o'er the sky in her train pearly white 
 Lake the queen, as she was, of the beautiful night 
 
 Then fainter and paler her drapery showed ; 
 
 A circlet no more in the wide heavens glowed; 
 
 I watched with eyes tearful each night as she waned, 
 
 And her fast-fleeting roundness my loving heart pained, 
 
 Till again the curved car cut the darkening blue, 
 
 And closer their curtain the solemn skies drew. 
 
 Oh, she came like night music, first faint to the ear, 
 Then nearer and nearer, distinctly and clear, 
 And her full orb to me was the melody sweet 
 Brought near to my window by on-coming feet, 
 And her fading, the notes and their echo, that fell 
 Far departing, a mournful funereal knell. 
 
 I know not, I know not, I never can say 
 
 If the clouds or the brightness her beauties display ; 
 
 For sometimes she modestly shades her sweet eyes, 
 
 And I jealously long for the mist to arise ; 
 
 And then when each cloud steals reluctant away 
 
 I wish that their veil, so becoming, would stay. 
 
 Oh, when shall I see her again in the clouds 
 
 Peering out, and white fringing their mystical shrouds ? 
 
 When she comes, her frail beauty with pleasure I'll greet, 
 
 Her form as a loved one long absent I'll meet ; 
 
 And I'll watch for that thread in the soft-glowing skies 
 
 Down floating serene where the setting sun dies.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 199 
 
 WHAT BECOMES OF PINS? 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF THE "LOST CHILDREN." 
 
 " MY gracious ! " said Sally Starlington, " where do the pins travel 
 to ? It is only a little while since I bought a whole paper, and now 
 I can't find one ; the paper, to be sure, is here, but that is not ex- 
 actly the thing. I shall never get to the party to-night ; and if I 
 don't, what consternation there will be ! Mrs. Goodhue will say, 
 'Why, what can keep Miss Starlington?' and there will be such 
 amazement on every face at my non-appearance, that it will be by 
 no means a successful party. The ice-cream will certainly not freeze, 
 the custards will curdle, and everybody will blame Miss Starlington, 
 Miss Starlington ! Betty, you must find me one pin to secure this 
 sash." 
 
 Poor Betty took the last pin from her own handkerchief, which no 
 longer kept the towering height on her head, for which Southern 
 waiting-women are distinguished, and gazed in admiration upon the 
 lovely girl before her, and lovely she really was ; the glass said so, 
 and I say so. She. was a fat little body, quite rotund, which, you 
 know, is anything but fashionable ; and the dimples in her cheeks 
 were large enough to hold a drop of water. And her looking-glass 
 said, 
 
 " Sally, my dear, you have funny little flat brown curls all over 
 your head, that look just as if they had been ironed ; and your brow 
 is very smooth and white ; and your eyebrows are fairy bridges ; and 
 your eyes two stars shining and twinkling ; and your nose the sweet- 
 est little pug that ever ornamented human face ; and your mouth and 
 teeth, darling ! Why, rosebuds are nothing to the first, and the last 
 shame all the pearls in existence ! " 
 
 So, as this was the talk of the glass, Sally believed it more than
 
 2OO FAIRY-LAND 
 
 ever on the night of the party ; and courtesying to her other self in 
 a dignified manner, and stumbling over Betty in an undignified man- 
 ner, she gave her mother a parting kiss, and, after the fashion of 
 great ladies, threw herself into the carriage, and in a languid tone 
 desired to be taken to Mrs. Goodhue's. 
 
 Mrs. Goodhue walked with rather ungraceful haste up to the little 
 girl and expressed a hearty welcome. 
 
 " My dear Miss Starlington," she said, " how overjoyed I am to 
 see you ! Nothing in the whole range of existence could have given 
 me more pleasure than your arrival on this evening, my Mimi's birth- 
 night, and how very pretty your dress is ! but pray stop a min- 
 ute ; your ,sash is not fastened ; the pin has probably dropped out ; 
 I wonder what has become of it ? Pray do not look for it," contin- 
 ued Mrs. Goodhue ; " I will send up-stairs for a fresh paper bought 
 this morning, and you are welcome to any quantity of them." 
 
 " It is the strangest thing," commenced Sally ; but Mrs. Goodhue 
 interrupted her. 
 
 "What could have kept you so late? Is not my supper-table 
 charming ? " and any one would really have thought that Sally was 
 of some importance ; for Mrs. Goodhue took her to look at the ar- 
 rangements of the supper-table, and ten very young gentlemen asked 
 for the honor of her hand for ten dances. And she was so self- 
 important, and yet so sweetly agreeable, that everybody blessed her 
 little round face. She spoke to all the old ladies who had come to 
 look on, and was so polite to them that she won their hearts at once. 
 She allowed her mop-looking head to be patted by the old gentle- 
 men, and looked up so confidingly in their faces that they wished 
 that they had just such a little daughter ; and then her laugh, why, 
 it was as necessary to the room as gas-light was to make it bright and 
 cheerful ; and here I must pause a moment to tell you what some 
 poet unknown to fame has said about
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2OI 
 
 SALLY'S LAUGH. 
 
 Did you ever hear our Sally laugh ? No ? 
 How strange, when the melody gladdens us so ! 
 Well, as I was sitting near yonder tree, 
 The grace of her pretty ways to see, 
 Watching the shadows chasing each other, 
 And playing together like sister and brother, 
 I dare say you've seen them so, just at twilight, 
 Ere day shut his sleepy eyes dreaming of night, 
 
 Our Sally was sitting quite close to the brink 
 
 Of the rivurlet where her pet lamb goes to drink, 
 
 With his bright blue ribbon bmied low 
 
 In his fleece, as pure as new-dropped snow ; 
 
 Her feet low down in the water dipping, 
 
 And her pet of the same clear streamlet sipping, 
 
 While bursts of merriment, clear and free, 
 
 Came borne on the air to gladden me. 
 
 First a rainbow-like smile flitted over her face, 
 Which gave to her dark eyes a beautiful grace, 
 And then came a shout of such joy-giving glee 
 That my footsteps drew nearer our Sally to see ; 
 Like a murmur of water, like music's full swell, 
 She laughed, but at what, that / never could tell, 
 And neither could she any more than her pet, 
 But that sweet laugh at nothing, I'll never forget. 
 
 But see her ! Who but Sally ever before looked pretty while eat- 
 ing? Her appetite was good, and she certainly did justice to Mrs. 
 Goodhue's excellent supper ; for first, through her rosy lips disap- 
 peared chicken salad, then sandwiches and lemonade and ice-cream, 
 with innumerable sugar-plums. Nor was she so selfish as to forget 
 her companion, Willie Parker, with whom she kept up at intervals 
 the following conversation : 
 
 " What warm weather we are having," said Sally.
 
 2O2 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 " I was thinking it was rather cool," said Willie. 
 
 " Yes ; I meant it was cool," said Sally ; " but the weather is so 
 changeable." 
 
 " Very," answered her companion ; " but don't you admire the 
 moon above all things?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " returned Sally ; " and the sun, isn't that sublime ? 
 I declare one evening it was as handsome as one of mamma's best 
 China plates." 
 
 " Oh, that must have been elegant ! " said Willie. 
 
 Then came a long pause ; after which the old subject came up again, 
 
 " Don't you think we are having very warm weather ? " 
 
 " Very," was the answer ; " but do, Willie, help me to a sandwich ; 
 they are so delicious ! Oj Mrs. Goodhue, how very nice your supper 
 is ! you always have everything about you so French. I do admire 
 anything that is French so much ! " And yet little Sally herself was 
 Dutch in the extreme. 
 
 Mrs. Goodhue was pleased of course, and said so; while Ned 
 Young, who prided himself upon his wit, said, 
 
 " Sandwiches ! Are you talking of sandwiches ? Did you ever 
 hear this conundrum : ' Why could people who travel in the desert 
 live without taking any provisions there ? ' ' 
 
 " Nobody could answer this deep question, and Ned replied, tri- 
 umphantly, ' 
 
 "Because they could eat the sand which is (sandwiches) under 
 their feet." 
 
 " How unrefined Ned Young is with his anecdotes and loud laugh ! " 
 whispered Sally ; and yet who could laugh more loudly than she ? 
 
 " Miss Starlington," said Ned, still bent upon being witty, " was the 
 moon shining when you came?" 
 
 " I didn't look," replied Sally. 
 
 " Well," was the answer, " you don't know, then, if it was as light 
 as the old woman said it was ? "
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 " And pray, how light may that be ? " asked Sally, with a curl of 
 her lip. 
 
 "Only as light as a cork," replied Ned, amid the shout of the by- 
 standers. 
 
 After this, the company moved to the dancing-room and a joyous 
 time did they have. Sally, however, slipped on a piece of orange- 
 peel ; but she arose gracefully, hid her blushing face in her handker- 
 chief, which was filled with sugar-plums, and then danced away again 
 as briskly as ever. 
 
 The party did not last very long, for Miss Starlington, from a time- 
 honored custom, did not approve of dancing after supper, and Sally 
 was soon ready to go ; but a pin she must have to fasten her hood. 
 
 " Wait a bit," said Mrs. Goodhue ; " here, you shall have one from 
 my cape " ; but no ! there were the loose ends dangling, and the pin 
 not there. Mrs. Goodhue wished to send up-stairs for the paper 
 again, but Sally would not on any account think of that ; so she held 
 the hood until she found herself again at home, standing before her 
 looking-glass, ready to undress, and answering Betty's and its num- 
 berless questions. 
 
 " Well," said the glass. 
 
 " Perfectly delightful," said Sally. 
 
 " You have a rich crimson glow upon your cheeks and your eyes 
 are brighter than ever." 
 
 "I danced a quadrille with Dick Cross, a charming polka with 
 Charlie Graves, and intended to waltz with John Bell and Dick ; but 
 they quarrelled about it, and so I took Mary Davis instead." 
 
 "That look of scorn becomes you as heat-lightning does the 
 skies," said the glass. 
 
 " And I told them that I should never dance with them again for 
 behaving so, if I lived two hundred years ; but I could not exactly 
 keep my word, you know, when they promised never to do so again, 
 as long as they breathed the breath of life. Oh, I forgot to tell you,
 
 204 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Betty, that Willie took me in to supper. What a very agreeable 
 person he is, so intellectual and refined ; but what a delightful old 
 lady Mrs. Brown is. I stood near her for a long time, hearing her 
 tell of some poor children who are in great want; I am going 
 to-morrow to give them some old dresses ; but Betty, make haste, I 
 am so sleepy and tired ; there, you have bent that pin quite 
 crooked, and you might as well throw it away ; no, on the whole you 
 had better not, they go away fast enough themselves." 
 
 So it came to pass that after Sally had said her nightly prayer and 
 folded her dimpled hands, her white lids closed in sleep. Her 
 breath at first came slowly and then more quickly* and troubled, so 
 that one might well imagine that she was dreaming some almost 
 unutterable tbing. But I shall try to tell you about it. She dreamed 
 that a little fairy perched herself upon the top of one of her bed- 
 posts and said to her, abruptly, 
 
 " I will tell you what becomes of pins" 
 
 The little woman looked very important as she said this, and being 
 dressed in the most approved fairy fashion, Sally, who had always 
 wished to see such a personage, was instantly interested. Her gypsy 
 hat was a rose-leaf, most coquettishly bent over her ears, from which 
 two brilliant diamonds hung. The hat was tied under her chin with 
 the softest shades of the silkworm's work. Her dress was of woven 
 gold, and upon her breast shone a single forget-me-not. What struck 
 Sally as very peculiar and quite out of taste was a cushion attached 
 to her side, which contained several pins, small and large, dull, shin- 
 ing, or rusty. 
 
 " We are great people," said the fairy, " and we live in a great 
 country. From the nature of our soil and the character of our 
 atmosphere we require pins for use or embellishment. For in- 
 stance, all our fencing is done with pins ; our pavements are pins 
 firmly fastened in the ground, their heads being a secure and elegant 
 walk, and we make use of them for the roofs of our houses, enclosing
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2O5 
 
 our trees, and in a thousand other ways. Everybody acknowledges 
 that all mankind and fairy-kind are dependent, more or less, on each 
 other for something ; the doctor on his patients, the merchant on 
 his .purchasers, the minister on his people, so we are dependent on 
 you iov pins. Consider for a moment ; since their introduction, we, 
 an immense race of people, not knowing how to manufacture them, 
 have been gathering them for our beloved country, which sparkle 
 with their borrowed light. How busy the scene ! Miles and miles 
 in the distance one sees sparkling fences stretched out over well- 
 cultivated lands ; beneath the feet our pavements invite the evening 
 promenade. Myriads of fairies arrive each moment laden with their 
 precious spoils and deposit them in a storehouse, built with an almost 
 inconceivable magnificence, while authorized officers report the 
 increase to the king, who rewards or punishes according to the 
 industry and activity of the pin-gatherers. That our king is some- 
 times severe, I must confess, and so much is he wrapt up in the idea 
 of progress and improvement, that I will relate to you an occurrence 
 which happened in his domains. Upon each mortal of the softer 
 sex, yourself for instance, there attends an invisible fairy endeavoring 
 by every art to abstract pins from her apparel. Should you arrange 
 your sash in fancied security and soon perceive it be unfastened, 
 you may know what influence has been at work ; you constantly miss 
 pins from your toilet ; you will know after this to whom to trace the 
 loss. You purchase a paper to-day ; in a short time they all disap- 
 pear, now you will well know in what way. I must not leave you 
 unenlightened on one point, however, that attendant fairies never 
 take pins either from boxes or papers ; they consider this below their 
 genius, and it would not be at all sanctioned by the king. But to my 
 sad recital. Not long ago, our monarch sent out his subjects with 
 particular injunctions to bring home a large harvest, as he wished to 
 enclose a piece of land for .the sport of the royal children. ' We all 
 came in well laden at the appointed day, except one fairy, who was
 
 2O6 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 the attendant upon a young maiden who determined that for three 
 months she would use only those pins that she could pick up, as she 
 found that she was too extravagant in these useful articles of the 
 toilet and wished to economize. Very wroth indeed was the king 
 when he saw Violetta almost empty-handed return from her expe- 
 dition. His usually smooth brow was clouded, and he ordered her 
 to be brought to the hall of justice. Heavens ! how we trembled at 
 his rage and the strange mood in which he was. The darkness of a 
 coming storm covered the land and vivid lightnings made the scene 
 more terrific. Violetta drooped like the flower whose name she 
 bears, and besought, on bended knees, for mercy ; but in vain. They 
 dragged her by her beautiful hair, soft as the finest silkworm's thread ; 
 her exquisite form swayed to and fro with the agony of helpless grief, 
 like the willow in the wind, and her blue eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Violetta," said the king, sternly, " what hast thou to answer for 
 thyself? " 
 
 She told her story with a voice broken by heart-rending sobs, but 
 nothing availed ; some demon seemed to be ruling our monarch, and 
 he commanded that she should be empaled for twenty-four hours 
 upon one of the very pins which she had brought. Right glad were 
 we when the delicate creature was released from her torments, and 
 we watched her recovery with tender love. Since then I think that 
 the king has repented of his harshness, for he often looks kindly 
 upon her and does not require such heavy tasks from her, and the 
 queen loves her like a sister. 
 
 Poor Sally groaned at this recitation, thinking, perhaps, that she 
 was the maiden in question as she had often made such resolutions. 
 
 " Sweet Violetta," murmured she, " if it is upon me that you attend,' 
 take as many pins as you please, if it will free you from punish- 
 ment." 
 
 The fairy softly glided from the post and proceeded to the toilet 
 upon her plundering expedition. Successful she must have been, for
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2O/ 
 
 Sally saw her smile upon the fairy in the glass with quiet approba- 
 tion. 
 
 " Farewell, little lady," said she to Sally ; " come whenever you 
 choose in dream-life to our fairy land and you will be welcome." 
 
 Betty, coming in to say that breakfast was nearly ready, awoke the 
 sleeper, and the fairy had disappeared, although Sally had formed 
 many plans for keeping her for a pet in an old bird-cage which she 
 had. She dressed herself quickly to tell, her mamma cheerfully all 
 that had happened at the party, and as she descended the stairs in 
 her white morning robe, she was a picture of purity and grace. 
 
 " O, mamma," she said, " I had such a delightful time last night ; 
 the music was enchanting, and my dress so neat and pretty but 
 the supper ! O, mamma, you should have seen that ! It was so 
 nice that I am afraid I eat a little too much, for I had such a queer 
 dream, and Betty said that she heard me groan just before she woke 
 me this morning." 
 
 " I am glad that you enjoyed yourself, my dear," said her mother, 
 " but sorry that you should have eaten so much. I thought that I 
 had warned you upon that point quite often enough ; but, Sally, if you 
 looked neatly last night, that is not exactly the character that I 
 would give you now, for your dress wants a pin sadly, and I fear that 
 I have none to offer you. It is not a month since I bought a paper 
 of the best English ; but now there is not one left. I know that I 
 have taken them out myself; but then, they disappear so strangely. 
 I do wonder what becomes of pins ? " 
 
 " I will tell you, mamma," said Sally, clapping her hands. And 
 she told her mother about the Pin Fairies.
 
 2O8 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 THE RICH CHILD AND THE POOR CHILD. 
 
 Why do you look so white and wild ? 
 Your eyes so blue and your face so mild 
 Are full of the traces of tears and wo, 
 What is it that troubles and wearies you so, 
 Little child ? 
 
 I thought that your eyes were a brilliant blue, 
 But they seem to fade from their first bright hue ; 
 What is it that gives you that haggard air, 
 Your cheeks are as pale as my roses fair, 
 
 Poor child ! 
 
 Don't tremble so ; your white, thin hand 
 Is cold and weak as you shivering stand ; 
 Your long brown hair is silvered with rain, 
 And you fill my breast with wonder and pain, 
 
 Dear child ! 
 
 Can it be that you're hungry, with want are you cold ? 
 Ah, yes. Poor thing, with my question bold 
 I have brought a blush to your pale, pale cheek, 
 And your lips with pleading earnestness speak, 
 Tired child ! 
 
 'Tis a sad, sad tale of woe that you tell, 
 
 But my mother with comforts will make you well ; 
 
 She will feed your sister who sickly lies, 
 
 And your brother who almost of hunger dies, 
 
 Famished child ! 
 
 Why glows your face with that radiance bright ? 
 Your small hands, why are they clasped so tight ? 
 Who has wiped-the tears from your tender eyes, 
 And scared from your breast those long-drawn sighs, 
 
 Gentle child ? 
 
 You say 'tis our kindness to yours and to you, 
 That our gifts will clothe you and feed you too ; 
 Say rather, 'tis GOD who THROUGH us has given, 
 And let your sweet thanks rise from earth to heaven, 
 
 Happy child !
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2OQ 
 
 THE MOUSE WHO WENT TO SEE THE WORLD. 
 
 A MOUSE and her mother, Mrs. Silverskin Mouse, lived in a closet 
 remote from cities, where they had plenty of cheese to eat and the 
 nicest white bread. Then for dessert they had apples and nuts, 
 and very often they gave large country parties, inviting the mice for 
 miles around, and they treated them, especially at Christmas, with 
 mince pies and other dainties which people usually have at that 
 time, and on thanksgiving days they eat so much at their family 
 dinner parties that really it was rather uncomfortable to themselves 
 than otherwise. Viewing the whole matter at this distance, one feels 
 inclined to ask " what more could mice want ? " but strange to say, 
 Miss Jeteye (that was the name of Mrs. Silverskin's daughter) 
 languished to see more of life and the wide, wide world ; languished 
 for a broader experience than a country closet, and pined for more 
 extensive views of society at large ; so she took to fits of melan- 
 choly, and the better to attract her mother's attention, eat little, slept 
 less, and was generally to be found moping in corners, with her fair 
 head resting upon her paw in an attitude of deep dejection. Her 
 mother at first did not regard these words, and thought that they 
 would pass away like cheese before a hungry mouse, or mist before 
 the morning sun ; but one day, when Miss Jeteye positively refused 
 a slice of toasted bread made palatable by the nicest butter in the 
 universe, her mother went up to her and said, carelessly, 
 
 " My dear, what is the matter with you ? Is the butter not to 
 your liking ? are the raisins in this pie not properly stoned ? is the 
 cheese too strong ? Tell me, my darling, pride of my life, what ails 
 you ? " 
 
 " Mother," said Miss Jeteye, suddenly and passionately ; " none 
 of these things affects'me. I want to travel ; I want to see King and 
 14
 
 210 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Queen Mouse and Lord Long Whiskers and Lady Soft Skin, who 
 make such a noise in fashionable life ; and then I hear that there is 
 such cheese in the royal palace ! O, mother, I must see the world ! 
 Won't you let me go ? Don't say no, best of mothers ; nobody ever 
 wanted so much to see the world. Isn't it a very large place, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " O, my child," said the old lady mouse, seriously, " don't, don't 
 go there ! It is a place full of trouble, and traps lie all about for 
 the careless and unwary ; and then you will break my heart if you 
 leave me here alone, with no company. An individual at my time 
 of life is sadly dependent upon cheerful society, such as yours, my 
 dear. No, you must never leave the domestic hearth ! " 
 
 So when Jeteye saw that Mrs. Silverskin was weeping bitterly, she 
 promised her solemnly that she would not leave her ; but the de- ; 
 ceitful little thing was not telling the truth; for she meant some day, 
 not very far off, to go and look for the world ; and that night she 
 dreamed that she went on her travels, and was everywhere praised 
 for her grace and beauty, and that King and Queen Mouse invited 
 her to. a select dinner party. " Surely," said she to herself, when 
 she awoke, " this dream will come to pass ; it shall come to pass ; 
 I leave this closet to-day" So she arranged every hair of her soft 
 gray fur to her satisfaction, and went to say a few words to her 
 mother, who unfortunately was not well, having eaten a thought too 
 much of rich plum cake. 
 
