THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 3ltoataifeft tnitlj tituroims 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 D. APPLETON & CO., 443 & 445 BROADWAY. 
 
 1865.
 
 ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 
 
 D. APPLETOX & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York.
 
 TZ6 
 
 PREFACE TO UNCLE JOHN'S THIRD BOOK. 
 
 DEAR LITTLE CHILDREN I 
 
 HAVE you read Uncle John's First and 
 Second Books ? Have you looked at all the 
 pretty pictures, and learned all the stories 
 about them ? Has your dear mother, sister, 
 or aunt taken you upon her knee, and read 
 to you all the little tales which are in the 
 books, or are you such good studious children, 
 that you can take a book yourself and read, 
 when there are no long words to twist up 
 your dear little tongues, and puzzle your dear 
 little brains? Perhaps you have read the 
 two volumes through many times, till you 
 
 622816
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 can tell the stoiy to every picture to your 
 baby brothers and sisters. If so, I am sure 
 you are ready for some new tales and pictures, 
 tales full of sweet thoughts, and words to 
 make you love gentleness and truth, pictures 
 that will teach you something new worth 
 learning. And so, knowing that to a good 
 child there is no present so valuable as a 
 new book, Uncle John offers you his Third 
 Book, full of fresh stories and pictures. As 
 he hopes you have studied hard, and learned 
 many things since you read his last book, he 
 has given you a few harder words and longer 
 sentences, to try your scholarship. Promising 
 that if you like his third book, he will not 
 forget you, but soon give you a still newer 
 one, he signs himself, 
 
 UlSTCLE JOHX.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Farm Yard, ....... 7 
 
 The New Brother, ...... 9 
 
 The Snow, ........ 12 
 
 Humanity towards Insects, ..... 15 
 
 The Ship, 16 
 
 How to enjoy a Holiday, ..... 18 
 The Little Dog that Loved his Mistress, . . . .22 
 
 Work, 24 
 
 The Other Name for Keal Politeness, . . . .26 
 
 Bunker Hill Monument, ...... 31 
 
 The Stray Lamb, ....... 32 
 
 To a Lady Bird, ....... 38 
 
 The Beaver, ........ 41 
 
 The Value of Truth, ...... 42 
 
 The Happy Rabbit, ....... 48 
 
 Esquimaux and their Huts, ..... 51 
 
 The Contrary Boy, . . . . . . . " 53 
 
 The Camel, ....... 63 
 
 Little Jessie and her New Shilling, . . . .66 
 
 The Old Woman by the Wood, ..... 72
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How to be Good, ....... 74 
 
 Stroll on the Sea Shore, ...... 81 
 
 How to Make a Kite, 86 
 
 The Use of a Needle, 90 
 
 The Mouse who wanted to See the World, . . .94 
 
 Conscience, ....... 99 
 
 The Orphan Boy's Tale, . . . . . .101 
 
 Amy's Garden, ....... 104 
 
 The Clever Boy, . . . . . . .106 
 
 The Chinaman, ....... 114 
 
 The Wilful Boy, 117 
 
 The Grizzly Bear, ...... 122 
 
 The Pet Frogs, 124 
 
 An Indian Wigwam, ...... 133 
 
 The Worsted Stocking, . . . . . .136 
 
 On the Sea, ....... 145 
 
 Little Things, . . . . . . .147 
 
 The Balloon, ....... 156 
 
 A Story of Christmas, . . . . . .158 
 
 Wishing, . . . . . . . .165 
 
 TheApteryx, . . . . . . . .167 
 
 Mary Thompson, ....... 168 
 
 How Books are Made, . . . . . .180 
 
 How Harry Dixon began to Think, .... 184 
 
 An Aquarium, ....... 189 
 
 That is a Boy I can Trust, ..... 192 
 
 The Bad Clock, 194 
 
 The Great Auk, 197 
 
 Androcles and the Lion, ...... 198 
 
 The Two Artists, ....... 205
 
 UNCLE JOHN'S THIRD BOOK. 
 
 THE F AKM- YARD. 
 
 THIS is a Farm-yard. Come, good girls 
 and boys, John will show you all that is in
 
 8 UNCLE j OHN'S 
 
 the Farm-yard. Look, Rose, at the red Cow ; 
 when the maid milks her you may have a 
 cup of the nice fresh new milk. 
 
 No beast that God gives to man is of more 
 use to him than the Cow. The poor man can 
 live well, if he can keep a good Cow. Milk 
 makes a great part of the food of the poor, 
 and boys and girls like milk more than tea. 
 Then the cream can be sold to buy bread. 
 The rich buy the cream from the poor to use 
 for their tea, and for their cook to make good 
 things. The flesh of the Cow is beef, which is 
 good food. The thick and strong skin of the 
 Cow is of great use to make boots and shoes ; 
 the bones are of use for spoons and such 
 small things, and the horns and the hoofs help 
 to make glue. 
 
 So you must see how much we ought to 
 thank God for the Cow. 
 
 See, the farmers are loading the carts with 
 the hay which was cut this morning ; they will
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 work all day to get the hay into the large 
 barn you see by the farm-house, so that when 
 summer is over, there will still be plenty of 
 food for the horses, cows, and sheep. 
 
 THE NEW BROTHER. 
 
 " COME and look here, Mary. I have some- 
 thing to show you that will make you very 
 happy." 
 
 "Oh, nurse, what is it?" 
 
 " Come and see what I have got in my lap." 
 
 " A baby ! Oh, nurse, whose baby is it ? 
 Where did you get it ? " 
 
 " It is your little brother, my dear child. 
 God has given it to your mamma, and it is 
 come to live in the nursery with you and me." 
 
 " Oh how delightful ! What, always to 
 stay here ? My little brother ! I cannot under- 
 stand it at all. I shall be too happy."
 
 10 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " Gently, my dear child. You will be very 
 happy I am sure, but not too happy, I hope. 
 Now look at him, and keep quiet at my knee ; 
 for your mamma is not well, and you must 
 not make a noise." 
 
 " Oh, nurse, let me go and see dear mamma." 
 
 " You shall go by-and-by, my dear ; but not 
 now. Sit and look at your little brother; 
 and tell me what you think of him." 
 
 " Oh, nurse, he is lovely. Only so very tiny, 
 and he keeps his eyes shut so fast." 
 
 " He will soon grow bigger ; and when his 
 eyes are open, you will see they are pretty 
 bright blue." 
 
 " May he have a bit of my cake, nurse ? I 
 have such a nice one in the plate that Aunt 
 Jane gave me." 
 
 " He cannot eat, my dear child ; he has no 
 teeth yet. He will live on milk for a long 
 time. See how feeble he is. His little hands 
 can hold nothing yet ; and, if I were to put
 
 THIRD BOOK. 11 
 
 him on the ground, he would fall down and 
 have no power to move himself." 
 
 " Then is he ill, nurse ? What makes him 
 so very weak \ " 
 
 " You were just the same, Mary, when you 
 were first Iborn. And for many months you 
 lay as he does now, a helpless baby on the lap 
 or in the arms. But we took care of you. 
 We carried you while you could not walk, 
 and your dear mamma fed you whilst you 
 could not eat. She taught you to step when 
 you grew stronger, and held you that you might 
 not fall and hurt yourself. At last you could 
 walk, and your mouth was full of pretty 
 white teeth, so that you could eat. You will 
 see how helpless your little brother is ; and 
 you may be quite sure that all the pains 
 and care that we take of him were once taken 
 with yourself by your dear mamma and me." 
 
 " Well, nurse, it is very strange ! I, that now 
 can run and eat so well. It does not seem as
 
 12 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 if I ever could have been so tiny and so weak. 
 You will let me help you to take care of my 
 little brother, will you not, dear nurse ? O, I 
 shall love him so much. He shall have all 
 my toys and playthings. And I will do all I 
 can to make him happy. How good God has 
 been to give me a little brother." 
 
 THE SNOW. 
 
 " O ROBERT, dear Robert, come to the win. 
 dow. Only look at the garden and the hills." 
 
 " Well, Charles, it is only snow. Did you 
 never see any before ? I thought, at least, that 
 the summer-house had fallen down ; or that 
 James had been cutting down the birch-tree." 
 
 " Well ; but what shall we do ? You know 
 we were to have gone on the pond to-day to 
 slide, and now I am sure we shall not be able 
 to find our way there."
 
 THIRD BOOK. 13 
 
 " We could not slide well with all this snow 
 on the ice, even if we could find our way; 
 and I dare say papa would not like us to 
 try. But we can have just as much fun in 
 another way, now the snow is come ; and we 
 shall be able to slide again many times before 
 the winter is over, I have no doubt." 
 
 " Well, what can we do ? " 
 
 " Why, make a snow-man, to be sure, and 
 then pelt him down again with snowballs. 
 And pelt one another, and have all sorts of 
 games with the snow. I am quite glad it is 
 come. Make haste down." 
 
 " Oh no, I don't care for that ; I want to 
 slide." 
 
 "Now, dear Charles, don't be silly. You 
 don't know how happy we shall be, and how 
 warm we shall get. Don't fret for what can- 
 not be helped." 
 
 But in vain Robert talked, for Charles was 
 so silly as to sit down and cry, because he
 
 14 
 
 could not enjoy the pleasure lie had set his 
 heart upon, and he let Robert go out into the 
 garden all alone, and sat sobbing at the win- 
 dow. But Robert ran about, and had, as he 
 said, fine fun. He made a large snow-man, 
 and as there was a sharp frost, the snow was 
 hard and firm. Then he made a high wall of 
 snow, and pretended his man was a soldier 
 behind it. And, with a heap of snowballs 
 by his side, he set to work and cannonaded 
 the wall till it came down, man and all. But, 
 as papa told him, his poor soldier had not 
 fair play, because you now he could not 
 return the firing. At last, he was quite hot 
 and tired with his sport, and came in-doors, 
 and there he found Charles cross and cold. 
 Cross with himself because he had not gone 
 out to play with Robert, and cross even with 
 everybody round him. And cold, because 
 he had sat still by the fire, which is not at 
 all the best way of warming one's self in the
 
 THIED BOOK. 15 
 
 winter. I am glad to say that lie got into a 
 better state of mind at night, when he said 
 his prayers, and he resolved not to be so silly 
 another day. 
 
 HUMANITY TOWARDS INSECTS. 
 
 TURN, turn, thy hasty foot aside, 
 Nor crush that helpless worm ; 
 
 The frame thy scornful thoughts deride, 
 From God receiv'd its form. 
 
 The common Lord of all that move, 
 From whom thy being flow'd, 
 
 A portion of his boundless love 
 On that poor worm bestow'd 
 
 The Sun, the Moon, the Stars HE made 
 
 To all his creatures free ; 
 And spreads o'er earth the grassy blade, 
 
 For worms as well as thee.
 
 16 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 Let them enjoy their little day, 
 Their humble bliss receive ; 
 
 Oh ! do not lightly take away 
 The life thou canst not give. 
 
 THE SHIP. 
 
 COME with me to the beach, John and Tom, 
 and we will look at the large Ship now in 
 sight, for it will soon sail past us. Though it 
 seems so near to us, it is at least a mile from
 
 T HIED BOOK. 1 
 
 us. It sails on the smooth sea, with its white 
 sails spread to the sun, as if no harm could 
 ever come to it. But we know that the wind 
 may rise, and the waves may dash on that 
 strong Ship till it breaks with their weight. 
 Or a storm may drive it to some rough rocks, 
 that may break the fair Ship in pieces, till it 
 is lost in the waves, and all the brave men 
 who now guide it on its way may sink to 
 death. 
 
 Let us pray God to watch and spare the 
 Ship and its brave crew, who cross the seas 
 to bring stores for us. 
 
 A ship is of great use, for you know there 
 are a great many countries in the world that 
 men wish to see, and a great many of the 
 useful things that are in our houses are 
 brought from distant countries. Tea comes 
 from China; coffee and sugar are brought 
 from the "West Indies ; rice and cotton from 
 India; oranges and lemons from Spain; 
 2
 
 18 UNCLE j o HN'S 
 
 apples, plums, and grapes from France ; even 
 butter and eggs are brought over from 
 Ireland in Ships ; and thus we obtain many 
 good things from other nations, and are able 
 to send them back corn, and coal, and hard- 
 ware, and cotton goods which we have, in 
 exchange, which we could not do without 
 Ships. 
 
 HOW TO ENJOY A HOLIDAY. 
 
 " How merry you seem, Ralph, over your 
 work. Do not you get very tired of sitting 
 here day after day mending old shoes and 
 boots ? Every morning when I go by to 
 school you are hard at work, and at night as 
 I go home and look in at your window, there 
 you are stitching or knocking away as busy 
 as a bee. Don't you long to go out in the 
 fields and lanes ? Oh, if I were a man like
 
 THIRD BOOK. 19 
 
 you, I would not stay in-doors this "bright 
 summer through. But I would rise with the 
 lark, and be off amongst the cowslips and the 
 blue-bells, or lose myself in the shady woods 
 where the birds are singing so sweetly, and 
 never go to school, or work, or do any thing 
 but amuse myself from morning till night." 
 
 "And then, Master Tom, you would not be 
 half so happy as I am. For you would not 
 be doing your duty. Do you think you 
 were sent into this world for nothing but 
 to amuse yourself? And would it be right 
 to think only of your own pleasure ? But, 
 even if it were, I do not believe you would 
 find it in idleness. No one can be really hap- 
 py who is doing wrong. And to waste time 
 cannot be right. How do you feel, when 
 you are coming home from school at night, 
 when you have been a good boy all day ? " 
 
 " Well, very happy, Kalph. "
 
 20 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " Yes, happier than you do at the end of a 
 whole holiday ; do you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I do ; for then I am tired and 
 sorry it is over." 
 
 " Ah, Master Tom, depend upon it people 
 are never so happy as when they are doing 
 their duty, even if that duty is hard work, as 
 it must often be in this world. There is 
 always a sort of pleasure mixed up with it 
 that is never found in idleness or wrong-doing. 
 When I sit here in my little room the sun 
 looks in upon me with such a bright ray, it 
 is almost as if he smiled at me. And the 
 linnet in the cage sings me a happy song, and 
 Peter, the little raven, sits and watches how I 
 get on. And the flowers in the window give a 
 pleasant scent. So that I have the sunshine, and 
 birds and flowers, without going from my 
 work. And, if I make haste and can get 
 done in time, I often can patch up an old 
 pair of shoes for a poor neighbor without
 
 THIKDBOOK. 21 
 
 charge. And that you may be sure is a good 
 plan for ending my day happily. Then on 
 Sundays, those blessed days of rest, I can 
 walk in the fields and enjoy all their beauty 
 with a light heart." 
 
 " Well, Ralph, I dare say you are right ; and 
 so I will try to do as you do, and get through 
 my day's work cheerfully. For, after all, I 
 should not like to grow up a dunce, as I 
 certainly should if I played about all day 
 instead of going to school. So I will not 
 waste my time talking any more, but run off 
 at once. Only tell me how you made Peter 
 so tame." 
 
 " Why, Master Tom, I found him one Sun- 
 day afternoon lying in the old churchyard, un- 
 der the wall. He was very young, and the nest 
 by some accident had fallen down with him 
 in it. He was too young to fly, and I brought 
 him home and fed him with a spoon. He 
 soon grew tame ; and now, though he is fully
 
 22 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 fledged, lie will not leave me. I think he 
 even loves me; for you see, Master Tom, I 
 have been a sort of father to him." 
 
 " I am sure he ought to love you, Ralph, for 
 taking such good care of him. Now good-bye, 
 I am really going." 
 
 " So do, Master Tom, and pray stop in your 
 way home, and tell me whether you have had 
 a happy day. But mind you must work 
 hard: 1 
 
 "So I will, Ralph." 
 
 THE LITTLE DOG THAT LOVED HIS MISTKESS. 
 
 I HAD once a little dog that I loved very 
 much. He was always with me, and was 
 quite my companion. I used to call him my 
 four-footed friend. He loved me better than 
 any one else in the house, and would not eat 
 his dinner if I was not at home to give it to
 
 THIRD BOOK. 23 
 
 him. But I did not often leave him behind 
 me, for he was so good and gentle that all my 
 friends were glad to see him. He did not 
 like water, I mean swimming in water, and it 
 was always needful to throw him in when he 
 was to have a bath ; for he would not take it 
 of his own accord. But once, when I was 
 out with a party of friends, and some of us 
 got into a boat upon the river, little Elfin was 
 left to run beside us on the bank. But so 
 much was he afraid of losing his dear mistress, 
 that he plunged into the water and came 
 swimming after us. His love for me was 
 stronger than his fear of the water. And, 
 dripping as he was, we were obliged to take 
 him into the boat. I could not be angry 
 with him, for it was so pleasant to be the 
 object of such faithful love. Poor little dog, 
 he is not here now ; and sorely do I miss him 
 and his pretty ways. He grew very ill one 
 day. We went for the (Jog doctor, who did
 
 24 
 
 UNCLE JOHNS 
 
 all he could to save him ; but it was of no use, 
 for he died at the end of the third day. He 
 lies buried in the garden, under a little fir- 
 tree, and even Baby will not set his tiny foot 
 upon poor " Bow-wow's grave." 
 
 WORK. 
 
 Do you see this band of negroes working ? 
 They are carrying bags of coffee, rice, sugar, 
 and spice upon their heads from the wharf to
 
 THIED BOOK. 25 
 
 the great ship which you see lying at the land- 
 ing. It is hard work to carry such heavy bur- 
 dens through the heat of the day in Southern 
 climates, yet the negro toils uncomplainingly 
 and patiently. Let us hope that they will 
 have a good meal and a soft bed to rest upon 
 after their clay's toil. There is no rest so 
 sweet as that which follows work, when the 
 tired body is refreshed by well-earned labor. 
 The idle and lazy never enjoy this rest. Idle- 
 ness is well named the parent of all vice. 
 
 It is the will of God that no one should waste 
 time in this world. He has said that all must 
 work. Rich and poor, young and old, all 
 have their work to do. The poor man works 
 that he may live : the rich man lives that he 
 may work : the poor man works with his 
 hands, the rich man with his head ; but both 
 must work to do God's will. 
 
 Your work is to learn well, and with all 
 your heart. To think is to work ; to read is
 
 26 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 to work ; to pray is to work ; to do the will 
 of God and of those who teach you, is to work. 
 You live for this, and you must not waste one 
 hour of life, or when death is near, you will 
 think with grief on that lost hour. 
 
 Think on these things, my child, and learn 
 when you are young, that you may do the 
 will of God in life, and feel peace in death. 
 
 THE OTHER NAME FOR REAL POLITENESS. 
 
 POLITENESS is a very necessary and valu- 
 able accomplishment, or rather I should say 
 quality, and no one should think it beneath 
 him to be polite. But when I speak of its 
 being valuable, I mean real true politeness, 
 and not those artificial manners which are 
 taught and learnt as mere matters of outward 
 show; just like those tricks which one can 
 teach to a dog or monkey, and which are very
 
 THIKD BOOK. 2 
 
 amusing in them, but worse than laughable 
 in a rational creature. 
 
 Now I will tell you a story, which will 
 show what I mean by real politeness. And 
 I think we shall find that it is, after all, less 
 an accomplishment than a quality of the mind 
 or heart. For an accomplishment is some- 
 thing that we learn, something we acquire ; 
 but true politeness springs from the very heart. 
 
 Little Sydney was a boy of about eight 
 years old. He went to school, and learnt 
 dancing and drilling, and I know not what 
 besides, in order to teach him manners, or to 
 make him polite. And no boy could make 
 a better bow than Sidney ; and as to taking 
 the wall of a lady, dear, dear, he would have 
 run under the very horses' heads in the street, 
 rather than think of such a thing. 
 
 One day, he was going to school on a danc- 
 ing afternoon, and he was dressed all in his 
 best, and looking very smart indeed, when he
 
 28 UNCLEJO HN'S 
 
 met a poor beggar woman. She was old and 
 almost blind, and her clothes were ragged 
 and dirty. Sidney was not yet perhaps old 
 enough to have learned, as he ought, to love 
 the poor for whom Jesus when on earth cared 
 so greatly ; but he surely should have shown 
 some of his politeness to this poor old woman, 
 at least so far as to give her the wall. For 
 though it was not her right, according to the 
 rules of artificial politeness, yet it is always 
 our duty to give way to those older or more 
 afflicted than ourselves. But Sidney's polite- 
 ness was all outward show, and pushing rude- 
 ly past the old woman, he almost threw her 
 down in his eagerness to thrust her from the 
 wall, against which she was groping her way 
 along. A few steps more, and he met Mary 
 Lacey, a nice little girl whom everybody 
 loved, and before whom Sidney was always 
 very anxious to show off his good manners. 
 Oh, then, how hastily he called them all forth,
 
 THIRD BOOK. 29 
 
 and with hat off, and foot forward in the veiy 
 newest style, he took hold of the little lady's 
 hand. As Mary was returning from the er- 
 rand on which she was bound when she met 
 Sydney, she also came upon the poor old beg- 
 gar woman, who was waiting to be able to 
 cross the road. " Do let me help you," said 
 Mary : " we can get over nicely now, and if 
 you will put your hand on my shoulder I 
 will lead you the right way." 
 
 This was real politeness : it came from the 
 heart, and was not put on for the purpose of 
 display. Mary could not courtesy so graceful- 
 ly as Sidney could bow, but I think she was 
 more really polite. She had that true polite- 
 ness of which the Scripture name is Charity, 
 or Love.
 
 30 
 
 UNCLE JOHNS 
 
 ^; 
 
 
 HILL MO3TMEXT.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 31 
 
 BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 
 
 Tins splendid monument is on Bunker 
 Hill, Charlestown, Mass. It was erected at a 
 great expense to mark the spot where a great 
 battle was fought in the Revolution. Perhaps 
 you have heard your grandfather, or grand- 
 mother, tell of the hard times our soldiers 
 had, and how bravely they bore all their 
 sufferings, in order that our country should be 
 free. All American children should love to 
 read and hear about those times, and learn all 
 they can about the great and good Washington. 
 A good young Frenchman named Lafayette 
 came to this country to help us to fight for 
 our liberty. General Washington loved him 
 very much, and so did all our soldiers; and 
 many years after our country was free, he came 
 again to visit it. 
 
 On this occasion the first, or corner-stone as 
 it is called, of the Bunker Hill Monument was
 
 32 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 laid. It was a grand scene. Thousands of 
 people -were in the streets and on the ground 
 where the monument now stands. Mr. Web- 
 ster made the speech, and the ceremonies 
 concluded by all the great multitude singing 
 the grand tune of " Old Hundred." 
 
 THE STRAY LAMB. 
 
 THE sun was going down slowly into the 
 west, behind a thick curtain of golden and 
 purple clouds, when a little lamb, that had 
 long looked with wandering and restless eyes 
 beyond the fences of his peaceful fold, leaped 
 softly over the wattles, and stopping with a 
 panting heart to listen if his mother bleated 
 to call him back, began to hurry towards a 
 pleasant hill that had long tempted him to go 
 astray. But his mother did not call him. 
 She knew not that he had left her side. She
 
 THIRD BOOK. 33 
 
 had lain quietly down to sleep, and was dream- 
 ing of her little wandering son, who was al- 
 ready far away. 
 
 On and on he went, till at last the fold to 
 which he looked back was quite dim in the 
 distance. For the sun was now gone quite 
 out of sight, and the shades of evening were 
 falling like a veil around him. He began to 
 be afraid. It was so still and lonely. He 
 missed the pleasant bleating of his dear com- 
 panions that was like sweet music as they 
 settled down to sleep. 
 
 His mother's side; O ! he would have liked 
 to lie down by it now, and rest his little wea- 
 ry feet. And the hill, that looked so tempt- 
 ing when gilded by the light of day, lay black 
 and gloomy before him in the twilight hour. 
 
 Poor foolish little lamb, why did you wan- 
 der from your best friend and your happy 
 fold? All that glitters in the distance is not 
 beautiful, and the path that leads you from 
 
 3
 
 34 UNCLE jo UN'S 
 
 your mother and your home cannot be the 
 way to happiness. 
 
 Now by the side of this hill lay a thick 
 grove of trees, that had often seemed to the 
 little lamb as one of the sweetest play-places 
 that could be found on earth. He had watched 
 the bright birds sporting over its waving green, 
 and had even seen the wild stag couching 
 at its entrance. And he had thought how 
 much happier he should be gambolling about 
 amongst the shady trees than always feeding 
 on the smooth surface of his well-known fold. 
 He forgot that the sun does not always shine ; 
 that birds are not forever on the wing ; nor 
 stags the only wild creatures in the shady 
 woods. 
 
 It was now night, and he had never thought 
 of that, nor where he should rest when absent 
 from his mother's pillow. And he stopped 
 and listened to try and catch some familiar 
 murmur from his home to break the lonely
 
 THIRD BOOK. 35 
 
 silence round him. But either the fold was 
 too distant, or the sheep were already fast 
 asleep. And as the glow-worms came out 
 upon the dewy grass, they lighted up tears in 
 the eyes of the repentant little lamb. 
 
 He trembled, and was afraid to move ; for 
 he knew not which way to go, nor where he 
 could find a bed to screen him from the chil- 
 ly evening air. And there came a sound to 
 his ears that he had never heard before, and 
 yet it thrilled him to the very heart with ter- 
 ror, it was so full of awful meaning. It was 
 the howling of a wolf. And he thought it 
 came nearer as he listened. Then he fell up- 
 on the ground in an agony, and had no longer 
 power to run away. 
 
 But the good shepherd who took care of 
 the sheep in that happy fold was coming with 
 his faithful dog to find the little truant. He 
 had been to count his sheep and lambs, and 
 one was missing. A tuft of white wool upon
 
 36 U N C L E J O H N ' S 
 
 the top of the fence had shown him where the 
 restless little lamb had leaped over, and his 
 dog had tracked its wandering feet to the very 
 border of the wood. 
 
 Poor little lamb, as it lay and panted on the 
 ground, and heard the rustling feet of the good 
 dog corne nearer and nearer, it gave itself up 
 for lost ; for it thought the wolf must be close 
 at hand. But the dog had found it first, and 
 it soon lay nestling in the shepherd's bosom, 
 almost too happy that it was safe once more. 
 
 The wolf's voice was heard further and fur- 
 ther in the distance as the little lamb was car- 
 ried back to its quiet fold ; and, oh ! how bless- 
 ed a refuge did its fences now seem to enclose. 
 No more a prison, as it had once seemed, but 
 a very nest of peace. 
 
 His mother looked up in wonder, as he was 
 laid down beside her by the good shepherd ; 
 but she never knew how nearly she had lost 
 him forever. Scarcely would he ever quit
 
 T H I R D B O O K . 3? 
 
 her from that hour, and if his eyes by chance 
 turned towards the hill and wood that had 
 been so all but fatal to him, with what a thrill 
 of ecstacy would he think of his present safety, 
 and how far more beautiful was the happy 
 fold than all that lay beyond it. 
 
 Dear little children, you who are still in the 
 house of your father and your mother, think 
 of it as the peaceful fold, where like little 
 lambs you may dwell in safety. 
 
 Do not break the rules that are set around 
 like fences to enclose you more securely : nor 
 fancy that forbidden ways must lead to new 
 pleasures. It has never yet been so, and nev- 
 er will it be. Only in the fold is there such 
 safety and such peace ; for beyond it there are 
 dangers and troubles of which you little dream, 
 and there is not always a kind hand near to 
 bring home little wandering lambs in safety.
 
 38 USTCLE JOHN'S 
 
 TO A LADY-BIKD. 
 
 " LADY-BIKD ! Lady-bird ! fly away home," 
 The field-mouse has gone to her nest, 
 
 The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes, 
 And the bees and the birds are at rest. 
 
 " Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! fly away home," 
 The glow-worm is lighting her lamp, 
 
 The dew's falling fast, and your fine speckled 
 
 wings 
 Will flag with the close-clinging damp. 
 
 " Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! fly away home," 
 Good luck if you reach it at last, 
 
 The owl's come abroad, and the bat's on the 
 
 roam, 
 Sharp set from their Ramagan fast. 
 
 " Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! fly away home," 
 The fairy-bells tinkle afar,
 
 THIKD BOOK. 39 
 
 Make haste, or they'll catch ye and harness ye 
 
 fast. 
 With a cobweb to Oberon's car. 
 
 " Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! fly away home," 
 But as all serious people do, first 
 
 Clear your conscience, and settle your world- 
 ly affairs, 
 And so be prepared for the worst. 
 
 " Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! " make a short shrift, 
 Here's a hair-shirted Palmer hard by, 
 
 And here's lawyer Earwig to draw up your 
 
 will, 
 And we'll witness it, Death-moth and I. 
 
 "Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! " don't make a fuss, 
 You've mighty small matters to give, 
 
 Your coral and jet, and . . . there, there . . . 
 
 you can tack 
 A codicil on if you live.
 
 40 
 
 UNCLE JOHNS 
 
 " Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! " fly away now, 
 To your house in the old willow-tree, 
 
 Where your children, so dear, have invited 
 
 the ant, 
 And a few cozy neighbors to tea 
 
 " Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! fly away home," 
 And if not gobbled up by the way, 
 
 Nor yoked by the fairies to Oberon's car, 
 You're in luck and that's all I've to say.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 41 
 
 THE BEAVER. 
 
 THE Beaver is only found in the cold re- 
 gions of the North of Asia ; and in America, 
 where immense numbers are caught, for the 
 sake of their skins, which are of value in mak- 
 ing hats. 
 
 In summer a number of these active lit- 
 tle creatures meet on the banks of a still pool 
 or narrow river, to build their winter houses. 
 They begin by damming the water, by gnaw- 
 ing down a tree with their sharp teeth, and 
 letting it fall across ; this bar they make com- 
 plete with short sticks woven. Then they 
 build their houses of sticks and stones, on 
 piles, at the edge of the stream, and plaster 
 them within and without with mud, by 
 means of their flat, long tail. So neat, well 
 made, and smooth are these houses, that you 
 might fancy them the work of man. In these 
 houses they store food for winter ; in sum- 
 mer they live on berries, herbs, and fruits.
 
 42 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 THE VALUE OF TKUTH. 
 
 " WHO broke this window, children ? " said 
 a poor woman, as she ran hastily out of her 
 cottage on hearing a pain of glass smash. 
 
 There were a great many boys and girls 
 playing in the road close by, and when they 
 saw the woman come out they all began loud- 
 ly to declare that they had none of them 
 done it. " We none of us did it ; it was not 
 any of us. You must have thrown something 
 against it yourself in the house." 
 
 All, except one little boy who looked very 
 pale and frightened ; but he went towards the 
 angry woman and said, "I did it. I am very 
 sorry, it was broken by a stick which sprung 
 suddenly out of my hand." 
 
 " O, you did it, did you," said the woman ; 
 " and pray can you pay for it ? " 
 
 "No," said the little boy; "I have no 
 money."
 
 THIRD BOOK. 43 
 
 " Of course you have not," answered the 
 woman angrily ; " and so I shall just give you 
 this to make you remember to be more care- 
 ful another time." And seizing the poor child, 
 she struck him several hard blows. He did 
 not cry, however ; and, when she had gone 
 back into her cottage, the other children 
 gathered round him. 
 
 " How could you be so silly, Arthur ? We 
 all said we did not do it; and if you had 
 not gone and told her yourself, she would 
 never have known any thing about it." 
 
 "But I did do it," said Arthur. 
 
 " Yes ; but it was not you any more than 
 James, for he was pulling your hand, and that 
 was what made the stick fly out of it." 
 
 " Well, there was no need to tell of James," 
 answered Arthur ; " it was my stick." 
 
 " Well," cried James, " I am veiy glad I 
 did not tell of myself, to get beaten as you did. 
 Are not you very sorry now that you told ? "
 
 44 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " No, for if I had said I did not do it, I 
 should have told a lie. And if I had been 
 silent while all of you were saying it was 
 none of us, that would have been almost if 
 not quite as wrong." 
 
 The other children laughed at Arthur; and 
 they went further away from the cottage and 
 began to play again. 
 
 You will see by this story that Arthur lov- 
 ed the truth, and feared a lie. He knew that 
 God hates liars; and he was never half so 
 much afraid of any punishment that might 
 come upon him for speaking the truth, as he 
 was of incurring the anger of God by telling 
 a lie. He w^as well taught ; and he knew, 
 that though by saying he had done something 
 or other for which he was sure to be punished, 
 he might get even a painful beating, yet that 
 the pain of those blows would soon pass away ; 
 whilst if he escaped them by telling a lie. it 
 would be written in God's book of remeni-
 
 THIRD BOOK. 45 
 
 "b ranee and stand there against him. Besides, 
 even without bringing this awful thought 
 into his mind, he thought it was cowardly to 
 tell a lie, and even that, in the end, those who 
 always spoke the truth got on better in this 
 world ; and the course of his after-life made 
 him feel this still more strongly. 
 
 At school he was known and thoroughly 
 trusted by his master, who, if there was any 
 doubt about any thing that happened amongst 
 the boys, always called Arthur up to tell him 
 exactly the facts of the case ; for then he said he 
 should know just what was the matter and 
 who was to blame. And when he left school, 
 and was placed in a counting-house, he was 
 so truthful and exact that the greatest depend- 
 ence was placed upon him, and he rapidly 
 rose in his employers confidence. One day 
 there were some mistakes in one of the books 
 which threw all the accounts into disorder. 
 The principal was very much displeased, and
 
 46 UNCLE jo UN'S 
 
 began inquiring to see if he could find out 
 how the original mistake had happened, and 
 by whom it was made. Arthur set to work 
 diligently to help him, and at last found that 
 he had made a blunder in some calculation, 
 which had afterwards been copied by another 
 clerk, and so had gone on through the differ- 
 ent books without being discovered. Now it 
 would have been easy enough to let the blame 
 rest on the young man who had copied it ; 
 for the original paper was in Arthur's own 
 possession, and he could have concealed it. 
 But without allowing such a thought to cross 
 his mind, he ran directly and went nobly to 
 his employer, and confessed his error with 
 much regret. The gentleman looked up with 
 a cleared brow at Arthur, and said, " All the 
 trouble this has caused me is nothing now 
 I have the satisfaction of finding such an 
 honorable man in my employment. My 
 confidence in you will be indeed increased 
 instead of lessened by this event.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 4 
 
 Arthur bowed and his heart was full ; but 
 what he had done was little in his own eyes ; for 
 he had, when young, acquired so strictly the 
 licMt of always telling the truth that it never, 
 now he was a man, occurred to him to do 
 otherwise. And this, dear children, is one 
 great advantage of always being careful to 
 speak the exact truth ; the habit will become 
 so natural to you, that you will soon never 
 think of doing any thing else. 
 
 Arthur continued for many years in the 
 same house, and at last was made a partner 
 by his grateful master. And, when he 
 was raised to this dignity, he tried to 
 use all his influence over the clerks they 
 employed to induce them to be as careful 
 as himself; for, he would often say, " You will 
 not have half so much trouble if you tell me 
 the truth at once : for, I shall be sure to inquire 
 very closely into the matter if I think you 
 deceive me, and you will have to make up
 
 48 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 ever so many tales to bear out what you 
 say. It is unworthy of a man, or even a 
 child, and most sinful before God, to hide the 
 truth by a lie." 
 
 THE HAPPY BABBIT. 
 
 JOHN and Kitty have a pretty white rabbit. 
 It has long drooping ears, and bright spark- 
 ling eyes. John himself helped to make its 
 house at the side of the stable ; and he took 
 care that it should have plenty of room to run 
 about in. For rabbits are wild active crea- 
 tures, and love liberty dearly. If you have ever 
 seen them as I have often, frisking about on a 
 sunny down, now darting over the short turf 
 and then popping into their holes you will 
 know at once how hard it must be for a rab- 
 bit to be shut up in a small den, where he 
 has but just room enough to turn round, and
 
 THIEDBOOK. 49 
 
 where the only peep of daylight he gets is 
 through two or three little bars. 
 
 John and Kitty know well what rabbits 
 love, and though their pretty pet was never at 
 liberty, for he was not a wild rabbit, yet they 
 try all they can to give him those enjoyments 
 which are natural to him. So the hutch is 
 made very roomy and large. And two or 
 three times a day, in fine weather, he is taken 
 out of his house and allowed to run about a 
 paved yard, to stretch his legs and take the 
 air. And he is well fed with wild parsley 
 and bran, and lettuce leaves, and all sorts of 
 things that rabbits love. And he well repays 
 this care by growing very fat and strong, and 
 by loving his little master and mistress with 
 all his bunny heart. When he hears their 
 steps in the yard, he runs directly to the nice 
 large barred window John made for him that 
 he might get plenty of light, and puts his 
 white nose out as far he can to welcome them. 
 4
 
 50 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 Once they took him out of his house, and carried 
 him into a field close by, that he might nibble 
 some fresh clover that was blowing there. 
 But, once in the open country, bunny's 
 natural instinct came upon him, and he set off, 
 racing across the field, so fast that John 
 and Kitty were in despair, and feared they 
 had lost him entirely. But running as 
 fast as they could in the direction he had 
 taken, they overtook him at last, digging 
 with all his might in the soft earth under a 
 hedge. He had already burrowed quite a 
 a hole, by scraping the earth up with his 
 fore paws and throwing it out beyond his 
 hind legs. He was so busily at work, making 
 himself a home I suppose, that he did not 
 notice John and Kitty, who pounced delight- 
 ed upon their little runaway, and carried 
 him home. And he never was allowed to 
 have a scamper in the field again, so much had 
 he frightened his little friends.
 
 THIKD BOOK. 
 
 ESQUIMAUX AND THEIR HUTS. 
 
 THE Esquimaux inhabit the extreme north- 
 ern part of North America, commonly called the 
 Arctic Regions. It is very cold indeed where 
 they live, a great deal colder than any little 
 boy or girl who reads this can imagine. They
 
 52 U N C L E 
 
 live in liuts made of ice and snow. These 
 huts are sometimes round, a layer of stones 
 being placed on a bank of snow, then their 
 paddles, tent-poles, pieces of whalebone, are 
 added, and when they can get them, birch-twigs 
 for beds. A round piece of ice covers the 
 top. They make a kind of tunnel by which 
 they enter and leave the hut, creeping in and 
 out. The hut not having any opening for 
 fresh air becomes very hot, and the water 
 melting from the snow inside makes them 
 very wet. They crowd a great many persons 
 into very small space. The Esquimaux live 
 entirely by hunting and fishing, as it is too 
 cold for any thing to grow there. Their clothes 
 are made of skins of beasts and birds, 
 and their spears and arrows of bones of 
 fishes. Their canoes are very light and small, 
 mostly made of whalebone. They are a very 
 dirty, ignorant people, but in many instances 
 have shown themselves very kind-hearted to
 
 THIKD B O O K. 53 
 
 the different persons who have been lost on 
 their coasts. 
 
 THE CONTRARY BOY. 
 
 Do you know what a contrary boy is ? I 
 will tell you. He is one who is never satisfied 
 with what he has, but always wants something 
 different. If I were to say to you, "Come, 
 James, and see what a pretty picture I have 
 got here ; " and you should say, " No, I don't 
 want a picture, you said you would bring me a 
 pretty book," that would be being contrary. 
 If your father should bring you home a little 
 cart to draw about the room, and you should 
 say, " I don't want a cart, I don't like carts, I 
 want a horse and whip, like William's," that 
 would be very contrary. 
 