 " Mother," she said, softly, " I'm sorry to see you indisposed, but 
 I hope that you will be better when I return ; I'm going to take a 
 short walk, as I need exercise, and will be back directly." 
 
 " Don't go far, Jeteye," said her mother ; " don't go beyond the 
 store-room, my child." 
 
 " Not for the world I" was the deceitful answer; and shaking 
 her parent's paw, she departed. She couldn't help looking back 
 once or twice, for, said she to herself, " my mother grows aged, and
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 211 
 
 I may never see her again." Then a few salt tears dropped from 
 her eyes, but she wiped them away suddenly with the tip end of her 
 polished tail, for she saw Squire Long Ears, another mouse, coming 
 along. 
 
 " Where are you going, Miss Jeteye ? " he said. 
 
 "Only to see the world," said -she. 
 
 " I will go with you to the ends of the earth," said he, and away 
 they went together. 
 
 They had a rough, hard journey, and perils not a few ; and often 
 they lost their way, and had to eat most miserable and unwholesome 
 food. One day, when they were eating some lunch in a fine pantry, 
 which they took for a tavern, Miss Mouse had the misfortune to fall 
 into a jar of sweetmeats. She thought that she was dying, and 
 moaned so piteously that Squire Long Ears was almost mad with 
 grief and consternation ; but eventually he encouraged her with many 
 a cheering word, though he could give her no help in her critical 
 situation ; and at last he had the satisfaction of seeing her climb 
 upon a very large preserved peach and then out of the jar, trailing 
 along after her a line of best clarified syrup, until they gained a 
 safe hiding-place. There they had to wait several days, for Miss 
 Mouse would on no account consent to travel until her skin had 
 become soft and clean again ; and during this time they felt the 
 greatest terror, for a big black cat, with green eyes, often looked 
 lovingly into the hole where they had taken refuge. At length, one 
 day when he was absent, they. fled and went on still farther in their 
 travels to see the world. But fate seemed determined not to let 
 them go along peaceably, and they met, before many days had 
 passed, with another sad adventure. Quite tired and hungry, they 
 went one night into another tavern to get something to eat ; and 
 after they had helped themselves largely, they spied a tempting bar- 
 rel of flour, in which they thought they might obtain a long rest, and 
 be ready for their journey again the next night. But alas ! no sooner
 
 212 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 had they ensconced themselves comfortably in their new quarters, 
 than they were awakened by the voice of a giant rat, who asked 
 them what they were doing in his flour-barrel. He called them very 
 hard names, and used very coarse language ; and in his fury bit off 
 a long piece of Squire Long Ears' elegant tail ; and then, to add 
 insult to injury, ordered them out of his domains, thus forever put- 
 ting a blot upon the white page of rat hospitality. 
 
 Mortified and hurt, Squire Long Ears said that he could not 
 think of travelling in that plight, for a tailless mouse would never be 
 respected at court, and he begged Jeteye to go back again to her 
 home with him, especially as she had met with such formidable 
 dangers ; but she said no, that she would not be faint-hearted 
 now ; that she thought the royal residence must be so near ; and as 
 she had come so far, and being of a romantic turn of mind, she sug- 
 gested that she might fare even better without than with the Squire, 
 as no one would think of molesting unprotected innocence, and a 
 protector might be raised up to her at every turn. Then she re- 
 membered that the young ladies in whose house she lived in the 
 country spoke in such raptures of the world, and went out to it and 
 returned in so short a time, and painted such glowing pictures of its 
 fascinations, that bidding Mr. Long Ears farewell, she turned her 
 pretty head away and went on alone. " Alone ! " she had not to 
 repeat that cheerless word long before she thought she knew that 
 she had arrived at the end of her venturesome journey. It was in 
 a grocer's store that she arrived at this proper conclusion. "At 
 last," she exclaimed, raising her fine eyes in an ecstasy, " my dream 
 is realized ! " As she uttered these words, she was conscious of 
 being gazed at by a splendid mouse with most regal whiskers, whom 
 she recognized at once as King Mouse, and close behind his king- 
 ship appeared another of the softer sex, whose sumptuous aspect 
 declared her at once to be the queen. She told them what she 
 thought, expressing at the same time great admiration of their
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 21$ 
 
 majesties and their palace ; and after telling her that she was quite 
 right, and whispering to each other that from her appearance she 
 must be "somebody," perhaps some country heiress, they invited 
 her to take up her abode with them for a season and visit their 
 court. 
 
 Imagination is too poor to paint how her little heart beat at these 
 words. " Now," she said to herself, " I am thought of as I deserve ; 
 my beauty is admired, and I shall be a countess, may be ; and then I 
 shall send for my mother (who must be polished up, by the way, be- 
 fore she comes to court, her ways and looks are so old-fashioned) 
 and won't she be astonished to see how high I have risen in the 
 world ! 
 
 The king gave a ball that might do honor to the distinguished 
 stranger, and much company there was. The most delicate fare was 
 .offered to the charming young guest, who swept through the hall 
 with such enchanting grace ; in fact, so much attention was never 
 before paid to a foreigner ; for at that court they were naturally sus- 
 picious of foreigners, as they had rumors of attention being paid in 
 neighboring palaces to strangers, which were ridiculed by the guests 
 upon their return to their own country, and this made them very 
 cautious of being treated in the same way. But suspicions vanished 
 in the presence of Miss Jeteye. The courtiers wished to claim the 
 honor of her hand, and even the king danced with her in a new 
 court polka, and made poetry to her fine eyes ; while the queen could 
 not but look with admiration upon her feet, which she said were the 
 smallest she ever saw, and a sure sign of her being high born. 
 Then she had such a confident, self-satisfied air, that they came to 
 the conclusion that she was no country Miss, and therefore they 
 neglected to tell her, in fact they thought it would be in rather bad 
 taste to tell one so experienced, of the dangers she would be apt to 
 meet with, and she was too silly and proud to let them know that 
 she had lived in the country all her life. Alas ! poor Jeteye !
 
 214 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 After a most delightful supper upon all the dainties in creation, 
 and at an unusually late hour, the guests departed and the royal 
 party retired to rest. The queen pointed out to her ladyship, as 
 she called Jeteye, her apartment, and desired two maids of honor to 
 attend to any of her wants ; and after having dismissed them with 
 many gracious words, she felt curious to investigate her apartment 
 of state, as the queen had named it. It was in a snug little corner 
 behind a box of prunes, westward of a jar of sweetmeats, and east- 
 ward of a box of fresh Italian biscuits, a delicacy just introduced 
 into the royal residence. " You will find this apartment most con- 
 venient," remarked her majesty to Jeteye, when she had designated 
 her place of rest, " and it even has an advantage over the royal apart- 
 ment, inasmuch as you will observe that it has two entrances. Should 
 you hear any noise indicative of robbery or intrusion, remember 
 this fact ; there will always be safety in one of these outlets ; so 
 good night, your ladyship ; sleep well ; and remember, don't be too 
 fascinating on the morrow, for," added she, playfully, "you have 
 turned the heads of half my court, and I must begin to look to my 
 honors." 
 
 So, as I said before, the young lady began to look about to see 
 the curiosities of a palace chamber. She did not see anything 
 extraordinary therein ; she did not see any elegance in that close 
 place behind that rough box of prunes. If she became hungry in 
 the night, there was nothing there for her to eat, for she could not, 
 from old associations, abide sweetmeats, particularly peaches ; and 
 biscuits were too common for her refined lips ; and then, not far off 
 were a low set of common mice, who might be there for the purpose 
 of keeping guard ; but they made such a noise with their eternally 
 nibbling the remains of the feast, that it was impossible for her lady- 
 ship to get a wink of sleep. She preferred the country for one 
 thing, its quiet ; and so she put her graceful head out of one of 
 the entrances to see if possibly the queen might not have made a
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 21$ 
 
 mistake, and have put her in the wrong apartment. She had no 
 sooner done this, than her bright eyes spied the prettiest little con- 
 trivance in the shape of a sleeping room imaginable. She thought 
 that it was a love of a place, the most curious work of art that she 
 had yet seen on her travels ; and now she felt certain that the queen, 
 really had made a mistake ; so she determined, instead of having 
 them mortified to death the next morning by hearing that she had 
 slept behind that plebeian box of prunes, to take possession of this 
 treasure of a dormitory at once. 
 
 " How pretty it is," she said, softly ; " I have never seen anything 
 exactly like it before ; those arched wires are so graceful, and that 
 cupola on its top suits the style so well ; then what a charming 
 entrance it has ; and, as I live, the royal family have honored me 
 by placing within a slice of the best English cheese." And in my 
 lady went, quite delighted with her new quarters. 
 
 However, she did not quite like the " click " which met her ears 
 as she entered, and a far off vision of her childhood came across her, 
 almost as indistinct as a dream, of a story told her by an old uncle 
 on her mother's side, of a thing called a trap, into which he had 
 been imprisoned by accident, and from which he had escaped with 
 difficulty. This little adventure, she remembered, had been accom- 
 panied with the loss of his tail ; and in telling his story, he had 
 always dwelt forcibly, and with a kind of spiteful malice, upon the 
 " click " which did the mischief ; but after all, that was not in a 
 royal palace, and her uncle had seen nothing of the world ; and in 
 the cheese, which was most delicious, she forgot her terror, and 
 having partaken largely of it, she went quietly to sleep, thinking 
 what a fascinating thing an apartment of state was. 
 
 How long she slept I know not, but she was awakened by a sound 
 which she thought seemed familiar, and, I am sorry to say, not 
 entirely agreeable to her under her present circumstances. That 
 familiar sound was her mother's voice, and it said, " My daughter,
 
 2l6 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 O, my daughter ! how cruel you were to leave me ! I have come 
 to take you back to our secure and quiet home." 
 
 " Indeed, mamma," said the spoiled maiden, " you might have 
 spared yourself that trouble. I dare say that that vulgar fellow, 
 Long Ears, sent you after me. But it is of no use ; I find the world 
 so pleasant, that I am never going to return. But, my dear mother, 
 your dress inspires me with feelings of horror, and your tone is 
 excessively drawling and countrified ; then you want polish sadly. 
 Oh, what is to be done ! Was there ever a being so tried, so 
 straitened as I ! The king is most particular as regards pedigree, 
 and none but aristocrats in decent appearance have entrance into 
 this court My unfortunate mother, pray step into my chamber, and 
 at least try to make yourself presentable ; or, perhaps, I might offer 
 one other suggestion to which you would not object. Could you 
 not, could you not return at once, my dearest parent, to your much 
 prized ' quiet home ? ' ' 
 
 Jeteye's dearest parent drew nearer, to see if it was indeed her 
 gentle and obedient daughter who thus addressed her ; and who 
 can describe that mother's feelings when she saw her child's situa- 
 tion. She was speechless for a moment with fright and horror, and 
 then, in her anguish, she exclaimed, " Mistaken child, how came 
 you here ? Do you know ? Ah ! you cannot be aware of your fate ! 
 That luxurious chamber, that fretted dome, that classic entrance, is 
 a trap ! " 
 
 Ah ! there was no misunderstanding that frantic mother's words, 
 and in an instant flashed upon Jeteye the truth. She remembered 
 her mother's long years of experience ; she thought of the sad story 
 of that tailless uncle on that mother's side. She suddenly awoke 
 to the full reality of her situation. She was wild with terror ! She 
 bit her wire prison-bounds ; she hurt her head against the hard 
 steel ; she tore the skin from her delicate form in trying to get out 
 where she got in. She made the circuit of her wiry cage one hun-
 
 AND O THER TALES. 2 1 7 
 
 dred times, and she called upon her mother, in piteous tones, to 
 release her. But what could her parent do ? Nothing but bewail 
 and lament over her future solitary life in her quiet country habita- 
 tion ; nothing but wring her fore-feet and cry aloud about that place 
 called home, to which pleasures and palaces are as a drop to the 
 ocean ; and wheresoe'r an individual may roam there is no place 
 like it. Occasionally she would break out into a wail, the burden 
 of whose song was an aggravating, " I told you so ! " which cut 
 Jeteye to the very heart. But even mother mice have a law of self- 
 preservation ; and when the first streak of daylight appeared, Mrs. 
 Silverskin Mouse disappeared, after casting one passionate look of 
 anguish and regret upon her forlorn and exhausted offspring. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " said Mr. Storekeeper, as he opened his doors at sun- 
 rise, and took up his trap to see if it contained any of those dis- 
 agreeable customers called mice ; " here is a fine, fat, sleek intruder. 
 This is the last time, my friend, that you will come stealing my 
 stores. Here, Dick,, take the vile creature to the pump and drown 
 it speedily, and be sure you set the trap again for other poachers. 
 'Tis a nice, gentle-eyed thing, though, and the prettiest little animal 
 I ever saw ; it is almost a pity to have it drowned. However, who- 
 ever thought of pitying a mouse ? Yes, a mouse j the little thief. 
 Here, Dick, don't let it suffer a minute more than you can help, 
 but go it must ! Everybody must take care of himself, or there 
 would be no getting along in the world." 
 
 " Alas ! the world ! " sighed Jeteye. 
 
 Those were her last words.
 
 218 
 
 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 NICE HABITS. 
 
 Bathe your body 
 
 Every day, 
 Put your clothes with 
 
 Care away. 
 
 With a penknife 
 Your nails pare, 
 
 Clean them nicely 
 With due care. 
 
 In the morn and 
 Evening too, 
 
 I will tell you 
 What to do. 
 
 You must brush your 
 Teeth so white, 
 
 And you'll keep them 
 Clean, and bright 
 
 Wear an apron 
 When you eat, 
 
 And sit upright 
 On your seat 
 
 Speak no harsh nor 
 Wicked word, 
 
 No cross answer 
 Should be heard. 
 
 Love your brothers, 
 
 Sisters too, 
 And they always 
 
 Will love you. 
 
 8. 
 
 Be to servants 
 
 Ever kind, 
 And your every 
 
 Word they'll mind. 
 
 Ne'er forget, each 
 Night and day, 
 
 With gentle voice 
 Your prayer to say. 
 
 10. 
 
 If you always 
 
 These things do, 
 Every body 
 
 Will love you.
 
 Ne'er forget each night and day 
 
 With gentle voice your prayers to say. 
 
 P., ~n O1S.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2 19 
 
 BAD TEMPER AND ITS CURE. 
 
 HALF FACT, HALF FICTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE GOOD AND EVIL SPIRIT. 
 
 " THERE, I told you so ! You have at last let my beautiful glass 
 peacock fall upon the floor, and it is broken into ten* thousand 
 pieces ! you little, worrying, bad, mean, disagreeable girl, you ! " 
 
 Would you believe that Florence Somers said these words to her 
 little sister Ellen ? Scarcely, and yet it was so. How could such a 
 refined-looking girl utter such words ? I will tell you all about it. 
 Florence had put her peacock on the table, and had told Ellen not 
 to touch it ; but then, little children are very curious, and Ellen took 
 it up, when, alas ! it fell to the ground. 
 
 Florence was lying on the sofa at the time, reading a book of 
 fairy tales, and no one could have desired to see a more charming 
 picture than she was. Her face was bright with pleasure and her 
 hands as white and soft as an infant's ; her cheeks were colored 
 with red and her lips redder than her cheeks ; and there was no 
 denying that she was in reality perfect in face and form. But, alas ! 
 all this beauty did her no good, gained her no admiration from those 
 who knew her, for it was marred by the worst temper that ever was 
 known. It made every one in the house miserable ; it made her 
 dear mother often weep bitter tears in the silence of the night, and 
 her father wished to send her away to a boarding-school in order to 
 have her out of his sight ; and it made the servants dislike her and 
 shrink from the fiery flash of her eyes ; and her poor little sister 
 and brother, whom she should have loved and cherished, were
 
 2 2O FAIR Y-LAND 
 
 never comfortable in her presence, but always dreaded some out- 
 burst of passion from Florence, which would send them away from 
 her terribly frightened. 
 
 Thus, when the peacock fell, out came the thunder of her wrath- 
 ful voice upon Ellen ; and going to the poor, trembling child, she 
 first shook her violently and then struck her twice, bidding her pick 
 up the pieces, which the little creature did as well as she could, and 
 then she thrust her violently from the room. 
 
 After she left, Florence paced the room with an angry flush upon 
 her lovely face. 
 
 " What* is the use of little children ? " she said, aloud ; " they are 
 always in the way and should never be allowed to leave the nursery; 
 everything I have is ruined by them ; and now, to crown all, that 
 busy-body Ellen has broken my beautiful glass peacock. I don't 
 think she cares about it much, either ; but I'll make her care, that 
 I will ; and I'll break her Bohemian tumbler to-morrow, just to let 
 her know how it feels to have what one most cares for destroyed." 
 And with this cruel determination, Florence lay again upon the sofa 
 and opened once more her book of fairy tales. She had just 
 reached that place in Bluebeard where he gave his wife the key of 
 the closet and told her not to enter it upon pain of death, when the 
 book slid from her dimpled hand, and she fell asleep. She had not 
 slept long, when she was awakened by a strange sensation in each 
 hand ; that on her right hand was soft and cooling, like the fall of 
 dew upon a rose-leaf ; that in her left was as if melted lead .were 
 being poured upon it in hot and heavy drops. She opened wide 
 her drowsy eyes, and holding up her hands to see what possibly 
 could be the matter, she beheld a strange little being standing in 
 each palm and looking into her face. She tried to shake them off 
 in vain ; and after her first fright was over, she became quite angry 
 and said some very rude things to her new visitors. Just in propor- 
 tion as her temper increased, so did the sharp pain in the left hand
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 221 
 
 increase ; and when she found that anger produced no effect, she 
 softened her voice and said, courteously : " Well, little people, what 
 on earth brings you here and who and what are you ? " As she 
 said these words, softly and gently, she was conscious that the pain 
 in her left hand subsided, and that the gentle pressure in the right 
 was stronger than before. 
 
 At length the individual (if such he might be called) in her left 
 hand spoke his mission. Never was there so hideous a being 
 created. He was only about as long as Florence's little finger, and 
 yet she could not, for his very ugliness, look at him. His hair was 
 flaming fire ; his forehead like that of an old man, all wrinkled and 
 marked with sin and woe ; his nose shapeless, and his mouth, as he 
 opened it, was full of small snakes. Out of his eyes came a dis- 
 agreeable green fire, and he had four hands of different colors, in 
 each of which he held a looking-glass, which magnified his own 
 terrible image, and his feet were turned backward and shaped like 
 the claws of a bird. But when he spoke, horrors ! how Florence 
 shuddered ; it was as if her ear had been pierced with the scraping 
 of a knife upon rough glass, and the sound of it amounted to a 
 pain. 
 
 " I come, maiden," he said, " to wait upon you ; and I am happy 
 to be in your service, for you are the most beautiful mortal in the 
 world. But while you are outwardly so very fair, I claim you to be 
 my sister ; for in your heart you are just what you see me, a 
 demon. I am the prince of my tribe and Bad Temper is my name ; 
 I attend you ever ; and in future you will_/fe/my presence whenever 
 your unfortunate fault, which makes me your brother, overmasters 
 you ; for I shall always be with you in the same manner in which 
 you knew of my presence a while since, more or less according to 
 your mood." 
 
 Then Florence experienced the sensation again, as if a hot iron 
 were searing her hand ; and she would have screamed with pain,
 
 222 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 had not the flute-like voice of the little creature who occupied her 
 right hand arrested him in the midst of his torture. 
 
 "Demon, desist," she said, softly; "you have given evidence 
 enough of your power." 
 
 " Oh, what a relief it was to Florence to see the mild eyes of that 
 gentle being turned reproachfully upon the hideous dwarf monster ; 
 she felt as if she had one friend in the world, and was not utterly 
 forsaken. 
 
 " Hear me, Florence," she said ; " I am the queen of Good Na- 
 ture and Self-Conquest j this crescent on my brow betokens mild- 
 ness ; these white robes, purity ; these tears, which flow for those I 
 love, repentance. I have a powerful enemy in the demon Bad Tem- 
 per ; we are fighting a hard fight ; one of us must conquer even 
 unto death. The seat of that fight, Florence, is in your heart. 
 What is the use of your beauty unless you have good inward gifts ? 
 It cannot make you happy when you know that over it all that 
 frightful wretch has such power. Then listen : whenever you allow 
 the fiend of bad temper to overcome you as you did to-day, upon 
 your left hand you will feel his burning presence ; whenever you 
 subdue an evil thought, check a bad impulse, repent of violence, or 
 restrain yourself from doing wrong, you will feel my gentle presence 
 in your right hand. Farewell. When you desire my aid, call upon 
 me and I shall be near to protect you." 
 
 Then the strange shapes seemed to melt away into the air, and 
 Florence fell again into a deep sleep and did not wake until she heard 
 the voice of her little brother calling her to take her afternoon walk. 
 
 " Have I been dreaming or not ? " she said to herself; how real 
 seemed those two little shapes upon my hands. Oh, of course, it was 
 a dream ! and yet it was so vivid, that if I had not been asleep, I 
 could almost fancy it to have been true. What strange sleeping 
 visions people have sometimes ! and mine just now was passing 
 strange ! " 

 
 AND OTHER TALES. 22$ 
 
 Then she went up into her own pretty little room and smoothed 
 her glossy ringlets, smiling at herself the while in her mirror ; and 
 she looked so lovely and pure, that her brother kissed her sweet 
 lips and told her always to look thus ; and her mother wondered 
 that such beauty was ever disfigured by passion and frowns. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE GLASS TUMBLER. 
 
 FLORENCE did not forget that Ellen had broken her glass peacock ; 
 she never forgot anything which she thought was an injury ; her re- % 
 venge was not hasty, but deliberate, and she waited for a fitting 
 opportunity to indulge it. One evening Ellen told her with great 
 glee, that a little friend was coming to take tea with her, and that 
 her mother had promised her a pitcher of lemonade, which was to 
 be served out in her little glass tumbler. 
 
 " Now is my time," she muttered between her white teeth ; " your 
 tumbler will not hold much lemonade to-night." But suddenly she 
 remembered her dream ; and as she thought of it, she felt a little 
 frightened at the memory. "After all, suppose I let her off this 
 time ? Yes, I think I shall. Perhaps she did not mean- to break 
 my peacock ; but when you trouble me again, my little lady, woe be 
 unto you and your glass tumbler." 
 
 So Ellen and her friend had their lemonade in peace, and Flor- 
 ence became interested in their happiness and even helped to make 
 it, and to show them how to strain the lemon seeds from the liquid ; 
 and all the time that she was so busied, there was a cool, soothing 
 sensation in her right hand, which she could liken to nothing but a 
 fairy's kisses ; and it seemed to her as if she had felt the same 
 before. 
 
 Her cheerfulness made her surpassingly beautiful on that even-
 
 224 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 ing ; and little Ellen's friend went home very happy and told her 
 mother what a good sister Florence was, and how she wished for 
 one just like her. Alas ! she wished too soon. At another time 
 she would have fled far, far from her presence. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PARTY. 
 
 FOR many days Florence was all that her parents could wish, 
 'and they were so delighted with her amiable conduct, that they 
 determined to reward her with a birth-night party. Invitations 
 were sent to the children ; and as the evening was bright, they all 
 came, and no pains were spared to please the little guests. 
 
 The supper was delightful, and upon the table, in elegant order, 
 were all good things ; and at each end of the well provided board 
 stood Florence and Ellen. 
 
 Now they had a good uncle who loved Florence very much ; and 
 while they were busy enjoying the nice things, in came the old gen- 
 tleman, accompanied by a servant, who bore upon a silver tray 
 something covered with a white napkin. 
 
 Everybody of course was delighted to see Uncle Phil ; and he 
 went round and shook hands with the forty children, twenty girls 
 and twenty boys, and he looked as delighted as they did. Then 
 the old gentleman turned round towards the silver tray, and there 
 was a deep pause when he spoke. 
 
 " I wanted to make you happier even than you appear to be, 
 little people," he said, in a low voice ; " and so I have brought you 
 a splendid cake with a diamond ring in it for the little girls. It is 
 to be cut in twenty pieces, and the one who gets the piece with the 
 ring in it, to her it shall belong. Then I have in my hand here for
 
 UNCLE PHIL. Page 224.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 22$ 
 
 the boys a four-bladed, pearl-handle knife ; and he who can make 
 the handsomest bow shall have the knife." 
 
 Then uncle Phil stopped talking, and you never heard such a 
 buzz of little voices in your life ; the girls said, " Oh, I wonder who 
 will get the ring ! " and the boys said, " I wonder who will get the 
 knife ! " then they all wondered together. 
 
 After a few minutes had passed, Uncle Phil said he would give 
 the knife first ; and the boys all stood in a row, and Uncle Phil 
 called them out one by one, to see which could make the most 
 graceful bow. 
 
 First came bashful Bill Somers ; but he didn't get the knife, for 
 he turned in his toes, and that was contrary to all rules; then Jim 
 Sanders tried, but he held his shoulders up to his ears, and Uncle 
 Phil said that that would never do ; then William Blake was called 
 out, but he made such a sudden and ungraceful jerk with his body, 
 that the spectators could not help laughing ; and then Tom Banard 
 made a bow so much like a lady's courtesy, that they would not 
 admit that it was a bow at all, and they all went through the order, 
 until Richard Rose alone was left standing upon the floor. 
 
 " Dick will get it," they all shouted ; and he blushed scarlet, for 
 he wanted the knife very much indeed ; but as several good bows 
 had been made, one in particular by Arthur Gray, he feared that he 
 could never surpass them ; but he would try his best at any rate, 
 he thought. So he tossed back his waving curls, let his arms fall 
 gracefully and naturally, and made such a bow, that the best 
 dancing-master in the world would have found no fault with it. 
 
 " Bravo ! " said Uncle Phil ; and everybody echoed his praise 
 and said that Richard deserved the knife ; and Uncle Phil himself, 
 making the funniest old-fashioned bow you ever saw, gave it to him 
 amid the congratulations of the bystanders. 
 
 " Now, girls," said the old gentleman, " it is your turn " ; and 
 turning round towards the cake, he ordered the servants to put it 
 15
 
 226 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 upon the table. Then he called them all up by their ages, the 
 youngest coming first, and gave them each a slice, one by one. 
 Mary Dill was the youngest, but the ring Was not in hers ; nor in 
 Jane Price's, nor in Mary Thompson's ; and all the girls thought, 
 when eighteen slices had been cut and no ring had appeared, that 
 the old gentleman had forgotten to put it in at all, but it was there, 
 for all that, as you shall soon see. 
 
 Only two slices remained, and the last competitors for the ring 
 were Mary Bell and Florence. 
 
 "The piece nearest me," said Uncle Phil, before he cut them 
 apart, " is for Florence, the other for Mary. We must understand 
 this before it is divided, for we must have no dissatisfaction or con- 
 tention. Does every one know exactly how the matter stands before 
 the cake is cut, that the piece nearest me is for Florence ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said every body, and Florence and Mary said, " yes, 
 that is right ; but do uncle Phil make haste." 
 
 Then Uncle Phil cut the cake down exactly in the middle and 
 something hard seemed to grate against the knife and stop its way, 
 and sure enough it was the ring. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " he said, " this is curious enough, but wait awhile, young 
 ladies, stand a bit farther off and we will settle this difficult matter. 
 It is not to be supposed that ihe ring lies just half way between the 
 slices. I will cut it very accurately, and that little girl shall have it 
 in whose slice it is most buried. Answer me again, does that seem 
 fair and right to all present ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " was the answer. 
 
 " Does it seem right to Florence and Mary ? " asked Uncle Phil, 
 " for they are most concerned and must answer for themselves." 
 
 " Quite right," was the reply from both. 
 
 Then Uncle Phil cut regularly, slowly, and softly, through the 
 rich cake, and everybody saw that the ring just grazed Florence's 
 slice, while its glittering circle was almost all imbedded in Mary's.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 22/ 
 
 " The ring is Mary's plainly, it was all fairly done and Mary is 
 the fortunate gainer," he said. 
 
 Then the little voices shouted, "yes, Mary is the gainer !" but 
 amid the din, one voice shouted above them all, in tones of angry 
 passion, " no sir, it was not fairly done!" 
 
 It was the voice of Florence who stood a little apart from the 
 circle, her hands clenched, her eyes flashing with rage ; " no sir, it is 
 as much mine as hers, more, for this is my house and my party. 
 If Mary Bell dared to touch that ring I shall hate her forever and 
 ever. It is mine. 1 " 
 
 " Florence," said her mother chidingly, " you forget yourself, my 
 child ; " and her father laid his hand upon her shoulder and told her 
 to be silent or leave the room. 
 
 " With the ring only," she said haughtily,." the ring that should 
 have been mine and has been stolen from me." 
 
 " Leave the room instantly," said her father leading her towards 
 the door. " I confess, my young friends, with a saddened heart, that 
 I am ashamed of my own daughter. Perhaps punishment and re- 
 flection will bring her to her senses." 
 
 As Florence reached the door, she gave a look of scorn to the 
 company, and closing it after her with a bang that set all the glasses 
 tinkling on the well-filled table, she went to her room and burst into 
 a flood of passionate tears. 
 
 "'That frightful Mary Bell," she muttered, " has won the diamond 
 ring which should have been mine. It will look finely, indeed, on 
 her coarse finger, when it was meant for my delicate hand," my 
 delicate hand, scarcely had she said the words, when a quick, burn- 
 ing sensation like the scorching of a red-hot iron, seemed to blister 
 and scar it, and there*, adhering to the rosy skin, and not to be 
 shaken off, stood the frightful prince of bad temper, 
 
 " You called me and I have come."
 
 228 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 In vain she tried to shake the little monster off; in vain she plead, 
 scolded, wept. " What shall I do ? " she exclaimed, bitterly weep- 
 ing ; and the little fiend laughed in a mocking manner at her despair. 
 " Oh ! I would do anything in the world to have him away." 
 
 " Anything in the world ? " questioned a sweet voice ; " then go 
 down where your guests are assembled, humbly confess that you have 
 done a great wrong, been disrespectful to your parents, forgotten the 
 rules of hospitality, and tell Mary Bell that she is welcome to the 
 diamond ring." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot," said Florence. 
 
 " You are too proud to do so," said the good fairy ; " then fare- 
 well, perhaps forever," and she left her with the horrible demon, but 
 Florence's cries soon brought her back. The torture was too great to 
 bear. 
 
 " I will go down," said the haughty beauty, now humbled to the 
 ground ; " only send that dreadful creature away, and come yourself 
 with me." 
 
 Great was the astonishment of all when Florence entered. Her 
 attitude was one of sadness, her eyelids swollen with weeping, her 
 voice trembling, but not with passion. 
 
 " I have come," she said, " to ask forgiveness of each and all for 
 my conduct this evening ; to tell my parents that I am sorry for 
 being disrespectful to them ; and to say to my dear friend, Mary, 
 that I have no claim upon the diamond ring, and that it is hers, 
 henceforth and forever." 
 
 Then she left the room again, but all the time she could feel the 
 soft kisses of the fairy upon her hand. Her father and mother were 
 too delighted with the change to blame or punish her, and thinking 
 that reflection was the best thing for her, thdy allowed her to remain 
 in her own apartment during the rest of the evening, but the charm 
 of the party was over ; there was no longer any life or spirit among 
 the children, and when they went away, both the entertainers and 
 the entertained felt that it was quite a relief.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 22Q 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DRESS. 
 
 NOT very long after the eventful party, Florence was invited to 
 perform in some charade. She had set her heart upon going, as 
 she acted well, and her beautiful face never showed to more advan- 
 tage than when some fantastic fancy dress heightened her pictur- 
 esque appearance. 
 
 The part which she was to have taken was the Angel in the Game 
 of Life. The picture represents two men playing a game of chess. 
 One is Satan disguised, playing for his opponent's soul. Elevated 
 above the players stands the angel protecting the young man. The 
 brightest light is thrown upon the angel, while the other figures are 
 rather in the shade. Clothed in purest white, with her beautiful 
 hair falling around her and a serene smile upon her lips, the angel 
 looks down upon the players. Her hands are .crossed upon her 
 breast and her long, loose sleeves have the appearance of wings, as 
 they fall back and leave her white arms bare. 
 
 Florence knew that this was just the character for her and she 
 had taken infinite pains in arranging her flowing white robe, and it 
 was laid neatly upon the bed, with every fold in order, long before 
 the hour had arrived when she was to dress herself in it, and Jessie 
 had been warned not to disturb or touch it. Now Jessie was Flor- 
 ence's little maid, a poor girl who had been rescued from starving 
 by Florence's mother. 
 
 The child was very happy generally, and so fortunate as not 
 often to incur the anger of her young mistress ; but seldom, if ever, 
 did she give her cause for anger ; for gentle, obedient, and faithful 
 was the child, looking upon Florence as a superior being and 
 watching her every look and motion. 
 
 As the dress lay with its exquisite folds upon the bed, so snowy 
 white, so graceful, Jessie could not help stopping as she was pass-
 
 230 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 ing by to admire it. She held a candle in her hand which was 
 insecurely fastened in the candlestick ; and in leaning over a little, 
 the candle lost its balance, fell upon the dress and set it on fire. 
 
 Nor was this all. Half frantic with fear, she rushed for a pitcher 
 of water (her first thought) and deluged the beautiful dress, ruining 
 it past all recovery. Poor girl, she only did what seemed to her to 
 be right ; but at that moment Florence entered. 
 
 One look told her all ; she did not waste words, but pushing her 
 from her with frantic violence, Jessie fell, striking her head against 
 the sharp corner of the open door. 
 
 Florence followed her and was about to infljct a blow upon her 
 with her clenched hand, when she felt it forcibly opened, and that 
 old sensation, not to be misunderstood, that red-hot searing of an 
 iron, caused her to pause. 
 
 Was the demon there again ? Yes ; more hateful than ever, and 
 pointing with his^ four different-colored hands to the spot where 
 Jessie lay. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! you have killed her, my beauty !" he screamed ; 
 "you're a sweet creature, just after my own heart ; for you never 
 stop until you kill, kiH, kill ! " 
 
 " Merciful heaven ! " exclaimed Florence, sinking down to the pros- 
 trated child, from whose temple the blood was slowly welling. " I did 
 not mean to hurt her much ; oh, what would I not do to have her 
 back to life again ; on my knees I ask forgiveness for my sin and 
 promise to try to curb this dreadful temper of mine which leads to 
 such horrible results."- 
 
 " Sprinkle her with water and raise her gently in your arms," said 
 a sweet voice and Florence, only too glad to obey it, did as she was 
 desired. 
 
 " Dear Jessie," she said, as the poor girl unclosed her eyes ; " for- 
 give me, forgive me for my wicked act, and teach me to be as un- 
 complaining and gentle as you are."
 
 rLOKKNCK AND .IKSSIE. Pnpp 231.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 Jessie could not speak just yet, but she kissed her young mistress's 
 hand most tenderly, and pointing to the ruined dress, hid her eyes 
 from which tears trickled slowly. 
 
 " Never mind, Jessie," said Florence, " never mind the dress, so 
 that you are not hurt." 
 
 " I am not much hurt, Miss Flory," said Jessie, feebly. " I did 
 not mean to let the candle fall and spoil your beautiful dress, so 
 that you cannot go to the party to-night. Please forgive me, dear 
 Miss Florence, and I will try never to be so careless again." 
 
 It was a sad and pretty sight to see them mutually exchanging 
 forgiveness. Florence leaning over Jessie who was pale in contrast 
 to the beautiful being who was now so watchful and careful of her, 
 and whose expression was more angelic in its compassion than it 
 could have been that night in the far-famed " Game of Life." The 
 demon of bad temper fled far away and the good fairy nestled in a 
 bouquet on the table, smiling upon the scene. 
 
 Florence did not go to the festival, nor did she regret it, for she 
 spent the evening with Jessie, who became every minute more free 
 from pain, and was able the next day to resume her accustomed 
 duties. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DANCING SCHOOL. 
 
 " COME, Florence," said kind Mrs. Fraser one night at dancing 
 school, " it is ten o'clock, and I promised your father to. bring you 
 home at that time." 
 
 "Just one more dance, Mrs. Fraser, please." 
 
 "That is just what you said a half hour ago, my child, when I told 
 you to think about going." 
 
 Florence's partner approached, and away she went to the dance, 
 Mrs. Fraser sighed and sat down once more. The old lady was
 
 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 very weary ; and her granddaughter, Annie, was sitting shawled by 
 her side waiting patiently for Florence, with a great deal of sleep in 
 her young eyes. The dance appeared to them terribly long, but at 
 last it came to an end. Florence did not approach the place where 
 Mrs. Fraser was sitting, but took her seat at the other side of the 
 room and was gaily talking with her young partner, while another of 
 the dancing-school youths was pleading for her hand for the next 
 dance. 
 
 Florence had just given her consent, forgetting all about Mrs. 
 Fraser, when she approached with her shawl. 
 
 " Now, Florence, come," she said, " I cannot stay any longer ; not 
 one dance more will I wait." 
 
 " But I am engaged for the next." 
 
 " That I cannot help ; you must break your engagement, for your 
 father's command should be regarded before a promise to dance. 
 Come, Florence." 
 
 But Florence did not stir. 
 
 " Are you not going with me ? " said Mrs. Fraser. 
 
 " No, ma'am, I am not," she answered ; " I am engaged for the 
 next dance, and I do not see what difference a few minutes will 
 make " ; and then the deluded girl turned aside and said in a whis- 
 per to her partner, " I hate overbearing duennas." 
 
 The whisper was just loud enough for Mrs. Fraser to hear, and, 
 bending upon Florence a stern look, she said : " I shall leave you then, 
 Miss Somers, to your fate for I can do no more, and remember that 
 this is the last evening that you shall come here under my care. I 
 shall take Annie home in the carriage, and then send it back for 
 you, and to-morrow I shall call upon your father and tell him of your 
 disrespectful conduct, and decline any more to be your chaperone." 
 
 Florence colored crimson at being thus publicly rebuked, and the 
 fiend bad temper took possession of her. 
 
 " You may do what you please," she replied, with a toss of her
 
 AND OTHER TALES, 233 
 
 beautiful head. " I scorn you and your protection ; pray do not 
 trouble yourself about my welfare. Come, we are losing that beauti- 
 ful quadrille." 
 
 Mrs. Fraser went away more grieved than hurt. She had heard 
 something of Florence's character, but had never seen it in its full 
 development until now, and she pitied the parents of the wayward 
 girl, who were her warm and fast friends. 
 
 Florence's partner looked at her for one moment in amazement, 
 but said nothing ; he thought everything. He thought, " how very 
 beautiful She is, how perfect her form, how pretty her foot ; but, oh, 
 what a black, black heart she must have, to treat her friend and pro- 
 tector so. I am glad you are not my sister, Miss Florence, and pretty 
 as you are, this is the last time that I wilt ask the honor of your 
 hand in a dance. I wish I did not have to go through with it now, 
 it was bought at such a fearful price, and that I was dancing with 
 sweet Emma Johnstone, over there, who, though not beautiful as an 
 angel, is a gentle and amiable girl." 
 
 Florence tried her best to be agreeable, but two things prevented ; 
 first, the silence and inattention of her partner, who was watching 
 sweet Emma Johnstone ; secondly, a sharp burning pain in her left 
 hand which she too well understood. 
 
 As the bad fairy never made himself visible except when she was 
 alone, she wished for once that she had gone home with Mrs. 
 Fraser, for she dreaded the ride by herself. And had she known 
 what was to happen she might well have dreaded it. 
 
 "Miss Somers' carriage has come," said the servant, after the- 
 dance was over. 
 
 "Just one more, just one more," said two or three aspirants for 
 her hand. 
 
 " Not another," whispered the demon in her ear. 
 
 " Not another," said Florence trying in vain to smile sweetly upon 
 the supplicants.
 