 Now I knew a little boy once, who was 
 very unhappy a great deal of his time because 
 he would not be pleased with the playthings
 
 54 UNCLE 
 
 he had, but always wanted another kind, or 
 something else. This little boy had a very 
 kind father and mother, who loved him very 
 much, and who tried to make him happy. 
 They bought him good clothes to wear ; they 
 gave him good things to eat, whenever he was 
 hungry, and they bought him a great many 
 pretty playthings. But though they were 
 so very kind, this boy was sometimes so 
 naughty as to cry when they gave him a new 
 plaything, because he had wanted a cart, or a 
 whip, perhaps, instead of a pretty wooden box 
 of blocks. If they had bought him either of 
 these, he would have wanted the blocks or 
 something else. Nobody liked to give Charles 
 any playthings, or sugar-plums, or any thing 
 else, because they did not make him happy ; 
 and they did not make him happy because he 
 would not be pleased, but always thought of 
 something else which he fancied he would 
 rather have.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 55 
 
 One day Charles's mother came into the 
 room where he was playing, and said, " Charles, 
 your little brother William is going to walk 
 with Susan ; would you like to go too ? " 
 
 " Yes," said he, " but I shall want to wear 
 my new cap." 
 
 " But I told you the other day," said his 
 mother, " that you could not wear it for a 
 whole week again, because you threw it upon 
 the floor when you came in yesterday, instead 
 of hanging it on its nail." 
 
 " Then I don't want to go," said Charles. 
 
 " Very well," said his mother ; and calling 
 to Susan, she told her she need not to wait 
 any longer. 
 
 " But I shall want to go," said Charles, 
 beginning to cry. 
 
 " You must not go now," said his mother, 
 " for you said you did not want to go, just 
 because you felt contrary, and out of humor." 
 
 His mother then sat down to work.
 
 56 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 Charles, finding it was useless to cry, dried his 
 tears, and began throwing his playthings about 
 the room. 
 
 " Don't do so," said his mother ; " yo u will 
 break that pretty box, and your white cards, 
 with the pretty colored letters, will get soiled, 
 and not fit to be used." 
 
 " I don't care if they do," said Charles ; 
 " it is not a pretty box, and I don't like the 
 cards." 
 
 His mother rose, took away all his play- 
 things, and left him sitting upon the floor, with 
 nothing to do. As she took no notice of his 
 cross looks, he presently went to the window, 
 and stood on a little stool, looking to see the 
 horses and carriages passing, and soon he 
 began to feel good-humored again. 
 
 " Oh ! mother," said he, " there are two 
 beautiful little dogs in the street, and a little 
 boy running after them. Oh ! how I should 
 like a little dog. Mother, will you buy me
 
 THIRD BOOK. 5f 
 
 one ? " and he ran to his mother, and looked 
 up in her face. 
 
 " What would you do with a dog, "said his 
 mother " if you had one ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I should play with him ; I would put 
 some things in my cart, and tie the dog to it, 
 and let him draw it to market, just like the 
 dog in William's picture. " 
 
 " But I am afraid," said his mother, " that if 
 your father should buy you a dog, you would 
 sometimes get out of humor with him, and 
 then you would say it was an ugly dog, and 
 you did not want it any more." 
 
 " No I would not," said Charles ; " I should 
 always love my little dog." 
 
 " So you said, if I would buy you a new cap, 
 you would be a good boy, and never give me 
 any trouble about it ; but yesterday you forgot 
 your promise, and did not put it in its place : 
 and to-day you have made me very unhappy 
 by your bad temper. And you have displeas-
 
 58 UNCLE 
 
 ed God too, for he was looking directly into 
 your heart when you said you did not want 
 to go with Susan, and saw that you were 
 saying what was not true." 
 
 " But I will remember next time, if you 
 will only get me a little dog." 
 
 Just then William came into the room with 
 a large piece of cake in his hand, which a lady 
 had given him. He went up to his brother, 
 and breaking it into two pieces, offered him 
 one of them. 
 
 " No, I want the other piece," said Charles. 
 
 " But I can't give it to you," said William ; 
 " I want it myself." 
 
 " Then I won't have any," said Charles, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " Keep all the cake yourself, William," said 
 his mother ; " Charles must not have any, be- 
 cause he is not a good boy." 
 
 " But I do want some," said Charles, begin- 
 ning to cry very loud. Then his mother went
 
 THIRD BOOK. 59 
 
 to the door, and calling Susan, told her to 
 take Charles into the other room, and keep 
 him there until he was perfectly good-humored. 
 So you see Charles lost a pleasant walk and a 
 nice piece of cake, and after all had to be sent 
 away from his kind mother, just because he 
 would be a contrary boy. Do you think he 
 was happy ? 
 
 In the afternoon, Charles and his brothers 
 and sisters went to play in the meadows. It 
 was a beautiful day, for the sun shone very 
 splendidly, and the birds were singing merrily. 
 After having amused themselves for some 
 time, so that they began to feel tired, they 
 sat down to rest under the shade of an over- 
 hanging tree. 
 
 " Here is a beautiful flower, Susan," said 
 Charles ; " it is prettier by far, than any which 
 you have gathered; would you not like to 
 have it? if you would, I will give it you.
 
 60 
 
 Here, Susan, take it I know it will please 
 you." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear brother," replied his 
 sister ; " it really is very handsome, and I am 
 sure it will be a great addition to my nose- 
 
 gay." 
 
 She then stretched out her arm for the 
 purpose of taking it but just as she had hold 
 of it, the contrary boy drew back his hand 
 with great force, saying, "No, I want it 
 myself ; " by which means the flower was 
 destroyed. 
 
 The next day, as these two little boys were 
 playing in the yard, they looked up and saw a 
 carriage, drawn by two large white horses, stop 
 at the door. It was their aunt's. She had 
 brought her little son and daughter, named 
 James and Mary, to spend the afternoon with 
 their cousins, and all looked as happy as if 
 they were expecting to have a rare good time ; 
 and so they were.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 61 
 
 Their aunt went into the house, and the 
 children played together out in the yard. 
 When they were tired of that, they went into 
 the mowing field, where the hay was spread 
 to dry, and began to throw it upon each other. 
 This they enjoyed very much, till Charles 
 began to cry, and said they should not throw 
 the hay upon him. He wanted to pelt the 
 others, but was not willing to have them pelt 
 him. So this contrary boy spoiled the whole 
 play, and he cried so loud that his mother 
 had to call him into the house. When he 
 was gone, James laid down in the hay, and 
 told his sister and cousin to cover him up in 
 it. When he was hidden entirely, so that 
 they could not see him, he jumped up sudden- 
 ly, and ran to catch them, with an armful of 
 hay, to pay them for treating him so. They 
 laughed very loud, and were very happy, now 
 they had no one to disturb them with crying. 
 They were soon called in to tea.
 
 62 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 Charles had not been very well in the 
 morning, and his mother was afraid to give 
 him as many strawberries in his milk as the 
 rest. So Charles began to cry, and said he 
 would not have any. His mother then sent 
 him out of the room, and did not allow him 
 to return until his cousins had gone. 
 
 You see how many pleasant things he lost 
 by being so contrary. His mother said she 
 could not buy him a dog until he had learn- 
 ed to be a good boy. His cousins said they 
 did not want to go see and him again, for he 
 spoiled their play ; and when his mother went 
 to see his aunt, she took William, but left 
 Charles at home. She said she could not 
 take him with her until he was willing to do 
 as others wished to have him, and not always 
 cry to have his own way. By-and-by Charles 
 learned that it was better to be pleasant at all 
 times, and not get out of humor when things 
 did not exactly suit him ; and then everybody
 
 THIED BOOK. 
 
 63 
 
 loved him, for lie was a good little boy in 
 every other respect. 
 
 THE CAMEL. 
 
 THE CAMEL AT HOME. 
 
 " O, MAMMA, I saw a camel go by. A real, 
 large, live camel. A man led it by a rope." 
 
 " Poor thing ! I am very sorry for it, my 
 dear."
 
 64 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 "Why, mamma?" 
 
 " Because, my dear, the camel is the native 
 of a warmer land than ours, and it was not 
 meant by God to be led about on rough and 
 stony roads. Its feet are soft and spongy, and 
 only fitted for the yielding sands of its own 
 country." 
 
 " Then I am sorry for it too, mamma ; very 
 sorry. I did not know it was cruel. Where 
 does the camel come from, mamma ? " 
 
 " Arabia is its native home, my dear. There 
 it is used by the Arabs as a beast of burden, 
 and will carry heavy loads for a great distance. 
 It is taught to kneel down at the word of 
 command, in order that it may be more easily 
 laden. And it is much more useful than a 
 horse could be in that burning land, where 
 water is very scarce ; because it has cells or 
 bags within its stomach, which will retain the 
 water it drinks for many days, so that it does 
 not grow thirsty again as long as this supply
 
 THIRD BOOK. 65 
 
 lasts. And it can smell so keenly, that if 
 there is a fountain two miles off it will find it 
 out, thus often saving the lives of whole cara- 
 vans. A caravan is a company of people, 
 and their horses and camels, travelling over 
 the sands. It is usual to go in large parties, 
 for the dangers of the wide deserts are very 
 great. The camel's nostrils are so formed, 
 that it can close them if it likes. And this is 
 because sometimes a whirlwind raises and 
 drives the sand, so as almost to suffocate those 
 who meet it. So you see, dear, how good 
 God has been in fitting the camel for the land 
 it inhabits, and how wrong it must be to 
 bring it away, and drag it about the streets 
 of a country where every thing is so different 
 that it must often suffer sadly."
 
 66 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 LITTLE JESSIE AND HER NEW SHILLING. 
 
 LITTLE Jessie was eight years old. She 
 could read and spell very nicely, and she 
 loved a pretty book dearly. And she could 
 work far more neatly than many an older child, 
 because she took pains, and was more careful 
 to work well than quickly. One day she had 
 finished a new pillow-case. She had made it 
 all herself. She had even sewn on the strings 
 and marked it. And her mamma was pleased. 
 So much pleased with her dear little girl that 
 she said, " You have taken so much pains to do 
 this work well, dear Jessie, that I should like 
 to give you something as a reward. Here is 
 a bright new shilling for you. And after din- 
 ner you shall go down to the shop in the vil- 
 lage, and buy what you like with it." Jessie 
 kissed her dear mamma, and her eyes shone 
 with joy. But it was more because she had 
 pleased her mother than for the sake of the
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 shilling, and she said, " Dear mamma, do not 
 give me the money. I do not want to be paid 
 for my work. You do not know how happy 
 I am to do any thing for you." " I know that, 
 my love," said her mamma, " and I do not give 
 you this as payment for your work, for I know 
 that was an act of love ; but I like to show 
 you how much I am pleased with you. So 
 take the shilling, my dear child, and buy some- 
 thing to keep for my sake." Then Jessie took 
 the pretty new shilling, and her eyes filled 
 with tears, she was so happy. When she 
 read a chapter in the Bible that morning, as 
 she always did every day after her lessons 
 were over, she came to that text, " Do unto 
 others as you would they should do unto 
 you." And her mamma talked to her about 
 it for a little while. Then Jessie went to play 
 in the garden, and after dinner she put on her 
 bonnet and jacket to go down to the village 
 shop. She was always trusted to go there by
 
 68 UNCLE jo UN'S 
 
 herself, for it was not far, and on the same 
 side of the way as her mamma's house, so that 
 she had not to cross the road. She had quite 
 made up her mind what she would buy with 
 her shilling. For in the window of the vil- 
 lage shop had long stood open a very charm- 
 ing story book full of pictures and pretty tales. 
 And " one shilling" was written just above it. 
 So on this book Jessie set her heart, and bound- 
 ing merrily down the stairs, and only stopping 
 to give one kiss to her dear mamma, she was 
 soon in the village street, on her way to spend 
 the money. She had not gone far, when she met 
 little Sally James, crying very bitterly. Sal- 
 ly was about Jessie's age, and the child of very 
 poor and very sickly parents, who had often 
 not food enough to give their hungry little 
 girl. Her face looked sad indeed by Jessie's 
 happy one, nor was there any need to ask the 
 reason of her tears. A brown loaf was in her 
 little apron, which she had just been to fetch
 
 THIKDBOOK. 69 
 
 from the shop to which Jessie was going. 
 And a jug of milk had been in her hand. 
 But, alas ! poor little girl, her shoes were old, 
 and wanted mending sadly. One of them had 
 caught in a rough flint stone, and the jerk had 
 thrown her down. The milk was spilt and 
 the jug broken to pieces. The milk was all 
 they had for supper with the brown loaf, as 
 she sobbingly told Jessie; and the jug, it was 
 the only one in the house. Jessie had often 
 been with her mamma to visit the poor in 
 their own homes. And she had learned to 
 feel for their sorrows and sufferings. So she 
 saw at once how real a trial little Sally's was, 
 and that the loss of the milk and the jug was 
 a very different thing to Sally to what it would 
 have been in her own case. For if she had 
 met with an accident of the same sort, more 
 milk could have been bought, and there were 
 plenty of jugs to make up the loss of the bro- 
 ken one. But Jessie's kind little heart saw
 
 TO UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 at once the poor family going to bed without 
 any thing to soften the coarse bread which 
 was their only food, and the sad face of the 
 anxious mother when she found their only jug 
 was broken. And the blessed text in her 
 morning's reading came into Jessie's mind, " Do 
 unto others as you would they should do un- 
 to you." And with a bright and happy smile 
 she drew the shining shilling from her little 
 purse, and said, " Do not cry, Sally ; see, you 
 shall have this pretty new shilling, and we will 
 go back to the shop and buy a new jug, and 
 you shall get some more milk." " Oh, miss ! " 
 was all that little Sally could reply. The joy 
 seemed too much after her great sorrow. But 
 the tears were soon dried up, and the two lit 
 tie girls went together to the shop, and for 
 sixpence they bought a strong useful jug. 
 Twopence more filled it with milk, and there 
 was still fourpence left, which Jessie thought 
 would be quite enough to pay for mending lit-
 
 THIED BOOK. 71 
 
 tle Sally's ragged shoes. I do not know 
 which little girl was the happiest as they left 
 the shop, but I think Jessie, for we know it is 
 more blessed to give than to receive. And if 
 for a moment, as she passed the window on 
 her way home, the sight of the pretty book 
 cast a shadow on her brow, her heart was 
 filled with a deep peace as she rested her face 
 on her mamma's shoulder, threw her arms 
 round her neck, and told her how she had 
 spent her new shilling.
 
 UNCLE JOHNS 
 
 THE OLD WOMAN BY THE WOOD. 
 
 THE OLD WOMAN'S COTTAGE. 
 
 THERE was once an old woman who lived 
 in a cottage close by a wood. The shadow 
 of some of the nearest trees fell upon the 
 thatch on sunny days, so that it was almost 
 as if she lived in the wood itself. Many peo- 
 ple thought she must have been veiy lonely,
 
 THIED BOOK. 
 
 for there was no house near her by a mile or 
 two. But she was far happier than if she had 
 been dwelling in a crowded street, where 
 friends and neighbors would have been ever at 
 her door ; for she loved the works of God. And 
 here, in the shelter of the wood, she could en- 
 joy them with an undisturbed heart. The 
 birds seemed to her as cheerful friends, and 
 the flowers were far more beautiful than any 
 of the treasures man has made. In the night, 
 the sweet voice of the nightingale kept her 
 from feeling solitary. And when winter 
 came, and the trees were bare and the birds 
 silent, she scattered food for them around her 
 door, and often tempted them within the 
 threshold. Even the shy little squirrel, that 
 jumped out of sight if any other foot came by 
 its nest, would come shyly from the tree to 
 watch the old woman scattering corn for its 
 food.
 
 74 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 HOW TO BE GOOD. 
 
 " PAPA," said Harry, " I mean to be a very 
 good boy all day, to-day. I don't mean to do 
 any thing naughty at all." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it, my boy," said 
 papa, as he went out at the hall door, and left 
 Harry standing on the stone steps. 
 
 It was a holiday, and Hariy felt so full of 
 spirits, he thought he could do any thing. 
 First he raced round the garden till he was 
 quite out of breath, and then he went to feed 
 his rabbits, and look at Rover in his kennel. 
 
 While he was out in the yard, his little 
 sister came running to him. " O, Harry, mam- 
 ma says you have left all your bricks upon 
 the carpet in the breakfast-room, and you 
 must come and clear them away at once." 
 
 " I can't, Jenny : I want to feed the rab- 
 bits ; they have nothing to eat. Tell mamma 
 I will come presently."
 
 THIED BOOK. 
 
 " But mamma said you were to come this 
 very moment, because Ann wants to clean the 
 room." 
 
 " I must feed the rabbits now I am here," 
 said Harry. " It won't take me long. I will 
 come the very moment I have done." 
 
 So Jenny went back to the house, and Har- 
 ry began to feed his rabbits. And he found 
 they had been gnawing the hutch-doors, so 
 that one of the leathern hinges had given way. 
 And he was afraid they would get out if he 
 did not mend it. So he fetched his tool-box 
 and set to work. But it was a long job, and 
 more than an hour passed away before he got 
 to the breakfast-room. There all was in dis- 
 order. Chairs piled upon one another. The 
 window-curtains all looped up out of the way, 
 and Ann sweeping in such clouds of dust that 
 Harry would gladly have made his escape if 
 he had not felt rather anxious about the fate 
 of his bricks.
 
 76 
 
 " Where are my bricks, Ann ? They were 
 all on the carpet." 
 
 "I do not know, Master Harry. I have 
 not seen them." 
 
 " Not seen them, Ann ! You must have 
 seen them ; for I am sure they were there." 
 
 " Well, I can't tell," said Ann. " And now 
 you really must get out of my way, for I am 
 too busy to stand looking for bricks." 
 
 " But I want my bricks," said Harry. "And 
 you must tell me this moment where you have 
 put them. I will have them." 
 
 Ann's only reply was to take hold of Har- 
 ry's hand and lead him out of the room ; when 
 she shut the door, and again went on with her 
 work. Harry was very angry, and began mak- 
 ing such a noise at the closed door that his 
 mamma came down stairs to see what was the 
 matter. 
 
 " It is that tiresome Ann, mamma. You 
 know she is always so cross, and now she will
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 not tell me where she has put my bricks, and 
 has turned me out of the room. But I will go 
 in again." 
 
 "Harry, Harry," said his mamma, "how 
 can you be so naughty. Did you not come 
 and clear away your bricks, as I told you, an 
 hour ago ? " 
 
 " I came as soon as I had fed the rabbits, 
 mamma." 
 
 " But I told you to come at once. You were 
 not obedient, Harry ; and now you must go to 
 your own room for a quarter of an hour. You 
 know I never allow you to disobey me." 
 
 So Harry went up stairs, crying and scold- 
 ing. But at the end of a quarter of an hour 
 he came out, looking brighter, and running to 
 his mamma, he asked her to forgive him. 
 
 Little Jenny, who was in the room, said, 
 " Harry, do come and help me to make this 
 card-house. I cannot make the cards stand up 
 at all."
 
 8 UNCLE jo UN'S 
 
 " No, Jenny, I cannot," said Harry. " I have 
 been shut up, now I don't know how long ; 
 and all the morning will be gone before I 
 have had any play. Besides, I must find my 
 bricks." 
 
 " They are all safe, Harry. I put them away 
 for you," said his little sister. " I put them 
 all in the box, for fear they should get lost." 
 
 Harry looked a little ashamed, and thanked 
 his sister ; but still he did not offer to help 
 her with the cards, but went down again to 
 the garden. There he lashed the trees and 
 flowers with his new whip, till he had broken 
 off the head of a fine lily that his papa val- 
 ued very much. And, after that, he went 
 down to the pond, and threw stones in the 
 water till his clothes were splashed all over 
 with mud. He was reproved again when he 
 came in to dinner ; and all the afternoon he 
 was in mischief of some sort, so that when his
 
 THIRD BOOK. 9 
 
 papa came liome at night there was a sad ac- 
 count to lay before him. 
 
 He sent for Harry to his own room. "Well, 
 Harry, how did you get on to-day ? I thought 
 you were to be a very good boy. And I hear 
 of rudeness to the servants, disobedience to 
 your mamma, and so much mischief of one 
 kind or another, that I really do not know 
 what to think of you." 
 
 Harry burst into tears. " Yes, papa, I have 
 been very unhappy all day. Every thing has 
 gone wrong with me. And I meant to be so 
 good." 
 
 " Yes, my poor boy, I know you did. Tell 
 me, did you say your prayers this morning ? " 
 
 " No, papa, I am afraid I forgot them. I 
 was rather late, and did not like to stay up 
 stairs any longer to say them." 
 
 " Ah, Harry, that is the secret of the un- 
 happy day and all the mischief. You have 
 been trying in your own strength, and have not
 
 80 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 asked help of God, who alone can give it. Do 
 not you know that of yourself you can do 
 no good thing; but that with God's grace, 
 which is the reward of prayer, you can do all ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " Then go, my dear child, and pray to God 
 to forgive you. Tell Him how you have for- 
 gotten Him through this day, but that you 
 are sorry from your very heart, and ask Him 
 to strengthen you to do better to-morrow." 
 
 Then Harry knelt down for his papa's 
 blessing; and going up quietly to his own 
 little room, he tried to pour forth his whole 
 heart to his Father in Heaven.
 
 THI ED BOOK. 
 
 81 
 
 STROLL ON THE SEA SHORE. 
 
 "Now, dear mamma," said Harry, as his 
 mother came from the door of the bathing 
 machine, "will you dress very quickly and 
 take ^the long walk on the shore that you 
 promised me." 
 
 6
 
 82 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " Yes, Harry you are already dressed, I 
 see." 
 
 It was a very impatient Harry, who 
 walked up and down on the beach, waiting 
 for his mother to come to him ; but at last 
 when he was almost tempted to think she 
 never would come, she called to him, and 
 taking his hand, led him, away from the 
 merry groups of bathers, to a quieter part of 
 the beach. 
 
 As soon as he was free to run about, Har- 
 ry began to search for sea treasures to add to 
 his pretty marine store, which he had col- 
 lected the previous summer. His mother 
 tried to read, seating herself in a pretty grot- 
 to, a few steps from Harry ; but his frequent 
 calls for her soon made her put her book 
 aside to join her little boy and share his 
 pleasure. 
 
 As soon as he saw that she was ready for 
 a talk he sprang to meet her, crying : " O, I
 
 THIRD BOOK. 83 
 
 HAVE found such a pretty thing. Do look at 
 it. What can it be 2 " 
 
 " It is a star-fish. See, it is just like a star. 
 Put it into the water again. It has been left 
 on the sands by the ebbing tide, and perhaps 
 it will die if we leave it here ; or some cruel 
 boy may find it and hurt it. Take it gently 
 up, with some sand under it, on your little 
 wooden spade. There, now you have got it 
 very nicely. And you can put it in here, 
 where the cliffs have formed a little pond. 
 Now it moves. It sinks down into the sands. 
 Now it is gone quite under them." 
 
 " O, mamma, I should have liked to keep 
 it so much. I never saw such a pretty thing 
 before." 
 
 " I arn sure you would not have liked to 
 make it unhappy, my darling. And it would 
 soon have died a painful death if you had 
 kept it. 
 
 "Why, mamma?"
 
 84 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 "Because, dear, it is a sea-animal, and is 
 made to live in salt water. It could no more 
 live on land than you could in the sea." 
 
 " No ; I should not like to hurt it, mamma." 
 
 " There is a sea-nettle. Is not that a curious 
 thing?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma. What is that ? It looks 
 like jelly." 
 
 " That is an animal too, though one of those 
 wonderful creatures that are almost as much 
 like a plant as a living thing. Do not touch 
 it, for they are said to make the hands of those 
 that touch them tingle. Have you ever seen 
 a sea-anemone amongst the rocks, when out 
 walking ? " 
 
 " No, mamma ; what is it like ? " 
 
 " Come with me along this rocky ledge, and 
 I dare say we shall find some. There, look 
 down in the water. There are numbers of 
 them. Purple, pink, and green. Are they 
 not beautiful ? "
 
 THIKD BOOK. 85 
 
 "They are indeed, mamma ; just like flowers. 
 And I can see them open and shut themselves 
 up while I watch them. Do they sting \ " 
 
 "I think not; but you had better not 
 touch them." 
 
 " Shall we look for shells ? O, mamma, 
 look at the sky ! What a lovely color. 
 And just where the sun is going down the 
 clouds are so bright, they make my eyes quite 
 ache to look at them." 
 
 " The sky often looks so at sunset by the 
 sea. Look at that white sail in the distance. 
 But the tide is coming in, we must not go 
 further amongst the rocks for fear we should 
 not be able to get back again. Let us keep 
 near the bathing-machines."
 
 86 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 HOW TO MAKE A KITE. 
 
 A CHINESE KITE. 
 
 THERE is scarcely any plaything that a 
 boy can have that is so useful to him as a 
 kite. I will tell you why. He must be in-
 
 THIEDBOOK. 87 
 
 genious to contrive it; industrious to make 
 it ; active to fly it ; patient to hold it ; and 
 obliging to lend it. So you see that to be a 
 good boy with a good kite requires several 
 virtues ingenuity, industry, activity, pa- 
 tience, and an obliging disposition. 
 
 Kites afford excellent amusement both in 
 making and flying them. Those that are 
 bought at shops are poor things, and it is 
 much better for boys to make their own. To 
 do this, procure first a lath four feet long, an 
 inch wide, and a quarter of an inch thick. 
 The bender (or shoulders of the Chinese kite) 
 must be a cane or hoop planed thin at the 
 edges, and should be as long as the lath. Tie 
 a piece of string to each end of the bender, 
 leaving it long enough to stretch to the end 
 of the lath, when the other end is pressed to 
 the centre of the bender, notching the lath to 
 keep the string in place. Now stretch another 
 string from one end of the bender across to
 
 88 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 the other, and your frame is made. The best 
 thing to cover it with is thin glazed calico, as 
 it may be put on all in one piece. If paper is 
 used, the sheets must first be pasted together 
 with the edges lapping over each other about 
 half an inch. Lay the frame on the calico or 
 paper, cut it out to the shape, leaving an inch 
 to be turned over and pasted to the frame. 
 Some small pieces must then be pasted over 
 the lath and the strings at the back to keep 
 it secure in the middle. Two holes must be 
 made in the lath at each end, and a piece of 
 strong string stretched across. In the centre 
 of this string is tied the string used to fly the 
 kite. Care must be taken to tie it in the right 
 place ; if it be too low, the kite will turn round 
 and round in the air if too high, it will plunge 
 about and pitch. A little experience will 
 soon teach the proper place to fasten it. The 
 tail should be at least ten times as long as the 
 kite. It is much better not to have slips of
 
 THIEDBOOK. 89 
 
 paper tied into it, but only a bob at the end ; 
 that is, a large tassel made of paper cut into 
 fringes, and sufficiently heavy to keep the kite 
 in its true position in the air. Tails made 
 with slips are nearly always troublesome from 
 getting entangled; and as the wind shakes 
 them more than it does a plain string, the 
 kite is not so easily balanced. 
 
 When the kite is flying you may send up 
 a messenger, which is a round piece of paper, 
 or card-board with a hole in the middle ; this 
 is put on the string, and the wind soon carries 
 it up to the kite. 
 
 A hollow tube of paste-board, with four 
 little sails attached, forms another kind of 
 messenger. The sails are to be made of 
 colored paper, similar to the little wind-mills 
 often sold in the streets. When the tube is 
 placed on the string, the wind acting on the 
 sails, causes the messenger to rotate or spin 
 round ; and this, as it ascends, forms a very 
 pretty object.
 
 90 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 THE USE OF A NEEDLE. 
 
 FANNY JAMES did not love needle-work. 
 She thought it tiresome, and it made her fin- 
 ger sore. She liked playing on the piano or 
 dancing better. And certainly this is a more 
 pleasant way of spending one's time than sew- 
 ing. But still every girl ought to know how 
 to work ; and I do not see why boys should 
 not learn too, at least so far as to be able to 
 hem a handkerchief or mend a stocking, for 
 they are very often sadly in want of such 
 knowledge after they are grown up. How- 
 ever, everybody does not think as I do on this 
 subject, and it is not to our present purpose 
 to say any more about it. All are agreed that 
 girls should learn. But Fanny always said, 
 " Mamma, there is no occasion. Bridget the 
 nurse does all my mending for me, and you 
 do not know how I dislike work." 
 
 Her mamma was in poor health, and did
 
 THIKDBOOK. 91 
 
 not see after any thing very much, herself; so 
 Fanny was left to do as she liked, and she 
 grew up without so much as knowing how to 
 make a button-hole. Now, when she was 
 about eighteen, her papa and mamma both 
 died rather suddenly, and in settling all their 
 affairs it was found that there was nothing left 
 for Fanny to live upon : so she was obliged to 
 do what she could to earn her own bread : 
 and a kind lady, who had known her father 
 and mother, offered to take her as a compan- 
 ion, to help her in different ways in the house, 
 as she was rather lame. Fanny felt very grate- 
 ful for this ; and, when her first bitter grief 
 for the loss of her best and dearest friends had 
 a little passed away, she began to feel very 
 happy with Mrs. Stone. But so soon as she 
 was well enough to be employed, she found 
 to her great dismay that needle- work was al- 
 most the chief thing that would be required 
 of her after the morning hours. For Mrs.
 
 92 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 Stone worked a great deal for the poor and 
 made clothes for them, and she wanted Fan- 
 ny to sit and help her for the greater part of 
 the day. Then it was that poor Fanny found 
 the folly of her former conduct. 
 
 She was now in such circumstances that she 
 did not object to work, as she did when a 
 child ; but would gladly have done whatever 
 was required of her. But she did not know 
 how, and being ashamed to tell Mrs. Stone 
 of her childish folly, many and sad were the 
 mistakes she made. One day a pair of sheets 
 were found sewn together like a great pillow- 
 case; and though, as Mrs. Stone said, laugh- 
 ing good humoredly, " Such a plan might save 
 the trouble of tucking up the bed ; yet, as it 
 was not the usual way of doing such things, 
 Fanny really must undo her work." She made 
 such sad blunders, that at last Mrs. Stone was 
 obliged to part with her ; for she wanted some 
 one who could help her in her deeds of chari-
 
 T HIED BOOK. 93 
 
 ty, and not hinder them by wasting time and 
 materials. Truly sorry was Fanny to go, and 
 much trouble she had in finding any one will- 
 ing to take so useless a person. At last she 
 got a situation as nurse to an old lady, who 
 was very ill and very fretful, and who want- 
 ed waiting upon every moment of the day. 
 This was very hard work for poor Fanny, but 
 she tried to take it as a wholesome punish- 
 ment for her folly: yet often she could not 
 help saying to herself, " Oh, if I had but taken 
 pains to learn to work whilst I was at school, 
 I might still have been with that dear Mrs. 
 Stone."
 
 94 
 
 THE MOUSE WHO WANTED TO SEE 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 THE OAK THEE. 
 
 THERE was once a little brown mouse who 
 lived in an old oak tree, close to the root. 
 The tree stood upon a high hill, and from her 
 nest the mouse could look out over broad
 
 THIRD BOOK. 95 
 
 fields, and far away could see a faint line like 
 silver, which was the sea shore. In the sum- 
 mer the large green leaves of the tree made 
 a cool pleasant shade for the mouse's nest, 
 and in the winter she crept far down to the 
 root, curled herself up, and slept safely, shel- 
 tered by the strong tree from every wind or 
 storm. It was the grandest tree for a home, 
 and her nest was the very prettiest and the 
 softest that could be thought of. But the 
 little mouse grew tired of the old oak tree, 
 and wanted to see the world. So one day, 
 when the pretty blue-bells were ringing mer- 
 rily all around her tree, and the morning sun 
 shone brightly in the cloudless sky, away she 
 went for change of air and scene, as she said 
 to herself. Ah, silly little mouse ! There is 
 not a mossy nest under every tree in the wide 
 world, and the summer sun does not always 
 shine. 
 
 On she went and very much tired she got,
 
 96 UNCLE 
 
 and after all she felt rather disappointed ; for 
 there was nothing but trees, and blue-bells, 
 and clear skies, and she wanted change. And 
 change came too soon. The sun began to set, 
 and the skies grew dark and gloomy, and at 
 last the lightning and thunder and rain came 
 on all around her. And there were no more 
 blue-bells or green trees, for she was out upon 
 a bare common. O, then, how earnestly the 
 little mouse lamented her folly, and how bit- 
 terly she sighed after her mossy hole in the 
 old oak tree. 
 
 She tried to run back, but her little feet 
 got clogged with mud, for the rain poured 
 heavily. And all night long she wandered 
 about, seeking in vain for shelter. And early 
 in the morning she was seen by a shepherd- 
 boy who had come out betimes to work, and 
 he carried her home and shut her up in a dis- 
 mal box with only four little bars to peep 
 through at the light of day ; and dry brown
 
 THIED BOOK. 9Y 
 
 bread and bad apples were all she got to eat, 
 instead of the fresh nuts she used to find in 
 the wood. 
 
 O, how she sighed for her little distant 
 home. And at last, when she had learned to 
 think that after all she had been very un- 
 grateful for the pleasures she had left, and 
 had made up her mind, bad as her lot was, to 
 try and be content with it, the little shepherd- 
 boy's sister begged him so hard to let her set 
 the little mouse free, that having already 
 grown tired of it he gave her leave to do as 
 she liked. And being a very kind little girl, 
 she thought the pleasant green wood hard by 
 must be a charming place for a little mouse. 
 So she asked her mother's leave, and, one 
 lovely morning, she set out with the dismal 
 cage in her hand; and away she went far 
 into the green fields, till she came to one of 
 the sweetest spots where the blue-bells made 
 a bright carpet on the ground, and there she 
 7
 
 98 UNCLE 
 
 opened the cage-door and let loose the trem- 
 bling little mouse. 
 
 Afraid and bewildered, it ran eagerly to 
 the first shelter it could find from the watch- 
 ful eyes of its kind little friend; but who 
 shall tell its joy when it found itself once 
 more in its own bed of moss. Yes, in the 
 very same, under the old oak tree. Its little 
 heart beat with a joy so great that it was al- 
 most like pain ; and when the little girl was 
 gone, and it peeped out once more and saw 
 all the dear well-known scene that had once 
 been so tiresome, it felt that there was no 
 such lovely place in all the world. And, with 
 a grateful heart, it once more took up its 
 abode in the mossy nest, and never again 
 went out of sight of the old oak tree, lest it 
 should lose forever a home the value of 
 which it had now fully learned.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 99 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 A LITTLE boy called Jem Roberts, having 
 been set to weed in a gentleman's garden, ob- 
 serving some very beautiful looking fruit on a 
 tree which grew upon a wall, was strongly 
 tempted to pluck one. 
 
 If it tastes but half as nice as it looks, 
 thought he, how delightful it must be ! He 
 stood for an instant gazing on the tree, while 
 his mother's words, Touch nothing that does 
 not belong to you, came vividly to mind. He 
 withdrew his eyes from the tempting object, 
 and with great diligence pursued his occupa- 
 tion. The fruit was forgotten, and with pleas- 
 ure he now perceived he had nearly reached 
 the end of the bed which he had been ordered 
 to clear. Collecting in his hands the heap of 
 weeds he had laid beside him, he returned to 
 deposit them in the wheelbarrow which stood 
 near the peach tree. Again the glowing fruit
 
 100 UNCLE 
 
 met Ms eye, more beautiful and more tempt- 
 ing than ever, for he was hot and thirsty. 
 He stood still his heart beat his mother's 
 command was heard no more his resolution 
 was gone ! He looked around, there was no 
 one but himself in the garden. They can 
 never miss one out of so many, said he to 
 himself. He made a step, only one, he was 
 now within reach of the prize : he darted forth 
 his hand to seize it, when at the very moment 
 a sparrow from a neighbouring tree, calling 
 to its companion, seemed to his startled ear to 
 say, Jem, Jem. He sprang back upon the 
 walk, his hand fell to his side, his whole frame 
 shook ; and no sooner had he recovered him- 
 self, than he fled from the spot. 
 
 In a short time afterwards he began thus 
 to reason with himself: "If a sparrow could 
 frighten me thus, I may be sure that what 
 I was going to do was very wicked." 
 
 And now he worked with greater diligence
 
 THIRD BOOK. 101 
 
 than ever, nor once again trusted himself to 
 gaze on the fruit which had so nearly led him 
 to commit so great a fault. The sparrows 
 chirped again as he was leaving the garden, 
 but he no longer fled at the sound. 
 
 " You may cry, Jem, Jem," said he, looking 
 steadily at the tree in which several were 
 perched, " as often as you like ; I don't care for 
 you now ; but this I will say I will never 
 forget how good a friend one of you has been 
 to me, and I will rob none of your nests again." 
 
 THE ORPHAN BOYS TALE. 
 
 STAY, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, 
 And hear a helpless orphan's tale, 
 
 Ah ! sure my looks must pity wake, 
 'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale. 
 
 Yet I was once a mother's pride, 
 
 And my brave father's hope and joy ;
 
 102 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 But in the Nile's proud fight he died, 
 And I am now an orphan boy. 
 
 Poor foolish child ! how pleased was I 
 
 When news of Nelson's victory came, 
 Along the crowded streets to fly, 
 
 And see the lighted windows flame ! 
 To force me home my mother sought, 
 
 She could not bear to see my joy ; 
 For with my father's life 'twas bought, 
 
 And made me a poor orphan boy. 
 
 The people's shouts were long and loud, 
 
 My mother, shuddering, closed her ears ; 
 "Rejoice! rejoice ! " still cried the crowd; 
 
 My mother answered with her tears. 
 " Why are you crying thus," said I, 
 
 " While others laugh and shout with joy ? " 
 She kissed me and with such a sigh ! 
 
 She called me her poor orphan boy.
 
 THIED BOOK. 103 
 
 "What is an orphan boy?" I cried, 
 
 As in her face I looked, and smiled; 
 My mother through her tears replied, 
 
 " You'll know too soon, ill-fated child ! " 
 And now they've tolled my mother's knell, 
 
 And I'm no more a parent's joy; 
 O lady I have learned too well 
 
 What 'tis to be an orphan boy ! 
 
 Oh ! were I by your bounty fed ! 
 
 Nay, gentle lady, do not chide 
 Trust me, I mean to earn my bread ; 
 
 The sailor's orphan boy has pride. 
 Lady, you weep ! ha ? this to me ? 
 
 You'll give me clothing, food, employ ? 
 Look down, dear parents ! look, and see 
 
 Your happy, happy orphan boy !
 
 104 
 
 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 AMY S GARDEN. 
 
 AMY lived with her parents in the large 
 house which you see in the picture. There 
 were many pleasant things in and around the 
 house to make the little girl's life happy, but 
 the one which Amy prized most was her gar- 
 den. Her mamma gave her a round patch in 
 front of the house, and told her she might 
 make a garden there for herself. You can see 
 it in the picture. Her kind brother Rupert 
 dug it all up for her, and showed her how to
 
 THIKD BOOK. 105 
 
 plant slips and cuttings, and to sow the seeds. 
 And she has now the gayest little patch in 
 the whole large garden before her mamma's 
 house. 
 
 There is a border of white pinks and laven- 
 der all round. One small bed of white and 
 red roses. Some geraniums and verbena in a 
 little wire basket, round which climbs the 
 bright yellow canariensis. And numbers of 
 annuals and bulbous roots, which bloom in 
 due season and make the place always bright. 
 
 And in the centre are some tall hollyhocks 
 and dahlias, under which the sweetest straw- 
 berries blossom and ripen. And these Amy 
 gathers, with a glad heart and eager hand, for 
 her papa and mamma, and dear brother who 
 has helped her so kindly. Not one weed is 
 to be seen, the little gardener is so careful. 
 
 But, though she loves her garden so much, 
 she does not neglect any other duty to attend 
 to it. But, since she has had it, she gets up
 
 106 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 an hour earlier every morning; and that is 
 the sweetest time of all for working out of 
 doors. All is so fresh and lovely. All is so 
 peaceful and still. Except the joyful song 
 of the little birds that welcome in the new 
 day. 
 
 THE CLEVER BOY. 
 
 ONE OF RANDY THE WOODCUTTER'S FABLES. 
 BT UBS. 8. a HALL. 
 