 234 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 " If she had only said that awhile ago when Mrs. Fraser urged 
 her to go home, " thought her last partner, " how lovely she would 
 would still be ; but now she is nothing to me but a disobedient girl, 
 one who must make her home unhappy ; one, I know, who is not 
 kind to her sister, for she is too selfish to be so, and who must make 
 her brother's time pass disagreeably enough. Yes ! thank my stars 
 she does not belo'ng to my home. I would not have her there for the 
 world. Then he added as he handed her to the carriage, " Good 
 night, a pleasant ride to you " ; and Florence answered, " thank you, 
 good night" ; and the carriage rolled off with its beautiful occupant, 
 who saw by the light of the lamp which they passed her left hand 
 demon more terrible than ever, and of whom she in vain asked 
 mercy ; for the pain which he seemed maliciously to take pleasure in 
 inflicting was more intense than she had ever experienced before. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 
 
 THE coachman was not in a very good humor at the idea of hav- 
 ing to return again to the dancing school and drove carelessly and 
 furiously through the streets, until, on turning rapidly round a corner, 
 he came in contact with another carriage which was going at a rapid 
 rate also. 
 
 Florence heard a crash and many words, then a swifter whirling 
 through the silent street ; then a knowledge seemed to come over her 
 that there was no coachman upon the box ; and she heard the mock- 
 ing laugh of the demon and his voice, which said, " You will pay 
 dearly for that last dance, my lady;" then another crash met her ear, 
 and she became unconscious. 
 
 When she awoke to consciousness again, she was in her own room. 
 It was darkened ; but she could see Jessie sitting down by her bed-
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 235 
 
 side sewing, and her father and mother in earnest consultation with 
 the doctor. A bandage was on her forehead, and her left arm was 
 bound up with long splints, and when she tried to raise it, the agony 
 was terrible. She tried to remember what had happened, and at 
 last the truth flashed upon her and she closed her eyes once more. 
 
 Then Jessie came and applied some healing ointment to her face, 
 and in a whisper to herself bewailed the loss of her dear Miss Floy's 
 beauty, and abused that " horrid coachman " for allowing her lovely 
 face to become so bruised and her arm to be so badly- broken ; and 
 then, to Jessie's delight, Florence opened her eyes and spoke. 
 
 " Is it so very dreadful, Jessie ? " she said, and burst into a fit of 
 weeping. 
 
 " The worst is over, now," said the doctor approaching, and Flor- 
 ence felt her mother's kiss upon her face and heard her father's 
 " God be thanked," and she knew that she had escaped from a great 
 peril. 
 
 Her beauty gone, what had Florence now to do ? Everything. 
 That long period in her quiet chamber taught her many things. 
 What had she to do with pride now ? nothing ; how could she best 
 learn to be like dear, patient Jessie? By considering the wants of 
 others. How could she heal Mrs. Fraser's wounded feelings? By 
 sending for her, which she did, and asking for forgiveness which 
 was freely granted ; and so it came to pass, that Florence was more 
 beloved with her bruised and disfigured face and mutilated arm, and 
 bandaged forehead, then she had been in all her pride of exquisite 
 beauty ; and when Jessie spoke in troubled accents of her departed 
 loveliness, Florence would check her by saying that it was all for 
 the best, and her smile was so sweet when she thus spoke that Jessie 
 would clap her hands and cry out, " There, I know that my dear 
 mistress will be beautiful again ! "
 
 236 I' AIRY-LAND 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 THE FAIRY'S LAST VISIT. 
 
 WERE you ever ill, little reader, and do you remember how patient 
 you had to be, how forbearing, how, when any one but stepped across 
 the room it sent a pang to your aching head, and you had to calm 
 yourself and suppress the quick angry word of impatience that rose 
 to your lips ? Well, Florence passed through just such a trying ex- 
 perience. It was hard, oh, how hard at first ! but day after day it 
 became more easy. 
 
 " There," she would say after a day's trial ; " I think I have done 
 pretty well, Jessie, only tw6 cross words have passed my lips to-day ; 
 once when brother whistled very loud, and then again when he shut 
 the door so violently that it seemed to make every nerve in my frame 
 quiver. Am I not improving, Jessie? Do give me a little hope." 
 
 And Jessie would answer, " Dear Miss Floy, that you are, and 
 everybody says they never saw such a change." 
 
 " Such a change indeed," sighed Florence, thinking of her lost 
 beauty ; " but then," she whispered softly to herself, " have I not in 
 reality been a gainer? What a sweet thing it is to be loved so 
 much ! " 
 
 And so it came to pass, that Florence improved in health and 
 appearance every day, and Time, the great healer, restored her 
 beautiful f6rehead to its original whiteness and smoothness, and the 
 bones of her broken arm were firmly knit to their old symmetry 
 again. 
 
 She had not yet left her chamber and was alone at twilight one 
 evening, musing over her past and present life. The shades of 
 night gradually deepened and the fire-light flickered upon the walls, 
 casting grotesque shadows around. 
 
 Suddenly soft music seemed to fill the room, and Florence per-
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 237 
 
 ceived exquisite perfumes in the . air ; the light grew brighter and 
 brighter, and she saw that the apartment was filled with gay and airy 
 shapes ; while two, more beautiful than the rest, unrolled a scroll 
 upon which was written in plain characters, Florence, you have con- 
 quered the Demon of Bad Temper ; he will be your companion no longer. 
 
 Florence felt a thrill of pleasure as she read these words and 
 looked at the fairies who flitted about ; but greater was her joy when 
 she was conscious that in her right hand she held her old friend 
 and counsellor, the Queen of Good Nature and Self-Conquest. 
 
 " Yes, Florence," her sweet voice murmured ; " you have indeed 
 conquered ; hard has been your trial, but greater your victory. Con- 
 tinue to be ever as you are, the pride of your parents, the delight of 
 your friends. You have no need of me more, and I go to assist 
 others who are as you have been. Do not weep, sweet girl, for 
 though you will not see me visibly as you do now, in your heart will 
 be my home. Farewell." 
 
 Florence stretched out her arms to embrace the beautiful shape ; 
 but it faded in the air, and ever after, when she was praised for her 
 sweetness and gentleness she would answer, " Ah, but how can I 
 help it, when you know that I have a good fairy in my heart." 
 
 This is only fiction, my young friend, and yet, if you choose, you 
 can apply it to yourself when you feel that bad temper has overcome 
 you ; and you can, like Florence, cherish a good fairy in your heart. 
 
 LILLIAN. 
 
 AGED FOUR MONTHS. 
 LITTLE floweret, Gentle Lillian, 
 
 Over the sea, 
 List to a murmur 
 Of song from me. 
 
 Wonderful child, 
 Who shall declare 
 Your virtues mild ?
 
 238 
 
 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Tell me, Lillian, 
 
 Whence came those eyes . 
 With their fringed lids ? 
 
 From the summer skies ? 
 
 Your father affirms 
 Intelligence gleams 
 
 From their earnest depths, 
 Like sunset beams. 
 
 You have learned the way 
 
 To win our hearts, 
 And don't depend 
 
 On tragedy starts, 
 
 And aches and pains, 
 
 To have your will ; 
 But deep in thought, 
 
 You lie quite still, 
 
 A picture child 
 While you hear us tell 
 
 Astonishing things, 
 You know full well 
 
 Are not quite true ; 
 
 For, entre nous, 
 You have your faults 
 
 And wrong things do. 
 
 You close your lids 
 With a sleepy grace, 
 
 To hear us speak 
 
 Of your " perfect face " ; 
 
 To make us stare 
 
 At your splendid eyes, 
 You raise them up 
 
 With a sweet surprise ; 
 
 With a dreamy gaze, 
 
 A poetic air, 
 You smooth the waves 
 
 Of your silken hair ; 
 
 Your mother too, sees 
 In the perfect curve 
 
 Of your pencilled brows, 
 Resolve and nerve. 
 
 And friends exclaim, 
 " Expression rare ! " 
 
 And, " Behold the light 
 In her waving hair ! " 
 
 " And her taper hands, 
 
 See, their rosy tips 
 Have the crimson tinge 
 
 Of her pouting lips." 
 
 Like a common child, 
 
 You scorn to show 
 The common ills 
 
 That babies know. 
 
 With an absent look, 
 
 Your ivory feet, 
 You enraptured hear 
 
 Called dimpled and sweet. 
 
 All this is fun : 
 
 Hear some earnest thing 
 Before you sleep 
 
 Or my thoughts take wing. 
 
 You will hear us speak 
 
 Of the lilies rare, 
 Called Jesus' flowers ; 
 
 Of the fields so fair.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 239 
 
 Be like to these, 
 
 Beloved child ! 
 As white and pure, 
 And as undefiled. 
 
 And in life's morn, 
 In the time of youth, 
 
 Keep close in your heart 
 The light of truth. 
 
 And as time steals on, 
 . And your leaves unfold 
 To the heat of day, 
 
 Or the night's drear cold, 
 
 Be a lily still. 
 
 Christ's Lillian be, 
 Arrayed in the robes 
 
 Of His purity. 
 
 A STORY FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 "I WISH I HAD." 
 
 A REGULAR FAIRYTALE. 
 
 George. I wish I had a room full of money, and piles of gold 
 and silver up to the very ceiling. Oh, I do wish I had it ! 
 
 William. And I wish I had twenty race horses, all fine animals, 
 with long tails and small heads ; papa likes horses with small heads. 
 
 Mary. Well, I wish I had fifty singing birds, yellow, purple, and 
 gold, with diamond crests and ruby eyes, in beautiful golden cages 
 with balconies all round. 
 
 Susan. You would be quite welcome to the birds, sister Mary, 
 if I only had a whole bookcase full of elegant books bound in calf, 
 with gilt leaves. My ! would n't I read ! I would never care to 
 play ; George might count his money all day ; William ride to the 
 north pole with his fiery steeds : and you might listen for hours to 
 your diamond crested birds ; only give me books. Oh ! I wish I 
 had them now, to-day. 
 
 And so when the children had all wished for what they most 
 wanted, they sat down and began to think and think and think 
 what they would do with their money and horses and birds and
 
 240 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 books, and their little voices were hushed, and there was a dead 
 silence. 
 
 Presently they heard somebody knocking bam, bam, bam, at the 
 door. 
 
 " Come in," they all said, and an old gentleman, whom they had 
 never seen before, entered. He was very small and shrivelled and 
 had long white hair like blown glass, and a white beard reaching to 
 his knees. And then his teeth shook so fearfully, that when he 
 opened his mouth the children were afraid that they would tumble 
 out upon the ground ; his eyes were green and his eyebrows and eye 
 lashes were g/een, too ; and altogether, he had such a queer appear- 
 ance that the children moved closer together, although they were 
 not exactly afraid of the old gentleman, but only astonished at him, 
 as they afterwards said. 
 
 So when he reached the middle of the room he shook hands all 
 round, and then sat down quite at home, and crossed his legs and 
 laughed heartily. But the funniest thing about the old gentleman, 
 was, that instead of talking, he sang all he had to say in a sort of 
 chant which was like the growl of a cheerful lion, and which seemed 
 to come from the very bottom of his chest ; and the worst of it was, 
 that there was no tune nor time in the song. 
 
 "Well little children," he sang, "I heard you a wish- 
 ing, and I have come to give you what you 
 want. But first we must make a bargain (then he 
 turned his eyes slowly from one to the other) ; should you have 
 
 what you desire, would you be willing to do 
 
 without other things?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ! " they all exclaimed, " what a nice old gentleman ; 
 if we only had the money, the horses, the birds and the books, we 
 shouldn't want anything more in the whole world." 
 
 "Very well," said the old gentleman. 
 
 Then the children joined hands and danced round him for joy ;
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 24! 
 
 but he shook his head very solemnly all the time, and his eyes and 
 eyebrows and eyelashes turned from green to blue. 
 
 ' Then he told George to come with him into the next room and 
 lo ! George had his wish, for it was all filled with money, and gold 
 and silver. 
 
 " How delightful ! " said George ; "what a first-rate old fellow you 
 are M, what's your name ! " 
 
 "That's not my title," sang the old gentleman; "but as 
 
 you've heard my name before may be you'll 
 not find it difficult to pronounce. Folks call me 
 _Mr. Wishihad." 
 
 "Well," said George, scarcely listening to him. " This is what I 
 call happiness; nothing shall stop me now from buying the gold 
 watch at Mortimer's, or a doubled barrel gun, or the yacht James 
 Willis valued at so high a rate. Why, I could buy the world. 
 
 George didn't quite like the tone in which the old gentleman sang 
 out. " Now could you ? " nor the queer look he gave him ; so 
 fearing that the money might disappear as it had come, to make 
 sure of at least some of it, he stooped to fill his pockets. But lo 
 and behold ! his arms, his hands, the very end of his nails were stiff 
 and paralyzed, and though the glittering coin came in contact with 
 his fingers, not a piece of it could he pick up. 
 
 " Look here, sir," he said, turning toward the old gentleman ; "there's 
 no power in my hand, sir, my fingers won't bend to gather it up ; 
 somebody will come and steal it all, sir." 
 
 "As to that," said the old gentleman slowly, "it's of no 
 consequence at all, for you said that you would 
 
 not want any thing but money and piles of 
 gold and silver," and he went out and shut the door, leaving 
 George in the midst of his useless riches crying with vexation, and 
 trying to pick up the slippery gold in his stiff fingers, in vain. 
 
 Then Mr. Wishihad went back into the room where the children 
 were, and sat down quite at home again. 
 16
 
 242 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 "George has his money," he sang, twisting his long white 
 beard round and round. "I think that fine, brave look- 
 ing little fellow over there said that he wanted 
 horses." 
 
 "Nothing but horses, sir, nothing," said William ; "maybe you've 
 never been on a horse sir, and don't know much about horse-flesh ; 
 but nothing can come up in my opinion to a canter on a full-blooded 
 animal, gentle as a lady, sir, and yet fiery as the lightning. Oh, 
 horses ! shouldn't I like to have some horses ! " 
 
 The old gentleman seemed to have caught some of William's 
 enthusiasm, for while he was talking his eyes changed from blue 
 to fiery pink, and his eyebrows and eyelashes turned pink too, 
 and every time they changed color he looked as if he had a new 
 face. 
 
 " You shall have your horses my boy," he sang, 
 slapping William upon the back in quite a familiar manner. " Come 
 
 with me." 
 
 So he took William to another room, and told him to look out of 
 the windows ; and lo and behold, there were his twenty race horses, 
 all full-blooded animals, and every one worth a fortune, almost. 
 
 "Are they not beautiful?" chanted the queer old man. 
 
 " Beautiful ? " exclaimed William, feeling all the pride of ownership ; 
 " that's too tame a word for them, sir, they are splendiferous, first 
 rate ; how proud they look, how graceful, how daintily they lift their 
 feet from the ground ; what fine nostrils they have, and then their 
 heads, how small! There, do you see that one yonder with a 
 black star above the eyes that's the fellow for me ; if you are not 
 afraid, sir, please step down a bit into the yard and see me mount 
 him. I '11 borrow father's saddle and just try his gait you know ; 
 you might take that roan, sir, he seems quite gentle enough. 
 
 " To oblige you I will," Master William ; come 
 
 along, let it never be said that I, Wishihad
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 243 
 
 was afraid of horses," sang the stranger; and off he walked 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Stop a bit, Mr. Wishihad," said WiHiam ; " it seems to me that I 
 can't walk. I have a dreadful pain in my legs. Oh, dreadful ! " and 
 down George sat on the ground, unable to move. 
 
 "Come along," sang the old gentleman with variations. 
 
 " Oh, I can't, sir. You don't know what pain I suffer." 
 
 " As to that," returned the old man very slowly and quite 
 out of tune, " it's of no consequence, for you said, 
 didn't you, that you wouldn't want any thing 
 but horses ? " and he shut the door, and left him alone with the 
 pain in his leg and the sound of the full-blooded horses trotting 
 about the yard. 
 
 Then he went back in the room where the girls were, and they 
 both noticed that his eyes had changed from fiery pink to pale yel- 
 low and that he was very, very ugly. 
 
 Then he looked right at Mary and chanted in the same way as 
 before what was in his mind. 
 
 " You are the little Miss, I believe, who 
 wanted birds ; you shall have them, come " ; so he 
 offered his arm to Mary very politely and he carried her away to a 
 third room, and sure enough there were the birds ; but words 
 couldn't describe their beauty ; they were moving jewels, all ruby 
 and topaz, and emerald and gold. And their cages ! why, you never 
 saw such cages, with a golden cupola on the top of each, with a dia- 
 mond arrow to tell which way the wind blew, and balconies with 
 silver railings for the birds to walk on, in the cool time of the even- 
 ing when the sun was not very hot ; and then their cups for water, 
 even Mary's mother's best company's glasses were not equal to 
 these. So when Mary saw all these delightful things and felt that 
 they were all her own, she couldn't help saying to the old gentleman 
 with beaming eyes and grateful voice, " Oh, sir, you have made me
 
 244 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 very happy, I am so much obliged to you, I don't know what 
 to do." 
 
 " Singing-birds I thought you said you wanted," 
 began the old gentleman ; " listen, there they go " ; and sure 
 enough the birds quite drowned his voice in their exquisite strains, 
 in which the music seemed to trill and quiver and gush and float, 
 and rise and fall and swell and fade and die and come to life 
 again. 
 
 That was not a song, but only a kind of introduction, at least the 
 old gentleman thought so ; foe when they stopped, his gruff voice 
 was heard in these words. 
 
 " None of your rigmaroles, and quivering, and 
 quavering, give us a regular tune. Now that's what 
 
 I call music; just listen Miss Mary" ; and the old 
 gentleman began to keep time with his feet, and the little birds sang 
 with all their might and main, and twisted about their brilliant 
 throats, and looked so proud with their jewelled crowns, that anyone 
 would have imagined that they thought the world had never heard 
 such music before, and in truth the world never had. But alas ! 
 though Mary saw that they were singing, not one note did she hear ; 
 she was stone deaf. 
 
 " Oh, sir," she said. " I'm so frightened, indeed, sir ; I am afraid 
 you will not believe me, but I think I must be deaf. Is n't it 
 dreadful, sir ? Something has stopped my ears ; you are so great 
 and powerful, sir, don't you think that you could unstop them ? " 
 
 " As to that," bawled out the old gentleman very slowly close 
 in her ears, in the loudest bass voice that ever was heard, " it's of 
 
 no consequence whatever, for you said you 
 would not want any thing in the world but 
 singing birds, and those certainly are singing 
 
 birds are n't they ? " and he shut the door and went back to 
 Susan.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 24$ 
 
 Susan was so busy reading when he went in, that she did not see 
 him until he came quite close to her, and then she noticed that his 
 eyes, eyebrows, and eyelashes were bright purple. She had never 
 seen purple eyes before, and as she thought them very strange, she 
 looked quite down into their mysterious depths. 
 
 "I never saw such a reader," sang the old gentle- 
 man ; " why she is even reading my old old 
 eyes I think you said you wanted books." 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ; I have quite a passion for books. When my sis- 
 ters and brothers are playing with their toys, or walking or riding, I 
 care for nothing but reading. But I am so tired of the books I 
 have ; I have read mine over and over again. Oh, dear me ! I do 
 wish I had some new books ! " 
 
 " You shall have them," was the compassionate answer ; 
 and sure enough the floor groaned and cracked beneath their feet, 
 and he told Susan to stand a little farther off, and up rose the most 
 beautiful bookcase in the world. Then the floor mended itself 
 again, and the case stood firm and elegant on its four handsome 
 legs. It was made of the clearest crystal and inlaid with gems. 
 
 These gems were grouped together in such a manner that they 
 were likenesses of all the great men and women in the world who 
 had ever written books for children, and then when the old gentle- 
 man touched a spring, the crystal doors opened, and he showed Susan 
 the books that she had been longing to read, " for ages," she said, 
 all in splendid large type, with pictures on nearly every page ; and 
 then on each side of the bookcase were two golden candlesticks 
 with perfumed candles, which lit themselves when the sun went 
 down, and a drawer of book-marks with every motto on them that 
 was ever wrought on book-marks in the universe. 
 
 " Oh, ho," sang the old gentleman ; " this is even finer 
 
 than I ordered ; they are bringing the art of 
 
 book making to great perfection ; now, only
 
 246 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 look here Miss Susan at this fairy tale ; how 
 handsome the pictures are, why the young ladies 
 
 are dropping real pearls and diamonds from 
 their mouths." 
 
 Susan looked, but alas ! she thought, she knew, that she was blind. 
 What a horrible thing ! 
 
 " There ; this is most extraordinary," continued the old 
 gentleman. " I never did see the like ; how bright 
 sweet Blanche's eyes are ; and how perfect is 
 the foliage which seems to wave on those trees ; 
 look Miss Susan ! " 
 
 " Oh sir," said Susan, in piteous accents, " I cannot see, I am blind 
 all of a sudden ; if you could only open my eyes." 
 