 " WELL, but grandmamma ! " expostulated 
 Edwin, " everybody says I am very clever ; 
 now do not laugh, everybody says so, and 
 what everybody says must be true." 
 
 " First," replied his grandmother, " I do not 
 think that what everybody says must of ne- 
 cessity be true ; and, secondly, in what con- 
 sists your ' everybody \ ' r 
 
 " Why, there is nurse." 
 
 " Capital authority ! an old woman who
 
 THIED BOOK. 107 
 
 nursed your mother, and, consequently, loves 
 you dearly ; go on." 
 
 " And the doctor ; he said I was so clever, 
 the other morning, when I swallowed the pill 
 without one crooked face." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " All the servants." 
 
 " Excellent servants, Edwin, for the situa- 
 tions they are engaged to fill, but bad judges 
 of a young gentleman's cleverness. The 
 Kector 2 " 
 
 " That is cruel of you, grandmamma," replied 
 our conceited little friend ; " you know he 
 would not say it, because I did not get through 
 the Commandment in the class last Wednes- 
 day evening." 
 
 " Does your papa say you are clever \ " 
 
 The little fellow made no reply. 
 
 " Do your schoolfellows ? " 
 
 " They are all big boys." 
 
 "Then your character for cleverness de-
 
 108 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 pends on the old nurse, the still older doctor, 
 and the servants ! " 
 
 Edwin was again silent. 
 
 " This," observed his grandmother, " recalls 
 to my mind one of Randy the Woodcutter's 
 fables." 
 
 A very pretty little tree grew near a quick- 
 set hedge that was cut close by the gardener, 
 and the hedge looked up to the tiny little 
 tree with great respect : it was so short itself 
 that it fancied the tree was very tall ; there 
 were several brambles and nettles also round 
 about, and they were perpetually praising the 
 little tree, and increasing its vanity by their 
 flattery. One day an old rook, the oldest in 
 the rookery, perched on the little tree. 
 
 " What do you mean," said the tiny tree, 
 " by troubling me with your familiarity ? the 
 idea of such a bird as you presuming to rest 
 upon my branches ! " and the little tree rustled 
 its leaves and looked very angry.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 109 
 
 "Caw! Caw!" quoth the rook, which 
 signified, " ah, ah ! Why, better trees than 
 you are glad to give me a resting place; I 
 thought you would be gratified by the compli- 
 ment paid you by alighting on your quivering 
 bough, and by the pleasure of my company ; a 
 little thing like you could hardly have pos- 
 sessed much attraction for king rook; but, 
 indeed I only perched upon you because you 
 are a little taller than the brambles." 
 
 The dwarf tree considered it as great an 
 insult to be called a " little thing " as some 
 folks do to be considered " not clever ; " and 
 he said a number of foolish words ; amongst 
 others, that " there were birds that could not 
 fly over him." 
 
 " Ay, indeed," answered the rook, " wrens 
 that never mount higher than a hedge ! " 
 
 The rook soon flew away " caw cawing," 
 at the folly and conceit of the little tree, and 
 meeting the gardener " Good friend," he said,
 
 110 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " I have just now been much struck by the 
 conceit and absurdity of a little tree beside 
 yonder hedge ; it is rather a pretty little thing, 
 and might be brought to something, if it were 
 in the society of trees taller and wiser than 
 itself; but while it has no other companions 
 than brambles and bushes it will never try to 
 grow tall : do, good friend, take pity on this 
 tree, and remove it into better company ; " and 
 the gardener had a great respect for the opin- 
 ion of the old rook, and went the next day 
 with a spade, and removed the turf, and bared 
 the roots of the conceited tree. "It is a 
 stunted little thing," he said, " but I will place 
 it in society that will draw it up" and he 
 transplanted it into a plantation where there 
 were straight and noble trees. The little sap- 
 ling felt bitterly its own insignificance, and its 
 leaves hung helplessly from the boughs ; there 
 were neither hedges, nor brambles, nor nettles 
 to natter its vanity nothing to pamper its
 
 THIRD BOOK. Ill 
 
 self-love. There was nothing it could look 
 down on ; the woodbine turned to the oak for 
 support, and the wild vine clung around the ash. 
 Thus, when the little tree derived no pleasure 
 from looking down, it began to look up; there 
 was a proud fierce sound amid the leaves of 
 the noble trees, and the breezes carried the 
 sound far and wide. The gardener had planted 
 the little tree where it had plenty of head- 
 room, and a very beautiful beech, which grew 
 near it, said, " Dear me, how you are shooting ! " 
 and several of the good-natured trees remarked 
 one to the other, that "their little neighbor 
 seemed determined to grow." This was quite 
 true : when removed from the babble of low- 
 bred flattery, and placed with those that were 
 better and higher than itself, the little tree 
 began to understand that false praise, that is, 
 praise for what is not deserved, is the bitterest 
 of all censures ; and all his hope was, that he 
 might grow like all other trees to be useful
 
 112 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 according to his kind. One stormy night a 
 sheep and her lamb sheltered beneath his 
 branches ; that made the tree, now no longer 
 little, very happy. In a few more years the 
 gardener laid his hand on his stem and said 
 to a gentleman who was walking with him, 
 " See what cultivation which is the education 
 of trees does ! this was a little stunted thing; 
 but the good society of tall saplings drew it 
 up. See what it is now ! " 
 
 And another day, when there was a very 
 high wind, the tree saw an old gray-headed 
 rook drifting about, and he invited him to 
 rest, and the rook did so, and the tree recog- 
 nized the voice of his old friend. " I am happy 
 to see you grandfather rook," he said " very 
 happy to see you you and yours are quite 
 welcome to rest on or build your nests among 
 my branches ; but for you, I should have re- 
 mained as I was, to be fooled and flattered by 
 brambles now but I have learned to let acts
 
 THIED BOOK. 113 
 
 and not words tell what I am ; " and the old 
 rook " caw cawed " again and again, and sig- 
 nified that he knew the time would come 
 when that very tree would be remarked alike 
 for its vigor and its beauty. And the old 
 rook told the history of the tree, as old people 
 sometimes tell histories, over and over again. 
 
 " I am sure he would be very proud if it 
 taught you, my dear, the folly of believing 
 that you are clever, because people who do 
 not understand what cleverness is, say you
 
 114 
 
 THE CHINAMAN. 
 
 THE Chinaman is a native of China. Get 
 your map of the Eastern Hemisphere and 
 see if you can put your finger upon China. 
 It would take many weeks, sailing in swift 
 steamships, to go from America to China ; and 
 if we went there, we should find it very differ- 
 ent from our own dear home. The men have
 
 THIRD BOOK. 115 
 
 dark yellowish skins, and wear their hair in a 
 long tail behind, all the hair on the top of 
 their head being shaved off. They wear skirts 
 like a woman, and a sort of loose shirt instead 
 of a coat. The women have such little feet 
 that they can scarcely walk at all. When 
 they are little babies the doctor cuts off all 
 their toes, and they grow up with short club- 
 bed feet. How would you like that ? I think 
 you would not like your mother to have your 
 feet cut so that you could neither run, skip, 
 nor jump. 
 
 Many useful things are brought to us from 
 China in ships silk, shawls, fans, spices, and 
 tea. 
 
 The Tea-plant is a native of China, where 
 it grows wild, but the Chinese know the value 
 of it too well not to bestow great care on it. 
 They sow the seeds, and when the plants 
 come up, they transplant them in neat rows 
 in large fields ; but it is three years before the
 
 116 UNCLE 
 
 leaves are fit to use. About March, in the 
 third year, the first half-formed tender leaves 
 are plucked one by one, and are of such great val- 
 ue, that they are kept for the Emperor of China ; 
 in April, the second crop is pulled, which is 
 the best tea sent out of China ; and in June, 
 the last full-grown thick leaves, which are the 
 coarse rough tea, are gathered. The leaves 
 are first dried in the sun, and then on a heat- 
 ed plate of iron till they shrivel and curl ; then 
 the leaves are packed in chests, to be sent off 
 in ships. 
 
 The ships carry them across the ocean, and 
 bring them to our country, where you buy 
 them of the grocer. 
 
 When you drink your next cup of tea you 
 will think of the work that had to be perform- 
 ed before it reached you, and of the many 
 days the poor Chinaman had to work in the 
 hot sun before the leaves were ready to send 
 across the sea.
 
 THIED BOOK. ll 
 
 THE WILFUL BOY. 
 
 " IT blew a tremendous gale last night," 
 exclaimed Mr. Thompson to his son William, 
 as he entered the breakfast-room ; " I fear we 
 shall hear of great damage done to the ship- 
 ping." 
 
 " Jones has just told me," replied "William, 
 " that there are two brigs on the sands near the 
 Goodwin light ; and only think, papa, that 
 noble vessel, which sailed with the morning 
 tide yesterday, is totally wrecked ! She, too, 
 was driven on the sands in the course of the 
 night ; and though it seems she succeeded in 
 getting off, she was so much injured that she 
 almost immediately afterwards went to pieces, 
 and nearly all on board perished with her." 
 
 "Put on your hat," said Mr. Thompson, 
 " and we will walk to the pier ; we shall get back 
 before your mamma is ready for breakfast." 
 
 William instantly did as he was bid not
 
 118 UNCLE 
 
 that it was Ms usual custom to do so ; for, like 
 many other little boys, he was very head- 
 strong, and too often preferred doing what he 
 liked himself to obeying his parents. Curios- 
 ity now prompted obedience, and he was by 
 his father's side without the slightest delay. 
 
 No sooner had they reached the harbor 
 than a fearful sight presented itself. The sea 
 was still violently agitated, and the waves 
 continued to dash over the end and sides of 
 the pier, while the wind, still blowing with 
 strong gusts, rendered standing almost impos- 
 sible. All was bustle and anxiety ; the sail- 
 ors and fishermen were passing to and fro, 
 too much occupied by their own thoughts to 
 heed the questions which the mere spectators 
 put to them. Several dead bodies lay extend- 
 ed on the pier head. William shuddered. " O 
 pray let us go home," exclaimed he ; but be- 
 fore his father could make any reply, the at- 
 tention of both was attracted by the piercing
 
 THIRD BOOK. 119 
 
 lamentations of a poor woman, who was kneel- 
 ing by the side of a boy, apparently about 
 twelve years old, and who was wringing her 
 hands in an agony of distress. 
 
 " O Ned, Ned ! " she sobbed, " and is it 
 come to this ?" then again and again she repeat- 
 ed, "but he would always have his own way." 
 
 Mr. Thompson, turning to one of the by- 
 standers, asked an explanation of the unhap- 
 py mother's words. 
 
 " I don't like to speak ill of any one," said 
 the fisherman to whom he addressed himself, 
 " and especially of them who can no longer 
 defend themselves : but, if the truth must be 
 spoken, the poor boy that lies there was always 
 a sad, wilful lad, who would have his own 
 way, come what would of it. He was very anx- 
 ious to go to sea ; but neither his father nor 
 mother was willing he should, for he was their 
 only child, and not very strong. All they 
 said, however, was of no use nay, perhaps,
 
 120 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 for that is the case with all obstinate, self- 
 willed people, it made him still more deter- 
 mined to have his own way. So yesterday 
 morning, when his father was still away with 
 the mackerel boats, he got on board the ' Kes- 
 olution' and sailed before any one knew any 
 thing about the matter. His mother was look- 
 ing for him, half distracted, all the day, and has 
 been on the pier the greater part of the night. 
 His dead body has just been hauled up with 
 several others that you see there." 
 
 William again grasped his father's hand, 
 and, hearing another shriek, drew him from 
 the spot. " I cannot, indeed I cannot stay any 
 longer," cried he. Mr. Thompson obeyed his 
 motion ; they walked quickly away, nor was a 
 single word spoken by either till they reach- 
 ed the house. Mrs. Thompson was waiting 
 breakfast for them. "William sat down in si- 
 lence, but the expression of his countenance 
 having caught the attention of his mother, she
 
 THIRD BOOK. 121 
 
 anxiously asked what was the matter. Wil- 
 liam returned no answer, but, rising from his 
 seat, he threw his arms around her neck, and 
 burst into a violent flood of tears. 
 
 " O mamma ! " sobbed he, as soon as he could 
 speak, " I have seen such a sight ! I have heard 
 such cries ! O, I shall never forget them," and 
 he shuddered at the recollection. " Forgive me," 
 he continued passionately, "for being so naugh- 
 ty and obstinate as I know I have often been. 
 Forgive me now ; and never, never, will I try 
 to have my own way again, and disobey you." 
 
 Mrs. Thompson looked at her husband, who, 
 in a few words, explained what had occurred. 
 
 "Thus," said he, as he concluded his dis- 
 tressing story, "thus has God thought fit, in the 
 instance before us, to punish the breach of his 
 holy commandment ' Honour thy father and 
 thy mother, that thy days may be long in the 
 land.' The sea, by his permission, has swal- 
 lowed up the disobedient child almost in sight
 
 122 
 
 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 of his home; and made his fate an awful 
 warning to all who, like him, are tempted to 
 forget the great and sacred duty they owe to 
 their parents." 
 
 THE GRIZZLY BEAR. 
 
 Is he not a savage looking beast, as he 
 stands so still, with his big eyes looking so 
 fierce and bright? I wonder what he sees
 
 THIRD BOOK. 123 
 
 below him, that makes him look so hungry ; 
 perhaps, after all, it is only his baby bears at 
 play, and he is growling out to them a caution 
 not to be too rough. 
 
 The Grizzly Bear is a native of our own 
 country, and is found in the Kocky Moun- 
 tains. He is the largest and most savage of 
 the whole bear family, and will attack both 
 men and animals. He is so strong that he 
 can pull down the great buffalo as easily as 
 you lift your kitten from the floor. His large 
 paws have long sharp claws, and when he has 
 once fastened these in man or beast, nothing 
 but death will make him let go his hold. 
 
 It is very dangerous to hunt these bears, 
 as the hunter must climb high mountains and 
 risk his life in many ways before he reaches 
 their dens. But their skin and fat are very 
 valuable, so they are often hunted both by 
 white men and Indians. Before the white 
 men came to America, the Indians used the
 
 124 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 bear skins for blankets and mats, but now 
 they sell them for whiskey, food, beads, nails, 
 and sometimes money, to the whites, who use 
 both the fur and skins. 
 
 THE PET FKOGS. 
 
 ALMOST all children are fond of pets, and I 
 dare say many of my young readers have a pet 
 of some sort, a canary, dog, pony, or rabbit, 
 some pretty animal or bird to feed and caress. 
 I am going to tell you about a boy who had 
 three pet frogs. You may, perhaps, say, What 
 ugly pets ! but you are mistaken. The next 
 time you are near a pond, catch a frog and ex- 
 amine it. It will not hurt you ; be sure you 
 do not hurt it. When you have looked at it 
 carefully put it down and watch its movements, 
 and I am sure you will find something to ad-
 
 THIRD BOOK. 125 
 
 mire both in its looks and actions. But you 
 will say, perhaps, that frogs are not so inter- 
 esting as birds, and that they can do nothing 
 to make you like them : you may say, also, 
 that they can neither sing nor do any thing 
 else to please you ; but I say, this will depend 
 upon whether you take an interest in them or 
 not. You will say, perhaps, that you could 
 never teach a frog any thing, and that it 
 would never know you ; but I know a youth 
 who was a little boy nine years ago; and 
 about that time, while rambling in the pleas- 
 ant fields, he caught three small frogs and car- 
 ried them home with him. When he got 
 home his father and mother thought he had 
 made a very strange choice in selecting three 
 such uncommon pets ; but they did not for- 
 bid him to keep them, for he was a very kind 
 boy, and never hurt any thing. 
 
 Well, this little boy kept his three little 
 frogs in a fishing-can for some time, and put
 
 126 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 some grass in with them, and they seemed 
 happy enough ; but he could not see them eat 
 any thing, and he thought they would be 
 starved, and this he could not think of with- 
 out pain, and yet he did not like to take them 
 back again to their native fields, so he thought 
 that he would let them have an opportunity 
 of feeding themselves. 
 
 He dug a small pond in his father's garden, 
 not much bigger than a wash-hand basin, 
 which he lined well with clay. At one side 
 of this pond he made a small cave as a sort of 
 apartment, and covered it over with earth. 
 He next got some grass turf and made a grass 
 plot round the pond, and finally, having filled 
 the pond with water, and sprinkled some loose 
 blades of grass on the surface, he put the 
 three young strangers into it, one by one. 
 Before he put them in, however, he gave them 
 names; the largest he called Dick, the next 
 he called Bessy, and the third he called Fan-
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 ny. Master Dick lie put at the edge of the 
 pond, and plurnp lie went to the bottom in- 
 stantly, and there he lay quiet enough. Next, 
 Miss Bessy was released from the tin can, and 
 plump she went to the bottom also. Next 
 it came to the turn of Miss Fanny, but she 
 was very little and very much wanting in 
 experience, and she knew not what was good 
 for her, so she started off and went hopping 
 about the garden like a grasshopper. Away 
 went the little boy after her, dipping down 
 his hand every second to catch her ; but she 
 was too active and quick-sighted for him; 
 away she went and leaped into the middle of 
 a large tulip bed, where she seemed to think 
 herself safe. The little boy respected his fa- 
 ther's tulips and did not know how to re- 
 move Miss Fanny ; but he wished very much 
 to put her with her companions, so he got a 
 long stick and gently touched her. Off she 
 started again, with increased vigor from the
 
 128 L T NCLE JOHN'S 
 
 rest she had taken, and the little boy after her. 
 At length he thought he was sure of having 
 her, and made a stoop to catch her, but miss- 
 ing his aim, he fell among a number of carna- 
 tion pots, broke the carnations, and scratched 
 his face sadly with the carnation sticks. 
 Well, this little boy was much vexed at the 
 mischief he had done, and forgot all about 
 Miss Fanny, and she went he knew not where. 
 He fixed the carnation sticks in the pots 
 again, and, having removed the broken stems 
 and put all things in order, he began the 
 chase afresh; but he looked and looked in 
 vain nowhere could he see Miss Fanny. At 
 last he gave up the pursuit and returned to his 
 little pond. He was much pleased, however, 
 when he got there, to see Master Dick and 
 Miss Bessy peeping their heads out at the 
 edge. When he saw them, he thought with- 
 in himself, how much wiser they were than 
 silly Fanny ; and having left them all safe, he
 
 THIRD BOOK. 129 
 
 went to bed, quite pleased with, the after- 
 noon's pleasure. 
 
 "When this little boy awoke in the morn- 
 ing, which was very early, for he was fond of 
 seeing many things that can be seen only by 
 early rising, he went to his frog pond to in- 
 spect his amphibious family, You know, I 
 hope, my children, that amphibious means 
 any animal that can live either in the water 
 or on land. When he came to the pond he 
 saw no signs of the frogs ; he gently moved 
 the floating grass on one side, but they were 
 not at the bottom, so he concluded they had 
 either gone abroad in the garden, or else that 
 they had concealed themselves in the subter- 
 ranean cavern. So he waited patiently till 
 evening came, and then renewed his visit. 
 He walked gently up to the pond and looked 
 cautiously into it; and sure enough there 
 were his three friends, Dick, Bessy, and Fanny, 
 all sticking their heads out of the water, as if 
 9
 
 130 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 looking for their breakfasts ; but, when they 
 saw him, plump they went to the bottom. 
 
 Many and many were the visits he paid to 
 these queer little things without being able to 
 make acquaintance with them: they seemed 
 too shy for much familiarity. 
 
 But one morning, after there had been 
 some rain in the night, he went forth as usual, 
 and lo and behold, there he met all three 
 coming home across the garden. He thought 
 he would make free with them, and after one 
 or two trials he caught Master Dick, and 
 taking him into his hand, caressed him, and 
 smoothed him gently with the soft leaf of a 
 rose campion plant, which he happened to 
 have in his hand. 'Master Dick did not make 
 much effort to get away, but seemed to be 
 pleased. Many and many times, and for 
 several years, did this little boy render himself 
 thus familiar with the frogs ; first one and then 
 another, and at length they all became quite
 
 THIRD BOOK. 131 
 
 tame, and when he came near, they did not 
 jump into the pond as they had done at first, 
 but remained outside, and looked boldly up at 
 him, as much as to say, " Good morning, or 
 good evening, sir," though they would in- 
 stantly rush into the water if any one else 
 came near them. 
 
 The frogs seemed to know his voice, and 
 when he stood still they would sometimes get 
 on to his shoe, as if in full confidence of his 
 kindness. 
 
 Nine years have now passed since little 
 Master Dick, little Miss Bessy, and little Miss 
 Fanny first became the property by capture 
 of this little boy. But the little boy has now 
 become a tall youth, and Dick has become a 
 fall-grown gentleman frog, and Miss Bessy 
 and the giddy Miss Fanny, two fine handsome 
 full-grown lady frogs. And they are all on 
 the same friendly footing, except that the 
 youth having started in the world to obtain
 
 .132 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 his support has become somewhat a stranger. 
 But there the frogs are still, tenants at will, 
 and there they are likely to remain at present. 
 Now, my little friends, how do you like 
 frogs by this time ? They are not nasty ugly 
 things, are they? I am sure you will say 
 " No." And I wish you to look upon all things 
 with the same interest and good feeling. You 
 will find your walks so pleasant when in the 
 country, if you find an old acquaintance, as it 
 were, in every living thing and plant.
 
 133 
 
 AN INDIAN WIGWAM. 
 
 ALL my little readers have heard of 
 Indians, the red men who lived in this country 
 before the white men came to drive them
 
 134 
 
 away ; but perhaps there is some little boy or 
 girl who would like to hear more about these 
 poor red men of the forest. 
 
 At the time when Christopher Columbus 
 discovered America the whole of this vast 
 country was inhabited by Indians. Now, great 
 cities stand where these savages once hunted 
 the moose and deer, and the poor red man has 
 been driven further and further away from his 
 old home, till now there is scarcely one of 
 them to be found east of the Mississippi River. 
 
 When the Indians were powerful they 
 were very fond of war. Before they went to 
 war they would paint their bodies, and string 
 shells and stones round their necks and arms, 
 put gay feathers in their hair, and tattoo their 
 faces. Tattooing is pricking the skin in pat- 
 terns, and then filling the little holes with 
 paint. 
 
 While the men dressed so gaily and went 
 to war, the women were not allowed any finery,
 
 THI ED BOOK. 135 
 
 but were forced to stay at home and cook, 
 draw the water and tend the papooses or ba- 
 bies, which they carried strapped to their 
 backs. If they found any pretty shell or stone 
 they did not dare to wear it, but carried it to 
 the men to make them finer. 
 
 As the Indians never lived very long in 
 one place, they never built houses such as we 
 live in, but made themselves wigwams. A 
 wigwam was a number of sticks driven into 
 the ground, and covered with bark leather and 
 branches of trees. In the picture you can see 
 their form. The Indian you see is taking his 
 ease, lying on the ground and smoking his pipe, 
 while his wife cooks the dinner at the fire you 
 see by the tent. The little brown boy has 
 found his father's bow, and struts about in 
 high glee, while the papoose, just taken from 
 his mother's back, is propped up in his queer 
 cradle against the wigwam.
 
 136 UNCLE JOHN 8 
 
 THE WOESTED STOCKING. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 " FATHER will have done the great chimney 
 to-night, won't he, mother ? " said little Tom 
 Howard as he stood waiting for his father's 
 breakfast, which he carried to him at his work 
 every morning. 
 
 "He said he hoped all the scaffolding 
 would be down to-night," answered the mother, 
 "and this will be a fine sight; for I never 
 like the ending of those great chimneys it's 
 risky thy father's to be the last up." 
 
 " Eh ! then, but I'll go and see him, and 
 help 'em give a shout afore he comes down," 
 said Tom. 
 
 " And then," continued his mother, " if all 
 goes right, we are to have a frolic to-morrow, 
 and go into the country, and take our dinners, 
 and spend all the day amongst the woods." 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried Tom, as he ran off to his
 
 THIRD BOOK. 137 
 
 father's place of work, with a can of milk in 
 one hand, and some bread in the other. His 
 mother stood in the door watching him as he 
 went merrily whistling down the street ; and 
 then she thought of the dear father he was 
 going to, and then her heart sought its sure 
 refuge, and she prayed to God to protect and 
 bless her treasures. 
 
 Tom, with light heart, pursued his way to 
 his father, and leaving him his breakfast went 
 to his own work, which was at some distance. 
 In the evening, on his way home, he went 
 round to see how his father was getting 
 on. James Howard, the father, and a number 
 of other workmen, had been building one of 
 those lofty chimneys which, in our great manu- 
 facturing towns, almost supply the place of 
 other architectural beauty. This chimney was 
 one of the highest and most tapering that had 
 ever been erected; and as Tom, shading his 
 eyes from the slanting rays of the setting sun,
 
 138 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 looked up to the top in search of his father, 
 his heart almost sunk within him at the ap- 
 palling height. The scaffold was almost all 
 down ; the men at the bottom were removing 
 the last beams and poles. Tom's father stood 
 alone on the top. He looked around to see 
 that every thing was right ; and then waving 
 his hat in the air, the men below answered 
 him with a long loud cheer ; little Tom shout- 
 ing as heartily as any of them. As their 
 voices died away, however, they heard a very 
 different sound a cry of alarm and horror 
 from above ! " The rope ! the rope ! " The 
 men looked round, and, coiled upon the ground, 
 lay the rope, which, before the scaffolding was 
 removed, should have been fastened to the top 
 of the chimney, for Tom's father to come down 
 by! The scaffolding had been taken down 
 without remembering to take the rope up. 
 There was a dead silence. They all knew it 
 was impossible to throw the rope up high
 
 THIED BOOK. 139 
 
 enough, or skilfully enough, to reach the top 
 of the chimney ; or, if possible, it would hard- 
 ly have been safe. They stood in silent dis- 
 may, unable to give any help, or think of any 
 means of safety. 
 
 And Tom's father. He walked round and 
 round the little circle, the dizzy height seem- 
 ing every moment to grow more fearful, and 
 the solid earth further and further from him. 
 In the sudden panic he lost his presence of 
 mind, and his senses almost failed him. He 
 shut his eyes ; he felt as if, the next moment, 
 he must be dashed to pieces on the ground 
 below. 
 
 The day had passed as industriously and 
 swiftly as usual with Tom's mother at home. 
 She was always busily employed for her hus- 
 band and children, in some way or other ; and 
 to-day she had been harder at work than 
 usual, getting ready for the holiday to-morrow. 
 She had just finished all her preparations, and
 
 140 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 her thoughts were silently thanking God for 
 her happy home, and for all the blessings of 
 life, when Tom ran in. His face was as white 
 as ashes ; and he could hardly get his words 
 out, " Mother ! mother ! He cannot get down." 
 
 "Who, lad? Thy father?" asked his 
 mother. 
 
 " They've forgotten to leave him the rope," 
 answered Tom, still scarcely able to speak. 
 His mother started up, horror-struck, and 
 stood for a moment paralyzed ; then pressing 
 her hands over her face, as if to shut out the 
 terrible picture, and breathing a prayer to God 
 for help, she rushed out of the house. 
 
 When she reached the place where her 
 husband was at work, a crowd had collected 
 round the foot of the chimney, and stood there 
 quite helpless, gazing up with faces full of sor- 
 row. "He says he'll throw himself down," 
 exclaimed they, as Mrs. Howard came up ; " he 
 is going to throw himself down."
 
 THIED BOOK. 141 
 
 "Thee munna do that, lad!" cried the 
 wife, with clear, hopeful voice ; " thee munna 
 do that. Wait a bit. Take off thy stocking, 
 lad, and unravel it, and let down the thread 
 with a bit of mortar. Dost hear me, Jem ? " 
 
 The man made a sign of assent, for it 
 seemed as if he could not speak ; and taking 
 off his stocking unravelled the worsted thread 
 row after row. The people stood round in 
 breathless silence and suspense, wondering 
 what Tom's mother could be thinking of, and 
 why she sent him in such haste for the car- 
 penter's ball of twine. 
 
 " Let down one end of the thread with a bit 
 of stone, and keep fast hold of the other," cried 
 she to her husband. The little thread came 
 waving down the tall chimney, blown hither 
 and thither by the wind ; but at last it reached 
 the outstretched hands that were waiting for 
 it. Tom held the ball of string while his 
 mother tied one end of it to tne worsted thread.
 
 142 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " Now pull it up slowly," cried she to her hus- 
 band ; and she gradually unwound the string 
 as the worsted drew it gently up. It stopped, 
 the string had reached her husband. " Now hold 
 the string fast, and pull it up," cried she ; and 
 the string grew heavy, and hard to pull ; for 
 Torn and his mother had fastened the thick 
 rope to it. They watched it gradually and 
 slowly uncoiling from the ground as the string 
 was drawn higher. There was but one coil 
 left. It had reached the top. " Thank God ! 
 thank God ! " exclaimed the wife. She hid 
 her face in her hands in silent prayer, and 
 tremblingly rejoiced. The rope was up. The 
 iron to which it should be fastened was there 
 all right ; but would her husband be able to 
 make use of them ? would not the terror of 
 the past hour have so unnerved him as to pre- 
 vent him from taking the necessary measures 
 for his safety ? She did not know the strength 
 that the sound of her voice, so calm and stead-
 
 THIED BOOK. 143 
 
 fast, had filled him with as if the little 
 thread that carried him the hope of life once 
 more, had carried him some portion of that 
 faith in God which nothing ever destroyed or 
 shook in her true heart. She did not know 
 that, as he waited there, the words came over 
 him, " Why art thou cast down, O my sotd ? 
 and why art thou disquieted within me ? Hope 
 thou in God." She lifted up her heart to 
 God for hope and strength. She could do 
 nothing more for her husband ; and her heart 
 turned to God, and rested on him as on a 
 rock. 
 
 There was a great shout. "He's safe, 
 mother, he's safe," cried little Tom. " Thou'st 
 saved me, Mary," cried her husband, folding 
 her in his arms. " But what ails thee ? Thou 
 seem'st more sorry than glad about it." But 
 Mary could not speak ; and, if the strong arm 
 of her husband had not held her up, she 
 would have fallen to the ground : the sudden
 
 144 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 joy after such great fear, had overcame her. 
 "Tom," said his father, "let thy mother lean 
 on thy shoulder, and we will take her home." 
 And in their happy home they poured forth 
 their thanks to God for his great goodness; 
 and their happy life together felt dearer and 
 holier for the peril it had been in, and for the 
 nearness that the danger had brought them 
 unto God. And the holiday next day was 
 it not indeed a thanksgiving day ?
 
 THIED BOOK. 145 
 
 ON THE SEA. 
 
 DEAR papa is on the sea, 
 
 Willie boy ! 
 
 Dear papa is on the sea, 
 Winning gold for you and me, 
 You'll pray for him at ray knee, 
 
 Willie boy, Willie boy ! 
 
 Your papa is good and true, 
 
 Willie boy! 
 
 Your papa is good and true, 
 To your mamma and to you, 
 He's beloved by all the crew, 
 
 Willie boy, Willie boy ! 
 10
 
 146 
 
 Then pray as here you kneel, 
 
 Willie boy ! 
 
 Then pray as here you kneel, 
 That distress he ne'er may feel, 
 As he guides the sheet and wheel, 
 
 Willie boy, Willie boy! 
 
 Should hurricanes arise, 
 
 Willie boy ! 
 Should hurricanes arise, 
 Lashing seas up to the skies, 
 May his guide be the ALL WISE, 
 
 Willie boy, Willie boy ! 
 
 And the tempest's gloomy path, 
 
 Willie boy ! 
 
 And the tempest's gloomy path, 
 May he brave its wildest wrath, 
 While it strews the deep with death, 
 
 Willie boy, Willie boy!
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 And on wings of mercy borne, 
 
 Willie boy ! 
 
 And on wings of mercy borne, 
 May he soon and safe return, 
 To make glad the hearts that mourn. 
 
 Willie boy, Willie boy ! 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 " OH ! how I wish I was a man," said little 
 Henry, laying down his book with a deep 
 sigh. 
 
 "And why, my son, do you so earnestly 
 wish to be a man ? " said his mother. 
 
 " Because I would like to do some great 
 actions and be useful to my country, like the 
 men mentioned in this book." 
 
 "Those great men were all little boys 
 once," said his mother.
 
 148 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " But, mother, do you think they ever did 
 any thing very useful when they were boys ? " 
 
 " I should think it very probable," replied 
 his mother, " as all children can be useful if 
 they try." 
 
 " But, mother, what can such little boys do ? 
 I am sure I cannot do any good." 
 
 " Perhaps you can if you seek for opportu- 
 nities, and keep always in your mind the wish 
 to do good to others. Never let an occasion, 
 however trifling it may appear, pass by unim- 
 proved by at least the effort to be of use. I 
 cannot talk with you now, as I must go out ; but, 
 if you will walk with me, as I am going to 
 make some purchases, perhaps we shall find 
 something to do y on our way." 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! " said Henry, as he ran to get his 
 cap looking very doubtful, however, as to his 
 ability to do any good. 
 
 As Henry and his mother pursued their 
 walk there were many things to interest them ;
 
 THIRD BOOK. 149 
 
 but Henry saw no opportunity to do any act of 
 usefulness for some time. At length he no- 
 ticed an old gentleman before them, and had 
 remarked to his mother that he seemed very 
 feeble, when a rude boy in passing pushed his 
 cane from his hand and ran on, regardless of 
 the inconvenience he was causing. 
 
 Henry sprang forward directly, picked up 
 the cane, and with a very modest bow, return- 
 ed it to the old man. 
 
 " Thank you, my son," said the old man, and 
 his face expressed how sincerely he said, " thank 
 you? Henry returned to his mother, whose 
 smile of approval expressed her pleasure at his 
 kind act. She said : " You did not have long 
 to wait for an opportunity of being useful." 
 
 " Is that little thing being useful, mother ? " 
 
 " Certainly it is. Have you not spared 
 the old man the pain of stooping for his stick, 
 and given him the pleasure of seeing that all
 
 150 UNCLE 
 
 little boys are not regardless of age and in- 
 firmities ? " 
 
 As they pursued their way, Henry thought 
 very seriously of his mother's words, and again 
 resolved to be watchful for an opportunity of 
 being of service. 
 
 They had reached the window of a large, 
 elegant toy-shop, and Henry left his mother's 
 side to look at and admire the beautiful things, 
 thinking, as most children do, that all the 
 toys would make him very happy. A servant 
 girl, heavily laden with marketing, let fall from 
 her basket a large fine cantelope. It rolled 
 away very fast, and finally over the curb-stone 
 into the street. The poor girl looked worried 
 and perplexed. Both arms had baskets on 
 them, and the street was much crowded. Hen- 
 ry, who was looking round at that moment, 
 saw her distress and hastened to relieve her 
 trouble. He picked up the cantelope, placed 
 it securely in her basket, and without waiting
 
 Till ED BOOK. 151 
 
 to hear the many thanks which the warm- 
 hearted Irish girl poured upon him, returned 
 to his mother, who again smiled upon him with- 
 out making any remark. They now turned into 
 another street, and Henry said, " Mother, shall 
 we soon go home, I am so very hungry ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear; but if you need something 
 to eat, you may step to that cake-baker's on the 
 other side and get yourself a cake, while I make 
 my purchases in this drygoods store ; and then 
 you can return for me. Here are some pen- 
 nies." 
 
 Henry took the pennies and his mother 
 passed into the store, while he skipped away 
 to buy his cake. Henry's mother had finish- 
 ed her business before he returned. 
 
 " Well, my son, are you ready to go home ? 
 I have now made all my purchases." 
 
 " Yes, mother," replied Henry. 
 
 " And how did you like your cake." 
 
 " I did not buy one, mother," said Henry.
 
 152 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 " Why not ? " asked his mother. " I hope 
 you have not been buying candy, which you 
 know I do not like you to eat." 
 
 " No, mother, I did not buy candy. I saw 
 a little match-girl looking veiy tired and very 
 hungry, and I gave her my pennies. I knew I 
 should have a nice dinner at home, and I do 
 not think she will." 
 
 "Another little good" said his mother. 
 " Do you not begin to realize that even little 
 boys may be useful when they try. " 
 
 As they pursued their walk, Henry's 
 mother talked to him about usefulness. " You 
 know, my son, that it is not sufficient that we 
 wish to do good ; we must be actively useful, 
 we must be constantly seeking for opportuni- 
 ties for use. To help our fellow creatures in 
 every way we can is well pleasing to the Lord, 
 who tells us in his Holy Word, to love our 
 neighbors as ourselves. Even high and holy 
 thoughts do not benefit mankind unless there
 
 THIRD BOOK. 153 
 
 is some channel open for them to flow into act- 
 ive use. The hermit in his cell may have 
 pure and holy thoughts, "but he does no good 
 to his fellow men by thinking good things. 
 They must be brought into action to be of use. 
 But here we are at home, and now must stop 
 talking." 
 
 Henry's mother went directly to the nurs- 
 ery on their return, and he followed her as 
 soon as he had hung up his cap. He found 
 his little darling brother laughing with 
 great glee to see his mother again. Henry 
 had a frolic with him, and then took his book 
 to continue his reading, which his walk had 
 interrupted. His mother was obliged to send 
 the nurse down stairs for a little while, and 
 in a few minutes was herself called down to 
 see the man who had brought home her pur- 
 chases. She placed the baby on the floor and 
 left the room. Henry was much engaged 
 with his book, but when he heard the baby
 
 154 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 fret at being left, lie quietly laid down his 
 book and devoted himself to amusing the lit- 
 tle fellow. "When his mother returned she 
 kissed him affectionately, and asked him if he 
 still thought it impossible for little boys to be 
 useful. " You see, my son, you have had/0^r 
 different opportunities of doing acts of kind- 
 ness, which is but another name for being 
 useful. If children desire to be truly good 
 men and women, they must begin, while chil- 
 dren, to do every good which is in their pow- 
 er, and the "little things" thus done may 
 exercise a power over their whole after lives." 
 If Henry could have known all the good 
 his little actions had done, he would have 
 been convinced that it was in the power of 
 children to be useful. The old man, when 
 he returned home, took his little grandson on 
 his knee, and told him of the good little boy 
 who had picked up his cane, and fe, too, re- 
 solved when he went out to help all the old
 
 THIED BOOK. 155 
 
 p eople lie could see. The small seed was sown 
 to bring forth, perhaps, much fruit. The 
 Irish girl, disheartened and fatigued with her 
 heavy burden, forgot her troubles while tell- 
 ing her fellow servants of the sweet boy with 
 his sunny face who had run into the street to 
 pick up her cantelope. The poor little match- 
 girl made her sick mother's eyes brighten with 
 pleasure, when she brought to her two beau- 
 tiful peaches which Henry's gift enabled her 
 to purchase ; and the little baby's look of love 
 at his brother, who left his book to play with 
 him, was worth a thousand selfish pleasures. 
 Henry's mother kept constantly reminding 
 him that little boys would, in time, become 
 men, and that for the present he must be con- 
 tented with "little things," and remember 
 that the Holy Word says, that " As thy day 
 is, so shall thy strength be."
 
 156 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 THE BALLOON. 
 
 DLD you ever see a balloon ? It is a large 
 silk bag filled with gas, and covered with strong 
 netting. Suspended from it is a car, in which 
 the people who wish to take a ride in the air
 
 THIRD BOOK. 157 
 
 can take a seat. When they are seated, tho 
 strings which fasten the balloon to the earth 
 are cut, and the gas in the balloon being 
 lighter than the air, it rises up, up far above 
 the ground, floating like a huge bird, till it 
 goes far into the clouds, quite out of sight. 
 In the picture you see a balloon, which is al- 
 ready in the air, and in the car you see the 
 four men who are having a ride. 
 