 Then the old gentleman sang as before very slowly ; " Oh as 
 to that, its of no consequence, for you said 
 you would'nt want any thing else in the world 
 
 but books " ; and he shut the door and left her feeling the 
 pretty bindings and dropping bright tears on the rich leaves. 
 
 And George remained in his room with his shrivelled hands and 
 his money ; and William in his with his crippled limbs, listening to 
 the trotting of his full-blooded horses ; and Mary in hers, deaf with her 
 birds singing famously around her ; and Susan leaning her head with 
 her blind eyes against her crystal bookcase weeping for a whole day. 
 
 After a time the old gentleman knocked at George's door, and 
 George, glad to see anybody, said " Come in." 
 
 " Do you wish you had anything else, George ? " 
 he sang. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, one thing only ; make my hands well and strong 
 again, and I shall be satisfied without the money and the piles of 
 gold and silver " ; so the old gentleman blew upon the treasure and 
 it disappeared ; and then upon George's hands and they were quite 
 well again, and they both went into William's room.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 247 
 
 " Is there anybody in here wishing they had 
 anything?" 
 
 " Oh, no, sir," exclaimed William. " I only wish to be as I once 
 was ; I should like to walk freely again, and I should be willing to 
 give up all the horses " ; so he flourished his stick over William 
 three times and then out of the windows three times, and the horses 
 and the lameness disappeared, and William gave a loud hurrah and 
 then all three went to Mary's room. 
 
 " Can I do anything for anybody here ? " he 
 bawled with a loud speaking trumpet at Mary's ear ; " does any- 
 body wish for more cages and singing birds in 
 
 here ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sir," said poor Mary ; " I only wish to hear once more all 
 that is going on about me and to lose this dead life of deafness, and 
 I 'd be willing never to see the singing birds again." 
 
 So the old gentleman coughed three times and Mary's deafness 
 left her, and the birds broke up the cages into bits and flew away, 
 and then Mary began to sing herself for joy; then they went to see 
 about poor blind Susan leaning against the crystal bookcase and 
 crying. 
 
 " Poor little soul," sang the old gentleman in a sad minor 
 key, while shaking his white beard solemnly ; " she is very sor- 
 rowful, truly. Little Miss Susan " ; and he lifted up her 
 bowed head and looked straight into her sightless eyes. " Can I 
 
 help you to-day ? Have you enjoyed your books, 
 
 or do you wish you had anything else, my 
 
 dear?" 
 
 " Oh, sir," she answered, cl-asping her hands ; " don't talk to me 
 about books, please, just yet ; only let me see my dear brothers and 
 sisters, and I will never wish for a grand bookcase again." 
 
 It was very pitiful to see her, and so the old gentleman took some 
 blue powder out of a paper in his pocket and sprinkled it over the
 
 248 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 books and Susan's eyes, and the books and the bookcase all turned 
 to ashes, and Susan could see as well as ever. 
 
 Oh ! how delighted they all were at feeling, walking, hearing and 
 seeing, once more. Again they joined hands and made a ring round 
 the old gentleman and were very joyful indeed. Then he asked for 
 a pair of scissors and cut off a long piece of his white hair and gave 
 it to each, and while they were wondering if it was hair or blown 
 glass, bam, bam, bam, went his stick, and the floor opened and down 
 he went, the children thought forever. 
 
 " How strange," said George ; " what a funny old man." 
 
 " How much power he has," said William ; " how rich he must be. 
 I wish I had as much " 
 
 But scarcely were the words out of his mouth than the floor 
 opened again, and out popped the stranger's head. 
 
 " Did anybody call one Mr. Wishihad ? " they heard 
 him sing ; " because if they did, he can come at 
 
 any time." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no, " they said, and down he went again. 
 
 " We must be careful," said Susan gravely, " what we wish for and 
 must be content with the blessings that have already fallen to our 
 lot. At any rate, I suppose there's no harm done when I merely say 
 I wish I had contentment." 
 
 " Not much harm," and out popped the head again ; " I 
 certainly heard some one repeat my name ; oh, 
 I was mistaken. Well, good-by, nobody wants me, 
 
 then?" 
 
 " No, I guess we don't," said George, looking rather frightened at 
 the old gentleman's perseverance. " Come, let us leave the room 
 and have a run on the lawn, it is much "better than staying in here 
 and wishing we had what we have not." 
 
 Then they all went out; but when they reached the stairs they 
 heard somebody calling loudly " children ! " and they went back once
 
 OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN. -Page 249.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 249 
 
 more, just in time to see a wave of the old gentleman's hand as it 
 disappeared through, the floor, and to catch the tones of a departing, 
 rumbling voice, the burden of whose song was 
 
 DON'T WISH You HAD. 
 
 OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN. 
 
 OH, Thou our Father in the skies, 
 Thy blessed name we praise, 
 
 That earth may be as pure as heaven, 
 Upright should be our ways. 
 
 Oh, may we always do Thy will, 
 
 As it is done above, 
 Still send to us our daily food 
 
 And bless us with Thy love. 
 
 And may it ever be our care 
 To treat a foe like friend, 
 
 And so thou wilt our sins forgive 
 And no temptations send. 
 
 Keep every evil from our path, 
 The whole-wide earth is Thine, 
 
 And might and glory come Thee from, 
 Thou art alone divine. 
 
 Forever and forever be 
 Thy praise far sounded then, 
 
 Till all the earth with one accord, 
 Together say, Amen. 
 
 MORNING AND EVENING PRAYER. 
 
 MORNING PRAYER. 
 
 I THANK thee, God, 
 For rest so sweet, 
 
 And that this morn 
 My friends I meet 
 
 EVENING PRAYER. 
 A kind " good night " 
 
 To all I love, 
 Watch them and me, 
 
 Great God above.
 
 25O FAIRY-LAND 
 
 THE WISH GRANT'ED. 
 
 IT was a very rainy day. Little Isabel had read until she was 
 weary, and sewed until her tired fingers refused to pull the needle 
 through her work, and at last she went to the window and flattened 
 her little nose against the glass pane. She did not know that any 
 one was in the room, but some one was ; her uncle, a rich old gentle- 
 man, who heard her say softly ; " oh, I do wish that I had twenty 
 dollars ; I know that I should be perfectly happy ! " 
 
 " Would twenty dollars make any body perfectly happy ? well here 
 they are, Belle, at your service." 
 
 Isabel could scarcely believe that he was in earnest, but he was, 
 indeed. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle, please take them back. I am afraid that you are 
 robbing yourself." 
 
 " No, my darling," said her uncle. " I have hundreoh and can 
 well spare twenty dollars ; come, my little lady, sit on my knee and 
 tell me what you are going to do with your fortune." 
 
 Belle's eyes glistened and grew larger and larger with surprise and 
 delight. 
 
 " Oh," said she as she sprung upon his knees, " I am going to buy 
 a baby-house and a rocking-horse for Willie, and some books and 
 but Uncle, just come with me to-morrow and see what I will buy." 
 
 "Very well, Belle, be ready at twelve, and we will shop to your 
 heart's content." 
 
 So when the morrow came, Belle put on her gypsy hat and laced 
 her pretty gaiter boots, took her purse which contained her twenty 
 dollars, and tripped along the street with her kind uncle. 
 
 Just before a cake shop, peering into the well stocked window, 
 she saw two ragged little boys whose hungry eyes looked longingly at 
 the nice cream cakes and rich rolls within.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2$1 
 
 " Oh, uncle, may I ? " she asked, looking towards the boys. 
 
 " Do what you please, Belle/' said her uncle ; " the money is yours, 
 not mine." 
 
 Then Belle, with a glad smile, took a gold dollar from her purse 
 and handing it to the boys, said : " Here, little fellows, take this and 
 buy some cake." 
 
 The boys stared at her and thought that she was only in fun ; but, 
 when her uncle said, " take it," they scraped and bowed at a great 
 rate, turned the money over and over again and at last disappeared 
 in the cake shop, quite wild with delight ! Belle and her uncle 
 watched for them until they came out, and at last saw them each 
 with a bundle ; one was eating a cream cake, the inside of which 
 was streaming down his chin, and the other had his mouth so full 
 that he could not utter a word ; but they both looked so happy that 
 Belle whispered to her uncle : " Oh, uncle, is n't it nice to have 
 money ? " 
 
 " Yes, my darling," said the old man; " and it is very nice to give 
 it away." 
 
 Belle looked back once more at the little ragged boys, and could 
 not help laughing at them ; for one was standing on his head with 
 his feet against a fence, and the other was turning a somerset for 
 very joy. 
 
 "Well, where now?" 
 
 " To the toy shop, of course" 
 
 I do believe that Belle did not know or care about any other shops 
 in the world. 
 
 " Anything in my store that pleases your fancy, little Miss ? " 
 asked the shopwoman. 
 
 " Everything," thought Belle, but she asked first to see some din- 
 ner and tea-sets put up in little white boxes. Real china they, were 
 and cost a great deal. Her uncle wanted to teach her not to be ex- 
 travagant, so he asked her if a blue and white set, less valuable,
 
 252 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 would not suit her as well. They did suit her and she bought them 
 for one dollar and a quarter. Then she wanted some dolls. " Oh, 
 that one with blue eyes and flaxen hair was a love of a doll ; no 
 matter what it cost she must have it," she said. 
 
 Belle was growing very grand with her riches ; so when the shop- 
 woman told her that it could open and shut its blue eyes by pulling 
 a wire and that it cost three dollars, she laid down the money and 
 took it. 
 
 " What are you going to name your doll ? " asked her uncle. 
 
 " Waxiana, certainly, uncle ; that is a beautiful name." 
 
 "Well, anything more?" asked uncle. 
 
 " Yes, next on the list is a rocking horse ; that will be about three 
 dollars, for mamma told me so." And the rocking horse was bought, 
 not one with real horse-hair and a fine flowing tail, costing twenty 
 dollars all by itself, but a wooden one about a yard from the ground, 
 upon which her little brother could jump without help. 
 
 Then she bought a set of drawers for fifty cents, and a washstand 
 with a pitcher and basin for seventy-five, and a dolls' looking-glass 
 for twenty-five. 
 
 " Now, uncle," she said when she had made these purchnses, " I 
 want to make you a present and I must give you something ; what 
 will you have ? " 
 
 " Plenty of your smiles, Belle, nothing more." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; do let me give you something." 
 
 " Well, Belle, you may." 
 
 " I should like to give you a paper-cutter which you can use for a 
 book-mark too." So the shopwoman brought out some, and Belle 
 selected a very pretty one costing fifty cents, which she gave to her 
 uncle. Oh, it was so sweet to give ! 
 
 By. this time Belle felt very hungry and proposed to lay out some 
 of her money in ice cream and cake, to which her uncle readily 
 assented.
 
 AKD OTHER TALES. 253 
 
 Then they went into a garden where they sat in a cool arbor with 
 fountains playing about, and called for ice and cake. 
 
 " How nice it is to treat you, uncle," she said, as the white pyra- 
 mid of ice-cream disappeared through her rosy lips. " I feel so very 
 grand." 
 
 Her uncle smiled sweetly on his little pet and felt happie'r than 
 he had been for a long time, for it made him so to see her joy. 
 
 They took two ice-creams apiece, and the cake cost twelve and 
 a half cents ; this brought her bill at the confectioner's to thirty- 
 seven and a half cents. 
 
 As it was getting late, her uncle thought that she had better go 
 home and count over her money, returning again to make her pur- 
 chases ; but the little lady pleaded so hard to go to a bookstore that 
 he granted her request. 
 
 In a bookstore money goes plentifully, for a good book is a costly 
 article ; and Bell first purchased a Bible for herself for which she 
 paid two dollars.. It had clear large type and gilt leaves, and was 
 well worth the money ; for who does not like to own a Bible with 
 large print ? 
 
 Next came a little book for Bessie who was learning her letters, a 
 nice strong primer which cost twenty-five cents. Then for her dear 
 father she bought a beautiful penknife, one dollar ; and portemonnaie 
 for her mother, one dollar also. 
 
 Belle's bill was mounting up so fast that her uncle told her that 
 she might overspend her money ; but she shook the purse and told 
 him that there was some there yet, and that she must have a book 
 of Fairy Tales for the story about The White Cat was torn out 
 of her cousin Tom's book ; so the Fairy Tales were bought for one 
 dollar. 
 
 Now just guess how much Belle found that she had spent when 
 she reached home. I will put down all the things for you and then 
 maybe you can add them up for yourself.
 
 254 
 
 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Ragged boys . . 
 
 $1 OO 
 
 Confectionery . 
 
 37* 
 
 Tea set .... 
 
 I 25 
 
 Bible 
 
 . 2 OO 
 
 Horse .... 
 
 3 oo 
 
 Primer . . 
 
 . 25 
 
 Drawers .... 
 
 5 
 
 Penknife . 
 
 I OO 
 
 Washstand, pitcher, and 
 
 
 Porte-monnaie . 
 
 I 00 
 
 basin .... 
 
 75 
 
 Fairy book 
 
 I 00 
 
 Looking-glass 
 
 25 
 
 
 
 
 Paper-cutter 
 
 So 
 
 
 $12 8ji 
 
 There, you see, she spent twelve dollars eighty-seven and a half 
 cents, and had just seven dollars twelve and a half cents left. 
 
 How impatiently she waited until the evening for her packages to 
 come, you little readers know about as well as I do. She took up a 
 book to read, but Waxiana's blue eyes seemed to gaze at her from 
 every page. She took out her sewing, but the unfinished story of 
 The White Cat sent her thoughts far away from the frill which she 
 was hemming. 
 
 " How long they do take ! " she kept saying. 
 
 "Make your baby-house look nicely for the jiew lady who is 
 coming," said her mamma, "and for the pitcher and basin and 
 drawers." 
 
 So Belle went up stairs and set the house in order, dusting it 
 nicely, and making up the little bed with clean sheets, and putting 
 on a fresh pillow-case with a tiny ruffle around it. Then she played 
 that there was a fire in the little chimney-corner, and put on fresh 
 sticks to welcome Waxiana, and brightened the brass andirons until 
 her face shone broad and smiling on the polished surface. 
 
 But that was not all ! She went to her mamma for some sugar, 
 cake and biscuit, and put them in her little store-closet in the dolls' 
 house, ready for the new comer. 
 
 Now I must tell you about the dolls' house. It was made by 
 James Harris, the carpenter, who lived near her father's, and to 
 whom her father and mother had been very kind. Little Sukey 
 Harris had the scarlet fever, and Belle's mother sent a good physi-
 
 AMD OTHER TALES. 
 
 cian to her, paid the bill when she got well, and every day tempted 
 the little girl, who was recovering slowly, with jellies and good things. 
 
 Out of gratitude, James made a complete dolls' house for Belle. 
 It was three stories high. The upper one was the chamber, the 
 second, the dining-room and parlor divided in two, and the lower 
 one, the kitchen. Then it had mantel-pieces and closets and fire- 
 places ; and the parlor was carpeted and everything was just like a 
 real house. 
 
 No doubt, then, Miss Waxiana would be glad to see what a nice, 
 place she was going to live in and be mistress of. 
 
 After Belle had arranged everything to her liking, she took the 
 cook from the kitchen, where she had been standing straight and 
 stiff against the wall, put a nice apron on her, and made her look 
 very tidy for her new mistress. 
 
 " Now, Binah," she said, " you must behave well when Miss Wax- 
 iana comes ; you must do your duty as a cook ; never send anything 
 into the house burnt or smoked ; always have your coffee of a bright 
 brown, and never allow your green tea to boil. Then your breakfast 
 cakes must never be heavy, for heavy cakes are very unhealthy ; 
 and, above all things, always keep a nice kitchen; so nice, that 
 when the lady of the house comes to show you how to prepare any 
 delicate little tit-bit from the receipt-book, she will not soil her 
 dress nor her hands." 
 
 No doubt Binah promised everything ; for when Belle put her 
 back again, standing against the kitchen wall, she looked like a very 
 proper cook, and as if there was nothing in her department that she 
 could not do except to sit down. 
 
 There was one little trial, however, that Belle had to go through ; 
 she did almost with tears : it was to tell her old doll, Clementine, 
 that a new lady was coming, very grand and elegant, who would 
 take her place as mistress of the house ; and that she, Clementine, 
 must in future be the house-maid.
 
 256 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 Indeed, it was quite a trial "to Belle ; but what could be done ? 
 Clementine had once been quite a handsome doll ; but now her 
 nose was broken short off; the mice had bitten off four of her 
 fingers, and one of her eyes had sunk so far into her head, that it 
 was impossible to bring it back to its place again ; and, indeed, at 
 every attempt of Belle's to bring it forward with a pair of scissors, it 
 went farther and farther back. 
 
 " Yes," said Belle, softly and tearfully, " it would not do for you 
 to remain seated in the parlor when Waxiana comes, Clementine " 
 (while she made a final attempt at the lost eye, more unsuccessful 
 than any yet, for it disappeared altogether in some deep recess .of 
 head or neck), " you really are handsome no more ; but you are very 
 dear to me still, and I am sure that you will do your duty as house- 
 maid. After you have done your work you must go into the kitchen 
 with the cook. I am sure that she is a very agreeable cook ; and 
 though it will be very hard at first, you poor one-eyed creature, to be 
 a servant where you have been queen, yet, as mamma says, there 
 must be ups and downs in this world, you know." 
 
 So Clementine took her seat in the kitchen, for she could sit, 
 though the cook could not, and Belle fancied that she saw a tear 
 dropping from her remaining eye. Belle cried a little to see her 
 there so forlorn ; but, then, what could she do ? It passed through 
 her mind that she would put her to bed, and play that she was sick 
 all the time ; but then that would hide the sweet, ruffled pillow-case ; 
 so after all, when she had dusted the last speck of dust from the 
 mahogany centre-table, and given one final glance to see if all was 
 in order, she heard a ring at the street-bell. It was a gentle, timid 
 ring, not a thundering one, such as would denote that her package 
 had come ; but Belle leaped down stairs, and met the servant com- 
 ing in, not with her bundle but empty handed. 
 
 " Well, Sarah," she said, " who is it ? what is it ? " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Belle, it is only a poor woman with a baby in her
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 arms, come to beg ; and I told her that I would let mistress know 
 and maybe she would give her some money." 
 
 Some money ! " Ah ! " thought little Belle ; " why could not I 
 give her some money top, to buy a dress for the baby and some 
 bread for herself?" So she went to the door and told the woman 
 to come in and take a seat in the hall. 
 
 Belle saw at a glance that she was very poor and sick too ; and 
 the baby, though sleeping calmly, had a look of death about its 
 white face. 
 
 " Poor little thing ! " said Belle ; " is it sick ? " 
 
 . " Not so much sick, little Miss," said the woman, " as hungry. I 
 am too sick myself to work ; my husband died last week with the 
 fever, and it is the only comfort I have in the world to think that 
 baby and I. will soon follow him." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, poor woman ! " Belle answered, with* tearful eyes ;. 
 " mamma will give you victuals and clothes ; I will go and ask her 
 now." So off she ran and met Sarah coming from the pantry with a 
 plate of bread and meat, and a bowl of milk for the baby, while her 
 mother followed and told the poor woman to go into the kitchen by 
 the fire and eat some food. 
 
 The poor woman's eyes glistened when she saw the nice white 
 bread and milk for the baby, and went into the kitchen as Belle's 
 mother had told her. Then she woke the baby, who uttered a sharp 
 cry of pain ; and before she eat a morsel herself she fed the little 
 sufferer, who soon smiled on Belle and played with the ribbon on 
 her silk apron. 
 
 Then the poor woman ate heartily and Belle's mother came in to 
 hear her story. It was a very sad one and she was so interested in 
 the woman and thought the little baby so pretty, that she told her, 
 as she said she was a good seamstress, to come and live in a nice 
 room in her yard and she would give her work to do. 
 
 How happy the woman looked at this kindness ; and Belle's mother 
 17
 
 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 gave her some money to pay a man to bring her trunk to the 
 house. 
 
 The woman departed with many thanks, but just as she got out- 
 side the door she heard a little voice saying, " Stop a minute, here is 
 something to buy you and the baby some nice dresses." The woman 
 turned and there was Belle with two gold dollars which she dropped 
 into her hand. She had then four dollars and twelve cents left. 
 
 " God will reward you," she said, softly, " in giving to the widow and 
 fatherless " ; and Belle felt when she turned to go back into the house 
 that not one of her purchases had made her so happy as those heart- 
 felt words. Besides, though she did not know it, her uncle was 
 peeping at her through the parlor blinds and blessed her over and 
 over again for the kind and thoughtful act. 
 