 It is very pleasant to sail through the air 
 in this way, looking down upon trees, fields, 
 cities, mountains, rivers, and plains ; but like 
 many other pleasant things, it is sometimes 
 very dangerous. If the bag breaks and lets 
 gas escape, the balloon falls instantly. Some 
 men once started to fly over Lake Erie in a 
 balloon; when they were a short distance 
 from land, the bag burst, the gas rushed out, 
 and the car fell down into the water. There 
 were people on the shore watching, and a man 
 was sent out in a boat, who picked up the
 
 158 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 half-drowned travellers. Another party, fill- 
 ing the car with provisions, started from Penn- 
 sylvania to cross the ocean and fly over to 
 Europe; but when the balloon got as far as 
 New Jersey, the gas began to escape, and the 
 travellers were obliged to come down, very 
 thankful that they were over land instead of 
 being in the middle of the ocean. 
 
 A STOBY OF CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " MOTHER ! will the Christ-child come to- 
 morrow ? Will the Christ-child bring dolls, 
 and horses ? and oh, mother, do you think he 
 will bring me a cross-bow, and will Uncle 
 Karl teach me how to shoot it ? Mother ! why 
 are you so sad ? why do your eyes look far 
 away, instead of at Karl ? Why do you not 
 answer me, mother ? "
 
 THIED BOOK. 159 
 
 " Karl ! " said the mother, drawing him 
 closely to her breast, " do you love me ? " 
 
 " Love you ? Why, mother, what a ques- 
 tion ! I love you most dearly, dear mother." 
 
 " You will never leave me, my boy ? " 
 
 " Never, dear mother ! Why should I leave 
 you?" 
 
 " Never, never leave me." 
 
 " Gertrude," said a low voice behind her 
 chair. 
 
 The boy slid down from his mother's lap, 
 and left her alone with his father. 
 
 " Oh, my husband," cried the wife, laying 
 her head on his breast, " my heart is sad to- 
 night, and over-weary. Where is our boy, 
 our first-born ? " 
 
 " Gertrude, he left us freely ; he was head- 
 strong, and unwilling to submit to his father's 
 better judgment. God protect him, for he was 
 young and wayward. I know not where he 
 is, though half my fortune has been spent in
 
 160 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 vain endeavors to find him. Our poor boy ! 
 he may be dead, Gertrude." 
 
 The mother shuddered. Then rising, she 
 went to a drawer and took out a cross-bow, 
 and some other boyish toys, and laid them 
 apart. Her hand lingered lovingly over them, 
 and the tears welled up into her eyes. 
 
 " They are for Karl," she said in answer to 
 her husband's look of inquiry. " It is five years 
 to-morrow since I placed them on the tree for 
 Emanuel, and in two little weeks I saw my 
 boy for the last time. I have tried always to 
 banish sad thoughts at Christmas, for the 
 children's sake, but to-night my heart seems 
 full enough to burst. God grant we hear of 
 no misfortune happening to our boy, for my 
 heart has heavy forebodings." 
 
 Long did the parents sit and talk of the 
 prodigal son. 
 
 Emanuel was their first, and for five years 
 after their marriage, their only child. He was
 
 THIRD BOOK. 161 
 
 a high-tempered boy, but until his thirteenth 
 year had submitted to his parents' will. One 
 night, in a sudden fit of rage at the crossing 
 of some unreasonable whim, he had left the 
 house, walked to a neighboring seaport town, 
 and there taken passage on a vessel bound for 
 China. As this vessel sailed the next morn- 
 ing, with its new cabin-boy on board, every 
 effort made by his father to bring him back had 
 been fruitless. For some time the mother was 
 prostrated by grief, but other children claimed 
 her attention, and as their childish wonder 
 abated, and they ceased to mention their 
 brother's name, it was not spoken in the fam- 
 ily circle, and the parents slowly learned to 
 shut up this great sorrow in their own hearts. 
 The morrow came, and with a sad face and 
 many a falling tear, Gertrude placed Emanuel's 
 toys on the tree for Karl. If he ever returned, 
 the mother lovingly argued, he would be too 
 old for these trifling gifts, and they would 
 11
 
 162 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 make her Karl happy. Dancing feet and merry 
 voices greeting her, as she left the mysterious 
 room she had prepared for the Christ-child, 
 soothed the open wound in her heart, and she 
 thanked God for the treasures left to her. 
 
 Evening came; the children, Karl, Fritz, 
 Gertie, Franz, and little Dorothea were all 
 ushered into a dark entry, and there joined 
 their sweet childish voices in the Christmas- 
 hymn. Then the door opened, and in a won- 
 drous blaze of light stood the Christmas tree. 
 Awe-stricken by its glorious light, and dazzled 
 by its suddenness, the children stood still, 
 until seeing grandmother, whose chair had 
 been wheeled in, sitting by a table near this 
 burst of splendor, they came slowly in. Karl's 
 quick eye soon espied his treasure, the cross- 
 bow, and Uncle Karl was called upon to ex- 
 plain all its mysteries. Fritz took his new 
 book to have the pictures explained by grand- 
 mother. Gertie sat beside the table with a
 
 THIRD BOOK. 163 
 
 new doll, wliile little Franz and the two year 
 old baby, soon tired with intense pleasure, 
 came to papa's loving arms for rest. The 
 mother wandered round the room. Karl's 
 eagerness reminded her of the pleasure the 
 same toy had given five long years before. 
 The book Fritz enjoyed so much was also one 
 of Emanuel's, and as Gertrude's eye turned 
 from one boy to the other, her heart whispered 
 the oft-repeated question, " Will he never re- 
 turn ! " There was a shadow on the father's 
 brow too, and as Gertrude passed him, he 
 grasped her hand, and drew her closely to him. 
 All the children were too happy to notice 
 their parents' abstraction, and their low voices 
 were drowned in gleeful shouts and animated 
 conversation. 
 
 Sxiddenly there came a loud rap on the 
 door. Gertie, much wondering whom it could 
 be on Christmas eve, sprang to open it. The 
 mother stood erect, and the father, his heart
 
 164 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 stirred by the same hope, looked eagerly 
 toward the door. It was a stranger, a lad of 
 eighteen or nineteen years ; they looked for a 
 boy of Karl's age, forgetting for a moment the 
 lapse of time. He stood in the doorway, 
 then with a slow, timid step, advanced toward 
 the mother and father. Gertrude's, the mother's 
 instinct, spoke first, and with a loud cry she 
 fell upon his neck. 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! " he said, in a hoarse, 
 choked voice, " can you forgive me ? " 
 
 " Forgive ? Oh, my boy ! Heaven is very 
 good to me. Five years I have thirsted for 
 the sound of your voice, and the sight of your 
 face, and God has sent you home." 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 The father spoke not, but as his son fell at 
 his feet, he bent forward and pressed the seal 
 of forgiveness upon his brow. And the Christ- 
 mas day rose upon such happiness in that 
 house as it had never known before.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 165 
 
 WISHING. 
 
 A NURSERY SONG. 
 
 Ring-ling ! I wish I were a Primrose, 
 A bright yellow primrose "blooming in the 
 Spring ! 
 
 The stooping boughs above me, 
 
 The wandering bee to love me, 
 The fern and moss to creep across, 
 And the Elm-tree for our king ! 
 
 Nay, stay ! I wish I were an Elm-tree, 
 
 A great lofty-Elm-tree, with green leaves gay ! 
 The winds would set them dancing, 
 The sun and moonshine glance in, 
 
 And birds would house among the boughs, 
 
 And sweetly sing ! 
 
 O no ! I wish I were a Robin ; 
 
 A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go ! 
 
 Through forest, field, or garden, 
 
 And ask no leave or pardon,
 
 166 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 Till winter come with icy thumb, 
 To ruffle up our wing ! 
 
 Well, tell ! where should I % to, 
 
 Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ! 
 
 Before a day was over, 
 
 Home must come the rover, 
 For mother's Mss sweeter this 
 Than any other thing.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 167 
 
 THE APTEEYX. 
 
 TRAVELLERS who have ventured into the 
 wild, unknown parts of Australia, have seen 
 many new animals, all of which have been 
 quite unlike those of other countries. Amongst 
 those which have really been brought to this 
 country, the most curious is the Apteryx, 
 called by the natives Kiwi-Kiwi. It is quite 
 without wings, and the nostrils are placed 
 nearly at the end of the very long bill, the tip 
 of which it has a habit of placing on the
 
 168 UNCLE 
 
 ground when it rests. The bird is covered 
 with soft, hair-like feathers, which are never 
 plucked out, but the whole skin is used for 
 the dresses of the chiefs. The legs are very 
 strong and powerful, and are used to defend 
 it from the dogs that hunt it ; and also to 
 strike the ground, to force up the worms on 
 which it feeds. It makes its nest in caves in 
 the rock, or it digs holes in the earth, in which 
 it hides when pursued. 
 
 MARY THOMPSON. 
 
 " PKAY let that tree alone," said a lady, 
 addressing a little girl about eleven years old, 
 who was picking off the bark of a fine elm, 
 that grew near the entrance of a gentleman's 
 grounds. "Do you not know that what 
 you are doing is very injurious to the tree ? 
 See," added she, turning to the lady who was
 
 THIRD BOOK. 169 
 
 with her, "what a large space has been en- 
 tirely laid bare." 
 
 "I didn't do it," said the girl pertly; "it 
 was there long before I ever touched the 
 tree." 
 
 "Probably," replied Miss Sinclair; "but 
 that is no reason why you should make it 
 worse. Leave the tree," said she authorita- 
 tively, for the girl still held her hand upon it, 
 nor had moved a single step. 
 
 "It's none of yours," exclaimed she, in a 
 tone sufficiently loud for Miss Sinclair to hear, 
 though apparently pronounced for the enter- 
 tainment of her companions, who began to 
 titter. 
 
 " What is that you say ? " demanded Miss 
 Sinclair, turning back a few paces. 
 
 " I didn't say any thing," replied she. 
 
 "What is your name?" demanded Miss 
 Sinclair: but no answer was returned. She 
 then made the same inquiry of the other girls
 
 170 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 who were with her, one alone of whom made 
 any reply, and that was no further satisfactory 
 than that she gained from it that her name 
 was Mary ; whether she went to the school, 
 where she lived, or what was her surname, 
 were points her informant professed to know 
 nothing about. 
 
 " It is as well for your friends," said Miss 
 Sinclair, " that your name is not known ; for 
 impertinent children are not less a disgrace 
 to their parents than objects of dislike to 
 others. We may meet again, perhaps, when 
 I shall not forget either your countenance 
 or your words ; for an insolent tongue, and 
 a disrespectful manner, seldom fail either to 
 make an impression not easily to be effaced, 
 or to receive some degree of punishment." 
 
 The girl spoke not, but her looks suffi- 
 ciently expressed her inclination again to an- 
 swer. Miss Sinclair, however, walked on, and 
 soon each was out of sight of the other.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 Mary for as such alone we will for the 
 present know her was, without any excep- 
 tion, the pertest girl in the village. Let who 
 would speak, she had always an answer to 
 make, and would have the last word, though 
 numbers were present. Her manner, her ap- 
 pearance, the cast of her countenance, every 
 feature, the movement of her shoulders, and 
 the twist of her neck, and if the expression 
 may be allowed the very sit of her clothes, 
 and her way of putting on her bonnet, was 
 pert. If her mother happened to say, " I like 
 such and such a thing to be done thus; I 
 think it the better plan ; " Mary's head was at 
 once in motion, her lip was raised, and " Do 
 you ? " was the reply ; and sometimes even she 
 would add, "but I don't." There was no 
 mistaking the meaning of the action at any 
 time ; and so her father proved to her one 
 evening, when hearing the words, and catch- 
 ing the expression that accompanied them, he
 
 UNCLE JOHNS 
 
 raised the glove lie had in his hand, and 
 smartly struck her on the shoulder with it. 
 
 " Is that the way," said he, angrily, " that 
 you answer your mother ? If ever I hear you 
 speak in that manner again you shall have 
 something still more to cry for than you have 
 now." The blow had been sharp, and the 
 pain caused by it severe, and Mary's tears 
 flowed plentifully ; yet even in that moment, 
 so powerful was the force of habit, that she 
 was on the point of uttering some reply the 
 determined look of her father, and the glance 
 she caught of his uplifted glove, checked her, 
 and made her thankful to escape. 
 
 She was the same at school. Mrs. Davis, 
 the mistress, had more trouble with her on 
 this account, than she had ever experienced 
 from any girl before, and as yet she had found 
 no means of effectually correcting her. This 
 was the more to be regretted, as she was 
 really a very " handy " little girl, by no means
 
 THIRD BOOK. 173 
 
 inclined to be idle, and possessed, besides, 
 very good sense. 
 
 With her brothers she was no favorite. 
 " Miss Pert " was the name by which they 
 generally distinguished her ; and, while quar- 
 rels were frequent between them and herself, 
 they rarely invited her to share in any pleasure 
 that they proposed among themselves. 
 
 " Mother," said Frank, the eldest boy, " I 
 will take my angle, and see if I can't catch a 
 dish of fish for supper ; it is just such an even- 
 ing when the fish will bite, as fast as I can 
 throw the bait." 
 
 "Will they?" said Mary; "I'm glad you 
 think so." 
 
 " No one spoke to you, Miss Pert," re- 
 turned Frank, coloring with passion ; " when 
 I want a girl's opinion, I'll ask you for it." 
 
 One word of course led to another, and 
 angry words and burning hearts were the con- 
 sequence.
 
 UNCLE JO HNS 
 
 " O mother ! " cried Mary one day when 
 she returned from school, " what do you think 
 Mrs. Davis has been telling us ? The lady 
 who has come to live at the Grove keeps a 
 great many pretty birds, birds of all sorts, 
 and she wants a little girl to help her to feed 
 them, and attend to them. She is not to live 
 there entirely, but to go at certain times of 
 the day, so that it may not interfere with 
 school-hours : they say she is such a nice lady ; 
 and every thing about her is quite beautiful. 
 O mother, I should so like to go to her ! 
 Don't you think Mrs. Davis might have spoken 
 a good word for me ? " 
 
 " Could she have spoken a good word for 
 you, Mary 3 " said her mother, looking steadily 
 at her. 
 
 " Could she ! " repeated Mary, and the tell- 
 tale toss of her head, and jerk of the neck, 
 betrayed that Mrs. Davis's last exhortations
 
 THIRD BOOK. 175 
 
 and her own promises of amendment were 
 forgotten. 
 
 " Mary ! " said her mother, in a tone which 
 recalled her to recollection. 
 
 She blushed, and in a more becoming man- 
 ner said, " Will you go with me, mother, and 
 ask the lady to take me ? " 
 
 Her mother consented ; and it was agreed 
 that they should go together in the evening. 
 Seeing both dressed in their Sunday attire, 
 the brothers inquired where they were going. 
 Mary, with some importance, informed them. 
 
 " Well, take care," said one of them, " only 
 mind that you leave ' Miss Pert ' behind you, 
 and then perhaps you may stand a chance to 
 be nursery-maid to the birds." 
 
 " Nursery-maid indeed ! " returned Mary ; 
 " who cares for such boys as you ? " and her 
 little slight figure became in an instant per- 
 fectly erect and statue-like, with the exception
 
 176 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 of the head and neck, which assumed its accus- 
 tomed movement on such occasions. 
 
 " If there is another word spoken," said her 
 mother, " you may go by yourself, for I will 
 not go with you." 
 
 "As you please," were the words that 
 hung on Mary's tongue, but she checked the 
 utterance, and in silence they left the house 
 together. 
 
 When they reached the Grove they were 
 shown into an apartment and desired to wait ; 
 the door which led into an adjoining room 
 was open, so that the voices within were dis- 
 tinctly heard. Mary immediately recognized 
 Mrs. Davis to be the speaker. " There is no 
 one, ma'am," said she, " whom I could so con- 
 fidently recommend as Mary Thompson, if it 
 were not for the fault that I have mentioned. 
 I am sure she would suit you in every respect ; 
 whatever she does she does well, and quickly
 
 THIKD BOOK. 177 
 
 too ; but she lias such, a tongue ! I cannot 
 advise you to take her." 
 
 At that instant the lady to whom she was 
 speaking, perceiving the figures of persons in 
 the antechamber, arose and advanced towards 
 it. Addressing Mary's mother as she entered^ 
 she inquired her business. Mary stole a look 
 at her, but meeting her eyes, she hastily turned 
 her head away. Had she seen her before ? 
 She could hardly tell : her voice certainly did 
 not seem strange to her, yet she could not 
 think when or where she had heard it. Whilst 
 her mother was enumerating her daughter's 
 qualifications, and in natural terms commend- 
 ing her, Mary was amusing herself with look- 
 ing at some beautiful flowers, which were 
 tastefully arranged in a vase on a small table, 
 near which she was standing. Fearful that 
 she might be taking a liberty, her mother, 
 availing herself of an opportunity, as she 
 thought, of not being observed, shook her 
 12
 
 ITS 
 
 head, and by the motion of her lips, rather 
 than by direct utterance, said " Don't do so." 
 But this was enough for Mary. " Not to do 
 so ! " she repeated, accompanying the words 
 with the movement of her head so peculiarly 
 her own. 
 
 " Mary Thompson ! " said the lady, in a 
 voice which made her start, " I require no one 
 to tell me that you are she. Those flowers 
 are none of yours do you now recollect 
 me?" 
 
 Mary was almost ready to sink on the car- 
 pet ; she had never before been so completely 
 subdued. 
 
 " Miss Pert " was, indeed, left behind. She 
 colored, trembled, and at last burst into tears. 
 Her mother looked at her with astonishment. 
 Miss Sinclair then related what had occurred 
 at their first meeting, to the great distress of 
 the poor woman. 
 
 "Mary," said Miss Sinclair, as she con-
 
 THIKD BOOK. 19 
 
 eluded lier narration, " you may now see both 
 the folly and the danger of impertinence. 
 The conduct shown to a stranger might, with- 
 out any other knowledge, now deprive you 
 of a very great advantage. Our second meet- 
 ing, like our first, is by no means calculated 
 to give me a favorable impression of you ; 
 but there is no habit altogether so inveterate 
 as not to be conquered by perseverance and 
 determination, and I would much rather be 
 the means of your improvement than of your 
 punishment. You shall come to me, but on 
 this clear understanding that if you repeat 
 the fault I have thus twice witnessed, you 
 leave me in disgrace, and without any prospect 
 of returning to me." 
 
 Mary went home humbled and mortified ; 
 but if her brothers are to be believed, " Miss 
 Pert" expired that evening, and though for 
 some time after they had fears of her coming 
 to life again, she has certainly up to this hour
 
 180 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 been to all intents and purposes dead and 
 buried. 
 
 HOW BOOKS AKE MADE. 
 
 A PRINTING PRESS. 
 
 WHEN your dear papa, little reader, brings 
 you home the pretty book that is to give you 
 many pleasant hours, do you ever think of 
 the number of people who have been em- 
 ployed to give you this pleasure. I don't
 
 THIED BOOK. 181 
 
 think you ever stopped a moment to thank 
 them ; so I am going to tell you something 
 about the manufacture of books, that you 
 may understand what a large amount of work 
 it requires to make even the smallest book. 
 
 First, then, there is the author, or person 
 who writes the words for you to read. He 
 must sit many hours and days, busy with his 
 pen, to tell you of other countries, or of birds 
 and beasts, or to write out the pretty stories. 
 The designer, too, or man who draws the pic- 
 tures which you like so well, must ply his 
 pencil, and use his eyes and fingers busily, 
 before the pretty scenes are ready for you. 
 
 The engraver must then take his sharp 
 little tools, and dig into the hard wood or 
 steel on which the picture is drawn, until he 
 has it ready for the paper upon which you see 
 its impression. 
 
 Then comes the printer, to set the type, 
 and stamp upon the page the words you read.
 
 182 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 In the picture you see the press which he 
 uses for this purpose. All the letters are cut 
 in little steel type, then put together to form 
 the words and sentences, and fastened very 
 securely in frames made for that purpose. 
 These frames are then put in the printing 
 press, where the letters are carefully inked. 
 The paper is then laid over them, and pressed 
 down with great force, so that the ink will 
 come off upon it, and leave the little black 
 letters. 
 