 Before Belle had quite seated herself in her little chair by the 
 window, there' was another ring, and the books arrived. How pleas- 
 ant it was to open the package to give to her little sister her primer, 
 and to her father and mother their presents, to cover her new book 
 with a sheet of white paper, and lastly, to sit down to finish the story 
 of the White Cat. 
 
 But before she had bent many minutes over the book, the bell 
 rang again, and in came a basket from the toy shop filled with her 
 purchases. Everybody came to look at them and there was quite a 
 little crowd collected around as Belle opened her treasures ; her 
 father, mother, uncle, brother, little sister and the housemaid, while 
 the cook, with her hands full of flour and a white apron on, peeped 
 in at the door, and even a little kitten's bright eyes looked admiringly 
 upon the scene. 
 
 Everybody admired everything, and Waxiana was handed about 
 and her curling hair and blue eyes praised very much. Charlie was 
 so delighted with the rocking horse that he could not be tempted to 
 get off of it, and when the servant came for him to get his supper 
 and put him to bed she found that he had gone to sleep sitting up-
 
 AND OTHER TALES. , 259 
 
 right, and if she had not taken him in her arms he would* have 
 fallen off. 
 
 Then Belle took Waxiana and the drawers, the looking-glass and 
 the watch-stand to the dolls' house, and put them in their .proper 
 places. Waxiana looked delighted at everything and never ceased 
 smiling with her crimson lips and staring with her blue eyes until 
 Belle took off her fine gauze dress and putting one of Clementine's 
 best night-gowns on her, shut her eyes and placed her beautiful curly 
 head on the ruffled pillow till the next morning. Then she told 
 Clementine to be sure to be up bright and early and the cook to 
 prepare one of her best breakfasts, shut the door of the dolls' house 
 and went down to her fairy tale of the White Cat. 
 
 " Well, Belle," said her uncle, " shall we go out again to-morrow to 
 finish our purchases ? " 
 
 " No, uncle," she answered, " I have been thinking about it. I 
 find that I have about four dollars left. That I will not spend just 
 yet but will keep it and see what I really want, and maybe, too, some 
 poor people may come to beg, and if I spend it all I will have no 
 more to give." 
 
 " You are right, my darling," he answered ; " if you make such 
 a good use of your money always as you have of your twenty dollars, 
 it will be a pleasure to give you more." 
 
 Belle finished the story and went to bed, dreaming that night of 
 wax dolls and poor women and kind uncles and one-eyed servant- 
 maids, all mixed up in grand confusion. 
 
 I cannot close this little story without wishing that all my readers 
 had such rich and kind uncles, and were such good children as our 
 Belle.
 
 260 
 
 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 THE LITTLE GARDEN. 
 
 " COME see my little garden," 
 
 I heard sweet Mary say, 
 " A white fence circles round it 
 
 To guard the flowerets gay." 
 
 And by the hand she led me 
 Around each verdant bed, 
 
 " Now, this is bright verbena, 
 And this a Pink," she said. 
 
 "And those that seem so common 
 Are Four-o'clocks, you know, 
 
 They 're closely shut at morning, 
 And bright at evening blow. 
 
 " There, hides a blue-eyed Violet 
 Beneath a rare Tea Rose ; 
 
 And yonder stately flowers 
 Are Dahlias set in rows. 
 
 " And there, around the railing, 
 With tendrils green and fine, 
 
 I've trained with care and patience, 
 An upward-climbing Vine. 
 
 " This little plant so crimson, 
 With that so pearly white, 
 
 Is called a Lady's Slipper 
 But 'twould not fit one quite. 
 
 " And here's a bending Willow, 
 Its drooping branches wave 
 
 Just like the tree, that watches 
 O'er Charlie's little grave." 
 
 That name brought tears like dew 
 
 drops 
 Upon her rosy cheek, 
 
 And then she tried to wipe them, 
 And cheerfully to speak. 
 
 She told me many a story 
 About this plant or that, 
 
 While near her little garden 
 Upon the grass we sat, 
 
 That humming birds so tiny 
 Came sipping honey there, 
 
 And joyous bees went buzzing 
 Among the blossoms fair ; 
 
 And that in summer evenings 
 Befote the sun sank low, 
 
 When home the cattle wandered 
 In herds with footsteps slow 
 
 That when each little birdiing 
 Sought, twittering, his nest, 
 
 And all the sky was crimsoned, 
 With sunset in the west 
 
 She'd wander to her garden 
 To tell the flowers ' good night,' 
 
 And bid them be up early 
 To greet the morrow's light 
 
 And as her bright smile lightened 
 Her pure and lovely face, 
 
 And while her every gesture 
 Was full of youthful grace ; 
 
 I thought, sweet is your garden, 
 Its pretty blossoms too ; 
 
 But, ah, no flower within it 
 Is half so sweet as you.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 26 1 
 
 TEN STOPS. 
 
 WHEN you are going to say an unkind word to your brother or 
 sister stop ! 
 
 When you are going to say what is not true stop ! 
 
 When you are going to be cross to your nurse stop ! 
 
 When you are going to do what your father and mother have told 
 you not to do stop ! 
 
 When you are*going to take anything which does not belong to 
 you stop ! 
 
 When you are hurrying away from a poor child who asks you for 
 something to eat stop ! 
 
 When you are going to say something against another person 
 stop ! 
 
 When you are going to break the holiness of the Sabbath day 
 stop ! 
 
 When you are going to deceive any one in any way stop ! 
 
 When you are going to do that which you know God would not 
 approve of stop ! 
 
 THE SCHOOL-GIRLS' QUARREL. 
 
 ONE day a teacher picked up in the school-room a note which 
 contained these words from one school-girl to another : 
 
 " Miss SMITH, 
 
 " I rejoice to say that I have quarrelled with you ; I do not like 
 you at all, and* I hope that you will never come to my house again. 
 You have said words that I cannot forget ; and as long as there is a
 
 262 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 sun in the heavens or water in the ocean, I will rimer speak to you 
 again. 
 
 " Yours (not at all in kindness), 
 
 "FRANCES PRATT." 
 
 " These are fierce words," thought the teacher : " too strong, in- 
 deed, for one school-girl to use to another, or, indeed, for any one 
 to use. I must try and make up this quarrel, and I will watch these 
 two girls well." So when they came back again the next clay, she 
 inquired all about it. 
 
 Cordelia Smith, it appears, had told one of the other girls that 
 Frances Pratt was a disagreeable girl, and Frances had heard it. 
 Now, as Cordelia and Frances, before these words had been said, 
 had been the best friends in the world, always sitting together, 
 always helping each other with difficult tasks, always sharing their 
 good things at lunch-time, it was a wonder that they, of all people, 
 should have fallen out. They were both wrong, I think ; Cordelia, 
 to say what she did, and Frances to resent it by such a harsh note to 
 her friend ; she should rather have showed by her pretty and gentle 
 ways, that there was no truth in the offending words, and thus have 
 led Cordelia to think differently ; but this was not to be. 
 
 The girls passed each other by in lofty disdain ; and even though 
 they sat at the same desk in school, they scarcely looked at each 
 other, though in the heart of each there was a desire to be friends 
 again. Frances was the best arithmetician, though Cordelia was 
 the best parser in school ; and now, instead of assisting each other, 
 they either applied to some other girl, or recited their lessons in 
 each branch imperfectly. The kind teacher reasoned with both, but 
 with no effect. She could not make Cordelia take back her words, 
 nor could she make Frances say that she was sorry that the note 
 had been written ; so she concluded that she would let things take 
 their course for a while, as continually bringing the quarrel into 
 notice would make it more lasting, and then trust to chance and
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 263 
 
 time to bring about a reconciliation ; and, true enough, it all hap- 
 pened as she wished. 
 
 It was quite a rainy morning, one day, and very few of the 
 scholars had come to school ; but Frances and Cordelia were among 
 those who were present. The rain and mud which had been brought 
 in upon the scholars' feet had rendered the steps which led down 
 stairs into the entry quite slippery ; and as Cordelia was going down 
 stairs, she slipped and fell, uttering a sharp cry of pain, for she had 
 hurt her ankle very badly. Frances, who was sitting near the door, 
 alone heard the cry, not knowing, however, that it was Cordelia who 
 had fallen, and hastened to the assistance of the sufferer. When she 
 saw who it was, she half turned back ; but she could not long keep 
 her resolution, for Cordelia gave her a beseeching look, as .if to say, 
 " I am in pain ; do come ! " and half forgetting their quarrel, she 
 hastened towards her. " At any rate," thought she, " I can help her 
 without saying one word, and I'll try very hard not to speak." She 
 then raised Cordelia up and supported her to a seat; then she 
 bathed her ankle in silence and rubbed it gently ; and when she 
 had done all that she knew how, still as mute as a statue, she rose 
 to go, but Cordelia caught her hand and held it fast. 
 
 " Frances," she said, " speak to me ! Say something, even if you 
 say an unkind word ; only do break this chilling silence ! " 
 
 " I wonder you want disagreeable people to speak to you ! " an- 
 swered Frances, trying to draw herself away. 
 
 " Oh, you are not disagreeable ! " sobbed Cordelia ; " I was very, 
 very wrong to say so ! How gentle you have been how patient 
 with my sprained ankle ! Oh, I will take back that word now, at 
 once ! " 
 
 Then Frances' eyes brightened, and she said, "And I will take 
 back the words of my note most willingly." 
 
 And so, in the new-found pleasure of making up, in the recitation 
 of a hundred little things which had happened to each since their
 
 264 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 estrangement, they almost forgot school and rose to go back again, 
 Frances supporting Cordelia as she walked ; and as they entered the 
 room, with their arms twined around each other, the scholars smiled 
 with pleasure, and their teacher did not blame them for whispering a 
 few kind words to each other, for she knew the sweet pleasure that 
 she had had once in her own youth, of a reconciliation after a school- 
 girls' quarrel. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 " Say, where are you going, where are you going, 
 
 Fickle Wind ? 
 What do you see when you're roaming about, 
 
 And what find?" 
 
 " I go on the waves and I play with the sea 
 
 And the foam ; 
 
 And I fill the white sheets of the glittering sails 
 When I roam. 
 
 " Then I fly to the woods and I toy with the leaves 
 
 On the trees ; 
 
 And I sing as I go you have heard of the song, 
 Of the breeze ? 
 
 " Then I whistle a tune on the old house top 
 
 When it rains, 
 And I shake like a rattle, with terrible din, 
 
 The loose panes. 
 
 " And I sigh 'mid the flowers and bend their slight stems 
 
 To the ground ; 
 
 Then quietly sinking to rest, in some cave 
 I am found.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 265 
 
 " Then I wake and touch softly your neat, shining hair 
 
 Boy or girl, 
 
 And I lurk like a fairy among the bright rings 
 
 Of each curl. 
 
 " I am fickle, I know, but remember, I now 
 
 Promise this 
 
 When the summer comes round I will cool your hot brow 
 
 With a kiss." 
 
 THE BIRD THAT FLEW IN THROUGH THE WINDOW. 
 
 A MEMORY. 
 
 IT left the woods, the quiet woods, 
 
 Poor frightened little bird, 
 And the beating of its restless wings, 
 
 Against the walls I heard, 
 
 I opened wide the windows all 
 To aid its homeward flight, 
 
 And said, "poor bird, go to your home 
 Before the coming night" 
 
 But the beating of its restless wings 
 And the wild glance of its eye, 
 
 And the continual, troubled chirp, 
 Was all the sad reply. 
 
 I was a child, my heart was full, 
 I thought, " Why comes it here, 
 
 It flies as if pursued by foes, 
 Oh, wherefore does it fear ? " 
 
 We tried through casements opened 
 wide, 
 
 To drive it to its nest, 
 But still against the ceiling high, 
 
 It flew in its unrest 
 
 "And could you speak," I said with tears, 
 
 " And tell the tale to me, 
 That brought you to these prison walls, 
 
 Far from the woods to flee, 
 
 " Would you but sing one joyous note, 
 And change that suffering tone, 
 
 To say 'twas not unhappiness 
 That brought you here alone ? 
 
 " And let me smooth your ruffled wings 
 
 And gently bid you go, 
 Then I might smile and welcome you, 
 
 But ah, not now not so ! 
 
 " Suppose that I, dear little bird, 
 By grief and anguish toss'd, 
 
 Were wandering through the dismal 
 
 woods 
 A child forlorn and lost ; 
 
 " And that my father, mother dear, 
 With sorrow deep and wild, 
 
 Were weeping for their truant one, 
 Their lonely, lonely child ;
 
 266 
 
 FAIRY- LAND 
 
 " Suppose that with the briers sharp, 
 
 I tore my tender feet, 
 And that my aching head like yours, 
 
 I 'gainst the hard trees beat, 
 
 " Would I not thank the gentle hand 
 
 That set the captive free ? 
 Oh, yes ; sweet little bird, now go 
 
 And even thus thank me" 
 
 But 'twas in vain ; we could not reach 
 
 The tender suffering thing, 
 And through the long, long summer day, 
 
 Its piercing cry did ring. 
 
 " O bird, O bird ! " I weeping said, 
 " Was there no rest for you 
 
 Beside the deep stream's quiet flow, 
 Or by the violet blue ? 
 
 " Was there no peace upon the tree 
 Where stood your downy nest, 
 
 And did it not a refuge give 
 
 To calm your throbbing breast ? 
 
 " Was not the whisper of the wind 
 
 A melody for you, 
 
 As through the tall pine's rustling 
 boughs 
 
 With mournful sound it blew ? " 
 
 In thoughts like these, in childish 
 thoughts, 
 
 I questioned oft the bird ; 
 But still that melancholy pipe 
 
 My saddest feeling stirred. 
 
 I held my little apron wide, 
 
 To catch it should it fall, 
 And often tried to imitate 
 
 The mother-bird's shrill call. 
 
 I brought a branch of fragrant green 
 
 To tempt it to alight, 
 But ah ! vain my endeavors were, 
 
 It quickened still its flight, 
 
 Until at twilight's misty hour, 
 
 When hopelessly I cried, 
 It fell unanswering at my feet 
 
 And there in silence died. 
 
 THE BROKEN NECKLACE; 
 
 OR, THE FALSEHOOD. 
 
 I SHALL never forget Lilly Manvers ! She was like a dream of 
 beautiful girlhood. Her very name was a spell that awoke a thou- 
 sand pleasant recollections in the hearts of her school-fellows. 
 Her parents were poor, and when they looked on their child and 
 saw the rich treasures of her mind daily opening under the influence 
 of her instructors, they denied themselves even the comforts of life
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 267 
 
 
 to perfect her education in the excellent school to which they had 
 
 sent her, in order to make her a companion for them in their old 
 age. They had commenced life with wealth, but the old story of a 
 contested inheritance involved them in a lawsuit which promised a 
 favorable issue ; but when their hopes were about to be realized, the 
 persons interested on the other side procured false witnesses, and 
 they saw their whole property swept away. The law determined the 
 affair against them ; but the world in general, who had seen the 
 transaction, was convinced of the justness of Dr. Manvers' claim, 
 and his freedom from the cruel charge which was brought against 
 him, that of fraudulent attempts to retain the property which 
 belonged not to him. Thus they were bereft of all but each other's 
 society and that of their child, which solaced them for their broken 
 dream of the past. 
 
 And Lilly? Her golden ringlets played about her head like a 
 halo, and many a time have I smoothed their glossy brightness 
 around my finger with a feeling of love which I thought could never 
 fade away. There was a look of trust in her deep blue eyes, and an 
 innocent expression in her child-like smile, which few could with- 
 stand. Oh, what great friends we were ! People called us Night 
 and Morning ; for they said that my pale face and black hair, near 
 her brilliant and aurora-like countenance, were a strange contrast ; 
 and as the years of childhood passed away, we, who were linked 
 together by the sweet ties of friendship, wished that life might ever 
 continue thus. I sigh when I think of the past, and I shudder when 
 I reflect how one fault can make us unhappy forever and I tell this 
 tale of early sin, overcome though it may have been by years of pen- 
 itence, more for its moral instruction than aught else. Yes, those 
 blue eyes deceived, those bright lips deceived, that pure-seeming heart 
 deceived. 
 
 I remember the day, as if it were but yesterday, when there first 
 arose in my mind a doubt of her ! I was sitting on the grass, weav-
 
 268 FATRY-LAND 
 
 ing a garland of gay flowers for her hair, when I perceived her run- 
 ning towards me. Down she fell upon the smooth sward by me, 
 and, half laughing and half crying, told me her joyous story. 
 
 " Carry," said she, throwing her arms around me with an embrace 
 even more vehement than usual, " put down that wreath and hear 
 me talk. Do you hear ? We are so happy at home, for uncle has 
 come, far, far from distant lands ! from the deserts of Ethiopia, 
 maybe ! " said she, laughing ; " and he has brought, Oh, so many 
 beautiful things for his ' Lilly of the Valley,' as he calls me, that I 
 am almost wild with joy ! But he is very sad, for he has lost aunt 
 Mary, and four dear children of his have died abroad. He has so 
 much need of love and comfort, that he wants me to be his own 
 Lilly till he dies." 
 
 The few tears which coursed down Lilly's cheeks were soon dried, 
 and we hastened on to the house to see the beautiful presents. I 
 think now, but I did not think then, that she seemed to be more 
 overjoyed at the sight of the rich articles than at the meek, subdued- 
 looking old man, who showed by his face and form that a storm of 
 grief had passed over him. He gazed at her for a while in silence 
 and tears, and then, with a sudden impulse, clasped her to his 
 breast, murmuring some words about how they would have enjoyed 
 the bright array of costly gifts. Lilly was scarcely happy in his 
 heart-felt embrace, for she seemed too glad in her newly-acquired 
 treasures to be interested in anything else. She twisted a silver- 
 fringed scarf around her head, and tied a costly shawl about her 
 waist with the air of an empress, and walked proudly to the mirror 
 to behold her curious and gorgeous appearance. I thought that she 
 had never appeared half so lovely before ; but as I turned to the 
 mirror, I perceived that the vanity was in earnest ; and from the first 
 vain act, unchecked, there arose a root of bitterness which made her 
 girlhood, for a time, a blight, and her heart old. Her father and 
 mother were looking the happiness they could not find words to 

 
 AND OTHER TALES. 269 
 
 express. It seemed as if their cup was suddenly running over with 
 joy, for their broken-hearted brother was to find refuge and a home 
 with them, and had brought with him luxuries and wealth for their 
 beloved child. 
 
 The time arrived for my return home, and Lilly volunteered to 
 walk half way back with me. As soon as we left the door-steps our 
 talk commenced, and our hearts, mine, at least, opened. 
 
 " How delicious it must be to be rich ! " said I, with a burst of 
 girlish enthusiasm; "one could feed the hungry, clothe the poor, 
 and do all kinds of pleasant things ; and then how glad you have 
 been made, Lilly, by your uncle's presents ; but, seriously, do you 
 think that if he had come poor and happy instead of wealthy and 
 miserable, that your feelings would have been the same ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! " replied Lilly, with contempt ; " certainly, certainly ; but 
 you are always asking strange questions, and giving old-fashioned 
 lectures about right and about wrong, which would sound better in 
 the pulpit than they do to me, your one hearer. I wish you would 
 let such things alone." 
 
 " Then, my dear Lilly," continued I, unmindful of the interruption, 
 and proceeding with my sermon, as she thought it, " you must take 
 this singular good fortune as a gift from God, and reflect that you 
 have the means in your power of making your poor uncle once more 
 smile happily, and by your kind attentions to him enable him to 
 forget his own sorrows. It would be a noble work," said I, warming 
 up, and feeling all the romance of such an undertaking. 
 
 " I will do all I can," interrupted Lilly ; " and now let us talk 
 about the party." 
 
 At that word party, my own thoughts wandered far away from the 
 solemn old man. Yes ! I was going to give a party on my fourteenth 
 birthday ; and we were to have dancing and tableaux, and fun and 
 frolic, and good things. The prospect seemed to us like enchant- 
 ment ] and we talked of what we were to wear, and whom we were
 
 2/O FAIRY-LAND 
 
 to invite, until we parted, and then we each thought silently of it 
 until we reached home. 
 
 As time progressed, a pleasant intercourse arose between Lilly and 
 her uncle. He was so gentle and affectionate, and she so grateful to 
 him for his kindness, that not a doubt had as yet arisen between 
 them to mar its brightness. I had been perfect in my lessons at 
 school for one month before my birthday, and the time was really 
 set for the promised party. Fifty of my friends had been invited, 
 and my heart fairly danced with pleasure at the prospect. We were 
 talking of it, Lilly and I, and the world did not contain two happier 
 beings. " In the eastern scene, in one tableau," said I to Lilly, 
 "what shall we do for jewels? Mamma has two breastpins that 
 you shall have, but they would not look very queenly all alone ; 
 however, flowers will do as well, and the idea will be very pretty." 
 
 " Flowers ! " answered Lilly, scornfully ; " do you think that I, 
 reclining on my damask couch, with an embroidered dress and a 
 gold lace veil, would be content with flowers ? No, indeed ! jewels 
 I must have." Now, the picture that was before us was from an old 
 annual, and it represented a Persian scene of singular beauty and 
 interest. A lovely young girl was half reclining, and playing with 
 an open box of jewels, and a glittering chain was carelessly thrown 
 about her neck, while her attendant, whom I was to represent, was 
 looking with wonder at their richness and costliness j and a guitar, 
 upon which she had been playing to amuse the fair young creature, 
 lay unnoticed upon her knee. This picture pleased our fancy, and 
 we selected it from a hundred others, as most worthy of our genius. 
 The golden curls of the young Sultana attracted Lilly, as being like 
 hers ; and perhaps, in my vanity, I traced some resemblance in the 
 dark eyes and glossy hair of the attendant maiden to my own. 
 " Yes, flowers will do," said I to Lilly's scornful reply ; " I can get 
 a beautiful bunch of exotics for you, and maybe our audience will 
 prefer them to jewels." Lilly mused for an instant, and shook her
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2? I 
 
 head. I knew her determined spirit, but I feared no evil from that 
 passing cloud. She talked awhile to herself, and I heard her say 
 these words, " Mrs. Meredith and Smith the jeweller." But I did 
 not think that they had any connection with the subject, and I 
 thought of them no more. The next day I was with her in her little 
 room. Her uncle's care had fitted it up for her in a neat and appro- 
 priate manner. Pretty pictures hung against the walls, and the white 
 quilt and curtains were as pure as her own soul should have been. 
 A portrait of her uncle, too, looked at her with its loving eygs, just 
 above her writing-table, where, like all girls of her age, she had fan- 
 cied herself a poetess, and scribbled sonnets to the moon, and letters 
 to dozens of imaginary friends. There was a quiet tap at the door, 
 and her uncle, with his slow and solemn step, walked in and took a 
 seat near me, while Lilly sprang upon his knees. Something very 
 like a smile played over his face, and there was a peculiar beauty in 
 it, for I had never seen him smile before ; and then Lilly said, coax- 
 ingly, " Uncle, I have a favor to ask of you ; and you cannot, must 
 not say no to your little ' Lily of the Valley,' even if your other pet, 
 Carry, says flowers will do." 
 
 " What is it, my child ? " replied he, as he parted her fair ringlets 
 and looked into her pleading face. 
 
 " Well, you know," she began, and she made an urgent case 
 about the jewels, and convinced herself, at least, that she could not 
 do without them. 
 
 " I have jewels," murmured Mr. Milward, "but they belonged to 
 her whom the cold grave covers ; perhaps it is a weakness in me not 
 to let the dear child have them, but the sight of them would quite 
 unman me ; and ah, no, it cannot be quite yet ! No, Lilly," said he, 
 aloud, " it must be just as Carry thinks ; the flowers will do as 
 well." 
 
 A shade of disappointment passed over Lilly's face, and she com- 
 menced to plead afresh ; but the anguish which her uncle appeared
 
 2/2 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 to feel, and his abrupt departure from the room, assured her that she 
 had no hope of having her wishes gratified by him. 
 
 The night of my party was a lovely one. The full moon watched 
 the more active portion of the young people romping upon the lawn, 
 and the bright glare of lamplight within revealed us at more quiet 
 games. In spite of the sad memories of "that evening, I look back 
 to it with some kind of pleasure, for so many hearts were happy and 
 amused. And Lilly, in our youthful circle, was the most loved, the 
 most admired. There was a strange excitement in her eyes, and the 
 flush upon her face increased her natural beauty. At one time she 
 was among the dancers, excelling them all ; and at another, she left 
 the young to say a word to the old people, as she called them, who 
 had been invited to witness our pleasure. We had in vain urged her 
 uncle and Mr. and Mrs. Manvers to join us on that evening. The 
 grief of the former was too deeply seated to enjoy such gayety, and 
 the latter preferred remaining at home with him. All watched 
 Lilly's graceful movements, and blessed her angel-like countenance. 
 I remember one interesting scene, which I cannot pass by without 
 recording. 
 
 Twelve of our party had gathered round a table to look at some 
 prints, when an old gentleman who was present offered a reward of a 
 beautiful box of bon-bons for the best poetical address to the moon, 
 not to exceed eight lines, and to be produced in ten minutes. Some 
 of our attempts were very queer. One ran thus : 
 
 " The moon in heaven, which shines so bright, 
 Does nothing at all but blind my sight" . 
 
 That certainly would not answer ; another made moon and town 
 rhyme, but it was against all rules of rhythm ; and one gallant youth, 
 with upturned eyes and expanded arms, eloquently exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, Moon, you are the only she 
 That does inconstant and fickle be ! "
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2/3 
 
 Even I, with my sober, unromantic ideas, attempted something, so 
 great was my desire for the promised prize, and I also signally failed ; 
 but Lilly, as usual, triumphed ; and after ten minutes she arose, calm 
 as the moon itself, and led us all to the balcony, where, with her blue 
 eyes raised, and with a touching sweetness which is past descrip- 
 tion, she recited the following original lines : 
 
 " Look down, O gentle Moon, with tender love ! 
 Stoop from the azure skies so clear above, 
 
 And watch our joy this night ; 
 Upon each grateful heart, Oh, do thou shine ; 
 Shed in our hearts thine influence divine, 
 And we will bless thy light" 
 
 " Two more lines ! " we all shouted ; and she, with a smile in her 
 eyes, said, mischievously, still looking upward to the " Queen of 
 Night," 
 
 " To tell the truth, I want the offered sweets, 
 And so I lay my verses at thy feet." 
 
 The laugh which followed this address was long and loud, and 
 Lilly shared the bon -bons among all the aspirants. I must say 
 that I watched Lilly with a kind of uneasiness. She seemed almost 
 demented in her manner, at one time so composed, and at another 
 so flighty and incomprehensible. I tried to talk with her alone, but 
 she slid from me, and joined some group of which she became the 
 life and light. The evening really seemed too short for us ; and 
 after supper, when mamma beckoned to me to call the tableaux 
 actors, I felt as if the last of the pageant was about to be performed, 
 and after that there would be silence and darkness. The lights were 
 all adjusted, and the show began. First, there was a village scene, 
 and the boys, with large straw hats, rakes, and scythes, looked very 
 picturesque. Then Flora, the goddess of flowers, appeared, person- 
 ated by a young girl, whom Flora herself would not have disdained 
 to acknowledge. The boys were bashful, and only a few would per- 
 18
 
 274 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 form ; but we had sailors and soldiers enough. Then came a sweet 
 scene of Little Red Riding-Hood, which made all the people laugh, 
 for a mischievous boy crept in behind the frame, on " all fours," and 
 said that he came to inform " his friends and the public that he was 
 the wolf," and he growled like a veritable inhabitant of the woods. 
 But the grand closing scene was the "young Sultana." Lilly and I 
 had dressed in separate apartments ; and, as I had completed my 
 toilet first, mamma, with approbation in her looks, told me to place 
 myself within the frame before the curtain was raised, in the attitude 
 which I was expected to assume. I was habited in a dress of pure 
 white muslin, with flowing sleeves ; on each arm I had a plain band 
 of gold paper as bracelets ; while on my head, in contrast to my 
 dark hair, was placed a white turban, with a single gold star in front. 
 My trousers, too, were confined with anklets of gold, and my satin 
 slippers just peeped from beneath their ample fold. As I looked 
 up, after I had taken my kneeling posture, with the guitar clasped 
 tightly in one hand, I knew, by mamma's quiet " bravo ! " that so 
 far all was right. Lilly had delayed her toilet longer, I thought, 
 than was necessary ; but at last I distinguished her approaching 
 footstep, and I heard her distinctly say to the attendant, "One 
 instant after I take my seat, and without any signal from me, lift the 
 curtain." She entered, and the whole scene seemed to me to be 
 enchanted. I looked at her, and the very sentiment which I was 
 required to express by my looks, was stamped upon my features. 
 She raised her jewelled finger to her lips, with a stern glance at me, 
 which I could not resist, and I felt that she demanded silence. 
 Gliding past me, she threw herself into the most graceful attitude 
 imaginable, half lifted an exquisite string of pearls from a small 
 jewel box, and the curtain rose slowly. I know not which of us 
 excited most the admiration of the spectators, I, with my true ex- 
 pression of wonder, or Lilly, who reclined there, queen-like in her 
 royal beauty. Her dress, which her mother had prepared for her
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2/5 
 
 with all a mother's pride, was precisely what it should have been. 
 The embroidered slippers in which her small bare feet were encased, 
 the full satin trousers, and the unique head-dress, with the gold- 
 spangled veil which floated over one shoulder, were in keeping with 
 the original picture. Her long golden curls shaded her rosy cheeks, 
 and her drooping eyelashes curtained her half shut eyes. I saw 
 them all, and I saw the jewels which she had obtained. A large 
 diamond gleamed from her tiara like the eye of a serpent ; her slight 
 fingers were covered with rings which she had borrowed from her 
 young companions ; and a golden chain glittered around her neck, 
 and that exquisite necklace of pearls which she held so loosely in 
 her grasp, where could they have come from ? thought I. There 
 had been no applause heretofore, for mamma had rather checked 
 than encouraged any demonstrations of the kind ; but now, after a 
 short silence, I was stunned and frightened by the noise and excla- 
 mations of delight, and I could endure the strange dream no longer. 
 I made the signal agreed upon, although Lilly looked as though she 
 could have remained motionless forever, and the curtain dropped. 
 We were loudly called upon to reappear, but I could not; and in 
 endeavoring to draw aside the green baize at the back of the appa- 
 ratus, I believe I felt faint, for I caught too suddenly ; and a lamp 
 which was placed insecurely on a side stand came down with a 
 crash, and in a minute, cries of fire and tones of terror sounded on 
 my ears. The light drapery was in flames, but by great exertions 
 it was soon extinguished ; and Lilly and I, half crushed by the 
 crowd, found ourselves in the piazza, with the cold, unconscious 
 moon looking down calmly upon us. I grasped Lilly's hand, and 
 heard myself say, but with a voice that sounded nothing like my 
 own, " Where did you get those " I could not finish the sen- 
 tence ; for, with a cry of anguish, she bounded from me, exclaiming, 
 " I am ruined and undone ! " 
 
 The company departed with regret at the sad ending of so pleas-
 
 276 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 ant an evening ; and Lilly went home, under the care of a faithful 
 servant, in her uncle's little carriage. As she came to bid us good 
 night, the diamond, which appeared to be set in a ring, gleamed 
 fiercely in her crushed tiara, and her hand still held the jewel-box ; 
 but the pearls had been trampled on, and she could only gather up 
 a few from among the confusion which the fire had caused. 
 
 " It is a great pity, dear," said mamma, in her sympathizing tone, 
 " that your beautiful pearls are lost ; but I suppose that they were 
 your uncle's ; and his love for you will forgive you anything. Are 
 they not your uncle's ? " she continued, as Lilly did not appear to 
 hear her. 
 
 I saw her face turn scarlet ; and when at last she replied, with an 
 effort, " Yes, they are uncle's," I felt that she had uttered a lie ; but 
 I could not then speak what was passing in my breast ; and kissing 
 her coldly, I told her that I would endeavor to find the rest of the 
 pearls and bring them to her. 
 
 I was detained longer than I had expected, the next day, at home, 
 and did not arrive at Mr. Manver's house until an hour before their 
 dinner time. Her mother pressed me to stay ; and, independent of 
 the love I bore them all, I wished to see the end, if end there was, 
 to the mystery of the pearl necklace. I waited until I was alone 
 with Lilly before I dared venture to present her with the loose pearls 
 I had collected, and she received them with a trembling hand, but 
 offered no explanation. We talked over and over again the inci- 
 dents of the past evening to amuse her parents and uncle ; but, by a 
 kind of mutual, tacit consent, we avoided mentioning one word about 
 the jewels. The day was very long and miserable to me, for I read 
 Lilly's face, and could see the effort she made to appear gay and 
 happy in the home circle. She was cold and reserved to me ; but I 
 forgave her for that, as I did not yet see clearly the nature of her 
 struggles. It was towards sunset, and we were sitting by an open 
 window facing the street. The sun cast a yellow glare over the
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2// 
 
 buildings, and faded in the distance to a pale straw color, inspiring 
 that indescribable sensation of peace which the coming on of au- 
 tumn occasionally brings, and which the youngest child sometimes 
 feels. We were conversing cheerfully when we were interrupted by 
 the sound of a heavy carriage, and a gorgeous equipage wheeled up 
 to the door, while a lady, superbly dressed, alighted from it. She 
 scarcely awaited the announcement of her name, but walked in. 
 She was very beautiful, but there was a look of pride and insincerity 
 about her which I did not like. I had never seen her there before, 
 and I watched her intently. She bowed gracefully to the two gen- 
 tlemen, looked at me With a well-bred inclination of the head ; and 
 when I turned to see how Lilly regarded her, I perceived that the 
 place she had occupied by my side was vacant. She must have 
 departed from. the room as the lady had entered it. This lady, then, 
 on whom my eyes were turned by a kind of fascination, approached 
 Mrs. Manvers, and, with charming courtesy, said, "At last, Mary, 
 you have descended from your stern reserve, and you are sorry that 
 you ever separated yourself from my friendship. You cannot forget 
 the love of our early years, and the pleasures we have shared to- 
 gether. I am glad to see that you seek me once more. We have 
 each of us a great deal to forget and forgive." 
 
 " Madam ," returned Mr. Manvers, before his wife could utter one 
 word, " if a thousand years should pass over our heads and you still 
 stood there asking me in those winning tones if I had forgotten the 
 past, I should say, never ! I have forgiven you as I hope to be for- 
 given for my own sins ; but I cannot forget that you procured false 
 witnesses against me in that fearful hour which accused me of fraud, 
 an accusation, which has blackened my innocent and spotless name 
 and robbed my very life of its sweetness. The world I know ac- 
 knowledges me to be not guilty, for your accursed plot extended not 
 beyond the so-called " administrators of justice.' For the loss of 
 property I care comparatively little, and I had rather be here as I
 
 278 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 am now, conscious of my own integrity, than raised like you upon 
 the pinnacle of earthly riches which are not your own, and which 
 have been obtained by the ruin of another." 
 
 A strange and subtle smile covered the lady's face as she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " You care not for my countenance, my riches, why then did 
 you send your daughter with soft words, and with her face of perfect 
 beauty, to charm me while she asked the loan of a few paltry jewels 
 for a child's pageant. On her forehead glistened my diamond, and 
 round her white, and pure, and youthful neck, coiled a golden chain 
 which has been often wound round mine." 
 
 " Just heaven ! " said the father, " can this be so ? If you are 
 honest, madame, you came but to insult us ; if what you say of my 
 daughter be untrue, there should be a greater distance between us 
 than ever." 
 
 The lady deigned no reply, but scornfully sweeping by us re-en- 
 tered her carriage. I, at least, felt that her tale was correct, #nd that 
 Lilly was on the brink of an abyss, into which she must certainly 
 fall, and my breath seemed to leave me as she entered the room at 
 the summons of her father. 
 
 " My dear child," said he mildly," you have been accused of an 
 action which your trembling mother, there, and I, consider in the 
 light of a sin against us. Did you borrow Mrs. Meredith's jewelry, 
 so that you might glitter with splendor in the show of last night ? " 
 
 She could not say " no," for she knew not how much might have 
 been revealed ; but her head fell heavily upon her breast, and her 
 father knew that it had been so. He did not chide her for her fault, 
 but he inquired sternly into all the particulars, asked if the jewels had 
 been returned, and receiving an answer in the affirmative, bowed his 
 head upon the table and wept. Mrs. Manvers stood motionless with 
 surprise and mortification, while the uijcle opened his arms to his 
 adopted child, trusting her even against hope, and finding some
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 2/9 
 
 excuse for her, even when her guilt was beyond a doubt. Soon there 
 was a knock at the door and a note was handed to Mr. Milward. 
 Oh, what varied tidings do these v white winged messengers " bring ! 
 At one time joy and happiness, at another prostration of hopes and 
 eternal misery. The wretched father and mother had left the room 
 to commune with each other upon the conduct of their child. After 
 all, they could only accuse her of the sin of disobedience which 
 might be atoned for by after acts. It was a hard struggle, though, 
 to think kindly of her, for she knew that a ban had been laid upon 
 any intercourse with Mrs. Meredith, and she knew, also, what had 
 estranged her parents from so designing an individual. 
 
 Mr. Milward glanced at the signature of the note with an indiffer- 
 ent air as if he cared not to disturb the beloved child ; and he called 
 me to him, and bade me go to the light which had just been brought 
 in, and read that troublesome business letter for him. 
 
 " Dear sir," I began : " Excuse the liberty I am taking this evening, 
 but I would esteem it a great favor if you would return the set of 
 pearls ." I stopped short, for I would not read anything which I 
 thought would condemn Lilly. Poor thing, as I looked, she slid 
 from her uncle's arms to the floor and seemed the personification of 
 despair. "Go on, go on," said Mr. Milward, "there is some strange 
 mystery in this ; the man is mad. I know nothing of his pearls," 
 and he attempted to raise .Lilly once more to his arms. " If you 
 would return the set of pearls," continued I, " as I have the prospect 
 of a sale for them. Again I request you to excuse this liberty. 
 " I remain, dear sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 "J. SMITH." 
 
 Now then, thought I, and before the affair had become public, it 
 was the time for Lilly to come forward and explain. If the beads 
 had been perfect as she had at first received them, no doubt they 
 would have been returned in the morning ; but mutilated as they were
 
 280 FATRY-LAND 
 
 she felt as if she must have a clay for thought, and therefore, she put 
 off until the latest moment any plan which might have occurred to 
 her. What she most dreaded was the enormous sum for which she 
 knew she was responsible. I came to all these conclusions in less 
 time than I have taken to write them ; indeed, on that evening, I ap- 
 peared to be endowed with the judgment and foresight of a woman. 
 Mr. Milward called for his desk and sat down to answer the fatal 
 letter. I was so excited that I leaned over his chair unconsciously 
 and watched his hand which guided the pen. He wrote the word 
 " Sir," then stopped as if uncertain what to say. His brow became 
 wrinkled and his hand clenched with passion. I turned for a mo- 
 ment to look at Lilly. Let me take her picture for you. She was 
 on the floor as he had left her, thinking, in his innocence, that she 
 was mourning for the grief that she had occasioned her father and 
 mother by her conduct towards Mrs. Meredith, and he was not un- 
 willing to see her penitent for that. She was sitting in a drooping 
 posture with her face buried in her hands, and her long curls hang- 
 ing over her. I touched her gently and said to her, in a whisper, 
 " Lilly, if you have anything to say, now is the time." Look there, 
 continued I, pointing to her uncle. Her eyes were instantly turned 
 towards him. She arose and leaned over him as he wrote. As he 
 signed his name to the indignant reply, she laid her Jiand on his 
 shoulder and said in a tone I shall never forget, for every syllable 
 trembled ere she could utter it : " Stop ! uncle, it was / who borrowed 
 them. 
 
 "Just heaven!" ejaculated the old man, "Has the whole world 
 forsaken me ? Explain quickly, Lilly, or I believe that I shall lose 
 my senses." 
 
 I knew by her agonized look that she was true then, that each 
 word she uttered was sincere. 
 
 " It is strange even to myself," said she in a hollow tone, " how I 
 became what I now am. I feel miserably guilty. I have felt so for
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 28 1 
 
 some time, and yet I could not withstand the intense desire which 
 possessed me of rivalling every one at Carry's birthday party. I 
 did not listen to your advice and hers to supply the place of jewels 
 with flowers, but remembering that I had seen Mrs. Meredith with 
 exquisite jewelry, I thought that I might borrow them for one night 
 only. She seemed rejoiced to see me, embraced me, 'and told me it 
 was one of the happiest days of her life for a daughter of the proud 
 Mr. Manvers to ask a favor of her. Had she not come to-day with 
 her insulting proffers of friendship, my fault there would have been 
 forever unknown, for I knew there was no intercourse between our 
 families. As to these" she said, in the same tone, and she drew the 
 jewel box from her pocket, and opened it before her uncle, " the sin 
 was blacker here. I went in your name as I knew that it could 
 obtain anything in this city, and borrowed them for you as I said to 
 see the new style of pearl setting, and that also would have remained 
 undiscovered had not the fortunate or unfortunate event of the fire 
 taken place. What I can do I know not, for the sum I am afraid is 
 more than I can ever repay ; but so much for vanity, and pride and 
 ambition." She smiled as she ended, and I thought her quite hard- 
 ened. She asked nobody to pardon her, but putting her hand to 
 her head, she said, " I feel strangely dizzy and I want to lie down." 
 