 Then the leaves must be taken by the 
 stitcher and sewed together to form the book ; 
 the binder takes them next, and puts on the 
 pretty stiff covers which keep the pages neat 
 and clean, and finally the packer sends them 
 to the bookstore where papa finds them out 
 for you. 
 
 But even before the book is printed, there 
 are many hours of labor spent upon the 
 materials. The paper employs the ragpicker
 
 THIED BOOK. 183 
 
 and manufacturer ; the covers require the aid 
 of the leather or cloth maker, and gilder; 
 and the ink must be made, the press itself 
 manufactured, and many hands employed be- 
 fore one book is ready for you to read. So 
 when you look at a book, you should bear in 
 mind the number of persons that have been 
 employed in producing it ; and then, perhaps, 
 it will rise in your estimation. There are the 
 author, the designer, the publisher, the rag 
 merchant, the paper maker, the stationer, the 
 type founder, the press maker, the ink maker, 
 the chase maker, the compositor, the press- 
 man, the gatherer, the folder, the stitcher, the 
 the leather seller, the binder, the copper smith, 
 the engraver, the copper plate printer, the 
 bookseller, and many other trades besides. 
 All of these require, also, the assistance of 
 persons of other employment, so that no fewer 
 than a hundred people, directly or indirectly, 
 have been occupied in the production of every
 
 184 
 
 bound book which is decorated with copper 
 plates or wood cuts. 
 
 HOW HAEEY DIXON BEGAN TO 
 THINK. 
 
 THE family dinner was just over Mr. 
 Dixon had gone to his workshop some of 
 the children had run out to play before going 
 to school ; but Harry had taken his chair near 
 to the fire, where he sat watching his mother 
 as she cleared the table. 
 
 Harry was about ten years old ; a good- 
 tempered boy, and a handy little fellow in his 
 way ; but like many other boys, he did things 
 without thinking, and so brought himself into 
 trouble. His father often said that the young 
 chap had no head, and was of no use to any- 
 body. 
 
 When Harry heard his father say this he
 
 THIRD BOOK. 185 
 
 always felt unhappy, and wished he could be- 
 come a useful boy all at once, and so make up 
 for past troubles. His good disposition made 
 him willing to render such services as were in 
 his power ; but he did not know how much 
 power of this sort he had, as he ran about 
 playing with his brothers and sisters ; and in 
 the fun and frolic a mishap of some kind was 
 pretty sure to happen. 
 
 Harry, as we have said, was sitting by the 
 fire ; he had alone no mischief that day, and 
 felt pretty comfortable as he watched his 
 mother's proceedings. She had nearly done 
 clearing away, when he saw her take up the 
 bread-basket and water-jug with one hand, 
 and with the other a saucepan from the hob, 
 and carry all three at once away to the 
 pantry. 
 
 " How clever my mother is," said Harry 
 to himself, " I should never have thought of 
 making one journey do for three things."
 
 186 UNCLE 
 
 Then lie sat silent for a time, wondering 
 whether he would one day be able to do the 
 same. He had often heard his mother say, 
 " make your head work for your hands," and 
 now he understood what she meant. 
 
 Those few minutes of reflection formed 
 one of the turning points in Harry's history, 
 and for the first time in his life he began to 
 think. 
 
 After this, it seemed to Harry that diffi- 
 culties were not so formidable as heretofore ; 
 and he scarcely ever woke in the morning 
 without thinking about what he should do 
 through the day. In this way he found out 
 that it was possible for even a young boy to 
 be very useful at home. One of the first 
 things that he did was to collect all the large 
 stones he could find, and with these he made 
 a pathway across the yard to the ash-pen and 
 water-butt; and this saved the kitchen from a 
 good deal of dirt, especially in wet weather.
 
 THIED BOOK. 187 
 
 He pulled up all the weeds and grass from 
 the garden paths, and made a rule of sweep- 
 ing them every other day ; besides which he 
 mended the fence, and put a new hasp to the 
 gate. He found time, too, to keep the books 
 in tidy order on the shelves ; and, setting his 
 wits to work, he contrived to put a new leg 
 to the washing-stool, and to mend the broken 
 rails of the kitchen chairs. In short, Harry 
 found that when people are willing to be use- 
 ful they can do almost any thing, and he would 
 never have believed, had he not proved it, 
 that so much could be done in a day. He did 
 not give up play, but by making his head 
 work, he gained time for work as well as play. 
 He had not only the satisfaction arising from 
 a true desire to do his duty, but he gained the 
 approbation of his parents : his mother often 
 looked after him as he ran off to school, with 
 a glad eye and thankful heart, that her young 
 son was such a comfort to her.
 
 188 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 [Our youthful readers must not suppose 
 that this is a tale merely made up for the 
 occasion ; it is a true history. Harry is now 
 an old man, yet he can still look back with 
 satisfaction to the time when he began to 
 think]
 
 THIRD BOOK. 189 
 
 AN AQUARIUM. 
 
 Is not this a pretty aquarium ? An aqua- 
 rium is a glass vessel, or tank filled with 
 water, sea weed, pebbles, shells, and fishes. 
 They are sometimes very large, sometimes 
 small enough to stand on a little table. When 
 well filled and the water kept clear, they are 
 very beautiful ; and it is a very pleasant way
 
 190 
 
 of passing an hour or two, to watch the little 
 fish as they dart in an out among the weeds. 
 My brother once had an aquarium of which 
 he was very proud ; he had carefully washed 
 the pretty white sand, and spread it over the 
 bottom of his tank ; had spent many days in 
 hunting for the weeds and pebbles, and beg- 
 ged from his mother some beautiful shells. 
 All the fish were caught by his own net, on 
 holidays, and his pretty treasure was his 
 favorite amusement. One day while he was 
 at school, his little sister, who was just learn- 
 ing to count, thought she would like to know 
 how many fish there were in Charley's aqua- 
 rium. So she took the little net with which 
 Charley removed the fish to a bucket of water 
 when he cleaned the tank, and carefully lifted 
 out all the fish. But Lizzie did not know 
 that fish will not live out of water, and she 
 spread them all out on the carpet. At first 
 they struggled and gasped, then lay quite
 
 THIRD BOOK. 191 
 
 still. As Lizzie could not count as far as five, 
 she divided the fish into little heaps, five in 
 each heap, and then went to Charley to know 
 how many five heaps of five fishes each, made. 
 Can you tell ? 
 
 Poor Charley ! As soon as Lizzie told him 
 what she had done, he ran hastily into the 
 room, to see all his little pets lying dead on 
 the carpet. 
 
 " Oh, Lizzie ! You've killed all my fish ! " 
 
 Lizzie stood a moment very still, looking 
 at the mischief she had done, and then began 
 to cry bitterly. 
 
 " Oh, Charley ! Are they dead 3 The poor 
 little fish ! Oh, I did not mean to kill them. 
 I lifted them out very carefully." 
 
 " But they will not live out of the water." 
 
 " But, Charley, they would not keep still 
 while I counted them ! Oh, I am so sorry ! " 
 
 Now Charley was a kind-hearted little
 
 192 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 boy, and when lie saw how grieved and sorry 
 his little sister was, he began to comfort her. 
 
 "Never mind, Lizzie, there are plenty 
 more fish in the river. I will catch some 
 more on Saturday, and I am sure you will not 
 touch them." 
 
 Lizzie promised never to touch the tank 
 again, and kept her promise. 
 
 Now was not this much better than if 
 Charley had been passionate, and scolded his 
 little sister ? Lizzie learned to be more care- 
 ful about touching what did not belong to 
 her, and loved her gentle brother more dearly 
 than ever. 
 
 THAT IS A BOY I CAN TETJST. 
 
 " I OXCE visited," says a gentleman, " a 
 large public school. At recess a little fellow 
 came up and spoke to the master; and as he
 
 THIED BOOK. 193 
 
 turned to go down the platform, the master 
 said, ' That is a boy I can trust. He never 
 failed me.' I followed him with my eye, and 
 looked at him when he took his seat after re- 
 cess. He had a fine, open, manly face. I 
 thought a good deal about the master's re- 
 mark. What a character had that little boy 
 earned ! He had already got what would be 
 worth to him more than a fortune. It would 
 be a passport to the best office in the city, and 
 what is better, to the confidence of all. I 
 wonder if the boys know how soon they are 
 rated by older people. Every boy in the 
 neighborhood is known, and opinions formed 
 of him ; he has a character, either favorable or 
 unfavorable. A boy of whom the master can 
 say, ' I can trust him ; he never failed me,' 
 will never want employment. The fidelity ? 
 promptness, and industry which he has shown 
 at school are prized everywhere. He who is 
 faithless in little shall be faithless in much." 
 
 13
 
 194 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 THE BAD CLOCK. 
 
 I HAVE a clock on my parlor mantelpiece. 
 A very pretty little clock it is, with a gilt 
 frame, and a glass case to cover it. Almost 
 every one who sees it, says, " What a pretty 
 clock ! " But it has one great defect it will 
 not run ; and therefore, as a dock, it is per- 
 fectly useless. Though it is very pretty, it is 
 a bad clock, because it never tells what time 
 it is. 
 
 Now, my bad clock is like a great many 
 persons in the world. Just as my clock does 
 not answer the purpose for which it was made 
 that is, to keep time so, many persons do 
 not answer the purpose for which they were 
 made. What did God make us for ? " Why," 
 you will say, "He made us that we might 
 love Him and serve Him." Well, then, if we 
 do iwt love God and serve Him, we do not 
 answer the purpose for which He made us :
 
 THIED BOOK. 195 
 
 we may be, like the clock, very pretty, and "be 
 very kind, and very obliging ; but if we do 
 not answer the purpose for which God made 
 us, we are just like the clock bad. Those 
 of my readers who live in the country, and 
 have seen an apple-tree in full blossom, know 
 what a beautiful sight it is. But suppose it 
 only bore blossoms, and did not produce fruit, 
 you would say it is a bad apple-tree. And so 
 it is. Every thing is bad, and every person is 
 bad, and every boy and girl is bad, if tliey do 
 not answer the purpose for which God made 
 them. God did not make us only to play and 
 amuse ourselves, but also that we might do 
 His will. 
 
 Maybe some of our readers will say, How 
 can I do God's will ? I will tell you. It is 
 God's will that you obey your parents. It is 
 His will that you keep out of bad company. 
 It is His will that you always try to do what 
 is right. It is His will that you pray and
 
 196 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 read your bible. And it is God's mil, my 
 dear young friends, that you believe in Jesus 
 Christ, trust in Him for the pardon of your 
 sins, and pray for His Holy Spirit. Now be 
 sure that you try to be not like the clock, 
 which, though it is very pretty, is a bad one, 
 because it does not answer the purpose for 
 which it was made. Let every one, therefore, 
 ask himself the question, " Do I answer the 
 purpose for which God made me ? "
 
 THIKD BOOK. 
 
 197 
 
 THE GREAT AUK. 
 
 THE Great Auk feeds on fish ; it is found 
 on all the shores of the Northern Ocean, and 
 is sometimes seen in the Northern Islands of 
 Scotland. Its short wings are of no use in 
 flying, and its legs are so far back that it 
 walks very slowly; but it dives well, and 
 swims under the water, rising at a great dis-
 
 198 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 tance from the place where it went down. 
 The sailors know they are near land when 
 they see the Great Auk, which never ventures 
 far from the shore. The plumage of the head, 
 neck, and back is black, and the under parts 
 are white, with a white patch before the eyes. 
 On the cleft of a high rock this bird lays one 
 large white egg streaked with purple; and 
 these eggs are so rare that they are much 
 valued by collectors. 
 
 ANDKOCLES AND THE LION. 
 
 I BEAD once a story that I think will 
 please you. It was called Androcles and 
 the Lion. In those days, when rich people 
 were served by slaves, whom they could sell 
 or torture as they pleased, there was a man 
 named Androcles, who had the misfortune to 
 be in the service of a hard and cruel master.
 
 THIRD BOOK. 199 
 
 And his slavery was at last so bitter to Mm, 
 that he resolved to run away. But he had no 
 friends, and no other home than that where 
 he lived in bondage. So he could flee no- 
 where for escape but to the lonely woods. 
 There, hidden amongst pathless wilds, he 
 thought he should be safe from pursuit ; and 
 as to the dangers from hunger, or savage 
 beasts that were likely to attack him there, 
 he dreaded them less than the iron rod under 
 which he had been so long groaning. Or per- 
 haps even he did not think of them at all, 
 but only of the liberty after which his heart 
 panted. So, one dark night, he stole away 
 when all the household was asleep, and before 
 the dawn of day was already far off amongst 
 the wilds of a thick forest, which no human 
 foot had ever trod before. 
 
 He was well used to hard fare, so the nuts 
 and berries he could find were all-sufficient 
 for his hunger. But after walking deeper
 
 200 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 and deeper into the forest he began to feel 
 tired, and looking round for some place where 
 he might sleep with safety, he saw very near 
 him a large and rocky cave. This was just 
 the very thing for poor Androcles, and going 
 a little way into it, he lay down upon a heap 
 of dry leaves some idle wind had blown there, 
 and was soon fast asleep. 
 
 How long he slept he could not tell, but 
 he was at last awakened by a loud moaning, 
 and starting up, what was his horror to see at 
 the entrance of the cave a monstrous lion. 
 This cave was his den, as poor Androcles little 
 thought when he took possession of it. Fear 
 almost stopped his breath at first, and he stood 
 trembling, expecting every moment that the 
 lion would spring upon him. But strange to 
 say, the great creature showed no desire to do 
 so, but only moaned and held up one of its 
 forepaws, which it did not seem able to put to 
 the ground.
 
 TRIED BOOK. 201 
 
 Androcles by degrees took heart, and ob- 
 served that this paw was very much swelled, 
 and certainly in great pain. Whether he 
 found courage to walk to the lion, or whether 
 the lion limped towards him, I do not re- 
 member ; but I know that at last he thought 
 he would try to help the poor suffering beast, 
 and taking hold of the enormous paw, he saw 
 that a very large thorn was sticking in the ball 
 of the foot. This it was which made the lion 
 in such pain ; and some instinct seemed to as- 
 sure him that Androcles would help him in 
 his trouble, and he sat patiently waiting to see 
 what he would do. 
 
 Now Androles was very kind-hearted, and 
 had not been made hard or unfeeling by his 
 own sorrows. So he forgot all his fears in try- 
 ing to comfort the poor wounded lion, and 
 taking hold of the thorn he very carefully drew 
 it from his foot. No sooner did the lion feel 
 the cause of his suffering taken away than he
 
 202 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 was filled with joy, and began to jump about, 
 as you may have seen a dog do when it is 
 pleased. Poor Androcles thought that now 
 he should certainly be eaten up ; but, to his 
 great surprise, the lion came and fawned upon 
 him, and tried in every way to show his grati- 
 tude for the favor he had received. 
 
 However, Androcles felt so little at ease, 
 that he took the first opportunity of escaping 
 from the den, and going further to find anoth- 
 er shelter. But the lion was soon at his side 
 again, and was so gentle and playful and lov- 
 ing, that at last Androcles made up his mind 
 to trust his grateful companion, and they went 
 back together to the den. There for many 
 weeks they lived in the greatest harmony and 
 happiness, and poor Androcles found in the 
 society of the wild beast a pleasure he had 
 never tasted in the presence of his fellow men. 
 Every day the lion went out to forage for 
 food, and Androcles always shared his prey
 
 THIRD BOOK. 203 
 
 which he cooked by means of a fire kindled 
 with flints and dry wood. 
 
 But at last the lion was wounded by the 
 hunters while out in search of food, and return- 
 ing to his den was tracked thither by the blood 
 he shed. There one of the hunters seeing An- 
 drocles knew him at once as the slave that had 
 been missed. For he was a valuable slave, 
 and had been sorely wanted by his master 
 ever since his flight, and every thing had been 
 done to find out where he was hidden, but in 
 vain till now. So poor Androcles was carried 
 back to the city he had left, and there being 
 tried before a judge, he was found guilty, and 
 condemned to be thrown to a wild beast ; for 
 to run away was the greatest crime a slave 
 could commit, and no punishment was thought 
 too bad for it. 
 
 Well, he was put in prison until the day 
 fixed for his death, and then brought into the 
 place where such cruel scenes used to be acted.
 
 204 UNCLE JOHN'S 
 
 And a lion, that had been kept without food 
 for many days on purpose that he might be 
 savagely hungry, was let loose upon him. 
 
 Hundreds and hundreds of people were 
 gathered round the spot in order to see the 
 dreadful sight ; but what was their wonder 
 when the furious lion, who had sprung eagerly 
 forth on seeing a man ready for him to devour, 
 fell tamely down before Androcles and licked 
 his feet with every sign of gentleness and love. 
 For it was indeed his own forest Mend who 
 had been brought to eat him up ; but who, 
 hungry though he was, would not harm the 
 man who had been so kind to him. 
 
 The strange story spread far and wide, 
 and soon reached the ears of the governor, 
 who ordered the man and the lion (who follow- 
 ed him like a dog) to be brought before him. 
 And when he had heard Androcles's tale, and 
 seen the wonderful gratitude of the lion, he 
 gave command that Androcles should be set
 
 THIKD BOOK. 205 
 
 at liberty, since the sentence passed upon Mm, 
 of being exposed to a wild beast, had been 
 complied with, and that the lion should be 
 presented to him for his own. 
 
 THE TWO AETISTS. 
 
 Two little boys were once amusing them- 
 selves by drawing on their slates, after morn- 
 ing school was over .They were both very 
 fond of drawing, and had lessons from a draw- 
 ing master twice a week. 
 
 " Robert," said Charley, " when I am a man 
 I mean to go to Italy ; there I shall find such 
 models amongst the works of old masters, and 
 the churches, and temples, and other build- 
 ings. And papa says the sky is so blue and 
 bright there, that every thing looks as well 
 again as it does in this smoky London ; and I 
 mean to go to Greece too. O, how I shall en-
 
 206 UNCLE 
 
 joy myself when I am a man, and can go about 
 and draw all day long. Won't you ? " 
 
 " I hope I shall enjoy myself," said Robert ; 
 " but I do not think I shall go abroad. For, 
 since papa's death, mamma has never liked to 
 let me stay long out of her sight. And, if I 
 went abroad, I should be away from her for 
 a long while." 
 
 " No ; but think of all you would have to 
 show her when you came home. How happy 
 that would make her ! " 
 
 " I think," said Robert, " I shall find plenty 
 of beautiful things to draw here. Mamma 
 says there are scenes as lovely here as heart 
 can desire, and she has promised to take me 
 about with her to see my native country 
 when I have leffc school." 
 
 These little boys grew up. Charley went 
 abroad, as he said he would. And before he 
 went he very earnestly begged Robert to go 
 with him. But Robert said, " I cannot leave
 
 THIRD BOOK. 20T 
 
 my mother. She is not strong. I should like 
 to go abroad very much, and above all with you, 
 dear Charley. But I must not and cannot leave 
 her." So Charley went, and Robert stayed 
 with his dear mamma. She grew weaker and 
 weaker, and they journeyed about from one 
 lovely English scene to another, and in each 
 spot Robert made his portfolio rich with 
 sketches. And Charley profited well by the 
 advantages he enjoyed. He studied hard at 
 Rome, and made himself a first-rate artist. One 
 day, when he had visited Greece and returned 
 to Rome, he was busy over the details of some 
 splendid ruins he had been copying, when he 
 heard a well-known voice behind him, and 
 turning round he was in the arms of his dear 
 friend Robert. When the first moment of 
 delight was over, Charley saw that his friend 
 was in deep black. He did not like to ask him 
 the reason in their first joyous meeting ; but 
 when, late in the day, they were sitting looking
 
 208 THIKD BOOK. 
 
 over each other's drawings and enjoying the 
 progress each had made, Charley said, " Let me 
 see your last ; you have seen mine." Robert 
 put it silently into his friend's hand. It was 
 his mother's grave. " O, Charley," said he at 
 last, bursting into tears, " how thankful I feel 
 now that I never left her." 
 
 THE END.
 
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