 Mr. Milwar-d tore the note he had written into fragments, and 
 mused for a moment gloomily ; then coming forward, he took her 
 gently in his arms and bore her to her little white-curtained room, 
 while I followed. We heard her uncle's receding steps, and he went 
 down stairs, out of the street door, until the sound died away on the 
 pavements. I helped to undress Lilly. Neither of us said one 
 word ; but as she was stepping into bed, I said, " Lilly, let us pray." 
 We both knelt down, and I repeated the Lord's prayer audibly. As 
 she sank down upon the pillow, she said to me, softly, " I am cold 
 and frightened ! call mamma." Her mother came, and for a week 
 she did not leave that bedside, for the life of her child was sus-
 
 282 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 penclcd on a mere thread, which was kept unbroken only by the 
 grace of God and the kind attentions of those around her. I never 
 saw such devotion as that poor uncle exhibited. 'He had witnessed 
 the death of five loved ones ; and when the physician said that there 
 was hope for Lilly, he felt as if there was still some happiness in 
 store for him. It was an exciting morning, that one on which she 
 regained her consciousness. Her bright hair had all been shorn, 
 and the marks of the blisters which had been applied to her fore- 
 head and temples gave a peculiar expression to her countenance. 
 Her mother was kneeling by the bedside, her father looking from 
 the window with an abstracted air. Her uncle, with her hand in 
 his, was sitting upon the bed, watching every breath that she drew, 
 and I, who had been so much with her in sickness as well as health, 
 was weeping by her side. Each tick of the watch was distinctly 
 heard, and the beating of our hearts was almost audible. And there 
 lay this child of many hopes, as silent and motionless, almost, as 
 death itself. Suddenly she opened her blue eyes and gazed at her 
 uncle. She shuddered as she looked, and turned her head upon the 
 pillow, as if she was fatigued ; but she seemed to gather strength, 
 and said, in a whisper, the word, " Mamma." Her Another took her 
 hand, afraid, by a word, to break the blissful dream. " And papa," 
 she said, raising her head upon the pillow. And he came forward 
 and joined the group so softly that you could not hear his step. I 
 could not help it, and I burst into a flood of tears. She looked at 
 me and smiled. She tried to say something, but we shook our 
 heads, afraid to trust her to speak, she was so weak and languid. 
 But she persisted. " Only this," said she, in a whisper, while we 
 bent forward to catch her slightest accent. 
 
 " I wish the forgiveness of each and all ; and I will try, if I should 
 recover, never to sin again." 
 
 This was more than enough for us. We kissed her pale cheek 
 with many loving words, and then she slept sweetly.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 283 
 
 After a while Lilly moved among us again, but changed in charac- 
 ter and in actions. The events which had occasioned so much sad 
 feeling in our little circle had been blessed indeed to her ; and if 
 there was a being on earth who practised strict rectitude of life, it 
 was she. Many a wholesome lesson have I, who in times past had 
 been the preacher, received from her. Her uncle defrayed without 
 a murmur the bill at the jeweller's, and no one but her family and 
 ours ever knew of the occurrence. The jewel case lies in a drawer, 
 to which she daily repairs ; and she rather courts than shuns the 
 memory of the Untruth and the Broken Necklace. 
 
 TURN AWAY. . 
 
 FROM companions bad and rude, 
 Who upon you will intrude, 
 
 Turn away. 
 
 From profane and wicked word, 
 Which by your ears should not be heard, 
 Turn away. 
 
 From any act you know is wrong, 
 And to the pure should not belong, 
 
 Turn away. 
 
 From temptations each and all 
 Which from the right might make you fall 
 Turn away. 
 
 From Sabbath breakers' sinful ways, 
 Who would profane those holy days, 
 
 Turn away. 
 
 From deeds that God will not approve, 
 Nor sanction with his seal of love, 
 
 Turn away.
 
 2 84 FAIR Y- LAND 
 
 THE FALL FROM THE SWING. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 " I SHALL never, no, never forget it ! " said the gentleman. 
 
 " Can you tell me about it ?" said my mother, in -her gentle, sym- 
 pathizing tone. 
 
 " Yes ; draw nearer." 
 
 I had been sewing very busily before these words were uttered, 
 not interested in what my mother and her guest were conversing 
 about. I merely heard the murmur of their voices, but that did not 
 disturb my quiet, and I turned over in my mind my past, present, 
 and future plans, scarcely conscious that any one was in the room 
 but myself; but these words uttered by the gentleman were so em- 
 phatic that I almost thought that his invitation was for me to draw 
 near too ; and I laid aside my work, and listened to the following 
 thrilling story. 
 
 " Francis Walpole and I were friends in our childhood, friends in 
 the widest sense of a school-boy's interpretation of that sacred word, 
 and we were neighbors in the broad and beautiful country where 
 there were no bounds to our pleasures and no city restraints in our 
 rambles. It seemed as if I could not love and prize him enough ; 
 and I sought for no other companionship, and cared for no other ear 
 in which to whisper my triumphs, failures, or wrongs. His arm and 
 his advice were always at my service ; and many a hard blow did he 
 gain for defending my cause, right or wrong. I love to dwell upon 
 his refined and manly beauty, his strangely powerful strength of 
 muscle, his determination when he felt that his cause was just ; and 
 few were the boys, even older than he, who feared not to feel a blow 
 that he could give, either in jest or in earnest. I said that we were 
 neighbors in the country ; but besides our family and his, two others 
 lived near us on terms of great intimacy. The grounds of each
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 285 
 
 house met in a kind of court-yard, with no inhospitable fences to 
 intervene ; and we made a play-ground of this large space, and had 
 ample room to indulge in the usual sports of boys, such as cricket, 
 leap-frog, marbles, and kites ; while the girls chose the more femi- 
 nine diversions of battledoor, ball, and the skipping-rope. But what- 
 ever were our separate sports, we met on common ground in a 
 swing, which Mr. Walpole, who was a kind and indulgent father, ha4 
 erected for his son. Nothing was more fascinating. It consisted of 
 two very high, upright posts, with a cross-piece on the top, from 
 which the rope was suspended. The swing held two children easily, 
 and we seldom paid a visit to the upper regions alone. Sometimes 
 we rough boys mounted the air-car together, wild with joy and frolic ; 
 or at other times we would give the ropes a gentle impulse, while 
 sweet Annie Morris floated to and fro, only wanting wings, in our 
 imaginations, to resemble a flying angel ; and sometimes, to our 
 shame be it spoken, we twisted the rope while wild Bet Dayton was 
 held prisoner, and released it on a concerted signal, while it carried 
 the unfortunate girl whirling round and round, till she grew weary of 
 asking mercy at our hands, or until we had obtained a promise from 
 her, which she never afterwards kept, of playing upon us no more 
 practical jokes. Oh, merry times did that old swing see ; but, alas ! 
 it saw a sad scene too. One afternoon, a party of six girls and boys 
 were gathered around it, ready to take their turn in our air-car, as 
 we called it. Each selected his or her companion for the voyage. 
 Annie Morris chose Dick White, for she knew that he, like herself, 
 did not like to swing very high ; and wild Bet Dayton found a cor- 
 responding spirit in Tom Stephens, who boasted that he could throw 
 a ball so nicely upward that he could catch it in the next forward 
 motion before it could fall to the ground. We had often heard of, 
 but never seen, this wonderful feat ; however, we did not for an 
 instant doubt Tom's word. As usual, Frank and I, with arms inter- 
 laced, awaited our turn together. It was a delicious afternoon ; the
 
 286 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 skies were glowing with the red rays of the departing sun, and the 
 air was full of fragrance. From the open windows of the four neigh- 
 bors' houses a friendly face was occasionally seen, or a mother or * 
 sister would smile upon our sport." 
 
 Here the gentleman paused suddenly, and covered his face with 
 his hand, and sighed so deeply, that I thought that the action and 
 the sigh were an earnest of something very sad that he was going to 
 relate, and so it proved. 
 
 " At length our turn came. ' We can beat them all,' said Frank, 
 with a loud; ringing laugh. ' Hallo ! John, what do you say to try- 
 ing to touch one of those low, white clouds which come so tempt- 
 ingly near us ? ' ' With all my heart,' replied I ; ' nothing venture, 
 nothing have ; push, you lazy fellows ! all's ready, one, two, three ; 
 we're off ! ' and with the united efforts of the two other boys we soon 
 attained a respectable height, and felt as happy as birds in the air. 
 Higher and higher we swung, higher than we had ever ventured 
 before. The boys below seemed like dwarfs to our eyes, and the 
 girls' white dresses like fairy robes. 
 
 " ' Is not this almost too high ? ' said I to Frank, tremblingly, for 
 I felt a sensation of dizziness as I looked below. 
 
 " ' Too high ! ' exclaimed Frank, who, I believe, never feared any- 
 thing ; ' too high, you coward ! No / I tell you we could not be too 
 near the skies, if we followed the flight of that swallow yonder.' 
 
 " Upward and upward, higher and higher, nearer the swallow we 
 soared. We heard our companions below screaming to us to stop, 
 and we saw from the windows of the neighbors' houses handkerchiefs 
 waving, which we always understood as a signal to return home ; 
 and Frank, who was always thoughtful of the feelings of others, and 
 obedient to his parents' slightest wish, stopped his exertions to keep 
 the swing going, intending to let the motion ' die away ' gradually. 
 
 " ' Let us give the setting sun three cheers ! ' said he, ' before he 
 leaves us ' ; and holding out both his hands, and wawng them above
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 287 
 
 his head (for he depended upon being balanced by his feet), he gave 
 one ringing shout, gushing out from the very fulness of a happy 
 heart, lost his equilibrium, and fell down, down, down, helpless to 
 the earth." 
 
 The gentleman shivered here as if he were cold, and again cov- 
 ered up his eyes, and drew nearer to the. fire. Mother made a 
 motion for him to proceed, and at last he said, 
 
 " There he remained, and there I beheld him, as each forward and 
 backward motion of the swing brought me nearer to the ground. I 
 was helpless myself, and I dared not spring out, for two reasons. 
 One was, that I thought that I might crush him, for I could not cal- 
 culate my distance ; and the other was, that just after his fall the 
 swing was too great a distance from the earth for me to have 
 attempted it. The children screamed, and made several ineffectual 
 attempts to draw him out ; but the continued vibration of the pen- 
 dulum-like swing prevented their touching him, as he was immedi- 
 ately under the path which it described. At length his mother came 
 with a crowd of friends, and I, freed from my unhappy position, 
 looked on frightened and with tearful eyes. 
 
 " His mother ! Merciful heaven ! shall I ever forget her strange 
 expression, as she looked for some signs of blood, some bruise, to 
 tell her where the injury was, and in vain ? or will her idiotic stare, 
 and her continued, ever-continued screams, forever come up to my 
 mind, curdling my blood in my veins, and making a trembler of me 
 even now ? 
 
 " All was tried on the spot that kindness could suggest, to bring 
 him back to life and to us, but with no effect. A messenger was 
 instantly despatched to the nearest town, where his father pursued 
 his business, and for a physician, although we felt that the aid of 
 the latter would be useless. 
 
 " Mrs. Walpole was slight and delicate, but she took the body in 
 her arms, and scarcely staggered beneath its heavy weight, and on
 
 283 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 she went, accepting no offers of assistance from the busy neighbors, 
 until she laid him on a couch in her own room, and then sinking 
 down by his side, with her strength overtasked, she fainted. Every 
 one who wished came in to look at the lovely boy, beautiful beyond 
 description. His long, dark eyelashes, the longest I ever saw, 
 swept his pale cheeks ; and his lips, so brilliant once, now, indeed, 
 still smiling ; but it was the smile of carved marble. Every resto- 
 rative that we could think of was tried again and again, but the 
 hand slid lifelessly from our loving grasp, and the heart-beats seemed 
 
 hushed forever. The town of was several miles distant, and it 
 
 would be some hours before we could hope for the arrival of Mr. 
 Walpole and the physician. The ladies gathered round, and meas- 
 ured the white shroud which was to cover my beloved friend. Mrs. 
 Walpole looked on unresisting, and saw them close his white eyelids 
 more securely, and press together his smiling lips ; but as they were 
 about to clothe him in the accustomed robe of death, she stayed 
 their hands, and whispered, hoarsely, 
 
 " ' Only let his father see him as he is, so life-like, so beautiful ! 
 Array him not yet in the garments of the grave ! A shroud ! My 
 Francis in a shroud! Oh, no! My God, it cannot be! Let me 
 die, rather ! ' 
 
 " Her wish was granted ; for her husband, many miles in advance 
 of the physician, rushed into the room, and beheld the boy whom he 
 had left in the early morning with a parting blessing on his beloved 
 head, now stretched out, with no smile to greet him and no welcome 
 in his voice. What cared he for the light of the sun, or the moon, 
 or the stars, now that the light of his life had departed ? He only 
 felt that his boy was claimed by a new parent Death ! 
 
 "The physician came at last; but no encouraging smile was upon 
 his benevolent countenance as he felt the boy's pulse, and while we 
 all watched him, hopeful even in our despair, he pushed the thick 
 curls from his white brow, and pressed his fingers upon the pulseless
 
 AXD OTHER TALES. 289 
 
 temples of our idol ; he felt his heart, the seat of life, but at each 
 action a greater cloud of disappointment shaded his face. 
 
 " ' At any rate,' said he, with a mournful, sympathizing smile, ' we 
 will leave no means untried, and we will see if the blood is entirely 
 stagnated.' 
 
 " We all gathered round, wondering that the use of the lancet had 
 not occurred to us before, and blamed each other for the omission ; 
 but as is often the case in great danger, we had neglected the only 
 means that could have restored consciousness, had there been life 
 there. We took a fresh gleam of hope from the proceeding. Each 
 heart seemed beating with a redoubled impetus " 
 
 The gentleman stopped again here, and smiled as if communing 
 with himself, but I did not like the interruption, for I felt as / were 
 standing by the insensible child awaiting the issue, and I impatiently 
 exclaimed, Well ? " 
 
 He recollected himself and continued. "The lancet did its work 
 surely, nobly. No blood flowed for some time, but at length a drop 
 slowly oozed from the puncture, and another, and another, until at 
 last it came as freely as we could desire, and then a slight tinge of 
 pink colored those silent lips, and a soft sigh came from his breast, 
 as audible to us, though, as if it had been a trumpet's blast. There 
 was life, there was hope. The physician motioned us to be quiet ; 
 the mother suppressed her screams of joy, while the father wept 
 silently, bewildered by this sudden transition from agony to bliss ; 
 and we, who stood around, simultaneously bent our knees in silent 
 prayer, each offering a petition to the Giver of all good, to continue 
 the life which hung suspended there. And the prayer was granted. 
 For three days my friend, who was the object of so many prayers, 
 was unconscious of all that was passing around ; but, on the fourth, 
 his eyes opened calmly upon earth's scenes, and before long he was 
 enabled to engage once more in the duties and pleasures that belong 
 to earth. Whether in that long trance of unconsciousness his soul 
 19
 
 FAIRY-LAND. 
 
 journeyed to the land of pure spirits and there learned lessons of 
 beauty and goodness, I know not ; nor can he fathom that parting of 
 the spirit from the body ; but this I do know, that since that awaken- 
 ing hour the steps of my friend have been onward and heavenward, 
 trying to lead other souls into the land of pure spirits and endeavor- 
 ing to reach, by the holiness of his life here, the perfect rest here- 
 after." ^ 
 
 WHITHER. 
 
 WHITHER are you going, little birdie so bright, 
 Why fly you so fast from that tree ? 
 Said the bird, don't you know I am going to my nest 
 All my pretty young nestlings to see ? 
 
 Whither are you going, little fish in that stream, 
 'Neath yon smooth, shining, silvery wave ? 
 Said the fish, I am seeking a safe' resting place 
 In some darksome and coral-lined cave. 
 
 Whither are you going, you brown autumn leaf, 
 Can't you stop and not hasten away ? 
 Said the leaf, I am seeking a still, sheltered nook, 
 Where in quiet my form I may lay. 
 
 Whither are you going, with your buzz and your hum ; 
 Say where are you going, little bee ? 
 Said the bee, some sweet honey I seek for my hive 
 In each pretty bright flower I see. 
 
 Whither are you going, little lamb in that field, 
 With your plaintive and tremulous bleat ? 
 Oh, I go, said the lamb, where the soft dew Is fresh 
 And to crop the green herbage so sweet. 
 
 And where zr&you going, with your sleepy blue eyes, 
 Little girl, as you hasten along ? 
 Oh, mother waits for me to rock me, she said, 
 On her breast, fast to sleep, with a song.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 29 1 
 
 
 
 DAY AND NIGHT. 
 
 THEIR QUARREL AND RECONCILIATION. 
 
 BY my window I stood on a soft autumn even, 
 While the last blush of sunlight red tinted the heaven, 
 When the breeze, blowing softly, the restless leaves stirred, 
 And the faint pipe of birdlings around me was heard. 
 
 " How sweet," said I, gently, " this meeting of Day 
 And the first star of Night, with its tremulous ray, 
 While the'sun calmly sinks from his throne in the skies, 
 As if leaving a blessing behind as he dies. 
 
 "Can any one tell which we ought to love best 
 The Day when we labor, or Night when we rest ? 
 The Day for glad meetings and pleasure and play, 
 The Night for the slumber which follows the Day ? " 
 
 I started, for lo ! from a crimson-fringed cloud, 
 A voice sounded sternly, impatient, and loud ; 
 I looked, and a giant, whose face was the sun, 
 Outspoke as if I some great evil had done. 
 
 Oh, I do assure you, his eyes bright and bold 
 Were flashing all colors, from ebon to gold, 
 His arms seemed extended to crush my slight form, 
 And the frown on his brow was a menacing storm. 
 
 " How dare you, frail mortal, compare me with Night, 
 That babe, that mere insect with power and might ? 
 I light man to labor, I give him his bread, 
 I quicken the seed in its cold, darksome bed. 
 
 " I color the flowers with delicate dyes, 
 With a brush that I dip in my own glowing skies, 
 The rainbow I paint and all rich fruitage send 
 Oh ! which of us, then, is of mortals the friend ?
 
 292 FAIRY-LAND 
 
 " I relieve the night watcher, all weary and worn, 
 i gladden the hearts of the cold and forlorn, 
 I give " but he slowly sank down in the west, 
 And left me all trembling to finish the rest. 
 
 But, as I was thinking 'twas really the sun 
 
 Who all that was good on the wide earth had done, 
 
 Another voice came from the far-away east, 
 
 So sweet, that it frightened me not in the least 
 
 A maiden I saw, oh, so pale and so fair, 
 That I thought her frail beauty would die in the air ; 
 A silver light shone from her deep, tender eyes, 
 And she gracefully moved as a bird when it flies.* 
 
 "I come," said she, quickly, "as Queen of the Night, 
 Forever yon proud and bold upstart to blight ; 
 Can you doubt, for one instant, my might and my power 
 To shed cooling dew on the sun-withered flower ? 
 
 " Who brings quiet sleep to the work-tired frame, 
 When in anguish men call on my powerful name ? 
 Who whispers blest dreams, gives sweet converse and rest, 
 If not I, who am ever a thrice-welcome guest ? 
 
 " Rash being ! at least, when the question you asked, 
 If your memory had for one instant been tasked, 
 I should think that your gratitude, small though it be, 
 Would have led you to choose, as the best of gifts, me" 
 
 " I'm convinced " said I, frightened, " that there is no choice 
 'Twixt the Day and the Night," I assure you my voice 
 Issued hoarsely and trembling "oh, equal axz you, 
 Brilliant sun, lovely moon, in your power, 'tis true." 
 
 Then glad was I wisdom was lent me that nigar, 
 
 To lead me to answer these fearful foes right ; 
 
 It was all that they wanted; I saw by her face, 
 
 As she drew her robe round her ana quickened her pace.
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 293 
 
 " I am late," she said, softly, and went on her way, 
 " But see, there's once more that bold ruler of Day." 
 Sure enough, he peeped o'er the horizon once more, 
 And a smile lit his face far more bright than before. 
 
 And his voice,, not now thunder but softened, uprose, 
 
 And his gaze flushed her face like a bud ere it blows. 
 
 " Peace," he said ; " peace," she echoed ; all tumult was' hushed, 
 
 And to tell the strange tale all the meteors rushed. 
 
 Then I, brooding solemnly over the same, 
 To my desk and my pen and ink, hastily came, 
 To tell this sky-news to earth's denizens, too, 
 And I hope, little reader, to interest you.
 
 Ur